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The funeral is mostly a blur. They asked if he wanted to say a few words, but Grissom declined, even though part of him felt like he should. Nobody pressed him, though, so he assumes they understand. He remembers Warrick’s funeral, remembers standing up there, looking out over the grieving faces and trying to put into words the life lost. He didn’t get through it then, and he knew he wouldn’t now either. Better to let someone else speak about her, say what he feels but has such a hard time expressing.
So instead, he sits and listens, Jim on his left, a silent reassurance that he’s immeasurably grateful for. And even though he doesn’t remember much of the eulogies, they leave him with a deep sense of calm that settles almost like a blanket on top of the grief, softening the jagged edges.
The cemetery is just outside, so while the casket is loaded into a hearse, the congregated mourners walk the short distance. When he reaches the open glass doors, he’s almost blinded by the sun, and for a moment, it just feels wrong. It shouldn’t be sunny on a day like this, the rain should be pouring down from dark clouds, thunder rumbling in the distance. But it’s May in Las Vegas, so instead the sky is blue and it’s close to ninety degrees.
Jim puts a hand on his shoulder when he stops. “OK?”
He just nods and steps out into the warm air, takes a deep breath before turning and starting to make his way across the wilting grass. Jim walks just behind him, as if making sure he stays on his feet.
The priest says a few more words at the graveside, ending with a prayer and the standard rites, before the casket is lowered into the ground. He stands off to one side, eyes on the grave, as the people around him slowly disperse.
When they’re alone, Jim steps into his line of view. “You going to hang around for a while?”
Grissom nods. “I think so. You don’t have to stay.”
“Are you sure? Cause I don’t have anywhere else to be today.”
“I’m sure.” He manages a smile, and it doesn’t even hurt too much. “I think I’d like to be alone for a while.”
“OK,” Jim agrees with a nod. “But call me when you’re ready to leave. You still need somewhere to sleep, right?”
“I can take a cab. And stay at a hotel.”
“Call me. Even if you don’t want the couch – and I wouldn’t blame you – I’ve got your duffel back at my place.”
“OK. Thank you.”
Jim pats him once on the shoulder. “Don’t even mention it.”
He listens to the fading steps and lets out a long breath when he’s finally alone.
It’s a beautiful spot, only twenty or so feet from a small pond, a large palm tree nearby. There’s a wooden bench some ways away, but he doesn’t want to sit right now, so he remains standing. The palm tree is providing some much-needed shade, but even so, he’s soon sweating even in the thin linen suit.
He’s not sure how long he stands there before he feels a presence next to him, and then a hand sliding into his. He doesn’t have to turn to know who it is, but he still does, and just the sight of her is like balm for his soul, knitting the torn pieces of his heart together again in an instance. “Sara,” he breathes, the first time he’s spoken her name out loud in over a year.
One side of her mouth quirks up a little. “Hi.”
He hasn’t cried. Not when his aunt called with the news. Not during the conversations with her and the funeral director, selecting psalms and pieces of scripture for the service. Not on the red-eye from San Jose or in Jim’s car on the drive from the airport. Not during the service.
But at her single word and a squeeze of her hand, he feels the first tears escape. She doesn’t say anything else, just slides a hand up and around his neck, guiding him to rest his forehead against her shoulder, and holds him close as he weeps silently for the woman who gave him life.
After a long moment, when his tears finally subside, he pulls back a little.
“Come on,” Sara says gently, nudging him. “Let’s sit.”
She leads him over to the bench, and he gratefully sinks down on it, accepting the old-fashioned handkerchief she holds out.
“How did you know?” he asks after another moment. “Jim?”
She shakes her head. “I still get the newsletter from the college,” she explains. “I saw the obituary.”
“Oh.”
“I did ask him if he thought I should come, though,” she continues, a hint of hesitation flashing in her eyes. “I hope he wasn’t wrong…”
“No.” Grissom shakes his head, turning his hand so it’s palm up against the bench between them. Like he hoped, she understands and intertwines their fingers. “I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to call, but…”
“I know.”
He clings to her hand, squeezing too tight, he’s sure, but she doesn’t complain, just rubs her thumb against his.
In the end, it’s his stomach rumbling that breaks the moment.
“I guess it’s time to go,” Grissom notes with a sigh, letting his eyes linger on the open grave.
“Yeah,” she agrees, rising to her feet and pulling him up with her. “Where are you staying?”
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I couldn’t get out of San Jose until last night, Jim picked me up at the airport an hour and a half before the service started. He offered his couch, but…”
“Yeah, I wouldn’t recommend it, your back might never be the same,” she half-jokes, tugging him along in the direction of the car park.
“Well, there are plenty of hotels in Las Vegas,” he reasons. “I’m sure I can find somewhere for a night or two.”
“When are you heading back?”
He shrugs. “I haven’t decided yet, I’m sort of… between projects at the moment, so I’m not in any rush.”
She hums, but doesn’t say anything else before they reach her car. She starts the engine and gets the air conditioning going, but doesn’t pull out of the parking space right away.
“Listen, I know you hate hotels almost as much as I do,” she starts, eyes straight ahead and the fingers on one hand tapping an irregular pattern against the steering wheel, a sure sign she’s nervous but trying to hide it. “And if it’s going to be too awkward, I’ll take you to Jim’s, no problem, but… at least I have a guest room. If… you’re welcome to it for a few days or… however long you need.”
There’s no reason her words should make his heart pick up, but they do. He knows he should say no, should keep his distance, because if he doesn’t… he knows what will happen. He can almost see it, taste it, and it’s everything he wants. The only thing he wants.
But he still doesn’t know how to stay in Vegas. And he doesn’t know how to ask her to come with him.
“I’d like that,” he still hears himself say. “Thank you.”