Chapter 9

Gil stood in his kitchen feeling very much like the 10 year old whose snake had escaped and found residence in his mother's bathroom. His olive skin was tinged with pink. His mouth was dry and he was fumbling as his hands and mouth fought to explain.

"It's good to see you," he said. His brain couldn't sign right now. He was barely able to speak.

"I thought you said you would call if you were going to stop in on your way home."

Maria stood on her tip toes ostensibly to plant a kiss on her son's cheek. The hug and kiss felt a little distracted to Grissom.

"How long have you been here?"

"I don't know, three hours or so." Her familiar voice filled his ears. The odd mixture of a native Italian speaker gone deaf never failed to comfort him. Even under what was bound to be a tense situation, it felt good. "I called work, but Catherine said you were on vacation. I was surprised but who deserves it better than my dear, sweet son."

Was that sarcasm?

"I tried to call you a few times."

"Did you?" She still stood stiffly in front of him.

"Yes." Why was this so hard? This was his mother. She loved him unconditionally. She would be happy about the baby. She would. Of course she would.

"I kept missing you, and you didn't seem to be checking your email."

"I hardly do that when I'm away. Email usually means work."

He nodded. "Are you tired? Do you want to take a nap? You must be tired."

Maria Grissom ran a tiny hand over one unruly red hued curl. She pursed her lips making the lines around her mouth more prominent. "That would be nice, dear, but I don't think I'll fit in a crib."

Gil blinked holding his eyes close for a beat until Maria's hand pulled at an ear willing him to open them.

"Ow!"

She took a deep breath and let it rip. "I come to see my only son. The son I love dearly. My only child in this world. The child who never married. Who said I should give up on grandchildren and a daughter-in-law. I so wanted a daughter, but I told myself if he was happy with is bugs and his solitude…"

"Insects."

"Ssh and don't you dare speak until I finish."

"Yes, ma'am," he mumbled.

"I come to visit said son and immediately I notice that his house is different. It's actually a home. There are throw pillows and rugs. The walls have more than butterflies on them and my god awful paintings."

"Mom, you are a terrfi.."

Hazel eyes glared. "What did I say, Gilbert?" Her petite frame heaved with effort. "You know other mothers complain at bridge. They talk about their children not calling, feeling forgotten. I can always say with pride that my sweet boy calls at least twice a week. He sends me emails and little presents and every year we spend an entire week together in Vegas where he wines me and dines me and treats me like a queen. This sweet boy sandwiches me in between his important work--helping crime victims. This year I might even get an extra week in when I come back from Italy. That's what I told my friends because my boy is worth bragging on. So what if I don't have a daughter-in-law or grandchildren."

She took another deep breath and continued. "Silly me. I must have missed something because apparently my son, the one I was in labor with for 24 hours has been keeping something from me. I turn up at his house and there's life and flowers in the window boxes. There are two kinds of breakfast cereal and a paisley umbrella in the front hall."

Gil swallowed hard. He hadn't known how his mother felt about his life. It all seemed terribly sad to him now. His house had not been lively. No reason for it to be. The people he loved rarely visited. All the joy in his life had been beyond these walls. His townhouse had been a holding cell while he waited for the next shift, the next dinner with Brass and Catherine, the next ballgame with Warrick or Nick, or the next time he saw Sara.

What had he been thinking? That this monastic existence was better? Only it hadn't been monastic. He'd been living, just not here. Why had that seemed alright? It was like the separation of church and state, only state you still swore on the Bible when you went to church and there was that nation under God or Buddah or Allah. He had always thought of himself as a loner that kept people at bay.

"And I am tickled because my son has a girl and it looks like she might be in for the long haul. Maybe she even lives here. Then I go to my usual room. The one I stay in year after year intending to take a nap only there's nowhere for me to lay my head. Because-my-dear-sweat boy has neglected to tell me something very important. I am going to be or maybe I already am a grandmother. Now Gilbert," she paused, "you may speak."

"Mom, I tried to call you. I kept missing you and then Sara..."

"Sara." Maria Grissom took a deep breath. Gil watched worriedly as she took a seat in overstuffed chair that had come from Sara's apartment. Sara loved the chair. She was silent for several moments.

"Sara," she repeated as she turned her eyes up to him.

"Yes. Sara."

"Thank God. I thought you had messed that up permanently after you turned her down for dinner."

"What…?"

"I remember the first time you told me about her. I could barely keep up. It was the fastest you ever talked, the fastest you ever signed. You were all over the place."

Grissom took a seat in a chair that complimented the dark green one his mother sat in. He'd bought it four weeks after he came to Vegas.

His mother continued. "You were so gone on her. I thought, well I thought this could be it. When you asked her to move here I was sure this was it. I was sure you two would finally.."

She took his large hands in hers. "Good for you two. I hope my granddaughter has that voice and that gap you went on about."

"You remember that?"

"Of course."

"Sara wanted to go tell her mother, and so I just didn't think about you stopping in."

"So I am not the only one being kept in the dark."

"No."

"Peas in a pod," she said mildly, her hazel eyes shining excitedly.

He took her hands in his. "Mom, I'm sorry. I tried to call you, I swear I did. I called Uncle Vito, and he said you were in Florence. So I called Anna and she said you were in Rome shopping. It kept on like that. Forgive me?"

"Where's my granddaughter?"

"Still inside her mother."

"At least I didn't miss that much."

"Where's Sara?"

"At her mother's in Palm Beach. I'm going to pick her up in a few days. I'm working on a surprise."

Maria's eyes showed disappointment. "Would it be okay if I stayed and waited on them? Maybe go with you to pick them up?"

"Of course." He took her hand and led her to the couch, rearranging throw pillows as he did so.

She held his hand up her face and kissed it. "I don't see a ring, but I can't have everything I guess."

"I'm working on it. We didn't-" he stopped and tried again. "This all happened extremely fast."

Maria Grissom turned her head from one side to another. "Spit it out, darling."

"This is hard."

"I know," she said softly.

"Sara and I weren't serious. We were, um-dating casually."

"Yes."

"Then the baby happened, and the doctor said she needed to take some off."

Maria frowned. "She's fine, Mom. She started staying here because her doctor didn't want her be alone. She was four months by then. The next thing I knew we were living together and Hannah's room was finished, but we had neglected to tell you or Laura."

"You love her." It wasn't a question, but he answered it anyway.

"Yes."

OOOOOOOO

Brass walked into Grissom's office without greetings or preamble.

"Gimme a mirror," Brass demanded impatiently.

"What?"

"A mirror. Reflection. Glass. Hurry up."

"What makes you think I have a mirror?"

"You worked with Sara for nearly six years. A hair was never out of place. You have a mirror."

"I have great hair. I don't need to primp every hour of the day."

Grissom reached into his desk and pulled out a hand held mirror. Brass pulled a small black comb from a jacket packet. He ran a comb over his black hair.

"You know that black hair is bit ridiculous." Grissom remarked.

"What?" Brass licked two fingers and ran them through shiny locks.

"It's shoe polish black. No one has hair that color at our age."

Black eyes flitted his way for a second. "You're one to talk. At least I didn't leave with a head full of grey and half deaf only to return with a perfect hearing and salt and pepper curls. I know that beard is to cover up the weight you gained too. Very Hemingway."

"I thought so too. What are you doing?"

"Looker in the lobby. Blonde. Vavoom curves. Don't' make 'em like that anymore. Old enough to remember when Sinatra was still skinny."

Grissom stood trying to stop a smile from playing over lips.

"Where are you going?"

"To see the looker."

"Oh no you don't. I can't compete with the Hemmingway big bear of a man deal. I'm a little Greek guy with no curls and a bald spot. You are staying right here."

"It's my lab, I'll go where I want." Gil said easily following his friend's short quick steps.

The blonde stood as she caught site of the two men. Brass reached her first and gave her his best I am one of the good guys smiles. "Excuse me, miss. I am Lieutenant Jim Brass may I.."

Jim Brass watched crest fallen, as the attractive blond stood and planted a kiss on Grissom's cheek.

"Gilbert, I hope all this clandestine activity doesn't get the two of us in trouble."

After fussing with Grissom's collar and telling him he didn't look like he was eating enough she caught sight of Jim. Gil watched her perk up. He wondered what Brass's current aura was saying.

"Hello," Laura said brightly.

Brass returned the pleasantry without the vigor he'd felt a few minutes before.

"Brass, this is Laura. Laura, this is my friend Jim."

"Pleased to meet you." Laura said offering a delicate hand.

"Likewise. Wherever has Gil been hiding you?" Jim said dryly, his shoulders slumping away from his ears.

"Hiding me?" Laura asked looking from Gil to Brass. "Well, he told me he was going to pick up my daughter then he makes me close my shop and deliver her myself. If he hadn't grown on me I would be miffed."

Remembering something Laura covered her mouth and let out a gasp. "Oh dear. Is Lieutenant Brass not supposed to know yet?"

It was Jim's turn to be puzzled. "Know?"

"It's okay. Jim can keep a secret. Even when his usually high functioning brain is not working properly. This is Sara's mother. I'm planning a surprise."

The immediacy of Brass's mood change was not lost on Laura. So this was Laura. She didn't look like the hippie Sara had described. He wasn't the only one that had made friends with the color bottle. Only Laura's dye job cost at least hundred bucks more than his six dollar Grecian Formula.

"Sara's Mom. I thought you and Cookie were hatched. Nice to know actual humans were involved. And such an attractive human."

Laura gave what could only be described as a coquettish grin touching one precisely cut layer of highlighted hair. "Well Lieutenant Brass.."

"Jim, please. Have you had breakfast?"

OOOOOOOOO

21 years later

Gil Grissom watched his daughter smile at the stranger. Apparently not a stranger to her. Something about the encounter put him on edge. He'd seen her flirt before but this was something different. She was enthralled with cocoa-colored, black-haired man. It reminded him of another coed and another teacher nearly thirty years ago.

She'd called soon after he and Sara left the vineyard for London saying that she wanted to have lunch. It was code for "I'm broke, feed me, and give me money." He'd loaded up her prepaid credit card an hour before, choosing to ignore the hundreds of pounds worth of new clothes she had charged in the last month.

Wearing one of the new outfits she smiled at the man and walked towards him. His eyes stayed not on her but the stranger as he followed the sway of his 20 year old daughter's hips and she jogged across the grass. Gil Grissom's still impossibly blue eyes watched as he turned from her and went about his business. He never looked at another woman. Never so much as a swivel even when a stunning Indian woman grazed his arm with a full breast. Trouble with a capital 'T'.

She gave him a quick kiss and looped her arm through his. He winced as her lips made contact.

"I thought Mom told you about wearing sunscreen."

They ambled out of the courtyard. "Wore it. Didn't make any difference. Apparently the Italian sun is specifically designed to burn Italians because she's fine, and Noah and I look like this."

"You can't tell you are burnt though."

"Doesn't matter. Vanity doesn't suit old men."

"You aren't old."

"What would you call it?"

"Seasoned. Wise."

"Gray. Lined."

"Actually it's more white, and you have character. All my friends still think you are sexy."

"Don't tell your mother. She's still disturbed about that friend of yours from Belize."

"The one that grabbed your ass and tried to stick her tongue down your throat. No reason to still be pissed off about a 19 year old coming on to your husband." Hannah responded sarcastically. "So how are you? Mom said you were bitching about the crops and that you got into a huge fight with Aunt Marta and threatened to sell you share in the vineyard." Dramatic pause. "Again."

"Keeps me young to bluster."

"Well bluster on."

The pizza parlor was just in sight. "Don't let me forget to get your mom and Noah a half cheese, half mushroom."

"She already called."

"Ah."

"How is he?" Hannah said quietly. The last year had been hard on the Noah. He'd dropped in international ranking and was struggling with the usual pitfalls of puberty.

"Actually, he's quite good He's made friends with some of the other boys from the Home School Association, and they IM and play games online and chase girls. The current object of his affection is one Miz Mia Weiz. Lots of curly hair. Lots of legs. Lots of pretending he doesn't exist."

"I like her already." Hannah tossed a head full of dark waves.

They walked into the door of the parlor and seated themselves, calling out their order along the way.

Once situated, he took a deep breath and asked the question he didn't want the answer to. "Who was that guy? One of your professors? He looks familiar."

Hannah matched her father's casual tone. "Oh that's Mike. Uh, just Gil Grissom, British version. Math guy." She kept her head buried in a menu she had memorized and didn't need. "I'm thinking dessert, but we can't tell Noah and Mom . They would make us bring them some. What fun is that?"

"Is he married?"

"Nah, a bit of a ladies man from what I hear."

Gil stared at the top of his daughter's chestnut curls as she cut her pizza into tiny tine bites. Something told him he was looking at the Cambridge version of Sara Sidle.

35 years before

Harvard

"Who is that?" Sara asked Tim as they walked into the dark of night towards his small sedan. The black haired man's face was lit by the trunk light of his rental car.

"Gil Grissom."

"THE Gil Grissom?"

That's what Gil Grissom looked like. No wonder his weeklong lectures were full. She caught a whiff of Tim's jealously. Not only was Gil Grissom brilliant where Tim was just very smart. Gil Grissom was also drop dead gorgeous compared to Tim's just plain handsome.

Sara watched the head full of wild curls recede. They said he liked women. Unlike Tim, he wasn't married and didn't have children.

Tim called out to Gil. Gil pretended not to hear. He didn't want to meet Tim's latest pathetic conquest. He did it year after year. He found some pretty young thing and courted her for year. No, courted wasn't the right word. Courted suggested good intentions. A married man, no, a married professor, dating his students or TAs had no good intent.

Gil steered clear of his students. Not because he thought anything was inherently wrong with dating the women that attended his seminars or special lectures. He gave them no grades. Over the years he'd learned that most coeds were only star struck for so long. Sooner or later the warts of him being just too damn old for them showed. He wasn't old. Far from it, but he was too old for this bunch. He liked Led Zeppelin, and they liked U2. They groped. He stroked. It was all a fine line but a line none the less. He would not cross it. The results of such unions did not go well.

And these women. These women that Tim managed to con into a year of devoted servitude were different from the savvy groupies Grissom acquired from time to time. Tim's women were always wounded, emotionally fractured.

So he never turned around on that brisk winter day. He pretended not to hear and hurried into the building. He never looked back to see his future wife, but she saw him.