Between

by Jessica Warman

  “I wasn’t paying attention. I was talking to Josie.” With my thumb and index finger, I take my gum out of my mouth. I stare at it. “It was like it came out of nowhere.”

  Coming in and out of memories is always a bit draining, but when I snap back into the present, I feel more exhausted than usual. Quickly, I fill Alex in.

  “I should have just taken you with me,” I said. “It would be easier than having to explain everything.”

  He shrugs. “It’s okay. It’s your memory.”

  “I’ll bring you next time,” I say. I can’t help but feel excited by what I’ve seen. More and more pieces of the puzzle are beginning to fall into place, and the new information I’m recalling seems more and more significant. Finally, I know how I met Vince. Now I just have to figure out how I ended up in his bed, being blackmailed.

  “So you must have gotten your car back in time,” Alex says. “You didn’t get in any trouble, did you?”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “Why don’t you try—”

  “I’m not going to try and remember anything else. Not now. I’m exhausted.” I pause. “Do you think it was more draining to see this memory because it matters so much? Because it’s more important than other things I’m remembering?” The thought is exciting. “I’m getting closer, Alex. I’m going to figure it out.”

  He nods. “Yeah. I think you are.”

  “And then what?” I blink at him. “What happens once I know everything?”

  He thinks about the question. “I don’t know. Maybe we go somewhere else.”

  “Hmm. Okay.” We both know that I don’t want to ask the most obvious question: where else is there for us to go?

  “I can’t believe you don’t want to try and remember more right away,” Alex says, shifting the conversation. “Aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to know how you went from hating Vince to … well, to those pictures?”

  We’re walking back through town together—slowly, to keep the pain in my feet from becoming unbearable—and headed nowhere in particular.

  “Of course I want to know. I need to recover for a while, that’s all.” And then something occurs to me. “I know you don’t want me to see your memories,” I tell Alex. “But will you at least tell me if you’ve learned anything important?” And just as I’m saying the words, I glance up to see a telephone pole with Alex’s picture on it. They’ve been all over town for more than a year. It’s his sophomore yearbook photo, blown up and printed in color. Beneath it, it says, KILLED BY A HIT-AND-RUN DRIVER. $10,000 REWARD FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO ARREST.

  On this particular poster, someone—undoubtedly one of the less-sensitive jocks from our school—has taken a pen and drawn a pair of wings on Alex’s shoulders. His eyes are blacked out for no good reason. The act is incredibly cruel; what seems even worse, though, is that nobody has bothered to replace the poster with a new one.

  “You know what your parents should do,” I say, trying to be helpful, “they should rent a billboard. Maybe along the highway. Someone must have seen something from that night, don’t you think?”

  “It’s been over a year, Liz. They aren’t going to catch anyone.” He pauses. “Even if somebody did know something, ten thousand dollars isn’t exactly a lot of money around here.”

  “Then they should offer more.”

  “They don’t have more. It’s not like they own a house full of antiques they can sell for cash.” He’s talking faster, obviously getting upset. “Caroline sounded like a spoiled brat. So her daddy lost his job on Wall Street. There are worse things.”

  I press my lips together for a moment. “Alex. You don’t know what her life is like.”

  “You don’t know what my life was like.”

  “Good. I’m glad. I wouldn’t have traded places with you for anything.” I don’t know why I’m reacting this way; Alex’s confrontational attitude is making me defensive.

  We’re near my house, close to the docks. “This might surprise you, Liz,” he says, “but I wouldn’t have traded places with you, either. I mean, it would be nice to be rich, and to have all those friends … but I wouldn’t actually take it. You might have had everything material that you could have wanted, but it sure seems like you were a miserable person. And all your money didn’t buy you another second of life, did it?”

  I glare at him. It’s amazing how quickly I can go from enjoying myself with Alex to wishing I were anywhere but with him. I know he’s angry because I suggested that his parents offer a larger reward, because I assumed it would be easy for them, when in reality I’m guessing their offer is already stretching them thin. It was insensitive, I know. But I also feel like he’s overreacting. It was an honest mistake.

  He hesitates. “Look … I’m sorry. We’ve been getting along so well.”

  “Me, too.” I pause. I know he has a point about my friends, too—or at least some of them. “But you shouldn’t have said that about Caroline. She’s a good person. You know that.”

  “Okay. You’re right.” I can tell he’s trying to keep his tone light. “Hey. Look who it is.”

  My father sits alone on the deck of the Elizabeth. It’s the middle of the afternoon. There’s a sizable number of people in our town who are rich enough that they don’t have to work, so plenty of people are out, going about their day, relaxing on their boats and doing their best to pretend they don’t see my father staring at the water, an open beer dangling from his hand, a lit cigar in his mouth. My dad, though, should be at work; he was always at work when I was alive. I imagine he’s getting pretty close to using up all his unused vacation days by now. But then, it’s not exactly like he’s got a big trip to Disney World coming up anytime soon.

  Nicole saunters out the back door of our house. She’s wearing a flowing white skirt that grazes her ankles, a yellow halter top that exposes her belly—which is just a tad pudgy—and a light jacket. Her long hair is pulled into a messy ponytail that hangs down her back. With every step, her signature turquoise jewelry clinks around her wrists, ankles, and neck. As she strolls down the street and toward the dock, she is the portrait of serenity. My God, I think, what the neighbors must be saying about my family.

  She lets herself onto the boat, takes a seat beside my father, and rests her head on his shoulder. For a long time they sit together without speaking, the boat rocking gently on the water, my father staring intently at the sea, barely acknowledging Nicole’s presence.

  “Marshall,” she says, “this isn’t living. You can’t sit here day after day.” She rubs his grizzled cheek with the back of her hand. “When was the last time you shaved? When was the last time you took a shower? I wake up in the morning alone. I miss you.” She hesitates. “No matter how miserable you are, it isn’t going to bring her back. I know you’re heartbroken, honey, we all are. But we’re a family, and we should get through this together. I need a husband. Josie needs a father.”

  He doesn’t look at her. When he speaks, his voice barely breaks above a whisper. “We could have prevented this. That’s what everybody is saying. If we’d gotten Liz some help before she got so frail, or if we’d told her she couldn’t have her party on the boat—”

  “You tried, Marshall. She refused. She was adamant. Short of putting her in the hospital against her will, what could you have done?”

  “That is what I should have done, Nicole. I should have put her in the hospital. But I didn’t. I let her down. I didn’t pay enough attention. If I hadn’t been at work all the time, I would have noticed things were getting really bad. If I had forced her to see a therapist, maybe driven her there myself—”

  “If, if, if … Marshall, there’s no if. There’s only what is. You think I don’t know what people are saying about us? You think I’m not sorry every day that we didn’t do more to help Liz? We had no way of predicting the future. She was spending time with her friends. She wanted to have a birthday party. They’re good kids. We’ve known them all their lives. How could we have possibly kn
own something like this would happen?”

  “We shouldn’t let Josie go to homecoming with Richie. It looks terrible. He’s on probation, for Christ’s sake. And he was Liz’s boyfriend.” He takes a long sip of his beer. “You know, I’m surprised the Wilsons are letting him anywhere near Josie. My God, they hate both of us so much.”

  “He and Josie are taking comfort in each other. They both lost their closest friend.” Gently, she takes the beer from his hand and places it off to the side. “You and I both know how that works. When you lost Lisa—”

  “When I lost Lisa and then I married you, everyone in this town assumed that you and I had been having an affair before she died. And Josie says she and Richie were seeing each other when Liz was still alive. Don’t you understand how damn screwed up that is? Can’t you imagine what people are saying?”

  It pains me to know how right he is. Everyone’s talking about it. Everyone has been talking about our family for years.

  Nicole only shrugs. “It’s a small town. People are going to say things. Do you want to move away? Take Josie out of school in the middle of her senior year, go someplace where nobody knows anything about us? We can’t do that to her. She’s been through enough already.”

  My father reaches past Nicole, reclaims his beer. He slumps in his seat. “Have you ever thought it’s possible that someone did something to Liz that night? The whole thing with Richie … and now him and Josie?”

  “We’ve known Richie almost his entire life. He did not hurt Liz,” Nicole says firmly. “If you start believing that, you’re just like everyone else in this town.”

  “Maybe they’re right.”

  “They are not right.” Nicole hesitates. She rubs the largest stone in her turquoise necklace, thinking. “Marshall, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’ve been going to the Spiritualist Church more often than you realize. They have people there who are connected to the other side. I’ve talked to them about Liz.”

  “You’re right. I don’t want to hear this.”

  “Would you listen? Just for me?” Nicole smiles. “She’s at peace, Marshall. She’s in a better place now. Instead of sitting here, day after day, imagining your daughter in the water, I want you to try—just try—imagining her somewhere peaceful, where there isn’t any darkness or sadness. Imagine that she isn’t running for hours anymore, doing everything she can to stay thin. Imagine that she’s with her mother, and they’re together, maybe even looking down on us. I’m sure they’d want you to be happy. I really believe that.”

  I snort. “I can’t believe she buys into that crap,” I say to Alex.

  He laughs. “Well, how would she know any different?”

  “I know, but it’s all so … so hokey. Like my mom and I are up in heaven together. I mean, Nicole couldn’t be further from the truth.”

  Alex nods. “But don’t you hope she’ll be right someday?”

  I don’t answer him. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it. For right now, though, it seems like too much to wish for.

  My father’s eyes are glassy and damp. He tosses his cigar into the water. “She was barely eighteen. She was only a baby. It was our job to protect her, and we failed. I failed. Just like I failed with Lisa. I promised to stand by her in sickness and in health, and she got sick, and I let her die.”

  “How could you have helped her? You did everything you could. You took her to doctors. You tried to get her to eat. You loved her. You stayed with her.”

  He looks sharply at Nicole. “You and I were spending plenty of time with each other while she was wasting away.”

  Nicole presses her lips together. I wait, anxious to hear whether or not she’ll say anything to confirm that she and my dad were having an affair before my mom died. But all she says is, “Marshall, I loved Lisa, too.” She stands up. “The universe works in mysterious ways. You didn’t know I would come back into your life after so many years apart. We became friends. What happened after that was organic. It was natural. Do you think that, if I could go back in time and change the way things happened, I wouldn’t rather have Lisa stay alive, healthy, married to you, even if it meant you and I never got to be together again?”

  My father doesn’t answer. He wipes his eyes with a chubby hand. He takes one last sip of his beer, tilting it all the way back until it empties. “Fuck the universe,” he says, standing up. He heads inside the boat, probably to get another beer. “And I don’t want to hear another word about that church, you understand? Not one goddamned word.”

  Twenty

  It’s homecoming night, the first weekend in November. True to form, extenuating circumstances notwithstanding, my friends have pooled their money for a limo. There are Mera and Topher, of course. Mera’s red dress matches Topher’s tie exactly, and her earrings are identical to his cufflinks. Caroline has found a date with the obnoxious but passably popular Chad Shubuck—the same Chad who so memorably farted during our school’s moment of silence for Alex. And then there’s Richie and Josie. The limo driver picks them up last. There’s no celebration in the yard in front of my house like there have been in past years, no parents taking pictures of our giggling crowd, no mothers fussing over boutonnieres or making last-minute adjustments to dress straps. Instead, Josie and Richie leave separately from their houses and hurry to the limo, where the driver is waiting for them with the door open.

  As Richie gets inside, his parents watch from behind their front door, keeping their distance while still paying attention. Since their son’s arrest and probation, they’ve been spending significantly more time at home, which definitely isn’t a bad thing.

  “His parents are talking,” Alex says as we’re waiting for everyone to get situated in the limo. “What are they saying?”

  I blink; in a flash, I’m standing beside Richie’s mother.

  “I swear on Lisa Valchar’s grave, may she rest in peace, that after tonight, I never want my son around Josie again,” Richie’s mom says to his dad.

  “He likes her,” Richie’s dad replies. “Dr. Andrews said it’s important for him to maintain his friendships.” Dr. Andrews is Richie’s shrink. The same shrink who buys weed from him on a regular basis. Now that Richie’s on probation—and presumably not selling drugs—I wonder if the good doctor will increase his hourly rate.

  “I don’t care if he likes her.” Mrs. Wilson shudders. “If we’re lucky, they’ll move away soon. I don’t know how the hell they’re still living in that house after everything that’s happened. The place is probably crawling with angry spirits. I can’t believe those people even have the nerve to show their faces in town.”

  “Okay. I get it. Enough already.” Richie’s dad pauses. “What do you want to do for dinner? Sushi?”

  In the back of the limo, my friends pass around a bottle of peach schnapps that Chad has produced from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

  “Hey Richie,” Chad says, taking a long swig from the bottle, cringing as the liquor burns his throat, “you got any weed on you?”

  “I’m on probation.” Richie shakes his head. “I’m done with all that.” He gives a wry grin. “I’m clean as soap now.”

  “Come on.” Chad frowns. “You don’t have anything? Not even a joint?”

  Richie is always a nice guy, difficult to upset, and he typically has a high tolerance for the jock set in our school, but I know he can’t stand Chad. “Nothing means ‘nothing,’ ” he clarifies, enunciating the words like Chad is some kind of idiot—which he pretty much is. “Not even an aspirin.” But when the bottle of schnapps comes Richie’s way, he takes a sip with only the slightest hesitation.

  All of my girlfriends look gorgeous. Josie is in a strapless pink gown, her hair piled into a tedious updo that took three hours to pin into place at the salon. She and Richie sit beside each other, but they don’t hold hands or show any other signs of affection. I’m sure my boyfriend feels self-conscious being out with my stepsister, but like everyone keeps saying, apparently she’s bringing him
some comfort.

  Mera is, as usual, a knockout with her D-cups on prominent display in a low-cut red halter dress. She looks like a blond Jessica Rabbit. She rests her head against Topher’s shoulder, their fingers woven together in casual solidarity. I remember how it felt to be like that with someone, with Richie. It was so easy, so comforting, to have a partner no matter what.

  Caroline is wearing a one-shoulder black-and-silver cocktail dress that looks expensive.

  “Where did you get this?” Josie asks, rubbing the material between her fingers. “It’s silky.” Her eyes flash with admiration. “Nice.”

  “At a boutique.” Caroline seems intentionally evasive.

  Josie raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “How’s your dad? Did he find a new job yet? This dress couldn’t have been cheap.”

  “My dad is fine.” Caroline pushes Josie’s hand away. “And the dress was four hundred dollars.”

  Alex, sprawled like a king in the farthest backseat of the limo, looking incredibly out of place in his filthy Mystic Market T-shirt and jeans, says, “Four hundred dollars. Wonder where she got that kind of cash?”

  I stare at the dress, at Caroline’s shaky expression, her vulnerable confidence. Maybe she planned to use the money she stole from me to help her family, but it wouldn’t surprise me one bit if she kept it for herself to buy a new dress. What other option would she have? It’s not like she could go to the mall and buy something from a department store. My friends, I know, do not buy formal dresses at the mall.

  I used to love school dances. I loved everything about them: shopping for just the right gown for weeks beforehand; the way it took all day to get ready, from getting my hair done to doing my makeup; posing for pictures with Richie in front of a cheesy backdrop while a professional photographer told us we make a really great-looking couple; it was all like magic.

  Tonight, the school gymnasium has been transformed into an explosion of glitter, balloons, and crepe paper. A huge disco ball hangs from the ceiling, turning slowly to create shadows across the thick crowd of students. There’s a long table covered with cookies and finger sandwiches and punch. There isn’t a trace of death or sadness anywhere. It’s happy. It’s normal. It’s high school, exactly the way it should be.