Page 93 of Ebbing Tides
“They want us at the funeral home at noon,” Lucy said as she stepped out onto the porch.
I nodded wordlessly, watching as they slid the body bag into the back of the hearse.
“We have to make the arrangements,” she went on. “Grace and I were just talking. We never had a wake for Mom. Which I always thought was sad—”
“She spent forty years in bed, Lucy. She didn’t know anyone. Who the hell would’ve come?” I muttered without looking in her direction.
She inhaled sharply and took a moment to continue, “Anyway, we were thinking we’d just do the same for Daddy. Have a Mass and just be done with it.”
“Whatever you want to do,” I replied as the two men got into the hearse and started the engine.
“Well, do you have an opinion?”
I shook my head, staring as they drove away. “Nope.”
“Well, you have to be thinkingsomething,” she said, exasperated.
With a sigh, I slapped my palms against my thighs as I stood. “I had nothing to do with any of Mom’s funeral arrangements. What makes you think he’d want me to be a part of his?”
I turned in time to watch her gnaw at the corner of her bottom lip, unable to meet my eye. Her arms were wrapped tightly over her chest, not to ward off the winter wind, but to guard her heart. From the loss of our father or the resistance I was exhibiting, I couldn’t be sure, and right now, I couldn’t find it in me to care. I loved my sisters—God knew how much—but while they might be grieving the man they’d had a good, at least somewhat-healthy relationship with, I was grieving something far worse: the relationship that never was.
I needed space. I needed time. I needed … fuck, I didn’t even know what I needed. I just needed them to leave me alone and let me think, let mebreathe.
“You were still his son,” she finally replied. “And the right thing is to—”
“Don’t even talk to me about the right thing,” I snapped. “I’ve spent the last nine months of my life doing theright thing.” The words spitballed from my mouth quicker than I could stop them.
What the hell was wrong with me? I was so angry, but that anger wasn’t directed at her or Grace. Of course not. But I couldn’t stop myself from taking it out on her.
Maybe it was because I had seen a side of our father in the better part of a year that they never had. Sure, they stopped by, but they weren’t here full-time. They had lives to live, families to care for. They couldn’t comprehend the things I had done, the things I had seen. Much like going to war, they couldn’t imagine the hell Dad and I walked through together. The hell Icarriedhim through. I had been so lonely, soalone, and apart from Lido, the only person who had cast a light to the darkest parts of my mind was …
Oh God, Melanie.
My heart swelled and ached at the thought of her. Her lips, her eyes, her hair, every delicious curve of her body. The conversations we’d had. The laughter. The tears. It had been only one week, but it was possibly the best week of my entire life, full of moments to set beside that dinner we’d shared twenty years ago. That night that had kept me company through some of the worst, most horrific times I’d ever experienced. The proofthat even I could have nice things, even if they were fleeting and not mine to keep forever.
One day, she’ll be someone else’s, I thought.There will be another man, someone she’ll spend the rest of her life with, and I will spend the rest of mine hating him. Wishing it had been me.
But it could never be me.
“Max,” Lucy said softly, reminding me she was there. “Why don’t you just go sleep?”
I allowed the image of Melanie’s face to fade away as I nodded. “Yeah, I’m exhausted.”
“Get some rest. We can meet up at the funeral home and go from there.”
“Sure,” I muttered, still nodding. “Yeah. Sounds good.”
It didn’t sound good though. Not really.
My gut rolled with continual waves of nausea as my sisters and I locked up the house, leaving it dark and still for the first time in any of our lifetimes, and it persisted as we climbed into my truck and drove back to Grace’s house in silence.
A part of me walked inside, hoping Melanie would still be there while knowing damn well she had gone back to Charlie’s cottage hours ago. It was well past midnight—nearly two in the morning—and I wondered if she was still awake. If there was any chance of us meeting up one last time to …
What the hell am I thinking?
Seeing her now wasn’t going to stop her from leaving later. It wasn’t going to prevent this from tearing open my already-broken heart. Did I think that having sex one last time might make saying goodbye any easier?
No, maybe this was for the better. I could just simply let her go, make a clean break, and carry on with life as if it’d never happened at all. Much like the first time our paths had crossed. I had let her walk away from that bar without begging her once to turn around, and I’d survived. I could do it again.
