A/N: Thanks for reading!

I Keep On Loving You

Chapter 22

Three days later, a small group gathered around the grave of Eli's mother while the minister of the Baptist church next to the cemetery read a passage of hope from his Bible, adding a short prayer to end the service.

Eli, proving again that his maturity and intelligence far exceeded his age, shook hands with everyone and accepted hugs from the women who filed passed him as they left the cemetery. The hands on his back, one belonging to Sara, the other to Grissom, caused him to keep his back straight and his shoulders squared. He wasn't going to be a slouch in front of his dad's old friends.

At the end of the day, Sara lay in bed, pillows piled under her head; everything had changed, she thought, in ways she had never dared to dream. There had been periods in her life when she had been unable to entertain enough optimism to believe anyone might be truly happy, anywhere, anytime. Yet, she had a basic faith in the rightness of the world, the existence of courage, and, most of all, in love. And, in spite of half the day spent burying a little boy's mother, she was peacefully happy.

As her husband entered the bedroom, she quickly wiped her eyes because, especially with happiness, tears came easily.

"Is he asleep?"

"Yes," Grissom said with a smile. "He loves sleeping with Bexar and Sally Sue." He held his phone and passed it to her.

The photograph on the screen was of Eli in bed, his arm wrapped around Sally Sue. The smaller white dog curled around his shoulder.

"This is okay, isn't it? I—I never had a dog when I was growing up."

Grissom laughed. "Its fine—kids sleep with animals all over the world." His eyebrows lifted in amusement as he said, "He feels a responsibility for them—took them outside this morning. Reminded me when we were at Catherine's that we shouldn't leave the dogs alone too long."

As he climbed into bed, Sara said, "It was nice of Catherine to have lunch for everyone."

"It was. You have to be exhausted. We've had quite a week."

Softly, Sara laughed, a rolling rumbling ripple of laughter that caused her husband to ask, "What is so funny?"

"Quite a week is one way to describe it." She rolled to face Grissom—a task made much easier by the new cast on her leg—and he easily moved into a comfortable embrace. Her lips pressed into his hair. "What about school? We need to get him in school."

"Tomorrow afternoon, I'm meeting Lou and we are going to Red Rocks, meet with the administrator, and talk about the caffeine packets. Nick managed to locate three drivers who delivered water to the facility during the time—all admit to leaving free samples of flavoring. None remember or admit to seeing the stuff." Grissom said as he turned to face her.

"What about Eli?"

"He can stay in the van," Grissom chuckled. "I'll leave the windows cracked."

For a few seconds, Sara said nothing, and then she giggled. "How long did you work on that one?"

"When Jim said he'd take Eli for the afternoon, I knew what I'd tell you." He laughed again and lightly kissed her. "As for school—I—I don't know where to start! Can't we—can't we just let him play?"

Pulling a pillow from underneath her head, Sara wrapped arms and the pillow around him. "He needs to be around other kids. Poor guy, he's had to be the adult too often in his life—he needs to be a kid—have friends over." She moved a hand to the back of his head and pulled his face to hers. A slight lift brought her lips to his; against his mouth, she murmured, "And he needs a fort—a real little boy fort."

"We've got a lot to do—and to learn."

Sara sighed. "I don't feel like I'm doing much."

"Yes, you are. Eli loves the attention he gets from you. And he is very interested in your therapy—he watches everything you do."

"He does?" Tears sprang to her eyes. "I want him to know he's loved—that this is his home."

Grissom slipped an arm underneath Sara's shoulders, pulling her close. She would never admit how similar her childhood situation had been to the one Eli could have faced. "He knows—he'll know. We'll work on the school situation—he knows he will live with us. And he is a good boy—an innate kindness and desire to please."

Sara snuggled closer. "The lawyer thinks everything will go? There is no one else to get custody?"

"He says we'll have an official adoption in ninety days. There are no relatives—except his grandmother who is in a nursing home." Gently, his hand caressed her arm. "We'll get everything worked out."

The next afternoon, Sara stood on her own feet for the first time in over a month. She nearly fainted—probably would have fainted except waves of nausea kept her upright as she moved one foot in front of the other for two steps. Then she sat down in the wheelchair that was practically touching her calves.

Everyone around her celebrated; Sara managed to breathe.

"Is everyone so dizzy?" She asked as someone handed her a cold wet cloth.

"Yes!" came the answer from one of the physical therapist. "You are doing great. Ready to try again?"

She took a deep breath and nodded.

Therapy was not easy. On the first day, the therapists had clipped Sara into a harness and moved her around like she was a blimp tethered to parallel bars. A new, lighter cast with hinges at the knee had replaced the heavy one. Three therapists and assistants handled her body as if it was made of tinker toys—and on the day she stood, her legs felt like gelatin.

Sara stood again—not really standing because, with the harness, she was lifted to her feet.

"Let's go for three steps."

The young man at her side was handsome with a quick smile. Sara made a smiling grimace. He wasn't taking the three steps with legs that had not walked since landing at the bottom of a manhole weeks ago. When she groaned, the wheelchair touched her calves and she sank into the chair.

"Take a break—this is hard work," the same therapist said.

After a ten minute break, they got her up again—and the afternoon passed slowly until Sara finally got to the end of the parallel bars. It had taken nearly three hours, but everyone saluted and congratulated her as if she had finished a marathon.

Several miles away, Grissom and Lou Vartann had met with the administrator of Red Rocks. Immediately, he called for a meeting of department heads and asked Grissom and Vartann to explain what had been discovered. In fifteen minutes, the room was filled; Rhonda and Dona stood near Grissom.

Extending his hand, he shook hands with both women. Instead of making a familiar introduction, he whispered, "Neither of you are mentioned in this—it all started with Gracie."

Dona laughed and pumped his hand. "It's nice to see you again, Dr. Grissom!"

Grissom spoke first, explaining that his wife was an investigator for the police department and, when Gracie had talked about men dying while in rehab from drinking water, Sara had gotten interested enough to ask questions. She had learned from several sources that the facility was concerned about unexpected deaths. Curiosity and Gracie's ability to search the coffee cabinet in the rehab area resulted in finding several small tube-like packages containing a white powder. Testing had found pure caffeine packaged in drinking straws cut and sealed in two inch long packets—enough to cause overdose and death that would appear to be cardiac arrest.

The fifteen or so people sitting and standing in the administrator's office appeared to be stunned by Grissom's words. No one asked questions as he turned to Vartann who immediately continued, explaining the investigation that had taken place with the water delivery men.

"We have no other leads," Vartann said. "Caffeine is a supplement and, other than turning it over to the Food and Drug Administration to investigate, there may be no actual crime—not that we can investigate." He shook his head in disbelief. "If any of you know anything—remember anything—we want you to contact the department."

A woman sitting at the table with the administrator asked, "It wasn't murder?"

Grissom and Vartann gave each other frustrated glances. Vartann said, "At this point, we leave this as a potential case. If any of you—anyone—remembers anything about these men—we don't want speculation, but we want anything that might have happened. Did anyone give them water or coffee—force it on them?" He looked around the room, imploring someone to talk.

Rhonda, the therapist who had worked with Sara and provided names to Grissom, fluttered her hand and said, "We keep good records of who comes and goes in rehab—visitors sign in."

"What about salesmen? Anyone delivering equipment? Bringing in supplies?" Grissom asked.

Shaking her head, Rhonda said, "No salesmen—we meet those outside of rehab. Supplies come from in-house. Deliveries are done the same way. Our residents—privacy is important." Shaking her head, she continued, "I remember one delivery guy who brought in water bottles who was always giving out those flavor packets. He wasn't pushy, just giving out free samples. But, I never saw anything but name brands."

Another woman spoke up, "Rhonda, do you remember that young man—has to be a year ago—he was all muscled up. Came in after a knee replacement—he was always guzzling stuff—several energy drinks a day—he wanted to 'work out' in rehab after we left and you said no way was he staying without a therapist."

Rhonda had turned to face the woman, holding up a finger as if she were silently counting. "Thomas—Thomas—what was his last name?"

People shook their heads and murmured to each other; Grissom gave them time to think before asking, "How many men named Thomas were admitted twelve to eighteen months ago?"

A woman in the corner said, "We can find out—take a while because we use last names for records."

"Martin—Morton—yes, Morton," said Rhonda. "Thomas Morton. He bragged that he was a body-builder!"

"I can find his record," the woman in the corner left the room.

A few seconds of silence followed her departure, and then everyone seemed to talk at once. No one else in the room remembered the man.

Grissom and Vartann did not try to answer questions or discuss the issue. It seemed most of the talk centered on caffeine and speculation about energy drinks. A few minutes later, the woman entered the room with a thin file folder.

"Thomas Morton, admitted sixteen months ago, stayed for nine days." She was reading and flipping through the chart as she came to Grissom. "Here for physical therapy."

"Home address?" Grissom asked as he took the file. The woman nodded.

Vartann wrote down the address and several telephone numbers as well as place of employment—a gym. Without saying a word, he looked at Grissom, headed to the door, and by the time he was in the hall, he was calling Nick Stokes.

Grissom stayed for a while, visiting with the nurses, therapists, and others who had taken care of Sara. He had a quick whispered conversation with Dona asking the woman several questions. Dona promised to visit soon and promised a solution to one of his questions.

An hour later, he met Jim Brass and Eli at McDonalds where both were eating burgers and fries.

"He was hungry," Jim said as Grissom approached the table.

Eli grinned. "We had a good time looking at sharks. And I got to touch a sting-ray!"

"Shark Reef?" asked Grissom.

Both man and boy nodded.

"And we saw piranhas and a Komodo dragon!" Eli said as he dipped a French fry into ketchup. "We didn't see them eat anything. I want to go back to see the piranhas eat!"

Grissom agreed, "We'll go back. I'd like to see that too." Glancing at his watch, he said, "We need to pick up Sara in about thirty minutes."

With eyes wide, Eli asked, "Can I play on the playground for five minutes?"

"Sure," Grissom said.

A few minutes later, Eli wrapped his food trash into a ball. "May I go?"

Grissom nodded and the boy disappeared into a maze of brightly colored tunnels and slides.

Brass waited until Eli was out of earshot before he said, "He's a good kid. Never been to the aquarium."

"We need to get him in a school, Jim." Making an inquisitive expression with his face, Grissom asked, "I don't guess you know anything about the schools?"

Chuckling, shaking his head, Brass said, "I know nothing. What about your neighborhood school?"

"Yeah, I think I'll go there tomorrow—take Eli and see what happens."

"What about Sara?"

Glancing again at his watch, Grissom said, "She's hooked in a harness being moved around at the rehab institute. So tired last night she could barely eat. I've asked one of the women at Red Rocks to help me find a housekeeper. You wouldn't know one of those, would you?"

Another chuckle from Brass, "No, I don't know any housekeepers."

For several minutes, the two men talked about Sara and her progress.

"Slow going," Grissom said, "but she's standing—not weight bearing but standing with this harness thing to hold her up. At home, she still in a wheelchair but thinks she'll get her arm cast off in a week. She's holding her breath."

"No problems with Eli? What does the lawyer say?"

Grissom grinned broadly. "He's ours—not officially for ninety days—and we haven't talked about name changes—don't know what we'll do."

Brass looked downward; his hands folded his trash into a paper square. "If you need anything, let me know." He looked up into Grissom's face. "I'll be happy to have him, take him to do things—but I mean money—if you need money."

Frowning, Grissom said, "We're fine—we don't need money."

"You might." Brass shrugged his shoulders. "It's a way I can seek forgiveness."

The puzzling frown stayed on Grissom's face. "Forgiveness for what?"

Brass cleared his throat and wiped a hand across his face in an effort to hide emotions. "For what I said to Warrick the last time I saw him."

Grissom's eyes questioned.

"I said 'I hope you remember how lucky you are'. Warrick was smart, Gil. His son needs—deserves anything I can do for him."

A/N: Probably 2 more chapters. Thanks for reading and reviews!