Amends: A Love Story Read Online Free PDF

I
decide that, for tonight, it doesn't really matter.

Chapter 4: Laird

    Ember is screaming. It's a
loud, high keening that cuts through the humid night air. Her
screams form curses and recriminations. And they're all directed at
me. Fuck you. This is all your fault. Why
didn't you just stop the car when I asked you to? I can't believe
this is happening.
    I look at Ember and try to
remember the First Aid class I took with the rest of the football
team. Her pupils seem to be about the same size. Her cheeks are
flushed, indicating adequate oxygenation. You really should have stopped the car. What are we going to
do now? What are YOU going to do? Yes, I
decide, she's fine.
    I close my ears and leap out of the Land
Rover. One of the headlights is cracked, and there's a small dent
in the front left fender. Otherwise it's fine. The small, white car
I hit—a Ford Escape, I think—is another story. A whole different
book, even. It's crumpled like an accordion. K.T. Tunstall blares
from the broken window on the drivers' side, and I realize I must
have hit a woman my mom's age. Little pussy that I am, I want to
puke, but I manage to hold it all together. Barely.
    I approach the car and basically tear the
driver's side door from its hinges. All those muscles I put on for
football season are finally doing something useful. When I fling
the door aside, my darkest fears are realized. The other driver is
a woman who vaguely resembles my mother—at least, the way I
remember her from her worst days at the hospital. Her eyes are
closed, and her face is swollen. Dark bruises ring her eyes. She
reminds me of an overripe fruit just beginning to rot.
    I look down and notice her dress. A nurse's
uniform, spattered with blood. I stare for a few long moments.
    I hear someone shrieking in
my ear. Ember must have gotten out of the car. What the fuck are you doing? If we're not going to leave, then
you better fucking help her. Don't just stand there with your dick
in your hand.
    Ember's words galvanize me into action. She
may be awful, but she's right. I kneel by the other driver and put
my hand on her chest, feeling for the rise and fall of regular
respiration. When I realize there's nothing, I panic and wonder if
I should have listened to Ember and just driven away. No, I tell
myself sternly, that would have been wrong. I take a deep breath
and check her airway for obstructions. Then I sack up and start
giving the woman CPR, just like Coach taught us. I compress her
chest, frantically hoping I'm not pushing bone shards into vital
organs, and lock my mouth onto hers. She tastes like breath mints
and blood. I try not to think about it.
    The pushing and the breathing go on for what
seems like forever. At some point, soft hands and strong arms pull
me away. A paramedic—a short blonde woman with thick, muscular
arms—shakes her head. "I'm sorry, it's too late. At least you
tried. You did everything you could." Then she calls me a hero, and
I vomit onto the swampy ground. As I heave up everything in my
guts, she strokes my back. "Everything's going to be fine," she
says in a low, calming voice. I let her lead me to the
ambulance.
    "There's somebody here who'd like to see
you." She smiles and points towards a gurney. Someone is rising
from the makeshift bed, someone with a mass of dark, tangled hair
like seaweed. She slowly lifts her head so I can see her face, and
that's when I start to scream. It's my mother, rotted and ruined by
worms and whatever else is with her under the ground.
    Then I wake up.

    /////////////////////////

    My heart feels like it's going to punch its
way out of my chest, and my body is slick with sweat, despite Dad's
state-of-the-art climate control system. I can't stop thinking
about the accident. And Mom. And Ember.
    Dad's doctor met me here at the house and
gave me a shot of some kind of tranquilizer. All it's doing is
giving me nightmares. There's no way I'm going to sleep tonight, no
matter how many drugs I'm on. I get out