Disclaimer: Rizzoli & Isles is Tess Gerittsen's baby, adopted by Janet Tamaro and is currently in a serious relationship with Turner Network Television. The English language is pretty much public domain though. I hope.
She doesn't know she's beautiful, and that makes her even more so.
The sky's bluer here somehow. Always. No matter that you're only about half an hour away, there's just something about this place. Lake MJ, you'd named it the day y'all discovered this tiny piece of paradise.
As you rest your head on your best friend's lap with her fingers lazily running through your fanned out hair, you have a breath-taking view. The blue of the sky is brilliant. The clouds remind you of carnivals and cotton candy. You see one shaped kinda like a tortoise and the clouds move so slow like one too. Kinda like your life.
She looks off into the distance as her hand moves through your knotted curls. You wonder what she's thinking about. You imagine she's day-dreaming, and then you wonder what Maura day-dreams about.
There's so many things in the world worth wishing for, but only a few truly worth having.
You keep staring up at her even though your eyes droop every now and then because you're so at peace… and a little tired, but you do your best to keep them open. You want to remember this.
She's really something special.
The silence covers you both like a warm blanket, the breeze ghosting over your skin and brushing against the little hairs on your arms. Her hair sways like she's floating. The Sun just above her head gives her this halo effect and you're convinced there's a wanted poster for her up in heaven.
She'd probably laugh if you said any of these things out loud, and you almost say them anyway. You even clear your throat only to find hazel eyes smiling down at you as if she's heard everything already.
You've never seen anything more enchanting, every time you see her. You feel a little dizzy although you're just lying there, but you can't help it when she quirks an eyebrow in response to your stupid grin.
"Whataya know about butterflies?" you ask her.
Anyone else would have called you random and laughed it off, but not her. She isn't like that. She isn't like anyone you've ever known and you thank goodness for that. The longer you stare into her eyes, the weirder you feel. You heard someone say an expression once, and now you kinda understand what they meant.
Maura Martin gives you the butterflies.
She pretends to ponder but you know she's just trying to sift out the boring bits in her head for you, even though you've told her not to.
"I've read there were about 20 000 different species of butterflies all over the world. Every colour imaginable, although they're sometimes mistaken with moths, which have about sixteen times more species..."
She sounds a bit like them professor-type folks on TV when she talks sometimes. It used to make you laugh, but mixed in with her accent it's refreshing and comforting hearing her talk. You wonder if there's a butterfly the colour of her eyes…
"Butterflies live a double-life, you could say. They start out as caterpillars and then turn from these sluggish creatures into... winged masterpieces. That's why they're often symbols of transformation..."
You love her way with words. Anyone else might reckon she's just real passionate about butterflies, but this is how she talks about everything.
"They can smell with their feet!" she informs with a lot more enthusiasm and you laugh along with her.
"Fascinatin'."
"Yes, I thought you'd find that interesting. Oh, the smallest is the Pygmy Blue, growing to about a half-inch and the largest can grow 11 and 1/8 inches."
"Jeez, I'd run a mile."
"Away from a butterfly?"
"Away from an eleven-inch anything. I'd shoot it if I had a gun."
"That is cruel," she scolds. "They don't survive past a few weeks or months anyway…"
Her face contorts to one of sadness and longing. "I tried to keep one as a pet once. It flew into my bedroom one day and I thought I could prolong its life if I read up on them and took care of it. It lasted three weeks and four days."
An involuntary lift at the corner of your lips accompanies your sympathetic gaze. "That's… kinda sad."
She half-frowns back. "It is, isn't it? Anyhow, I read somewhere that the ancient Greeks called butterflies 'Psyche', which also means 'soul', because many cultures actually feel that when we die, our souls go to heaven as butterflies."
She is something truly special.
"I've never heard of that one, but it's a pretty neat thought." She nods along and you can't keep from staring so you keep talking. "Do you think they know? How pretty they are?"
She delicately furrows her brows and you know you caught her unawares. "Butterflies?"
"Yeah."
"I… don't believe insects understand the concept of aesthetic beauty the way humans perceive and understand it. Animals in general aren't usually so… superficial."
On reflex she starts playing with her hair, using it to cover some parts of her face and your own smile evaporates. You wish she remembered she didn't have to do that around you.
You sit up and turn so you're able to face each other side-by-side. She starts fiddling with your hair again, picking tiny blades of grass from it, and you let her because you let her get away with just about anything, the least of which is playing with your hair. You don't even put up a fight now.
"I can't imagine what I'd do with myself if I finally got to be who I've always wanted to be and only had three weeks to enjoy it... Do you think they know they won't live too long? Like, do they, I dunno, expect it?"
You feel pretty stupid asking these questions, but you can't help wondering out loud.
"Maybe they do, and maybe they don't," she says, "They still do what butterflies do. After all, we're all meant to die…"
You love her brain. You love that she knows more stuff than the teachers at your old school combined. But you also love her mind. How she can make some things sound so simple.
And she's simply beautiful.
"What would you do?" you ask.
"If I had three weeks to live a second life?"
You can tell she was already thinking about it.
"Yeah. Knowing all you know right now and being able to do whatever you wanted. Wherever."
Maura looks out ahead again, absent-mindedly intertwining her fingers with yours in her lap. You look at her wondering what caused the crease in her forehead. Maybe she's thinking about visiting the world's biggest library, or a museum. Or she might surprise you and want to go to a baseball game or something.
But then she looks at you and locks onto your eyes and you wonder if she was only pretending to think about it again, if her mind was already made up before you even asked.
"This. Here," she shrugs, hoping her answer is answer enough.
Her smile is shy and the butterflies in your stomach growl. "Yeah. Me too..." You pat your stomach. "But with food."
She laughs out loud for the sixth time today and you're honored each time. You count it as another blessing.
You stand and help her up, and she smoothly maneuvers into a hug to whisper in your ear, "I feel much better now."
You breathe her in, absorb her warmth and you feel better too. Out the corner of your eye, you watch a butterfly flutter by and you reckon you died a little bit and just went to heaven.
The radio's playing your favourite song. Maura teases that your favourite song's whatever song's playing, and of course she's right.
Closing the gap between Lake MJ and home, you roll your window down and Maura leans across the center. She hands a few over to you before you both read the oncoming board-sign out loud:
"Welcome to Dreamcatcher County! Home of the world's largest buffalo wings. Population 517."
You both throw rocks at it and the letter 'n' from 'wings' falls down again, making you both break out in a fit of laughter. Hey, you gotta get your kicks in somewhere.
You both hate this Town. Whoever founded it must have been a fugitive who'd taken a wrong turn and gotten stuck here or something, because it's pretty much a textbook off-the-radar bum town where dreams go to die. Huh, that explains the name.
It don't even really have the world's largest anything. It's a bald-faced lie.
Also there's only one of everything: one diner, one bar, one school, one doctor's office, one grocery store, one clothing store, one gift shop and the worst part is that there only seems to be one season year-round.
You can feel your shirt sticking to your back and front, soaking up sweat. "Can't wait to finally drive away from this place for good."
"I'd sure miss you somethin' awful."
Your heart twitches a little. "You know I'd come back for you."
"Not if I follow you first," she jokes and the thought makes you happy. "But I'd still miss you."
"Yeah, me too, but I don't think it's happenin' any time soon though."
You yawn long and loud, and her concern is like a knee-jerk reaction.
"Did you get any sleep at all, Jane?"
"Course I did."
"What time did you get home last night?"
"Uh… Six?" You yawn again and your voice breaks as you say, "This mornin'?"
She sighs softly and you already know what she's gonna say. "You need to stop workin' so hard."
"Well, I need the money."
"You need the sleep even more."
You don't mean to laugh, but it comes out anyway. "I can't sleep my way outta this Town, Maur. Dreamcatcher's a dead-end and I want out… 'Sides, I can't exactly get any shut-eye when I'm home."
That shuts her up and you feel like scum for making her feel bad about worrying about you. It's just that you've been working non-stop since you were sixteen and you don't know any different. It's been the only sure-fire way to gain even just a little independence from your Pop, but now he's too dependent on you and you don't know which is worse.
All you know is that you want out.
You glance over at her and she's quietly tugging on her sweater.
"What do you want this Christmas?" you ask after a little while.
"I don't know," she shrugs, "Some company would be nice."
She never flat-out asks for anything, but the suppressed smile you find when you have another glance at her says she's hoping you take the bait. She's not even Christian!
"I could try swing by if I ain't workin'. Maybe swap shifts with Thompson. He owes me one anyway."
"Then try to make it for dinner. I'll cook, of course. And what do you want for Christmas?"
You snort at the first thought to pop into your head. "Snow would be nice, don'tcha think?"
She hums and smiles that dreamy smile that makes you feel light-headed. "That would make my year."
"Yeah?"
"Oh yes. I've always dreamed of it."
Of course she has. She hates the heat more than anyone, especially with all those layers. You imagine her playing in the snow and you wish you could steal a white Christmas just for her.
"I still got all those jolly sweaters you made me. Would be great to wear 'em out in the snow this time."
"Maybe you'll move to a Town where it does snow... I only hope they still fit you," she jokes.
"Hey, c'mon." You pretend to be insulted, but you aren't all that upset really. She can laugh all she wants, even at your expense.
You slow down as y'all draw near the Smiths' Diner. You're about ready to chew on your own damn fingers as you park your truck out front. Maura thinks you're exaggerating, but those sandwiches she made were gone before you even made the trip out this morning.
You tell her to pick out anything off the menu, your treat, after the waitress jots down your order. She always scans the menu like it's the morning paper, but it hasn't changed for years and she always ends up just getting whatever you get.
You eat in a comfortable silence, stealing each other's sweet potato fries every now and then. She's just about the easiest part of your day whenever you get the time. You wish you could put this feeling in your pocket and enjoy it any old time.
About halfway through your meal, the bell rings by the entrance and as soon as you look up, you know there's gonna be trouble. They don't even wait to grab a table first, waking by too slow for your liking.
"Hey, guys. Look whose over there."
"Maura's lookin' kinda hot, eh?"
Snort. "More like burnt."
Laughter. "That's what happens when you don't wear sunscreen."
"Come on, guys. Everyone knows she's a vampire. They burn out in the Sun." Snickers.
You see red.
No one else in the diner even bats an eyelid, and these people just got back from church for Chrissakes. Even at school these guys were always allowed to run their mouths like this and the teacher did nothing. But you'll be damned if you're gonna let these losers talk about your best-friend like that. Not if you can help it.
"Hey!" You get up and walk straight to Dennis and his posse. "You. Me. Outside. Now!"
You don't care that you're making a scene. He thinks he can take you, and you let him think whatever he wants because you know better.
You punch him so hard, later you find out he swallowed his own tooth.
"Think your Mom's home?"
"It's Sunday."
"Right."
Hangover day. Hope's probably passed out somewhere again.
You cut the engine and wordlessly follow her inside her house where she gets you an ice-pack for your knuckles. At least that's all you hurt this time. You make a note to use that as an arguing point for whenever Maura inevitably starts lecturing you about using violence… but it never comes.
She can't meet your eyes.
She's trying not to cry.
"Hey. Hey, c'mon. They're a bunch of assholes, y'know. Unimaginative ones to boot."
She sniffs and quickly swipes at her face, turning away from you. "I know," she says, "but even a broken clock is right at times."
You follow her into her bedroom not entirely believing what you're hearing.
"What are you talking about? There's a reason they all got no girlfriends. They don't know shit."
You're angry again. Sometimes you hate that she's so soft. She shouldn't listen to them. They don't know jack-shit.
Sure she's never been asked out by a boy, and you used to think it bothered her, but she says it doesn't and so you believe her. At your age, girls and boys are always going steady with each other all the time, except you two. You wouldn't have it any other way, but that's just you.
"Then what's my reason? Why am I alone? Jane, come on. Just look at me."
She turns around as a stream of fresh tears runs down her face. It breaks your heart. She thinks she's alone, but you're standing right in front of her...
You school your temper enough to swipe a Kleenex from her dresser and dab it under each of her eyes.
"Yeah? I'm looking."
The previous anger in your voice is replaced by a tenderness that only comes naturally when you're with her.
"I can't expect you to understand."
"Understand what, Maura? I'm lookin' right at you right now, and you wanna know what I see?"
She immediately finds your eyes, staring back up at you all fragile and vulnerable and you wsh y'all never even left the lake. You don't blink because she has to know you mean it.
"Honestly?" Her voice is small like she's a kid again.
She doesn't know she's beautiful, and that makes her even more so. But it's about time she knew.
You curl your pointer finger under her chin and you don't let her look away as you nod. "Honestly."
She looks back at you as if she's personally handing over her own heart for you to keep or crush. She trusts you implicitly and you can't mess this up. "Okay," she says, "Tell me what you see."
Your heart beats out the word beautiful in Morse code against your chest. Your brain screams beautiful... Just abso-fucking-lutely beautiful. Your mouth says:
"I- I…"
You choke. But this isn't the time to be falling over your words and you're screwing it up.
"Maura, you…"
You fumble again and you watch her watch you, expectant and afraid. You watch her slowly lose hope and then resign herself from hoping. She moves to remove your hand from her face.
"It's okay. You don't have to-"
You can't think quickly enough so you just move your lips and hope the right words come out.
"…"
Your lips move, but no words come out… because you're moving them against hers.
You kiss her.
END Chapter 1