Chapter Four
Closing the passenger side door a little too hard, she winced when she saw the look that Grissom gave her. "Sorry," she said innocently, throwing her wallet ontop of the dash board before reaching for her seat belt. "So, are we finally done or are you going to pull over so that I can get some coffee?"
"Twelve cups wasn't enough for you?" he asked mildly, starting the engine.
Her head shook. "No, not when I know that a white chocolate mocha is calling my name. And you really need to get a bigger coffee maker. I mean, this four cup thing isn't going to work if I'm supposed to be out here for any length of time."
His eyes flicked over to her as he pulled out of the parking space. "Maybe the coffee machine isn't the problem. Maybe the amount of coffee you drink is the problem."
She grinned brightly as she leaned forward to scan through the radio stations. "I take offense to that, Dad. You know, I was the first one up every morning at school, so that I could make coffee in our kitchen, and as soon as it opened, I was the first one in the cafeteria for coffee."
"I didn't know that you had to cook there. I thought all the meals were in the cafeteria."
Shaking her head, she stopped playing with the radio and opened up the console between them to see what CDs had been left in there. "We only had to cook on the weekends. It was two rooms to a kitchen, and we had to cook for the younger kids, too, but it was cool. All the food was supplied for us, and anything that we didn't have, we just stole from the home economics room. I guess they were getting us ready for the Kraft Dinner college days."
Shaking his head, he looked to see what disc she pulled out before turning his attention back to the road. "If they could afford to put their kids in that school, they can more than afford restaurant meals for college. Then again, that tuition could make anyone poor."
"Then why did you put me in that school?" Holding up a hand, she paused in putting in the CD and stopped him before he could say anything. "No, really, Dad. I know that you have a lot in savings and everything, but you can't really afford to send me to these expensive schools. Especially with the amount of money that you were putting into my bank account every month. I was lucky if I spent half of it. Why would you spend all that money on it?" Holding her breath, she waited to see what his excuse was going to be.
However, Grissom went for the easiest answer, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. It was too obvious to her that he was lying. "It had a terrific academic program."
With a smirk, she pushed in the disc and leaned back, crossing her arms. "Nice try, but wrong answer. Why can't you just tell me the truth, which would be that the school was far enough away that you knew I wasn't going to be around all that much, if at all. Florida and Nevada are a far distance away from each other. I do know how to read a map, you know."
"It may have been far away, but it was a good school," he repeated, frowning slightly when he heard her sarcastic laugh.
"Exactly my point. Look at where you've sent me. When you were in California, I was in Connecticut, and then Virginia. You move to Las Vegas, I go to Oahu, then Texas, New York, and finally Orlando. I've seen more of the world than most people will in their entire lives. Every time you put me in a new school, you make sure that it's a long enough plane ride that I can't come to see you on the weekends, and whenever vacations come around, you'd rather send me off with friends than have me come home."
He frowned again. "Anastasia, what are you trying to say?"
Leaning her head against the window, she watched the road for a moment before mumbling loud enough to be heard over the lightly playing music. "Oh, you mean that you actually want to hear what I have to say?"
"That's not fair. I've always listened to what you have to say."
Her eyes rolled. "Yeah, you listen, but then you immediately forget whatever it is that I've said. I mean, come on, Dad, you thought that I played field hockey. I've told you at least five times that I can't stand the game. You should have known that." Before he could say anything, she went on. "You want to know what I'm trying to say? You already know, but if you need to hear it, I'll ask the question that I've always wondered about. Why the hell didn't you just put me up for adoption or something?"
They both went silent, working through their own thoughts. Just when she thought that her father wasn't going to answer, he started to speak. "First off, watch your language. You're only sixteen and you're too young to start cursing-"
"START cursing? I've been doing that since I was ten. I probably hold the record for saying 'fuck' in one day. Besides, you curse just as much as I do. You don't think I've heard you? A little piece of news for you, Dad. The walls are really thin."
"Anastasia, I told you to watch it. I don't care if I curse from time to time, but you are not to repeat any of it. Do you understand me?"
Rolling her eyes again, she laughed and faced him. "Oh, I understand perfectly. Do as I say, not as I do, right? That's very hypocritical."
"Were you on the debate team or something?" he asked under his breath, before sighing. "What were we talking about before, anyway."
"The fact that you basically abandoned me. I want to know why you didn't just try and pawn me off on someone else. I mean, you haven't really cared all that much about my upbringing, or else you wouldn't have sent me all around the country in hopes of not seeing me. I just want an explanation, that's all. Not that you explain very much to me."
He grew still again, thinking of how to answer a question like that. For so many years, he had been expecting her to ask him that, and he still hadn't thought up an answer. At the rate that the two of them were going, he figured that he had until she was married with three kids...although that thought frightened him just as much. "I'm doing the best that I can, Anastasia. It's not easy to do this by myself, especially with a teenager like you."
Her eyes darkened with anger. "Mind explaining that one?"
"I'm not saying that you're impossible. And you do have good grades, I'll give you that. It's just that you have a problem with getting in trouble more than a normal teenager does. I've been told of many instances when you've snuck out of the school grounds when you weren't supposed to. You've talked back to your teachers...you even started a fight with another girl."
Very slowly, she turned away from him and looked out the windshield. "A normal teenager? Are you saying that I'm not normal?"
"Bad choice of words." Sighing, he turned into the townhouse complex, tapping one finger on the wheel. "It's just that you haven't made it easy for me, and you've been doing it on purpose."
"Yeah, it's called asking for attention, something that you rarely give me. Dad, just answer the question. Do you want me around or not? It's a simple question, and all it requires is a simple answer."
Stopping, he looked over at her with a surprised look. "How can you even ask me that question? You're my only child and you shouldn't have to ask that question. You should know the answer automatically."
Her eyes blazed with anger again. "You're right, I should know the answer. But I don't. I don't know the answer and I sure as hell don't know you. That's the problem. Ever since Mom was killed, you act like I have the plague or something. You can't be bothered to spend time with me. You can't even let me know what you've done recently, because that would mean that you and I would have to talk, something that you're obviously against. I just want to know if you're keeping me around because of your obligation as a father, or if you truly want me here. Honestly, Dad, if you weren't so paranoid about this guy coming back, would you have asked me to come back?"
But there was no way that he could answer that. Only because he knew that he wouldn't have called her and asked if she was coming out on her next vacation. That wasn't something that he did, and both of them were quite comfortable with how they lived their lives. Or so he believed. "I can't..."
"Can't answer it. Yeah, I know." Unfastening her seat belt, she unlocked her door and opened it, taking hold of her wallet and backpack. "I'm walking the rest of the way. Maybe on the short ride back, you can think of some answer that should satisfy the both of us, but I won't be satisfied with anything but the truth. Something that you've never been able to offer me." Sliding down to the ground, she slammed the door shut and started to walk to the sidewalk, keeping her eyes on the ground.
She had no idea where the question had come from. She wouldn't deny that she thought of it before, and she had thought to ask him before, but she never did. It just seemed to slip out before she could stop it. The changes in her life recently, having her father around her for a good amount of time, was still something that she had to get used to, and they were both still uncomfortable, but she had a feeling that she had made it worse than it had been before.
By the time she had opened the door, he had already gotten inside and was waiting for her when she walked in. Keeping her eyes away from him, she kicked off the sneakers she was wearing and dropped her things by the door before walking past him to the kitchen. "Don't tell me you're just going to leave it at this," Grissom said when she completely ignored him.
She kept quiet while she poured herself a glass of orange juice, until she put the container back and faced him. "Why don't you ever talk about her?" she asked quietly, tilting her head to the side. "Whenever you do, it's like you never knew who she was. Why is it always 'your mother' and you never call her by name."
"Anastasia, don't," he warned, turning to walk away.
"No. You wanted to keep this discussion going, and now you're walking away. Why don't you talk about her? You were married, for Christ's sake. She was my mother. I don't know anything about her, because you never talk about her. Sara knows more about her than I do."
Looking over his shoulder, he nodded. "Then go ask her about your mother. But don't ask me."
Groaning, she turned back to pick up her glass before following him into the living room. "You can barely look at me because I look like her. You changed my name so that it was hers. Tara Davidson. God, it's been ten years. You think you'd be able to sit down and tell me about her. Tell me what she liked, what I have in common with her. I barely knew my mom, and I'll never have the chance to do what most kids take for granted. I want to know my mom, just like how they all know their mothers." Putting her glass on the table, she faced him with her hands on her hips. "Do you know how hard it is to go on all those vacations with my friends and their families? See how they are together, and know that I can never have that sort of relationship with my mom, and my dad doesn't seem to want any type of relationship with me."
Sinking down on the couch, he rubbed his eyes. "Please don't do this."
"I deserve to know. It still hurts me, too. It doesn't matter how many different schools you send me to, or how many different psychologists you send me to, it'll always hurt. I understand that, but it has been over ten years. You'd think by now you'd be able to tell me something. I want to know her just like everyone else seemed to, and you won't let me. She's six feet under, Dad."
"Don't talk about your mother that way."
"Her name was Tara. Can you even say that anymore? Tara Meredith Davidson. It's not hard to say, and you've definitely said it before. I just...God, this is stupid. I don't know why I'm trying to justify this to someone that doesn't even care. That's it, isn't it? You don't care about me, or what I want, or anything to do with me. It's all what you want." Shaking her head, she picked up her glass and looked at him. "Why don't you stop being so selfish, even if it's just for a few minutes. You know that I deserve to know this, but you won't tell me shit all. I should get it from you, not from my old baby-sitter, but it looks like I have no choice. Sometimes...sometimes, Dad, I don't know why you even bother to keep me around."
He started to say something, but she had already turned and started up the stairs, her feet pounding on them moments before her door slammed shut.
"Are you talking to me yet?" Grissom asked a few hours later, watching as his daughter finished cutting a piece of roast chicken breast into strips, tossing it ontop of her rice. She turned her head to look at him coldly before looking back down at her bowl. "I guess not."
"Whatever gave you that idea?" she asked sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she picked it up and carried it to the table, sitting down at one end where she had left the novel she had been reading that afternoon.
Shrugging, he followed her and sat down at the other end of the table. "Well, that's an improvement. At least you're saying something."
Picking up her book, she reached for her glass of water and took a sip as she started to read. "And every word that comes out of my mouth is meant to be laced with the most sarcasm I can muster. Besides, the silent treatment doesn't work all that well."
"Can you please put down the book? I'd prefer it if you didn't read while you're having dinner, thank you." Her eyes raised to look at him hotly as she slowly lowered the book back down and dutifully picked at her dinner, not eating any of it. "Out of curiosity, Anastasia, how long is this mood going to last?"
She gave him a one shouldered shrug before finally taking a bite of rice. "Let's see if you can do some basic math. Add together one teenage girl and the worst case of PMS you've ever seen. How long do you think this is going to last? Of course, you wouldn't know that, because you haven't been around me, have you?"
He was silent for a moment, before sighing lightly. "If you can't speak to me without civility, don't talk at all. And don't talk with your mouth full, either. Your mother and I taught you better than that."
Her fork clattered as she dropped it back in the bowl with a scowl. "Again, you talk about her like you never knew her. Excuse me for a moment." Pushing back from the table, she saw his curious look and plastered a smile on her face. "I forgot to get the mail this morning, and the school is forwarding mine here for awhile. I'm expecting a letter from Hawaii. I need at least one bright spot in my day before I eat, and everything that had to do with you...well, it sucked."
Closing his eyes, he sighed more deeply after she walked out the door, slamming it behind her. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, while she had been staying with him, he would have a chance to actually get to know her, despite all the times that he had pushed her away. And it definitely wasn't working out the way that he thought it might have. She had a right to ask those questions about her mother, but to him, they were the wrong questions. It had been a little over ten years since Tara had been killed, but it still wasn't enough time for him. There wasn't enough time in the world for him.
The door opened as she walked back in, flipping through the envelopes. "Mostly bills, but there's one here for...both of us," she said, dropping it down on the table in front of him, before piling the rest of them on the counter before sitting back down.
He pushed it across the table to her. "Your name is on it before mine. You can open it." He watched as she rolled her eyes and used her thumbnail to push under the flap, before she pulled out a single newspaper clipping. With a frown, she scanned it quickly before getting back up and putting it in front of him. "What was it?"
"Mom's obituary. Read it for yourself if you don't believe me, but I have the same clipping upstairs. Sara sent it to me along with a bunch of other articles when I asked her about it." Falling silent, she rocked on her heels and looked down at the ground. "What if you were right? What if this guy is actually coming after you or me, or both of us, for that matter. God, this is movie of the week quality, not real life."
Looking at her, he stood up and walked to the front door, locking it before she could say anything else. "He's not going to touch you. He was mad at me originally, and he probably still is. You have nothing to do with this."
Adverting her eyes, she wrapped her arms around herself like she was cold. "Mom had nothing to do with it, either," she reminded him. "Look, can't you get a restraining order or something? That'll stop him, and then we don't have to worry about this. It's as simple as that."
"Actually," he began slowly, "it's not. There's no basis for a restraining order. There's no evidence that proves he's doing this. It's not illegal to send someone a newspaper article, and it's not illegal to call someone's house. I'll take the envelope and the clipping with me when I go to work, and see if we can get anything off of it, but both you and I touched the envelope, and the postman had to, too. And you touched the newspaper clipping. That's probably all that's on there."
"If the guy was smart, he wouldn't have licked the envelope, either. I know." Seeing his look, she shrugged with a small smile. "They had something like this once on Law and Order. The headmistress used to let us watch the show with her, and it was kind of interesting. But the postman couldn't have brought this letter to the house. There's no return address. I forgot to put the return address on a letter once, and they couldn't send it. I remember."
He raised an eyebrow, looking at her, before shaking his head. "Maybe there's hope for you, yet," he teased lightly before gesturing to her chair. "Sit down and finish your dinner before it gets cold. You don't have to worry about this."
Taking a deep breath, she nodded. "I wasn't worrying. Not really."
"It's all right to admit that you're scared, Anastasia."
Her head raised as she grinned. "Yeah, and it's all right to admit that you need more time, as long as you promise to give me some answers before I turn thirty."
"I'd say that we're about even."
Chapter Five
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