2
Today is my first anniversary here in San Francisco. I didn't have any autopsies to perform, we're pretty light work-wise right now so I decided to treat myself to a walk through the little park by my home followed by a glass of wine on my balcony. I have a beautiful view of the skyline which is one of my favorites. The fact that I'm enjoying it alone is only an afterthought.
I fled to San Francisco because I knew the city. I lived here before and loved it so when things went awry in Boston and I began to think of moving, San Francisco is the first city I thought of. Unfortunately it hasn't turned out to be in my best interests to be here. I learned recently that Boston is my home, not just physically but emotionally as well. Boston lives in my heart.
I wired flowers to Paddy Doyle's grave on the first anniversary of his death-the day Jane shot him. I still review that day in my mind just not as often as I used to. I still focus on watching Jane lift her service weapon, aim and fire as I'm calling out for her not to do it. Then Paddy's slow-motion fall, his body on the pavement, and the realization that my biological father was dead. I am still in shock thinking about it. I've wondered if things had been different-if Paddy hadn't shot Dean-or if Frost was the one to take the shot at Paddy if I'd feel the same. My conclusion, obviously flawed, is that I probably wouldn't be as angry, certainly not at Jane but I'd be just as alone.
It didn't take long after that for Internal Affairs to learn I was Doyle's daughter and that Jane knew for years. Internal Affairs swooped in to investigate as they do in all officer-related shootings and Jane was under indictment shortly thereafter. Although not speaking at that time, and having ended our personal relationship, I was still shocked by seeing her led through the precinct in handcuffs. Jane held her head high, defiant to the end. I didn't attend her trial; I'd already moved to the west coast by the time she was sentenced.
I didn't get fired. I resigned, particularly when the district attorney's office subpoenaed all of my mob-related cases. I went to Cavanaugh and handed in my resignation while designating Pike as my temporary replacement.
The morning I walked into my home and realized I no longer had any connection to Boston was the day I decided to move. I called my realtor before changing my mind and put my home up for sale. Then I decided to clean house.
Angela moved out. She left the day Jane was arrested. Frost said she was staying in Jane's apartment. I didn't care. I love Angela, still do, and generally regard her as a substitute mother but she was my connection to Jane and I wished to break all connections to Jane Rizzoli any way I could.
I piled up all of my old clothes and donated them to charities. This included several dresses I'd worn when Jane and I attended one of my charity functions. I remembered each and every function attended in those dresses as well as Jane taking the dress off me when we returned home and went to bed.
I found several of Jane's things still in my closet. I quickly pulled all of her stuff into boxes and loaded them in the trunk of my car. Later that afternoon I took them to Angela who answered the door with a tear-stained cheek and took my offerings without speaking. I looked at her face before turning away and leaving but no words were exchanged.
The only garment of clothing I kept was an old Boston PD t-shirt Jane used to wear around the house. It has her scent. It's in the far recesses of my closet. I pull it out when things get unbearable. I bury my face in it, surround myself with Jane's scent then put it away. Each time I tell myself it will be the last but it isn't. I tried to throw the shirt away several different times but always pulled it from the "rag bag" before I threw it all away.
I was alone as a child then again as a young adult. My friendship with the Rizzoli family and my relationship with Jane changed all that. When I moved to San Francisco I knew no one-and preferred it that way. After Jane's betrayal of me I couldn't stand the thought of letting someone else get that close. My co-workers try to entice me out for drinks, Frost included after he joined SFPD, but I always decline. It isn't the Dirty Robber; that place no longer exists for me and I'm not looking for a substitute.
I felt just as alone in San Francisco as I did in Boston. It didn't help that I arrived Mother's Day weekend. The arrivals gate I walked through was mobbed with family members reuniting with loved ones. I saw mothers and daughters, sometimes granddaughters too, hugging, happy to see each other, walking off, arms entwined around waists, chattering about the good times they would have. It only served to remind me of my aloneness and what Jane had taken from me.
When I decided to leave Boston I considered many cities, both here and abroad. I decided to stay in the U.S. because I knew I wanted to work. I craved working and knew if I lived abroad I'd only be one of those permanent tourists that never seem to know when to go home.
In the end I chose San Francisco because of its familiarity. I've lived here before, long before I knew anyone named Rizzoli. San Francisco is a beautiful city, as vibrant as Boston or London or Paris and I knew with some effort I could be happy here.
I overstated those ideas in my own mind. The effort to be happy seemed to be overwhelming to me. I moved into a suite at the St. Mark hotel and arranged to have my furniture stored in the interim. I wanted to take my time finding the perfect place to live.
The San Francisco skyline is one of the most breathtaking to me. I love the Golden Gate Bridge rising majestically above the fog and adorned with lights that serve as a beacon to draw attention. The penthouse suite at the St. Mark came with 360 degree views. At any time of the morning or evening (fog permitting) I could see the bridge, bay or land. Most evenings, returning from work, I spent at the window or on the balcony, sipping wine and admiring those views. Unfortunately as much as I enjoyed those evenings I ached to spend them with a special someone by my side.
Jane. I tried not to say her name, even think it, but it slips in unnoticed. I long to spend those evenings with Jane, sitting next to her on the sofa, her arms around me, sipping wine and enjoying the skyline views. I knew if she were here she'd enjoy them too and then we'd go to bed. And enjoy each other.
I smiled a little. Our love life was never a problem. Jane wanted me as much as I wanted her. Her feelings for me surprised me all the time. I'd been alone as a child, unable or unwilling to fit in with others at school. In addition my parents didn't know how to welcome me into their lives. They may have wanted a child but they didn't know what to do with one. I was essentially raised by nannies while my parents enjoyed their separate lives. I never took Jane's feelings for granted. I cherished them and having her in my life.
Being exceptionally bright in school brought its own share of problems. I didn't fit in with any of the others. I was never comfortable with people in general and girls my own age brought another realm of terror. It isn't easy making friends when you don't understand how to ask another to share her glue in art class.
My first day at work as the medical examiner in Boston I was equally terrified. I was almost overqualified for the job and being the youngest CME came with resentment from others who thought they should have had the job. Every time I thought of this Dr. Pike came to mind. I still smiled when I remembered some of his remarks. Dr. Pike actually believed himself to be an overlooked white male who had more qualifications than I. I spent a considerable amount of time impressing upon Dr. Pike that my family's friendship with the governor did not mean I "got a leg up" on the competition. In time he knew he was wrong and we had a good working relationship. I drew the line at a personal relationship, however. From that very first day on the job I was in love with Jane Rizzoli.
I looked up when I heard the elevator ding a little after nine a.m. I found my predecessor's autopsy report of a young girl on my desk when I came in that morning. The homicide team was wrapping up an investigation into a child's murder. I reviewed the autopsy findings and was able to sign off for the district attorney's office because I knew he was thorough in his autopsies.
The most beautiful creature stood before me, speaking in a voice that reminded me of a smoky, smooth whiskey I enjoyed on special occasions. I realized she must have spoken as she stood there, looking at me expectantly.
"I'm sorry I didn't hear you. I'm Dr. Maura Isles." I went to shake her hand then remembered I was wearing gloves. Hurriedly I yanked them off. Looking back up at the creature she smiled.
"Detective Jane Rizzoli."
"Well, Detective Rizzoli, what can I do for you?"
"Jane. I need the autopsy report Dr. Shaw did for us last week on the young girl."
"Yes, he left it on my desk. I reviewed it ; everything seems to be in order." I went to my desk and picked up the file. Jane looked at me for a moment, opened her mouth then thought better of it and shut it without speaking.
"Thank you, Dr. Isles."
"Maura. You're welcome, Jane."
She looked back over her shoulder at me as she exited the morgue. "I'll see you later, Maura."
I watched her leave, taking the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. I didn't realize I was holding my breath until I went to release it.
My phone rang. I reached for it, quickly, bracing for the dispatcher's voice, telling me I was needed at a crime scene. It was Frost.
"Hey, doc, how are you this evening?" he asked.
"I'm fine, Barry. Do you need me somewhere?"
"No, no I wanted to give you a heads up that the drug unit is disputing your findings of the carpet fibers on their recent suspect. You'll find a formal report from Commander Allen on your desk tomorrow."
"That's okay, Barry, I can handle it. Science speaks for itself, you know."
"I do." Frost hesitated for a minute. "How are you really, doc?"
His question surprised me. In the few months since Frost transferred out here he rarely mentioned anything personal to me. We still had that easy comfort that comes from knowing a coworker for several years but we didn't have lunch together or bring coffee in for each other in the morning. He still used "doc" as my name. He never called me 'Maura' in Boston and it was obvious he wasn't using my first name in San Francisco either.
"I'm all right, Barry," I said softly. I suspect he knew better but wouldn't bring anything up.
"If you need anything let me know. I'm available if you want to talk. About anything," he added. I thanked him and ended the call knowing I wouldn't discuss Boston with him or anyone else.
His question stayed with me. How was I, really? Still in love with a wild-haired brunette detective from Boston. I still looked for Jane everywhere I went. One time, right after moving into my new home, I was taking a walk on the bridge with a lot of tourists. A beautiful sunny Saturday afternoon, the bridge was loaded with pedestrians and traffic was extremely slow. I kept seeing a woman in front of me, walking determinedly. She had Jane's hair and stride. My heart began to race. I found myself trying to catch up with her although I knew it was impossible for it to be Jane. Jane was in prison in Boston. She didn't know where I was. My mind told my heart to let it go, it couldn't be Jane but I couldn't walk away. At the last minute, as I was about to touch her arm, she turned around when someone called "Sarah!" Not Jane. I was visibly disappointed.
She turned and looked at me. "Are you all right, ma'am?" she asked.
"I'm sorry, my mistake," I managed to mumble. I let myself drop back into the crowd and Sarah caught up with the man who called her name. When I got home I dropped down on my bed, gathered my pillow in my arms, and sobbed. My heart was breaking.
So, here I am, sitting on my balcony, enjoying my evening glass of wine, wishing Jane was here with me and we were still a couple. I can't forgive her for what she did, she knew how important it was for me to find my biological mother but that's gone forever. Jane is in prison for protecting my identity while the mob wars escalate in Boston. My phone began to ring. I stood up, walking into the living room to grab it off the desk.
"Hello?"
"Maura Isles?" a strange voice asked.
"Yes, I'm Dr. Maura Isles."
"Dr. Isles, I'm Charles Flanagan from Massachusetts General Hospital. Are you the next of kin for Jane Rizzoli?"
My breath went out of my body and my knees went weak. I sagged against the desk as I gripped the phone tighter.
TBC