There were no more missed appointments or ugly hangovers or all-night drinking binges. Hawkeye had figuratively (if not quite literally) sobered up, and as he had vowed, he put his work first. He kept picturing B.J. as his role model, the epitome of the phrase "responsible adult" (his penchant for practical jokes notwithstanding).
In late June, the house that Hawkeye owned with his wife, Kate, was sold. Shortly after, he bought a small Cape Cod a half-mile from the practice, and he happily moved out of his cramped apartment. Step one toward being a mature 36-year-old: stop renting and get settled into a house.
Step two: he adopted a cat from the SPCA. She was sleek, black with a small white patch on her chest, and he named her Aphrodite.
B.J. came out to visit in August, unfortunately without Erin, which (Beej reported) had crushed her little heart. But Peg was stuck in Mill Valley, tending to her ill mother, and she didn't want Erin traveling across the country without her. B.J. went ooh and aah as Hawkeye showed him around his new house with pride. He helped Hawkeye weed the burgeoning garden out front, and the two of them played golf and went to the movies and generally had a wonderful visit.
The next time they saw each other was in early December, when Hawkeye flew out to Mill Valley for a pre-Christmas celebration. Erin loved the stuffed doggy he'd bought for her so much that she carried it around with her everywhere, and when they went to their favorite park, she took the toy onto the slide and merry-go-round with her, and pouted when she was not allowed to take it on the swing.
There was still no second Hunnicutt child, and Hawkeye couldn't bring himself to ask what had happened… had B.J. and Peg decided against it, or was the discussion still ongoing? He didn't notice any discord in the marriage, but then again, people didn't typically put their issues on display for others to see.
Back home, Hawkeye resumed dating and bedding women—far fewer now than in his younger years, but he supposed it could still accurately be called a "parade." If a woman started to get serious on him, he would break off the relationship. He was not proud of that, but he was also not going to get hastily married again. His romantic life was the one area in which he still felt stunted, behaving like an immature and stupid kid instead of the adult he was striving to be.
The calendar page turned over to 1957. The winter was as cold and snowy as all Maine winters. The Pierce practice thrived. Aphrodite the cat started to get happily chubby. Hawkeye and B.J. spoke on the phone every week or so, as had been their custom since the Korean War ended, separating them.
Hawkeye built a still in the second bedroom in his house, just for kicks, not because he intended to use it. Looking at his new still reminded him of the Swamp, and in a stroke of inspiration, he called that unused bedroom the Swamp from that point on. He giddily bought an Army cot to put in it, and later got a dartboard for the door. When he told B.J. all of this on the phone one night, they laughed and laughed, and then B.J. said, "Hey, wait a minute, that's my bedroom when I come out and visit you!" and that got them laughing even more.
In early April of '57, Radar called with the news that Mildred Potter had had a heart attack, but was expected to recover. Hawkeye thanked Radar for letting him know, and then immediately dialed Sherman's number in Missouri. The ringing phone kept going unanswered, most likely because Sherman had taken up residence at his wife's bedside in the hospital. When Hawkeye did finally get through, Sherman told him, with great relief in his voice, that Mildred was doing a lot better.
But on July 6th, Mildred had a second, and more severe, heart attack, and her death was instantaneous. Hawkeye, B.J., Radar and Margaret all made the trip to Hannibal, Missouri, to attend the funeral of their former colonel's beloved wife. The old man was grateful that they had come, but he looked and acted just as shattered as Hawkeye would expect from somebody who'd just lost his soul mate.
In August, Daniel Pierce announced to his son that he was going to retire from the practice and from medicine entirely, leaving the family business in Hawkeye's capable hands. Hawkeye had noticed his pop becoming more forgetful over the past year, especially with patients' names and maladies, so hearing this news, Hawkeye thought it was probably for the best. A doctor's memory is of the utmost importance, and it was sad to see his dad's starting to falter. But the man was 67, and he had earned himself a relaxing retirement filled with fishing and puttering around the house. "That's no problem, Dad," he said, his hand on Daniel's shoulder, "I'll take care of your patients and your place. You go ahead and put your feet up, and enjoy the hell out of the rest of your life."
Hawkeye considered taking on a partner, but knew it would be hard to find someone he clicked with. For the time being, he took on the extra work himself, and allowed Sheila to boss him around when she got in one of her moods. The practice continued to thrive even without the elder Pierce. Hawkeye really couldn't get drunk and hungover now, and that was all right, because he'd managed to nip that nasty habit in the bud, thanks to the metaphorical kick in the butt from his dear old dad.
He kept on keeping on. Very little else changed in his life, and that seemed fine, because he liked his house and his cat and his job and his friends, even if they were scattered far and wide over the whole damn country.
Then on Thanksgiving Day of that year, he picked up the phone to call his dad, and everything changed.