They had a dog. In their bedroom, the bed was unmade. There was a cold cup of coffee on the bedside table. Their home. It was perfectly, beautifully ordinary. And she was leaving it. Right now, Grissom would be in his office, still reeling from the news that she was leaving. Leaving not only the lab, but him as well. For now, anyway. She didn't want to think of the pained look in his eyes, so she tried to concentrate on which sweater to pack. Maybe blue. As she pulled it out, she felt her cell phone vibrate.
"Sidle." She thought of the nametag on her vest, ripped off like a band-aid to reveal an open wound.
"Sara."
Her breath caught. She hadn't expected him to call. Tell me to stay, she begged silently. Let me go.
"I just…I did a load of laundry before I left today," Grissom stammered, his voice slightly higher than usual.
"Your red tank top is still in the dryer. I thought you'd probably want to take it."
She had kissed him at work. How other way could she possibly say goodbye?
"I'll call you," she said breathlessly. Then she hung up the phone.
After she packed the tank top, she took his pillowcase off the bed. Smelling it was nothing like being near him. But she wanted to be able to smell it anyway.
Dogs didn't understand this kind of thing. Bruno lay sprawled across the bed heaving huge sighs that seemed distinctly human. From his spot on the bed, Grissom bent down to scratch Bruno's ear, but the dog only gazed back up with a forlorn look.
"She'll come back," Grissom promised, rubbing his thumb over the silky fur.
Without Sara, he felt almost claustrophobic in their bedroom. It seemed that her ghost took up a lot of space. A small triangle of cloth stuck out from her sock drawer. Her scent lingered on her pillow. But she had taken her red tank top. He had checked. Sighing, Grissom pulled out his cell phone and stared at it for a minute.
"I'd follow you anywhere," he told it. Then he leaned back against the headboard and closed his eyes. Cupping his hands around the phone, he closed his eyes and waited for the call he knew wouldn't come. When he finally fell asleep, he dreamed of San Francisco sun and carnival rides.
They were on the utmost top of a Ferris wheel, and her skin glowed golden. Tucking a dark curl behind her ear, she turned to him and smiled sadly at him.
"What's wrong?" he asked, reaching out to feel the texture of her skin.
"We're stuck," she said, looking down. He looked too. It was true. Their car rocked slowly in the wind, and then stilled. Below them, no one seemed to notice that the ride was stuck.
"This always happens," Sara told him. "I think we need to fix the ride."
Grissom frowned.
"Sara, I'm not sure I know how to do that."
"Me neither," she told him, laying her head on his shoulder.
Above them, the sunlight began to fade into late afternoon light, and the music-box carnival tunes continued with an inexpressible sadness.