Tender Loving Care
It was after 10 pm when Calleigh finally opened her front door and quietly slipped inside. Without turning on the light, she placed her keys and purse on the hall table, unclipped her badge and removed her holster, storing her gun in her gun safe for the night. Locking the safe door, she became aware of cooking smells and smiled, shaking her head. Gran had taken over her kitchen again. No doubt, judging by her earlier conversation with Eric, Gran had filled his belly with Irish foods and his head with Irish faery stories and legends before sending him home.
She slipped out of her shoes and quietly padded to her bedroom to check on her grandmother, making sure she was comfortable for the night. Satisfied that she was sleeping peacefully, Calleigh turned and went into her kitchen, turning on the light. Immediately she saw the note.
Calleigh,
I know you're coming in late and like your grandda used to, you probably forgot to eat. Your supper is in the oven. Eat up, child. I know you're hungry.
I spent all afternoon and part of the evening with your young man, Eric. Calleigh, I do believe that boy loves you with all his heart but he hasn't raised the courage to tell you yet. You ought to think about settling down with him, even if he isn't Irish and he's Catholic. He is kind and honest; respects his elders and is a good listener. Above all that he has a good heart and is a gentleman. He loves you. He didn't say as much to me, but I could see it every time he said your name. I'm your Gran and I know. I just hope you love him back.
Eat up, muirnin and sleep well. I'll wake you in plenty of time for you to get to work protecting the people of Miami.
Love,
Gran
Calleigh smiled. "Why can't she move to Miami?" she asked no one, or perhaps the universe or all the Irish Gods at once. She moved to the oven and opened the door. Inside she found some of the stew, a small pile of the colcannon and a couple of slices of brown bread. Her grandmother had left the oven on low so everything was still nice and warm. Calleigh retrieved her meal and turned the oven off. She sat down at the table where her grandmother had set a place for her, complete with salt, pepper and good Irish butter. Crossing to the refrigerator, she took a bottle of Guinness and, giving herself permission because of the meal, she cracked it open and set it before her. Inhaling the fragrant and comforting aromas, she ate with an appetite she forgot she had.
While she ate, she mulled over her Gran's words. Eric loved her? They were close, closer than she had ever known people of the opposite sex could be without it being romantic. She knew she loved Eric like she had never loved anyone before. She loved his temper and his child-like enthusiasm and his sense of humor. She loved his quick wit and keen intelligence. She loved his utter loyalty and his unerring sense of justice. She loved that, with him, chivalry wasn't dead yet he showed a deep and passionate nature. She loved that he gave his heart completely and always wore it on his sleeve. She loved all his little flaws. She loved him. Gran said that she could see that he loved her. Could he?
Shaking her head, Calleigh finished the last of her stew and the last bite of brown bread and realized that she was suddenly very sleepy. She wasn't used to eating such a heavy and filling supper and the food and alcohol weighed on her. She drowsily made her way to the bathroom and got herself washed up for bed, changed into her pyjamas and then laid down on the couch, covering herself with the quilt that her Gran had made her when she was only five. It was mere moments before she drifted off.
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It was he aroma that woke her. It was warm and doughy, balcony and eggy which was entirely wrong, given that it was a Friday morning. More than that: Calleigh lived alone. She rolled over and nearly fell off the sofa. That's when she remembered that her Gran was visiting. She stretched and tossed the quilt aside, sitting up.
"About time ya woke up; it's nearly half past five!" her Gran said, coming into the living room with a hot cup of tea in her hand. She gave it to Calleigh. "I was just comin' to wake ya. I can't have ya late for work."
"Thanks, Gran," Calleigh said, sipping the hot tea, savoring the leafy aroma.
"I made ya good breakfast and have taken the liberty of packin' ya a decent lunch. Ya had too much take away in the refrigerator. You'll ruin your health that way," Maureen scolded lovingly.
Calleigh sighed. "Gran, I'm a CSI, a cop; I'm too tired to cook when I get home. I have to catch the bad guys and bring them to justice, remember?"
"Now ya know that ya can't do that if you're all run down from bad fast food," Maureen countered. They had danced this verbal dance before. "Now get yourself to the table and have something nourishing. You're too skinny. Off with ya."
Calleigh had lost and she knew it. "Yes, Gran."
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"Hi guys," Calleigh said, entering the break room and stowing her Lumberjack sized lunch bag in the refrigerator. "Do you have anything planned for this evening?"
Ryan looked up from the morning paper. "Why?"
"Yeah, why?" Eric echoed, giving Calleigh an appraising look. "By the way, you look great today."
Calleigh felt her cheeks redden slightly at the compliment. "Thanks. Call it tender loving care. Listen, my Gran wants to meet everyone that I've told her about so she's throwing a little impromptu St. Patrick's Day party and want everyone to come."
"Looking for a date?" Horatio asked, entering.
"No, my Gran...listen, are you busy or not? She's a very pushy Irishwoman. I wouldn't want to cross her," Calleigh said.
Eric leaned back in his chair. "And she's a great cook and storyteller. I'm in. I know why your dad calls you Lambchop." Eric let out a laugh.
"Were those pooka prints I saw on the trunk of your car?" she retorted and then laughed when he sobered up quickly.
Horatio chuckled, remembering stories from his own Irish grandparents, "I'll be happy to met her if she's anything like my own grandmothers."
"Horatio, she's a complete Irish storytelling handful," Calleigh said with a sense of pride. She loved her Gran Maureen with all her heart..
"Then I'm in," Horatio said as Natalia entered the break room for her morning cup of coffee.
"What's all the excitement about?" she asked.
"Calleigh's grandmother, very Irish and pushy grandmother, is in town and wants to meet everyone," Eric said.
"You're invited," Calleigh said quickly, wanting Natalia to understand that she was more than welcome to the gathering of family; that she already was considered part of the family. "You were just absent at the onset. I want you to come."
"Really?"
"Yes, really. Everything is set for 7:30 tonight. The only alcoholic drinks are: Bushmill's Irish Whiskey, Guinness Irish Stout and Smithwick's and Magner's hard apple cider. Anything else is blasphamy. Trust me, you will leave my home more full and happy that you ever have been and your imagination will be fired with Irish faery stories, enough to make you look over your shoulder on the way home. It'll be a fun night. I guarntentee it," Calleigh stated with a delighted smile. She couldn't wait until everyone met her Gran Maureen.