Living With Regret by Lisa de Jong Page B

up just yet. I’m not going to either. “Do you have any idea how important today is? You could still be in a lot of trouble, Rachel.”
    I’m being released from the hospital shortly, and my first stop will be the police station. Dad says I probably won’t be booked on any charges because my blood alcohol content was under the legal limit. I’m ready to get it over with, and if I am to be punished, I’m ready to take what God has coming for me. It doesn’t mean I’m not scared.
    “That’s exactly why I need him here. This day isn’t about you. It’s about me, and I want him here.”
    He shakes his head, glancing to Mom then back to me. “Fine, but when they dismiss you, he needs to go home,” he says through gritted teeth. I don’t miss how he doesn’t seem to care that Sam can hear him. I don't miss the fact that he didn't ask how I was doing when he walked in. I'm about to be thrust back into a life that only half exists; I realize that now more than ever.
    “Keith,” Mom says, placing her hand on Dad’s shoulder. “Let's go get some coffee. Rachel doesn't need all of us in here watching over her.”
    Dad runs his hands through his hair, staring Sam down for a few seconds before answering. “We can grab a quick cup. I want to be up here in case that officer decides to stop by.”
    Mom grabs hold of his arm and gives him the look of adoration that always melts his ice-cold exterior. If only she did that a little more often. They disappear out the door without another look in my direction. It’s a few minutes of freedom that I’ll gladly take at this point.
    “Is that your going home outfit?” Sam asks, pointing to the royal blue velour sweat suit Mom brought for me. I know he’s just trying to lighten the mood we created before.
    “Classy sweats. Mom picked them,” I say, pulling on the zipper.
    “Yeah, getting caught leaving here in regular sweats would be horrible.” He laughs, but I can’t join him, not with all this stuff going on in my head.
    He reads me like a children’s book, folding his fingers over mine. “Everything's going to be okay. You know that, right?”
    I shrug, feeling tears well in my eyes. “Nothing can ever be the same, so right now, I have a hard time believing that.”
    “I'm only thinking about today. You’re going to get out of here, and tonight, you’re going to sleep in your own bed without all these machines around you.”
    “Do you really think I deserve something to look forward to? Because I don’t.”
    Sam leans in, grasping both of my hands in his. “Don’t talk like that. You’re lucky to be here … don’t take that for granted.”
    I try to pull my hand away, but he tightens his grip. “You’re wrong. I don’t deserve it, Sam. I just wish I could remember something because I never drive after I’ve been drinking. Never. If I could just remember, to make sense of it all, I'd have some peace, but this sucks. This whole thing sucks.”
    “I wish there was something I could do to make this better for you.”
    It’s a struggle to even swallow, much less talk. “I wish it would have been me instead of him.”
    Sam shakes his head, squeezing my hand a little tighter. “I swear if you don’t stop talking like that, I’m going to walk out that door, Rachel. Neither of us knows what caused that accident, and I’m not going to let you beat yourself up about something that’s probably not even your fault.”
    It’s hard to look at him when he’s angry. The vein in the side of his neck sticks out, pulsing with every word. His cheekbones turn a couple shades of red. It’s a sign that he’s not saying everything he wants to say to me. He’s been doing that since we were kids.
    “But if I wasn’t behind the wheel of the car—”
    “Stop! And what if things had been different? What if he was driving the car, and he was here right now? Would you want him to think like this? Would you want him to live like this?”
    “No,” I say