2

Oliver stopped dead. "Mom, Matthew has lived next door to us for seven years. He's not a stranger. He's trying to save Emily!"

Mom turned sideways to block the door and pointed at an unrepaired dent in the SUV's right rear panel. "Just because he's our neighbor doesn't mean he's a safe driver. He backed into his garage door just last month. Why would I trust him with my daughter?"

Matthew froze for half a second, then threw up both hands. "The driveway was icy that day, and I skidded while backing out. Even the insurance company agreed it was an accident! I haven't had a drop to drink tonight. Check my driving record."

The state trooper took his license and quickly ran it through the computer in his cruiser. "His license is valid. There's nothing on his record that would keep him from driving. He can take her to the hospital."

But Mom shot back, "Can you guarantee nothing will happen on the way?"

The officer handed the license back, his jaw tight. "All I can tell you is that the biggest danger to your daughter right now is staying here. Step aside, please."

He pointed to Mom's hand on the car door.

"If you keep blocking her from getting treatment, we'll move you by force."

Mom didn't budge. She planted her other hand on the door too. "There's nothing wrong with being careful. If anything happens to her, an apology won't fix it. She's my only daughter."

As Mom said, "I only have one daughter," I lay limp in Oliver's arms. His chest rose and fell against me, but even with my face pressed to his jacket, I could barely feel his warmth anymore.

A year earlier, Oliver had stolen an action camera from an outdoor gear store, and the manager had caught him red-handed.

Mom worried that yelling at him in public would make him "even more rebellious," so instead, she dragged me into the snow in front of the store.

She pushed down on my shoulders and made me kneel.

Every time the automatic doors opened, warm air rolled out of the store. Before long, melted snow had soaked through my pants, and the frozen fabric clung to my knees.

Someone stopped to film it.

I looked up and told her my legs hurt. Mom didn't even glance at me. She just waved to my brother, who was standing in the warm doorway.

"Remember how humiliating this feels. Next time you want to take something that isn't yours, think about today."

A woman waiting in the checkpoint line raised her phone too.

Mom whipped her head around. "Stop filming! This is a family matter."

The woman kept her phone up. "Your daughter is barely conscious. Anyone trying to get her to a hospital right now is trying to save her life."

Mom frowned. "I know better than any of you how healthy she is. I don't need you to tell me."

Dad's head snapped up.

The trooper looked at her too.

But Mom had already turned back to Matthew and blocked the door again. "She's not getting in his car. If she needs to go to the hospital, she can wait for an ambulance."

Oliver looked down at me.

My hand hung limp over his arm, my fingers curled. He squeezed it twice, but I didn't respond either time.

Suddenly, he stepped forward and dropped to his knees in the thin layer of snow beside the road.

"Mom, I'm sorry. I was wrong."

The snow quickly soaked through the knees of his jeans.

"I'll never take pills from anyone again. I'll stay away from the abandoned quarry, stop rappelling, and quit the climbing club too."

As he spoke, he hitched me higher in his arms. His tears dripped onto my sleeve.

"Whatever you want me to remember, I'll remember it.

"Please. Just let us take her to the hospital."

Mom's lips tightened. She bent down to pull him up. "Get up! Don't make a scene in front of all these people."

My brother didn't move.

She tightened her grip, bunching the fabric at his cuff. "Oliver, haven't you embarrassed us enough tonight?"

I watched my brother kneeling in the snow.

Two dark, wet patches slowly spread across the knees of his jeans.

Snow clung to his eyelashes, and he didn't even lift a hand to brush it away.

But Mom never let go of his sleeve.

Suddenly, the glittering stretch of frozen snow outside the store flashed before my eyes again.

So she'd always known how humiliating it was to kneel in front of everyone.

The difference was that, back then, I'd been the one kneeling.