A/N: I was on vacation last week, and did no writing. I am not relieved by the fact that I found it very relaxing to be away from the laptop. But, I have thrown myself into this again, and expect the finish to be in the next 2-4 chapters. I could pin it down better if I had the slightest clue as to what was going to happen next. I wish I sounded more focused, but I have to say that your encouragement always helps me get there.
Appreciation as always goes out to Marlou, the esteemed writer of the week on YTDAW. And she betas like a dream.
Sheila
Hope Springs
Chapter 15
Grissom stood on a hill behind the courthouse. A cool, prairie wind blew through his hair, and he wondered about bottling it and taking it back to Vegas. A feeling akin to nausea had settled in his stomach. Images of the afternoon played over and over in his head. He had flown into Sioux Falls this morning with Matthew in an effort to help bring closure to Attica's story. Easing Sara's mind was his ultimate goal.
To no one's surprise, neither the county or Attica's mom were much interested in his interference until he brought up his intention to foot the bill for her funeral. Then he found himself surrounded with willing collaborators. Just this afternoon he had taken a drive out to the home of Attica's, mother, Marianne Jones. Sara had told him about the smell and the dust of the house, but he was unprepared for the bodies of men stinking of stale beer passed out in the living room. Marianne was hungover as well(,) and sat at the table, her fingers trembling as she eased cigarette after cigarette up to her thin, dry lips. She was very receptive and began to tell him about her own life: early pregnancies, no support, county intrusion, and the eventual death of her child at the hands of social workers. She went on to explain how Attica's death had led to her multiple addictions to alcohol and crystal meth. Grissom listened politely to everything she said, but couldn't quite quell a feeling of unease in his gut.
Marianne began talking about the kind of funeral that she planned to give Attica when Matthew interrupted her.
"Ms. Jones, we want to clarify with you that Dr. Grissom will not be paying you any money. He will be paying various vendors who will be providing the service for Attica. Your job will be to mourn and remember your daughter as she so richly deserves."
Marianne left a cigarette hanging off her lips for a long minute as the ashes slowly burned its way up the tip. Her eyes narrowed. "I don't understand."
Matthew took in a deep breath. "It's much easier if we pay the vendors directly."
"I can't be trusted with your money is what you're saying." She let ash fall onto the table as she glared at the two men across from her.
Grissom pursed his lips for a moment and spoke, "Yes ma'am, that's what we're saying."
She pushed away from the table. "And you expect me to be the grieving mother?"
"It would seem a natural role for you, Ms. Jones." Matthew had a glint in his eye that cut the look she was giving him.
"This is no kind of help. This is…like all that other shit…where other people decide how I am going to live my life." She stubbed her cigarette in the sink, and then went in search of another.
Grissom pushed away from the table and stood. "Ms. Jones, this is what we are offering. You can mourn the loss of your child without worrying about expenses or interference from social services or the police."
She shook her head and stomped through the living room and out the front door. That was the moment that Grissom began to feel the nausea grow in his stomach. A few minutes later, when he and Matthew left the house, they found Marianne sitting on the front stoop shooting up crystal meth in plain sight. Grissom closed his eyes as he passed her. It was everything he could do not to reach out and snatch the works out of her hands. It would be a useless exercise. This woman showed no interest in changing anything about her life. He would have to take comfort in the fact that she no longer had any children in her home.
Matthew climbed the hill behind the courthouse to where Grissom stood looking out on the empty prairie. "Have you changed your mind, Gil?"
"No."
Matthew shook his head. "Are you sure? I don't even know if this can be done. Have no idea on the precedent for this kind of thing plus the fact that South Dakota law is a mystery to me…"
"Should I consult with someone local?" Grissom kept his face turned into the wind.
"Are you sure you don't want to talk to Sara first?"
Grissom shook his head.
"Okay, Gil. I'll do it. I don't know how, but I'll do it."
Matthew waited for a sign from Grissom, but he got nothing. Finally, he turned and made his way down the hill through the yellow scrub of wild grass.
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Sara had never really been angry at Jim Brass before. She found that while she was unsettled by the feeling, she was unable to dislodge it. He knew he was causing trouble when he came in the door with his apologetic smile and inability to look her in the eye. He even shuffled his feet like a little boy, and acknowledged that he had no business talking to her about this. Sara agreed and asked him to leave. He asked her to think about it, but she could think of nothing to say in response. Instead, she waved her hand at him in frustration, and retreated to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
For a few uncomfortable minutes, Jim Brass stood in the living room of his friend's condo, and waited for Sara to emerge. The silence was deafening, and, finally, there was nothing left for him to do but leave.
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His call woke her from a restless sleep and she rolled over with much effort and stared at the clock. It was 9 p.m. Her sleep patterns had become so diffused that she had no idea if she should be finishing a cycle or beginning one. She grunted into the phone.
"You were sleeping," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't want to wake you."
"My body has no idea when I should be sleeping and when I should be awake. It doesn't matter." Her voice was grainy and vague.
"Did you have a good day?"
She thought about Jim Brass standing in Grissom's living room telling her a bunch of information she had no interest in hearing. "Not particularly…you?"
"I met Attica's mother today."
"You don't have to say any more. I'm sure it was less than satisfying. Is she going to bury her child?"
There was a moment of silence.
"Umm…Gil?"
"Yeah, I'm here. I don't really know what's going to happen, Sara. I'm going to have to stay a few more days."
She groaned.
"What? What is it? Have you been having labor pains? Is everything okay? Is Mark helping?" The questions were nearly barked at her.
"Mark never came. One of his people had a car accident. He had to stay and cover."
"So you've been alone!" The tenor of his voice rose and she was startled by the energy of it.
"Gil, it's okay. I'm fine. No contractions." She wrestled with the bed in an effort to sit up.
"Has anyone come to visit?"
She winced. "Brass came by."
"Good. I'll arrange to have someone come and stay."
"No Gris—Gil, I'm minutes from the hospital and I have people stopping in all the time. I'm good. Just get back as soon as you can. It would be nice to have you around for all the fireworks, you know."
"If anything happens, Sara, and I mean anything, I will drop what I'm doing and get on a plane."
"Yes, yes…" she said, wondering if there would ever come a time when she wasn't captive to his need for control.
He seemed to sense her impatience. "All right. You don't seem yourself. Is everything okay?"
"No."
"What happened?" The force of his question again made her tense.
"It's okay. I handled it."
"What happened, Sara?" His voice lowered.
She sighed. "Jim talked to me about Lucy Bell."
"I don't understand." His tone was clipped, almost impatient.
"He wanted me to know the full impact that you and Lucy had on one another. He wanted me to understand the depth of what you went through after I moved to San Francisco. And he wanted me to know how hard it was on you after I reacted poorly to the idea of adopting her."
"He upset you!"
She had to take the phone away from her ear. Protective Grissom in all his controlling glory was beginning to tire her. "I handled it."
"He won't bother you again. I promise."
"Stop, Gil. I mean it. I handled it. It's over. You will not intervene. You will not say anything to him. It's under control."
"I can't believe he would do this. That…it doesn't seem like the Jim I know," he said, temporarily dodging her orders.
"He feels like you are still a prisoner to what happened with Julianne Phillips. Said it was a big blow to you; having to let go of that little girl. He says that he doesn't think you are ready to let her go. Says you have set up a trust for her, and you still call the social worker every week."
"Sara, I'm sorry. I didn't have any idea he would talk to you about this."
Sara occupied herself for a moment trying to shift her large belly into a more comfortable position before she was ready to dive in with the question that had been plaguing her since she slammed the door in Brass' face. "Is he right?"
"Sara, please."
"Grissom," she said sharply. "Is he right?"
At the other end of the phone she heard a frustrated gasp and then silence. Finally, his response came in a whisper. "I don't know."
Sara took the phone away from her ear for a moment as she struggled to suppress a sob. Her voice was tight with emotion when she spoke. "You…can't keep secrets like this from me; if you want this thing between us to work. I am assuming you want this to work?"
"Yes," came another whisper.
"Did I make you give up something you couldn't afford to lose?"
Silence reigned.
Sara worked to keep her voice steady. "Clearly, we can't resolve this on the phone. Finish what you need to finish and get back here. We need to talk."
She hit the off button before he could reply. For a long time all she could do was rest her cheek on the headboard and let tears fall down her face. She couldn't quite tell if she was hurt that he kept these feelings from her or mad at herself for denying him a relationship with the child. When she had found some level of composure, she again picked up the phone and started punching numbers. "Hey…This is Sara…Get your ass over here, Brass…You want to interfere so bad? Well, I'm sticking you smack dab in the middle of this mess…Uh-uh, cowboy, it's too late to back out now…I'm pregnant, angry, hungry, and every muscle in my body is stiff. So, of course, you decide to load me down with your little theories. Well, it's time for you to do some penance. Got me?...I need you here in twenty minutes with three of Manny's bean and cheese burritos, a quart of orange juice, fresh squeezed, and an appointment with Lucy's social worker…Oh, and unless you plan to give me a full body massage this afternoon, I need an appointment with a prenatal masseuse today…I have no earthly idea if there is such a thing, but if there is, you're going to find it. I am a 100 sure you are responsible for the knotted muscles in my lower back…I'm as serious as a heart attack...Twenty minutes." Hanging up on people was beginning to feel very good.
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Grissom met with Detective Bellecourt in a roadside diner oddly called Happy Chef. The smell of bacon and coffee wafted up as he pushed through the door. The room was full of men with caps with cigarettes between their fingers, and women wearing thick make-up and polyester uniforms moved from table to table at a near run. One of the women eyed him and hustled him over to an empty booth, rattling off specials in the husky voice of a lifelong smoker.
A few minutes later, a tall, bronze man walked in slowly, leaning heavily on a cane. His dark eyes swept the room once, and immediately landed on Grissom. Slowly, he shuffled over to the booth. Grissom resisted the urge to wince at the obvious pain that radiated through him as he took every step.
He lowered himself into the booth with much effort. Grissom debated whether or not he should help him, but he got no invitation from the injured man. "We could have met at your home, Detective. You hardly look well enough to be out of bed."
Bellecourt finally relaxed into the booth and raised his face to Grissom. "I have eight brothers and sisters in town and all of them brought their children. My mother lives two doors down from me. Together, they, my wife, and my four children are smothering me. Every time I open my eyes, there are at least six people peering down at me, trying to feed me all manner of home remedies. They have two different medicine men visiting me. They are determined to stay until I go back to work; I currently have four tents pitched in my backyard. Coming here is a welcome respite from all that, I assure you."
Grissom smiled. "Sounds like you have no choice but to make a full recovery."
Bellecourt waved over a waitress who winked broadly at him and trotted off to the coffee pot without a word spoken. Within a minute, there were two thick, black cups of coffee sitting at the table in front of them. "Watch out, Dr. Grissom. Truckers are serious about their caffeine. This coffee packs quite a wallop."
"Just how I like it." Grissom took a sip of the strong brew and let the bitter flavor fill his mouth. "This is really good."
Bellecourt leaned over. "They make egg coffee here."
Grissom furled his brow. "I have no idea what that is."
"Old German recipe. Most of the Caucasians around here are only two of three generations from the old country. They stick eggshells in the grounds. I have no clue what it does, but there's nothing like it."
"I'm glad you came. I promised Sara I would see you while I was here."
"How is she?"
"34 weeks pregnant as of yesterday. She is doing well, although I don't think she enjoys being pregnant. She's been a little moody."
Bellecourt took a sip and smiled. "I'm the father of four, Dr. Grissom. I assure you that she is not enjoying her third trimester."
"She's alive because of your actions." Grissom focused his attention on the deep darkness of his cup.
"I was lazy. If I had thought it through, I would have remembered about Jesse. He was the perfect suspect."
"You had no idea he was at his mother's house."
He shrugged. "When you work rural like we do, you end up doing a lot of your police work solo. It means you got to have eyes at the back of your head, and a sixth sense about every person you talk to. But sometimes, it's not enough. Sometimes, you just gotta know what's going to happen before it happens. I wish that I had been more wary of that extra car in the drive. I wish that I had sent Sara outside and waited a while before I went up the stairs, you know, give her some time to get back-up. It would have saved everyone a lot of heartache."
"I don't know if you get to be that omniscient. It sounds like you did the best you could. And you stopped that little girl's killer."
He snorted. "I put a bullet in him right in front of his mother. I could have done better."
Reluctantly, Grissom nodded.
Bellecourt cleared his throat. "I hear you're up to some craziness down at the courthouse. Got a San Francisco lawyer down there making up laws as fast as he can think of them."
"Are we ruffling too many feathers?"
"Hell, old Judge Sorenson could use the excitement. He spends most of the week sitting at the local fishing hole."
Grissom took another sip. He wondered if the bacon was half as good as it smelled. "We're just trying to do right by her."
"It's a good thing, Dr. Grissom. In fact, I'm thinking you could use a character witness, and I have to admit that it'd probably look good to have me in your corner."
"You would do this?"
"Yeah. I want to be on this little girl's team."
"Look," Grissom gripped the warm mug with both hands. "I'm really here to say thank you. I…she means a lot to me. I can't really tell you…I'm not good at this kind of thing, but you took care of her and I want you to know that I'm very grateful."
Bellecourt smiled and looked away. "Hey Elsie. Bring us a couple of ranch specials." He looked back at Grissom. "I am guessing you're a sunny side up guy." He didn't wait for a response. "Elsie, have Harold fry 'em soft."
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Sara squirmed in the brightly colored chair. She was sitting sideways as the table caught her mid-belly. She hadn't been to a McDonald's in ten years, and she could already tell that it had been a wise decision. She pushed the watery Sprite around the table as the older woman across from her looked at her with a bemused smile. Jim Brass had been exiled to the next table down.
"I don't know what I want," Sara growled for the second time.
"Okay. So tell me how many weeks you are." Mary Revoy stirred the paper cup of coffee in front of her.
"I'm 34 weeks, two days, five hours, and twenty three minutes."
"Sounds like you're having fun."
Sara rolled her eyes. "If you like carrying a thirty pound kicking machine strapped to your middle, then yeah, it's a barrel of monkeys."
"I called a friend. Jim's going to drive you over to a midwife I know who's going to massage some of that stress out of you."
Sara's eyes stung, and she suddenly felt embarrassed. "I'm not usually like this. I don't have anything to do but lay around in a bed all day. I'm not used to that, and…there's this thing. I didn't understand how important this girl is to Grissom. I made him stay away from her. I don't think I've ever done that before; made someone give up someone they cared about just because I wanted them to."
Mary chewed her bottom lip for a moment before she spoke. "It's infinitely more complicated than that, Sara. Not even Grissom knew what he wanted from this little girl. And you were right to be cautious. The two of you are embarking on something very new; it has to be done carefully. I'm not sure Lucy can fit into this equation. I'm not sure that Grissom wanted her just for her or because she was Julianne's daughter. This is not about you being selfish."
"Anyone interested in adopting her?"
"Nothing yet. She's not a baby anymore, she's bi-racial which can get complicated for adopting parents, and she's experienced a great deal of trauma. It's going to take a little while."
"What's she like?"
"Well, she's active, a little too active for her current foster mother. I'm looking for a new family for her."
"What does she like to do?"
Mary smiled. "She wants to be outside all the time. She likes to climb and dig and run. She's, um…not very social, but we are working on that. She's bright though; she's picking up language quickly and we're very impressed with her motor skills."
"Does she laugh?"
"Not much. She's experienced so many changes; it's hard for her to feel safe. She laughed a few weeks ago. She was playing in a sandbox, and…Grissom was there." Mary's eyes focused on the door behind Sara.
Sara turned her head. A woman in her fifties had walked in, a little girl holding her hand. She had a light green sundress and her curly hair was pulled up into a ponytail. Her hazel green eyes were startling against her soft, brown skin. "This is Lucy Bell?"
"Yeah. Come here, darlin'." The little girl ran past Sara and squirmed onto Mary's lap. She allowed Mary to give her a big hug.
"Happy meal," the child demanded when Mary let go.
"How about a cheeseburger one?"
Lucy nodded. Mary extended a five dollar bill to Lucy's foster mom, and the woman disappeared into a group of people crowding the registers.
"Lucy, this is Sara."
The little girl narrowed her eyes and then turned back to Mary. "She's fat."
Sara tried to suppress a giggle while Mary explained that she was having a baby. Sara leaned forward. "You're a very pretty girl."
Lucy wrinkled her nose, but didn't say anything.
Sara was stuck. She had very little experience with young children, and the fact that she was having one in a few short weeks did nothing to boost her confidence. She swallowed hard and plunged into the unknown. "Do you like to swing, Lucy?"
She slid off Mary's lap and pulled on Sara's arm. "Let's go."
Sara pulled herself to her feet. Brass started to get up, but she waved him away. "I got it. This is good for me." She let Lucy pull her outside.
Mary swung her face around and glared at Brass. "What's the rush? You couldn't wait a few months. Let her have the baby. Give Grissom time to be a parent. But you couldn't do that, could you? What? Did you think I was going to send Lucy off a Russian labor camp or something?"
He shrugged. "I got a little carried away, I guess. Figured…I don't know what I thought."
"She's already got a lot to deal with, and adopting a child is not on the agenda. Even if they wanted to, I wouldn't recommend them. They're simply not ready for this."
"You don't know Sara. They don't get any more stubborn than that woman."
"You're getting way ahead of yourself again, Jim. If she wants to get to know the child, that's fine, but I'm not thinking anything beyond that."
Brass cleared his throat. "It was good for her to get all the information though, don't you think?"
She screwed up her face at him. "Shut up, Jim. You are a complete menace."
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TBC