Full of Ghosts Tonight, Chapter 4
Aug. 29th, 2008 11:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lizwontcryTitle: Full of Ghosts Tonight - Chapter Four
Author: Butliz
Rating: Teen
Spoilers: Nothing-ish.
Disclaimer: CSI and its characters don't belong to me.
Summary: AU, sequel to The One That Got Away. After a devastating loss, Sara goes back to California to find out something, anything that could help her understand the father she never really knew.
Prologue
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
A/N - It's been a while, and I do apologize for the ridiculous delay. The next chapter won't take so stupid long, I hope. Also, it's kind of hard to tell what people think of this story, so if you could leave me feedback of any kind, I would really appreciate it lots. Thanks for reading, and thanks big time for your patience. Mucho thanks to GSFanatic, who has ever-lasting patience, awesome ideas, and much needed encouragement.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas -
There's something happening in the air, I can feel it, and it's so beautiful. The mountains, the sun on my face, the ocean...it’s incredible. And If I don't open my eyes, maybe it'll be real.
My dad and I are on a road trip. He doesn't tell my mom or my brother, we just go one day when they're out shopping for shoes. He grabs my hand, puts me in the car and we go. He asks me before he starts the car, "Left or right?" I say, "Right." He turns right out into the driveway. We play this game until somehow we make it all the way to San Francisco. We buy ice cream and park in a field so we can stare at the Golden Gate Bridge while the sun is setting. I'm 9 years old, and I can already tell that this is going to be a memory I'll cherish forever. That is, until I open my eyes.
And then I wake up and realize that it's 30 years later. And while I wipe the fog from my eyes, I realize that our road trip to San Francisco never actually happened. My father always promised we'd just get in the car and go, but we never got around to it. Somehow, the thought that my dream wasn't real hurts more than the fact that my father never gave it a chance to be real. This is somehow heartbreaking, even after everything that’s happened.
It takes me a minute to remember that I'm in Tomales Bay. Gil is not here. He's not soundly sleeping. He's not snoring or wearily smiling at me from squinty eyes or grasping Hank for dear life, which I wake up to find him doing every now and then. Hank is not allowed on the bed, but sometimes he makes his way up there anyway.
But there's no Hank, no Gil, just me and the ladybug comforter.
I am not particularly happy about this fact, but it is a direct result of my actions, right? I was the one who decided to leave my husband and my life in Las Vegas behind just so I could finally confront some stale California ghosts. Is this a mistake? I'd like to think not. Today I'm going to make sure that I find out.
There are hidden corners of Tomales Bay that I want to rediscover before I go digging into something that I know will give me mixed emotions. I know my father wasn't a saint, and I know there are a lot of things I never wanted to know about him. But I've spent way too long trying to convince myself that I don't want to know. Now, I have to know, because something is missing in my life, and it feels like it has to do with my father. I try not to think about what will happen if I find the information I was looking for, and still feel like something’s missing. The thought is mildly terrifying.
My mother wants me to start my mission at the Wild Horse Inn, but I know I have to work my way up to that particular bed and breakfast. Not only is it the inn that my mom and dad used to own and operate, but I know who runs it now, and I'm not ready to face her yet. Actually, I don't know if I'll ever be able to face her, but she's a vital part of my past, and I know I have to.
I begrudgingly get out of bed, go to the bathroom, and brush my teeth. I look at a clock and am startled to see that it's almost noon. I can't believe I've slept this long. I think about calling Gil, knowing that he's probably getting ready to go to bed. I don't call him. He has other things to worry about right now, like the fact that I left in the middle of a shift and nobody has any idea why. I hate that he has to pick up the pieces I left behind, but there's not much I can do about it right now. I'll make it up to him later, when I've gotten myself back together and he doesn't have to have a mess of a wife anymore. Oh, how I hope that day will come sooner than later.
Tamara is at her computer when I come looking for her in the small but comfortable house. She mostly works from home to avoid the commute from San Francisco.
"Hey, lady. Did you sleep well?" She asks. I sit on the sofa and watch her furiously type without looking at the keyboard once. I admire her typing skills until I remember she just asked me a question.
"Oh, yeah, I did. I'm surprised as to how well, actually," I say. I thought sleep would be fitful, and instead it was one the best night's sleep I'd had in ages. It was somewhat of a relief, honestly. Sleeping with Gil is one of my favorite things to do, but I always sleep better by myself. The thought used to make me sad, but we talked about it once and he admitted he felt the same way. We both laughed and tried to make light of it, but I think we were both hurt and also a little surprised that sleeping with each other wasn't a magical cure for all of life's problems.
"We have some breakfast if you'd like," Tamara says. "Pancakes and stuff."
"No, thanks. I'm not really hungry." And I'm not. At all. I know I need to eat eventually; I haven't eaten since before shift the day before. But the thought of putting anything in my mouth makes me want to vomit. It's something I'd rather not think about right now. If Gil were here, he'd give me that look of his; that look of loving disappointment. God, I miss that man.
Tamara nods distractedly, and I wonder what's really going on in her head these days. She has a loving husband and a nice, comfortable house, but does she ever miss her life of destruction she and my brother lived together? This is something I do--I'm always wondering if people are satisfied with the lives they have, or if they miss the lives they left behind. It's bizarre how I'm never really happy no matter where I am. Gil is my soul mate, and even he can't make the ghosts disappear. I remind myself that this is why I'm here.
"So what are your plans today?" She asks me.
"I just want to walk around and get used to these surroundings. It's been a long time and I just want to reacquaint myself with the environment."
Mostly this is the truth. But it's also because I'm terrified of doing what I came here to do. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.
"Well, you can use my bike if you want. It's in the garage. It's a little old and rusty, but it gets around," she said. "Kind of like me."
We both chuckle.
"Oh, before I forget, you got a phone call this morning."
"Grissom?" I ask as she hands me the message.
"No, wasn't him," she says, trying to hide the pity in her voice. "I think it was your..."
"Ex-husband," I finish for her. I have no idea why Robert would call me here or, for that matter, how he even found me here.
"Thanks," I say. "I'll give him a call later."
I know Robert is probably worried about me. I know Gil is probably worried about me, too. I know I should probably call both of them, and usually, I'm very prompt to return a phone call. It's just that I don't want to talk to people who are going to be worried about me, and I'm pretty sure I've earned my right to be selfish, so I don't call either of them. I go for a bike ride instead.
I inspect the bike in the garage. It is rather rusty, but it's cute, and I'm in no shape to be picky.
Tomales Bay is a tiny town with a population of only about 200 people. I've always wondered why a bed and breakfast in a town so small always attracted so many visitors. Tamara mentioned that there are hiking trails and kayaking trips that tourists flock to, and I make a note to check those out at some point.
The town is also part of the Point Reyes National Seashore, and it’s only about 15 miles long. I can probably ride my bike through the whole length of the town today if I'm feeling ambitious, but there's one destination that I have in mind. I'm not sure if I can remember how to get there, but I'm at the beach in minutes, as though I never really left it.
The beach is aptly named Heart’s Desire Beach. I take my shoes and socks off and wander towards the ocean. It's been more than 20 years since I've slipped my toes into the cool blue water of the sea, but it feels exactly the same. It's close to 2 PM and there's a smattering of people lying in the sun, but I don't notice them. The smell of the breeze, the taste of the salt air, the sun beating down on me, the sweat collecting on my brow, the refreshing ocean water running through my veins...it surprises me. It surprises me because it feels like coming home. I thought home was wherever Gil Grissom is, but this ocean calls to me. It tells me secrets when it used to tell me lies. It tells me all of the things I missed while I was gone, and how glad it is that I have returned.
Although my mom would take my brother and I to the beach on weekends, this place does not remind me of her, or my father, or my brother. The beach reminds me of Alan Leighton, the boy I lost my virginity to, right here on this beach.
We were both 15. I was in a group home because my first foster family, the Millers, already had 6 other children and that was not a situation that I could thrive in and/or enjoy. Alan was someone I met at school. At 15, I smoked all the time. I wore my hair up every day. I didn't wear make-up and I didn't do anything else that could identify me easily as a female. I'm not sure why he was attracted to me--I certainly wasn't trying to get the attention of anyone, much less that of the male species--but I enjoyed his company. We laughed a lot, I remember that. He was fascinated by my tales of foster care, because he himself had 2 parents, a sister, a brother, and 3 dogs. He couldn't relate, and I liked that. The boys in foster care were all trying to prove something to someone, and that got old fast. Alan wasn’t like that. It was refreshing.
I wonder about Alan. We had one of those awkward, all-encompassing teenage relationships for about a year before one of us, or both of us, lost interest completely. He was my first love; the first person other than a counselor that I told about my family. He'd caress my scars and ask me where each one came from, and actually listened when I told him. My scars have faded now, but the memories of the first man who ever really loved me, even if he was a boy at the time, have not. Maybe I'll look him up while I'm on this ghost hunting journey.
I sit in the sand for an hour, watching the waves and thinking about my father. He hated the beach. There were a lot of things he hated, and I can't remember a lot of things he actually enjoyed. I remind myself that's the reason why I'm here, and sitting on this beach is not going to reveal the answers that I need. Eventually I make myself get up, even though I can stay here all day. There are so many other places I want to see before I do the hard work.
On the way back, I pass by the Wild Horse Inn. I could go in there. I could find her, and demand answers to every question I've had about my father. And she'd probably know most of the answers, too. But there is a time and place for everything, and this is not the time. I'm feeling too passionate; too worked up to accomplish anything important today.
As if on cue, the wind starts picking up. I remember getting out of school and bracing myself for the wind to start up, which it inevitably did most of the time. This is another memory that I stored in the back of my brain, and the dismissal of it makes me miss my mom and dad so much I can barely even breathe.
I pass by the Marconi Conference Center. I remember it used to be owned by the drug rehabilitation cult, Synanon. My brother was fascinated by the place and the story, and my mom would tell us about how she almost got mixed up with them because many of her friends got sucked into it. Her stories about her friends were one of the reasons why I never felt the urge to indulge in drugs, and yet I think it did the opposite for my brother.
I'm finally hungry, so I decide to be a bad vegetarian and stop by the Tomales Bay Oyster Company, yet another place that brings back a rush of memories. This is a place that reminds me of my father, and a lot. We didn't go out a lot as a family, but we always came here on my dad's birthday. I try to remember if we ever had any arguments here, and I don't recall any, which is amazing.
I see a few families enjoying some oysters, and they all look vaguely familiar to me. In Vegas, nobody ever looks familiar, and sometimes it gets very, very lonely. Not for the first time today, I wonder how a place that I remember hating so much makes me feel so at home. It's a little confusing, but it's what I need right now. At least that's what I'm trying to tell myself.
An hour later, I'm feeling a little tired and a little sick from the oysters, so I head on back to Tamara's to maybe take a nap. I put the bike back in the garage. When I open the door to the house, the door literally hits my ex-husband on his ass. He yelps and I stare at him in confusion.
"Robert...what the hell?" I'm not sure what else to say.
He's too busy rubbing his apparently aching ass to reply. Tamara looks at me and shrugs. "He just showed up. I told him you were out, he said he would wait."
Robert looks at me, really looks at me, and it's freaking me out. Not that he wasn't a compassionate person, but he never looked at me with such concern before.
I sigh. "Fine. Come outside, we'll talk."
We walked outside and sat on the porch. He wouldn't stop staring at me.
"Stop staring at me. It's unnerving."
He chuckled annoyingly.
"What are you doing here, exactly?" I ask impatiently. "I know San Francisco isn't far away, but come on."
"Well, I called you this morning and Gil answered. He told me that you took off, and that you were here. He sounded like he was freaking out, so I told him I'd come check on you. And then you didn’t return my call, so I was worried."
Usually the thought of the two men who have meant the most to me in my life being so concerned would make me smile, but I am annoyed by this.
"Why do you need to check on me? Do you think I can't make it on my own? That'll I'll do something crazy?"
Robert looks confused.
"Of course not, Sara. You're the strongest woman I know. But to walk out in the middle of your job and not even let your husband know, that's weird. Come on, you know it's strange."
"I don't think it's that strange, but apparently I've lost all concept of reality."
He puts his arm around me, and I let him. There's something very comfortable about someone who knows me as intimately as Robert does, although he'll never know as much about who I am or what I’m all about like Gil does and always has.
"I know you were shaken up after losing the baby, we all know that. So we're worried that you're making this drastic decision to leave over something you can't do anything about." I grimace. He keeps going. "What are you doing out here, Sara? Your father only made you miserable. Why would you want to bring yourself so close to that feeling again?"
I should have known nobody would understand. I try explaining it to him anyway.
"But that's not true, he didn't only make me miserable," I say. "There were some good times in between the shitty ones. And I want to know what made him the way he was. I want to know what he was like when he was little. I want to know what kind of grades he made in school. I don't know, Robert...I kind of feel like I owe it to him or something. Is that so crazy?"
He reluctantly shakes his head.
"I guess not. But maybe in the future you can plan it better? You know, take a few vacation days? Maybe tell a few people that you’re leaving?"
"I'll think about it," I say, and he pinches me. I pinch him back.
It's nice to not have any bitterness between us after the divorce, because I would hate to lose the understanding that Robert and I have. It's hard to explain, but I'm just glad it exists. It's comfortable, it always has been. The only problem was that it was too comfortable, and that's what ultimately led to the break up of our marriage. Well, that and the fact I slept with Gil before the marriage was officially over. But that's a story for another time.
"Just be careful," he says. "I know you're intent on finding out more about the dead, but the living still care about you, too."
"I know. But I know what I'm doing, and I can't leave until I find some things out."
"For the record, your husband is a mess. I mean, it's like he lost his favorite cockroach or something."
I glare at him. He laughs. He thinks it's weird that Gil is so into bugs. I would never admit it, but I agree. It's endearing, of course, but it's also bordering on creepy sometimes.
"He'll be okay. He's got Hank, and he's got the lab. Sometimes I think he's better off without me anyway, you know?"
"No, I don't know. He's a good man, even I can see that, and he loves you. Promise me you're not going to lose yourself out here, Sara. I don't want to see that happen to you; you've come too far for that. Promise?"
"I promise," I say. He smiles and kisses my forehead. We say our goodbyes, and I watch him drive away. What I couldn't tell him is that I lost myself a long time ago, and I have no idea if I'll ever find my way again.
Author: Butliz
Rating: Teen
Spoilers: Nothing-ish.
Disclaimer: CSI and its characters don't belong to me.
Summary: AU, sequel to The One That Got Away. After a devastating loss, Sara goes back to California to find out something, anything that could help her understand the father she never really knew.
Prologue
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
A/N - It's been a while, and I do apologize for the ridiculous delay. The next chapter won't take so stupid long, I hope. Also, it's kind of hard to tell what people think of this story, so if you could leave me feedback of any kind, I would really appreciate it lots. Thanks for reading, and thanks big time for your patience. Mucho thanks to GSFanatic, who has ever-lasting patience, awesome ideas, and much needed encouragement.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
- Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night, Dylan Thomas -
There's something happening in the air, I can feel it, and it's so beautiful. The mountains, the sun on my face, the ocean...it’s incredible. And If I don't open my eyes, maybe it'll be real.
My dad and I are on a road trip. He doesn't tell my mom or my brother, we just go one day when they're out shopping for shoes. He grabs my hand, puts me in the car and we go. He asks me before he starts the car, "Left or right?" I say, "Right." He turns right out into the driveway. We play this game until somehow we make it all the way to San Francisco. We buy ice cream and park in a field so we can stare at the Golden Gate Bridge while the sun is setting. I'm 9 years old, and I can already tell that this is going to be a memory I'll cherish forever. That is, until I open my eyes.
And then I wake up and realize that it's 30 years later. And while I wipe the fog from my eyes, I realize that our road trip to San Francisco never actually happened. My father always promised we'd just get in the car and go, but we never got around to it. Somehow, the thought that my dream wasn't real hurts more than the fact that my father never gave it a chance to be real. This is somehow heartbreaking, even after everything that’s happened.
It takes me a minute to remember that I'm in Tomales Bay. Gil is not here. He's not soundly sleeping. He's not snoring or wearily smiling at me from squinty eyes or grasping Hank for dear life, which I wake up to find him doing every now and then. Hank is not allowed on the bed, but sometimes he makes his way up there anyway.
But there's no Hank, no Gil, just me and the ladybug comforter.
I am not particularly happy about this fact, but it is a direct result of my actions, right? I was the one who decided to leave my husband and my life in Las Vegas behind just so I could finally confront some stale California ghosts. Is this a mistake? I'd like to think not. Today I'm going to make sure that I find out.
There are hidden corners of Tomales Bay that I want to rediscover before I go digging into something that I know will give me mixed emotions. I know my father wasn't a saint, and I know there are a lot of things I never wanted to know about him. But I've spent way too long trying to convince myself that I don't want to know. Now, I have to know, because something is missing in my life, and it feels like it has to do with my father. I try not to think about what will happen if I find the information I was looking for, and still feel like something’s missing. The thought is mildly terrifying.
My mother wants me to start my mission at the Wild Horse Inn, but I know I have to work my way up to that particular bed and breakfast. Not only is it the inn that my mom and dad used to own and operate, but I know who runs it now, and I'm not ready to face her yet. Actually, I don't know if I'll ever be able to face her, but she's a vital part of my past, and I know I have to.
I begrudgingly get out of bed, go to the bathroom, and brush my teeth. I look at a clock and am startled to see that it's almost noon. I can't believe I've slept this long. I think about calling Gil, knowing that he's probably getting ready to go to bed. I don't call him. He has other things to worry about right now, like the fact that I left in the middle of a shift and nobody has any idea why. I hate that he has to pick up the pieces I left behind, but there's not much I can do about it right now. I'll make it up to him later, when I've gotten myself back together and he doesn't have to have a mess of a wife anymore. Oh, how I hope that day will come sooner than later.
Tamara is at her computer when I come looking for her in the small but comfortable house. She mostly works from home to avoid the commute from San Francisco.
"Hey, lady. Did you sleep well?" She asks. I sit on the sofa and watch her furiously type without looking at the keyboard once. I admire her typing skills until I remember she just asked me a question.
"Oh, yeah, I did. I'm surprised as to how well, actually," I say. I thought sleep would be fitful, and instead it was one the best night's sleep I'd had in ages. It was somewhat of a relief, honestly. Sleeping with Gil is one of my favorite things to do, but I always sleep better by myself. The thought used to make me sad, but we talked about it once and he admitted he felt the same way. We both laughed and tried to make light of it, but I think we were both hurt and also a little surprised that sleeping with each other wasn't a magical cure for all of life's problems.
"We have some breakfast if you'd like," Tamara says. "Pancakes and stuff."
"No, thanks. I'm not really hungry." And I'm not. At all. I know I need to eat eventually; I haven't eaten since before shift the day before. But the thought of putting anything in my mouth makes me want to vomit. It's something I'd rather not think about right now. If Gil were here, he'd give me that look of his; that look of loving disappointment. God, I miss that man.
Tamara nods distractedly, and I wonder what's really going on in her head these days. She has a loving husband and a nice, comfortable house, but does she ever miss her life of destruction she and my brother lived together? This is something I do--I'm always wondering if people are satisfied with the lives they have, or if they miss the lives they left behind. It's bizarre how I'm never really happy no matter where I am. Gil is my soul mate, and even he can't make the ghosts disappear. I remind myself that this is why I'm here.
"So what are your plans today?" She asks me.
"I just want to walk around and get used to these surroundings. It's been a long time and I just want to reacquaint myself with the environment."
Mostly this is the truth. But it's also because I'm terrified of doing what I came here to do. Not yet. Soon, but not yet.
"Well, you can use my bike if you want. It's in the garage. It's a little old and rusty, but it gets around," she said. "Kind of like me."
We both chuckle.
"Oh, before I forget, you got a phone call this morning."
"Grissom?" I ask as she hands me the message.
"No, wasn't him," she says, trying to hide the pity in her voice. "I think it was your..."
"Ex-husband," I finish for her. I have no idea why Robert would call me here or, for that matter, how he even found me here.
"Thanks," I say. "I'll give him a call later."
I know Robert is probably worried about me. I know Gil is probably worried about me, too. I know I should probably call both of them, and usually, I'm very prompt to return a phone call. It's just that I don't want to talk to people who are going to be worried about me, and I'm pretty sure I've earned my right to be selfish, so I don't call either of them. I go for a bike ride instead.
I inspect the bike in the garage. It is rather rusty, but it's cute, and I'm in no shape to be picky.
Tomales Bay is a tiny town with a population of only about 200 people. I've always wondered why a bed and breakfast in a town so small always attracted so many visitors. Tamara mentioned that there are hiking trails and kayaking trips that tourists flock to, and I make a note to check those out at some point.
The town is also part of the Point Reyes National Seashore, and it’s only about 15 miles long. I can probably ride my bike through the whole length of the town today if I'm feeling ambitious, but there's one destination that I have in mind. I'm not sure if I can remember how to get there, but I'm at the beach in minutes, as though I never really left it.
The beach is aptly named Heart’s Desire Beach. I take my shoes and socks off and wander towards the ocean. It's been more than 20 years since I've slipped my toes into the cool blue water of the sea, but it feels exactly the same. It's close to 2 PM and there's a smattering of people lying in the sun, but I don't notice them. The smell of the breeze, the taste of the salt air, the sun beating down on me, the sweat collecting on my brow, the refreshing ocean water running through my veins...it surprises me. It surprises me because it feels like coming home. I thought home was wherever Gil Grissom is, but this ocean calls to me. It tells me secrets when it used to tell me lies. It tells me all of the things I missed while I was gone, and how glad it is that I have returned.
Although my mom would take my brother and I to the beach on weekends, this place does not remind me of her, or my father, or my brother. The beach reminds me of Alan Leighton, the boy I lost my virginity to, right here on this beach.
We were both 15. I was in a group home because my first foster family, the Millers, already had 6 other children and that was not a situation that I could thrive in and/or enjoy. Alan was someone I met at school. At 15, I smoked all the time. I wore my hair up every day. I didn't wear make-up and I didn't do anything else that could identify me easily as a female. I'm not sure why he was attracted to me--I certainly wasn't trying to get the attention of anyone, much less that of the male species--but I enjoyed his company. We laughed a lot, I remember that. He was fascinated by my tales of foster care, because he himself had 2 parents, a sister, a brother, and 3 dogs. He couldn't relate, and I liked that. The boys in foster care were all trying to prove something to someone, and that got old fast. Alan wasn’t like that. It was refreshing.
I wonder about Alan. We had one of those awkward, all-encompassing teenage relationships for about a year before one of us, or both of us, lost interest completely. He was my first love; the first person other than a counselor that I told about my family. He'd caress my scars and ask me where each one came from, and actually listened when I told him. My scars have faded now, but the memories of the first man who ever really loved me, even if he was a boy at the time, have not. Maybe I'll look him up while I'm on this ghost hunting journey.
I sit in the sand for an hour, watching the waves and thinking about my father. He hated the beach. There were a lot of things he hated, and I can't remember a lot of things he actually enjoyed. I remind myself that's the reason why I'm here, and sitting on this beach is not going to reveal the answers that I need. Eventually I make myself get up, even though I can stay here all day. There are so many other places I want to see before I do the hard work.
On the way back, I pass by the Wild Horse Inn. I could go in there. I could find her, and demand answers to every question I've had about my father. And she'd probably know most of the answers, too. But there is a time and place for everything, and this is not the time. I'm feeling too passionate; too worked up to accomplish anything important today.
As if on cue, the wind starts picking up. I remember getting out of school and bracing myself for the wind to start up, which it inevitably did most of the time. This is another memory that I stored in the back of my brain, and the dismissal of it makes me miss my mom and dad so much I can barely even breathe.
I pass by the Marconi Conference Center. I remember it used to be owned by the drug rehabilitation cult, Synanon. My brother was fascinated by the place and the story, and my mom would tell us about how she almost got mixed up with them because many of her friends got sucked into it. Her stories about her friends were one of the reasons why I never felt the urge to indulge in drugs, and yet I think it did the opposite for my brother.
I'm finally hungry, so I decide to be a bad vegetarian and stop by the Tomales Bay Oyster Company, yet another place that brings back a rush of memories. This is a place that reminds me of my father, and a lot. We didn't go out a lot as a family, but we always came here on my dad's birthday. I try to remember if we ever had any arguments here, and I don't recall any, which is amazing.
I see a few families enjoying some oysters, and they all look vaguely familiar to me. In Vegas, nobody ever looks familiar, and sometimes it gets very, very lonely. Not for the first time today, I wonder how a place that I remember hating so much makes me feel so at home. It's a little confusing, but it's what I need right now. At least that's what I'm trying to tell myself.
An hour later, I'm feeling a little tired and a little sick from the oysters, so I head on back to Tamara's to maybe take a nap. I put the bike back in the garage. When I open the door to the house, the door literally hits my ex-husband on his ass. He yelps and I stare at him in confusion.
"Robert...what the hell?" I'm not sure what else to say.
He's too busy rubbing his apparently aching ass to reply. Tamara looks at me and shrugs. "He just showed up. I told him you were out, he said he would wait."
Robert looks at me, really looks at me, and it's freaking me out. Not that he wasn't a compassionate person, but he never looked at me with such concern before.
I sigh. "Fine. Come outside, we'll talk."
We walked outside and sat on the porch. He wouldn't stop staring at me.
"Stop staring at me. It's unnerving."
He chuckled annoyingly.
"What are you doing here, exactly?" I ask impatiently. "I know San Francisco isn't far away, but come on."
"Well, I called you this morning and Gil answered. He told me that you took off, and that you were here. He sounded like he was freaking out, so I told him I'd come check on you. And then you didn’t return my call, so I was worried."
Usually the thought of the two men who have meant the most to me in my life being so concerned would make me smile, but I am annoyed by this.
"Why do you need to check on me? Do you think I can't make it on my own? That'll I'll do something crazy?"
Robert looks confused.
"Of course not, Sara. You're the strongest woman I know. But to walk out in the middle of your job and not even let your husband know, that's weird. Come on, you know it's strange."
"I don't think it's that strange, but apparently I've lost all concept of reality."
He puts his arm around me, and I let him. There's something very comfortable about someone who knows me as intimately as Robert does, although he'll never know as much about who I am or what I’m all about like Gil does and always has.
"I know you were shaken up after losing the baby, we all know that. So we're worried that you're making this drastic decision to leave over something you can't do anything about." I grimace. He keeps going. "What are you doing out here, Sara? Your father only made you miserable. Why would you want to bring yourself so close to that feeling again?"
I should have known nobody would understand. I try explaining it to him anyway.
"But that's not true, he didn't only make me miserable," I say. "There were some good times in between the shitty ones. And I want to know what made him the way he was. I want to know what he was like when he was little. I want to know what kind of grades he made in school. I don't know, Robert...I kind of feel like I owe it to him or something. Is that so crazy?"
He reluctantly shakes his head.
"I guess not. But maybe in the future you can plan it better? You know, take a few vacation days? Maybe tell a few people that you’re leaving?"
"I'll think about it," I say, and he pinches me. I pinch him back.
It's nice to not have any bitterness between us after the divorce, because I would hate to lose the understanding that Robert and I have. It's hard to explain, but I'm just glad it exists. It's comfortable, it always has been. The only problem was that it was too comfortable, and that's what ultimately led to the break up of our marriage. Well, that and the fact I slept with Gil before the marriage was officially over. But that's a story for another time.
"Just be careful," he says. "I know you're intent on finding out more about the dead, but the living still care about you, too."
"I know. But I know what I'm doing, and I can't leave until I find some things out."
"For the record, your husband is a mess. I mean, it's like he lost his favorite cockroach or something."
I glare at him. He laughs. He thinks it's weird that Gil is so into bugs. I would never admit it, but I agree. It's endearing, of course, but it's also bordering on creepy sometimes.
"He'll be okay. He's got Hank, and he's got the lab. Sometimes I think he's better off without me anyway, you know?"
"No, I don't know. He's a good man, even I can see that, and he loves you. Promise me you're not going to lose yourself out here, Sara. I don't want to see that happen to you; you've come too far for that. Promise?"
"I promise," I say. He smiles and kisses my forehead. We say our goodbyes, and I watch him drive away. What I couldn't tell him is that I lost myself a long time ago, and I have no idea if I'll ever find my way again.
