February second. The groundhog did not see its shadow. So, apparently, spring would be coming early. Just not for Carisi.
He had pulled the blinds shut to block out the sunlight. In his hands, he held the memorial card from the wake that morning. His grandfather smiled up at him through the tear-stained lamination. On the back, the prayer to Saint Michael was imprinted in golden text. The funeral was scheduled for later that night.
Sonny hadn't taken off his shoes or his jacket. There he was, alone in his apartment, wearing a black three-piece suit, holding the card with his grandfather's picture. His grandfather's name. His grandfather's date of death.
It had been two days since he had received his sister's call.
It was a Sunday. Sonny had just left, surprisingly, Barba's office. The bar exam was three weeks away, and he wanted to study as much as he could. He was walking on sunshine after finishing a two hour study session. Barba had drilled him harder than any professor ever had, and he answered each question perfectly. At the end of the two hours, Barba leaned against his desk, nodded, and then said: "I'd wish you good luck, but you won't need it."
And then, Amanda had sent him a video of Jessie laughing and laughing. The baby, whose hair had grown in just as blonde as her mother's, was wearing green and pink footsie pajamas. As she laughed, apparently in on some joke that neither Amanda nor Sonny could understand, she kicked her feet and grasped for them. She had grown so much so quickly.
And to top it off, Amanda would be returning from maternity leave within the week. He knew it was selfish, being so excited for her to come back to work when it meant that she would be away from her child, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't wait to be with her as much as possible; to have her with him in the squad room and out on the field.
As his fingers hovered over the keyboard, trying to formulate the perfect response to the video of the bouncing baby, his phone rang. An embarrassing picture of Bella flashed across the screen, because, of course, the ugliest picture of her that he had would be the one that became her contact ID.
"Yeah?" He asked, pushing the elevator button to head up to his apartment.
Bella was quiet, but Sonny could hear her gasping for breath. Crying. He felt his heart rate increase as the possible scenarios—plausibility not considered—ran through his mind.
"S—Sonny," she said, as a sob escaped her lips. And just like that, he knew what had happened.
Their grandfather had been diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer not a month before. They knew it was coming, but that didn't make it any less of a shock. Or any less painful. Still, he let his sister do the talking, just in case, just so he could hold on to the fantasy that maybe—maybe—their grandfather was still alive.
"He's gone. Grandpa—he, he died," she said. Sonny didn't know what to say. If someone else lost a loved one, he was the person they came to. He was good at making people feel better. But now, he had nothing to tell to his sister. No comfort to offer her. Just his silence.
"Thanks for letting me know," he said quietly, slipping his key into the door.
He hung up the phone and closed the door behind him. Placing the phone down on the small table in his entrance, he walked into his family room. He took a look around, and then screamed into a pillow. He knocked everything off of the coffee table, and then sat down on the floor and cried.
That night, on the night that his grandfather died, he forgot to text Amanda back. She assumed that he was too busy working, and reminded herself that he wasn't Jessie's father. It was silly to think he'd show more than a polite amount of interest in her.
That was, until, two days later, on Groundhog Day, when Bella came to her door just as the sun was retreating in the sky.
"Hi," she said softly. She was in head to toe black. "It's me—Bella—Sonny's sister," she said, although she didn't need to.
"Come in, come in," Amanda said, standing back to clear the way inside.
Jessie was awake. Wide awake, in fact. She was babbling and gurgling and pulling at her mother's hair.
"Is—Is Sonny all right?" Amanda asked. "He hasn't responded to my messages for the past two days."
"Amanda, our grandfather died two days ago."
Amanda was silent. Relief that it wasn't Sonny that was dead flooded her system, and then guilt for feeling okay with someone else's death replaced it.
"I'm so sorry," Amanda said, putting Jessie down in her bassinet so that she could hug Bella. Her tears, which she had tried so hard to conceal, leaked onto Amanda's stained sweater.
She collected herself. "Sonny . . . it would mean a lot to him if you came to the funeral tonight," she said. The look on her face told Amanda that she didn't expect her to do it, to come. But Amanda was never one to partake in expectations.
"Of course," she said, rubbing Bella's back. "Of course."
Bella gave Amanda the address of the church and then told her that the service was in five hours before leaving.
Amanda soon after realized the predicament that she had entered into. She had to go to the funeral—no way was she missing it. But she also needed someone to watch Jessie on a five hour—make that four and a half hour—notice. And of course, her go-to babysitter, Sonny, couldn't do it.
So she called Liv. Liv, apologetically, told Amanda that as much as she wished she could help, she couldn't. She had gone to Boston for the weekend for a conference on using social media to catch perps.
Grudgingly, she called Fin. Make no mistake—Amanda loved Fin. He was a good friend, a good man, a good cop, and a good partner. But he was a terrible babysitter. He was rough with adults, and didn't really know how to operate with children, especially babies. But he agreed to do it for Amanda. So, three and a half hours later, Amanda, dressed in all black, was showing Fin how to use the bottle warmer before she left for Carisi's grandfather's funeral.
Definitely not a course of events she would have seen herself participating in just a year ago.
When she arrived at the church, she was half an hour early. She hadn't been early to anything since Jessie was born. Well, that's not fair—to blame it on Jessie. Amanda hadn't been early to anything in years.
They hadn't closed the casket for the service yet. Being from Georgia, she was no stranger to open casket funerals, but that didn't make them any easier.
So far, only about eight people had shown up. It wasn't hard to find Sonny. He was as far away from the casket as he could get, sitting in a pew at the back of the church. She made his way over to him and sat down. He was silent.
"I'm so sorry," she said. For the first time since she had entered the church, he picked his head up. He wasn't crying, but the red rims around his eyes told a different tale.
"Thank you," he said.
The service was quick, and so was the burial. Sonny's mother, who was equally glad to see Amanda, had invited the two of them to her house to eat something, but they respectfully declined.
Amanda offered to take Sonny home, but he asked if he could see Jessie.
When Amanda arrived at her apartment, she was surprised to see Fin lying on the couch, watching The Bachelor with Jessie on his chest. Not even grief-stricken Sonny could resist.
"He's real dreamy, isn't he?" He said before Fin could even realize that they had returned.
"Look, the remote got stuck and she cried whenever I tried to change it," Fin said.
"Yeah, right," Amanda teased before leaning down to pick up her little blonde baby.
"Hello, Jessie. I missed you very much," she whispered, just loud enough for her daughter to hear.
"Thank you, Fin," she said.
"No problem, 'Manda," he said, standing and readying himself to leave. He wanted to say something to Carisi, but he wasn't sure how to approach the subject and he didn't want to overstep, so he figured that somethings are better left unsaid.
Amanda found that the remote was working just fine, and turned off the TV. Sonny joined her on the couch. He held out his hands for Jessie, and she gave her to him.
Jessie smiled at him, laughed, and swung her arms back in forth as she babbled away. Sonny smiled his first real smile in days.
That night, Sonny didn't leave Amanda's apartment. After they put Jessie down, the two fell asleep together snuggled on Amanda's couch. There was no sex, but the intimacy was something that Amanda had never had before: trust, and love.
And when he woke up on February third at four in the morning to the sound of Jessie crying, Amanda in his arms, he knew the groundhog had been right. Spring would come early this year.