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A/N: Okay, this one is long. Let me know what you think! :)
Chapter 14: The funeral
We slept in my bed that night—I had stopped crying long enough to finish eating. I hadn't felt hungry all day, but having Gil's cooking back, after months of take out and drive-through food, brought my hunger back. Yet when I dragged him into my room without a second thought and curled up next to him in bed, the tears came again, stronger and more painful—and he held me and rocked me, quoting poetry into my hair softly and even singing lullabies, when my tears had slowed and still I couldn't sleep.
And then I did sleep—deeply and dreamlessly—because he was there again. I had missed him so much—the smell of his deodorant, the texture of his hair, the solid, secure strength of his chest and his shoulders and his arms. He was an anchor, my anchor, and I needed him to ride out this storm.
He woke us the next morning, motivating me to get showered and dressed while he made breakfast. We ate together, and he sent me to pack while he quickly showered and dressed as well. He double-checked my packing, without being condescending, knowing that I was a bit distracted. He brought me my toothbrush and my cell phone charger, both of which I'd forgotten, and even had me run through what I'd be wearing to the funeral—I hadn't thought to pack nylons, and he retrieved them from my underwear drawer without a word.
We were on the road two hours after he'd gently shaken me awake, and in the silence of the car, I felt like I needed to fill up the space. He might be content to drive in silence, but I hadn't seen the man in months, I had just lost the closest thing I'd had to parents since I was seven, and I needed to talk. I needed to talk about them.
"…Jim bought me a book of Shakespearian sonnets, for my sixteenth birthday. He… the only books in the house were Marlene's romance novels…" I smile, despite myself. "I got desperate, and started reading them, just for something to read, but… he thought I was too young to be reading them, and I'd mentioned Shakespeare once, when we were flipping channels and Hamlet was on… It was really thoughtful."
He smiled. "You still have it?"
I nod. "Of course. …I haven't read it since I was in high school though…."
He gently takes my hand. "Tell me more about them."
And so the trip to Tomales Bay is spent with me recounting favorite memories, even fondly remembering the seven year old foster child who had made me fearful of keeping library books in the house, who had eventually gone back to his parents.
When we pulled into town, I directed Gil to their home—a small duplex in a retirement community, rather than the house I'd lived in. They'd moved here because all maintenance was taken care of for them… they'd been getting too old to manage the big house by themselves.
I let myself in with the key I'd been given years ago and had rarely used, feeling regretful that I hadn't visited more. There's a paper on the door step—Gil brings it in and hands it to me. "Would their obituary be today? Since the funeral is the 23rd…"
I sit on the couch, and page through it as he takes a seat beside me. He's right, and we read in silence. The last line makes me smile softly—survived by… their daughter, Sara Sidle. There's no "foster" before daughter. He wraps an arm around me and squeezes me softly. I sniffle, trying to organize my thoughts.
"I, uh… I'm responsible for all the… arrangements. But I think they had everything worked out… paid for… with the funeral home. I think."
His gaze is soft. He pulls me gently to their kitchen table—the same one from the previous house that I'd eaten at so many times—and takes a pad of paper and a pen from the kitchen. "Let's make a list."
He begins to write.
-Meet with funeral home—figure out arrangements
-Food for reception—location?
-Contact relatives?
-Sort belongings
-House?
I sit close to him, sliding my hand through his again. I really need it. "I don't want to keep the house… they left everything to me. I'll just… sell it, I guess."
"You sure, honey?"
I nod. "Yeah… I don't ever want to live in Tomales Bay, ever again."
He looks confused, but nods all the same. "The paper says the funeral is at 12:00, reception to follow. Were you hosting that?"
I nod. "There's no one else to… Jim's sister did the obituary, but she and her family live out of town…"
He squeezes my hand. "You call the funeral home, see when we can meet with them to go over everything. I'll go through the kitchen, and figure out our plan for food for the reception… and make a shopping list. Is there anyone you need to contact?"
I shake my head. "Marlene was an only child, all her friends lived in town… she was born here. So was Jim. His sister and her family… they already know."
"Tomorrow we'll call a real estate agent, and then, after the funeral, we'll start sorting through their things. Okay?"
I nod, slowly, and force myself up to call the funeral home, blinking furiously at the tears that seem to keep sneaking up on me, just when I think I've got my emotions under control.
We checked into a hotel, because I didn't feel right sleeping in their bed, and after grocery shopping, we retreated there, spending the night and most of the next day in bed. Gil held me, and rocked me—I cried a little, but mostly I slept and slept, for hours on end, deeply and dreamlessly, so I knew he'd stayed with me the whole time; I was restless even when he got up to go to the bathroom.
And then, finally, the day of the funeral arrived. Gil kissed my forehead, when he left our room, telling me to catch another hour or two and then get up and get some breakfast. He was going to go set up and start cooking for the reception. When he returned, he was sweaty, but looked happy enough. He took a quick shower, and we each grabbed a piece of fruit from the picked over continental breakfast, to tide us over, and left for the funeral.
I had anticipated the people I didn't know approaching me, and hugging me… I had anticipated seeing Jim and Marlene in their caskets… I had anticipated the service, and the burial… anticipated how it would hurt to see them lowered into a cold, empty ground… I had even anticipated how the entire event was likely to make me think of my father's funeral… one of only two other funerals I had ever attended.
I did not anticipate seeing Tyler.
And so when I entered the church, hand-in-hand with Gil, and walked slowly to the front, glancing around at the people gathered in the pews—their friends and Jim's sister and her family, community members and Jim's old coworkers—I nearly collapsed upon seeing Tyler with his family. Gil noticed, but probably attributed my stumbling steps to my grief. He wrapped an arm around me and guided me to the front, where I sat in agony, my mind reeling.
I didn't want to see him. I couldn't handle seeing him… not on this day. But I knew him, and I knew he would come talk to me. I just… didn't know what to expect from the conversation. I didn't know what he would expect. …Not knowing made it worse.
I didn't cry throughout the service—Jim's sister gave the eulogy, because I couldn't—and the drive to the cemetery was quiet. But as they were lowered into the ground to the sound of a gently murmured prayer, I suddenly felt my entire body trembling as sobs wracked my body and I collapsed against Gil, trying to keep my mourning silent, at least. We were the last to leave, Gil waiting gently and patiently until I had gotten control over myself, and then leading me to the car.
He drove back to their home rather quickly, which made me glance at him in surprise. "Are you in a hurry?"
He inclined his head a little reluctantly. "There's no one to unlock the door, so… people are going to be waiting to get into the house for the reception. Everything's ready to go… I almost wonder if I shouldn't have just left it unlocked, but…"
"It's fine, Gil. They can wait. …Thank you, for doing all of this. I… God, I don't know where I'd be right now without you."
He takes my hand gently, and slowly turns onto Jim and Marlene's street. There are lots of cars parked out front, yet everyone seems to be inside already. I raise an eyebrow. "I thought you said you'd locked it…'
His eyes narrow. "I did. I'm certain I did…"
I shrug softly, and get out of the car, taking his hand as I meet him on his side, and we walk slowly into the house. I'm surprised at what I see—chairs have been pulled from other rooms to fill up the dining area, so there's more seating—and the dining table is in the kitchen, with its extra leaf out, and there is a literal buffet spread out on it and most of the available space on the small counter, people moving through and filling their plates quietly. I look up at him. "You're my hero, did you know that?"
He smiles. "Go sit and talk… I'll grab us both a plate." I nod, gratefully, and move to sit next to Jim's sister—Julie—as she's one of the few people I know, and one of the even fewer that I'd be willing to speak to. However, she's enthralled in a conversation about gardening with a neighbor lady, and so I can't avoid talking to Tyler's mother, who is immediately sitting next to me in the empty seat I had intended for Gil. I turn to her, forcing a smile.
"Sara, honey, it's so good to see you. It's been so long… I thought we'd see you around town in the summers, visiting, at least…"
I shrug, softly. "I didn't like the dorms… and it didn't make sense to live here in the summers if I was paying rent on an apartment year round… It's, uh… it's good to see you too." And it actually was… she was older, but she had aged well—being in her presence, with her motherly voice exactly as I remember it, made me feel nostalgic. I wanted to go back to living with Jim and Marlene and feeling like everything in my life had a set meaning and pattern and direction.
She smiles brightly. "Well, tell me everything! Last I heard you'd gone off to Harvard… I assume you're not still there?"
I shake my head. "No, I got my undergrad there, and then transferred to Berkeley. I graduated in May."
"So you've been back in the area for a while?"
I nod again, starting to look around for Gil—he's still in line. "Four years, about."
"I would have expected to see you around more…"
I feel a muscle in my jaw tense. She's really pushing that issue, isn't she? "I've been busy with work and school…" Maybe it's not fair of me, to be upset. Maybe I'm being emotional—irrational—because she's pointing out my biggest regret—that I hadn't visited them more—over and over…
"What are you doing, by the way? Silly me, I didn't even ask. I know how important your career was to you…"
My eyes narrow—I'm not certain if she's stating a fact or being snide with me. Her smile is sweet and expressionless. I bite my bottom lip, I'm sure I'm being oversensitive. "I, uh… I work in forensics. I'm a crime scene investigator…"
Her eyebrows shoot up. "So, you're… you're like a cop? You didn't need ten years of college for that…"
I clear my throat, uncomfortably, glancing over at Gil again—he's half-way down the table. "No, I… I work with cops, and I had to do the formal training, but… I'm a scientist. I use science to put together clues and reconstruct a crime, to prove guilt or innocence… You do need college to do what I do. I'm very good at my job."
She smiles almost sadly, but there's a pitying behind it. "I'm sure you are, dear. We've just missed you so much… Now, are you seeing anyone? Spending ten years in college ought to have given you ample opportunity to fall in love… though I suppose, now, that biological clock is ticking…"
I'm thoroughly alarmed, and I don't know why this woman is baiting me on the day of my foster parents' funeral. I feel tears prick against my eyes, and I can't tell if they're in grief or anger. I shake my head slowly. "Uh… I'm only twenty-seven. My biological clock is not ticking."
She smiles kindly now, her eyebrows rising as if I'm overreacting to her statement. "No, sweetheart, of course not. I just meant, if you hadn't met anyone yet… well, you want to date for a while, a year or two, and then there's a year, year and a half, to plan a wedding… and you want to be married for a least a year or two before you have the first baby…. And you don't want to have children after the age of thirty-five, the rate of birth defects go dramatically up, because the eggs just get too old, plus, you'd be such an old mother, you know? You'd be fifty-three when your first child graduated from high school, at least!
"When you and Tyler were together, forgive me dear, a mother just can't forget is all… I was certain you two would be giving me grandbabies by the time you were twenty-three. I should have a four year on my lap right now, a two-year old getting food with daddy, and maybe another on the way… don't you think?"
My eyes are wide as saucers and I'm still shaking my head slowly, though I'm not even sure what she's said, really. I can't wrap my head around it—I only know that I feel constricted, and my breath is coming in short bursts, like I can't inhale deeply, and the room is spinning slightly. And then—there's a gentle hand on my arm, and my symptoms disappear. I look up, and Gil is there, balancing two paper plates in one hand and looking concerned.
"Sara, honey, are you okay?" I nod, slowly, breathing deeply, and he takes the seat that Julie has now vacated without my noticing it. He silently passes me my plate of food while looking between the woman and me. I draw in a deep breath, remembering myself.
"Uh, Gil, this is Lori Hall. I… dated… her son, in high school. Mrs. Hall, this is Dr. Gilbert Grissom."
His eyebrows raise, both at my explanation of my relationship to her and also at my use of his title. She raises her eyebrows as well, though I don't exactly know why. They shake hands and exchange nice-to-meet-you's, and I draw in another deep breath. This is uncomfortable.
"So, Dr. Grissom—"
"Gil, please."
"Gil. Are you a medical doctor, or…"
He chuckles. "No, no. I have my PhD in biology. I'm a crime scene investigator."
"Ah. Like Sara here. She was just telling me why she needed ten years of college to work in law enforcement…"
I feel my jaw tense, and Gil's eyes narrow, just slightly. "The thing about being a CSI, Mrs. Hall, is… the more you know, the more able you are… her years of education are invaluable in her profession."
I beam, and she coughs and smiles again. The woman could smile through an earthquake. "Of course. Now, are the two of you married, or…"
"Oh… no…" I say, while Gil shakes his head, a tight smile on his face. She smiles. Of course she eff-ing smiles.
"Oh, perhaps I misinterpreted your relationship… are you two involved?"
I open my mouth and then close it, uncertain how to respond—the obvious answer was no, but it didn't feel like it was that simple, anymore. He waits for me to be rendered completely speechless, and then gives the woman across from us—beaming like the Cheshire cat—an answer. "More or less."
I smile, and almost laugh, at her confused look, and then take a bite of my turkey sandwich to keep from laughing further. Gil smiles and takes my hand. "Well, it was nice meeting you. I think we're going to go eat outside, on the porch… fresh air, you know."
And we move away from the awful woman.
Her son, however, is out on the porch. I stop, abruptly, and Gil almost runs into me, looking in alarm from me to the only other person outside—and then he seems to understand. I start to back up, but Tyler has already turned, and he says, "Sara?" with too much excitement.
It's all I can do to keep from cringing.
"Tyler. …Hi. I, uh… didn't expect to see you out here."
Reluctantly, we both move forward, resting our plates on the wide railing of their little porch. Tyler takes a step towards me, once my hands are free, as if he means to hug me. I take an unconscious step back, against Gil's chest, and Tyler's eyes flicker to Gil and back to me, assessing our relationship. Gil notices, and I feel his right hand land possessively on my right hip, steadying me, and then remaining there as if to lay a claim on me.
Tyler's eyes flicker to Gil's hand, as well. "I… was hoping I'd get a chance to talk to you. How, uh… how've you been?"
I swallow, hard. "Good. Good. You? …It's been a while."
He nods. "Ten years… I… I missed you, when you moved to Boston. …You were my best friend."
I smile, awkwardly, at the sentiment, and search for a change of subject. "So, uh… what are you doing, these days? Where did you end up going to school?"
"San Francisco State. I'm actually a Chemistry teacher at our old high school… strange to be there every day and not see you." He chuckles. "I always struggle when students in my AP lab ask for help on the math…"
I make an effort to include Gil in the conversation, partly because I'm being polite, and partly because I don't want to feel like I'm alone in the interaction. I need back up. "Wow, that's… great. I bet you're a great teacher. Um," I turn to the man behind me, who still rests a comforting palm on my waist, "Tyler and I were lab partners, in AP Chem. I always had to do the math problems for him." I explain quickly. He nods, and glances between us. I try to give a reassuring smile.
"So," Tyler continues, obviously disliking that this is a three-way conversation. "What did you end up majoring in? Chemistry? Physics? Biology? Calculus? …English?"
I smile, again awkwardly. "Physics… and, then I went to Berkeley for grad school. Physics and forensics."
He looks surprised. "You've been back in California? For how long?"
I shrug. "Four years… four and half, now, I guess."
His eyes narrow, and look down, and he doesn't seem to know what to do with his hands. They slide into his pants pockets, and I catch myself smiling, genuinely, at the familiar gesture—he always did that when he was uncomfortable, or struggling to voice his thoughts. "I guess I would've thought you'd visit, if you were in the same state."
"I visited Jim and Marlene..."
His narrowed eyes rise back up to meet mine, and then flicker to Gil again. "I'm sorry, I never introduced myself. Tyler Hall." He reaches out and Gil reaches around me to shake his hand—they both grip too tightly, and I feel suddenly uncomfortable having Gil meeting Tyler. I don't want Gil to leave, of course… I just want Tyler to not be here.
"Gil Grissom." He responds, politely, and then his right hand breaks from Tyler's and falls back to rest on the small of my back this time. I force a smile, glancing between the men.
"So… forensics? I, uh… I guess I don't even really know what that is."
"I, uh… I'm a CSI— a crime scene investigator. It's… using science to solve crimes, basically."
He nods, a strange smile coming to his lips—almost arrogant. "Oh, right. I can see you doing that. You wouldn't have been satisfied if you weren't saving somebody…"
My eyes narrow, and I realize with surprise that he's right. I had never set out to find a career in any type of service… I had never known that I was drawn to that, but it had been the reason I had chosen forensics. Using science for the greater good of society…
It makes me uncomfortable that he knows me so well. I don't want to be known. Especially not by him… anymore.
Gil speaks for me, because I've apparently lost my ability. "We are the victim's last voice."
Tyler looks at him in surprise, while I look up at him in adoration. The phrase is one he used in his first lecture, the day we met… I had written it down, because it had meant so much to me.
"So, uh… you're a CSI too, then? Did you two meet at work?"
I say, "No." as Gil says, "Yes." We look at each other in surprise, and laugh. I turn to Tyler, who looks disgruntled, and try to explain. "We, uh… met at a forensic academy conference. So, it was work related… it'd be like… you meeting someone at a teacher's convention."
"So then you don't work… together?"
Gil speaks up again. "Not at the moment. But there should be a day-shift position opening in the Vegas lab soon. I have a mind to convince her to apply… she'd be a phenomenal asset to the lab."
My eyes are wide at Gil's words, but I push them aside—I can analyze them when I'm away from this stressful encounter. Tyler glances between us, clearly frustrated that Gil keeps speaking for the pair of us. "Where do you work now, Sara?"
I almost laugh, but disguise it in a smile. "The San Francisco crime lab."
"So really close, then… Maybe I'll have to drive into the city sometime, take you to dinner, so we can catch up."
I step back against Gil's chest again. "I… I don't know if that's such a good idea."
"… Sara," he steps forward, apparently no longer willing to be subtle. He takes my hand, pulling me forward. He takes me off guard, and so I step forward automatically, but then pull my hand away, once I realize. "You… you can't still be mad about our break up. It was… ten years ago. I'm sorry about everything… can't we be friends again, catch up on the decade together we've allowed ourselves to lose?"
But I'm shaking my head, and my hands are shaking too. "I… I'm not still mad, but… but I can't trust you, Ty." He smiles, despite my words, at the use of his old nickname.
"Sara… you're… god, you're even more beautiful than you were at sixteen… more beautiful than I could have imagined. I've… I haven't met anyone, in the ten years we've been apart, who made me feel the way you did… that's not something I can just ignore, honey."
Unlike him, I cringe at the reuse of an old term of endearment. Gil's the only one who calls me honey now. I step back into him, yet again, and he seems relieved—both hands now coming to rest on my hips. "Tyler, I… I don't feel the same way. I've… been with others, since you… been in love, since you." The hurt in his eyes is genuine, and I suddenly feel guilty. I sigh. "Ty…" He cuts me off, his voice a little louder.
"With who? This guy?" He gestures angrily at Gil, and my feelings of guilt disappear. "He looks like he could be your father, Sara!"
My eyes narrow, and I feel my temper rising. "No, he doesn't. And you wouldn't know this about me, because you haven't talked to me in a decade, but I like older men. Now, I know you're lashing out because you're hurt but—"
"What about your first time? I seem to remember you liking me quite a bit that day on the beach. I thought a girl never forgot her first…"
I roll my eyes, glancing around wildly, as if to figure out where this is all coming from.
"Wow, good for you, very impressive—you gave a horny sixteen year old girl an orgasm. Just so you know, no matter what your mother tells you, they're not that rare… in fact, they're pretty much expected nowadays, and, did you know, more than just the missionary position is allowed now too! Crazy thing, all this sexual progress we've made since the fifties… But no, Tyler, I haven't forgotten my first. I wonder… have you forgotten your first time? Because I seem to remember that being the problem—our firsts didn't happen to be the same event."
Gil's hands are tight on my waist—I don't know whether it's to keep me from slapping the man or to calm me down, but it seems to do both, and I take a deep breath, feeling the tears in my eyes. I blink rapidly. When Tyler speaks, his voice is much softer now—it takes me back ten years, to the way he used to talk to me on the beach.
"If you felt nothing for me, Sara, you wouldn't still be so upset over what I did… Let me take you out to dinner, even if it's just as friends at first… I know you're not with this guy, even if he's the closest thing to a boyfriend you've got at the moment. I know how you are… you like to be held, hold hands, exchange soft kisses, almost constantly. …If he knew how he was allowed to touch you, he'd have kissed you sometime today—especially today. That tells me he doesn't know, which means neither of you really know what you are right now. Sara… honey, give me a chance. Let me make up for what I did to you."
But I'm shaking my head, turning my body so that my side is tucked under Gil's arm, which wraps around my shoulder protectively. I swallow hard, trying to speak without the tears in my voice, but I know it's failing.
"I'm still upset… because I allowed myself to trust you, and you ripped that trust apart—just like everyone else who came before you. …I'm still upset because there's a man back in Boston whose heart I broke because I'm even more afraid of men today than I was as a fifteen year old girl at your lab table. …I'm still upset, Tyler Hall, because I gave you control over our relationship, and you spent years holding us back so that our first time together would be perfect, and then you slept with someone else days after proving what a sexist pig you were."
Tears are streaming down my face, and though my voice has only risen just a little since I began speaking, Tyler is physically shrinking from me, as if I were screaming, but I'm not stopping now.
"I'm. still. fucking. upset… because I now have to control everything—I can't let my guard down for one goddamned minute, even with a man as gentle and caring and kind as Gil—because you taught me that giving up control means giving up yourself. …Don't… don't ever talk to me again, okay?"
I start to turn, to pull Gil back into the house, but I stop, looking back at Tyler. "Oh, and Gil knows he can touch me any way and any where he likes… and he's a lot better at it then you ever were."
I pull Gil, almost forcefully, back into the house with me and into Jim and Marlene's bedroom, past the stunned faces of guests, but I can't bring myself to care about them at the moment. I proceed to lock the door and then bury my face in his chest, desperately, agonizingly, excessively.
His arms wrap around me, protectively, and then I'm sobbing again.
