Amends: A Love Story (12 page)

Dad chuckles and smirks. "My son is
bashful."

"Then he's nothing like you." Darla's voice
is warm and teasing.

Before I can say anything else, the twin
waitresses appear with our drinks. When they leave, I watch Darla's
lips curl around her straw. They're pink and lush, like Ember's. I
think Dad notices, too. He slides closer to her and takes her hand.
They exchange a shy smile. Or maybe it's a sly smile.

"So how did you two meet?" I ask.

"At a student film competition," explains
Darla. "Your dad was one of the judges."

"Dad doesn't know anything about film." I
take a large gulp of my Coke, wishing it was something
stronger.

Dad scowls. "Maybe not, but I own a film
production company. I judged the event, because I wanted to meet
the next generation of directors." Dad plants a kiss on Darla's
forehead, and she giggles.

"What was your film about?" I ask.

She winks and says, "A beautiful young film
student who falls for a billionaire executive with a tragic
past."

I shake my head slightly. She's beautiful,
witty, and self aware. I worry that this arch young woman who can't
possibly be any older than me will someday be my stepmother. The
idea makes my teeth ache with anger.

While Dad and Darla bill and coo over the
dessert menu, I text Ember.

See you at 10 p.m.

/////////////////////////

Ember, like everyone else I know, comes from
a wealthy family. Her back yard boasts a forty-foot pool and an
intricately designed lounging pavilion. The hammock where she's
waiting hangs between two slender yet sturdy silk trees. It's
illuminated by delicate lanterns made of whisper-thin glass. Every
time there's a thunderstorm, the maids scurry to put them in the
garden shed.

I approach the hammock as
quietly as I can. Even in the moonlight I can see the outline of
its shapely contents. When I'm close enough that I can hear the
subtle ebb and flow of Ember's breath, I trace my finger along her
collarbone. She inhales sharply and takes my hand, kissing each of
my fingers. She whispers my name.
Laird.
It's an endearment and an
invitation.

I get on my knees and bury my face in her
neck. She smells like ripe berries. I plant a quick kiss on her
lips, tasting her hot, sweet tongue, and explore her smooth,
rounded body. Her breasts are firm peaches with nubby tips. Her
belly dips and flares. She moans softly and rocks her hips, opening
to her desire.

I'm about to lose myself entirely when my
traitorous mind jumps to the day of Mom's funeral and shows me what
I'd least like to see—Ember grinding her astonishing ass into my
father, a blissful smile creeping across her face.

Abruptly, I disengage myself from Ember and
leap to my feet.

"What's wrong, Laird?" she cries. I cringe.
When Ember is upset, her voice gets high, shrill, and nasal—just
like it is now. I think back to Dad and Darla at the restaurant,
and Darla's low purr of a laugh. A wave of nausea twists its way
through my gut.

I apologize as I walk away. "I'm sorry, Em. I
just can't do this right now."

Chapter 13: Amity

I've washed all my clothes, and now they
cover more than half the floor in my tiny postage-stamp of a room.
After we sold the house to pay off Mom and Dad's old debts, Gran
and I moved into a small two-bedroom apartment in Sunset Estates,
the only senior housing complex in Triple Marsh. It's cramped but
cozy, and I'll probably even miss it a little.

I pick up a baggy, gray T-shirt with a giant
hole in the armpit. This is an easy decision. I toss it into a box
labeled Trash. Now I shake out a white button-down shirt that used
to be Dad's. I fold it carefully and place it into a box labeled
Goodwill. By the time I leave for Adams, all of my things will be
neatly packed and assigned to one of four categories—School,
Storage, Goodwill, and Trash.

I'm excited and happy and sad and terrified
all at the same time. In just a matter of hours, I'll be driving
the more than one thousand miles to Adams, Connecticut, and I'll be
doing it in my very own car. I used some of my stripping money to
buy a bright orange '02 Camry. Gran's going to keep Dad's old truck
and take over the monthly payment. She says she likes looking down
on the other drivers.

I check the clock on my phone. It's four a.m.
I still have plenty of time to finish packing before I hit the
road. I'm trying to decide whether or not to keep a pair of
oversized khakis, when a red light mounted high on the wall begins
to flash. It's the Sunset Estates version of doorbell. They made it
a big, blinking light because so many of their residents can barely
hear.

I run to the door so I can get it before Gran
wakes up. I wonder who it could be at this quiet, lonely hour. I
suppose it's the building manager. Maybe Gran accidentally tripped
their Life Alert system.

I look through the peephole
and...
fuck me
. It's
Ethan. There's no way I'm going to let him in, or scream at him
through the door. I run back to my room and get my
phone.

Get out of here
Ethan
, I text.
Go
home to your girl.

I hit send and hear his phone warble through
the door. After a few moments, my phone chirps back.

I just want to say goodbye. I'm going to
miss you. I'm sorry things got so weird. One friendly hug, and I'm
out of here.

I start typing again.
Fine. I get it. You're sorry. But it's 4 a.m. Time
to go home, OK?

My phone is silent, and the
seconds creep by. After a few minutes, I dare to hope that Ethan
has left. I tiptoe back to the door and peer out the
peephole.
Damn it
.
Ethan's still there with a strange, unfocused look on his face. His
shirt is untucked so it covers the front of his jeans, and his hand
is underneath, fumbling with something. I wonder what he's doing.
Then, all of a sudden, I know. Although I've never seen it before,
Maggie and the girls at work have certainly told me about it in
explicit detail.

You are disgusting. Leave now or I'm calling
the cops.

I wait five minutes and check the peephole
again. He's gone, except for a white, gooey stain on Gran's welcome
mat.

/////////////////////////

"Honey, why are you cleaning that thing? It's
supposed to be dirty. People wipe their feet on it."

She's referring to her woven welcome mat. I'm
holding it over the sink and rinsing it with the spray nozzle,
hopefully washing away the last bits of Ethan's DNA.

"I know Gran. But there was a big splotch of,
er, bird poop on it. I thought I'd clean it before I left."

Gran smiles and waggles her finger, mock
scolding me. "Young lady, stop right there. You've got more
important things to worry about than bird poop. Especially
today."

"I'm all done," I say cheerfully, and hurry
to replace the mat on our tiny concrete stoop.

When I return to the kitchen, I see Gran
quickly swallow a pill. I worry that it's her heart, but I know
better than to ask. The last time I tried, she said she was fine,
thank you very much, asked if I was a doctor, and regarded me
through cold, wounded eyes for the next two days.

"What would you like for breakfast?" she
asks.

"Whatever you're having," I say, trying not
to sniffle. Even though I'm excited about Adams, I'm going to miss
Gran a lot.

"Guava pancakes, it is," she says, shooing me
out of the kitchen before I can even offer to help.

I'm lining up my bags and
boxes for their eventual transport to the car, when I see the
flashing red light again.
Please don't let
it be Ethan.

"I've got it, Gran!" I yell, and run to the
door, heart hammering. I look out the peephole and immediately
relax. It's Maggie.

/////////////////////////

Thank God for Maggie, because Gran and I both
suck at goodbyes. While I stuff my face with pancakes and Gran
obsessively cleans the kitchen, Maggie keeps up a steady stream of
cheerful chatter about her new vegan diet.

"Is it hard to go vegan?" I ask, washing down
a mouthful of pancakes with a swallow of milk from oppressed
industrial cows.

"It's not as hard as you'd think. I pour
olive oil over everything. And dark chocolate is totally
vegan."

"Well, you look great," I say. And it's true.
If anything, great is an understatement. She's about twenty pounds
lighter than she was in high school, and her skin is a soft, glowy
bronze. She's also about one hundred times more glamorous since she
ditched the Goth look for something softer and more retro.

Maggie smiles and shrugs. "I have to look
good. The film industry is totally shallow. And corrupt. You know
that little development deal I have? The one for the pilot?"

I nod, taking another gargantuan bite of
pancake.

"The production company didn't even read my
script. My agent says the owner saw me at a film competition last
year and offered me a deal, just because of the way I looked."

"That's ridiculous," I say. "How do you they
know that you're not going to waste their money?"

Maggie rolls her dark, smoky eyes. "I guess
they have money to waste. The owner is Josiah Conroy—the
billionaire who's always dating some eighteen-year-old model.
There's a rumor going around that he's sleeping with one of my
classmates. I bet she has a development deal, too."

I look at Maggie, questioning. "You're not
sleeping with him, too, are you?"

"Oh God no," she says. "I've never even met
him."

/////////////////////////

Once breakfast is over, there's no more
stalling. It's time for me to get on the road. Maggie helps load my
car, and Gran gives me a tin of homemade chocolate chip
cookies.

When all my stuff is wedged into my little
orange car, I stammer my awkward goodbyes. Gran hugs me first. She
feels light and insubstantial in my arms, like she could float
away. I note her rosy cheeks and rapid, shallow breathing. I tell
myself it's just the heat.

"I love you, Gran."

"You'll make your mother proud." Her voice
quavers slightly.

Now it's Maggie turn. She smells like
Eternity and cigarettes, and I smile, strangely glad she shares my
secret vice. Before she releases me, she whispers in my ear. "If
Ethan comes near you again, call the cops."

"I know," I whisper back.

Maggie pulls away as gently as she can. She
smiles at Gran and takes my hands. "I wish I could follow you," she
says, "but the repair guy is still working on Racer. He says it
might be the alternator." Racer is what she calls her slow,
massively unreliable VW Bus.

"Maybe you should buy a new car with your
T.V. money," I suggest.

Maggie scoffs. "It's really a pittance.
Besides, I'm supposed to use it all for my project."

Finally, it's time for me to
go. Gran walks back to our—now her—tiny porch, and Maggie makes her
way to the van she borrowed from Damon. The name of his
band—
Invasive Species
—is painted on the side, along with a giant, red-eyed preying
mantis.

I get in my car and set the trip odometer to
zero. One thousand, one hundred and fifty seven miles to go.

/////////////////////////

I'm about twenty miles away from the exit for
Adams, Connecticut. My car is full of junk food wrappers, and the
stale, re-circulated air smells vaguely of whatever chemical the
food-industrial-complex uses to preserve French fries. I pull off
at the first rest area I see to clean up my car and take a quick
sponge bath.

As soon as I step outside, my skin turns
slick with sweat. It's a humid summer day, and I'm a little
disappointed. All summer long, I've been dreaming of cool New
England weather. At least the trees don't remind me of home. Even
this tiny rest area is dotted with oaks, birches, and hickories,
all of which tend to droop and die in the swamps around Triple
Marsh.

Once I've emptied the trash from my car, I
walk across the parking lot to the women's bathroom. It's
completely deserted, so I set up camp by the sink furthest from the
door. I brush my teeth, rinse my armpits, and put on a fresh coat
of deodorant. I also redo my makeup, which is halfway melted off my
face. I started wearing makeup around the same time I started
stripping—which I guess isn't much of a coincidence. Gran hates my
makeup, but I think of it as camouflage. It's another layer between
me and the rest of the world.

Still alone in the bathroom, I check my
reflection in the full-length mirror by the door. I realize I'm not
the same girl I was when I started high school. The rough outline
is the same—tall girl with hair down to her ass, an unpredictable
stammer, and a bit of a limp—but the colors inside are different.
I'm stronger and a lot more confident—even if some of that
confidence comes from questionable places, like the strip club.

I take a long, deep breath
and smile at my reflection.
Listen to me,
girl in the mirror. You're going to make your mother
proud
. Once I get to Adams, schoolwork will
be my number one priority. I'm not going to waste any more time
obsessing over creeps like Ethan or even mystery guys like Laird.
No entanglements will be my mantra.

/////////////////////////

As I walk back to my car, I pass a family
obviously taking their daughter to college. The mom and dad are
bickering about directions, and the girl is sharing a giant orange
soda with her younger brother.

Damn it.

I scurry back to the bathroom and wait for
the tears to stop falling so I can fix my makeup one more time.