Page 69 of Ebbing Tides
“Then what the hell would be the point of all this if everything was the same after you died?”
I shrugged with a helpless tip of my lips. “I don’t think it’s my business to know.”
“Fool,” he grumbled. “Always a fool.”
I chuckled sardonically, shaking my head. “And you’ve always been a fuckin’ ray of sunshine, but here I am, aren’t I?”
“You have nowhere else to go. I’m all you have. Killed your wife. Killed Margaret. God, she never knew how much I loved her, but I guess I always had a shitty way of showing it.” He lolled his head to look at me again. “You’re just like your old man, you know. My blood is yours. We’re cut from the same cloth.”
“So you’ve said before,” I muttered, seeing no point in arguing with him while feeling bristled by what he was saying just the same.
“I wish you would kill me too.”
The statement didn’t rock my soul instantly. At first, I glanced at him, snickered, like he might’ve been joking. But then he laid his hand against the bedrail and demanded I look at him again. A desperation had fallen over his features, his eyes watering with tears that left my hands shaking.
My father never cried. Not at my mother’s funeral or at the time of his terminal diagnosis. Seeing him on the brink now palpitated my heart, and I stared, unblinking.
“I want you to kill me,” he whispered, his voice trembling but the request clear as day.
I forced a chuckle, though I didn’t find anything funny. “No can do, Dad.”
To my horror, his face fell with disappointment. “But why not?” He sounded unhinged and ready to lose it all. “Don’t you want to be done with this? Aren’t youtired?”
“I’m doing what I have to do for as long as I have to do it for,” I answered with an apologetic smile.
“God, please. Please kill me.” A flimsy hand reached out for me as his eyes watered and his composure broke. “I’m not asking; I’mtellingyou. Please, please, please kill me. You’ve killed before. Do it again, one more time. Kill me,please.”
“Dad,” I said, shaking my head, “stop.”
“You are myson! My godforsaken, bastard son! Do what I’m telling you, dammit! Obey me, boy! Listen to your father!”
He was hysterical. His voice every bit as frail as he was. Looking at me with begging eyes, his body nothing more than a skeleton with skin hanging loosely from the bones. Fuck, maybe a better man would have killed him. Taken mercy and ended his life. But I bore enough smudges on my soul. I didn’t need or want this one.
“I’m sorry,” I said, standing from the chair and heading for the door. “I already took the lives of others in your name when you forced me to join the Army. I will not take yours too. And it’s been a long fucking time since I was aboy.”
***
Dad’s cries ceased some minutes later, and I reentered the room to watch the rise and fall of his chest. He looked miserable, even in sleep. There was nothing peaceful or comfortable about this, and although he hadn’t told me as much, I felt guilty about that too.
I sighed, scrubbing my hands on either side of my face. I had to get ready for work. Had to eat something and feed the dog. Yet I didn’t want to do anything but sit here and watch over him. Grace had mentioned she’d stop by tonight to sit with him for a bit before the night nurse came, and that should’ve been enough to ease this anxiety, but it wasn’t.
My eyes traveled the perimeter of the room. This office had been such a forbidden place when I was growing up. Hell, this entire wing of the house had been off-limits for my whole life until he came home on hospice. Now, I looked around, wondering why it’d seemed so sacred back then. It was just a bunch of stuff, accumulated by a successful asshole of a man throughout his career and life. None of it mattered. None of it had changed the outcome at the end.
Something called to me—a whisper to my soul maybe—and I wandered toward the vintage desk, shoved against the wall to make room for Dad’s bed. The heavy oak, stained a dark mahogany in color, was as pristine as I was sure it’d always been, with only a thin layer of dust across its top to show its lack of activity in the last nine months. I ran my hand over its surface, smearing away the evidence of time passed to reveal the gleaming polish beneath. Then I touched the expensive designer pens in the black steel cup. Then I lifted the plaque with his name engraved into it, wondering why he needed to be reminded of who he was, even in his own home.
I opened the top drawer, surprised to find it unlocked, and there, lying in the center, was an envelope with Dad’s name written in Mom’s handwriting.
It was none of my business. I should’ve left it alone. But I picked it up, turned it over, and found that it’d never been opened. All these years later, it remained sealed, and without asecond thought, I slipped it beneath my shirt and hurried out of the room before Dad could wake up.
***
“Who’s Richard?” Melanie asked, seemingly out of nowhere.
I was mid-thrust, breathless, when I looked at her through a sex-induced haze, disbelieving.
“You’re asking thisnow?”
She laughed against my shoulder, her fingers digging into my back. “I’m sorry. I just …”
