Page 145 of Eleanor & Grey

Whatever he was going through, I could help.

“Let me in, Dad. I’ll help you straighten up the place. Plus, I was hoping to stay here a few days before heading back home. Just so we can catch up.”

“Oh? Well, I don’t know. I just wish you would’ve told me, Eleanor.”

“Dad. Let me in.”

He shook his head. “It’s bad…”

“Dad,” I argued. “Let me in.” I pushed my way past him, and walked into the house to see that it was a million times worse than when I simply peeked inside.

There was trash everywhere. Crumbs of food through the carpet. Empty soda cans, bottles of liquor, cookie containers. Wrappers of all sorts. His clothes were tossed into a junk pile in the corner of the living room, and the kitchen sink was stacked high with dishes.

I’d seen my father during some of the lowest points of his life but never like this. He was living in filth, and it was almost as if he didn’t care.

He started scrambling around, picking things up, obviously completely thrown off by my arrival. “It’s not always like this,” he lied. “Things have just been a bit crazy lately,” he muttered.

“You can’t live like this, Dad,” I said, stunned. “You deserve more than this.”

He cringed. “Don’t start on me, Eleanor. You showed up with no warning. I didn’t have a chance to straighten up.”

“It should’ve never been this bad! And look at you…Dad…have you been taking your medicine?”

He grimaced. “I’m fine, Eleanor. I don’t need you coming down here and belittling me because of my choices.”

“I’m not trying to belittle you, Dad. I’m honestly just worried. This isn’t healthy, and you look weaker than the last time I saw you. I just want to help you.”

Now his embarrassment was shifting to anger. “I didn’t ask for your help! I don’t need your help. I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not. You’re broken, and you have been for years now.”

“See? This is why I don’t like to visit. This is why us living together didn’t work out. You always end up pointing out my flaws.”

“Dad, that’s not what I’m doing! I’m just saying, I’m worried.”

“Yeah well, stop worrying. I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity; it’s love. I love you, Dad, and I want you to be the best you can be.”

He didn’t say I love you, too.

That always stung.

He lowered his head and scratched the back of his neck. He didn’t look at me very often, and I was almost certain it was because I looked like Mom. Maybe it was too hard for him to face me. Maybe it made his hurts hurt a little too deeply.

“Maybe it’s best that you don’t stay here. I’m not in a good place right now, and I just don’t want you to have to feel bad for who I am, alright? Maybe it’s best if you head out, Eleanor.”

He dismissed me.

Without even looking my way.

He pushed me away and told me to go, and that was all there was to it.

The whole flight back to Illinois, I cried. I sobbed for him out of fear. Out of worry. Out of heartbreak. And then I prayed to Mom to look over him, because I was certain there was nothing I could do to make him come back to me.

When I returned to Illinois, I began my search for a new job. I was picking up the pieces of my broken heart, and learning to teach them to beat on their own again.

Every now and then I thought of both my father and Greyson. I thought about their hearts, and I hoped they were still beating on their own, too. I did the only thing I could truly do for the both of them due to the muddy waters we were all floating through: I loved them from a distance.

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