Chapter 21 - Trust

"I didn't read it." But I wanted to. I had the chance to read each and every response Harm had penned during the two days between therapy sessions. I even had his notebook in my hands, ready to tear through each page while Harm was at work.

He didn't take it with him. He never questioned me to know if I'd betrayed his trust. Each night before bed he'd add to his notes, far surpassing the ten pages I'd given him to read. And then he'd kiss me goodnight, wrap his arms around me as we both fell asleep.

McCool tilted her head, studying my expression. It took at second or two for the Commander to come to a simple conclusion, "No you didn't."

"You seem surprised."

"Shocked, actually. I've given the same assignment to six other clients, they all failed." She took the notebook and slid it back my way without looking at the contents. "Ask him if he's willing to let you read it."

I eye the red cover and cringe visibly. "I umm…Ah." As an attorney, I'm usually quite acerbic and was taught over and over that "umm" was not a word. "Umm, I don't think he will."

"He won't or you're too afraid to read it if he allows it?"

"Afraid? Umm-" I weigh that word carefully and calculate its balance in my life. Of late there's much to fear and yes, I do worry what he's written about me or himself. See, we love one another but that fear that I'm not enough keeps rearing its ugly head.

Harm was perfectly content to give me his book. Even smiling when he pressed it into my hand and agreed it was a wonderful kind of therapy. But, I still worry and this "homework" feels worse than advanced trigonometry. "Yes, I am afraid and for many reasons. Doc, I don't want him to be with me because he feels he needs to. I don't want a babysitter, I want a partner and if he can't accept that then…then.. I think I'd have to let him go."

A breath rushes out of me, the whooshing kind that takes us both by surprise. I love Harm, I do but love doesn't mean a thing if he sees me as a waif he needs to care for.

McCool leans in and offers a big smile. "Feels good to remember you're the one in charge of your life?"

"It does, yes…Funny how you forget that all of this can just stop if I want it to." And I have successfully stopped several panic attacks before they crippled my emotional well being. They're less and less frequent. "The mirror exercise does the trick."

When I feel my world start to shift, McCool suggested staring at a mirror and telling the reflection that I'll be okay. Sometimes it just takes one look to stop the skid. Other times I have to repeat the words or even splash water on my face but the episodes are dwindling. I'm healing.

"Has seeing a neurologist helped as well?"

I nod. "It has. We're in a rehab phase, neuromuscular reeducation, a lot of balance work. I'm getting my strength back, feeling like my old self." And I thought I was only tired and that my lack of coordination and physical weakness was due to poor sleep or malnutrition.

My neurologist, Dr. Grau found many hidden issues I didn't know were part of a concussion and put me on a treatment plan to heal each one.

Enjoying that therapy is easy especially when I'm put on a treadmill or a therapist guides me through weighted exercises. They feel familiar and my body badly missed the exhaustion from a good workout. It was a little depressing to start from zero but I was a pro at passing that phase.

"You seem relieved."

"I am. The last time I had to start from zero in the exercise department was eight years ago when I was shot in the leg." Off her surprised expression, I tell McCool about playing hooky, Harm's plane's fuel leak and the tete-a-tete with deranged poachers. She said it sounded like the movie Deliverance and I have to agree.

While the bullet didn't hit bone, I'd bled so much two transfusions were needed and a rather lengthy surgery to repair damaged tissue. Rehab lasted several months until I was able to lift weights or run. I think the worst part was seeing the guilt in Harm's eyes. "He comes up a lot, doesn't he?"

I shrug and then laugh at the idea of him with that flyboy grin if he knew how much I talked about him. "You can't go through most facets of my life without talking about him. He's seen me at my best, my worst and is the best friend I've ever known. He's saved my life and I his…Hell, I found him in the middle of the ocean when he was a thousand miles away. I-"

Words fail me all of a sudden because I'm almost too embarrassed to admit that I believe in fate, kismet and all the corny titles given to define a soulmate. Is Harm mine? Am I his? I really don't know but that connection between us is real and I can't deny it. "Do you believe that we all have that one person made for us?"

"Like a soulmate?" I nod and McCool shrugs slightly. "I am receptive to the idea."

I motion to the picture on her desk, the one of McCool with an attractive African American man in an Air Force uniform - a pilot, how ironic. "You're married, is he your soulmate?"

"I am married and I do love him very much. Is he my soulmate?" She thinks for a moment and then shakes her head. "No. The man that would have fit that bill died of a bad heart in his early twenties."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm not. We had this connection but were horrible together. Nothing clicked and we weren't in love. Andrew, my husband, I love him…Do you understand?"

I think I do and it makes me a little sad. "Don't get hung up in fairytales?"

"Exactly. Read what he wrote and see where that takes you. Good or bad, Colonel, you are here for you not him. You and only you because you can't be partners with someone if you can't trust yourself."