A/N: A new chapter! Enjoy!
After Effects
Chapter 7
Eight years later:
Gil Grissom stood on the terrace and watched the approaching car as it made the second of three switchback turns. He looked around at the nearby homes, separated by natural-growing vegetation, borders of fragrant flowers, and well-tended vegetable gardens. Not for the first time since making this place home, he was grateful for this out-of-the-way place they had found by accident. First seen from their boat before Sara had discovered the remote community on a map—as if any place in California could be remote—this place had remained off the path, a secluded cove with one road into the area. And the one road wasn't well marked.
The harbor had been the perfect place for their boat and the community had welcomed the family when they had moved into the house. Grissom smiled; he would never know how it had come about but the one vacant house had been a well-kept secret, no listing by any real estate agency, until two men had suggested they look at the house. And this conversation took place two years after the first time they had tied up to the harbor and had been a curiosity for local residents.
Their previous house had become crowded with four growing children and, as one of the most sought after neighborhoods to live around Los Angeles, they had decided to sell after they'd found this place. The house sold in two days for more money than he and Sara had imagined; his mother would have been pleased at the small fortune her long-ago purchase had returned.
The soft crunch of gravel from the parking pad announced the arrival of his wife and youngest daughter. As he watched, he could see a one-sided, animated conversation taking place; no, he decided, this was a lecture. Bronwyn's chin was almost touching her chest and after several minutes, the twelve-year-old got out of the car, heading for the house.
He smiled again; she looked like a rosebud in a lavender sweater, cheeks flushed, blue eyes downcast, long-wheat-colored hair caught in a brief whirl of wind as she walked toward him—to the front deck. No smile, no enthusiasm; her greeting consisted of a few mumbled words, a quick avoidance of their habitual hug, and she was inside the house. The heavy foot falls told him life was not going as desired for this usually bubbling girl-child.
A few more minutes passed before his wife got out of the car and headed in his direction, and, he knew—she wasn't happy. Primed by the entrance of their daughter, he had moved across the deck, welcoming his wife with a swift kiss as he took the woven shopping bag from her hand.
His hand stroked across her back as he said, "What's going on?"
Sara's eyes rolled as she motioned to the open French doors of the room they used as an office. Once inside, she closed both doors and turned to Grissom, throwing her arms wide; her mouth opened once before she began to pace. He could see her flushed face, the flaming sparks in her eyes, as she paced for a full minute.
"Your daughter…"
Any time she addressed their children in this way—he hated to hear the rest of her sentence.
"Your daughter—while we were in the car—she—we had to stop for several minutes for the road construction—and," she shook her head, throwing her arms out again, "she called one of the men a slur word! A word we've never used! My child!" Her hand splayed against her chest.
Not anger, he realized, but disappointment and frustration ranged across her face. Taking a few steps, he spread his arms and embraced her. He felt several deep sighs before she said:
"I know she's twelve—and she hears things from others—but when our little girl said that word—oh, Gil—I almost cried. And I did yell at her."
Gently, Grissom pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and kissed her. "What did you yell?"
"Her name—then told her I'd better never hear her say the word again—she came back with 'Ethan says it' and then I sort of went into that five hundred year old parent lecture about following Ethan off a cliff."
To his credit, he did not laugh but pulled her close and kissed her again before saying, "These things happen—she's twelve. She—she is influenced by more than her parents, more than her brothers and sister." His fingers raked through his wife's curling hair as her head rested on his shoulder.
"I want to put all of them under a bell jar and keep them there—safe, protected."
At her remark, Grissom did chuckle. "Maybe not—the bell jar has its own stifling distortions." He grunted an attempted laugh, adding, "It's been a while since I read the book, but not much good came for her."
Sara relaxed against him, kissing his jaw, softly laughing at his comment. "I think I surprised her with my reaction as much as I was shocked by her use of the word." Sighing, she said, "I'll ask if she'll help prepare dinner."
"Do I need to be involved?" He asked, hoping for a negative answer.
"No—no, we'll be fine." She laughed again, saying, "I might want to put a bar of soap in Ethan's mouth—but I won't." She kissed him again; a real kiss that could have easily developed into more.
A few minutes later, Sara disappeared through the connecting door. He heard her light footsteps on the stairs as he picked up his book and settled onto an old comfortable sofa. After reading for awhile, he heard his wife and daughter, laughing, talking about dinner as pots and pans rattled, all previous frustration and stress gone by the companionable sounds from the kitchen.
The book fell to his chest; rereading The Odyssey because it was on the reading list for his teenage sons, he had been enjoying the classic story of dramatic battles, personal struggles, and social issues, of gods and heroes, kings and queens, woven into an epic tale. But today, he stared out the window at the beautiful blue sky that touched the Pacific Ocean in the far distance and thought about how fortunate he was to live this life.
The noisy arrival of his oldest daughter brought him from his daydreaming thoughts. Cate thumped her way onto the deck and then banged the door as she entered the house. Grissom would never understand how a girl so slight and dainty in appearance could create such perpetual noise. Her book bag dropped, books fell, a notebook clattered to the floor.
Cate would graduate from high school as head of her class in a few months; a math and music prodigy, a striking, delicate beauty that disguised her amazing abilities. She'd already selected her university, not far from home, thank goodness.
"Good afternoon, Cate," he called to get her attention, giving her mother and sister more time in the kitchen.
She came into the office, her hand slapping a rhythm on the wall, then her thigh as she walked. "Hi, Dad! Are you reading? Hiding from Mom?" She flopped down beside him, pushing her hand around his arm as she drew close to him.
"I was reading and then thinking about what I'd read."
She chortled with amusement. "You sound like our teachers." Her voice deepened as she quoted, "Think about what you've read—books are meant to enrich and improve your life." Her feet went to the top of the table beside his as she added, "I have no idea why one would read if you didn't think about what you were reading! But some people are not very smart."
He took a chance, asking, "Do you hear a lot of rude comments at school? Name calling?"
If she thought his question was odd, she did not mention it. Instead, she said, "Not much—some political stuff—and you know that comes from Mr. Bogge who wants to be a big politician. A few kids will follow him around—you know—the ones who want to throw all the people out of the country who don't look like they do."
He knew the teacher by discussions at their dinner table when Cate and the boys had been in ninth grade. He asked, "Do you think many people pay attention to what he says—or the kids?"
"No, by the time kids get to tenth grade, he's forgotten." She laughed, hugging his arm as she put her head on his shoulder. "You want to hear a funny story?" She didn't wait for an answer as she continued, "You know Bennett Martin, right? He was in a store trying on clothes when he heard Mr. Bogge and his wife who were in the dressing room and he—Mr. Bogge—was trying on a suit. Well, he—Bennett—decided to stay in the dressing room and out of sight and listen to their conversation. Everything was too big or too small or too expensive and they ended up in this big verbal fight!"
Grissom could imagine the pleasure it would give a student to eavesdrop on a teacher, especially one with opposing political viewpoints which he knew would be true for Bennett Martin.
Cate turned her head to his and asked, "You're not going to say he shouldn't have eavesdropped or told us about it?"
"You know it's impolite to eavesdrop—nor should one spread what one overhears." Quietly, he chuckled, adding, "but in this case, it was irresistible."
A silence settled for several long moments; they could hear sounds from the kitchen. Cate asked, "How come you and Mom never tell us what's right and wrong?"
He had no idea where this was going but he had asked her an odd question. He answered, "I think we do."
"You don't," she said. "You tell us to help others and not lie." Pulling away so she could look at him, she asked, "What about the ten commandants—coveting your neighbor's wife and not killing people?"
Pulling her back so his arm fit around her shoulders, he was quiet for a minute before he answered. "If you help people and you don't lie, you are unlikely to want to kill anyone—and you won't have time to covet your neighbor's wife."
"Oh, Dad, are you serious?" She laughed.
Any further discussion was interrupted by the sound of another car arriving quickly followed by three good-humored voices approaching the house.
Grissom and his daughter opened the double doors to the deck and were immediately caught up in the amicable and excited conversation between two young teenage boys and the man they had long called 'Papa Jim'.
A/N: Thank you for reading-and a special thank you for reviewing, sending your words of encouragement!
