Swept Away Read Free

worded demand than a real question.
    “Sure,” she answers anyway. They’re right where he said they’d be and there’s a trail of steam still rising from them so they’re ready to eat. She gingerly picks the tray up and is careful not to burn her hands. And returns to back through those double doors to the noise beyond.
    Three hours later the party is still in full swing despite the increasingly drunk state of the teenagers that are partying. The music is blasting, the full body thumpa thumpas shuddering through her very soul, and as the night approaches the lighting dims too until it’s rather like what she supposes a club would be and not someone’s house. Granted, someone’s huge, mammoth, gigantic, mansion-sized house.
    Her feet are killing her and she’s stumbled upon no less than four couples making out in varying states of undress.
    Her father’s mood has soured as the night drags on and he’s fairly grunting orders at her and sending her out with plate after plate with barely a chance to stop and breathe in between. By the time another hour and a half passes, so very slowly, Amber isn’t bothering with asking what they want any more, people take what she has or they go bother some other poor server because she’s through with this entire thing.
    Somebody bumps into her from behind and makes her drop a whole tray of steamed shrimp and red cocktail sauce down her shirt.
    “Christ!” She yelps as the whole mess squelches in her bra and red spreads across her crisp white blouse like a blood stain. It’s cold and smells like vinegar and she feels tears prickling at her eyes.
    The person doesn’t bother to stay and help her clean up and that is it. She’s done. Amber dumps the tray in amongst the others they’ve set to the side to wash and retreats to a bathroom she saw earlier during her rotation around the mansion halls in search of hungry guests.
    She locks herself in when she finds it, uncaring if there’s someone out there that might need to use it. She deserves it more because this day has been absolutely horrible.
    Amber wipes off the most of the mess under cold water and then waves at her shirt in the vain hope it’ll dry enough so she can go back outside without looking like she’s the unfortunate victim of a drive by wet t-shirt contest. With red paint.
    Her father takes one look at her when she escapes to the kitchen and his annoyed frown melts away into soft eyes and a pitying sigh. “Aw, kiddo,” he says, “what on Earth happened to you?”
    Amber shrugs. “Am I allowed to go home now,” she moans, “is this nightmare finally over?”
    Dad chuckles and busses a kiss on her forehead. Her eyes close for a moment and she breathes in the scent of garlic and oregano, flashes of memory springing to life from those two particular blends of aromas. It always smells like home when her father cooks, even when they’re so far away from it.
    “Yeah, go on home. I just have to wrap up and I’m heading out too.”
    Amber gives him a quick hug—he hugs her back after a moment’s shocked hesitation, they haven’t been very affectionate lately—and leaves before he can change his mind.
    * * * *
    As soon as she steps onto the front porch and shuts the door behind her, Amber feels a thousand times better. Brilliant fresh air lovingly sweeps the night way. It’s dark and cold and awesome. Amber puts her arms out like she’s an airplane and lets the breeze wash over her.
    She’ll have to catch a bus back home but it’ll probably be mostly empty at this time of night, no fighting and squirming for a decent seat that’s not cramped and crowded with the stuffy aroma of sweat and grime.
    She can still hear the muted noises of the party going on behind her but its far enough away that she can ignore it in favor for the steady clomp of her own steps on the concrete path.
    Mom and Dad both say she lives too much in her head and needs to learn to let other people in. It’s about the only thing they