Chapter 11

After driving Brenda to the group home, Sara raced back to her apartment and downloaded the assessment application form from the internet. She printed it out and stared at the sheets: seemingly simple pieces of paper that were in fact the gateway to parenthood, a road Sara swore she'd never go down. She knew a lot of people didn't have children for different reasons. Many, she supposed, just didn't want the responsibility. Others, she assumed, felt they had nothing in common with children and preferred the company of adults. Neither reason applied to Sara. She had solidified her stance the summer she turned six. Her mother had spent two weeks in the hospital, healing from a broken jaw and other various injuries. That was nothing new for a young Sara. It was her way of life, and she read a book while her apologetic father tended to her mother in the small hospital room. He would promise to never hurt her, and her mother would believe him, but on the car ride home from the hospital, they'd start up again, bickering the moment her father turned the key in the ignition. Her mother would swat at him at red lights and he'd threaten to crash the car and kill them all. While none of this alarmed the little girl in the back seat, she nonetheless vowed never to have children then and there after asking her mother what kind of cake she was planning to make when they got home.

"Cake?" she asked, pausing her verbal assault on her spouse to glance at her daughter in the backseat.

"Vanilla or chocolate?"

"I'm not making a cake. I can't chew a fucking thing," Laura Sidle spat out.

"Oh, and I suppose that's my fault?" Tim Sidle would growl, launching them back into a ten round battle that would end with both of them passed out and drunk in the living room on the sixth anniversary of their daughter's birth. It was there that Sara Caroline Sidle decided to never have a child of her own. She never wanted someone to disappoint.

It wasn't easy to turn back on her word. But Brenda had hugged her so tight, and had cried so hard, that Sara knew she had to try.

She grabbed a pen from the desk drawer and began to carefully print her name and social security number. Sara paused her pen at the address line and looked around her apartment. It was small -- one bedroom -- with no place for Brenda to sleep. She knew the setup was quite nice for someone living alone, and was comfortable enough for her, but there wasn't much room for a child to live there full time. She'd need a bigger place. No, she thought to herself. Scratch that.

We'll need a bigger place.

Years of living like a poor college student and investing like an old Wall Street pro had paid off handsomely for the CSI. After leaving foster care at sixteen to enter Harvard on a scholarship, Sara continued to take jobs wherever she could, spending summers as an assistant in labs during the day after early morning summer classes, followed by a waitress gig at one of the tourist spots. She'd eat free food during her break so as not to spend any of her hard-earned cash on groceries, instead putting the money into some carefully chosen stocks that had soared during the late-nineties bull market. Sara remembered scanning the Wall Street Journal in the school's library right before the end of her junior year, secretly cheering her decision to take a chance on a tech stock that was announcing a deal with Microsoft. It was there her British Literature professor, Kevin Adams, slid into the seat across from her and asked her what had put the smile on her face. She knew she probably blushed. He was the youngest teacher on staff -- about thirty-seven, but he looked years younger with his playful grin and sparkling blue eyes. His female students swooned over him and Sara knew Professor Adams had taken a liking to her not only because she was pulling a solid A in Brit Lit, but because she didn't openly drool in class. She had shook her head and closed the paper.

"It's nothing. Just a possible merger."

He laughed. "The sun is shining. It's a beautiful day. You think too much, Sara Sidle." He began to ask her about her plans for the summer, but when she mentioned classes, he immediately cut her off. "Sara, you have to travel! Have fun! Go to Europe or Asia. See the things you read about."

Nothing could have been farther from Sara's plans. It wasn't that she didn't want to see the world and she had earned enough money to travel quite comfortably, but that money was for survival, not for enjoyment. She had lied and assured her professor that she was planning a trip after senior year so she could spend time abroad and not have to rush to get back to class.

He seemed genuinely excited for her and told her to stop by his office so he could give her information he had gathered from his own travels. Sara's heart beat a little faster as he smiled at her. No, she was not immune to feeling, but she managed to hide it well.

She never did take that trip but instead had hoarded her money. There was more than enough in her savings for a nice house, one with room enough for Brenda to have her own space, something she sorely lacked in the group home. And then maybe they could take a trip together. But first, a house.

Putting down her pen, Sara logged back onto the internet and began to research the Las Vegas real estate market. She jotted down the names and numbers of some agents as she perused different houses for sale. She found herself veering away from the more traditional fare. Brenda's previous residence was what one would call a typical American house. Sara shut her eyes and pictured it as it had been when she drove up to assist Grissom on the case five years ago. The large front yard was dotted with clay rabbits that welcomed visitors to the Collins' home, its peaceful outside hiding the vicious secrets that lay therein.

Sara narrowed her focus to more abstract homes that were less Leave it to Beaver and more meet George Jetson. Brenda needed a fresh start and that meant living in a place that wasn't a replica of her former house of horrors. She found one that looked like the illegitimate love child of Frank Lloyd Wright and Salvador Dali, a mix of clean lines and surrealist bravado on a few acres of land not too far north of the heart of the city. Sara called the real estate agent and scheduled an appointment to see the property the following Monday. She continued searching, finding houses of interest and calling up for more information, sometimes making appointments for a closer look and sometimes deciding against going any further. She felt pumped. Having a purpose always gave Sara an adrenaline rush, and this seemed to be just about the biggest purpose of all. She was finding a home for Brenda. It would have to be perfect.

After entering her meetings with the real estate agents into her date book, Sara focused on the application once more. Under home address was occupation, and she cringed. Though Sara's night shift schedule didn't get in the way of her time with Brenda now, it would be a problem in the future. As Brenda's mentor, she was able to spend quality time with her after school and on the weekends without worrying -- not too much, anyway -- about how the little girl was spending her nights while she was at work. But as a single parent working the night shift, Sara would be there to pick Brenda up from school, but would have to leave for work late at night. She supposed she could get a nanny. Catherine managed to work nights for years and raise a daughter. Then again, Catherine had a support system of family to leave Lindsey with while she worked.

Sara had nobody.

She knew what she had to do. It made her nauseous to even think it, but there was only one way to solve this problem: she'd have to move to the dayshift.

If Sara worked the standard dayshift hours from eight in the morning until four in the afternoon, she'd be able to be in the lab while Brenda was in class, and then spend time with her after school without having to leave for work late at night. They'd be…normal. Or at least relatively so.

While a part of Sara was extremely eager that her plans were starting to gel in her mind, another part was mourning the end of an era. Leaving nightshift meant leaving Grissom. The morning and night crews often saw each other in the hallways during the shift switch at eight AM, and occasionally even worked together, but Sara would no longer be with Grissom, would no longer have the excuse of working extra hours just to be near him.

Though their relationship was a rollercoaster of ups and downs over the years, she had always been on his team. When times between them got rough, Sara had taken solace in that. Grissom had brought her to Vegas. He wanted her with him. He trusted her. And when he wasn't talking to her, she'd remind herself of how he could have had his pick of any CSI, but he chose her. It wasn't much, but when you had nothing at all, it was something.

TBC…