Wherefore
Chapter 17
He's quiet.
He's Grissom, I remind myself. This is not new behavior.
But he's quiet after his shower. Quiet through breakfast, sipping orange juice and picking at his scrambled eggs. Quiet in the elevator, and in the hallway, until finally he speaks.
"If it's okay with you, I'd like some time alone," he sighs.
"Oh," I reply, too quickly and too loudly. "Sure. Of course."
"We'll need to leave for the memorial service around one." He disappears into his hotel room.
I refuse to dwell on his retreat. Instead I grab my sneakers and head out for a run. My muscles ache with release as they flex and stretch, and I concentrate on the storefront signs as I pass them. It's been a surreal few days, to say the least, and this brief foray into my normal routine is a relief.
I don't understand him. That thought is running through my brain faster than I can run through LA.
This trip was supposed to help. I was supposed to come face-to-face with his past and figure out who the hell Gil Grissom is. But these people don't know him, either. I already knew he wasn't the cold, clinical scientist that the lab techs think he is. But he's not the wounded child that Amy sees, nor the broken soul that Juliette sees. He's all of those things, and none of them.
Then I get back to my hotel room, dripping with sweat, and he's waiting by the door. Pushing me against the wall and kissing me senseless.
"Grissom?" I manage to ask between kisses.
He pulls away for a moment, cupping my cheek in his palm. "Thank you."
"For what?"
Swallowing thickly, he murmurs, "Understanding."
"Sure," I say finally, holding him more tightly. "Any time."
At five minutes to one, we arrive at the largest estate I've ever seen. The guard house out front is bigger than my entire apartment. Grissom and I flash our identification, and the security guard waves us on.
"How do I look?" My hands are shaking as I check my makeup in a compact mirror.
He glances over at me, and I'm suddenly grateful that he's not the kind of man who answers that question without looking first. "You look great, why?"
"The redness doesn't show?"
After pulling into an open parking spot, he shifts in his seat. "Not that I can see."
"Okay." I don't dare ask how my outfit looks, because it's not like I have a change of clothes in the car.
There aren't many cars parked out here, and when I point that out to Grissom, he nods knowingly.
"That's how the O'Dells do things. When Julie's father died, a couple thousand people showed up to the funeral. They held a memorial service a few days later, and only invited about a dozen close friends and family members."
"Public vs. private?"
"Precisely."
The first thing I see when we enter the home is a glass cabinet full of antique vases. In my experience, that's the best way to tell if you're in a wealthy person's home. Everything else varies, but there's always a cabinet of vases.
The second thing I see is Juliette, with a sleepy-looking Ian strapped into a Baby Bjorn on her chest.
"Hey," she calls, waving. "I've got to grab the quiche out of the oven, but I'll be back."
After she ducks around a corner, I turn to Grissom, puzzled. "Doesn't she have a cook?"
"Yes, but not for something like this," he says simply, taking my elbow and directing me into the next room. Which, from the looks of things, is a rich person's version of a family room. I didn't know TV's even came in that size.
"That's Mr. O'Dell," Grissom says, motioning toward a large portrait of a gray-haired man. He's posed leaning against a mahogany desk, looking powerful and rather intimidating.
Moving further into the room, I head for a row of framed photos on a shelf. There are several of Ian and Juliette, some of the O'Dell parents, and one of a golden retriever that makes me smile.
"Gil?" Juliette pokes her head in. "Any chance I could get you to grab some platters out of the top cabinet for me?"
"Sure," he nods, leaving me to look at more photos.
Juliette was a beautiful bride, I note, picking up a framed wedding portrait. Her hair was longer back then, as was Robert's. Their expressions are mirror images of joy and anticipation.
What nine years can do to a person.
"He wasn't right for her," I hear from over my shoulder, and when I turn, Grissom's mother is standing next to me.
"No?"
"No," Maude frowns, glancing down at his image. "It was upsetting to watch."
"I'd imagine," I say, replacing the picture on the shelf.
There's an awkward silence as we both stand with our arms folded. It's all the more uncomfortable because she can't ever fully look away from me, or she'll risk missing the movements of my lips.
"I've been told I need to be nicer to you," she says finally.
"You've been told?"
"Yes."
Somehow I didn't think he'd have the guts.
"Well, while I appreciate his gesture," I hedge, "I've never been one for pretenses."
"It was Juliette who said it," she says tightly.
"Ah."
More silence. Honest to god, how many platters is Grissom grabbing?
"I'm sure you're a perfectly nice person," she says. "I just wish you'd leave my son alone."
"Why?"
"Because you're not right for him," she sighs. "Robert wasn't right for Julie, and you're not right for my Gil."
"You don't even know me," I shoot back hotly.
"I know your type. I knew the moment I saw you," she says cryptically.
A bubble of spite travels up my throat, overriding my common sense. "Well, Amy likes me just fine."
Maude looks like I've just slapped her. I look away, willing Grissom to finish the hell up and get back here.
"He... took you to meet her?"
"Twice," I reply, and mercifully, I see Grissom rounding the corner from the kitchen.
"Everything all right over here?" he asks with a grin, but from the way his arm slides around my waist, I know he's worried.
"Fine," Maude says distantly.
"Fine," I echo.
"Mother, did you see that Mr. Andrews is here?"
Ignoring his question, she fixes an intense stare on him. "When do you plan to return to Las Vegas?"
"Tomorrow. Our flight leaves just after noon."
She nods slowly. "Come by the gallery in the morning, before you leave."
"The gallery?"
"Yes. Grant would like to see you."
"I don't know, Mother..."
But she's turned away, effectively ending the conversation as she heads for the foyer.
"Grant?" I ask.
"Grant Calloway," he sighs. "A local artist. She's commissioned sculptures of his for years. But he's never had any particular interest in me in the past. I'm surprised he'd remember my name, frankly."
"Will we have time to stop by and see him?"
"I suppose, as long as we get an early start in the morning."
Two more people enter the home, and then Juliette is popping her head in, calling, "Gil, we're ready to start."
"Good," he smiles, taking my elbow and leading me further into the house. Through the empty kitchen, a large library, and down a set of steps.
"What's going on?" I murmur.
"Another family tradition. One of my favorites, I think."
A glass door leads us outside onto the back patio, where about ten people are standing quietly. They've formed a small circle, and we slip into an open spot. The grounds out here are amazing - extravagant gardens and a huge fountain - but all eyes are focused on Juliette. Grissom's hand slips into mine, and I'm surprised to feel the man on the other side of me take my other hand. When the entire circle is holding hands, Juliette clears her throat.
"Today means much more to me than the funeral did. That service was about paying respects to God, burying Mom's body, and making a public affair. This is about us, about family."
I shouldn't be here. I can't remember the last time I felt this uncomfortable.
"Mom didn't come from money," she continues. "She didn't grow up in this lifestyle, and it never really made sense to her. What was important were the bonds of family and friendship, and giving back to the community. I don't remember a single moment when she didn't make me feel completely treasured, and..."
She shakes her head, a tear slipping down her cheek.
"I miss her. I miss playing Scrabble with her in our pajamas, and going on speed-walks in the park. I miss the sound of her laugh. It hurts to know that my son won't remember her. It hurts to know that I won't be able to ask her for advice or hug her again. God, I just... I miss her."
When Juliette stops speaking, the woman next to her introduces herself. She served with Josephine as a crisis counselor, and regales us with wild anecdotes until the circle is howling with laughter. Next comes a woman who'd served as Josephine's maid for the past twenty-two years. There's love in her voice and tears in her eyes as she speaks about the kindness of her late employer.
The next person to speak is Maude.
"Josephine and I were supposed to become family," she says awkwardly. "And when... that didn't happen, she kept me as family anyway. I had no relatives nearby, so for the past ten years I was invited to every Christmas party, every Thanksgiving dinner, every birthday party and Labor Day picnic. The O'Dells adopted me, and I hope Josephine knew how much that meant to me."
The head cook gives a short speech, followed by the chairman of a nonprofit organization for which Josephine had volunteered. Glowing reports of a gentle woman with a compassionate soul.
When it's Grissom's turn, he tells everyone about the time he was driving Josephine to a banquet, where she was to receive a Humanitarian of the Year Award. On the way, they caught sight of a stray puppy on the side of the road. "She and I spent forty-five minutes chasing this mutt through a ravine, until we were both covered with mud. When she finally caught him, he was so frightened that he peed all over her. She missed the banquet, her new Chanel suit was ruined, and she had to twist Tippy Anderson's arm to get her to adopt the dog. But at the end of the day she was as thrilled as can be, because the little guy was safe, and had a good home" He grins sadly. "I guess that's how I'll always remember Josephine. Everybody's mother, and everybody's hero."
His eyes are so soft, I just want to hold him. When he turns to look at me, I almost lean in to kiss him, until I realize everyone else is looking at me, too.
Oh, god. How did it not occur to me that I'd have to speak, too?
There's freezing-cold blood settling in my fingertips, and my tongue is sticking to the roof of my mouth. I never met Josephine O'Dell. So why is Juliette watching me hopefully? Why does Grissom look so assured that I'll know what to say?
After a few more seconds of agonizing silence, it finally occurs to me to follow the evidence.
"I'll be honest," I begin. "I've been listening to all of your stories today, watching you laugh and cry over the loss of this vibrant woman, and it's occurred to me that out of this whole group, the person I have the most sympathy for isn't Juliette, or Ian, or even the people Josephine counseled. It's me. Because I'm the one who never got a chance to meet her. She was kind, and generous, and warm, and she enriched all of your lives in countless ways."
Grissom squeezes my hand tightly.
"I envy you all," I conclude. "You are the lucky ones."