"Second Chances – Part 11"
August 9, 2005 (Day 109)
Crime Lab
Grissom's Office
4:13 a.m.
Grissom sat staring at Hodges and Greg, who were occupying his guest chairs. While he was patiently waiting for them to produce their cashier's checks he ran through the details of the arrangement. "When I see Nick I'll have him lock up the checks in his office. He'll give them to Carrie, who is coming by to see him at ten this morning. She'll make restitution with the bar owner this afternoon on your behalf and her bill will be in the mail to each of you by five o'clock."
"Here you go, Boss." Greg reluctantly forked over his $500 check. "I'll miss it, but it's a hell of a lot better than the alternative."
"Absolutely." Grissom smiled. "With that hair, you'd be the Belle of the Ball in jail, Greggy. Remember that should you ever get close to crossing the line again."
"Here." Hodges slapped his $500 check on the desk. "Besides this, I had to pay a $50 co-pay at the Emergency Room, plus prescription costs and look at me! My down time with the ladies is priceless." Focusing his two black eyes on Greg he glared. "This sucks."
"So did what you said about my girlfriend," Greg calmly informed him. "So maybe you better think twice before you open your mouth and insult a woman's dignity. Sure, I'll be controlling myself in the future but who knows…you could say something about another guy's woman and he might kill you. It's like road rage…you just never know who you're going to set off and what he's capable of on a bad day."
Hodges grumbled, "Thanks for the advice, Sanders. I hope you're listening to it yourself. Think twice about popping someone in the face with your fist, they might come back at you with a knife or a gun."
"Very good, boys. Sounds like you've thought things through." Grissom smiled approvingly. "David, here is your counseling information. You need to set up your first session within five days." He handed over the packet. "That's all I have for you, you're free to go back to Trace."
"Thanks." Hodges quickly stood and headed for the door. "The whole place is falling apart because I wasn't here yesterday."
Greg fought the urge to retort and remained seated. "I suppose you have one of those packets for me too?"
"Uh huh." Grissom slid the large envelope toward Greg. "But there's something extra in yours. You get to spend the next six Saturday mornings with me at Anger Management class."
"You're going with me?" He was surprised by the information. "Oh…do you have to go because you're my supervisor?" Great, he thought, one more reason for Grissom to get ticked at me.
"No, it's voluntary. I thought it might prevent me from snapping at you in the future." Sighing, he sat back in his chair. "That's not the only reason. Under certain conditions, like you, I can be a little too quick to anger. I need to work on that."
"And you wanted to be in class with me." Greg smiled. "I'm feeling the love again."
"Don't read too much into it. They always make you partner up in these programs and if I'm going to have to share, I'd rather share stuff with you than a total stranger."
"Cool. We can carpool and listen to the radio." Greg relaxed in his seat for the first time since taking it. "On the way home, we can test out what you've learned. I'll play the most irritating music I can find and see if you lose it."
"There's a new twist on road rage."
Suddenly Greg panicked. "Wait! Did you say the next six Saturdays?"
"Yes."
"Labor Day weekend included?"
"Oh…" Grissom searched his desk. "…I believe the schedule said there was no class on that day." Tossing on his glasses, he read the paper. "No class Labor Day Weekend. That's right…you have the time off to visit your parents. You do every year."
"This year is special because I'm bringing Tawny to meet the folks." Racing his fingers through his flat-ironed hair, he moaned, "And I have to break the news about the baby to my dad. Talk about someone needing Anger Management."
"I always thought you had a good relationship with your father." Grissom leaned forward. Father-son issues were of particular interest considering his situation of late. "Don't you?"
"We do ninety-nine percent of the time." Greg fidgeted in his seat. "But when I do something really disappointing…look out. He doesn't get violent or anything if that's what you're worried about. He just verbally berates me and makes me feel like a colossal failure before I can explain or show I'm taking accountability. Uh…kind of like how you did last night, only worse." Lighting up, he announced, "I know! Since you act just like my dad in the same situation, I can role play it with you."
"You want me to pretend to be your father?" Grissom scratched at his beard.
"It will be good practice for you in case the kid you eventually have is a boy and he gets a girl pregnant."
"There's something I need to think about." Grissom shook his head. Considering the status of the Feasibility Study, the talk of being a father was especially painful. "Uh…"
"We don't have to do it now, we've got time." Greg held up his counseling packet. "We can do it at one of our Anger Management sessions."
"I look forward to it," Grissom lied.
"Speaking of sessions..." Greg glanced over his shoulder. "Tawny told me she has her first therapy appointment with Dr. Myers today."
"Good." He didn't let on that Catherine had mentioned it already.
"Last night, when I wanted to ride with you to the scene and you refused, I wanted to talk about this arrangement you made for her."
"Sorry…I really wasn't myself yesterday."
"You're paying out of your pocket, aren't you?" Greg smiled. "A little more secret philanthropy? I know you're the wallet behind Nick and Sara's backpack project too."
"I felt obligated to help after the magazine I brought over set off Tawny." Grissom explained, "She doesn't have insurance. She can't go on yours because you're not married. I know what you make, Greg, and you can't afford Dr. Myers, and I wanted her to get some quality help. I hope I didn't step on your toes…"
"Not at all." He shrugged. "The most important thing is that she gets some help. My pride is secondary to her well being."
"Now that's something worth absorbing," Grissom remarked in a surprised tone.
"But you already know that," He laughed. "At the police station, remember? You advised that I wouldn't do Tawny or the baby any good if I went to jail so I should stop listening to my ego and shut the hell up."
Once again Grissom wondered, why the hell don't I listen to my own damn advice!
"Back to this Anger Management program…" Greg changed to a mischievous tone. "The only out of control emotion it's going to reign in is anger, right? I mean they're not going to brainwash me into an emotion zombie, are they? Because I personally like feeling out of control."
"Really?" It was an unfathomable concept to Grissom.
Greg's eyes fired as he explained, "Like last night for example, I was on a downward spiral and then Tawny swooped in and together we went into a whole new zone. I loved the rush…I'm still reeling from it today." He could tell Grissom wasn't tracking. "It's like surfing…one minute you're on calm, glassy water then all of a sudden a wave is coming at you and you're scrambling; you go for the ride and by the time you're done, whether you wiped out or not…mind, body and soul, you're exhilarated. I need that. It's the only thing separating me from the corpses I see every day. I can't live any other way. I know if I tried, I'd end up dying on the inside."
Grissom sat listening as if he were observing an alien life form.
"You remember how tweaked I was when I found out about the pregnancy…look at me now!" He enthusiastically tossed up his arms. "From hell to heaven in a matter of weeks. I'm flying!"
"There's a medical term for this you know…mania." Grissom folded his arms. "There's also medication available to control it."
"Are you kidding?" He scoffed. "I don't want to be medicated out of this…it's what life is supposed to feel like."
"Don't you think you're setting yourself up for a fall?" With his curiosity piqued, he nosed, "Aren't you worried that one day you and Tawny will disagree or she'll do something to make you come crashing down and the rush will be gone as fast as it came?"
"That's bound to happen, so why worry about it?" He shrugged. "Waves always end but more keep coming…good, bad, whatever…at least I'm riding now instead of sitting on the beach watching everyone else."
Having grown up by the ocean it was easy for Grissom to visualize Greg's analogy. Understanding why he enjoyed the unrestrained feeling was much harder.
"I'm actually looking forward to my first argument with Tawny."
"Now you've really lost me." Grissom gaped at the boy. "Why?"
"Once we have one, there won't be the pressure of waiting for the first one to happen plus, I know making up will be mind blowing." Bouncing in his seat, he grinned. "Channeling all those strong emotions into one explosive kiss followed by…you know…totally out of control passion-fueled lovin'. Wow…I'm really oversharing now. You must be twitching for me to shut the hell up."
"Yeah." Grissom shooed him. "I used to think your addictions were hair gel, gourmet coffee and bad music, but now I realize you're an adrenaline junkie and emotion is your fix."
Greg stood up laughing. "Don't knock passion-fueled make-up lovin' until you've tried it."
"What makes you think I haven't?" He huffed.
"Because you wouldn't have asked 'why' I was looking forward to an argument with Tawny if you had."
As he watched Greg stroll out of his office, Grissom realized he had done for most of his life what his emotionally enthusiastic co-worker feared most…kept all emotions, even the good ones, under control while sitting on the beach watching everyone else go for a ride.
His thoughts turned to one of the strongest emotional displays he ever made, his post-Tahoe plea for Sara to stay in Vegas followed by their first kiss…
It was a kiss for her tired soul to melt into and Sara's body responded with a pleasure-fused sigh. After starting out sweet, like their flirtatious friendship years ago, the kiss deepened and slowed like their relationship had over time and in its last breathless moments, a mutual passion ignited…foreshadowing a delicious intensity yet to come.
When their lips parted their eyes opened, exposing their mutual satisfaction and burning desires they knew they would find a way to make the relationship work.
Finally able to speak, Sara whispered, "Wow…um…pretty spontaneous for two supposedly un-spontaneous people."
With their bodies still clasped, he barely mustered a coherent thought "Agreed."
"Makes you wonder what other impromptu actions we're capable of…exhibiting." Grinning, Sara coyly asked, "Are you uh…thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Actually I'm thinking two things…well only one is a thought really, the other is more of a..." Taking a deep breath and a step back, he answered her question. "I think we should go out and grab some lunch… analyze how we're going to handle our working relationship now that we've decided to start a personal relationship."
That moment was one of those out of control moments but we reined it in quick because we were afraid of giving into those feelings. We always do that. We've never let our emotions carry us away…into the bedroom...a little further into each other's hearts.
We're so similar that we couldn't help each other. She went to therapy to confront her issues. I didn't. She's made progress. I haven't. The notes she writes…she's freeing a part of herself and she's hoping I'll do the same.
Shoreline Cabins
6:21 a.m.
Sara, dressed to go running, sat at the kitchen table sipping orange juice and reviewing her morning's work.
To Professor Hawkins,
Remember me, Sara Sidle? I was the overachieving eighteen year old student in your Organic Chem class who you knew wanted to please you. Looking back, I think we both know you played me. I know I wasn't the first or the last girl you played either. Hopefully you've changed your behavior and realize that fragile young women aren't your play toys. I no longer feel guilty over getting that A. I deserved it.
To Professor Samuels,
Remember me, Sara Sidle? I was the overachieving nineteen year old student in your Sociology class who you knew wanted to please you. Looking back, I think we both know you played me. I know I wasn't the first or the last girl you played either. Hopefully you've changed your behavior and realize that fragile young women aren't your play toys. I no longer feel guilty over getting that A. I deserved it.
To Professor Conway,
Remember me, Sara Sidle? I was the overachieving twenty year old student in your Art History class who you knew wanted to please you. Thanks for being honest with me from start to finish, for the best six months of my time spent at Harvard, for teaching me to dance and most of all for proving that not all men are pigs. I hope you're doing well. Sara
Getting up, she placed her empty orange juice glass in the kitchen sink and holding her three postcards, she walked over to the fireplace and pitched them into the flames.
Mesmerized by the wilting pictures on the cards, she was easily startled when the phone rang.
After two rings, it stopped for a moment and when it started again, she picked up the receiver. "Morning, Jim."
"Sleep well?"
"Actually, yes. Even though I'm sleeping on the couch." Plopping down in a chair, she inhaled deeply. "I'm really clearing my head."
"Good."
Tapping her fingers on her thigh, she nervously inquired, "Have you spoken with him again?"
"Five minutes ago."
"Did he ask about me?"
"First words out of his mouth were, have you spoken to Sara followed by, does she sound okay and, are you sure she is safe?"
"How does he look?"
"Like a lovesick idiot who realizes he screwed up the best thing he ever had going."
Closing her eyes she could picture the expression. "What else did he say?"
"I thought you didn't want to know this stuff?"
"That was yesterday."
"Okay." Brass's words were preceded by a laugh. "It's more like what didn't he say? He dropped a shit load of random information on me and I don't think it was because he was up for some male bonding."
"Like what?" She felt a smile rising along with the sun out side.
"Oh, things like, Greg has to take an Anger Management class because of his run-in with Hodges so he signed up to go along. That he has an ENT appointment this morning so he can't pull a double. When we got coffee he made a point of going on and on about not using cream and how he needed to watch what he was eating because of his health. He said since you'll be missing your therapy appointment today, he's planning on stopping by to speak with Dr. Myers about a special case so he doesn't waste money on an unused session. And lastly, and most confusing, he said you're a lobster. Hey…I'm being pulled into a conference call so I've got to scoot. Call me later if you have something for me to relay. Take care."
"Bye." Grinning, she hung up the phone and translated the code…
He signed up for Anger Management class with Greg – he knows he has a problem and is getting help.
He has an ENT appointment this morning – he's not avoiding his hearing test because he knows I'd be pissed. He understands the importance of keeping on top of the issue and keeping me informed. He's not handling it like his mother did.
He passed on the cream in his coffee – it's in reference to the love note I left him in the nursery. He's being the kind of husband who knows his wife loves him too much to lose him before it's time…so he skips the cream in his coffee. He wants to show he's still that kind of husband.
He's stopping by Dr. Myers's office to speak about a special case – he's putting himself in therapy. Even though he's told me he could never do it, he's doing it now…for me. What he doesn't know is he's doing it for himself too.
I'm a lobster – no clue about this one. I'm like shellfish? I'm waiting to be cracked open and savored? Maybe something to do with the pincers? OH! I have a hold on him. That must be it.
While she summed up the totality of his actions, her heart raced. "He's doing just what I need," She joyously announced to the empty cabin. "He still loves me. He wants to make things right. He's doing the work."
Dr. Myers's Office
9:56 a.m.
Grissom stood at the secretary's desk calmly discussing the billing arrangements for Tawny while panic rioted within him. In less than four minutes, Dr. Myers's door would open and he'd be stepping into the scary new world of self discovery.
Pointing to the billing statement, Tracy, the secretary, explained, "Both Sara and Tawny are under the same billing account number to simplify things. Their sessions will be listed as line items with Sara as the 01 and Tawny as the 02. This way, if you want to add any additional people to the account all I have to do is assign another prefix rather than create a new billing account."
"Great." He forced a smile. "Because I may have a third person to add."
"Just give me a call when you have their name…"
"Dr. Grissom," Dr. Myers, sharply dressed in a mint green St. John Knit suit and designer pumps warmly greeted him from her entrance door. The fifty-six year old plucky woman with her golden blonde hair cut in a blunt bob appeared authoritative yet not intimidating. "Tracy told me you would be stopping by to discuss a case since Sara couldn't keep her appointment."
"That's correct, Doctor." He matched her professional demeanor. "I have some theories I'd like to run by you."
"If you're billing this session to the County let me know and I'll double my fee." With a light chuckle, she clarified, "Just kidding…it's a running joke in the Clark County Psych community."
"Right." He pushed out a reciprocal laugh as he reluctantly started toward her door.
When she realized her visitor had stopped outside her door, Dr. Myers motioned for him to enter. "Oh come on, has your wife ever come home with bite marks after spending time in my office?"
Her friendly manner caught him off guard and he stepped forward. "No, she hasn't. Sara has only the best things to say about you."
"You realize I can't say anything about the content of Sara's sessions, right? Doctor-client privilege." She took a seat behind her desk. "You didn't provide specific case information to Tracy so I wasn't sure if it was really Sara you wanted to discuss." Her suspicions were high now that she had a few minutes to study his eyes and body language.
"I understand doctor-client privilege." Gingerly he closed the door behind him, firmly committing to spending time trapped in the room. "And I'm not here to discuss Sara."
She eased back in her sleek black leather chair. "Great." Eyeing the brilliant and emotionally-challenged man she heard about from Sara once or twice per week for the last nine months, her mind raced with possibilities. He's finally here about himself! From the information Sara mentioned about him, Dr. Myers knew there was a wealth of exploring to do and she was up for a challenge. "So what would you like to discuss, Dr. Grissom?" She asked while watching him pace around acquainting himself with the office.
"Well…" He studied the books lining her shelves. "I'm not exactly sure…any suggestions?"
Picking up her favorite Mont Blanc pen, she said, "It's your hour, Dr. Grissom, so you need to be the one who does the choosing. We can talk about anything you'd like…we can discuss case profiles, the stress you experience on the job, or we could discuss you personally." Softening her tone she informed him, "I don't have a menu to give you to make a selection if that's what you're hoping. You wouldn't be the first to hope for that."
Selecting a random volume from the shelf of books, he cleared his throat and said, "Do you like movies, Dr. Myers?"
"Love them. Think they're a wonderful escape and some are even cathartic." Smiling, she asked, "Is there a particular movie you want to discuss?"
"Yes." He replaced the book on the shelf and picked another. "Pretty Woman. Have you seen it?"
"Several times. It's always on one of my cable channels." Now that it was officially not a business meeting but a session, she moved out from behind her desk and took a seat in one of the overstuffed arm chairs in the middle of the room. "Many interesting themes running through that movie, don't you think?"
"I haven't seen the whole thing. Just parts." He slid the book he had been studying back to its spot on the shelf and selected another. "And I've discussed bits of it with Sara."
"What is it about the movie that intrigued you?"
With his back to her he continued to leaf through the text he was holding. "The premise…the male lead…I don't know his name."
"Edward," She supplied. "And the young lady is Vivian."
"Okay, so this guy Edward, he solicits Vivian, gives her money and various other perks like clothing and excursions in exchange for not just sex, but companionship on his terms…no emotional attachment. When the term of the contract is up they are expected to both go their separate ways, each having received something in return."
"I would agree with that assessment."
Placing the book on the shelf, he posited, "Why do you think he resorts to the arrangement instead of seeking companionship in a traditional way?"
"In the movie he says he does it because he's tired of disappointing relationships. He needs a companion for the week to attend social business events so he decides to take a short cut and hire someone to play the part of his date. He believes that in doing this he'll avoid all the usual trappings of interpersonal interaction."
"So he's protecting himself from being hurt?" For the first time, he turned around.
"Although he wouldn't see it that way at the beginning of the movie, yes."
Leaning against the bookshelf he nervously asked, "What motivates a guy to avoid emotional entanglement to the extreme that he sets up a non-emotional barter arrangement to fill his need for companionship, rather than try to develop sincere human attachment with a woman?"
She pointedly replied, "Are we talking about Edward or are we talking about someone else? Because you said, 'a guy'. You know motivation is subjective depending on the circumstances. So clarify for me…are we still discussing Edward?"
He shook his head. "No. I was the guy."
"Who was the girl?"
"Someone I met when I lived in LA, a college student who needed an Algebra tutor. She was putting herself through college as an escort. We made an arrangement…I tutored her in Algebra every Tuesday and Thursday for an hour and then she provided an hour of companionship. The first day of our arrangement was my first time with a woman. I was twenty-four. Prior to that…I never even kissed a girl." Crossing his arms, he sighed, "I told Sara the story last week and I was laughing and still thinking it was a perfect experience. She on the other hand said her first time was terrible…some guy from her Applied Statistics class."
"How did you feel about her story?" She studied his body language and sensed he was loosening up ever so slightly.
"When she first told me, I didn't ask for additional information. I felt bad for her. Plus, I was afraid if I asked for more about her story, then she would ask more about mine. That type of reciprocity terrifies me so…" Breathing in, he decided to venture away from the bookshelf toward one of the empty chairs. "Anyway, later that night, after she lost a bet playing Centipede against me, I won the opportunity to ask her any three questions. See…I won the questions…only I could do the asking so it was safe. Does that make sense?"
"You want to acquire information about others but you don't like to provide it in return, so you wait for opportunities for one-sided communication."
"Exactly. So when I had the opportunity, I asked her to tell me why her experience was so awful." Slowly he took a seat in the chair. "Turns out it was awful because the guy didn't have the same feelings for her as she did for him. After they made love…her first time, not his, he got a call from his buddies to go drinking. When she didn't want to go, he left her and she spent the night crying alone in her dorm room."
"Drastically different experiences. How did you feel about your story after hearing the details of hers? Did you still think you had the better story?"
"Yes, until I started thinking about it." Slowly he let his back fall against the chair. "She took a risk and in the end got burned, but at least she felt emotionally connected to the person…to the act. Really, doesn't that make her story the good one and mine…sad?"
"Why do you think you avoided emotionally connecting to a woman all those years?"
Running his open palm over his mouth, he gave a nervous laugh. "Ready for a cliché?"
"There are no clichés in here." She assured him. "Just say whatever is on your mind."
"Okay." After a deep breath in and out, he threw up his arms. "I blame my mother."
Shoreline Cabins
11:15 a.m.
Panting from her three mile run, Sara climbed the stairs to her cabin, tugging at her ponytail holder. She had forgotten the pleasure of running in the great outdoors compared to the monotony of jogging on an indoor treadmill.
Once inside, she headed for the fridge to grab a bottle of water and an apple. A little nourishment before she sat down to write her toughest assignment yet. A postcard, not even a jumbo one, wouldn't cut it. This was going to be long, tough and she hoped, cathartic.
Grissom's Car
11:15 a.m.
With the air conditioning blasting, Grissom sat in his car which was still parked outside of the medical building housing Dr. Myers's office. The experience was daunting yet intensely illuminating and, as much as he hated to admit it, he looked forward to his Thursday session.
In the last few minutes of today's session they made arrangements for future sessions every Tuesday and Thursday morning…a little ironic…a little symbolic.
Today was just the tip of the tip of the iceberg. There were still a myriad of issues to sort through and figure out. As he sat in his car letting the cold air blow over his flushed face, Grissom knew what he had to do to expedite matters. In the interest of mending things with Sara, he pulled out his cell phone and without hesitation dialed the numbers for information 1-4-1-1.
Upon hearing the automated voice requested information, he quickly provided it. "Mandalay Bay Hotel, Las Vegas."
When the option to connect the call directly was given, he pressed the pound sign and waited.
"Mandalay Bay, how may I direct your call?"
"Room 1272…Ron Grissom."
"One moment while I transfer you."
Shoreline Cabins
11:47 a.m.
Drying her red eyes, Sara lifted the letter for one more attempt at reading it through from start to finish.
Dear Daddy,
This letter is a long time coming and I'm not sure how it's going to turn out but, here it goes.
Most of the time you were a good father. Good meaning you ensured my physical needs were met. You told me I was smart and pretty. You were insistent that I get a good education. You taught me how to ride a bike and throw a ball. You picked me up when I scraped my knees and you even took me to the zoo. Those are all things a good father does.
You had high hopes for me, and as far back as I can remember I never let you down. I still haven't. I've gone to Harvard and to Berkeley and a few months ago, I finished my Ph.D. If you were here I know you would say, 'I'm proud of you Baby Girl' just like you did when I won the spelling bee in second grade.
I had high hopes for you too, Daddy, but you let me down regularly. You seemed to think that you could be a great father while being a horrible husband, but it doesn't work that way. As her daughter, I had a part of mom in me and every time you took a piece of her dignity, you took a piece of mine too. As a girl I couldn't help but think whatever you saw in her that you disliked, had to be in me too. Now I realize there is nothing wrong with me but do you know how long it took me to get to that realization? I'll be thirty-five next month and I just figured it out this year. Is that what you wanted for your Baby Girl?
I've been remembering a lot of things this week. Memories I had buried so deep inside me I didn't know they were there. They didn't even come out in therapy. It took a trauma to drive them out of me and at first I resented their presence, but not anymore. You see, I've tried to write this letter a hundred times, but never could. One trauma later I'm writing a novel.
Here's what I remember. Out of the blue, mom would do something you perceived as wrong and you would snap. In my foggy child's memory combined with an adult perspective, I can honestly say I think sometimes she was doing wrong things, maybe terribly wrong, but most of the time she probably wasn't. I can't really be sure, but either way, she didn't deserve the punishment you dealt.
Do you know what used to happen to me? Right before my eyes you would disappear and a monster would take your place. During those times, the monster wore your clothes and my mother called the monster by your name, but I refused to believe it was you. I would hide in the corner hoping the monster would go away and you would return. I'd fold my hands and pray like I learned at school from the kids who went to church. When praying didn't work I turned to wishing. I'd close my eyes tight and wish the monster would disappear forever. One day, my mother made my wish come true. The monster went away forever, but when he did…he took my father with him. That's the day I realized you were one and the same.
You were gone so you didn't get to see what happened. I'll fill you in. It was a day of many firsts. I saw my first dead body…yours. I saw my first handcuffed person…my mother. I met my first social worker…I don't remember her name. I packed my first suitcase, said goodbye to my first dog and left my first house…the only home I had ever known. After that, I stepped foot in my first foster home and experienced pity for the first time. Is that what you wanted for your Baby Girl? Mom may have killed you and caused this final series of tragic events in my young life, but your first punch is what set everything in motion.
Dr. Myers has a quote hanging in her office that I've always admired. It's by Maya Angelou and it says, "You did what you knew how to do. And when you knew better, you did better."
I'd like to think it applies to you. You loved us, I know you did. You just didn't know how to love quite right. I'd like to believe it was because you never had a chance to learn any better. You didn't get a chance because you didn't believe or admit you had a problem. You didn't get a chance because mom didn't turn you in when she knew you deserved it. You didn't get a chance because you didn't get caught by policemen who were too apathetic to force the issue.
Do you know today I make it my business to catch guys like you for a living? I love my job, Daddy. I'm really good at it too. I didn't catch you because I was just a little girl who didn't understand that what you were doing was abnormal. Today I would recognize it in a second. I'd know my mother's explanation of her broken bones or bruises were implausible. Today I would catch you in a heartbeat and have you locked away just as fast. Then I'd get my mother the help she needed to realize she didn't deserve to be your punching bag. It's like Maya Angelou's quote…now that I know better, I'm doing better. It's just too late to do better for you or mom.
I hope today, the guys like you I help put away, get a wake up call when they're locked in a cell for the first time. While they are there, I hope they take the opportunity to learn better and to do better once they earn their freedom. Because there is no way of knowing how you would have responded to incarceration, I choose to believe that's what you would have done if given the chance. You would have come away a wiser and better man. I would have forgiven you. And when you proved to me that you knew better and did better, I would have said, 'I'm proud of you, Daddy."
I'm not a naïve girl, I know a large portion of offenders aren't remorseful and/or rehabilitated. Some are caught and although they are educated, they still choose not to do better when given a second chance. All I can say to them is there's a special place in hell waiting. If you turned out to be one of those guys, Daddy, I'd tell you the same. But I don't think that's how you would have turned out.
I choose to believe you would have changed if given a chance to pay for your crimes. Do you know why I believe that? Because like I am half of my mother, I'm half of you too. So the good I know exists in me I believe existed in you too. It just didn't know how to get out because the demons inside you blocked the way.
Freud says there are no accidents. I'm not sure if he's right but this week makes me think there's some truth to his theory. A man showed up at my door and triggered a series of events that led me to finally writing this letter. I needed to write this letter and now that I have I feel a weight lifted off my shoulders that's been bogging me down for decades. Maybe another saying is more appropriate. When life hands you lemons, make lemonade. That's what this letter is…a big glass of lemonade that I made from the lemons I received a couple of days ago.
I think after hearing what I've said in this letter there's only one comment I imagine you would make, 'I'm proud of you Baby Girl."
Thanks, Daddy. But more importantly, I'm proud of myself.
One day in the future I'm going to be a parent myself and one of the things I hope to accomplish in that role is breaking the cycles you and mom perpetuated. The cycles of domestic violence, alcoholism and infidelity (I'm guessing on this one, but from what I recall I think it to be true). Those are three things I refuse to propagate. Those are three things my child will never witness or suffer from as a result of his mother or father doing them. The cycles stop with me. It's my burden and unlike you or mom, I'm strong enough to say no. Is that what you wanted for your Baby Girl? I think it was.
Goodbye, Daddy.
Love,
Sara
Folding the piece of paper in half, Sara reached out with a trembling hand and released it into the roaring flames along with years of pent up emotion.
With each crackle of the fire she felt a little freer and for the first time in days she wished she could curl up in her husband's arms and share her thoughts.
Mandalay Bay Hotel
Room 1272
11:49 a.m.
Thrilled at the prospect of his son's arrival, Ron Grissom opened the door with a smile. "Hello, Gil." He motioned for him to enter and was pleased when he saw no hesitation. "I hope you don't mind but I took the liberty of ordering us some lunch."
"Actually…" Pausing for a steadying breath, he glanced at the dining table filled with food and beverages and as much as he wanted to say no, he replied, "I haven't eaten anything all day so, thank you, I'm starving."
"Right this way then." Ron crossed the room and took a seat. "It's all healthy stuff, but the hotel has a knowledgeable chef who knows how to make it taste decent." Since he could tell his son was tense, Ron did the talking. "That's the trick when you have to cut out all the good stuff…you know, the fat and the sugar. You need to know what to add in to hide the fact the food you have to eat sucks." Unfurling his cloth napkin, he remarked, "It took me three tries, but I finally have a gal who cooks for me that could make shit seem appetizing."
"Good for you," He replied with no emotion in his voice as he took a seat opposite his father. "How long are you planning on staying in Vegas?"
"How long would you like me to stay?"
"Please…" Gil held up his hand and pleaded, "I just finished my first hour of therapy and I'm exhausted from answering redirected questions. So do me a favor and keep this conversation as simple as possible. If I ask a question just answer it straight, okay?"
"Fine by me, now I won't have to think of clever responses." Ron lifted the pepper shaker. "I planned on leaving Vegas on Wednesday if I didn't hear from you. Now that you've called I'm inclined to stick around a while longer and see if you call again. Honest enough for you?"
Gil nodded as he placed his napkin on his lap.
Shrugging, Ron informed him, "It's not like I have some place to be. I'm retired and rich…a combination that lets me do what I please. I'd like to stay long enough to see things work out between you and Sara. Selfish reasons of course…despite what I said yesterday, I feel guilty over what happened."
"No, you were right." Gil lifted his fork and used it to shuffle his salad. "Sara leaving was all about me and my behavior choices."
"You say today was your first session, but you sound like you've been going to therapy for months." Ron chuckled. "Therapy is exhausting, but if you keep at it, it gets easier. After a while, I looked forward to going." Ron peppered his salmon salad as he spoke. "If your mother and I had gone to some sort of counseling, I bet things would have turned out a lot differently."
"That's why I'm here." Gil announced. "I need you to tell me some good things about mom." After bashing her during therapy he needed to hear something positive. With his own memories so muddled, his father was the only logical place to turn.
"I'd be happy to share every last memory." Ron smiled. "But I can't guarantee I won't slip a few good ones of me in there too."
Gil wrapped his fingers around the glass of ice water at his place setting and nodded. "Fair enough."
With enthusiasm seeping from his voice, Ron began. "The first time I saw your mother…"