~~~The
Road I’m On~~~
1938 local
Harm’s Apartment
Harm strode into
his apartment with a sigh, welcoming its warm relief from the cold evening
air. He hadn’t planned to be out for as
long as he had been, especially since he had decided to hold off dinner until
after his run. Now, according to his
best guess, it was already past 1930. He
had spent most of his time at the Wall talking with his mother on his cell
phone, only ending it when the battery began to give out.
Tossing his keys on
the counter, Harm had checked the machine for messages and quickly thumbed
through the mail he had brought in with him.
He had briefly given thought to calling Mac, but decided to wait until
after he had a shower. And boy, do I
need one, he thought, picking at the fleece shirt, damp with sweat, as he
headed in the direction of the bedroom.
For the first time
since all this counseling began, he had truly felt it was worth something. He was initially angry with the Admiral for
pushing them into this. But now he was
indebted he had insisted upon it.
Besides beginning to come to terms with his obsession with his father,
he had felt he and Mac were getting to that place in their friendship they had
forgotten existed.
Silently he
promised himself that if things were going to change for the better, it was
going to start with him. Their lives had
become so intertwined, at times he had forgotten where he ended and she
began. “Losing that . . . losing Mac . . . I can’t imagine it and
I hope I don’t ever have to,” he sighed.
He walked through
the bedroom and into the bathroom.
Opening the door to the shower, Harm turned the handle on the faucet,
adjusting the temperature of the water on the hotter side. Nothing felt better after a run than hot,
pulsating water on his tired muscles. He
moved back into the bedroom to get out of his clothes, passing his stereo along
the way. He paused briefly to press the
power button and push ‘shuffle’ on the CD player before stripping off his
clothes.
Harm sauntered back
to the bathroom sans the sweaty clothes which had found a home on the bedroom
floor. The coolness of the air on his
naked form made him crave the warmth of the shower. He slipped inside its confines, closing the
glass door. Eagerly he got under the
cascade of hot water, savoring the tingling of his skin and how alive it made
him feel. He stood there for a few
moments, allowing the heat of the water to permeate his muscles before reaching
for the liquid soap and lathering his body.
After what seemed
like an eternity, Harm reluctantly turned off the water. He opened the door slightly—enough to grab a
towel and keep what was left of the heat and steam behind the glass. He tousled his hair to dry it, ran the towel
over the rest of his body before wrapping it around his waist and stepping out
onto the cool tile floor. Its frigidness
sent a shiver through his body, making him give thought to getting some type of
rug or mat for the floor.
As he went back
into the bedroom, the CD player changed discs, selecting another song. He recognized the tune immediately, as it was
from Sergei’s “3 Doors Down” disc that he had left there—one lasting reminder
of his brother. I’ve gotta get that disc
back to him someday. He’s probably
wondering where he left it, Harm thought as the strains of an electric guitar
filled the room.
“Someday is always
too late,” he said to himself, removing the towel from around his waist, and
using it to catch the remnants of water left on his skin.
After 37 years as
an only child, he had suddenly been thrust into brotherhood with the existence
of Sergei. Once the shock wore off, he
had no trouble stepping into the role of the older sibling, being
overprotective to the point of nearly resigning his commission to ensure his
safety and freedom.
Once Sergei was on
free soil—courtesy of Webb—Harm was eager to fulfill his role as the older
brother. Boy, didn’t I screw that
up. In less than a year, Sergei was back
in
After throwing the
wet towel on the bed, he moved to his dresser to retrieve a pair of boxers and
find something comfortable to lounge in—since he had no real agenda for the
remainder of the evening except to call Mac.
The swell of the music and its accompanying words caught his attentions,
making him listen a little closer.
He said life’s a lot to think about
sometimes
When you keep it all between the lines
Of everything I want and I want to find, one
of these days
Harm stepped into
his boxers, pulling them up over his hips.
The song’s tempo had picked up, and the band’s vocalizations became more
insistent, drawing him deeper into introspection.
What you thought was real in life somehow
steered you wrong
Now you just keep drivin’ tryin’ to find out
where you belong
Isn’t that the
truth, Harm thought. His life had
steered him wrong—chasing after his father’s ghost had driven his life to the
point of distraction, making it part of the blood that coursed through his
veins. Harm was sure that it was born
from never having had closure once his father was gone. He never really did say goodbye to him. Instead, he had clung on to the memory of
him, not wanting him to slip away into that abyss of darkness where unfulfilled
dreams go.
The last real
memory he had was of he and his mother accompanying him to the flightline to
meet the squadron as it took off toward the carrier at sea—away from his
family, away from his son. His obsession
had lead him down roads he was certain most sons didn’t travel. Now he was at this fork in the road—one path
would lead him to his future, the other would lead him back into his past. Which one he chose would impact his life forever.
I know you feel helpless now and I know you
feel alone
That’s the same road, that same road that I
am on.
Harm turned the
volume down on the music to a more acceptable level, finding it was now
impeding his thoughts. He felt his visit
to the Wall this evening was healing, in a way.
Being there, remembering his father, talking to his mother, had helped
him to put into perspective who and what was important in his life—Mom, Frank,
Sergei and of course, Mac. At least now
he knew the task that lie before him—he was the only one who could put his life
into motion again.
Finally deciding on
wearing a robe, Harm returned the wet towel to the bathroom. He ran a comb through his damp hair. Running his hand over his face, he
contemplated ridding himself of the stubble that had crept into his
cheeks. No sense in doing it now, I’ll
only have to do it again in the morning, he mused.
As he went into the
living room, he took the portable phone with him. With a sigh, he settled himself comfortably
on the sofa, putting his bare feet up on the coffee table and crossing them at
the ankle. Checking the time first, he
dialed Mac’s number. I promised her I
would call to let her know I’m all right.
I haven’t made a promise I haven’t kept yet.
****
Five minutes
earlier
Mac’s apartment
After her phone
call to Mic, Mac had finally surrendered to the much needed nap her body had
craved. She had fallen into a dreamless
sleep, for which she was thankful.
Waking up an hour and forty-seven minutes later, she had felt somewhat
relieved she had gotten talking to Mic out of her system. The call didn’t go as well as she had
planned. Well, she didn’t plan, but it
was finished, nonetheless.
Feeling refreshed,
Mac had given thought to finding something to do to pass the time until Harm
would call. She wanted to talk to him,
to make sure he was okay, yet she didn’t want to seem pushy or overprotective
by calling him either. Besides, he had
promised he’d call later—he had never given her any reason to doubt that he
would. Mac had resolved to wait to hear
from him first before jumping to any conclusions about what he might or might
not be doing. Instead, after a quick
bite to eat, Mac had thrown herself into the task of transforming her drawers
from warm weather clothing to cold weather, since the winter season would soon
be upon the city. She made a mental note
to thank the Admiral for the thirty days leave.
It had allowed her the time to accomplish the necessary housekeeping to
put her life into order—the counseling with Harm being paramount.
Mac had been up on
the step stool in her bedroom, retrieving her comforter from the shelf when the
phone rang, its shrill ring startling her.
Intuitively knowing it was Harm, she scurried down, trying to make it
there before the machine picked up.
On the third ring,
Mac grabbed the phone, breathless, “Hello?”
“Hey . . . ,” he
said warmly.
“Hey yourself,
Sailor. I was wondering where you got
to,” she said, brushing strands of her tousled hair out of her face.
“I just got home a
little while ago. You’re out of
breath—did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No—just pulling
out my comforter for the bed. I was up
on the step stool when the phone rang.
Where’ve you been?” Mac asked, moving to the sofa to sit down, tucking
her legs up underneath her.
“I had dozed off on
the sofa after I dropped you off. Then I
went for a run . . . needed to clear my head.
What have you been doing besides dangling from step stools?” he asked
with a chuckle, a smile filling his unshaven face.
“I caught up on a
phone call and then took a nap,” Mac said, biting her lip. The words were out of her mouth before she
had decided that now wasn’t the right time to discuss it. She knew she would eventually tell Harm about
her call to Mic, but decided to save it for a day that was less overwhelming.
“Anybody I know?”
“Uh, yeah. But, I’ll tell you about it later. How are you feeling?” she asked, quickly
switching gears to avoid the “to whom” and “why” discussion of the phone call.
Besides, what Harm needs is my full attention, right now. What he doesn’t need to hear about is the
Life and Times of Mic Brumby.
Harm smiled, and
said, “Best I felt all day.” Hearing her voice warmed him. And it soothed him even more to know she was
concerned about him, cementing the notion that she had truly cared about his
well being.
“I’m happy to hear
that, Harm. You seemed preoccupied when
we left Maddie’s office. I was worried
about you.”
“I won’t lie to
you, Mac. I did think about Dad and
Russia . . . but in a good way,” Harm said with a hint of sadness which Mac
noticed immediately.
“Something
bothering you?” She could tell by the
tone of his voice that he hadn’t just thought about things, he had dwelled on
them for a while. It was all in the tone
of his voice. There was no disguising
it.
“Well . . . not
really . . . when I went on my run, I ended up at the Wall,” Harm replied. He fiddled with the tie on his robe, wrapping
and unwrapping it around his fingers.
This “opening-up” stuff was hard for him.
“Oh,” she said
quietly, hoping that he would be truthful with her about what he’s feeling,
rather than shut the door on his emotions as he had in the past.
“Yeah. I didn’t plan on going there . . . it just
happened.” Harm wasn’t sure how to address it all without sounding like he had
been brooding over it. Okay, well he
had—to some extent. But it was his way
of dealing with things.
“You okay?” Mac
asked in a whisper, apprehensive about how he was coming to terms with the
emotions Maddie’s session had dredged up. The Wall had always been a source of
comfort for him; she didn’t doubt he’d end up there. It just had happened sooner than she thought
it would.
Harm sighed, “I am
now. I called Mom when I was there. We
talked about Dad . . . and Frank. I was
finally able to tell her how her remarrying made me feel.”
“You needed to do
that a long time ago,” Mac said gently, with sincerity evident in her
voice. He was being honest with
her. Instead of finding out things from
him months later, he was opening up to her.
This, in and of itself, was new to him and to her. She wasn’t going to stop him now.
He paused, taking a
deep breath before continuing, “I think I finally understand why she needed to
go on with her life. Sad thing is, most
of my life I didn’t understand it. I let
my obsession control me.” There was a
time when he would have kept such things from Mac. Things were different now. Allowing her to see that he was human wasn’t
the flaw he had thought it was at one time.
Mac’s eyes were
brimming with tears. Hearing Harm speak
openly like this overwhelmed her. Covering the mouthpiece on the phone, she
choked back a sob, not wanting to interrupt him with her tears. She remembered a time when she had challenged
him to let go.
When you look at me that way... what do you
see?
I see.... a desirable woman.
And I see a man who's so afraid of losing control.
Hey, you lose control in my world and you die.
You're not flying a Tomcat now. You don't need that lifeline, let it go before
it becomes a noose.
And he did, he let
it go. Mac closed her eyes and wished
she could reach through the phone and hold him . . . let him know how much she
cares . . . how much she loves him. His
voice, fraught with emotion, pulled her back from her memories.
“I’ve neglected
some things too long, Mac—I regret letting my life go by,” Harm said
reflectively. In the back of his mind,
he knew he wasn’t just talking about his father anymore; he was talking about
her as well. There is so much we had
missed out on, so much lost time, he thought with a sigh.
Finally getting her
emotions under control, Mac spoke, her voice strong and unwavering, "We
crucify ourselves between two thieves—regret for yesterday and fear of
tomorrow," The quotation was something she had read somewhere a while
back. She thought it had fit her life so
well, she had made a point to remember it. Now, it seemed to fit both of them.
“When did you
become so philosophic?” Harm queried with a chuckle. He had always found her intellect to be quite
attractive—she was the whole package—beauty and brains too.
“I’ve always been,
you just hadn’t noticed,” she said, a teasing tone in her voice. It was just the right amount of
lightheartedness the conversation needed right now. A year ago, this conversation would have been
over after “hello”. Maddie would be
proud of us, Mac thought with a smile.
I notice everything
you do, Harm thought before saying teasingly, “Must be all those books . . .”
“Yeah, and if I
remember correctly, you still owe me,” Mac interrupted him, feigning a stern
tone, before falling into gentle laughter.
“Owe you . . .”
Harm thought quizzically until it dawned on him, “Oh! The books I tore in half—yeah I remember
now. Tomorrow we’ll hit Barnes and Noble
on the way home from Maddie’s.”
With all that had
gone on in the past 6 months, he had forgotten about helping her “pack” the two
books she’d been reading on the Seahawk.
Certainly not one of my brightest ideas, he mused.
“We?” Mac asked,
just a little bit of hope creeping into her voice.
“Uh, yeah, I
thought I could pick you up for our session—if you don’t mind,” he hoped he
wasn’t rushing things too much. He had a
knack for scaring her off. He wasn’t
about to do that now.
“I don’t mind—that
would be fine,” Mac paused, considering his suggestion, and then adding, “But I
think breakfast is out.”
“Why?”
“That means you’d
have to be here by 0630 . . .” She had hoped he got what she was implying.
“Yeah, you’re
right. How about after—on the way to
Barnes and Noble?”
“It’s a date,” Mac
said, the words out of her mouth quicker than she could catch them.
“Then it’s a date,”
Harm mimicked her words, his voice warm and inviting, backed with a smile Mac
could hear through the phone.
She felt the blush
creep into her cheeks again. Date—it was
the one word that never found its way into their vocabulary. Even though they had gone out before, it was
never labeled as such. Those “dates” had
always been meals centered on working or preparing for a case, but never a date.
Now the tone of his voice as he said the word gave her butterflies in her
stomach. He was certainly emphasizing it
as it was meant to be, even if it is to go see our shrink . . . and breakfast .
. . and shopping. Harmon Rabb Jr., what
you do to me, she thought, shaking her head.
“Hey . . . you
still there?” Harm jarred Mac back from the daydream she had gotten lost
in. She didn’t realize she had let
silence fall between them, even if it was comfortable.
“Yeah, I’m still
here . . . any plans for the rest of the night?”
“Well, considering
the cupboards are bare, I think take-out is the meal of choice.”
“Any place special
in mind?” Mac asked. Not that she cared
one way or another what he was eating, she just enjoyed hearing his voice so
much she wanted to keep him on the phone.
“Remember that
little Italian place that delivers?”
“Quite well,” Mac
said, recalling her meal from the other night—the same night as Harm’s breaking
and entering routine. It was all rather
cute even if he was being a jackass, she smiled.
“I’ll probably get
something from there. Besides, they have
this cute delivery girl . . .” Harm teased.
Mac laughed,
knowing he was just joking with her, but played along just for the hell of it,
“She’s probably blonde, right?”
“Nah, I’m over
blondes. I’m rather fond of brunettes .
. . in case you’re interested,” he said, half teasing, half serious.
“You’ll never
change, will you, Harm?” Mac said with amusement, not quite catching the
“brunette” comment.
The change is only
the beginning, he thought, continuing to twist the robe with his fingers.
Instead, he said, “You’re funny,” a tender laugh coloring his tone.
“I better let you
go so you can order your take out.”
“So, I’ll pick you
up about 0730?” Harm asked, hoping she’d agree.
“Sounds like a
plan.”
A brief silence
fell between them, neither wanting to end the conversation. Despite the day’s stressors, both were
smiling. For the first time in years,
they knew the direction their lives were headed in, each choosing the road less
traveled.
Harm was the first
to break the silence, “Hey Mac?” he called to her tenderly.
“Yeah?” she
replied, her voice soft.
“About today . . .
thanks.”
“You know I’m here
for you . . .” she began.
“Always,” he
finished.
With that, they
said their goodbyes, each anticipating the day yet to come.