Chapter Text
If throwing oneself into their work in order to avoid processing challenging events and coming to terms with complex feelings was an Olympic sport, Sharon Catherine Raydor would have enough gold medals to fill a mansion. And if the Major Crimes team had noticed that she’d been going harder at their cases and if Rusty had noticed that she’d been bringing more work home and spending more time on her computer on the weekends, no one had said anything.
It had begun to feel like the new normal and Sharon had almost successfully managed to repress what she’d been trying to forget. This sense of blissful ignorance had just about lulled her into a false sense of security when Rusty set the stack of mail on the corner of her desk.
“I’m going to get ready and go out with some friends, is that okay?” He asked.
Sharon smiled and cupped his cheek. “Of course, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, mom.” Rusty kissed the top of her head before disappearing down the hallway.
She sipped her tea and grimaced at the cold liquid which had gone bitter from oversteeping. She scooped up the pile of mail on the way to the kitchen. She dumped out the tea and put the kettle on the burner to brew another pot.
Sharon flipped through the mail: Planned Parenthood’s annual mailing asking her to renew her subscription, the newsletter from St. Mary’s, Geico offering to save her fifteen percent or more in fifteen minutes and she stopped in her tracks when she saw the hand addressed envelope.
The other mail fell from her hands as she stood in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the long white envelope, her name written in hasty bubbly letters that she would know anywhere. Her heart pounded as she stared down at it.
“Mom!” Rusty said pointedly as he took the kettle off the stove and set it on a cool burner. “Mom?”
She turned to him, the spell momentarily broken. She blinked away the haze and looked at the kettle and her mouth opened in surprise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t hear it.”
“You didn’t hear it?” Rusty’s eyebrows went up in surprise. “It was whistling for almost two minutes. I heard it in my room.”
She shrugged helplessly. “I was distracted.”
“I was worried, I thought something had happened to you.” He admitted quietly. “And I don’t exactly feel like I was wrong.”
Rusty bent down and picked up the envelopes she’d dropped and set them on the counter. “Are you okay? What’s going on?”
Sharon gave him the most sincere smile she was able to muster. “I think I’ve just been working too hard recently.” And for a moment, she’d almost convinced herself that there was such an innocent explanation. She’d been working harder recently because she was so dedicated to her job and nothing else had happened that she was trying to ignore.
He studied her for a few long moments, the gears turning and trying to decide if he was going to push it further or if he was going to accept this explanation. She had been working her ass off and he had noticed. He’d actually used it as a kick in the ass to study and research harder; he’d set up a night out with friends because he was starting to burn out and there was some comfort in the idea that Sharon was burning out a bit too.
“Okay. Why don’t you take it easy tonight? Like, take a bath or whatever and just zone out. Open a nice bottle of wine or something.”
Sharon smiled adoringly at him. She nodded acquiescently, “I will.”
“Okay,” he said again, gripping the strap of his backpack, still considering his options.
“Have fun with your friends.” Sharon said, attempting to stop him before he suggested that he should stay home tonight. The last thing she wanted was for her problems to become his problems and he deserved a night out.
“I will.” He nodded. He then added playfully. “Try not to burn the place down.”
She smiled, glad that his anxiety had already lessened to where he was able to make a joke about it. “If you insist.”
Sharon waited in the kitchen until she heard the front door close behind him and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding and set the envelope on the counter; she grabbed the open bottle of Chardonnay and tugged out the cork. When she retrieved a glass from the cupboard, her hand shook as she set it down on the marble.
She took a deep breath, her heart pounding again. She carefully poured the wine into the glass so that her shaking grip wouldn’t cause a spill.
Full wine glass sitting in front of her on the counter, she still barely moved as she stared at the envelope. Without a screaming kettle and a worried son to interrupt her, she didn’t know how long she’d spent staring at the envelope unmoving this time.
She lifted the envelope and turned it over, slipping her finger under the flap and tore it open with an assuredness that came from some unknown place inside herself. The envelope fell away as she held up the cream colored stationary, From the Desk of Brenda Leigh Johnson written in script font at the top, and began reading.
Dear Sharon,