Yes. No. Positive. Negative. Such mundane words, they have passed my lips so many times, I have heard them spoken without even raising an eyebrow. Then, all of a sudden, they meant everything.
I was at a crossroad, a yes, positive, would have taken me down an unknown lane, complicated and tangled. A lane I maybe want to walk down some day, but not now.
But there was a no, negative, and everything is just the same as it was. Except for me.
Margaret leaned over the desk and let her forehead rest against the cool surface. She was nauseous, her whole body felt like it was rebelling. The blood coursed through it way too fast, making a whining sound in her ears. Why? What was the point? Morning sickness in the evening when there wasn't even a baby. Being a woman was nothing but a horrible cruise through bodily functions no one had asked for.
What a stupid waste of time, all the worry, all the sleepless nights. What a stupid waste of Fluffy's ovaries.
Negative. No baby. No phone call to Donald. 'Hey, honey, guess what? I'm pregnant and you may or may not be the father. That's crazy, huh?'
What if there had been a baby? Would she have taken her chances and said nothing? Both potential fathers were dark-haired men, but what if the child had been born with piercing blue eyes, a sardonic grin, and a strange tip of his or her nose? What would she have done? What would Pierce have done? How long would it have taken Donald to kill them both?
If there had been a child, there were ways to deal with it before no one noticed. Margaret pressed her eyes close. No. Absolutely not, she didn't want to think about that.
Her father, what would he have said if it had been Pierce's child, oh God!
She sat up straight and shook her head, trying to shake the thoughts from it.
There was no child, and if it had been, it would have been Donald's and that was the end of that. No 'what ifs', what had happened between her and Pierce had been madness anyway, just a moment of panic-induced loss of control, and it didn't even feel real anymore. There was absolutely no reason to be counting the weeks and days since it happened.
Had Pierce counted the weeks and days, had he wondered?
They hadn't really talked; everything had been so frantic. She hadn't even intended to tell him at all, but her whole body had felt like it was crawling, she had felt sick and angry and done her best not to cry, and he had just… been there. That man sure had a way of making her say and do things she hadn't planned on.
Then the whole thing with Potter, and O'Reilly – dear Lord, now he knew too, that was not good – and the rabbit. Then someone was pointing a gun at Charles, and Klinger had been there, what had he even been up to? And then, the result. Negative. Pierce had been happy for her. And sorry. And maybe there had been something, in his eyes, on the tip of her tongue, but she had swallowed it down. Sent him on his way while she tidied everything up. Had he maybe lingered, wanting to talk? Well, it didn't matter now, it was too late. Wasn't it? Night would turn into day; new wounded would arrive and be shipped off again. Fluffy's bandages would come off and nothing had changed.
A baby. Not that there was one, and not that Pierce would have been the father, but dear Lord in heaven. A child made of Pierce and Houlihan, what a tiny terror. The stubbornness alone! Cocky enough to reach for the stars and determined enough to actually get there. It would have been cute, though.
A baby. Tiny, pink, and sweet smelling. A small, defenseless creature, dependent on her. Often, in the beginning, she had thought about starting a family with Donald. A blonde girl and a dark-haired boy. Small heads on pillows, eyes big as she read them stories of mermaids and dragons. Squeals of delight on Christmas Day morning, and a dog to play with out in the back yard. The first day of school and family trips to the beach. It had been so clear and vivid in her mind, but now, it was like the fantasies had been covered in mist. Like dreams that kept slipping away from her, growing pale in the light of dawn.
Margaret looked over at her nightstand, at the picture of Donald. He was handsome, that husband of hers. Back straight, gaze firm. Could she truly imagine him as a father? Would he just be a quick pat on the head and a closed office door? A deep longing for a recognition that never really came. A feeling of failure, of never being good enough. No, the man in the picture didn't look like a father.
He didn't really look like a husband anymore either. The lipstick stains that had once covered the photo had been wiped away a long time ago. All that was left was a picture wiped clean, and the smoke-wisp memory of a flame.
Margaret sighed and pressed her fists against her lower abdomen. No baby. No life growing, no sign that life prevailed even in this hell hole. Time moved differently in Korea, rushing by, or standing still Moving in reverse, even. Made things grow stale. Cold.
There was a gentle knock at the door, and Margaret stood up, straightening her back. Suddenly it felt like she had been doing something forbidden.
"Yes?"
"It's just me, Major, may I come in"
Colonel Potter. What did he want? What time was it even, this had been the strangest day. She cleared her throat and ran her hands over her hair.
"Yes, of course, Colonel."
He opened the door and stepped in, still dressed in his striped bathrobe.
"I'm sorry to bother you at this hour, but I'm doing some late-night rounds. First, I checked on Radar and Fluffy. They're both doing fine, he was reading to her, something from the Sears catalog, I believe. Then, I checked on Winchester, and he's tucked in, sleeping like a baby. And then, I thought I'd check on you."
"That's very kind of you, sir. I'm fine."
Her face felt stiff as she pulled her mouth into what was supposed to be a smile.
"I also wanted to apologize for earlier," he continued. "Me asking if you should tell Donald, that was simply rude of me.
"Oh." She looked down, suddenly her cheeks felt very hot. "That's fine, sir, no need to apologize."
"It's just when you and Pierce came in together, looking so serious, I expected something huge. And then when you explained the predicament, I jumped to conclusions there for a second."
The warmth in her cheeks caught fire, and she felt a hot wave course through her body, making even her ears burn brightly. Her tent suddenly felt like a sauna.
"That's absolutely fine, Colonel, no need to apologize. All worries, no is fine." God dammit, what was her mouth doing? The hot wave had clearly seeped into her brain too, melting it. "I mean, no worries, all is fine."
She reached for a stack of papers on her desk, pulled some sheets out from the bottom of it, and put them on top. Put that stack on top of another one, made sure the edges were neat. Yes, that would truly show him that everything was fine, how calm, and unbothered she was. What a professional.
She was such a moron. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down and look straight at the Colonel.
"Everything is fine. I'm sorry we bothered you, Colonel, that was unnecessary."
"You didn't bother me, Major. And yes, I heard from Pierce that we won't be having to say goodbye to you any time soon. And I know it's mighty selfish of me, but I am quite relieved. You would have been very hard to replace."
"Thank you, sir." She smiled again, and this time her smile was genuine. His words made the burning wave inside cool a little, she knew he meant it. She was needed here, appreciated, even. It didn't fix anything , but it was a comfort to know.
He gave her a small smile back and nodded.
"You know, Major, I really shouldn't say anything more, but since I've already put my foot in my mouth once today, I might as well jam the other one in there too. When Mildred first suspected she might be expecting, I could tell right away something was up. She walked around with this big smile on her face all the time, even when she wasn't smiling, you know? There was this bounce in her step, like she really wanted to skip down the road, or just float away. The way I see it, that's how you should look when you suspect a little someone might be on their way. There shouldn't be tears in your eyes and you shouldn't reach for a drink."
Margaret felt her smile fade away and she looked down at her desk again, her vision suddenly blurred. Potter took a step closer and leaned over the desk.
"Major, I've seen you with kids, you're a natural. I've seen you carry them around, making them laugh. Heck, not too long ago a whole little band of them bombarded me with waterfilled gloves when I stepped out of the latrine, thanks to that water fight you and Hunnicutt had going with them. Never have I heard such happy laughs in this camp!"
Margaret took a deep breath, blinked the tears away, and met Potter's gaze. That had been such a good day. No wounded were expected to arrive, just a small group from the orphanage coming by for vaccinations. She and BJ had taken them to the washing room so they could clean up a little, and what started as some light splashing had soon turned into a full-on water fight. It had been BJ's idea to turn gloves into water bombs, but Margaret was the one that suggested they would ambush Colonel Potter. She knew he would play along. And he had, feigning great anger he har stomped around, trying to catch the kids, while they screamed with joy and he got more and more soaked from their attacks. Margaret had been carrying two of the younger kids around, and the Colonel had very kindly pretended not to notice them as the three of them crept up from behind, and the two little girls could throw their loaded weapons. Their excited giggling had been the best sound ever.
"One day," he continued, "when the time is right, when it's on your terms, I hope you will be skipping down the road too, and smile without even smiling. You know what I mean?"
Margaret felt something grow soft inside her chest, and her eyes got blurry again. Potter's voice was so kind, and his words felt like a hug. She nodded and felt her eyes flow over.
"Sorry, sir, "she said, quickly wiping her tears away. She cleared her throat. "I don't know why I'm crying. I'm fine. It's just been an emotional day. With everything… that… with Charles being held at gunpoint and everything."
"Yes, of course." Potter straightened his back. "It's very understandable to be upset about what happened. To Charles, I mean. And if you want to talk about that, or anything else, just remember that my tent flap is always open."
The sweet, sweet man. In his big bathrobe. A small, elderly gentleman with the kindest eyes and the ability to find the right words. Always.
"Thank you, sir."
"Okay, then, I will get out of your hair. Good night, Major, try and get some sleep."
"Yes, sir, I will."
He nodded and turned. For a second, Margaret wanted to ask him to stay, to sit for a while. Talk. Or maybe most of all just give her a hug. But she didn't, of course she didn't, she was a professional, she couldn't ask her superior officer for a hug, she was no child. There was no child anywhere.
The door fell close behind him, and she heard his steps disappear into the night.
She didn't wipe the tears away as they kept coming. Tears of loss for something that had never even been there. Tears of relief. Of what could possibly be one day, but probably not, because nothing in her life ever turned out the way she wanted it to.
When the tears stopped, she sat on the edge of her bed for a while and just breathed. She felt empty. But calm. Clean. Without even really thinking about it, she let her hand rest over her lower abdomen again. Let it rest over what was simply knots of worry, mystery meat from the dinner she had managed to take precisely to bites of, and emptiness.
Then she got off the bed, grabbed a tissue, and blew her nose. Enough now. Just enough.