This story is the sequel to "It Always Comes Back" and is the continuing story of Detective Robert Goren and Amy Wainwright. We pick up where the last story left off. You needn't have read the first story to understand and enjoy this one, but I hope, if you haven't, you'll go back and read it. A huge thank you goes out to my betas, tcif and ciaddict, and to judyg who has offered her advice, assitance and feedback on various ideas. As always, tuda (the usual disclaimers apply)!
Chapter 1
When Amelia Wainwright died in 1985, her husband, Adam Jefferson Wainwright, Sr., founded the Wainwright Galleries at her request as a legacy to her great love of art. Adam ran the gallery for 10 years, before turning over its management to his son and daughter-in-law, AJ and Patty Wainwright.
When Adam died in 1997, at the age of 90, he bequeathed his winery, Wainwright Estates, and half of his great wealth to his only grandchild, Amelia Marie Wainwright, Amy. The rest of his money went partly to AJ and Patty, but mostly into the formation of the Wainwright Trust, a charitable institution known for its support of the arts, education, and humanitarian efforts world-wide. AJ, Patty and Amy ran the trust by themselves for the first three years, then, in a bold move, named two additional board members, including a new director, from outside of the family. They also opened the trust up to receive financial contributions and changed the name to the Wainwright Public Trust. Today, the trust gives millions of dollars each year to deserving organizations.
At the time of her brutal murder at the hands of James Murphy several weeks ago, Laura Edwards Wainwright, wife of Adam Jefferson Wainwright, III, "Trey", was poised to take over as director of operations for the Trust. Her passion for the mission of the trust was contagious, and from the moment she came on board, she re-energized the Trust and broadened its scope. Her death was felt deeply among the employees and board members of the Trust and everyone wondered who would take over in her place.
The most logical choice would be to put the control back into the hands of the family by naming Trey as the new director. But, Trey's heart has never been in the day-to-day operations of the Trust, managing the funds or slogging through all of the applications to determine who would receive monies that year. No, his heart is with the winery. Growing up right along with the winery, learning about grapes before he could walk and fermentation processes before he could talk, wine-making is his life's blood. However, he relished his wife's enthusiasm and pride in her work with the WPT and her death has left him torn. Should he stay with the winery he loves, or pick up her mantle and continue her work with the Trust?
Trey is also in another quandary: he recently met his father, Detective Robert Goren of the NYPD's Major Case Squad. A tall, graceful man with a quiet, almost shy manner and a heart of gold, Detective Goren had Trey picked up and brought in and almost arrested in suspicion of Laura's murder. Now Trey is torn between his growing affection for the father he never knew and his love for the mother who couldn't bring herself to tell him who he was.
Detective Robert Goren, Bobby, finds himself in a similar quandary as well. He still has feelings for Amy and still loves her, although he's not quite sure just how strong those feelings are. He does know that he's not going to let her get away from him this time, even if they just end up as very good life-long friends. They are family now, married or not. He's also enjoying getting to know Trey and relishing the time he gets to spend with his grandson, Hudson. Bobby finds himself torn between his desire to get to know the family he never knew he had, and the demands of the dysfunctional family he wishes he had never known.
And now, we come to Amy. She's not too sure she likes having Bobby around to compete for Trey's time and affection. She, too, still has feelings for Bobby and is not yet sure how strong those feelings are either. Seeing Bobby again has brought back all the feelings of love, guilt, fear and shame she went through twenty-five years ago when she first found out she was pregnant. She's getting used to the fact that, like it or not, she brought all this on herself and now has to live with the chaotic consequences upsetting her normally ordered life. The life which she had purposefully ordered so as NOT to have to feel or deal with those emotions.
Now, why do I go into such detail? For two reasons. Firstly, as an introduction to any reader who has not read the first part of this story, "It Always Comes Back", and secondly, because all this background information will come in handy later on in our story.
After Bobby left Amy Sunday evening, promising to call her on Tuesday to set up a lunch date, our dear, sweet, befuddled Amy floated down the hall and all the way back to her house. She tried to tell herself she was silly to feel like she was 21 again, but realized she couldn't help it and discovered, somewhat to her amazement, that she quite liked feeling this way. She hadn't felt this way in a long time, and the feelings carried her through her nightly routine and eased her into sleep.
Amy soon found herself deeply immersed in all the last minute details involving her upcoming trip to Indonesia with Trey. They were going to discuss distribution contracts with a large food and beverage distributorship based in Jakarta. Trey and Amy spent a very busy week finalizing reservations, choosing and packing wines, and preparing contracts. Bobby did call on Tuesday as he had promised, and as she had predicted, they would have to settle for a quick lunch rather than a longer evening out. But time together is time together and they both enjoyed their too short meal spent at a small deli around the corner from the winery's New York City office.
Amy and Trey had a very successful two weeks in Indonesia. The distributors were more than pleased with the wine samples and asked to be allowed to distribute more than was originally planned. Amy was thrilled when the final contract proved to be even more lucrative for all parties involved than what the original estimates had indicated. The success of the Wainwright Estates label in the US was translating into success worldwide, as American tourists were asking for Wainwright labels on their overseas travels. Buoyed by the outcome, Amy was excitedly looking forward to a reunion with Bobby and showering her family with gifts from Indonesia.
Upon her arrival home, Amy was immediately set upon by a mountain of mail. She painstakingly slogged her way through the stack, carefully sorting junk mail from personal mail from bills and even the occasional business letter that found its way to her door instead of the winery office. A letter addressed to the Wainwright Public Trust caught her eye and held her attention. It was very rare to have such mail addressed to her home, but it did happen from time to time, especially when it involved an invitation to an event hosted by a previous grant recipient. Assuming this was such a letter, Amy was stunned to open the letter and read the following:
Dear Ms. Wainwright,
I am writing to you concerning your appalling disrespect of the needs of minority organizations. Your Trust's consistent awarding of high dollar grants to predominantly white-run groups leads me to believe that you are an ignorant, racist bitch who should not be allowed to have so much money at her disposal.
If you don't start awarding more grants to minority groups, you will face serious consequences.
Amy was shaken by the letter. She was used to receiving hate mail from groups that had been denied monies from the trust, but never one so forceful. Who could be threatening her and why? She set the letter aside for Trey to look at later. Amy took several deep calming breaths and went back to the task of sorting through the rest of her mail.
And what about Bobby? Well, Monday morning found him slogging through paperwork, the bane of police work, and his least favorite part of the job. Thankfully, he had a new treasured item on his desk to make him smile through the worst: a picture frame. This was the kind of frame that had two frames hinged together and could fold shut if needed. It was a modest brushed copper, and held two photographs which Bobby thought were absolutely beautiful. One was of himself, sitting shoeless in a sandbox in his blue dress shirt; tie still on and sleeves rolled up, with a goofy expression on his face while Hudson drove a toy truck across the top of his head.
The other was of Bobby sitting on a sofa with Hudson on his lap. He had been tickling the little boy and Hudson's back was arched over Bobby's left arm, his lime green casted arm flung out wide, face full of laughter. His eyes were closed, but his mouth was wide open, and Bobby could still hear the child's laughter ringing in his ears when he looked at the photo. Bobby's right hand was on Hudson's tummy, tickling the patch of skin revealed where the boy's shirt rode up. Bobby's face was almost in profile, and he couldn't remember the last time he'd ever had such a look on his face. He saw his own eyes dancing with laughter and joy, and his mouth in a wide open smile. He had been laughing along with Hudson and Trey had captured the moment perfectly. He had given Bobby the pictures during their time in the park the day before, and Bobby took great pride in finding just the right place for it on his desk.
Eames noticed the photos when she arrived an hour later, but said nothing. Bobby handed the pictures to her, and she handed him a cup of coffee, fixed just how he liked it. She carefully studied the two pictures, looked at Bobby and smiled. They exchanged one of their knowing looks, (when one has worked with someone as long as they have worked with each other, words are no longer necessary) and Eames gently placed the frame back on Bobby's desk with a small nod.
He had called Amy on Tuesday and was disappointed to discover that her prediction about her availability was correct. However, he was amenable to a quick lunch on Thursday at a small deli around the corner from her office. He listened as she told him about the plans for the trip, smiling at her excitement over the possibilities this new distribution deal could bring to the winery. Amy sympathized as he moaned about the paperwork that had taken two days to finish. Lunch was over way too soon and they promised to find time for a longer evening out after Amy returned from Indonesia.
Before going their separate ways, Amy slipped Bobby a small piece of paper with her private cell phone number and her email address on it, asking Bobby to keep in touch during her absence. Bobby was deeply touched by such a personal gesture on Amy's part, as it meant that she really was trying to mend their relationship.
Bobby had so wanted to be at the airport to see Trey and Amy off on their trip, but a call for the Major Case Squad came in on Friday and a disappointed Bobby had to call Amy and tell her goodbye over the phone instead. Amy was disappointed, but understanding; after all, she was well aware of the demands on a cop's time, it was similar to the demands on her father's time during his service in the Army. But telephone goodbyes are never as good as personal goodbyes, and each was saddened by the interference of Bobby's work on their plans.
Sunday found Bobby lunching with AJ and Patty Wainwright. Patty had surprised Bobby by calling him on Saturday afternoon and extending the invitation. Not wanting to sit around by himself moping over Amy's absence, Bobby readily agreed. He had enjoyed many a Sunday dinner with the Wainwright's when he was dating Amy, and he looked forward to the chance to get caught up with them after all this time. Hudson and Christy joined them for lunch as well, and Bobby even convinced Mrs. Mitchell to sit down and eat with them in the dining room instead of off by herself in the kitchen. This led to several delightful hours of conversation and story-telling and Bobby learned more about Amy and Trey's life over the past twenty-five years.
Bobby didn't have time to make his usual Sunday trip to the cemetery. It was nearly dark when he left the Wainwrights, and he realized it would be more prudent to stop by the store for fresh milk than to visit a cemetery in the dark. Upon arriving at home, he called Amy to see how their trip over had gone. He extended greetings from her family, and, sensing she was very tired from the long flight, agreed that they should talk again in a few days.
When Bobby woke up on Monday morning, the phone was ringing. It was Eames, calling to tell him that the police had finally arrested the key suspect in one of their current cases, and would be bringing him in for questioning later that morning. They needed to get into the office early to prepare, as this was another horrific case and the questioning would be intense and grueling.
Eames was right. No amount of preparation could have prepared them for the intensity of the interrogation or the horror of the suspect's answers. By the time they were finished that afternoon, the DA had a solid case for Man 1 and the death penalty. The case was closed, but it wasn't satisfying.
Eames had picked up on his unusually black mood and called him on it at lunch. He revealed to her that it was his mother's birthday. Eames immediately understood the cause of his moodiness and the harshness of the attitude he'd been using in the interrogation room. She insisted he leave as soon as they were done, telling him that she would take care of the paperwork. It would do him good to go to the cemetery, and do her good not to have him around.
By the time Bobby had reached his mother's grave, the weather had turned and the sky was now as grey as his mood. His mood was always grey when he visited her grave; it's hard to be happy in a cemetery.
He stared numbly at her headstone. So much had happened to him over the past several weeks and he didn't know where to start. He realized he missed her dearly, in spite of the hardships of mental illness, cancer and divorce and the stress that had put on their relationship.
He was glad she was free from the demons of schizophrenia and the pain of lymphoma, but he deeply missed the good moments they'd shared together. He could still hear her laughing during a raucous game of cards on a lucid day and picture her smile as she told him stories about the photos in one of her many albums she kept in her room. He did not miss the battles and struggles that occurred whenever the schizophrenia that wracked her mind reared its ugly head and took her from him temporarily. Nor did he miss the pain in her eyes as she lay slowly dying from the horrible lymphoma that took her from him way too soon. He was grateful for the freedom her death had brought her and saddened by the loss as well. He was also feeling guilty over being relieved that he didn't have to worry about her any more, that she would no longer be causing him problems and interfering in his life.
Once again, he knelt down to apologize to her, to tell her how much he loved her and missed her, to wish her a happy birthday. Today was a good day, as there were no demonic ghosts tormenting his soul with his mother's schizophrenia-laced voice, only her laughter and the sweetness of her smile. He felt his spirits begin to lift as happy memories filled his tired brain.
He reached out to brush away the dry leaves from around her headstone when he thought he saw a glint of metal behind the marble stone. His cop's instinct suddenly went on high alert, yelling at him of some unseen danger, and the hackles on the back of his neck suddenly raised sky high, sending shivers of anxiety running down his spine to settle in the pit of his stomach. Why did he feel like he was being watched? He lifted his head and looked around, but there was no one there. He was alone.
Once more, he reached out his hand and brushed the dead leaves away from the strange object. His fingers wrapped around it and pulled it out from behind the marker. It was a picture frame. That's odd, he thought to himself as he stood. Who would leave a picture frame behind my mother's grave stone?
He turned the picture frame over and nearly dropped it in surprise. Staring back at him from the two-toned metallic frame were two young boys, their arms around each other's shoulders, smiling at the photographer. That's me, he thought stunned. Me….and Frank. But…how? Why?