Eleanor & Grey(60)

“He’s not okay!” Karla barked out, staring at her father. “Nothing about him is okay! Nothing about this house is okay and I’m sick of acting like everything’s okay when it’s just not!” she cried before walking away as quickly as she could.

Lorelai stayed still with tears in her eyes.

“Lorelai, everything’s all right,” I told her. “Just go back to the table. I’ll be right there.”

Warily, Lorelai did as she was told, and I released the breath I’d been holding. I turned back to Greyson, who was now standing and staring out his office window with his back to me. “Are you alright?”

He turned to face me. His head flinched a little as he wrung his fingers together tightly and spoke. “Yes, Eleanor. I’m all right.”

“If you aren’t—”

“Eleanor.”

“Yes?”

“Close the door on the way out.”

I did as he said, knowing he was already on edge and not wanting to push him over it. I used to have those same kinds of nightmares after Mom’s death. It wasn’t an uncommon thing at all. It happened to many people after tragedy struck. I remembered being terrified to close my eyes because I wasn’t certain where my dreams would take me. I wasn’t worried about his dreams, but what concerned me most was how Greyson didn’t seem like the type to talk to anyone about his suffering.

He kept his hurts all to himself, which was the easiest way to drown.





I stayed a bit later with Lorelai that night after I put her to bed, because I knew she was a bit shaken up by her father’s outburst. That was something that happened with aging—the older you were, the scarier life became, and Lorelai was at that age where things were becoming a bit scarier.

“You okay?” I asked her, walking over and sitting on the edge of her bed.

She nodded as she hugged her pillow. “Is Daddy okay?”

“Yeah, he’s okay. He just had a bad dream.”

“He has a lot of bad dreams,” she whispered, her voice so low and timid.

“Really? Does he shout in his sleep a lot?”

“Yes. Sometimes it wakes me up when I’m sleeping. Is he really okay?”

I smiled, even though I wanted to frown. I combed my hands through the little girl’s hair, and bent down to give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “Yes, he’s okay. He’s just working through some stuff, that’s all.”

She nodded, being more understanding than should have been possible for such a young girl. “I miss him.”

“You miss him?”

“Yeah, he used to hang out with me, but now…” Her words trailed away and she frowned. “I miss Mommy, too. She was my best friend, her and Daddy.”

Oh, sweetheart…

“And Karla. She was my bestest friend, but she never wants to play anymore,” Lorelai explained. “She’s just kind of grumpy now.”

My heart hurt for her. My heart hurt for all of them. Their lives were tangled up in tragedy, and nothing could really change that.

When Lorelai finally fell asleep, I gathered my things to head home for the night, and as I walked past Greyson’s office, I noticed the door was open, which wasn’t normal.

He stood in front of his fireplace with a glass in his grip, and his stare was so hard. His brows were knitted as he inhaled and exhaled. I wished I could slide into his brain and see the workings of his mind. He seemed to think so many things yet never released those thoughts. The amount of pressure that sat on his shoulders seemed so heavy.

“Hey,” I said softly, and he snapped around to face me. When he looked my way, he looked confused as to why I was speaking to him. “I, um, I was just going to head home for the night. The girls are in their rooms.”

He nodded once. “Thank you.”

“Lorelai was really worried tonight.”

“There was nothing to be worried about.”

“Well, I disagree…” I took a step toward him and lowered my voice. “She said it happens quite often.”

“What happens?”

“Your night terrors.”

He tilted his head toward me and those cold eyes locked with mine. “I don’t have night terrors.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “You do, and it’s completely normal after the tragedy your family has been through. After my mother passed away, I couldn’t sleep. Remember? You’d call me. You’d call and sit on the phone with me and—”

“Please don’t.”

“Please don’t what?”

He stepped closer to me, and his voice lowered so much it cracked with his next words. “Please don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Make it so clear that I’m failing this family.”

The sadness that dripped from his words was heart-wrenching. “No. That’s not what I’m saying. You just have so much on your plate. I don’t think I could do half of what you do, especially with everything going on. You’re doing all the right things for your children. They are involved in activities, they are staying busy, they are going to grief counselors, but, you have to do something for you, too. Do you talk to anyone?”

“No. I’m fine.”