Invisible String

Chapter Four- Time, Mystical Time

Bradley begins to refute the notion, recalling there was a ghost in his room for a month or two in his room at Abby's, but something gives him pause and he nods.

"Of course you can, bud. C'mon."

After a story, Griff settles in and within ten minutes, he's asleep.

He, on the other hand, stares at the ceiling, unable to close his eyes. The sounds of a new house are always disconcerting until you're used to them and he can see why his son wasn't sold on being alone just yet; he could literally hear every single creak the floor boards made.

Finally, the silence becomes unbearable and accepting defeat, he grabs his phone off of the night stand and heads into the living room.

The new sofa is set to be delivered once Griffin was at school the following morning, so he sinks to the floor, stretching out his long legs in front of him as he absently scrolls.

It's a good distraction for all of five minutes and he sighs wearily, dragging a hand down across his eyes.

The events of the past few months are slowly beginning to catch up with him and he can't help but once again wonder if this entire situation is too much for Griffin, worry that this breakup and general upheaval is going to negatively effect him for the rest of his life.

"Kids are adaptable, Bradley," his mother reassured him when he voiced the same thing earlier that week. He'd called her in a state of panic, concerned because he was second guessing bringing his son to sleep in a brand new house, away from the house he was used to, with absolutely nothing unpacked, in a misguided attempt to keep routine going.

"I don't know," he had fretted, catching a sideways glance at himself in the bathroom vanity mirror. An old man stared back and he nearly dropped the phone. Lack of sleep was definitely doing a number on him. "This is a lot of change for him all at once, Mom. He seems okay to me, but he's six."

"Exactly. He's six. He's used to you being gone for months at a time for a film shoot, just like he's used to traveling and everything else that goes along with his dad having the career that he does. If it helps, I've never seen such a well adjusted little boy. He's happy. He's good, Bradley."

But he heard the reassurance as something different, not because his mother's intentions were to make him feel shitty, to the contrary, she was trying to bring some perspective. Still, he could only see his failures as a parent...Griff was entirely too used to the three of them never being a fully functioning unit. It hadn't been that way since he was born and he was used to nothing else.

The guilt eats away at him sometimes when he considers that his son's version of normal might differ from other kid's; it certainly differed from his own upbringing.

There was nothing to do now but try and be more present, to propel forward. He'd already gone and fucked up so much and he was determined not to do anymore possible damage.

In his hand, the phone shakes violently and when he sees who's calling, he shakes his head with a rueful smile. Her timing's never been better.

"Hey, jerk," is the cheerful greeting he's met with as soon as he says hello. "You're worrying right now, aren't you? Stressing out over shit that's not in your control?"

"How'd you know?"

"Because that's all you've been doing lately, aside from writing. Is Griffin sleeping? I hope so... it's late, but then again, I don't have kids, so how would I know---"

"He's asleep," Bradley cuts her off at the pass, "and that's not all I've been doing...I've been trying to unpack, too..."

"Look, I know it's been fucking shit times lately, but you're gonna be okay. This is a good thing, Brad, whether or not you see it that way. You guys were literally suffocating each other. It wasn't good for Griffin."