Alana had turned to her journal, the source of momentary solace during the long nights. There were times when her thoughts were too jumbled to just begin writing and so she sat quietly and gave herself a few moments before the pen would begin to scratch along.
Intermittently, her eyes would leave the paper and sneak peeks over toward Luke, who seemed to be either quite enthusiastic about bouncing the ball or incredibly nervous about something. Between her teeth, she pulled the inside of her cheek and chewed lightly. He was not a boy, but not entirely a full-grown man, either, and this was the point of life where the art of expressing feelings was, well, messy at best. Perhaps it was a reason why she adored younger children so much; they wore everything on their sleeves.
After a few moments, she drew in a breath and thought she should ask him what was bothering him but then thought better of it. A person is not going to share every little worry or concern they have, but whatever was occupying Lucas, she hoped he would calm soon. Tonight, she just might be exhausted enough to sleep.
He had asked her earlier about his Uncle, when they spoke of people and how things used to be. It resurrected all sorts of childhood memories, days on the farm, family vacations, birthday parties, and the like. They talked about how James had ruined his dinosaur-themed birthday party and how Luke's mother once pushed his Aunt's face into her own birthday cake because she saw it happen on TV once and wanted to give it a go.
As she sat with her thoughts, she began to tap the top of her pen against her chin in time with Luke's throws of the ball. The two of them sat there, consumed in their own thoughts, as the night carried on.