Author’s Note:

The characters of CSI were created by A. Zuiker, and are the property of CBS and its affiliates.  All other characters depicted in this story are fictional; they are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author.  Although the locales in this story are real, all events, incidents and characters are pure invention.  © April 2003. LSI.

Grissom's Overture

by LSI

Gil Grissom stared at his computer screen and the animated e-card Sara had sent him for his forty-eighth birthday.  He wouldn’t have labeled it a lover’s card exactly, at least not in so many words, but he was warmed by her short friendly greeting after which she’d tagged on, ‘See you on the 29^th’—a sure sign that she still intended to visit him in a couple of weeks.

            But it wasn’t just a friendship card either, he noted.  In fact it was somewhat sexually suggestive—even if the tse-tse flies were doing things to each other that he knew to be physiologically impossible.  It had to mean something—hadn’t it?  

            He grinned and replayed the card.

            As he began to dissect it this time, looking for some deeper meaning in her choice of imagery, a frown quickly replaced his smile.  The tse-tse fly, while charming in its comical rendition here, was also a deadly pest which had destroyed entire herds of cattle from certain parts of Africa .  In the late nineteen-nineties, a Canadian entomologist had tried an unusual method of male sterilization using radiation to interrupt their breeding cycle which had eventually freed Zanzibar and other African regions of the disease carrying fly. 

            But Sara wouldn’t know that—would she? 

            He shook his head and cursed himself for entertaining such ridiculous thoughts.  

            Ever since he’d come back from San Francisco, he’d felt at once on the proverbial cloud nine and on the edge of doom.  One minute almost giddy with happiness, the next terrified that it would all come crashing down.  He’d begun to feel that way from the moment he’d left her in his room at the Mark Hopkins Inter-Continental hotel after the most sensational night of his life.  He and Sara finally together should have left him with nothing but joy in his heart—and there was that—but there was also this dead weight that seemed to have permanently settled on his chest. 

            And he knew why.

            Still, as he replayed it for the third or fourth time, her e-card coaxed another smile—and that’s how Brass found him.   

            “You’re chipper today,” he said as he came into his office.  With a swift click Gil closed his browser and turned to the stocky man.

            “What’s up, Jim?”

            Brass settled comfortably into the guest chair across from Gil’s desk, crossing his legs at the ankles.  “Nothing,” he said.  “Actually, I’m much more interested in what’s gotten into you.”

            “What’s gotten into me?”

            “Yeah.  You’ve been in a much better mood lately, and I actually saw you smile just now.  So what’s up with that?”

            Gil shrugged and threw Brass a deliberately obtuse glance.  “Nothing,” he lied.

            “Look, Gil, how long have we known each other?  Thirteen, fourteen years?” he answered his own question.  “I know your moods, pal.  But the last couple of weeks, you’ve been different.  Like you’re… well…”  Confronted with Gil’s silent stare, he lost some of his confidence and cleared his throat.  “I don’t know; I was in love once.  But that’s…something else, I suppose.”  He took a deep breath and continued awkwardly.  “All I’m saying is, is a woman responsible for this new mood of yours?”

            Gil grinned and cocked a brow.  Brass getting personal wasn’t what he’d expected, but surprisingly, it didn’t make him feel uncomfortable.  Still, he didn’t respond.

            “You’re not going to tell me, are you?” Brass said after a while.  Gil pursed his lips.  “I get it.  Don’t ask, right?”

            “Right,” he said softly.

            “Okay.”  Brass lifted his hands in defeat and promptly changed the subject.  “So what did you think about Lydia’s statement?”  

            “I think she’s lying, and so do you.  But the evidence will confirm it.”

            Brass nodded.

            Gil wasn’t particularly interested in the case.  It had been an easy one—open and shut.  Greg still had to confirm some of their conclusions, but there was no doubt in his mind that Derek Cameron’s wife was responsible for his murder.  All the evidence pointed in her direction, which Brass was well aware. 

            No—Brass hadn’t stopped by to discuss the Cameron case.  Would it have been so terrible to confide a little of what was going on to him?  Not that he was ready to tell anyone about him and Sara—Catherine was the only one who knew, and only because she’d found out by accident; she hadn’t even mentioned it which surprised him and, as certain as he was that curiosity was likely eating her alive by now, he appreciated her discretion. 

            But even if he had no intentions of discussing Sara with his colleagues, it didn’t mean he couldn’t have thrown Brass a bone…tell him that a woman was indeed responsible for his ‘chipper’ mood.  Instead, he’d stomped on his offer of friendship as he always did and with a: “Okay, see ya later, pal,” Brass had stood and abruptly left his office.

            He let out a long breath.  Sometimes he hated the recluse he’d become.  Sara was right.  He’d always been so intensely private that the people he considered his closest friends barely knew him.  Or maybe they did know him.  How the hell should he know?   

            Of everyone at the lab though, Sara had been the only one he’d occasionally allowed through his impenetrable exterior, and even then it had only been to serve scraps of himself when the situation warranted it.  Still, whether she realized it or not, she knew him better than anyone.  Gil was convinced of it.  And if she needed time to decide whether or not to return to Vegas, it wasn’t because he was a stranger to her, it was because she no longer trusted him.  Or maybe that’s just what he preferred to believe, since the alternative—that she no longer loved him—was too painful to consider.    

            He hadn’t heard from her since the day he’d left San Francisco two weeks ago.  The e-card she’d sent was the first sign that the twelve hours they’d spent together were not just a figment of his fertile imagination.  He missed her, but he hadn’t written or called for fear she would misinterpret his intentions.  He’d promised not to pressure her, and he intended to keep that promise.  But the effort was killing him.  It had taken them—him, he amended, so long to come to his senses, that he didn’t want to wait another day to begin the rest of his life with her.

            “Boo!” Gil jumped.  He hadn’t heard Catherine come in.

            “Catherine!” His glare didn’t deter her one bit.  She was all smiles as he turned to face her, heart still pounding in his chest.

            “You’re miles away.  And I bet I know exactly how many miles.”

            Okay, here it comes.  “Well, well, Catherine,” he said sarcastically.  “I suppose I should thank you for letting me off the hook for as long as you have.”

            “Ah, Sara warned you,” she said, dropping into the chair Brass had just vacated.

            “Did you think she wouldn’t?”

            “So what’s…the deal…with you two?”  Catherine had the grace to hesitate, evidently appreciating that she was treading into highly personal territory. 

            Gil didn’t respond immediately.  He debated whether to tell her everything or just enough to satisfy her for another little while—until he had some answers.  He chose the latter.  “No deal yet,” he said curtly.

            “What’s wrong with you, Gil?  I have to say it—you are the most thickheaded, clueless guy I know when it comes to relationships.”

            “By definition, Catherine, ‘thickheaded’ and ‘clueless’ are synonyms, so…one of them is redundant.”

            “Don’t even try your avoidance game with me.  That girl has loved you for as long as I can remember—“

            “Oh really!”  He leaned forward and rested his forearms on the desk, threading his fingers.  “And you know that how, exactly?  Have you been in touch with her at all in the past year?” he asked coldly, his reaction revealing much more than he would have liked.

            Catherine’s jaw dropped, astonishment replacing the unmistakable exasperation that had twisted her features only moments ago.  “Sara’s the one holding back?”

            “She needs to think about it,” he spat out.

            Catherine shook her head quickly as if to clear it of that last bit of information.  “Well, there’s something almost satisfying about that.  You ignored her for years and now she’s giving you a taste of your own medicine.”

            “And I thought you were my friend,” he mocked.

            “I am, but not a very good one or I would have given you a good kick in the pants a long time ago—“

            “Spilt milk.”

            “So what did she say?”

            “Well, she didn’t say yes.  Yet,” he added with more bravado than he felt.  He had his pride.

            “What was the question?”

            Gil’s gaze shot up and collided with Catherine’s.  She held his stare briefly then stood, an all-knowing smile tugging at her lips, before spinning around and leaving his office without another word. 

            He felt like he’d been sucker-punched.

            What he wanted from Sara—what he wanted for both of them—had been very clear to him.  He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.  Had it been clear to her?  He hadn’t spelled it out exactly, but one would assume—

            “Damn,” he swore under his breath trying to recall the details of his proposition and how she might have interpreted it.  Suddenly, it wasn’t all that clear to him either.  What if that’s why she’d held back?  Hell, what had he offered her?  Her old job back?  Gil mentally kicked himself.       

            What was he supposed to do now?  Wait until Sara’s visit and try to make his intentions less ambiguous then?  Or break his promise and make sure she had all the facts before she made a life-altering decision? 

            He leaned back in his chair and stared into space, an idea slowly forming in his mind.  But what if it was another faux-pas?  He’d never been what one would call brilliant in affairs of the heart; in fact he was anything but as Catherine had correctly pointed out, so how could he be sure?  Maybe he should ask Catherine, but as quickly as the thought came, he dismissed it.  The very notion of involving Catherine or anyone else in his quest to win Sara made him shudder.  He’d just have to trust that this was the right thing to do.  After all, it had worked before.  Maybe it would again.

            He flipped the cards in his rolodex until he found the one he wanted, and, picking up the phone he punched the number.  Cradling the receiver between his shoulder and his ear, he searched his wallet for the card on which Sara had scribbled her home address and telephone number.

            “Town and Country Flowers,” a female voice answered.  “How may I help you?”

            “I’d like to have a plant delivered to someone in San Francisco.”

            “Certainly sir, what kind of plant?”

            “An orchid,” he said.  “It has to be an orchid, the…uh…Phalaenopsis?”  After being put on hold briefly, the clerk came back to confirm that they did have that orchid, and rambled off a list of names for that variety.  Gil was at a loss; there was only so much he knew about orchids, but he remembered the one he’d sent Sara a couple of years ago.  The florist had recommended the white Phalaenopsis, the perfect one for a beginner they’d said because it was easy to care for. 

            “It’s the white one.”

            “Okay, good choice.  Where would you like it delivered?”  Gil gave the clerk Sara’s home address and his credit card information, and when she asked for the sentiment for the card, he didn’t hesitate this time. 

            “Marry me,” he said, surprised at how easily the words had rolled off his tongue.  “And sign it ‘Grissom’.  No, no.  Make that ‘Love, Grissom’.”

            “Fine sir.  This should be delivered before the end of the day.”  Heart pounding, he thanked the clerk and hung up the phone.  It didn’t get any clearer than that. 

            That afternoon, sleep eluded him.          

BY THE BEGINNING of the next shift, that sense of imminent doom weighed more heavily than ever on Gil.  He hadn’t heard from Sara.  He’d expected a call or an e-mail, some indication that she’d received the orchid.  To make matters worse, it was a slow night.  His team was tying up loose ends on other cases while he tried to catch up on paperwork.  But his mind kept wandering.  This was a new experience for him; where his work was concerned, very little ever distracted him.  Then again, he’d never asked a woman to marry him before.   

              By the time Greg sauntered into his office, he welcomed the intrusion.  The colorful lab tech plopped himself into the chair across his desk and waited as Gil perused the Cameron case file.

            “Well, nothing unexpected here, Greg.  Good work.”  Gil gave him a passing glance.  “I’ll give Brass a call,” he said as he dropped the file on his desk.  Lydia Cameron’s life was about to take a turn for the worst.  When Greg didn’t move, he looked up, peering over the top of his glasses at the spiky-haired lad.  “Was there anything else, Greg?”

            “Uh, yeah, actually.  I’ve been wondering… Did you see Sara when you were in San Francisco a couple of weeks ago?” he asked timidly, a small tremor in his voice. 

            If the very mention of her name hadn’t set his heart racing, Gil might have taken some pleasure in Greg’s discomfiture.  Poor kid, he’d always had a thing for Sara.  Heck, Greg hadn’t been the only one.  David, Bobby even Nick in the beginning; they’d all behaved like school boys around her at one time or another, and if he were honest with himself, he’d have to add his name to the Sara Sidle Admiration Society.

            A couple of years back, he recalled, after witnessing one too many goofy glances directed at her, he had snapped.  “Tell me, Sara, is every guy in this place enamored with you?” he’d blurted out without thinking. 

            She’d given him that flirtatious smiles of hers, the one that, even when it wasn’t directed at him still managed to increase his heart rate.  And, when it was directed at him, as it had been then, well, he’d have to remind himself to breathe. 

            “Every guy?” she’d quipped.  “Uh… I dunno, Grissom.  Are you enamored with me too?” 

            The heat had crept into his cheeks and, as much as he wished he could have come up with some clever retort, he’d just looked away like a dumb teenager.  He was quite certain his response, or lack of one, had been exactly what she’d expected and that she’d thoroughly enjoyed his discomfiture that day. 

            In retrospect, he realized she’d given him plenty of opportunities over the years to voice his feelings.  No wonder she’d lost interest.  If he’d only said yes to her that day instead of blushing like a school boy and tripping over his emotions and letting his fears rule his heart, he might not be going half out of his mind now wondering if she would ever say yes to him. 

            “Uh, Gil?”  Greg prompted, snapping him back to the present.   

            “Yes, Greg, I did see her.  She says ‘hello’.”

            “Did she say anything else?”  At Gil’s obvious confusion, Greg continued.  “Did she ask about me?” 

            Poor Greg, he still had it bad.  It was time to put a stop to this infatuation of his.  Gil chose his words carefully.  “Yes, she did ask about you, Greg, and about Nick, and Warrick, and Catherine, and Hodges, and—“

            “Hodges?  She doesn’t even like Hodges!”  Nobody liked Hodges.  Greg thought about that for a split second then threw him a disappointed look.  “Okay…got it.  I’d better get back to work.”

            He’s a smart kid, Gil thought as he watched him leave, sympathizing with him.  He knew only too well how his DNA specialist felt.  Picking up the phone he called Brass to give him the good news.  Another murder solved. 

THE LAST TWO weeks had crawled by at a snail’s pace, but finally, the day Gil had been waiting for was upon him.  He’d asked Catherine to cover for him during Sara’s visit.  He had plenty of vacation time owed to him and wanted to spend every possible minute with her.  That’s if she was still coming.

            As his final shift for the next four days wound down, Gil wasn’t certain of anything.  He still hadn’t heard from her.  He’d left messages at her house and on her cell phone yesterday, but she hadn’t returned his calls.  He wondered not for the first time if the orchid, or rather the proposal attached to the orchid, had been a mistake.  He wished he could talk to Catherine about this, get her insight into the situation, but frankly he wouldn’t know where to start.  Gil Grissom didn’t do confidences easily.  What a sorry excuse for a human being he was, he thought.  He suddenly felt very alone. 

            Giving himself a mental shake, he headed for the locker room.  One thing was certain:  moping around here wasn’t going to make him feel better.  He’d keep going on the premise that she would arrive this evening as expected and he’d pick up some groceries and some wine, and a few odds and ends he knew would please her. 

            He’d have to get used to having a woman around the house, he mused.  The thought made him smile.  He looked forward to getting used to having Sara in his house, in his bedroom, in his bed.  He pictured her in his kitchen and wondered if she knew how to cook.  He frowned.  There was so much he didn’t know about her.

BY THE TIME Gil had run his errands and reached home, a good part of the morning had vanished.  He balanced a couple of grocery bags in the crook of his left arm while he fumbled with the key to his townhouse.  Stepping inside, he pushed the door closed with his shoulder and made his way to the kitchen, groping for one of the bags with his free hand before it emptied on the floor.  After dropping the groceries on the island counter that also served as a visual separation between kitchen, dining area and living room, Gil scanned the ‘great room’ with a sharp eye, trying to see it from Sara’s perspective. 

            She’d only been in his house a couple of times when Sheriff Mobley had suspended him for not cooperating with the FBI on the Strip Strangler case.  In a show of support, the members of his team had declared themselves civilian investigators in the serial murder case, and had made his home their control center.  In the end, they’d solved the case, Gil had been reinstated as shift supervisor, and the FBI had accepted all accolades for his CSIs’ work.  He’d never felt prouder.  That was a long time ago.

            Back then, Gil had been much less concerned with Sara’s opinion of his home than he’d been about protecting his privacy.  He hadn’t liked having his team in his house, period, but the circumstances had made it necessary. 

            Now he worried whether Sara would like his decorating style which bordered on the functional and necessary, only made interesting, in his opinion, with his personal touches—his bug and butterfly collections and his miniature live stock of spiders and cockroaches.  Catherine had once said it was a kid’s dream home, and looking at it now with as much objectivity as he could muster, he had to agree with her. 

            He suddenly wondered if Sara would want children.  The thought made him pause.  Fatherhood was not a state he’d ever contemplated for himself, and somehow he doubted Sara had any interest in becoming a mother—hadn’t she said once that she wasn’t good with kids? He tried to recall the event that had led to that confession, but it eluded him at the moment.  He added this to his mental list of things he needed to learn about Sara.

            An hour later, he had finished putting the groceries away and had collected his other purchases from the car.  He stood in the middle of his living room admiring the half grown tropical plant he’d brought in.  The plant added life—non-bug life—to the room which he hoped would please Sara.  He’d also put away the candles and the scented soaps and the bath salts—items he’d purchased because they looked feminine and he thought she would like them.

            He glanced at his watch.  Almost two p.m.   He’d spent the better part of yesterday tidying the house so he could relax and maybe get some sleep this afternoon.  He figured that she’d catch an early evening flight after her shift, which would put her in Las Vegas at around nine at the latest.  He wished she’d contacted him with the flight information; he would have liked to pick her up at the airport.  But there wasn’t anything he could do about that now, so he decided to catch a few hours’ sleep.

GIL WOKE WITH a start.  The small clock on his night table told him it was seven in the evening; he was surprised he’d slept so long.  He threw his legs over the side of the bed, and reached for the phone to check for messages just in case he’d slept too soundly to hear it ring.  Nothing.  His cellular phone didn’t yield any messages either.  On a sigh, Gil headed for the bathroom for a shower and shave.  If his time estimate was correct, Sara would be here in a couple of hours.

            After his shower he dressed casually in black jeans and a blue golf shirt and reheated a light supper of left-over cod in a lemon-butter sauce and vegetable rice.  He then loaded the dishwasher, tidied the kitchen, and moved to the living room to relax with his latest bug book, and wait.      

            Nine o’clock, then ten, then eleven came and went.  No Sara.  By one in the morning, he was furious.  He called her again, but this time when the answering service picked up, he didn’t leave a message.  He slammed the receiver down, fell back on his leather couch, and tried unsuccessfully to douse the agonizing pain that burned in the general vicinity of his heart. 

            He wasn’t angry with Sara—well maybe a little angry that she hadn’t bothered telling him she wasn’t coming—but he didn’t blame her.  No, he was mad as hell at himself, in part for letting her slip through his fingers a couple of years ago when he might have had a chance with her, and in part for allowing himself to hope he still had a chance now.

            Gil had spent his entire adult life protecting himself from this kind of pain.  For years he’d carefully avoided Sara outside of work instinctively knowing that she could destroy the sheltered existence he’d created for himself.  But his heart had had a mind of its own; it had let her crawl into it and settle there and that’s where she’d lived ever since.  But by the time he’d realized just how much he wanted her in his life he’d already lost her to someone else.  Or so he’d thought until he read the Tom Havilland trial transcripts.  He’d dared to hope then that it wasn’t too late, and had taken a chance.  He smirked humorously.  He’d had a taste of paradise, and look where that had left him!        

            He let out a ragged breath and got up, grabbed his car keys and a light jacket.  Gil was going to do what he did best.  He headed for the lab.

“WHAT ARE YOU doing here?”  Catherine said popping her head into his office.  “Where’s Sara?”

            Gil threw the pen he’d been holding down on the desk and leaned back into his chair.  He closed his eyes briefly and rubbed a spot above his right eyebrow with the pads of his fingers.  “She didn’t come,” he said wearily.

            As she approached his desk, Gil looked at her, unprepared for the pity he saw in her eyes.  Damn!  This would be so much easier if she hadn’t found out about Sara and him.

            “Did she say why?” Catherine asked gently.

            “No.  She just didn’t show up.  Listen—Catherine, I really don’t want to talk about this.  Is there anything going on that you need my help with?  I came here to work.”

            “No, it’s a surprisingly slow night.”  Catherine studied him silently for a beat, then said, “Gil, aren’t you worried?”

            He looked up quizzically.  “Worried about what?”

            “Sara.  Don’t you think it’s odd that she just didn’t show, without even calling?  That’s not like her.”  Catherine went into investigator mode.  “When was the last time you talked to her?”

            He thought about that for a moment, and a frown marred his forehead.  What if something had happened to her?  A jolt of anxiety replaced the now familiar steady burn in his chest.  He’d been so self-absorbed that it never occurred to him that something might have happened to Sara.  He felt a pulse jump in his throat. 

            “Do you think…?  I haven’t talked to her since San Francisco.  I got a card from her on my birthday and a note that she’d be here on the 29^th.  That’s all.”  He didn’t tell her about the plant.  “You’re scaring me, Catherine.”

            “Well, before we jump to conclusions, let’s try calling her,” she said soothingly.

            “I have been calling her, for a couple of days now.  She doesn’t return my calls.”  He saw apprehension settle on Catherine’s features and fear gripped his gut.  He glanced at his watch.  He hadn’t tried her at work, but she wouldn’t be there anyway at this time of night.  He shared that information with Catherine.

            “Okay, let’s try her home number and cell phone again.”  Gil nodded and, from memory, punched her home number first.  The service picked up after the first ring so he hung up.  He immediately dialed her cell number.  No answer there either. 

            “Nothing.”  He glanced at his watch again.  It was going on three a.m.  “I can’t call her boss at home at this time of night.”  He stared at Catherine for a beat as a possible solution came to him.  He didn’t like it, in fact he loathed it, but he couldn’t wait another four hours for news of Sara.

            “What?” Catherine asked, recognizing the look.

            “There’s someone who might know where she is,” he said, looking through his rolodex for the number, and finding it, placed the call and waited for an answer.

            “San Francisco Crime Lab, Tanya, speaking.”

            “Tanya, this is Gil Grissom of the Las Vegas Criminalistics Bureau.  I’d like to speak to Martin Hunt please.”  Catherine’s brow furrowed as she listened to Gil’s end of the conversation.  She didn’t recognize the name.

            “One moment please.”  Grissom took a deep breath.

            “Dr. Grissom?”

            “Yes.  Hi, Martin… I’ve been trying to get in touch with Sara for a while but she seems to have vanished from—“

            “Damn,” Martin interrupted.  “You don’t know.”

            Gil’s chest constricted until he could scarcely breathe.  “Don’t know what?” his voice increased by a few decibels.

            “She’s going to be okay,” Martin said quickly.  “But she’s been hurt on the job and—“

            “Hurt how?”  He met Catherine’s worried gaze.

            “She was attacked—“

            “What?”

            “She was processing a scene in one of the suites at Pacific Bell Park —there was a murder during a Giants’ game—anyway, she’s processing the scene when the perp came back.” 

            Gil felt a headache coming on.  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose reminding himself that Martin had said Sara was going to be okay.  Still, he braced himself for the rest of the story.   

            “He struck her in the head with a baseball bat,” Martin continued.  Gil gasped.  “The whole thing is still under investigation, but what we think happened so far is that before Sara passed out, she shot and killed the guy,” he delivered bluntly.

            “Oh no.”

            “Yeah… Well the bastard deserved it.  He put her in a coma… not long, just a couple of days, but she has no memory of what happened, so we’re trying to piece it together.”

            “Where is she?”

            “She’s gone to her parents’ place—they run a Bed and Breakfast on Tomales Bay .”

            Gil nodded.  He remembered Sara telling him that once.  “You wouldn’t have a phone number by any chance?”

            “No, I’m sorry, I don’t.”  Gil hated himself for the sensation of relief that flowed amid the pain and fear that had been ravaging his body for the past few hours.  “Burns would probably have it, but he won’t be in for a couple of hours at least.”

            Gil thanked Martin for the information and hung up.  Catherine was sitting on the edge of her seat, concern on her face. 

            “What happened?”  He relayed the story.

            “HR will have a next-of-kin contact on file,” she said as soon as he finished.

            “They won’t be in for a few hours,” Gil said, frustrated.  He’d always preferred the graveyard shift because it was quieter in the lab at night, but right now he would have given anything for the bustle of day shift if that meant he could put an end to this nightmare.  Then, as another idea lit his face, he removed a ring of keys from his desk and unlocked one of the cabinets behind him.  He shuffled through some file folders until he found what he was looking for.

            “Sara’s old file,” he said to Catherine as he began leafing through the folder.  “Here we go,” he muttered under his breath as he pulled a sheet of paper from the bottom of the file.  “In case of emergency contact, John Sidle, father…415-555-3132.”  He stared at the piece of paper for a moment then shot her a glance.  “Can you take care of this place for a while?”

            “Sure.”  Of course, Catherine liked nothing better than to be in charge.  “How long?”

            He shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Could be two days; could be two weeks.  I’m going to Tomales Bay .”    

* * * * *

BLUE HERON INN emerged unexpectedly from behind a patch of tall redwoods off Sir Francis Drake Boulevard, just past the village of Inverness.  As he pulled in the long tree-lined drive, Gil dipped his head sideways to bring the sprawling two-storey buildings into full view through the passenger-side window of the rented Lexus.  There were three of them, each linked to the other on the first level with what looked like passageways.

            Although he hadn’t given much thought to what Sara’s family’s B&B would look like, he was surprised.  Whatever he might have expected, this wasn’t it. 

            Nestled between a valley to the left where horses and sheep grazed and the blue waters of Tomales Bay—almost completely hidden by various species of trees and shrubs at the end of a wide path that ran a hundred or so yards off to the right, the Blue Heron Inn was much more imposing than he would have expected.

            He stopped the car in the graveled parking lot directly across from the center building but didn’t immediately get out.  He continued to scrutinize the premises with the same attention he would have given a crime scene.  While the buildings’ architecture reminded him of east-coast salt boxes, their exterior finish of redwood siding was a reminder that they were indeed in California .  But it was the size of the structures—all three identical except for one that had been built on a perpendicular angle to its twins—that gave them an air of grandeur, which sharply contrasted with their simple, unpretentious lines. 

            On closer inspection, he saw that one of the connecting ells housed a store of some sort, perhaps a gift shop, and the other the main entrance.  An old fear gripped his gut.  Sara was on the other side of these walls.  Would she be the one to greet him?  Would she be angry and ask him to leave? 

            When he’d called to make a reservation yesterday, he’d spoken to Sara’s mother, Pat, and other than a brief pause when he’d given his name, there had been no indication that she knew who he was.  And he hadn’t told her.  There would be plenty of time to explain when he got there, he’d thought.  Well, he was here now and it was time to stop procrastinating.  Mustering his courage, he climbed out of the car and removed his luggage from the trunk.

            The sign at the front door said to ring and walk in.  He took a deep breath and lifted his hand to ring the doorbell, but before his index could reach the tiny button, the door flew open to reveal an attractive woman he immediately guessed to be Sara’s mother.

            “Welcome.  You must be Mr. Grissom,” she said pleasantly.  Other than being a little shorter than Sara he noted as she ushered him in, there was a striking resemblance between the two women.

            “Yes.  And you must be Mrs. Sidle.”

            “Please call me Pat.”  She smiled widely then, and if there had been any question in his mind as to her identify, that smile would have given it away.  He couldn’t help but smile back.

            “And you should call me Gil, or Grissom as Sa…”  He stilled, eyes darting to her face, wondering if she’d noticed his slip. 

            “I know who you are, Gil,” she said softly, confirming that she had.  He nodded, unsure how to proceed, so was relieved when she continued.  “I didn’t tell Sara you were coming, and before you see her, her father, John, and I would like to talk to you about her condition.”

            “Her condition?” he replied, perplexed.  “I know she was injured at work, but I was told she was going to be okay.”

            “And she is, eventually.  But there’s something more you need to know.”  He frowned.  “Try not to fret.  John and I will fill you in on the details in a few minutes.  But first things first.  This is our busiest weekend of the year, and we were full up when you called.  Luckily one of our guests checked-out about an hour ago otherwise we would have had to give you our son’s old room for tonight and move you tomorrow.  Gracie—that’s our maid—is making up your suite now.  If you don’t mind, I’ll put your luggage away in the back office and we can have that talk while you wait.”

            “Where’s Sara?”

            “She’s gone for a walk on the beach.  We don’t expect her back for at least another hour—she spends a lot of time on the beach.  We’ll have plenty of time to plan our strategy—“

            “Strategy?”  He needed a strategy to see Sara.  That didn’t sound good.

            “Well, strategy’s the wrong word, I suppose.  But we do need to prepare you.” 

            That sounded even worse.  Prepare him for what?  But he didn’t ask the question.  He just wanted this little talk to be over so he could see Sara, and hopefully she’d let him stay and care for her, and then she’d come back with him to Las Vegas where they could put the past behind them and get on with the rest of their lives, together.  That’s all he wanted.

            “Show me where I can put these,” he lifted the two black travel bags, one which carried his toiletries and enough clothes to last him a couple of weeks, and the other, his laptop computer and a little something he’d picked up for Sara.

            After dropping his luggage in a small office behind the reception desk, Pat escorted him through the foyer.  His practiced sense of observation kicked in and he mentally collected details of the room despite his preoccupation with his upcoming meeting with Sara’s parents.  He noticed the antique pine furniture, the colorful rugs and what appeared to be original artwork on the walls.  There was a small wood stove in a corner, an overstuffed armchair which was home to a brightly colored overstuffed pillow that matched, at least in style, the Turkish rugs.

            As they passed a staircase, Pat mentioned that it led to the family’s private rooms.  All guest rooms were in the other buildings.  The ones on the east side, facing the meadow, had private entrances and sun decks.  His room would be on the east side, she said.  All other amenities—except for a small spa and a gift shop and snack bar where guests could purchase a picnic basket of goodies to take to the beach, were on the main floor of this building which housed, in addition to the reception area, the kitchen, a solarium where they served breakfast, and a living room, which is where they were headed now.

            They sat in facing armchairs on each side of a large field stone fireplace.  Pat offered coffee, but he declined.  He wanted to talk about Sara, and wondered where her father was. 

            As if on cue, a tall, fair-haired lanky man Gil would have guessed to be in his mid-sixties strolled in.  Gil rose, and shook hands with John as Pat introduced them. 

            John didn’t beat around the bush.  He sat in the small sofa across from the fireplace, and, looking him straight in the eye, asked in a raspy voice, “How much do you know about what happened to my daughter?”

            Gil repeated the information Hunt had given him.

            “Well, there’s a little more to it than that,” John said.  Gil bit the inside of his lower lip.  It was bad enough as it was; he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear more.  He took a deep breath and waited for John to continue.  “According to the neurologist, Sara may never regain her memory of the attack.”

            Gil nodded.  He’d done a lot of research on the Internet about head injuries and memory loss in the last day.  “I read that it was quite common to forget the details of the accident—or the trauma—that caused the coma.  For Sara, I think it’s better if she never remembers.  She wouldn’t cope well knowing that she killed someone.”

            Pat smiled.  “You know our daughter well, Gil.  Unfortunately, she already knows that she killed this man.  She found out when they interrogated her about the incident.”

            “How is she taking it?”

            “Not well.  She wants to quit her job.  She says she doesn’t want the kind of job that makes her carry a gun anymore.  She even said she’d be content running this place when we retire, but this is not Sara.  She’s just reacting, and we’re hoping you’ll be able to get her back on track.  We figured if anyone could, you could.”

            That surprised him.  So they’d known who he was, but how much did they know about the true nature of his relationship with Sara?  “Why?  Why do you think I can influence that decision?”

            “Well she’s always spoken highly of you,” Pat continued.  “You’re the reason she went into this business you know.  And as much as we don’t like that it’s a dangerous job, we know she wouldn’t be happy doing anything else.”

            “It’s not a dangerous job,” he said quickly.  “At least, it shouldn’t be.  Someone screwed up, that’s why Sara got hurt.  And you’re right—I don’t think she’d be happy doing anything else.”

            Pat nodded.  “So will you try to help her?”

            “Do you think she’ll let me?  I mean, uh, we…”  Stop stammering you idiot!  “I think it’s my turn to ask how much you know…about my relationship with your daughter.”

            Pat and John exchanged a glance, and in their silent communication—the kind that happened between two people who had been together a long time—they decided Pat should handle that question. 

            “I got a call from her at the beginning of August.  She told me that she ran into you in San Francisco and that you wanted her to move back to Vegas.”

            “Is that all she told you?”

            “Well, no…Let’s just say that I know you care about my daughter,” she said softly.  “The fact that you came here to be with her proves it.”

            “I don’t think she feels the same way,” Gil said dejectedly.  “She hasn’t returned any of my calls… Frankly, I don’t think she’ll want me to stay.”

            Another glance passed between Sara’s parents.  It was John who spoke this time.

            “There’s something else you should know,” he began in his raspy voice.  “Sara also suffers from remote memory loss.  It’s unusual in this case.  The neurologist said this rarely happens in mild trauma cases, but it’s not unheard of either.  He thinks she’ll regain full memory eventually.  It could take a few days or a few weeks, but it will come back.”

            “Are you saying…”  Gil frowned.  He was trying to process all this.  He knew what remote memory loss meant.  But how remote—

            “I’m saying she might not remember seeing you in San Francisco .  She was here on vacation the last week of July and she has no memory of that.”

            This shook Gil.  His breath locked in his throat and he stood abruptly, shoving his hands in his pockets.  Pat and John watched silently as he strolled over to one of the two large windows that looked like book-ends at the back of the room.  Each one was set deep enough to house a window-seat and a few more overstuffed pillows.  He leaned against the ledge and peered out at the gardens which were full of colorful blooms at this time of year, but through the mist in his eyes, they resembled a Monet painting—only a vague impression of nature. 

            Sara might not remember San Francisco !  Well, that could explain why he hadn’t heard from her after—

            He jerked around, his gaze darting from Pat to John.  “When did this happen… the attack?”

            “A couple of weeks ago—“

            “I mean on what day exactly.”

            “On the seventeenth…”

            His birthday!  Gil turned to the window again.  He closed his eyes tightly and fought back the myriad of strange emotions that threatened to spill as the full realization of the last two weeks’ events hit him squarely in the chest.

            “…Why?  Is it significant?”  John’s gruff voice broke into his painful thoughts.  He swallowed hard and blinked a few times before rejoining Sara’s parents on the other side of the room.  In answer to John’s question, he merely shook his head.  The date wasn’t significant to Sara’s recovery.

            Too agitated to sit, he leaned against the cold hard stone of the fireplace, and let out a ragged breath.  “Okay,” he said, all business now, “What are we supposed to do to help her?”

            “The neurologist says we shouldn’t try to precipitate anything… It would only frustrate her.  He is confident that once she’s in familiar surroundings that… well they’d trigger some memories, but she’d have to be home for that and we don’t think she’s well enough yet to go back,” John said.  “I have to say that when my wife told me you were coming out here…well we both hoped that seeing you might be one of those triggers.”

            Gil didn’t have to state that he hoped for the same thing.

            Gracie chose that moment to announce that his suite was ready.  After brief introductions and an understanding to continue their discussion after he’d seen Sara, Pat escorted him to his room while John fetched his bags. 

            According to Pat, his suite was one of the nicest at the Blue Heron Inn, but as she unlocked and pushed open the door, he only had a vague impression of luxury and comfort—his thoughts too preoccupied with what he’d just learned about Sara.  It would be much later before he took in the vibrant elegance of the room with its fireplace, red rattan furniture and red, black and beige pillows, set against a warm sand background, and punched with an occasional blue accent.  Pat slid open the patio door letting in a gush of warm air which managed to somewhat capture his attention.  He absently took in the view of the meadow from the private sun deck decorated with flower pots filled with more bright blooms, and a couple of comfortable-looking black chairs, ottomans and a low table.

            “Here you go, Gil,” John said as he entered the room and set his bags on the floor at the foot of the Queen-size bed.

            “Thank you, John.  And you too, Pat.  You’ve both been very gracious.”

            “Don’t mention it,” John said.  “We’ll leave you to unpack… Would you like us to call you when Sara gets back from her walk?”

            “Yes.  I’d appreciate it.”  And with a nod to their guest, Pat and John left the room.

GIL FELT THE familiar tug on his heart when he found her sitting sideways in the window seat, head resting against the wall, her long legs curled up to her body almost in a fetal position.  She was staring out the window, oblivious to his presence.

            He leaned on the doorjamb, hands buried deep in his jeans pockets, and gazed at her.  He remembered the first time he’d set eyes on her.  It had been at a weekend seminar he gave at Harvard.  There were two hundred people in the auditorium, but she’d stood out.  Her questions had been intelligent and curious, and she hadn’t been afraid to challenge him.  He’d felt an immediate attraction to her mind.  Later, she’d sought him out, wanting to know more.  It was very innocent—for her at least; he couldn’t deny his interest.  So when she’d asked him out for a coffee to pick his brain she said because she wanted to become a CSI, he hadn’t resisted.

            By the end of the weekend, he’d felt that first tug on his heart.  He hadn’t known then that it was the beginning of love; he’d denied it and had kept on denying it even after he’d asked her to come and work for him in Las Vegas a few years later.

            But he couldn’t deny it anymore. 

            As if sensing that someone else was in the room, she turned suddenly and her gaze froze on him.

            “Grissom?”  The brightness of the day coming through the window behind her cast her face in shadows.

            “Hi, Sara.”

            “What—the—hell are you doing here?”

            “Is this a way to greet an old friend?” 

            “You’re no friend of mine,” she said, getting up from the window seat.  He flinched inwardly.  But she smiled as she approached him, taking the sting out of her words.  “My friends said goodbye to me when I left Vegas.”

            He had his answer.  She didn’t remember San Francisco .  He summoned a smile he hoped someday he could feel.

            “And I would have if—“

            He winced. 

            “If what?”

            Gil ignored the question.  With her face now completely out of the shadows, he saw the ugly gash above her right temple just at the hairline, and with unsteady fingers, he reached to lift her hair away from the cut.  Sara flinched.  Hand suspended in mid-air, he searched her gaze, noticing the dark circles around her eyes.  “Sara?”  She stared at him, anguish visible in her dark eyes, and it took a super-human effort not to take her in his arms and tell her again how much he loves her and that everything will be alright.  Instead, he swallowed hard and returned his attention to her forehead, gently brushing her hair away so he could get a better look at her injury.  “This looks painful.”

            “It’s fine.  Grissom—why are you here?”

            His hand fell away.  “I heard about what happened to you and I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

            “Did my mother ask you to come?”

            “No.  I found out from…the crime lab where you were.  I didn’t even realize your parents would know who I am until I arrived.”  He had carefully avoided mentioning Hunt.  If she didn’t remember their recent encounter, she wouldn’t understand why he knew him and would ask questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

            “I must have…mentioned your name at some point.”  A short vertical line formed between her eyebrows and he wondered if she was remembering something, but just as quickly her features cleared and she whipped around and headed for the couch.  “As you can see, I’m fine.  You didn’t have to come all this way.”

            He followed and leaned back against the fireplace facing her as she perched herself on the arm of the sofa, one bare foot on the floor, the other up on the seat cushion.  It struck him again just how pretty she was, and when she smiled, which she did now, she had that kind of striking beauty that made men pause and take notice. 

            “It’s strange you being here.  I’m not sure what to say.”

            He returned her smile.  “Well, it’s too late to say ‘hello’,” he almost whispered the last word.

            Sara pursed her lips and looked away—timidly?  He could have sworn she was blushing, but a small smile persisted on her lovely lips.  “Sorry,” she said softly. 

            “You can make it up to me, you know.”

            Her gaze shot up and settled on his face for a heartbeat, and then, smiling coquettishly she said, “Oh…and how would you have me do that?”

            His pulse quickened.  She could be such a flirt!  “I don’t know yet—but I’ll think of something.”  

            Now that his feelings for her didn’t scare the living daylights out of him, he quite enjoyed this side of Sara—as long as it was directed at him, he reminded himself.  He’d watched her flirt with Nick in the beginning until it had so annoyed him he’d almost regretted hiring her.  If he’d only known then that there would come a time when he’d long for the innocence of those early days.  He pushed away the still bitter memory of Hank Peddigrew, and shook himself back to the present.  He was with her now, or would be, he amended if it was the last thing he did.  There was no going back for him, and if she never regained her memory, if she never remembered San Francisco , then they’d make new memories and he would do everything in his power to make her love him again—starting immediately.

            “When are you leaving?”

            The question—he’d expected.  The melancholy in her voice and in her expression caught him off guard.  Could the thought of him leaving be the source of this sudden sadness?  The first glimmer of hope lit his heart, and he dared ask the question that had plagued him all day.  “Do you want me to stay, Sara?”

            “I’m okay, you know.  You didn’t have to come all the way here.”

            “That’s not what I asked.” 

            The seconds ticked by as he held her gaze, wishing he could read the range of emotions that progressively darkened it.  And just as it looked like she was going to say something, laughter filled the room reminding them they were in a public space.  He and Sara jumped at once, he away from the fireplace, she off the couch, like two teenagers who’d just been caught necking, yet several feet had separated them.  A young couple Gil would have guessed to be in their mid-twenties strolled in, arm in arm, obviously sharing an intimate moment.  He doubted they even noticed them as they crossed the room to the rear patio door and left through the garden exit.

            His gaze sought Sara’s again, but the moment was lost.

            “Honeymooners,” she explained, stifling a yawn. 

            “Oh.”

            “Grissom…I’m…uh…flattered that you came all this way to see me, but I’m beat.  These pain killers they’ve got me on make me drowsy…I need to get some sleep.”

            “I understand,” he said, and bit his tongue before he could invite her to his room, to his bed, for that nap.  Without her memories of San Francisco , the invitation would do little more than confuse her.  “You need your rest.”

            She came closer to him and took his hand in hers.  He was surprised.  She’d never done anything like that…well, not pre-San Francisco. 

            “It was really nice seeing you.  I’ve missed you…guys,” she said softly.  And then she did something completely unexpected.  She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Say ‘hi’ to everyone for me,” she said, and left the room.

* * * * * *

            SHE’D FEIGNED EXHAUSTION to get out of there.  But it couldn’t have been further from the truth; if she’d felt a little tired after her long walk earlier, all vestige of weariness had fled the moment she’d set eyes on Grissom.

            Why was it that whenever she found herself in that man’s vicinity all her senses sharpened, and like little radars, registered his every move, his every mood?  Even when she wasn’t looking she was intensely aware of his presence.  Her blood rushed violently through her veins warming her from the inside, her heartbeat accelerated sending a pulse thumping in her throat, her voice trembled, and breathing became laborious.

            And she felt alive.

            Damn!  Those feelings were supposed to have been buried a long time ago!

            They’d been buried alive—and way too close to the surface.  He’d dug them up again way too easily.

            One look at him this afternoon had negated all attempts she’d made to forget him this past year.  And because she didn’t want to have to start all over again, she’d defied all rules of etiquette and booted it out of there before her heart could betray her again.  It had been difficult enough to get over a distant and grumpy Grissom, a thoughtful and gentle Grissom would be impossible to forget.

            She lay back on the blanket she’d brought with her to the beach, knees up toward the sky, and shielded her eyes from the sun with her right arm.  This beach had always been a refuge for Sara.  Whenever something had troubled her, she’d escaped to the soothing sounds of crashing waves and the chattering of the hundreds of species of birds in this ornithologist’s paradise. 

            And this afternoon, she’d badly needed an escape.

            What was it about this one man?  He was an anti-social, introverted scientist for God’s sake!  Not the heartthrob of the month… Although she had to admit, he was quite an attractive anti-social, introverted scientist.  With blue eyes that a woman wanted to lose herself in; a mouth that held…oh, such promise; a voice that captivated when his passion was engaged…not to mention the rest of his body…not exactly a man a woman would throw out of bed for eating crackers; the old cliché made her smile.

            She’d once told David, the assistant coroner, that to attract women he’d have to lose the lab coat, drop the glasses and grow some scruff.  And here she was, in love—still—with an anti-social, introverted scientist in a lab coat and glasses most of the time, who also happened to be fifteen years her senior.

            He was her heartthrob, and she knew there wasn’t a whole lot she could do to change that.  He was just too unique to replace.

            She would never know if it was the slight frisson on her skin or the loss of the sun’s brilliance or a combination of both that alerted her to his presence.  It was as if a cloud had moved over the sun.  She lifted her arm from her eyes and looked straight up into the face of the man that had been dominating her thoughts.

            “Grissom!”  She sat up abruptly.  “You’re still here?”

            “Evidently.  Mind if I share your blanket?” he said, pointing a cleft chin at the empty spot next to her.  Although the blanket was big enough for two and there was plenty of vacant space for him, Sara still inched over as far as she could to the edge.

            She didn’t miss his wry smile as he dropped down beside her. 

            “I thought you would have left by now.” 

            He lay back in a pose very similar to the one she’d held only seconds before.  “Disappointed?” he asked on a sigh.

            Still seated, Sara spun her head in his direction but not enough to see his face.  Was she disappointed?  She turned back to stare at the rocky shore across the bay, a view she’d seen so many times its beauty no longer impressed her.  She could feel his eyes on her back as a battle of will raged between her heart and her brain.  She lowered her head, and let the question continue to hang between them.

            She wasn’t disappointed, she was terrified.

            She’d thanked her lucky stars earlier for sending in the honeymooners when they did because she’d been dangerously close to falling under his spell again.  And they’d been in the same room all of what…ten minutes? 

            Damn him!   Why couldn’t he have just stayed away? 

            Assertive and direct Sara won the battle. 

            She turned full round to face him…

            “I’m not—“

            …then almost forgot what she was going to say. 

            He looked too damn sexy laying there, his hands supporting the back of his head; he’d removed his sunglasses revealing the darker blue version of his eyes which squinted slightly against the sun.  A muscle leapt in his cheek and his lips reacted to it, finishing in half a smile.

            “Good, because I got a room.” 

            He’d taken her words at face value, unaware that she had much more to say like, ‘I’m not disappointed, I’m confused.’  It’s not as if they’d parted on good terms.  But all that was forgotten as she exclaimed, “You what?  Why?”

            “I needed a vacation?”  He made it sound like a question.

            He had to know she wouldn’t buy that.  “Tell me something I’ll believe.”

            “Okay… I realized that I couldn’t live another day without you so I came here to woo you.”

            What?  Sara’s jaw dropped, eliciting mild amusement from her former boss.

            “You don’t believe that either, do you?”  He sat up.  “Are you hungry?  Your mother tells me there’s a great little seafood restaurant not far from here.” 

            He was still doing this to her!  He’d deliver a line like that, deadpan, and then retreat just as quickly, leaving her to wonder if he was teasing or if he was sending her a message.  It was that kind of behavior that she’d found so confusing in the past.   

            How dare he come here and start toying with her emotions again!  A part of her wanted to cry out, ‘Damn you, Grissom.  Go home,’ but her heart wouldn’t let her.  She hung her head in defeat.   What was it they said?  If you can’t beat them, join them.           

            She took a deep breath and gave him her 200-Watt smile.  “Bernie’s…a fabulous seafood restaurant and oyster bar.  We could go by the beach; it’s not a very long walk.”  And then, gathering her courage, she stood abruptly.  “C’mon, Gris, help me fold the blanket.  I can’t wait to find out how Gil Grissom woos a woman,” she teased.  And, as an afterthought, or was it? she added, “By the way, do you like oysters?”

THE RESTAURANT WAS crowded and loud and fun.  Most of the customers were tourists staying at neighboring B&Bs; in fact Sara recognized several of their guests.  Although the number of rooms at her parent’s Bed and Breakfast classified them as an ‘Inn’ since the expansion a few years ago, they’d never progressed to serving dinner, so their guests usually ate at Bernie’s, much to their neighbor’s delight.

            She’d always liked coming here—but even more so now that her best ‘childhood’ friend owned it.  Bernard or Junior or Bern , as she preferred to call him, had welcomed the opportunity to move back to their home town a couple of years ago when his parents had retired and offered him the family business.  Sara had been thrilled to reunite with the good friend she hadn’t seen in years; she’d also quickly taken to his wife, Laura and their little daughter, Katie.  In the past year she’d frequently visited Tomales Bay , and whenever they’d learned she was in town, an invitation to dinner had always been promptly issued.  Tonight she wasn’t expected, but hoped Bern would have time to come out of the kitchen, or his back office, to meet Grissom. 

            “Sawa!” She and Grissom had just settled into a couple of stools at the oyster bar when she heard the girl’s shriek above the din.  Her smile grew as Katie ran up and flung herself at her legs. 

            “Hey, Katie…watch it sweetie, you’ll hurt yourself.”  Sara picked her up and sat her on her lap, and after a quick hug, Katie’s smile faded as she lifted her right index finger to Sara’s face.  It was wrapped in a tiny white band-aid sporting colorful cartoon characters.  “What happened to your finger?”

            “I hurt it,” she said.  “But I didn’t cwy!  I’m four now, I’m a big girl.”

            “You sure are,” she said, swallowing a giggle.  Grissom chuckled, catching Katie’s attention.  She swung her head around, whipping Sara’s arm with her long blond ponytail.

            “Who are you?”

            “My name is Gil Grissom,” he said, with the same deference he would have given an adult.

            “G-i-l,” Katie tried his name slowly.

            “Mr. or Dr. Grissom to you, young lady,” Sara interjected, good manners prevailing over the difficulty a four-year old would have articulating his name.

            Katie gasped and turned two big blue eyes on Grissom.  “You’re a doctor?” she said, duly impressed.

            “Yes, I am.”

            “Can you make Sawa feel better?” 

            He shot Sara a quick glance.  “Well, Katie I’d like to but…I’m not that kind of doctor.”

            The little girl frowned while she digested this information.  “What kind are you?”

            Grissom seemed at a loss for words, and justly so.  How did you explain the difference to a four year-old?  He shot Sara another glance.

            “Dr. Grissom is a bug doctor, Katie,” she said, coming to his rescue.

            “Bugs get sick too?”

            A giggle escaped Sara’s throat.

            “I think you just opened a can of worms, Sidle,” he said, barely containing his laughter.

            “I think you’re right.”

             “Katie…”  In chorus, Grissom and Sara turned to see Bernard Hamel emerge from the kitchen in search of his missing daughter; his face broke into a smile when he saw Sara, but as he approached them he stared at Katie with eyes that contained an equal dose of love and exasperation.

            He reached and lifted his daughter off Sara’s lap.  “Young lady, how many times have I told you not to come out here by yourself?”

            Katie took the reprimand in stride.  “Sowy, daddy.  I forgot,” she said as she wound her small arm around his neck; she then kissed him on the cheek and on a loud whisper in his ear said, “Daddy… I love you.” 

            Grissom and Sara smiled widely, amused by Katie’s manipulations and Bernard’s inability to resist them.  He gave his little girl a squeeze then turned his attention to Sara and her companion.    

            “Hey, Sara…  How’re you feeling today?”

            “A little better, thanks.”  Silence momentarily fell between them as he glanced from Sara to Grissom and back again.  “ Bern , I’d like you to meet a, uh...my former boss, Gil Grissom.  Gris, Bernard Hamel.”

            A flash of annoyance crossed Grissom’s features, but he quickly recovered and turned a charming smile on Bernard as he shook his hand.

            “Nice to meet you,” Bernard said.

            “He’s a bug doctor,” Katie piped in, having been silent much too long.

            “A bug doctor?”  Bernard looked quizzically at Grissom.

            “An entomologist,” he supplied wryly, shrugging both shoulders.  “Katie thought I could make Sara feel better, and this was Sara’s way of explaining why I couldn’t—well not in the medical sense, anyway.” 

            Sara’s head spun around and her gaze leveled with a shamelessly flirtatious blue one.  Her breath caught in her throat as a flicker of a flame ignited deep within her heart.  She couldn’t remember Grissom ever looking at her quite like this… Not like he would a friend; more like a lover, she thought.  Or was he just getting her back for the ‘former boss’ comment?  If she’d ever thought his behavior confusing in the past, this took the cake.          

            “Well, I think it’s time I take this young lady home.  It’s way past her bedtime.  Honey?” Bernard dipped Katie toward Sara, “Say goodnight to Sara.”

            The girl reached down, pulled Sara’s head to hers and planted a kiss square on her mouth.  “Nite Sawa.”

            “Goodnight, sweetie.”    

            “Are you going to say goodnight to Dr. Grissom too?”

            “Nite, Dr. Gwissom,” Katie said, almost throwing herself out of her father’s arms to give him a hug.  Sara caught the unexpected pleasure on Grissom’s face and she smiled.  The hug had surprised him.  She doubted he was accustomed to being around children.  As far as she knew, he was an only child so he wouldn’t have nieces and nephews.  A new emotion stirred in her chest at the sight of Grissom hugging this little girl.

            “Goodnight, Katie,” he said.  “It was very nice to meet you.”  Katie beamed.

            After giving them a few dinner recommendations, Bernard wished them a nice evening and disappeared in the kitchen with a giggling Katie hanging around his neck. 

            Sara was still smiling when she turned to Grissom.  “She likes you.”

            “She loves you,” he countered.

            She shrugged.  “Yeah…kids seem to gravitate to me.”

            “I didn’t think you even liked them.”

            “Who—kids?  What gave you that idea?”

            “I don’t know.  Just an impression I got over the years; things you said or did… I’m not sure which.”

            Sara frowned as she tried to remember when she would have given him that impression.  They had worked a couple of cases involving kids, and she did recall the first time she’d had to baby-sit a little girl on a case—she’d felt very uncomfortable around her at first, but after a couple of days she’d found herself becoming very attached to her.  And, of course, her brother had since made her an aunt, so kids were not alien to her anymore.  “I guess I didn’t feel comfortable around children until a couple of years ago.  But I assure you I’m quite fond of my nephews, Ryan and Marc—they’re fraternal twins—and, little Katie, well…she’s kind of irresistible, isn’t she?”

            “Yes, she is,” he smiled, and then said, “Do you want children of your own some day?”

            She grimaced.  “I’m getting a little too old for that.”

            “You’re only thirty-three, Sara, there’s still time.”

            It occurred to her that she should be surprised that he knew exactly how old she was, or that he could recall it so easily, but she was past being surprised by anything he said or did.  She wondered if his unpredictability was deliberate, a way to keep people off balance.  He’d certainly done it often enough to her over the years, until she’d had enough and quit. 

            Except that this was different.  He was different.  For one thing, they’d never been together like this—their relationship had revolved around work, never anything too personal.  Still he’d managed to make her fall in love with him, a condition she suspected would plague her for the rest of her life. 

            But it struck her for the second time tonight that his behavior was more amorous than the detached friendliness she would normally expect, and that made her pause.  She’d wanted to run from him earlier because she’d been afraid to fall under his spell again—she already knew what a waste of energy that was—but the man sitting in front of her now was so different from the Grissom she remembered.  Had she missed something?  She gave herself a mental shake.  What was it her mother had often said?  ‘Don’t look a gift-horse in the mouth?’      

            This was the Gil Grissom she’d always dreamed of, and here they were away from Las Vegas and work, with an entire evening to themselves to just talk and reminisce and have a little fun.  Don’t question it Sidle.  Just enjoy the moment. 

            “I’d need to find a father first,” she finally said, “which, given my track record won’t be tomorrow, and we’d have to date for a while, then get married, that would be nice, and of course there’s the nine months’ gestation period, so…”

            “Fatalistic Sara?  This is not you.” 

            She shrugged.  “Maybe it is.  I’m not so sure I’d make a good mother anyway,” she said unevenly, staring at her fingers.  She wasn’t about to tell him that she’d given motherhood a lot of thought recently.  Not unlike most women her age, she feared her biological clock was winding down, and after having come this close to death, she couldn’t help but reflect on her life.  What was missing was a family of her own.  Her job, which had always been important to her, had begun to pale in comparison to having someone to love, and someone who would love her; someone to build a life with. 

            “I think you’d make a terrific mother,” he said softly, breaking into her thoughts.

            She threw him a startled glance.  “Thank you,” she smiled.  Was there a more heart-warming compliment a man could give a woman—especially a man she loved?  Perhaps Grissom was more practiced in the art of wooing than she’d given him credit for. 

            Whoa girl!  Grissom wooing her… Oh, no, don’t you dare go there!  As much as she would have liked to indulge that fantasy, she was way past deluding herself.  It was one thing to decide to go with the flow and enjoy his company, and quite another to get carried away again in some dumb fantasy. 

            She looked up at him, then hurriedly away because his eyes were such a powerful force, she didn’t think she could resist what she detected in them.  On some level, she’d always known he wasn’t immune to her—he couldn’t have flirted the way he had in the past if he hadn’t felt a little attraction.  But she was now smart enough to know that his had been a passing interest.  She’d had a year to accept that they were on different planets when it came to how they felt about each other. 

            “I think it’s time we ordered something to eat,” he said, waving Wally, the bartender, over.  “What would you like?”

            “I’ll just have my usual Shrimp salad.  The chef knows how I like it.”

            Grissom shot her a surprised glance.  “Shrimp?  I thought you were a vegetarian.”

            “Not a strict one.  I occasionally have fish and seafood.” 

            “Oh.  What about oysters?”

            “Nope.  Afraid I’ve never acquired a taste for them.”  In truth she’d never tried one because, she really didn’t find them visually appealing.

             He ordered the shrimp salad and a dozen fresh oysters for himself and, glancing at her questioningly, “A couple of beers?” she nodded, he ordered those too.

            “Coming right up,” Wally said.  He served them the beer before heading to the kitchen to order the salad.  When he returned he stood directly across the bar from them to shuck the oysters.  They admired his skill in silence for a while and then Grissom lifted his beer bottle.

            “A toast?”

            She picked up her bottle and nodded.  “Sure.“

            “Okay,” he hesitated but a moment.  “Here’s to… Aphrodite.  May she work her magic.”

            “Ah, yes…the oysters,” she dipped her head to the left and smiled.    

            “Actually, I really was just referring to the Greek goddess of love.  You know, Sara, the oyster isn’t really an aphrodisiac.  It only earned that reputation because it looks like—“

            He stopped abruptly, a slight flush creeping into his cheeks. 

            She knew that he’d been about to say ‘a woman’s genitals’ but decided to feign ignorance.  Wally had chosen that moment to deliver his platter of freshly-shucked oysters, making this one of those rare moments in life when the timing was perfect, so she wasn’t about to let it pass without exploiting it to the fullest.  She looked at the oysters quizzically, and then at Grissom.  “Because they look like…what?” she asked seriously. 

            He picked one up and seasoned it with a little too much shallot vinegar.  “Never mind,” he said a hint of irritation in his voice, and then threw his head back slightly to let the oyster and its juices slide off the shell into his mouth.

            She grinned shamelessly as she watched him suck on the shellfish before swallowing it.  

            “Do they taste like they look?”

            His gaze shot up, and he slowly dabbed his lips with his napkin.  She loved to throw him off balance, in fact had done it frequently in the past with a few carefully chosen or suggestive comebacks.  In that respect, she supposed they were very much alike.

            “You’re very amusing, Sara,” he said sarcastically, but the gleam in his eyes betrayed his delight with her banter.  She laughed.

            She dug into her light meal of shrimp salad and avocado which they served in two halved avocado shells.  She hadn’t been very hungry of late so the shrimp salad had become her fare of choice at Bernie’s.  “So…is it true?” she asked in between bites.

            “Is what true?”

            “That oysters aren’t an aphrodisiac.”

            “Absolutely.  In fact,” he said, picking up his beer bottle, “alcohol is the only substance known as an aphrodisiac that has any real effect on sexual desire, but only because it removes inhibitions; however, overindulgence has the opposite effect.”  He became distant as he stared at the beer bottle.  “It increases the desire but it takes away the performance,” he quoted.  At Sara’s quizzical look, he shrugged, took a swig of beer and said, “From Macbeth.”

            “Of course,” she smiled.  He was so adorable.  And with a quick wave at Wally, she said jokingly, “Bring this guy one last beer.”

IT WAS ALMOST completely dark when they left Bernie’s.  While it had been quite appropriate earlier in the day, Sara’s tank top was too light for the early September evening’s chill.  She shivered.

            “Here,” Grissom partially unfolded the beach blanket they’d used earlier and wrapped it around her shoulders.  He grasped both arms in his hands and briskly rubbed up and down through the blanket to warm her.  “Does this feel better?”

            “Yes,” she said, swallowing past something that had suddenly lodged in her throat—whether as a result of his touch or his thoughtfulness, she didn’t know. 

            Their dinner had been at the very least amicable.  They’d talked about his feelings on children and parenthood.  He’d told her he’d never really imagined himself in the role of father, but that given the right circumstances, he wouldn’t oppose it.  “It’s a man’s primitive instinct to procreate.  Otherwise, the human race wouldn’t exist,” he’d said.

            “But not everyone wants to have children,” she’d countered.

            “True.  But most people do.”

            “Why haven’t you?  I mean, why haven’t you married and done all those instinctive things like…make little Grissoms?”

            “I guess I’m one of those exceptions.”  He’d given her a lop-sided grin and shrugged.  Then, on a more sober note, he’d added, “Or maybe I was waiting until I met the mother of my children.”

            Had it been her imagination or had he made that sound like he’d already met the mother of his children?  A shiver of fear ran down her spine.  She’d wanted to ask, but at the same time was terrified of the answer.  What if he had?  Did she want to hear that on the very day he’d re-awakened her sexually and emotionally?  

            Her gaze lingered on his face as he massaged her arms.  She felt the heat of his warm hands through the blanket and imagined what they would feel like against her bare skin, gliding softly up her arms and down her back to her waist, around to her side and up again until they cupped her breasts…his breath fanning her cheek just before his lips burned tiny kisses at the base of her neck where it met her shoulder…

            Her sharp intake of breath drew his attention back to her face.

            “What’s wrong, Sara?”

            “Nothing.  I’m uh…warmer now, thanks.”  His hands stilled on her arms, but he didn’t release her. 

            He’d said that alcohol was the one known aphrodisiac that actually did affect sexual desire because it made you lose all inhibitions.  She’d only had two beers—not enough to blame the alcohol for what she desired at this very moment, and unfortunately not enough to make her lose all inhibitions, or she would have leaned in a little closer and discovered rather than just imagined what it would feel like to kiss him.  

            As if he’d read her mind, he suddenly released her and shoved his hands in his pockets.  “We’d better go.”

            They walked down the dimly-lit walkway to the beach in silence.  The full moon, which would light their path back to the Inn , was already sparkling off the water in the near darkness.  “Look,” Sara whispered, touching his arm and pointing to the Blue Heron wading in the water near the shoreline. 

            “A Great Blue Heron,” he whispered back.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one this big.”  They watched silently as the bird stood very still, patiently waiting for its prey.  In a matter of seconds, the bird folded its neck back then plunged its head below the surface, emerging with a small fish wriggling in its bill.  With a deft movement of the head, the Heron dropped the prey headfirst into its gullet, then opened its wings to an impressive span and flew away.

            Sara met Grissom’s gaze and smiled.  His eyes glowed as he smiled back.  They slowly continued their walk along the beach, each immersed in his or her private thoughts.  When a slight breeze lifted off the water, she wrapped the blanket a little tighter around herself.  Grissom cast a protective eye at her.

            “You’re cold…we should hurry back.”

            “I’m okay.  But aren’t you cold?”  Her eyes dropped to his chest, taking in the short-sleeved white Indian-cotton shirt which hung loosely over his jeans.  The gentle breeze was whipping the thin cotton around his torso flattening it in some places on his back and his chest.  Sara had to tear her eyes away.      

            “No, I’m fine,” he said.

            She wondered if he was as reluctant to end the evening as she was.  Under the full moon she could make out the roof line of the Inn in the distance, which marked the end of the road, but she didn’t want to reach it even if it meant braving the evening chill a little longer. 

            As her eyes adjusted to the growing darkness, she spied a familiar figure running up the beach toward them.  In no time, he was upon them.

            “Steve!  Isn’t it a little late for your run?”

            “Hey! Sara.”  Steve stopped and dropped his hands to his knees, gasping to catch his breath. 

            “I didn’t see you at the restaurant.  Did you take the night off?”

            Steve nodded and stood to his full six feet.  “I’ve been packing.  I’m going back to college tomorrow so I wanted to see you before I leave.  Your mom told me you were at the restaurant.”

            Sara turned to Grissom who’d been standing quietly by.  “Gris, this is Bern ’s little brother, Steve,” she said, and turning to the younger man, added, “Steve, this is Gil Grissom, a friend of mine from Las Vegas .”  The men nodded at each other.

            Steve seemed a little uncomfortable when he looked back at Sara.  “Uh…I’ll be back for Thanksgiving; will you be here then?” he asked hesitantly.

            “I don’t know yet.  Probably.”  He’d had a crush on her since puberty and although she’d never encouraged it, in fact had fully expected him to outgrow it by Junior High, he hadn’t.  She felt sorry for him now as his eyes darted from Grissom to her, undoubtedly seeing him as a rival.

            He plunged his right hand deep into his pocket and fished out a folded piece of paper which he handed to her.  “My phone number in Boston .  If you’re ever in the area…”

            “Thanks,” she said, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek.  She hoped Grissom hadn’t heard his gasp.  “Bye, Steve.”

            “Bye, Sara.”  He stared at her for a second then with a brief nod in Grissom’s general direction, he jogged away.

            She watched him go then turned to Grissom.  The incredulity on his face prompted her to say, “What?”

             “Another one?”

            Not following, Sara shook her head quizzically.  “Another what?”

            “Victim.  I know I’ve asked you this before, Sara, but how do you do it?”

            “You’ve lost me.  What have you asked me before?  And how do I do what?”

            “Make every guy fall in love with you!”  His tone was serious, but she didn’t miss the amusement that lit his eyes.

            “Ah… The lab techs back in Vegas.  They weren’t all enamored with me, you know.” 

            “It sure looked that way.  And when I get back, they’ll all be lining up outside my office for news of you.”

            “Really?” she smiled. 

            Sara fondly recalled the time Grissom had become testy after another lab tech—she couldn’t even remember which one—had flirted with her.  Not bothering to hide his irritation he’d asked her if every guy in that place was enamored with her.  Without thinking, she’d asked him if he was one of those guys, but he’d just walked away, without responding.  But where could he escape to now? 

            Ask him. 

            “You never gave me an answer, you know.”

            “To what?”

            “I remember asking you if you were also enamored with me, but you never answered.”

            “Oh, that.”

            “So…were you?”

            He shrugged.  “What do you think?”

            “I think I have a fifty-fifty chance of getting this right,” she said, looking at her sandaled feet as little clouds of sand lifted with each step.  She smiled.  They walked closely together, not so close that they could accidentally touch, but almost, and Sara was sorely tempted to fix that.

            He shot her a sideways glance.  “What makes you think it was that black and white?”   

            She looked at him, mocked annoyance twisting her features.  “My odds are getting worse by the minute,” she said.  “Okay, so…let’s say I have one in three chances of getting it right, your odds are obviously much better than mine so why not just tell me and that’ll be that?”

            “Oh no.  You’re not giving up that easy.”

            “You just don’t want me to know,” she teased.

            He thought about that for a second.  “Not true—but I am enjoying the game.”  He smiled.  “Okay, here’s a hint.  Your odds would greatly improve if you asked me that same question today.”

            “Great, that tells me you’re less confused.”  She sighed and concentrated on the puzzle.  “So, I go from ‘yes’, ‘no’ and, what? ‘maybe’ or ‘don’t know’ to a possible ‘yes’ or ‘no’, or ‘no’ and ‘don’t know’—“

            “God, Sara,” he stopped abruptly and, grasping her arms, he turned her to face him.  “You’re making this way too complicated,” he chuckled.  Then, as his eyes met hers, his smile faltered.  He cradled her neck in the palm of his hand and gently pulled her to him.  “Would you like another hint?” he asked softly as he ran his thumb over her jaw.

            She nodded slowly, and her breath caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat as he lowered his face to hers and captured her lips in the most tender kiss she’d ever experienced. 

            Sara was so surprised that her mind went momentarily blank… Not surprised that he could be so tender or that his lips were so full and warm, but astonished that he would be kissing her at all.  Yet hadn’t all their blatant flirting these past few hours been leading up to this very moment?  Yes, but this is Grissom!  The full realization of what he was doing finally hit her and she pulled away.

            Grissom drew a breath, but didn’t retreat.  He was searching her gaze with eyes that were more charcoal-grey than blue in the moonlight. 

            Why would he, after a year without so much as a word to her, suddenly turn up as if he had every right to be there, and seduce her?  What was she missing?  She dropped the left side of the blanket to circle his forearm with her hand—not to push his hand away from her neck, but to hold it there.  The simple act of touching him sent shivers up her spine.  How could she be so completely in love with a man she’d never touched, let alone kissed?

            The blanket slipped to the ground in a heap, but she didn’t notice, in fact, the cool breeze that now lapped against her exposed skin barely registered.

            “Grissom… What are you doing?”

            He looked away, closed his eyes and swallowed hard.  When he looked at her again, she marveled at the longing in his eyes.  She also detected sorrow there, but surely that couldn’t be?  Could it?  Nothing made sense anymore, and she began to suspect that her accident had rid her of much more than her memories of the attack.  How else could she explain everything that had happened, that was still happening, today? 

            He reacted to her question by breaking all contact between them.  A chill coursed through her, and the acute loss she felt at the separation made her realize that this wasn’t what she’d wanted.  Her reaction had been all wrong…she was confused, wanted an explanation for the kiss, but not discourage his advances.  Tell him.

            He picked up the blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders and, the fabric bunched up in his fists, held it there to prevent it from falling to the ground again.  She flattened her hands against his chest and looked into his guarded eyes.

            “Gris…” she started on a ragged breath and lifted her chin in a silent invitation for him to kiss her again, but he didn’t move.  She raised her hands from his chest to take the ends of the blanket from him and, winding her arms around his neck, enclosed both of them within its soft folds.  “Gris…please…” she pleaded again, incapable of putting into words all that she wanted from him.  But he must have understood for the next thing she knew his strong arms had circled her waist and his lips descended on hers with such desperate hunger it set her heart racing.

            Sara opened her mouth to his, welcoming his invasion and matching his passion with a fierceness of her own.  There was nothing remotely tender about this kiss; it was the kiss of a man barely hanging on to his control, and its sheer intensity sent delicious tremors of need to the most private part of her body.  Under the blanket, his warm hands had moved under her tank top and were roughly caressing her bare back.  Desire like she’d never known swirled through her.  She desperately wanted to touch him too, but her hands were already occupied, so she arched her back and pressed her body even closer to his. 

            He groaned and strengthened his hold on her revealing the extent of his desire and fanning the flame he’d ignited earlier into a raging inferno.  She wanted him so badly it hurt. 

            By the time he dragged his lips away, there wasn’t an inch of her body that hadn’t responded—wasn’t still responding—to his erotic assault on her mouth.  Wow!  That man can kiss!  She opened her eyes and her heart pounded against her ribs when she saw the raw desire in his darkened gaze.

            He touched her swollen lips gently with the tip of his thumb.  “Sorry,” he said unsteadily.  “I got carried away.”

            She kissed his finger and smiled.  “Don’t be.  The only thing I’m sorry about is that we’re not somewhere more private.”

            “We can remedy that.”

            Her smile widened.  “Let’s go.”

            As they resumed their path to the Inn , faster this time, Grissom repeated the question that had started the guessing game that had led to the most heart-stopping, toe-curling kiss she’d ever experienced.  “So—what do you think now?”

            She smiled up at him and was pleased that the sorrow she’d detected in his eyes earlier was gone.  The man who returned her gaze now looked much more relaxed, and…happy?  She pursed her lips and looked straight ahead.  “I think you like me.” 

            “That, my beautiful Sara, is the understatement of the year,” he said, and cocking his head sideways to gauge her reaction, he met her startled glance.

* * * * * *

PROTECTED BY THE trees and the bushes, it was much warmer out on his private sundeck than it had been by the water, but still not warm enough to sit out there without a sweater.  Sara had wanted to go to her room to get one, but reluctant to let her go, almost afraid that if he let her out of his sight he’d lose her again, he’d offered her his fleece roll-neck pullover, and he’d donned a light jacket.

            His sweater in hand, he’d smiled affectionately, enticing her to come to him.  “Come here.”   

            She’d complied and stood in front of him, returning his warm, intimate gaze with one of her own.  He’d raised the pullover above her and, careful to avoid her injury, had brought it down over her head then helped her slip her arms through the sleeves.  It was too big for her of course, but he’d never seen her look more adorable.  He’d lifted her hair out of the collar and pushed a few strands behind her ear, and because he hadn’t been able to resist, he’d dipped his head and kissed her with a gentleness his desperate need for her moments before had not allowed.

            Their need urgent, they’d made their way back to the Inn rapidly, but had barely entered his suite before she’d begun pulling at his shirt.  Aware that as far as she knew this would be their first time together, he’d wanted to take things slowly, but she wouldn’t have it. 

            And he hadn’t been strong enough to resist her.

            They’d tumbled into bed feverishly pulling at each other’s clothes and, with surprising dexterity under the circumstances, her long fingers had skillfully undone the buttons on his shirt; pushing the fabric off his chest, she’d captured one flat nipple then the other in her mouth, licking and sucking until they were taut and he thought he’d explode with desire. 

            As much as he’d wanted to show her how he felt with all his being, when she’d breathlessly whispered “I want you so much!” against his neck, he knew the time for gentle caresses had come and passed.  He rolled on top of her and, taking pleasure in her small gasp as she became fully aware of his arousal, he’d taken her mouth in a hungry, demanding kiss.   

            His recollection of the next half hour would always be dreamlike…disjointed flashes of clothes being hastily discarded, silky soft skin against his own, flowery scent mingling with his, desperate kisses, limbs tangled together, mouths and hands and fingers pleasuring each other…until she’d cried out his name and an explosion of blind ecstasy had rocked him to his core. 

            Afterwards she’d lain in the circle of his arms, her head resting on his chest, her right hand flattened against his heart.  He’d listened to her breathing until it had settled into a slow, steady rhythm, wondering what she was thinking.  Just as he was about to ask, Sara spoke.

            “Gris?” she said softly.

            “Yes?”

            “We need to talk.”

            At first, her request hadn’t alarmed him; of course they needed to talk, he couldn’t disagree with that.  It was only when she’d insisted they move out to the deck to have that talk that apprehension had set in.  She’d claimed she wanted to take advantage of the last days of summer before it became too cold to sit outside, but he didn’t buy it.  He strongly suspected that whatever Sara had on her mind was not something she’d felt comfortable discussing in the intimacy of the bed they’d just shared.

            Would she give him a repeat performance of San Francisco ?  His heart had beaten unsteadily at the thought.  He didn’t think he could survive another month of uncertainty. 

            They’d dressed quickly, their silence unbearable, until he’d helped her put on his pullover.  The simple act had eased the tension between them, and when he’d kissed her she’d moved closer willingly and hugged him. 

            Right then, the words he’d so wanted to say to her had almost spilled, but he’d caught them just in time.  Confusing her with declarations of love would only have complicated matters. 

            They needed to talk.  She needed to remember.  He needed to be more careful.

            He lingered now just inside the room with a glass of cognac in each hand, admiring how the moonlight’s glow lit her face.  She’d settled into one of the deck chairs, her long jean-clad legs stretched out on the ottoman.  Her eyes were closed, but he knew she wasn’t sleeping.  She looked so beautiful and peaceful, and despite her tall frame, almost fragile.  She brought all of his protective instincts to the surface. 

            “Are you warm enough?” he asked softly as he came out to join her.

            She nodded and smiled.  “Mmm… Thanks for the sweater.  It’s very comfortable.”

            He handed her a drink then positioned the other chair parallel to, but facing hers.  He wanted to sit close to her but still be able to see her face.  He stretched out his legs and crossed them at his ankles.

            “Keep it,” he said.  “It looks good on you.”

            “So do you.”  She looked up quickly, a tinge of blush coloring her cheeks, then dropped her head and stared into her brandy.  “Uh…I don’t believe I said that.”

            He grinned, enormously happy all of a sudden.  “You can keep me too.”

            Her eyes shot up to meet his in the briefest of glances then looked away just as quickly.  Her frown was not the reaction he’d hoped for.  Careful, Gil.  One step at a time.  He changed the subject.  He was good at that.

            “Do you want to talk about it?”

            “What?”  She looked at him again.

            “What happened to you.”

            She shrugged.  “You probably know as much as I do, if not more.”

            “Your parents told me you want to quit your job.”

            “Yeah, well…it’s time,” she said on a sigh.  She took a long sip of cognac and grimaced as it burned a trail down her throat.  “I need a change.”

            Twice before she’d told him she needed a change.  The first time she’d claimed she wanted to check out the FBI system, but he’d diffused that situation.  The second time he’d felt powerless.  They’d been at odds with each other for months, and, well… she hadn’t given him any choice—he’d had to accept her resignation. 

            The road she’d taken then had set them miles apart—literally and figuratively.  The only thing that had tied them together in the past year had been the nature of their job.  He’d been in touch on occasion with Burns—her supervisor in San Francisco —who’d happily volunteered information about her; yet he’d never given Gil the impression that she’d lost interest in her work.  This had to be a reaction to the accident, pure and simple.  And as unreasonable as it was, a part of him feared that if she stopped being a CSI, he’d lose his last ties to her.

            But despite his distress over her decision, which in itself was enough to incite him to influence her not to quit, he couldn’t fault his objectivity when he gave her his professional opinion of her abilities.    

            “Come on, Sara.  You’re one of the best CSIs I’ve met.  And you love that job, you live for it.”

            She titled her head sideways to look at him.  “Not anymore, Gris.  I don’t love it anymore; and how can anyone do this job unless they love it?”

            He couldn’t argue that point.  “So what would you do, if not this?” he braved the question.

            “Anything I want, I guess…”

            “Which is?”

            “I’ve always wanted to continue my education—get my Masters degree, maybe my Doctorate someday.  This ‘not having a life’ has its advantages, you know.  I’ve saved a lot of money—enough to pay for at least another year of college, and I could always work part time.”

            “Physics, still?”

            Sara nodded.  “Mmm… Environmental Health Physics.”

            “Really?  That’s interesting.”  He smiled, but he was dying inside.  His next words slipped out before he could stop them.  “What happened to your dream of having children?” 

            Her eyes flashed at him.  “I never said I wanted children.  I said—“

            “Your eyes told me,” he said dryly.  She looked away broodingly.  “Sara,” he softened his tone, “Are you sure this is not just a reaction to what happened at the ball park?”

            “Yes.  I know…I mean I’m pretty sure I was considering this before…” her voice trailed off.  She frowned, then shook her head and looked at him again.  “I thought of doing this a long time ago; I don’t remember exactly when I decided to do it, but I know it was before the accident… so, no.  I don’t think I’m being impulsive.”        

            He let out a long breath.  “Well, the world of crime scene investigation will be losing one hell of a brilliant investigator.”

            “Thank you,” she said, a little taken aback by his praise.  “I wish you’d been that complimentary when I worked for you.”

            “I’ve always considered you a top-notch investigator,” he said, surprised that she’d think otherwise. 

            “Yeah, well…it doesn’t matter.  I don’t need anyone else’s approval.”

            “I know; that’s one of the things I love about you.”

            He looked at her quickly and met her confused glance.  What had happened to him?  He’d not only lost control of his emotions, he’d also lost control of his tongue.  He drained his glass.

            “Can I offer you another drink?”

            She handed him her empty glass.  “Sure.”

            He went back inside to get the last two airline-size bottles of cognac from the mini-bar, and emptied them into their glasses.  On his way back he paused by the cassette player.  He set the glasses down on the credenza and looked through the tapes.  There was music for all tastes…contemporary country, pop, 70’s and 80’s rock, jazz, classical.  Just as he was about to ask Sara what she’d like, he noticed a familiar album; it intrigued him.  Would she remember?

            He decided it was worth a try so he slipped the tape into the player and adjusted the volume, then rejoined her outside.

            “Mmm… music,” she said dreamily.       

            “Do you like this?” he asked of the soft lullaby quality of Jim Brickman’s piano solo.  

            She shrugged.  “I like all kinds of music.  Depends on my mood.”

            “What’s your mood now?”

            “Perfect for this music,” she smiled and closed her eyes.

            She seemed utterly relaxed as she listened to the soft melody.  The song he was waiting for—the trigger to a memory he desperately wanted her to find—was somewhere in the middle of the album.  As he anxiously waited for it to begin, he was content to watch her breathe, to watch the soft movement of her chest against his sweater—hers now, if she wanted it, just like he’d be hers in a heartbeat if she wanted him.

            The intimacy in the simple act of Sara wearing his clothes had given him an odd and surprising sense of belonging. 

            For a man who’d succeeded in not feeling much of anything most of his life, he mused, he’d certainly put himself through a whole range of emotions in the past month.  And it was all because of her.  In the dark recesses of his subconscious he’d always known she would have that power over him, just as he now knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had always loved her. 

            And she’d loved him too, once—she’d said as much in San Francisco .  If only she’d say that she still did he’d be able to breathe normally again. 

            He tensed perceptibly as the first notes of the love song he associated with her flitted through the patio door and out on the cool night air.  He watched her closely as the lyrical voice of the singer followed…

From the moment I saw you

From the moment I looked into your eyes

There was something about you –

            Sara’s eyes flew open and stared directly into his.  A frown pinched her brow, digging a deep vertical line between her eyebrows.  ‘She remembers!’ he thought. 

            “What is it, Sara?” he asked urgently, his voice sounding hoarse to his own ears.

            A look of confusion settled on her face.  “Nothing, really.  It’s um…I’m sure I never heard that album before, but that song…” her voice trailed off.

            “It’s familiar?”

            “Yes—no… I don’t know.”  She shook her head quickly as if denying the possibility that the song should mean something to her. 

            He did his best to hide his disappointment.  He sat up and took the untouched glass of cognac from her and set it down next to his on the small table.  “Come here,” he pleaded softly.  That look of confusion still on her face, she didn’t move.  “Please,” he added.

            She rose and skirted her chair, halting in front of his.  He coaxed a small smile from her as he took her hand and pulled her gently down on his lap.  She nestled against him, her long dark hair spilling over his shoulder and tickling his neck; he kissed her forehead and wrapped his arms around her, awed by how protective of her he felt.

            They sat like that until the last song had been played, and all they could hear were the faint sounds of the night around them.  Sara stirred and he relaxed his hold on her.  She pulled back, bracing herself on the armrest, and looked at him. 

            “Make love to me,” she said quietly.

            His sharp intake of breath didn’t go unnoticed.  Sara offered him a wobbly smile, her dark eyes burning into his, launching an erratic pulse at the base of his throat.  Then, they stood as one, and taking her hand in his, he led her inside, closing the patio door behind them. 

            Through the glass door, the moon and the stars were the only witnesses to his gentleness as he carefully lifted the oversized sweater over her head, and captured her lips with his own.  And whatever it was that Sara had wanted to talk about was, for now, forgotten.                     

THE BRIGHT MORNING SUN seeped through the glass door, warming the lone figure laying sprawled out on his stomach, his arms hugging his pillow; a thin cotton sheet covered him up to his waist.   

            As the cobwebs began to clear, Gil remembered where he was and sudden joy welled inside him.  He immediately reached for Sara, but when his hand only encountered a cool sheet, all vestige of sleep disappeared and his eyes snapped open.     

            He lifted himself up on an elbow, skimmed the room, then rolling around checked the deck.  She wasn’t there.  “Sara?” he said loudly, thinking she might be in the bathroom.  Silence.  He grabbed his watch off the night table and saw it was a little past eight.  She could have gone to get some coffee, he reasoned, or she might have slipped out during the night—they were after all in her parents’ home which might have been awkward for her.  Hell, it would have been awkward for him too.  Deciding that was the most likely explanation he got up and headed for the shower.  He couldn’t wait to see her.

            An hour later Gil made his way to the center building looking for Sara.  From the front desk where she was checking out a couple of guests, Pat spotted him and signalled for him to wait.

            “Thank you, come visit us again,” he heard her say as the young honeymooners from yesterday started to leave.  Then, her smile faded as she turned to him.  “Good morning, Gil,” she said hesitantly.  He approached the desk and leaned against it, feeling suddenly clumsy in her presence.  It had been easy last night to forget that he and Sara were in her parents’ home, and not in some neutral hotel room as they had been in San Francisco .  

            “Good morning,” he managed warmly enough.  “Is Sara still in bed?”  There.  If there was any question in Pat’s mind as to her daughter’s whereabouts, this should ease her mind. 

            Little did he know that the last thing on her mind this morning was where her daughter had spent the night.  Her next words stunned him.

            “No.  I’m afraid she’s left.”

            He frowned.  “Left?”  He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.  At Pat’s nod, he continued.  “Left to go where?”

            “Home.  San Francisco .”

            “Why?” 

            She sighed, as confused as he was.  “I’m not sure… We didn’t talk much.  She was already packed and ready to go when John and I came down.  She said goodbye, that she’d call soon and not much else.”

            Well—that’s more than I got!  Gil didn’t know if it was anger, or disappointment, or fear or just plain hurt that she could, after last night, simply pick up and leave without so much as a word to him, that twisted his gut with pain.  As if sensing his distress, Pat put her hand on his clenched fist.  “I’m sorry, Gil,” she said.  “Give her time.  She’s had a lot to deal with in the past year.” 

            He knew she wasn’t only referring to the accident.  Sara had already told him in San Francisco that she’d spent the past year trying to forget him.  Obviously she’d confided in her mother. 

            He’d been such an idiot for such a long time, he didn’t deserve better treatment from her—he knew that.  But how could last night have meant so little to her that she could leave without warning or explanation?   

            “She did ask me to give you this.”  Pat broke into his thoughts and he looked up to see the plain white envelope she held in her hand.  So she hadn’t left without a word to him.  Still he felt a strange sense of foreboding as he took the envelope, almost reluctantly, from her.  He examined it—his name appeared to have been hastily scratched on the front and it was sealed.

            “Thanks, Pat.  I’ll, uh…read it later.

            Pat nodded and threw him a sympathetic glance, understanding his need for privacy. 

SARA’S LINGERING SCENT greeted him when he returned to his room.  Still reeling from her departure, he glanced at the rumpled sheets and forced the memories from last night from his mind.  How could she leave like that?  He’d seen much in her expressive eyes, and although she hadn’t said so, he’d dared hope that she still cared about him.  How could she respond to him the way she had and not feel something?  And if she did feel something, how could she leave the way she had this morning?

               He looked at the envelope.  It would undoubtedly have the answers to those questions, but he was afraid to open it.  As long as he didn’t open the letter, he could hold on to some hope; but his gut told him the letter wouldn’t contain the answers he wanted.  Her unexpected departure had pretty much made that clear.

            All of a sudden, the room suffocated him.  He had to get out.  The letter still clenched in his hand, he opened the patio door and stepped outside.  But he couldn’t escape her, even there.  Their glasses of cognac sat side by side on the low table, where he’d put them just before… Damn! 

            His hands trembling, he slid a thumb under the flap, ripped open the envelope and withdrew the single sheet of paper.  A muscle jumped in his cheek as he carefully unfolded the letter and began to read.  

‘Gris,’

It was nice seeing you again…

            Nice?  As if they’d been no more than mere acquaintances.  Gil gave his head a quick, disbelieving shake, and continued to read.

…I don’t know why you came here, but I’m not sorry you did.  I suspect that I’ve forgotten something important that would explain why you’ve suddenly re-appeared in my life.  That’s what I wanted to talk to you about last night before I… well, you know what happened.

But even without the memories—if there are some—it’s clear that I’m at a cross-road and I need to decide which path is best for me.  I suppose I don’t have to tell you that I once cared very deeply for you—that’s why the time we spent together yesterday was so special…a gift really…something tangible to add to my memories of you. 

So, even if it took me a step back in my healing process, I want to thank you for that gift.

Now it’s time I go back to reality before I lose myself again in some wild, impossible dream.  I’ve wasted enough time dreaming; I need to find my life in the real world.

Take very good care of yourself, and please say ‘hi’ to the gang back at the lab for me.  I’ve missed you all very much.

Sara.   

            He clenched his teeth and fell back into the chair he’d used last night.  He’d been afraid to read this with good reason.  He’d known it wouldn’t be good; still he hadn’t fully prepared himself for how bad it would be.  This letter talked about the past, the present and the future, but he only figured in the past.  Sara was telling him she was moving on.  She’d told him in San Francisco that their night together had been about making an old dream come true, so why had he expected her to feel differently only because she couldn’t remember San Francisco ?

            And how the hell was he supposed to go on without her now?

            If he hadn’t taken that first step a month ago he might have gotten over her—eventually.  But it was different now.  He’d opened his heart and let her penetrate it even deeper than she already had.  The very thought of never touching her or making love with her again was almost too painful to bear. 

            It was little consolation that he had no one to blame but himself.  She’d opened that door for him so often in the past and he’d let his stupid fears smack it shut in her face.  He’d hurt her badly.  He knew that.  Catherine had been right.  There had to be some justice in that he was finally getting what he deserved.

            Except that it was ripping him apart.       

            He had to get out of there.

            He pulled his suitcase from the closet and started filling it haphazardly.  Normally an orderly person, it was the last thing on Gil’s mind this morning.  There was an underlying violence in his movements, a strength and anger fueling him on until he’d thrown the last piece of clothing in his bag, and all that was left in the drawer was a small jeweler’s box.

            In his anguish, he’d forgotten about the ring.  He picked up the box his throat tightening, and opened it to reveal the large square diamond set in a wide platinum band.  It wasn’t one of those dainty engagement rings; this one he’d been sure Sara would like and he’d looked forward to slipping it on her finger.  Well, so much for that.  He closed the lid with a resounding snap, and flung it in his suitcase with the rest of his things. 

BEING BACK AT the lab was the best thing for Gil.  He could immerse himself in his work and forget that he’d had his insides ripped apart in the last twenty-four hours.  He’d left the Inn hastily, taking only a minute to bid Sara’s parents goodbye and confirm that he hadn’t ‘triggered’ any memories as they’d hoped.  The rest of his trip back to Vegas happened systematically, without thought or feeling.  He’d been too numb to feel much of anything and too focused on getting himself back to Vegas to spare another thought for Sara.  He’d drawn on his old training.  It was all about mind over matter.  Like smiling when you didn’t want to gag.  Mind over matter was how he’d get through this.

            He’d driven to the airport, dropped off the car, and waited for the next available flight.  He’d then taken a cab home, unpacked, read Sara’s letter one last time to immunize himself to its content, and left for the office.

            None of his team was there yet—it was still early in the evening—and he welcomed the time to himself.  He closed his office door, something he’d never done, and sat back in his chair wondering how he was going to field the many questions about Sara he knew would be coming.  He practiced a standard response in his mind and even managed to think her name without emotion.

            It was going to be a long night.

            Much later, Gil entered the break room.  They were all there, and they reacted predictably to his unexpected appearance.  They all knew what had happened to Sara, and that he’d gone to see her was no secret either.  He just hoped they didn’t know anything more.  He focused on Catherine who was perhaps more surprised to see him than anyone else.  Her expression confirmed that she’d kept the true nature of his relationship with Sara to herself.  She didn’t say anything, but Nick and Greg were full of questions.

            “Gil, did you see Sara?  How is she?”  That was Nick.

            “Is it true she lost her memory?”  That was Greg.  “I’m sure you know that brain injured people can look and act normally, while the injury continues to slowly progress.  It can be due to prolonged bleeding into the brain, or the injury can set off a self-destructive process where the neurons continue to die for many weeks or even months.”  Gil glared at him over the coffee pot.  “It’s called apoptosis or programmed cell death.”  Greg cleared his throat.  “Uh, how’s Sara?”

            “She’s suffered some memory loss, but it’s temporary,” he said, putting down the coffee pot.  “She’s going to be okay, and it looks like she hasn’t forgotten any of you since she specifically asked me to say ‘hi’ to you guys and told me that she’s missed all of you.”

            The mood around the table was somber.  He met Catherine’s gaze and almost felt uncomfortable under her scrutiny.  Warrick just looked morose and said, “That’s tough man.  Poor Sara.”

            Catherine never uttered a word. 

            “So, Cath,” he said, “Care to update me on what’s going on?”

            “Nothing new.  We’re still working the same cases we were working on a couple of days ago.”

            He nodded absently.  “Good.”  His gaze took in each one of them as he said,  “Carry on then, I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.”  And he left the room.

            The rest of the night was uneventful.  He checked his email, answered some memos, returned some calls, signed some documents and it was four in the morning before he knew it.  Work was the best cure for most things, he mused.  Here he could lose himself, forget his sorry existence.  He’d even managed not to think of Sara all night—mind over matter; well…to be honest, he’d somewhat succeeded not to think of Sara most of the night.  She’d popped into his mind every thirty seconds or so, but each time he’d been able to push her from his mind and concentrate on what he was doing.  It was a beginning.

            Problem was he didn’t really want to push her memory from his mind.  He could almost see her standing at his doorway asking for something, or sharing her feelings about a case.  Why hadn’t he reciprocated when it would have mattered to her?  God knows he’d loved her, even then.

            He remembered a street person, a woman, a couple of years ago, who’d told him that you never knew what you needed until you found it.  Well, he mused, he hadn’t known what he needed until he’d lost it.

            And when that had happened, all the reasons he’d given himself for staying away from her had sounded stupid to his ears.  He’d justified it in so many ways …his age, the fact that he was going deaf, or that he was her supervisor.  But they’d all been excuses to mask the real reason he’d ignored her attentions—he was afraid she’d end up hurting him. 

            Well she had hurt him!  He felt empty and ached with missing her and, okay, it sucked, but he was still standing, and no amount of pain would ever make him regret the two wonderful nights he’d spent with her.  If this was the price he had to pay for knowing Sara intimately, well...some things were worth the cost.    

            Near the end of shift, Catherine came into his office looking for answers.  She’d given him the night, had gone about her work without interruption.  It was over, but he didn’t mind.  If he couldn’t talk to Catherine, who could he talk to? 

            “Are you going to tell me what happened?” she delivered bluntly, taking residence in the guest chair across his desk.  “Why are you back so soon?”

            He couldn’t help teasing her a little.  “Ahh…you didn’t get to play supervisor long enough.”

            Her lips twitched then turned into a grin.  “You might not have realized this, Gil, but I do the same thing regardless if I’m supervisor or not.  So you being away doesn’t really have an impact on me.”

            “Really!  Next time I’ll have to stay away longer and see if you still feel that way when I get back.”  Catherine had always wanted his position, but she really didn’t know the half he had to deal with in addition to working cases and processing evidence with the rest of them.  One day wasn’t sufficient to give her a taste of what the job was really about.

            “You’re on.  But that’s not what I want to discuss.  Why are you back so soon?”

            He leaned back into his chair and drew a deep breath.  For the first time in his life he realized that he wanted to confide in someone, but when he opened his mouth the words didn’t come out.  He was tired and fed up really.  And bless her heart, Catherine understood.

            “Why don’t we take off?  I’ll let you buy me breakfast,” she smiled.  He knew what ‘buying her breakfast’ meant.  It meant his house, he cooks and she has a couple of screwdrivers before her meal.  It actually sounded good.

            “Tell the kids we’re off,” he said referring to the rest of the team.  Sara was the only one who’d ever objected to being called a kid.  Well, the only one who’d ever said anything about it.  Maybe Nick, Warrick and Elaine, the new girl who’d replaced Sara, would like a little more respect too.  Except for Elaine, they were CSI 3s for God’s sake.  He decided then and there that he wouldn’t refer to them as ‘the kids’ anymore.

FORTY MINUTES LATER he was scrambling eggs, the Canadian back-bacon was cooking slowly on the stove and Catherine was sipping on a screwdriver.  He’d been tempted to have a drink too but had opted for coffee instead.  He added a sprinkle of chopped fresh chives to the egg mixture and a teaspoon of Dijon mustard.  He and Catherine both loved ‘Eggs Magda’ with Canadian back bacon.

            “So,” Catherine said after a while, “are you going to tell me what happened with Sara?”

            He wanted to tell her.  But confiding in her or anyone else was so foreign an idea that he didn’t know how to begin.  But Catherine would.  He shrugged and didn’t say anything, she could take the lead. 

            “I take it your reception was not what you’d hoped it would be?”

            Gil shook his head.  “There was nothing wrong with the reception.  It’s what happened later…”  His voice trailed off. 

            Catherine swirled the liquid in her glass, her ice cubes clanking together.  Her eyes finally settled on the envelope and the jeweler’s box on the counter.  Gil had wondered how long it would take her to notice them.  He’d left them there earlier not expecting anyone to drop in, but when Catherine had, he hadn’t attempted to put them away…not that he’d had an opportunity to do so anyway.  She picked up the small box. 

            Gil had always been a little put off by her boldness, but not surprised.  She never asked for permission, only considered it her right to do whatever, however she pleased.  That was Catherine, and if you didn’t like that, the best thing to do was stay away. 

            She hadn’t had an easy life, but she’d been determined to make something of herself and be taken seriously.  Gil admired that she’d accomplished that.  A lesser woman would not have been able to make the transition from stripper to the male-dominated field of law enforcement, but she had, and she now commanded as much respect as any CSI, male or female.

            He stopped what he was doing as she opened the small box, and gasped at what she found inside.  “This is a serious ring, Gil.”

            “Yeah, well…it turned out to be a mistake.”

            “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”  He swallowed hard and slowly started telling her the whole story—minus the highly personal details which he kept to himself.  Catherine listened intently, shaking her head at him sometimes, sadness filling her eyes at others, and then occasionally she’d smile or frown, a couple of emotional responses Gil actually understood.

            And then he said something he’d never thought he’d share with anyone else but Sara.  “I love her, Catherine.”

            “Then don’t give up,” she said.  “Go to her.  Make your feelings and your intentions clear and until you do that and she looks you in the eye and says no, don’t give up.”

            “You’re right.”  He slapped the kitchen towel on the counter, turned off the stove and forgot all about the eggs.  Re-energized by his decision—despite the fact he’d been up almost twenty-four hours—he took the ring from her and shoving the box in his pocket, headed for his bedroom to pack once again.  “Do me a favor Cath, call my travel agent and get me on the next flight to San Francisco .  It’s on speed-dial three.”

            “Oh…okay,” she said.  Then, “Hey, you’ve got your travel agent on speed dial?  You really have to get more friends Gil.”  He stopped and smiled at her from the hallway.  She looked up.  “Out of curiosity, who’s on one and two?”

            “You’re number two, Catherine.”  She didn’t have to ask who number one was.

            He had almost finished packing when he heard the doorbell.  He wondered who’d be at his door this early in the morning but ignored it.  Catherine would get it.  He zipped the overnight bag, grabbed a light jacket from his closet and left the room.

            He looked for Catherine as he came down the hallway but couldn’t see her in the kitchen or the living room.  “Catherine,” he called out, but she didn’t answer.  And then as he came around the corner he spotted her near the door with—

            “Sara!” he said on a sharp intake of breath. 

            “Hey.”  Her voice broke, and his throat tightened at the sight of her.  She looked pale and tired, and her eyes brimmed with tears…and she wore his pullover.  He felt a quickening in his heart and soul.  He watched her as he slowly lowered his bag to the floor, as if he was caught in her gaze and there was no way he could look away.  Then, her eyes darted to Catherine and back to him reminding him that Cath was still there.  He glanced at his friend briefly noting the small smile that lit her face as she glanced at them in turn. 

            “I was, uh…just going,” she said, and picking up her purse, exited in a hurry, leaving behind a deafening silence and tension so thick you could cut it with a knife.

            Gil took a small step toward Sara, and she matched it.  “How…”

            “I drove.” 

            Another small step.

            “You drove all night?”

            “I…uh, needed to see you.” 

            Another small step.

            “Have you found your life, Sara?”

            She nodded and a lone tear finally spilled from her tormented eyes.  “It was tucked away in this beautiful orchid.”

            A last step closed the distance between them.

            “I love you,” he said simply.

            “I know that now.  I love you too…I never stopped loving you.”  She wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her in his arms, desperate to hold her again.  They stayed that way for a long time, until joy pushed out the dull ache that had settled in his heart in the last twenty-four hours.  Then, he pulled back slightly, and reached into his right pocket for the small box.  There was one more thing he needed to do.

            When she noticed the box, Sara dropped her arms and stepped back a little.  She turned perplexed eyes up at him, beautiful eyes bright with unshed tears again as he pulled the ring from its velvet bed and, taking her left hand in his, he asked her to marry him.

Epilogue

            Gil stood outside the Blue Heron Inn, watching little Kathryn Patricia Grissom, the love of his life—or rather the second love of his life, her mother having been the first—play with her favorite doll on a grassy patch of ground.  It was an unusually cool mid-September day, but the sun shone brightly so from where they stood protected from the cool gust off the Bay, it wasn’t all that bad. 

            It was difficult to believe that five years had passed since Sara had shown up unexpectedly on his doorstep and promised to marry him.  He’d later learned that when she got home on the day she’d left him at Tomales Bay with nothing more than a very kind ‘Dear John’ letter, her next door neighbor had stopped her to give her the orchid he’d sent her on the day of her accident.  Not knowing where Sara was, her neighbor had accepted delivery of the plant and had cared for it until she got back.

            It was that orchid that had been the trigger to Sara’s memory, and without even stopping to pack a toothbrush she’d hopped into her car and driven to Vegas.

            They’d been married soon after that, and Kathryn—named after the little girl they’d met the night she was conceived, and not after the dear Ms. Willows, as Catherine still believed—had come along much earlier than they’d have planned, if they would have eventually planned to have children.  The decision had been taken out of their hands, but they’d never regretted it for a minute.  They both doted on their little girl.

            “Daddy!” Katie’s high pitch voice caught his attention.  “Can we go to the beach—puhleeze, daddy?”

            “It’s a little cold for the beach, sweetheart.”

            “I won’t be cold, I promise.”  No, but I will, he thought.  She turned chocolate brown eyes up at him, eyes so much like her mother’s, said ‘puhleeze’ again, and he couldn’t resist her any more than he could resist Sara when she looked at him a certain way. 

            “Okay,” he said on a sigh, “you win, but only for a little while.  It will get cold fast on the beach.”  Engulfing her small hand in his, and matching her small steps, they slowly made their way to the beach.

            “Don’t go too close to the water,” he warned Katie a few minutes later.  Gil lay back on the sand, watching his daughter run back and forth with her little doll clutched tightly in the crook of her elbow.  She’d stop and crouch down every once in a while to play with a bug and explain all she knew about the particular bug to her doll.  He closed his eyes and listened.  Smart kid, with a memory that amazed him, she was always teaching her doll what he taught her, and he’d listen to the lessons, as proud as a father could be.

            “Daddy,” she whispered now and he opened his eyes to find her kneeling next to him in the sand.  “Tell me about mommy again.”  This was his clue that his little Katie was tired.  She always wanted him to tell her that story when he put her to bed, and she’d fall asleep with a smile on her face.

            “Again?” he teased her.  “You know this story better than I do.  How about you tell it to me?”

            “Noooo, daddy,” she giggled.  “I wasn’t there yet, remember?”

            “You’re right—Give me a kiss.”  He knew she’d be sleeping soon.  She gave him a peck on the mouth and settled in the crook of his arm.  He pulled one side of his jacket open and covered her small body with it as much as he could to keep her warm.  Then he started telling, for perhaps the hundredth time, the story of when he’d met her mother, and how beautiful he’d thought she was, as beautiful as Katie—she always wanted to hear that, and how he had fallen in love with her, and she’d made him run after her… Katie normally giggled somewhere around this part, so when she didn’t, he looked down and found his daughter fast asleep.

            He smiled and closed his eyes.  Sleep sounded good to him too.

            “There you are.”  Gil looked up a few minutes later, and smiled at his wife. 

            “Hey, Dr. Grissom, how did the meeting go?” he said a little above a whisper.  Sara fell to her knees beside him and casting a tender glance at her sleeping daughter, dropped her voice measurably.  

            “Very well, actually.  I think I’m beginning to get through to them.” 

            “Good.”  As it turned out, Sara had been serious about quitting her job as a CSI.  It’s a decision she’d made after they’d met in  San Francisco .  Knowing they couldn’t continue working together if they were a couple, she’d decided it was as good a time as any to pursue her education, something she’d always wanted to do.  As it turned out, UNLV had an excellent program in her field of interest, Environmental Health Physics, so she’d enrolled immediately.  She’d just received her PhD, held a fabulous job in Las Vegas, and had left him and Katie here to attend a meeting in San Francisco today.

            “Has she been asleep long?”

            “No, about ten minutes, no more.  She wanted me to tell her the story about mommy again.”

            She smiled.  “Ahh…the story about how much you loved me and how I made you fly all over the place to catch me?  Too bad I missed it; I think I would have liked to hear that story again.”  Sara stretched out next to him and settled herself in the crook of his other arm. 

            “Remind me to tell you later.”  He kissed her forehead and closed his eyes.

            “You can count on it.”

THE END

Submit a Review  |  Go read another