"I think I need to see something other than a death certificate," Laurel told Hotch that evening.
"What exactly would you want or need to see?" Hotch asked as he put his arm around her pulling her closer as they sat side-by-side on the couch in the living room of her hotel suite. They had finished eating dinner and, after a vigorous round of video games, Paige and Jack had fallen asleep in the two beds in the suite's bedroom.
"Probably his grave," Laurel replied slowly. "And, maybe his obituary in the local paper. People up there take obituaries very seriously, so that would be the final word."
"Anyone you would need to visit?" Hotch questioned. "I know you come from that area. But, you have never talked about your family or about the friends you grew up with."
"I never intended to go back," Laurel told him with a sigh. "I didn't want to have to admit that I had made a mistake or that I had failed."
"Everyone makes mistakes," Hotch reminded her. "And, believe it or not, at one time or another everyone has failed. The thing to remember is that you need to pick yourself up and get on with your life."
"You are assuming that there aren't people around who enjoy repeatedly rubbing it in," Laurel told him. "And, believe me, I was surrounded by them!"
"Not this time," Hotch told her. "I'll be there to protect you." Pulling her close, he passionately kissed her.
"Not this time," he repeated when they finally broke apart.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
"So, that's it," Laurel commented as they stood staring at the headstone engraved with the name Bradley Mercer and the years of his birth and death. "That is all that is left of him." She noted that there were fresh flowers on the grave, as well as on the grave next to it, which had the name Maxwell Mercer engraved on a matching stone.
She, Paige, and Hotch had flowed into Ford Airport in Grand Rapids, picked up a rental car, and driven north to Fairfield Township, where they were now standing in the county cemetery.
"Who is that again, Mom?" Paige asked curiously.
"That is your father," Laurel replied. "There is no reason why you should remember him. You were only three months old when we left."
"Why?" Paige asked.
"He was not a nice person," was the considered reply. "He hit me and then he tried to hit you. That's not the way to treat people."
"You probably asked for it," the raspy woman's voice came from behind them. "You always were too big for your britches."
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Mercer," Laurel turned to address the weather-beaten woman dressed in a flannel plaid shirt and beat-up trousers. "And, you are wrong. No one deserves to be beat up on by someone who is twice her size – No One!"
"Yeah – Right!" the woman snarked sarcastically. "You always did have something to say. Comes from having an 'education'." She spit the word out and then changed her focus to Paige.
"That my granddaughter?" she asked, moving closer to the girl.
"This is Bradley's daughter," Laurel confirmed as she put her arm protectively around Paige.
"And this is Aaron, my fiancé," she continued, motioning to Hotch who was standing next to her.
"My granddaughter," the woman pointedly ignored Hotch as she stared fixedly at Paige. "Didn't tell you about me, did they?" she asked.
Laurel took a deep breath. "Paige, this is your grandmother, Mrs. Mercer," she began. "You should say 'Hello' to her."
Paige glanced up, first at her mother and then at Hotch. Then, holding out her hand to shake, she stepped forward. "Hello, Mrs. Mercer," she said. "It is nice to meet you."
Without warning, the old woman grabbed the girl, wrapping her arms around her and pulling her against her substantial bosom. She then began stepping backwards, dragging Paige with her.
"Mom?" Paige was scared. "Mom – I can't breathe!"
"Mrs. Mercer," Hotch spoke up. "You need to let go of Paige. You are scaring her."
"I'm her grandmother and I have rights!" the woman declared.
"You're right, you do," Hotch agreed. "And, we will be glad to see that they are respected. However, those rights do not include terrifying Paige. So, please let go of her."
"I am entitled to regular visitation," the woman insisted. "Ellie Proctor down the road gets it with her grandkids - One afternoon a week."
"You are entitled," Laurel told her soothingly. "Now, if you will let Paige go we can discuss how we are going to handle it."
"Okay," the woman let go of Paige, who immediately fled, sobbing, back to her mother.
"Supervised visitation," Laurel specified once she had her arms safely around Paige. "And, no smoking around her."
"Supervised!" the woman thundered. "I raised three sons and you think I don't know how to take care of a kid?"
"Three sons and two of them are dead," Laurel pointed out, nodding towards the graves. "It looks like Max didn't outlast his older brother."
"Motorcycle accident," the woman muttered.
"Riding on that crazy dirt track with no helmet, I would assume," Laurel ventured a guess. She shook her head. "Some things never change."
"What about if we meet you tomorrow afternoon, with Paige, at that diner in town?" Hotch suggested. "That will give us a chance to line up a disinterested third party to observe how the first visit goes. We can decide from there how future visits will be handled."
"You had better be there!" was the warning as the woman walked away. "You can't hide from us – We'll find you and your fancy fiancée!"