Part XIX

"Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as though they're here to stay
Oh, I believe in yesterday"

--The Beatles, Yesterday

Armed with a pre-paid cell phone -- the kind criminals used -- she made her plans. Instead of waiting by the P.O. Box for her old boss to get in touch with her, she managed to get a hold of him as he fished in the Oregon wilderness. It didn't take much to convince him to scout out a job for her in Portland.

"It doesn't have to be in the field. Actually, Dave," she told him, "I'd prefer it if it weren't."

"I know they're looking for experienced people. They've got a young crop of rookies up from Eugene. The university vomits 'em up every spring." She could hear him take a drag off a cigarette. "And the minute they get good, they're off to Seattle."

Sara felt a twinge of guilt. She had left the San Francisco Crime Lab for Las Vegas, but not because of a better job opportunity. "Well, I'm your girl."

"Didn't find what you were looking for in Sin City, huh?"

"Uh…"

"Never mind. I'll make the calls."

True to his word, Sara was contacted by the Portland Police Department in two days time and her resume was requested. "It's just a formality," the lab director said, much to Sara's relief. "We need it on file. Dave gave us a glowing recommendation."

When she hung up, she had a new job and a new boss. A new life.

She let her cell phone slip out of her fingers and onto the couch. She had been sleeping there, where Grissom had slept. The new bedroom set had come and the room was beautiful, but she couldn't bear to go in it. A part of her hoped she had imagined their last week together; a part of her hoped she'd walk by the master bedroom and see him plastering a wall or painting the molding.

Though it hurt to live in his parents' house, Sara knew it would hurt more to leave. She had grown comfortable there. Every nook and cranny held a reminder of Grissom, from the refrigerator to the towel racks, and because her time there was short, it was all more sweet than bitter. She cleaned up every trace of her time there. Like a fiend she was, wiping every surface of her fingerprints, making the place smell lemon fresh and disinfected. And as she did this, she recalled the small moments she had observed during their stay together: while vacuuming the area rug in the living room, she remembered watching Grissom as he unrolled it and stepped back to take it in. As she scrubbed the toilet, she sighed and thought of him tightening the nuts and bolts that held it to the ground. He was everywhere.

In a week, the house was gleaming and her plans were ready to be put into motion.

Dave told her she could stay at his house while she looked for a place of her own. "It's in Gresham -- about twenty miles east of Portland," he had told her over the phone. "Just get the key from my neighbor. Make yourself comfortable." Sara was grateful, but had no intentions of heeding his advice. She had set up an appointment with a Portland realtor and was scheduled to meet with her the day after her arrival.

"Are you looking to buy or rent?"

In this economy? "Rent." She didn't want to get tied down.

"How many bedrooms?"

Sara looked down at her stomach and frowned. "Two. And they have to allow dogs. I have a dog."

"Well, we'll see what we can do, Miss Sidle."

Sara hung up the phone and regarded Lady, who had been sitting stoically by her side in a show of support throughout the entire process. She wrapped an arm around the dog's neck and squeezed. "It's time to say goodbye to this place."

"She's got a ticket to ride
But she don't care"

--The Beatles, Ticket to Ride

She wrote a reassuring, thankful letter and express mailed it, along with her key to the house, to Grissom. It was a general letter, but very hopeful in tone. Sara desperately wanted him to believe she was doing well. She didn't want him checking up on her and knew any sign of distress would have him on high alert. With her belongings in the trunk of her Prius and the dog sitting comfortably in the backseat, Sara Sidle left California.

It was the place of her birth and, in so many ways, the place where much of her had died. It owned her soul in a way she couldn't quite quantify, but its draw was trumped by her will to protect Grissom from the mess she made of his life.

The ride to Oregon was long and silent. She stopped at a dog-friendly motel for a few hours sleep, but beyond the handful of rest stops for Lady, Sara kept on the road. She got to her destination at three o'clock in the afternoon, a couple of hours ahead of schedule. After letting herself into Dave's house, she called the realtor and asked if there was any way she could meet with her then.

"I'm very eager to get things moving. If you have the time…"

She heard the realtor shuffle around some papers and sigh. "Is five-thirty alright?"

"Perfect."

Ever efficient, Sara quickly located a Wal-Mart and purchased a few necessities, like dog food and bottled water. While she was there, she picked up some sheets and a cheap set of dishes for her new place, wherever would be.

Starting from scratch again, she thought to herself bitterly.

Sara hated that feeling. She hated having to buy all new stuff: new shower curtains and new pans, new hangers and wastepaper baskets. She would always end up forgetting something and then have to live without something so simultaneously forgettable and essential, like a can opener. It had started with her move from foster care to college, and it didn't ever improve until she had packed her things and moved in with Grissom. Had had everything. All she really needed to contribute was some tampons and her toothbrush.

Sara scoffed loudly, cynically. She wouldn't be needing tampons for a while.

At five-twenty, she arrived at the realtor's office and proceeded to wait for thirty minutes in a very uncomfortable chair while the realtor hammered out a contract with her other clients. Sara sighed and glanced at some of the waiting room reading material, choosing the battered copy of CosmoGirl over a rather new looking issue of Parents magazine. She was a few minutes into an article about teen fashion trends for the Spring when the realtor's office door opened and a satisfied couple exited. Pleasantries were soon exchanged and before she knew it, Sara was standing in what would be her new home.

"It's got the two bedrooms you wanted."

"Yeah, great. What's the parking situation?"

"You get your own space."

"And the dog?"

"Not a problem."

"Sold."

"She asked me to stay and she told me to sit anywhere,
So I looked around and I noticed there wasn't a chair."

--The Beatles, Norwegian Wood (This Bird Has Flown)

Her leased was signed and the place was hers. Sara's first stop was a discount furniture store her realtor had recommended. She bought a full-sized mattress and dresser for her bedroom, and a couch for her living room. She steered clear of any baby furniture, though she knew full well the time would come when she'd have to buy a crib.

It was inevitable.

After she gave the clerk her new address, she drove to the Portland Police Department to meet her new boss. Gerald Moss, middle-aged and rather short, seemed nice enough. He introduced her to a few of the CSIs and directed her to HR so she could sign all of the proper forms that needed signing.

Sara left the emergency contact form blank.

By the end of the week, she knew she'd have to see a doctor in order to get clearance to work at the lab. It would be her first doctor's visit since her cast had been removed.

Unfortunately, there would be no Grissom to hold her hand this time.

TBC…