Chapter 38: Out of the Past
Friday, March 28, 2008
19:32 HRS Washington, D.C. Hotel Monaco
Mac leans casually against the bathroom door jamb with her hands folded behind her six. Surprised to find the room heavy with steam and the mirror fogged over, she inquires, "Harm? Are you in the shower again?"
With his palms against the wall, head down, water cascading over his neck and shoulders, he mutters, "Uh huh. Played ball with Sturgis this afternoon; got hot and sweaty. You and Mom get back from wherever it was you disappeared to?" He turns to look at her, resting his elbows against the shower wall and, surprised by what he sees, he whistles low. "You went and got all prettied up, Marine!"
Mac, with her hair down passed her shoulders, in a white dress printed with bold red hibiscus flowers and matching heels, laughs as she rolls her eyes. "We told you we were going to the hotel spa."
"You did? I thought you said you were spending some more time with Harriett?"
Reaching into the room, Mac grabs a towel from the nearby rack and playfully tosses it at his face. "Harriett was with us; at least for a while. Bud had to go to work this afternoon. A.J. and Jimmy were in school, and her mother had the twins for a few hours. She was here until about 16:30."
Harm catches the towel and tosses it over the top of the wall before he squints. His watch is lying on the shelf over the sink. He doesn't know exactly what time it is, but he's pretty sure it's after 19:00. "You've been down in the spa this whole time?"
Smiling, she leans back against the door jamb; stretches and purrs with satisfaction.
"I'll take that as a yes. What do you ladies find to do in there for so many hours? I went to the Wall and sat with Dad for about an hour and then played basketball with Sturgis. I still made it back here before you two."
"Yeah well, you have no interest in massages, hot tubs, facials, makeovers, manicures, or pedicures… At least not beyond enjoying the fact that I went out and got… all prettied up. She forms quote marks in the air with her fingers. "All this… pretty… takes time Harm. Your mom suggested we take Harriett. She's got four kids under the age of nine, and we're asking her to give birth to another one. She could use a little pampering. I wasn't about to say no." She pushes herself away from the door jamb, standing upright. "Get out of the shower. Get dressed." Walking away, she calls over her shoulder. "We're going out."
Even though she's not there to see it, He grins and snaps off a stiff salute. "Yes ma'am!"
From the living area of their hotel suite, without turning around, Mac draws a raised eyebrow from Trish, who is waiting on the sofa, when she announces loudly, "Knock it off, Squid! I saw that!"
Shutting off the water and wrapping the towel she threw at him around his hips, he playfully calls back. "You did not!"
Twenty minutes later Harm pulls out of the hotel parking lot. "Okay ladies, where are we going?"
"I made reservations at the Double Eagle." His mother answers from the backseat.
Harm nods "Nice Mom. You didn't have to do that. Mac and I are fine with something a bit more low-key."
"I know. But I haven't been to D.C. for years. Long as I'm here, I might as well enjoy it."
"Okay then, the Double Eagle it is."
They set out on the drive in a comfortable silence. Ten minutes in, Mac finds a station on the radio and turns it down low; the tune playing is sultry and melancholy. Trish listens to the woman with a husky voice singing a melody she's never heard, but something about it is familiar anyway. She puzzles over it for a moment, giving it serious contemplation before she asks, "Where have I heard this?"
Harm immediately shakes his head and shrugs; effectively saying, "I don't know." Without ever speaking.
Because she likes the tune, Mac gives it a few seconds thought before she begins to shake her own head but then stops. "Day after Halloween. You stopped by. Chloe was sitting at the kitchen bar, eating cereal, reading something… The Navy Times, I think. She was singing; entertaining herself. The artist's name is Julie Roberts. It's called Rain on a Tin Roof."
Astounded, Trish declares, "That's incredible. That was almost five months ago. You actually remember all that?"
Mac shrugs. I just remember because it was a big day. Chloe had just had her opening at your gallery the night before. The check she'd gotten for the previous night had made her so excited that she got us out of bed at nearly midnight." She laughs as she imitates Chloe. "Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the camel! The next morning, she was singing to herself. When she left the room, you told me she was fabulous. We all went to Magellan. Laura played golf with Frank. It was a good da…" There's a sudden undefinable shift in the car's driving and Mac pauses, unsure of what she senses. "Harm?" She questions at the same instant that the right rear tire blows.
In the time it takes to blink, Harm grits his teeth and glances into the rearview mirror to see what's coming behind them. Thankful they aren't about to be hit from behind, he grips the steering wheel hard with one hand and fights to keep the car under control. He eases off the gas, taps the brakes, and purely on instinct, throws his right arm out sideways, catching Mac across the shoulders as she jerks forward despite her seatbelt's restraint.
With her right hand against the dashboard she says, "I'm alright. Both hands on the wheel Harm… Use both hands." By the time she finishes fussing at him, he's already on the shoulder of the road, and pulling into the parking lot of a rundown bar; a hard and unfriendly looking place.
Looking around, Mac breathes a sigh of relief.
"Everybody okay?" Harm breathes quietly. Placing his hand on the back of Mac's seat, he turns and looks at his mother before reaching down to engage the emergency brake and looking at Mac with a raised eyebrow?
Mac nods quietly and pats his thigh as Trish answers, "Okay back here darling. Bit stunned, but no worse for wear.
He reaches back and squeezes his mother's hand briefly before he touches Mac's face. "Sorry about that. Didn't mean to smack you. I was just…"
She smiles. "You didn't smack me Harm, and there's no need to apologize, you were just protecting me."
"Okay. Stay here. I'll go have a look." Mindful of his surroundings, he exits the vehicle, leaves the driver's side door open, and walks around the other side to assess the damage. Muttering to himself, he opens the trunk.
"Long seconds later, they hear him swear quietly. "Damn it!"
Puzzled by what is atypical language for him, Mac glances in the rearview mirror and sees, by the expression on Trish's face, that she isn't the only one surprised by the utterance. She opens her own door as she removes her seatbelt. "Harm?"
"There's no spare!"
She squints. "Of course, there's a spare." She argues lightly as she steps one foot outside the vehicle.
The look on his face is somewhere between a grimace and a grin. "Well, you wanna come show me where? He fires back in a mild challenge.
She smiles at Trish over the back of the front seat as she exits and quickly steps to his side. It doesn't take more than a second for her to realize that he's right. There's no spare in the trunk. With one hand on the car for support, she bends at the waist and looks underneath the rear of the car. No spare. Shocked, she looks at him apologetically and shrugs. "There's no spare."
"This is what I'm saying." Harm flashes his grin at his wife.
She puts her hands on her hips and turns a half circle in frustration. "There's no damn spare."
Despite his irritation, Harm can't help but chuckle. "Is there something wrong with your hearing Jarhead?"
Without answering him, she walks around to the front of the car, sits down in the driver's seat, and reaches across the console for her handbag. He follows, and stands there beside her; one hand on the roof of the car watching and listening as she calls the rental car agency, explains the problem, gives them their location, and demands, in a bone-chilling tone, that a new vehicle be brought out to them, or at the very least, that someone be responsible for bringing them a new tire." She hangs up the phone. "They say it'll be 30 minutes. Which probably means an hour or more. We can't walk anywhere from here and get back in less than that time, so I told them we'd be in there." She points to the bar. The sign on the roof says, 'Buddy's.'
Harm looks at the roadhouse with an obvious lack of desire. "Mac, we can't go in there." He hisses quietly.
"Well, I'm not gonna sit here in the car waiting for God knows how long. Don't worry Squid…" She stands up and straightens her skirt. "I won't let the big bald man with all the tattoos get you." The smile she gives him when she pats his shoulder is full of sass.
"Not what I'm worried about… And how do you know there's a big bald tattooed man in there?"
She rolls her eyes and offers him a brilliant smile. "There always is at least one in a joint like this. Usually more than one, they tend to travel in packs." She opens Trish's car door for her. "Stop worrying, Flyboy. Your mom's a big girl."
Stepping out of the car and placing her pocketbook under her arm, Trish smiles in response to the worry in her son's eyes, she places an arm around Mac's shoulders. As Harm reluctantly follows them across the parking lot, Trish whispers harmoniously in Mac's ear. "This is going to be interesting."
Buddy's Roadhouse
Washington, DC
20: 26 HRS
Harm quickly steps around the women intent on opening the door for them even if he wishes they weren't so determined to cross the threshold of this obviously seedy place. Before the door is open, his mother raises an eyebrow, inhales deeply, and inquires, "What is that I smell?"
Mac's facial expressions and mannerisms mirror Trish's as she pauses; a question in her own eyes as she too inhales deeply before answering. "Let me see. That would be, stale beer, urine, cigarette smoke, a few other things you don't even want to know about, a twist of lime, a pinch of salt, tequila, sawdust…" She smiles with delight before continuing. "Stewed tomatoes, beef, onion, garlic, jalapenos… And some other spice I can't quite make out. Whatever it is… they have chili in there! Mix it all up together with the smell of male machismo and testosterone."
Harm groans aloud. "Now you want to eat here, too?"
Trish nods in response to most of what she said and then laughs. "Testosterone? If you can actually smell that, darling, you must be part bloodhound."
Mac lifts one shoulder in an easy shrug. "Watch, the men will outnumber the women 5 to 1 in this joint." She shimmies her hand side to side in the air before adding, "Approximately."
Rolling his eyes in response to his wife's comments, Harm opens the door bowing slightly and waving them inside.
One foot over the threshold, and Trish isn't in the least bit surprised to find the place littered with coarse looking people who do not live easy lives. Mac's right, 80% of them are male, and the place is hazy with cigarette smoke and bad lighting. She looks back over her shoulder when the door behind her doesn't close in the usual amount of time. She finds an odd expression on her daughter-in-law's face.
For just a flicker in time, before she smiles brightly, the marine looks mildly confused, hesitant, and even slightly green around the gills as the shadow of some unsettling emotion fills her dark eyes with an eerie light.
Before Trish can question what she sees, Harm leans over Mac's shoulder from behind. Although Trish is quite certain he missed seeing the residue of darkness that paid a fleeting visit, she's equally certain that he somehow sensed it when he questions, "What is it, Mac…?" Lowering his voice to a whisper, he touches her shoulder. "You okay, Ninja Girl?"
Trying too hard to be convincing, she nods adamantly and then adds in a dazed and hushed voice, "God Harm…" She looks around; mystified by the sight of the hardwood floor littered with peanut shells, the scarred and battered table tops and chairs, the pool table, the people, and the bar. "It's like stepping back into the past."
Draping an arm loosely around her shoulders, he breathes quietly as they move beyond the doorway, "Stepping back into who's past? Yours?"
She nods, temporarily beyond the capability of words.
Obviously perplexed, Harm asks, "Then why are you smiling?"
Before she can answer, the 60-something year old barrel-chested barkeep clad in flannel shirt, and jeans with a dish towel thrown over one shoulder asks, "You folks lost?" He picks up an empty glass and begins wiping it down with his dish towel as Mac hops up onto an unoccupied bar stool and motions for Harm and his mother to follow.
She offers the stocky barkeep with friendly green eyes a genuine smile. "They might be, but I'm not."
The bartender takes in the look of all three of them. They're all overdressed for this joint. The tall man and the older lady; they don't frequent places like this, but the younger one; there's something familiar in the depths of her dark eyes. He studies her last and longest. At length, he agrees. "No, you're not lost; are you honey?"
Her smile stretches a bit wider and she shakes her head adamantly. "We have a flat tire. Just killing time until the rental agency brings us the spare tire they forgot to put in the trunk. This your place?"
He shakes his head and holds out his hand. "I'm just the grunt who keeps the drinks cold and the food hot. Name's Garrett."
She shakes the hand offered with enthusiasm. "Hello Garrett. Call me Mac."
"Mac, huh? Is that short for Mckenna or something like that?"
She smiles mysteriously. "Something like that."
He chuckles. "Okay, Mac. What are you and your friends drinking?"
She glances over at Harm, smiling sweetly before answering, "He wants a beer. Bring him whatever's on tap."
"And for the lady and yourself?"
Repeating the process, Mac glances at Trish. Returning her eyes to Garrett, she answers, "Better bring her two fingers of your absolute best."
He nods and smiles. "Got it. No rotgut then?"
Trish smiles at the easy bar room banter. "Thank you, no."
"Bring me a tonic water with a twist." Mac says, drawing a raised eyebrow from the man.
"Don't like the taste of the stuff or…"
"Just don't do that anymore." They say in unison.
He nods somberly. "I thought I recognized a fellow reformed soul."
Mac chuckles derisively. "It's just my habits that have been reformed. My soul still has a long way to go. We'll pick a table."
"Okay. Want food while you wait?"
She shakes her head. "I smell chili but…"
"Best this side of the Mason Dixon." He grins proudly. I'll get you a bowl."
Mac shakes her head again. "I'm guessing you don't have anything of the vegetarian variety in this dive."
Garrett throws back his head and laughs boisterously. "The animals that come in here… They aren't too health conscious. Three fourths of what's on the menu should be served with mandatory quadruple bypass surgery."
She smiles. "Didn't really think so. We'll skip the food."
"Your choice. Peanuts? Chips and salsa?"
"Umm… Now the chips and salsa I'll take."
"Okay. I'll bring it out to you, along with your drinks."
As they leave the bar and cross the room to an out of the way corner, one of the bar's patrons catches sight of, and recognizes the tall military lawyer and one of his female companions. Shocked to find either of them here in this place, he watches them silently as malice tightens his jaw.
Harm pulls out two chairs simultaneously. When Trish chooses the one nearest her, Mac politely shakes her head and waves Trish into the other. "Since I'm guessing you don't spend a lot of time in places like this, you take that one."
Nodding graciously, Trish also raises an eyebrow. "What does my lack of experience with such places have to do with my place at the table?"
It's Harm who answers discreetly as he pushes in her chair. "Safest seat at the table. Keep your back to the wall always." He chooses the seat with the greatest risk of exposure for himself before he tends to Mac's chair as well. As he settles into his own seat, he glances once more at the out of place expression on his wife's face. "You never answered me. If it's like stepping back into the past, why are you smiling?"
She reaches under the table and pats his thigh affectionately. "Because I don't live here anymore!"
He scowls. "Mac! You can't live in a place like this! No one can!"
Amused by his confusion, she chuckles lightly. "Actually Flyboy, you can. I just wouldn't recommend it."
20:40 HRS
Harm's stare is intense. "How exactly does one live in a nightmare place like this?"
"I betcha this place has a room back behind the bar. I use the word 'room' loosely, of course. If it exists, it's more like a large rat hole. It probably has a bed roll, or if one is lucky, a cot in it; along with a lamp, and some variety of cheap safe for storing cash. The guy who sweeps up after closing might live there. The presence of someone like that keeps vandals and thieves out after closing. It's cheaper than an alarm system; which technically won't keep anyone from stealing anything. Anyone looking to steal anything, smashes a window, goes in with the alarm blaring, hacks the unimpressive safe, and is long gone before the first patrol car ever does a drive-by. Give said guy free room and board in the back room, you get an alarm system that actually will deter theft, and you can pay him in cash, under the table, because chances are, he's got a record and is looking to avoid a paper trail. It's much cheaper than the amount of money respectable places shell out for more state-of-the-art security.
"Yeah, but can you trust the guy not to clean you out himself." Harm inquires, pointing out the obvious pitfall.
Mac shimmies her hand side to side in the air, "Maybe. Not everybody with a record is a thief, or dishonest."
As Garrett approaches with their drinks and appetizer, they wait to continue the conversation until he departs again; offering a polite "If you need anything else, just give a yell."
They all nod in agreement and Trish waits until the man is a discreet distance away before commenting, "I'm much more interested in exactly how you know all this Mac?"
Mac lifts one shoulder in a shrug but has the good grace to look mildly uncomfortable. She futilely stirs her drink with a swizzle stick as she admits, "I used to be married to the guy who swept up after closing. When I said, I don't live here anymore, I meant it. Not this place exactly, but one very much… and very depressingly like it. It was the first place we lived after I bailed on Joe. I knew that Chris would boost anything with four wheels to go for a joyride. However, at that point, I still didn't think he would literally steal someone's livelihood. When he did clean out the safe in the back room, and was accused, I defended him. When I found out the truth, we had our first really important fight. I remember being shocked, literally hurt. I remember screaming at him. "That guy gave us a place to live, and you go and… What the hell is wrong with you? Are you stupid? Things went downhill from there. After that, it never got any better between us." Mac reaches for and plays with a tortilla chip idly, her face stricken, as if she thinks that somehow, she's the one who failed at something.
"Darling, I'm hardly think that's reason for you to blame yourself. If it ever was, it's not now. Certainly not after all this time." Trish reaches out and squeezes her free hand affectionately.
"Yeah, but even 17 and drunk, I knew that screaming at Chris wasn't good. It didn't accomplish anything helpful. The louder I screamed, the worse he got. I'd scream, he'd go steal another car, just to get away from me. I'd yell, he'd find the nearest exit and go through it. He was not like Harm." She offers a watered down version of her smile, "If I scream at him, it might take him a few minutes, but he'll usually do whatever he has to, in order to fix it. He's also pretty good about not doing the same stupid thing twice. Screaming at him probably isn't good either, but at least it's effective. Chris just dug himself in deeper every time I yelled at him. I knew that. I could've tried harder."
With flint in his blue eyes, and sandpaper in his voice, Harm whispers, "Harder than what, Mac? In the first place, you were not wrong to be angry with him. You had every right. It took you some time but, you finally left the guy; got rid of him. He came back more than 10 years later because he was in trouble. You did what you could to help him. In return, he blackmailed you, nearly killed you; and when he died, you could have gone to prison. Just exactly how much harder were you supposed to try?"
"Not aware of the finer details, Trish can't help but be curious. However, she knows this isn't the moment to ask for clarification, so she waits quietly.
Mac shrugs; silent for a moment before she admits, "I just meant I've always felt like I should've tried harder back then… In the beginning. I guess I've never really looked at the whole picture at the same time. Not like you just did. It's not easy going through life thinking you owe a debt it's too late to repay. Maybe it clouds the perception."
Letting go of some of his tension, he softens his voice slightly. "Well, if you ever did owe Christopher Ragel any debt it was long ago paid in full." He smiles. "So, give yourself a break, Jarhead!"
She smiles tentatively and finally stops playing with her chip. Feeling at least a little better, she says softly, "Kay." and reaches for the salsa that he is only too happy to push a little closer to her. It's not a good sign when his marine would rather play with her food than eat it.
They sit quietly for a while, munching on chips and salsa, sipping drinks, and keeping a cautious eye on the room around them and its rowdy occupants. People drink and play pool, or darts. Some of them shout. Men and women playing either game, laugh loudly as they strive to one-up each other; talking trash that is peppered heavily with vulgar language. The room is hot and reeks of cigarette smoke, stale liquor, high cholesterol food, and too many bodies in too small a space.
All the while, the thin gray-haired man at the dark end of the bar sits, watching them. He slowly nurses his latest beer and as he does, the dark robust lager slowly nourishes his rage.
A while later when a man wearing khaki pants and a green polo shirt with the name of a rental car company embroidered on it just below his left shoulder opens the door and stands rooted in place, jingling a set of car keys and obviously afraid to cross the threshold, Mac catches sight of him and smiles. Touching Harm's shoulder, as she leaves the table; she walks to the door, speaks to the red-faced young man briefly, and then motions for Harm and Trish to join her.
As they leave the table, Trish picks up Mac's handbag, bringing it along.
Harm catches Garrett's eye, and drops a $20.00 bill on the bar. He nods in both gratitude and farewell and the barkeep with the salt and pepper stubble nods back and offers him an informal two-fingered salute. Leaving the place behind, Harm remains in his mother's wake until they clear the building.
Outside, he offers her his arm as they cross the parking lot. At first, Mac is several steps ahead but when she stops to say something to the young man who has already changed the flat tire on the rental car, they catch up quickly.
The rental car agency employee apologies politely for the trouble but he doesn't bother to waste time sticking around. Mac chuckles quietly as he gets back into his own car and drives away without looking back. "Poor kid. He's probably just trying to pay for college. I think he was scared witless. He looks like one of the nerds in the movie Sixteen Candles, or…" She looks at Harm curiously. Was it, Weird Science?"
Chuckling quietly, Harm nods. "Weird Science; I think. Not the blonde one, Anthony Michael Hall, the other one; the dark-haired one." Because he understands her dilemma, he flashes his grin "I know who you're talking about… But I don't remember his name either."
The door of Buddy's Roadhouse opens behind them, but too caught up in their own conversation, none of them pays it any mind. Happy to be on their way, they pay no attention to the man approaching until a slurred voice calls out angrily, "Rabb!"
Puzzled, but not yet alarmed, Harm turns; his curiosity evident in his eyes. When he sees the fist headed straight for his jaw, his first instinct is not to protect himself but his mother, who turned at the same moment he did, and is now, at least partially in the path of danger. He pushes her out of the way and attempts to sidestep the blow, but it's too late to avoid it completely. He would've felt its full impact if it hadn't been for his wife turning just in time. With her eyes going wide in alarm, Mac lunges forward. In the same movement, she propels herself sideways, slamming into the man with her full weight. She knocks him off balance so that even though the blow connects, it's only a glancing blow because, much to his surprise, the drunk is already on his way down.
She feels gravel split the skin of one knee and the opposite arm just below her elbow, and it bites deep, but she pushes herself up off the man; glaring. She's tempted to kick him while he's down, but before she can it occurs to her that there's something familiar about his face. It takes a moment for recollection to slide all the way home, but when it does her head snaps up and she looks at Harm with utter disbelief. Before she speaks to her husband, she addresses the man at her feet with an ominous growl. "You stay down!"
As he flexes his jaw in response to the pain of the pre-empted assault, Mac demands, "Harm, what the hell?"
As he holds out a hand in warning to stop his worried mother from returning to his side, he tilts his head from one side to the other as though he were trying to dislodge water from his ears and shrugs. "I have no idea. Ask him!" He points aggressively.
"You!" The man grunts already coming back to his unsteady feet and attempting to lunge at Harm.
Whether she recognizes him or not, the angry marine has had all she's going to take from this man. Reaching out, she grabs his shirt front, hauling him upright before stepping back, planting her heel, and slamming her right fist into his nose. Cartlidge crunches, his eyes instantly tear, and blood flows; bright red and fresh. When he hits his knees, howling in pain and protest, she whispers with deadly calm, "I said, stay down!" She folds her arms over her chest and gives him a look that could mortally wound.
Defeated, he folds in on himself, sitting down on top of his own heels. Trish eyes the obviously broken man with an understandable mix of uncertainty, anxiety, anger, and intrigue. He'd reeks of cheap liquor, poor diet and sweat. He's badly in need of a shave and a haircut. His clothes look as though they've never seen the hot side of an iron and never will. Whoever he is, he just attacked her son with no obvious provocation.
Harm glares at the man as his mother demands quietly, "Who are you? And just exactly what, in God's name, is your problem?"
Gently taking his mother by the elbow and wrapping his other arm around Mac's waist, Harm continues to scowl, and shakes his head. He looks down at his assailant with what his mother thinks is an odd mix of loathing and pity "Don't bother talking to him, Mom. Let's just go. He can't cause any more trouble than he already has."
Not willing to turn her back on him just yet, Mac glances backward as they begin to move. She really wants to get out of here before the man does anything more or, God forbid, says anything hateful or unwarranted to upset Harm.
Unaware of his identity, Trish is less eager. She gently, but stubbornly, pulls free and turns to face the wretched man with her hands on her hips. "No!" She says softly, but resolutely. I want an answer to my question… and I want one now!"
The man on his knees in the gravel looks at the three of them. He's not certain which one he should fear most; the naval officer with his obvious disdain and sickening pity, the pissed off Marine, or the man's classy, but incensed mother. He stares mutely.
Because what he really wants most, what he wants even more than he wants to slug the miserable bastard, is to get his women away from this man, and knowing from experience that she's not about to be led quietly away, Harm answers for him. "Mom… Judging by the hatred in his eyes, I'm guessing he blames me for her absence…this is Tom Johnson. He used to be Mattie's father."
21:10 Hours
With one arm around his wife, and the other around his mother, Harm walks away with purpose in his step. It's best not to give this man any more than he has already taken. So, with ground eating strides, Harm closes the distance between himself and his waiting rental car.
"She's not absent, Rabb! She's dead! And just exactly what the hell do you mean… I used to be her father? I still am!" Tom Johnson slurs loudly as he comes precariously to his feet.
Opening the rear car door for his mother and closing it behind her, Harm places one elbow on the roof of the car and looking over Mac's shoulder, he glances Johnson's way before sliding in behind the wheel. "I'm painfully aware of that fact Tom… and, if you're still her father, then why don't you do her a favor, and try acting like it." He gestures in response to the man's unkept appearance, his current location, and his regrettable slovenly alcohol dependency. "You don't seriously think this is what she wants for you?"
Taking unsteady steps; bobbing and weaving as he walks, like a child's clown-shaped pop-up punching bag. He slowly comes closer. "She doesn't want anything, Rabb. Not anymore. You gave her what she wanted, and now she's dead." He slurs with something darker than anger in his words.
Harm squints incredulously. The anger he expects. It is no surprise. Although, his wife says it's far from warranted, he's felt the anger often enough upon looking into any mirror. However, the other emotion currently being hurled at him is such a shock that he can't help but laugh bitterly; catching both Johnson and his wife by surprise. He shakes his head. "I can't believe this. You're jealous!"
"Ha!" The man scoffs belligerently. "Kinda full of yourself; ain't ya?" He laughs rudely as he points unsteadily. "I heard you Navy punks were like that."
Harm shakes his head again, still not quite fathoming it. "No. You may hate me because she's gone, but deep down inside - when you're not lying to yourself about it; telling yourself that it's all my fault - you worry that you're just as much to blame. Anger aside, at this moment, more than anything else, you're jealous! Maybe because I gave her some things you didn't. Maybe because I tried my best to make her happy when you couldn't… or wouldn't. Maybe just because she wanted to be with me. I don't know which, but you are. Go home Tom. Sober up. Be the man she wanted you to be. Be the man she needed you to be."
"Too late." Tom Johnson mutters; more to himself than to his audience. He mumbles to himself incoherently as he staggers his way across the parking lot absent-mindedly waving them away as if they are a nuisance he can no longer be bothered with.
Knowing that the fight has gone out of the man, when he chooses to stumble away with alcohol induced ataxia, apparently headed back into the bar, Harm tries one more time; his jaw clenched in anger. "If it's too late to do it for her, then do it out of respect for her memory. You owe Mattie at least that much.
Not caring about his response, Harm slides in behind the wheel and closes his door just as Mac closes the passenger side door. Focused solely on getting away from this place, Harm starts the car and heads for the road. While he waits for a break in traffic, Mac watches out the passenger window. Craning her neck at an awkward angle to look back; her own attention still focused on the man who just assaulted her husband. Just as Harm eases off the brake and taps the gas, she opens the passenger door and steps out. He hits the brakes. "Mac! Are you crazy?" He reaches out for her, but she's gone; sprinting across the parking lot.
Blocking the only entrance to the parking lot, he opens his own car door. "Mac! What are you doing? Come back here! Let him go!"
The only one to notice, until this moment, that Johnson wasn't headed back into the bar but across the parking lot to a waiting vehicle, Mac breaks into a dead run. Praying she gets there in time, she calls over her shoulder, "I can't. Harm, I can't. He's drunk."
The angry scowl that mars Harm's face quickly shifts; becoming a look of mild panic and outright dread. Picking up the thread of her thoughts, he grips the steering wheel in anger. He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to care… But he has no choice. "Damn it!" He swears under his breath as he puts the car in reverse. He backs up slowly, clearing the parking lot's entryway without bothering to close his door.
"Tom stop!" Mac calls loudly as she runs.
He ignores her as he walks toward a beat-up Ford that is several decades old. He climbs in, swaying badly on drunken legs. He cranks the truck and slams the door.
Just as the truck's wheels begin to turn, she steps up onto the narrow running board, reaches through the open window and around the steering wheel. With minimal difficulty, she snatches the keys from the ignition. "What are you; stupid?" She yells at the man with the busted nose.
Furious that she's taken his keys away, Tom opens the truck door with enough force to knock her backward onto her six in the gravel.
In scarcely the time it takes for his wife to realize that she's on the ground again, Harm is out of the car and jerking Tom Johnson out of his truck. With his left hand fisted around the man's collar, he slams him violently up against the side of the truck. With the sound of his heart pounding in his own ears, Harm furiously lands the first blow. Before he can land the second, she's up, standing behind him, touching his shoulder and whispering softly in his ear, "Harm… Stop… Please. Don't do this Harm." She pleads; sounding scared. "Let him go."
The sound of her words; his desire to comfort the fear he hears in her voice, and his rage, fueled by the image of Mattie's face in his head, all do battle with one another. He doesn't want to scare Mac; he just wants to pound on the bastard who knocked his wife down. Trying to clear some space for his thoughts inside his own mind, he turns to look at her. The intensity of the love he sees in her dark eyes nearly knocks him over sideways. He takes ½ step back but doesn't let go of the rotten drunk.
Mac tenderly touches the side of his face that isn't rapidly bruising and quietly shakes her head.
Over Mac's shoulder, a few feet away, he sees his mother. She's out of the car. She's worried; scared and her eyes plead with him the same as Mac's do. Why is she out of the car? It's not safe.
Mac reclaims his attention. "Harm… Harm let him go. You owed him the first shot. He had that one coming. But anymore, and this won't be a fair fight. Don't hurt him Harm."
Harm shakes his head as though trying to clear his mind. He starts to let go of the man, but then he glances down; catching sight of the gravel still imbedded in his wife's bloody knee. Tightening his grip again, he hisses with his voice full of venom. "You're bleeding."
She glances down at the same wound briefly before returning her sad eyes to his face. She nods. "Yes, I'm bleeding. It's not serious. It's not life-threatening. It'll heal Harm. I'm not going anywhere. Let him go. Don't do this."
He grits his teeth and rage boils like acid in his gut. "Why do you care what happens to him. Why should you try to save him?"
His fury softens by a microscopic degree when a single tear slips from her eyelashes and slides down her cheek as she pleads. "He's not the one I'm trying to save Flyboy. Please don't give in. I know you want to. Maybe you even have a right to, but I'm asking you not to. Harm… What would Mattie say?"
A knot rises instantly in his throat. Stunned by her question, he looks at her as if she's just slapped him. "That's not fair Sarah." He declares hoarsely.
She nods honestly. "I know it's not, but you were just starting to heal. Don't let him pull you back down… Please. You're right, it isn't fair. But this is where we are Harm. We're about to have a baby… Maybe more than one. So, don't fall apart on me now, Squid. She wouldn't want that either - and I need you."
Before he can respond, the door of Buddy's Roadhouse opens and Garrett, the seasoned bartender, steps out; baseball bat in hand. "Everything okay out here folks?"
Without taking her eyes from Harm's face, Mac answers calmly, "We're just fine. Nothin' to see out here."
"Do I need to call the boys in blue?"
Mac forces a hint of a smile into her voice. Still not taking her eyes off Harm, she answers again, "That won't be necessary, but we would be grateful if you would be so kind as to call Mr. Johnson a cab. He won't be driving himself home tonight." Reaching out, she dangles Tom's truck keys in the air, putting them on display until Trish steps forward and takes them from her.
Without needing to be told what to do, she walks the keys to the bartender. "We'll be leaving now. Please don't let him have these. At least, not until he returns sober."
The bartender with the friendly eyes smiles. "No problem, ma'am. If you folks are okay, I'll go call that cab now." He eyes them with gruff concern.
"Everything's under control." Trish says hoping she sounds more convincing than she feels. Walking back to the car again, she clears her throat. "Son, listen to your wife. Let the man go! We're leaving; now!"
When Harm chooses to release Tom Johnson's collar, the man sags limply against the side of his truck for an instant before he collapses into a rumpled heap in the gravel parking lot.
Mac wraps an arm around Harm and hugs him close as she walks him around to the passenger side of their waiting rental car.
On her way back, Trish pauses just long enough to make eye contact with the man she's never met before tonight. Bleary eyed, bruised, and bleeding, he looks back up at her with nothing to say.
"You should be ashamed of yourself. That sweet girl deserved every good thing this world has to offer. Go home, stand in front of the mirror and take a good hard long look at what you gave her."
Before sliding back into her former place in the car, Trish smiles at Mac and then at her son. She touches his bruised face carefully with only a feather-light caress; too gentle even to make him wince. "It's not so bad. It's nothing that won't heal. We'll go back to the hotel, put some ice on it, pick the gravel out of Mac's knee…" She tilts her head sideways and, with a tender touch, she inspects the wound on the back of Mac's arm as well. "And her elbow too. We'll order some dinner from room service, and while we wait for it, we'll call Laura and tell her that we have pictures of the baby. She can officially get excited."
Hotel Monaco Washington DC
22:04 Hours
With her hair pulled over one shoulder, Mac stands in the shower partially clad in white satin bra and panties and a short half-slip with a lace-fringed slit up her right thigh. With the handheld shower head in one hand she uses a gentle spray of warm water to irrigate the wound on her knee while gently palpitating her injured flesh to remove debris from the lacerations. When a soft, barely audible, knock is heard at the bathroom door she glances that way with an expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace. "Come in Trish."
The older woman opens the door just wide enough to slip through and quietly closes it behind herself. "You want some help with that? She takes in the sight of the wound, pieces of gravel on the shower floor, and flowing water; still pink with faint traces of blood with mild concern.
"I can manage this one. I'll need some help with the one under my elbow and the one under my right shoulder blade as well. Although I can reach it, the one under my elbow is difficult to see. As for the one on my back, if you're okay with lending a hand, I'd rather not ask Harm for help. Tending to my wounds won't do anything to improve his mood. Where is he anyway?"
"I agree, darling, and he's on the phone with Laura."
"Already?"
"Yes, well, I knew he wouldn't tell her what happened tonight, but I figured the sound of her voice might reign him in a little more. It might help keep him grounded. So, I gave him some ice for his face and then I dialed. Although I knew he was capable, I've never seen him quite this bad before. Yet somehow, something tells me a stern motherly lecture isn't the way to go at the moment. I couldn't do it anyway, as least not without feeling like a hypocrite. A very big part of me wanted to punch the guy in the face myself. Impressive, by the way. I don't think I've actually seen a woman break a man's nose before."
Mac shrugs. "It's not hard to do, and if you'll forgive me for saying so, you're right. That's not what he needs right now. He only did what he did tonight because Tom hurt me. Sure, he was mad before that, but he was in control of it. He would have stayed that way too if Tom hadn't knocked me around. Harm's hurting right now, but he'll be alright. I'm just glad I could talk him down before he managed to do something he'd never forgive himself for. A conversation with Laura was a good idea. It might briefly get his mind off tonight… or, she will remind him of all the reasons why he shouldn't do things like that in her own sweet gentle way."
"Looks to me like you can hold your own without Harm running interference."
"Oh, I can. Harm knows that too. He hit Tom tonight for the same reason I did." She smiles as she shuts off the shower and helps herself to one of the dry washcloths on the bathroom vanity before hopping up to perch on the counter near Trish and gently blotting the wound dry. Harm's perfectly capable of defending himself too. But that's not how we work. Nobody picks on me and gets away with it in his presence. Nobody picks on him in mine. That's just how it is. I feel bad for Tom. I understand his drinking and I would've driven him home or almost anywhere else he wanted to go tonight, had he let me." She pauses, frowning slightly as she applies a large square of gauze from a nearby first aid kit to the sensitive lacerated flesh of her knee. As she continues, Trish quietly helps secure the bandage with white medical tape. "He's suffered a loss no one should ever suffer; one he's not likely to ever fully recover from, if at all. That does not mean he gets to use my husband's face for a punching bag. My empathy doesn't extend that far, and it never will." Mac shrugs in a 'so there' fashion that reminds Trish of Laura. "First case we ever worked together, one of Uncle Matt's misguided followers might well have killed Harm if I hadn't been there to stop it. He repaid the favor in very short order. Since then, watching each other's sixes… Well, it's just a habit neither one of us has any desire to break."
Finished with her knee, Trish dabs a warm damp cloth against the wound below her elbow. Trying to be as gentle as possible, she nods her head without taking her eyes from her work. "He's told me more than once how you always seem to be there when he needs you. I've always been grateful, I just never really understood how grateful until tonight. Something tells me that no one else could have talked him down… not tonight."
Mac winces in response to the pain her tender ministrations inflict but does not complain. "Trish, there have been times when even if I can't talk him down. Although, thankfully not when he was determined to pound on someone. Usually, it's just when he's about to put himself in a whole lot of danger."
Trish glances upward, a question obviously on the tip of her tongue, but she stalls briefly when she catches sight of the look on Mac's face. "If what I'm doing hurts, why don't you say so?"
Mac shrugs again. "Not my first badly skinned elbow. It has to be cleaned. It's going to hurt until you stop touching it. Nothing you can do about that. No point in complaining."
Trish chuckles softly as she holds Mac's elbow over the sink and pours hydrogen peroxide over the wound. "Harm sure would."
Mac giggles quietly as she wills herself to hold still. It's not so much that the liquid bubbles and stings, as it is that the stuff is cold "Yeah well, Harm can't help it, Trish. He's only a squid."
As she works, Trish says, "I know it's cold. Thank you for not saying anything vile. Just out of idle curiosity Mac, when you can't talk him down and he's about to get himself in a lot of trouble, what exactly do you do then?"
"Go with him." Mac answers simply.
Understanding without being told that she's put herself in danger more than once just by doing so, Trish replies just as simply. "Thank you."
"You don't have to thank me for that Trish. There's no one else I'd rather be in trouble with."
21:42 Hours east coast time-19:42 west coast time
From the comfort of his favorite living room chair Frank Burnett listens to his granddaughter chatter on happily with the person on the other end of the phone.
"Yeah Uncle Harm, 'course Grandpa picked me up at school." She giggles. "He wouldn't leave me there all weekend. We went to Grandpa's office today on the way home. That place is cool! But my walker does not like the escalators. I've never seen one before today. Whoever thought of stairs that move while you stand on them must've been really lazy. Did you know that Grandpa has a great big fish tank in his office? Japanese Koi. They have names; April, May, June, and Mr. Bubbles. Mr. Bubbles is the fat one." She giggles again; happily. "He let me sit at his desk. He has a model car; he says that it's a replica of one of the first Chryslers ever built. He says don't play with it, but maybe he can get another one, and we can build it together." His phone sure did ring a lot. Grandpa must be busy when he's at work. Some guy named Jarreck came by because he needed reports on quarters. I don't know what that means, but I don't like him. He kept calling Grandpa old man; like it was his name or something. I told him that wasn't very nice. I told him he's supposed to call my grandpa Mr. Burnett, or maybe even Mr. Frank, but not old man!. He looked at me funny like he didn't know what I was talking about, but that's OK, because Grandpa Frank says he's not very smart anyway."
Having been away from her for more than 24 hours, Harm expected the whirlwind update with rapid fire subject change. He knows her sponge of a mind has been soaking up intel to share; just waiting for them to call. He barely managed to say hello to the girl before she launched into her latest debrief. Still, he chuckles. "Laura, I hope you didn't offend Mr. Jarreck. Grandpa does have to work with the man."
Listening in, courtesy of his speakerphone, Frank laughs heartily. "Harm, he was there for copies of quarterly reports." He provides the slight clarification. "And… I don't care if she did offend him. I've wanted to tell that guy off for years. Propriety and public relations demand otherwise. She did what I can't do… And she's young enough to get away with it. She wasn't rude; very sweet actually. She just told him very plainly that he wasn't being nice… and that the only person allowed to call me 'old man' is Grandma Trish. You should've seen the look on his face. The boy was speechless. He's been calling me old man for nearly 10 years; since he first started working for the company. It's about time someone put him in his place. I just don't think he expected the person doing it to be 30 years his junior."
Though neither of them can see it courtesy of the telephone, Harm shrugs. "As long as she wasn't any trouble…"
"No trouble at all. We weren't there long. Best 15 minutes I've ever spent in my office." He assures with a quiet chuckle.
"It's your turn Uncle Harm. Tell me everything."
"Everything huh, sweetheart?" Harm runs his hand over the back of his neck and shakes his head as he teases. "That might take a lifetime."
Laura smiles brightly and rolls her eyes. Even though Harm can't see this, he knows it's happening. He can hear it in her tone which she objects. "Uncle Harm! Just tell me the important part. Are we having a baby or not?"
"Laura, we told you that much before we left."
Laura shakes her head comically. "I'd told you. I'm not getting excited until somebody shows me a picture."
"I know. I know. Tell Grandpa Frank to check his e-mail. You'll find a picture waiting for you there."
"Okay." She squeals excitedly. I'm going to get his tablet. I'll be back super fast."
Harm listens to the girl race away, the wheels of her small walker noisily turning against the floor and he knows by the telltale sound of dog toenails clicking against the floor at a rapid pace that Candy is trotting along beside her faithfully.
With a moment to themselves, Frank asks, "How did things look? What did the doctors say? Is everything alright? How are Bud and Harriett?"
Harm chuckles. "Careful Frank? You're picking up Laura's rapid-fire communication style."
The sweet-tempered man shrugs good-naturedly. "That doesn't even make the list of the worst things people have said about me, Harm."
The doctor. seemed pleased. He says everything looks good with the baby. He found no cause for concern. Apparently, despite a noticeable absence of pregnancy symptoms, everything is normal. Bud and Harriett are well. In fact, her doctor said if she were any better it would be disgusting. No one could be happier than us, but I think the Roberts are a close second. Wait until you see the picture. We all stared in silent awe. More than a few tears were shed."
"What did your mother have to say? And where is my wife? Can I talk to her?"
"She quietly disappeared a few minutes ago. If I had to venture a guess, I'll say she's probably in the bathroom helping patch Mac up. We ran into Tom Johnson tonight; Mattie's birth father. He was drunk. Things got a bit ugly. But I don't want to talk about that with Laura underfoot. I'll let you talk to Mom when she and Mac come out of the bathroom. She can fill you in. But I suggest giving Laura something to distract her while you have that conversation."
Mildly concerned; but knowing that Harm is right and it's not best to ask for more information now, Frank nods. "If your mother is seeing to the first-aid herself, I take it that means no one was seriously injured?"
"No one but Tom. Mac and I have both seen worse."
"Here she comes." Frank says, signaling his granddaughter's imminent return.
Frank she never ceases to amaze me. How a kid with the one good leg can move as fast as she does…"
"I think it's sheer determination. Don't know where she got it, but I'm sure glad she has it."
She got it from her aunt. It makes Mac uncomfortable when I call her Mini-Mac, but that child is part devil dog."
Frank concurs, "Devil dog, pixie, artist, engineer; along with aspiring golfer, pilot, and maybe, just maybe a natural born CEO. I swear, Harm you should have seen her this afternoon. I just stopped by the office on a run because I left something out of my briefcase. Before I knew what was happening, she walked through the door, climbed right up in the chair behind my desk, and answered my ringing phone like it was something she does countless times a day. 'Grandpa Frank's office. How can I help you? Just a minute please. He's right here.' I wasn't planning on taking any calls, but I had to force myself to stop laughing before I could answer that one. I don't know who taught her phone etiquette, but, she's extraordinary!"
Having made her return, Laura eyes Grandpa Frank curiously as Harm answers through the speakerphone. "Mac's been working on it. The first week Laura was here every time the phone rang she would race to pick it up, and then answer with either 'Yeah' or 'What do you want?' Apparently, Casey's telephone etiquette leaves something to be desired and Laura had picked up on it. Mac was terrified some military bigwig was going to call the house one day and Laura was going to answer with, 'What's your story, Rory?"
"Laura objects emphatically. "I've never answered the phone that way. I don't even know who Rory is. When she answers the phone, Mom says, "Speak now or forever hold your peace… I don't know piece of what… But that's what she says. But never mind Mom. Show me a baby." She eagerly removes the tablet from the basket on the front of her walker and plops it into her grandfather's lap before climbing up in the chair beside him and settling herself in the narrow space between his hip and the armrest.
"Okay, let's see here…" Frank says as he accesses his e-mail. Seconds later, He scrolls through the list of emails yet to be replied to and finds one from the office of Dr. Peltier. "I think I found it." He says selecting the option to download a photograph.
When several seconds go by in silence, Harm says nothing. He can remember how quiet he and Mac were upon first seeing the image. He can remember well how quiet they all were until Harriett demanded that someone say something. When several more seconds go by, he hears Frank quietly prompt, "Do you see it? I know it's a little fuzzy, but…"
"No Grandpa, I can see it. Laura giggles and then squeaks happily with noisy excitement. "Yes!" She exclaims as if she's just won a prize and pumps a small fist in the air… "He looks like a squashy teddy bear with no ears. I'm so glad! When I told Liam about the science experiment, he said my cousin was probably gonna look like a baby Frankenstein. I said, Na uh! Shut up, you don't know what you're talking about 'cuz Frankenstein's ugly! My cousin will be cute! Miss Harriett makes pretty babies. Betcha Uncle Harm and Aunt Mac will too. So, now Liam has to buy me some french fries at lunch!" Grandpa, make the picture come out of the printer. I'm gonna show him! Uncle Harm? He is gonna grow some ears before he's born… right?"
As Trish and Mac emerge from the hotel suite's bathroom, Harm's body begins to shake with the effort to contain bold laughter. "Well, I certainly hope so, sweetheart."
21:50 Hours east coast time- 19:50 west coast time
Harm puts his hand over the mouthpiece and repeats for his wife's and his mother's benefit, "Uncle Harm? He is gonna grow some ears before he's born… right?"
Chuckling quietly, Mac gently helps herself to the phone; eager to talk to her niece. "Hi baby, yes, your cousin will have visible ears by the time we do the second ultrasound. That won't be for some time yet. It'll be a lot closer to the baby's birthday. But, the inner ear is already starting to form. You just can't see ears in the picture yet. The baby will be able to hear sounds sometime in the second trimester.
"Hi, Aunt Mac! What's a trimester? Speak English, please."
"Sorry kiddo. All pregnancies are split up into three time periods. The second trimester is from the beginning of the fourth month until the end of the sixth month. It's the middle part. Early in the middle part your cousin will start hearing sounds even though the outside of the baby's ears, the part you will see, will still be forming. The parts you can't see, the parts inside his little head, those are already forming. They just aren't ready to work yet. Baby can't hear anything right now."
"But he will… Right?"
"Most likely yes."
"What do you mean, most likely?"
"Sometimes…" Mac selects her words carefully. "Some babies are just born different. Some of them have ears that don't hear, or eyes that don't see."
"Or legs that don't work right?"
"Yes, that's right Laura."
"It's not so bad having a messed up leg. I know how to do that. It's okay. Even if Mom did mess me up with her stupid pills."
"Whoa, who told you that?" Mac inquires; her tone drawing looks of concern from both Harm and Trish who are unable to hear Laura's the end of the conversation.
"Aunt Mac, my ears work fine. I can hear people talk."
"What people?"
"I don't know. Just people. Anyway, a messed up leg is better than messed up ears. Not hearing music; that would suck! I like it when Chloe sings. I like it when Grandma laughs and when Uncle Harm calls me sweetheart. If a baby has a part that doesn't work right, is it always because somebody took pills?"
"No Laura. Sometimes people do everything right and a baby is born differently anyway. You're not missed up. You're just Laura. This baby will be whoever he or she is. The doctor. says everything looks good for right now. It will probably stay that way. Miss Harriett has had lots of experience with healthy babies being born. There's no reason to worry. I promise you; she will do the best she can for your cousin. That's why we picked her. We know we can trust both her and Skates too… if she has a baby."
"Okay, I wanna show Liam the picture. Can I take it to school on Monday and tell my class about the science experiment?"
"Oh Laura, I'm not sure about that. I think we're better clear that with your teacher first. I imagine there are some parents of second graders who might not be comfortable with their kids hearing about surrogacy at school."
"Aww, why not? You guys are just making a baby, that's all?"
Mac chuckles. "Yeah, I know Laura." The marine pauses to smile at Harm and Trish as they eagerly listen to things on their end. "But it doesn't usually happen this way."
In a tone of voice that implies she's not stupid, Laura declares, "Aunt Mac! I knooooow that! Mom already told me about the other way. Yuck! That's supposed to be private, but I don't wanna talk to my class about that. Gross!"
Unable to keep from laughing, Mac pulls Harm close in a one-armed embrace as she says, "Good! In about eight or nine years, then you start thinking that maybe that doesn't sound so gross, come find me; we'll need to have a talk. In the meantime, please do not discuss making babies with your classmates in any manner until I've had a chance to talk with your teacher. I don't want a bunch of angry parents calling me; asking me what we're teaching you. If you want to show the picture to Liam, he can see it the next time he visits our house. Do not take it to school."
"Aww, well okay. Grandpa Frank says he wants to talk to Grandma Trish before we go have dinner. When are you coming home? Still on Sunday; right?"
"Yes, we will be home on Sunday afternoon. We're having dinner at Bud and Harriet's house tomorrow night, and then Sunday we'll be coming home."
"I wish it was now. I miss you guys even if me and Grandpa are having fun."
"I know baby. We miss you too. You'll be alright. Don't wear Grandpa out having too much fun. Skates and Keeter are coming to see you on Sunday while we're flying home."
"Keeter is coming over?" She asks with sweet enthusiasm. "Good! Can I show him the baby picture?"
Mac chuckles. "Sure, why not. Just promise me you'll cover your ears and not listen to whatever outrageous thing he says when you do."
Laura giggles happily. "I love Keeter even when he makes me mad Aunt Mac. But I don't listen to him. At least not when he's being crazy."
Mac nods doubtfully as her audience looks on. "Are you sure you can tell the difference between when he's serious and when he's being crazy?"
"Yeah, I can." Laura says confidently. When he's being silly, he smiles real big and his eyes get all full of sparkles He's just a big goof."
"Alright then. Don't listen to him when he's being a big goof. But… Listen to him the rest of the time, okay. He's a pretty good guy."
"Duh Aunt Mac. Uncle Harm wouldn't like him if he was bad… Not really bad."
Mac nods preparing to tell Harm about Laura's end of the conversation. "Put Grandpa Frank on the phone; here's Grandma Trish."