Page 48 of Ebbing Tides
I had never been a terrible chef. Everything I had learned to make in my youth and during my years in the service left me with a decent skill set. Everybody who had eaten my cooking never left hungry, and nobody ever got sick. It was a useful talent in all the years I'd been on my own, never starving or relying on endless amounts of takeout.
But eating Melanie's chicken cordon bleu made every meal I'd ever made look mediocre in comparison, and my taste buds wept at the thought of settling on my own cooking once she left.
“He likes you,” Melanie said from beside me, gesturing toward CJ, who had laid his hand over my arm while he ate his dinner.
“I like him too,” I said, smiling down at the little boy.
“How are you with your nieces and nephews?”
I shrugged, spearing another piece of chicken with my fork. “Good. They're all great kids. But we don't see each other that often. Everybody has their own lives, everybody's busy …”
“Hmm,” Melanie muttered thoughtfully.
I glanced at her and raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“I don't know. That just seems sad to me.”
“How so?” I tipped my head and chewed as I looked at her, the rest of the table fading away.
“You have sisters, brothers-in-law who are also your best friends, nieces, and nephews … a wholefamily…” She looked up to catch my eye. “Are your parents alive?”
My chest pinched with the need to tell her my story but … not now. “My dad still is.”
“A whole family, and you don't see them—”
“I live with my father,” I corrected.
“Oh. I didn't know. And he’s the one who—”
I swallowed, then nodded. “Yeah. I’m caring for him while he's in hospice.”
“Oh, I had no idea,” Charlie said from across the table. “I’m sorry.”
I hadn’t been aware he was listening.
“It's fine,” I answered as if on autopilot. “He's been sick for a long time.”
“Can I ask with what?” Melanie asked, her eyes on her plate.
I reached for my glass of water and raised it to my lips as I replied, “Oh, uh, lung cancer.”
I said the words so nonchalantly, like I had just informed them of the weather, and I realized I'd never had to utter them aloud before. My circle of people had remained so small through the years, and they’d all found out about Dad’s prognosis at the same time I had. Fuck, had I ever talked about his diagnosis withanyone? I couldn’t remember, and I wondered if it was for lack of caring or caring too much.
Melanie cleared her throat as she grabbed her napkin. She wiped her mouth and shifted in her seat and realigned her fork and knife beside her plate, and the more she moved, the more I began to wonder what she was avoiding.
Across from me, Charlie blew out a breath and stood, taking his plate with him as he left for the kitchen. Stormy followed suit, collecting the boys’ empty plates, along with her own.
Was it something I said?I wondered.
Or was it something she wasn’t saying?
“My mom battled liver cancer not long ago,” Melanie quietly confessed.
“I’m sorry,” I replied.
“It’s okay. For now anyway. They were able to blast the tumor with radiation, she had a transplant, and she’s been inremission.” She glanced down the table at Luke and Danny, both of whom seemed oblivious to the conversation. “Honestly, it’s why we came up here when we did. I wasn’t sure when we’d be able to get away again, depending on how things with my mom go. Figured they deserved a little break and some time with Uncle Charlie.”
“You’ve dealt with too much,” I commented.
