Resilience

Thirteen

<Xavier>

"What do you mean she stormed out of the meeting?" I demanded, addressing Vince directly.

He'd called me, concerned about Eleanor's whereabouts after arranging a meeting through her grandfather's lawyer.

"I don't know what happened," Vince said, frustration evident in his voice. "We were talking, and suddenly she exploded—yelled at me and left. I've been searching the town for over an hour, but she's nowhere to be found. Have we considered whether there might be issues with drug use or mental instability?"

I stiffened at his suggestion. "Vince, I've watched her stay composed through a break-in and your father's attack. She didn't lose her cool then. So, tell me—what exactly did you say to her?"

"We discussed the twins. She made a joke about other siblings, and I mentioned how I'm constantly cleaning up after Dad... Oh, damn."

"What?"

"When she was yelling, she said something about not being a mess to clean up." His voice trailed off, almost regretful.

My phone beeped in my ear, signaling a second call coming in. I was too furious with Vince to continue the conversation anyway.

"Sounds like you screwed up," I said curtly before switching to the new caller.

"Griffin," I snapped, frustration evident in my voice.

"Hey boss, we've had another break-in," he reported.

"Where? Was anyone hurt?" I demanded, struggling to keep my frustration in check. No matter how large the company had grown, I was deeply involved. When something went wrong on a site or with a client, I expected to be informed immediately.

"No, it's a vacant apartment we're updating. The construction crew called it in. Thankfully, we were still in the process of gutting the place. A coat of paint and a broom should sort it out," he said.

A surge of protectiveness surged through me—Eleanor's old apartment. Though I'd already suspected it wasn't a random break-in, this confirmed it.

"The cameras—did they catch anything?" I asked, ready to neutralize any threat to Eleanor.

"Yeah, looks like a couple of meth heads. I'll email you the footage and pictures of the damage."

I thanked him and ended the call. The footage and pictures came through—one woman's hair obscured her face, but the man's features were clear. I forwarded the footage to a detective friend, asking him to dig up any information he could find.

I tried to refocus on work, but my thoughts kept drifting back to Eleanor. I decided my time was better spent elsewhere. I knew her schedule well—Tate had practice until 6 on Tuesdays. For a moment, I questioned whether I was becoming a stalker. I'd initially justified my obsession because her brother hired me, but now that the job was done, I still found myself watching her, seeking any excuse to see her.

I got into my car, telling myself I'd head home and check on her later when she was back in her apartment. But a voice in my head insisted i just needed to see her, make sure she was ok after her meeting with Vince.

 I made a U-turn and headed toward the baseball field. Parking across the road, I saw Eleanor sitting alone on the bleachers, separated from the other moms. They kept their distance, as if she were an outcast.

The other moms were either chatting amongst themselves or glued to their phones. Eleanor, on the other hand, watched Tate with unwavering focus. Whenever he made a mistake or did something well, he'd glance her way, and she'd respond with a supportive smile or two enthusiastic thumbs up. She was a fantastic mom.