Letters to Robin

CHAPTER FORTY: PARIS & REAGAN

PARIS

          I'M SPREADING AVOCADO OVER a slice of toast when I hear a key turning in the door and a second later Elaine walks in, looking like a person who's been burning the candle at both ends.

“Morning. Or evening I guess,” she says with a glance at her watch as she walks into the kitchen, taking the slice of toast from my hands and biting into it. “Thanks,”

“Anytime,” I say with a small smile because I don't think there's ever been a time when Elaine Griffin has been anything besides herself. We met my second week in Cambridge when she bumped into me and spilled my coffee down my shirt, but somehow convinced me to buy her a coffee instead. “When did you get in?”

“Just now, I took Julius's plane. One of the perks of marrying a wealthy man, I suppose..... Now, if only he wasn't a right bastard,” she says, taking another bite into her toast with a contemplative look on her face.  “Where's my daughter?”

“Sleeping,”

“How is she holding up?”

“She had a rough morning,” I say because it's easier than telling her she woke up screaming from a nightmare and then spent a few hours crying into my chest. Elaine nods her head and I turn around to pour her some coffee; with the bags beneath her eyes, she looks like she needs the pick me up. I pause when I bring her the coffee, realizing she's looking at the list of house rules that Reagan and I have stuck to the fridge. There's a deep frown between her eyebrows as she turns to look at me, and I can see the gears in her head turning.

I wait for her to say something, but she simply takes the coffee from my hands and heaves a weighty sigh down her nose. “I'm guessing we need to talk, huh?” She says, turning around and walking into the living room, where she drops herself onto the sofa. I follow behind her, sitting in the armchair and staying quiet while she finishes the toast and drinks her coffee. The gravity of the moment weighs heavy in the air, but I can't bring myself to care about anything other than the girl asleep in my room.

When Elaine finishes her sandwich, she wipes her hands clean and sets her empty cup on the coffee table. She takes a moment to collect her thoughts before turning towards me, a serious expression on her face.

“What's the damage?” she asks, and I take a breath before I answer.

“Done, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Elaine. I love her,” she lets out a heavy sigh and looks out through the balcony, the evening light casting shadows on her face.

“I had a feeling something was going on between the both of you the last time I was here. The way you looked at her. Hell, the way you both looked at each other,” she says, and I remain silent because really what is there to say? I expected her to at least start screaming at me by now, but she seems more contemplative than anything else. We're quiet for some time until she lets out another sigh, breaking the silence.