When everyone else started crying, Gillian started crying too. Gillian waited for Matthew and his family to come home before she told them the news about Dana's death and she sat with Cal as he broke the news to their own kids and with them all crying around her, it was easier for her to let go too. She thought about her boys' loss of their grandmother and it broke her heart, for now they were grandparent-less, completely, and they were still only young. They were going to grow up without grandparents at all.
So she did cry, despite finding it so hard to get to that place in the first days after her mother's death. Cal was the rock she anchored herself to once again; he always was. And at the funeral she found the strength to get up and speak; being the eldest the responsibility was on her. It was nice, the funeral, low-key but not casual; Dana would not have stood for that. And she was buried next to David, which was what they had both wanted, in the end.
It was all so very natural but still, in Gillian's heart, it didn't seem right. She didn't feel right. It felt like she was going through the motions without feeling the emotions. She could feel Cal watching her and she knew that he could see, though he chose to say nothing. She thought back to her father's death and shutting him out. How she had done it on purpose because... well... it was stupid, but she had felt like she was in it alone, that she couldn't lean on him, that she shouldn't burden him. She thought back to the shooting, of Neil, of feeling scared and insecure and alone again. She wasn't alone. She was surrounded by people she loved; her husband and children, nieces, nephews, friends and family. Why was it in a crisis she automatically turned to solitude?
Gillian emerged from the bathroom, her mouth a little tingly from the mint in the toothpaste she had used to brush her teeth, and saw her husband was already in bed, glasses on, book propped up against his legs. He had tucked their boys in tonight, because they needed it. He had been so good with them, gentle and understanding and such a good Daddy. So sexy in the glasses; he was an incredibly beautiful man. And he was her husband. Gillian pulled the bathroom door closed softly and Cal half looked up at her but remained focus on the book he was reading. Gillian walked around the bed and pulled back the covers to get in. She sat on the edge of the mattress instead, her back to her husband for a moment, to remove her watch and jewellery.
If she was going to psychoanalyse herself, and this situation, the way she was handling it, it was probably because as a child, with her father's drinking, and her mother's enabling, that she had been alone or felt alone. She had had to deal with a lot of things alone, the drinking and growing up. And it was very well that she had probably taken this trait with her all through her adult hood. Through her first marriage certainly; she had never, ever let anyone else into the very small circle she had shared with Alec. No one knew about his substance abuse problem, not even her family until well after they were married. By the time she had even dared to tell Cal about it, it was only because her marriage was practically over and she had a foot out the door. Then it was safe to do so. Then it was too late to fix.
So now? With her mother's death? When she wanted to shove everyone away from her and deal with it alone, to try and feel something, or work out how she was feeling... What she suspected she had to do was talk to Cal about it. For two reasons, the first being that she had told him she would be more open when it came to the things that really cut her deeply, like he was with her; equilibrium and communication. But also because she had no idea what else to do and it was worth a shot. Every other time they talked it worked out pretty well; she wasn't sure why she avoided it.
Relationships took work and conscious efforts and she couldn't afford to absently shut the world out again. She had done it far too often, going all the way back to her childhood; she had never told anyone her father was an alcoholic either, not until she'd met Casey in college and was practically in therapy. But Cal was her best friend, and husband, and therapist, and shoulder to cry on. He was the man she turned to in every other situation, the one person she trusted without reserve, the father of her children, her partner in crime. She was hurting but she wasn't blind. He reached out to her, in the toughest times, when he was in the darkest of places, and she would always be there for him. So why would she not reach out to take his hand when the offer was permanently there?
Gillian left the assortment of bracelets and her watch under her lamp, put it out and swung her legs into the bed. She pulled the covers up and she slipped down. When she was lying flat she turned to her side to look over at her husband. His blue eyes were in intense focus on the page. She wondered what he was reading. If it was a novel, and it was good, she was so stealing it from him. He stole her books all the time.
"A minute," Cal mumbled and she gave an 'uhuh' in response. She didn't mind. Sometimes it was nice to just stare at him. And she was trying to work out what she wanted to say. Should she tell him all of the above? How much of it was going to seem completely irrelevant to the situation she faced right now, which was that it felt like her heart was cold and unfeeling. Her mother had just died and she had token cried and couldn't feel anything.
It really was a minute before Cal bookmarked his place and when he flipped back the cover Gillian could see what the book was. 'Fear'. She didn't catch an author's name. "What are you reading?" She asked as Cal put the book on his bedside table and quickly put out the light, plunging them into darkness.
"It's a series," Cal told her as he shifted, also onto his side, to mirror her. "The boys' are readin' it so I thought I'd check it out. Makes a good convasation starta."
She loved that he made the effort. She felt Cal's hand searching for hers so she shifted her fingers into his. He gripped her tightly. "What about you? You got that thoughtful expression on your face."
Gillian realised suddenly why he had put the light out, instead of leaving it on, like he could have, if he knew she wanted to talk; it was because she liked to talk in the darkness, in the safe confines of their bed. She wanted to laugh, at the sweetness of him, instead she felt the prick of tears, of all the hurt from her childhood and her mother, more than her father, who had been thoughtless, but of her mother who had purposefully lied and covered up and made her daughter feel as if she were unimportant.
Gillian felt a surge of anger and it suddenly blurted out and she launched into a rant of hot angry words and tears. It all came out of her, all of a sudden, all the times her mother broke promises because her father was drunk and her mother wouldn't leave him to take Gillian to the mall on a Sunday afternoon. The times her mother had lied and said her father was very ill right now with some kind of stomach bug, when in fact, now that Gillian knew better, he was hung over. The times David had screamed at them to shut up because he had a raging headache and Matthew had let a door slam. And her mother had rushed in to hush them up, even though they were doing nothing, and to get her father water, Advil, a cold compress, she would rub his shoulders; sometimes she would banish them outside.
"It just makes me so fucking angry," Gillian spat, the sheets around her hot and damp, her pillow lumpy and uncomfortable. She grabbed it and hurled it somewhere into the darkness. Her grip on Cal's hand was so tight she must be hurting him, she must be, but she couldn't bring herself to let go. And he didn't pull away. Nor did he interrupt her. Every so often he indicated he was listening, mostly by agreeing with her, but he didn't talk her down or try to change her mind.
With her head flat on the cool mattress Gillian continued to rant. "I just can't believe she went back to him. After all of that. After she worked up the courage and finally said 'no'. She finally left and then she just threw that all away again. And yeah maybe I could concede that she was giving him a second chance and I'm a big fan of that. I am."
"Me too," Cal muttered softly.
"But he was freaking drinking again anyway, and it's just like it was all for nothing. All of it. Every shitty thing they did between them. Every crappy parenting decision they made, mostly by not making a decision... Ugh!" Gillian cried. "Why? Why couldn't they be better? For me?" And she burst into tears again because that hurt the most. Her father couldn't stop drinking, not even for his children. And her mother always put him first, above her children, above herself.
"Gill," Cal murmured and moved so he was leaning over her. He attempted to put his arm around her and hug her and she was so angry, so aggravated she shoved at him, wanting him gone, wanting to lash out because he was there. But he was stronger and so he forced his arm between her back and the mattress and gathered her up. "Stop it," he told her firmly. "Stop now. That's enough."
She did. She stopped fighting and held him tightly. She really could not express enough how much she loved him and not just because he was sexy and a good father, because he got her. He understood her in all the ways and he was patient with her and caring and loving. So loving. She loved him in ways she didn't even know how to describe. She loved him because he was not her father and not Alec. Not even close. She loved him because he had overcome his demons and because he helped her overcome hers. She loved him because he had inadvertently helped her to break the pattern her mother had taught her and given her a second chance.
"I'm sorry," Gillian blurted, her face hot against her husband's neck. She was in his lap and he was holding her tightly.
"I'm not," Cal retorted. "Get it all out."
Gillian nodded. It felt like she had.