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When I get back to Dana’s room, I let the towel drop and leave it there, then put on whatever clothes are nearest. There’s no computer in the room, no phone. No way to get in touch with Rhiannon. I know I should search the house, but just the thought of it takes too much energy. I need to sit down. Lie down. Close my eyes.
“Wake up!”
The command is as abrupt as the earlier door slam, and twice as close. I open my eyes and find Dana’s very angry father.
“Dr. P is here,” Dana’s mother chimes in from behind him, with a slightly more conciliatory tone. Maybe she’s feeling bad for me. Or maybe she just doesn’t want her husband to kill me in front of a witness.
I wonder if what I’m feeling isn’t entirely a hangover if a doctor is making a house call. But when Dr. P sits down next to me, there’s not a medical bag in sight. Just a notebook.
“Dana,” she says gently.
I look at her. Sit up, even as my head howls.
She turns to my parents.
“It’s okay. Why don’t you leave us now?”
They don’t need to be told twice.
Accessing is still hard. I know the facts are there, but they’re behind a murky wall.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Dr. P asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t remember.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Yeah. It’s that bad.”
She asks me if my parents have given me any Tylenol, and I tell her no, not since I woke up. She leaves for a second and comes back with two Tylenol and a glass of water.
I don’t get the Tylenol down on the first try, and I’m embarrassed by the chalky gag that results. The second time is better, and I gulp down the rest of the water. Dr. P goes out and refills the glass, giving me time to think. But the thoughts in my head are still clumsy, dull.
When she returns, she begins with, “You can understand why your parents are upset, can’t you?”
I feel so stupid, but I can’t pretend.
“I really don’t know what happened,” I say. “I’m not lying. I wish I did.”
“You were at Cameron’s party.” She looks at me, seeing if this registers. When it doesn’t, she continues. “You snuck out to go there. And when you got there, you started drinking. A lot. Your friends were concerned, for obvious reasons. But they didn’t stop you. They only tried to stop you when you went to drive home.”
I’m still underwater, and my memory of this is on the surface. I know it’s there. I know she’s telling me the truth. But I can’t see it.
“I drove?”
“Yes. Even though you weren’t supposed to. You stole your father’s keys.”
“I stole my father’s keys.” I say it out loud, hoping it will spark an image.
“When you went to drive home, some of your friends tried to stop you. But you insisted. They tried to stop you. You lashed out at them. Called them awful things. And when Cameron tried to take your keys away …”
“What did I do?”
“You bit him on the wrist. And you ran.”
This must have been how Nathan felt. The morning after.
Dr. P continues. “Your friend Lisa called your parents. They rushed over. When your father got to you, you were already in the car. He went to stop you and you nearly ran him over.”
