Between (42 page)

“Josie,” I mutter, “I need juice. Can you get me some juice? I’m gonna faint.”

“Yeah. Hold on.” She climbs onto the boat. She goes inside. For a long moment, my stepsister looks around. She observes my sleeping friends: Topher and Mera, their arms locked around each other, sharing the same sleeping bag. Richie, asleep on a sofa. Caroline, curled in a ball on the floor. Everybody is out for the night. Nobody knows we’re still awake, alone together on the docks. Nobody can see a thing.

Josie doesn’t go to the fridge to get me any juice. Instead, she comes back outside, steps gently onto the dock, and stares at me.

I’m drunk. I’m exhausted; I’ve probably run a good ten miles today—maybe more—and aside from a small bite of birthday cake, it’s likely that I’ve barely eaten. Plus there was that joint we smoked. I remember it all so clearly now. I can’t believe how I’ve treated my body. It’s like I wanted something terrible to happen to me. And now it will.

I stare at her. “Where’s my juice?”

I take a step backward. She steps toward me. I take another step back, this one shaky and unsteady as I begin to lose my balance, and she comes closer.

“Liz, you can’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin everything. You’ll get in trouble.” She swallows. “You’ll get
me
in trouble. It’s not fair.”

“I have to tell someone. I’m going to tell Mr. Riley. He’ll help me. He’ll understand. Josie, I can’t live like this anymore. I feel like it’s killing me to keep this secret.”

I teeter backward, trying desperately to regain my footing, and the edge of my boot catches on the side of the dock. I hold my arms out toward Josie, trying to grab on to her.

She gazes at me for what feels like a very long moment, even though it’s only a few seconds. She does nothing.

I fall into the water. For a moment, my entire body disappears. Then I surface, splashing loudly, screaming for her to help me.

The water is freezing at night by this time of year, undoubtedly cold enough to knock me into sobriety. I continue to splash around for a few more seconds, trying to grab on to the edge of the dock, to pull myself up. My stepsister only stares, watching, thinking. Deciding.

Then she gets onto her knees. She extends her arms, like she’s going to pull me to safety, and for a moment my expression shifts to relief as I reach for her, grateful for the help.

Josie puts one hand on my shoulder, and the other on the top of my head. She pushes me underwater. She is silent, tears brimming in her eyes, a look of steely determination on her face.

She holds me beneath the water for a very long time. Eventually, I’ll have to breathe. Even as I’m watching, I remember it so clearly. It’s almost like I’m living it all over again. Water in my lungs, in my nose, everywhere. It burns so badly, my mouth open in a silent scream underwater, the whole world going black behind my eyes.

Tonight, on the eve of my eighteenth birthday, I die.

Josie stands up. She’s wearing a tank top and denim shorts, so she’s barely wet at all. Her arms are red from the cold water. She goes inside the boat, into the bathroom, and quietly dries herself off. She stares at her own reflection in the mirror, takes many long, deep breaths before leaving the bathroom, shutting off the lights in the boat, and climbing under a blanket on one of the beds.

She lies there for a while, eyes wide open, gazing at the ceiling of the boat. Then, only a few minutes before I’m officially supposed to turn eighteen years old, my stepsister falls asleep.

When I open my eyes and look at Richie, I can tell immediately: he understands. He might not have seen everything as I saw it, but he felt me. He knows.

“You,” he whispers, jumping to his feet, backing slowly away from Josie. “You killed my Liz.”

Josie presses a single index finger to her closed lips. She doesn’t say anything.

“Why did you do it?” Richie asks, still whispering. “Why would you hurt her?”

“She had everything.” Josie’s voice is so calm that it frightens even me. “She was beautiful. She had you. And she had our father. Everybody knows I’m his daughter,
everybody
. But he’d never admit it. Even my mom told me it was true. But Liz got all the attention. Liz was the prettier one. Liz was the queen at school. It was so easy for her. It was never easy like that for me. She had everything, Richie. She had everything even when she didn’t deserve it.”

Her voice grows louder as she speaks, gaining more conviction with every word. “You barely knew I was alive before you found out she was cheating on you. Maybe it wasn’t
really
cheating, but it was close enough. Richie, I wouldn’t have done that to you! Don’t you understand? Life follows a pattern. Liz was like her mother. I’m like my mother. You’re like my father. Do you see? We should be together.”

Richie looks around, like he’s trying to come up with an exit strategy. But there’s nowhere to go. All he can do is listen.

“Liz had everything,” Josie repeats, “and she was going to throw it all away because of one stupid, drunk night.” Her voice begins to waver, just a little. “And she was going to take me right along with her. I love my dad, Richie. And I love you. I loved Liz, too. She was my sister. But she had a good life. It was time for someone else to have a turn.” She closes the baby book, puts it aside. “It was my turn. She was going to tell on us, tell on
me.
I wasn’t driving that night. I didn’t hit Alex. I didn’t deserve to get into trouble for what she did.”

“You didn’t want to get caught.” Richie’s eyes are wide. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? Admit it. She was going to tell the truth, and you couldn’t have that.”

“Yes.” Josie appears feverish. She nods in agreement. “Sure. I guess that’s right, Richie.”

“You’re sick,” my boyfriend says. My Richie. The love of my life.

Josie nods again. “Maybe so.”

Richie leans over, taking deep breaths, trying to collect himself. As he’s staring toward the floor, he notices something.

I follow his gaze. I gasp.

There, around Josie’s ankle, is her “Best Friends” bracelet. She’s still wearing it. Even though she killed me.

In one swift motion, with more anger in his expression than I have ever seen before, Richie lunges toward her. Before Josie has a chance to pull back, he grabs the bracelet and yanks it from her ankle, snapping the chain.

“What are you doing?” she shrieks, pulling her leg away.

He holds the bracelet in his fist. There is genuine rage in his gaze, along with so many other emotions—pain, heartbreak—but no compassion. No pity for Josie.

“Give that back,” my stepsister breathes, staring at his closed hand.

He shakes his head. “No. You’ll never wear it again. Never.”

There is a light tap at the front door.

“I’m guessing that’s the police.” Richie is short of breath. He doesn’t move.

Josie looks calm, but her breathing is deep and heavy. Her eyes are glazed with emotion, even though her tone is flat. “Aren’t you going to let them in?”

“Liz would have done anything for you.”

“Liz was going to ruin my life.”

“So you killed her instead.”

Josie blinks. “Let them in, Richie. I’m tired of waiting.” She sighs. “Life is boring without Liz. If I’d known that beforehand, maybe things would be different.”

Twenty-five

I remember everything so vividly now, my whole life a series of clear memories stretching before me like a slide show. I can access any of them anytime. There are no gaps anymore. There are no blanks. The feeling of helplessness that has plagued me since my death, the frustration of not being able to remember, is gone.

I remember being twelve years old, on the first day of seventh grade, when Mr. Riley noticed my lanky frame and asked, “Have you ever considered running cross-country?”

“You mean distance running?” Even then, I was already a spoiled girl. “My dad always says he doesn’t run unless somebody’s chasing him.” I pause. “But my mom was a runner.”

At first, like anything new, it was difficult. My body had never found its rhythm until that first afternoon, I realized. And then I understood why people fell in love with running, just as I fell in love with it: for the first time in my life, I felt like I could do anything. As my legs found their stride and I grew to understand how to comfortably pace myself, I learned how it felt to have my mind go completely blank. To spend hours thinking about nothing. When I was running, I didn’t have to worry about how I looked or who might be more popular. I didn’t worry about the rumors that circulated constantly, in town and in school, about the affair my dad and Nicole had been conducting before my mother died. I didn’t wonder if Josie was really my half sister. I didn’t think about my mother, unconscious, dying in a pool of water and blood and glass. I simply pushed forward, breathing in and out, putting one foot in front of the other. You can’t imagine how free I felt when I ran.

But after I killed Alex, no amount of running could erase the image of his dying body from my mind. I tried so hard; I ran harder and farther than I ever had before, doing the only thing I knew to clear my head. There was no escape. Even before Alex found me in death, he was everywhere. That last breath. Those eyes gazing up at me. There was no forgetting, no matter how many miles I went.

I ran until my feet were bloody and blistered. Until even Mr. Riley told me it was too much, that I was driving myself into the ground and I had to let up. By then I knew it wasn’t working anyway.

Why did I wait so long to decide to confess my secret? What was I so afraid of? Anything, I know now, would have been better than having the end of Alex’s life on my conscience. Anything—even my own death.

We were a happy family once. For more than seven years, my dad and Nicole, along with Josie and me, lived as normally as possible under the circumstances. Acknowledging that my father and Nicole were almost definitely having an affair before my mother died makes me angry now, but it doesn’t make me love my dad any less. It makes me feel so sorry for my mother. Maybe, probably, if Nicole had never moved back to Noank, or my parents had never come back here after college, everything would be different.

But then I never would have met Richie. And if there’s one thing in my life I don’t regret, not for a moment, it’s Richie.

It is a beautiful day in late November. In a few days, it will be Thanksgiving. I don’t know why I’m still here, to be honest. After the police took Josie away, I expected to fade into oblivion, to go wherever Alex went. But nothing happened. I’ve been here, still, for weeks. I’m waiting for something, surely, but I don’t know what.

So much has changed, yet so much has stayed the same. Once they got over the shock of learning that Josie was responsible for my death, my friends fell easily enough into their old routines. Caroline’s father has found a new job, which is apparently even better than his last one. Out of all my friends—even Richie—she is the one who visits my grave the most. I know she must be so relieved that everybody knows the truth about what happened to Alex and me, and that she no longer has to carry her suspicion alone. When she visits me now, she never says much. And when she’s finished, she walks across the cemetery and visits Alex. Despite all her flaws—the stolen money and pills, her fixation on popularity and status—she remains a good friend.

Mera and Topher are exactly the same as they’ve always been: Topher still smokes, then brushes and flosses obsessively; he and Mera are still the golden couple of the school. Their affection used to make me feel endlessly annoyed, but it doesn’t bother me so much anymore. I’m happy for them. They deserve to be happy.

And then there’s Richie. On this particular morning, he steps out his front door and leans against a post on his porch, stretching his hamstrings. He’s become quite the runner lately. I can understand why.

He looks down the street at my old house. Since Josie won’t be finishing the school year at Noank High, my father has said he wants to sell it quickly. Already he’s had a few offers, but he’s rejected them all. I don’t know why. He and Nicole barely speak to each other anymore, and I’m guessing they’ll get a divorce sooner or later. Once, shortly after Josie was arrested, my dad confronted Nicole to ask her if she’d known that Josie was responsible for my death. She insisted she had no idea. I want to believe her. I really do. But I can’t be certain. For years, she pretended to be my mother’s friend, while she and my father were having an affair. What kind of person does that? In my heart, I know there’s a chance that she had an inkling of Josie’s act. If she
did
know, I’m certain she would have stayed silent to protect her own daughter.

More than any other feeling, though, my heart breaks for my father. In one lifetime, he has lost two wives and two daughters. How does a person move on from something like that? I can’t imagine what he’ll do. For now, he still spends most of his time on the boat, even though it’s freezing in Connecticut, where winter comes early and almost always overstays its welcome.

Richie begins to trot down the street. As I’m watching him, I feel a familiar twitching in my legs. It’s the desire to run, I know; I’ve felt it every day since I died. But this time something’s different. This time, the feeling is encouraging instead of frustrating. It feels possible.

I slip off my boots. I’ve done it plenty of times before, but until this moment, I’ve never been able to keep them off. I’d look down and there they’d be again, pinching my toes, the pain so constant and sharp that I never got used to it.

But not today. Today, they stay off. I wiggle my toes with excitement, unafraid to run barefoot. I bite my lip and smile, hopeful. Then I start running, following Richie down the street. He’s still slow. I’m much faster. Before long I’ve caught up with him, and I’m right beside him. The stones on the road against the bottoms of my feet don’t bother me a bit.

When Richie reaches the end of my street, he pauses. If he goes right, it will take him into town; if he makes a left, he’ll be heading toward the beach, but also toward the boat docks, where he and I are both looking at my dad, sitting on the front deck of the
Elizabeth
in a sweater and coat, sipping from a flask, staring at the water. Just staring.
Oh, Daddy.