Walking down the concourse of Dulles International Airport, Trish Burnett was confused. Not by the airport or where to go, but by what she was doing in the airport. She had been puzzled ever since Harm's phone call. It had been a week since he called and during that week, aside from making travel plans and provisions for the gallery, resentment had begun to build. Not for Harm, but for the woman who had caused her son so much pain. It had been simmering beneath the surface, she was sure, since Harm had told her that he'd resigned from the Navy to find her and had come back without her and with a broken heart.
He'd never told her exactly what had happened. He'd categorized under the broad catchall of "it's classified," but he'd said enough to let her know that he was unhappy. Logically, she knew that she only had one side of the story, but she felt she was entitled to be biased. He was, after all, her son.
Although they had only met a handful of times during the course of Harm and Mac's partnership, Trish had always liked Sarah Mackenzie. Despite the weight of that precedence, the woman striding through the terminal was prepared to dislike her time in Washington, D.C.. She was here as a favor to her son and that was it. And she wasn't quite certain why Harm had thought she'd be the best person for the job. Didn't Mac have friends? Friends other than her son, who could watch over her and let Harm move on to a happier, healthier life? Apparently not. So here she was, in Washington, getting ready to babysit a woman in her thirties that she couldn't bring herself to like anymore.
It was easy to find her son. Even if the crowd hadn't been thin because of the late hour, he would have stood out. Not just because of his height. There was an air about him. An indefinable air that commanded people to take notice of him. He'd had it all his life as had his father. She looked around the waiting area to see if he'd brought Mac with him, but couldn't see her. Stretching her arm out in front of her, she cried out, "Harm, darling." She reached up to hug her son. "It's good to see you."
"Hi, Mom." He returned the embrace before pulling away. "How was your flight?" He reached out to take her carry-on and started to guide her to the baggage claim area.
"Long." She grimaced a little and put her hand against her stomach. "And bumpy. We hit turbulence somewhere around the middle of the country."
He pulled his face into a sympathetic expression. "I'm sorry. Listen, Mom, thank you so much for coming out here. I really appreciate it."
"And how does Mac feel about it?" Trish asked.
He had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "She, uh..." he stuttered, unsure how to tell his mother about Mac's reaction.
"She doesn't appreciate it, I take it?"
"She thinks I think she needs a babysitter."
"Well, Harm, honestly, how did you think this would be interpreted?" She ran a hand through her hair, frowning when it caught on tangles from her trip. She glanced around the airport again, exaggerating her movements so he would be sure to take notice of what she was doing. "I'm surprised you didn't make her come along."
"She's, uh, she's waiting at the baggage claim."
"Harm," she sighed.
Misinterpreting her sigh, he said defensively, "I didn't make her wait there. She wouldn't come up here. She said we needed time alone."
"Harm," she said patiently, "she's a grown woman. She doesn't need someone to watch her every minute of the day."
"I know that." When she only looked at him, he said, "I do." He sighed as they arrived at the baggage claim area. He stopped walking. "She's not doing well. I need to know that someone I trust is taking care of her."
Trish raised a hand to his face and ran her thumb over his cheek, something she hadn't done since he was a boy and needed comfort. "I'm flattered that you asked, but I really don't see how I can help."
He set her bag down and walked over to the monitors to find Trish's flight number. When he came back, he stuffed his hands into his jeans' pockets. "I guess," he shrugged, "I thought she could use a mother."
Trish smiled at him. She couldn't help it. He looked so uncomfortable and awkward, a look she wasn't used to seeing on him. It reminded her of the way he acted as a little boy when he thought she was unhappy with him. Truthfully, she was unhappy. Not with him, but with the situation, with Mac for causing it, and with herself for being unable to be more sympathetic. "I'm your mother," she reminded him, "not Mac's."
"I know." He flashed her a grin. "But you're a very good mom and who the hell knows where hers is."
Trish let out a resigned sigh and picked up her bags. "Let's get Mac and my luggage."
Mac
was sitting by herself. Had she been standing with the throngs of passengers,
she still would have looked lonely. Her head was angled away from them
and the crowds, so Trish couldn't see her face. But she could see the
rest of her. During the few times that they had met, she'd always walked
away with the image of a pulled together and confidant woman. She had
been lovely, and she probably still was, but the woman leaning against
the low silver railings surrounding the baggage carousel looked nothing
like the woman Trish remembered. She looked smaller and, somehow, crumpled.
Her entire body seemed to have
collapsed in on itself, giving the impression that the only thing keeping
her from sinking under the weight of gravity was the small silver rail.
"I told you it was bad," Harm said in a low voice.
"I
had no idea." Trish looked at her son. "No idea at all."
The resentment began to lessen, but the tension it caused remained. She
cast a quick prayer heavenward that her son would survive this, even if
Sarah Mackenzie did not.