Page 21 of Ebbing Tides (The Lighthouse Duology #2)
A fire crackled and spit from within the fireplace, and Lido had made himself at home in the heat and dancing glow from the flickering flames. He snored peacefully, his paws twitching—something CJ found more and more hilarious by the second.
I sat on the couch beside the little boy, his weight leaning against my arm as he threw his head back and laughed, harder and harder every time Lido barked in his sleep.
“What is he doing ?” he shouted, voice full of delight and glee.
“He's dreaming,” I told him.
“What's he dreaming about?”
I cocked my head, staring at the big dog. “Oh, I dunno. Probably the squirrels and birds in our trees. He likes to chase them in the summer.”
I left out the part that, one year, Lido had found a dead squirrel somewhere off the back deck and, with all the pride in the world, left its carcass in the middle of my living room rug. He had been thrilled, of course, but me … not so much.
I glanced over my shoulder to watch Melanie hurrying in and out of the kitchen, carrying platters and serving bowls full of food.
I had asked repeatedly if I could help, but after the fifth or sixth time, she'd given me a look that scared me from asking again.
Now I just watched as she laid the food out on Charlie's small dining room table, encircled by four wooden chairs and three metal ones, dragged in from Charlie's enclosed patio, while her kids, Charlie, Stormy, and I sat back and waited for her to call us to eat.
It was nearly sunset, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I had to get to work.
But I couldn't bring myself to care about that.
Not when I was about to share a meal with these people—this lovely family who had, at the last minute, received notice that I'd be joining them and not only welcomed me, but were happy about it.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this good, this happy, and although I'd told Melanie we should let things happen as if she wasn't leaving, I couldn't help but remind myself now that she was, in fact, leaving.
This would come to an end, and I would go back to being a lonely widower, living life on a predictable cycle with his dying father and his big black dog.
But until then, I was determined to enjoy this as a momentary reprieve from that life.
The life I hadn’t wanted, but was forced to live.
“I feel like we've known you forever, but we hardly know you,” Stormy said.
She sat in one of the black wingback chairs, and Charlie sat in the other, both of them looking like a gothic king and queen on their respective thrones.
“It feels like that,” I agreed, pulling my attention from Melanie.
“Do you have any family?” she asked. “I think I had meant to ask you once, but I don’t remember if I did.”
I cleared my throat and nodded. “I have two younger sisters, Grace and Lucy.”
“Are they married?”
“They are,” I replied as CJ crawled onto my lap to watch TV, as if that was a better seat than the one beside me. “They married my best friends.”
Stormy lifted a brow, a glint of mischief and delight in her green eyes. “Oh, I bet you loved that.”
I chuckled and shrugged. “Grace and Sid … I didn't mind as much. It was weird at first, but it was okay. Lucy and Ricky …”
“Not so much,” Charlie guessed, and I wagged a finger at him.
“Not so much,” I confirmed. “We're all good now, but there was some, uh …
let's just say, tension between us when I first found out. But they had been seeing each other behind my back, whereas Sid asked for my blessing, but …” I waved a dismissive hand to shoo the topic away, embarrassed that I'd divulged as much as I had.
“Do they have any kids?” Stormy asked, clearly not done with the interrogation.
“A few each,” I replied with a nod.
“And you never had kids?”
I sucked in a breath, then released my anxiety with my exhale. “My, uh … my wife, she passed away ten years ago. She had two girls. But they're with their father now.”
Stormy's face fell with immediate sorrow and regret. “Oh … I'm so sorry.”
I shook my head, lifting a hand. “No, it's okay. I don't mind. We, um … we never had any other kids, so since she died, it's just been Lido and me,” I explained.
Danny looked up from the other side of me. “How did your wife die?”
I cleared my throat and held his eye contact as I replied, “She fell and got very hurt.”
His face blanched. “Did someone kill her?”
“Daniel!” Melanie cried from behind us at the table.
My stomach twisted at the boy's question as I remembered every insinuation my father had made over the years that I had, in fact, murdered my wife. I was convinced the old man believed it, and I was sure he wasn't the only one.
“No,” I answered plainly, shaking my head. “It was a terrible accident.”
“Oh,” he replied quietly. “Luke told me someone killed my dad. And that wasn’t an accident.”
Although the TV played a show nobody seemed to be watching, the silence among the group of us was louder than whatever was playing. Charlie's eyes dropped to his tattooed hands, clenched in his lap, while Stormy seemed to hold her breath as her eyes widened.
I couldn't see Melanie, not without looking over my shoulder, but I could feel her standing there. Could feel her silence, could hear her agony screaming from the gaping hole in her chest.
CJ huddled closer to my chest, his attention turned toward the glowing TV ahead, and with a sigh, I touched my chin to the crown of his head.
“I'm sorry about that,” I finally said to Danny.
“Dad killed someone too,” Luke muttered, speaking for the first time in a while. “So, he deserved it.”
Jesus. The pain that kid carried and at such a young age too.
“I can't say I agree with that,” I told him, thinking of the men and women I had killed while at war.
Luke's eyes shifted from the video game he held in his hands to glare at me. “My friend at school calls it karma. He said if you kill someone, you deserve to be killed.”
Stormy coughed awkwardly and stood up. “I'm gonna get the bottles of soda from the fridge. Spider, you wanna help me?”
Charlie hesitated as she walked past him, her fingertips grazing his shoulder in a beckoning call.
His gaze shifted to the fire and darkened within the dancing flames, questionable torment turning his face to stone.
I wondered what that was about as he eventually stood up, his fists clenched at his sides, and he followed his wife.
“Lucas,” Melanie said, coming into view and crouching beside her son. “Look at me.”
The boy's brow furrowed, but he kept his glare on his gaming device. “Why?”
“Because I want to talk to you.”
“I don't wanna talk,” he muttered, lifting his glare to look at me. But it lasted for a moment before he looked away.
“If there's something about Dad you want to talk to me about—”
“ I don't want to talk ,” he gritted out, even angrier than before.
She sighed and stood up, her eyes passing over me as she mouthed, Sorry.
I cocked my head and replied silently, For what?
She gestured quickly toward her son.
I shook my head and waved her apology away.
There was nothing to be sorry for. The boy was hurt.
He was confused. He was aching for a relationship he'd been denied with a father he'd never know.
In a way, I understood it, but the difference was, Luke's father was gone, the same way my mother was now gone. There were no more chances.
But Dad and I …
The thought squeezed at my guts as I turned away from Melanie to mull over the possibility that maybe, if I put in just a little more effort, Dad and I could come to the other side of this. Before it was too late.
***
One thing I learned about Melanie Corbin that evening was that the woman could cook.
I had never been a terrible chef. Everything I had learned to make in my youth and during my years in the service left me with a decent skill set.
Everybody who had eaten my cooking never left hungry, and nobody ever got sick.
It was a useful talent in all the years I'd been on my own, never starving or relying on endless amounts of takeout.
But eating Melanie's chicken cordon bleu made every meal I'd ever made look mediocre in comparison, and my taste buds wept at the thought of settling on my own cooking once she left.
“He likes you,” Melanie said from beside me, gesturing toward CJ, who had laid his hand over my arm while he ate his dinner.
“I like him too,” I said, smiling down at the little boy.
“How are you with your nieces and nephews?”
I shrugged, spearing another piece of chicken with my fork. “Good. They're all great kids. But we don't see each other that often. Everybody has their own lives, everybody's busy …”
“Hmm,” Melanie muttered thoughtfully.
I glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“I don't know. That just seems sad to me.”
“How so?” I tipped my head and chewed as I looked at her, the rest of the table fading away.
“You have sisters, brothers-in-law who are also your best friends, nieces, and nephews … a whole family …” She looked up to catch my eye. “Are your parents alive?”
My chest pinched with the need to tell her my story but … not now. “My dad still is.”
“A whole family, and you don't see them—”
“I live with my father,” I corrected.
“Oh. I didn't know. And he’s the one who—”
I swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah. I’m caring for him while he's in hospice.”
“Oh, I had no idea,” Charlie said from across the table. “I’m sorry.”
I hadn’t been aware he was listening.
“It's fine,” I answered as if on autopilot. “He's been sick for a long time.”
“Can I ask with what?” Melanie asked, her eyes on her plate.
I reached for my glass of water and raised it to my lips as I replied, “Oh, uh, lung cancer.”