Between by Jessica Warman Page B

Vince. Vince Aiello.” His voice cracks as he says the name out loud. “He was kind of a friend of mine. He’s older.”
    “How much older?”
    “I don’t know. Twenty-one? Twenty-two? Does it matter?”
    “It matters if he was sleeping with Liz.”
    Richie sucks in a sharp breath of air. For a moment, I expect him to defend me, to explain that I was a virgin, and that I couldn’t possibly have been sleeping with anyone. But he doesn’t.
    “How did Liz know Vince?” Joe presses.
    “I introduced them.”
    “And the day you saw her car parked outside his apartment, what happened? Did you confront her?”
    “No. Well, sort of. We sat there for almost an hour, until Liz finally came out. I watched her leave his apartment and go to her car, and once she got home I waited a while before I called her. I asked her where she’d been all morning.” He looks down at the quilt, still clutched in his fist. Loose threads are scattered on the floor. “She told me she’d been out shopping at the mall. She lied.” Richie looks up at Joe again. His gaze is fierce and angry. “I want to kill him,” he says.
    “Who?” Joe asks.
    “Who do you think? Vince.” Richie nods, like he’s giving the idea some thought. “I really do. I really want to kill him.”
    “Hey. Be careful what you say to me, buddy,” Joe says. He’s trying to keep his voice light, but I can tell he’s serious. Richie doesn’t say anything else; he just stares down at the quilt again, holding it tightly.
    For the first time, I notice that Joe is wearing a wedding ring. It’s a thin silver band. With the tip of his thumb, he works it back and forth over the middle knuckle of his ring finger as he stares at Richie.
    “When did things start to develop between you and Josie?”
    “I don’t know. A few weeks later.” He stares out the window, at the rows of boats docked along the shore, his gaze narrowing in at the Elizabeth , where we’d spent such a happy evening together just a few days ago. Before I died. Back when life was gentle, easy, perfect. At least I thought so.
    “What’s going on with Josie is nothing,” he says. “It’s just your normal, sordid teenage drama. I used to think Liz and I were different from all that, but I guess not. Anyway, it just happened with me and Josie. It doesn’t mean anything.”
    “Does Josie know that?” Joe asks.
    “I think so.” Richie nods, still staring at the Elizabeth.
    Joe works his wedding ring back into place. He stands up, positions himself behind Richie’s shoulder, and follows his gaze.
    “What happened that night? Did you and Liz get into a fight? Did you confront her?”
    “No. She didn’t know that I knew.”
    “Why wouldn’t you tell her? Come on, Richie. You were angry. You were hooking up with her stepsister. I get it; you wanted to hurt her for what she’d done.”
    Richie turns around. “You’re wrong. I was angry, sure. I guess that, on some level, I wanted to get back at her by messing around with Josie. And I knew I’d have to confront her eventually. I knew we’d probably break up because of what she’d done.”
    Joe looks at him skeptically. “But not yet?”
    “No. Not yet.”
    “And why is that?”
    “Because,” Richie says, looking at the boat again. He takes his thumb and holds it up in his line of vision, as if to eradicate the Elizabeth from his view. “I didn’t want to ruin her birthday party. I loved her too much.”

Eight
    There’s so much I can’t remember about my life. I can’t recall exactly what I was doing the night I died, or a week earlier. Aside from the brief flashback that I experienced, when I saw myself with Richie in his car, I barely remember being at the junior prom at all. I can’t recall the last time I spoke to my parents while I was alive. I can’t even say for sure whether or not I was cheating on my boyfriend. But I remember running.
    The act is worn into my bones; I can remember the cadence of my footsteps against