Page 92 of Ebbing Tides
My neck nearly snapped as I turned to look at him. His position hadn’t changed. His eyes hadn’t opened. But his fingers continued to lift with erratic movements, trembling, as if desperate, and without another second of doubt, I took that cold, bony hand between mine and held tight.
“Hey, Dad,” I whispered.
His hand lay limp against my palms, but the movements of his fingers stopped, and he settled with a sigh.
“My … boy …”
He spoke those two words with something damn close to affection. It hurt. Oh God, it hurt to hear him speak to me now that way when I’d longed for it all my life.
“Yeah, Dad. I’m here.”
“Tell my boy … I’m … sorry …”
I blinked, taken aback. Had I heard him correctly? Was my mind playing tricks on me, imagining his whispered words to be something they weren’t?
“What?” I asked, leaning closer. Holding his hand tighter.
But he didn’t reply.
His breathing slowed, his neck lolled at an unnatural angle, and as my sisters hurried back into the room, he took his final breath.
“Sorry,” Lucy hurried to say. “I went to that bathroom, and then Ricky called to ask—”
“Is he gone?” Grace asked, sparing me the explanation of where she’d been for so long.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure I cared.
That last moment with my father was mine. Perhaps the only decent one we’d ever had. And no matter how much I’d thought I needed it before, nothing could’ve prepared me for just how grateful I was to have it now.
“Yeah,” I replied, still holding on to his hand. “He’s gone.”
“Oh, Daddy,” Lucy whispered, instantly choked by the weight of her sadness.
It took a great deal of willpower to let his hand rest, lifeless, on the mattress. It took a lot of strength to let go. But I did, and I held my eyes shut for a moment, hoping I could remember the way his fingers had felt against mine. Hoping it wouldn’t fade away as quickly as Laura’s perfume from her pillow, but knowing all the same that, with time, it would. Somewhere down the line, I would think back on this moment and beg my mind to bring it back, scold it for not trying harder to hold on to the thing I had wanted more than anything in this world—my father’s affection. But for now, I committed it to memory, knowing every other chance was gone with his dying breath, but at least I had this once. And once would have to be enough.
I opened my eyes and stood up in a hurry, turning abruptly to head toward the door.
“I’m going to call hospice,” I announced. “Someone has to let them know.”
Neither of my sisters jumped up to offer their help in making the phone call, and that was just fine. I needed to get out of that room. I needed to get away. I needed tobreatheagain.
But more than anything, I needed to hurry up the stairs to my childhood bedroom, where I’d once found my mother’s lifeless body. I needed to lock the door and press my back to the wall. Just so I could squeeze my eyes shut, slide to the floor, and cry for every chance we never had to be father and son.
And for the one and only time he hadwantedme.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SUNDAY
A hospice nurse I had never met came to declare that Dad had, in fact, died. She documented the time of his death as the time of her arrival. She removed all the controlled substances hospice had provided. She called the funeral home, spoke to the answering director for a moment, then passed the phone to Grace before taking her leave.
It was all so formal and quick.
Now, I sat in the cold as two funeral directors carried Dad’s body to the hearse, parked in the driveway. My gaze clung to the body bag, half expecting it to start moving, as if this entire ordeal was one big joke. The rational part of my brain knew it was ridiculous, but I couldn’t help the way I hoped.
We didn’t have the chance to have a real relationship, I caught myself thinking, and, fuck, it was stupid. It was so damn stupid when we’d had nearly fifty years—years!—to build a solid, healthy father-son bond. He just never allowed it.
I almost blamed myself, almost wondered if I could’ve done something, could’ve donemore, to mend the broken bridge between us … but I stopped that thought from taking life. Our situation was a lot of things, but it was never my fault. I could at least be sensible about that.
