The late afternoon sun slanted through the windows of the house she grew up in. Maggie McIntyre woke up after a nap: her day had been longer than any shift she'd pulled during her Residency, and she still felt tired. The room still looked the same as it did when she moved away from home to college: a girl's room with lace lampshades and curtains, a ruffle around the bottom of the bed, fluffy pillows and a stuffed bear, and a handmade quilt over the comforter.
She lay naked on top of her bed. Looking down, she noted ruefully she was chubbier than she wished, someday she would lose those ten pounds. Her body was still in prime shape, having just turned 28, her skin was clear and her belly relatively flat. The breeze wafted through the curtains, making her nipples rock hard and giving her goosebumps. Someday, someday, someday.
A knock shook her out of her reverie. "Who is it?" she asked, dreading it would be her seven year old son. She started wriggling to get under the quilt before he could enter.
"Your grandmother."
"Come."
Her grandmother, Margaret Houlihan Pierce came in through the door with a steaming cup of coffee and a smile on her face. "Here you go, little soldier, something to wake you up. Have a good nap? You really needed it."
Maggie sat up and accepted the mug, unconcerned of her nudity. Her grandmother was barefoot in a halter top and shorts, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, her skin showing the signs of her age, but her body still fit. Despite being in casual clothes, it seemed like she still wore a uniform. "The boys are at the Hospital; Alvin took Bennie with him and they're keeping watch. Bennie's telling Hawkeye about his week at school, that'll be good for Hawk. Patients in his condition can still be aware of their surroundings. Mark Larsen won't be there until 1900, so we've got a couple of hours. We can sit a while, meet the boys for dinner at the Bay View, and make the meeting with Mark on time."
"Good. If you have confidence in Dr. Mark Larsen, he must be pretty good." They sat quietly for a moment, waiting, before the younger woman spoke: "Can't stop thinking of Hawkeye. All those days out on the boat fishing, those mornings in the deer stand upstate. That magic night in '04 when the Sox broke the Curse of the Bambino. Studying for Boards with him."
"You're not the only doctor we've trained. All the way back to Lt. Gail Harris at the 4077, all our students got a passing grade the first try."
The younger woman chuckled. "I guess you have. You've been training me since I was 2."
"And we're not done yet!" Margaret said with a twinkle of pride in her eye, then she looked down, lost in a sudden wash of sorrow.
Maggie put a hand on her shoulder. "You've always loved him, haven't you Major?"
A tear crept down the aged cheek. "Yes, ever since I that night at the hut, during the artillery barrage. Before that I could have killed him a dozen times."
Maggie shifted, drawing one leg underneath herself as she sat up. "I bet. He told me once you were his favorite target for mischief in the early days, when you all first got to Korea."
"Don't I know it?" she snorted. "I was out for him a few times as well, I mean, he was in my cross hairs a lot when we first met. Frank and I were itching to find a way to Court Martial him. But he was so good, too good a surgeon for the Army to throw him away."
"But not after you fell in love."
"I wouldn't say that," Margaret said with some irritation. "We didn't really go ape over each other until we got back, after that convention in Kansas City, and there were a few times after that I could have slugged him, he was such an arrogant bastard."
They sat for a moment, before Maggie resumed. "Major, I remember you saying something about having trouble and needing Father Mulcahy's help."
"Oh yes. Things were pretty hectic about ten years after we married, around 1964, and I was ready to deck him about every other day. He was ready to deck me a few times as well. We'd heard Francis was back in the country, and went down the New York to meet him. He managed to get us tickets to the Yankees and afterward we went to the Jesuit residence in Manhattan. . .
*****
The Jesuit residence had several comfortable sitting rooms, with wood paneling, leather chairs and couches, walnut tables and sideboards. Fr. Francis John Patrick Mulcahy, S. J. led his old Army buddies Hawkeye and Margaret into the room, fresh from their sojourn at Yankee Stadium. Spreading his hands, he beckoned them: "Have a seat anywhere, anywhere you want. Can I get you something to eat, drink?"
"I'd like a Club Soda with a touch of Grenadine and a twist of lime," Margaret said primly.
Hawkeye snorted. "Scotch and Soda, as usual, Father."
"Coming right up, and since we're not in the Service anymore, I give you permission to call me Francis. Please. Scotch and Soda, and a Club Soda with Grenadine and a twist. Coming up. Make yourselves comfortable." The couple took chairs a distance from each other and settled in uneasily; Mulcahy busied himself at the bar and quickly produced the beverages they requested. He noticed the unease even after a pleasant afternoon in the sun, and set his mind to counseling mode. "Margaret, I'm surprised. You liked your Scotch as much as anyone at the 4077."
She took a sip on receiving her drink. "I got this sense a few years ago, after coming home, that I might have a problem. Looked at my family tree and noticed a lot of them have drinking problems. So I've been on the wagon since I came back from Korea. Once in a while, on a special occasion, I'll have a drop of the creature, as my grandmother used to say."
"A drop of the Creature," Hawkeye mimicked in a high, bad Irish brogue.
"I DON'T deny anyone else their right to have a drink or two in moderation. I know what it's like to live with an alcoholic, and I don't want anybody I love to live with one."
Hawkeye sneered at his wife. "And what does THAT mean?"
"Peace, friends, peace. I'm sure there's no problem here we can't work out. Margaret, please tell me how your children are doing."
Margaret bristled at her husband, then turned to face the chaplain: "They're doing wonderfully. Alvin is one of the smartest boys in his class, he'll be in third grade this fall. He already knows his multiplication tables."
"You won't let him go hunting with Dad and I. . ."
". . .and Elizabeth is just a doll. . ."
Hawkeye pointed an accusatory finger at his wife. ". . .And you always dress her like one. You never let her play in the mud."
Margaret sniffed. "No, her father plays in the mud enough as it is."
"We live in Maine, we're different, I'm a outdoorsman. The kids are stronger than you think."
"Friends, friends, friends," Mulcahy cut in. "Let's keep things calm, please. Please, for me. Wasn't it a great day for a ball game this afternoon?"
"It was pleasant," she said carefully. "I think the fans had a good time watching their team win. The game was never in doubt."
"No, it wasn't," her husband added. "You folks down here must find it pretty boring, Francis."
"Boring, Hawkeye? How come?"
"Well, your boys win almost every day. Granted, this was the Senators, but up in Boston it's always an adventure. Almost like Christmas when the Sox win, except when the Senators or Kansas City's in town."
"Oh, Hawk, be fair. We're in a tough pennant race this year, we're not taking anything for granted, and if we want to see a hopeless team, we can always head out to Flushing to see the Mets. You've got some fine young players up in Boston, Yazstremski in particular."
"Oh Yaz, has a lot of promise. Isn't the same since Williams retired, even though he was a jackass."
"Someday the Red Sox will win, the Yankees will lose and things will be different. The Curse of the Bambino will run out someday."
The couple gave their old friend a short chuckle in common, and settled down in silence. The 4077th chaplain looked back and forth between them, his mind racing, wondering which topic to broach. They'd seemed relaxed enough at the Stadium, but it seemed to him they were used to putting on a brave front in public. At last, after a long pause, he turned to the surgeon: "How's your practice going, Hawkeye?"
Hawkeye took a big slug of his Scotch. "We're doing well. Dad finally retired completely last year, so I've got enough patients to make a comfortable living. I love taking care of my friends, the people I grew up with. They trust me."
Francis looked at Margaret, who shrugged her shoulders. "He's a fantastic talent, we knew that in Korea. Of course he's the best and everyone loves him. He's wasted in a small town, and we all know it. I wish he'd take some time for his family. When he does grant himself a little time off, he's either at the golf course or out after bluefin tuna or off to the woods hunting deer."
Hawkeye lowered his drink and looked at his wife in disbelief. "We see each other all the time, Margaret, all the time. At the office, in the operating room, at home. When do I not see you? Why shouldn't I take a little time for myself?"
The priest finished his drink and poured himself another. In the back of his mind, he thought it was easier keeping them off each other's backs when they were enemies at the 4077. At least then, they and their friends would engage in some foolishness to let off steam from time to time. It was different raising a family, pursuing a career. They needed a way to stay sane.
"Let's take another approach. Take a few minutes to calm down, you're both still wound too tight, and we can't get anywhere as long as you're tense. Hawkeye, finish your drink and I'll pour you another one. Can I get you something else, Margaret?"
"No." Her body language was still hostile; she was refusing to sink into the comfortable chair, sitting on it like it was a folding chair. Hawkeye was sprawled all over his, but his foot was tapping constantly in mid-air, threatening to throw off his black loafer.
The priest looked at the nurse carefully. "You seem frightened about something, Margaret. I remember from Korea, your lips always trembles like that when you think things are running out of control."
