Page 26 of For the Rest of Forever
The simple question didn’t really account for all of the factors in the equation, Greg knew. But he just didn’t know what to do, what to say, how to react. So instead, he stood on shaky legs, turned in the opposite direction, and headed out into his office in the garage.
Chapter Twelve
Allen
Allen stood back abit, watching as Annabeth pushed a book cart up to the first of several rows of bookshelves. The two boys, Christopher and Owen, trailed behind her, both of them quiet and looking rather uncomfortable.
Annabeth stopped and turned to face the boys, offering Allen a soft, understanding smile as her eyes met his for a brief moment. Then she blinked and shifted her attention back to Christopher and Owen.
“So, this is called shelf reading,” she started, and Allen smiled inwardly as he saw both of the boys straighten up a bit and nod. “Basically, you’re each going to work your way down your shelf, checking the call numbers to be sure every book is in the right place. If you find one that’s not, you can reshelve it—put it where it belongs—if its proper place is close by, or if not, just set it aside on the cart for now, and when you’re through with your shelf, then you can take care of them.”
She continued her explanation, but Allen stopped listening as he turned and headed back toward the desk at the front of the library. It wasn’t far, but by the time he got there, he felt winded, and he moved around behind the desk and sat heavily, closing his eyes for a moment. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Not since earlier that morning.
He heard the echo of the door slamming behind him and felt the sting again, like shards of glass piercing his heart. And the cold—he felt the cold too, seeping into him and numbing his fingers.
He was broken. Completely broken. Something inside him wasn’t working right. And it had caused him to go and overreact. Start a fight with his husband. A real, actual stomp-off-and-slam-the-door fight. All because he was stubborn and needed validation that Greg couldn’t—or wouldn’t—give. Just the thought of that—the reminder of their morning conversation—sent an unpleasant rush of nausea through him. And all those same feelings he’d been trying to tell Greg about that morning came back full force, as though trying to crush him. Smother him. Suffocate him.
That had to be why he couldn’t really breathe right. Why his hands were numb and his chest ached. Why all he could really feel was this overwhelming sadness and this odd detachment from the world around him. All of it mixed with a deep, simmering fear of the dark thoughts still swirling around in his head.
Unwanted. Unloved. A burden. Shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.
There was a soft noise in front of him, and Allen looked up to see his coworker standing on the other side of the desk, her kind brown eyes watching him.
“That should keep them busy for a while,” Annabeth said with a small smile. But then her smile morphed into a frown, and she shook her head andraised one eyebrow at him. “You, um, you don’t look so great. Maybe, you know, you should head home. I can handle everything. Really. And Casey will be here in about an hour anyways.”
A sick feeling in the pit of Allen’s stomach had him shaking his head. “No, I’m fine. I need to be here. I need to work on that proposal to the city council for funding to expand the after-school program, and—”
“Um, excuse me, Ms. Jones.” The voice from behind Annabeth was quiet and reluctant, and Allen recognized it immediately as Christopher’s. The nausea turned into a sharp pain that seemed to stab him in the gut, but he ignored it. “I found a book without a call number, and, um, what—what do you want me to do with that?”
Annabeth hadn’t turned away to acknowledge the boy and instead seemed to be watching Allen with even more concern. She opened her mouth, probably to ask him if he was alright, but he quickly nodded at her and forced a smile, even as his chest tightened more. “Go on and help them, and I’ll just get started on this proposal,” he managed, and he tore his eyes away from hers, gave Christopher another short nod, and shifted in his chair so he was facing his computer.
He was vaguely aware of Annabeth hesitating next to the desk for just a moment and then ushering Christopher away, presumably back to the bookshelves to take a look at the book he’d found. He knew she was worried about him. She’d been worried since he stepped foot in the library about a half hour ago, and she’d tried to talk to him several times. Before the boys had arrived, she’d even tried to convince him to go home.
A part of him wondered if Greg had called her and talked to her. Although he was pretty sure Greg wouldn’tdo something like that.
Mostly, though, he felt this growing sadness that was much too deep to just brush off. And it was sadness mixed with something else intense and raw. Something that had made his heart start racing and his whole body feel off. Like there was something sitting on his shoulders, trying to bury him. And he just wanted it to disappear.Hejust wanted to disappear.
With fingers that didn’t quite feel like his own—because he couldn’t shake the sensation that his mind was occupying this foreign space that was not really his—he switched on his computer and opened up the file he needed. Around him, the air felt thick and stale, and when Annabeth returned to check on him a moment later, he waved her off, barely hearing her as she asked whether he was okay.
But she didn’t just leave. In fact, as Allen blinked and glanced up at her, she pursed her lips, shook her head gently, and then moved around behind the desk and took the seat next to him.
“This proposal is due next week,” he said quietly, faking another smile as he adjusted his reading glasses and set his hands on the keyboard. He tried to read the words on the computer screen, but his eyes wouldn’t really focus. And why did his chest hurt? “I-I should really try to get it finished, and—”
“Talk to me, Allen,” Annabeth cut in, her voice low but insistent. “No one’s here. The boys are working. You’re insisting on being here, when you should be home. And I say this in the most loving way, because I’m your friend, but you look like shit.”
Allen closed his eyes and blew out a short laugh, though his stomach seemed to knot up painfully at the same moment. “Gee, thanks a lot.”
“Seriously, though. Please tell me what’s going on,” she said again, her voice gentle now.
But he shook his head. She wouldn’t understand. She wanted to be supportive, sure, and he appreciated that. But she wouldn’t understand, just like Greg hadn’t. And she didn’t need to be burdened by all of his uncertainties and pain and fear. Just like he shouldn’t have burdened Greg with all of it either. He shouldn’t have asked for so much, expected so much. He shouldn’t have made Greg worry. He shouldn’t have confessed as much as he had, since he knew it would just make Greg worry more. And then he shouldn’t have gotten short with Greg, stomped off, slammed the door.
God, he was just making a bad situation even worse. Just like he always did. It was too much.Hewas too much. No wonder Greg hadn’t come after him when he’d stalked off and hadn’t insisted on walking him to work. No wonder Allen had left home earlier without so much as a kiss on the cheek or a goodbye.
The numbness in his fingers spread all the way into his hands.
He faked another smile and lifted his eyes to meet Annabeth’s. “Really, it’s nothing,” he lied, although he regretted it immediately as guilt flared up inside him again. “There’s nothing going on. It’s just hard to be here and not remember last Sunday. That’s all. I promise.”
Annabeth was silent for a minute, and the guilt mixed with that deep sadness inside him. He swallowed hard.
