Author's Notes: All I can say is thanks. And...enjoy:)
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The Last Embrace
by Kristen Elizabeth
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September 1971
"There's something about her face." The mid-wife watched the baby she'd delivered only hours earlier through a wispy cloud of pungent smoke. "Very unlucky."
On the other side of the room, the child's father cursed loudly. "You're tripping, Evie. Get out of here."
"I know this shaman in L.A." She took another drag. "He could probably cleanse her aura or something."
"I said get out of here!" He grabbed the woman by the arm and pushed her out the door, slamming it shut behind her. "Shit, Laura. Trust you to find the most stoned woman on the west coast to deliver our kid."
Laura cradled her daughter closer to her chest. "But it's okay. I mean, she's perfect…isn't she?"
His expression softened a bit. "Yeah, she'll do."
Her shoulders relaxed. Maybe everything would be all right. He hadn't laid a harsh finger on her the whole time she'd been pregnant. People changed all the time. A new baby could mean a new start for them.
Of course, he hadn't hit her when she was pregnant with Adam, either.
"She needs a name," Laura ventured. "We never decided on one."
He was already pulling on his coat. "Name her what you want. I gotta get to work."
"Tonight?" She bit her lip when he looked at her. "They should give you the night off."
"What world of fucking roses and sunshine do you live in?" he thundered. "You want me to take the night off to sit here and hold your hand? Fine. Then you figure out a way to make enough money for us to eat this week."
The baby started to whimper. Laura gently jostled her, praying that she'd stop before she worked her way up to actual cries. "I'm sorry," she told her husband. "I wasn't thinking."
"You never think, Laura." At the door, he sighed, disgusted. "It's not your strong suit, anyway."
The door slammed behind him, and the baby started crying.
"Shh," she soothed, although she couldn't stop her own tears. "It'll be okay…" She paused. "…Sara." Laura smiled. "Yeah. I like that." The little girl hiccupped between sobs. "You're not unlucky," she told her daughter. "I'll make sure you're okay. I promise."
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Sara was lying on the couch when the doorbell chimed. This time, she didn't even bother to contemplate getting up and answering it. Within a few seconds, her mother was already there.
"I know you," she heard Laura say to whoever it was. "Why do I know you?"
"Greg Sanders. We danced at the…um…the wedding."
Sara closed her eyes and silently willed the younger man away. She wasn't ready to see anyone so closely connected with the lab yet.
"Of course! Now I remember. Please..." Sara held her breath. Don't do it, don't you dare invite… "Come in, Greg."
She sighed. Damn it.
"Okay. But only for a second. I just need to talk to Sara. Is she…uh…available?"
Laura hesitated. "That's a good question. Why don't you just tell me whatever you need to, and I'll…"
Sara pushed herself up into a sitting position, where she could now plainly be seen. "It's okay. I'm here."
She could see Greg's eyes widen at the sight of her. And not in a good way. How long had it been since she'd taken a real shower? He quickly looked down at his shoes and cleared his throat. "Hey, Sara."
"What's going on, Greg?"
He continued to look anywhere but straight at her. "I…um…I just thought you'd wanna know…we got that guy in Boulder City. The one who poisoned his kid?"
"I remember the case," she said softly.
"We never would've gotten him if not for…" Greg stopped at the flash of warning in her eyes. "I'm sorry." He tried again. "Catherine sends her love."
"She actually said that?"
"Well…not exactly. She did say she'd be stopping by soon, though. The…funeral home needs a suit. For him." Greg shrugged. "She wasn't sure you'd be ready to go through his stuff."
Laura had been quietly listening as she pretended to pick up the assortment of Cassie's toys that lay scattered across the carpet. At this, she spoke up. "I could do that."
Sara's reply was sharp and bitter. The resentment in her tone wasn't directed at her mother, but it came out there all the same. "Catherine knew him longer than I did. And she has better taste." She looked at Greg. "Tell her to call before she drops by."
He swallowed. "Yeah. Of course. I'm…um…sorry about that." He glanced at Laura, who gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'll get out of your hair now." He paused with his hand on the doorknob, and turned back to her. "Sara, you're not feeling all this stuff alone, you know. We loved him, too. We miss him." Greg's smile was lopsided and sad. "We miss you."
Her only reply to this was to flop back down onto the couch, disappearing from view once more. She heard the door open and close, and then there was sweet silence.
Laura waited a few minutes before she approached the couch. Sara's eyes were closed, but she could sense her mother's presence. Smell the light scent of roses and honeysuckle that even six years in prison hadn't taken from her.
"You know," she began, sitting on the arm of the couch. "When your father died…"
"Died?" Sara challenged.
She was quiet for a moment. "He did die, Sara."
"He had some help getting there."
Sara could almost hear her counting to ten before continuing. "All right. You're not ready to talk yet."
Her eyes opened. "I'll talk. But not in euphemisms. Not until you can say the actual words. As unpleasant as they might be." Sara closed them again.
"I'm sorry, but it seems strange for you to accuse me of not using actual words when I have yet to hear you speak your husband's name. Or let anyone else speak it." Laura stood up. "If you're not careful, Cassie will grow up thinking it's a dirty word."
Sara's reply was muffled by the couch. "At least she'll stop crying for him."
"Say his name, Sara. Just once." Laura waited a few seconds. "One time. Just say it."
"I'm going to take a shower." Sara heaved herself off the sofa in one fluid motion. "If Cassie wakes up before I'm out…"
"I know the drill." Her mother crossed her arms. "All things in their own time. But can I just say…you're doing his memory a great disservice. He deserves better than this."
Sara started for the stairs. "When you can say 'I killed your father,' I'll talk about Nick."
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To Be Continued