December 12th
"One down, one to go," Greg says, not without some satisfaction. "Nice call on the Hartnup's, Singh. You've got a twenty year old groupie and her entire extended family ready to bronze your lab coat."
"It wasn't my call," Singh says, as Greg expected.
"Modest," Chase says. It's not a compliment, but not really a dig either. Singh looks over at him.
"It's the truth. I did the tests Doctor House asked for, that's all."
"Did the tests and drew the correct conclusion," Greg points out.
"So now we have Emily to focus on," Chandler says, quick to slip in her opinion—something Greg's noticed is habitual for her. He wonders how big her family was, how many brothers and sisters she had to compete with for attention. She also used the patient's first name; she's become personally involved, probably because of the patient's age. If Chandler does have siblings, it's a good bet at least one of them is younger than she is. "And a new case coming in later today, no doubt."
"No point in waiting," Greg said. "Plenty more where the chicky babe came from." He reaches behind him and takes a stack of files ready for perusal, deposits them in the middle of the table and gets up. "Discuss amongst yourselves. You've got fifteen minutes. Choose three and be ready to convince me," he says, and heads out to leave them to it.
His remaining patient is in the little room off the kitchen. She comes here any chance she gets, usually when she can escape her mother and Faust's affectionate but restrictive ministrations. She's got her keyboard set up, but she doesn't play. Instead she has a book of etudes—new, as he should know; he left it for her. She moves her body back when he comes in so she can look up at him. He notices her strabismus is more pronounced, probably due to stress—a symptom he catches because Wilson has the same problem, though not to her degree. Her dark eyes are full of eagerness, dampened by discomfort. The last test they did, the nerve conduction study, was hard on her. It's a painful procedure, as he knows all too well. She hasn't complained, though.
He sits down next to her and watches her move. There's low muscle tone, she's barely able to sit up straight and her body is underdeveloped aside from the facial and neck paralysis. But he's heard her play, and she's good. She's got a clear clean tone, firm and yet responsive to the expression of the music. If he didn't already know she was down a finger, he'd never have guessed it. No hesitation, no awkwardness; she moves with a grace he could almost covet, and all this despite an uphill struggle against a body that's betrayed her in so many ways.
"Do I need another test?" she asks, the words muffled and a bit distorted. With her undersized tongue, she struggles to form the vowels and consonants against her normal-sized teeth.
"Not at the moment," he says. "Play." He softens the command a bit with a compliment, one she's earned. "You're pretty good."
She can't smile, but her eyes brighten and she blushes a little. She sets the book on the keyboard rack and opens it to the first page, then begins to play the initial etude. He listens as he observes, and feels a distant sort of sorrow for her. She loves music and yet it'll be a source of frustration and pain as well as joy for the rest of her life, if his conclusions lead him where he thinks they will.
"You have a teacher," he says when she finishes.
"Mrs. Jenkins," she says. "She says I'm almost ready for someone better but I don't want anyone else." There is a sick child's fear of change in routine behind the defiance.
"You want to improve, you go with the better teacher," he says. She touches the keys with her deficient hand, and Greg is reminded for a moment of Roz.
"What's wrong with me?" she asks after a few moments. "Do you know?"
"Not yet." He's beginning to get an inkling though, something niggles at the back of his mind every time he watches her. It'll come to him soon, he knows it. "Still working on it. No more tests for now."
She can't nod but he feels her do it all the same. "Okay."
He leaves her in the sunshine, as she looks through the book at the treasures within. He won't admit, even to himself, that though it seems ridiculous, maybe he envies her just a little.
Sarah did her best not to tense as they pulled into the church parking lot. It overflowed with cars, trucks and people as they arrived from the funeral home where Gibbs's viewing had taken place. Gene found a spot for Minnie and parked, shut off the engine and turned to Jason and Sarah. "How's everyone doing?" he asked quietly. Jason looked down at his hands.
"I've never been to a funeral before," he said.
"It's a little like a church service," Sarah said. "It'll start with a prayer and a hymn. Pastor Ron will talk about Gibbs' life and then he'll probably give a short sermon on what he believes. After that a few people who knew Gibbs will talk about him, and we'll sing another hymn. Someone will offer a prayer, and then we'll go to the graveside." She paused. "You might feel sad or like crying. It's okay. Gene and I will be with you."
"I'm not a baby," Jason muttered.
"We know that," Gene said. His reassuring tone held no condescension. After a moment Jason sighed.
"Okay," he said, and scooted toward Sarah a bit. She took the hint and opened the door. Gene got out on his side and came around to stand by her.
"Are you up for this?" he asked quietly as they began to walk toward the church entrance, Jason a few steps ahead of them. "It's been a tough few days. You've gone through a lot."
"I'll be fine," she said. "It's not like I can say no now anyway, Pastor Ron's asked me to speak after the eulogy."
Gene sighed. "You're pushing yourself, Sare. I'm worried about you."
Sarah reached out and took his hand. "I'm okay," she said, and offered him a slight smile. "If things get bad I'll ask for help."
He watched her for a few moments. His thumb rubbed the back of her hand, a light touch. Then he nodded. "All right. I'll hold you to that. And I'll tell you now, if I see you're in trouble I'll take care of business myself."
Sarah squeezed his palm. "Okay, that's fair."
For all her fine words she paused in the doorway of the church. Gene glanced at her. She gave the place a once-over. Then she walked in slowly.
Of course she'd been in other churches since she'd left Oklahoma, but only for occasions like this, never for Sunday or holiday services. Her grandmother's faith had been austere to say the least; the meeting house hadn't been much more than four walls, a floor and ceiling, with hard pews to sit in. They hadn't believed in holidays so of course they hadn't decorated, hadn't even put a cloth on the communion table.
This church was quite different. Electric candle lights wreathed in evergreen boughs glowed in front of the simple stained-glass windows, and charming quilts and tapestries hung on the pine-paneled walls. The atmosphere was welcoming and warm, a place of real community. Sarah moved forward, encouraged by what she saw.
The pastor, tall and stooping, greeted both her and Gene with a quiet gentleness characteristic of him. "We've saved a place in the front row," he said as he guided them to the spot. "Rick asked that you sit with him, if that's all right."
Sarah nodded and drew in a deep breath as they found their seats at right center front, next to the closed casket. A seat almost directly in front of the pulpit held many memories, none of them good. Another time and place, Sarah reminded herself, and looked around a bit. Jason sat next to her, huddled close. "May I touch you?" she whispered softly. For answer he took her hand in his. Gene glanced over at her. He put his arm around her shoulder; his hand rested on the back of the pew behind Jason, to include him in the protective embrace.
The service was simple and short. When the time came for her to speak, Sarah rose and went to the pulpit. She used an old trick to distance herself from the emotion of the moment; she imagined a sheet of thick glass between her and the audience as she talked of Bob and her friendship with him. Toward the end she saw Greg. He stood by the entrance in the half-shadows. As she finished her remembrance, he opened the door and slipped out in silence.
It wasn't until she sat down with her family that her grief caught up with her. She took Jason's hand again and then Gene's too, and swallowed hard as tears welled and fell down her cheeks.
They went out into the cold for the graveside ceremony. The cemetery was across the road from the church; it was a short walk, but by the time they reached the canopy-covered site Sarah was glad of her thick coat.
Pastor Ron offered a simple prayer. Then the veteran honor guard came forward and fired three volleys, and a flag was presented to Rick by the leader of the local VFW post.
"Why did they do that?" Jason whispered.
"Gibbs was a Marine. He served during World War Two," Sarah said softly. "Veterans are honored for their service, whether they die during wartime or years later."
The ceremony completed, Sarah took a rose from the large bouquet nearby. She placed it on Gibbs' coffin, took off her glove and put her hand on the smooth wood. "Fair winds and following seas," she said, and felt Gene's arm slip around her waist.
"You know he'd scold you for saying goodbye the Navy way," he whispered. "He'd also want you to come in out of the cold. Let's see if they need some help at the church with the luncheon."
The basement was set up with long tables, white linens and folding chairs; the air was filled with the fragrance of baked ham and scalloped potatoes. Sarah went into the kitchen and found the pastor's wife, Dorothy, as she started another pot of coffee.
"Everything's ready," she said, and gave Sarah a little hug. "Get some plates for you and Gene and your boy. The others will be along in a few minutes."
Our boy, Sarah thought, and savored the simple happiness that statement engendered despite her sorrow.
She was glad to see Jason tuck into the good food. Whatever else went on, he still had a healthy appetite. When Greg and Roz sat down across from them Sarah noticed his plate was as full as Jason's. The sight made her smile a little.
"The things you have to put up with to get a decent meal," Greg said, but he kept his voice down. Sarah knew it was a measure of respect for Gibbs that he didn't let the whole room know, and so she said nothing. Jason wasn't as tolerant, however.
"Don't talk like that," he said, and glared at Greg. "Mister Gibbs liked you, even though you're a jerk."
Greg returned the glare, though Sarah knew him well enough to detect a hint of sheepishness behind it. "Who asked you?" he snapped.
"Boys," Sarah said quietly, "that's enough." She put enough authority in her tone to shut them up. It worked, though they continued to give each other dire looks. Roz glanced at her and rolled her eyes slightly. Sarah stifled a chuckle and enjoyed this bit of normalcy as Rick sat down next to them with a cup of coffee. He visited for a few minutes before he moved on to the next group.
"I'd like you to come over tomorrow evening, if that's all right," he said. "There are some things we need to talk about. I think Dad mentioned you both in his will. The lawyer will be going over the details."
Gene nodded. "Okay, we'll be there."
Sarah listened as she took a bite of ham or potatoes now and then. She felt a bit detached, tired, ready to go home. She couldn't grieve for Bob here, as friendly and welcoming as the setting and people might be; it was a church, and she would never feel completely comfortable within its walls.
"Are you ready to leave?" Gene's quiet voice broke into her thoughts. Sarah nodded. She stole a look at Jason, who cleaned up a second piece of sheet cake. He would stay with them from now on; his case worker had been more than grateful for their willingness to take him in. That fact alone had made the day bearable.
They said their goodbyes at the door. "Please come to Vespers this Christmas Eve," Dorothy said. Her hands clasped Sarah's. "You and Gene are so diligent about making sure people in need have a good holiday, we'd love to have you attend the service so we can honor you—"
"No," Gene said, not unkindly. "We'll consider attending, but we prefer you don't say anything about what we do. No one needs to know except you and Pastor Ron."
The ride home was quiet until Jason spoke. "Why don't you want people to know how much you do for poor families?"
"It isn't necessary," Sarah said.
"But people should know," Jason insisted. "You do a lot."
"Why do you think we should tell everyone?" Sarah asked. She kept her tone one of mild inquiry. Jason thought about it for a moment.
"So you get a reward," he said. "It's only fair."
"We do get a reward," Gene said. "We helped someone in need."
"But no one knows about it!" Jason said. He sounded impatient now.
"If we help other people and then talk about it afterwards so everyone knows how generous we are, then we're not doing it for the right reasons," Gene said.
"You mean you'd be doing it for you and not the other person," Jason said slowly. Gene nodded.
"Exactly."
"But what difference does it make? You're still helping."
"If you're generous to make yourself look good, you're not generous at all," Sarah said. "It's a lie. You'd be better off doing nothing."
Jason didn't say anything more, but later that evening as he took his backpack to Greg's old room, he said "A lot of big companies help charities."
"They do," Sarah agreed. She opened the door and put the clean sheets she carried on the easy chair, then began to strip the bed.
"Everyone knows they do it. They get awards for it. But according to what you said, it doesn't mean anything."
Sarah shook the first pillow out of its case. "Companies help charities because it makes them look good, among other reasons. But some of them do genuinely want to help."
"So how can you tell the difference?" Jason wanted to know.
"Look at the other actions the company takes. If they harm the environment or don't treat their workers well, you can presume their contributions to charity are not sincere. But it's better to pay attention to your own actions and motives for what you do, and not someone else's." She removed the fitted sheet. "Sometimes you do something just because it's the right thing to do. Gene and I give to others because we really want to as well. We like helping out. Other people have helped us, and it's a way for us to give back, to pay it forward. You've heard of that term?"
"Yeah." Jason sounded intrigued. "What does it mean?"
"It's when someone does something nice for you, and in turn you do something nice for someone else, and then maybe they do something for another person. It's fun." Sarah smiled at him as she bundled the sheets and put them on the floor. "Maybe you'd like to join in with us sometime to see what it's like."
"Yeah," Jason said. He sounded a little uncertain but still willing. "Yeah, maybe."
When the bed was made, Sarah picked up the sheets and went to the door. "Gene and Doctor Chase said they're up for a round of Hot Pursuit if you are," she said. She felt a little awkward but excited too. "I know we ate a big lunch, but if you get hungry there's plenty of stuff in the kitchen, help yourself."
Jason sat on the bed. He stroked the comforter with his hand. "Okay," he said, and glanced at the little fireplace. "Can I have a fire later?"
"Of course," Sarah said. "Just ask one of us to help you with it like you've been doing."
"Yeah." He nodded. Sarah took a breath.
"I'm really glad you're here," she said softly. Jason looked up at her. His dark eyes held a shy pleasure that made her heart ache.
"Me too," he said. "I'll come out in a few minutes, I want to change my clothes."
"Okay," Sarah said. She paused, then went on. "One more thing. No one will ever come into your room without knocking first. This is your space and everyone will respect that."
"There's no lock on either side," Jason said. Sarah's happiness dimmed a little. So he checked that out right away, she thought. Well, at his age I would have done the same.
"There's no need for one," she said. "No one enters private rooms in our house without asking permission first, and no one will ever lock you in. You have my word on this, Jason."
"Okay," he said finally. Sarah said nothing more, just went out and shut the door behind her. She took the sheets to the mudroom and put them in the washer with some soap, started the load and sat down in the old chair by the door, surprised to find she was exhausted.
"I thought so," Gene said from the doorway, and came to claim her.
She spent the rest of the afternoon and evening curled up the couch under a thick blanket. drowsed on and off, and reveled in the sound of her husband and their boy as they competed with Chase's gaming expertise.