Read Online Amends: A Love Story by E.J. Swenson - Free Book Online Page B

myself in the steady thud-thud-thud of my footsteps. I've
allowed myself to get out of shape since the season ended, so I'm
doing a brutal workout over a ten-mile course. If I can't fix my
mind or my conscience or my life, I can at least burn some of the
fat off my gut. My phone is constantly vibrating. Ember has sent me
about fifty texts. Some are pleading, some are wheedling, and some
are angry.
    I keep running, accelerating and decelerating
at regular intervals. I'm starting to sweat—clean, healthy sweat,
not bitter dream sweat—and I focus on my breathing. I can see
sailboats on the lake out of the corner of my eye. Their simple
shapes and movements are soothing. I spot a tall mangrove tree
several hundred yards ahead. I speed up and hurtle towards it,
fleeing from a pack of demons called grief, memory, guilt, and
betrayal.
    I slow down when I reach the tree. As I catch
my breath, I realize there's a car creeping along right next to me.
It's a pale green Maserati. Fuck. I stop and turn towards the car.
The passenger side door unlocks, and I get in.
    "How did you know where I was?"
    Dad's mouth forms a small, dry smile. "Your
phone has GPS, and it's on my plan. I can track it online."
    "Oh," I say. I remind myself that I need to
start paying for my own phone.
    "We need to talk," he says.
    I brace myself for a sick-making conversation
about Ember. I wish he would just leave it alone. He's won. He can
have her when she turns eighteen. I don't want her anymore. It's
just that I don't want to have a Very Special Talk with my dad
about how he wants permission to bang my ex. Otherwise, it will be
very hard for me to pretend that I have a normal father who doesn't
fuck teenagers.
    Dad's face turns solemn. "I want to caution
you again about having any contact with the family of Laura
Dormer."
    I groan. The only thing I want to talk about
less than Ember is the accident. "I know Dad, alright? You told me
to let the lawyers handle it, so that's what I'm doing." So far,
I've signed a few forms and had a perfunctory interview with the
police. I have no idea what his problem is, but I'm sure he's going
to tell me.
    "The IT guys were working on my network this
morning. I couldn't find my phone, so I borrowed your computer to
look up a few stock prices. When I opened the browser, it became
immediately clear that you've spent countless hours researching
Laura Dormer and her family. I even found a draft email to Amity
Dormer. Please tell me you haven't sent it."
    I almost vomit. I should have changed the
password on my MacBook, but Dad is almost never here. "No, I
haven't sent anything. Yet."
    Dad's clenches his jaw, and the car
accelerates. "I expect you're carrying around a lot of guilt about
this accident. You're a good boy. It's natural. But I see this
turning into an obsession."
    "Of course, I'm obsessed," I fire back. "I
killed someone. I ruined her daughter's life. Made her an orphan."
I take a deep breath. It's time to confess. "The accident was my
fault. Ember and I were fighting. She was grabbing at the wheel,
and I was distracted."
    Dad is quiet for a moment. "The toxicology
report came back from the Medical Examiner. There were traces of
benzodiazepines in Mrs. Dormer's system. I doubt that you and Ember
were entirely at fault."
    He sighs heavily, something he almost never
does. "Of course, what happened with that woman's husband was
tragic. Although, if you ask me, he did his daughter a big favor.
Her life is going to be rough enough without having to take care of
a drunk."
    I stifle a gasp. That's what Mom said in my
dream, even though it's the kind of thing I'm pretty sure she'd
never say. I reach my hand to my temple and rub it. The existential
vertigo is hurting my head. Everything is true, and nothing is. The
only thing I know for sure is that girl—Amity Dormer—needs some
kind of help.
    "Are you sure we can't do something for her?
You're a billionaire. You could change her life with your fucking
lunch money."
    My