That afternoon Hawkeye found Ellie smoking a cigarette behind the boathouse. He went for a walk to get some fresh air. Instead, he was surprised and dismayed by his daughter's new habit.
"You'll blow a hole in your lungs," he warned. Ellie took a long drag and blew the smoke in the air. The soil was damp and spongy from snowmelt, squishing under their feet.
"I'm sorry Dad. About Grandpa," she said, faltering slightly. Hawkeye turned toward the water so she wouldn't see the tears in his eyes. His father loved the ocean. Ellie was the same way.
She smoked the cigarette down to the filter and sat it on the ledge. Then she reached out for Hawkeye, burying her head in his chest. Ellie didn't cry. He held her and stared at the cigarette as the wind blew what remained of the smoke out to the ocean.
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Margaret was still asleep. When Hawkeye went up to check on her, the house seemed cold and quiet. It was a chill even the fireplace couldn't shake. It made him feel old.
She sprawled on the bed, the covers in waves around her and the light from the fire making her hair golden and honey-colored. All the words he whispered in that bed...there were so many promises he made, some that lived and some that were broken. The promise he'd never stop loving her always stayed through. Margaret was just as devastated as he was. So why was it so hard to comfort the only woman he'd ever really loved other than his mother?
Daniel Pierce never had a daughter. Margaret filled that role. He was protective in the same way Potter had always been. If something went wrong, it was usually Daniel who stepped in. Just his comforting presence, the presence Hawkeye missed so much in Korea, could smooth over almost any situation.
Margaret yawned and at up, staring at the fire.
"How long was I sleeping?"
He sighed and sat on the bed. "About three hours. You needed it, though," Hawkeye said, touching her rosy cheek, warm from the fire.
"The kids..."
"They're fine," he said, although he wasn't going to tell her about Ellie's new habit.
"OK," Margaret said, with a tone of resignation.
Hawkeye pulled back the covers and crawled in beside her. Sleep seemed like a good idea. He buried his face in Margaret's hair and felt the heat from the fireplace start to relax his chilled bones. There was so much they didn't know about each other. How much do you really know about anyone? Even though they'd been married for over twenty years, he still knew very little about his wife's childhood. Maybe knowing about Frank Burns was enough.
Charles had called with his condolences earlier in the day. It was still amazing to think he'd become a good friend. Charles still had a crush on Margaret, something they all found funny.
A crackle and pop resonated through the house. Ben put a Tyrone Davis record on and the music started to float through the heat registers. It was about five o'clock and the shadows were beginning to deepen.
" I should make dinner," Margaret mumbled, turning to face him. They rubbed noses for a minute, then kissed.
"Let me make it. I need to do something. Today is killing me," Hawkeye said, kissing her again. Footfalls erupted down the hallway, signalling the approach of Ellie. She walked with a flat-footed splat that was easy to recognize. The house had been so quiet without it.
"When's dinner?" she asked through the shut door.
"Soon," they answered in unison. The sounds of Ellie padding away echoed in the cold wood. Hawkeye fell heavily back on the pillow and covered his eyes with his hands.
"Maybe I should make dinner. You look like hell," Margaret said, not unkindly. She kissed his cheek and slowly crawled out of bed, shaking on a robe.
"I miss...," Hawkeye started, trailing off.
Margaret turned on her way out the door.
"I know. I miss him too," she said quietly.
The door shut behind her. Hawkeye stared at it, thoughts of finality filling his mind. One day they'd both walk through that door for the last time. Or maybe it would be one of the kids. He couldn't handle any of it. The quiet sounds of the house began to die around him as sleep crept in.