Page 25 of Tides That Bind

“There’s no answer, you know. Just like, right now, looking at all that”—I point to the stacks of organized papers and folders—“I’m in denial. I’m denying Nate died and that I have to deal with all this shit. Because do you know what? I’m too young to be a widow.”

I sit down at the table and take another drink.

“When I go to bed and instinctively put my hand out to Nate’s side and feel a cold sheet, I’m depressed. At night, yeah, basically I’m depressed. And then, in the morning when I wake up alone, I accept he's gone, really, I do. Because Nate didn’t fold a pillow the way he likes when he sleeps. It’s still crisp. So Iget itin the morning. I’mfinein the morning. And then I go downstairs and Lucas comes down and I see it in his eyes—how helooksfor him, Caroline—and I swear to god I’d make a deal with the devil to bring him back for one minute. Justone.”

My voice cracks and I lean my head in my hand.

“According to Google, that’s called the bargaining stage.”

Caroline shakes her head. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, Harper. If something happened to Finn…and we don’t even have a kid to think about. You getting out of bed each day is something to celebrate.”

“I don’t want to be celebrated right now. I don’t want to be in this situation right now.” I sigh. “I’m back into the denial bit.”

Caroline takes my hand, but again, it’s the right kind of comfort from the wrong person.

Noticing the time on the microwave, I pull away. “You should go. It’s late. Thank you for helping me. I really mean that.”

I help Caroline pack up, and walking her out.

“Oh.” She lifts open the mailbox that sits on the wall to the side of the front door. “Let me just—”

I grab the few envelopes from her. “I’ll take care of it,” I say, even though I mean I’m going to throw these on top of the piles she just organized and ignore them too.

Caroline’s shoulders drop. I know she’s aware I’m rushing her out and I hate that so much. But I also know on a deeper level, she gets it. Because she getsme.

Or at least, who I am now.

Locking the door, I lean against it. Tides appears at the top of the stairs to inspect the noise before he heads back down the hall to Lucas's room. I make my way into the kitchen, but I have no interest in tidying up, even just washing a few dishes. I toss the envelopes on the counter, watching as one slips into the crevice between the quartz and the stove and curse under my breath. But I leave it and turn off the light, heading upstairs to my bedroom and manifesting falling asleep as soon as I shut my eyes.

After an hour, I’m wide awake.

And then another hour passes.

I throw the covers off my body and get up, my feet sliding along the area rug as I make my way to the end of the bed. I don’t bother to turn on the light. I don’t want to see how a roomcan look the same but feel so different, so wrong and upside down.

Lifting my arms, I fall into a handstand. The rush of blood to my head is welcome and familiar. How many times did I do this as a kid in the trailer when Mom and Dad were fighting about money, about the show, about where to go next? When life felt upside down, I felt better to just fall upside down with it. That rush of blood was a comfort. It flooded my mind with images of how my life might look one day—perfect.

And now, with life not just upside down, but upside down and backwards, I see that perfection, how my life was just two months ago, and the weight of the torturous image makes my arms tremble far too early for how easy this stunt normally is for me.

I let my legs fall over and sink to the ground. Before I’m right side up, I’m already crying.

The whiskeybottle slips out of my grip and lands in the sand at my feet. But I don’t care. I keep walking because it’s empty anyway.

I only make it another few steps, which I think is more than yesterday, but when I turn my head and gaze down the beach, I find I haven’t gone further than the lifeguard tower. I haven’t made it any closer to the water.

Taking a deep breath, I raise my arms to place my hands on my head but curse because of this fucking splint I have to wear. It’s better than the hard cast I had on, but not by much. Below it, my skin is hot and itchy, nowhere more than on the scar of my left index finger, theXthat marks the spot where doctors had to operate, placing a small metal bar where what was left of my bone once was.

They were talking about the operation—about my finger—like I was lucky to still have it. A finger. A fucking finger on my non-dominant hand made melucky.

I wanted to ask if they thought I was lucky to still have all my fingers, what did they consider Nate?

The sun has finally risen higher and beats on the back of my neck, heating my dark hair that I imagine is tangled in one largeknot at this point. It makes me want to get in the water more. My brain is telling me—go, you’ll feel better.

That’s what the ocean always was for me, a way to feel better.

Hated my dad? Go for a dip in the ocean.

A teacher made me feel like a dumbass in front of the whole class? Skip his next class and run into the surf.

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