Travel
"Harm!"
Sarah Rabb peeked inside the open double doors of her grand old barn, even though she doubted Harm could hear her over the roaring engine of the bright yellow Stearman biplane. She hung on tightly to the doorframe just to steady herself, physically overwhelmed by the rush of air and noise. After another minute, the engine sputtered as it powered down, and the propeller slowly spun to a stop.
"Harm!" Sarah called again.
"Over here, Grandma."
Sarah quickly scanned the barn to find her grandson fiddling with some of the gauges and controls on the other side of the Stearman.
"She runs," he said simply.
"So she does," Sarah agreed.
She watched as Harm wiped his greasy hands on a rag and came around the plane, moving with a barely noticeable limp. He had been rehabbing injuries from his ramp strike for a couple of months now, and while Sarah had seen progress of physical recovery, she wasn't sure if he would ever be ready to return to the cockpit.
At first, Harm had refused to restore the old biplane. He had been bitter, angry, and heartbroken about the death of his RIO and the loss of his naval aviator career. Sarah had given him space, but she also hadn't failed to drop the occasional hint about the Stearman stored under the tarp in the barn. She knew that if anything could reawaken her grandson's love for flying, it would be the little plane that had belonged to his father, the man who had instilled that love in the first place.
Flying was simply ingrained in Harm's genetic makeup, and Sarah knew that he wouldn't be able to stay away for long. With a secret smile to herself, she pointed to a spot on the horizon in the distance. "Harm, if you follow the fence line out of the barn and over that hill, there's a flat meadow that stretches for almost a mile. It would make the perfect runway, don't you think?"
Harm flashed his grandmother a grin, and there was a spark in his eye that Sarah hadn't seen for a long time.
"Well, don't just sit there, boy. Take her out for a spin."
"It's Sarah, Grandma," Harm said, patting the side of the plane. "Her name is Sarah."
~*~o~*~
"Grandma, let me get that for you."
Sarah Rabb smiled gratefully at her grandson as he swung her duffel bag over his shoulder and took her arm to help her navigate the crowded San Diego airport. Although she wouldn't admit it, Sarah was getting up there in age now, and holiday travel from Pennsylvania to California wasn't the easiest thing for her anymore.
However, with typical Rabb stubbornness, she had insisted on coming to La Jolla for Christmas.
"I'm not going to miss my only grandson's wedding," she had said determinedly, "and if that means going to La Jolla for Christmas, then I'm going to La Jolla."
When she and Harm emerged from the airport terminal, Harm scanned the busy parking lot for a familiar car. As if on cue, Mac drove up to the curb, and Harm opened the passenger door to help his grandma into the car.
"Sarah Rabb," he said, flashing his trademark grin that both women knew so well. "Meet Sarah MacKenzie."