Page 101 of Tides That Bind

The way Claire reaches for my hand and examines my limp finger tells me she already knows the answer.

“I’m better.” I clear my throat and look up, wiping at my face with my free hand. “I’m sorry I haven’t called or come by.”

“I’m glad you’rebetter,” Claire squeezes my hand. “For Lucas. Nate would’ve wanted you to be better for him than worry about me.”

You gotta take care of my family, Riley.

“I’m trying,” I whisper.

“Riley.” Claire’s voice is so soft. “Iknowyou are. I am. We all are. All we can do is try our best.”

I nod and Claire squeezes my hand once more before she lets go.

“Put the cream and strawberries in the fridge, will you? I’llmix everything up later.” She motions at the bag on the counter. “Did Lucas eat yet?”

“About a vat of ketch-up.”

Claire laughs, moving to the door. “A condiment king. Just like his dad.”

I stand in the kitchen, taking a deep breath before I pull out the container of strawberries and carton of cream from the bag. The chill that hits me when I open the fridge is welcome and I keep my head between the doors for a minute.

“Did you find the buns?”

Stepping back, I close the fridge as Harper walks into the kitchen. I reach over, taking the bag of buns from the counter and toss them at her.

“Are you okay?” She holds the bag to her chest before setting it down on the table. “Riley?”

I shake my head even though I mumble, “Yes.”

Through the window, beyond the vase holding this week’s batch of tulips, I watch Claire make her way across the lawn. She bends to collect the ball for Lucas's tee and takes the bat from Caroline.

In the grief of losing a child, Claire doesn’t miss a beat. She keeps standing after lowering her son into the ground. She plays T-ball with her grandson and prepares of our favorite dessert.

“Riley?”

I run a hand over my face.

“What’s wrong?”

What’s wrong is I don’t want to miss a beat either. I’m tempted in this pocket of quiet between Harper and me with the noise and laughter oflifeoutside to close the gap, to press her into the counter and cup her cheeks and kiss her.

But when I turn to place the empty bag I now hold on the counter, I catch sight of the fridge, at the array of photos, and I’m reminded, dead or not, this is my best friend’s kitchen. This is my best friend’s wife. It’s his dog I’m trying to get back to make his son happy.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get past the fact it’s Nate’s family I’m taking care of. No matter how much and how hard I wish it could be mine.

“Yo, Riley! Let’s toast some buns.”

“I’m fine,” I tell Harper, grabbing the bag.

When I walk past her, she frowns, and then I remember. Harper is a mom—all moms know when you’re bullshitting them. And I care about her in a way I feel bad for icing her out.

I stop and turn around. “We’ll talk about it later, okay?”

“Okay,” Harper says. “Later.”

As a professional procrastinator,I’m excellent at pushing backlater.

I put away all the leftovers worth saving, and clean the kitchen we didn’t even use much while Finn chomps my ear off about a new brand of wet suits he wants to carry even though the wholesale pricing isn’t the slightest bit competitive.

---