Page 57 of Ebbing Tides
“Positive,” I replied, suppressing an eye roll. “My dad has money. He was a lawyer for a long time. But I’d bet everything I own on never ever seeing a penny of it.”
She cocked her head, a crease forming between her brows. “Not even after he’s gone?”
“I told you, my dad and I don’t get along,” I muttered, turning to lead them into the house.
“But you’re his son. He wouldn’t leaveanythingto you?” She sounded absolutely horrified at the possibility, and when I shook my head, she replied, “That’s … God, I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“Then say nothing,” I said, turning to face her once we stood in the living room.
The expression she wore reflected whatever pain and sympathy she was feeling, and I didn’t want an ounce of it. I wanted her to smile, to be happy she was here, to bring a little color to this dismal place.
I reached out to touch my palm to her face, rubbing my thumb against her cheekbone. The gesture was quick—I didn’t want her kids to see, unsure of what they knew about this,us—but the reward was the same as if I’d taken my time.
She smiled.
“Hi,” I muttered, pulling my hand back far, far sooner than I wanted.
“Hey,” she whispered, her grin growing, her eyes twinkling, and my pulse fluttered in time with my staggered breath.
She held my gaze for a single beat before turning to the kids, ordering them to take off their coats. I instructed her boys to hang them on the coat rack beside the door, and they did as they had been told, moving like obedient little soldiers. I watched them all, marveling at this amazing crew I had the privilege of knowing, even for a short amount of time. She might’ve raised them alone, and I didn’t doubt for a second she beat herself up on a regular basis over whatever failure of a job she thought she was doing, but, my God, she was incredible. She was the mother every kid deserved to have, the one I wishedIcould’ve had.
“What’s this?” Danny asked, walking to the couch, where I had a stack of pillows and blankets.
“I sleep there,” I told him.
“You sleep on the couch?” Melanie asked, startled yet again, her brow furrowed as she tried to piece together another puzzle I couldn’t see.
“For now. Until I can get back to my house.”
Her eyes met mine with questions abound, and maybe, if she asked me without her kids present, I’d answer. But I wouldn’t now, and she knew that in an instant of looking at me.
“It smells good in here,” she complimented, changing the subject as she smoothed her sweater over her stomach.
I nodded, gesturing for them to follow into the kitchen. “There’s chicken, butter and herb potatoes, snow peas, and biscuits. And if you’re not into that, there’s chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, fish sticks, and fries.”
I led the kids to the dining room, where the food was laid out on the table. They sat without invitation, helping themselves. I excused myself for a moment to get the drink glasses, moving out of habit. It was foreign to entertain, and I tried to remember the last time I’d had to do it. It wasn’t since Laura. Not since our house had been a home full of kids and noise and stuff.
It was weird.
It was nice.
I pulled the glasses from the cabinet, making sure to grab plastic for the boys. A sound came from behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder to find Melanie standing there, her hands working inside her sweater’s long sleeves.
Always fidgeting, I thought and smiled.
“You don’t have a room here?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“It’s a big house,” she said, stating the obvious.
“Very observant,” I muttered, then scolded myself immediately for being so obtuse. “Sorry. I, um … the bedrooms are upstairs. I haven’t been up there in …” Eight years. It’d been eight years. “A long time.”
“Your dad doesn’t let you use one of them? Where is—”
“I don’twantto go up there,” I interjected, turning around to meet her eyes with my stern, pleading gaze.
She tipped her head with curiosity. “Why? What happened upstairs?”
