Smoldering Desires

Smoldering Desires
Part 11
Warm

Sara looked at the monitors and drip. They all said the same thing.

You are a failure, Sara Sidle. You can’t even stave off premature contractions.

Travel was an impossibility. She couldn’t go to Grissom. She had to stay in this stark, white room until her little girl came.

To Sara it seemed that her entire pregnancy had been bulleted with indictments on her ability as a mother.

The drinking, the spotting and now this.

This might be the only baby they ever had. He’d miss it. Brass had tried to console her.

“Take it from a father of a daughter. This is just the beginning. There’s more fairy dust and magic to come. More tea parties to attend. More elementary school ballets that rival the New York Metropolitan. Gil is going to do better than I did Cookie. He’s not going to miss a moment.”

She kept the words close to her heart as she watched the monitors.

It was Dana that found him, blood trickling from his nose dripping onto the cushions of the light wicker furniture. They were supposed to pick up Sara’s ring. It was at a local jeweler’s for one last cleaning and appraisal.

She shook him and screamed.

Silence.

Later Dana packed the first edition Harry Potter books that Sara had sent. She folded his clothes neatly, wondering what Sara would think of the t-shirts and blue jeans. She considered the larger box, but knew that it was personal between Gil and Sara. She readied it for transit.

She called the number from his cottage.

“Willows.”

“Catherine? Yes, my name is Dana and…”


It only took the daughter of Sam Braun and the diamond mine heiress three hours to commandeer a private jet equipped with the medical necessities. Warrick met them at the tiny airport squinting in the sun as they rolled his friend off the plane.

Barely alive.

That’s what Catherine said. Gil had Dana promise that if something happened to him, she would make sure he got back to Vegas.

Dana nodded to him and held a small, strong hand. “Warrick.”

“Dana.”

“How is he?”

“The same.”

Sara was nervous and jumpy. Something was terribly wrong. Nick avoided eye contact. Greg had babbled for at least an hour and Brass had breezed in without so much as a “How are you?”

She didn’t ask because she didn’t want to know. She held the rosary that Gil had left behind and tried to think of miracles.

The debate was held in the middle of a stark hospital corridor. Half were assigned to Grissom, the other half to Sara. Those that lied better got Sara. That meant Catherine, Brass and Warrick stayed on the second floor of the hospital while Dana, Nick and Greg secured ICU.

When the stress became too much, the baby would not wait. Her mother would not have any stories to tell of long labors. It took Sara Sidle exactly two hour and two minutes to give birth to the daughter she refused to name until….


They said it had been a “final crisis.” When the disease was taking it’s last stand before it beat a hasty retreat. Gil smiled and nodded and pretended compliance when Catherine told him that he could not leave the hospital just yet.

This way will give you a little time to spruce yourself up. Sara has a big surprise for you.

He found it slightly laughable that Catherine actually thought he was going to spend one more minute in the hospital while his Sara was in their house just minutes away.

When night fell and Dana started to snore, he pulled on hospital scrubs that were folded in the closet, along with a pair of paper booties. He lifted a few bills from Dana’s purse and left a note.

The cab driver did not frown at his slightly bedraggled passenger. Doctors, especially surgeons, often took his car when the long day had compromised their driving ability.

Gil walked into the house and breathed the cool dry air. She was here. Sara’s scent was everywhere and like the thick fog it emulated, he found it difficult to breathe for several minutes. The weight of Sara was in every corner.

There was something else, too. A scent mingled with Sara’s. Something sweet and gentle. Not Sara, but very much like Sara. He leaned against the door and inhaled deeply. Minutes passed and he pushed against his timidity. He had not seen Sara in six months. He had not talked to her, or held her, or made love to her.

He was different now. Certainly she would be. What if the differences divided instead of joined?

“What if we aren’t as in love as I remember? What if too much has changed?”

He ambled softly down the hall. He didn’t want to wake her or scare her. He only wanted to look at her and lie beside her and know that he had at least this night to be with her. He wanted the affirmation that she was still flesh and blood and that she loved him.

“Please, God, let her still be in love with me.”

Gil blinked back tears as he moved through the house. He noted the freshly painted hall. Blue. She suggested that he paint something the color of his eyes.

Affirmation. She was staying and she loved him.

The guest room stopped him. A light dusting of moonlight played across the room. That coupled with some other light source that he could not readily identify made for an eerily bright space.

The room held none of the furniture or trimmings of its former self. Gone were the dark walls and thick carpet.

The walls were pink. Not a wimpy, pale pink, but a bold, saucy pink that offered no apologies. The furniture was white and dainty.

He took in the hard wood floors. The occasional script in what appeared to be French and the smattering of butterflies that hung above a...

What was that?

A crib. A crib for a baby. A baby was in the crib. Whose baby?

“Dear God…”

Tiny and sleepy, she fidgeted at the scent of the father she yearned for while still in the womb. Her light hair was a cap of waves.

Must have gotten that from Sara’s mother.

He had seen one of Sara’s baby pictures and she was born with dark hair just as he had been. Laura Sidle, on the other hand, had straight, almost white blonde hair. He wondered at how quickly he had slipped into paternal musings. Was this his baby?

Sara is in here, in our house, so it must be Sara’s baby. If it’s Sara’s baby, then it’s my baby.

He walked slowly to where she slept. His fear came to the surface and tickled the infant’s nostrils. She made soft sounds and opened her eyes. Blue. The same color as the paint.

He should pick her up.

She whimpered and stared at him. . He should pick his daughter up. He tried to remember how to do it from when Lindsey was small. He reached into the crib and lifted her. She was light and it seemed right that she should wear pink.

He grinned broadly when she stopped moving. He looked around for a place to sit.

A rocking chair.

He sat down and stared at the tiny face. His daughter. He had a daughter.

He wondered what her name was. How old was she? He did quick math. She couldn’t be more than a few weeks old. He rocked and stared. She stared back.

Her gaze was an indictment. She knew he wasn’t prepared in any way to be her father. That he was s sick, middle aged man trying to change his life, maybe too late. That he probably didn’t have enough money squirreled away to spoil her like she deserved. That he had no idea how to be a father. That he didn’t deserve her mother or her. That though his grip was steady, his heart was shaking with trepidation. He hoped that she knew he was going to try his damndest to make himself worthy.

So like Sara.

Over the next hour he floundered over what to do. His Sara called to him but he could not put the baby down. He thought of everything that new fathers do. He thought of time passing and college graduations and having missed the most important event in her life thus far. He thought of this room, which seemed roomy and suitable for the occasional over night guest but was far too small for this little princess and all the treasures he would spoil her with.

“I am sorry I wasn’t there. I won’t ever not be there. I am never going to let you two out of my sight again.” He kissed her a little too hard she made a sharp sound.

So like Sara. His tears wetted her face.

When the baby began to whimper, Gil knew there were usually only two reasons that a child this young would cry. He looked around.

“Well, it looks like your Dad is going to jump in feet first,” he said.

“You don’t have the right equipment.”

Sara.

TBC