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“I’m so sorry,” she cried.
“Mom, you have nothing to be sorry about.” I waved my hands in the air. “All this is my fault. If I’d have been home on time. If I had been more responsible. You all wouldn’t have had to rush to the airport, and Dad and Steven would still be alive, and you wouldn’t be lying in that bed paralyzed.” I broke down and began to sob uncontrollably.
I felt my mom’s fingers move in mine as she shook her head. “Not your fault,” she whispered, causing me to strain to hear her words. A moment later, the nurse walked in. “She moved her fingers,” I said excitedly.
“Don’t get excited, Max. That doesn’t change anything about her paralysis. Sometimes patients have use of a portion of their hands but not their arms. I’ll get the doctor so he can assess your mother’s status.”
“How can you say I’m not to blame?” I shook my head, not understanding why mom wasn’t seeing it as clearly as I was.
“Because you are not.”
“But it was, Mom. My fault, that is. If I had been home. If I wasn’t so irresponsible. If…” My words were cut off when the doctor entered the room.
“That’s a lot of if’s, son,” Dr. Ralston said. “If your mother had the energy, I’m sure she would tell you that no one could have foreseen the actions that caused the tragedy to your family. You can’t blame yourself.”
I looked back to mom. She gently nodded and I knew she was acknowledging what the doctor had said.
“It’s good to see you awake, Meriam. Your boy has been here by your side for weeks, so I’m positive he’d like me to stop talking and get to my examination.”
I patiently waited as Dr. Ralston poked mom, asking her if she felt anything at all. With each shake of her head, my hopes that they had all been wrong about her paralysis were decimated.
Later that evening, as I sat next to mom’s bedside watching the television, mom was finally able to speak a bit more normal. Even in her weak state, she was able to form more complete sentences and hold somewhat of a conversation.
“It would be best if you focused on getting yourself to college and not on me. You can’t let this accident change the plans you’ve had for yourself.”
I had not yet regained control of my emotions. Her simple words had me bawling all over again. I wiped the back of my arm across my nose. “It has changed things, Mom. I’m not going to college; I’ve enlisted and joined the Navy.” She opened her mouth to speak, but I quickly cut her off this time. “Nothing you can say will change my mind. I’ve skated through life being irresponsible, doing what I wanted without caring how it affected others. Now I’m going to learn to be responsible. I’ve got a goal, make it through boot camp and get accepted into BUDS. I’m going to make you proud of me, Mom.”
“Oh, Max, I’m already proud of the man you’ve become. Never doubt that.”
“Then I guess it’s time for me to be proud of myself. Until that happens, I will only bring grief to those around me.”
Chapter Five
Coming Home Is Never Easy
Present Day
The remindersof my past still filled my mind as I boarded a plane headed back to the U.S. They say it’s better to leave the past where it belongs—in the past. I’ve been able to do that over the last seventeen years, so why now had I chosen to recall that moment in time? I couldn’t help but feel uneasy about what I’d find once I arrived home. The oddity of Sawyer’s call and his secretiveness about why he called left me perplexed. In all the years Sawyer has been my handler, he has never been cryptic. Whatever was going on, I sensed it would be an off-the-book op. I raised the sleeve of my shirt and glanced at my watch. Another hour until we touched down in Amsterdam and another three hours before the next flight took off. That gave me plenty of time to connect with Sawyer and get some color on what I should expect once I land.
It was just before one CEST in the afternoon, when I boarded the Air France eight and a half hour flight from Amsterdam back to the U.S. Sawyer was MIA, and I was beginning to worry. I wasn’t fond of the idle time being on a plane forced me to endure. These are the times when I long for the comforts of home. But I’d been blessed these last five years with rarely having any downtime. One assignment always led to another, keeping me occupied with planning another mission.
“Excuse me, sir.” The flight attendant’s voice pulled me back to the here and now. She was stunning—full, supple pink lips that every man dreams of having wrapped around his dick. At first glance, I thought her eyes were grey, but as I looked deeper into them, they were a pale shade of green. Her high cheekbones gave her an elegant beauty look, the kind of woman I’d typically want to drive myself deep inside and pound until she was screaming my name. But not today. Instead, I couldn’t keep my thoughts straight. I had a letter in my carryon above that Sawyer instructed me not to open and an uncertainty of what I would find at home.
“Sir, what can I get for you?” she questioned.
“Double vodka, please. No ice, just the bottles, and a glass.”
“Very good, sir,” she announced as she turned to face the person sitting across the aisle from me but stopped just short of facing the other passenger and turned to me again. “Are you alright, sir? You look a little disheveled.”
“I’m fine. Thank you for asking.” Satisfied with my response, she continued to make her way through first-class, gathering orders from the other passengers. A few minutes later, she appeared at my side again, handing me a glass with no ice and two small bottles of vodka. Twisting the caps off, I emptied the contents of both containers. I stared at the clear liquid as I swirled it around before raising it to my lips and swallowing half the liquid before setting the glass back down on the tray table. I had just over three hours before we landed in Washington. Closing my eyes briefly, I took a deep breath, hoping to quiet my mind by focusing on my breathing. Several minutes later, I began to relax. Reaching for the glass I drank the remainder of the vodka. The small screen in front of me played a James Bond movie. I always found these films comical. They’d rethink the filming if the writers only knew how ludicrous the storyline was from real life.
When the Captain announced we’d be landing in thirty minutes at Dulles Airport, I glanced at my watch again. It was almost seven a.m., right on time. I exited the plane and scanned the mass of people meandering around. It was a habit I’d never break. Danger lurks everywhere. Walking through the airport, I spotted a couple with their two boys, one wearing Mickey Mouse ears, as they exited the walkway and into the concourse, and immediately I recalled the past again. This time I not only grieved the loss of my dad and brother, but I also mourned the loss of my mom, who died a year ago from pneumonia. I reached for my phone and dialed Sawyer’s number. It rang several times and then rolled to voicemail. “Why the hell aren’t you picking up? Call me.”
I made my way to the area set up for private car service. In a black suit stood an elderly white-haired man holding a sign that said,James Bond. Stopping just a few feet shy of him, I spoke. “I’m Mr. Bond.”
“Clever.” The older gentleman, whose name tag read Gene, shook his head before he spoke. “Not the most original name I’ve ever had to write on my board, young man. I pick up at least three James Bonds weekly from this airport.”
I turned and followed behind him. “So, what is the cleverest name you’ve had to write on your board?” I inquired.
