Title: Late
Summary: Because some soldiers never make it back home and Lorraine Blake waits.
Author's Note: This is the fifth story in my series "Homecoming", which means there are four others that I've already written, about Margaret, BJ, Radar, and Trapper. Each is clearly labeled and can be found on my profile page if you're interested.
In the midst of school, soccer, etc. etc., I've finally found a corner to pound this out. I hope you like it. Please leave a comment, as feedback is always appreciated and treasured.
The Secretary of War regrets to inform you that Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake was among those aboard Flight 4B-51 shot down over the Sea of Japan on the 5th of April, 1952. There were no survivors. Further details will be forwarded to you as they become available.
"I want the "W"!" Molly declared.
"I want the "H" because that's Daddy's first letter," said Janie.
"Give Andrew the "e" because he can't spell yet."
"E!" said Andrew happily, banging his fork on the table.
"You can't have the "H", Janie," said Molly, frowning. "We have to save that for when Daddy gets home."
Janie's lip quivered. "But I want the "H". Momma, Let me have the "H"."
"Don't cry, Janie, dear. See – there's another "H", for "Home"."
"We'll save that piece for Daddy," said Janie, nodding in comprehension. "And he'll never know it didn't stand for "Henry"."
"That's right, sweetheart."
"Chocolate is Daddy's favorite, isn't it, Momma?" said Molly wisely.
"That's right, dear."
"Why're we eating it now and not waiting until Daddy's home, Momma?" said Janie.
Lorraine Blake paused, knife slitting easily into the frosted chocolate cake. Molly, Janie, and even little Andrew looked at her, puzzled, wide-eyed faces peering so innocently, sweetly, beautiful….
"Daddy's going to be late, sweetheart."
"Oh."
"Daddy's always late."
"So we'll have another cake when Daddy gets home?"
"Cake!" announced Andrew impatiently.
"Yes, dear."
"When will Daddy get home?"
"…I don't know, sweetheart."
"I hope it's soon."
Lorraine finished scooping the children's pieces onto their plates and almost unconsciously licked the buttercream frosting off the blade of the knife. She dropped the knife into the sink, where it clattered against the basin and rolled to a stop in a puddle of water flecked with crumbs of chocolate. She walked toward the hallway.
"Aren't you having a piece, Momma?"
Lorraine didn't look back, feeling her children's eyes again, on the back of her head, wide, unblinking, curious, so terribly unsuspecting.
"No, sweetheart." Very quietly. "Momma isn't very hungry." And left the children to their dessert.
Lorraine's white dress ruffled across the floor as she paced; her heels clicked sharply off the tile floor. The room whirled passed. Thelma, Sarah, Rachel, and her mother watched her, faces blurred as Lorriane stormed by.
"Where is he?" she demanded, turning on her heel, putting her hands on her hips, feeling the lace of her dress beneath her fingers. "Where is he?"
"I'm sure he'll be here soon, Lorrie –"
"Soon!" Lorraine yelled. "Soon! He was supposed to be here an hour ago! An hour!"
"Henry's always late, dear –" started her mother, "Remember when you asked him over to our house so Dad and I could meet him and he got the date wrong – he showed up a whole day late, then…."
"Yes, but – but," Lorraine fumbled for words adequate enough to describe why this was different. Why being late to their wedding was somehow so much more significant – it meant so much more – darn it, Henry should have known better than to be late for this! "He – where is he!"
"Lorrie – calm down," said Sarah, ever the calm and collected. "You'll tear your dress twisting it in your hands like that."
"I don't care about the stupid dress!" Lorraine shrieked. "I – I want Henry! Darn it – what if – what if he's been in an accident or been injured or – or arrested –"
"Arrested?" said Rachel, eyebrows shooting up. "Why would he be arrested?"
"How would I know!" Lorraine moaned, whirring back around and breaking into her pacing again, hands clasped in front of her.
"Now this isn't anything to get worked up about, dear," said her mother. "Your makeup will run."
"I don't care!" Lorraine exploded. "How could he do this to me? He knows – he knows –"
Someone cleared their throat behind her. Lorraine whirled about, skirt twisting in a wave of silk and lace.
"Um, hi-ah, Lorraine. I can see this is a bad time –"
"Henry!" said Thelma in surprise.
Lorraine's mouth dropped. There, indeed, was Henry, slinking by the door, hands pressed into the pockets of the suit he had borrowed from his cousin.
"It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!" shrieked Lorraine's mother suddenly, almost manically, running toward Henry with her arms outstretched, hustling him out; Lorraine wondered if her mother thought she was going to launch herself at Henry – perhaps tear at him with her fingernails.
"I – um – guess I'll come back later…" murmured Henry, backing up slowly.
Lorraine felt something hot and bubbling rise in her chest. "Don't you take one step more, Henry Blake!"
Henry froze. Lorraine's mother turned around, throwing her arms out as though blocking Henry. Lorraine marched forward.
"Just-what-do-you-think-you-are-doing-marching-in-here-an-hour-after-our-wedding-was-supposed-to-have-started?" Rachel backed up slowly and hit the desk against the wall of the small clergy's office Lorraine had been giving access to for preparing for the wedding.
"Well you see, Lorraine – really, just a misunderstanding – quite easy to explain –"
"You had better start explaining then!" said Lorriane, feeling angrier than she had, perhaps, ever felt before but also trying to smother the melting, shivering sense of relief at seeing Henry before her, stammering, pale, and confused but wonderfully unharmed.
"It was the – the car, Lorraine!" Henry invented wildly. "You see – when I went to start the most fantastical thing – I mean, you just wouldn't believe it – it just wouldn't start! And then I had to call Daniel so he could give me a ride but Daniel hadn't gotten dressed yet and then when Daniel got there he suggested we make a toast to my – last day of bachelorhood –"
"So you mean you called Daniel over for a few drinks and the two of you were too busy getting rip-roaring drunk you forgot that you had a wedding to get to – your wedding to get to!" said Lorraine. It was too much like Henry. She had known him her whole life. They'd known each other in school and been high school sweethearts and she had waited for him to get out of medical school so they could be married. Henry was transparent to her.
"I'm not rip – rip-roaring drunk!" said Henry.
Lorraine pursed her lips so hard she felt teeth bight into her gums.
Henry recoiled. "I mean – I'm awful sorry, Lorraine. It won't ever happen again, I promise."
"Oh, Henry!" moaned Lorraine, finally allowing her anger to subside, replace by the desperate, frustrated feeling she had felt ever since the clock had read five-minutes passed twelve and she'd tried to muffle the horrible feeling of forewarning. "Why on earth did you have to call Daniel for drinks today? Today!"
She had become oblivious to her three sisters and mother standing off to the side, watching she and Henry as though they were an interesting side show at a circus.
"I, well, you know, Lorraine – getting married is a – very important event in man's life I – I believe I'm entitled to one last, meaningless toast to bachelor life –"
"Keep talking and you'll be a bachelor for a good deal longer!" Lorraine threatened.
Blank terror spread across Henry's face. "Oh – Lorrie – please, dear, don't be like that. I'm awfully sorry, honest. Sweetheart, please, I –"
"Oh, alright!" Lorraine snapped, waving her hand to cut off Henry's objections. "Let's just get on with it. Everyone's waiting."
Henry looked enormously relieved and wiped his brow with his tie. "Yes – as long as you still want to, darling."
Finally, Lorraine allowed herself to smile. Henry could be so sweet sometimes, even when he was infuriating. "Of course I still want to."
"What on earth is going on back here?" said Lorraine's father, barging through the doorway. "The guests can all hear every word you're saying! What's taking so long? Henry, what are you doing here?"
Henry looked terrified. "I – I'm getting married, sir!"
"I know you're getting married!" Lorraine's father snapped. "What are you doing here? Why aren't you standing at the alter like you're supposed to? You aren't supposed to see Lorrie in her gown!"
"I – I, no, sir. I mean – yes, sir. Right away, sir. See you soon, Lorrie. I'll be – yes, sir!" Henry rushed away, grin tugging at his cheeks, stuffing his shirt into his belt and straightening his tie.
Lorraine's father murmured under his breath, mustache quivering, "Foolish boy. That's what I'm getting as a son-in-law?"
"Alright, Lorrie? All set now?" said Lorraine's mother, rather wildly but fixing a smile on her face. Through the walls, Lorraine could hear the organ strike up its march.
Lorraine discovered she had fiercely and uncontrollably began to smile. "Yes. Everything's ready now."
"I know it's difficult, but you'll have to tell them sometime, Lorrie."
Lorraine tightened her grip around her cup of steaming tea. The piano sat in the corner of the room, bathed in sunlight from the window. The cat stretched on the armrest of the sofa, rolled onto its back, and lay still.
"They're so young," Lorraine whispered.
Her mother hand, knotted with blue veins, squeezed Lorraine's knee. "I know."
"They still –" Lorraine felt her throat tighten, suffocating her voice. "They still think their Daddy's only been – called back to work at the hospital. They – I think perhaps Molly – but – I've been so very careful."
"Oh, sweetheart…."
A tear slipped down Lorraine's cheek, burning like the hot tea through the porcelain mug tingled against her fingers.
"They deserve to know. Henry was their father –"
"I know!" Lorraine had not meant to snap. She swallowed. "I know," she whispered.
"Did you – want me to tell them, Lorrie?"
"No," said Lorraine automatically. She looked at the sunlight glinting off the white and black keys of the piano, feeling her mother's eyes on her right cheek. "When they're told – I'll want it to come from me."
"Alright, dear." Lorraine's mother sighed and removed her hand. Something in her voice reminded Lorraine forcefully of the phone call three years before to tell Lorraine that her father had passed away peacefully in the night, after two weeks in the hospital from complications of pneumonia.
Upstairs, Lorraine heard a muffled, insistent wail.
"That's Andrew." Lorraine cleared her throat and stood. "He'll want to get out of his crib. Anyway, I have to get the girls from school."
"One more push, Mrs. Blake. That's it – almost there."
"Is –" Lorraine gasped through the exhaustion, hardly hearing her voice through the incessant scream of pain in her head. "Henry – here – yet?"
"No, Lorrie," said Rachel, grasping Lorraine's hand tightly. "But don't worry about that now." Rachel had always been the closest of Lorraine's sister. She had been the one Lorraine had called to bring her to the hospital after she started having contractions and Henry wasn't answering at the office.
"Push, Mrs. Blake. Once more."
"You – told – me – that – last – Oh!"
"Lorrie!" Rachel gasped, gripping Lorraine's hand tightly in her own so that Lorraine could feel her sister's fingernails bite into the back of her fist.
"I'm – alright – Rachel…."
"Push, Mrs. Blake. Breathe, in and out, that's it. One more big, strong push."
What happened afterward was a haze of pain, sweat dripping down her forehead, Rachel's pale face swimming across the ceiling, someone's voice, groaning, and then – finally – a high-pitched, weak cry.
"It's a girl!" cried someone delighted. "It's a daughter, Mrs. Blake."
"A girl?" said Lorraine weakly, holding out her arms and realized she was shaking.
"What is it? What's happened? What do you mean I can't go in? Lorraine! Has she –? Lorraine!" Henry barged into the room with a rush of confused questions and a clatter of the door against the wall.
"Henry!" said Rachel, standing.
"What is it?" Henry babbled, looking around wildly. "I got the message only minutes ago – I – where is she?" His eyes fell on Lorraine, and his mouth fell open, gaze falling to the bundle of pink blankets and flailing arms and legs in Lorraine's arms. "A – a baby?" he said weakly, swaying.
Lorraine choked back tears and smiled. "Henry Blake, you're late."
Henry stumbled to Lorraine's bedside, falling into Rachel's unoccupied chair, gaping at Lorraine and the scrunched up, red, perfectly beautiful face of their baby girl.
"Your daughter, Henry," Lorraine whispered, feeling each word crawl achingly up her throat.
Henry blinked. "A girl?"
Lorraine giggled, something she had not done since she was a teenager. "A girl."
"She – oh, Lorrie! She's beautiful!"
"Little Molly Olivia," Lorraine whispered, staring into the bleary eyes of her daughter and then back at her husband, who had tears slithering down his cheeks.
"Just beautiful," he choked.
Dear Mrs. Blake,
I know this letter won't mean much to you in the scope of things, but I've been elected amongst the others to try to tell you about your husband, in the hope that maybe some of it will come as a comfort.
First of all, I wanted to let you know that everyone under Henry's command loved him. He was really the greatest commanding officer a MASH unit could hope to have. He didn't give a darn about Army protocol and that was just the way we all liked it – discarding maybe a couple of people. But the thing about your husband was, even people who didn't like him ended up liking him anyway.
Henry was just an all-around likeable guy. He might not have been the most forceful leader but he knew how to keep people together. And in the midst of all the madness, confusion, and chaos of war, keeping people together is the most important thing there is, really. Henry reminded us every day what we're over here fighting for, for freedom, love, and healing. He is and will be forever sorely missed.
I can't tell you how sorry I am for our loss and especially your loss, and maybe that's a good thing because I know that words often mean very little in times like these. Henry could be a private man, but from what he let slip about what was waiting for him back home, I believe that there'd never been a luckier man. I know he loved you and the kids very much, and I'm sorry, because I know his love was equally matched with yours for him. I can't imagine what you must be feeling right now.
If ever there was a man more deserving of getting home and finding peace, than it was Henry, and something must have gone seriously wrong in the universe for him to miss out on that. Something I've learned in Korea is that life's not fair, and if you add a war onto that, then it's not even going to be merciful, either.
I don't have anything else to say but that every time you think of Henry, remember how much he enjoyed smiling, how he could always see the bright side of things, and try to smile, too. I know Henry wouldn't want it any other way.
With my deepest regards, sympathy, and regret,
Captain B.F. Pierce, U.S. Army Medical Corps, MASH 4077, Korea
"Henry…you're going to be late."
"I don't care, Lorrie."
"You'll miss your flight."
"Let them wait."
"Airplanes don't wait for people."
"Let them take off without me, then."
"The army doesn't like it when people don't show up on time."
"The army can do without me for a couple more hours."
"Henry…."
"Are you really that anxious to get rid of me?"
"No…." Lorraine crawled under Henry's arm, burying her face in his chest, feeling everything. The hair on his chest tickling her cheek. The scratchiness of the wool blanket on her arms. the springs of the mattress. Henry's fingers on her shoulder. "I don't want you to ever go. I don't want this moment to ever end."
"Ah, sweetheart, don't you worry. I'll be home before you know it."
"You'd better, Henry Blake. You'd better." Lorraine blinked and tears wet her eyelashes, dribbling onto Henry's chest.
"Poor kid," he said, patting her back. "This will be hard on you, I know. But – don't you worry, Lorrie. I'll be back, you'll see. Don't you worry."
Lorraine pulled her head away from his chest, looking up and meeting his eyes, trying to smile. "I won't worry."
Henry met her smile and kissed her nose. "I'd better get going," he said softly, shifting in bed so that his arm fell away from her and Lorraine somehow knew the moment was broken and never to be gotten back. She felt something inside of her crumble. "I want to kiss the girls one last time."
"Lorrie!"
Lorraine pulled her shopping cart to a stop, hitting a box of cereal that stuck out too far on a shelf and sending it tumbling down to the checkerboard-tile floor.
" – Jon," she said, eyes falling on a tall, dark-haired, handsome young man and feeling a familiar rush of shame bubble in her stomach, but this time magnified tenfold, gurgling and growing until she was sure she was going to throw up.
"Are you alright?" Jon stopped in front of her, deep, brown eyes concerned.
"– Fine," Lorraine gasped, grasping the handle of the cart. Andrew looked curiously up at the dark-haired stranger and announced grumpily "Doe!"
Jon wiggled his fingers at Andrew and Lorraine suppressed a strong desire to push him away.
"I mean," Jon continued, looking sympathetic. "I'd understand if you weren't. I heard about – I mean, tough break. I'm sorry, Lorrie."
"Thank you," said Lorraine, hardly able to get her words up her stiff, throbbing throat. "I'm fine."
"If there's anything I can do –"
"I'm managing."
"I can understand, of course. But, after all, you hadn't seen him for a year –"
Lorraine looked up, finding her eyes sucked immediately to Jon's – deep, dark, glistening eyes that snatched at you, tore at you, made you forget who you were, forget who you belonged to, made you go mad – suddenly Lorraine couldn't remember what she'd ever seen in him. Now Jon looked small and petty, old, dirty, disgusting, and….
"If you want me to come over sometime –" He smiled, running his hand down her back. "Just let me know. If you've got…a problem with the plumbing –"
"Get out."
His hand dropped.
"Get out and don't – don't ever talk to me again. Don't ever touch me again."
" – Lorrie, I don't understand – "
"Get out!" Lorraine shrieked, noticing in only some small part of her that the other people down the aisle were staring. Andrew stared at her with soft hazel eyes and an open mouth.
"Lorrie…."
"Now! Right now! Don't you ever come near me again!"
Jon left in a confused rush, staring at Lorraine, bumping into a stack of cans behind his back, which clattered to the floor with a series of crashes. Lorraine felt her heart thumping in her stomach and was sure she was going to be sick. She couldn't seem to catch her breath. She wanted to cry. Oh, she wanted to cry. She wanted to scream –
People were looking at her. She felt their gazes pointedly. She knew there were others in the crowd who she knew. It was a small town, after all. She wondered what kind of rumors she'd have created.
Below her, upset at his mother's sudden outburst, Andrew began to wail.
Molly's pajama-clad feet padded across the wooden floor.
"Momma?"
Lorraine set her book on her knee, blinking and not remembering the words she had been staring at. "What are you doing out of bed?"
Molly shrugged. Her face twisted in the way it always did when she was trying to think up a way to voice a difficult question. She got that from Henry, Lorraine realized with an abrupt, aching pang in her stomach. The similarities were somehow so much more striking – Lorraine had never noticed it – but, of course. Molly's lips. Janie's nose. Andrew's eyes.
"Why'd the army make Daddy go back after they'd told us he could come home?"
Evenings were always the worst. In the light of day Lorraine found hiding her feelings from the children was almost easy. But now darkness sat outside the curtains of the window and the lamp flickered on the end table and Lorraine was exhausted from another painful, toiling day of keeping her emotions at bay.
She swallowed. "I don't know sweetheart."
Molly blinked. Lorraine realized Molly's eyes were glistening brightly. Her oldest had always been very bright. Even at six, nearing the end of kindergarten, Molly was adept at picking up on things, was a quick thinker, very clever –
"When's Daddy coming home?" she whispered, tears brimming in her eyes and lips – Henry's lips – quivering.
"Oh, sweetheart –" Lorraine reached for her daughter, book falling off her knee and onto the rug. Molly rushed forward and pressed her face to Lorraine's chest. Lorraine wrapped her arms around her daughter's tiny, wiry body, finding it a comfort that she didn't have to meet Molly's eyes.
"I don't know sweetheart. Daddy's late."
"Daddy's always late," said Molly, voice muffled and ruffling the fabric of Lorraine's sweatshirt.
"I know, sweetheart."
"Momma?" Molly pulled away, eyes, large and glimmering, grabbing hold of Lorraine's. Voice hushed, as though speaking a secret or something dirty that should never be uttered aloud: "Will Daddy ever come home?"
Lorraine bit her lip harder, tasting blood in her mouth, stifling the rising tears in her throat until she could hear ringing in her ears. "Oh, sweetheart –"
Tears pored swiftly down Molly's cheeks now. Her daughter was trembling and Lorraine suddenly realized that Molly knew. She knew.
"Will we ever see him again, Momma?"
The last piece of the puzzle fit abruptly, perfectly into place and clarity broke through the haze of sights, sounds, and muffled emotions Lorraine had been living through the past two weeks.
Lorraine was waiting, still waiting. That was why she hadn't been able to tell her children, why she walked in a daze, ignored the concerned looks of friends, her mother's suggestions of help.
Lorraine was still waiting, would be, perhaps, waiting for the rest of her life.
"Someday, sweetheart. Someday we will."