Amends: A Love Story Read Online Free

says. "I'm
confident Maureen would not have begrudged me some time with these
wonderful young people."
    Deegan looks at me and rolls his eyes. I know
this sick-making tableau isn't his fault. I'm sure he tried to drag
my dad and Ember out of this very secluded corner of the parking
lot. But eighteen-year-old Deegan—tattooed bad boy wanted by half
the girls in the senior class—is no match for my father.
    I look at Dad and shake my head. "You should
at least make appearance. C'mon," I say, walking as fast as I can
back to the Mangrove Center.
    Deegan hurries to keep up with me. His mouth
is moving, but the buzzing in my head is all I can hear. I think
he's murmuring something like, "Dude, I know the score for sure. I
stayed with them the whole time. Nothing happened, I swear."
    I groan inside. He means well, but Deegan
just doesn't know Dad like I do.

    /////////////////////////

    It's almost midnight, and there's a party at
Deegan's house, because life goes on, right?
    Dad's on a plane to New York City. It's where
he does a lot of business and where he keeps his
townhouse-slash-fuck pad. After the memorial, I barely spent ten
minutes with him. He cleared out the stragglers with a simple yet
eloquent announcement and then excused himself to take an urgent
business call. When I followed him outside, he put his call on
mute, shook my hand, and told me to go home without him, that he'd
be heading to the airport. Heartless fucker.
    Now I'm driving Ember to Deegan's house.
We're a study in hostile silence. She stares out the window,
actively avoiding my gaze. I keep my eyes on the road, watching the
mile markers tick by. I try to lose myself in the hypnotic sameness
of the landscape—the waxy looking shrubs, the palms, the pastel
houses. It doesn't work. My head is burning with anger. All I want
is for Ember to answer a single question.
    Why?
    "Enough with the silent treatment. What the
fuck were you doing with my dad today?" I ask, my voice tight and
quiet. Ember ignores me for a few beats, and my hands grip the
steering wheel harder and harder, until my knuckles are white
stars. Finally, she turns to me with cold, defensive eyes.
    "I went outside to get some air, OK? You know
I've hated funerals ever since I saw Nana's open casket. I went
into the parking lot to sneak a joint, and I just bumped into him.
He was sad. Really broken up about your mother. He needed to talk
to someone, so I talked to him, alright? I thought that's what you
would have wanted."
    The buzzing in my head gets louder, and my
eyes sting and water. I want to tell her that what I'd wanted—what
I'd really, really wanted—was for her to stay by my side at my
mother's funeral or celebration or whatever the fuck it was.
    Instead, I say this: "You know, he does this
all the time. You'll hear from him in a few months, when you're
about to turn eighteen. He'll take you out to dinner a couple of
times and then fly you someplace cool and urban. Or maybe someplace
warm and tropical. Whatever you want. You'll tell your parents
you're going on college interviews. He'll fuck you senseless for a
few days, ship you home, and send some kind of a courtesy
gift—maybe a lavish bouquet of flowers or, if you're really good,
those fucking Louboutins you're always drooling over. And then
you'll never hear from him again."
    Ember says nothing. Her face is a painted,
opaque mask, and her eyes are trained on the horizon. I really
should just shut up. But I don't. I take a long, deep breath and
continue. "You know, he started doing this—fucking around with
barely legal girls—when Mom got sick. She said it was his fear of
death that drove him to it. I think he's just an asshole."
    Ember still stares her zombie stare. She
won't engage, won't argue. It's not too late for me to shut my
mouth and cut my losses. I could still apologize and attribute my
harsh words to grief. But the static in my head is deafening. My
voice gets low and mean.
    "Sometimes, girls he's been with show