Chapter Four: Home Is Where the Hart Is

Harthaven is a small community located on the northeastern end of Martha's Vineyard. It was settled by my great-great uncle, William H. Hart. President of Stanley Tool Works, William's engineering prowess was matched by his business acumen, making him a formidable force in the board room. After he transformed Stanley into a national powerhouse, he turned his attention to the family business. Looking for another challenge, William took on the unenviable task of getting the family's finances up to par. For too long they had sat idle in safe local investments. The Harts were not one to create any waves. William was. He applied what he had learned during his tenure at Stanley and took the Harts to the next level. A few thousand here, a few thousand there, and suddenly you were talking real money.

Because of his expertise, William became the unofficial patriarch of the Connecticut Harts – not to be confused with the Massachusetts Harts, the New York Harts, or the Illinois Harts. While the Harts of today are scattered around the world, we all trace our lineage to one of the preceding geographical lines.

The Connecticut Harts are the industrialists and engineers. Good with their hands, they are the dreamers of the family tree. The Connecticut Harts are content with a modest income that comes from hard work and lulling summers. They like to drink, some more than others, and be merry. Life for them is best lived among family.

The New York Harts, on the other hand, are the "showier" side of the family. They like the spotlight and all of its trappings. Most have cut their teeth on Wall Street at some point. They have a bit of a ruthless air. Their vice is gambling, preferably with other people's money on some risky venture. If you read about a Hart in the newspaper, chances are he's a New York Hart. Tacky, my grandmother would say.

The Illinois Harts are a bit removed from the rest. They are the drifters and the opportunists. The branch started when a few brothers moved to Chicago to take advantage of Prohibition's coming end. They stayed, falling in love with the city and blending in with its "us against the world" attitude. With the exception of exchanging Christmas cards and signing yearly checks, I don't have much contact with them.

Then there are the Massachusetts Harts, my branch of the tree. Like the settlers at Jamestown, the Massachusetts Harts lay claim to being the ones who were here first. They are the group who never rest – idle hands are the work of the devil and all that. The pragmatists of the family, they put into place the carefully thought out rules of inheritance. Because of their methodical approach, no one has ever overtly challenged the leadership of the family corporation. Sure there is always talk, but words never transform to deeds. Thus, as it always has been, there are no outside shareholders with whom to be beholden, just Harts. The Massachusetts Harts guaranteed that. It wasn't without cost; the Massachusetts Harts can be cold.

Although I am a Massachusetts Hart by line, I'm a Connecticut Hart in my, well, heart. A family trip to the Vineyard was ill-timed with the arrival of a nor'easter. My dad and my pregnant mom ended up staying longer than planned. My mom developed some complications and was put on bed rest. My subsequent early arrival at MV Hospital further extended that trip. I was un-officially adopted by the Vineyard clan and could call that place home.

And what a place to call home. In 1871, William Hart bought five lots on the eastern end of the Vineyard, combining them to build his family's summer compound. Forty years and five children later, William, ever the entrepreneur, formed Hart Realty and bought up the surrounding land. He sold off the plots to relatives and Harthaven was born.

William's children eventually married and the family spread out, building their houses next to each other. It created a familiar community, one where life slows down for a summer. Because it's so populated with Harts, those on the outside tend to view it as snooty. It's anything but. It is the kind of place that survives on its own. Because it is family, it can be insular. I think it's that cohesiveness that people mistake for snobbery. No one would ever look down upon you if you weren't a part of Harthaven; it's only that there isn't much interaction with those who aren't. There doesn't need to be.

Grandmother Hart hated Harthaven. She hated its informality. She liked structure and order. She liked waking up each day and having a purpose. On the Vineyard, you can meander through an entire week with no particular purpose. After my parents died, Grandmother Hart dropped me off at Harthaven for a few weeks each summer at the cousin's request. I suspect she was glad to be rid of me for a while. It was too much like having a ghost around. I also think she dreaded my return. In place of the prim and proper girl would be a wild child of the island. My carefully plaited hair would be tangled and bleached from the sun. I'd have bruises on my shins and splinters in my feet. I always lost my shoes. At Harthaven, no one cares if you wear shoes.

Those weeks would be the best of my life. I wasn't expected to be someone other than me. I could mourn for my loss and not feel weak. I could smile and not feel like I was betraying a memory. I learned to swim and to fish. I even got knocked about in the informal Harthaven sailing school. In all, I learned how to live.

The best visits were those that coincided with summer's end. Every year the residents of Harthaven celebrate the end of summer with a do-it-yourself clambake. The location and people change, but the spirit remains the same. Everyone brings something and everyone takes something away. The older generations teach the new ones the island's secrets. Stories are retold and embellished. Recipes improved and expanded. More than anything, it is the glow from so many connected in the most basic way. It is the love of family, both blood and not, expanding its grasp, holding so many under its sway. Sitting on porch steps, looking out over the harbor, I knew in my heart, the Connecticut Harts got it right.

I didn't though. I had a falling out of sorts and delayed visiting until the time spent away became too great to go back. I became the outsider, a mere interloper. I would stay at my parents' house – now mine –further south on the island. Harthaven felt off-limits. It wasn't mine anymore.

This past year, Edwin convinced me to come back for the end of summer fete. I'm not sure why I accepted his invitation. It wasn't my burning desire to see what had changed; I'd rather hoped that nothing had. But if nothing had changed, then I had no reason to go back. Despite that apparent paradox, I went.

Loading up my moped, I drove up the road into Harthaven territory. I probably could have walked. In this instance, I preferred the ease of a quick getaway. I parked my bike toward the end of the driveway with thoughts of my exit in mind. Heart thumping, nervous beads of sweat rolling down my back, I approached the gathering. It looked as it always had, clusters of people talking and laughing, eating and drinking. The only thing different was the clothes. I felt the weight of history with each footstep. It hadn't changed. I needed to go. Edwin spotted me, motioning me over to where he stood. I scurried over, eager to hand over my pie and slink away unnoticed. Edwin wasn't going to let me go, introducing me to many of the new faces.

His group of assorted same-age cousins welcomed me and soon enfolded me into their conversation. My internal trepidation must have been radiating out of me because Edwin placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. I let out my breath, willing my nervousness to follow. We have a tendency to believe that others will judge us more severely than they actually do. As I stood there, listening to the conversation, I realized that no one was judging me. No one seemed to care. The greatest judging had been in my own mind. I started to relax. Things had changed.

I tried to tap into that spirit for it was weird standing there inside my memory. I looked over at Tomax again, but he was somewhere else, his gaze surveying the crowd. I wish I knew what he wanted, it could make this easier. I felt out of place in my own head. I couldn't see what Tomax wanted and happened to turn my head, instantly regretting the decision. The image was blurry and granular before jumping into focus. My stomach heaved and I felt unsteady on my feet. Looking forward, the roller coaster stopped and things settled down inside.

"Your brain is filling in the gaps."

"Huh?"

"The lag you felt. You really don't know what was behind you at that moment because you didn't look before. Your mind is filling in the blanks. It takes a moment to process."

I tested his theory, looking behind me again. The horizon jolted and I lost my footing, landing firmly on my bottom.

"Just trust me on this. I have more experience." He held out a hand, which I begrudgingly took. I didn't have to say anything. By the roll of his eyes, I knew he heard every word I was thinking.

"So what now?" I straightened my skirt, turning to Tomax, who was already several paces ahead of me, rushing toward something. I scrambled to catch up. Tomax dodged a group of picnic tables, barely missing a head-on collision with Aunt Janet. Good thing too because Janet had about 150 pounds on Tomax. I, however, wasn't as nimble as Tomax and plowed through an unknown cousin who suddenly appeared in my path. Taking a few steps back, I bumped into another cousin, but rather than bump it was more like I phased through that cousin. I recoiled, jarred by the lack of sensation. I guess I assumed that if I was walking through my memories, I would somehow be more corporeal. I held my hand up to the sun, reassuring myself that it was indeed solid. The ground supported me, the blades of grass squished under my shoes, yet my cousins were only mist in the air.

I looked around for an explanation. It came in the form of a sparkling engagement ring hanging from my third cousin Margot's finger. She took heroin chic to a whole new level and could probably wear the ring as a bracelet. I remembered her from that day. We were both forced into a conversation neither of us wanted to have, a discussion of our respective weddings. She had hers planned down to the acceptable nail polish colors for her bridesmaids. She was marrying so-and-so from such-and-such family. It was going to be a royal affair the likes of which the family had not seen in some time. As for me, I didn't even have a date set. I couldn't help but stare at her ring that day. It could eat mine. Funny how things like that never bothered me until the moment she looked down her nose at mine. It took a lot to not defend Flint before the court of Margot. He wouldn't have wanted that. I kept it in check that day. But there were no notions of polite society in my head, so I did what I've always wanted to do, I slapped her, hard.

Bony cheek vs. soft palm wins. I shook my hand furiously, wincing at the pain. Were her cheeks made out of metal? She was like a first generation terminator. I always knew she wasn't human. Margot, for her part, continued on with her conversation, oblivious to me. That's when my brain trust kicked in. Those faceless cousins I could walk through were a product of my current brain trying to process what my past brain did not. The lawn, the sky, Margot – I remembered those. I didn't fall through the ground because I had walked it. I had spoken with Margot. Hadn't slapped her – physically anyway – thus she was real and very solid to me. The random cousins, I didn't know them and my brain was simply filling in the gaps.

With the physics out of the way, I needed to figure out what Tomax wanted from all of this. I wasn't leaving until that was resolved. These were my memories and I wasn't going to have him running around them for the rest of my life. I looked around, steeling my stomach against the shifting lags. I tried to focus on what had been there for me. Across the way was cousin William, I had forgotten he was there, and his wife Bea. Her arms clutched her stomach she was laughing so hard. Only one person could make you laugh harder than William. And there he was, Edwin, leaning up against the side of the house. And where Edwin was . . . I knew.

I sprinted to the side of the house facing the pond. A group of the family's youngest members were splashing in a roped-off shallow area. The pond's surface was smooth and there wasn't any danger of unexpected waves or rip tides. Children could play at the water's edge without too much worry. Two boys, identical in every way, from dark wavy hair that did what it wanted to deep brown wide-set eyes, were splashing each other at the shore, taunting and teasing. A few feet away, Michelle sat on the ground, arms wrapped around her legs, a content smile on her face. Her hair was long and cascaded down her back. She pushed a stray lock behind her ear, oblivious to the figure seated right in front of her.

Tomax reached out, trailing fingers down her cheek, taking in the whole of her. I watched as his eyes absorbed her image. He ran his hand down her arm, resting it on top of hers. It was like he was seeing her for the first time. And in a way, he was. I wiped away a tear, sucking in my lips. Such pain and longing. I sank down to the ground next to him as he encircled his hands around hers.

"I would have shared this with you."

He shook his head. "You couldn't, not like you think. If you tried to share it with me, it wouldn't be the same. You wouldn't mean to, but you'd change it, you would think of what I'd want. I need your memory as it is, no alteration, no commentary. I need to see it as you did to make it my own."

"But if you told me . . ."

"You were right, I did go to Mindbender. It was the only way to make it all stop. I allowed Mindbender to do to me what he did to Xamot – he took the memories away. He went into my head and erased them. It was like none of it ever existed. Xamot and I were one again. Naturally Mindbender tried to insert thoughts of undying allegiance to the Commander." Tomax smirked. "As if that could ever fill the void.

"He wasn't entirely successful. He couldn't take everything away. I was able to hide some things where he'd never find them. They're just residual thoughts, shadows of what was. I need more. I need them back."

"Then that's what this is all about." I was starting to catch on.

"I'm sorry."

And he was. I understood what he hoped to gain from this. He intended to take parts of this memory and make them his own. Where he filled his void, I'd have one in its place. I would remember the party, but not this part. Michelle by the lake would become his. That's why I couldn't share the memory with him. He didn't want to share. I'll admit to an initial flare of anger at having my thoughts robbed in such a brazen way. Tomax flinched as I worked through it. Never once did he turn my way and take his eyes off of Michelle. If I refused him, he'd still be left with a memory of a memory.

That was enough to make my decision. Call me a sucker but I reached over and placed my hand on top of his. "You can have this. But there's more." I closed my eyes, opening them again. Tomax and I were sitting on a white wooden porch swing, looking out over a freshly mowed lawn as Edwin's twins played soccer in the front yard. Edwin leaned against the railing to his Falls Church home, lemonade in his hand. He was talking about the latest proposal in some House subcommittee and its potential impacts on our timber subsidy.

It was a sweltering summer and Edwin pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiping the sweat forming at his temples. My service uniform was sticking to the back of my neck. Hawk and I had just gotten out of another meeting at the Pentagon to argue against the Joes' fate. There were a lot of those this past summer. It was a Friday and Hawk gave a wink as he blocked me from boarding the plane headed back to the base. "Take the weekend off and I'll see you on Monday." Before I could protest, Hawk had the final word. "It's an order."

In theory, there were a lot of options at that point. I could have gone downtown, checked into a hotel, and had a nice respite from the madness back on base. Or I could have headed out to Virginia's wine country and done a bit of sampling, checking into a comfy B&B for a little downtime. I didn't think to do any of those. Only one option jumped out at me. I called Edwin and he invited me to visit.

That weekend was still fresh in my mind and I knew what I could do. "Follow me." I stood up from the swing and walked into the house, Tomax close behind me. I went past the center staircase and down a narrow hallway. On either side were photos of the twins over the years. Tomax stopped in front of the most recent picture, his hands gripped into tight fists at his side. He blinked once, trying to shake away the thought that those pictures should have been so much more to him. I tugged at his sleeve. "We don't have much time." In a daze, Tomax nodded, allowing me to lead him into the kitchen. Michelle was there, humming to herself while preparing sandwiches for the boys. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail and she had a sundress on. Tomax's breath caught in his throat. I stayed back as Tomax entered the room. "You can have this too."

He turned to me, speechless.

"I'll wait on the porch." I exited the house and resumed my place on the swing. As I half-listened to a conversation I already had, I looked out at the street, watching the cars pop in and out of my vision. I wondered if I would ever have this, this little corner of the world that Edwin claimed. Could Flint and I ever have this? Sure Flint's talked about settling down in Kansas, giving up the gun for the pen. I had a hard time believing it. So much of what Flint is – is what he does. I couldn't picture him as anything but a soldier. And that was setting aside the issue of me. What could I be? Would I be content? Giving it all up. Would this make me happy? Could I ever be?

"I think you could if you let yourself." Tomax settled down next to me. "You have to learn to let it go."

I sprang up from the swing, backing away from him. I didn't like where he was headed.

"You need to stop torturing yourself about the past."

"What are you talking about?" My words barely came out as a whisper.

He held his hands up in defense. "Surely you have to realize that as much as you know about me, I know about you."

I shook my head back and forth. "No. No you don't know."

"I do." He stood up, approaching me. Edwin and the house were gone and it was just Tomax and me standing in the darkness. "How do you think I was able to do it?"

Scratching at the back of my neck I fought against what was only logical. He would know. I could hide from everyone but him. I clenched my eyes shut, willing it all away.

"You had the key."

I opened my eyes and we were standing in a library. Shelves 15 rows high reached up toward the ceiling, which was covered in a beautiful mosaic tile, surrounding a frosted circular skylight. The room itself was a cylinder with no visible door, with only the shelves serving as its walls. A plush oriental carpet covered the floor. It felt off though. For such a grand room, it contained precious little. The shelves were mostly empty. I was standing next to a chair and side table. On the table was one of the only books present. I picked it up. There was no title on the cover nor any words on its spine. I tried to pry it open; it was as if the pages were glued shut.

"This is it. This is where I hid what I could. I learned it from you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Are we going to play this game? Please Lady Jaye, actually, do you mind if I call you Alison? I think we're past code names." Tomax stretched himself out on a sofa. "In your mind I saw how you could compartmentalize the different facets of your life. Undercover work went here, clerical work over there. Your life, your thoughts . . . your loves, it's all locked away.

"It gave me an idea. I could fool Mindbender. I could protect my memories here." He gestured to the shelves. "I took what I could and locked it away. My brother would never fathom that I could do this and Mindbender never thought to look." He grabbed a book, flipping through its pages. "It's all here, what I could save."

"But Michelle?"

"Some things I had to sacrifice to make it look real." He pointed to the book in my hand.

I held it out and he took it, splitting it open, running his fingers across the pages before cradling it against his chest. He looked into my eyes. "I can take it away, hide it here. You won't have to live with it. I've done it before." He pointed behind me.

Here it was, his return offering, a favor for a favor. Turning around, there was a shelf section locked behind an iron accordion gate, like revered volumes tucked away in the Vatican library. A few dusty tomes were stacked on top of each other behind the barrier. I felt a chill. These contained the darkest of deeds. This was the burden he carried for Xamot. He remembered so that Xamot could forget.

"Don't be mistaken. It isn't all his." He leaned forward, hands clasped between his legs. "Why won't you see me for who I am?"

"I do see you."

"Dostoyevsky said that nothing is easier than to denounce the evil doer. Nothing is more difficult than to understand him. I appreciate that you try. Still, you step around me. I've always wondered that about you. Why do you give me a chance? But in thinking about it, I think I actually understand you more."

"No you don't."

"See, that's where we disagree. You see so much in me if only for the chance to see redemption in yourself. For if I am the sum of my deeds, where does that leave you?"

"Shut up." I wiped away hot angry tears from my eyes. My cheeks were red.

"When faced with the truth, that's your come back? Shut up?"

"Stop."

"You can change your name, your life. You can try and lock it deep down in your mind where you think you'll forget. You won't. You can't live as two people. It will tear you apart. This I know. Let me set you free."

"To be like you?"

"I don't want you to be like me, that's why I'm trying to help."

"I don't want your help." I turned away from him, focusing on those dusty books, my head pounding with the confrontation. I believed in Tomax because he was a person worth believing in not because it had anything to do with me. I know Flint thought I was soft when it came to our enemy, that I attached some weird antiquated ideal of the redeemable rogue. It wasn't an ideal. I knew that person was in there. Were these books not proof? Who would sacrifice his very happiness to shield a brother who would never do the same? Who would carry around this guilt, for that's what these books were, written histories of all that was wrong. Who would carry this burden for me?

And I knew I did want his help. Looking at those books locked away, I was tempted. No one would be hurt. No one would know. I would be free and Tomax would act as the librarian, a role he knew well. He wanted it. I felt it. It was something a friend would do. He wanted to be my friend.

And if I let him, what a reward it would be for me. To think, no more doubts or fears. No guilt. No shame. No more looking over my shoulder, waiting for it all to crumble to dust. Kansas could be.

"Except for that. I don't know why you waste your time on that dolt."

"Call him that again and I'll take it all back."

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"He's a kind and honorable man. He's a better person than you and I will ever be."

"Ah yes, the type of man who throws enemy soldiers off of cliffs?" He gave me a wry grin. "Forgiven him for that, have you?"

I winced. "There wasn't, I mean, there isn't anything to forgive."

His hand gave a dismissive wave. "Me thinks the lady doth protest too much."

He had me there. Of all the people in the world, I couldn't lie to Tomax. He knew my thoughts. He once was privy to secrets no one would ever know. He was privy to them now. He knew how I felt about what Flint did on that day . . . that could be gone. Before me was a whole library of forget. How different would life be if I abdicated responsibility to Tomax?

I turned to Tomax, ready to accept his proposal. Tomax held out his hand and I couldn't take it. Only I could account for my sins. This wasn't for Tomax. I didn't want it. Not like this. If I was to make amends, it would be of my own volition with my own two hands. Those things that had happened, they didn't make a person. They couldn't. If they did, I was lost long ago. And Tomax . . .

"Don't worry about me."

I felt like I failed him. His hand squeezed mine. "You didn't fail me. Thank you."

We were back in his office, faces inches apart, our hands intertwined. A tear made its slow journey down my cheek, pausing with a shudder before its fall. Tomax shook his head. "You'll find your way."

I knew though, I would never find my way. I wasn't as strong in the world as I was in my mind. I regretted my choice, jerking my hands away from his. And then the headache hit. It was a sucker punch to my left and right temples; the pain came on like a speeding express train shooting out of a tunnel. My choice was forgotten in the ensuing obliteration of my mind. I fell back into the couch, clutching my head, starting to feel sick inside.

"No!" Tomax knelt at my side, pushing my hair back away from my face. The only indication I had of his concern was the look on his face. I felt nothing else from him. Our connection was gone.

"I'm sorry . . . I'm sorry . . . I didn't think." Tomax was rocking back and forth on his knees, spewing apologies. "I forgot about the pain when Xamot and I first learned how to connect. I didn't even think of it for you." He darted out of my vision.

My head was starting to settle, but the vertigo brought on by the pain started to have an impact on my stomach. I wrapped my hands around my belly, pulling my legs in closer. I buried my head into the cool couch, praying that I didn't throw-up. That would be a notch against my pride.

Tomax reappeared with an ice pack in his hand. He resumed kneeling in front of me and placed the cold pack against the back of my neck. I drew a quick intake of air as the cold stunned my senses. It felt relieving.

"Chuckles is on his way."

"Please don't tell him." I couldn't give voice to my thoughts. I missed that connection with Tomax.

He understood. "Don't worry. I'll think of something."

I felt myself fade until there was Chuckles' voice, thundering and throbbing in my head. It was suddenly muffled by Tomax's hand placed over my ear. They were talking about me and pondering what I could have eaten. Again with what I eat. People must think I have the weakest stomach in the free world.

Chuckles face appeared next to Tomax's. "Hey girl, what happened?" He stole a dark look at Tomax.

Thinking fast, "I think I ate something bad." Why fight fate? If it saved me from trying to concoct some rationalization for the irrational, so be it. I couldn't tell you if Tomax was really in my head or if I ended up in his. In my time as a Joe, I've witnessed many fantastical things. From a clone composed of long-dead leaders to a man walking around town with a fully-functional steel mask on his head, the impossible was always possible when you were a Joe. This was but one more thing to add to the list. Unfortunately, it would also add a lot of paperwork. I wasn't in any condition to defend my sanity before some faceless panel. Food poisoning was as good anything, so I went with it.

Good thing too because I heard more commotion as Beach Head stormed into the room, yelling at J.T. to stand down. Fat chance that did. J.T.'s voice joined the fray. Flint would be both pleased and displeased with the mission for I managed to elude and get caught all in the same day. I knew I was going to hear about this one for a while. Chuckles stood up and left my side to join the rest of the team.

Tomax took the opportunity to lean in close to me, setting my shoes down on the floor. "If you change your mind."

I nodded, feeling the pain subside as the desire for sleep increased.

Tomax stroked my head. "You'll be tired for a bit. Sleep is the best thing." He glanced behind, gauging his time. Chuckles was getting antsy. Our time was up. "Thank you." Those two words expressed more than his gratitude; they said good bye.

I tried to reply but he was gone. His face became Chuckles, who became J.T. As J.T. picked me up in his arms, I couldn't help but think that the world was so big. There existed millions of people and places I would never know. I could change my mind. As sleep descended, I didn't know what I would do with Tomax's offer. I would never see him again. Yet here was J.T. The world suddenly seemed so small.

A/N: Thanks to idstealer000 for making me think more about Tomax's characterization. You raised some interesting perspectives, which I appreciate, even if this isn't quite what you had in mind. When I was thinking about how to make Tomax more than just a bad guy gone good, IDW sent out its weekly release email with the first page from Transformers: More than Meets the Eye No. 28, which used the Dostoyevsky quote. That seemed to fit the discussion and flesh it out a bit more. Also – I learned about Harthaven history from a webpage I found while researching this story some time ago. I didn't save the address and I couldn't locate it now. There are a few articles and snippets that came up in searches and I borrowed some information from William Hart's wikipedia page, taking the necessary creative liberties. Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing!