Page 72 of Ebbing Tides
What’s wrong?I could’ve laughed at the asinine question. It was my mother’s last correspondence with anyone before she downed enough painkillers to kill five grown men with a bottle of Dad’s fancy wine. There was no end to what was wrong with that situation—or hell, much of my life.
Melanie’s hands were shaking as she handed the envelope to me. “Youneed to be the one to read this.”
I stared at it, one corner of the crisp white paper touching my chest. “What if I don’t want to?”
“No,” she replied. “Youhaveto. Promise me you’ll read it and promise me you’ll do it before your father dies.”
“You can’t just tell me what it says?” I laughed uneasily, swinging my gaze back to hers.
Melanie shook her head, but her eyes held more sympathy than I ever wanted directed at me. “I’m sorry.”
With a sigh of resignation, I took the envelope from her hand, noting that mine was shaking. I’d already been apprehensive, worried about what words my mother might’ve put on those pages, but now, I found I’d moved beyond worry and toward something more like fear.
I put it back on the desk. Melanie stiffened on my thigh, swallowing audibly. A quick glance in her direction told me she was uncomfortable, suddenly unsure of her place here in my office.
“Maybe I should go,” she said quietly. “I can give you space while you read it.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I’m not reading that letter right now.”
“But your dad is—”
“I am more than aware of my dad’s condition,” I interrupted bluntly, albeit gently. “But I have had almost fifty years with him in my life, and that’s been more than enough time for him to tell me whatever the hell might be in that letter.”
She looked unsure, her hands moving, forever fidgeting, in the sleeves of her shirt. “That might be, but—”
“I have spent twenty years wondering what would happen if I ever saw you again,” I said, laying my shaking palm against her cheek. “That bastard has ruined enough for me. I will be fucking damned if he ruins this too.”
And she licked her lips, her eyes uncertain, but eventually, she nodded. Like she trusted what I said, like she trusted me to not let my father get in the way of one of the most significant miracles ever to affect my life.
It was just too bad I didn’t trust myself.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SATURDAY
I knew what I had said. I knew I’d sworn I wouldn’t let Dad and whatever Mom had written to him in that letter ruin my time with Melanie.
And when I’d said it, I’d meant it. That wasn’t what I wanted, not for a second.
For crying out loud, this woman was the brightest silver lining against every dark cloud to hang over my life for the past twenty years. Those hours with her in the past had pressed against my heart, even in the bleakest times, as a reminder that good, unexpected things did happen, even to damned, cursed men like me. Even when everything had been taken from me, over and over again, those hours had been mine.
Nobody could take them from me, and, fucking hell, I didn’t want anything to take her from me now.
But still, despite my resolve and determination, that letter taunted me.
After Melanie left sometime around midnight, I tried to focus on anything but the envelope on my desk, ripped and open and ready for reading.
I stared at the cameras, fought for feigned interest in a few of the frames. Tried to convince myself I had seen something where there was nothing.
I tried reading the book I’d started over a week ago but not had time to read since Melanie stumbled through the cold and back into my life. But Stephen King’sLisey’s Storydid littleto hold my attention when something else begged to be read instead.
I even tried working myself through the exercises of my youth in the military. Push-ups, burpees, squats. Lunges, planks, stretches. I’d never stopped doing them; I tried to keep myself in shape, but now, I huffed my way through drills, mentally berating myself every time I thought about those words in my mother’s handwriting.
But even dripping sweat and struggling to catch my breath, I’d felt them, like every dot over aniwas an eye watching me, taunting me. Beckoning with a come-hither stare.
I couldn’t stop.
Even though I had to get back to Dad’s house, had to sleep, had to get to Sid and Grace’s house later for whatever shenanigans they had planned for the day, I couldn’tstop.
