Page 6 of Ebbing Tides (The Lighthouse Duology #2)

MONDAY

My wandering mind had kept me busy until it was time to clock out, and with my empty lunch box in one hand and my book in the other, I left the office with Lido leading the way to the truck.

The first burst of color had barely begun to reach across the sky, but I was already pulling out my phone to call one or both of my sisters.

I had a feeling neither of them would protest, but I still needed to ask if they had the time to care for our father while I went out with Charlie’s sister-in-law.

Melanie .

The thought of her name lifted my chin a little higher as I opened the truck door for Lido.

She wasn’t the woman I had known briefly years ago—she couldn’t be—but it didn’t stop me from thinking about her and associating that name with someone who had, at one point, made me happy.

A woman who had lit the darkest moments of my life with sunshine and hope and the possibility that things could always be better, even for a few hours in a dimly lit bar in Nowhere, Connecticut.

Her memory had been held so sacred that I couldn’t dare to tell my late wife about it because to admit it had felt sacrilegious, and maybe that was why, now, I felt so … guilty about taking this woman out.

A different woman, yes, but one with the same name.

And that was ridiculous, wasn’t it? Laura had been gone for nearly ten years— Christ, how has it already been ten years?

And, Jesus, that was a long time. It was a long time to be alone.

It was a long time to be wallowing in guilt and pity and so much sadness that it was a wonder I’d managed to keep the darkness at bay.

For her , I reminded myself. I’d done it for her because she had wanted me to live.

But had she only wanted me to live for her ?

If I’d never gone home with her that Christmas Eve years ago, would she have expected me to pine for her for all of eternity?

Would she expect that from me now, so long after her passing?

“It’s not a date,” I said, climbing in behind the wheel. “Charlie said it’s not a date, so … it’s not a date.”

It felt like one though, and when I scraped beneath that rusty old layer of guilt, I found that I actually wanted it to be so.

“It doesn’t even matter,” I said to Lido, shaking my head as I dialed Grace’s number. “She’s going home in a week. No, not even a week now. Six days.”

This woman, whoever she was, was only passing through. She was a blip of time in this wasteland of a life, and no matter how much I thought I liked her after a few minutes in the snow, it didn’t matter.

And when I thought about it like that, a date-that-wasn’t-a-date with her seemed like maybe the perfect way to dip my toe back into the proverbial pool. Just to see if the water was warm. Just to see if I was ready to dive in or stay out for the rest of my days.

“Hello, big brother,” Grace answered on the first ring. “How’s Daddy?”

“As of last night, still breathing,” I said, aware of how bitter I sounded.

Shame on me.

Whether I understood it or not, my sisters had a relationship with our father that was at least somewhat healthy.

They loved him, he loved them, and because I loved my sisters, I begrudged them nothing for their affection toward him.

But that never stopped me from letting my own personal feelings show, and as far as I was aware, they never begrudged me for that either.

Still, out of respect for them and their relationship with our father, I tried to keep my obnoxious commentary to myself.

Tried being the keyword here.

I faked a cough, guilty that I'd said anything that could be misconstrued as negative toward him.

Then I asked, “How're things with you?”

“Hanging in there,” she said. “Did Sid tell you the VA approved his new leg?”

I smiled. “Gonna start calling him Mr. Roboto.”

Grace laughed. “You guys should get together soon. It's been a while.”

It had been, and I missed him. I saw my sisters more often than most anyone else, and that wasn't saying much.

Since I'd taken on the responsibility of caring for Dad, I didn't have much time to see anybody for more than a few minutes in passing.

And any semblance of a social life had died with the rest of me.

Shit, maybe I really could use a date.

Not a date.

Whatever the fuck it is.

“Yeah, we should. Soon,” I added hastily before getting to the point of the call before I could think better of it. “Listen, um … I actually wanted to talk to you—”

“What's wrong?”

I drove slowly through the winding cemetery roads. The sun was already beginning to rise, and I ached, wishing I had witnessed the view from my deck.

“Nothing's wrong. I just needed to ask if there was any time this week that you could sit with Dad and Lido for—I don't know—a little while.”

Silence fell between the phone lines. I glanced at my four-legged best friend and winced, imagining every scenario that could be filling my sister's mind.

“Max,” she drawled slowly, “what's going on? Are you … oh God, wait, you're not … is this about …”

“This has nothing to do with what you're thinking about, so stop,” I hastily interjected, knowing exactly where her mind was headed without knowing exactly what she was imagining.

What did she think I was going to do? Spend the ten-year anniversary of my wife's death drinking myself to oblivion? Jumping off what I sometimes referred to as our bridge ?

I rolled my eyes as if it was foolish, but was it really? It'd been a while since I'd wanted to end my life, but I guessed my track record had spoken for itself, and once you went there, it was hard for others to trust you wouldn’t go back.

“It's okay to feel sad,” she whispered, already emotional. “You should feel sad. I just don't want you to—”

“Grace,” I cut her off, laughing awkwardly. “Seriously, I'm fine.”

“Are you though? Because remember, once upon a time, you—”

“I’m serious. Right now, I’m fine,” I answered honestly. But who knew how I'd be in a few days on the actual anniversary of her— their —death? Only time could tell.

“Okay,” she answered like she didn't believe me, but that was okay. She didn't have to. “Okay, so if it's not that, then …”

“I, uh …” What was I supposed to say? That I might have a date? But it wasn't a date, despite feeling very much like it was. “A friend wants to go out for dinner.”

“A friend?”

I glanced again at Lido. He looked at me exhaustedly, like he, too, was already tired of my shit.

“Yeah. A friend.”

“What friend?”

“Chuck … I mean, Charlie,” I quickly said. “He works at the—”

“I know who Chuck is. He wants to go out for dinner?”

She seemed dubious. Like she knew there was something I wasn't saying.

“Yes,” I answered astutely.

“Okay,” she said slowly, disbelieving. “Well, it shouldn't be—”

“I'll just tell him it's not going to work out,” I hastily cut in, panic washing over me. “Don't worry about it. Another time.”

“Oh my God,” she said with a laugh. “What's going on with you? I was just saying it should be fine. What day? What time?”

There was sweat now dotting along my forehead as I rolled toward the gate.

Charlie hadn't come out yet. It was still locked.

On the outside of the gate, I saw the daytime guard—a new guy, and I couldn't remember his name—and clenched my fists.

Charlie must've slept in. It didn't happen frequently.

But I guessed with his sister-in-law in town and her kids …

A knot formed in my gut, and I tightened my grip on the wheel.

“Um, I'm not sure. He didn't give me a date or time, just that he wanted to know if I could, uh …” My voice trailed off as Charlie’s truck pulled up alongside mine.

He looked frazzled—his hair pulled back in a sloppy-looking knot with flyaway strands framing his face and his beard looking even scruffier than usual. He offered a half-hearted wave, and I rolled down the window as he approached.

“Hey, sorry about the wait. The kids have been bouncing off the walls since five a.m., and I lost track of time.”

I smiled, remembering Lizzie and Jane and how their excitement would have them in bed late and awake early.

“A week at Uncle Charlie’s must be a good time.”

He snorted and rolled his gaze toward the gate. “I'm not sure I'd call it a good time, but, sure, let's go with that. Anyway, were you able to, uh, find out if you're available?”

My eyes darted toward my phone, sitting in the center console. Grace was still on the line, and I knew she had to be listening.

“Yeah, I'm available,” I said, then awkwardly cleared my throat before adding, “Did you … um … did you have a day and time in mind for us to—”

“Melanie doesn't have anything planned, as far as I know, so anytime would be good, I think.

Stormy's really the mastermind behind this whole thing, but she was thinking that, you know, maybe we could …” He shrugged, blanketing his face with a sly expression.

“Make plans with her and then say, Oh, it's not gonna work, but our friend Max doesn't have anything going on .”

I huffed an uncomfortable laugh, already dreading whatever my sister would have to say once the window was closed. “Right. Yeah. That works for me. Any day is fine. I just need a heads-up.”

He looked at me sidelong, a mischievous smile on his face. “What about tomorrow?”

I blew out a tight breath and nodded. “Yeah,” I said, my voice choked. “Tomorrow works.”

“Awesome. Okay. I won't keep you any longer. Get some sleep. I'll see you later.”

“Yeah, man,” I said, unsuccessfully shaking off my trepidation and worry with a weak smile. “Have a good day.”

He rapped his knuckles against the truck before beginning to walk away, and I rolled up the window and waited, breath held and fists clenched tight. Dreading what my sister would say. Praying she'd at least be gentle.

“Sorry about that,” I muttered as Charlie ran to the gate and unlocked the chains holding the heavy iron shut.

“It's okay,” she replied.