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“Who is this?”
His father’s groggy words drifted across the miles. How many miles? Who knew, because it had been months since they last talked and his parents were prone to sporadic excursions to far-off countries. It was early afternoon in Nevada, so unless his father had turned into an afternoon napper the distance between them could perhaps be half a world.
“Hi, Dad.” Greg’s voice broke and he knew he sounded anything but strong. He was already tearing up and he clenched his eyes shut. Come on, you’re barely two words into the conversation and you’re crying like an infant. How did you think this would go?
Four days had passed since the attack in the alleyway; three and a half days since Grissom and Greg’s talk…
“Has someone called your parents? We should let them know. What's the matter?”
“They still think I'm in the lab.”
“Why do they think that?”
“When I was in high school, I never played any sports. No football, no basketball. Definitely no hockey.”
“I never would've guessed.”
“Well, it wasn't by choice. My mom wanted four kids. Ended up with only one. She always made sure I stayed close. If I got a nosebleed, she'd take me to the E.R.”
“Well, now would be the time to come clean.”
“My mom's gonna freak.”
“You tell her that you risked your life to save someone else's, and I think she'll be very proud of you.”
So here Greg was, still lying in a hospital bed but no longer in the I.C.U. The machines that showed he was alive with their tones and beeps had been carted away and, in their absence, he was beginning to have his doubts. Between visits from coworkers and hospital staff, he was alone and finally decided to make that dreaded call.
In the few days since the beating his jaw had healed enough so that he could talk more comfortably. The bruises however appeared worse than ever—not that Greg looked in any mirrors lately; he simply knew from the expressions on his friends’ faces when they visited. Fortunately, bruises cannot be seen through telephone lines, and he had believed he could at least sound strong.
“Gregory?” The older Sanders’ voice interrupted Greg’s thoughts. The tone had softened a little but some annoyance remained. He’d hoped that his mother would answer because he longed to hear her, but the sound of her voice may well have broken down any semblance of bravado he retained.
He took a deep breath—as deep as possible with several broken ribs, that was. “Yeah. I’m sorry if I woke you, I just needed to tell you something because you might find out on your own in the next few months and I didn’t want Mom to worry—"
“Hold on.” There was the rustle of bed covers, then the soft click of a door being pulled shut.
Greg waited.
He had known all along that he might need to tell his family. Grissom had helped to give him the courage. As more information leaked, the press would sniff out the story and try to make a sensation out of it. The last thing Greg wanted was for his parents to learn from national headlines: ‘Las Vegas C.S.I. Runs Down, Murders Unarmed Black Academic’.
‘He was armed. He had a rock,’ Greg argued with himself in his head. At least, he hoped in his head.
“What have you done?” his father finally asked, still hushed.
“I didn’t do…” Greg stopped. He had done too much and not enough. The unnerving silence was intolerable so he began to ramble again. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys sooner, but I’m in the field now. I’m a C.S.I. and I have been for almost two years. This gang of kids was going around beating and killing people. I came across them on the way to a scene. They were going to kill him, Dad, I had to do something. Most of them ran off but one guy stayed. It was a dumb decision but I only had a couple of seconds to make it and…If I could try again I would do it differently. His friends came back and pulled me out of the car and beat me up. I’m in the hospital, but I’m—”
“You’re alive.”
Taken aback by his father’s words, Greg hesitated.
“You’re going to be fine?” his father prompted.
“Yes. But I—”
“Are you going to jail?”
“I-I don’t think so.”
“So there’s no reason to trouble your mother with this information.”
Greg’s mouth hung open. “What if she—”
“She won’t. She does not need to know. She already worries enough about you.”
He was again speechless.
“Stay safe, Gregory. Good night.”
A beep sounded, indicating that the call had been disconnected. A minute passed and the dial tone interrupted his stunned silence. Greg placed the phone back onto its receiver at his bedside but continued to stare at it.
He didn’t know why he was surprised.
Four days had gone by but the pain from the attack remained. His ribs ached, his back cramped, and his fractured jaw made eating a chore. Not that he was hungry; he ate only to quell the nurses’ and his friends’ concerns. His sprained wrist—of course his dominant—restricted him further and twinged sharply whenever he tried to move it, but as usual nothing hurt worse than his father’s cold words.
“Knock, knock.”
He was on his side, back to the door, when the voice spoke behind him. Greg startled momentarily before comprehending and reassuring himself that he knew that voice, and it was safe. He swiped away any fallen tears and sniffed. “Sara.” His voice cracked again even though he did his best to sound like an ordinary human being. “Out late or in early?”
She chuckled. “The former.”
He hadn’t turned to face her because he worried that his complexion would betray him, but Greg knew that was bullshit because any one of the hideous bruises would distract from the fact he’d been crying.
Sara rounded the bed slowly but instead of coming up to his side she passed and peered out of the room’s window. His eyes followed her and lingered as she slipped her hands into her back pockets, striking a contemplative pose. Greg’s room was four floors up and provided a birds’ eye view…of the surrounding parking lots and hospital wings. He suspected that she may already know, and pretended to be distracted by the modest view to allow him some dignity.
“And it was your turn to check up on me?”
“I’m offended!” she gasped, finally turning to face him and narrowing her eyes. “I’ve been here every day.”
“Yeah, about two hours after Sofia and a half hour before Nick.”
“Greg, we’re not visiting you because we feel obligated.”
“I know.”
She sat lightly on the side of his bed near his legs, and now it was Greg’s turn to stare out the window while she studied him. “Why haven’t your parents been here? Has anyone contacted them?”
“Yes. I did, just before you arrived.” His eyes darted to her then away again. “You can tell Grissom that, too.”
“You did?” Sara sounded surprised but relieved. “How did they take it?”
Greg smirked dejectedly. “Great, actually.”
She frowned. “Really?”
“I mean, not great. They’re worried but they’re glad I’m okay.”
“Good. Are they coming to visit?”
“Uh, maybe, yeah. They’re gonna try.”
Sara paused, then smiled warmly and placed a gentle hand on his upper arm. “That’s great.”
His eyelids drifted closed at her touch and he let out a sigh.
“Listen, I actually came here because I thought you could give me some input about this rumor that’s going around the lab about Hodges.”
Her tone had turned curious and playful, and Greg cracked open one lid; quirked an eyebrow. “I might or might not know something about it. What have you heard?”
He listened as Sara went into detail about some ridiculous rumor that Greg most certainly started the previous week. Revenge of course, for Hodges pulling a prank on him. For the remainder of her visit, Greg allowed himself to be distracted and entertained by Sara’s animated tales of mischief and gossip he was missing at work.
Perhaps his father was right. Why needlessly concern his mother when he was going to be just fine?