Chapter Four
Such a revelation should have knocked her over, the idea of the woman she'd searched for so long being gone, but instead she just felt a knot tighten in her stomach. "Dead." The word fell flat off her tongue.
"I thought Patrick would have told you," Linda said. Her green eyes flashed towards the grave marker, her frustrations with her brother not extinguished, even in death. "She died a number of years ago, not too long after you were born."
"Oh." The knot clenched, as if fingers were slowly squeezing her diaphram.
"Let me take you to get a coffee," Linda offered, taking a peek up at the sky. "This isn't the way Patrick intended for you to find this out, I'm sure of it. He was a lot of things, my brother, but he was fiercely protective of his family."
Clumps of grass mixed with the dirt atop the grave, and the green blades were to bright, popping out of the brown earth. "No," she said. "I'm through with being disappointed." Her words took on a bitterness that shocked her, and she almost felt sorry for this messenger of a woman. "I have a family." She turned, mechanical in her movements, and was surprised that her brain was capable of sending the appropriate messages to her body, because from her perspective, it was mere mush.
Linda's arm caught hers just above the wrist, and she fished out a small business card, handing it over. "We're blood," she said, pushing the card into her hands. "One day, that might mean something."
"Thank you," Maura muttered, hoping that her sincerity showed, despite her pursed lips and blank expression. She turned away, fumbling the rough cardstock between her fingers. Jane was out of the car, peering over the hood toward with wide, concerned eyes. She was fiddling nervously with her thumbs, and Maura knew that it had taken some resolve for her to stay put.
"Maura?" she asked. It was Jane's standard way of checking in, a subsititute question for one she couldn't quite articulate.
"Let's just go," Maura replied. "I want to go back to the hospital." Her voice was less shaky than she imagined it would be, and for a moment she was impressed with her resolve. Her insides felt as if they'd been slashed with broken glass, and if she breathed too hard she would fall over; again, her body surprised her, and she lowered herself into the car.
Jane started the ignition, giving Maura concerned glances as she weaved through the winding roads of the cemetery. Maura felt the knot harden in her stomach. Why did they make the roads so meandering? As if the architects thought people wanted to take their time driving through a cemetery, like it was a relaxing drive through the countryside? When they made it to the highway, where the noise of the road made the drive more tolerable, she felt the knot loosen and its contents spilled upward into her throat, wrenching a quiet, breathless sob from her.
Her face was wet, as if the tears were coming from her pores instead of her glands and she was surprised by their quick violence. She wiped them with spread fingers, wondering why she had bothered to put on mascara. "That was Linda Doyle, Patrick's sister," she said, hoping that by telling the story, by focusing on facts, it would help clear her mind from the emotional mush that clouded it. "She knew my biological mother. Her name was Hope Dixon. She died a long time ago. She's been dead for years."
The car swerved slightly as Jane turned to look at her. "Fuck." Her eyes caught Maura's for a brief second before she turned them back to the road. "Fuck," Jane repeated, hitting the steering with the palm of her hand. "Doyle didn't tell you that? He couldn't tell you that, at least?"
It felt good to watch Jane's visceral display of exasperation, and Maura wished she could subcontract out all of her anger, if only to give her numb mind a rest. "Maybe he was afraid to tell me," she said.
"He was afraid to lose you." Jane shook her head, her foot pressing the gas pedal harder. "Coward," she muttered, shaking her head. "Fucking coward."
Maura dropped Linda Doyle's business card in the middle console, letting her head rest against the seat. Minute droplets of rain slashed against the window as they drove through the mist. Her biological parents were dead. All the fantasies she had concocted as a child, the images of her a caring, attentive mother could now never be proved or disproved. It was an uncomfortable limbo. She thrived on deduction and reasoning. Even when analyzing a body, there was always something to be resolved. She wondered what she could have deducted from her mother's body, but the thought passed quickly, embarrassingly, and she hated the peculiarities of her mind, unable to attribute them to anyone or anything.
Maura sat silently beside her, and Jane struggled with an appropriate response to the news of Hope Dixon, but she just kept coming back to anger. Doyle strung Maura along for months, protecting her on one hand and setting her up for pain on the other. Guilt quickly buzzed through her, giving her anger a dangerous, self-hating edge. She had no right to judge him, not after pulling that trigger.
She only asked one question when they parked in the dark lot of the hospital: "Are you sure you want to go in right now?"
Maura's eyes were blank. "What else is there to do?" She climbed out of the car, and Jane followed, but not before the glint of Linda Doyle's card caught her eye, and she tucked it into her suit pocket. She followed a few steps behind Maura, head down, unsure of whether she was needed, but unable to leave.
Maura went first to the restroom, appearing again with clear eyes, but they were still red and puffy. Jane followed her into her mother's private room, where Phillip sat with his arms crossed in a chair beside her bed, his head tipped back, eyes closed. Maura knocked on the already open door, startling him awake.
"Morning," he said, wiping a hand across his faint beard, glancing down at his watch. "Afternoon," he corrected with a slight shrug as he rose from his chair. His trousers were wrinkled at the lap, but otherwise he was a picture of composure. "Your mother was awake for a little while this morning. She's doing well."
"Good," Maura said, her hands on her hips, a familiar gesture signalling her launch into a comfort zone of medical logic. "Did they do another MRI?"
Jane attempted to listen, but she was struck by the formality of the exchange and the irresolute strangeness of the family in front of her. Something was missing, although Maura and her father were trying their hard to fill in the gaping emotional gaps with irresolute, almost ceremonial words.
"I guess I'll grab a coffee," Phillip said, walking around them. He gave Maura a quick kiss on the cheek and placed a tentative hand on her shoulder, but that was all, and nodded briefly toward Jane as he passed by her.
Maura sat in the chair beside her mother, glancing back at Jane with a misaligned smile. "That's good news," she said, and Jane nodded automatically, even though she hadn't heard a word of the medical jargon.
"Yeah."
"I think she'll make more of a recovery at home. Studies show that recovery rates in hospitals are poor compared to rehabilitation centers or home care. It's about familiarity." Maura looked back at her mother, running a hand over the crisp, white sheet beside the IV line.
"I'd probably recover better in Paris, too," Jane said, forcing levity into her voice. "I think everyone would."
Maura rolled her eyes toward her. "You would hate Paris," she said. "Sicily, you'd love."
"I'll trust you on that one," Jane replied, placing a hand on Maura's back, letting it rub natural, small circles. Her phone buzzed against her hip and she looked down at a text message from Frost. He had been picking up both their weight over the past week, but she tucked the phone back in its holster.
"Jane, go to work," Maura said, looking back at her with an encouraging nod. "There's nothing to do here. I'll be fine."
She had no doubt that Maura could keep her head together. When push came to shove, Maura was always composed, always level, but at what cost? Her phone vibrated again, but she ignored it. "If you need to talk, or you want me back here, all you have to do is say the word."
"I know, Jane."
"You want me to grab you some lunch or something before I go?" she asked, unwilling, or unable to leave.
Maura placed her hands lightly against Jane's hips and pushed her towards the door. "I'm lucky to have you," she said with a sad smile. "But I just want to sit here for awhile."
Jane nodded, but pulled Maura's hands further around her waist and pulled her in for a quick hug. She caught the scent of rain from her blonde hair, and placed a kiss atop the crown. The movement was natural, composed, but she knew their was meaning in it that they hadn't dared discuss yet. "Bye, Maur." She closed the door quietly behind her as she left, catching Phillip walking towards her. "Duty calls," he said, nodding toward the phone in her hand.
"Yeah," she said, but caught his shoulder as he continued toward Constance's room. "Uh, do you mind if Maura has some time on her own?" she asked, hoping her voice sounded more polite than protective. Judging by the way he eyed her, she guessed she hadn't done that great of a job disguising her protectiveness. Not that she ever had when it came to Maura.
"Of course," he said stiffly, but she caught a glimmer of respect in his eye. "Of course."
Maura felt the cool sheets rustle under her cheek, then a hand caressing her hair. It was an unfamiliar, maternal gesture and she allowed herself to enjoy the dream, prolonging it as long as she could. It was only the whispered "Maura" that pulled her from her slumber, forcing her bleary eyes up to her mother, who gazed down at her.
"Mom," she said, moving clumsily toward the nurse call button.
"No," Constance said, stopping her hand. "Let's just sit for awhile."
Maura studied her eyes, but they seemed alert enough, so she nodded, sitting back down. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've slept too long," Constance said with a tired smile. "Your father, is he outside?"
"Yes," Maura replied, already stepping toward the door, always so eager to please. "I can go get him."
Again, her mother's hand caught her arm. "No, Maura, darling, have a seat." Constance sighed, pressing a tentative hand against her head, where her hair had matted down from the white, gauzy bandage. "I must look a wreck," she said. "I didn't expect that little setback. I thought we were homefree."
Maura didn't think 'little' was the appropriate description, but she kept quiet, defaulting back to her usual manner with her mother. Agreeable to a fault. Always a polite, winning smile, even now.
"Just goes to show," Constance continued, "that you never know what tomorrow will bring."
"No," Maura said, swallowing. "I guess you don't." She studied Constance's face, and wondered whether she would have looked at all like her biological mother. Whether she had her nose, her eyes. Her bone structure. Any genetic mutations that ran in the family. A physical, anatomical narrative she would never know.
Her mother looked to the side, the gray sky outside the window capturing her attention. "You never know what tomorrow will bring," she said again, reciting it softly. When she turned back, her eyes were moist. "Your father told me what happened." Her voice was paper thin. "Why didn't you tell me Patrick contacted you?"
"I don't know," Maura replied. Why had she kept him such a secret? Shame? Fear? "He wasn't exactly the person I envisioned as my biological father."
"How long did you know about him?" Constance asked, shifting up in her bed. Her eyes, still moist, were alert, and she waved away Maura's steadying hand.
"About a year. He revealed himself when he wanted to." She had wanted to have the conversation for so long, but now it felt stale, the words flat.
Constance pursed her lips, swallowed. "That was not part of the agreement."
Finally, Maura felt a question bubble from her throat, and its release was a bit of a relief, even if she was afraid of the answer. "You kept in touch with him? All these years?"
Constance shook her head. "No. I sent him pictures occasionally. But he always kept tabs on you. God, he loved you to a fault." Maura waited for the tears that were pooling in her eyes to fall over the edge, but they didn't. They just shimmered, staying put.
"And my mother? Hope Dixon?" Saying the name was unnerving, fluttering something in her stomach.
"Did he tell you about her, too?" Constance asked, and her jaw went rigid, her face morphing into a stone facade, allowing Maura to gleam nothing from her expression.
She felt a tear burn behind her own eye. "No, he didn't. But I know about her, Mom. Linda Doyle told me everything."
Constance's shoulders sagged forward slightly, as if the past were physically pushing her forward, forcing her to talk. "Linda," she repeated, exhaling. She reached a tentative hand out, but Maura shook her head. She didn't need to be spared any grief, not after learning the truth already.
"Why didn't you tell me my biological mother was dead?" she asked, pulling her hand away. "I've spent my entire life wondering about her. At some point you could have told me." Her voice was accusatory.
Constance seemed confused, as if she'd missed a step in the conversation, and her eye twitched briefly. "Hope is alive," she said, sitting up fully now, a vein in her neck raising itself under the surface of her skin.
Maura felt another block of reality fall from her carefully constructed world. "Linda Doyle told me she died years ago," she said, her pulse throbbing in her temple.
Constance reached out and took Maura's hand. "Your biological mother was – is – Hope Dixon. After your father and I adopted you, she changed her name, essentially wiping all traces of Hope Dixon off anyone's radar. Things were too dangerous and – well – it was better for everyone this way. No one knew outside of - " she breathed deeply. "No one knew. But she is alive and well. Her name is Emily Lawrence. She lives in San Diego, practices medicine." The words spilled out of her, and she put her hand to her lips, as if stunned that she had uttered the truth.
Maura stared blankly. She half believed her brain decided to shut down, unwilling to accept anymore half lies, and afraid to accept the truth. "I don't understand," she said, simply for a lack of anything better to say.
Her mother fumbled with the sheet in her hand. "This is something your father and I should be telling you together." But she continued. "Hope left Boston right after you were born. Things had gotten dangerous for both of you, and she and Doyle thought it best for you to have a safe, normal life."
"Normal," Maura repeated.
"I kept in touch with Hope over the years. Letters, an occasional phone call."
"How did she find you?" Maura asked. "Was this through an adoption agency?"
Constance's silence was uncomfortable, and her blue eyes darted away from Maura, squeezing shut briefly before widening over at her. "Hope," she said, slowly, her words measured, like she hadn't uttered them in some time. "Hope is my sister."
Maura felt something rise up inside her, and her legs tensed, ready to run her towards the sink on the far wall. She stood, shakily, staring down, her vision swimming slightly. "This is insane," she said, and her laughter surprised her. It was a stark, quick guffaw, more of a gulp. "This is insane," she said, louder, the power of her voice soothing.
The door opened, and Phillip stuck his head inside, closing the door behind him. "Everything all right in here?" he asked, glancing between Maura and Constance.
Maura couldn't begin to describe her own expression, but she could tell from the way her father's face fell that he knew what had just transpired, and he raised his hands almost defensively to her.
Constance spoke for him, though, the words fluttering toward her back. "Maura, you have to understand this isn't the way we wanted to tell you."
She whipped around, anger rising through her spine, making her back and shoulders rigid. It wasn't the right feeling, she knew it, but it was the only one she had, and she wielded it fiercely. "I'm ashamed of you," she said, her voice thick. "I don't want anything to do with any of you." It was a desperate, wishful plea. As if anyone could choose such a thing.
"Maura," Phillip said, coming up beind her, but not touching her. "We did what had to be done to keep you safe."
"Like some kind of duty?" she asked, feeling like a live fuse ran through her, and her voice vibrated with anger. "Like some kind of debt to the crime boss of Boston, you did what you had to do?" she railed, her face red with thwarted, misplaced rage. "I need some air."
"Maura," Constance said. "Wait. I know this is difficult, it was hard for us all of these years - "
"I don't care," Maura blurted, walking backwards towards the door. She desperately needed to be out of that room, and away from their pleading eyes, staring at her as if afraid of her. "I don't care," she repeated.
"Maura, don't walk out," Phillip said. "We are still your parents."
"No," she said, her head muddy. "No, you're not." She turned, the door blurring in front of her, and walked out, leaving it swinging open behind her. She thought she heard Phillip calling after her, but maybe she just imagined it. And she cursed her foolishness, that insatiable desire for a normal family, where her father would run after her, and maybe hug her, and promise that he loved her, no matter what. Foolish. She didn't bother waiting for the elevator, and instead took the stairs, spiraling slowly down to the exit.
"Ma, you should've seen the way he acted towards her."
Angela mother set a cup of coffee in front of her, frowning, running her hands over her cafe apron. "Well, what do you expect? They're from Europe."
"That's not a reason, Ma," Jane said, rolling her eyes, watching a few beat cops waltz loudly into the cafe. "Anyway, it just makes me worry about how Maura's been doing over the past week, if that was the only support she had."
Angela looked at her with a mothering glance. "Maura's an adult, Jane, and a smart one. She's going through a lot right now, but she will reach out when she needs to. And besides, I've been spying on her."
"Spying, Ma?"
"I mean, checking on her. Just checking on her." Her eyes glanced gratefully toward Korsak, who walked towards them. He had a smudge of mustard on his tie, and the discovery was slightly comforting to Jane.
She eyed her mother as she slipped away back to the counter, and turned her attention to Korsak, who laid a couple of printouts in front of her. "Thanks for running these names," she said lightly, glancing over at him.
He didn't take a seat, instead standing over her shoulder. "It's the least I could do," he said, his voice edged with a tinge of worry. "I wish I found more, but I got nothing."
Jane gazed down at the printout. "Nothing on Linda Doyle," she murmured. "And just a misdemeanor on Hope Dixon from 1971?"
"I asked Frost to see what he could find. But there's no death certificate on a Hope Dixon that remotely matches right age. Unless she was fifty-six when she had Maura, which I highly doubt. Times were different then," he said, but quickly cut his chuckle short.
Jane bit her lower lip, studying the pages. It felt good to approach the problem from an investigative standpoint, even though it was a weak attempt at dealing with it. She rubbed her hand against her chin, and looked up at him. "This is probably stupid, anyway," she said. "It doesn't change anything."
"It doesn't have to. Just shows you care."
Her phone rang from her hip, Maura's name flashing across the screen. Jane felt the initial pang of panic, one that had plagued her since the night Maura called her from the hospital. "Hey, Maur, everything okay?" she asked, her voice already tight, ready to snap with any more bad news.
"Yeah," Maura replied, her voice staticky. "Can you come over to my place tonight?"
It wasn't an unusual request. Jane had been beckoned to Maura's apartment many times over the past few years, but the hairs along her arm stood on end as she nodded into the phone. "Of course. How you doing, Maur?" The response was garbled, and the connection ended. "Piece of shit phone," Jane muttered, tossing it to the table.
"She all right?" Korsak asked.
"Yeah, I guess," Jane said, staring at the blank screen of the phone.
"You all right?"
He peered down at her over the expanse of his nose, with a practiced, fatherly glance. How did all parents get that particular look down pat so well? She nodded vigorously, patting her knuckles against the table. "I need to work," she said, grabbing her coffee, more than ready to devote her attention to something that she could solve. "Let's get back upstairs."
Maura sat on the floor, waving a piece of lotus leaf at Bass, who sat unmoving a few inches away from her. "Come on, Bass, you need to eat." She sighed, dropping the leaf by her side. "Has my levels of serotonin been affecting your mood?" She let her head rest against the wall behind her. She had stripped out of her black dress and into something equally depressing: yoga pants and a sweat shirt. She laughed. "Is it my clothes, Bass?" she asked. "Are they depressing you?"
The laugh died in her throat, smothered by the wave of nausea that drifted through her. Her cab ride home had only given her time to build her anger, and by the time she pressed a wad of bills into the cabbie's hand, she was boiling, her face flushed even in the cool, dreary weather. The sun had set behind her drawn shades, and she had spent most the evening avoiding the pictures and mementos from her childhood that littered her home. Fortunately, she didn't have many.
She heard the front door open, then heard the sound of Jane's heavy boots padding across the hardwood floor. "Maura, the door was unlocked," she called, before appearing in the kitchen, carrying a bag from Whole Foods. Maura took a moment to appreciate the irony.
"Hey there, you and Bass having a heart to heart?" Jane asked with a careful smile.
Maura got to her feet. "He's about the only thing making sense right about now," she replied. "Hey, did you happen to see Linda Doyle's card in your car? I seemed to have misplaced it."
Jane hung her head and fished into her pocket. "I took it," she said, sliding it on the table.
"You took it?" Maura repeated.
"I wanted to make sure she wasn't some loon or something."
Judging by the revelation she had come by in the hospital, the probability that Linda Doyle was a lunatic was higher than she would have originally thought. The idea ripped a chuckle from her throat, which seemed to startle Jane. "You okay?" she asked, eyeing the glass of wine in Maura's hand.
"Yes," she said. "And this is my first glass. You know I'm a horrible drinker."
"Yes, I know." Jane moved to the refrigerator and pulled a bottle of beer out of it. "I, on the other hand, am an incredible drinker." She cocked her head. "You feel like talking or are you looking for a distraction? I bought tissues and a Netflix, so I'm prepared for both."
"Talking, then distraction," Maura replied.
"Fine." Jane took a seat at the kitchen counter, her brown eyes widening with attentiveness. "First things first, how's your mother?"
Mother. The word struck against Maura's brain, like a match that wouldn't light, only friction and no flame. What was she supposed to call her? "She's awake, alert." She didn't offer much more, mainly because she hadn't bothered to call her father – again, the term fell flat – for an update that evening.
"Did you talk to your father at all? About Hope?"
Maura cleared her throat, but that didn't make the words any easier. "I spoke with my mother," she began, feeling as if she were dredging the words from the bottoms of her feet. "Hope Dixon isn't dead."
Jane's bottle of beer teetered against the counter as she sat it down absently, the jerk of her head signaling her confusion. "What? Is – who – then who is dead, exactly?"
"No one." She braced herself against the counter. "Hope Dixon, who now goes by the name of Emily Lawrence, is a doctor in San Diego. She's my biological mother."
Jane took a small, pensive sip of her beer. "I'm following you," she began. "But I'm not following. Why did Linda Doyle tell you she was dead?"
"She thought she was. That's what Hope and Doyle wanted everyone to believe." She was impressed by the evenness of her voice, the fact that she was keeping herself together.
Jane nodded, her lips parted. "Okay, that could make sense, if you and Hope were in danger. They put you up for adoption."
Maura felt her eyes cloud over, and suddenly the wine tasted sour. She had never been one that could simply drink away her problems. If anything alcohol set her brain off on a mental spiral, neurons firing more rapidly than usual. She set the wine glass down. "They did."
"Maura, what are you not telling me?" Jane asked, walking over to her.
"My mother - " she spat the word - "is Hope Dixon's sister. Constance Isles is my aunt." She picked up her wine again, this time taking several quick gulps before she met Jane's gaze again. Why did she think she would find judgment? There was nothing there but empathy, and a tentative hand that reached for her own, but she turned away, rinsing her glass in the sink. "So there you have it. On one side, the Doyles, on the other side, the Dixons. Murderers and lunatics." She imagined smashing the glass into the sink, relishing the idea of breaking something, but didn't have the energy to clean it up. She set it gently on the counter to dry.
"Jesus," Jane said, stepping over to her. "This is like stepping into an episode of the Sopranos."
Maura turned toward her, leaning against the counter and fidgeting with her finger. "I never saw that show. Was it a good show?" It felt good, this type of meandering question.
Jane nodded. "It was a good show. The psychiatrist was a dead ringer for Ma." She shrugged. "How the hell did you react to all this?"
Heat rose in her cheeks, and Maura shook her head, suddenly, viscerally ashamed. "I left."
"Maura, you don't have to digest this all right now. It's a lot to take in, and it's okay to take your time."
"I'm so mad," she said, balling her fist against her side. "But with who? Constance and Phillip, who raised a girl they didn't want, just to keep her safe? With my mother, who fled the only life she ever knew?" She shook her head. "I keep coming back to being angry with myself. For holding onto some ridiculous fantasy."
"Maura, I can't even begin to imagine what's happening for you right now. But despite the lie, despite the betrayal, on some level your parents cared for you and loved you, even if they wouldn't exactly win any awards for it. And that doesn't just disappear because of this."
"I know," she said, nodding. "I just need time. I need to forget about this day, Jane. At least for the rest of tonight."
"Hey, you found out who your biological mother is and you gained an aunt and an uncle. How many people can say they gained that much family in one day?"
Maura couldn't tell whether the sound that bubbled up from her throat was a laugh or a cry, but it felt good, so she let it continue, wracking through her body. After an especially sharp exhale, however, she felt the tears on her cheeks, and pressed her hands against them. Jane's arms were around her immediately, and it felt good to press against the taller woman's body, and to let her massage small circles against her back. It was one thing in a day of chaos that simply made sense.
She leaned out of the embrace, but let her hands trace the lapels of Jane's suit jacket. "I'm going to get a tissue," she said. "And then we can move into the distraction phase of the evening?"
"Yes, mind-numbing distraction is something that I can provide in droves," Jane replied with a smile, but she let her thumb brush underneath Maura's eye, and it took all Maura had not to turn her head into the touch. Instead, she cleared her throat, moving past Jane with a concentrated gait. She heard Jane behind her, opening cabinet doors, setting plates on the counter, all semblances of a normal routine.
She blew her nose and splashed cold water over her face, hanging over the sink and watching the drops drip from her face onto the white porcelain.
She sat down on the couch, where the television was already on, blasing a rerun of The Daily Show. Jane scraped the contents of the counter onto two plates, walking them over. She had taken off her suit jacket, and more than likely tossed it messily over some piece of furniture. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders as she set the plates on the table, a look of accomplishment coupled with worry in her brow. "I even remembered those weird seed things you like," she said, switching the plates' position as she sat down next to Maura.
"Pepitas?" Maura looked over at her, taking in the tiny mole along the side of her neck, and the hunch of her shoulders, and the warmth moved through her propelled her to lean over and place a kiss on Jane's cheek. "I love you," she said, as if it were simply a matter of scientific fact. She had said before, and meant it, but over the past few months the feeling had evolved into something messier than friendship. Jane raised her eyebrows at her, a smile lighting up the whole of her face, and when Maura leaned over for the second time, she kissed her lips
Jane's lips, parted in frozen surprise before, now acclimated quickly, becoming pliable against Maura's own. The kiss was gentle, exploratory, and Jane tasted minty and slightly sweet. When Maura pulled away, she felt her cheeks color. "I'm sorry. I bet you think I'm a mess," she sighed.
"No," Jane said with a crooked smile. "I don't." She cupped Maura's jaw with both of her hands and kissed her again. When she spoke again, her voice was probing and gentle. "I do think, however, that you have a lot of complicated stuff going on right now. And as someone who loves you... I just want to help you get through it. I don't want to add to it."
"This is the one part of today that makes sense." She put a hand against her mouth, for the third time that day feeling nausea swell inside her. "I'm sorry," she said. "I understand if you want to leave."
Jane lifted her hand to her lips, kissing the inside of her wrist. "I'm not going anywhere," she said, placing a hand on Maura's knee. "I've got all the time in the world. But, Maura, sweetheart, I just want to help you get through this first, okay?"
Maura nodded. "How should I get through this?"
Jane sighed. "Well, first, we're going to eat dinner, because at twelve dollars a pop, I'm not letting these salads go to waste. Then, we'll figure out whether you want to find Hope Dixon. She's out there, Maura."
Maura nodded again, Jane's hand comforting against her knee. "She's out there," she repeated, glancing once more at the hopeful brown eyes that looked back at her. And although she had no idea what those words meant to her, she felt a wave of calm drift through her, and for that she was grateful.
Feedback is awesome. And rewarded. Thank you :) And thanks, Renconteur, for the read-through!