Page 47 of Ebbing Tides
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.
