Smoldering Desires

Dear Sara,

By now you know that I lied. I am sure you are angry with me. I don’t have much to say for myself except that I am sorry. I made a terrible mistake. I thought I was doing the right thing, allowing you to move on with your life. A new friend pointed out that I did all the wrong things for all the right reasons.

One of you has probably figured out that I am sick. When I left, I had less than a year to live. I am better, but not completely in remission. Sweetheart, you should see me now. I have lost fifteen pounds. I am eating right and exercising. If I make it through this, you might not out live me.

“Only near death would make you clean up your act. You are going to wish you outlived me when I get my hands on you,” Sara whispered as she wiped away tears.

I don’t want to worry you, honey, and I am not sure what to do quite yet. I am still not completely convinced that I should be writing this letter.

Your daughter and I are convinced that you should and are very glad that you did.

What I am about to ask I have no right to. But my current streak of good fortune has convinced me to take the chance. Will you please wait for me? My tempered optimism tells me that I am going to make it through this.

Whatever happens, know this: I love you and I am sorry that it took a dire illness for me to show that love. You are the best thing that ever happened to me and I count myself extraordinarily blessed (look who got religion) to have had any time with you. The weeks we shared made me realize how much life was worth living.

Grissom

PS I am still not going vegetarian so don’t even try it.

PSS March has the keys to my house, our house, it’s yours now. Don’t get rid of my office couch. It’s has sentimental value. We had sex on it twice.

Sara sniffed loudly and directed her comments to her unborn child. “If your Daddy thinks I am keeping that monstrosity he IS sick. I hope you weren’t conceived on that thing. Oh great. Now I will never throw it out.”

“So Sara got this in the mail. At the center?” Greg asked.

Catherine shook her head. “I bought her some maternity clothes. She couldn’t fit into anything she had there. I stopped and picked up her mail. It was in the stack of mail.”

Warrick held the thick white envelop up to the light “Only Gris could get something through US mail with no postmark.”

Greg examined the envelope with a magnifying class. “Big guy should know that we don’t need no stinkin postmark.”

Nick chimed in. “He’s got to know there is trace all over that mail.”

“He probably thought the postmark would be too easy,” Catherine said.

Greg again looked like someone had handed him a marvelous crossword. “Definitely big guys DNA on the flap.”

They all let out a little sigh. The letter was from Gil. He was alive and moving under his own steam.

“What else you got Greggo?” Nick asked.

“Found some magnolia pollen. Species only grows in Mississippi, Alabama and northern Florida.”

Catherine encouraged, “What else?”

“Salt water residue,” Greg added.

“So he’s in the South near the ocean,” Warrick stated his face falling a bit. “He’s in the South near the ocean at a hospital or clinic. That really narrows it down. We don’t even know what he has.”

Greg twisted a lock of peroxide blond hair around one finger, forgetting that he still wore gloves.

“You didn’t find anything else?” Nick asked.

“Nothing that narrows it down any more than that.”

“What about the paper?” Catherine wrestled with conflicting emotions.

“You can get it from twelve mail order outfits and it’s sold in every place in the union. It’s good quality but it’s not rare.”

“How much longer does Sara have?” Nick asked.

“Around three months” Catherine said.

“How are we going to find him by then?” Warrick wondered as held the envelope up to his nose.

Catherine let out a soft sound. “Guys, there is something I should tell you. Brass and I sort of know where Gris is.”

Three sets of eyes seared Catherine’s face. She shifted around in her seat.

“And you haven’t told us because…” Greg said softly. “I just spent three hours working this envelope.”

Catherine gave them a look that contained both embarrassment and frustration. “March, Gil and Brass’ friend, is a doctor and we are fairly certain that he knows where Gil is. Apparently he diagnosed Gil. Before Brass knew about the baby, he talked to March and March was very hesitant about telling Gil that Sara was sick. March didn’t divulge any confidential information, but inferred enough for us to get the idea of what was going on. March was certain Gil would come back before his treatment was finished if he knew Sara was ill. We both agree it would be better if we wait until Sara is well and take her to Grissom. Sorry I had you run the envelope. Sara asked and I didn’t know what to do. I want to know where Gris is. I don’t want to put March in compromising position and I want them to get better, both of them.”

Greg patted Catherine’s hand. “It’s okay Cath. At least we found out that big guy is alive and kicking. “

“So what do we do?” Warrick asked.

“We stick with the plan. We get Sara better and we send her to him.” Greg was a little sad at the prospect of the baby not being born in Vegas.

“Is that okay Cath? I mean for her to have the baby somewhere else?” Nick asked.

Catherine nodded. “Her records can be transferred. She’s not high risk. March can recommend someone where Gris is.”

Greg took his hand back when he noticed Warrick’s golden eyes glowing in his direction.

“So how long before Sara is released?”

They all looked at Greg. “Dr. Peprah says she’s doing well. Looks like maybe a month.”

They all nodded. Catherine pushed back from the table and pulled on her jacket. “Okay, so we have plan. We make sure Sara stays on track. Then get her and Girl Grissom to Gil.”

Sara marked pages with tiny pink flags. Pink was a girly color. Pink was whimsical and delicate. Sara didn’t know much about being delicate, though she was sure that Grissom would not disagree.

“You are elegant. It’s like you are from another century.”

Marking the pages of decorating books with the little pink flags seemed like a good start to raising a girly girl. With her delicate prancing movements whenever her father’s name was mentioned and her agitation when Sara watched any sports program, settling down only when Sara turned to a decorating show or Lifetime, it seemed destined that Baby Grissom would be a very feminine girl.

The tap at the door made her stop her deliberate movements. Who was that? No one had called to say they were coming by. Not that Sara minded. She always looked forward to seeing her friends.

The bright light that shone on the porch gave Catherine’s skin a sickly cast to it. Brass’ darker skin faired a bit better. He didn’t look as washed out as Catherine. Sara felt prickly and uncomfortable as she watched them.

They walked softly past her. Without any conscious action Sara launched into maternal protection. Gris’ daughter would want to know how she had found out about his death. Who had told her? What was said?

Sara eyes flicked to the small wall clock that had come with the cottage. The time was eight o’clock. Eight o’clock on a Wednesday night. That was when Aunty Catherine and Uncle Jim came to tell me.

They were somber and sad, sweetheart. Your Aunt Catherine was dressed in her typical tight blouse and tight slacks. They both wore black. The mourning outfit for Grissom.

Sara began to laugh. At first it was a low rumble, and then a shrill cackle until Brass held her close with a strong arm. His face was a weave of confusion and fear. Was Sara having another breakdown?

Tears poured down her face until she began to hiccup, eventually leaning against the gruff man. “He’s not coming back is he?”

Soft breath escaped from his mouth and tension seared from Sara to him. Catherine pressed a handkerchief into Sara’ hand.

The solid cloth caused Sara to look at it. “I don’t care what anyone says. You and Gil Grissom were separated at birth. What is it with you guys and these damn handkerchiefs?”

Catherine took her turn laughing, remembering when they had both proffered stark white clothes to a witness, Cath’s trimmed in lace, Gil’s with his one “G” sewn into it.

Sara continued sensing that her worst fears had not come true. “Where do you keep this thing, Catherine, in your shoes?”

“In my purse, thank you very much.”

Sara wiped at her tears as she eyed what Catherine claimed was a purse. “That is not a purse. It’s a wallet on a string.”

“Oh boy, this kid needs me. Don’t worry, honey. Aunt Catherine will help you with accessories because your mother thinks a gun goes with anything.”

Sara was relieved at the familiar banter. “It doesn’t?”

They all let out sounds of relief.

Sara spoke first. “So Gris is okay?”

Brass kept his arm in place, just in case. “As far as we know, and we know a lot.”

“What does that mean?”

Catherine took her handkerchief back and folded it while she was talking. “It means we have a line on Grissom.”

Sara jumped a little and her daughter did a tango.

“The envelope?”

“That, too,” Brass shifted uncomfortably. “You have to promise not to freak out or yell or throw things.”

Sara looked at Brass’ hand on her shoulder and back at his rugged face. “What…”

“We sort of kind of knew where Grissom was before the letter.”

“You WHAT!”

“You said you wouldn’t yell,” Brass ventured.

“I said no such thing. If I had my gun I would pistol whip you both. Brass, give me your gun.”

Brass covered his gun with one hand. “Cookie…”

“Don’t ‘Cookie’ me. What is wrong with you people? I am having his baby and he doesn’t know and he might be dying. What are you thinking?” Sara stood up.
“I don’t have to pistol whip you because Gris is going to kill you.” She walked in the direction the bedroom.

“Where are you going?” Catherine wanted to know.

Sounds came from the bedroom. “I am packing. I’m blowing this Popsicle stand. Where’s Grissom?”

“Cookie…” Brass moved to the bedroom doorway, watching as she took clothes from the small closet and put them into a rolling bag.

“Don’t ‘Cookie’ me, Brass. Gris is going to kill you.” She muttered, “I hope I am there to watch.”

“Cookie, just listen for a minute. Can you do that?”

Sara narrowed her brown eyes to pinpoints. “You have five minutes. Then I am on my way to the airport. I need to go to an airport right?”


Sara was not thrilled with the idea of waiting to find Gil, but she understood. She wasn’t completely out of the woods. She thought she could handle a reunion, but she knew that in a month, things would be better. Instead she went to March’s office to retrieve the key to the townhouse.

March eyes warmed when he saw Sara. “Long time no see.” His eyes fell to her waist line.

“Geez, Sara. When are you due? Three months?”

“A little less,” Sara said.

Worry dug fine lines around March’s mouth as he directed her to sit in a low chair. Sara shook her head opting for a high leather backed office chair.

“I will never be able to get up.”

“Sorry. I don’t do much prenatal care. I forget.”

March took in her clear skin and bright eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Sara said simply

“And the baby?” March said as he fished out a blood pressure cuff and stethoscope.

Sara watched and he rolled up her sleeve. “What are you doing?”

“Just making sure. “

After he had checked Sara’s vitals and listened to the baby’s heartbeat, he returned the instruments to their former place.

“Am I clear, doc?”

“As far as that rudimentary exam goes. You look good. Actually better than good. What does your OBGYN say?”

“That I am the picture of health,” Sara said, trying not to dwell on the drinking during her early pregnancy.

“What’s your doc’s name?”

Sara gave him the name of the OBGYN that visited the clinic twice a week. “Lili Kona.”

“Good. She’s the best. Best you not mention that you know me.”

Sara raised her eyebrow. “Who haven’t you dated? When are you going to settle down and have some babies?”

“You are already taken.”

Sara snorted. “May I have the key to MY townhouse so I can get my little girl’s room ready before I go find her daddy?”

March pulled out keys and a small brown folder. Sara took the keys and the folder. She opened it. There were two debit cards drawn on two different checking accounts.

“Gil left me money?” She asked.

“I was supposed to give you that if I felt like you needed it. Looks like you need it.”

Sara spoke in a whisper directed towards her belly. “Your daddy is something else, kid. He’s something else. Whatever happens, I am going to make sure you know what a great father you had. Even if he never knew about you.”