[A/N] I'm flattered by the continued interest in this story. Even after I took a holiday sabbatical, "From A Grateful Nation" has maintained a loyal readership in 32 different nations. Every review and private message is important to me. As is my habit, I read and consider them all.
Chapter 13
Arlington
1135 PDT
Monday, 12 October, 1998
San Diego Cardiac Center
San Diego, CA
When Frank Burnett walked through the hospital's sliding doors and out to the parking lot it felt as though a prison break was in progress.
God, how he hated the place. Doctor Beckman sounded like a broken record: "You need to slow down and get more rest. Cut the red meat out of your diet, and stop drinking."
Frank was no youngster. Even without a bum ticker, how many years did he have left? Certainly not enough to pass up a thick steak and a few martinis after a round of golf at the club.
Frank unlocked his Chrysler New Yorker and tossed a small bag of prescription medications onto the passenger seat.
The bag held a mix of meds, including Metoprolol- a powerful beta blocker. Metoprolol was the worst. It sometimes made sleeping difficult, but Frank didn't care about that.
The medication left him impotent.
Up until three years ago, Frank thought of erectile dysfunction as a source for amusing jokes in the locker room of the club. Trish was a beautiful woman, and had remained every bit as desirable as when he had first met her. The couple had always enjoyed an active sex life, but when his heart condition worsened and Frank began taking Metoprolol, things changed.
Frank buckled his seat belt and drove away from the hospital. What he needed right now a bit of cheering up.
There was a Mexican restaurant a few blocks away and Frank felt like having a couple of tacos for lunch and then washing them down with a cold beer, or maybe two.
El Caballito was a local place with good food, and it was always crowded during lunch hours. Frank skipped getting a table and went straight to the bar where he ordered a cold Pacifico.
Frank wished that Mac was joining him for lunch. He enjoyed spending time with Mac, with their morning walks and breakfast stops now the high point of his day.
Mac was an amazing young woman. Of course she was beautiful, but the world was filled with beautiful women. Back in his younger days, Frank had been with his share of good looking women, but most of them were shallow.
Sarah MacKenzie was anything but shallow. Even so, Frank could sense that Mac kept a lot hidden away- just like Harm did.
Holding things back was most certainly a Rabb trait. Trish was willing, if not insistent, on expressing her feelings about everything.
Right now, Trish felt that Harm and Mac should be married, and Frank suspected that the real purpose of Harm's surprise birthday party was for Harm and Mac to announce their engagement.
In the meantime, Trish was pulling out all of the stops with Mac, with the pressure bordering bribery.
When Trish mentioned the salary she had in mind for Mac to manage the art gallery, Frank considered taking the job himself.
Frank knew that enticements like a high paying job wouldn't work with Mac, who seemed unimpressed with material things. Mac regretted leaving JAG for a big-money position in a private law firm so an affluent lifestyle with a lot of idle time- idle time which Frank suspected Trish planned to monopolize, wouldn't fit Mac any better than it did Harm.
Trish wouldn't give in (she seldom did). Last night she suggested that they invite Harm and Mac to join them on a Mediterranean cruise next spring.
Frank had laughed openly. Why would Mac want to take a cruise with Harm's parents? and why would Harm, who had spent months at sea before being assigned to JAG, want to go on a cruise at all? much less in the Med.
Frank thought back to the morning in April 1989 when the news broke that two F-14's had downed a Libyan MiG-23 and damaged another while on Combat Air Patrol 120 miles off the coast of Libya. The Tomcats were from Harm's squadron, VF-32 on the aircraft carrier USS John F. Kennedy, which had been in the Med since August 1988 and nearing the end of its deployment.
The names of the F-14 aircrews were not immediately released, but Frank had no doubt that Harm had shot down one of the MiGs.
When the full details of the incident and the names of the aviators were released the next day, Frank and Trish became local celebrities. Frank couldn't pay for a drink at the club for a month.
The San Diego News Magazine had sent a reporter to their house and published a lengthy article on Lt. Harmon Rabb Jr, whose background seemed ready made for a magazine article. They played up Harm being a native of San Diego, a graduate of the Naval Academy, and a third generation naval aviator whose grandfather had been killed in the Battle of Midway, as well as his father being listed as MIA in Vietnam.
The article contained several photos of Harm, including one in his dress whites. During the weeks that followed, the house was besieged with letters from girls around the country, and from around the world, who were anxious to become Mrs. Harmon Rabb Jr.
Trish painstakingly answered every letter and also returned any photos that the girls had included, many of them quite explicit.
Frank's jaw dropped at the sight of an especially lovely blond from Miami Beach, Florida. "We might not want to send her photo back."
Trish plucked the photo from Frank's fingers and shoved it into an envelope. "Tramps and whores, each and every one of them," she insisted.
When The Kennedy returned to Naval Station Mayport, Harm was granted 4 weeks leave. Frank wanted to give Harm a heroes welcome at the club, but Trish had said no.
There had been enough publicity. Trish knew that all of the boasting, bragging, and bravado remained in the squadron ready room and stayed among the aviators.
The things that occurred during actual combat were never discussed among strangers, or even with family.
Trish had asked Big Harm, "It would make me feel better if I knew what was really happening in Vietnam."
Harm's voice was firm. "No, it wouldn't. You're knowing what was happening in Vietnam would only make you bitter and angry, and it would fill you with hate." Harm took his young wife in his arms. "I never want that to happen to you."
When Little Harm came home, he never said a word about shooting down the Libyan MiG. Harm did tell his mother that after having been in combat, he finally felt equal to his father.
Harm's flying career had ended, but Frank felt that Harm's law career was proving every bit as impressive. Harm had received an accelerated promotion to lieutenant commander, and he was handling many of JAG's high profile cases.
Mac also seemed to be on the fast track at JAG. She was a fine attorney, as well as a career Marine officer.
If the two were to marry, this would create its own set of problems. Someone's career would have to be put on hold. That meant that a compromise had to be made by one of two people who seldom compromised on anything.
Frank ordered another beer at the bar along with two shrimp tacos. As he sipped his cerveza, Frank Burnett wondered what the next few years would hold for Harm and Mac? and if he'd be around long enough to see it unfold?
After phoning the Admiral, Harm spent some time catching up on his email. Once his inbox was clear, he placed a call to Alice Martin, Arlington National Cemetery Funeral Resources Director.
Upon speaking with Ms. Martin, Harm was surprised to learn that Clayton Webb had been in her office and hand delivered his father's file.
"It's not often that we get a file directly from Mister Webb's agency, but he spoke highly of your father, and of you, Commander."
Harm knew that Webb never did anything without an ulterior motive, but he didn't have the time or inclination to sort it out. He thanked Ms. Martin, and they moved along with a discussion of his father's case.
Their conversation proved a disappointment.
Due to limitations of space, burial at Arlington National Cemetery Arlington was severely restricted. Because there were no physical remains, Harmon Rabb Sr. was not eligible for ground burial. Instead, there would be an inurnment in the Columbarium where an empty urn would be placed in a niche and then sealed with a marble plaque. No keepsakes of any kind could be placed inside the urn or inside the niche itself. The memorial service would have to be held outside and under an awning, and due to air traffic concerns, no fly-over would be possible.
Harm scribbled down half a page of notes, thanked Ms. Martin for her time, and indicated that he would be in contact again.
Harm leaned back at the desk and shook his head. A niche in the Columbarium was no better than his father's name of the Vietnam Memorial Wall- in Harm's mind it was worse.
On the Memorial Wall, Harmon Rabb Senior's name was chiseled deep into a slab of solid granite and immortalized with other men who had fought and died together in the same conflict.
By comparison, inurnment in the Columbarium made his father just another index card in a warehouse.
It was well past lunchtime. Frank had returned from the doctor and was relaxing in the living room with a martini.
"Care to join me?" Frank asked Harm.
"Not right now." Harm had noticed that Frank was drinking a lot lately, and he knew that he was not sticking to his diet. "How did the doctor's appointment go?"
"It looks as though I'll be around for a while longer. Hell, even with my bum ticker, I've outlived my father. Mustard gas and shrapnel in the First World War couldn't kill him. It was the damned smoking that did him in."
"I would have liked to have met your father."
Only hours ago Frank had shared with Mac how he had been a disappointment to his father. It was so easy to talk with Mac, but so much harder to do the same with Harm.
"My dad would have liked you Harm. You're his kind of man." Frank drained his glass and poured another Martini. "I like to think that maybe your dad and my dad are somewhere together. And maybe your grandfather too."
"That's a nice thought. Speaking of my dad, I just got off the phone with Arlington National Cemetery." Harm then outlined the limitations on his father's memorial service, and his disappointment.
"Take it with a grain of salt. My father was eligible for burial at Arlington, but he was born and raised in Southern California and didn't want to be buried on the east coast. He wanted to be buried in the Los Angeles National Cemetery, which is not far from our old home in Holmby Hills. You could damn near walk there from his house."
"That's an affluent area," said Harm.
"I suppose so, but it never seemed that way to me. Lloyd Bridges lived down the street from my dad. Lloyd passed away earlier this year. He was a nice man, and a good neighbor."
"My dad grew up on the farm in Pennsylvania, and with no celebrities living near by. I want to give him what he deserves."
"Then you should think long and hard about what your dad would have wanted and not what you want for him."
"I hadn't considered that."
"I've been down that road, not only with my dad, but with my mom."
"I don't think you've ever mentioned your mother to me," said Harm, who watched as Frank leaned back on the sofa.
"My mother was a beautiful woman. She had blonde hair, creamy white skin and stunning blue eyes, not unlike your mother's eyes. My mom had a cheerful and outgoing personality, which made her an odd match for my gruff and always serious father. Even so, they were a happy couple. When my mom was diagnosed with cancer, it had ripped my dad to pieces."
"Could anything be done for her?" asked Harm.
"Cancer treatment was primitive in those days. Radiation therapy was in its infancy, and chemotherapy hadn't been developed. Surgery was the only option, and it failed"
Sheree Burnett's treatment for ovarian cancer had been long, drawn out, and agonizingly painful. The doctors spent months chasing the cancer. After each operation, Sheree would seem to be improving, but the cancer would spread and they'd operate again. Surgeons removal of both Fallopian tubes and ovaries as well as her uterus. Then they removed a portion of the small bowel, then the large bowel, and then in quick succession her spleen, gallbladder, most of her stomach along with a portion of the diaphragm, followed by the removal of a portion of the peritoneum and some of her liver.
When Sheree Burnett died, everyone agreed that it was merciful.
"My mother wanted to be cremated with her ashes scattered at sea. This was in early 1945 and wartime restrictions were in place. Burials at sea required using a contractor with a special license from the Coast Guard. Members of the family were not allowed on the boat- I suppose they were afraid we'd signal a Japanese submarine. After a brief dockside service, the boat just sailed away and left me standing on the pier."
"I'm sorry, Frank. I had no idea."
"It's not something that I like to talk about, but I'm glad that I could share it with you." Frank got up from the sofa and went to the bar to wash his glass. "I expect that we'll have a late evening. I'm going to lay down for a while."
"Mac and I are looking forward to spending the evening with you and mom."
Frank smiled. "Sure you are. That's the polite thing to say, and you've always been polite."
Once his stepfather had left, Harm relaxed on the sofa. How could he have been so selfish and thrown away so many good years with Frank? and why had Frank put up with it?
The drive home from the spa had turned into a question and answer session with Trish asking Mac about her favorite colors, and where she liked to go on vacation? Then Trish asked if Mac had a preference for a particular style of furniture?
"My apartment is furnished, so I haven't given it much thought."
"When Big Harm and I were married, Sarah Harmon Rabb gave us the down payment for our first house. Naturally, Frank and I will do the same for you and Harm. When it comes time for furniture, I'll be happy to furnish a room or two, in the style of your choosing of course. For a home in the Washington DC area, American Colonial would be perfect, but if you and Harm were to relocate to the San Diego area, then I'd suggest-"
Mac had reached her limit.
"Trish, you need to dial back. Harm and I are going to have a talk tomorrow, but I seriously doubt that he's going to propose to me."
"I'm sorry. I swear that I've become Sarah Rabb, and that was never my intention."
"Sarah Rabb was a bit controlling?"
"When Harm proposed he told me that I'd be the daughter that his mother never had. I assumed that meant she'd be supportive of all my choices, and would offer help when asked for, but otherwise, stay out of our life and marriage."
"It sounds as though it would be ideal."
"Meanwhile, Sarah Rabb had ideas of her own. She assumed that I'd see her as an authority on marriage and children—and her son. Of course I'd want lots of advice from her, and I'd want to be just like her."
"I take it that she had he own way of doing things."
"If I visit your home and start rearranging your kitchen cabinets, you have my permission to punch me. After all, any idiot knows that the coffee cups should be stored above the coffee pot."
Mac laughed. "My goodness."
"Once Little Harm was born, Sarah couldn't wait to start 'helping'. Big Harm was deployed, so Sarah came out to California to lend a hand. At first I appreciated the help, but our relationship quickly became tense, with shaky truces being silently negotiated. When Harm came home the situation became worse."
"Sarah Rabb didn't return home?"
"Of course not. She loved having Harm in the house. Sarah would arise early and prepare his breakfast, just to ensure that the eggs were cooked exactly the way that Harm liked them. Then she'd and do the laundry and the ironing to get the creases in his shirts 'just right', which implied that I couldn't do either correctly."
"What did Harm do to ease the tension?"
"Nothing. Harm liked having his mother around. After her husband Warren's death at the Battle of Midway, Sarah focused her entire life on Harm, so he ignored, or was oblivious to, the little digs that passed between his mother and myself. Can you imagine a grown man unable to stand up to his own mother?"
As a matter of fact, I can.
"After three months of having Sarah Rabb in my house I reached my breaking point. I announced that I no longer needed help with Little Harm, thanked her profusely for her assistance, and I sent her packing to Pennsylvania."
"Did you two ever mend fences?"
"Certainly. Sarah Rabb is a master chef and she always keeps a perfect house. I'll never cook at her level or be as well organized, and we're both okay with that." Trish gave Mac a sly smile. "Of course it doesn't hurt that we live 3,000 miles apart."
Not quite family, but more than just friends, the mother and daughter-in-law relationship has tension built into it from the start. It's a bond that brings women with different values and upbringings together with the expectation they should agree on what it means to be a wife and mother.
"I suppose that a little distance between a mother in law and a daughter in law can be beneficial for both," said Mac, who could see it all unfolding with her and Harm, except Sarah Harmon Rabb was replaced by Trish.
There is no way in hell that Harm and I will be living in the same time zone as his mother!
When they reached the house, Trish pulled the car into the garage and stopped the engine. "I enjoyed our day together, and I'm looking forward to dinner this evening."
"So am I."
"I don't know what is going to happen between you and Harm, but my feelings for you haven't changed since our talk on your first night here. You will always have a place in my family."
"I appreciate that."
"Now let's head in and see what the boys have been up to."
Once inside the house, Trish and Mac found Harm relaxing on the coach.
"Hello, Darling." Trish gave her son a kiss on the cheek. "Where is Frank?"
"He went in to lay down. I suppose that the doctors appointment tired him out. The good news is that he seems to be okay."
"He always says that. I'll go and find out the truth."
When Trish left, Mac sat down next to Harm. "Hello, Darling," she teased, and then gave him a wet kiss. "Do you still like my kisses better mommy's?"
"Of course I do. Your hair looks nice, and you smell like honey."
"That's from the body wrap. It does wonders for the skin (Maybe you'll find that out tonight). So, what mischief were you up to today?" Mac asked.
"I spoke to the Admiral this morning."
Mac nearly came to attention. "How are things going back at JAG?"
"It sounded busy. We are expected back at our desks and ready to work on Monday morning. I suggest that we arrive early. After talking with the Admiral, I spoke with the Funeral Director at Arlington."
"What did you find out about a service for your dad?"
"The news was disappointing. There will be no burial, only an inurnment." Harm explained the remainder of the details to Mac. "I wanted better for my dad. Now I'm unsure of what to do."
"You're a good son, Harm. You'll make the right decision." Mac stood up. "I need to go in and start prepping for tonight's dinner."
"There are 3 hours before we leave."
"2 hours, 47 minutes and 15 seconds. And I'll need all of it. Don't forget to wear your black suit tonight."
"I remember. I promised you that I would wear that suit."
Mac's demeanor changed. "While you're remembering your promises, remember that you and I are having our talk tomorrow."
"How could I forget?"
"Let me count the ways." Mac spun on her heels, and when she left the living room, Harm groaned and then flopped down on the sofa.
Rabb, you are really in for it.
