Disclaimer is back in Chapter One, but I'll reiterate that I don't own any character from the show "CSI."
Well, this is the second to last chapter. Again, I'm amazed at how many people take time to review! Thank you all so much!
A quick note (honestly): No, I actually have never known someone to die of cancer. I've been quite lucky that all my loved ones are still around (of course, I'm only 17—ask in five years.) I've researched treatment, prognosis, and the basic course of the disease for background. However, writing the grief has not been difficult—Jules is basically based upon me, and Grace is a composite of my sister and my best friend, though both are slightly embellished and changed a little. My story "The Long Goodbye" is basically on permanent hiatus until I figure out what to do next with it. That one is much more personal; my grandfather suffers from the disease and I'm never sure how to approach the subject tastefully, as several fanfics involving Alzheimer's patients and care usually offend me and I'm not sure how to be neutral, factual, and compassionate at the same time.
Hope that counts as short! Please read and review!
"You ready, Grace?" Sara said tentatively, checking her purse one last time for the plane tickets.
"Yeah, one sec first." Grace zipped up her large suitcase and sighed. "Yeah. I think I'm ready."
Sara nodded back, fighting the impulse to hug her. "Good. Nick will be here in about five minutes to take us to McCarran. Do you need help carrying the suitcase downstairs?"
"I'm good." Grace yanked the navy blue suitcase off the bed and lugged it towards the door. She stopped for a second to check her appearance in the mirror. As always, she was chic in her own way: part hip and bohemian, part classic and feminine, always slightly eclectic. Today she wore a wrinkly, layered brown skirt from Fossil, a graphic-T from H&M, and a tailored jeans jacket from Express. She wore several long necklace strands from her various vintage shops, bracelets from Urban Outfitters, and a gold sequined sash from Forever 21 that she'd gleefully deemed, "a total find." Her makeup was, of course, flawless. Sara wasn't sure if she should be worried or impressed that Grace could care so much about her appearance at a time like this. "Is Jules ready?"
"Yeah, I am." Jules appeared behind Sara, awkwardly pulling along a suitcase that was identical to Grace's but in olive green. She, too, looked very put together: a beautiful, fitted shirt from Banana Republic, with butterfly-cap sleeves, a plunging v-neck, fitted seams throughout the chest area and filmy material across the abdomen, and another plunging-v in the back. She also wore her one pair of trendy designer jeans, from 7 For All Mankind, a chunky necklace, long, delicate dangle earrings, and gemmed-up flip-flops. Her hair and makeup was also neat and immaculate, but Sara was hopeful when she detected both weariness and fear in Jules' eyes. "Let's go."
They walked down the stairs slowly, each consumed by her private world. Sara's luggage was sitting by the door next to the garment bags carrying the new dresses everyone had purchased—Grace insisted that wearing anything that she'd worn before would make her throw up. They'd gone Monday morning; Jules found a dress at Anne Taylor Loft and Grace got one at her Old Faithful, Banana Republic.
Nick drove up a few seconds later in his Denali, helped them load the three suitcases. The girls settled into their seats silently. Nick made a few attempts at jocularity, but the girls were in their own upside-down worlds, too distracted and distraught to answer him. Sara was slightly relieved that they were still mourning.
Nick helped them inside and kissed Sara goodbye at the check-in counter. "Just call me whenever you need to." He said, nervously looking at her. "Just call, okay? No matter what time it is or anything."
"Nick, please don't worry." Sara's tone was a little more irritated than she would have liked. "I'll be fine."
"I know. But it will be sad, and stressful, and everything. Don't bottle things up."
"Please, Nick. Quit worrying. I'm not a teenager. They are." She looked at the girls.
"I never said you were." Nick sounded stung. "I just want to make sure you're alright."
"I'm not 'alright.' Define 'alright' please. I'm not whole, and it's difficult right now, and you knew both these things. But—don't do this. I'll get through it. Don't do this worrying, this watching over me crap."
"Okay, okay." He said. He wasn't sure what to say next—all he wanted to do was reassure her that he'd be there. "Anyways, I'll see you Monday. Your plane comes in at six, right?"
"Yes. I'll see you then." She kissed his check.
The flight to California was short, terse, and quiet. The girls listened to their iPods, Jules slept fitfully. They had a rental car lined up, and drove to the hotel and fell asleep.
They had plans the next day: the girls had to go to Hilliard and ask former teachers for college recs and see friends if they felt up to it. Sara had to go to the lawyer's, and then probably the bank and other offices. Maggie and Nathan were getting into town from Los Angeles later that afternoon; they were all going to eat dinner together. Dan was flying in Thursday evening and Doug was driving down. He was expected to arrive early Friday morning.
"Are you guys sure you can do this?" Sara asked hesitantly as she slid the rental car up to the large front steps to Hilliard High School. "Do you want me to come in?"
"We're good." Grace said. "We'll see you at three." She slid out of the backseat of the car.
"Don't worry, Sar. We'll find our friends, find the teachers—" her voice trailed off. "See you at three." She, too, disappeared.
"Yeah." Sara muttered to herself, looking worriedly over her shoulder as the girls walked into the building together.
She drove quickly to the lawyer's office, where her meeting was mostly her nodding and signing. The will was basic and straightforward, and Lilly had even added a clause insisting that Sara follow the will to the t since she(Lilly) knew that Sara might have trouble swallowing some of Lilly's 'gifts.' Lilly had instructed that money from her life insurance policy and the sale of the Sacramento house be used to pay Sara's whole mortgage for the girls' senior year and half of her mortgage for the next four years, as the girls went through school. She gave Sara a few thousand dollars to 'treat herself,' gave Sara money to raise the girls—food, clothing, birthday presents, school fees— and left the rest of the money to the girls. Two trusts were set up combining their father's estate and Lilly's. Each girl received half, but the first 100,000 dollars were to be used for education. Half of the remaining money would be given to them on their twenty-fifth birthday, and the remaining balance was given to them on their thirtieth birthdays. The lawyer, an old friend of Lilly's who was already the executor of the estate, was put in charge of the trust. There was a short meeting with the banker, to clear up some definitions of tongue-twisting financialese.
Still, everything ended much more quickly than Sara would have expected. She had about two hours of free time, and spent it relaxing, driving around and stepping into small quaint stores. It made her remember how much she loved California, and then she decided to visit more often. It was probably a good idea now—with the girls, and everything. She briefly wondered if she should buy the girls some sort of gift. She nixed it quickly—it just sounded like a bad idea.
She parked outside Hilliard a little before three and waited until students poured out of the building. They came in ones and twos, and Sara quickly spotted the girls. They were standing about ten feet apart, obviously with different groups, and, when they saw Sara's car, quickly hugged several of them before heading over. Grace put her arm around Jules' hips, because Jules was crying a little bit. Grace had a bouquet of flowers in her hands.
"How'd it go?" Sara asked as the girls slid into the backseat.
"Pretty good." Jules said. "I got Mr. Peterson and Mrs. Montebello to agree to write my recs. Mr. Peterson taught AP Language and Composition last year, and was my English teacher in 10th grade, and Mrs. Montebello taught AP US History, AP Government, and AP Macroeconomics. And they loved me, which is always great." She smiled tentatively. "Plus, we got in to see our old guidance counselor, and she was really happy to see us. Didn't like the circumstances, though." Jules frowned and sighed and twisted her class ring.
"What about you, Grace?"
She smiled. "Mr. Huxley, who taught my AP Bio and my regular chem and anatomy, said that he would. He'll be really good at that, anyways. And then Ms. Kingsley, the art teacher, said she would write one. I would have had AP Studio Art with her this year. And Mrs. Inglewood agreed too, too—she was my French teacher for three years. And it was nice to see Ms. Tyler—the guidance counselor. She's called Mr. Bradley—new guidance counselor—like ten times, and Mr. Bradley thinks that including a counselor recommendation from her would be a good idea, too, for all the applications. She's been so helpful, considering." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry—I can't just—I don't want to be thinking about college stuff right now. I still want to be concentrating on Mom." She didn't sound like she wanted comfort, or sympathy—she was just expressing fact.
Sara nodded slowly. "Did you get to see your friends?"
Jules nodded. "Liz, Courtney, and Melissa snuck out during lunch and we went to Quizno's."
Grace nodded, too. "Yeah, I saw those guys—they're always nice. And then Samantha, Jaz, Jake, Jonathon, Lauren, and Matt pooled their money when they saw me and Sam snuck out to buy me flowers." She limply lifted the Gerber daisies. "They look so cheerful."
"Your friends, or the flowers?" Sara asked.
"Both." Grace clarified. "They were sympathetic, of course—" she rolled her eyes, "but eventually they sort of warmed up and I was acting pretty normal, so conversation got around to college hunting and how much fun Homecoming was last weekend. They said something about Lauren's mom giving them hell at the afterparty—and they sort of apologized there, but that was it. They kept giving me weird, sidelong looks, though. It was just awkward. I'm going to see them again Friday night."
"What time are we meeting Grandma and Grandpa?" Jules said, looking hard at her sister.
"About fiveish. They're coming to the hotel. They want to go to the Olive Garden." Both girls rolled their eyes, then smiled, at Sara's statement.
The rest of the afternoon was spent showering and primping for Maggie and Nathan. As Sara stood in her robe and contemplated the two pairs of pants and four shirts she'd brought, Grace smiled and said incredulously, "Are you nervous about seeing Grandma and Grandpa?"
"Well—yeah—a little. I haven't seen them since I was—28? 27? Somewhere in there. Before I moved to Vegas. Other than that, I've gotten a Christmas card from them each year, and then I've written them a letter thanking them for the card and giving them updates. I want them to feel that I'm doing okay."
"Don't you feel animosity towards them over what happened?" Jules clipped a necklace around her neck.
"No. Do you find that surprising?"
"Yes. They kicked you out, after all. They left you high and dry, all alone, when you were eleven. They might as well have put a noose around your neck. They put you in foster care."
Sara turned. "What all do you guys know—about my past with your family?"
They looked at each other. Jules spoke first. "Mom sat us down, before we moved in with you. We'd known beforehand, a little—about your parents. Mom sat us down, and told us the whole story: your parents, and your brother. Do you know where he is?"
She shook her head. "No. I don't think I'll ever be ready to see him again. I found him once—I was twenty-two. He was recovering coke dealer in LA. I'm never going to see him again."
"What about your mother?" Grace said softly.
Sara shrugged. "She didn't get a very long sentence, considering—anyways, ten years. She got out when I was in college. I got a letter from her and all. She was—soulless, I guess. I tried to see her a few times. I really did try. She moved out of California. She said it was too hot, and there were too many memories and everything. She wanted to live somewhere green—that's what she told me. She wanted to escape the memories and forget everything. She moved to northern Idaho, to ski country. I went up there a few times, but there was nothing there. She was empty. We didn't have anything in common but we tried. Finally, she wrote me to tell me she couldn't see me anymore. Mom said that there were too many memories that were painful that included me. I was twenty at the time. She died when I was twenty-five in a car accident."
"I'm sorry—Sara, we've been so dumb. I don't think Mom even knew that. We haven't paid any attention to you at all." Jules said.
"It's fine, girls. Honestly. It's all water under the bridge. In the past. And your grandparents—they did the best that they could, under the circumstances. It was a tough, shitty situation. I used to blame them. I used to blame everyone and everything. I just—got over it. You guys coming out to live with me—that was sort of the final step."
"Like, everything came full circle? Like in a novel?" Jules questioned.
"I—guess. If you want literary references. But it wasn't their fault, period. Let's just make this an enjoyable dinner."
Almost as if on cue, the phone buzzed. "Yes. Thank you. Send them up." Grace got to the phone first. "They're coming." She hung up.
"Great," Sara rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm not ready." She threw on a silk navy blouse and slim black slacks with grey pinstripes.
There was a soft, smart rap on the door. Sara unchained it, opened it. "Nathan. Maggie." She smiled broadly and sadly at her aunt and uncle. "Come in. It's wonderful to see you."