Page 60 of Ebbing Tides

“Hmm,” Dad grunted. “Old friends.”

“We met when he was in the Army.”

He huffed a wicked chuckle, the sound dying with a hacking cough. “My son always did have the prettiest friends,” he choked, holding a fist to his mouth.

The compliment was laced with cyanide, raising the hairs at the back of my neck. He slowly brought his eyes to mine—those dead, empty eyes that haunted my deepest sleeps—and I knew I needed to get her out of there before he made a mess I couldn’t clean up.

“Melanie came over for dinner,” I said. “I made chicken. Do you want some?”

“And you didn’t think to introduce her to me first? Were youevergoing to bring her in here? Or did you think you could hide me away, swept under the rug, like every other dirty little sin you’ve ever committed?”

Melanie looked up at me, but I kept my eyes trained on him, finding my courage and standing my ground.

“Stop. She already said she’s leaving in a couple of days, Dad. I didn’t want to get you worked up over nothing. She’s …” I swallowed and shook my head before spitting out, “She’s nothing,” and immediately wanted to rip out my tongue for saying it.

A dropped fork wasnothing. A spilled cup of coffee wasnothing. A rushed-by stranger wasnothing.

Melanie was anything but.

Stacking her up against a mountain of nothings was the greatest lie I’d ever told, my unholiest sin, and my father saw right through it.

“Oh,” he taunted, tipping his head. “But she’s not.”

I shook my head, dragging my gaze back to hers. “You should check on the—”

“I’m right, aren’t I, Maxwell?” Dad continued, prodding. “I recognize that look. You’ve already fucked her with your filthy little cock, but … no, it’s worse than that. You havefeelingsfor her.Ohh…” he taunted, his voice dripping with venom, paralyzing me to the spot I stood upon.

My face heated with the shame of every truth he was spewing in her presence.

“You made a mistake, didn’t you? But did you tell her about your wife?”

“I know about his wife,” Melanie cut in, unfazed. “I was married too. My husband … he also died—”

“Ah, yes. I’m sure he did,” Dad interjected, turning his wicked gaze in her direction. “But did he tell you thetruth?”

My teeth ground together, tight enough that I was certain they’d shatter, before I laid a hand against his bony shoulder, drawing his attention back to me with a touch I seldom gave. I swallowed, the muscles in my throat trembling around the movement, as my head shook.

“Stop it, Dad.”

“Why?” he sneered, a sick satisfaction crinkling the lines at the corners of his eyes. “Afraid she won’t spread her legs for you again if she knows what you did?”

“I said,stop.”

Melanie stood, her eyes blinking away the cruelty in his words. She backed away from the bed, retreating. “I’m going to, um … check on the boys,” she said in a meek, hushed, hurried voice before spinning on her heel and leaving the room.

My eyes were trained on the empty doorway, an anger so great building beneath my skin. The hand I’d laid against his shoulder remained there, and as I stared at the place she once had been before vanishing down the hall in an unsettled hurry, my fingers curled, clenching against his fragile bones.

“Ahh!” he cried, sounding like a wounded animal, too weak to wrench himself away.

But not too weak to incinerate anything that ever meant anything to me.

“Why won’t you die?” The words were pushed out from beneath my gritted teeth, my voice low. Growling.

“Get off of me!”

He swatted pathetically with his gnarled hand, the exertion enough to send his lungs into another frenzied hacking fit. I released him then, my hatred quickly washed away with guilt and shame and the reluctant pain of watching him suffer, and I rushed to grab a tissue from the table beside his bed. I held it to his mouth as he sputtered and coughed.

“It’s okay,” I said, laying a hand over his head and smoothing his wispy white hair away from his forehead. “Try to breathe, Dad. It’s okay. I’m sorry. It’s okay.”