Author's Notes: This is the sequel to my previous story, Reflections. Basically, this is Harm's reaction to Mac's Valentine's present from the previous story. There is a minor spoiler for the episode 'The Mission' towards the end of this story. Also, in another departure from canon, Bud is also aboard the SeaHawk, having been the JAG from the beginning of the cruise, and not joining mid-cruise as on the show.
19 FEBRUARY 2002
USS SEAHAWK
PERSIAN GULF
As the sun begins to dip below the horizon, the cloudless sky darkens to a grayish blue tinged with the red lights from the carrier deck. Despite being surrounded by nothing but salty sea, the smells from the carrier overwhelm everything else.
In the past, when I've stood on Vulture's Row, watching the activity below, it has evoked nothing more for me than what it is, the hustle and noise of carrier ops, the pungent smell of jet fuel and exhaust as the jets take off and land. There was no place I would rather be in the world. This had been where I was born to be.
But this time is different. As I feel the wind blow in my face, it reminds me of the last time I took 'Sarah' up – the wind blowing through our hair, Mac's laughter from the front cockpit as I showed off with a bit of acrobatic flying, the salty sting of the sea air as we walked together on the beach, her body fitting comfortably against my side, our unborn child already safely nestled inside her womb.
"Hi, Sir," Bud says, stepping out onto the observation deck. I turn, noticing that he's carrying a thick envelope and what looks like a photo album. He must have gotten a care package from home, probably for Valentine's Day. The envelope is undoubtedly for me, with more of the photos of Mac that I've gotten all our friends to take as her pregnancy progresses.
I prefer the physical photos rather than electronic copies e-mailed to me, although I do receive those as well. I want something physical that I can touch, something concrete that I can carry around with me - not that it compensates in any way for what I'm missing. It is better than nothing, however.
"Hey, Bud," I say as he steps up to the railing beside me. "How'd you know where I was?"
"Where else would you be on a carrier during ops?"
"In the front seat of an F-14?" I counter. "That is my job here."
"Even you can't be in the cockpit twenty-four seven," he reminds me.
"No," I admit, "but I sometimes think it would be easier if I could be."
"So that you can focus on something besides what you're missing back home?" he asks.
I sigh, turning back to stare into the dark night. "Has it gotten any easier for you, Bud?" But I already know the answer. It's the same as mine.
Bud shakes his head. "If anything it's gotten harder. The last time I was at sea, I didn't have a family waiting for me back home." He watches the next Tomcat prepare for takeoff, the deck crew gesturing the 'go' to the jet. "Sometimes I envy you, Sir."
"Why is that?" I ask in confusion. I don't know what he could possibly envy about me, especially since he's not missing what I'm going to miss, the birth of my first child.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see him tilt his head towards the Tomcat which just launched as it claws its way into the twilight sky. "Because when you're up there," he says, "you've got so much to concentrate on. I don't know about you, Sir, but I think that it would be easier for me if I could focus on something like that. I don't know how many times I've been reading through a report, and I find that I've read the same paragraph three times because I was wondering what AJ was doing at that moment, or because I miss the little sound that Harriet….uh, sorry, Sir."
I wave off the apology with a chuckle. I miss that very thing, and so many others, about my own wife. Sometimes, the best time of the day is when I can crawl into my rack and close my eyes because she is there in my dreams. "I know what you mean, Bud. Anyway, you have a point," I admit. "Up there, it's easier not to….think so much. And I promised Mac."
"Sir?"
"I promised that I would focus on nothing but what I'm doing when I'm out there," I say quietly. "I promised that I wouldn't let anything keep me from coming home to her."
"Oh, God, Sir," Bud says, the words coming in a rush, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up what happened to your father."
"It's okay," I tell him. "It's hard not to think about it. I just can't focus on it. It defined my life for so long, but I can't let it now. Did you know that he was at sea for most of my mom's pregnancy?"
"No, Sir. You've never mentioned that before."
"He was lucky, though. He came home shortly before I was born. My daughter will be two and a half months old before I get to lay eyes on her. Older, if something happens that delays our return home. The Navy's always been my life, and I'd never imagined that anything could come before that and flying in my affections. Not until Mac. Not until our little girl. Now the Navy is just the path that brought me to them.
Bud falls silent, watching the action on the deck below. I don't think there's anything he can say to reassure me. He did get one thing that I won't, the chance to be there when his child was born.
After a few minutes of thinking too much, I turn back to him. "What's that you have there, Bud?"
"Oh," he says, looking at the items in his hands as if he'd forgotten that he had them. "I got a care package from Harriet today. The album is a Valentine's Day gift…pictures of her and little AJ."
He hands the album over to me. I flip through it, stopping on a photo of the two of them, dressed alike in jeans and white shirts, cheek to cheek, and looking out towards the camera. "You have a beautiful family, Bud."
"I do, don't I?" He grins as he looks at the photo. "But so do you, Sir." He hands me the envelope in his hand.
I hand him back the album and open the envelope, pulling out a stack of pictures, slowly flipping through them. As usual, they're all of Mac. Some of them are of her at work, reading through files at her desk or standing in the bullpen, talking to various members of the JAG staff.
There's even one of her in court, gesturing as she makes some point in front of the jury. I wonder how someone managed to pull that one off. In one corner of the picture, I can make out the blurry image of Captain Sebring. He must have given his permission for someone to bring a camera into the courtroom. After nearly thirty years in the Navy and twenty-five of marriage, he's survived his own share of separations.
About a third of the way through the stack, the setting moves from work to off-duty locales. I smile at one of Mac standing in our front yard with little AJ, putting the finishing touches on a snowman. I hold the picture out to Bud, knowing that he seen it yet. Harriet always packs the pictures of Mac separately, and Bud would never open mail that isn't intended for him.
"That's a good one, Sir. I wish I could have been there."
"So do I, Bud." I flip to another picture. This one is taken in the living room of our house. Mac's reclining on the couch, her feet propped up on a stool, while AJ is sprawled across her lap, his head resting on her stomach.
In the next picture, he's laughing as he presses a hand to her belly where his head was just lying. Mac laughs along with him, her hand covering his. They probably just felt the baby move. I feel a pang of envy. My godson experienced something I can't anymore. I turn the picture towards Bud.
"That's so cute." Bud smiles widely at the image of his son. "Just think, in a few months, it will be your child that the colonel is holding in those pictures."
"I just wish that I could have more than pictures," I say quietly, my eyes tracing my wife's image.
"I know, Sir," he says, just as quietly. "I feel the same way."
We look out over the carrier deck, the two of us tied together by more than our common careers. We're both husbands and fathers who miss our families desperately.
A long moment passes before Bud speaks again. "So, do you have time for a game of chess, Sir?"
I raise an eyebrow. "Are you trying to take advantage of my distraction?"
"Would I do that, Sir?" He's all innocence, but I don't buy it for an instant. Still, I appreciate his attempt to lighten the mood.
I shrug. "Sure. Why not? It's not like I've got anything better to do right now."
He glances at his watch. We agreed to leave them set to Washington time so we always know what time it is for our families. "Neither do I," he says. It's very early morning at home; everyone's probably still snug in their beds. "We've got a few hours before we can try to catch our wives on IM. We should be able to keep busy until then." Then he grins. "Petty Officer Coates has offered to play the winner."
I gesture towards the water-tight door leading back into the ship. "Lead the way, Bud."
Several hours later, I'm in the small room across from the squadron ready room that I use as an office. Somehow, I managed to pull out a win against Bud, but then I lost to Petty Officer Coates, becoming more distracted each time I looked at my watch.
After that, we still had some time to kill before Mac and Harriet would be available, so Bud and I went through the pictures Harriet had sent one by one, talking about the settings, the toy Corvette I got AJ for Christmas that he's playing with in several pictures, how much bigger Mac's burgeoning belly looks than in the last pictures I saw. Bud also shared some memories of what Harriet had been going through at that point in her pregnancies, giving me an idea of what I'm missing right now.
I check my watch again as my computer boots. The morning staff meeting at JAG should be about over, which means Mac should be back in her office in a few minutes. Every week, Mac e-mails her court schedule to me. I always print it out and pin it on my bulletin board. While I wait for my computer, I glance over at this week's schedule to make sure she's not due in court until this afternoon.
After the computer comes up and IM opens, I scan down through my list of contacts to the Rs and smile at the green circle next to her name. I double-click on her name, bringing up the chat window.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: How are my favorite girls this morning?
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: *Your* daughter is finally asleep. Your wife would have loved to have taken today off so that she could get some, too.
I can't help but grin at that. She's my daughter when she's keeping Mac up at night, or when she kicks the breath out of her, or does any one of a dozen other things that make Mac achy and exhausted. Every other time, she's Mac's little angel. The closer we get to April 22nd, the more she becomes *my* daughter. Despite her complaints, Mac admitted to me a week ago that she wouldn't trade the experience for anything. Every time it occurs to her how much Tori is like me, it feels to her like I'm with her.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: If I were there, maybe I could get her to calm down for you.
Soon after we started to feel the baby move, we discovered that she seems to like the sounds of our voices. A few days before Christmas, while taking a break from unpacking, I'd been playing around on the guitar. After listening to me improvise for about ten minutes, Mac asked me to play some Christmas carols. Meaning it as a joke, I decided to sing to her stomach.
After a few minutes, Mac stopped me. Apparently, my singing had put our daughter to sleep. Later I mentioned the incident to Harriet, who told me that she'd read that babies in the womb often respond to sounds outside of it. From then until I set sail on the SeaHawk just over two weeks later, I tried to calm Tori every time Mac said she seemed restless. It became my way of bonding with our little girl before I had to leave. I hope when I come home she has some memory of my voice as a result.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: I really miss you doing that, although a few weeks ago I was able to calm her by invoking Daddy's name. It doesn't work all the time, though – like last night. I guess she misses the sound of her Daddy's voice as much as I do.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: I wish I could have been there with you. I'm sure I could have settled her – or distracted you from *our* daughter's antics vbg
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: Now, Commander, I'm sure that is a very nice smile and that most of the time, it gets you what you want….
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: Now THAT brings back memories.
My mind drifts back to a night in the Arizona desert, less than twenty-four hours after we'd met. I can't believe how far we've come since then. The woman who was so closed off that day became my dearest friend and so much more.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: LOL. I remember….I wish I could see that smile right now.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: I know. I wish I could see yours, too. I keep your picture in my pocket at all times, and I've got all these pictures that everyone is sending me, but it's not the same.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: I know.
I reach into my shirt pocket and pull out the picture in question. It's a casual shot taken at the Labor Day picnic the day we found out that Mac was pregnant. She's sitting on one of the picnic tables, her feet resting on the bench, a sly, sensual smile gracing her face. I don't even remember now what I said to bring about that look on her face, just that I wished the picnic was over so that I could take her home. I shift uncomfortably in my chair as I remember that evening, our bodies entwined on top of my half-finished Corvette, her skin warm and soft beneath my fingers, her cries incoherent as she came.
For a long moment, neither of us types anything. What is she thinking about right now? Is she wishing that she wasn't at work or that I wasn't confined to sending all my messages on a computer owned by the United States Navy? Sometimes, I wonder if the IT guys are the ones who have the most fun on a cruise, monitoring everyone's IMs.
Rabb, Harmon CDR: Do you know what I'm going to do in 135 days?
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: Dock in Norfolk?
Rabb, Harmon CDR: Very funny.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: I hope you're talking about something that involves you and me and a bed….and constant interruptions by our two-month-old daughter.
It's probably a good thing that she just threw a nice dose of reality into the conversation, or this might have gone places we can't go right now. I exhale slowly, struggling to bring my thoughts under control, my fingers clenching around the mouse in my hand. God, if she were here right now….I've got to change the subject. I don't need to think about any hot-bunking fantasies, not right now, or I might type something that would really open their eyes in IT.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: We've got time to figure that one out. On another subject, Bud got a package from Harriet. Do you know what was five days ago?
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: The 14th?
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: Very cute, Marine. Flowers, candy, cards….ring any bells?
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: Vaguely….although I don't remember any flowers or candy from last year. What about it? veg
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: You've got that right - you *are* evil.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: Let me guess. You're wondering if I sent you anything. Now, why on earth would I do that?
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: Because you love me?
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: Hmmm….I guess there is that.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: And you want me to know that you're thinking of me, even half a world away.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: And that, too.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: And you owe me.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: Oh, I do, do I? Just what do you think I owe you for?
Before I can reply, another message from Mac appears in the window.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: Hold on a sec. Lieutenant Singer just walked into my office.
If thoughts could kill, Loren Singer would be a smoldering pile of ashes in front of Mac's desk right now. Does that woman have some kind of radar or something? I'm not even at JAG and that woman is driving me crazy. I'm not the only one. I have it on good authority, namely my fellow attorney and lonely husband, that she's interrupted more than one conversation between Bud and Harriet as well.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: Sorry about that. I dispatched her as quickly as I could.
I laugh at the picture that paints in my mind, of Mac throwing some kickboxing moves at Loren. Even seven months pregnant, my imaginary Marine takes Lieutenant Witch – boy, did Coates have that right – down without even breaking a sweat. Too bad it's not real. I know quite a few people who would pay good money to see that.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: So now where were we?
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: You were about to explain to me why you think I owe you something?
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: Let me see, it's black and white and lacy.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: And I can't wear it for several months.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: That's very mature, Marine. Anyway, I don't want you to wear it now. I only want you to wear it when I'll be there to enjoy the show.
I can picture her sitting in her office, shaking her head. In my mind, she's running her tongue over her lips, her eyes suddenly dark as she imagines me slowly peeling off the lace and satin confection that I'd bought on shore leave in Italy on the way to the Persian Gulf. Oh, boy. This is not helping keep my thoughts under control any.
I glance up at my bulletin board again, this time at the flight schedule. I'm not due to go up again for about fifteen hours. After I'm done here, I'll head off for some sleep, and then I'll be able to imagine her in the gift I got her to my heart's content, with no one around to know.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: Harm, you still there?
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: Yeah. Just thinking….
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: Now about my Valentine's gift….
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: All I will tell you is that it is on its way.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: And the way FPO moves sometimes, it may get here just in time for this ship to turn around and head back to Norfolk.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: Well, then I guess it may be a while before you find out what it is. But I think I can safely say that you will find it worth the wait.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: Now what could you have possibly gotten me….
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: You're worse than a child sometimes.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: Gee, thanks.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: As entertaining as this is, I have to cut it short. Sturgis and I are meeting in a few minutes to discuss a plea agreement for his client.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: You just don't want me to force you to drop any hints.
Rabb, Sarah LtCol: As if you could force a Marine to do anything….I love you, Harm. We both do. Take care of yourself out there.
Rabb, Harmon Jr CDR: You know I always do – I have so much to come home to. I love you, Sarah. Make sure to tell Tori how much her Daddy loves and misses her.
The green circle in IM turns into a blue clock, indicating she's away. I need to get some sleep, but by the time I wake up, Mac should be home from work, and I'll try to nab some phone time so I can talk to her in person. I talk to her every day on IM and e-mail, even if I only have time for a quick "I'm okay. How are you? I love you." But it's been five days since I've heard her warm, rich voice outside of my thoughts. If I can't see her until July, I have to hear her. It's been entirely too long.
26 FEBRUARY 2002
USS SEAHAWK
PERSIAN GULF
0230 LOCAL TIME
"You know, Hammer," Lieutenant Lisa Jorgenson says as we leave the debrief over our latest flight, "I was told that flying with you was interesting. Now I see what they mean."
Now that the five seconds of sheer terror that was our landing is over, she sounds relaxed and easy about what almost happened. What is that saying about any landing that you walk away from being a good one? If that afterburner hadn't finally lit…I can't think about what ifs. It finally did light and we made it down safely. I won't think about the alternative. Been there, done that, wore the damn t-shirt for five long years.
"I'm almost afraid to ask," I say, "but who's been spreading vicious rumors about me?"
"Vicious rumors?" she repeats with a shrug. "I don't know about that, Sir, but I went to flight school with Tuna. When I heard that you were coming here, I e-mailed him. I knew you'd flown together on the Henry and of course, there was that incident with the tailhook. That got around the fleet."
"Now I am afraid to ask."
"He didn't say anything too bad," she says. "Just that things were always interesting with you and that you're one of the best he's seen."
"He'd say that about anyone who saved his life," I deadpan. I get the feeling she's leaving some things out. What else did he say about me?
"Seriously, Sir," she says, as if sensing what I'm thinking. "It was all good. He thinks highly of you. Anyway, after everything that's happened tonight, I don't think I could get to sleep anytime soon. Do you want to grab something to eat?"
"Maybe another time. I hit the post office right before our mission, and I finally got that package that my wife's been teasing me about for the last week. I haven't had a chance to open it yet. After tonight's mission, I need a little bit of home right now."
"I can definitely understand that, Sir," she says. "See you later."
After Lisa heads off to the officers' ward room, I double-time it back to my quarters. Now I should have all the time in the world to finally see what Mac has been teasing me about.
When I enter my stateroom, the package is still sitting on my desk where I left it. Picking it up, I turn it over in my hands, pondering it. The box isn't that large, perhaps large enough for a couple of hardback books, although not that weighty. None of which tells me anything about the contents.
I puncture the tape with a ball-point pen and yank, ripping along the seam. Sliding my fingers under the edge, I pull the box open. On top is an envelope, obviously a card. Setting the box down, I pull the card out of the envelope.
On the front is a pink rose in bloom below the words "On Our First Valentine's Day". Inside, it says "I can't imagine being with anyone but you. Happy 1st Valentine's Day." Below that is a short message in Mac's handwriting.
Happy Valentine's Day to our favorite Flyboy from both your girls. If a picture is worth a thousand words, then these should say more than I could possibly write about how much I love and miss you - we both do!
Love always,
Sarah and Tori
Finding a free tack, I hang the card on the bulletin board, already crowded with pictures from home, hanging over my desk. The message is short and sweet, which is not unusual for either Mac or myself. We may be loquacious in the courtroom, but even now it's easier to show how we feel rather than to say it. Out of necessity, we're getting better at it, since words are now our only form of communication.
Going back to the box, I lift out a black photo album with red trim, similar to the one Bud showed me from Harriet last week. Photos? That would be an unusual gift from Mac. She grumbles, although good-naturedly, about the photos I've been having everyone take. I know in the formal photos I've had taken with her we usually end up teasing each other in an effort to forget about the camera. Neither of us is much for posing.
As I pull the album out of the box my eyes fall on one more item. Distorted through the bubble wrap cushioning it, it appears to be another photo as well. Setting the album aside for a moment, I pull the protective covering off, falling into my desk chair as I stare at the photo in amazement.
I vaguely remember seeing it before, although I admit I hadn't been paying that close attention when Harriet brought her wedding album into JAG to show off the pictures after Mac and I returned from Russia. I'd had other things on my mind at the time, and it seemed more like a woman thing to ooh and aah over wedding pictures. Now, I wish I'd paid closer attention.
Talk about hindsight being twenty-twenty. If I could have seen this picture then, could have seen what I now know that it shows, there would have never been a Jordan or a Renee in my life. I never would've let Mic Brumby get anywhere near Mac, let alone made that inane comment about her being a free agent and like a sister to me.
God, what had I been thinking? No wonder Bud had been so sure that Mic and I had been fighting over Mac in Australia. He'd seen the proof of my feelings for her. Now, I wish he'd hit me over the head with it.
None of that matters now, I remind myself as my eyes fall on the plain gold band she slipped on my finger fifty-seven days ago. I set the photo on its easel on the back corner of the desk, next to the wedding photo Mac sent me a few weeks ago.
Leaning back in my chair, I prop my feet up on the desk and pick up the album again, flipping it open, smiling at the first photo. I've always known how beautiful Mac is, even if I haven't always acknowledged it, but she's become even more so since she's been pregnant. She may complain about feeling tired more often than usual and aching in places she usually doesn't, but if there is such a thing as a 'pregnant woman glow', she has it.
Her eyes and her smile glow as she looks into the camera, her hair falling around her face in loose curls, her hands cradling her stomach. For a moment, I close my eyes, imagining standing behind her, my hands covering hers, as they so often did before I had to leave her. I can feel her skin soft against mine, her belly rippling with the movement of new life.
Sighing, I open my eyes and turn to the next picture. I don't know what made her decide to do something like this - perhaps Harriet gave her the idea - but I'm glad she did. This is so much more than casual shots taken by our friends when she's surrounded by people. These are just for me. Knowing Mac's aversion to picture taking, I'm sure the only other person to have seen them besides the two of us is the photographer.
I look through a few more pictures, stopping at what I think is my favorite so far. She's seated sideways in a large, padded chair, one hand rubbing circles over her belly. She's laughing, sharing a moment with our little girl. I blink back the sudden moisture in my eyes. I envy her those moments with our daughter.
Two pictures later my feet fall from the desk to hit the deck with a heavy thud. Oh. My. God. She didn't. I flip quickly through the rest of the album, my finger marking my place. The rest of the pictures are in the same vein. I can't imagine...This doesn't seem like something Mac would ever do, but she obviously did. I have the evidence in my hands.
I return to the one I have marked, slowly going through the pictures one by one. As I do, I remember our wedding night. After pulling her nightgown over her head, I'd knelt in front of her, still in my dress blues, kissing her belly. Wrapping my arms around her waist, I'd pulled her to me, resting my head on top of her stomach, whispering 'I love you'. I can't remember how long we were there like that. I just remember thinking that this beautiful woman was now my wife and the mother of my child. I couldn't imagine life being any more perfect than it was at that moment.
I come to the last photo, and I simply stare. She might have been six months pregnant at the time, if I'm judging when the pictures were taken accurately, but the look in her eyes can best be described as 'come hither'. A red satin sheet, the only color in the photo, is draped under her belly, modestly concealing, while one hand covers her breasts. Her lips are slightly parted and, if the rest of the picture were in color, I imagine her eyes would be the color of dark chocolate, as they often are when she's aroused.
What was she thinking about at that moment? There are so many possibilities that they're a jumble in my mind. The first night in my apartment? The next morning at her place, when we'd decided that one of the best things in the world was waking up in each others' arms? That one evening in Norfolk when we both were about to go crazy? The quiet weekend at the end of July when we conceived our daughter? On top of my Corvette the day we found out Mac was pregnant? This New Year's Eve, finally husband and wife?
Two impulses are at war within me. Do I take to my bed and my dreams? Or find a phone so I can hear the sound of her voice? A quick glance at my watch confirms that she should be home from work by now, so the phone wins out. The sound of her voice can lend just a little bit more reality to the dreams later.
Taking the album with me, I head back up to the 03 deck. I glance into the ready room and see that several of the pilots and RIOs who flew the latest mission with me have yet to call it a night, so I close my office door behind me. Although I have no intention of this conversation going places it shouldn't go, it's not meant for other ears either.
Grabbing the sat phone off my desk, I request a connection to my home number in DC. Although it's technically not forbidden - as long as it doesn't interfere with ship's operations and I don't say anything that would open their ears in communications - I rarely use the phone for personal calls. I'm only one of over 5,000 sailors who misses his or her family back home, so I don't want to abuse my privileges as a senior officer.
After what seems like forever, the phone finally rings on the other end. After four rings, I start to worry that the answering machine is about to kick, but Mac finally picks up. "Hello?"
"It's me, Mac," I say. "Is something wrong? You sound out of breath."
"Just from rushing to catch the phone before the machine picked up," she replies. "I spent the afternoon interviewing a client at the Navy Yard brig and got stuck in traffic on the beltway coming home. Your daughter expressed her displeasure by parking herself on my bladder. I was just coming out of the bathroom."
I chuckle at the normalcy of the conversation. For five seconds tonight, I was facing the possibility of a second ramp strike on this carrier. I need this right now. "I'm glad to hear your voice, Mac," I say, "even if you are complaining about our daughter."
"Is something wrong?"
I'm not ready to talk about it yet. "I actually called to tell you I got your package today."
"So, what did you think?" she asks. She sounds nervous.
"Well," I begin slowly, struggling to put it all into words, "whatever I was expecting, this definitely wasn't it." Realizing instantly she might misinterpret that, I quickly add, "I like it. I can't tell you how much. I'm just surprised."
"Harriet suggested it to me," she explains. Bingo. "Well, not the last few pictures. You've probably seen the pictures she had done of her and AJ."
"Bud showed them to me."
"I couldn't think of what to get you," she continues. "I thought about baking cookies or something for a care package, but aside from not really having time, it didn't really seem special enough for Valentine's Day. Besides, everyone gets care packages with cookies." True. Gram sends me a couple of packages a month, enough to feed the entire air wing, it seems. "So she suggested making an appointment at this photography studio and having some pregnancy portraits done. Did you realize it's a common theme for photos, just like engagement photos or wedding photos?"
"I didn't know that," I reply. "So how did it lead to...well, you know?"
She's silent for a moment and I can imagine her blushing on the other end of the line. "The photographer, suggested it," she says. "I didn't think it was a good idea. In fact, I'm sure you don't want to know what my initial reaction was." She chuckles a little, at what I don't know. I decide to take her at her word that I don't really want to know. "So she showed me some photos she'd had taken of herself when she was pregnant with her second child. She promised that if I didn't like them, she'd delete them off the camera and it'd be as if they'd never existed."
"I'm glad you didn't, Sarah," I say quietly, opening the album again to the final page.
"So you really like them?" she asks. She sounds nervous again.
"Of course," I assure her. "I don't mind being reminded that my wife is the most beautiful pregnant woman I've ever seen."
She laughs heartily. "And how many pregnant women have you been around?" she teases. Her tone softens. "I was thinking about that, when I first started thinking about having the other pictures taken. About how beautiful you made me feel on our wedding night. Do you remember?"
Even after all this time and everything we've been through, it amazes me how much we're on the same wavelength many times. "I was thinking about that night myself, when I was looking through the photos."
"What else were you thinking about?"
"A lot of other times," I reply. "Remember Norfolk?"
As much as we go to Norfolk, she might ask 'What time?' but when we mention Norfolk in this context, there is only one time that immediately comes to both of our minds. "Definitely hard to forget," she says, emphasizing the word 'hard.'
I laugh at that. We found out a lot about each other that day, and I'm not just talking about how frustrating it is waiting all day to get back to the mind-blowing sex that got interrupted by an ill-timed call from the Admiral. I found out just how much Mac really does trust me.
"It hasn't always been like that," I say. "I was also thinking about the weekend I got back from the Henry at the end of July. We knew you were leaving for Cherry Point on Monday, so we took the phone off the hook. It was a quiet weekend for just the two of us."
"Not just the two of us after that," she says, laughing. I imagine her patting her stomach, the obvious reminder of that weekend.
We fall quiet for a long moment. "Harm, do you want to talk about it now?" she asks. "I love you, but you're usually not this introspective, or at least not out loud."
"Times are hardly usual, are they?" I point out.
"True," she says. "But now you're evading. I'm sure the pictures did evoke some memories, just as they did for me, but there's something else going on. "
"How do you do that? Get right to the heart of things?"
"It's a talent I've developed over the last six years," she says.
With a sigh, I shake my head. I can't get away with anything with this woman, even with half a world separating us. "Had a bit of a rough mission tonight," I say. "The area we were targeting was experiencing some weather, so we had to fly low, which brought us within range of the RPGs that Al Qaeda has gotten from somewhere. We got shot up a little bit. Nothing major, we thought, but we had problems refueling. We reached the carrier okay, but one of the afterburners didn't light until the last possible moment..."
"Harm?"
"The LSO was calling for us to eject," I finish quietly.
She's quiet. I know what she's thinking, even without her saying a word. I've never really talked too much about my ramp strike with her, but I know she knows the story. If not from Bud, then from someone else. Even if she knew only the bare minimum, she'd know at least that it happened aboard this carrier.
"I wish I was there with you right now," she says in a soft tone that sends shivers through me.
"Me, too," I say, resting my head against the bulkhead. "I would love to feel your arms around me right now." 128 more days before that can become a reality.
"Go to bed," she orders. "It's what, almost three-thirty in the morning?"
"Something like that," I reply without glancing at the clock on the wall.
"Go get some sleep," she says firmly. "I'll be there when you close your eyes."
'You always are," I say quietly.
"Just as you are for me," she assures me, stifling a yawn. Sounds like we'll both be shortly living in our dreams.