Disclaimers, acknowledgements, and notes: see Chapters 1, 4
Grissom was silent the next morning, eating nothing and barely even touching his coffee. Sara finished off the cereal without trying to make him talk, and wondered again at an elderly woman loving a product geared towards children. They separated to dress, and met again at the car, Grissom providing terse directions.
The church wasn't far. It was a glorious day, full of sunlight and a gentle wind, and when Sara entered the church behind Grissom she found the sanctuary beyond to be a blaze of colored light as the sun poured in through the stained glass windows. The closed coffin sat at the front, between the pews and the steps leading up to the altar, and there were flowers everywhere. They were early, on purpose, and Grissom immediately went off to one side for a low-voiced discussion with the waiting priest, leaving Sara standing in the aisle and feeling awkward. Maybe I should have stayed in the car...
For lack of anything else to do, Sara sat down a few rows back from the front and looked around. There were the usual smaller niches off the sanctuary with statues and candles; the lines of the building were clean, and the small place was filled with light.
The priest strode off, and Sara turned to look over at Grissom, only to see him staring at the coffin bleakly, his face stark. Instinct kicked in again, and Sara rose and went out the far end of the pew, heading in the same direction as the priest. Grissom's head didn't turn as she passed, and she was grateful. He didn't need anyone around just then.
The side door through which the priest had gone gave out onto a narrow corridor with other doors opposite. Two of them were restrooms, and Sara shrugged and went into the ladies'. She could waste a little time brushing her hair, at least.
When she emerged a few minutes later, every hair in place, Sara almost ran into the priest. They both stepped back, murmuring apologies, and he gave her a warm smile. "Ms. Sidle, I presume?"
He was about Grissom's age, but taller, and balding, and thin almost to the point of cadaverousness; he exuded cheerfulness and the sort of stability that Sara had come to associate with trustworthy people, the same solid reliability that Brass wore. She gave him a wry smile and offered her hand. "Guilty as charged."
His grip was cool and firm. "I'm Father Tallison. It's very good of you to help out like this."
Sara shrugged, uncomfortable. "Luck of the draw, really. If things had been a little different, it would have been one of the others."
"Another of your colleagues?"
"Yeah." She shifted her purse from one shoulder to the other. "Grissom might have been more comfortable with one of them, actually."
The priest gave her a long look, kind and piercing. "I very much doubt that." Sara's brows went up at the implication, and Tallison laughed. "He hasn't been talking about you, if that's what you're thinking. But the very fact that he asked you to come this morning shows that he thinks a great deal of you."
He began walking back down the corridor, and perforce Sara went with him. "Besides, Robin mentioned you a couple of times, which meant that he must have talked about you to her."
Sara bit back the query just in time to save herself embarrassment. He must mean Grissom's mother. Now that's a name I haven't heard in a while. "Well, we've known each other a long time."
Tallison pulled open the door through which they'd entered and ushered her back out into the sanctuary. A few people were already gathering near the back, but there was no sign of Grissom.
"The front right pew is reserved for family," Tallison said in an undertone. "You can go ahead and sit down there if you like. Gil's probably out greeting people."
Sara blinked at the image of the reserved Dr. Grissom in some kind of receiving line, and didn't bother to point out that she wasn't family. Tallison hurried off again, and Sara headed towards the back of the church, tucking herself in a corner near the rear pews to people-watch. The church filled up fairly quickly, and the crowd was quieter than usual, even for a funeral; Sara noted that many of them were using sign language. Makes sense. Mrs. Grissom was deaf for at least forty years, if not longer; she must have been part of the local Deaf community.
The church was almost full when Sara spotted Ted wheeling in his grandmother; they were followed by a couple a little older than Grissom, and a young woman with dyed black hair and a pierced lip. They filed up to the front, the chair fitting neatly in at a space at the end of the pew, but no one else sat with them, and Sara guessed that Grissom didn't have much family.
Sara looked around and realized that there were few seats left, and decided she had better claim one before the people still coming in took them all. Choosing one on the aisle, she moved towards it, only to have her hand taken in a warm clasp before she reached it. What the--
Startled, she looked over to see Grissom. He didn't look at her, but his fingers laced into hers and he kept walking towards the front. Taken aback, Sara went along.
They sat at the aisle end of the pew, just down from Marie and her family; Grissom kept hold of her hand. Sara let him, uncertain as to why he seemed to feel the need, and a small part of her rather guiltily luxuriated in the touch.
The service was solemn, but not somber. When Tallison emerged to begin it, he was accompanied by a young woman in a dark blue dress, who stood to one side of the altar and interpreted the songs with graceful gestures; Tallison signed along with his liturgy, and Sara was able to catch maybe one sign in six. The songs were printed in the bulletin, which was fortunate for Sara, since Grissom did not relinquish her hand so she could hold a hymnbook. She sang; he did not; and they stood and sat as directed, as the priest spoke the ancient words of death and life and the organ poured forth music that many of the worshipers could not hear.
A few people came up in turn to speak about Mrs. Grissom, with the young woman interpreting to sign or voice as needed, and Sara learned that Grissom's mother had been a generous and intelligent soul who had survived difficult times to run a successful art gallery. An outline formed in her mind of someone giving and strong, with a deep sense of humor, and Sara's suspicion that she would have liked Mrs. Grissom grew to a near-certainty. At times during the monologues, Grissom's grip would tighten, though when Sara risked a glance at him his face showed nothing but a clenched jaw.
But finally he let her go as the last speaker stepped down, and rose himself to walk to the podium. Sara sat up a little straighter as he began to speak, for he was also signing. Her mind raced as she automatically tried to match the signs with his words, but at the same time she was listening.
"My mother was a strong woman," Grissom said, looking thoughtfully out over the heads of the listeners. "That's been said already, but it bears repeating. She was strong in a time that expected a woman to need a man to lean on, and she was strong through a change that could have destroyed her.
"But she was also a dreamer. She looked at the world and envisioned what could be--both in terms of life, and of art. That's why she ran a gallery--she saw the potential in people, and wanted to encourage it. She looked at me, and saw what I could be, and told me to go ahead and achieve it, even if it meant that her back shed was filled with bugs and semi-preserved dissections." He gave the crowd a small half-smile as a faint wave of amusement rustled through, and Sara realized that he was treating his speech as though he were lecturing--speaking about a passion, but at one remove, so as to remain in control.
"She took a change that could have been a tragedy, and turned it into a gift." Grissom nodded to his audience in salute to the Deaf members. "She taught me that being Deaf doesn't mean being handicapped, and that being different isn't always a bad thing.
"I don't know if she'd be entirely happy with me right now. You know mothers; they always want more for their children." A raised brow, and another whisper of laughter. "But I know she was proud of me, and that was one of the best gifts I could give her, the gift of proving that her faith in me was not misplaced.
"She was a woman of strength, and courage, and she lived a full and fruitful life. I know she would have chosen a quick death over a lingering one, and I imagine that all in all, she's pretty satisfied." His mouth twisted in wry acknowledgement, and he lowered his hands and stepped down from the podium, resuming his seat at Sara's side.
She looked over as the priest moved forward to finish the service. Grissom was pale again, and his hands were clenched as they rested on his thighs. Sara reached over and took his near hand in hers, wrapping her fingers around his and forcing them open so that she could clasp his hand properly.
She didn't have to try very hard. Sara could feel the tremor in his fingers as his grip tightened again, and she ran her thumb over his, trying to soothe. And then the final hymn was over, and the crowd began to file out.
Grissom released her again as they made their slow way out of the church, but he kept reaching out to cup her elbow or touch her back, to keep her with him, and she took care not to stray. Part of her wondered what Grissom's family thought of his behavior, but she didn't care much; as long as her presence helped him in some way, stay she would.
In the space outside the sanctuary, his family split off and away. "We're meeting for lunch at Marie's before the interment," Grissom told Sara quietly, and she nodded, and then inhaled when his grip on her elbow abruptly tightened. His gaze was fixed across the room, and Sara frowned, wondering what he saw in the threesome of Deaf people signing to one another. Then one of them turned a little, and she knew.
The woman was older and plumper, and her hair was silver-streaked and pulled back in a chignon, but it was the same face from the studio photograph in Mrs. Grissom's album. Sara turned to Grissom, planning an innocent question as to why he was holding her arm so hard, but just then his grip loosened and his lips turned up in a sad smile. Moving his hand to the small of her back again, Grissom guided her out into the sunlight, leaving the trio behind.
The luncheon passed in a kind of fog. The whole morning had seemed surreal, Grissom thought as he stared at the sandwich he wasn't eating; not blurred, exactly, but with certain moments standing out with extreme clarity while others vanished almost completely. For instance, I can't remember a word I said during the service.
Sara's hand, however, had been a steadying constant. He hadn't even considered that she might pull away; in the midst of his stress, he had reached for her, and she had not failed him. She had even moved to take his hand again, not allowing him to withdraw into himself. Grissom knew he needed to think about that, but this wasn't the time.
"At least have something to drink." Marie's soft voice broke into his thoughts, and he looked up. His aunt lifted a glass from the cupholder on her wheelchair and held it out, and a small smile fought its way onto his lips.
"Aren't I a little old for milk?"
Marie shrugged, brief humor warring with the sorrow in her eyes. "If you won't eat--"
He took the glass. "Maybe I should demand a cookie to go with it."
She sniffed in mock outrage. "Drink it, or I'll call your friend over to make you."
Grissom raised the glass in a salute and took a swallow, wondering how his aunt could encapsulate so much of his relationship with Sara in so few words...and how she had observed so much. Sara was certainly acting as a friend, at least, and Marie had her pegged as someone who would be willing to bully Grissom into doing something.
He looked around. Sara was leaning elegantly against a doorframe, holding a plate and talking with Ted. He didn't wonder at how quickly she'd charmed the young man; after all, she'd done it to him too.
And then loss crashed in on him again, and he set the milk aside.
Robin Grissom was laid to rest in a green and sunny spot, surrounded by her small family and one woman who again felt herself an outsider, if a welcomed one. Grissom guided Sara over the lush grass to the open grave, but did not take her hand again, and six people stood and one sat as Father Tallison conducted the brief interment service over the coffin. Its rich wood shone in the sunlight; the wind was full of the scent of trees, and birds were singing somewhere. Sara thought that the cemetery looked like anything but a place of death.
When it was over, the small group turned away, Ted's father wrestling Marie's wheelchair back towards the pavement, but Grissom lingered, and Sara halted a few yards away, unwilling either to disturb him or to leave him. She folded her arms and turned away a little to give him some privacy, but out of the corner of her eye she saw him place a hand on the coffin for a long moment, then make two simple gestures. Her heart broke when the wind brought her the sound of his voice accompanying the signs.
"'Bye, Mom."
See Chapter 6