Page 14 of Ebbing Tides

Her voice was soft, so damn gentle, and I knew—God, Iknew—she had heard every single word Charlie said. Of course she had.

She cleared her throat. “So, tomorrow?”

Slowly, my truck rolled forward as the gate was pulled open. “Yeah. Looks like it.”

“Okay. Text me the time, and I'll be at Dad's.”

I narrowed my eyes with skepticism. That was it? That was all she was going to say?

I bit my lip, stunned and cautiously grateful. “Okay,” I said, my voice raspy against a throat so dry. “Thanks.”

A small, acknowledging noise came through the phone. I imagined her smiling. I imagined her eyes sparkling with intuition and understanding. But she didn't dig into me, and after a moment, I found that I loved her for it.

“Drive safe,” she said. “I'll talk to you later.”

“Yeah, later,” I replied, the side of my mouth lifting in a half smile.

Then she hung up, and I imagined her running to tell my brother-in-law—my closest friend and brother in arms—all she knew about my first date in over fifteen years.

***

I didn't sleep.

I couldn't.

Every attempt to doze off had been thwarted by a thought. A violent, creeping reminder of all I had lost ten years ago.

The tragedy I might not have caused, but I'd allowed with my own damn negligence.

Laura’s cold, lifeless body lying in the freshly fallen snow. Our baby left to die inside her. Her daughters—my stepdaughters—left to live the rest of their lives without their mother and me. All due to a string of moments, little pieces of innocent forgetfulness and carelessness, that had left all of our lives in shambles.

Melanie—Charlie’s sister-in-law—liked me, or at the very least, she’d seen something in meto like. Totrust. She'd put her husband’s treasured belongings in my hands for safekeeping—and after only a few minutes of knowing me, for fuck's sake.

What the hell would she think of me when—if—she found out about my past and all the shit I'd packed into my forty-eight years of miserable existence?

I spent hours combatting with my wounded mind. Three hours of tossing and turning on my father's couch, allowing my mind to travel down dark, narrow, dusty hallways I'd promised to never travel down again. And why? Because I had foolishly agreed to help a friend?

I groaned through my frustration, laying my hands over my face. Lido responded from the floor beside me, lifting his head to rest his snout against the couch cushion, his wet nose bumping against my arm.

“Sorry, buddy,” I muttered. “Go back to sleep.”

He answered by dropping his head back to the floor and sighing, long and irritated. I understood. I understood completely when all I could think about was the long night ahead of me and how very little sleep I'd gotten.

Maybe I should call Sid, I thought as Dad's nurse hurried through the living room toward the kitchen.

When she saw me sit up abruptly, she gasped, clasping her hand to her chest. “Oh! I’m so sorry. Did I wake you up?”

I pushed my hand over my cropped hair and rubbed my neck. “No, you didn’t.”

“Can't sleep?”

I dropped my hand to rest my elbows on my thighs as I turned to her with a nod. “Got a lot on my mind.”

Dad didn't have just one nurse assigned to him. There was a team at the hospice organization that rotated in shifts.

Tuesday and Thursday, there was Marcella, a matronly woman who was far too kind to have to put up with Dad's bullshit.

Saturday and Sunday, there was Robert, and I felt sorry that he had to spend his weekends wiping my father's ass instead of doing something most other young guys his age should be doing. Fun stuff. Stuff I hadn't been allowed to do until I was well into my thirties.