Under a Silent Moon

33

Chapter Thirty-Three: So Be It

LANA

Amanda's been in a wreck. It rings through my head like a bell that tolls only for me. I'm surprised by the panic that manifests in my gut and races through my veins with every beat of my heart.

Thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump.

I have an immediate, overwhelming urge to be at my sister's side. To look at her young, often critical face and know that she's okay. I jump into the car with Blake, who's telling me that Mom will meet us at the hospital. He slams on the gas, and I jolt backwards into my seat, fumbling for the seatbelt.

"What happened?" I ask as Blake runs a stop sign.

A sharp, abrupt turn. The highway's just in sight.

"Her friend was driving drunk, hit a telephone pole."

I can't suppress the rage that overcomes me then. How could my sister, who so often reprimanded me for my alcohol consumption and informed me any chance she could about the morbid statistics of teenage drinking, do this? How could she put herself in this situation after having seen time and time again the consequences of her older sister's problematic drinking habits?

And that's when something shifts within me. As my brother and I race down the passing lane, I keep my eyes fixated on the moon, a troubling thought materializing the faster we go.

This is my fault.

Amanda's seen me drink, and I've consistently been okay. The next morning I've suffered from a hangover, but my consequences haven't yet been deadly. I always recover. I always make it to the next day. She learned from me that drinking is okay, and maybe this has blinded her from its true repercussions.

I must have confessed something out loud, because Blake asks, "What?"

"It's because of me. Amanda has done this because of my drinking." I'm thinking aloud at this point. "I even missed school the other day because I was hungover. And nothing even happened to me because of it."

I'm prattling words off in a tangent, one that Blake's having trouble keeping up with.

"What? You skipped school because you were hungover? Lana, what are you talking about?"

He's only half-paying attention, and his focus needs to be on getting us to the hospital right now, so I stop my rambling. "Nothing."

He glances over at me. "We're not done talking about this."

"Fuck," I yell, tears streaming down my cheeks like a broken faucet. "It should've been me. It should've been me."

Mom's pacing the waiting area, wearing blue scrubs and clutching her cell so tightly I'm surprised it hasn't crumbled in her hands.

"Thank God," she says, pulling Blake into a hug when we arrive. He steps aside and asks Mom what she knows so far. "They won't tell me shit," she says, glancing at the ER doors across the hall. "She's unconscious, but she's alive."

"What about the driver?" Blake inquires.

"She's doing better than Amanda somehow. She's awake." I can almost hear the resentment in her voice.

"When can we see her?" I ask.

"Like I said, no one is telling me anything. But I'm about to walk back there regardless if I have permission or not." Mom begins to pace again. "Fourteen-year-old daughter might be in a coma and they leave me in the dark . . ." she mutters. I shudder at the word coma.