"Yes, tomorrow works just fine. Nine? Okay, I'll be there," Gillian says into the phone.
She says goodbye to Reynolds and hangs up, turning to Cal to relay the details of the case he'd described.
"That's all you, Gillian. I have that politician with the immigration policy scandal."
Gillian nods, remembering when he'd told her he had taken the case.
"The tables have turned," Gillian smiles, amused. "I used to get all the politics."
"Mmhmm," Cal agrees. "Guess I've changed. You coming?"
He swings his coat over his shoulder and gestures at the door of his office.
"I'll meet you there," Gillian promises with a smile.
"Okay," he says, pressing a chaste kiss against her lips.
"See you soon," Gillian says, taking the opening to excuse herself to her own office.
She hardly hears the salutation echoed before she's out of his inner office and taking the shortcut to hers. She turns off her laptop and slips it into her briefcase. Walking a quick circle around her desk, she collects her briefcase, purse, and coat and heads towards the Lightman Group's exit.
Passing the reception desk, she tells Heidi she's going for the night. Heidi gives her a knowing smirk and Gillian rolls her eyes, turning away from the receptionist and into the cool night.
She unlocks her car remotely and pops the trunk, where she deposits her briefcase. She gets into her car, driving at a leisurely pace through winding city streets and admiring the lights and the nightlife. When she turns into a familiar residental area, her focus sharpens and she takes the same pot-holed path she always has, quickly finding herself pulling into Cal's driveway.
She heads up the porch steps and rings the doorbell. The door swings open almost immediately, revealing Emily dressed head to toe in University of California clothing. At Gillian's wide smile, Emily pulls her inside.
"I'm applying today. I thought it might be nice luck to be dressed for the challenge," Emily explains.
"Fair enough," Gillian smiles, toeing off her heels and hanging her coat on the rack.
"Your dad?"
"Kitchen."
Gillian wishes Emily good luck and walks in the direction of the kitchen, smelling strong spices and hoping for some kind of curry or something.
"Green Thai curry," Cal answers her unspoken question, nearing her and pressing a kiss on the tip of her nose. "It's almost ready."
"Great," Gillian replies, going to sit at the kitchen island.
She watches him move around the kitchen, stirring at a pot, adding more seasoning to another, and pouring out glasses of wine, one of which he carries over to her.
"Thank you," she says with a smile.
"And application complete!" Emily exclaims, walking into the kitchen.
She stops dumbly, looking from her father to Gillian and back again.
"Did I interrupt something?"
Gillian shakes her head and Cal vociferates his mimed reply.
"Dinner's ready," Cal says quietly.
"You know French, right Gillian?" Emily asks when they've all cleared their plates.
"Oui, oui," Gillian replies.
"Would you help me, please? I have this final and I'm struggling," she asks.
"Bien sûr, je peux t'aider," Gillian says. Of course I can help you.
"You gonna speak in French the rest of the night, Gillian?" Cal asks, smirking.
"Non, mais je veux parler en français quand Emily étudie parce-qu'il va faire le français d'Emily mieux." No, but I want to speak French when Emily studies because it will make Emily's french better.
Cal's brows furrow.
"Je sais que tu sais le langue aussi," Gillian says. I know that you know the language, too.
"I haven't spoken French since 1990! I can't say I know it at all."
Gillian giggles, aware that he understands every word, and turns to Emily again.
"Comment puis-je t'aider?" she asks. How can I help you?
"Je dois faire un presentation powerpoint au le sujet de Paris," Emily explains. I have to make a powerpoint about Paris.
"Oh! J'adore Paris! Je suis allé la quand j'étais dix-sept ans comme tu. Trés belle." I love Paris! I went there when I was seventeen like you. Very beautiful.
Emily smiles, her French slow, deliberate, and perfectly pronounced.
"Tu es la femme parfaite pour le travail!" You're the perfect woman for the job.
"I'm gonna need Torres on my case," Gillian says cautiously, knowing how Cal prefers Torres to Loker.
"What? Why?"
"Woman's touch, you know? Eli's much too insensitive for this one, anyway," she tells Cal.
She watches his mind work, trying to come up with any solution other than give up his precious protegé, which Gillian had found, to be clear.
"Fine," he says with a scowl. "I'll take Loker."
"Great. The two of you really should work on your professional relationship," Gillian smirks.
"Trust me, he idolises you," Gillian adds as she walks out of the room.
"Torres, I need you," she says as she enters the lab.
"New case?" Torres questions.
"Yes. Missing baby Rogers. Let's go," Gillian answers.
"Please don't tell me I'm stuck with Lightman," Loker grumps.
"Oh, you are so stuck with me," says Lightman himself, materialising from somewhere behind Gillian.
Gillian smiles at the exchange, moving quickly from the room to avoid getting caught up, motioning for Torres to follow.
"Reynolds is lead on this one. He's meeting us down at the Rogers' house."
Ria nods and follows Gillian out to her car. They arrive in only fifteen minutes, the residence not being too far away and step out of the car. They climb the porch steps and ring the doorbell, examining the fading bricks and worn house number, really a typical family home.
"Hi! I'm Willa Jean. You must be Foster and Torres," says the greying woman who opens the door. "Come in, come in. Do you want tea? Coffee?"
"No thank you," Gillian responds, following Willa Jean further into the house.
They're led to a small living room, where a brown haired couple huddles close together on one end of the couch, Reynolds sitting on the other. Gillian and Torres sit in the kitchen chairs set up in front of the couch, getting a perfect view of the couple. Willa Jean sits in the armchair.
Gillian hands Torres a camera from her bag and pulls out a blue Lightman Group folder.
"These are the deception experts I told you about," Reynolds says, introducing them both to Lea and Will Rogers.
"When did you see baby Sarah last?" Reynolds asks.
"Yesterday afternoon," Lea replies. "We had taken her to the park."
"Did you have her when you got back home?"
"Of course. We didn't just lose our baby!" Will answers.
"Of course not, Mr. Rogers. We just need to cover all avenues. So you brought her home with you. What happened next?" Gillian intervenes.
"Will," he corrects. "After that, Lea put her down for a nap. About an hour later, I went to check on her, but her crib was empty."
Lea stiffles a sob, her skin sickly-pale. She looks as if she's going to be sick and Gillian's heartstrings are tugged gently.
"She was just gone," Lea says.
"They're gonna find her," Willa Jean comforts, coming around the couch to rub Lea's shoulder.
"Did you kill her? Did you guys kill Sarah?" Ria jumps in, so similar to Cal's way of interrogation.
"No," Lea and Will say at the same time, Willa Jean wide eyed and shaking her head desperately.
"No, of course not. We wanted a child so much. When we miscarried before Sarah, we were so upset. We would never kill a baby," Will explains.
Gillian panics when she sees the blood in her underwear, not mild spotting like she'd been told could be expected, but a patch of red soaked completely through. She quakes on the toilet seat, looking up at the ceiling, then down at her toes on the lush blue carpet to ground her thoughts.
She reaches for her cellphone and dials her OB, frowning down at a loose thread on the carpet.
"Hi. It's Gillian Foster. I am bleeding, just wondering how much is to be expected and when to be concerned," she says, managing to sound calm.
"Well anything about the same or greater than your regular menstrual flow is concerning. Is it just spotting?"
"No, I'm bleeding quite a bit."
"Don't panic. Just clean up and come on over. I'll be ready for you," her doctor says.
"Okay," Gillian says, letting out a breath she'd been holding.
When she gets there, her OB presses a cold machine to her stomach and the sound of silence rings clear in the room, devoid the quick and steady beating of her baby's heart. Then, the room is filled with her sobs.
Emily walks down the halls of the Lightman Group, looking for Gillian. She presses the door to the lab open, finding Loker and her dad bickering. Before she can interject and ask about Foster, Eli's face begins to redden and his vocal pitch rises.
"What is it that you've got against me? It's gotta be something," Eli insists.
"What? You want the truth?"
"You've no respect, Loker, for Foster or any of the others. You've been disloyal to Foster. And to top it off, you not only lied to her, you didn't even think she'd know you were lying. She's done a lot for you. It disgusts me."
Emily smiles, adoring the way her dad stands up for the woman he loves at every opportunity and hoping that one day she can find that, too. She slips out of the lab silently, bumping right into Gillian and sending papers flying in every direction. Gillian immediately bends to pick up the mess.
"I'm so sorry, Gillian. I wasn't looking where I was going," Emily says, kneeling to help Gillian collect the pages.
"It's okay," Gillian smiles warmly, taking the papers from Emily's hand and putting them back into her blue file. "Looking for your dad?"
Emily shakes her head and stands, offering a hand to Gillian who still kneels.
"You, actually," she says as she helps pull Gillian back to full height.
"Really? What's the occasion?" Gillian asks, wrapping an arm about Emily's shoulder and leading her towards her office.
"My French presentation is later today and I need some last minute help. Do you have a minute?"
"Of course I do," Gillian smiles, pushing open her office door and sitting in one of her white leather armchairs.
"Okay," Emily sits by Gillian. "Is it 'j'aimerais aller au Paris un jour' or does 'un jour' come first?" I would like to go to Paris one day.
"I don't really think it makes much difference. You're just nervous," Gillian shrugs.
Standing up and rounding her desk, she finds her purse and digs through, finally coming up with an old black jewellery box. She snaps it open and pulls out a silver bracelet, four leaf clover, wishbone, and horseshoe charms glittering in the light.
"Here, wear this. It'll bring you luck," Gillian says as she returns to where she was sitting.
"It's beautiful, Gillian," Emily says in thanks. "I hope it works."
"Dr. Foster?" Loker calls out, knocking on Gillian's doorframe.
"You can come in, Loker," Gillian replies, not looking up from her paperwork.
He walks in nervously, fiddling with his collar as he moves toward a chair, then back away from it, unable to decide whether to sit or stand.
"I just wanted to discuss something with you," he says, leaning against the chair as he comes to a compromise.
His tone troubles her and she sits up a little straighter, putting down her pen.
"A pay rise? Promotion?" she throws out, wondering why he's so jittery.
"No, Foster. An apology."
"Did I do something?"
"No, no. It's me. I'm sorry," he says.
"What's gotten into you? I've never heard you apologise before."
"And that's a problem. Someone brought it to my attention recently that I haven't been respectful to you. And it's true. I've disobeyed you over and over and sometimes lied to you about it and I didn't even think that you would know. That was wrong of me and I'm sorry."
"Wow. Thank you, Eli. I appreciate that."
He nods and walks out of the room, leaving Gillian to wonder who it was that put him up to this.
Just minutes later, Torres walks in, smiling.
"Did Loker look strange to you?" she asks lightly, moving into the room and leaning on the back of Gillian's couch.
"Little bit more than usual," Gillian cracks, smiling.
"We've got nothing on our case," Torres' tone shifts.
"That's what I wanted to talk to you about actually," Gillian says.
"Okay, what do we do?" Torres asks.
"You tell me," is Gillian's reply.
"If it's not the family, maybe there's an additional suspect pool we should be looking at or some other way to figure out who took the baby. Reynolds said the baby was more than likely to be dead, so maybe someone who has something against the parents. Or hell, maybe it is them. Maybe we just missed it."
"Well, the key is to ask the right questions. And maybe, we didn't. So in a rut like this, I'd just reinterview as many people as I can," Gillian advises as she rounds her desk and leans against it to speak to Torres more directly.
"Yeah. Yeah, the parents give me a funny feeling. We should interview them again, but maybe different somehow like separately or something."
"That could work, Torres. Great thinking," Gillian responds, straightening up.
Torres beams, though she tries to damp it down, making Gillian smile also.
"Okay. Make the calls and then go talk to Eli, tell him-" her words are cut off as a sharp pain ripples tightly through her lower abdomen, her hand gripping the desk so strongly, her knuckles go white.
"Are you okay, Foster?" Torres asks. Then startled, adds "you're bleeding."
Gillian looks down where Torres' eyes have drawn and sees the blood curving down along the side of her knee. She takes in a sharp breath as she thinks it over, thinks about whether or not she'd missed a period, whether or not this is even possible at her age.
"I'm... It's a miscarriage. I'm having a miscarriage."
Gillian reaches for tissues off of her desk, dabbing furiously at the blood in preparation of making her way to the bathroom as Torres' shock slowly fades into determination.
"Do you need a hospital? I can call you an ambulance..."
When fixed with an unimpressed stare, she quickly ammends "or drive. I can drive you."
Gillian shakes her head.
"I don't need a doctor, Ria. It's not... The first time this has happened. I know what to do," she says, chin tipped up so as not to convey the truth of her emotion, which is a lot more bereft than brave.
Gillian moves to fetch her purse, heading for the double doors of her office and pushing through. Torres thunders after her, heels thumping hard and clumsy against the tile.
"I think you do. Just let me drive you. No one else has to know."
"Ria," Gillian says, turning around just outside the bathroom door, her voice a mingling tone of chastise and sorrow.
"Okay, I'm sorry," Torres sumbits, throwing her hands up in surrender. "Let me just make sure no one's there before you go in."
Gillian walks in at Ria's signal, grateful for the empty bathroom.
"Thank you," she says, her voice coming out small as she nods to Ria.
"I'm gonna be right here."
With a fragmented smile, Gillian slips into the nearest stall to get herself cleaned up. She hangs her purse on the hook and rummages inside for the drawstring bag she keeps with a spare pair of underwear and sanitary pad. She pulls out a makeup wipe also to work at the stains. Head hung in concentration, she gets to work.
When she's finished, she sits on the closed toilet seat and squeezes her eyes clenched shut against the coming tears.
"You okay?" comes Torres from somewhere outside the stall.
"Yes," she replies on a shaky exhale. "All done."
Gillian gathers enough strength to keep her face neutral, sliding the lock so that the stall door swings open. Grabbing her purse, she heads for the sink, scrubbing away the experience from her hands.
She can't help, but remember the last time she'd done this, when the memories of Sophie were fresh and the pain still raw.
She shakes the water off the lettuce leaves she had washed for a salad, putting them into a colander to drain completely as she waits for Alec to come home. It'd been later and later since Sophie was taken and she's become tired of eating dinner alone. She decides to make chicken, so it can stay warm in the oven and last until he gets home. She flicks on the stovetop element and pushes a pan over the red heat. She pours in some oil, finally tossing some chicken breast into the pan. Hit with a sudden surge of pain, her hand curls around the edge of the pan for a moment before she recoils so quickly.
She ends up bounding back into the kitchen island, striking her hip against the granite and cradling her burnt hand to her chest. Breathing raggedly through the pain, she looks down to see what she already knows, to see the blood staining the leg of her grey yoga pants, a rush of blood so unlike the steady flow of menstruation. 'I really don't get to be a mother,' she thinks as she reels from another loss too soon after the last.
She turns the heat back off, ambling up the stairs and stripping herself bare on her closet floor. She puts the clothes that adorned her bottom half into the trash instead of the hamper. She goes into the bathroom, warming the water while she blinks back tears. When the heated water of the shower hits her ice cold skin, the gooseflesh recedes and tears come unbidden to her eyes. She watches the water swirl pink in the drain for a few seconds before running clear. Only then does she let the tears fall.
"If you want to talk," Torres offers, inclining her head while she looks at Gillian with worry.
Gillian realises she must have let a lot more time pass than required with her hands under the running water, so she pulls them back and twists the faucet off. She shakes her hands over the basin as she shakes her head in response to Torres.
"It was Cal's baby," Torres says and a slight tremor runs through Gillian's body at the wording.
She fights against closing her eyes to the hurt, nodding instead.
"Yes."
"You gonna tell him?" Torres asks, feigning nonchalance.
"No! No, Torres and you can't say anything either. He can't know."
Gillian's fear is palpable, fear that Torres might disobey her or that Cal might find out some other way, that her pain and grief would end up on display when she hadn't even had the time to come to terms with it, yet.
"Gillian, it's his baby, too. His loss, too," Torres argues.
"No," Gillian is firm, arms crossing over her chest. "There's no reason to burden him with this. It'll just crush him. I can handle it, okay?"
Ria looks dubious, eyebrows furrowing and head tipping to one side. Meeting the steeled eyes of her kinder boss, she nods sharply, knowing that Foster would've done it for her, would've done exactly as she had asked if the situations were reversed. And Foster deserves the same respect from her in return.
Gillian laughs over her sandwich, sitting in a restaurant booth with Cal close to her side and Emily opposite her.
"That's not funny," Cal complains as they poke fun at him.
"It's just true," Gillian comments lightly, placing her half-eaten sandwich back down and excusing herself to the restroom.
Emily jumps up to go with her, and ends up leading the way, knowing the restaurant's layout better than Gillian.
Cal grabs Gillian's hand as she walks past, pulling her back a few steps.
"Thank you for helping Emily," he says. "Means a lot to the both of us."
Gillian smiles when she hears his jealous tone. She presses one kiss against his lips, then another, amused by the presence of that emotion.
"My pleasure," she tells him close to his mouth.
He steals one more kiss, then lets her go follow after his daughter, who had waited for her a few feet away.
"Lovebirds," Emily teases when Gillian gets near. "Just can't get enough, can you?"
She's glad for the science, then, as she's able to glean Emily's appreciation of that fact so instantly.
She sometimes wishes she couldn't read emotions. As Alec rocks a distressed Sophie back and forth as he paces all around their living room clutter in circles that leave her head spinning, she can see the frustration building, the little flashes of contempt when he looks at her. Sophie's wails only escalate, rising to near-deafening decibels. Alec takes one more turn around the couch where Gillian's sitting, supposed to be napping but even in her exhaustion, unable to keep her eyes off of her brand new baby girl. Finally, he stops circling the room, edging around the coffee table piled with baby bottles and blankets and emptied mugs that once harboured the luxury of coffee for sleep-deprived new parents.
"Gill," he says at a normal volume, shaking gently at her shoulder.
"Hmm?" Gillian replies, lifting leadened eyelids to meet his more alert eyes.
"I'm sorry to wake you. She just won't stop crying. Would you take her?"
She doesn't answer verbally, just rises further into sitting and relaxes tense muscles, opening up her arms.
When she cradles Sophie, her tears turn to little hiccups, and in minutes the girl is asleep, pressed close against her mother's chest.
Alec looks to her, first disbelieving, then struggling to hide the twitching at the corner of his mouth.
"How'd you do that? I've been trying for a half hour," Alec says.
She can hear the emotion, too, coaxing his tone taut and thin, ready to snap into something else altogether.
"I'm sure she's just tired herself out," Gillian placates.
She knows the truth, knows that there's just something special about mothers and their daughters, even without the connection of a bloodline.
Okay, maybe she is glad for the science she'd learned. At least it's allowed her to keep the proud smirk from coming up on her face at the thought.
After the three finish the meal, Emily excuses herself to go meet her boyfriend, Dan. She kisses her father's cheek, then comes around the table to kiss Gillian's, too. Gillian's first surprised, then overwhelmed by the love she feels for her boyfriend's daughter.
"Don't say it. Just please don't," Gillian says quietly when Emily's out of hearing range, so much tension in her voice that it trembles.
"Okay," he complies quickly, not wanting to bring her pain.
"It was my fault, you know, not Alec's. I can't."
"Yeah, love. I know."
She gives him a look that's confusion and sadness and those vestiges of lingering shame.
"I saw it on you, Gillian. I see it on you. The guilt."
"Right. You see everything," she tells him, annoyance and needles of pain sharpening her words.
"I can't help seeing, but I didn't say anything all this time. Isn't that the rule?"
She looks down at the streak of sauce left on her plate, thinking of what she had yet to tell him. She can feel tears pricking and her heart aching and she just lifts herself to his gaze and lets him see, hopes that will get him to back off just enough to ease the chokehold her pain has on her.
"Let's just get dessert," she suggests, pulling up a half smile.
"Okay," he agrees quickly, only too happy to let the topic go.
Gillian walks into the lab, where she'd told Ria and Loker to meet her. Reynolds had already brought Lea Rogers to the cube and stands with his arms crossed behind Loker, who's rechecking all the equipment.
Ria stands when she sees Gillian, meeting her near the door to the cube.
"I'm so sure it's Lea. Just look at her. Aren't those eyes murderous?" Ria asks.
"A scientific or gut read?" Gillian asks in reply, looking at the young woman intently over the blue folder in her hand.
"Both?"
Gillian's eyes probe even deeper, as if trying to measure something within the budding scientist.
"I'll do this interview on my own," Gillian decides, closing the folder and tucking it under her arm.
"What? Why?" Ria asks, flustered at her sudden exclusion.
"Just because you've learned the science doesn't mean you've learned to be a scientist. Your conviction will obscure real results. I'll do better on my own," Gillian explains, making the unfavourable situation into a learning experience for the young natural.
"You don't think she did it?" Ria asks, incredulous.
"I don't conclude anything even tentatively, not without at least some piece of emotional evidence."
Ria sighs, letting loose her frustration.
"Fine. I'll just sit out here and watch. But if I find 'the right question', I'm asking it," Ria insists.
"Okay," Gillian agrees, stepping away with a nod and stepping up the stairs leading to the cube, letting herself in and locking the door behind her.
"Hi, Mrs. Rogers. Nice to see you looking better," Gillian greets, offering a hand.
Mrs. Rogers shakes it firmly.
"Lea," she insists.
"Okay, Lea. We really want to help you find out what happened to your baby. If someone killed Sarah, we want that person to get the punishment they deserve. To do that, we need your full cooperation," Gillian explains, making just enough eye contact to make Lea feel comfortable.
"Anything I can do," Lea says, gulping.
Confused more than anything, she continues on.
"I'd like to go over the last day you saw her. From the beginning."
"It was a normal day. We took Sarah to the park because it was so warm. And we sat on this ugly picnic blanket, but it was so much fun. Will and I had sandwiches after Sarah's bottle and ice cream off a truck. We went home all tired." Lea narrates. "I put Sarah down for a nap and then I went to lie down, too. When I woke up, she was gone."
Gillian blinks at her, hearing the lie, but unable to see it on her face.
"You had a nap when Sarah did?" Gillian asks again.
"Yes," Lea says, but her head shakes no.
Gillian shakes her head, then smiles.
"That's not true. What did you really do?"
"Okay, fine," Lea says, her tone bordering on aggressive. "I was arguing with my husband. I was distracted and a horrible parent. Is that what you want to hear?"
"What about?"
"That's not pertinent to the case!" Lea exclaims. "I am not going to air my dirty laundry here."
"Seems like it is," Gillian says, inclining her head. "I'm not here to judge you."
"We're having some marital problems. Will was going to leave me before he knew I was pregnant. He accused me of 'baby-trapping' him," Lea says, her face and voice devoid of contempt or anger or any of the expected reactions to a false accusation.
"Did you?"
"Y-No!" Lea exclaims.
She fakes offence, furrowing eyebrows into an angry 'v'.
"This is just ridiculous. I'm gonna go."
"Did you kill your baby, Lea? Did you kill Sarah?"
"No!"
"Did you kill her? You kill your own little helpless baby?"
"No!"
"I think you did, Lea. I think you did."
"I-Okay, fine. Fine, I admit it. That's gotta mean something."
"I was just so angry. I didn't want a baby. I wanted Will and the baby wasn't gonna be enough to make him stay. So, I pressed a pillow over her head and pushed down hard and just waited for her to stop crying, to die."
"You killed your baby," Gillian states blankly, searching desperately over Lea's face for anger or offence or any indication that she may be wrong.
She can't help but remember the feeling of blood running down her thighs, a stark contrast of bright red against the pale alabaster of her skin. She can't help but remember the depth of the pain she had felt when she realised her body was a mutinous murderer that wouldn't stop at just one victim or two, but would kill anything that ever tried to inhabit her uterus even though it was meant to be a home. She can't help but wonder why anyone would ever kill a baby on purpose when a baby dying even by accident caused so much heartache.
"Yes," Lea sighs, drawing her eyes down in a quick flash of shame.
"I-"
Gillian's words are interrupted by the beeping of the keypad and the sound of the door swinging open. Torres pushes into the room, followed by a restless Reynolds, eager to get the woman who could so heartlessly kill her own child put where she belongs.
"What's gonna happen to me?" Lea asks, desperate eyes centered on Gillian.
"Hopefully, they lock you up for the rest of your life. You're a monster," Gillian says, pushing back her chair.
As soon as Reynolds cuts in and starts reciting Miranda rights, Gillian stands and rushes towards the exit of the cube, stepping past Torres on her way out who tosses her a look of so much empathy that she simply doesn't know what to do with it.
She heads for the bathroom where she'd cleaned herself up, wiped away the blood, then scrubbed at the red stains left behind with a makeup wipe. She closes herself into a stall and sits on a downturned toilet seat, resting her elbows on her knees and dropping her face into open palms. She finds herself wondering what kind of God would grant the ability to bring life into the world to women as heartless as Lea, but not to her.
Gillian's supposed to be watching the movie playing on the screen in Cal's living room, but she can't seem to focus. They'd compromised on a movie of both action and romance, but Gillian's hopeless to follow the chase going on with her mind already racing in so many different directions. Gillian lifts her head from Cal's shoulder, shifting to look at him, eyes storm grey and saddened.
"What's wrong?" he asks her as he sees her troubled expression.
"I need to talk to you," she says, shifting to face him as he clicks off the television and gives her his full attention.
"I... I'm sorry, it's difficult to say."
He shakes his head, showing his patience and weaves her fingers through his own in an offer of support.
"Okay," she sighs. "Earlier this week, I had a miscarriage. It was at work. I didn't know that I was pregnant. And Torres was there. She's a good girl. She helped me out. And I'm okay. I just thought you should know."
"Gillian," he croons. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
"I'm sorry. I just... I had to process it myself before I shared with you."
"True, but that's not all. C'mon, you know you can tell me, Gill."
She squeezes against his fingers, looking down where their flesh presses together warm.
"I didn't want to hurt you," she admits. "I'm a big girl. I can handle it on my own. Don't need to burden you, too."
"Whoa," Cal exclaims, freeing a hand to press against her jaw and lift her gaze. "This relationship goes both ways. I know that I can come to you when I have a problem or even just a shitty day. And you need to do that too. Ask if you need help or just someone to listen. I'm here for you, Gillian. And you've shouldered so many of my burdens. Let me help me with yours."
"It was a baby, Cal," she says, tears glistening in her eyes. "And even if you don't say it, I know that you want another. And I can't give that to you. I can't."
"Gillian," he sighs. "I don't need another child. I need only you. You don't have to give me a child. I have everything I could ask for in you and Em."
Her tears spill over, running down her cheeks and pooling against his fingers. He wipes them away with his thumb, a firm pressure against her cheek, then tangles their fingers together again.
"I want you to have more. Everything that you want, too. Everything that I can't be, that I can't give to you."
"You're enough for me, Gillian, more than enough. And I don't want anything else. You're the greatest woman I've ever had in my life."
"I don't think so, Cal. I think you had an entirely different view of me before we were ever together. I think I'm not as perfect as you seem to think."
Cal's mouth turns down into a thoughtful frown.
"It doesn't make you less of a woman, that you can't have children. I still think you're perfect, always have really."
She sighs, at war with her emotions and struggling to get the words just right.
"I know. I know. It's just... I wanted a baby. I wanted your baby, but... It's happened so many times, it's like I get numb. And then all of a sudden it will hit me. Just that I'm not ever going to be a mother. Never."
"There's more than one way to be a mother, Gill. Look what you've done for Emily, that's mothering. Doesn't matter what the girl calls you," Cal insists.
"I love Emily, you know that. But, that's not..." Gillian sighs. "It's not the kind of mothering I hoped to do."
"C'mere, love," he beckons, arms closing around her even before she shuffles nearer and nestles her cheek into the crook of his shoulder.
"She killed her baby," Gillian says, voice soft and hoarse and near to deadened. "She killed her baby."
"I know," he tells her, hands coming up to stroke her hair.
"How can she do that? How can anyone?"
"I don't know. We never will."
She lets the duplicity of the phrasing sink in. Will they never know or never kill their baby? Is he suggesting they have a baby so soon after she'd washed away the bloody remnants of an almost-child from her skin?
He pulls away enough to see her face, tear-stained and grief-stricken.
"You like to put things in boxes. It's just how your brain works. Probably why you're so good at compartmentalisation. But, Gill, there are two boxes you've closed for yourself that you need to reopen. You're still a woman and you'll always be a mother. You don't need to be able to carry a baby to be a woman and you don't need a baby in your arms to be a mother. You're just putting barriers up, keeping happiness out. You told me I deserve to be happy. And you do, too."
"I did say that," Gillian says weakly.
"Yeah."
"She killed her baby," Gillian says, her voice full of emotion once buried so deeply and Cal knows that the release is going to be tempestuous.
"I know, love," he says softly.
And as she dissolves into sobs that tear through her like thunder storm winds, his hand rubbing comfort into her spine is like a lifeline keeping her from getting swept away in the currents.
The early summer sun hangs high in the sky, hot against Gillian's back and shoulders. She shifts somewhat uncomfortably in the metal folding chair, uncrossing her legs then recrossing them the other way. Her hand sweats in Cal's, making her feel sticky and cloistered.
"She's next," Cal tells Gillian, leaning straight forward in his chair and nearly toppling it right over as he grapples with his camera. She opens and closes her palm, allowing the air to dry away the sweat.
"Emily Lightman," is called from the podium and Emily breaks out into a grin, standing and walking purposefully across the stage.
As she walks, the announcer speaks.
"Ms. Lightman has received the Lynbrook Academy French award and graduated with honours. She will be attending University of California, Berkeley in the fall."
She shakes the principal's hand and recieves her diploma, smiling purposefully at the camera, then moving her tassel to the other side.
Gillian claps her hands together with a smile plastered to her face as Cal clicks photo after photo. On his other side, Zoe and Roger holler and cheer.
When the whole procession is over, Emily comes bounding over, glee written all over her face.
"Congratulations," Gillian slips in, soon swallowed up by the proclamations of the girls parents.
She steps gracefully to the side, waiting patiently for her own turn with the girl.
"Feels strange on the outside, huh?" Roger asks, watching Gillian's careful retreat.
"I don't mind," Gillian smiles. "I'm happy to get any bit of her at all."
"She's great, isn't she?"
"Definitely."
Roger smiles, sticking his hands in his pockets and swaying back on his heels, obviously not as comfortable in his place as she is in hers.
"I'm so glad you came, Gill!" Emily greets as she turns away from her parents.
"Congrats," she says, closing Emily into her embrace. "Im so proud of you!"
"Really?" asks Emily as she pulls back.
"Of course," Gillian ensures, pinching at Emily's cheek affectionately.
Emily giggles, turning her face into her shoulder momentarily.
"Here, I got you something," Gillian says, shifting her purse to her other hand to unzip.
"You didn't have to," Emily insists, but Gillian waves her off.
She hands Emily a medium sized jewellery box, royal blue with a yellow ribbon, Berkeley colours.
Emily pops off the lid and grins wildly.
"You didn't!" she exclaims.
Gillian beams.
"It's worked for you more than it's worked for me. And I don't need it anymore."
A smile breaks out on Emily's face as she sees the way Gillian's eyes scope out the area and settle on her father in the span of a single heartbeat. By the second, they're sharing a heart melting grin.
Emily pulls out the silver chain, wishbone, horseshoe, and clover charms clanking together.
"Thank you. I'll take good care of it. I promise," Emily says.
Gillian's nose wrinkles adorably.
"It's been yours since the first time I saw it on you."
As Emily thanks her again and goes to talk to Roger, Cal finds his way to Gillian.
"I saw that," he says as he wraps around her from behind. "Mothering, that is."
Gillian can't help but smile.
"More than one kind, right?"
The airport is busy and loud, sticky hot despite air conditioning and blasting fans. Gillian, Cal, and Emily stand close together away from the other clusters of people, talking together.
"Do you have your sun lotion? Passport? Boarding pass? ID?" Cal asks.
"Don't nag," Gillian says. "Technically, Emily's an adult."
"Thank you," Emily says gratefully. "I have everything and this is not the first time I've taken a plane on my own."
"Gimme a break. It's not everyday your daughter flies halfway across the country to stay for weeks and weeks before even coming back for a quick visit."
"Chill, Dad! I still love you. And I'll keep in contact; calling, texting, maybe even video chatting if you'll behave."
"It's just a long time, love."
"I know, Dad. I know."
She reaches out and gives her father a warm hug, letting him squeeze her tightly for a few moments longer than usual. Cal catches sight of Gillian's sad smiling from just outside their bubble and lets his daughter go. Gillian will still be here with him, maybe even more now that Emily has left the nest. It's not all bad.
Emily tugs on Gillian's sleeve, pulling her another few steps away from Cal.
"I just wanted to thank you, Gill, for everything. You've been there for me since I was a little girl. You're like a second mother to me. I'm so glad you're finally with my dad, makes it all feel real. I never would've won the French award without your help. There are a lot of things I'd never have done without you. So just thank you."
"Of course, Em. Anytime. I love you, you know," Gillian says in reply.
Emily pulls Gillian into a crushing embrace as they both blink away their tears.
"I love you, too. Take care of Dad for me," Emily tells Gillian as she pulls back, squeezing her arm.
"Will do, Em. But don't be a stranger. We'll miss you too much."
"Don't worry, I'll call."
Gillian's smile is half pout and she hugs Emily once more.
"Okay, I have to go now. Goodbye," Emily says. "Oh and by the way, I left a piece of cake for you in the fridge from dinner yesterday with Mom."
"Oh God," Gillian near salivates. "I'm really going to miss you."
"I know," Emily winks, giving Cal and Gillian a final wave before she goes further into the airport to wait for her plane.
Gillian walks over to Cal, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"I don't need a child of my own, Cal. Emily's more than enough," Gillian says.
"What'd she say to you?" Cal grins, pulling her body even closer to his.
"Just what I needed to hear," she says. "Just what I needed to hear."
A/N: Just a quick disclaimer. I am not fluent in French, so excuse any errors (and point them out to me, I'd love to learn of my mistakes). Just keep in mind, I use Quebecois French, not Metropolitan French. I know we use words like "tu" in more situations and have slightly different grammar and slang. Thank you!
A new chapter of Whart Hurts Most will be posted sometime in the near future. This piece was just nagging at me.