Open Road
Chapter 6
In Ohio, they had their first argument as a couple. By Pennsylvania, they'd made up, and by the time they reached New Jersey he'd kissed every inch of her long, long legs. They stopped at roadside stands for corn and tomatoes, and bought fresh honey from a beekeeper in Connecticut. Grissom, of course, got wrapped up in a spirited discussion of proper bee care until Sara threatened to drive off without him.
They watched a Yankees vs. Red Sox game in Fenway Park, and Sara managed not to cheer for New York too loudly when they trounced Boston. Of course, once they were out of earshot of the rabid Sox fans, she broke into song. "Start spreadin' the news."
Maine eateries, they found, all seemed to sell baklava, and they gorged themselves on it until Sara's stomach ached. They walked out on the rocks near Portland, comparing the Pacific and the Atlantic Oceans. The Pacific, they agreed, was a purer shade of blue. But when Sara sat on a rock and dipped her toes in the water, leaning her head back to bask in the sun, Grissom privately decided that he preferred the Atlantic.
In New Hampshire, Sara had a panic attack, announcing that after two weeks away from the job, she'd forgotten how to do it. So while she was in the bathroom breathing into a paper bag, Grissom set up a mock crime scene in the bedroom. She came out and solved it in seconds, then thanked him in bed for several hours.
An innkeeper asked what had brought them to Virginia, and without thinking, Grissom replied, "My girlfriend and I are vacationing." He spent the rest of the day worrying over whether he had jumped the gun. But then a waitress showed him too much interest, and Sara announced that she and her boyfriend wanted another basket of bread.
There were no grand proclamations of love and undying devotion. There was only the simple fact that they were happier together than apart. He distantly remembered being uncomfortable when they had to work together. Now, he was uncomfortable when she left him to use the bathroom.
"I've never been the codependent type," she told him in Miami. "I've always looked down on women who were."
"We're not codependent," he replied. "When we get back to Vegas, there'll be cases we can't work together. We'll do things with other friends, and have our alone time. This is only because we're vacationing."
She scowled when he mentioned Vegas. More and more, the interior of her car was seeming like home.
In Texas, she managed to steer him away from the smell of barbecue, by tempting him with authentic Mexican food. They ordered pitchers of margaritas to go with their food, and munched on chips and hot salsa. By the end of the meal, their mouths were so burned that they couldn't taste a thing.
"That's the last time I ever eat Mexican," he swore that night, as they settled into their bed at the Best Western.
"Why not?"
"Because," he said, planting a trail of kisses down her shoulder, "I never want to miss out on the taste of your skin again."
"My skin doesn't have a taste," she protested, squirming as his tongue darted out just under her ribcage.
"Does too," he said, then mumbled something about salt and apples and cinnamon as he kissed his way down her hip.
The wind then took them back east, which suspiciously coincided with Grissom's yearning to visit Graceland. It was when they were on Route 79 in West Virginia that Sara grabbed his arm in excitement, pointing to an upcoming exit.
"Morgantown!" she gasped. "Can we stop?"
"Sure," he replied. "What's in Morgantown?"
"Other than West Virginia University?"
"Uh, yeah, other than that."
She turned to him and beamed. "My college roommate, Sheila. I haven't seen her in almost three years. Can we visit her? Please?"
He supposed it didn't bode well for their working life that his first instinct was to say yes whenever she smiled like that.
Sara decided to surprise her old friend, because that was "so something Sheila would do." They showed up at her doorstep, Sara hopping with anticipation and Grissom looking distinctly uncomfortable. A ring of the doorbell, and footsteps could be heard approaching.
"Oh my GOD!"
All Grissom was able to see was a flash of blonde curly hair as the figure at the door hurled herself at Sara. They squealed and jumped up and down, clinging to each other.
"Come in, come in!" Sheila ushered them inside. A giant black dog bounded up to them, wagging his tail and echoing the exuberant nature of his owner. "This is Sirius," she said. "I can't help it, I'm a sucker for Harry Potter."
Sara laughed at the blank expression on Grissom's face. "Sheila, this is Gil. Gil, Sheila."
He extended his hand dutifully, but Sheila grabbed him in a bear hug. "Oh my god, Sara brought a boy home! Drinks all around!" She dashed out of the room, and they could hear the faint clink of glasses.
"It's one-thirty in the afternoon," Grissom whispered, but Sara just shrugged.
"She likes the ceremony."
"A toast!" Sheila yelled, coming back into the room with a bottle of champagne and three wine glasses. "To Sara and Gil! Long, happy lives, and yeah, all that good stuff!"
They downed their glasses quickly, and Sheila refilled them as she and Sara regaled Grissom with tales of their antics at Harvard. At one point, when Sheila was recounting how she'd accidentally set her hair on fire with a Bunsen burner, Sara laughed so hard she was afraid she'd wet herself. "Where's the bathroom?" she asked, wiping away tears as she continued to giggle. Sheila pointed down the hall, and Sara disappeared.
"So," Sheila said, turning to Gil and flashing a conspiratorial smile. "You and Sara seem good together."
He nodded, the warmth from the champagne easing his movements. "Yeah, I think we are."
"So she got over that Grissom guy?"
"Uh."
"Because, man, he was all I ever heard about, for the longest time. Grissom's so smart, Grissom's so sexy, Grissom bought me a plant, Grissom grew a beard."
He bit back a smile. "Well."
"You should have heard her, that time that she called me up and told me she'd fallen in love with him." Sheila shook her head, not realizing that Sara was now standing in the doorway, looking pale. "I knew it was a lost cause, but she didn't listen to me. So anyway, yeah, she seems much happier with you."
Grissom stared into his champagne, feeling terribly embarrassed.
"Tell me a story," Sheila demanded. "I just love romance. Tell me about the first time you told Sara you loved her."
He looked up to see Sara start to interrupt, but before she had the chance, he spoke. "It was summer," he said, and Sara's mouth snapped shut. "Right around this time of year. We'd been spending a lot of time together, and the opportunity kind of presented itself."
"What sort of day was it?" Sheila asked eagerly.
"Oh. a lot like today, actually."
"And what'd you say?"
He smiled softly. "I told her that I love her, that I'd loved her for years." He saw Sara's eyes grow misty. "And that I always will love her."
"And what'd she say?"
"I said I loved him back," Sara said, startling Sheila as she crossed the room to sit on the couch next to Grissom. "Tarantulas and fetal pigs and all."
Sheila grinned. "See? Who needs some stodgy old entomologist anyway?"
She leaned her head against Grissom's shoulder. "I do."