I'll be the first to admit – this is a strange beginning. The prologue gives you a picture of the current Grissom family from a third person point of view. The story, which begins three weeks later, is told from Hannah's point of view. If you've read The Greatest Gift, you know that Hannah is actually Grissom's niece, who has been adopted as a daughter by both Sara and Gil. You do not need to read The Greatest Gift first – but you should read it, it's a good story! I hope you enjoy. Please let me know what you think – and if it should be continued.
Gilbert and Sara Grissom
Hannah – 14, 9th Grade
Gillian – 9, 5th Grade
Ira – 8, 4th Grade
Moira – 7, 2nd Grade
Matthew – 7, 2nd Grade
Zoe – 4
Brennon – 3
"Mom, we're going to be late," Hannah said with an exaggerated groan as her mother snapped yet another picture. She stood in front of the door, attempting to hurry her mother along by moving closer to their eventual destination.
"It's not too much to ask for a picture of my daughter on her first day of high school," Sara answered with a smile before checking her watch. "Besides, we have time."
"I don't want to be late on my first day."
"When has your mother ever been late for anything?" Grissom posed the question to his eldest daughter as he appeared in the hallway with two more in tow. Moira Grissom was ready for her first day of second grade from the top of her chestnut pigtails to the toes of her navy Mary Jane shoes. Her nine-year-old sister was a different story. Gillian had been impossible to wake up and even harder to coax into the navy jumper required by their exclusive private school. She was still glaring slightly as she stared down at her shoes, scuffed from the day before when she'd forgotten to change into tennis shoes before engaging in a fairly rough game of soccer with her brother.
"Dad, can we just go?"
"Sweetie, it's your first day of high school. It's a big day for us. We're almost ready," he added, heading back toward the bedrooms.
"Why can't I just take the bus like everyone else?"
"You know why, we're not talking about it again," Sara answered firmly. She tried to retain her smile as she turned and took a picture of the other two girls, who were still standing where their father had left them. "Gilly-bean, what's wrong?" Gillian turned abruptly away from Sara, folding her arms and stubbornly facing the wall. Sara knelt down and gave Moira a questioning look, but the little girl shrugged.
"Gilly doesn't want to go to school," Moira said softly, her sensitive nature emanating from the glistening tears in her blue eyes. Sara worried about her starting second grade without her twin brother, but Grissom was convinced that she needed to learn to be more independent, so she and Matthew had been placed in two separate classrooms. Moira knew of the unusual arrangement, but Sara was concerned about what might happen once she realized what it truly meant. Before Sara could talk to the girls any longer, she was almost knocked off balance as something small and approximately thirty pounds hit her. Matthew grinned as he gave his mother a bear hug. Grissom had only just finished dressing the boys, but Matt's tie was already loose and eight-year-old Ira had ditched his jacket.
"Watch it, kiddo," Sara said with a laugh as she ruffled his already wild hair.
"Five down, two to go," Gil said with a smile as he headed back down the hallway. Sara smiled after him and did a visual check of the other kids; they all seemed dressed with book bags in hand. In order to avoid morning confusions, book bags and lunches in the Grissom household were always packed the night before.
"You're going to have such a wonderful day," Sara assured Moira as she pulled her into a hug. "I want to hear all about it when you get home, okay?" The little girl nodded, a small smile appearing on her worried countenance. Next, Sara attempted to say goodbye to Gillian but was again rebuffed by the unhappy child. Just as she finished, much to Ira's disgruntlement, hugging both of her sons Gil returned to the front hall with Zoe and Brennan, their two toddlers. Herding everyone out the front door, Sara settled Zoe and Brennan into her Tahoe while Hannah helped Grissom pack Ira, Matthew, Gillian, and Moira into his SUV. Hannah then got into the passenger seat of her mother's vehicle, leaving her parents in the middle of the driveway to say their goodbyes. Their ritual morning kiss gained groans and 'ewww's from both sides, but that simply made it more fun for them.
As Sara got into the driver's seat, Grissom leaned in Hannah's window and dropped a kiss on her brunette curls before placing a small box into her lap. "That's from your mother and me. I know you're going to have a great day, bug."
"Papa," Hannah said, in mock aggravation. "I'm too old for nicknames."
"I know, I know," he said, his voice laced with sadness as he smiled once more and then went to his own car to drive the younger kids to school. They reached the main highway before Sara realized that her daughter hadn't touched the box.
"Aren't you going to open it?"
"Should I?"
"That's what presents are for, silly." Smiling at her mother's overexcited voice, Hannah reached down and took hold of the small box, wondering what it might be. Her parents were always a little strange with gifts, giving the most meaningful things at strange times and then almost forgetting occasions like birthdays and Christmas. If it weren't for Aunt Catherine forcing her mom into the stores after Thanksgiving, Hannah was pretty sure that her family would celebrate the holidays sans presents. The brushed-white gold heart was solid but subtle, a perfect combination of the usual and the unique.
"Mom, it's beautiful," Hannah breathed, "thank you."
"I know you want your independence, but you'll always be our little girl. No matter what happens, we always love you. And we wanted to give you something to wish you luck – high school is a big deal. And hopefully you'll have a better time than your father or I ever did."
"Me too," Hannah said with a laugh. She had heard enough stories from both her parents to know that they had not prospered, socially or emotionally, in the high school arena. "Mom, try not to worry. I have gone to school before."
"I know you'll be great," Sara agreed, her eyes misting over despite her attempts to squash the tears. "Have a great day. I love you."
"Love you too," Hannah said, leaning over to peck her on the cheek. "See you at 3:30." She was out of the Tahoe and disappeared into the front doors before Sara knew what was happening.
"At least some of my babies still need me," Sara said, smiling in the rearview mirror at her two toddlers. She was answered with happy giggling from Zoe. After dropping the two youngest at their preschool, Sara drove to the lab in hopes of finishing a few bits of paperwork before it was time to chauffeur again.
When she arrived, she found her paperwork finished and her desk occupied. "I was wondering when you'd get here."
"I stopped to cry," Sara said stubbornly. Gil laughed at her but opened his arms and caught her in a loving embrace; he knew she wasn't taking change well – especially when I came to their children.
Three weeks later – from Hannah's Point of View
I was dead. I thought that I might as well go climb into one of the drawers at Doc Robbins' lab, because at that moment, I imagined that my life was over. Then again, I probably didn't need to go to the trouble. Mom looked like she'd be fully willing to participate in ending my life right then. She's a scary lady. Especially when Dad's too busy with his own feelings to keep her calm. If only the floor of Mr. Stevenson's office would have swallowed me up, my misery could have ended quickly. But no, the headmaster was done with my parents; and he was leaving me to them. After all, I'm more their problem than his; especially now that I'm not exactly welcome in his school. Neither one of them said a word, but one look from my dad told me that I should follow.
Mom's boots clicked smartly against the stone path as we walked toward Dad's Tahoe; she was walking briskly, something that was a sure indication of her anger level. I knew it was in the dangerous zone when Dad gave me a sympathetic glance as he opened the back door to let me in. He stopped Mom from getting into the car right away and I saw him talking but he was being too quiet for me to hear anything. Whatever he was saying, it was making Mom soften a bit, she even looked like she was tearing up as he rubbed her back reassuringly and then opened her door. One quick glance at me, and her expression hardened once more to one usually reserved for high-end criminals and Ecklie – one of the mangers at Dad's lab.
By the time we pulled up the long driveway to our house, the silence was so stark that I thought maybe I had inherited Dad's condition and was losing my hearing. The sound of metal against stone as Mom slammed the door open too wide and hit the driveway wall brought me back to reality; and a messy scene.
"Damn it!" Mom didn't usually swear, but she wasn't in her normal frame of mind, so I wasn't exactly surprised.
"Sara," Dad said gently as he walked around to her side of the car. He didn't even look at the door of his Tahoe; he simply closed it and put his arms around mom, slowly leading her toward the house without so much as a second look at me. Unfortunately, matters only got worse in the next few moments. Mom and Dad's cell phones and beepers all starting going off and they automatically grabbed at them. It must have been an emergency call, because they raced back toward the car without so much as a word to one another.
"Get in," Dad ordered. I got back in the car and buckled in, bracing myself for a quick ride. And a quick ride it was; Dad turned on his lights and sirens and sped through the city to the other side and headed out toward the desert. For a minute, I figured that they'd forgotten about me. That was until Mom finally spoke.
"You lock the door and stay in the car when we stop," Mom said firmly. "You don't open it for anyone but your Dad or me. And keep this," she said as she carefully handed me her gun. I hated the thing. I knew how to shoot it. I shoot it quite well, actually. Mom and Dad had taken me to the shooting range for the first time when I was seven; a few days after I'd been the victim of an attempted kidnapping. Since Mom and Dad were in a dangerous and highly visible line of work, we were always going to be at risk. So, security was of the essence when it came to our family.
The house had alarms and monitors and locks galore. Most of the time, I barely noticed them anymore. And the other kids didn't even realize that there was a time when Mom would leave the door unlocked waiting for Dad to get home. We went to a private Catholic school not because our family was extremely religious, but because we had private security that the public schools would never abide. Well, that and we're all really smart – but the security is the non-negotiable thing. Once, I got mad at someone on the playground and started to run away. A policeman picked me up less than two minutes later and Uncle Warrick picked me up from school since Mom and Dad were working on a case. I love Uncle Warrick; but he is not the one you want giving you a lecture on stranger danger.
I didn't mind most of the security measures; I certainly didn't want anything to happen to my family. But the guns were too much; I absolutely hated the thought that Mom and Dad were trained to shoot to kill. And the thought that I might kill something or someone has always been terrifying. Whatever happened must have been big because after Dad pulled the Tahoe onto the edge of the crime scene, Mom opened my door and hugged me. Coming from a woman who had previously looked like she wanted to kill me, I was more than surprised.
"We'll be right back," she whispered before pulling away and closing my door. She stood outside, pointedly waiting for me to lock the door. When I did, she walked back to the trunk to help Dad gather their kits. They had parked far enough away from the crime scene that I couldn't see anything but the vague outlines of people; I recognized Aunt Catherine and Uncle Brass right away. Mom and Dad quickly joined them and I eventually lost interest.
An hour or so after we had arrived, I was deep in thoughts of self-pity and morose when Mom returned and climbed into the driver's seat. "You can climb up here." I did, but carefully avoided talking to my mother for the car ride home.
Not knowing how to respond to her mood swings, I intended to go straight to my room. Unfortunately, she motioned for me to follow her out into the backyard. It was my parents' paradise, littered with every flower and shrub that could possibly be grown in Nevada. And there are more than one might think. She sat on our weathered wooden swing and I timidly perched on a chair across from her, inwardly prepared for yelling. Yelling that never came.
