~*~*~*~
I stare at her, incredulous, not quite sure what that has to do with anything. If it's about the questions that Gram might ask, would the questions really have changed whether I'd told her over the phone yesterday when telling her that we were coming or I tell her here in person? It doesn't make any sense to me, but I can hardly say that to Mac. "Well," I begin, trying to chose my words carefully, "I didn't want to tell her over the phone. Then she probably would have worried until she could see for herself that I – that we're – fine." That's a simplified explanation, but I hope it will do. I sense that I'm walking into a minefield here, but I don't know how to really explain it in a way that Mac will accept. She turns her head, unwilling to meet my gaze, her silence telling me nothing and everything.
I still don't know what I'm going to tell Gram. I imagine the conversation would start off rather nonchalantly. . . .
Well, Gram, there was this guy. I never liked him from the beginning, but I stood by and did nothing while he chased after Mac. Then I screwed things up by leaving Mac to chase after a dream that should have been dead and buried, which allowed BugMe to worm his way into her life even more. When I returned and thought they were involved, I didn't say anything aside from a few snide comments about their relationship. Maybe I thought that Mac would wake up just because I was acting like a jealous schoolboy and drop his sorry ass. Sorry about the language, Gram, but this guy just bugged the hell out of me. Then I really screwed things up when Mac pressed me about the possibility of a relationship between us. Instead of telling her how I really felt about her, I mumbled something so idiotic and vague that even I can't figure out what it was supposed to mean. I can wow judges and juries with my brilliant prose, Gram, but I choked on one of the most important conversations in my life.
That's probably about the point when my voice would start getting very harsh and bitter as my imaginary conversation with Gram continues. . . .
Then she showed up at the airport wearing his ring, and your grandson the idiot just watched like a dumbass while she practically makes out with the guy in the middle of the airport. Then there were more snide comments while I went home at night and let another woman warm my bed just so I could escape my feelings. Then I got really good at ignoring the whole situation, except for a few times when I nearly slipped with more snide comments. Then the guy returned from Australia to claim Mac like she was some sort of prize or possession and you know what I did? Absolutely nothing! I should have challenged him to pistols at ten paces or something like that. My favorite idea involves taking him up in the Stearman and kicking his ass out somewhere over the Shenandoah Mountains – except that I wouldn't want to sully my beloved plane by letting him anywhere near it. No fist fight, however. I didn't come out too well the last time we came to blows. Or this time, obviously. Yeah, Gram, another long story, that first time we fought.
Anyway, months went by and I had just about perfected my public persona of the stoic who was determined that he would be happy for the woman he loves even if she was thinking about marrying a man who doesn't deserve to live on the same planet with her, let alone inhabit her life. I didn't recognize myself anymore and I sure as hell didn't recognize that shell that was now my friendship with Mac. Some best friend I was. I was about to fall on my sword and let her make one of the biggest mistakes of her life.
The voice inside my head laughs bitterly, mocking me as I continue. . . .
Then, Gram, something really amazing happened! Your grandson finally woke up and smelled the coffee. Damned if I know how or why, though. It felt so wonderful, finally opening up to Mac. Only thing is, she was still with Mic and I was still with Renee, so. . . .I'm sure you can figure it out. Yeah, I know, real brilliant. Renee took the news of what happened pretty well, probably better than I had any right to expect, especially considering that she found out from Mic. I suspect that she might have been letting me off easy because of what happened to Mac. . . . Which leads us to Mic's reaction to all this. To say that he reacted badly would be an understatement of immense proportions. I've rarely been so scared in my life – except maybe when Mac and I got shot down in Russia or when I thought she was dead on the Watertown – when she called me to come over to her place and asked me to carry a weapon. Then she opened the door and my heart broke when I saw how fragile she looked, when I felt how she trembled in my arms. Honestly, Gram, I'd never wanted to kill anyone more than I wanted to kill Mic Brumby at that moment. As for myself, I couldn't even begin to think of ways to punish myself enough for my part in what had happened. I don't know if I can get past the guilt that I feel for what I did to Mac. If I hadn't been such an idiot and pushed her away, none of this would have ever happened.
When he called me wanting a meeting, I agreed. He and I were going to have it out and he was going to pay for what he'd done to Mac. No one hurts Mac like that and lives to tell about it. I sound like some cheap novel there, but honestly, the thought did cross my mind. This wasn't about doing my duty, shooting down the bad guys in the name of God, country and the United States Navy. This was about revenge. I wanted to kill him. But something – self-preservation, a brief moment of sanity? – led me to call the Admiral and tell him about the meeting. Would I have killed him if given the chance? As I had told Mac when she asked me the same question when I found Diane's killer, 'I guess we'll never know.' He did manage to knock the gun from my hand and had gotten in some pretty good blows – obvious from the bruises and the cast on my wrist – and he even pulled a knife on me. That's when the Admiral showed up and saved my sorry six. So that's it, Gram. That's how all this happened and I managed to completely fuck up three people's lives. It would be four, but I'm not charitable enough to include Mic in that equation. He was fucked the moment he decided to use Mac as a punching bag.
I imagine there's several reactions that Gram might have to all this. There's the loving, smothering response, where Gram could hover over us, doing everything for us. Nah, that's not her. If she didn't act like that after my crash, why would she behave like that now? Then there's Gram with the friendly ear, ready to listen to either of us if we feel like talking. That's her most likely response, but I'm not sure how much good that will do with two people who can barely talk about their feelings as it is. She could be judgmental, but that's not her either, although I'm not entirely sure that she won't want to kick my six around the farm for being such an idiot.
I think the worst reaction would the 'I'm disappointed in you, Harmon' coupled with that look, you know the one that makes you feel like you are about two inches tall, lower than the lowest pond scum. She doesn't use that one very often – I think the last time was when I was considering leaving the Navy after my crash. The only reason she used it then, I'm sure, was as a subtle way of guilting me so that I wouldn't make what would probably be the biggest mistake of my life.
I shake myself from my morose revere and look at the woman sitting beside me. She's still not looking at me. She just there, her elbows resting on her knees, running a hand restlessly through her hair. I think that hurts even more, the idea that I'm disappointing her. Unfortunately, it's not the first time and I fear that it won't be the last. God help me, I wish I could promise that it would be, but I can't. I can't seem to help myself sometimes. That's what started this whole mess to begin with, isn't it? I reach out hesitantly and put my hand on her shoulder, but she still doesn't look at me. "Sarah?"
She shrugs off my hand and stands, her fingers turning white as she grips her upper arms. She takes a few steps forward and stares out over the yard, her back to me. Her posture seems so rigid, so controlled. When she begins to speak, her voice is so soft that I have to strain to hear her.
"Can you imagine what it's like?" she muses. I get up and walk up behind her, wanting to reach out and take her in my arms, assuring her that it will be alright. But she's already shaken me off once and. . . .I don't know if I can take the rejection when all I want to do is make everything better. The problem is, I'm not sure how to do that. "All my life, I keep screwing up, making the same bad choices that lead to. . . ."
"Sarah," I plead, getting up and walking around so that I'm standing in front of her, but it's like she's looking right through me, her gaze distant. "It's not just your fault. . . . "
"Don't start that!" she shouts, startling me with her ferocity. "You didn't force me to take a ring from a man that I didn't love. You didn't force me to go groveling to him, apologizing, every time we had an argument because I was scared that I was going to lose what I thought was my only chance to have the family I've always wanted. You didn't force me to live a lie with Mic while I tried to deny that I was in love with you. I felt guilty because I couldn't make myself love Mic and I've let that guilt keep me in a relationship that at best was emotionally abusive even before it turned physical."
I reach out, intending to grab her and pull her into my arms. At the last second, I realize how she might react to that and drop my hands, but not soon enough. She flinches as she realizes what I was about to do. I instantly back pedal, trying to apologize. "God, Mac," I say, full of contrition, "I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."
She turns from me again and the expression on her face breaks my heart. I want to protest that she has to know that I would never hurt her, but I know it's a lie. I may never hurt her physically, the way that Brumby has, but I've hurt her emotionally, perhaps more than he ever could. That bitter truth hits me hard, chilling me to the bone. I turn suddenly, needing to take off somewhere, anywhere. I just need to get away from here and the harsh reality that I can't hide from any more than I could hide forever from my feelings for Mac.
"Is that your solution?" she demands. I can't answer her, so I keep walking, needing to find refuge from the suffocating cold invading my heart. But I can't get away fast enough to avoid from the truth. "There goes Harmon Rabb, running away again. Let's see, you've run away from home, from flying after your crash, emotionally from every woman who's ever tried to have a relationship with you, from JAG to pursue a dead-end dream, from me in Australia, from your own feelings for NINE months, and now you're running away from dealing with this!"
I pause for a moment, unable to deny the truth of everything she's saying. When I do find it, my voice is deadly calm. "Well, you'd know all about running away, wouldn't you?" I retort, my voice quiet, but just loud enough, every word meant to hurt her just as much as her words hurt me. "Isn't that what you did when you gave up on us and ran right into Mic's arms?"
I don't even wait to hear her reply before storming off, not stopping until I reach the barn that was my refuge during the dark days after my crash. I would come out here to think, trying to make sense out of the senselessness of life, taking solace in things that have stood the test of time for generations. The door is open, not having been secured for the night yet. I turn after entering the barn, attempting to slam the door shut, but it's too big and heavy and I'm too infirm to make the kind of loud bang that I'm looking for.
"Damn you to hell, Mic Brumby," I whisper, slumping against the door, fighting against the urge to break down or to throw something. Neither would accomplish anything, nor would they be as satisfying as getting my hands around Brumby's neck and squeezing the life out of him. "I hope you burn in hell for everything you've done."
~*~*~*~
The next thing I realize, I hear a distant voice calling my name. Harmon? Who would be calling me Harmon? Then I remember. Mac and I came up to Gram's to get away from everything. Only everything followed us up here. I guess we've both been running and not really getting anywhere.
Mac. I wouldn't be surprised if she found a way to get out of here and is already halfway back to Washington. How did we get so screwed up and not just this? We've been on a downward spiral ever since that day I walked out of my office, leaving her in tears, not saying everything that was on my mind and in my heart and nothing we do seems to put the brakes on the out of control ride that has been our relationship for a year and a half.
"Harmon?" the voice says again and I open my eyes, finding myself looking into the concerned eyes of Gram. She's sitting next to me, a hand on my shoulder, her expression completely free of judgment.
"How long have I been out here?" I ask, my voice sounding fuzzy to my ears. I must have fallen asleep, because everything's a blur. I can't remember anything after I stormed into the barn. Drunken amnesia without the alcohol. But it won't last long. It never does.
"About two hours," she replies. "I thought both you and Mac needed some space to cool off, so I convinced her to take a long bath and let you alone for a bit."
"You heard?" Great. My grandmother heard us screaming like unruly children in the yard.
"You two weren't trying to be quiet," she replies with a sad smile. "But that's not important. It's a good thing that you came up here. I think you both need me right now."
"I don't know, Gram," I say with a heavy sigh. "I don't know what we need. Nothing seems to help. It will seem like it's getting better, but then we take about five steps backwards."
"You love her and she loves you," she points out. "You'll find a way to work through this and you'll be the stronger for it."
If only it were that simple. I lean against Gram's shoulder, closing my eyes as I try to relax in the strongest arms I know. But it's a losing proposition. "Gram, I'm scared," I admit in a rare moment of candor. Gram can get me to open up like no one else can. "We've barely started and I….I'm already losing her and I don't know what to do."
~*~*~*~
