Roses in December
Chapter 7
This wasn't supposed to happen.
I was supposed to wake up one morning and be Sara Sidle again. I'd open my eyes, stretch a little, maybe grow curious as to why I was luxuriating in the morning sunlight rather than squinting in the fading light of dusk. Then I'd look around and realize I wasn't in my bedroom, that something was off.
Would I know right away that I was in Grissom's guest room? As far as I can tell, I'd only been in his house once or twice before the accident, and he doesn't seem the type to give tours. We probably stayed in his living room the whole time, talking about work while I surreptitiously tried to study his living environment. But even then, I'd have seen the framed butterflies on the walls, just like in the guest room. I'd know.
Then my inner investigator would kick in. I'd get up and look around for clues, noting my clothes in the drawers, my shoes in a pile by the closet. Maybe I'd look in the mirror and notice the areas of short hair, a still-angry scar hiding on my scalp.
In any case, it wasn't supposed to be like this. All or nothing. It's only fair. Her or me.
Instead, I'm in limbo. I never understood why that party game with the pole was called limbo, but I get it now. You're bent so far backwards, trying desperately to inch forward without leaning up or falling down. Stuck in the middle, grappling with gravity.
He's not as furious as I expected. More worried than anything else. The pounding on the door is rhythmic, almost soothing. After a while I can barely hear it, especially when I pop in a CD with the same tempo. The photo on my stereo catches my attention, and I stare at it, concentrating until my eyes burn and the image breaks in two. Even then, the old woman in the wheelchair is unfamiliar.
I've figured out the other framed pictures. The man with the kite is my father, somber-looking despite his wide smile. The boy with the shaggy dog is my older brother. The dog's name was Murphy, he was a mutt from the local shelter. I remember that Murphy greeted new guests at the B&B with exuberant licks and loved to chew on carrots, but for the life of me I can't remember my brother's name.
He's calling my name now, sounding so forlorn that my heart aches, and I can't help myself. I walk over to the door and flip the deadbolt, opening the door with the chain lock still attached.
When Grissom sees me, his eyes dart all over my body, taking in the sweatpants and tank top, my limbs intact and skin unbroken. For a moment he closes his eyes, sighing deeply. Then he looks at me, the raw hurt radiating off his body.
"I've been knocking for twenty minutes, Sara."
I could claim I was in the shower, or doing dishes, but he doesn't deserve it. "I know." I lean my head against the doorframe, gazing at him.
He's nodding, slowly, taking in the still-attached chain. "You don't trust me."
"I trust you."
I shouldn't have come to the door. I should have waited until I could present him with a whole Sara, one who was ready to work, ready to love. I'm not ready.
"I thought you were going back to my house." Bloodshot eyes. How long did he look for me, before he knew to come here? "I got used to coming home to you, Sara."
To be honest, I'd gotten used to it too. The flutter of excitement every time the key turned in the lock. Jumping to my feet to greet him at the door, like Murphy.
Chewing on the inside of my lip, I try to think of the words to explain what had happened in Sofia's car. The bombardment of images, the overwhelming sensation that I needed to get home. All the odd pieces of furniture and decorations that had seemed so arbitrary and foreign when I visited had suddenly made sense, and I'd craved their company.
Sofia had walked me to my door and watched me fumble with Grissom's spare key. I hadn't invited her in, and she hadn't asked. The moment I stepped inside, I could breathe. My apartment wasn't like Grissom's house, empty and serene. No, mine was filled with clutter and the insistent whispers of the past. But it was my space, my haven. I'd taken the time to explore every room, letting the memories trickle down like a light rain, mingling with tears of relief.
"Swiss cheese," I breathe, and his brows furrow.
"Your memory?"
I tilt my head in response.
"How much have you remembered?"
My muscles tense with frustration. "A lot, but there's still holes."
Grissom leans against the outside doorframe, mimicking my stance. "You know what manufacturers call the holes in Swiss cheese?"
"What?"
"Eyes. In fact, Swiss cheese without holes is actually called blind."
"What are you trying to say?" I demand, swallowing my annoyance in thick gulps. "That only the blind can truly see? That I can somehow understand the past better because I can't remember everything?"
"I don't know," he says bleakly. "All I know is I miss you. That's all."
For the first time, I allow myself to really think about how all this has affected Grissom, and my heart aches for him.
"I'm in limbo," I tell him.
"Me too." His voice is low and sad, with a pain that only rarely slips through, like during rough cases.
"When can I go back to work?" I ask abruptly. For some reason, I'm feeling ready.
A flicker of a smile dances at the corner of his lips. "You sure you remember enough about the job?"
"Yeah. And Ecklie will probably make me retake the competency exam."
"Probably," he agrees. "You'll do fine."
We stare at each other for a long time. I wish I were complete, so I could open the door and melt into his arms. New Sara or old, either one of them could have done it. But not me.
My cell phone rings, startling us both. I glance over at it hesitantly.
"Go ahead," he says with a little resignation. "I'm not going anywhere."
Leaving the door cracked, I walk over to the counter and answer the phone. "Hello?"
"Hey, girl, I've got some good news for you." It's Warrick.
"I could use some right about now," I tell him wryly. I can see Grissom shifting from foot to foot outside the door.
"I drove down to Sloan today to meet with Benjamin Palmer."
"The police chief."
"Right. Turns out he's been holding out on us. There was a witness who came forward a few days after the accident. A woman named Morgan Andrews."
My brother's name was Andrew, I realize suddenly. He was full of energy, chasing the dog, climbing trees, pushing my grandmother in her wheelchair at breakneck speeds. The joy is flowing through my veins so quickly it's almost painful, as another piece fits into the puzzle.
"She said she was driving in the left lane when the accident occurred. You were in the center lane, and the trucker was on the right."
"Okay."
"It was a deer. Ran out in front of her. She swerved to the right to avoid hitting it, and so did you. Trucker probably never even saw it, he was too far up."
"So I drove into the truck's path."
"Yeah."
"Isn't that still my fault?"
"Nope," he replies. "Witness said you would have had to swerve to avoid her car, even if the deer hadn't run in front of you. She's taking full responsibility for the crash."
Grissom's watching me. My back is to him, but the prickles dancing across my skin are a sure indicator.
"Thanks for letting me know, Warrick."
"You know you want to ask me," he says, his tone full of amusement.
"Ask you?"
"Yeah."
And I do, and I have no idea how he knew. But I ask anyway. "Was the deer okay?"
"It was fine," Warrick laughs. "I'm glad you asked."
"Why?"
"Because," he says warmly. "It just reinforces what I already knew. Memories or not, you're always Sara."
I turn around and catch Grissom's gaze. It hits me then, the beauty of the truth. No matter which life I live, I always manage to fall in love with Gil Grissom.
"Thanks, Warrick." I hang up the phone and walk over to the front door, closing it.
"Sara?" Grissom's voice is muffled, but the alarm is evident. I flick away the chain and open the door fully.
A barely audible sigh escapes his lips as he stares at me with concern.
"Smile," I say softly.
He purses his lips, looking adorably confused. "Oh, uh. relieved, because you smile when you're relieved."
"No, Griss," I laugh. "Smile."
Before he can respond, I step forward and capture his mouth in a slow, sweet kiss. He stiffens for an instant before his lips soften and yield under mine, his arms snaking around my waist and pulling me against him. The heat of the embrace and the smooth slide of his lips make my knees wobble. Old Sara or new, this is my first time kissing him, and my heart is pounding.
I pull back slightly, and he's smiling, just as I requested. And for the first time that I can remember, I'm not thinking about the past or the present. I'm just staring at my future.
The End
===================================================================