Chapter 25
He had worked through his day off. Grissom never stopped to question his motive, be it avoiding what waited for him at home, or remaining in constant contact with his crew. The more the how the less the why, and right now it was all about how they were going to manage the next few days. Two CSI's from day shift were killed, the swing shift fingerprint analyst seriously wounded.
The thought of Selina and Kerry being there never entered his mind as he came home, stripped naked and crawled between familiar sheets.
Too tired to dream Gil slept for 7 hours and woke to the feeling of something hard digging the underside of his right arm. Groggily he felt to identify the object, a book, the corner of which had left quite an impression on him.
A note had been relocated to somewhere in his crumpled linens from it's original placement on the book.
Gil,
Kerry and I will be going home tomorrow. I was sorry to hear of your department's loss on the news. Please find some time to fix yourself a drink and read this, cover to cover. It would mean the world to me.
Selina
The clock at his bedside informed him of a full 14 hours before he had to be back at work, and even then it would be overtime. After pulling on a pair of worn jeans and a soft blue t-shirt he hefted the volume onto his arm and brought it to the living room.
After making himself a sandwich and the drink she had suggested he settled onto the sofa. His speakers across the room rang out with Elmore James bluesy rhythms and when "It Hurts Me Too" finished Grissom hit repeat on the remote.
The book was a scrapbook of sorts. On the first page inside Selina's handwriting had titled it "My Heart's Response". Turning the page he was greeted by his own penmanship, the very first letter he had written to Selina. He had tucked it into her purse as she'd hugged him in the airport, a letter full of hope for their future together.
The next page contained a letter Selina had never sent; telling him of how frightened she was that this might be the end of her dreams for the future. Her heartbreak at watching him sleep beside her for the very last time, the way she did her best to memorize the way his hand felt around hers, all of it was there.
Years of letters he had sent, and the responses she had not were carefully preserved like a shrine to their relationship. He went to his closet and removed the cardboard box in which he had stored most of the letters she'd written him. Carefully he compared what he had received to the response she hadn't been able to put in the mail. He ached to know that even in the beginning she hadn't felt able to fully disclose to him her pain or the flights of imaginary romantic interludes she'd wished they could share.
For four hours he read and reread every line, running his fingers over her precise script. He made a few more drinks and didn't attempt to stop the flow of tears that would no longer bend to his willful suppression.
On the final page of the book was a letter, dated one day earlier.
Darling Gil,
I wonder if this reading has impacted you the way it has me. The real story is, as usual, between the lines. When you strip away the fantasy, subtract the 'might have been's a clear picture of the truth remains.
These letters in total reveal to me a woman who is better with words than emotional risk, a woman who used her commitment to her family as an excuse to run out on a commitment to her own happiness.
I believe that if I hadn't run at the first opportunity, things would have been different. Not easy. Nothing worth cherishing is ever easy, but we might have grown together instead of apart.
What things about yourself have you learned here Gil?
I'm sorry that we've both invested so much time in something that was, in the end, a substitute for living. I do love you. I know I always will.
One last piece of advice, don't let her grow away from you. You have an opportunity to live, don't hide behind work the way I hid behind Kerry. Both you, and Sara, deserve more.
Always,
Lina