My father and I stare each other down, while Amity runs away.
/////////////////////////
I sit across from my father, eating breakfast and talking about the girl we both slept with as if it's the most natural thing in the world. I should be angrier, but the situation is so strange and surreal that I barely feel anything.
"Jesus Christ, Dad, what's wrong with women your own age? Why do they all have to be twenty years younger?"
Dad takes a big swallow from his coffee mug. The pale morning rays streaming in from the skylight make him look shockingly old, and there's a bitter edge to his voice. "Women my own age remind me too much of your mother, and how I squandered my last months with her. With young girls, I can pretend that I'm young, too. That I have my whole life ahead of me."
I get straight to the point. "Did you really fuck her?" We both know the her I'm talking about is Amity.
He nods slowly. "I ran into her at a film club party a couple of weeks ago, right after I'd broken things off with Darla. I know this will sound like the world's biggest cliché, but we were both drunk. It didn't mean anything. I was mourning Darla, and she was hung up on some mystery guy who took her virginity and then dropped off the face of the earth."
Dad searches my face with knowing eyes. I look away, ashamed. "I suppose you are the young man she was talking about?"
I nod and gaze down at my plate of bacon, eggs, and toast. "It's complicated," I explain. "She's Amity Dormer, the daughter of Laura Dormer. The woman who died in the accident."
Dad nearly chokes on his eggs. When he's done sputtering, he asks, "Does she know who you are? That you were the other driver in the accident that killed her mother?"
"Yes."
"And how does she feel about that?"
I frown. I realize I don't really know. "I'm not sure. Not so good, I guess. We haven't really talked about it. I'm not even the one who told her. That was Ember. Like I said, it's complicated."
My father rubs his eyes and sighs. "Was your meeting an accident, or did you engineer it somehow?"
"I met her by accident when I visited her mother's grave almost three years ago." I sit quietly for a moment and then decide I might as well come clean. My father's going to find out about my trust fund soon enough. I suppose it's best that he hears it from me.
I take a deep breath. "There's more." I explain how I found Amity at Adams College and how I got close to her, so I could figure out the best way to make amends. I tell him that I decided to give her the portion of my trust fund that I could access when I turned twenty-one.
My dad's face turns positively ashen. "So how did you manage that?" he asks in a tight, dry voice.
"I had Clancy give it to her grandmother and make it look like she won a prize in the state lottery. It was two million dollars with no strings attached. Who's going to question that?"
"Why give it to her grandmother?"
"Amity's such a sweet, kind person that I thought she might spend all the money on her grandmother. I bet that Amity's grandmother would be more likely to spend the money on Amity and her education than Amity herself."
I pause, and Dad sees the hesitancy on my face. "There's more, isn't there?" he asks.
I nod. "When Ember told her who I was and what I'd done, Amity was pretty upset and refused to talk to me. Then I got an email from the National Cancer Society. I guess Amity told her grandmother where the 'lottery money' had really come from, and the two of them decided to donate all of it to charity. I think they picked the National Cancer Society because of Mom."
Dad throws his head back and laughs until tears stream from his eyes. He tries to speak several times, and each time he convulses into snorts and titters. Finally, his laughter dissolves into low coughs.
"Dad, are you OK?"
"I'm fine. Well, I guess we don't have to worry about that poor girl trying to sue us!" He emits a single, high pitched giggle and then masters himself. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sure this was a very painful and expensive lesson in the pitfalls of using your money to play God with people's lives."
"I wasn't playing God."
"I know, I know. You were just trying to do the right thing. You were always such a well-intentioned child."
"I only wanted to make amends."
"What you've made is a mess. And I'm not going to help you clean it up. You're going to be on your own financially from now on. The trusts were your mother's idea. She thought you needed protection from the world." Dad's tired eyes glisten. "I know you're tougher than that."
I stare down at m uneaten breakfast. Amity's gone. My trust is gone. And my father is cutting me off—but in a way that actually makes me respect him more. I have no idea what I'm going to do.
"If you do get in touch with Miss Amity," he says, "don't be too hard on her. She was here last night, because I found her in a bar, drinking herself silly. Her grandmother had just passed away."
/////////////////////////
I'm knocking on Amity's door again. No one's there. Damn it. I turn to leave when I bump into a tall, Slavic-looking girl with all the angles and planes of a professional model. I take a wild stab in the dark.
"I'm looking for Amity Dormer," I say. "I heard her grandmother just died. Do you know where she is?"
"I do," she replies with a scowl. "But I'm not sure I should tell you. You're Laird, right?"
I nod. "Please. Look, I really care about her. It's just that things between us are—well, they're weird and tragic and complicated. But I want to be there for her now. I swear."
The beautiful Slav takes a long, deep breath. "Fine. She's flown home for the funeral. Please don't make me regret telling you this."
The airport, I think. I've got to get to the airport.
Chapter 27: Amity
The plane hangs in the sky, held aloft by the hopes and dreams of its occupants. Or, at least, that's what I hope. This is the first time I've flown, and the magic pill Darcy gave me before I left hasn't done nearly enough to dull my fear. I try to distract myself from the fact that I am thirty-five thousand feet above the earth—a place my brain is screaming no human was meant to be—by worrying about money.
Gran's landlord is going to let me stay in her apartment for a few days while I collect her things, so at least that will be free. But everything else is accumulating on my credit card like so much toxic waste. The plane ticket cost nearly five hundred bucks, and the rental car agency is charging me extra, because I'm under twenty-five. And then there are what the mortician at Forever Acres euphemistically calls the final expenses—the burial plot, the gravestone, the casket, the embalming, and the parlor rental.
All these expenses are going to use up at least half of the money that I saved from stripping. I still have my work-study job—thank God I didn't quit after Gran won the so-called lottery—but it pays just a smidge above minimum wage. I suspect it's a way for the college to guarantee a steady stream of cheap labor. I wonder yet again if donating Laird's money wasn't a lot more stupid than it was noble.
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."
Amends: A Love Story Page 17
