Disclaimer: I have no idea what the hell this is, but I'm sure it's not anything that the creators of M*A*S*H had in mind. P.S. that means it's probably a good bet I don't own any of this.
February 1961
She was only eleven when her parents divorced and it was never really a secret what had caused it. Her father was one of those. She heard her mother's voice with clarity as she watched her father get into his car from the back of her mother's vehicle. They were leaving the final hearing at the courthouse. The hearing that gave her mother full custody, and cast her father out of her life forever, basically.
Her mom was still yelling at him as he shut the door, standing beside her car, ready to get in but not ready to let him leave without telling him again that he was useless to humanity and an abomination to God.
She really didn't get that part, not that she cared. Her dad was leaving. He was leaving for another person. A family that didn't have her in it. That was all she cared about, because he was her dad. He was supposed to be there for her forever. He promised he would be there forever! But he lied. He was leaving and had given up his rights to see her. He hadn't even argued with the judge when he had been denied visitation rights.
He didn't love her.
He hadn't even said goodbye to her as he left the courtroom. He had just rushed out as soon as the judge barked out, 'dismissed!'
She looked down at her lap, her fingers were cold. She had forgotten her gloves at home and without them her fingers were always cold. Her friend from school, Ally who had moved to California from Wyoming, always made fun of her and a few of her other friends. 'This is shorts weather in Wyoming,' she always said. It wasn't shorts season. Not for her, her fingers were turning dark pink in this weather and they were stiff to move.
She wished her mom would get in the car. Stop yelling at…at him so they could go somewhere else. Somewhere warm, and with hot chocolate, and just generally where he wasn't. She didn't want to look at him. It made her feel almost as cold on the inside as her hands were. She hated that he was leaving her. Hated that he had started this entire thing. Hated that he had found a new place that he thought was better than she was. She hated him.
She hated him. She hated him. She hated him!
She never wanted to see his stupid face again.
She wished he would just die!
When her mother got into the car, the silence was so loud she could practically hear it pounding in her ears. Her mom threw the car into reverse so fast, she her gears grind and they sped away, leaving his car where it was. Leaving him behind them, because they were better off alone. Her and her mom would make a new life for themselves, and it would be tons better than the one he would have in that new state with his 'soulmate' or whatever he had called it.
August 1969
She was in the van with her boyfriend, Sam. He was perfect and strong, and so not like her stepfather. He had long brown hair and expressive blue eyes and she was in love with him. They were gonna get married soon. He was just waiting for the money to buy her a ring and then they were going to settle down in New York.
That's where they were heading now. They were going to New York to look at some places to rent. He was going to get a job as a carpenter and she was going to go to school to be a lawyer. It was going to be perfect and they were going to live happily ever after and she was going to be so totally different from her mother. She was going to have a fairytale life.
She looked over to Sam as they pulled into a motel for a few days. They were in Boston, and had been going non-stop all week. They wanted a weekend to rest and recuperate so they could get to Albany by Friday of next week. Originally, it had been by Monday, but they had heard of this festival in Woodstock that absolutely everyone was going to, so she and Sam had decided to spend this weekend there.
That wasn't the reason they had decided to stop in Boston, though. She had looked up her father before she left. She hadn't seen him in eight years, and though she still hated him, she wanted to see him. She wanted to tell him how her life was. She wanted to let him know that she really hadn't needed him. She had been just fine without him, just like she told herself she would be the day he had left. It hadn't been easy, but she had gotten along. She had survived even if he hadn't been there.
The motel they were at wasn't too far from his listed address, so tonight, after she had helped Sam put the bags in the room, she was going to walk over to his house. She was going to tell him how perfect she was, and then she was going to tell him that he could eat dirt because she had done it all without him and that if he had ever thought she would be worse off without his support, he was wrong!
After they had everything settled in the room, she kissed Sam and promised she would be back soon. Then in her pretty summer dress and cowboy boots, she set off, her giant bag at her shoulder and her huge sunglasses on her face. She felt like she was setting out to conquer the world. She felt like she was going to faint. She hadn't seen this man in years…
She knocked on the door of the appropriate house, noticing with a grimace that there were two cars in the drive. It shouldn't have really surprised her. He had left for a whole new life, with a totally different family, never even looking at her as he left.
What did surprise her was the kid that answered the door.
She was drawn up short.
The house was warmly lit, and there was laughing coming from within the depths of it. Multiple male timbres and a woman's.
He wasn't alone.
It shouldn't have shocked her. There were two cars in the drive and he had already made a new family before he even ditched her, but…in her mind they had always been alone when they talked. And there sure as hell hadn't been a damn kid there.
She stared at him for two full minutes before he asked, "Can I help you?"
He had curly blonde hair, and sparkling hazel eyes. He was cute and heaven help her he didn't look older than nine. He couldn't be her father's, because he was one of those (her mother's voice still echoed in her head). He was here, though. He was in her father's house, looking at her like she was the stranger. Like she didn't belong.
"Charlie?" a male voice called, as a man entered the room behind the boy. She recognized him instantly. It was her father. Eight years older, eight years grayer, but his voice hadn't changed at all. "Who's at the door, champ?"
The little boy shrugged. "Some lady."
That was all she was. Just some lady, knocking on the door like a beggar. Her father came up to the door, and it was all of about two seconds before he told the boy to go back to the dining room. He recognized her.
As the boy, Charlie, left to go back to the bowels of the house, he stepped outside, shutting the door behind him.
They were alone. Like they had been in her head when she imagined their meeting.
And suddenly, she was that eleven year old girl, sitting in the back of her mother's car, staring at her cold hands. She felt that same cold creeping through her chest, even though it was relatively warm outside. She felt a chill run through her, but she thought she covered it rather well, shouldering her bag further onto her shoulder.
"Erin…what are you doing here?" he asked and his tone belied how shocked he was to see her. How happy he was…
He didn't have that right.
He didn't have that fucking right. He had left her! He hadn't even said goodbye so he shouldn't act like he was happy to see her. He had left her and her mother. And she had had to deal with the string of boyfriends her mother had, and the stepfather who could have easily double as the next Hitler. He shouldn't be happy to see her.
She had been through hell. Her mom had become a hateful shadow of who she was before he left. And she had ignored her every time a different guy showed her attention. He had left her and if he hadn't maybe she wouldn't have had to deal with that. Maybe she could have led a normal life, and maybe she wouldn't have gotten pregnant at fifteen and maybe she wouldn't have had a miscarriage. Maybe she would have stayed in California, because as much as she wanted to go, it would have been nice to have a reason to stay.
And it was all his fault!
"I just wanted to tell you that I hate you," she said in a shamefully, pathetic and watery voice. "I didn't get that chance when you left, but I thought you should know."
The look of pain in his eyes was justifying to her, just at that moment. That one look somehow justified her pain of eight years. It made the hurt, and constant confusion worth it. She adjusted her bag on her shoulder again, straightening up with a false strength that came from hurting another person.
And she left. She didn't give him a chance to say anything else, though he did call her name several times. It sounded like he even started to come after her. But she left.
She left him that time, and she thought she felt better for it.
June 1971
She didn't know what brought her back to Boston.
Sure her apartment in New York City hadn't been great, but it wasn't this place. In her defense it wasn't where she wanted to go, but she didn't have the money for a trip back to California, and her stepfather wasn't interested in carting her back home. So it was either stay in that sad apartment…or come here.
Sadly, between the depressing walls and a man that she wanted to hate…she chose the latter. It was better than being where Sam had been, though. She didn't like being with his memories and their supposed-to-be fairy tale ending. She didn't like where they had fought and loved and planned and compromised. It wasn't fair that she didn't get that. Hadn't she sacrificed enough in her life?
Wasn't it bad enough that her father had left her?
Wasn't it enough that her life had been a shambles ever since?
Why couldn't she have kept Sam?
Why was there any such thing as war? War changed people; it hurt people; it killed people. She felt young again, trying to struggle through church when she knew that there could be such evil in the world. She didn't understand how there could be a god and still be things like wars and disease. She didn't understand how there could be a god who didn't protect her from this pain.
She brought her hand up and beat on the door, registering the absence of a car in the drive, but not really caring. For all she knew, they could have moved to Europe, but someone was there, and as long as they answered the door, she didn't mind if it was the devil himself.
It wasn't the devil who answered the door, but he was just a good. Tall with salt and pepper hair and the bluest eyes east of the Mississippi, he stared at her blankly for a second before it must have dawned on him who she was. Apparently, though she aged, she retained pieces of herself that would never be mistaken. She would forever be his daughter, that eleven year old girl in the backseat of her mother's car, who watched as her father crawled into his own automobile, where this man had been waiting in the passenger seat, ready to leave the life her father had built in California.
She wanted to hate him, wanted to hate them both, but right now it just hurt too much. It hurt too much to hate, to love, to hope…to feel anything at all. She just wanted to go home, but it felt like home was a mythical place. She had no home. It had died with Sam, with her unborn child, with her father. Pieces of her soul left her and she was no more than a shadow before a man who had stolen her life from her. One of those (her mother's voice still rang, but it sounded distorted.)
"I need a place to stay for a few nights," she said weakly. She clutched her bag to her side, shifting her weight endlessly if felt like, feeling vulnerable and lifeless.
He didn't hesitate. He stepped away from the door and motioned her inside, letting her step hesitantly into what she had always felt would be enemy territory. It was messy, but not disgusting. Lived in, came to mind. Lived in…
She remembered the little boy from however long ago it was. Charlie. The name would never leave her. The sound of laughter and cheer. People lived here, a family of some sort. One that didn't belong to her. She was a stranger here, and not necessarily a kind stranger at that. Last time she had been even close to Boston it had been to tell her father that she hated him. Surely his…his… man must know what she had said.
It was a wonder he let her into their home at all.
She felt the need to justify her reason for being here, interrupting whatever life her mother always insisted God had damned.
"I have no where else to go," she mumbled, nervously shoving her hair behind her ear. She looked up at him from under her lashes and he stared back at her, his hands helplessly hanging at his side, slouching as he stood. Though she tried not to, she studied him, catching all of the nuances of his demeanor.
He had obviously lived in his life, and his face bore the lines to prove it. She could see that he smiled a lot, but that he was stressed just as much. The light stress and laughter lines met and parted on his face, showing the intricate web of his life to anyone who cared to look at him, which anyone would. Even at fifty-something he was still good looking, and she begrudgingly admitted to herself, that at least if her father was going to go after a man, he chose a handsome one.
And he was nice. His deep blue eyes easily betrayed that characteristic before he told her, with a kindness he shouldn't have shown her, "You'll always have right here."
He reached a comforting hand out to her, gently directing her into the living room where a fluffy couch was just waiting to be collapsed into. He softly guided her into its welcoming cushions, asking if she wanted any coffee, or water, pausing briefly before asking if she wanted a shot of something.
She didn't answer. She didn't even know how to answer. He was being so kind and it was clashing with everything in her mind. She wanted to hate him but he was making it so damn hard. He was being nice, not asking question, yet being supportive. He didn't even know her. All he knew was what her father told him, if her father even spoke of her at all. If he did, it probably wasn't kind, considering the way she had acted towards him two years ago.
And he was offering her sanctuary.
It wasn't right, and she didn't think she should welcome it, despite the fact that that was all she wanted; was all she had ever wanted.
She pressed her head into her hands, shielding her eyes as an emotional onslaught cascaded over her. She knew she shouldn't even try to stop it, but she did and her effort caused her shoulders to shake and him to call out for her.
"Erin?"
He took a seat beside her, pressing his hand against her back and massaging lightly as if he had known her all her life, as if this was common place.
It was the last straw. She fell into him just as easily as she did with the couch, pouring tears she had thought she ran out of into his shirt and feeling so guilty about it.
He wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to be the bad guy. He stole her daddy away. He broke her life. He made her suffer! Dammit, he wasn't supposed to help her. He wasn't supposed to understand, or hold her, or even care! Because it was his fault.
She grabbed at him, wanting solidity beneath her fingertips, wanting to be held tighter, feel better, feel nothing. She babbled at him uselessly as tears coursed down her face, ruining her make-up and punishing him for it by rubbing the runny mascara all over his shirt. All the while he held her, whispering soothing words into her hair, and apologizing when she blamed him.
The last thing she gasped out to him, through her heaving sobs, was, "I just want to go home."
She woke up later, unaware she had fallen asleep and feeling more tired for having done so, to see him on the phone, talking quietly into it with his back towards her. It was unmistakable. He was talking to her father. When he replaced the speaker to the hanger, he came back into the living room and sat beside her, making no mention of the fact she had ever been to sleep.
"I'll take you to the bus station," he said, looking straight at her. "I called them earlier. They're holding your tickets at the office. They'll take you to San Francisco."
He drove her to the station as promised, and though little was said between them, she felt as if a lot had been cleared up. He wasn't the bad guy, and maybe her father wasn't, either. Despite that, she was sure this would be the last time she saw him. She didn't want to have a heart to heart and come to terms with everything her life had dealt her. She was fine leaving things this way. She would just go back to California and think about going back to school. She would stay with her mother and play nice with her stepfather. She would try to be normal, just like her mother.
She said a quiet thank you and gave a watery smile as her goodbye, holding her bag tightly to her as she opened the car door. Before she exited the car, though, he called out to her.
"Hey, Erin?" When she looked at him, he continued with a sad, sad smile. "There was never a day when your dad didn't wish things could have turned out better or that he could have stayed with you."
She looked at her bag, one leg out of the car, and one step closer to 'home.' She didn't know what to say, but she wanted to say something, something that was nice, and forgiving. She didn't feel angry anymore. At the moment she didn't feel much of anything. She was numb from her heart outwards.
At her silence, he took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "He loves you, and if you ever need anything…" he hesitated, looking momentarily lost for the next words. When he found them, he said them firmly, truthfully, "We'll be here for you, any time."
She nodded, shocking herself by squeezing his hand back. She still didn't feel like she would be returning to Boston ever again, but it was a nice offer to have on the table.
When she went home, she told her mother she had sold Sam's van to get the fair to come home, despite the fact that they had sold it a year before he died.
December 1977
She was twenty-seven when her own divorce was finalized.
For several moments after she left the courtroom there was a strange numbness to her. She didn't hate her ex-husband, but admittedly she didn't like him much either. He was the father of her children and she would always love him for that, but looking at him now, that was the only reason she felt for him.
She watched as he walked by her to his high-class car, and he looked back at her. For a moment, she felt her hands go cold, and she feared she would relive her life of sixteen years ago, only in her mother and father's shoes. However, as he flashed her one of his famous grins, she couldn't help but offer him one as well.
The numbness vanished in an instant, and she watched with her smile still on her face as he entered into his car and drove away.
She was content, unlike her mother had been after her own divorce.
Unlike her mother was now.
She really didn't know what was wrong with her mother. Honestly, Peg wasn't a terrible woman, but she was not the best either. One would think, that when it came between her child and her child's spouse, that her child would have been the winner hands down. However, her mother didn't choose her side. Her mother chose Reggie's side, because he was a lawyer, and he had the title to three properties in California, and he was going to be mayor one day!
She didn't care. She had married Reggie because she thought he loved her, and more importantly, because she thought she loved him. All he wanted was a trophy wife, though. He cared nothing for her mind, or her talents, or her day to day life. And she had what she had wanted from him. Her two children. That had been all there marriage was. They were a means to an end for each other. He had wanted a show piece and she had wanted a family.
Well, show pieces were a dime a dozen and there were thousands of hussies just waiting to hang off his rich arm, and she still got to have her family. Even though the divorce papers decreed that she would have to send her kids to him one month out of the summer and every other Christmas, they were still hers for ten full months out of the year, and that felt a lot like victory…
…Right up until her mother started telling her what a terrible mistake she was making. She should have been happy that he had taken her in the first place, her mother told her. It wasn't every day that someone like her, who had been knocked up at fifteen, runaway with a damn carpenter, and dropped out of school, would end up with someone like Reginald Springwell. She didn't know what she was throwing away, and she was going to regret it. She should be begging for him to take her back. That's what her mother said.
What she should have been doing was getting out. So get out, she did. She packed her and her children's belongings up and hired a moving van with the first alimony check he had signed to her. She settled her three-year-old daughter into the back seat, and her ten-month-old into his car seat, and without a single regret, she took off down the road.
She honestly hadn't had the slightest clue where she was going when got into her car. The destination was out there, and with the money she was getting from her ex-husband, she could take her time to decide.
It surprised her when she decided on Boston, but at the same time it brought her some semblance of contentment. She had thought a lot about her father (she rarely heard her mother's shrill cry anymore) and even a lot about her father's partner over the last six years. Over time, what little pain left had diminished to the point where it barely even existed anymore. She still wondered every now and then why her father hadn't said goodbye, or why he hadn't tried harder to get the ability to even speak to her.
Even as she wondered it though, she knew that it was probably better for him to have kept his distance. The seventies were a bad time to be queer*, the late fifties and sixties…she suspected he had been trying to get out without causing anymore of a scene than he already had. Though her mother always said he was one of those, she never told a soul besides her daughter. Her mother probably hadn't wanted anyone to know what she had been married to. Her father…
She floundered when she got there. Her father…what? Hadn't wanted anyone else to know? Had wanted to protect her from the stigma that would hang over the Hunnicutt name if he were exposed? Hadn't wanted to do that to his partner?
Whatever the reason, it hardly mattered. She had cleansed herself of petty hatred. She was trying to be a better person; to be a model for her children. What she did know was that he probably hadn't fought for custody of her because he feared her mother would let his secret be known to the world…and that was acceptable.
Seven days with snow, and sleet, and everything in between, and she was finally in Boston, back in front of their house. The moving van had be delayed just outside Hartford, so it would be a day, maybe two before they caught up with her, which was fine, because she still had to find an apartment to move everything into.
She checked her rearview mirror, to see her babies sound asleep and smiled. She stepped out of her car, shivering as the biting New England wind snapped across her face. It wasn't snowing her, but it had recently so there was quite an accumulation on the ground. She was surprised she had been able to maneuver so well while driving. Then again, she supposed she had driven slow enough…
She gave a small laugh as she remembered everyone passing her quickly as she crept by at a snail's pace of twenty-five miles an hour.
Shaking her head and pulling her coat tighter around her, she went to the back seat, and pulled her daughter out; standing her on the ground after making sure she had her balance. When she had her son settled on her hip, she shut the car door firmly, grabbed her daughter's hand and went up to the front door.
She had noticed before that there were several cars around the house this time, and that it was decorated with Christmas lights. She figured a party of some sort must be going on, but she didn't hesitate in her decision to knock loudly on the door to overpower the loud Christmas music that was coming from inside.
She didn't know what she'd say, or how they'd react, but her father's… Hawkeye had said that she would always be welcome, and it was long overdue for them to meet their grandchildren. If she could stay a few days with them would be a bonus, but she wouldn't ask. She had enough money to stay at a hotel tonight.
She heard a woman's loud declaration from inside that house.
"I'll get it!"
The door swung open and an older woman, who must have been around the same age as her dad and Hawkeye, faced her.
"Oh my…" was all the older lady got out.
She swore she must have been the spitting image of her father, because it never took any of his friends very long to figure out who she was. The lady stood there, her hair tied up into a loose bun, staring at her and her children with her red-stained lips wide open.
Behind the woman, a party was in full swing, with at least twenty different people milling around and socializing. They were varying in age, from five to late sixties, and she could feel her daughter, the little socialite, leaning forward to see everyone. A few of them glanced at the door, to see what was taking the woman so long to return to the party, but none of them came any closer. She didn't see her dad or Hawkeye, but that didn't mean they weren't there. In fact, right as she thought that, she heard Hawkeye's voice from the depths of the house.
After a minute of staring at the older woman, she asked, "Is my dad here?"
That seemed to snap the lady out of her trance. She smiled a huge smile, though it was wary and uncertain, proof that her meeting with her father all those years ago had not gone unspoken of. "Yes, yes!" the woman said, breathily. "Come in. Let's get those babies out of the cold."
She stepped inside when the elder moved out of her way, and let the door fall silently shut behind her. She looked at the older woman for a moment, as they stood, now just inside the house. She decided that perhaps it was best to start this out cordially.
"I'm Erin Springwell," she said, adjusting her son further onto her hip. "Forgive me if I don't offer my hand."
The older woman's smile became natural and she returned, "I'm Margaret Winchester. It's so good to finally meet the woman behind the stories." She gestured for her to follow, and she did as Margaret led the way through the house into a well proportioned kitchen, where a small party away from the party was occurring.
She heard her father's voice, jovial and free, and it sent a flutter of anticipation through her.
"Come on, Charles! You have to try this! It is the best thing I think I have ever concocted," he said, and both women came through the doorway just in time to see her dad, older, but definitely not at heart, waving something underneath a portly, bald man's nose.
Charles wrinkled his nose and pushed the hand and food away from him with a graceful shove. "Knowing your culinary prowess, Hunnicutt, I think it safer that I continue on with my normal menu…nothing."
Her dad laughed and from behind him three others joined in. Hawkeye, she recognized instantly, with another older man with curly hair and a younger, thinner version of Charles. With stunning clarity, she realized that the younger one was Charlie, from her first visit here. She didn't think she would have recognized him but for the sparkling hazel eyes, which had been studying his father before crinkling up in laughter.
"What's the matter, dad? You afraid of a little egg-surprise?" Charlie asked, not at all cowed by the demure glare his father sent to him.
"Charlie…" the bald man began in a warning tone, before her father shoved the 'egg-surprise' into his mouth.
The room erupted into laughter again as Charles choked on the food, his face contorting as if her were undergoing extreme torture. He just barely managed to swallow before he took a long swig from his brandy glass.
"Hunnicutt!" he thundered. "That was ghastly! What on earth is in that monstrosity you call food?"
The curly haired man smiled a jester's smile, his brown eyes twinkling merrily as he said, "Come on, Chuck. That was tame compared to some of the stuff Hawk and I came up with in Korea."
Charles glared at him, a sneer on his lip as he took another sip of his brandy. When he had swallowed, sufficiently wiping his taste buds of the flavor her father had forced on him, he said with a snooty flare, "Once again, McIntyre, I reassert my appreciation that we were not acquainted in that hellhole." the way he said 'hellhole' made her believe it was a endearment he only befitted on Korea, just as she did with it to Viet Nam. "At the same time, I must remind you that it is only a pity that we are acquainted at all!"
Charles face was serious, but there was some fondness as he looked around the room, pointedly glaring at each of the men. Finally, he saw Margaret and not far behind, herself with her two kids, one of whom was itching to escape her grasp, and the other was making her arm fall asleep.
His face cleared considerably to a more pleasant visage. "Well, hello. To what do we owe this great pleasure?"
Everyone else turned towards them, too, and in that one moment, she felt like she had found home.
Hawkeye smiled genially, and her dad offered a hesitant one to her, as well.
Margaret stepped aside, her smile still radiant. "Look who I found on the porch."
Her dad wiped his hand off on his pants, getting rid of the excess egg-surprise, as he took a step towards her. "Erin…" he said hopefully.
Her anticipation tripled as caught sight of her children.
"Hi, dad," she said, surprised by the nervous quiver in her voice. She pulled her daughter forward, not that it was much of a challenge. The little girl would talk to anyone without a second's reluctance. "This is your granddaughter, Madeline Springwell." She looked down to the little girl looking up at her grandfather with curios blue eyes. "This is your grandpa, Maddie."
That was all the introduction she needed. The little girl marched straight up to her dad and proceeded to ask him if he wanted to play with her. From her pocket, Maddie pulled out a small bouncy ball that she had procured from a quarter-machine in Ottumwa. Her dad gave a watery laugh and asked if he would give him just a moment. She nodded, saying seriously,
"Okay, we c'n play boll l'ter."
She then went over to Charlie and asked if he would like to play ball with her. Charlie laughed, lightly, before accepting to her very serious business offer.
With her daughter's attention elsewhere, she handed her son to her father. "This young man is Samuel Springwell. He's gonna be a football star one day."
Her dad looked at his grandson with a teary, but happy smile, running his large hand over Sam's thin, brown hair. "I take it he's a kicker?" he asked, emotions thick in his voice, as he returned his eyes to her.
She wasn't surprised as her emotions overtook her, too. "Yeah, makes most of the pros look like amateurs."
They shared a quiet, but comfortable chuckle, and as it died down they simply regarded each other for what felt like forever and not long enough. With a deep breath, she finally enveloped her dad in a hug, careful of her son. She let joyful tears slip down her face, just happy to be right there at that very moment in time. She was so glad that he had accepted her without question; so glad to finally be where she had been denying she wanted to be for the past sixteen years of her life.
"I'm sorry, daddy. I'm so sorry," she whispered, as she pressed her face into the crook of his neck, finally voicing what she had held inside for the better part of six years. "I love you. I was just angry. I was always so angry."
He buried his face in her hair, telling her in return, "Don't worry about it. It's my fault. It was always my fault." He pulled away and smiled. She knew they would have to talk about this later. The blame should be equally shared and she knew right now he shouldered most of it. But the way he was smiling at her, she just wanted this happy moment to last for a little while longer.
He wiped her tears away with his free hand, cupping her cheek in his palm. "All that matters is you're here, Erin."
From behind her dad, she heard Hawkeye. "I second that."
When a chorus from the rest of the room broke out, fresh tears overcame her. She had no idea that she would be this well received, and what really put the icing on the cake was the sincerity in each and every one of their voices. When she had been younger she couldn't believe that her father had ever spoken of her. In her mind, he had made such a clean break away from her and her mother. But here, in his kitchen, she realized that he had made the difficult choice, and that though he had forced himself to walk away, he had never forgotten her, and he had never kept her a secret.
She had always been a part of his life, whether she was in it or not.
As introductions broke out throughout the kitchen, she watched her father, who had sat on the floor to play ball with her daughter, and Hawkeye, who now was holding her son, both watching her with nearly the same set of kindly, blue eyes.
She was handed a glass of apple cider, from 'Trapper' McIntyre, who had gone off in search of his wife so that they could meet, and had yet to return. Margaret went to fetch some food for her and her babies, and Charles and Charlie followed, Charles, who turned out to be Margaret's husband, proclaiming, "She doesn't need to be submitted to such a rare form of torture and cruelty so early!" and Charlie cackling madly behind his father.
It left the three of them alone together, with her children of course, but still, largely alone. Hawkeye took his place at Charles' abandoned chair, smiling as Sam leaned back to survey the ceiling.
"What brought you back to Boston?" he asked. His tone was kind, and open to being shot down just this once. From the corner of her eye, she could see her dad quickly look in their direction before gently tossing the bouncy ball back to Maddie.
Her ears turned red, she could feel it before it even started. They never knew what brought her to Boston the first two times. They never knew about Sam; or his subsequent death in Viet Nam. They didn't know about New York, or Woodstock, her mother and stepfather. They didn't know about her teen pregnancy and the miscarriage. They didn't know about Reggie or any of her friends…not that she had many.
And really…at this one moment in time, they still didn't need to know, because what had ultimately brought her back was
"You two."
Fin.
*I used queer, because I was told by several of my older friends who were in their teens and twenties in the seventies that that was what homosexuals were most often referred to as. If I have offended anyone, I apologize deeply.
R&R…maybe? Think about it? It's okay if you don't. I'll get over it.
InnocentGuilt