Headlights appeared at the entrance of the park, and I assumed it was someone getting dropped off. I took a swig from my bottle just as I heard my mother sharply calling, “Grace?”

“Oh shit.” I quickly stashed my beer under the table and made my way to the car.

“Are you drinking?” she demanded, her eyebrows raised.

“No.”

“Get in the fucking car.” Her head was hoisted out the open window. “Where’s your sister?”

“There.” I pointed to the monkey bars; Annabelle was lying beneath them in the grass. “I’ll get her.”

When I reached my sister, I saw that her eyes were closed. Her hair was draped over her face, covering her pale skin like a bedsheet. I knelt and nudged her. “Anna?”

She didn’t move.

Panicked, I began to shake her by the shoulders. I could see that she was breathing—her chest was moving up and down slightly—but her eyes remained closed. James appeared, kneeling at my side. “Did someone give her booze?” I hissed at him.

“I think she was doing shots,” he said, planting his hands on the ground to keep from swaying. “With the boys.”

“What the fuck?” I pulled my sister to a seated position and began tapping her on the cheek gently “Anna, please wake up.”

I heard the car door slam, and saw my mother headed toward me. “What’s going on?” Her voice came out strained and clipped.

“I don’t know.” My breath was short and I felt my heart pound. “I can’t wake her up.”

My mother, now moving quickly, knelt and placed her index and middle finger on Annabelle’s wrist. “Jesus Christ, Grace. Was she drinking?”

“She had a beer.” Tears were beginning to stream down my face. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

“She’s just a child, Grace.” My mother scooped Annabelle up in her arms. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

I followed as my mother carried her to the car, opened the back door, and strapped her in. Annabelle’s head flopped to the side and hit the window. I was now sobbing uncontrollably.

“Quit crying and get in the car,” my mother screamed. “Now.”

My mother started the engine and I climbed into the passenger seat. I buckled my seat belt and turned, straining to grab Annabelle’s hand. “Is she okay?”

“I don’t know,” my mother snapped, reversing onto the main road. “We’ll see when we get to the hospital.”

With my arm outstretched, I stroked the back of Annabelle’s soft hand with my thumb, feeling the thump in my stomach every time her head bounced off the window. The sporadic motions and smell of gasoline were making me dizzy. My mouth tasted yeasty and stale, and the world around me was starting to spin. I needed some air but I was terrified to roll the window down.

My mother clutched the steering wheel, periodically eyeing Annabelle through the rear-view mirror. The engine revved as she pushed in on the accelerator, guiding her hand to the gearshift. “Let’s just hope you didn’t kill another one of your sisters.”