I've had 13 hours so far of that 'rock' glinting in my eyes with another five more to go. The admiral should have warned me about not looking down in addition to not looking back. I know it isn't on the right hand, or the left hand, in this case, but it is still there, larger than life, reminding me of everything I am not. 

Mostly, it reminds me that I am someone Mac will not wait for. I know I can't expect her to. She has to have a life, a good one filled with love and happiness and rocks on her fingers and children in the backyard. I shouldn't expect her to wait for eternity if she couldn't even wait a few days. 

It glimmers like starlight . . . like those in the heavens we stood under on the ferry to the park. Those stars watched me blow everything and they didn't warn me this was coming. Someone or something could have warned me that she was so eager for this . . . for love and rings and weddings. 

I suppose she tried to warn me in a way, but she never told me it was getting so serious between her and Mic. I knew she was in love with Lowne, for that was written all over her face and body. But I can't see it with Mic. She looks down at the ring quickly, not wanting me to catch her peeking at it again. She is excited about it. Would she be this excited if it were from me? Or even more so?

She probably spent last night with him. Judging from that kiss they were engaged in at the airport, I'd say that I'd have to be pretty naive to think they didn't. She was with him while I was with Bud and the admiral at dinner, listening to Bud mumble something as he sipped his meal through a straw. I can't believe it all came down to accidentally breaking his jaw. I can't wait to put this entire trip behind me. 

We haven't said anything about the whole situation on the entire flight. We have said nothing beyond what the normal dictates of politeness calls for. Mac watches some movie on the screen in the seat in front of her or sleeps, but we say nothing.  Of course, it doesn't help that the admiral is in front of us and Bud and Lee are behind us. Now isn't the time or the place to discuss it. It never seems to be the time or place to discuss anything. The other night was the most in depth conversation she and I have had about this topic ever. I tried to escape it, knowing my excuses weren't going to be enough. And everything I said or did drove her to Mic. 

I look out the window at nothing but miles and miles of ocean, wishing I was doing the flying by myself so I could think. When I'm in the air, everything seems to be clear. Now, everything is jumbled. We will be landing in L.A. soon and we still have a long way to go to D.C. I should say something. Anything. But I find I can't. 

******* 

Los Angeles, California

I'm the first to break this silence we have had going for over 14 hours now. Thirteen and a half hours on an airplane sitting close enough that our elbows occasionally bumped without a word beyond 'excuse me' and 'do you need anything while I'm up?'

I find him in a magazine shop near our American Airlines departure gate in LAX, flipping through a magazine while he waits out our layover. His eyes meet mine briefly before he goes back to his U.S. News and World Report. 

"Would you like to grab a cup of coffee or a bite to eat?" I ask, pulling the magazine down so I can see his face. "We have well over an hour until the flight."

"No, thank you. I'm fine," he says, closing the magazine and putting it back on the rack. We stand there amidst the newspapers, magazines and last minute airport gifts, staring at each other now. 

"Are you really fine?" I ask again, putting my hand behind my back right as he tries to take a look down at it. I am so conscious of the feel of the ring on my finger; how the gold band doesn't let my fingers come together just right yet and how it rubs my skin in an unfamiliar but not unpleasant way. 

"A cup of coffee sounds like a good idea," Harm says, avoiding what I just asked. I'll let him get away with it for now but we can't avoid it forever. "Where's the admiral and Bud?"

"Watching Kevin Lee by the gate. He's rather furious, you know, but I hope you nail his ass for what he did," I say, wondering how that one got by Harm in the first place. I think I know the reasons but I hope they aren't true. 

"I plan on it," he says as we step out of the shop into the traffic of the terminal. We walk casually while the rest of the world speeds hurriedly by us trying to make their connecting flight. Harm is in no hurry to discuss anything with me, let alone the ring on my finger. 

We find a small restaurant crowded with people looking for a quick lunch before they get on their economy flight and face just a small bag of peanuts. Harm tells me to find a place to sit down while he goes to the counter to place our order. A table opens up right away, allowing me to observe him. I want to catch him while he doesn't know I'm watching. 

His whole demeanor changes. Perhaps it is the jet lag and the fact that we are all tired, but he looks defeated, as if something has gone seriously wrong. The always squared off Harmon Rabb slumps just a little as he tells the woman at the counter what I requested. He is hurt by my actions, but I was hurt by his. I thought I could wait for him forever, but now I'm not sure. 

He turns and sees me watching and suddenly stands straighter and a plastic smile crosses his face that I know isn't real. I've seen him smile and that isn't it. He pays the cashier and brings our tray over, careful not spill anything. 

Harm slides a tall paper cup of cappuccino in front of me along with a sandwich wrapped in plastic. Sitting across from me, he turns his can of Diet Coke around in his hand but doesn't open it yet. He just plays with it. 

"I figured you might be hungry about now, so I got you a sandwich. Turkey . . . though I'm sure you would have preferred roast beef . . . or even bologna," he jokes as he fidgets with the can some more. I finally take the can of soda from him and go to open it but am stopped with his hand placed on mine. 

I feel his fingers brush across the ring Mic gave me and he slowly turns it so the stone is straight on my finger and not leaning over to the side. 

"I didn't say yes, Harm," I say softly, my heart dying for him to say something. Anything. I wish it was his ring. Then it would be on my left hand, not sitting in purgatory on my right hand, waiting for me to make up my mind. Waiting for *him* to make up his mind. 

"I just don't want you to get hurt," he says, his voice so low it melts my insides. He takes my hand in his and squeezes it, ignoring the fact that another man's ring is there. 

"Mic won't hurt me," I add, wanting to pull my hand away because of that comment, but finding I am unable to. 

"No, Mac . . . Sarah, I don't want to hurt you. I want to be your friend. I don't want to throw that away too soon," he says, his blue-green eyes focused on me with that same intensity I saw the other night. They are confusing me . . . he's confusing me. 

"Harm, to be honest, you would hurt me a whole lot less if you wanted more."

"What makes you think I don't want more?" he asks, finally letting go of my hand. I can still feel his warmth, each inch of my skin burning where we made contact. 

"Do you want more today? Or in five years or ten years? When do you want more, Harm?" I ask, confronting him. He sits back in his chair and doesn't answer. Instead, he crosses his arms on his chest, attempting to hide again. "That's what I thought."

"Will you be happy with him?" he asks, looking away, allowing me to think again.

"I think so. He loves me and isn't afraid to tell me. He's willing to give it all up for me. I think . . ." I start to answer, but he interrupts me. 

"Do you love him, Mac?" he asks, turning to look at me again. Does he want the truth or not? Do I even know what the truth is anymore? 

"I feel . . . I care for Mic a lot . . ."

"But do you love him?" Harm asks, matching his court room intensity perfectly. 

"Don't ever ask something you don't already know the answer to, Harm," I remind him as I take a sip of my coffee and begin to unwrap my sandwich. 

"Oh, I know the answer. But do you?"

I look at him squarely. He can't do this to me forever, this game he plays. I need more than just a promise for the future. I want something now. 

"Yes, Harm. I love him."

"Then can I do the honors?" he asks, taking both my hands in his once more. 

"What?" I ask, puzzled as he slides the ring off of my right hand and puts it on my left. As if he has the right to make up my mind for me. Yet, a part of me can't help but shiver in awe of the feeling of him sliding that ring on my finger. I allow myself . . . my mind . . . to forget for just a second who's ring it really is, but I snap back to reality quickly. Mic wants to marry me. Not Harm.

"I wish you the best," he says, his voice hollow now. It was his own damn choice. I can't . . .  I won't feel sorry for him now. But why am I feeling sorry for me? His face tips up and he drops my hand quickly. I crane my neck around to find the admiral standing behind us, his arms crossed in front of him, looking rather disappointed. 

"Bad news, people. Both Dulles and National are canceling flights due to the weather. Welcome back to winter," Admiral Chewidden says with a slight chuckle. "Looks like we get a break from it for one more night."

"What about the prisoner, sir?" I ask. I just really wanted to get home at this point. Away from Harm and my mixed up feelings. 

"Marine Corps Air Station Miramar is going to take him into custody. They'll make sure he gets a . . .  comfortable flight to D.C.," the admiral says, trying to hide his disgust for Lee but failing. 

"And what are we supposed to do?" Harm asks. He is starting to look worn down and tired and I'm sure he wants to get home as badly as I do. 

"Well, either we can all catch the next shuttle to San Diego and then on to Miramar and catch the next hop they have available to D.C. or we can stay here in L.A. and hope that the weather breaks and that American Airlines can get us on even though they will be back-logged and over-booked by then," he says and I look away from him. 

"We are all going to Miramar, sir?" I ask, watching Harm. 

"Would seem that way, Colonel. The flight leaves in half an hour from gate 14.  Someone from Miramar will meet us in San Diego. We will be waiting for the two of you there," he says.

"Aye, aye, sir," Harm and I both respond as the admiral walks away. 

"Looks like you get another night to continue thawing out, Colonel," Harm says, finally popping open his soda and taking a sip. 

"Yeah. Looks like I do."

****************

La Jolla, California

"Harm! It's so good to see you again!" Mom says as she pulls me through the front door and into the living room. There is a houseful of people I don't know and they all quiet down to look at me. 

"Mom, I'm sorry. I should have called first . . . I didn't know you were having a party. I can go . . ." I say, backing up and out of the room. 

Already, I feel out of place standing here in my uniform with my flight bag over my shoulder. The room is filled with people dressed in summer clothes, sipping drinks and sharing appetizers. I can tell they are people with money, just like Mom and Frank. 

"Don't be silly, Harm. They are just supporters of the gallery and some friends of Frank's. You come first," she says, leaning in to whisper that last part.

"Harm! Good to see you!" Frank says. He takes my hand in his and gives it a hearty shake before taking my bag from me. "Are you spending the night?"

"Good to see you, too, Frank. Only if you have room. If not, I can get a room on Miramar . . ." I start to say but both Mom and Frank squelch that idea. 

Mom quiets the room down again and they all fall in a circle around her, smiling like people without a care in the world. All eyes are on her as she introduces me. 

"Everyone . . . I'd like you all to meet my son, Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr. . . . but you can call him Harm, I'm sure," she adds with a pleasant laugh. 

"Do we have to salute you?" a man calls from behind me and I turn around quickly but can't tell who asked. 

"If you want to," I respond to no one and finally he steps out of the circle of people. He's a man about Frank's age and he takes my hand in his. He's a great deal shorter than I am, but he is dressed nicely.

"Nice to finally meet you. I'm Arnold Baye. Call me Arnie. I work with your mother at the gallery, doing the books, and she's always talking about you," he says, pulling me away from Mom. I watch as my mother gives me a smile and then goes back to mingling with the party guests.

 "She does?" I ask, surprised. I haven't seen Mom for a while. Actually, ever since Christmas Eve, I've been avoiding even talking to her. I look down at this man leading me away and I can't figure out what he is doing. 

"Of course she does. Her hot shot attorney son who flies fighter jets just like his old man used to. But right now, your mom is trying to raise money for the gallery and really doesn't need to be disturbed . . ."

"What!" I say, shocked that this man would be shooing me off like this. Besides, Frank has plenty of money. His pension plans bring in more than I make working. "Why would Mom need money for the gallery?"

"Harm, that is what I would like to know. Maybe she will tell you. She won't tell me why we seem to be in the hole month after month. She's afraid to go to Frank and ask for more money and I'm guessing she hasn't mentioned it to you," Arnie says, leading me to the backyard. 

"No. I've been busy . . . and out of the country for a while. Actually, I'm just on a layover on my way back to D.C. and thought I'd visit. But I'll ask her tonight after everybody has gone," I say, looking back at the house. 

By the time we got to San Diego and I decided to just rent a car and come out here, I think it was already mid-afternoon. No one had any clue as to when we'd be able to fly into D.C. The latest weather reports were predicting another eight inches of snow tonight. The admiral gave me permission to come see my mother since I was this close and Mac just watched me walk off without saying a word. I noticed she hadn't put her ring back on her right hand, either. I thought it would be better this way, to just get away for the afternoon until I ran into Arnie here. 

I just wanted a break from it all, not one more problem piled on. I sit down on one of the deck chairs and watch the ocean. Arnie paces behind me like a nervous rat at a testing lab. 

"Would you just tell your mother that she can trust me with anything?" he requests and I nod yes. "Well, I better get back in there. I'll send your mother out when she's available." 

"Thanks," I say, watching him go back into the house. Well, at least I can relax for just a few minutes. Yeah, relax, sit and think. 

************

Marine Corps Air Station Miramar 
Base Housing

"Sarah, is that you? You look fantastic!" Rachel says, reaching her hands out for mine. I place them in hers and she notices my ring. "Oh my God! You got engaged?"

I don't know whether to say yes or no. I just smile as she admires the ring.

Rachel Ashbury and I were stationed together in Okinawa years ago. Then she got married to another jarhead, didn't reenlist and is now a happy and incredibly pregnant housewife living in base housing on Miramar. Rachel was always so attractive. Petite and blond with expressive brown eyes and hands that go as fast as she talks. She is still attractive, just so very round. And now her hands spend most of her time on her belly.

"I'm glad you had some time, Rachel. It has been a while," I say, as she leads me to the front door of her house. 

"Time? What is that?" she jokes as she invites me in to what looks like the equivalent of an industrial accident in a toy store. I think she has three kids already and now one more on the way. One of them, a boy with dark hair goes flying by, a half naked little girl right on his six . . . uh, right behind him. 

"Joseph Jr.! Ariel! Get in your rooms right now! And Ariel, put your clothes back on," Rachel instructs with a heavy sigh, sounding like she's said those same words a million times today. Some children's program is blaring on the TV set but no one seems to notice but me. 

"So, how is everything?" I ask, and she just laughs. I watch as she struggles to sit in a rocking chair and when she is finally down, she puts her feet up on the ottoman in front of her. 

"Everything is okay. Joe is doing well here. Much happier than he was overseas. And I am apparently doing well," she says unconvincingly, rubbing her rounded belly. The children come running through again, only this time, there's another one with them and he's crying loudly. Rachel seems to be able to ignore it with ease. "So, Sarah, who's the ring from? The aviator you told me about before?" 

Ouch. I forgot about that. She's never met Harm, but I stopped by to visit her once before when we were out on Miramar and I told her about him. I didn't think I made it sound like anything more than him being my partner.

"Oh, no, not Harm. His name is Mic Brumby and he's a lawyer with the Royal Australian Navy," I say, looking down at my ring. 

"Australia? Well, that will make being in JAG a little difficult, won't it?" she asks, finally struggling to reach for the remote control and silencing the noise coming from some singing animals on TV. 

"We haven't made any decisions yet. I haven't even told him yes, actually. I had it on my right hand . . . like a friendship ring, but Harm moved it over . . ." I start to say but am interrupted by another pass of screaming children. This time all three are crying. 

"Stop it now!" Rachel yells and they all cower out of the room, still crying but louder now. That unborn baby is probably going to be born with a nervous tremor from all the noise and yelling in here. "Someone else put it on your finger? Sarah, are you sure about this engagement?"

"Yes, I'm sure," I answer with the best smile I can muster up. I've only been here for a few minutes and already I'm getting a headache. I've always wanted all of this. The house. The clamoring kids with another on the way. And I want it now. That is the point of all this, isn't it? The point to not waiting forever for someone? I don't want this to pass me by. I'm not getting any younger, I keep telling myself. I can't wait forever or else I won't have a chance . . .

Someone small lets loose a blood-curdling scream from the other side of the house. With an exasperated sigh, Rachel drags herself out of the rocking chair and waddles off down the hall to referee the latest fight. She is back in a few minutes and settling herself down in the chair again. 

"Two people wanted to be Anakin Skywalker at the same time. Poor things. Wait until they find out he grows up to be Darth Vader," Rachel says with a laugh. She looks at me seriously then, preening her belly with her hands like a mother cat does with her tongue. "Sarah, let me tell you something. Don't get into all of this unless you really love him. It won't work otherwise. It takes two to do this right. . .  I think you understand that well enough . . . two parents who love each other enough to go through the insanity and come out sane on the other side. Just make sure you love him before you jump off that bridge. Once you have children together, it is for eternity. You can't go back and undo them. You are tied for life through them."

I can do nothing but sit and nod. Yes, eternity. 

***********

La Jolla, California

"So, what brings you out here?" Mom asks, placing her hand on my shoulder and waking me up from my light nap. 

"I was on my way home from Australia and I thought I'd stop by and see you and Frank," I say, watching her walk around me and sit down on the opposite side of the table. 

"So, both Dulles and National are snowed in . . . and so is Andrews Air Force Base, which is why you were in Miramar . . . or is it North Island?" Mom asks. 

"Miramar . . . and if we weren't transporting home a prisoner, I would have stopped by anyway . . ." I start to say.

"We?" she asks, getting to the inevitable 'Mom' questions. She sits forward, waiting for me to explain further. Frank walks down to the patio, carrying a tray with a pitcher of iced tea, a bowl of sugar and two glasses. He places a glass in front of each of us, pours and excuses himself, explaining that he has some business to take care of but he will be back out in a few minutes. 

"We meaning Admiral Chegwidden, Lt. Roberts, Col. MacKenzie and myself . . ."

"You and Mac were in Australia together?" she asks, her demeanor changing entirely. She doesn't seem as nervous as she did with her friends. Now she is focusing on me and my life. 

"Mom . . ."

"Anything interesting happen that I should know about?" she asks, her voice piqued with curiosity. 

"Mac got engaged," I say, and she settles back into her seat, watching me closely. Mom folds her hands neatly on her lap and fiddles around with her perfectly manicured nails. 

"I'm assuming this isn't your subtle way of telling me that I'm going to have a daughter-in-law, is it?" she asks. I watch as she pours some sugar into her iced tea and stirs it into a little sugar cloud at the bottom of the tall glass. 

"No, Mom. Not to me. She is engaged to a lawyer in the Royal Australian Navy . . . I don't think they worked out all the particulars yet . . . I'm not even sure she loves him yet," I say, listening to her clank her tea spoon on the side of the glass.

"Oh, really?" she asks, her voice filled with hope again. 

"Really. Mom, what is this Arnie is telling me about you needing money for the gallery? Did something happen?" I ask, and she looks away from me. Her hands begin to fidget again and I can tell something is wrong. She wipes the condensation from the outside of her glass, playing with the water. 

"Nothing happened, Harmon. I just want to have some variety in my showings and for that I need more cash flow. I've asked Frank for enough . . ." she starts, but she doesn't sound thoroughly convincing.

 "Is that all?" I ask, knowing that now she is going to smile at me and tell me  . . .

"Yes. That's all," she says, an artificial smile lighting up her face. "No great mystery or secret. I have no idea why Arnie swept you away from the party. My guests were all curious about you and I would have liked you to have met some of them."

"I'm sure they will survive. I'm not great company right now anyway, Mom," I say. I pick up my iced tea and drink it unsweetened. 

"What's wrong, Harm? With as many years as you've been dodging Mac, I thought you'd be happier about this," Mom says, a real smile on her face now. 

"I haven't been dodging Mac!" I exclaim, spilling some tea down the front of my uniform. Mom stands up and dabs at it just like a mom even though I brush her hand away. 

"Rose can clean that up for you tonight. I imagine you have clothes to change into suitable for the weather, considering you just came from Australia?" Mom asks and I nod 'yes.' I didn't have a lot of time for recreation in Australia. Not as much time as other people did. 

"I have other clothes," I say. She sits back down, folding up the damp napkin and placing it on the table. 

"So, if it isn't Mac, what is the problem?" she asks, pouring herself more tea. 

"I don't know, Mom. I guess I was so set on being right . . . set on beating this Australian lawyer . . ."

"Does he have a name?" she asks, interrupting me. 

"Mic. Mic Brumby," I say, my voice sounding more spiteful than I'd want it to. "I was so set on beating Mic, proving that I was better at something that I got a man off who should have been found guilty."

She doesn't say anything or ask anymore questions. Just lets me think about it for a while. I know it isn't all my fault. It isn't my job to prove his innocence. It was Mic's job to prove his guilt. And he almost had him, but I had to go digging for more. I had to beat him. But I was just doing my job. I didn't know Kevin Lee was going to be so sneaky. 

"Why don't you call her, Harm? Invite her here to watch the sunset. Go for a walk on the beach. She is still your friend, isn't she?" Mom asks. She pulls a cell phone out of the pocket of her pantsuit and hands it to me. 

"Yes, she is still my friend," I say, sighing. Before I can turn it on, my own phone rings. I hand Mom's back to her and answer the call. 

"Rabb," I say. It could be someone calling me to let me know when we can fly out of here. 

"Harm, it's Mac. I . . .  um . . . would you like to talk?" she says over the phone and I let out a sigh of relief. Our earlier airport conversation didn't go the way I wanted it to. Or maybe it did. 

"Yes, I'd like to talk. Can you come out to La Jolla . . . and Mac, if you think of it, bring your bikini."

***********

La Jolla Shores

"It's a little cold for a bikini, Harm," I say, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans, trying to warm up. A cool breeze is blowing in from the ocean and it would feel warm had we just not spent a week immersed in summer. 

"Then it is a good thing you didn't wear one," Harm says, tugging at my sweater sleeve. He gives me a nervous smile and I know it will take us a while to thaw from everything that has happened over the last few days. 

"Not this time . . . next time. I promise . . ." I start to say, but he turns away from me to look at the ocean. The sun is beginning to set and it is beautiful. People are lining the shore, waiting for the moment it dips below the horizon, moving on to touch foreign shores. 

"Yeah. When I come to see you and Mic in Australia sometime, I'm sure we can all go to the beach," he says. I watch as he squats down and picks up something in the sand. He studies it carefully, but I can't see what it is. Harm stands up again and sends the tiny piece of debris flying out over the water, his eyes following it until it makes contact with the water. 

"Harm, no decisions have been made yet," I say, feeling the ring back on my right hand. "Contrary to popular belief, nothing is set in stone." 

I look at him, wishing for him to turn and say the words I need to hear. Tell me I'm making a mistake, but not because Mic is a bad person. Tell me I'm making a mistake because *you* need me, Harm. That is what I want to hear. 

I like Mic. He's fun and laid-back. He's not haunted by all the same demons that have possessed Harmon Rabb for all these years. Yet, Mic understands my own demons better than anyone else . . . except the man standing before me. 

He watches the ocean, his eyes following each wave as they come in, sweeping the sand back out with them. They mark our minutes, beating out time against an ancient shore, waiting for us to make a move. Someone has to make a move besides the sun and the sand. 

What is going on behind those eyes of his? Why can't he just tell me what he is so afraid of? What would make him ready?

"I loved her, you know," he says softly, his words almost taken from me by the breeze. He also shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his pants and I watch as he rocks to and fro for a nearly a minute before I say anything. 

"Diane?" I ask, knowing well who he is speaking of. 

"Yes," he simply answers. I stand beside him, waiting for the sun to take its final dip below the sea, to be extinguished by far away waves. 

"I know you did, Harm. But you can't stop living because she is gone. If I stopped living because someone I loved died . . . my life would have been over a long time ago," I say, pulling a hand out of my pockets and wrapping it in the crook of his arm. We stand there together, like the other sunset watchers surrounding us, waiting for something that happens everyday but we still treat it like a miracle. 

"I don't want to lose you and now I'm going to," he says, sounding like a little boy who just lost a puppy. 

Damn him! Can't he just see that this isn't all about him! I pull my arm from his and start walking quickly down the beach, hoping I can find my way back to his mom's house by myself. I will just leave him to his goddamn pity party . . . that is what he wants, that is what he gets. 

I can hear him following me, can hear his feet pounding in the sand, and I know he can catch me easily if he wants to. I don't know if I want him to. I want to just escape with what little bit of dignity I have in this relationship. I start running, the eyes of the people on the beach following me as I try to escape the man I was just standing arm in arm with. 

But what if he doesn't catch me? What if he doesn't stop me from marrying Mic? What if . . . what if so many things. 

Tears spring easily to my eyes and I feel them sting my cheeks. I'm used to running farther than this, but I find I'm out of breath. The ocean air is cold and heavy with salt and I just want to stop and sob. Come on, Sarah, pull it together. 

I feel his hand reach for my elbow, jerking me around to face him. I somehow end up limp as an old doll in his arms and he holds me tight. I am so aware of his arms snaking around me it is as if I've never been in the arms of another man before. 

His mouth comes down to meet mine and it is a kiss filled with more emotion than I've ever felt before. Our tongues explore each other's mouth as if we've done this a million times. I want more. I want everything. He pulls away from me but I can't look at him yet. 

I don't know whether to laugh or cry right now and the former takes over. 

He holds me up as I sob into his chest, soaking his shirt. I'm so embarrassed. This isn't me. I'm not some tearful little school girl in love with someone I can't have. I'm a Marine and a lawyer and a woman.

 And I'm in love with someone who can't tell me they love me back. 

Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand before I look at him, I expect to see some smug grin on his face, but I don't. No, his eyes are moist with tears and if he would just blink, they would spill down his cheeks and land on me. 

"I loved her, Mac . . . and I'm afraid that if I love you like I want to, I'll lose you, too. I've lost everything I've loved. My father. Diane. My career as an aviator. Everything," he says, and we hold on to each other like we are the last people left on earth. 

"You still have your mother, your career in law, friends that I know you love dearly. Harm, nothing will happen to me if you admit that you love me. It's what will happen to me if you don't say it that you should be worried about," I say, pulling back and showing him the ring on my finger. 

"I love you," he says, bending down to kiss me again and this time I can only laugh with happiness. 

****************

La Jolla, California

I don't know how we made it back to my mother's house, but we did. Thank God Mom and Frank are out with friends or I would be dying now.  My body and soul ache for her . . . my heart aches for her and I want her to know it. 

"Where?" she asks, her lips pulling away from mine. 

We are in the back yard, the moon and stars glowing down on upon us. I have my hands up her sweater, feeling the smooth lines of her back. She has on this sweater and nothing else and I can't wait to look. 

"Anywhere," I say, feeling her hands explore my body in turn. I place a line of gentle kisses down her neck and onto her shoulder, her sweater pulled aside. She tastes of the salt air that we are immersed in and my tongue teases across her collar bone. I feel a low moan escape from her throat and the tender sound makes me happy. She's enjoying this and so am I. 

"Harm, this can't be just tonight . . . I don't want that . . ." she says, trying to remain intelligible as I fall to my knees on the grass and raise her sweater up just a little. 

"It won't be . . . that I can promise," I say, dusting her flat stomach with even more kisses. I feel her muscles involuntarily quiver under my touch, and I want to make all of her quiver. I want her and not just for this. Not just because someone else wants her. I've wanted her for a while but have been too afraid to admit it. 

I feel her hand brush across my hair as I pull her sweater up higher. Even though we are outside bathed in soft blue moonlight, she tugs the sweater over her head and tosses it on the lawn. I rock back on my heels and can do nothing but stare at her.  The words 'Is that a request?' travel through my mind, swirling around with the images of her perfect breasts with cinnamon nipples hardened by arousal and the cool night air. 

"Is this what you wanted to see?" she asks slyly, standing there with her arms behind her back. 

"Uh . . ." I say, struggling to find a polite way to admit I have been dying to see them since that day on the beach . . . and before. I reach up to touch them and she backs away. 

"What if your mother comes home?" Mac asks. I'm on my feet and following her as she walks backwards, moving away from me with a teasing smile on her face. 

"If my mother came home and found us making love on her lawn she'd do handsprings over top of us and sing the 'Hallelujah' chorus," I say, and she laughs loudly. A beautiful, happy laugh. And I made her that way. 

I catch up to her and take her in my arms, feeling her breasts pressed against me. Her hands struggle to pull my shirt up and off and I have to move away from her in order for her to finish. Our hands explore the other's body, feeling places we've never allowed ourselves to touch. She is made up of long, gentle planes and curves, so soft overtop of that firmness. 

We both sink to our knees and fall to the grass. Good thing Frank wanted his lawn to feel like a putting green. It is soft and dewy from the night air already. I can feel every drop of moisture on my back, every sensation multiplying in intensity. 

Mac and I become body poetry in motion: arms and hands and mouths all trying to tell a story. I believe the main plot of this tale is love. 

I feel her hands move to my zipper, tugging it down slowly, moving past my already hardened penis. She motions for me to lift my hips and I do, obeying her every command. Somehow she does away with my shoes and now I'm naked, with only Mac's eyes on me. That and a million stars. 

Her tongue darts across my chest, honing in on my nipples, so pointless until she does *that* just so. I never asked her if she spent the night with Mic. Right now, I don't want to know. 

Slowly, teasingly, she skims a fine layer of kisses down my abdomen until she reaches the tip of my cock. Then she kisses that, too. An inhuman combination of a growl and a moan escapes my throat as she wraps her lips around me, pulling me into her mouth. I don't know what to do with the rest of me. It is as if my body forgot what to do with itself and my arms and legs don't know where to go. Everything is focused right where her mouth is and my brain can't process anything else. 

I thrust up into her mouth, and she takes all of me in. Her tongue darts across the tip as she slides her mouth up and down. Her hand snakes in between my legs, stroking my balls in time to the movements of her mouth. 

I want her so badly and her mouth is so incredible that I have to count the stars to prevent myself from coming too quickly. I'm up to almost 100 when I know I can't control it anymore. 

"Mac, I'm going to . . ." I say, trying to warn her, but she doesn't move away. Instead, she takes everything I have into her mouth, her hand wrapping around my shaft, draining me even further. She doesn't stop twirling her tongue around, as if she is lapping ice cream that is melting too quickly on a hot summer day. My body falls into rhythmic tremors as she does this to me and I swear for a second I'm one with those stars. 

Finally, my body quiets down and I'm back on the lawn behind my mother's house again. Mac is resting her head upon my chest, looking content for now. 

"Shall we move this inside?" she asks, turning her head so her chin is resting on her crossed hands. It is getting very cool out here and I can feel it now that I'm covered with a sheen of sweat. 

"It might be a while . . ." I start to say, motioning to my now flaccid penis. "I mean . . . I'm not a kid anymore."

"I wouldn't want you if you were," she says, with a smile. She gets up and gathers our clothes together, handing me my jeans and shoes to slip on while she tugs her sweater over her head. 

I watch her closely, knowing she thinks I'm getting dressed and not staring at her. She slips the ring off of her finger and looks at it with a forlorn expression before sliding it into her pocket. Then she looks at her hands, void of any sign that someone loves her. 

I'll have to fix that.

**********

The guest bedroom that Harm shows me to is bigger than my living room in my apartment. I know that he never could replace his father in Harm's eyes, but Frank always treated his mother well. Not something I could say about my father concerning my mother. 

"I'm sure Mom won't mind if you spend the night. If you would like, I can stay in another room . . . they have plenty," Harm says, locking the door behind us and looking nervous. He is acting like we crossed a line and now he's regretting it. 

"Are you okay with this?" I ask, and he shakes his head with such a slow, sultry yes that I want to kiss him all over again. "Then what is the problem?"

"I just don't want to do anything you don't want to do. I don't want you to feel it is expected of you," he says, placing his hands on his hips. "Besides, this is my mother's house. I didn't know if that would bother you." 

I've waited for him for so long I wouldn't care if this was Buckingham Palace and the Queen of England herself was coming home later. I want him tonight. I want him for eternity. 

"Nothing bothers me now," I say, as I stand in front of him again. I pull my sweater up over my head, kick off my shoes and then pull my jeans down over my hips. I'm wearing nothing but a small black pair of lace panties and Harm licks his lips without even knowing it. I go to the bed and pull down the heavy comforter before climbing in and covering myself up. He strips off his jeans, which is all he is wearing and climbs in on the other side. 

Unlike the lawn, this starts out slow and sweet. Neither of us turns off the lights. I want to see everything from this moment on. I feel his fingers lace around the sides of my panties and pull them down. They are lost now, somewhere in the linen sheets, but I don't care. I'll find them in the morning. 

Harm's hands nudge my thighs apart and when he makes contact *there* for the the first time, I moan something low and primordial. The sound escapes my throat before I can stop it and he smiles. 

"It's okay. Even if they were home, their bedroom is on the other side of the house," he reassures me with a smile. All the while his fingers circle and circle my clit, winding me up like a clock until I'm so tight I'm about ready to spring.

I close my eyes and get lost in just the feelings traveling through my body. Every nerve ending is brittle glass and I want him to shatter me; to send a me spiraling to places I never imagined I'd go with him.

 He grows hard again, even though he said it would take longer than this. His erection presses against my thigh and I want it pressing in other places, too. I want to feel him in me and over me and under me. 

His free hand skims across my breasts . . . the objects of his desire whether he admits it or not. I feel his thumb play with a nipple and it rises to the occasion. Most men always have a fascination with my breasts and I didn't think Harmon Rabb would be an exception. But as long as he keeps up the motion below, I don't care. He moves so he can take a now swollen nipple in his mouth, and he swirls it around and around, tongue quickly darting against it like a cat at a bowl of milk. 

What could that tongue do to me in other places? If I don't find out now, I have plenty of time later. He moves away from my breasts and kisses me again, his mouth so needful. 

"Mac?" he asks in between kisses. "Is it safe . . . I don't have much protection lying around my mother's house."

"It will be fine, Harm. Nothing to worry about," I assure him. He moves away from me slightly, his eyes full of questions. I know what he wants to know. I can read it on his face. "No, nothing happened with Mic the other night. I won't lie. It was headed that way but he said he wanted for me to decide on the engagement first."

"It's none of my business," he says softly. He never breaks the rhythm his hand has going and I find myself wanting to buck my hips against his hand, wanting more than just fingers upon flesh. 

"I just wanted you to know," I say, knowing that it isn't his business. "I just don't anything to stand between us."

"There isn't much between us as it is," he says, smiling at me. 

"No, there isn't," I reply. Harm moves his hand away just long enough for him to maneuver between my thighs. I wrap them around his waist and I can feel his penis brush up against my folds, hitting my clit just right. He thrust like that for a few minutes, the soft skin wrapped over that hardness stimulating me even more. 

"Please . . ." I moan, adjusting my position a little so he can slide inside. I don't want to wait any longer. He moves around and guides himself in, sinking in so slowly that I swear he's teasing me. 

He begins to nudge into me harder, our bodies grinding against the other, and I can't help but gasp with pleasure with each stroke. He moves his hand between us, searching out my clit again. The heat generated between the two of us under this blanket is enough to make us both sweat, our bodies slick now. 

His eyes never break contact with mine, holding on to me in another way. I can read so much in his soft, expressive eyes. I can tell that he loves me, but I've been able to read that for a long time. I'm so close to the edge now that I can't keep mine open for another second. One more thrust, one more touch with his soft fingertips, and I'm there. 

Like that piece of glass I imagined myself earlier, he does shatter me. I unwind and fall to pieces in his arms but he is there to catch me. He puts me back together again, making me whole. But he always has. 

I struggle to catch my breath, opening my eyes to find him watching me intently. He isn't moving or thrusting into my body. Harm is just watching me. 

"You're beautiful," he says softly, stroking my cheek with the edge of this thumb. I don't know what to say in reply, so I thrust my hips again, urging him to move again. 

And he does. Bodies pounding, the room becomes scented of sex and sweat instead of the dried flowers it smelled like when we first came in here. He slows down, as if he is trying to stave off the inevitable, but he fails. 

He is coming into me, hard and fast, his body rocking through a series of soft spasms. Finally he is back with me, wrapped in my arms. 

We watch, trying to gauge how the other is going to react now that this has been done. My heart aches, needing to know what he is going to do or say next. 

But it doesn't need to. 

"I love you, Sarah MacKenzie," he says, pulling me close to him. 

"I love you, too."

**************

I pad softly out into the kitchen, looking for a drink of water. I found a robe from some fancy hotel hanging in the closet and that is all I'm wearing. I'm sure everybody else is asleep. I heard Mom and Frank come home long after Mac was sleeping, the past few days and the traveling finally catching up to her. 

Mom usually goes to bed early so I'm surprised to see her sitting in the kitchen, silently looking over some papers, a cup of coffee in her hands. 

"What are you doing up, Mom?" I ask, standing behind her and rubbing her tense shoulders. The muscles are knotted up from stress. She puts down her coffee and quickly shuffles the papers so I can't see them, hiding them underneath a leather binder. 

"Nothing. Just going over some things," she says, looking up at me. "So, things went well with Mac?"

A knowing smile crosses her face, so different from the look she had on her face when she found out Jen Blankcroft and I had just done the same thing her house all those years ago. 

"Mac and I . . ." I start to say, but she lets me off the hook with a wave of her hand. 

"Sit down," she instructs, as she gets out of her chair. "What do you want? Something to eat? Some coffee?" 

"Water is fine," I say, sitting in the spot next to where she was. Maybe now that I have some good news about Mac, she will open up to me about what is wrong with the gallery's finances. 

She brings me a tall glass of ice water complete with lemon slices and then sits back down. "If you are hungry, Rose has several things in the refrigerator. I can warm something up . . ."

"No, I'm fine. How about you, Mom? What is really happening with the gallery?" I ask, and she avoids my questions. Now I know where I learned that skill. 

"The gallery is fine. Now tell me about Australia," she says, darting from one topic to the next. 

"Mom, I've never known you to be up and worrying over the books in the middle of the night. I've never known you to be afraid to ask Frank for anything . . . or me," I say, wanting for her to open up so badly. "Whatever it is, it can't be that bad."

She watches me closely and smiles, reaching for my hand across the table. I put it in hers and she squeezes mine a few times. 

"You look so much like him, you know," she says nervously. We usually don't discuss Dad much anymore. She went on with her life while I was stuck in my search for him, never really realizing what I was doing to her. 

"I know," I say softly. Is it hard for her, having a son that looks like the man she lost? Or does it somehow soften the pain? I've never asked. Perhaps I'm afraid of the answer. 

"He was a good man. I loved him dearly and cried so hard when . . ." she says, biting her bottom lip at the thought. 

"Mom, I was there. I was crying with you, remember?" I ask, sometimes not sure that she knew there was a little boy hanging onto to her hemline, crying as hard as she was. 

"I remember," she says, smiling anxiously. 

"So what is this is all about, Mom? You can tell me. I'm not that child anymore," I tell her. She doesn't answer right away, but sits and mulls it over. "Tell me, Mom."

"I don't want you to think less of your father. I know what he means to you . . . but I found out some things recently," she starts and stops again. I can tell she is afraid to tell me, afraid of ruining the hero image I have built around my father. She doesn't know that nothing can ruin that. Someone tried at Christmas, but failed. 

"What did you find out?" I ask cautiously. If Jenny Lake would approach me out of the blue, what would keep her from approaching Mom?

"It seems there was another woman," she says, fighting back the tears. Yes, it has been years and she's been remarried for most of them, but it must still hurt. 

"Jenny Lake?" I ask, letting go of her hand now and sitting back in my chair. Her eyes open up wide, surprised that I knew the name. 

"Yes! How did you know that?" she asks, her voice not hiding that surprise at all. 

"She came to me on Christmas Eve, while I was at the Wall. She told me all about it," I say softly. Obviously, nothing stopped her from telling my mother. 

My mom closes her eyes and shakes her head slowly. "She came to me. Told me things about your father that only a wife would know. And she told me that she had his child . . . "

I close my eyes, too. Now that was something she neglected to tell me. No, in the version I heard, she married the bass player and had his children. She never said anything about me having a half-sibling out there and I doubt it is true. 

"No. That isn't what she told me. I don't think it is true. What did she want from you?" I ask, opening my eyes again to look at her. I can see the tension washing from her body as she relates this story to me.

 "Money. She told me that if I didn't pay her she would go and tell you. I didn't want your opinion of your father to change. I know he is your hero and I didn't want her to ruin that," she says, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

"Oh, Mom . . . nothing can change that. Not some woman who may or may not be telling the truth," I tell her, watching her wipe the tears from her eyes. 

I go to her and take her in my arms. "Oh, Harm," she says, and I feel her body shake in my arms as the tears keep flowing. 

"Don't pay her another dime. Let me know where you've been sending the money and I'll take care of it when I get home. Mom, you should have told me," I say, holding on to her. I'm going to find Jenny Lake again and find out the truth one and for all. She can't get away with this. 

"I'm sorry. I just know how much you love him . . ."

"I love you just as much. No, more . . . you're my mom," I tell her and she laughs a little through the tears. 

"Thank you," she says as she pulls away from my hold. She pulls my face down and kisses me on the forehead as if I were still a child. "Now, you get back to bed."

"Yeah," I say with a smile, remembering the warm, soft body I left behind in there. "We'll see you in the morning."

**************

La Jolla Cove, California

"You can leave your top on," Harm whispers into my ear as he slathers me up with sunscreen. 

"I hope so considering it is illegal for me to take it off here," I say, leaning back into him. "Besides, you've had plenty of time to see me topless now."

"I'm well aware of that. Now I know why Mic took you to that beach," he says, wrapping his arms around me. We are both slick with sunscreen and scented like coconuts. It isn't as warm as it was in Australia, but we didn't want this opportunity to pass us by before we had to return to a frozen-over D.C. 

Trisha and Frank have been incredibly nice since I woke up in their house without being invited to stay. Actually, Trish hasn't been able to stop grinning, pleased with the turn of events. To be honest, I haven't been able to stop grinning, either. 

"Did you talk to the admiral today?" I ask, knowing that we are going to have to leave this all behind soon and return to work. I can only hope for snow for so long. 

"He said that he was hoping we'd be able to get a hop to Andrews early this evening. Seems like Washington is going to begin thawing out," he says, sounding as disappointed as I feel. 

I am nestled between his thighs while we sit on the beach blanket, watching the ocean. His mother has been more than willing to let her only son go off and do what he wants instead of visiting with her. Actually, we are supposed to meet them for a late lunch in about two hours. Besides that, there have been no plans and no one said anything when Harm and I turned in early last night. 

"Mac, can I ask you something?" he asks, turning me around in his arms. 

"Yeah. Anything," I say, reaching up to touch his tanned face. We both have melted into something different since we were in D.C. and I love him even more. Harm fumbles around with something behind him and comes up with a ring. 

"You don't have to say yes or no or anything because I know we have a long way to go before we can even decide that. I just want you to wear it so you know I love you," he says, as he slides it on my right hand. I look down at it and find myself giggling. 

"Oh, it's beautiful!" I say, admiring the solitaire set in platinum.

"It was my mom's. The one Dad gave her . . ." he says quietly as he looks at it, too. "She said I could have it but only if I gave it to you." 

"Oh, Harm," I say, moving around so I can kiss him. "Thank you. But if that is the case, then it belongs on this hand."

I slide the precious keepsake off of my right ring finger and slip it on my left. 

"Are you sure?" he asks me, holding my hand in his.

"I've never been more sure about anything in my life."

****************

Marine Corps Air Station 
Miramar flight line

"I hope you enjoyed your extra days in the sun," Admiral Chegwidden says as he walks up to us, eying me carefully. I have gotten more sun here during our three day layover than I did the entire time I was in Australia. Mac's tan is now a deep bronze and any sign of the cold she had before our trip down under is gone. 

Bud mumbles something, his eyes wide as he talks, and Mac just laughs.

 "Yes, Bud. All the women had their tops on there. The beach wasn't quite as nice as Manly Beach, but the company was better," she says, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. She then looks down at the ring on her finger. It is quite different than the one Mic gave her and I'm surprised that nobody has noticed. Or maybe they just aren't saying anything. 

"Thank you for giving me permission to see my mother, Admiral," I say nervously and he merely nods at me. 

"I hope she is doing well," he says, still looking at me. Finally, he looks over to Mac and then down to her hand. 

Someone comes over to tell us that we can get on the plane taking us to Andrews now, and Mac gives me a smile as she goes on ahead of me. Bud follows her mumbling all the way. 

I go to grab my bag but the admiral stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

"Mr. Rabb?" he asks, and I know what is coming next. He wants to know what is going on. I don't blame him. This will effect all of our lives. But I'm not ready to tell him everything yet. Not without Mac. 

"Sir, sometimes it's good to look back. Very good." 

****************

The End