Page 25 of Ebbing Tides (The Lighthouse Duology #2)

“It’s okay,” Lucy said gently. “If his med schedule shifted a little, it’s not going to make a difference, right? He’s still dying—”

“It makes a fucking difference, Lucy. I’m supposed to be paying attention, and you are supposed to be telling me the shit I’m supposed to know!

” My voice rose little by little as I spoke, finishing with anger and an odd, unexplained, frenzied desperation to …

to … what was I wanting to do here exactly?

She was right, wasn’t she? A little shift in his medications, even a couple of skipped pills, wouldn’t make a difference in his prognosis.

He was dying. We weren’t trying to save his life; we were making him comfortable in his final days—despite how many more were left.

I knew this. I’d known it. So, why the fuck was my brain struggling right now to accept it? Hadn’t I already gone through this?

“Max”—her voice was so soft, so gentle—“if you need a break or—”

“He’d never be open to that,” I said, cutting her off harshly. “I’m okay. I’m just … I’m distracted. I’m—”

“Oh my God. That’s right. Oh, Max … I can’t believe I forgot.”

“What—”

“You know, I was just thinking about Laura too.”

Laura .

I turned my head abruptly to stare at the calendar on the wall. Oh God . A strangled, whimpered sound died in my throat as I realized that not only had my sister forgotten the ten-year anniversary of my wife’s death, but so had I .

Somehow, somewhere, in the midst of all the excitement of Melanie coming back into my life and the distraction of Dad’s illness, I had let this day come without so much as thinking of her cold, lifeless body in the snow.

The accident my negligence had caused at the cost of not only Laura’s life, but my unborn son.

Fuck, baby, how could I forget? I’m so sorry.

“Out of nowhere, I got this insane craving for that macaroni salad she used to make for barbeques—remember? And she would laugh and say there was nothing special about it, but it was different !” Lucy was laughing now in that sad way people did when talking about someone lost along the way.

“Because she would add … oh my God, what was it …”

“Pickle juice, honey mustard, and apple cider vinegar,” I muttered, pressing my thumb and forefinger to my temples as I silently berated myself for spending the day cooking for another woman and not mourning the one who’d been taken too soon.

“That’s right,” Lucy said, a smile in her voice. “I should make it this summer.”

“You should,” I replied, dropping my hand and staring at the rolling, bubbling water and bouncing potatoes within. “She would like that.”

“Did you go to the cemetery?”

I knew she wasn’t talking about work, and again, I cursed myself. “No,” I grumbled. “Didn’t have time.”

“Yeah, I figured. With Dad and everything. It’s okay. Laura understands.”

I nodded as if she could see me and turned off the stove burners. “I, uh … I gotta finish making dinner here.”

“For you and Dad?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and sighed. “Um … yeah, and also, um, this, uh—”

“Wait, do you have a date?”

I swallowed. “Yeah. She’s coming here with her kids, and—”

“Max! Oh my God. Grace called earlier and said you were bringing her to their place on Saturday. Ahh!” She squealed with excitement. “Her name is Melanie, right?”

“Yes,” I grumbled.

Another squeal pierced my ear. “I’m so excited! This is a good thing. You know that, right?”

“Sure.”

I pinned the phone between my ear and shoulder and carried the pot of water to the sink to drain the potatoes.

“Grace said you told Sid about her years ago. How did you know her?”

Sid and his big mouth.

I sighed. “I can’t get into this right now, Lucy. I have to—”

“No, I know. I’m sorry. Okay. You can tell me this weekend or, um …

call me later? If you have time? Well, I mean, if you’re not with Melanie or …

actually, you could call me then too. I’d love to talk to her.

” She was talking quickly, prattling on in the way she did when she was excited.

She squealed once again, and I winced, my hearing aid crackling against my eardrum.

“Okay, okay, I’ll shut up. I’m so happy for you. ”

I wanted to say, Don’t be .

I wanted to say, She’s leaving, and none of this is going to matter .

But instead, I muttered, “Yeah, I’m happy for me too,” because, apart from the annoying little fact that she was leaving, I was … truly, honestly happy.

But I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten my wife.

***

Half an hour later, Dad was bathed, and his aide left the house just in time for Melanie’s car to pull up in Helen’s spot.

I stood at the doorway, holding my breath as she climbed out of the SUV.

She only glanced at the house for a moment, not long enough to notice me, but there was that look on her face.

The surprise, the wonder, reminding me that I’d grown up in a nice house. An enviable house.

Funny I never saw it that way when nothing within its walls had been all that nice.

She got the kids out of the back seat, undoing car seats in varying sizes, before finally closing the door and leading her gaggle of little boys to the flagstone walkway, with her hand wrapped around CJ’s. I opened the door, stepping onto the porch to greet them.

“I like your house, Max!” CJ shouted from the bottom of the porch steps.

“Oh, yeah?” I answered, watching Melanie slide her sunglasses from her eyes up to the top of her head.

“We live in a big house too,” Luke muttered, squinting up toward me as they ascended.

“Are you rich?” Danny asked me.

I snorted and shook my head. “Not really,” I replied.

Melanie reached the top of the steps and smiled up into my eyes. “You sure about that?”

“Positive,” I replied, suppressing an eye roll. “My dad has money. He was a lawyer for a long time. But I’d bet everything I own on never ever seeing a penny of it.”

She cocked her head, a crease forming between her brows. “Not even after he’s gone?”

“I told you, my dad and I don’t get along,” I muttered, turning to lead them into the house.

“But you’re his son. He wouldn’t leave anything to you?” She sounded absolutely horrified at the possibility, and when I shook my head, she replied, “That’s … God, I don’t even know what to say to that.”

“Then say nothing,” I said, turning to face her once we stood in the living room.

The expression she wore reflected whatever pain and sympathy she was feeling, and I didn’t want an ounce of it. I wanted her to smile, to be happy she was here, to bring a little color to this dismal place.

I reached out to touch my palm to her face, rubbing my thumb against her cheekbone. The gesture was quick—I didn’t want her kids to see, unsure of what they knew about this, us —but the reward was the same as if I’d taken my time.

She smiled.

“Hi,” I muttered, pulling my hand back far, far sooner than I wanted.

“Hey,” she whispered, her grin growing, her eyes twinkling, and my pulse fluttered in time with my staggered breath.

She held my gaze for a single beat before turning to the kids, ordering them to take off their coats.

I instructed her boys to hang them on the coat rack beside the door, and they did as they had been told, moving like obedient little soldiers.

I watched them all, marveling at this amazing crew I had the privilege of knowing, even for a short amount of time.

She might’ve raised them alone, and I didn’t doubt for a second she beat herself up on a regular basis over whatever failure of a job she thought she was doing, but, my God, she was incredible.

She was the mother every kid deserved to have, the one I wished I could’ve had.

“What’s this?” Danny asked, walking to the couch, where I had a stack of pillows and blankets.

“I sleep there,” I told him.

“You sleep on the couch?” Melanie asked, startled yet again, her brow furrowed as she tried to piece together another puzzle I couldn’t see.

“For now. Until I can get back to my house.”

Her eyes met mine with questions abound, and maybe, if she asked me without her kids present, I’d answer. But I wouldn’t now, and she knew that in an instant of looking at me.

“It smells good in here,” she complimented, changing the subject as she smoothed her sweater over her stomach.

I nodded, gesturing for them to follow into the kitchen. “There’s chicken, butter and herb potatoes, snow peas, and biscuits. And if you’re not into that, there’s chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, fish sticks, and fries.”

I led the kids to the dining room, where the food was laid out on the table.

They sat without invitation, helping themselves.

I excused myself for a moment to get the drink glasses, moving out of habit.

It was foreign to entertain, and I tried to remember the last time I’d had to do it.

It wasn’t since Laura. Not since our house had been a home full of kids and noise and stuff.

It was weird.

It was nice.

I pulled the glasses from the cabinet, making sure to grab plastic for the boys. A sound came from behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder to find Melanie standing there, her hands working inside her sweater’s long sleeves.

Always fidgeting , I thought and smiled.

“You don’t have a room here?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“It’s a big house,” she said, stating the obvious.

“Very observant,” I muttered, then scolded myself immediately for being so obtuse. “Sorry. I, um … the bedrooms are upstairs. I haven’t been up there in …” Eight years. It’d been eight years. “A long time.”

“Your dad doesn’t let you use one of them? Where is—”

“I don’t want to go up there,” I interjected, turning around to meet her eyes with my stern, pleading gaze.

She tipped her head with curiosity. “Why? What happened upstairs?”

I swallowed and glanced in the direction of the dining room, making sure the kids were still in there.

When I saw them sitting at the table, eating and talking among themselves, I cleared my throat and admitted a secret I hadn’t let anyone else in on.

Not even my sisters. Speaking of it for the first time in eight years.

“My mother committed suicide,” I said, keeping my voice low. “In my childhood bedroom.”

Melanie gasped, clutching a hand to her collar, as if the truth had attempted to strangle her, as it had me. “Oh my God, that’s … Max … I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what to say. That’s horrible.”

I nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

“Who … I don’t even know how to ask this … did you—”

“Find her?” I asked, saying what she didn’t want to, and when she nodded, I replied, “Yeah. I did.”

The image of her lifeless body, donning her signature robe, in the middle of the carpeted floor came to mind.

Weird how I rarely allowed my brain to go back there and weird how simple it had been to keep those memories at bay when, for so long, I’d had no choice but to mentally live in the frozen landscape of my front yard, with Laura’s lifeless body.

But I saw her now, face down, in a puddle of blood and vomit.

The stench was heady and pungent, one I’d been familiar with from my time at war, one I would never forget.

The smell of death and putrid bodily fluids.

I’d known she was dead the moment my eyes passed over her, the skin of her bare legs gray in color, but I’d checked for a pulse anyway, only to find none.

Melanie slipped her arms around my waist to press her cheek to my chest. “How did you turn out so good?”

I huffed a forced chuckle as I eased my chin down to touch the top of her head. “I don’t know that I’m good,” I muttered honestly. “But I’m better than they ever were. That’s all that’s ever mattered to me.”

She squeezed her arms around me, then took a step back, hastily wiping a rogue tear from her cheek before asking, “Drinks are in the fridge?”

“Yeah,” I replied, the sound coming out as a grunt as I recalled the night of my mother’s suicide on fast-forward.

We were supposed to be celebrating Grace and Sid’s son’s christening.

I was running a little late—I’d overslept from my night at the cemetery—and when I texted Sid to tell him, he acted like the mishap was an answered prayer.

He asked if I could stop at my parents’ place and grab the spare high chair they kept over there.

They didn’t need it, it wasn’t the end of the world, Sid said, but it would be helpful.

I was passing by, it was on the way, and I told him it was no problem.

Except when I got to the house, I didn’t know where the damn thing was.

It wasn’t in the dining room or in the kitchen.

I scoured the first floor in a hurry, growing more irritated by the second, and I called Sid to tell him I couldn’t find it.

“Oh, it’s upstairs,” he said. “Your dad keeps it up there so it’s not in the way.”

Just like Dad , I thought bitterly as I headed up the stairs. How in the way could a compact, foldable high chair really be?

I knew my old bedroom had turned into a storage room of sorts, and it was the first place I checked when I got upstairs.

I never did find that high chair after discovering my mother’s suicide, and I called Sid to tell him something came up as I waited for paramedics to arrive.

I didn’t tell anyone what had happened until after the authorities came to take her away.

I didn’t want anyone else to see her like that. I figured it was the least I could do out of respect for them—and her.

I chased the memory away with a shake of my head.

Funny how easy it’d become to do that with the amount of tragedy, trauma—whatever you wanted to call it—I’d experienced in my nearly fifty years on this earth.

I sucked in a deep breath, blew it out into the kitchen, and headed toward the dining room to fill the time with something better, something happier.

Even if it ended the same way everything else did.

With a broken heart.