Page 25 of Grissom
She lifted her free hand to scratch the prickly heat rising up her neck. “Sorry I fibbed, but I didn’t want to put you on the spot. You know, the boys were so excited, and they’re really good at goading you into doing what they want. Like Cakes and Honey. Then me visiting to see Tanner’s photo collection. You’re a sucker for them, aren’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure am.”
Tuesday tipped the side of her head against her seatback, content to watch Grissom for the rest of the drive. He was handsome in a ruggedly beautiful way. Even his profile told a story of strength and determination, but also of pain and her old nemesis, survivor’s guilt. She wanted to know everything about him. Where he was born. What his parents were like. What his favorite subjects in school had been. But mostly, how on earth he’d met Pamela, and why he’d married a nasty woman like her. Why he’d stayed with a woman who’d abused the boys he loved. Judging by how abruptly he’d changed subjects when he’d mentioned Pam calling while he’d been in Syria, Tuesday guessed that was when he’d found out he was a father. How could a man not know his wife was pregnant? Unless he and Pam hadn’t been married then. And what about that head wound little Luke mentioned? So yes, Tuesday had questions.
He turned and caught her looking at him. “You’re so damned beautiful,” whispered out of him.
“No, you are,” she said, mimicking his boys’ style of arguing.
Grissom caught on fast. “No, you are. I said so first, and I’m older, and what I say goes.”
There it was again, the feeling of familiarity, as if she’d known Grissom in some other lifetime. “I like you, too,” she told him as he turned his truck into a long dirt driveway that led to an older, stark-white, craftsman-style home, sitting by itself in the middle of a field.
He squeezed her fingers again, and she could’ve stayed in the truck and sat there for as long as it took for his boys to wake up. But too soon, Grissom released her hand, reached over his seat, tapped Tanner’s knee, and whispered, “Time to wake up, Scooter.”
Tanner jolted, his eyes wide, the whites showing around his pupils. “No! Did I—? Dad, did I—?” His voice cranked high with anguish.
“No son, you didn’t,” Grissom replied patiently. “We’re just home, that’s all. No worries, kiddo. Take a minute to wake up, okay? You’re with me and Tuesday. You’re safe.”
“Oh,” he huffed, his cheeks red and ballooned with breaths of relief. “Sorry, I… I…”
“You have a nice home, Tanner,” Tuesday interrupted his panic attack softly. There was no need for him to explain or apologize for anything. “I can’t wait to see your fighter jet collection. Do you have your own bedroom?”
“No,” he replied, still breathing hard and still waking up. “Me and Dad and Luke all sleep together. It’s okay though, cuz he don’t mind us sleepin’ with him. We’re gonna get real bunk beds someday when we’re, umm, all better. Aren’t we, Dad?”
Grissom hadn’t stopped rubbing his fingers comfortingly over his son’s thigh. “That’s right. Bunk beds just like X and Z sleep in over at Maverick’s bunkhouse. The cowboy kind, made of sturdy pine logs, along with two footlockers so a couple rowdy guys can stow their gear after a long day riding the range.”
“Tonka trucks are important stuff,” a drowsy Luke muttered. “I gotta go, Daddy. Hurry.”
That changed the tempo from slow and easy to gotta get to the bathroom fast. Before she knew it, Grissom opened his home with a code he tapped into the sophisticated panel to the right of the door. And Tuesday was alone in the McCoy family room, gazing at a rear enclosed porch that overlooked acres of wildflowers and hundreds of small pines. Grissom owned a tree farm? How cool was that? It had to be his, as no fence divided the weedy backyard, and Tuesday couldn’t tell where his property ended and the neighbor’s—if there was a neighbor closeby—began. But look at those pines. Beautiful, green pines, every last one of them.
A cozy kitchen stocked with industrial-size appliances stretched to her left. The room’s retro, black-and-white tile floor contrasted well with its stark white walls, gleaming porcelain sinks, glossy white cabinets, and black granite countertops. Had Grissom chosen these options? If so, he had a talent for interior design.
Since Grissom and his boys had hurried through the doorway to the left of the fireplace at her right, she guessed that’s where the bathroom was. Their quiet chatter still came from that direction, so she grabbed the opportunity to wander and explore.
But first… Tuesday paused behind the sturdy brown leather couch facing the red-stone fireplace. Two easy chairs flanked the couch. A large coffee table dominated the grouping. It wasn’t hard to picture herself sitting on that couch while a fire glowed behind those glass doors. Maybe reading a story to Tanner and Luke.
A wooden box marked TOYS sat on one side of the hearth; a cast iron set of fireplace tools on the other. But the mantle… She walked around the furniture, needing a closer look at the framed pictures there. One of Grissom with an older man, might be his father. Two others, one a younger version of Tanner with a stern looking man in an OD green uniform. Oh, wait. That man was—Grissom? My, oh my, what was it about seeing him in uniform that quickened her pulse? He was ruggedly handsome, standing there as straight and grim as he was, his hands on a grinning Tanner’s shoulders and a silver fighter jet parked behind them. No wonder Tanner had a picture collection of fighter jets.
The other photo was nearly the same, except Grissom was older and holding an infant, which had to be Luke. Again Tanner stood with him, one arm wrapped around his dad’s leg. A pangof longing struck Tuesday. They were so handsome, and Tanner looked just like his dad. Why wasn’t Pam in these pictures? How could she have thrown these boys away like she had?
Tuesday leaned in closer. Interestingly, Grissom wasn’t smiling in either shot. Maybe Pam wasn’t in those pictures because she was behind the camera.
Instead of waiting for him and his sons to return, Tuesday wandered into their kitchen. A cozy breakfast nook sat under the window to her right, a butcher block island with bar stools to her left. Not her idea of a well-organized kitchen. She preferred windows over the sinks instead of the antique brick that extended over the built-in range/oven combination on the far wall. She did like the sliding barn doors that closed the entry off from the family room, but Grissom’s kitchen needed large, expansive, ceiling-high windows so a woman could seize the day while she lingered over her first cup of coffee. Although…
Why Tuesday cared about the windows in Grissom’s kitchen was beyond her. It wasn’t her problem.
The doorway with a hidden pocket door at her right led her into a wide hallway with the laundry/mudroom to her left, as well as a closed steel door that Tuesday guessed led to the garage. Three clothes baskets labeled boldly in caps: DAD, TANNER, and LUKE sat on the floor opposite the door. That made her smile. Grissom was organized. At her other side were two sets of stairs, one leading up and the other leading down, probably into the attic and basement.
Back in the family room again, Tuesday faced the entry she’d walked through just moments earlier and was wowed all over again. Instead of an empty, useless, waste-of-space cathedral ceiling overhead, Grissom had a loft. Its half-wall faced the rear of the home, which meant the dormer over the wraparound front porch provided the bright light streaming down and through the family room. There were no stairs, no way to get up there thatshe could see. But what a view anyone looking over that half-wall would have. If a person didn’t know it was there, it’d make a great hiding place—or a library.
Grissom’s home wasn’t what she expected from a guy living with two boys, who all had some level of PTSD. She’d thought it’d be a messy, atypical bachelor pad, with mounds of dirty dishes in the kitchen sink, dirty clothes and smelly shoes scattered throughout the rooms, and fast-food garbage littering, well, everywhere. He’d clearly displayed signs of disorganized thinking earlier. Yet there she was, standing in the middle of a very tidy home.
Since he was still busy with his boys, Tuesday stepped up to the slider that led to his covered back porch. There was no need to open the door. She didn’t know the code for his security system, but she could imagine being out there. Outside. With nothing but a clear blue sky overhead and the crisp wintry freshness of pine in her nose. Placing her palms to the cool window glass, she whispered a quick prayer. “Please, Father, can I have a happy ending this time? Somehow? I couldn’t have been wicked in all my past lives, was I? Haven’t I been alone long enough? Couldn’t you give me a family like everyone else has? Just this once?”
She bowed her head, afraid if she kept praying she’d break down and cry, and what good would crying do? It’d just upset Tanner and Luke, the last thing she wanted. So she stiffened her spine and prepared for the moment when she’d have to leave them behind. Because the sun was setting and tomorrow was Christmas Eve. Santa was coming, and she needed to be gone before he arrived. Tuesday couldn’t spend that special day in this house. She just couldn’t.
It would kill her.
