Page 12 of Ebbing Tides

And when I thought about it like that, a date-that-wasn’t-a-date with her seemed like maybe the perfect way to dip my toe back into the proverbial pool. Just to see if the water was warm. Just to see if I was ready to dive in or stay out for the rest of my days.

“Hello, big brother,” Grace answered on the first ring. “How’s Daddy?”

“As of last night, still breathing,” I said, aware of how bitter I sounded.

Shame on me.

Whether I understood it or not, my sisters had a relationship with our father that was at least somewhat healthy. They loved him, he loved them, and because I loved my sisters, I begrudged them nothing for their affection toward him. But that never stopped me from letting my own personal feelings show, and as far as I was aware, they never begrudged me for that either. Still, out of respect for them and their relationship with our father, I tried to keep my obnoxious commentary to myself.

Triedbeing the keyword here.

I faked a cough, guilty that I'd said anything that could be misconstrued as negative toward him.

Then I asked, “How're things with you?”

“Hanging in there,” she said. “Did Sid tell you the VA approved his new leg?”

I smiled. “Gonna start calling him Mr. Roboto.”

Grace laughed. “You guys should get together soon. It's been a while.”

It had been, and I missed him. I saw my sisters more often than most anyone else, and that wasn't saying much. Since I'd taken on the responsibility of caring for Dad, I didn't have much time to see anybody for more than a few minutes in passing. And any semblance of a social life had died with the rest of me.

Shit, maybe I really could use a date.

Not a date.

Whatever the fuck it is.

“Yeah, we should. Soon,” I added hastily before getting to the point of the call before I could think better of it. “Listen, um … I actually wanted to talk to you—”

“What's wrong?”

I drove slowly through the winding cemetery roads. The sun was already beginning to rise, and I ached, wishing I had witnessed the view from my deck.

“Nothing's wrong. I just needed to ask if there was any time this week that you could sit with Dad and Lido for—I don't know—a little while.”

Silence fell between the phone lines. I glanced at my four-legged best friend and winced, imagining every scenario that could be filling my sister's mind.

“Max,” she drawled slowly, “what's going on? Are you … oh God, wait, you're not … is this about …”

“This has nothing to do with what you're thinking about, so stop,” I hastily interjected, knowing exactly where her mind was headed without knowing exactly what she was imagining.

What did she think I was going to do? Spend the ten-year anniversary of my wife's death drinking myself to oblivion? Jumping off what I sometimes referred to asour bridge?

I rolled my eyes as if it was foolish, but was it really? It'd been a while since I'd wanted to end my life, but I guessed my track record had spoken for itself, and once you went there, it was hard for others to trust you wouldn’t go back.

“It's okay to feel sad,” she whispered, already emotional. “Youshouldfeel sad. I just don't want you to—”

“Grace,” I cut her off, laughing awkwardly. “Seriously, I'm fine.”

“Are you though? Because remember, once upon a time, you—”

“I’m serious. Right now, I’m fine,” I answered honestly. But who knew how I'd be in a few days on the actual anniversary of her—their—death? Only time could tell.

“Okay,” she answered like she didn't believe me, but that was okay. She didn't have to. “Okay, so if it's not that, then …”

“I, uh …” What was I supposed to say? That I might have a date? But it wasn't a date, despite feeling very much like it was. “A friend wants to go out for dinner.”