Chapter 55
Eleanor
After I landed in Florida, I felt a giant knot form in my stomach as I picked up my rental car. It had been over a year since I’d seen my father, and I wasn’t certain what to expect. Yet when I pulled up to the house and walked up to the front porch, my heart instantly broke.
“Eleanor,” Dad muttered, stunned to see me standing there. He looked wrecked, as if he hadn’t showered in days. His hair was wild, his beard not trimmed, and he’d put on a bit of weight since the last time. “Hey. What are you doing here? Are you OK?”
I glanced past him and saw his house was trashed. Junk food wrappers covered the coffee table, and there were clothes tossed all over. I raised an eyebrow. “Are you OK?”
He shifted over a bit, trying to block my view, but I already saw everything I needed. He began coughing into the palm of his hand, and I swore it sounded like he was going to lose a lung any second now.
“I’m good, I’m good. Just getting along day by day,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.
His eyes looked hollow. He looked a bit pale. And sad.
He looked so sad.
But that was nothing new. My father had been sad for the past sixteen years. It was his new normal.
“Can I come in?” I asked, stepping forward.
He grimaced and blocked my entrance. “It’s a mess in here, Eleanor. Maybe we can go out and grab a bite to eat.” He was embarrassed by himself, but I didn’t care. I was his daughter, and I loved him.
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 had 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, all right? 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 after 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 teaching 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.