By Kay Em
Disclaimer: The characters, alas, are not mine. They belong to Fox. But once I got the idea, I just had to write it down. By the way, spelling is in English English (not American English), 'cos that's where I am and that's how I write. Constructive feedback and comments welcome! Thanks.
Washington DC, September 1958
Pushing her hands deeper into her coat pockets, Margaret Houlihan crossed the square leading from the hospital, and turned left past the playground. Leaves skittered across the concrete, blown by the chill easterly wind and drifting past the deserted play equipment.
No, not quite deserted. One little boy, bundled up in a warm coat and hat, was shouting "Higher, daddy! Higher!" as his father pushed him on the swing.
"No, no, that's quite high enough!" came the laughing reply, "Any higher, you'll go right over!"
Margaret stopped, spun around at the sound of his voice. It couldn't be… "Charles?" She hadn't even realised she'd said the name aloud, but he glanced up, stared for a moment, then smiled.
"Margaret!" He stepped back from the swing, and called to his son: "Emerson, I'm going to go talk to the lady over there. You keep going, alright?"
"'Kay, daddy!"
There was nowhere to sit but on the little wooden roundabout, but they perched on the edge and Charles was tall enough to keep his feet grounded so it didn't spin around.
"You look well, Charles," said Margaret, "Would that be Charles Emerson Winchester the Fourth over there? How old is he, three? Four? I didn't even know you were married! Of course, if uncle Bob hadn't taken that post in Maine he'd have told me… But where's your wife? What are you doing in Washington?" She knew she was gushing, but she couldn't help herself.
Charles grinned and held up his hands in mock surrender. "One question at a time, Margaret!" He looked across at the boy. "Calling him Emerson saves a lot of confusion, but officially he's Charles Emerson the fourth, yes. He's three and a half. And we're in Washington because I work at Walter Reed – what's your excuse?"
"Oh, well I work here!" Margaret waved a hand in the direction of the hospital building behind them. "I made Lieutenant Colonel you know – but… well, the opportunities in the civilian sector were so much better. I left the army a couple years back, but I only moved here a month or so ago. After the Reunion we had in Hannibal, Mo. The one you didn't come to." The one she'd gone along to because she'd hoped he might be there.
"I was… busy," said Charles, "And the invitation didn't catch up to me till a couple of days beforehand. Besides…"
"Besides, you didn't want to see any of us again?" she suggested. "Yeah, guess we shoulda known!"
He shook his head. "That wasn't what I was going to say."
"Oh, really?"
He smiled at her. "Really."
His eyes were twinkling, those blue eyes she'd always secretly rather liked, and she cast about for something – anything – else to say. "You – uh – must have got married quite soon after the war," she said, looking across at the child, "Hope it's working out better than my marriage did!"
Charles looked down at the leaves blowing across the ground in front of them. "She died," he said, quietly.
"Oh God, Charles, I… I'm so sorry! I didn't… She must have been so young, how…?" She faltered to a halt.
"She fell off her horse," said Charles, "And then it fell on her." He sighed. "Emerson was only a baby."
"That's terrible."
"Yes. But…" He put his hands in his coat pockets and shuffled his feet, making the roundabout sway a little. "The really terrible thing was that… I didn't love her. I just married the first half-decent girl my mother steered my way, because that's what I was supposed to do. I thought I could just pick up my life where I'd left it, and carry on as though nothing had happened, and it worked for a while. I even went to concerts – so long as they weren't playing Mozart, I could cope. But when Anna died, it was as though the roof fell in on me. The only thing I remember at all about the next six months is him." He nodded in the direction of his son, who slowed his swing to a halt and trotted across to the slide, waving as he went. "Everything else is just a blank."
"You should have called someone," said Margaret, easing closer to hook her arm through his, "Any of us – we'd have helped! Or tried to."
"I did," said Charles, "Or, at least, someone did – Honoria, I think. She phoned Sidney."
"Good call," said Margaret. She'd never heard Charles talk like this before. Sidney must have really earned his fee!
"Yes it was." He looked wistful. "I realised that I had to stop trying to put the genie back in the bottle – that I had to stop pretending that I could go back to how things were before Korea. Strange really – I thought I couldn't change who I was; but the war did it for me. That's why I left Boston. That's why…" He was smiling again, and he blushed a little as he added. "It's why I hired a Private Detective to find the woman I loved."
Margaret felt her heart skip a beat, and resume at a quicker pace. Had he really…? Could he mean…? "Did he find her for you?" she asked, breathlessly.
He smiled into her eyes. "Yes," he said.
And then she realised he was no longer looking at her, but beyond her. Toward the entrance gate.
Turning, Margaret saw a slim, elegant woman with short, auburn hair walking toward them, a baby in her arms.
"You remember Martine?" said Charles, standing up and moving across to hug his wife and kiss the baby. "How's my little angel?" he asked of the infant.
"Doing very well. She weighs nearly twelve pounds today," said Martine. "Hello – uh – Margaret, isn't it?"
Margaret managed a nod. "Hello, Martine."
"And this is Michelle," said Charles, lifting the baby into his arms and giving her another kiss. "She's the reason I couldn't come to the reunion – she was busy being born at the time!"
"Well, I guess that's a valid excuse," said Margaret, getting off the roundabout and trying to smile. "I'm… happy things worked out for you, Charles. Truly."
Martine crouched to collect a hug from her stepson, who had run across to her. "But if you are in Washington, you must come and see us," she said to Margaret, "Come to dinner some time soon. It would be nice."
"Sure. That'd be great," said Margaret, remembering the last time the three of them had shared a table. "I'll call, Charles – I can reach you at Walter Reed, right?"
"Of course. Do you have to rush off, Margaret? Our car's right over there, we can give you a lift…" he offered.
"No, no, it's only a block," she said, "But I must go – I have a date." With the TV. Again.
"Well, make sure you call," said Charles, passing the baby back to Martine and picking up his son, "We'd love to see you again."
"I'd love to see you too." Just you. "But I have to…" She pointed back over her shoulder, said her goodbyes.
As she walked through the gate she looked back and waved; and tried not to think about what might have been.