Chapter Eight
Jane breezed into the precinct cafe, intent on scoring a strong cup of coffee, but quickly backtracked once she glimpsed her mother and Frankie sitting at a high-top table. Her mother was straightening Frankie's collar, which meant she was in full smothering mode, something Jane didn't have the time nor the desire to handle at the moment. She was too late, though, and she heard both her mother and Frankie call out her name. She sighed. At least Frankie seemed grateful for the interruption. She'd make sure he made it up to her later.
"How was your date last night?" he asked casually, and Jane raised an eyebrow at him.
"How was yours?" she shot back, eyeing her mother, who looked over at Frankie with a pointed curiosity.
"You had a date last night? With who?" Angela asked.
Jane crossed her arms over her chest, pleased with her diversion, despite the daggers that Frankie was shooting her. The reverie didn't last long, however, as Angela soon returned her attention to Jane. "Korsak was in here looking for you," she said.
Jane groaned. "Probably those damn feds," she mumbled.
"They still looking into the Doyle shooting?" Frankie asked, replacing his daggers with worry.
She waved the question off. "It's the FBI. If they're not wasting their time, what else are they doing? I'm not going to worry about it." She glanced around, trying to keep her voice casual. "Maura been in today?" Her morning text had gone unanswered, which was unlike the medical examiner, who was generally at her perkiest between the ungodly hours of six and nine.
"I haven't seen her since last night," Angela replied.
"Whoa, what?" Jane asked. "When did you see her last night?"
"When I was on my way back from bowling." She raised a sarcastic brow. "She lives right next door, don't forget."
"How could I?" Jane sighed, leaning her elbows onto the counter. As her mother occupied herself by reloading the napkin dispenser, Jane glanced over at Frankie. "How did your date go last night?"
Frankie shook his head. "The bangs were the best thing about her. Personality like a brick wall." He made sure their mother was still out of earshot. "So, uh, things went well last night?"
Jane measured her words. "Objectively, no, things went horribly," she said. "That dessert place Johanssen mentioned is closed, it was pouring rain, I had to run in heels, and I ended the night by putting my foot squarely in my mouth." She couldn't help but smile. "But, for some reason, everything turned out perfectly."
Frankie raised his eyebrows. "How dreamy," Frankie gushed sarcastically, and Jane punched him on his shoulder. He laughed. "You should be punching Johanssen," he said.
"I already put an old banana in his desk drawer," Jane replied with a smirk. Her mother returned, reaching out a hand and straightening the lapel of Jane's jacket.
"How long have you had this coat?" she asked, leaning closer. "It's pilly."
Jane was ready to reply and flee, but before she could, she glimpsed Maura walking into the cafe, her head bent toward her phone. "Maura," she called, waving her over. When the medical examiner finally looked up, the smile she gave was wan, and Jane noticed the slight depressions under her eyes.
"I need a coffee," she said, her voice edgy, her fingers still fidgeting. Despite her tired eyes, it seemed as if a nervous current ran through her. If she kept her nerves this edgy, there would be no way she'd make it to time for dinner with her mother.
Jane reached a hand out, stilling the shorter woman's fidgeting fingers. "You sure you need caffeine, Maur?" she asked, but removed her hand quickly when she felt her mother's eyes on the gesture. Pleased eyes, but prying nonetheless.
"How about a decaf?" Angela asked. "That will do the mental trick."
"Mental tricks don't work on me," Maura replied earnestly, and Jane stifled a grin.
"I know what you need," Angela said, clasping her hands together. "Comfort food."
"Sure thing," Frankie echoed with a nod. "Comfort food."
"Comfort food?" Maura repeated, the concept clearly foreign to her. Growing up with a mother like Constance, Jane could certainly imagine why.
"Pancakes," Angela suggested.
"I don't want pan – " Maura began, but Frankie cut her off.
"Chocolate milk," he said, raising his finger in the air. "Always calms my nerves."
Maura smiled politely, but shook her head, her shoulders tensing. "I don't care for – "
Jane stood up, silencing her mother and Frankie with a wave of her hand. "How about an egg white omelet?" she asked, inching Maura into a chair. "Simple, healthy, bland. Exactly your style," she said with a grin.
"Should I call her to make sure we're still on?" Maura asked, not bothering to clarify who she was talking about. It was as if her mouth began working mid-thought. "I emailed her yesterday, but I didn't call."
"I think it's fine, Maura. All you need to do is simply show up."
"She said she would be wearing a red scarf," Maura said. "That must mean she as warm undertones. I have cool undertones." She looked up at Jane expectantly, but unfortunately, her knowledge of undertones was limited, and she didn't have much to offer.
Instead she placed her hands on Maura's, clasping them gently. "Maur, you're driving yourself crazy. Just take a deep breath. How about I come down and meet you for lunch?"
She shook her head, her eyes darting back to her phone. "I just need to lose myself in the finer toxicities of silica bodies in intestinal tissue."
"That doesn't sound like something you need my help with," Jane replied slowly.
Maura shook her head distractedly. "I just need to focus on work," she said.
Jane understood the need, and nodded, the medical examiner's anxiety practically emanating from her pours. "Sure," she said. "Do what you need to do, Maur."
Maura ran a hand through her hair, and it fell perfectly back into place. "I can't eat an omelette right now, Jane," she said, as if letting her in on a piece of devastating news. "And I don't like chocolate milk."
Jane put a hand on her shoulder, steadying her. "No worries, Maur. I'll take care of the omelette. Why don't you head down to the office and lose yourself in some some of my stolen chocolate stash. Or... intestinal toxins."
"You'll take care of the omelette?" Maura asked. "You'll be nice about it?"
"Yes," Jane said, dramatically. "I will eat your omelette for you. It's not nearly the favor you think it is, considering I'm starving." She smiled, although inside she felt some worry for the shorter woman. "Everything will be fine."
Maura didn't smile, but her eyes softened. "Thank you," she said. "I'll call you after dinner?"
"Of course," Jane replied, an ease in her tone that she didn't feel in her stomach. "I'll be waiting with bated breath."
"Okay," Maura said, giving her hand a squeeze before walking briskly out of the cafe, probably to avoid any more food recommendations from the rest of the Rizzoli clan. Jane sighed, and walked toward the kitchen. She might as well tell her mom to add a pancake to the order. Even she needed comfort food sometimes.
Maura took a seat at the bar, her hands fidgeting with the clasp of her purse. She ordered nothing more than a soda water, hoping to settle her nervous stomach, but at the last minute requested a splash of vodka and lime. She took in the colored bottles behind the bar, mentally calculating the proportions of dark verus light liquor, anything to keep her mind from veering uncontrollably to the moment when her mother would inevitably walk in the door.
Or what if she didn't? Was she so naïve that she hadn't thought of the possibility that Hope could simply not show up? She didn't exactly have a case history to go by. She abandoned her alcohol count and her thoughts tunneled into each other until a buzz from her purse caught her attention. The text that appeared on her screen made her smile, if only because Jane knew her too well: She's lucky to be getting the chance to meet you. Remember that. Deep breaths. If all else fails, head to the bar and I'll meet you there.
"Maura."
She jumped, the phone fumbling in her hands as she looked up, her eyes falling first on the deep red scarf. As her gaze floated upwards, taking in the woman in front of her, she realized she didn't need a scarf to identify Hope Dixon. She might as well have been looking into a mirror, albeit twenty years in the future. She stood, too quickly. "Yes," she replied, jutting her hand forward, as if reporting for a job interview rather than meeting the woman who had given her half her genetic makeup.
Hope took her hand and gave her a warm smile, which was accented by a layer of lipstick that matched the tone of her scarf. "I'm Emily," she said, and the juxtaposition of her chosen name sounded abrupt, a reminder that despite their biological connection, there was a chasm between them. Maura took in Emily's straight, narrow nose and her heavy-lidded, large eyes, taking a mental inventory of the physical characteristics that she had conjured up in her head for years, often while staring at her own features in her bathroom mirror.
Hope, in turn, let her gaze rove over Maura, her eyes squinting with a bright, if somewhat nervous smile. "It's wonderful to see you," she said, and for a moment Maura thought she would reach over and hug her, but she simply shifted her weight, glancing around. "You've chosen a beautiful place."
"I hope you like it," Maura said. "The food is supposed to be superb."
"Constance has ingrained in you her taste for good cuisine, I see," Hope replied.
Maura didn't know how to respond, so instead she nodded, grabbing her drink with a slightly shaking hand. "I believe we can go ahead and have a seat," she said, motioning her toward the hostess stand.
They shared polite, silent smiles as they were shown their table, and Maura let Emily lead, taking the time to study her gait. Her posture was certainly less poised than Constance's, but just as confident. They sat in an alcove somewhat secluded from the bustle of the main floor, and Maura exhaled, glad she had asked for the privacy. Before taking her seat, she took another long sip of her drink, the bubbles closing her already tightening throat.
"Well," Emily said, clasping her hands in front of her. Maura studied her eyes, which were a light brown – were they hazel, like her own? "The hard part is over, I suppose. We're both here." Her thumb fidgeted slightly with a ring on her finger, belying her relaxed shoulders. "The last picture Constance sent was of the three of you in Nice," she said, her eyes skimming Maura's features. "Somehow you've managed to become even more beautiful since then."
When had they gone to Nice? Four years ago? It was right before she took the job as Chief Medical Examiner, and she had spent the vacation mostly attempting to convince her father that it was a worthy career move. She certainly didn't remember any pictures, but she blushed, smiling demurely. "Thank you, genetics," she said.
Her comment pulled a pleasant laugh from Emily, one that slipped easily from her lips. "It is quite amazing," she said, placing her chin in her hand and peering carefully across the table at her. "I'd like to think my twenty-three chromosomes made all the difference, but I can definitely see Patrick in you." She cleared her throat, glancing down at her menu, as if the mention of Doyle reminded her of why she had come. "I should be starving," she said, slowly regaining her mirth. "But I must be honest, my stomach is in knots." She complemented her honesty with a small smile.
"Acute anxietal nausea," Maura said, with a nod, placing a hand against her own stomach. "I'm experiencing the same sensations."
Hope raised an amused eyebrow at her. "Well, if you feel your CTZ rising too much, just let me know. I'll clear a path for you to the restroom."
This time, it was Maura's turn to smile. It wasn't often her unintentional jargon was actually understood. "I'll let you know," she replied, taking a last sip from her glass.
"Good evening ladies." A tall, thin waiter appeared by their table, dark bangs falling just to his eyes, and he extended a wine menu toward them. Emily passed it immediately over to Maura.
"Your choice," she said with a smile. "I know a good wine palette when I see one."
Maura skimmed the menu, grateful to be of some use, even if it was as simple a task as ordering a bottle of wine. "The brunello, please," she said, catching Emily's appreciative nod. Apparently her biological mother shared her same taste in spirits.
"Ah, a good choice," the waiter replied. "Perfect for a mother-daughter dinner, I'd say." He glanced down at Emily. "Or sisters?" he asked.
Maura felt her face heat up, and wished the restaurant's lighting were a bit dimmer so as to hide the flush that crept into her cheeks. She chanced a look at Emily, whose own eyes had narrowed slightly as she looked up at him, giving him a nod, but politely dismissing him. When he was out of earshot, she leaned into Maura with a slight smile. "It's the line of the nose," she said. "Fortunately, you got mine."
Maura smiled, the effort releasing something inside her chest, and whether it was due from the alcohol or Emily's easy manner, she didn't care. She relaxed, easing into small talk, which she figured was as appropriate as anything else, considering they were strangers. "How is San Diego?" she asked. "You have a practice there?"
"I do," Emily answered with a nod. "Specializing in women's reproductive health, mostly. Sometimes I'm certain it would be easier to work solely with a hospital, but this is a labor of love. I spend most of my time acting as a social worker rather than an OB-GYN." She was quick to turn the spotlight back to Maura. "How is the Boston Medical Examiner's office? You've been there for four years now, is it?"
Emily's insight into her life caught her off guard slightly, but she nodded. "It's rewarding in its own way." She never knew how to espouse to strangers how much she loved her job; after all, dissecting decedents wasn't necessarily a ubiquitous life calling.
"I think it sounds fascinating," Emily offered, leaning into her with curious eyes. "I've always been in awe of pathologists. I never was much of a detective, much less when it came to the human body. And having to perform such feats on someone unable to articulate what went wrong, well, that's even tougher. Hat's off to you, dear."
The praise caught Maura off guard, but she recovered with a proud, relieved smile. The last time she'd had someone reward her career choice had been from her fellow forensic pathologists at an annual meeting, which didn't lend as much credence as real world admiration. "Sometimes I wish I had chosen something more grounded in reality," she said. "I don't get out of the morgue much."
Emily waved a hand at her. "The real world isn't that interesting," she said. "Trust me. Half these people walking around are complete zombies." She laughed, quickly, but cut it off with a wave of her hand. "I'm not as jaded as I sound," she said, but her eyes were flat, and the twitch in her eyelid showed the comment wasn't as true as she would have liked.
They paused as the waiter returned, allowing Maura to taste it. The expectant gazes of the waiter and Emily made her anxious, and she quickly nodded, prompting him to pour each of them a glass before leaving them. Emily raised hers in the air. "To lost years," she said, and Maura met her halfway, their glasses clinking against one another in a promise that was yet to be fulfilled. "Now tell me how you chose to become a medical examiner?" Emily asked, that same curiosity in her gaze. "Constance never was able to articulate that in her letters."
How much had they written to one another? How had she never caught on? "My bedside manner wasn't the best," Maura replied earnestly. It hadn't been, of course. Her explanations were often too clinical and too harsh for patients to handle, and even her fellow medical students steered clear of her in clinic.
Emily's lip quivered with a light chuckle, and Maura was both grateful and a bit bewildered by her seeming amusement. "Well, that's one reason," she said. "A good enough reason not to go into pediatrics, either, I assume." She raised a finger in the air. "Although, at times children have a better grasp on things than their parents, that's for certain."
Maura glanced up at her, suddenly emboldened by a curiosity that she'd harbored for over twenty years, and the vodka and the wine seemed to barrel through any last barriers she had. "Do you have any more children?" She hadn't seen any mentioned during her internet search, but that didn't mean Emily hadn't started her own family.
Her mother's eyes dimmed, as if the light were leaching the color from them, and she shook her head. "No," she said lowly, her voice barely carrying over the table. "No," she repeated, this time louder. "By the time I finished medical school, I was working too hard to set up my own practice. By the time I got my own practice..." Her eyes darted to her wine glass, staring into it. "You were it," she said finally, her eyes locking onto Maura's. Was it regret that she detected there?
Once again the waiter, with timing that could have been considered both horrid or exceptional, was back at their table, this settling their plates in front of them with expectant smiles. Emily welcomed the distraction, her pleasant smile reappearing as she concentrated on her meal. "Buon appetito," she said, flourishing her napkin toward her lap. "And before I give the wrong impression, that's all the Italian that I know."
Maura chuckled. "That's all you need to know," she said. "Do you speak any other languages?" The question struck her as pretentious, and she struggled to backtrack. "I mean – I just wondered - "
"I speak a little French, but mostly Spanish," she said. "That's what serves me most at work."
"Of course," Maura said with a nod. "I have to say, working with detectives and corpses doesn't give me much opportunity to utilize my French."
"Ah, but I'm sure Constance and Phillip keep you practicing," Emily replied.
Maura looked up at her, only picking at her food. "You talk like you know them quite well," she said. "How often do you keep in touch with them?"
Emily twirled a ribbon of pasta around her fork. "Not too often. A letter every couple of months or so, now an email once a month. Just quick updates, mostly to satisfy my own curiosity."
"You were curious about us?" Maura asked.
Emily smiled sadly at her, letting the ribbon untwirl across her plate. "Of course," she said simply. "Constance and Phillip were living what I thought would be my life." Her face reddened, and she bowed her head toward her plate, the first semblance of embarrassment that she had revealed. "That came out wrong," she said. "I apologize."
She refilled both of their wine glasses with a self-hating smirk. "Hopefully with a little more wine, my honesty will be more palatable." Maura took a long sip of it, the thought of food suddenly unappetizing. She felt the distinct sense that she was letting time pass her by without getting any of the answers she craved, and she hoped that the myth of liquid courage would eventually kick in.
Emily seemed pleased with the direction of their meal, and Maura envied her casualness, even if it was merely a mask. "Are you seeing anyone?" she asked, raising her eyebrows over her wine glass.
Another sip of wine, and Maura managed to give a half-nod. "Sort of," she said. "It's a bit complicated."
"Is it that detective?" Emily asked, raising an eyebrow. "Your mother mentioned her last night."
Maura didn't try to hide her surprise. "Excuse me?"
Emily laughed. "Constance may be quite rigid at times," she said. "But you'd be surprised what she's able to intuit."
Flustered, Maura did the only thing she had been doing all evening, and took a sip of her wine. "I – her name is Jane," she offered. "We became friends when I became medical examiner and have... grown closer over the years."
Emily nodded. "Friendship romances are at times difficult to navigate," she said. "But the most rewarding, I imagine. Constance says she's 'brash, but fiercely protective'. In Constance-speak, I take it that means she only slightly disapproves."
Maura allowed herself a small smile. It had certainly taken her mother a moment to warm up to the finer nuances of Jane's humor. "Did she disapprove of you and Patrick?"
Emily's eyes glazed over, and she took a moment to take a slow sip of her wine. "Everyone disapproved of Patrick." Abandoning her fork for a moment, she once again fidgeted with the ring on her finger. "Even I did at first. But he was nothing if not determined. Even after everything had happened during the pregnancy, and when you were born. He didn't give up on us until I finally changed my name." She stared at a point just past Maura. "1979," she whispered into her wine glass, seemingly caught up in some past memory.
"You didn't change your name until 1979?" Maura asked. She had turned five that year.
Emily nodded slowly, and exhaled. "Constance and Phillip didn't formally adopt you until then."
Maura narrowed her eyes, attempting to make sense of this newest revelation. She had assumed the adoption happened at birth, and her parents had never lead her to believe otherwise. "Why?"
It was a simple enough question to ask, but judging from the glassiness of Emily's eyes, it was more difficult to answer. "For some time, I believed that the three of us would end up together again," she replied. "That somehow Patrick would give up the life he had created, and that we would live happily ever after." The corner of her mouth turned downwards, and she shook her head. "But eventually I knew that wasn't going to happen."
Maura was aware of voices around her, but everyone faded from her peripheral, and she struggled as her own eyes misted over. She saw herself across the table, a clear vision of who she could have been had things worked out differently: a loving family, a normal, sociable childhood with friends and a brilliant mother who pushed her to do her best. The image seemed to lodge itself in her throat, forcing her to wash it away with a long gulp of wine.
Emily seemed to detect the effect her words had, and she reached across the table, tentatively taking Maura's hand. She gave it a squeeze, but just as quickly let it go, as if it burned her. It was that quick letting go, that sudden abdication, that made Maura bite back a sob. The waiter appeared, and she bit her lip, a sudden queasiness floating through her.
"Can I interest you ladies in any dessert tonight?"
Maura nodded, if only to avoid catching Emily's eye, and she tried to focus on the waiter's polite smile, but he blurred in front of her. As he continued to describe their dessert options, her queasiness only rose further up her throat, and her vision felt separated from the rest of her. "If you'll excuse me," she said, rising from her chair, her face suddenly hot, from both the nausea and the embarrassment that seared through her.
"Maura - "
She didn't stop at the sound of her name, and wove her way around the tables until she found her way to a back hallway, where she slipped into the restroom. Heading straight for the sink, she tossed her purse onto a row of sinks and rested her hands along the cool counter top. Her face was pale when she finally peered into the mirror. Why had she had so much wine on an empty stomach? In addition to the liquor? In addition to her nerves? In addition to her general inability to cope with things over the past several weeks?
The door opened, and she tossed a harried look over her shoulder, attempting to compose herself, but was startled to see Emily walk towards her. She snatched a paper towel from the basket on the sink and ran it under the faucet, the ring on her finger glinting under the flourescent lights. "Here," she said gently, her green eyes holding taking in Maura's appearance with a maternal concern, and she pressed the cool towel against the back of her neck.
Maura sighed at the sudden coolness, registering the calm fingers gently holding her hair up for her. "Just a bit too much to drink, that's all," Emily said easily, calmly, and Maura opened her eyes, suddenly aware of how good of a bedside manner her biological mother must have with her patients. Emily guided her towards a padded bench in the corner, and sat down next to her, still raising her hair off of her neck.
"I'm sorry," Maura said, trying her best to find some sort of eloquence to her words.
"Don't be," Emily replied, moving the towel up to her temple.
"My metabolism must be moving at decreased levels," she said with a shake of her head. "I'm normally a better judge of my blood alcohol content."
Emily nodded. "I would say this is more than a physiological reaction to inebriating toxins," she said, her expression kind, but firm. "You've been through quite a bit recently, Maura." She pressed the towel onto the inside of her wrist. "Pulse points," she said. "Helps with the nausea."
Maura nodded, resting her head precariously against the wall, already the coolness settling her dizziness. Emily reached a hand upwards, pushing a strand of hair away from her forehead. It was a maternal gesture, and Maura wanted her to continue. To simply sit there and have her mother stroke her hair.
"Why don't I get the check," Emily offered instead. "We'll take a walk and get some fresh air, how's that?" She smiled gently, and Maura nodded, pointing to her purse.
"Here, let me - "
Emily's hand was already on hers. "Don't you dare," she said. "Dinner is on me."
"No, no, I insist," Maura countered, but Emily's hand squeezed hers with a sudden desperation.
"Constance and Phillip taught you too well," she said with a sad smile. "But, please don't argue with me."
Maura nodded and Emily echoed it with a satisfied grin. "Keep that against you," she said, referring to the wet towel. "I'll meet you outside."
Cursing her awkwardness, her drinking, and her general lack of confidence, Maura rose after a few minutes and splashed more cold water over her cheeks before attempting to make herself look presentatble once again. When she finally made her way back to the restaurant's lobby, she saw Emily waiting patiently for her, a box in her hand. "I had them pack this up for you," she said, holding it up.
The air felt rewardingly cool against her skin as they stepped outside, and Maura was grateful for the change of scenery, and also for the darkness. "I'm so sorry I cut our dinner short," she said.
"Please, don't apologize," Emily said with a wave of her hand. "It's been ages since I've walked around Boston. This is perfect. We grew up in Cambridge, but I used to hang around the city all the time. That's where I first met Patrick." She shook her head, a haunted smile on her lips. "That was another lifetime ago."
"Did you leave Boston because of all the reminders here?" Maura asked.
"No," Hope replied, her eyes stuck to some point just ahead of them. "I left Boston because I was afraid for my life. I was afraid for all three of us."
"How did things get so bad?" Maura asked. "Patrick Doyle was respected in Boston."
Emily laughed. "He wasn't always so respected. Patrick was a rogue when he was younger, a renegade intent on alienating anyone he had to in order to rise to the top. There was one man in particular, that was determined to hang onto the black market here, specifically the docks. He didn't recognize the line between life and business. And that's what scared me. It frightened Patrick, too. I think it was his fear that scared me the most."
"Is that when you left?"
She shook her head. "I hid for awhile. Things got bad. But we were both intent on having a family." She laughed. "We were so young. And stupid. Finally, I made the decision for us. We had an adoption agency all lined up, but it absolutely killed us. Especially Patrick." She stopped, her shoulders slumping. "And that's when Constance and Phillip stepped in." Exhaling shakily, she turned, giving Maura a lopside, devastated smile. "God, I'm sorry," she said, her voice breaking for the first time that night.
Before Maura could respond, she walked a few steps ahead, quickly attempting to compose herself. "Constance and Phillip gave you much more than I ever could," she said. "I don't mean to suggest anything different." She wiped a thumb across her eye. "I'm so grateful to them. And to Patrick, in a way."
Maura walked carefully toward her, wanting to reach out and offer some connections, but her hand dropped by her side. "He talked about you. Every time I saw him."
Emily stopped, turning toward her. "We agreed to stay out of your life," she said. "He called me the day he outed himself to you. Left me a message, but I never returned his call." Remorse settled in her eyes, weighing her gaze towards the ground. "Age softened him. You softened him. You have some of his gentleness in you, I can tell."
As if they hit some sort of limit for the evening, they returned to conversation of a more clinical nature, focusing on medicine, Emily's clinic, comparing cities, and generally avoiding anything more taxing than the small talk that began their evening. When they eventually found themselves back at Maura's car, she was surprised to see it, almost wondering how it got there.
"I enjoyed the walk," Emily said, glancing up at the sky. "The weather held out for us."
Maura looked up, and recalling the events of the night before, laughed lightly. "It seems as if rain requires the presence of Jane."
"Maura, I don't leave until Saturday afternoon. What do you say we have a brunch or something before then? You can invite this brash, protective Jane of yours."
A spring of hope welled inside her, and Maura nodded quickly. "Yes," she managed. "I would like that."
"Good." Emily reached tentatively out to her, widening her arms in a request for a hug, wrapping them loosely around Maura's back. It was such an unusual gesture, far removed from the normal air kiss that she gave her mother, and it took a second for her shoulders to relax into the embrace. But once she did, she didn't want to let go.
Maura leaned her head against her seat, letting the quiet wash over her. Home didn't seem like an option, not the way her mind was already reeling over every minutia of the evening, and she reached for her keys, only one destination in mind. It was only just past ten, which meant that Jane was still awake. Her phone rang, but the number on the screen wasn't the one that she had just considered calling.
"Dr. Isles," she answered, flipping into work mode. As macabre as it was, she was grateful for the distraction, otherwise she would begin to acknowledge how much she liked Emily Lawrence.
Thank you for the kind (and helpful) feedback. I hope you all are somewhat happy with the portrayal of Hope. Let me know what you think - thank you :)
Ren - thanks for your brain.