Chapter 7
"I'll let you read one of my romance novels, if you want."
Grissom laughed as he stretched on the bed. "I think I'll skip that offer. I have my own. Look in my bag." She found the book; his big Shakespeare one that weighed five pounds.
"I can't believe you carried this heavy book." She noticed the folded paper. "What's this?"
He smiled. "Something I want to read to you." He unfolded the paper. She joined him on the bed, wrapping her arm across his chest. He read her the cowboy poem.
"Are you sure he's writing about the bull?" She asked when he explained his thoughts.
"I do."
She giggled. "You need to read romance novels. That poem is about a girl! And the bull is no girl." She read the poem again.
Sara folded the paper as he said, "If I wrote this, it would be about a girl."
He heard her heavy sigh as her head came to rest on his chest. "I love you, Grissom." She gave a tiny chuckle. "I don't call you that much, do I?"
"What else is troubling you, honey?"
She was quiet for some time. He moved his hand through her hair. "Can you really love me, Gil? Knowing I'm such a wreck? Knowing my father was an abuser, my mother—she doesn't even like me—killed my father. Knowing all this?" She could hear his steady heartbeat as she talked. "I can't go back to work. Can you still live with me?"
Her fears about her parents were not unknown to him. He had not taken enough time to assure her that these fears did not matter to him. He was determined that would change. "You know I love you. I don't care who your parents are or what they did. You are Sara. Not only do I want to live with you—I want to marry you. Whenever you decide it's time.
"You never knew my parents, but you love me. I love you the same way. Your genes gave you those brown eyes I love so much, but a lot of you are what you've decided to be, not what your parents did."
They lay in silence wrapped together; she could hear his heart beat; he could feel her slow steady breathing as she relaxed against him.
"Are you still having nightmares?" He asked quietly.
Her head moved. "Not for a week or so. I'm sleeping so much better. Maybe my clock has reset or daylight has helped." Twice she started a word, but stopped.
"Tell me."
"I do have dreams that I remember, but they don't wake me."
"What are you dreaming?"
She raised her head from his chest and rolled to look at him. Outside she heard a bird and the wind chimes and, far away, music played. "I dream of children. Playing and laughing children. I've never had dreams like that. I don't remember ever playing like that, but I dream about it. In a way, it's comforting, but its puzzling." Her head returned to his chest.
"If you sleep, then it's good." Simple dreams, he thought. "You have always been good with kids." He remembered the times he had seen her work with children at crime scenes, holding a hand or offering gum, or just sitting quietly. "You know, maybe we should have kids." This was a subject neither had brought up.
Sara's breathing stopped. He did not think she could hold her breath for longer than a few minutes, but it seemed she did.
"Us?" she asked. "I can't even decide where to live."
He gave a small laugh. "We can get married first. I'm sort of old-fashioned about that part." He ignored her comment about where to live. They could work that one out.
She rolled again to look at him, smiling. "Living in sin all these months and you still want to get married." His eyebrow arched. "Don't give me that look." She lifted off the bed, pulled her knees under her chin and wrapped arms around her legs. "I never thought I would marry. I've never thought about having kids. I guess you have to have some kind of childhood memories to want children."
"Sara," Grissom's hand wrapped around hers, "We make our own memories. Neither one of us have families of our own. Catherine once said we were making a family at work regardless of what I thought—and we have. Come home with me. We'll make a family."
She remained beside him, her eyes blinking rapidly as she looked away. "Gil, I need a while longer. I can't go back to Vegas. I need a little more time." She looked around the room. "I know this is nothing like your place, but I need time to clear my head."
"Our place, Honey. It's our place. Everywhere I look I see you. I want you there, with me." He stopped talking until she looked at him. "But I want you happy, too. If it means you stay here, or decide to live some where else, then I want you to do it. If you can't come back, I'll come to you." He took her hand and held it to his lips.
Her head dropped to her knees. "I'm not sure I can ever be happy, Gil."
"Yes, we will. A lot has happened to you in a short while. You're strong. You need time to recover." He kept her hand in his. "Remember this—I don't say it enough—I love you, I want to marry you, I want to live with you. I want you happy, smiling, and I want to hear that giggle."
"You are to good to me."
He pulled himself up in bed, plumping a pillow behind his back. "Move over here." He brought her around to sit between his legs, both arms wrapping around her. "In the past month, you have not been the only one given time to think. You have been the one giving everything to this relationship; I've been the one taking. I am determined to change this."
She started to say something, but his finger on her lips stopped her. He continued. "You gave up your apartment. You gave up dating. You gave up your friends when you gave up your job. I put you in jeopardy and almost lost you for it. I should have taken care of our work situation months ago." He held her against his chest. "No more, Sara, I promise."
They stayed together hearing outside noises that were quiet sounds that did nothing to disturb their thoughts. His thoughts were of the peaceful place she had found by accident. She was playing his words again in her mind. Grissom reached for one of her books.
"Don't read that, read yours."
He smiled and opened the heavy Shakespeare book. He had read from this same book the first time they spent the night together. He had copied the words he could not form for feelings he had for her from this book. "What do you want to hear?"
Sara snuggled closer so he could rest his book on her knees. "The sonnets. No, read Much Ado—I think that's my favorite."
She felt his silent laugh as he said, "That one is almost a romance novel." He read the words of the long-dead English poet with the woman he loved curled against his heart. They would be fine, he thought. Their bond was not broken; time was what they needed and his determination to make things right was strong.
Ending his reading, he closed the book. He was stiff from remaining in the same place. "I've got to move, sweetie. I feel like I've concrete in my knees." She was young enough to be unaffected by inactivity and quickly brought herself up.
"I'm sorry." She pulled him up as his knees popped.
"Old age."
She giggled. He used this excuse from time to time. "Only when you want to be."
They returned to the café for lunch. They drove miles up the coastline, stopping to climb to a rocky overlook, finding whale watchers by the dozen lined up with binoculars and cameras. They continued on their drive and near nightfall found a place to eat. They talked; Sara sang along with the radio as they returned to her motel room.
Grissom asked if she needed money; she did not. He knew she had taken money with her and she had not used a debit or credit card since leaving.
That night, sleep came as welcome rest. Their lovemaking was that of long time lovers familiar with the intimate needs and desires of each other. She was always surprised at how this man could create passion in her. He was almost always overwhelmed by her desire to please him; at times he would remind her to let go, to come with him in that rushing waterfall of pleasure. Tonight she did.
Morning sun peaked around blinds as Grissom felt feet touching his and hands in his hair. "You awake?" He knew she was when he asked.
"Mmmm, I am." She had pulled on his shirt sometime in the night. "How long can you stay?" She knew he would return to work finding all he left plus more on his desk.
"Another day or so. That's why I left Hank with Catherine." He watched her stretch long arms and legs across the bed. "Why don't we get married?"
"We will. Maybe we should plan a big wedding with you in a tux and twelve bridesmaids."
It was Grissom's turn to laugh. "I could sell tickets to that—twelve bridesmaids and you in a fancy dress." They both laughed at the thought.
"I really am much better, Gil. I want to stay here a while, not forever. I really would like to see my mother again."
