Sources
Chapter 39
Planning for a wedding took time and effort, neither of which they particularly wanted to dedicate. So Sara passed off all decorating decisions to a delighted Catherine and Mandy, and Grissom sent Warrick and Greg to find a band and suitable wine selections.
It wasn't so much that Grissom and Sara were busy. Sure, work took up a great deal of their energy, and they often came home too exhausted to even sleep. But they did have some down-time, and it was too precious to waste deciding which kind of napkins went best with the tablecloths.
Instead, they rode every roller coaster in Vegas at least ten times. Each Saturday, they visited the Body Farm, taking copious notes on decay and desiccation. There were trips to California to see their mothers, and quiet nights in bed, reading in a tangle of limbs and blankets.
Every once in a while, Catherine and Mandy would show up with armfuls of fabric swatches. Sara would nod on cue, glancing up from her crossword puzzle now and then to feign interest. After a while, "the blondes," as Sara came to think of them, would leave in a flurry of rolled eyes and heaved sighs. And all would be lovely and silent again, as she penciled obscure words into the boxes.
Grissom got a call from Warrick and Greg, who chattered so loudly he almost wished he were deaf again. They said they'd found a band that was guaranteed to have everyone on the dance floor. Grissom half-listened, murmuring "great" or "uh huh" whenever there was a lull in the conversation.
When they started describing the wine, he gave Sara the signal, and she dialed his home phone from her cell. "Sorry, guys, I've got to take this call," he said when the ring shrilled. He quickly hung up, shooting her a grateful glance. "They think we're crazy, you know."
"What's a twelve-letter word for generous?" She took a sip of coffee, squinting at the crossword puzzle.
"Eleemosynary. Do you think we're crazy?"
"Well." Sara looked up at him, seriously pondering the question. "We don't care about any of the preparations for our own wedding."
"Yes."
"We have hour-long debates about the best way to lift fingerprints."
"Yes."
"We'd rather snuggle on the couch watching science documentaries than go out dancing."
"Yes."
She shrugged. "Hey, if that's crazy, I don't want to be sane."
The Thursday before the wedding, Patricia Grissom and Laura Sidle flew in from California, arriving at McCarran Airport around the same time. They smiled nervously at each other through the introductions at the baggage carousel.
"How was your flight?" Laura asked, careful to speak slowly so that her lips could be easily read.
"It was quiet," Patricia replied, and Laura laughed, relaxing a little.
Grissom and Sara loaded their mothers into the Tahoe and drove to Sara's apartment. Mandy had already left to spend the week at Nick's, and the apartment was all ready for Patricia and Laura.
"Why don't you two unpack, and Sara and I will make dinner," Grissom suggested as they walked in the door.
"Do you need help?" Laura asked.
Sara suppressed a shudder at the thought of her mom's cooking. "No, we're all set. We've been tweaking this pasta primavera recipe for months, and it's finally perfect."
After they'd unpacked their suitcases and freshened up, Patricia and Laura sat on Sara's couch with glasses of wine, watching their children interact. Grissom and Sara had obviously prepared the meal together many times, and were slicing vegetables and handing each other spices wordlessly, in perfect sync. When he leaned over her to get something out of the cabinet, she kissed his cheek quickly, unable to help herself. He narrowed his eyes in mock outrage, then kissed her forehead softly.
Laura nudged Grissom's mother. I've never seen Sara so happy, she mouthed.
Gil either, Patricia mouthed back.
"Hey!" Grissom objected, signing for Patricia's added benefit. "No mouthing!"
"You're no fun," Laura grumbled, and he had to grin, because she pouted just like her daughter.
The dinner was a lively affair. Patricia had noticed Sara's extensive collection of art history books, and they discussed their favorite painters and periods. Grissom chimed in here and there with his own preferences, but Laura remained silent.
"There's a fantastic gallery just east of Tamales Bay, have you been there?" Patricia asked Laura, trying to draw her into the conversation.
She pushed her food around with her fork. "Oh, no, I haven't."
"Really? It's been around for probably fifteen years!"
Laura shrugged, not wanting to mention that it's hard to visit art galleries when you're in prison. She looked down at her plate, missing the significant glance that Grissom shot his mother.
"You'll call if you or Patricia need anything?" Sara asked her mother after dinner, as she and Grissom prepared to leave for work.
"Of course, sweetie, we'll be fine," Laura assured her.
The house fell silent as the door closed, and the two women eyed each other shyly, still seated at the kitchen table.
Patricia finally spoke. "Sara is just wonderful."
"Oh, so is Gil," Laura said quickly. "He's so thoughtful and kind."
"Sara is too. And so intelligent."
"She got her brains from her father," Laura said with a self-deprecating grin, then froze.
Patricia leaned over and took her hand. "Laura. Gil told me what happened," she said gently. "And let me tell you, if I ever thought Gil's father was abusing him as a child, I would have done the same thing."
Tears gathered in Laura's eyes.
"It's instinctive," Patricia continued earnestly. "Mothers protect their children at any cost. I understand that it turned out that your husband wasn't hurting Sara. But if you're worried that I would even begin to judge you for what you did." she shook her head. "Don't."
Too moved to respond, Laura just nodded, wishing she knew how to sign her gratitude.
"Now," Patricia said conspiratorially, "Let's get down to business. How long do you think we should wait before dropping hints about grandkids?"
All Friday, Sara and Grissom tried to stay awake. They went on a long hike and drank huge mugs of coffee, but by seven-thirty they were both about to pass out.
"How do normal people do this whole sleeping-at-night thing?" Sara wondered, her head back on his couch as Grissom rubbed her feet.
"No idea," he smirked. "I'm at the point where daylight makes me sleepy. We're lucky Ecklie let us take tonight off, or you would've fallen asleep halfway up the aisle tomorrow."
She smiled and hummed, her eyes closed. "I don't want to go to Nick's tonight, I want to stay here."
"I want you to stay here too," he said low, giving her shivers.
"I can't sleep alone anymore."
"Me neither."
Sara crawled into his lap, sighing with contentment as his strong arms enveloped her. They heard Grissom's doorbell ring, and he tightened his grip on her. She giggled, wrapping her arms around his chest.
"We know you're in there!" Nick bellowed from outside.
"Don't make us use the key!" Mandy called. "Believe me, we do not want to walk in on anything."
Sara kissed his neck. "I hate them."
"Mm, me too."
"Let's ignore them."
"Works for me."
They stayed curled up on the couch until Nick and Mandy barged in, dragging Sara to her feet and chiding her about tradition and bad luck. Nick lugged her bags to his car while Mandy tried to extricate her from Grissom's embrace.
"Give us a minute," Sara snapped, and Mandy rolled her eyes, moving toward the door.
Grissom kissed her lightly. "See you tomorrow?"
"I'll be the one in the white dress," she murmured. "I love you."
"I love you."
"I love you more."
"I love you more."
Eventually Mandy's gagging noises won out, and Sara walked to the doorway. Suddenly feeling shy, she glanced back at Grissom. I love you forever, he signed, and she sprinted after Mandy before he could see her dazzling smile.
Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough.