Amends: A Love Story (23 page)

The plane flutters for a moment, and my heart
hammers inside my chest like it's trying to escape. I take a deep
breath and will myself to think about my upcoming tuition payments,
but it's futile. Thinking about money is no better than thinking
about dying in a fiery plane crash. Both lead me back to Laird, and
I can hardly remember him without shaking. I know there's something
powerful between us. I felt it when he took me in his arms in his
father's kitchen.

I hate that it's over, but I suppose it has
to be. He killed my mother. I slept with his father. It's insane
and absurd, and there's no way we can ever forgive each other.

The plane shudders and sways. Turbulence, I
guess. It can't be that bad, because the water in my cup doesn't
spill. It just sloshes around a little. I wish the turbulence in my
life was so mild and well contained. Gran was my anchor and my
home. Now I'm uncomfortably free, like a single, lonely leaf
floating above a forest fire. I miss Gran. I miss Mom. I even miss
Dad.

And, God help me, I miss Laird.

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

The inside of the Kat Club looks sad and
forlorn in normal daylight. It's an hour before the doors open, but
I came early so I could get ready for my shift without fighting the
regular girls for space at the mirror. I'm grateful that
Dirk—sleazy bastard that he is—agreed to let me pick up a few
shifts while I'm in town. I'm hoping to put a big dent in Gran's
funeral bill. If I get really lucky, I might even come out ahead
for the trip.

I don't feel great about stripping, though.
It feels like I'm taking a step backwards. But it's my own damn
fault. I'm the one who basically strong-armed Gran into giving away
two million dollars. I'm the one who didn't listen to her when she
begged me to take some time and think things through. And I'm the
one who had to go to exclusive fucking Adams College instead of
sticking with the Extension's perfectly acceptable pre-med
program.

I make my way into the dressing room and
claim the rusty locker near the toilets—the one that guests are
usually assigned—and change into my old kitty cat costume. It's a
little loose, but that's not a big surprise. Eating balanced meals
hasn't been a big priority since I got to college. I've been living
primarily on coffee, old pastries from the Adams Apple, and the
very occasional cigarette.

I hear the characteristic sounds of girls
entering the dressing room—the squeak of the door, the shuffling of
feet—and my shoulders instantly tense up. The other strippers at
the club were nice and friendly when I was a regular girl, but they
protect their own with the ferocity of a mother tiger. I wonder
what they'll make of me now that I'm a full-time college student,
living the dream.

"Hey bitch, you want a cigarette?" I know
that voice almost as well as I know my own. I turn and grin at
Maggie, who's sporting fresh blonde curls and a new tattoo on the
back of her hand.

And it's not just Maggie. Esther and Aliyah
are standing with her. I hug them all and feel my eyes moisten with
tears. I have no idea what they're doing in Triple Marsh—or in the
dressing room at the Kat Club—but I'm touched. I'm also worried.
None of these girls is exactly rich. I don't know how they could
have afforded the airfare on such short notice.

"Did you all fly here for my grandmother's
funeral?" I ask, throwing out the only possible explanation I can
think of.

"Not exactly," says Maggie with a mischievous
grin. "I figured you'd try to pick up a couple of shifts at the Kat
club to pay off your airfare and the funeral costs. And then I had
a brilliant idea. I called your friend Darcy and asked if you had
any, er, adventurous friends. She hooked me up with Esther, Aliyah,
and Sasha. Sasha couldn't make it—she's flunking English and had to
stay for a make up exam—but these two were game."

I gape at Maggie with what I'm sure is a
vapid look on my face. I am completely lost. "Game for what?" I
ask. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Maggie puts her hands on my shoulders in mock
exasperation. "It's simple, you silly bitch. We're all going to
strip with you tonight. Anything we make above the cost of our
plane tickets and our shitty rental car will go towards the
funeral. I talked to the owner and convinced him that Amateur Night
would be great for business."

I curse myself for doing my stage makeup at
Gran's apartment, because, before I can even choke out a heartfelt
thank you, I start to cry.

While I help the other girls get ready and
give them last-minute tips on dancing for dollars, I take a moment
to remember the Amityville Horror, the lonely pariah from Triple
Marsh High. She didn't exactly turn into a butterfly, but, for the
first time ever, she has friends. Plural. Mom would have been
proud.

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

It's three a.m. We should be exhausted, but
we're wired from a night of dancing and the strange alchemy of
turning sweaty male desire into cash. We laugh and joke as we strut
through the parking lot at Sunset Estates, but everyone goes quiet
as we approach Gran's apartment.

"Is this where she lived?" asks Aliyah.

I nod and unlock the door. As we make our way
inside, I'm glad the girls are with me. The apartment feels freshly
inhabited, as if Gran has just stepped out to run an errand. I put
down my bags and take a quick look around. There are Post It
reminders on her computer and a half-eaten granola bar on the
coffee table. Sadness gathers behind my breastbone.

"Are you OK?" asks Esther.

"Yeah," I say as steadily as I can. "I think
so."

"Is it haunted?" asks Aliyah, and I can't
tell if she's joking or not.

I'm relieved when Maggie takes control.
"C'mon let's get settled," she orders. "And don't worry about
ghosts. Amity's grandmother was a gentle soul."

Maggie grabs my bags and hers. "Amity and I
will take her grandmother's room. Esther and Aliyah, one of you can
take Amity's bed and one of you can take the couch."

After everyone's bags have been stowed, we
gather in the living room. None of us know what to say or do.
Esther is the first to break the silence.

"Amity, I don't mean to be disrespectful, but
did your grandmother drink?"

The others look to me for their cue. I smile
broadly like a flight attendant, stand, and open the liquor
cabinet.

"Yes, she did. On this flight, we're serving
vodka, rum, and sherry as well as a wide variety of mixers.
Everything is complimentary."

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

Too much alcohol. Too much feeling. Too much
everything. I can't stop sobbing and shaking. The evening is a
blur, but I know I've shared my secrets. Drinking in the shadow of
Dad's alcoholism. Falling in love with the man who killed my mother
and then sleeping with his father. All I remember is gentle hands
covering me in Gran's blue quilt and soft voices telling me what I
want to hear.

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

I'm wearing huge sunglasses, a wide-brimmed
straw hat, and a long white sundress. It's the perfect outfit for
visiting the cemetery on a hot, humid afternoon accompanied by an
epic hangover. I'm here to stop by the financial office and work
out the details of Gran's memorial service. But first, I'm going to
visit my parents' graves.

I follow a narrow stone path through the
gravestones. The last time I was here, it was an eerie moonlit
night. In daylight, everything looks sadder and shabbier. Most of
the headstones are cracked and weather-worn. Some of them are
partly obscured by weeds. Forgotten offerings of brown, dry floral
arrangements rustle in the warm breeze, a monument to how quickly
life moves on.

In the distance, I see a
tall man with blond hair that catches the light. He's obviously
well-built, and his jeans just barely hang onto his hips. My breath
freezes in my throat.
Laird
. The first time I met him was in
this cemetery. Maybe his father told him about Gran. Maybe he
rushed to the airport and got on a plane. Maybe he came here, to
this forlorn graveyard, to wait for me. I quicken my pace to a near
run. I am wild with unexpected joy.

Please be Laird, please be
Laird, please be Laird
. These three words
run through my mind like an unstoppable freight train, obliterating
everything in its path. But when the man bends over, picks up a
shovel, and stabs it into the earth, I realize I'm mistaken. He's
not Laird at all. He's just a gravedigger, who might as well be
shoveling clods of dirt over my heart.

I brush a tear from my cheek, knowing I'm the
worst kind of love-drunk, grief-sick, heart-crushed fool.

Chapter 28: Laird

"Hey, bro."

I grip Deegan's extended hand, and we execute
an awkward greeting that's half handshake, half hug. Deegan's
hairline is receding, and his face has the ruddy cast of a guy who
really likes his beer. Otherwise, he's the same old Deegan I
remember from high school. He's a good guy, but we drifted apart
when we no longer had the rituals of classes and football to hold
us together. I haven't seen him since the summer after my freshman
year at Adams.

We sit down at a white, plastic table outside
Marco's Fish Shack, a fried fish establishment just barely on the
Jasper Heights side of Lake Everclear. A tan, slim waitress wearing
a bikini top and white cut-off shorts takes our order. Her body is
lovely, but her face has the hard, perpetually annoyed expression
of someone who hates her job.

I study Deegan as he watches our waitress
walk listlessly back to the Shack. He dropped out of the University
Extension last year, and his parents are threatening to kick him
out if doesn't find a job. I wonder what he'll be like in ten
years. I also wonder why he invited me to lunch, but it would be a
violation of the bro code to actually ask him. Still, I'm
impatient, because I know what today means to Amity, and I'm going
to be there for her, if she'll let me.

"Nice day, huh?" I ask, trying to kick start
a conversation.

"Yeah, for sure." Deegan rubs his eyes, and I
notice they're bloodshot. Not a good sign.

I try again. "How's it going, man?"

He fidgets in his seat. "I know this is going
to sound weird, but Ember sent me. She, um, would have come
herself, but you got a restraining order against her."

I nod. He squirms some more. "Anyway, she
asked me to say that she's sorry for everything, and she hopes
things work out for you and that girl. She said you'd know what she
meant."

I nod again. The last person I want to think
about right now is Ember, but I hope what she told Deegan is
sincere. I want her to be happy and find some peace with our past.
"Thanks for telling me. I hope she's well and, er, happy. I really
do."

Deegan still looks uncomfortable. I realize
he must have more to say. The waitress drops off our food, and we
start crunching through thickly battered trout. I'm drinking a
cold, syrupy Coke. He used his fake ID to order a beer. He nearly
drains it in one gulp.

"Look, man," he says, looking everywhere but
into my eyes, "there's one more thing. Ember is transferring to the
Extension next semester. She says New York City is stressing her
out. She wants to be back home."

"I'm glad she's taking care of herself."

Deegan finally raises his bleary, nervous
eyes to mine. "We've talked about getting together. Ember and I.
Would you be OK with that, considering everything that's happened?
I've always had a thing for her, but she seemed so out of reach."
He pauses to think. "I guess we share some of the same struggles,
hard as that is to believe."

I remember Ember's wild, disappointed eyes
while I take in Deegan's rough, tired expression, and I worry for
both of them. But I'm in no position to tell them what to do. And,
who knows, maybe they'll be good for each other. That's what I'm
going to tell myself, anyway.

"Of course. I want you to be happy. And her,
too."

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

There are more people at the funeral than I
expected. I'm glad, because it means I can hang back on the edge of
the crowd. I want to be there for Amity, but I'm not sure exactly
what that means right now. And I don't want to inadvertently
pressure her while I'm figuring it out. Before I can get my
bearings, a tiny minister who looks like a bald elf encourages
everyone to sit down and review the program.

I take the first available seat. I look
around and realize I'm the only man in my row, which is otherwise
occupied by young women wearing what could almost be a parody of
mourning: tight black dresses with narrow corsets, sky-high heels,
and black veils. I wonder how Amity's grandmother knew these girls,
and then it hits me. They must be Amity's old co-workers from the
Kat Club.

After the nondenominational elf gives a short
introduction, he invites Amity to step forward and say a few words.
Her limp is painfully obvious as she climbs onto the low stage and
folds herself behind the podium. Even at this distance, I can tell
she's struggling not to cry. When she thanks us for coming, her
voice wavers and breaks. I remember her tendency to stammer and
hold my breath, hoping she can get through this. I wish I were by
her side, holding her hand.

Amity taps the microphone and begins. "This
isn't the first time I've spoken at a memorial service." Her voice
is quiet, clear, and steady. She pauses for a moment to dab at her
eyes.

"Almost three years ago, my mother died in a
car accident and my father...well, he basically died of grief. They
were both only children like me. When they passed, I had no other
family, except for one person. And that person was my grandmother."
She stops again to wipe away tears.