Chapter 9: Wish You Were Here
My feet are practically dragging up the steps, my eyelids drooping and squinting against the setting sun at the same time. Brass sent me home, and I can't say I disagree with him: pulling a triple shift wasn't exactly the smartest thing I've ever done, but I couldn't stop, couldn't rest until it was finished.
The last twenty-four hours were not only long. They were horrific.
As I turn the key in the lock and lean against the door to open it, I will the images of the young girl, battered and bruised, out of my mind. Kidnapped by a known pedophile, the ransom note had given her less than a day to live. I couldn't stop working; stop thinking, until there was some kind of resolution. We were lucky this time.
I push into the apartment and almost trip over the mail. I slam the door behind me and pick it up, shedding my jacket and tossing my briefcase onto the couch. If I thought cases involving children bothered me before, I hadn't anticipated how hard it would hit me after having my own child.
I kick my shoes off in the direction of my closet and toss the mail on the kitchen counter before reaching up to the top cabinet, pushing aside the cooking wine in favor of the bottle of scotch hidden behind it. I gulp greedily from it, languishing in the burn it causes down my throat and comforted by the warmth spreading through my body. The bottle falls from my lips and lands on the counter with a louder thud than it should have, and I lean on the counter, my head falling in my hands.
After a case like this I used to be able to run to Emma, to spend a day or night with her and her boundless optimism and youthful ignorance. No matter what I saw at work, I was always able to be a different person when she was around, and she could always heal the fissures of doubt and disappointment in humanity my job caused. But now she lives in New Jersey with Maggie and Don, just across the river from the firm that had given Don the "offer of a lifetime," as Maggie had put it.
I couldn't make Emma choose. I couldn't even ask her to choose hypothetically.
I know I gave up the fight too easily, but I thought I was over and done with the part of my life that included lawyers and custody battles. So I relinquished, and over a long weekend with Emma, I explained that Mommy was moving to New Jersey with Don, and that I needed to stay in Nevada; that it would just be like I was at a seminar, but she would be the one in the new place. She seemed to accept that it was what she had to do, but made me promise she could visit me, and that I would visit her.
It would be almost 10 p.m. in New Jersey right now, long past Emma's bedtime, so even a phone call was out of the question. I took another swig from the bottle. She's only been gone three months, and I can already feel my life starting to slip away from me again. But I can't just pick up and move every time Maggie gets a whim to start her life over. I have a promising life here. And no matter how many doubts I have in Maggie's parenting abilities, I could never tear my daughter away from her mother. The decision now is far more agonizing.
I try to push these thoughts from my head and am again confronted by today's case. I slam my fist on the counter, desperate to get away from it all. My eyes fall on the mail and I begin to sort through it, hungering for even a mail-order catalogue to amuse myself if only for a brief moment. Between the bills and the solicitations my hands fall on an envelope that makes me smile more than I ever thought would be possible today.
I tear it open slowly, reverently. From inside I pull two papers; one is covered in brown lines and black dots, the other in Emma's beautiful scrawl.
Dear Daddy,
I remembered to feed my ants today. They were very happy that I did. Mommy said that if I forget to feed these ants I can't have anymore, so I fed them. I drew you a picture of them. I hope you like it.
I look at the paper with the black dots on it again, focusing my eyes a bit more this time. It is, indeed, a rough drawing of what her ant colony looks like. Maggie wasn't quite happy about the ants in the first place, but the fact that Emma continually forgets to feed them hasn't helped any. She's currently on her third "generation" of ants.
I went to my new school today. My teacher is Mr. Vincent. He's very nice. There was a boy Johnny who was gonna squish a Japanese beetle on the playground, and I told him what it was and not to squish it, but he didn't believe me and told me I was stupid and just a girl and didn't know anything about bugs. So I told Mr. Vincent and he had Johnny look up the bug and he saw that I was right and he had to apologize. I told him my Daddy was an entimolologist. Everyone thought it was really cool that you get to play with bugs all day.
I laugh out loud. Finally, someone else thinks it's "cool" that I get to play with bugs. I make a mental note to teach her how to spell entomologist.
Mommy says that she will find me a new dance school soon. Will you come see me dance? I want you to. I miss you. Please come visit soon. Mommy says it is too soon for me to go visit you and I have to be a big girl. But maybe if you come visit me she won't get mad.
My eyes swell with tears, but I force myself to read the rest with another gulp of alcohol.
Don helped me put your picture in my new room. I don't like my new room, but it's better with the picture now. My bed feels funny and my pillow is different. I want to go back to my room in your house. Every night, before I go to bed I wish on a star like you told me to. I know you have to play with your bugs and work and stuff, but I still wish that you were here sometimes. It's ok though because we will visit each other and I will write you more letters. Will you write me letters? You don't have to draw me pictures if you don't want to. But I will still draw you pictures.
Sometimes, when I'm wishing at night, I think of the song Fivel sings. We're far apart, but I know we're wishing on the same star, daddy. I love you.
Your daughter,
Emma
The emotion is caught in my throat and I almost miss the post-script.
P.S.- we learned how to write letters right in class yesterday. Did I do a good job?
I read it again, and by now darkness has taken over the Nevada landscape. I look out the window and find the North Star, the one I taught Emma to wish on. Even with all the lights of Nevada, I can still usually find it. I see it, bright as ever.
Yes, Emma, you did a wonderful job.
~~~~~~~~~~
"Ok, now carry the one..." I hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder while I finish packing my briefcase for my upcoming shift. It's just after three in the afternoon and I stifle a yawn as I shut my briefcase.
"Ok, now what?" I can tell she's confused, but is following my lead. I look at the scribbled notes next to me.
"Now you can subtract down the columns like you would if there were no decimals, ok?" I hear her mumbling numbers to herself and stand, putting my briefcase by the door. Helping Emma with her math homework has become a daily task. Almost every evening around three she calls, waking me up and presenting me with this assignment's conundrum, which I happily guide her through. If she doesn't have a problem, which is few and far between, she happily tells me about her day, or how her ants are doing.
I still haven't figured out exactly why these calls started, but I refuse to look a gift horse in the mouth. Sometimes I just can't help but think which would be the sadder situation, if Maggie and Don were too wrapped up in themselves to help Emma, or if they just couldn't do third grade math. On a happier note, it has kept Emma a part of my more daily life, and I'm almost more in touch with her now than I was when she was here in Vegas at times.
"I think I got it!" she shouts, then happily spouts a number. A quick look at my scrawled notes on the table reveal that she's correct.
"You did! See? I told you that you could subtract decimals." I move into the bathroom and stare into the mirror. I'm still hoping to catch a few more hours of sleep when I get off the phone, so I haven't changed out of my flannel pajama pants yet. The scruff on my face gets a long stare while I decide whether or not to shave today. I've often thought of growing a beard, and even started growing one when Emma was two, but she tugged on it and said it was scratchy. The next morning I was shaved clean.
"Thanks Daddy!" I can almost see her smile through the phone. I rub a hand on my chin and let it fall to my bare chest as I decide to shave later. My bare feet pad against the wood floor to the couch where I sit, listening to her excited voice as she tells me about school today.
~~~~~~~
"Grissom and Willows, 419 on the strip. It's a nasty one." Brass hands Catherine the assignment sheet and we get up to leave. Until last week when Johnson retired, Catherine had done her CSI training under the LVMPD veteran. As the only other CSI level three on the night shift with more than a years experience, her training's fallen into my hands. "Grissom? Hang back a second." Brass barks before quickly handing out assignments to our two temporary replacements from day shift. "Walk with me." He tips his head toward his office.
Once inside he hands me an envelope. "That came for you today." There's no name on the return address, just that it's from California.
"That all?"
"No. Cavallo rejected your request for vacation time in June." Brass falls into his chair, pulling out a folder with the request I'd handed in a month prior when Emma had called excited about her new studio's recital.
"What? Why?"
"Said that we can't afford to have you gone for a week in our busiest season, especially when it looks like you'll be our only consistent CSI for a while." Brass looked troubled. "Day shift's demanding their people back, and Mobley's dragging his feet on hiring new people. This lab's gonna be a mess for a while, and we need you here helping to rebuild it." He nods toward the paper I hold in my hand. "Family business?"
He's referring to the reason I put down, a vague reference to a family function. "You could say that." Even as we speak I'm trying to think of possible answers tot he problem, to appeal the decision or to accept it and find a way to break it to Emma.
Jim interrupts my train of thought by leaning forward and whispering. "If you can cut this down to two, maybe three days, I think I can bargain with him. It's bureaucratic bullshit and we all know it. Worse comes to worse, just call in sick. I know what it's like to miss your daughter, Gil. Make sure you get to see her, no matter what."
~~~~~~~~~~
"Daddy!" She runs into my waiting arms outside the dancer's entrance. I throw my arms around her and lift her into the air. She sprouted a few inches since the last time I saw her, but she's just as beautiful. She kisses my cheek, and I know there will be a bright red stain there, but I don't care. "What did you think?"
"I thought you were wonderful!" Her hair is piled on her head in tiny curls, and she's in a satin and tulle ballet gown, pale pink and yellow, making her look like the princess that she is in my mind. "I'm so glad I could come! You were beautiful sweetheart!"
"Thank you Daddy!" She nuzzles up against me, happy to be in my arms, and content to be carried to the car. Maggie and Don left after the show, decidedly happy to give me some time alone with her. She yawns and leans into me, her arms circling my neck. I shoulder the bag she dropped on the floor with all of her things in it, then walk out to the car.
As we reach the car, she mumbles into my neck, "Do you really have to go Daddy?"
"Yes, sweetheart, I do. I wish I could stay longer, but this was all I could do right now. Soon I'll be able to visit longer, I promise." I unlock the car door and gingerly place her in the back seat. I reach around to the front and pull out a bouquet of red roses to lay in her hands. "You did wonderful tonight, Emma. I love you."
She smiles and yawns. "I wish you were always here Daddy," she manages to get out before her eyes close.
I kiss her on the cheek and push the flyaway strands of hair behind her ears. "I'm always with you, Sweetheart, even if I'm not here." I close the door and round the car. I know she hasn't heard me, but it doesn't seem to matter that much.
She hasn't forgotten me, as I feared. And my short vacation, made possible only by Brass, has proven to me that Don has in no way captured Emma's affections away from me.
~~~~~~~~~~
My mail today consisted of two interesting things today. The first was a short letter from Emma which was accompanied by a drawing of the roses I'd given her, which now adorns my refrigerator.
The second was again addressed from California, but this time I knew who it was from.
Dr. Grissom,
I cannot thank you enough for the letter of recommendation. Needless to say, what ever you said got me into the program. I am truly in your debt.
Also, thank you for the article on the uses of physics in forensic science. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're trying to seduce me into forensics. I have to say, the article was very tempting.
She then went on to outline her findings from the article, and I smiled. She was every bit as bright and intelligent as I thought her to be. At the bottom, she had signed it Sara Sidle.
I pulled out a chair, pen, and pad, and began writing.
Miss Sidle,
Invest in a subscription to the Journal of Forensic Science. I am trying to lure you, and I do not believe I will take no for an answer...
(TBC...)
