3

"Oliver, stand up." Mom bent down and tugged at him. "Kneeling on the side of the road over something like this? How are you going to face anyone after this?" When he refused to get up, she settled for brushing the snow from his knees. But I remembered two years earlier, when I'd knelt until my legs went stiff while she wrapped her scarf around Oliver's neck.

Dad rushed over and knocked her hand away. "Enough! Emily can barely breathe. What are you trying to prove?"

Mom stumbled back half a step. When she caught her balance, her eyes were red. "What am I trying to prove? That every one of you thinks you can ignore everything I say!"

Dad froze.

She pointed at him. "Last month, I won Agent of the Year, and you promised you'd come to the awards dinner with me. I stood outside that hotel in my gown for 90 minutes while everyone else went in with their spouses. I was the only one left standing there, making excuses for you."

Dad said, "The company server crashed without warning that day, and I was stuck at the office all night fixing it. I apologized the next day. I sent flowers and took you out to dinner to make it up to you."

"Did your apology give me those 90 minutes back?" Mom spun around and pointed at me. "You always say a little delay won't hurt anyone, right? Well, now you can see what a few minutes can cost."

Dad could barely get the words out. "You're using our daughter's life to teach me a lesson?"

"I'm not gambling with her life!" Mom's voice rose. "She took a tiny amount. All I wanted was for her to throw up a few times and feel weak. She's always been healthier than Oliver. Waiting a little longer won't hurt her."

After saying that, she tucked her hair behind her ear.

After that, I could barely hear them arguing. Strangely, my chest didn't hurt as much anymore. My brother kept squeezing my hand and calling my name. I could see his fingers digging into my skin, but I hardly felt a thing. The streetlights slowly blurred into glowing rings.

"Emily!" When Oliver saw my eyes close, he patted my face frantically. "Don't fall asleep. Look at me!"

Dad stopped arguing with Mom. He walked over to the trooper, then dropped to his knees on the wet, freezing pavement. Muddy water soaked through his pants and darkened the cuffs.

"I'll take any test you want. Take me in if you have to. But please, get my daughter to the hospital first. She's only 16."

Both officers immediately pulled him to his feet. Just then, a backup patrol car pulled into the checkpoint. The officer took one look at me and threw open the back door. "Put her in. I'll take her."

My brother ran over with me in his arms. Mom opened her mouth as if she wanted to object again, but Dad stepped in front of her. This time, he didn't argue. He just stared at her. Mom pressed her lips together and finally stopped trying to block us.

The patrol car raced toward St. Margaret's Medical Center, its siren blaring. Another officer stayed behind to finish testing Dad and take Mom's statement about the pills. Matthew drove Mom and followed close behind.

A little over 10 minutes later, the ER doors opened, and two nurses rushed out with a gurney. One placed an oxygen mask over my nose and mouth while the doctor watched the monitor and asked, "What did she take? When? How much? Has she taken any other medication today?"

Mom stood at the foot of the bed. "Just a little something to make her throw up and some leftover muscle relaxants. It's not that serious."

"The exact names and doses?"

She paused. "I don't remember the full names. She didn't take much."

I tried to tell the doctor that I'd also taken cold medicine that morning, but I could only manage a few shallow breaths behind the mask. My brother leaned close to my face. "What are you trying to say?" He studied my lips for a moment, then jerked his head up. "She took cold medicine this morning too! I saw her take it at breakfast. The bottle is still in the kitchen."

The doctor immediately asked, "What medicine?"

My brother shook his head. "I didn't see the name."

"Bring every medication in the house that could be involved."

The nurses wheeled me toward the trauma bay. Once the doors closed, Mom disappeared from view, and my grip on the sheet loosened.

But only a few minutes later, the lock clicked.

I struggled to turn my head.

A nurse had brought Mom in.

She didn't look at me first.

Her gaze snapped to the doctor preparing to intubate me. She froze, then rushed toward my bed.

The fear I'd only just started to shake off crept back in.