It took three full days but by Monday morning, Terry was right as rain.

“Just what the bloody hell does that mean … right as rain?” he said to his reflection, lathering his face and readying to shave. His brow curled. “I suppose rain is right durin’ rainy season.” He shrugged and poised the razor to swipe stubble and white foam systematically, just like he had since he was a kid wishing there was more to shave. At least, his memories told him that. Whatever, it got his bloody face ship shape and clean.

But before he set blade to skin, he paused, thought. Rinsing his face he took a critical look. Three day stubble was interesting; it added definition to the shape of his face. It wasn’t scraggly yet. He kinda liked the grey speckles under his nose and near his sideburns. He turned right and left, eyeing his profile then ran a wet hand through his hair instead of a comb and shrugged. He’d pick up one of those electric razors designed to keep such stubble neat. He liked the rugged look of it, the way it made him feel slightly reckless, but his staunch military makeup wasn’t quite ready for the Charlie Daniels look. What the hell.

He dressed; light blue shirt, navy jacket, jeans and no tie. Glancing at his watch he realized a lot about him had strangely changed. Not only was it the first time that morning he checked the time, the time was far later than his usual routine. Instead of walking into his office at exactly five-forty, he’d be doing it at nearly eight-thirty. Well, at least the coffee would be already made.

Another alteration; he didn’t take the Porsche. The office was four blocks away; Charlie was another five and the General, two more. The walk home would be pleasant in the evening chill. Even New York City cools down at night in the summer. Besides, that schedule was about to change too. Hell, what else was gonna change? He wondered as he strolled into Thorne & O’Leary, reached for his messages and winked at the receptionist.

Small talk; yes he was well, yes he’d gotten enough rest. He finally sat at his desk with a mug of coffee and a brownie from the box Riley had sent. Breakfast of champions and he grinned.

“Jesus, man. Didn’t think you were coming in today,” Dino strolled in and plopped in a chair. “Forget to shave?” He reached for the cookies.

“You take more than one, I’ll have to break your arm, mate.”

Dino replaced the second and third brownie and chuckled. “You feeling okay?”

“Feelin’ great. You?”

Dino blinked. “I’m not the one …”

“What?” Terry’s brow rose. “Recovering from an irreparable injury? Digging in your mind for emotional stability? Gettin’ over the flu?”

“All the above.” Dino’s eyes became serious. “You don’t talk to me anymore, buddy. How are you? Really?”

“Fucked up, mate … but gettin’ better.”

“I … uh … I kinda never thanked you, did I?”

“For what?” Terry sipped coffee.

Dino shrugged. “I fucked up, you saved my sorry ass. Thank you, Terry.”

“I’m dealing with it, I know you did what you figured was gonna work. Once I got past wanting to kill you myself for mishandling things in China, I started to think maybe it’s time we take a serious look at everything around here.”

“Like?”

“Everything. Gimme a day or two to compile my thoughts, get it clear in my head. Then we’ll discuss it. In the meantime, what’s happening?” He booted up his computer, clacked a few keys. His inbox was empty, itinerary quiet, just the afternoons slated for therapy of two kinds. He drew in a sigh and looked up to his partner, his brow a question mark.

Dino knew that look. He’d been playing guilty protector and megaboss since China, worried over putting too much on Terry’s plate and not putting enough. It was never his intent to take over; it was his only means of making it all up to his best friend. The expression on his partner’s face was one of command and ready. The load would finally shift evenly again. He stepped behind the desk and logged in, displaying the fifteen active, open cases.

“That’s what’s happening. I’ve called a meeting this afternoon to review the progress –”

“Move it to tomorrow afternoon, unless something’s urgent in which case we look at it immediately.”

Yeah, the leader was back. Dino grinned. “No emergencies, so far everything’s running smoothly through the negotiation process. We’re cool. But what about your appointment with Charlie tomorrow afternoon?”

“Set the meeting for two tomorrow.”

“Two it is.” Dino returned to his chair while his partner took a tour through the computer files. He’d need to forward them all soon as he could, making them easily accessible. It felt good knowing he could share the weight again, but it sure as hell wasn’t like Terry to push back or blow off a therapy appointment. Delicate subject, but obviously the man was ready to talk about it. Otherwise he’d have gone all S.A.S. Captain, stating that he had the right to change a meeting. This all new, bearded version of Terry Thorne was intriguing. But how much of the new look and relaxed attitude had to do with a broken spirit? If the physical therapist put an end to the punishment, that meant they’d reached an end to the recovery … and it was far from satisfactory to the Terry he used to know. Was it a good thing or a bad thing? Had Terry accepted it or had it been forced down his throat? Dino shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “So … Charlie calling it a day?”

“No mate. I’m callin’ it a day.” Terry raised his damaged hand and pressed a weak fist. “Time to rethink things, readjust how this place works and use our honed skills to turn it into something more effective and efficient.”

“So … field work?”

“Off my plate, Dino. Way off my plate.”

“Wow,” Dino ran a hand down his chin and groaned. Well, what the hell else did he expect? A miracle? This really did change everything. “I have a suggestion.”

“Shoot,” Terry held the box out to Dino who shook his head. His appetite was gone, even for Vermont brownies.

“We need a new perspective. We’ve got more than adequate staff to handle things here. You and me, we should get a change of scenery; go someplace where we see the whole thing differently.”

“Spain.”

“Huh?”

“Spain. Madrid. I never fuckin’ really seen Madrid.”

Dino shrugged. “I was thinking Caymans, but the Mediterranean might shed a whole new light on the business terrain. When?”

“Let me get a grip on the current activity first, but my thought is we leave by Friday. Least I’m leaving Friday. Already got my ticket, mate.”

***

Monday of week seven; analysis day. The dreaded day every week when Charlie put Terry through the wringer and formed an opinion as to how far he’d gone and how much further he could go. Charlie always saved his comments until the very end of the session, cutting the torture short thirty minutes in order to have his client’s full attention.

Terry worked his entire body, focused on the hand and made his own analysis. He’d been too hard on Charlie and far too hard on himself. There was great improvement in the mobility and strength of his right hand but Terry had to admit, it was nothing he might not have been able to attain alone. Charlie had served as more than a punishing physical therapist, he had served as a catalyst to gather all the remaining, working parts in Terry Thorne and polish them up. He forced the connection with Doctor General Murphy who collected the shiny pieces and began reassembly. The rest was going to be up to Terry.

“Hit the showers,” Charlie tossed a towel over Terry’s shoulder and turned toward his desk.

“No mate, let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“You’ll be more comfortable after a soothing hot shower, maybe some time in the whirlpool.”

Terry grinned. “You mean … I’ll be less belligerent.”

“That too,” Charlie thumped into his chair. “That beard … I like it.”

“Fuck you.”

Charlie laughed. “Alright, let’s get to it,” the young man shuffled through folders, opened a file and began marking off ticks along a long list. Terry’s hand lowered to stop the action, still the man’s fingers and Charlie’s eyes rose.

“Listen mate. I wanna thank you, you did great and I do appreciate it. But …” he shrugged and Charlie leaned back.

He cleared his throat, slid a fingertip along the criteria. “Terry, there may be a chance to gain another two … three percent in your strength and dexterity.”

“I’ll keep it up, no worries.”

“Guess this is the end of our relationship. But what about Doctor Murphy?”

Terry chuckled. “Won’t be gettin’ outta that one so easily. I think me and the General got lots more to talk about, maybe for a long time to come. I dunno.”

“Maybe not, Terry. Great strides don’t always come with a firework display, you know. Some battles are won with a whisper.”

“I’ll remember that next time I’m shouting in his office, then. Charlie, you take care, you hear?”

“I’ll be sure to call if I ever need K&R insurance.”

***

The walk from the clinic to Murphy’s office was more productive than any element of his long and miserable recovery. The sun dipped behind thick clouds and a warm summer rain fell, drenching him to the bone. It was refreshing and cleansing, a sparking of his senses and he found himself comparing it to other occasions in the rain; long nights of reconnaissance in some sub-tropic jungle, rainy season back in Sydney when he was a kid, autumn rains in Vermont.

Odd, in his whole life he would have never strung those memories together. Terry’s mind and soul and probably even his heart had always been a series of well planned and organized compartments. Memories, phrases, hell, even quotes from stories or poems never meandered from their appropriate cubby into another one. Comparing the sensation of soft rain in the Andes Mountains with the soft rain near Mount Mansfield not only connected two extremely different parts of his life … it brought the best and worse of both together for comparison. The memories slithered on, snakes invading where they’d never gone before, feasting on what they found there or embracing it and taking it as their new found identity.

He reveled in the sensation of confidence, in knowing he had rescued the hostage and brought his cargo home safe … and he marveled in the startling fears and occurrences that happened in Vermont right after John and Riley lost their first baby. The rain from those memories trickled and mixed with the rain snaking down his face as he walked a New York City street toward his appointment with the General. Right as rain, Terry thought. Right as rain.

He picked up a small box of Godiva chocolates for Angie, the General’s secretary and actually passed the elevator to take the stairs at a jog. Entering the waiting room the hair on the back of his neck stood at attention. Something about the very air was charged with pain. It wasn’t his own misery bouncing off the walls back at him, he was sure of it. He stood several moments.

Usually Angie would have already popped her head out to welcome him, assure him the Doctor Murphy would be with him in a minute. The place was dead silent, even the obnoxious Musac wasn’t wafting from the high corner speaker.

He didn’t knock, simply turned the knob and walked back. Angie was at her desk, an expression of emptiness, shock, almost unbearable confusion painted her face. Terry circled the desk and slowly knelt at her knee.

“Angie? Angie, love?”

She blinked, gasped and to his horror he watched tears flood from her eyes as she turned to look at him.

“Where’s the General, Angie?”

She drew in a long, shuddering sigh. “Dead,” she whispered. “They said it was a massive coronary. I didn’t even know … I was working and singing with the music and … I didn’t even know!”

She broke down, tight in his arms and sobbing into his shoulder. “The ambulance just took him. He’s dead, Terry. He’s dead.”

Terry swallowed hard. Time to compartmentalize again, otherwise he’d be crying like a nipper right with her. He checked the other rooms, turned off lights and closed doors, then he called for a cab. Hell of a day to choose to walk.

He calmly managed Angie, helped her lock up the office and took her home in the waiting cab. When she was safe in her husband’s arms, Terry asked the cabbie to take him home.

There alone, the once well structures cubbies in his mind all crumbled, shattered and shook like the rumble of an earthquake had made its final statement. Terry cried for General Murphy. He cried for the man’s wife and family … and he cried for himself.