DEATH IS LIFE | SCREAM

19 Treading Water

SYDNEY SAT ACROSS FROM GALE IN THE LIVING ROOM, where the afternoon sunlight filtered through sheer curtains, casting soft, shifting patterns on the hardwood floor. The room, once vibrant with the chaotic energy of family life, now felt oddly still, as if it were holding its breath. Gale had kept this space tidy for years, yet it felt a little emptier now, shadows of laughter lingering like echoes of a distant memory. Even though Dewey hadn't been a daily presence for a long time, his absence hung in the air like an unhealed bruise, always brushed but never fully acknowledged.

Sydney leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees, searching Gale's face for signs of resilience beneath the surface. "How are you holding up?" she asked gently, her voice barely above a whisper. She wasn't sure if there was a right way to ask, but she had to try. Gale sat opposite her, fidgeting with the edge of a worn cushion, her fingers moving restlessly, grasping for something—anything—to hold onto amid the swirling emotions.

Gale exhaled a short, tired breath, the weight of the world evident in her eyes. "I'm managing," she replied, though the lack of conviction in her voice betrayed her. "We hadn't been... close in years, you know? But still." She trailed off, her shoulders sagging as if she were carrying the weight of old memories she didn't know what to do with.

Sydney nodded, understanding how even old wounds could still sting when reopened. "It doesn't matter how long it's been. Dewey was important to both of you—for a long time."

Gale glanced at her hands, turning them palm-up as if the absence of Dewey was something she could feel resting there. "He was always in Tatum's life, even if we weren't together," she murmured, her voice thick with unspoken grief. "And now, just like that, he's gone."

Sydney's heart ached for her friend. Gale was a fortress—always had been—but even the strongest walls crack sometimes. "It's okay if it feels different now. It's supposed to. He was a big part of both your lives, even if things didn't look the way they used to."

Gale gave a slow, solemn nod. "It's just hard watching Tatum go through it. She's eighteen—trying to act like she's got it all together—but I see through it." Her voice wavered, frustration and helplessness mixing in the words. "She's fine during the day. Keeps herself busy, you know? Sports, friends, school... like nothing's wrong. But at night..." Gale rubbed her forehead as if trying to push the thought away. "That's when it gets bad."

Sydney leaned in, her concern deepening. "What happens at night?"

"She cries in her sleep," Gale admitted, her voice trembling with emotion. "Has these awful nightmares. She screams like she's trapped. It's like..." Gale stopped, biting her lip. "It's like she's reliving something, and I can't reach her when it happens. I thought... I thought she was getting better, but now I wonder if she's just hiding it better."

Sydney furrowed her brow, the weight of Gale's words settling heavily between them. "That sounds really hard, for both of you." After a moment's hesitation, she asked, "Have you thought about maybe getting her some help? A therapist or someone to talk to?"

Gale let out a small, bitter laugh, the sound sharp in the otherwise quiet room. "You think I haven't tried? She says she doesn't need help. Says she's fine, that she can handle it." Gale shook her head, frustration flickering across her face. "She's just like me—thinks being tough means carrying everything by yourself." Her voice softened as she looked down, the vulnerability evident in her gaze. "I know she's hurting, though. I can see it, even when she tries to hide it."

Sydney reached over, placing a gentle hand on Gale's arm. "You're doing everything you can. Even if it feels like she's pushing you away, she knows you're there. That matters more than you think."