Title: Abyssinia, Darling
Author: Anney
Spoilers: Abyssinia, Henry
Rating: T
Word Count: 624
Disclaimer: The television series M*A*S*H and its characters are not mine.
Summary: Lorraine receives a devastating phone call while she anxiously awaits the return of her husband.
Henry was always pleading with her not to cry. It's not that Lorraine was a hysterical woman, she was just sensitive, emotional. Being away from her husband for so long, being left to tend to the house and raise the children, spending every night alone curled around a pillow and the thought of him, tended to overwhelm her. All too often, she sobbed herself to sleep or broke down crying while she played with Janie or Molly.
When the phone rang a few days after his last call, the day he was suppose to be heading home, she assumed it would be Henry on the other line, goofy grin evident in his voice, telling her the flight was delayed, but that he'd be home soon, darling.
It wasn't Henry.
"Mrs. Blake?"
"Yes?"
"We regret to inform you --" and everything else was a blur. We regret to inform you. The receiver fell with a clatter to the floor, dangling from the coiled cord. Rigid with shock, she slowly slumped to the floor.
"Mrs. Blake? Mrs. Blake?" She only barely heard the muffled voice on the other line.
Henry's plane, shot down over the Sea of Japan. No survivors. We regret to inform you. Lorraine buried her face in her hands, her entire body shook with each sob. Every army wife knows the risks of her husband being deployed straight into the middle of war zone, just miles from the frontline. Every army wife. But Lorraine Blake was a surgeon's wife, not an army wife. Henry's letters and phone calls glossed over details of snipers and friendly fire a little too close for comfort, but he never wanted to worry her, so he pretended that it wasn't all that bad, that the MASH unit wasn't really in that much danger. Lorraine was a bright woman, she knew better. She knew that war was implicitly dangerous, no matter your job. But still, she never thought. Not her husband. Not her Henry. This was a thing of news reels. This happened to other women's husbands, not hers.
She cried tears of grief and tears of regret. That Brief Encounter she had told him about. Oh, she knew he was unfaithful in Korea. She knew all too well how lonely he had to have been, because she was just as alone. Yet, she couldn't forgive herself for wanting to give in to the temptation of having someone there when he couldn't be. And then she regret all those times she sent receipts and checkbooks to him when she really should have only sent him pictures of the children, letters about missing him, even that cake he loved so much. But, she never mastered balancing her checkbook or doing the taxes. She relied so much on him for so many things. And now. And now she really did have to learn for herself.
Grief gave way abruptly to anger. How could he do this to her? How could he leave her like this? Three kids, a dog, a cat, a big house that seemed so empty without him. Now she had to get a job, hire someone to help with the children. "Damn it, Henry, why did you have to go and get yourself killed?" she demanded of the empty kitchen, filled with the memory of him.
Lorraine lifted her face from her hands, her cheeks damp, her mascara running. She stared at the phone and thought about the impersonal voice on the other end telling her so formally something so tragic, putting on airs of regret when she knew he didn't know her Henry. And then she thought of Henry. Dear, sweet Henry.
And she wished with all her might for Henry to beg her not to cry.