Page 42 of Ebbing Tides (The Lighthouse Duology #2)

SUNDAY

A hospice nurse I had never met came to declare that Dad had, in fact, died.

She documented the time of his death as the time of her arrival.

She removed all the controlled substances hospice had provided.

She called the funeral home, spoke to the answering director for a moment, then passed the phone to Grace before taking her leave.

It was all so formal and quick.

Now, I sat in the cold as two funeral directors carried Dad’s body to the hearse, parked in the driveway.

My gaze clung to the body bag, half expecting it to start moving, as if this entire ordeal was one big joke.

The rational part of my brain knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn’t help the way I hoped.

We didn’t have the chance to have a real relationship , I caught myself thinking, and, fuck, it was stupid. It was so damn stupid when we’d had nearly fifty years— years! —to build a solid, healthy father-son bond. He just never allowed it.

I almost blamed myself, almost wondered if I could’ve done something, could’ve done more , to mend the broken bridge between us … but I stopped that thought from taking life. Our situation was a lot of things, but it was never my fault. I could at least be sensible about that.

“They want us at the funeral home at noon,” Lucy said as she stepped out onto the porch.

I nodded wordlessly, watching as they slid the body bag into the back of the hearse.

“We have to make the arrangements,” she went on. “Grace and I were just talking. We never had a wake for Mom. Which I always thought was sad—”

“She spent forty years in bed, Lucy. She didn’t know anyone. Who the hell would’ve come?” I muttered without looking in her direction.

She inhaled sharply and took a moment to continue, “ Anyway , we were thinking we’d just do the same for Daddy. Have a Mass and just be done with it.”

“Whatever you want to do,” I replied as the two men got into the hearse and started the engine.

“Well, do you have an opinion?”

I shook my head, staring as they drove away. “Nope.”

“Well, you have to be thinking something ,” she said, exasperated.

With a sigh, I slapped my palms against my thighs as I stood. “I had nothing to do with any of Mom’s funeral arrangements. What makes you think he’d want me to be a part of his?”

I turned in time to watch her gnaw at the corner of her bottom lip, unable to meet my eye.

Her arms were wrapped tightly over her chest, not to ward off the winter wind, but to guard her heart.

From the loss of our father or the resistance I was exhibiting, I couldn’t be sure, and right now, I couldn’t find it in me to care.

I loved my sisters—God knew how much—but while they might be grieving the man they’d had a good, at least somewhat-healthy relationship with, I was grieving something far worse: the relationship that never was.

I needed space. I needed time. I needed … fuck, I didn’t even know what I needed. I just needed them to leave me alone and let me think, let me breathe .

“You were still his son,” she finally replied. “And the right thing is to—”

“Don’t even talk to me about the right thing,” I snapped. “I’ve spent the last nine months of my life doing the right thing .” The words spitballed from my mouth quicker than I could stop them.

What the hell was wrong with me? I was so angry, but that anger wasn’t directed at her or Grace. Of course not. But I couldn’t stop myself from taking it out on her.

Maybe it was because I had seen a side of our father in the better part of a year that they never had.

Sure, they stopped by, but they weren’t here full-time.

They had lives to live, families to care for.

They couldn’t comprehend the things I had done, the things I had seen.

Much like going to war, they couldn’t imagine the hell Dad and I walked through together.

The hell I carried him through. I had been so lonely, so alone , and apart from Lido, the only person who had cast a light to the darkest parts of my mind was …

Oh God, Melanie.

My heart swelled and ached at the thought of her.

Her lips, her eyes, her hair, every delicious curve of her body.

The conversations we’d had. The laughter.

The tears. It had been only one week, but it was possibly the best week of my entire life, full of moments to set beside that dinner we’d shared twenty years ago.

That night that had kept me company through some of the worst, most horrific times I’d ever experienced.

The proof that even I could have nice things, even if they were fleeting and not mine to keep forever.

One day, she’ll be someone else’s , I thought. There will be another man, someone she’ll spend the rest of her life with, and I will spend the rest of mine hating him. Wishing it had been me.

But it could never be me.

“Max,” Lucy said softly, reminding me she was there. “Why don’t you just go sleep?”

I allowed the image of Melanie’s face to fade away as I nodded. “Yeah, I’m exhausted.”

“Get some rest. We can meet up at the funeral home and go from there.”

“Sure,” I muttered, still nodding. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

It didn’t sound good though. Not really.

My gut rolled with continual waves of nausea as my sisters and I locked up the house, leaving it dark and still for the first time in any of our lifetimes, and it persisted as we climbed into my truck and drove back to Grace’s house in silence.

A part of me walked inside, hoping Melanie would still be there while knowing damn well she had gone back to Charlie’s cottage hours ago. It was well past midnight—nearly two in the morning—and I wondered if she was still awake. If there was any chance of us meeting up one last time to …

What the hell am I thinking?

Seeing her now wasn’t going to stop her from leaving later. It wasn’t going to prevent this from tearing open my already- broken heart. Did I think that having sex one last time might make saying goodbye any easier?

No, maybe this was for the better. I could just simply let her go, make a clean break, and carry on with life as if it’d never happened at all.

Much like the first time our paths had crossed.

I had let her walk away from that bar without begging her once to turn around, and I’d survived. I could do it again.

I would do it again.

I pulled the truck up to the curb, and without ending the silence between us, my sisters and I climbed out and headed slowly toward the door.

Finally, Grace said, “You guys can stay here tonight, if you want.”

Lucy turned the offer down immediately, but not without gratitude. She said she wanted to lie in her own bed with her husband and cry herself to sleep, and the moment she left my truck, she headed to her car, got in, and drove away.

But I thought about it. I didn’t particularly want to drive on such a minimal amount of sleep.

Besides, I wasn’t sure where I’d even want to go.

I sure as hell didn’t want to go back to Dad’s house, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to go home either.

The thought of facing dozens of my wife’s pictures while mourning the loss of what could’ve been with the woman of my dreams left me disgusted with myself.

“Yeah,” I said to Grace with a nod, my voice gravelly from lack of sleeping and speaking. “I think I’ll crash here.”

“Yeah?” Her face lit with a smile as she dug her keys from her bag.

I nodded again in reply.

“Okay. You want to take the living room couch or the den?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I replied with a shrug. “I just need to sleep somewhere before I start thinking this porch looks good.”

She sniffed a small laugh. “I’ll put you in the den. The kids are less likely to wake you up.”

I didn’t mind the kids. I didn’t mind if they wanted to jump on me after only a few hours of sleep, didn’t mind if they demanded my attention and affection.

But I kept it to myself as we entered the house.

Lido bounded toward me with pathetic little whimpers of desperation as he pressed his entire eighty pounds against my legs, attempting to knock me to the floor.

“Hey, buddy,” I said, scrubbing my hands over his back. “I know you missed me.”

Grace looked over at us with an adoring gaze.

I could tell she wanted to say something with the way she lingered there, watching us and fidgeting with the strap of her purse.

She reminded me of Melanie, the way she always fidgeted, and why I noticed that about a woman I had spent a week with and not my own sister settled restlessly against my mind.

“Melanie is really nice,” Grace finally said softly. “And her boys are so sweet.”

I had known she had something to say. I just wished it hadn’t been that.

“Yeah,” I muttered, smoothing my palm over Lido’s head.

“You’re happy with her. She makes you happy.”

With a groan, I reached for the back of my neck and squeezed, silently begging my heart to relax as I looked off toward my sister, hoping she caught the desperate plea in my eyes.

Apparently, she didn’t.

“I don’t know anyone who deserves to be happy more than you,” she said, choking on the words as a tear fell from her eye. “You’ve sacrificed so much and—”

“Grace,” I cut her off, tired and in desperate need to not talk about this. “I’m sorry. I just want to go to bed, all right?”

She wiped the tears from her face as she nodded. “No, I know. I know. I just … I just worry so much about you. All the damn time. And I just thought, if you were with her , I wouldn’t—”

“Grace.” I begged her with my eyes to just simply shut up. “ Please .”

She pressed her lips together to form a thin line. She looked so sad, so concerned, and I thought she might say something else to dig away at my wounded heart a little more. But to my relief, she only nodded and turned to walk away.

“I'll get you a couple of pillows and a blanket,” she said quietly, heading toward the downstairs linen closet.

“Thanks.”

With a sigh, I dropped onto the couch. Lido whined as he sat between my open knees.

His tail thumped against the floor, his head tipped back.

He couldn't get close enough. I mustered a weak smile as I scrubbed my hands over his ears and leaned forward to press my forehead to the top of his head, closing my eyes and succumbing to another bout of searing pain piercing my soul.

“You're a good boy,” I muttered quietly. “You're a really good boy.”

The warmth of his body, the softness of his fur … I focused on the things I could feel to calm the torment my mind was insistent on putting me through. But what good would it do tomorrow or the day after or the day after that?

Routine , I told myself. I need my routine. I need life to calm down. I need …

My face crumpled with a torturous, threatening wave of emotion; I knew exactly what I needed. The same thing I'd always needed, always craved .

Love .

It was the only thing worth living for. The only thing that ever quieted the demons in my head. And it was the only thing I'd had to work tirelessly for, just for it to be snatched away the second I got a taste and started getting used to it … again and again and again and again.

“What the hell am I going to do?” I asked Lido, my voice quiet and quivering. “What the hell am I supposed to do without her?”

“Here you go,” Grace said, announcing her presence.

Startled, I cleared my throat and sat up, blinking away the moisture from my eyes. She hurried over with the pillows and blanket bundled in her arms, placing them on the couch beside me.

“Hey, thanks,” I said, hating how rough my tone was, giving away my emotional anguish.

Her eyes caught mine as she took a step back, and I looked away, putting my focus back on Lido. Hoping his unconditional affection could make it easier to breathe in this place void of oxygen.

“I guess I'll head up to bed,” Grace said reluctantly, like she didn't want to walk away. Like if she did, I might disappear and cease to exist.

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

My throat tightened around nothing but the sadness rising up from my chest. “I love you too.”

She headed toward the stairs, taking each step slowly, until she stopped walking altogether.

Then, without turning to look at me, she said, “You need to let someone take care of you, Max. You try to be so strong all the fucking time, but I know you're not. I know you're not, and that's okay . It's okay to not be okay sometimes. Just let someone else take care of you for once.”

I sucked in a worthless breath. “Laura took care of me,” I muttered.

“Then let someone do it again,” Grace said with finality before hurrying toward the stairs, as if scared that, if she stayed, I'd get the last word.

“Who takes care of you?” I heard Melanie say, her voice carrying through my mind like a whisper in the wind.

I let her ask me that question on repeat as I pressed my forehead on Lido's warm, soft head, and one more time, before I succumbed to sleep, I allowed myself to cry.