Page 4 of Our Crooked Hearts
I gave a shallow nod.
“Okay.” Her unnerving intensity was draining. The corners of her mouth twitched up, conspiratorial. “But Nate was drinking tonight, wasn’t he?”
I swayed a little, trying to think. She’d seemed less dangerous a moment ago, when she was outright pissed. “Um.”
She gave a curtI knew itnod. “Go to your room. Now.”
I edged past her, up the stairs and into my room. Skipping the lights, I fell onto my pillows and closed my eyes. When I opened them she was above me, pressing an icepack to my mouth with her scarred left hand.
“Did you hit your head?” Her usual reserve was back; she could’ve been asking for the time. “Do we have to worry about a concussion? Tell me the truth.”
I leaned into the icepack’s chill. When was the last time she’d tended to me like this? When I tried to remember, blankness pressed in like an ocean.
“My head’s fine,” I mumbled. I’d entered that terrible purgatory place where you’re still drunk yet somehow already hungover. “I told you, it wasn’t a big deal. Nate’s not even hurt.”
“He’s not hurt.” Her voice was soft, and veined with rage. “Whilemykid looks like a prizefighter.”
“Dana.” Suddenly my dad was there, hand on her arm, his steady shape blocking the light from the hallway. I fought to keep my eyes open as he stepped forward and she retreated, out of sight.
“We taught you better than this,” he was saying. “What made you get into a car with a drunk driver?”
“I don’t know.”
A heavy Dad sigh. “I’m getting a little tired of hearing that. Do you have any idea how much worse this could’ve gone?”
My eye kept catching on the ceiling fan spinning over his shoulder, trying drowsily to count the blades. “I don’t know,” I repeated. “Lots?”
I wasn’t being a smart-ass, not that he believed me. His voice went on and on, patient and pissed. By the time he’dfinished impressing my stupidity upon me, I was half asleep. I dropped into blackout land and stayed there till morning, kicking off the first day of summer break with a hangover and a busted lip.
And a mystery, waiting on ice in the back of my brain. But days would pass before I’d see the girl in the water again.
