"Forever is composed of nows."
-Emily Dickinson.
September came, and with it the first signs of autumn. The weather took a turn, the wind changing direction and bringing with it cooler temperatures. Seemingly overnight, the leaves on the linden trees lining the streets and riverbanks turned yellow and began to fall. Rain set in after a few days, a fine, misty rain that turned Paris grey and sad and should have, but didn't manage to dampen the mood indoors. Grissom was happy, and grateful, and not even the rain could change that.
Those weeks since he'd been discharged went by in a flash and quite uneventfully. Every day he got a little stronger. Every day, rain or not, he would take Hank out and walk a little further. Every day, Sara would marvel at his strength, courage and fortitude, both mentally and physically, despite the considerable pain he still suffered. His appetite hadn't fully returned; he felt nauseous at the mere sight of food, but he made himself try to eat at least half the portion she put on his plate every meal and religiously drank Betty's green smoothies.
Consequently his weight wasn't back to what it was directly before the operation, and Sara made it her mission that before it was time to leave it would be. She'd always thought it was easier to put on weight that to lose it, but in this case she was sadly proved wrong. One lunch time, she watched worriedly as once again he pushed food around his plate before he folded his cutlery across it and looked up at her, his shoulder lifting in apology. He'd not even managed his usual half. Betty stopped eating and was watching them.
"I'm sorry," he said, "It's very nice…"
"But you're full," Sara concluded, and quickly finished the mouthful of risotto she was half-way through chewing.
"I'll finish it for dinner, I promise."
Betty's head went back and forth as she followed the exchange. Knowing there was no point in forcing the issue, Sara just gave him a warm smile and nodded her head. Little and often, she reminded herself, that was what they had been advised. She'd just have to make sure he ate a good snack to make up for it.
Grissom patted his non-existent paunch. "I'm saving some space for dessert," he signed to his mother, who nodding her head gave him an indulgent smile.
At the end of the meal Sara stood up and was gathering their plates and cutlery when Betty put her hand on Sara's arm, stopping her. Sara turned to her mother-in-law with surprise, automatically sitting back down. Grissom was watching his mother intently. It was clear from her sombre expression that Betty had something to tell them.
"What is it?" Grissom signed, a look of alarm crossing his face.
Covering Grissom's hand with hers, Betty gave her son a reassuring smile. "Nothing bad's happened," she signed, "So don't worry." She looked over at Sara and then back at Grissom. "I just think that…it's time for me to go home."
Sara snapped her gaze to her husband. His eyes were lowered, he was nodding. It was hard to tell what he was thinking. Sara and Betty exchanged glances, and Sara smiled. "Gil?" she called.
Grissom looked up, smiled. "Sorry," he said, shaking his head as he refocused, and turned to his mother. "When?"
"Next Monday."
Grissom frowned. "But that's when I have my follow-up appointment at the hospital."
Betty grimaced. "I know, but the flight isn't until the evening. I asked for a flight later in the week, but they couldn't get an interpreter to fly with me at such short notice."
Grissom sighed, nodded.
"You are coming home, aren't you?"
They still hadn't booked their flights home, not until Dr Fournier gave the go-ahead that Grissom was fit and healthy to fly. Any signs of infection or that Grissom wasn't healing well after the operation at the follow-up visit on Monday, and Sara would have no choice but to leave him behind. She had promised DB she'd be back on October third and she couldn't let him down; he'd covered for her enough as it was. She knew she was cutting it fine booking her own flights back, but she worried that if she and Grissom booked their flights separately they might not be able to travel together. And Hank too needed to be taken into consideration.
"Of course," Grissom replied with conviction, and Sara hoped he was right. "I just thought we'd all be flying back together, that's all. You wouldn't need an interpreter then."
Betty paused. She looked over at Sara and smiled before refocusing on her son. Her expression was as earnest as her signing. "These past weeks with you, and Sara," she added, glancing at Sara, "have been wonderful. I will cherish that time…despite the cancer."
Grissom nodded his head and smiled at his mother. "Me too."
"It's brought us closer, closer than we've been for a long time," Betty went on, and paused, forcing a trembling smile. Her eyes now shone with a film of tears. She touched her hand to Grissom's cheek. "Seeing you ill has been heart-breaking, by far the hardest thing I've had to cope with in my life, but I'm glad…I'm glad I could be there for you, Gil."
Betty paused, and Sara glanced at her husband; she could tell how moved he was by his mother's openness. Betty visibly saw it too and reached for her son's hands on the table and gave them a strong squeeze, before lifting her hands again to sign, "But now it's time I went. You and Sara need time on your own before you too have to leave. Time to pack up and say goodbye to the place you've called home for quite a long time now."
Grissom smiled, then he swallowed and nodded his head. Sara's hand lifted to Betty's shoulder, patting gratefully. When Betty turned toward her, Sara touched her hand to her chin in thanks. She too was moved by Betty's words. Betty signed something Sara didn't understand, and frowning she turned to Grissom for clarification.
"She said she was leaving me in good hands," Grissom said in a chuckle.
Often, and especially if it was raining, Sara would catch Grissom staring out of the closed window at the street below. He'd be holding the net curtain aside, looking pensive and wistful, and she would wonder at his thoughts, at whether he truly wanted to leave Paris, or whether he'd only agreed to return to Vegas for her. Unfailingly, he would feel her eyes on him, turn toward her with a smile and beckon her over so she could share in his moment. His arm would drape across her shoulder and he'd hold her to him. Her fears and doubts would vanish instantly.
He was making the most of the wet weather and had started sorting through stacks of paperwork, lecture notes and textbooks piled up high on the bureau and filling the drawers, tossing away in the trash far too much for Sara's liking. It all seemed too final all of a sudden, almost as though he was doing away with the last two years in Paris. He argued that it would cost too much to ship everything back to America, that he wouldn't need any of it anymore anyway, and besides he had his memories.
On the Monday of his appointment, the Monday Betty was due to leave, as she waited for him on that cold concrete bench staring at the water, Sara felt more than ever grateful that she had put her life in Vegas on hold, for her husband and to save her marriage. Heather had always been a dear friend to Grissom, but she'd now become a dear friend to her too, because God knows how the rest of her life would have turned out had they not met and talked over that drink.
Tears rose, prickling the back of her eyes at the mere thought of a future without Grissom. Ever since that first email Sara had sent to update Heather after his surgery, the communication between the two had flown back and forth, Heather ever-so-concerned and yet full of optimism and positivity about Grissom's status. Sara knew she owed Heather a tremendous debt of gratitude she would never be able to repay.
A bâteau-mouche sailed past, refocusing her attention. Idly she watched the few tourists huddled in their coats, their heads looking up at the cathedral beyond her through camera viewfinders. She checked her watch and looked over her shoulder at the path for signs of his return. It was nearing lunchtime; he should have been back by now. What if the news was bad, she wondered, immediately chastising herself for her negative thinking?
She had wanted to go with him for the check-up, but he had insisted that it would be routine and that she'd have to wait outside for most of it anyway. So in the end they had agreed that she would walk in with him to the hospital and that, after running a few errands, she would wait for him on what they now called their bench by the river – leur banc au bord de la rivière – a bench which had come to mean so much to them, which had so much history, so many happy and sad memories attached to it.
The rain had let up for the morning, but the air so near the water was particularly frigid and damp, and turning back toward the water Sara instinctively wrapped her arms around herself, fighting off the cold. She was reaching inside her purse for her cell when a gentle hand on her shoulder made her turn with a smile. Grissom leaned down and they kissed.
He was looking very French with his new cashmere scarf – a gift from Betty – wrapped around his neck and tucked under the lapels of his coat. But his catching pneumonia in this weather was sadly a very real concern despite all the precautions and the daily mild antibiotic he took to prevent such occurrence. Sara tried to glean a clue as to the doctor's verdict from his expression but his poker face was firmly in place.
Moving her purse to her other side, she scooted over on the bench and he sat down next to her. "Dr Fournier was running late when I got there," he said. "You been waiting long?"
Smiling, Sara gave a quick headshake. "So, what did he say?"
His shoulder lifted. His lips twitched with a smile he wasn't able to keep in. "We can go ahead and book the tickets," he said excitedly, and Sara's face lit up with delight. "We're good to go!"
"Really?"
Laughing, he gave her a firm nod. "Yep. Everything's healing as it should. Dr Fournier had hoped I'd changed my mind, but when I told him "No Way," he just shrugged and told me that, anticipating such a reply, he'd got in touch with the Comprehensive Cancer Centers of Nevada in Vegas and sent the head honcho there a summary of my file. He's hoping to make a trip over very soon, see if they can get a joint study going, wondered if we could put him up."
"He did not," Sara exclaimed loudly, once again shocked at the cheek of the French.
Grissom feigned meekness. "Not really. He just said it'd be nice to meet up, see how I'm doing." His expression darkened. "I think it's hard for him to let go, you know? He doesn't think his work is completely done. He and his team made this, now, possible, and I'll always be grateful, and now I'm leaving."
Sara's smile faded and she nodded her head. Those doubts about his not truly wanting to leave resurfaced. "Did you mention the tightness in your abdomen to him?"
Grissom gave a slow nod. "I did. The wound has healed well and he says the tightness and achiness is normal, that it should ease over time. Just to take care for a few more weeks; not to lift anything or do strenuous exercise. Carry on like we've been doing really." He pinched his lips, stifling a smile. "Dr Fournier kindly asked me to remind you that full healing from the op will take six months to a year."
Sara laughed. "Point taken."
Grissom stretched his legs out in front of him and looking out in the middle distance in front of him took a moment to catch his breath. Sara was reaching inside her purse for his surprise when he asked, "You got anything to eat?"
She turned toward him. He was eying the baguette sticking out of her grocery bag with interest. Smiling, she bent down and broke off the very end which she handed to him.
"I will miss that," he said, picking at a bit of crust.
"We can get French bread in Vegas."
"No," he replied through a mouthful of bread, "I meant, walking to the shops every day; fresh bread, fresh croissants," he said with a pointed look in her direction, and finished chewing. "You know, in all this time I never once missed not having a car. Not a single time." He gave a chuckle, shook his head. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so…maudlin."
"No. I know. I understand. It's okay." She offered him a faint smile. "This place has a special place in your heart."
"It has, but don't get me wrong," he said earnestly, picking up on her own sudden melancholy. "I'm happy to be going home. This cancer has given me a lot of perspective. I've realised that…it's not where you are that's important, but the people you're with." Grissom picked up her hand, brought it to his lips and deposited the softest of kisses on it. "This place without you – and my mother," he added in a chuckle, "is just a place, it's not a home. It's not my home."
Sara's eyes welled with tears, happy tears she managed to hold on to. She pulled her hand out of his grasp and gently stroked it to his face.
"I don't know how much time I've got left," he said in a whisper, and smiled a tight smile, "but I do know I want to spend as much of that time with you."
Too choked up for words, Sara could only nod her head at him. Again, he was the one making the sacrifice of going back to Vegas, but she needed to work. She wished she could relocate to Paris for him, but they'd tried that and it hadn't worked, quite the opposite. And then there was her mother to consider; Laura wasn't doing so well again right now and kept asking whenever they spoke on the phone when Sara would be back.
They watched each other silently for a long moment, oblivious of their surroundings and of the passing of time, before Grissom pushed to his feet. "Come on," he said, gently pulling her up by the hand, "Let's go home. My mother will be waiting." They were due to have their last lunch with Betty, who was all packed and ready to go home on the evening flight. He took another big bite of his chunk of baguette. "And I'm hungry."
"You sent her a text?" Sara asked, and to his nod of acquiescence tugged his hand back. "Not so fast then. I got something I want to give you first."
A frown creasing his brow, Grissom resumed his spot by her side on the bench and finished chewing. "Make it quick, because I need to pee."
Reaching for her purse, Sara had a moment's hesitation. "It's okay. This can wait." She shouldered her purse and made to get up. "You're right; we should get going."
Grissom paused in his tracks. His interest was piqued, she could tell. "I can hold."
She brought her eyes up, held his. Her smile was shy and hesitant. "If you need to go…"
"Sara, don't do this. I said I could hold. I shouldn't have rushed you like that. What is it you want to give me?"
Her smile grew despite herself, and instinctively so did his.
"Sara?"
Without any more hesitation she lowered her purse and reaching inside it pulled out the ring box. She looked up at him, smiled more wildly. He was staring at the box in her trembling hands. "I—I…" she opened the box, shrugged, and took a breath. "I thought this would be the best place…" She glanced up again, hesitantly this time, unsure of his reaction, but his eyes were glued to the box. "I had it resized," she said at last and he looked up at her with look of sheer awe and love. Her shoulder lifted again. "I wanted to wait until you'd put all the weight you'd lost back on to do it but…"
"You've realised that that's not going to happen."
She swallowed, gave him a small nod. "So…I went ahead and had it resized anyway." She pulled the ring out of the box and took his left hand, which felt cold and rough at the touch and shook as much as hers. "I hope it fits," she said. "I mean, it should still feel a bit loose, you know, to accommodate the weight you are going to put back on but..."
He leaned across and kissed her lips, cutting her short. "It's perfect," he said, pulling back, a soft smile on his lips. "Thank you." He raised his hand in front of them and fingered the ring with the thumb of the same hand. "It fits perfectly."
As hand in hand they slowly walked home, Sara noticed that Grissom's eyes roamed all over the place, at buildings, shops and cafés, at the blue archetypal plaques naming streets and bridges, seemingly committing every single detail to memory. Once home, when they told Betty the good news relief filled her features and she patted her son's cheeks fondly, proudly, just as she might have done once upon a time when he'd brought home perfect report cards and test scores.
After lunch Grissom and Betty took a short nap, the former in bed, the latter on the couch, and Sara shut herself in the kitchen with the iPad to begin searching for flights. They had about two weeks until they would need to leave; two weeks in which to pack up the apartment and say their goodbyes to Paris. Those four months by his side had flown by, all things considered.
Betty's luggage was all packed, ready to be picked up from the hotel reception. Grissom had booked a taxi, which came for them at three-thirty pm on the dot, stopped by Betty's hotel for her luggage and got to Charles de Gaulle in plenty of time for the flight at six-thirty. Betty insisted on paying the fare and gave Grissom her leftover euros to settle the fare for their return journey, instructing him to do something nice with what was left.
After checking in Betty's luggage, as they waited at the airline desk for the interpreter, a woman pushing a luggage cart piled high with suitcases bumped into Grissom. She wasn't going fast, but the blow was hard enough to destabilise him. With a wince he brought his hand to his side and gave it a rub. The woman looked up from her cell and apologised profusely, but the harm was already done.
Sara stared at Grissom, her eyes pained, enquiring. "I'm fine," he said, silently adding, "No need to alarm my mother." And glancing at Betty who was looking away, she nodded her head. When Betty turned back toward them Grissom plastered a smile on his face that didn't fool Sara in the least.
An agent for United Airline came for Betty, and warm goodbyes were exchanged. "Don't forget to drink the smoothies," Betty signed, looking very emotional, and Grissom leaned across for another hug. When Betty finally walked away, she wasn't the only one with tears in her eyes. Sara's hand rose to Grissom's arm and she patted it comfortingly. He turned toward her. His sadness was plain to see, but Sara was grateful for her mother-in-law's selfless act.
They turned away, automatically heading back the way they had come, through the dense crowds to the taxi rank. They walked slowly, carefully, Grissom absently rubbing his side. Sara could only watch, fearing the worst. In the cab, sat up front, he reached inside his coat pocket for his painkillers, shook two out and swallowed them dry. Slowly he laid his head back on the headrest and closed his eyes.
Two weeks, and they too would be making the return journey to Vegas. Or would they?
