The Next Conflicting Phase
Part Eighteen
It had been after midnight before they turned in for the night, and they were up again bright and early the next morning so that Trish could accompany Mac to her doctor�s appointment. Mac had tried to get her to stay behind and relax, but Trish wouldn�t hear of it. She had flatly declared that she didn�t care how long or boring Mac�s appointment was going to be, she was determined to be right by her side the whole time. It was becoming quite obvious to Mac that while Harm had inherited a lot of his traits from his father, he had gotten a few things from his mother as well, specifically her stubbornness and determination. And Mac didn�t really mind; it was somewhat comforting to have a living, breathing reminder of Harm accompanying her to the doctor. The only thing better would have been having Harm there himself. Unfortunately, she had to settle for a short but loving early morning phone call wishing her luck and promising to call back in the evening to hear how the appointment had gone.
This appointment was her radiation simulation, when they planned out exactly where they were going to direct the machines for the best treatment, and it had been boring as hell. She�d had to lie there for almost three hours while they created a mold for her to fit into for all of her subsequent treatments, positioned and repositioned the equipment to determine all the correct angles, and then tattooed the boundaries around the treatment area with little blue dots. It had been long and uncomfortable, and she�d spent the last forty-five minutes having to go to the bathroom, only to be reminded that there were no �potty breaks�. The only thing that had kept her from reaching out and decking the overly perky technician was the fact that, because this was just a simulation, Trish had been allowed in to keep her company. Mac didn�t know what she would do once the actual treatments began and she had to deal with the woman by herself.
The whole experience was frustrating, so by the time the appointment was over, Mac was hungry, tired, anxious, and grouchy. Trish had offered to take her home so she could take a nap, but Mac had refused. As tired as she was physically, her mind was too keyed up to let her get any sleep. She told Trish what she really needed was something to take her mind off of everything for a little while, and Trish had immediately suggested a shopping excursion. Nordstrom�s was having their semi-annual sale, and the thought of being able to try on endless pairs of shoes without worrying about how bored Harm was getting was very appealing to Mac. So, after stopping to get a quick bite to eat, the two women had headed to Pentagon City.
Now Mac was standing in front of a mirror in the shoe department, turning her foot this way and that with a hesitant frown. She looked over to where Trish was patiently sitting nearby, and shrugged helplessly. �I just don�t know.�
�Don�t know what?� Trish shook her head with an exasperated sigh. �Sarah, the shoes are gorgeous, very flattering, and you say they�re comfortable. Why wouldn�t you buy them?�
Mac turned back to face the mirror. �They�re just so expensive,� she sighed, �even on sale.� She slipped the shoes off and picked them up, staring at them with a mixture of longing and resignation. �And I don�t have anything to wear them with.�
�Is that all?� Trish laughed, and reached into her purse. Digging out her wallet, she flipped through the various credit cards until she found the one she was searching for. Pulling it out with a flourish, she waved the Nordstrom�s card in Mac�s face. �This, my darling, can more than afford those shoes and an outfit to go with them.�
�No, Trish,� Mac objected immediately, �that�s too much. I couldn�t let you do that.�
�Let me?� Trish said, arching an eyebrow at her before turning and motioning for the salesclerk hovering nearby. �Darling, I�d like to see you try and stop me.�
�We�ll take those,� she said, pointing to the red sandals in Mac�s hands. Reaching underneath the chair, she pulled out three more boxes containing shoes that Mac had loved but rejected as being too expensive, and handed them to the ecstatic clerk. �And these, too.�
�Trish!� Mac protested, just before the clerk came over and plucked the sandals out of her hands. She watched helplessly as the woman gathered up the rest of the boxes and scurried over to the counter to get them rung up before Mac could stop her. Trish followed behind her, and Mac quickly pulled her own shoes on, hoping to catch up to them before Trish had a chance to pay for anything. But by the time she made it over to the counter with her own purse, the sales clerk was already handing the card back to Trish, who slipped it back into her purse with a smug little grin.
Trish couldn�t help but laugh at the dismayed look on Mac�s face when she realized that the shoes were already paid for. She was actually feeling quite proud of herself; it wasn�t everyone who could say they outmaneuvered a marine. But Trish had seen enough in the past twenty-four hours, not to mention everything she�d heard from Harm over the years, to know that the only way to get Mac to accept something like this was to not give her any choice in the matter.
Tucking the receipt in her purse and taking the bag full of shoes from the clerk, Trish walked over to where Mac was sitting and sulking. Smiling unrepentantly, she held out the bag, but Mac crossed her arms over her chest and refused to take it.
�It�s too much, Trish.�
�It�s not nearly enough,� Trish countered. She held out the bag again, but Mac stubbornly shook her head. Trish sighed and took a seat next to her, setting the bag on the floor at her feet.
�Sarah,� she said softly, taking Mac�s hand in hers, �I know that you�re not used to this, but please believe me when I tell you that I want to do this. I�ve waited a long time to have someone to take shopping and buy nice things for, and it would make me happy if you�d let me spoil you.� She squeezed Mac�s hand and smiled hopefully. �Just a little bit?�
Mac looked at her solemnly for a moment, and Trish was about to start coming up with another argument when she saw the tension in Mac�s shoulders ease and she knew she had won, at least this round.
�Well, maybe just a little bit,� Mac finally conceded with a small, shy smile. Then she pulled her hand from Trish�s and pointed one finger warningly at her as she added sternly, �But you have to let me take you to dinner tonight. Someplace nice.�
Trish nodded, more than willing to concede if it meant she could pull out her credit card a few more times today. �I�ll even order dessert,� she promised solemnly, placing her hand over her heart for emphasis. Then she picked up the bag and held it out, and this time Mac took it. �Now, let�s go find some cute clothes to match your cute shoes.�
�Okay.� Mac stood up, linked her arm with Trish�s and together they headed off to women�s clothing.
Two hours later, they had picked out two blouses, three skirts and a pair of pants, but still couldn�t find anything that went with Mac�s new red sandals. Trish was just about to concede defeat when she saw the perfect dress hanging off to one corner on her way to the register. It was white and red, fun and flirty, and it would highlight every one of Mac�s generous curves.
And that, thought Mac unhappily when she saw the dress, was exactly the problem. She might not have looked at her scar yet, but she knew where it was, and she knew that it would only be partially covered by the dress Trish was holding out to her with such excitement. Trying to hide her dismay, Mac walked up to stand beside Harm�s mother.
�This would be perfect with the red sandals, don�t you think?� she gushed as she held the dress up to Mac�s frame.
�It is beautiful,� Mac agreed hesitantly. And it was beautiful. It was a dress that two months ago she would have willingly surrendered half a paycheck to purchase. But now...�but I think I�d get a little cold.�
�Not if you wear it when you and Harm come out to visit us in La Jolla,� Trish suggested, reminding Mac of the promise she and Harm had made to take some time off early this summer and spend a couple of weeks with Trish and Frank in their sprawling house by the sea. Mac had agreed to the suggestion unthinkingly, not realizing until that moment that summer in California meant tank tops and bathing suits. Just the thought of having to shop for a swimsuit turned her stomach, but she couldn�t tell Trish that, not when she was so looking forward to them visiting.
�Maybe, but...� Mac�s voice trailed off as she searched for another acceptable excuse. Not coming up with anything, she finished lamely, �I don�t think it�ll fit.�
Trish brushed her explanation off with a wave of her hand. �Nonsense. It will fit perfectly.� She pushed the dress into Mac�s hands and nudged her towards the dressing rooms. �Go try it on and you�ll see.�
Mac looked down at the dress. What would it hurt to just try it on? Maybe she was wrong and the dress would cover the scar. And it was a beautiful dress. But what if she tried it on and the scar did show? Mac didn�t think she could handle that right now. Taking a deep breath, she looked back up at Trish and shook her head.
�I�m sorry, Trish,� she apologized, handing the dress back, �but I just don�t think it�s the right dress for me.�
Trish didn�t agree with her, but she wasn�t going to argue about it. Not when Mac was standing before her, biting down on her lower lip with her shoulders slumped a little in defeat, looking so tired and unhappy. Deciding that they�d probably done enough shopping for one day, she hung the dress back on the rack before reaching out and wrapping her arm around Mac�s shoulders, squeezing comfortingly.
�Don�t worry, Sarah. We�ll find the perfect dress eventually.� she reassured her. She led her to the chair placed outside the fitting room. �Why don�t you sit down while I pay for this, and then we should probably call it a day. Neither one of us got much sleep last night, so I think it would be a good idea to head home and get a little rest before you take me out for my very nice dinner.�
Mac managed a wan smile as she nodded silently in agreement, and Trish left her to go pay for the rest of the clothes. When she was finished, they made their way through the crowds and out to the car. The ride home was quiet; Trish tried once or twice to engage Mac in conversation, but quickly figured out that it would be useless. It was obvious that something about the dress had upset her a great deal, and Trish decided to let her have some time to sort through her feelings.
Unfortunately, Mac wasn�t sorting so much as wallowing. The matter of the dress had brought all of the issues of the last month rushing back in an angry torrent, and it was all she could do not to drown in the flood. She felt tired and frustrated and guilty, but most of all, she felt damaged. Damaged by the cancer, and the surgery, and her inability to get past her own insecurities and deal with it all. But it just wasn�t that easy for her. She had thought it would be. When Joe told her she didn�t need a mastectomy, she had been so relieved. Relieved enough to brush aside his warnings about the adjustments that she would still have to make. It wasn�t until that day in the hospital, when Dr. Graves had pulled aside the bandage and examined her that she had fully understood what Joe meant.
She might not have had a mastectomy, but she had still lost part of her breast. And the scar that it left behind wasn�t like the one in her thigh or on her side. Those were, in their own way, war wounds; remnants of battles that she had fought and won. When she looked at those scars, she saw the visible evidence of her own courage and strength. But this time it was different; she knew without even looking at it that she would find no courage in this particular scar. Because this scar, this loss, had a direct link to her past, to a time and an event that she had never spoken of to anyone; not even Harm. One of the last demons of her childhood, she had buried it so deep inside that even now, all these years later, her mind still shied away from its memory.
By the time they pulled up to the house, the chaos of her thoughts and memories had left Mac exhausted and thoroughly depressed. Wanting nothing more than to crawl under the covers and disappear for a few hours, she picked up the bags and informed Trish quietly that she was going to lie down and rest for a while. After making sure that Trish didn�t need anything, she headed upstairs. Placing the bags in the closet, she grabbed one of Harm�s t-shirts to change into before unbuttoning her blouse and dropping it carelessly to the floor. She started to pull the t-shirt on, when she caught a glimpse of blue marring her plain white bra. Looking down, she saw that some of the ink they had used to mark the radiation boundaries had rubbed off and stained the bra. She leaned down and picked up her shirt, and saw the same smudges of blue.
Mac dropped heavily onto the bed, never taking her eyes off the faint blue stain on her blouse. And the more she stared, the angrier she got. Not because of the shirt, she could care less about the shirt, but because of her own cowardice. She had faced war and death, fought stalkers and psychotic poachers and terrorists bent on revenge, only to run in fear from one stupid, insignificant little scar. Well, not anymore.
Vaulting off the bed, Mac reached behind her and yanked at the clasp of her bra as she marched over to the bathroom. She had just stepped inside when the clasp came undone and the straps began to slide off her shoulders, and as she brought her hands back around, one of them brushed against her breast.
The moment her fingers skimmed the edge of the scar, her entire body froze and the familiar mixture of fear and despair tied her stomach in knots. Stumbling back, she fled the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her.
�Damn it!� she swore, tears of frustration pricking her eyes. Falling back against the wall, she slid wearily to the ground and buried her face in her hands, defeated.
Trish had taken the time to check the answering machine in the kitchen to see if Harm had called before following Mac up the stairs. Opening the door to the guest room, she tossed her purse on the bed and prepared herself to take a little nap. But as she moved to close the door behind her, she heard a muffled thump and a curse echoing from the master bedroom. Concerned, she hurried to Mac�s door.
Knocking sharply, she called out, �Mac, are you alright?�
�Yes,� Mac answered, but her tone was weak and unconvincing. When Trish heard her sniffle, she became even more concerned and knocked again.
�Sarah, can I come in please?� She waited impatiently for Mac to answer, and when she did, Trish quickly opened the door and stepped inside. Looking around the room, she was surprised to find Mac sitting on the floor outside her bathroom, clad in nothing but her jeans and a blue-stained bra she held clutched against her chest. Then she realized what the blue was from, and why Mac had been so upset in the store. She had completely forgotten about the scar from the surgery, and how difficult it must be for Mac to look at it, and she berated herself for her own thoughtlessness. She took a step forward, intending to apologize for making things worse, when Mac lifted her head and looked up at her with tear-filled eyes.
�I can�t do it,� she whispered despairingly. �I keep trying, but I can�t look at it, and I can�t touch it, or let Harm...�
She trailed off, blushing furiously at the thought of discussing her and Harm�s sex life with his mother. But while Trish wasn�t exactly keen on the idea herself - knowing that your son had a sex life and actually hearing about it were two different things - she was willing to listen if Mac needed to talk about it.
�Mac, what you�re feeling is perfectly normal,� she reassured her. �I have a dear friend who had a mastectomy a few years ago, and it took her almost a year to feel comfortable enough to...be intimate with her husband.�
Mac shook her head unhappily. �That�s different.�
�Why, because you didn�t lose your entire breast?� Trish countered. �That doesn�t mean you don�t have the right to be upset, Sarah.�
�I know that. But it�s not like I don�t have other scars. Those are different, though.� She turned her head to the window and murmured, �Those weren�t my fault.�
�Neither is this one,� Trish told her insistently. �Sarah, you didn�t ask for this to happen.�
�Yes, I did.�
Mac was still looking out the window when she said it, and her voice was so quiet that Trish thought she had misheard her. But when Mac turned to face her again, Trish realized that she had heard her correctly. Her first instinct was to laugh off the declaration, to point out what an absurd idea that was; after all, no one could ask to get cancer. But something about the look in Mac�s eyes told Trish that absurd or not, Mac really believed that something she had said or done had caused her cancer.
Trish walked over to the bed and sat down. Leaning forward, she looked down at Mac, still huddled on the floor, and half ordered, half pleaded, �Sarah, talk to me.�
Mac didn�t want to talk, though. Her instinct was to shut down, and she followed it, her eyes darting to the floor as she tried to come up with some acceptable lie or excuse that would get Trish out of the room. But when she looked down, Mac realized that she had been sitting there the whole time with nothing but her flimsy bra covering her chest. Heat suffused her face and neck, and she searched vainly for something to cover her, but there was nothing within arm�s reach. She tried to at least refasten her bra, but couldn�t figure out how to get it secured with one hand while keeping it covering her with the other.
Trish, recognizing her dilemma, noticed Harm�s shirt still lying on the bed where Mac had dropped it. Grabbing it, she stood and headed over to Mac, bunching it up as she went. Kneeling down, she held the shirt out for Mac to put on. She waited until Mac shrugged off her bra and got her arms through before getting it over her head, and then gently pulling it down to cover her, being especially careful of her left side. When she was done, she stood and moved back to the bed to get resituated; oblivious to the amazed and bewildered woman she had left behind her on the floor.
It wasn�t the act of helping her with her shirt that Mac found so overwhelming; it was the total unawareness Trish displayed as she did it. She acted without thought, completely on instinct; as if it was something she had done a thousand times before. And it probably was, Mac realized. For Trish, helping her child, whether that child was four or forty, was nothing less than instinct. It was why she dropped everything and flew across the country on a moment�s notice. It was why she insisted on accompanying Mac to her appointment. And it was why she was sitting now on the bed, waiting patiently for Mac to tell her story; the story that she finally realized that she needed, if not wanted, to tell.
Taking a deep breath, Mac searched for a place to begin. Trish knew the basics of her childhood; her father�s drinking and abuse, her mother�s abandonment and her own subsequent alcoholism, but nothing more than that. Actually, no one in her life had ever known much more than that; not even Harm. She had never known how to talk about it, how to express as an adult all of the painful, chaotic feelings of the child she had been. When she did speak of it, she tended to lay it out like a court case; A led to B, which had a direct bearing on C. Concise, matter-of-fact, and as completely devoid of emotion as possible. It had to be that way, because she knew that she would never be able to ration out anecdotes of her childhood in nice, simple, easy-to-digest portions. The barrier that kept those stories locked away inside her wasn�t a door that could be opened and closed at will; it was a dam that, once collapsed, threatened to drown whoever was in its path. But it was too late to go back now, and all she could do was start talking, and pray that the life she�d built for herself could survive the flood.
�When I was a little girl,� she started out softly, her gaze once again fixed on the window, �I worked very hard to try and be invisible. My goal in life was to get through each day being seen as little as possible, because you can�t hurt what you can�t see. And I got very, very good at not being seen.�
As she spoke, Mac drifted back and let herself remember what it felt like to be that girl. A girl whose only measure of peace was in solitude, whose only safety was in being ignored. And then she remembered what it felt like when that safety was taken away. �Then puberty hit. I was young, barely thirteen. And suddenly it wasn�t so easy to be invisible anymore.�
It had been such a confusing and frightening time for her. None of the girls she knew had developed yet, and they were mercilessly cruel to her for being the first to do so. Then there were the boys, who used to only notice her for as long as it took to shove her aside, but now stared at her constantly. And home was no better. Her father had seen how men looked at her now, and began hurling what became his favorite epithet, calling her his �stupid tramp� daughter. So her mother, in attempt to change her father�s attitude, started dressing her in baggy shirts and bulky sweaters, anything to hide her burgeoning figure. Which seemed to help her father forget, at least for a little while. The problem was that it also helped her forget, and that forgetfulness had exacted a high price.
The sound of Trish shifting on the bed brought her out of her own thoughts and back to the present. Realizing that she was getting too wrapped up in her memories, Mac gathered up every ounce of marine discipline she possessed and used it as a shield to block out her emotions. She couldn�t afford to get caught in that place again. When she felt she had regained some of her control, she continued her story.
�My father had this friend. Just some guy who didn�t like to get drunk alone, really. But when dad was too drunk to get home on his own, the guy would drag him back to the house and dump him on the sofa. Usually my mother helped get him inside, and then he would pass out on the sofa. I was actually glad to see him,� she confessed, a bitter edge to her words, �because it meant that my father was too drunk to raise his voice or his fists at us.�
�But one night, he brought my dad home really late and my mom couldn�t make it down the stairs. She was still in too much pain from the last beating dad gave her,� Mac explained matter-of-factly, studiously avoiding Trish�s sympathetic gaze. �I didn�t want her to get in more trouble for not being there waiting for him, so I went down to help him inside. I was already dressed for bed, but I didn�t think anything of it because the guy never even seemed to notice I was there,� she explained mechanically. The very lack of emotion in her voice sent a shiver of apprehension down Trish�s spine, as she began to suspect where Mac�s story was headed. Praying to God that her suspicions were wrong, she waited for Mac to continue. But the moment she did, Trish realized that her prayers weren�t going to be answered.
�He noticed me this time,� she said flatly. �I could feel him staring at me from the minute I opened the door. So after we got my dad onto the sofa, I tried to get him to leave. But he wouldn�t go; as soon as we got out of the living room, he started walking towards me. I didn�t know what to do, so I just kept backing up until I ran into the wall. Then he had me cornered.�
�That�s when he started telling me how pretty I was, how�sexy,� she choked the word out, and felt her throat try to close in revulsion. She could feel her hands starting to tremble, so she clenched them into fists and held them tightly against her stomach before forcing herself to go on.
�I tried to get away, but he had me trapped. He called me a tease, said I wouldn�t have come down in nothing but my nightshirt if I hadn�t wanted his attention. I tried to tell him that he was wrong, that I was just trying to help my father,� she told Trish, looking directly at her for the first time since she began her story, and Trish�s heart broke at the desperate, pleading look in her eyes, �but he didn�t listen. He just pressed up even closer, and then he took his hands off the wall and put them on me. On my-� she started to stumble over the words, so she pressed hard against her stomach with her fists, pushing them out of her mouth, �on my breasts. He squeezed hard, and I cried out because it hurt, so he reached up with one hand and grabbed hold of my face, and then he kissed me. I tried to turn my head, but he was too strong. I couldn�t get away.�
With every word she spoke, she could feel herself getting drawn into her memories of that night. The way it felt; how hard it was for her to breathe, being trapped against his hulking form with his arousal pressing into her belly and his booze-soaked tongue trying to force its way past her lips. She could still feel the taste of it, and the smell, of the whiskey and the terror and the shame. She had never in her life, not when she was wounded in the woods with that poacher coming near her, not even when she had been trapped in that shack in Paraguay, felt so helplessly afraid and alone as she had that night.
Wrapping her arms around her knees and pulling them tightly to her chest, trapped in her memories, Mac forgot that anyone else was in the room until saw Trish out of the corner of her eye, sliding off the bed onto the floor in front of her. The movement snapped Mac out of the past and back into the present, but she was still shaky enough that she flinched when Trish reached a hand out to her. Her eyes full of sympathy and understanding, Trish immediately pulled her hand back, before asking in the gentlest tone possible, �Sarah, did he rape you?�
Mac trembled at the question, but finally shook her head. �No. He was going to,� she admitted unsteadily, �but then my father yelled for me to come and take off his shoes. That must have scared him, because he pushed away from me and was out the door as fast as he could. And after that, I made sure I was never anywhere near him.�
�Did you ever tell your parents what he�d done?� Trish questioned, although she had already guessed the answer was no. She doubted she would have told them if she had been in Mac�s shoes.
�No,� Mac answered, confirming her suspicions. �My father had already started calling me a tramp and I thought that if I told him, he�d just say I�d proved him right. And I knew that even if I told my mom, she�d never stand up to him, so there wasn�t really any point.�
�I saw him around town sometimes, though,� she told Trish, and her voice was becoming eerily calm as the more she talked, the less she felt. �He watched me, and sometimes he followed me, but I never let him catch me alone again.� She shrugged, her face an expressionless mask. �He moved away not long before my mom left.�
And still she had spent the rest of the time she lived with her father looking over her shoulder to make certain he wasn�t behind her, but Trish didn�t need to know that. She forced herself to focus on what she had been trying to explain in the first place.
�But that night, after he left and my dad passed out again, I went upstairs and locked myself in the bathroom. I just stood there in front of the mirror, staring at myself, at my body.� Trish watched her eyes become unfocused, and knew she was once again seeing that young girl in the mirror. �And I hated what I saw, hated my chest because it made the boys stare at me and the girls pick on me and the men�I hated it so much that I prayed that it would just go away. Told God that I would do anything, pay any price he asked if he would just make my body be the way it used to. Every night for two years I prayed. And it took him twenty years or so, but he finally answered.�
�Then my mother left,� she continued before Trish could argue that point with her, �and my father started drinking that much more. And I stopped praying, and started drinking, too. And the more I drank, the less I cared about whether or not guys were staring at me.� Her voice hardened and became thick with self-loathing. �I wanted them to stare at me. I bought short skirts and tight shirts to make sure of it, because I figured out that the less I wore, the faster I could get a drink. And so what if everyone, up to and including my own father, thought I was a slut.�
She wasn�t, though. Not in the way they meant it; her first time was with Chris. But sometimes, when she�d had too much to drink, or not enough, she would let a guy touch her, let him grope and slobber in exchange for more beer. And then she would go home and stand under a scalding hot shower until she felt herself beginning to sober up before drying off and going to steal a bottle of her father�s vodka, and drinking again until she passed out.
She wished she could do that now, find a bottle and just drink all of the bad memories away. And the pain of that, of knowing that she could still be tempted into throwing her life away for a few drunken moments of forgetfulness, was more than she could take right now.
Unable to go on, Mac dropped her head wearily against her arms. She had hoped that by getting it all out, she would be able to free herself from the vice grip those memories still had on her. But now that it was done, she didn�t feel better; she just felt ashamed. Ashamed of herself for letting that man touch her, for not fighting back or yelling, for not being smart enough to put on a damn bathrobe before she went down to answer the door. It was such a stupid thing to do, but then, what could you expect from Joe Mackenzie�s stupid tramp daughter, of a girl who would use her body to ensure her next drink?
All of the sudden, the weight of it, of the accusations and the rumors, the years� worth of guilt and shame, was so heavy that she didn�t think she could ever lift her head up again. She certainly couldn�t lift it now, couldn�t face the scorn and disgust that she was positive she would see on Trish�s face as she realized how screwed up, how damaged, Mac was. She certainly wouldn�t want to mother her now, a woman so obviously unworthy of her son.
And it was a good thing Mac didn�t look up at that moment, because if she had she would have seen exactly what she feared. Scorn, and disgust, and a rage so great that it left Trish shaking. But despite what Mac believed, none of those things were directed at her. They were directed at the man who had laid his hands on an innocent child. At a father who hurled angry, abusive words at his own daughter. At all those boys who took advantage of a vulnerable young woman. But most of all, Trish�s anger was directed at the mother who had selfishly sacrificed her daughter to save herself, who abandoned her to the monsters she knew were waiting without giving her any idea how to fight them.
Patricia Burnett had never been a violent woman, but right now she thought that if Deanne Mackenzie were standing in front of her at that moment, she would kill her with her bare hands. And she would never regret it. But now wasn�t the time to indulge in murderous fantasies; because she wasn�t Deanne Mackenzie, and she wasn�t going to abandon her daughter to anything, not even herself.
Slowly, gently, like you would approach a wounded animal, Trish closed the last of the gap between them. Leaning back against the wall, she lifted one arm and wrapped it around Mac�s shoulders. Mac immediately tensed up, but Trish didn�t pull away.
�Sarah, look at me. Look at me,� she insisted, reaching out and gently lifting Mac�s face. There was a lot she needed to say to her, but she was going to begin with the statement that had started everything. �Getting cancer is an awful, frightening thing, but it didn�t happen because of anything you did or said. This isn�t a punishment. You didn�t ask for it. And you didn�t deserve it. You didn�t deserve any of it. It�s not your fault, Sarah.�
Mac�s lip began to quiver, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes. She tried to pull away, but Trish just wrapped her other arm around her and drew her close. Pressing a kiss to Mac�s hair in a gesture that reminded her both of Harm, and of her own mother from long ago, Trish repeated softly, �It wasn�t your fault, sweetheart. Not ever.�
And with those words, the last of Mac�s defenses shattered, and she broke down completely in the safety of Trish�s arms. Huge, painful sobs wracked her body as she let go of all the pain and grief she had been holding inside her for so long. Wrapped in a mother�s unconditional love, something she hadn�t known even when she�d had a mother of her own, Mac wept for that young girl she used to be. A child abandoned and abused, who had lost herself so badly for so long that even now, decades later, she was still finding the pieces to put herself back together again.
Gently rocking Mac in her arms, Trish wept for that child, too, and for her son, who had been left with too many scars of his own. But even as she wept, she sent up a prayer of thanks, that those children had managed to grow up into such strong, remarkable adults. Adults who had managed to move beyond their pain and fears and open themselves up to the love they found with each other.
Finally, Mac�s tears slowed, and eventually stopped. Sniffing loudly, she kept her head buried in the crook of Trish�s shoulder and whispered embarrassedly, �I�m sorry.�
�You have nothing to be sorry for,� Trish told her firmly. She loosened her grip and reached one hand up to tilt Mac�s face up just enough for her to see the truth in her eyes. �Sarah, I want you to listen to me. What happened that night was not your fault. You didn�t do anything wrong.�
�But if I hadn�t forgotten to put my bathrobe on-�
�I don�t care if you came down those stairs stark naked,� she insisted angrily, �that man had no right to touch you. You were just a baby, Sarah. I don�t care what you were wearing, or what your body looked like, you were still a child. And no child should ever have to go through that. And if you don�t believe me, put Mattie or your sister Chloe in that situation and then tell me you still think I�m wrong. Tell me you would blame them for what a grown man had done to them.�
�No, I would never blame them,� Mac said vehemently, finally beginning to understand and accept what Trish was saying. She would never blame them, and she would never let them blame themselves. Just the thought of that happening to either Mattie or Chloe was enough to turn her stomach and set her blood boiling. She looked at Trish and added fiercely, �And I would kill the man who tried to hurt them.�
�Of course you would. Because you know that it doesn�t matter if she�s fifteen, or thirteen, or thirty; no man has the right to force himself on a woman.� Trish placed her hands on Mac�s shoulders and gently lifted her up. Placing her hands on either side of Mac�s face, she added meaningfully, �And no man has the right to take advantage of a scared, lonely, vulnerable little girl who�s feeling abandoned and alone, and is coping the only way she knows how. The only way anyone had ever shown her.�
�Sarah, I�m not going to lie to you and tell you that I don�t think you made any mistakes,� Trish told her honestly. �You did make mistakes, but they�re mistakes a lot of people make. And that doesn�t make them bad people; it just makes them human. That�s all. But some of those people never recognize their mistakes, never own up to them and learn from them. You aren�t one of those people. You tried to find your way out, the best way you knew how. And when you were given a better alternative, you took it. You took it, and you made a good life for yourself-and for the people you loved.�
�You still believe that?� she asked Trish hesitantly, �That I can make a good life for your son?�
�You�ve already made a good life for my son, a good life with my son. You�re the best thing that�s ever happened to him, and nothing you�ve told me is going to make me think any differently.� She gave Mac a pointed stare. �And it won�t make Harm think any differently, either.�
Mac blushed and nodded, acknowledging the reprimand in Trish�s words. In her heart, she had always known that he wouldn�t run from her past, but she had let her fears override that knowledge. �I know it won�t. He�s the best thing that ever happened to me, too.� She smiled shyly. �Although his mom comes in a pretty close second.�
�Thank you,� Trish said sincerely, returning her smile. �That�s one of the nicest things anyone�s ever said to me. Now, why don�t you pick up the phone and give the best thing that�s happened to you a call?�
Mac shook her head. �Not yet. Not until I�m calmed down and he can�t tell that I�ve been crying.� She held up a hand to forestall the protest she saw in Trish�s eyes. �I�m going to tell him, Trish. When he gets home, I�m going to tell him everything I told you and we�re going to have a nice long conversation.�
�But not until he gets home,� she added firmly. �This is not a conversation we can have when we�re in two separate countries. Especially since, no matter how many times I tell him I�m okay now, he won�t believe me until he can see for himself.� She shook her head resolutely. �I won�t do that to him. I won�t make him worry any more than he already is. He needs to focus on what he�s doing, so he can finish as quickly as possible and come home.�
�Okay,� Trish agreed. She knew her son well enough to know that Mac was right, he would worry no matter what she said, and it would be cruel to make him go through that for no good reason. But just to make sure, �You�ll talk to him when he gets home?�
�Before the first twenty-four hours have passed,� she promised. And then, if their talk went as well as she hoped it would, they would spend the rest of those twenty-four hours doing very little talking. Mac smiled at the thought; for the first time since her surgery, she felt confident that she would be able to make love to Harm without worrying about freezing up. And with that in mind, she decided to take the first step towards that goal.
�I�ll be back in a minute,� she told Trish as she released her and stood up. Taking a deep breath, she turned resolutely and marched into the bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she stood in front of the mirror and grabbed hold of the hem of Harm�s shirt. Hesitating for just a moment, she yanked it over her head. She closed her eyes while she screwed up her courage, and then opened them and looked at her breast for the first time in a month.
The scar was close to two inches long, with that pink raised look that indicated its newness, and it was set in the small indention that was created when they removed the tumor and it�s surrounding tissue. Located a little more than halfway up her breast, the whole thing was surrounded by the little blue tattooed dots that marked her treatment area.
For three minutes and twenty-two seconds, Mac just stared at her breast. It was ugly, she conceded to herself, there was no denying that. But she was surprised to realize that it wasn�t nearly as bad as she had pictured in her head. It would take some time getting used to, and she couldn�t quite bring herself to touch it yet, but she would get over that. Eventually, it would be just another scar.
And she was wrong when she told herself in the car that she would never see courage in this scar. She could already see it. It was a scar of battle, just like the others, visible evidence of her strength. And someday, just like the others, it would be visible evidence of a war she had fought and won.
Feeling more confident than she had in months, she pulled the shirt back on, splashed some water on her face, and went out to call a certain naval Commander and remind him how much she loved him. And to thank him once again for sending his mother to her. Then she was going to drag Trish back over to Pentagon City. She had a dress to try on.
Sunday
Pentagon City
1315 EST
It took less than twenty-four hours for Trish to make good on her promise to take Mac shopping. They had stayed up late the night before, talking and laughing about anything and everything. Mac had been amazed; not only by how much they had in common, but also at how easy it was for her to open up to Trish. Harm�s mother was the kind of mother she had always wished for, warm and funny and kind. She had welcomed Mac into her heart so quickly, and so effortlessly, that Mac couldn�t help but do the same.