Enjoy! Thanks for reading!
A Few Days in Chicago Chapter 4
Neither had thought to close drapes on the two windows and morning sun woke Grissom who found Sara so deeply hidden under covers that for a second he thought she was already out of bed. Until he found her warm body with only a slight shift of his own. He slipped from bed, started coffee, and got in the shower. He knew if he stayed in bed he would never make the breakfast for the seminar.
"What time are you speaking?" He heard her muffled voice from underneath the covers. When he told her, a dark tangle of hair and two dark eyes appeared. "I think I can sleep a little longer." Before he finished dressing, she was asleep. For a few minutes he stood beside the bed watching her sleep.
Too young, he thought. Her life was just beginning, her career on its first step. How long before she realized all of this—that he was too old, to confirmed in his ways. He wiped his face and left her sleeping.
Later, before he spoke, he saw her slip into the back of the room. There were few people her age at this seminar, he realized. This was a group of older men, a few women, and so specialized that it took years for a crime scene investigator to rise into this specialized field of bugs, insects, and timelines. Dr. Walker's research on the use of pig cadavers as human substitutes had just finished and everyone in the room wanted to hear more from her. His presentation on temperature, humidity and insect life stages dovetailed with her information. That was part of the beauty of the group—most had worked on specialized research for a year knowing what others were working on and getting together for two days meant placing pieces of a puzzle together.
Grissom tried to wave Sara to the front, but she had already taken a seat near the back between two guys Grissom had known for years. One, a well-known womanizer, would hit on Sara before the hour passed.
His presentation went without a hitch and photographs using a new camera had shown vivid and intricate developments of his insects. He could see Sara standing at the back of the room, arms crossed, and smiling. He had to concentrate on his words.
During lunch another researcher spoke about imported insects; those hitching rides in luggage, on foods, on travelers.
Sara whispered, "I've learned more about insects than I ever wanted to know."
"Go buy a coat." He told her how to get to a store. "Be back in two hours for our trip to the Field Museum. I think we are getting a special treat."
She found a coat, one recommended by the salesclerk as capable of keeping her warm in the near zero temperatures expected, and she purchased a cap, gloves, long silk-like underwear, and thermal socks. She arrived in the lobby in time for the group trip to the museum wearing everything she had purchased.
Grissom commented on her new coat. She told him what else she wore underneath and he had to smile. "Fast learner," was his remark.
The group boarded a bus for the trip to the museum. The sun from the morning had been replaced by dark gray low hanging clouds, making sky and lake indistinguishable. Tall buildings disappeared into the miasma and street lights were dimmed by fog. For all the dismal weather, it did not dampen the enthusiasm of this trip.
Once inside the museum, the quietness that seems to envelope adult visitors in such places closed around them. A curator appeared and led them through huge display rooms, around corners and opened doors marked "Staff" until Sara was sure they had walked underneath the street outside.
The first stop was behind doors marked with three letters; some of the members of the group knew immediately what the letters meant. Grissom shrugged and followed. The doors opened and the soft mummer of voices stopped for a minute as their leader explained.
"This is home to Sue." Several people looked up from their work place as the curator spoke. "We are in the process of making two duplicates of the most complete Tyrannosaurus rex ever found. Within weeks Sue will greet visitors to the great hall." With that simple introduction, conversations started.
As one of the men said, "Everyone loves a dinosaur." The employees showed off their work, the plans, results of scanning the skull, explaining what they had learned. The visitors asked questions and gently held pieces placed in their hands by the curators. Everyone did love a dinosaur, even grown men and women whose first love were bugs. Sara noticed Dr. Walker with a group and she was also the center of attention.
Too soon, the same curator gathered the group for their second and last stop in the museum. Sara checked her watch; they had been in this room nearly two hours and this was supposed to be a quick side trip. The next room was filled with millipedes and spiders, butterflies and moths, in preparation for a special exhibit to open later in the year. The men and women had found their own kind of paradise.
Sara listened to these top experts as their excitement and enthusiasm about their field overflowed to others. One woman, a butterfly specialist, squealed with delight as she held a rare one in her hand. Sara moved away from spiders to the more benign butterflies and moths. One young man quickly realized his audience of one was a listener and stayed by her side as the two walked from display to display.
In what seemed to be no time over two hours passed and the curator returned to usher the group back to the main floor, saying snow was falling and adding another layer to the slush already on the ground. Everyone kept saying "It's not a blizzard." But Sara thought it was. Giant snowflakes floated downward and blew around heads before settling on icy sidewalks.
The group never slowed until they entered a restaurant and did not stop until everyone had a drink in hand and food on a plate. By the time the talk had slowed, which did not happen even while they ate, everyone was full and slightly tipsy. Their hotel was a short walk but the sidewalks were covered in a thick slippery layer of snow and for a group who had taken a long time eating and drinking, it took longer than usual for the laughing men and women to walk the distance to the lobby.
Grissom and Sara lagged behind the others; he wrapped an arm around her warm coat and pulled her close. "Are you having a good time with all these bug experts?" He asked. He appeared slightly buzzed; she knew he had more than a few drinks as bottle after bottle had passed around their table.
Sara was not sure if snow continued to fall or what had fallen was blowing around. It looked like a blizzard, but so many voices said "it's not a blizzard" that she had to believe they knew something she did not. Somehow, with the luck of the intoxicated, the group managed to arrive at the hotel without mishaps.
Back in their room, Grissom began to kiss her at the door, tangling up with her coat while trying to remove his own.
"Wait," she finally pulled away, removed her coat, his coat, hung up her slacks and sweater, taking only seconds, returning to find Grissom softly snoring, dressed except for his coat, and sprawled across the bed. She showered and he continued to sleep, quieter after he had mummy wrapped covers around himself. She tugged enough to roll him into the center of the bed.
His eyes opened briefly. "Marry me." She giggled as she kissed him and tucked covers around his shoulders as one arm flopped lazily across her abdomen. "I love you, Sara Sidle." His words were followed by a deep sigh as he returned to sleep.