Page 8 of Ebbing Tides
“Me? Oh, um …” I swallowed down an ancient urge to say,Yep, two girls, baby on the way. “Nah. But, uh, all boys, huh? Wow. That’s gotta be a handful.”
Her laugh was soft, adoring. “They are, but honestly, they’re my entire world. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”
Other questions bit at my tongue, but one by one, I swallowed them back down with a guessed answer.
Is she married? Of course she is.
How long is she here? Does it matter when she’s eventually leaving?
Does she want to go out sometime? No, jackass, she’s married, and she doesn’t know you.
“How old?” I asked instead as Charlie’s place became a house and not a looming black shadow in the distance.
“Eight, five, and three,” she answered as she laid her arm on the center console, jostling something there. “Oh, crap, sorry—oh, that … that’s so weird.”
She lifted the Dodge truck I had bought for far, far more than it was worth, and suddenly, she was quiet. Eerily so, even as Lido nudged her shoulder with his nose.
I pushed him back. “Hey, get out of here,” I gently said to him before asking, “Are you okay?”
Her laugh was nearly nonexistent as she tried to push a smile onto her face. “Yeah, it’s just … my husband had this exact same truck,” she said, an air of melancholy in her voice.
I had to admit, I was a little confused. I didn’t know too much about Charlie’s life or family—our friendship was on surface level, if that—but I knew he had two sisters-in-law. One was his wife, Stormy’s, sister, and the second was his brother’s wife. From what I knew of his wife’s sister, she was very happily married, but all I knew about his brother’s wife was that …
Shit, had Charlie ever mentioned her at all, apart from her name around Thanksgiving?
“Oh, yeah?” I pulled up outside the cottage. “I did too. It was my first car actually.”
She snorted then. “I lost my virginity in the back of that truck,” she said, her laugh suddenly genuine.
I laughed with her, and I couldn’t even tell you why. “I didn’t, but … there were other times,” I offered awkwardly, shifting in my seat as I cleared my throat. “Her name was Laura.” An ache filled my chest at the mention of her name, and why I had said it out loud to this stranger, I had no idea.
“His name was Luke.”
Luke … Chuck …Charlie’sbrother was Luke, and he’s …
Dead, I quickly remembered. Not that Charlie talked much about himself or his life. But I remembered that. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten.
“Ah,” I whispered, my voice barely heard over the engine, still rumbling.
She smiled as if it was the most painful thing to do. “Yeah, well, anyway”—she pushed the truck door open—“it was nice meeting you, Max. Thank you for saving me from losing my toes to frostbite.”
Her exit was abrupt, like it itself was the end of the topic at hand. Her husband. Her dead husband. She was a widow—the unfortunate, unwanted title hit me square in the chest—and the desperation for camaraderie, forconnection, had my mouth opening and closing like a fish on a hook. But before I could say anything, she was out of the truck, and the door was closed. I hardly had time to process what was happening as she hurried up the walk to Charlie’s house, and I was about to sigh and drive away when she turned around.
Melanie rounded the front of the truck to stand beside my window, and I pressed the button to roll it down.
“This is gonna sound ridiculous and crazy. I know you don’t know me—I know we don’t knoweach other—but … can you hold onto these for me?” She stuffed her hand inside her pocket and produced her pack of cigarettes and an old-looking lighter.
I looked at the items in her hand, and without a second thought, I said, “Sure, I—”
“Charlie doesn’t know I smoke,” she explained needlessly. “That’s why I walked so far away from the house. I didn’t want him to see me, and … I don’t know … get upset or something.”
I nodded, opening my palm, waiting for her to hand them over. “Yeah, it’s no—”
“They were my husband’s,” she went on, talking like she didn’t care who was hearing it. Like she just needed tosayit. “I didn’t start smoking until after he died. It, um … I dunno … it makes me feel closer to him, I guess, which is probably stupid—”
“It’s not,” I interrupted gently. “It’s not stupid at all.”
My voice seemed to calm her barrage of speech, and she sighed, nodding. A solemn look passed her face as she laid the lighter and pack of cigarettes into my hand. Her eyes watered as she pulled away, staring at them, like she was dropping her kids off at school and letting go for the first time.
