Amends: A Love Story by E.J. Swenson Page B

officially
together, but I haven't really found anyone else, either. Ember
attacks sex with a mixture of passion and desperation that drives
me insane. None my college hook ups have ever compared.
    I glance down at her text and remind myself
how she hung all over my father at Mom's funeral, how our fight on
the way to Deegan's house killed Amity's mother, and how she
flirted with my father even after I warned her about him. No, I
decide, I'm not going to see her tonight.
    I look up to watch the rest of Amity's
routine, but it's too late. She's gone.

    /////////////////////////

    When Amity emerges into the lounge part of
the club, she seems smaller and more vulnerable than she did
onstage. Her big, painted eyes look huge and childlike. Her long,
limber legs appear gawky and fragile, like a fawn's. She doesn't
belong here, I think.
    I hide behind my beer and watch her approach
groups of men, obviously encouraging them to buy her drinks. Her
smiles are pro forma and do not touch her haunted eyes. It takes
her several tries before she finds someplace to land. It shouldn't
take an objectively lovely twenty-year-old stripper that long to
find a mark. I don't think she's very good at this.
    When she doesn't think anyone is looking, she
closes her eyes, perhaps to imagine she's somewhere else, someplace
safe. I wish I knew where that is.
    My phone vibrates again. I hope and fear that
it's Ember, but it's not. It's Dad, and I'm late for dinner.

    /////////////////////////

    The restaurant where I'm meeting Dad and his
date is so hip that it doesn't have a name—just a pinewood sign
bearing a giant ampersand. I push my way through frosted double
doors and find the hostess, a tall, elegant woman dressed from head
to toe in white. She looks down at an ivory tablet and then back up
at me.
    "Laird Conroy?" she asks.
    "That's me."
    "The rest of your party is already here.
Please come with me."
    The hostess leads me through a maze of tables
topped with clear Lucite and adorned with calla lilies in white
ceramic vases. She walks like she's in a hurry, and I have to take
long strides to keep up. My father and his date are waiting for me
in a semi-private room behind a diaphanous white curtain.
    Dad rises from a couch the color of Caribbean
sand and claps his hand on my shoulder. He grins broadly, as if he
is actually thrilled to see me. "Good to see you. It's been too
long."
    He's obviously trying to impress someone, and
I know it isn't me. I take a quick peek at his date, who looks
considerably more wholesome than his usual girlfriends. Her ash
blonde hair is scraped back into a severe ponytail, and her face is
round and bare. Her features are small and harmonious.
    Dad waves his hand in the direction of his
pretty new toy. "This is Darla. She's studying film at NYU."
    "Nice to meet you." I say, settling into the
loveseat across from them. I'm dying to ask whether Darla is a grad
student or an undergrad, but I refrain. I learned long ago not to
torture Dad's dates.
    Two waitresses—identical, pale-skinned
twins—appear to set up white TV trays in lieu of tables and take
our drink orders. Dad asks for a Mojito. Darla and I order Cokes. I
wonder if she's underage.
    As the twins disappear behind the curtain, my
phone vibrates. I try to check it discreetly. It's Ember.
Again.
    Wait until it gets dark. Then sneak into my
back yard. I'll be waiting in the hammock. Alone. Remember the good
and forget the bad.
    Desire surges through me against my will.
Ember's always known how to get to me. I take a deep breath and
count to ten.
    "So who is she?" asks Darla with a
mischievous smile.
    I'm halfway tempted to tell the truth—that
she's Ember, the only one of my girlfriends who was hot enough for
Dad to hit on. But I don't.
    "No one," I reply. "No one."
    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