Harm:

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER
THE RABBS' RESIDENCE
MCLEAN, VIRGINIA

I think I broke every speed limit across the river from DC.  Sarah scared me on the phone and I spent the entire drive home racking my brain, trying to figure out what the emergency is.  I run through a list of everyone close to us in my head, trying to figure out what's going on.  About the only reassuring thing about her phone call was her insistence that nothing is wrong with the baby, which makes sense.  If something was wrong, wouldn't she want me to go to the hospital and not come home?  I just wish I knew what was going on.

I pull into the garage to find I'm the first one home.  Exhaling a deep breath, I enter my silent house, waiting impatiently for Sarah to come home and explain everything.  I try to keep myself busy as I wait, moving from room to room, picking up the odd piece of paper here, the stray toy there.  As I enter the study, I see the red light blinking on the answering machine as I hear the garage door open, followed shortly by two familiar voices that I shouldn't be hearing, not at this time of the morning.  What is going on here?

"Daddy!  Daddy!" two voices call out as I hear running footsteps in the hall.  I step out of the study just in time to be ambushed by our twin tornadoes.  I kneel down, my arms around my children as words tumble out of their mouths, overlapping so that I can barely understand a word they're saying.  I think I make out something about Mommy and school and car, but I'm not sure.

"Slow down," I insist with a small laugh.  "I can't understand a word you're saying.  One at a time."

They look at each other for a moment and, as if by unspoken agreement, Sarah starts speaking again, "Daddy, what's happened?  Mommy was crying in the car.  Why is Uncle Sergei here?"

My breath catches in my throat as I look up to see my wife and brother standing a few feet away with a woman I don't recognize.  I recall Sergei saying something about a girlfriend he met at Quantico.  But it's the look on my wife's face that especially has my attention.  Her eyes are red, overflowing with tears.  My arms tighten just a little around the twins.  I don't want to hear what she has to say.  I know I don't.

She walks over and puts a hand on a shoulder of each twin as she nervously chews on her lower lip.  I look up at her, afraid to ask what is going on.  "Why don't we go into the living room?" she suggests.

"Sarah?" I ask softly, standing as I take each twin by the hand.  They both look up at me expectantly.  They're young, but they both realize that something is very wrong.  But they have that trust inborn in the young and innocent that Mommy and Daddy will make everything okay.  They haven't had to learn that lesson yet that there are some things that Mommy and Daddy can't fix, no matter how much they may want to.

She shakes her head and turns away from me.  "Let's just go into the living room," she says, motioning in that direction.  I look towards Sergei, but he refuses to look me in the eye, instead focusing on his hand by his side, clasping the hand of the woman with him.

Silently, I follow Sarah to the living room, Sergei and his friend trailing behind me.  Sarah and Matt both tighten their little hands around mine, as if seeking reassurance.  I remember when they were babies and their tiny hands would curl around a single finger, holding tight.  Then they would smile just a little, seemingly content to know that Mommy or Daddy was there and all was right with their world.

Then another memory replays in my mind and something tightens in the pit of my stomach.  I remember standing beside Mom on a long ago Christmas, clinging to her hand as the big men in the blue Navy uniforms told us that Dad was missing.  I looked up at my mother, hoping to see some reassurance in her face that my six-year-old mind was misunderstanding what these men were telling us.  That was the day that the cold, hard reality of life intruded on my childhood and I fear that today is that day for my children.

Numbly, I sit down on the couch, pulling Matt and Sarah into my lap, my arms wrapped tight around their waists.  They both look up at me with wide eyes and I give them a small smile, trying to offer them a comfort I don't really feel.  Sergei and his friend sit on the loveseat, still holding hands while my wife stands behind me, taking a few deep breaths.  Finally, she sits down beside me, one hand on my shoulder while the other plays with our daughter's ponytail.  She looks over at Sergei and then after a moment she looks back at me.

"Sergei came to see me this morning," she begins softly, her sad brown eyes holding my gaze.  I need to look away, unable to stand the pain I see in her eyes, but I can't bring myself to tear my gaze from hers.  "He got a call earlier from June Randall."

I immediately recognize the name and know what this is about.  "Gram?" I ask, my voice almost a whisper.  Slowly, she nods and I swallow, trying to get a handle on the sudden pain in my heart.  I need to be strong.  I have to be.

Sarah can't continue, leaning her head against my shoulder as the tears fall from her eyes.  She loved Gram just as much as if she were her own grandmother.  I kiss the top of her head as Sergei continues, his voice quiet, the slightest hint of a tremor evident, "She said that Gram died in her sleep sometime during the night.  They were supposed to get together this morning to do some Christmas baking and that's when Mrs. Randall found her.  She .... looked very peaceful, Mrs. Randall said."

I nod, not sure what to say as unshed tears sting my eyes.  I look down at Matt and Sarah, both of whom are looking up at me, unable to understand why everyone is so sad.  I'm not sure how to explain this to them.  At just four years old, death has never touched their lives.  Even Jingo, already old when they were born, is still with us, completely blind now and usually content to spend his days lying in his favorite spot in front of the fireplace.  They haven't even learned enough to question yet why they have two grandmothers and only one man to call grandfather.  They don't understand yet why Daddy sometimes goes and talks to the black wall with all the names they can't read yet.

Focused on my children, I barely notice when Sergei and his friend get up and leave the room, understanding that Sarah and I need to be alone to try and explain this to our children.  Sarah lifts her head from my shoulder as she pulls our daughter from my lap onto hers.  "Are you okay?" she asks, smiling through her tears.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak just yet.  I'm trying so hard to hold it together right now so that I can explain this to those too young to really understand.

"Daddy?" Matt asks hesitantly, leaning against my chest.  As I look into his eyes so like mine, I imagine myself, just a little older than he is now, looking to my mother for answers to questions that I didn't quite understand enough to ask.  I try to remember what she said, how she explained to me that my father wasn't coming home.  But I can't remember the words.  All I remember is the smell of her perfume and the feel of her tears against my cheek as she held me to her.

"Something has happened," I say, struggling to put this into words.  This doesn't sound quite right, but this isn't exactly something you can rehearse.  Even though I logical knew it wasn't possible, I think a tiny part of me expected Gram to live forever, to always be here watching over this family.  "You know how we always go up to Gram's for Christmas?  Well, Gram is not going to be there .... "  My voice trails off as two pairs of eyes stare up at me, uncomprehending.  I'm failing miserably at this.  I'm looking up at the ceiling, as if I can find some kind of guidance there, when Sarah steps in.

Her voice is quiet as she continues what I was trying to say, "God puts people on Earth to do something and when he feels they have done what is needed, he calls them back up to Heaven, to be angels to watch over the rest of us.  Well, God has decided that he wanted Gram back with him, to watch over this family from Heaven."

"Gram went to Heaven?" This comes from our daughter, whose head is tucked under her mother's chin, her eyes closed.  I see tears glistening on her cheeks, but I think her crying is a reaction to the sadness of the adults around her.  To four-year-olds, Heaven is probably just another place, like Beallsville or La Jolla or McLean are places.  She confirms this when she asks optimistically, "Can we see Gram when she gets back?"

"Baby," I say sadly, brushing the tears from her cheeks.  She opens her eyes and looks up at me and I wish I could take away the sadness I see in her eyes, in her brother's eyes, in their mother's eyes.  "When people go to Heaven, they don't come back.  They stay there forever."

"Forever," Matt says softly, struggling to understand.  "That's a really long time, isn't it, Daddy?"

"Yes," I reply quietly, "a really long time."

"If Gram won't be coming back," Matt continues, "can we go see her?"

I wish it were that simple.  For all of us, I wish to God it could be that easy.  "Um, someday," I say hesitantly, not really willing to think about the possibility of my children someday dying.   They're way too young for that.  "When God decides it's your time to go to Heaven.  Until then, we just have to remember Gram in our hearts and remember all the fun we've had with her."

"But I want to see Gram," Sarah says insistently, a little pout on her face.  "I made her a picture for Christmas that I have to give her."

"I'm sorry."  This comes from her mother as she rocks Sarah gently in her arms, her own tears falling freely.  "I wish we could all see Gram, but we can't anymore, not until we go to Heaven.  But we can take your picture to the funeral and it can go to Heaven with her."  I have to smile a little at that idea.

"What's a funeral?" Matt asks.  "Can she take my present to Heaven with her, too?"

"Um, a funeral is like church," Sarah tries to explain.  Both children nod at this, familiar with church.  At least there is something that makes sense to them in all of this.  "Everyone who loves Gram gathers to say goodbye to her.  And yes, Matt, your present can go, too."

"Good," he says.  He looks up at us, from one to the other, then asks, "Can we go play?"

I nod as I give him a quick squeeze and kiss on the forehead before he can slide off my lap.  I lean over as my daughter holds her arms out to me, wanting her own kiss.  I oblige her and she slides off her mother's lap, taking off upstairs after her brother.  I look over at Sarah as she takes my hands in hers.

"I wish it could be that easy," I say quietly, referring to the twins as I look down at our entwined hands.

She nods.  "I know what you mean," she agrees.  I can feel her eyes on me for a long moment and she finally asks, "How are you doing?"

"I'm okay," I insist.  I need to focus on something besides the pain I'm feeling.  "Do Mom and Dad know yet?"

"No," she replies, tightening her fingers around mine.  I look up at her as she explains, "Sergei told Mrs. Randall that he would call, but he hasn't yet.  He wanted to let them sleep a little longer before .... "

"I understand," I say as her voice trails off.  I look up at the clock on the wall and calculate the time in California.  It's just after seven there and Dad should be up.  He's usually an early riser, even in retirement.  I reach for the phone as I go on, "What about your mother and Uncle Matt?  And we should probably call Martha so that she can let Chloe know.  And Sergei will probably want to call his mother in Russia.  And Keeter, I should see if I can get him .... "

"Harm, slow down a minute," Sarah says insistently, taking the phone from my hand and setting it down on the coffee table.  Her fingers massage my hands gently.  "It's not going to hurt anything to take a few moments to breathe.  We'll call your parents and my mother and Uncle Matt and Martha in a few minutes.  I talked to Carolyn before I left JAG and she's going to take care of talking to Keeter.  But please, just take a moment and let me hold you."  She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling my head down to rest against her chest.  I breathe deeply as I close my eyes and allow myself to forget for just a moment everything but her comforting embrace.

"I'm okay," I insist after a moment, but I don't pull away.  I'm not ready to yet. 

"I know you are," she says, not quite convincingly.  I know her too well, just as well as she knows me.  After nearly a decade, we usually know when the other is hurting without a word being said.  "But just let me hold you for a few minutes.  I need to hold you."

I nod as a single tear falls from my closed eyes.  I do need to be held.  I also need someone to tell me that it will be okay, but I know that is something I won't hear right now.

Part 4 - Trish