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Different Circumstances: Part 15A of ? by Marzee Doats


Author's Note:  I am pretty excited to be posting the first new part of Different Circumstances in more than 4 years.  Hopefully with the hiccup of Part 14 behind us, we can keep going on this ride, right on up until the end.  (What is the end, you ask?  Well, somewhere around 2030… unless more of the story occurs to me.)

Thanks, as always, to the world's most wonderful beta reader, Skyrose.  And also to Penny Lane for late night chats, encouragement, and the willingness to always take a random question.

Warnings: As previously established, in the Different Circumstances universe, Jake and Heather are married, and Eric and Jake are twins.  Both of those non-canon facts play heavily into this chapter.  Also, I suppose it's prudent to issue warnings for implied sexual situations, both pre- and post-marital. Shocking, I know.  Lastly… this is long (55 pages, over 20,000 words).  Forget short, I apparently can't even do medium anymore.


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Sunday, January 21, four months after the bombs

"Happy birthday, dear Jaa-ke! Happy birthday to you!" they sang, not entirely in unison and slightly off-key. Stanley punctuated the moment by blowing hard on his noisemaker, while Heather leaned over to offer her husband a chaste birthday kiss, dislodging the cone shaped hat she was wearing in the process.

"Can I eat this now?" Jake asked, gesturing at the lone peanut butter cookie sitting on a rainbow colored Happy Birthday! paper plate before him.

"Not quite yet," Heather contradicted. She started to get up, but Gail waved her off, moving toward the sideboard to retrieve a plate of peanut butter cookies – all much smaller than Jake's – and a small green birthday candle that was already wedged into a white plastic holder. Gail handed the candle to her daughter-in-law and set the plate in the center of the dining room table. "Fingers crossed this will work," Heather announced to the table in general as she worked to gently wiggle the candle holder into Jake's cookie without breaking it. "There," she breathed a long moment later, flashing him a quick smile. Johnston, sitting to her right, passed her a cheap, drugstore lighter. Heather lit the candle and instructed Jake to make a wish.

"Gee, I wonder what I'll be wishing for," he returned before blowing the flame out. There were, of course, hundreds of options if he wanted to be specific in his wishing, but Jake didn't feel the need to be detailed, and settled for simply requesting that 'everything be all right', leaving the interpretation of 'everything' up to God or the universe or some imaginary birthday fairy.

"Even if we can guess, it can still come true as long as you don't actually tell us," Heather reasoned, taking off her birthday hat and setting it on the table. Only Stanley, Gail and Johnston – who'd been coerced by his wife – had been willing to wear the paperboard cone hats and they all took this as a sign that they were now free to remove their own. "So don't tell us," Heather smiled.

"Well, everyone gets a cookie," Gail announced, putting a cookie on a birthday napkin and passing it to April, sitting beside her. April passed the cookie to Mimi, who passed it to Stanley, the last person on their side of the table.

"And the leftovers are your birthday present," Heather explained to Jake, "Along with the rest of the peanut butter, which is actually from Mindy, but I intercepted the jar with her full knowledge and permission."  Mindy, Ted, Russell, and a line supervisor from the brake works had come up to Jericho to meet with the technical solutions team right after New Year's, and while Jake had been aware of the two giant boxes of disposable diapers that had appeared in his parents' living room, he hadn't known there had been peanut butter, too.

"This is pretty good, sis," Michael – sitting on the other side of Johnston – commented as he nibbled at his cookie.

Heather exchanged a quick, relieved look with her mother-in-law. "It has been a three week project," she laughed. "I had to trade Stephanie Hyde for the butter, though all she wanted were some lesson plans for the girls. And we had to choose between getting sugar or flour for our rations from the airdrop supplies, so we decided on flour and substituted honey. Actually," she explained, "The trickiest part was figuring out how to bake 'em in the fireplace."

"Thought I detected a smoky hint," Jake teased, leaning over to kiss Heather. "Thanks, babe. This is a good birthday."

"Well, Mom helped a lot," she reminded, gesturing at Gail. "But since my peanut butter cookies are in the top ten reasons you married me, I'm glad I can still produce," Heather chuckled.

"You married her for her peanut butter cookies?" Mimi repeated, snickering softly. 

"Well, her whole baking repertoire," Jake shrugged, adding, "And rice krispie treats."

"And you'll notice he didn't say my cooking," Heather laughed.  "It's just my baking."

"So, what are the other nine?" Mimi inquired, her tone curious.

Michael and April groaned in unison. "You do not want to ask them that question," April advised, "Because they will tell you. Though actually," she continued, checking her watch, "Just refrain from answering for the next two minutes, and Mikey and I'll be out of here." She glanced at Heather's brother. "We need to leave, or we're gonna be late."

"You got it," Michael agreed, popping the rest of his cookie into his mouth and standing up from the table. He – along with everyone else – was already bundled up in his coat. Even with the fire crackling away in the living room some twenty feet away, the dining room was chilly, though that was downright balmy when compared to the artic-like climes of rest of the house. Fishing gloves and a watch cap out of his pocket, Michael moved to the head of table, where Jake as the birthday boy had been seated, and offered his hand to his brother-in-law. "Happy birthday, man."

April insisted on a hug, echoing Michael's good wishes as she kissed Jake on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Jake."

"Thanks," he smiled, catching her hand as he released her. "You okay?" Jake asked, squeezing her fingers. "It's gotta be weird for you, we have the same birthday," Jake reminded quietly.

"Yeah, but I can still celebrate yours and ignore the rest," April sighed, hugging him again. "And, I'm fine," she declared pulling away and beginning to wind her scarf around her neck. "Cold, tired, pregnant, and a little bit hungry," she joked, though her smile was clearly forced and certainly didn't reach her eyes. "But who amongst us isn't?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure I'm not pregnant," Michael opined from behind April.

Jake handed April one of his five remaining cookies. "That's the baby's," he informed her. "Both of you enjoy it, okay," he ordered, offering her a gentle smile. "Sorry, Mike," he continued, meeting his brother-in-law's gaze over April's shoulder, "But since you're not pregnant, I'm not giving you one of my cookies."

"Hey, I can be pregnant if I get another one," Stanley announced as Jake gave a cookie to Heather.

"Nice try," Jake acknowledged dryly. "Though, Mimi," he added a beat later, "If you've got anything to announce...."

She allowed a somewhat nervous laugh. "Uh, no. Though the cookies are really good," she assured Heather.

"So tell Jeff and Drake to hurry home before I eat theirs," Jake instructed, dropping a cookie on his plate and then shoving the last two toward his mother. "If I put you in charge, you're not gonna eat 'em yourself, right?"

"I think I can be trusted," Gail claimed, fighting a smile and shaking her head at her son.

He pretended to eye her appraisingly. "Yeah, maybe."

"Well, I get a hug, too, April," Stanley decided, climbing to his feet. "Former prom date's privilege," he argued, pulling her into an embrace.

"You're still the world's best hugger, Stanley," April laughed when he finally let her go. She glanced at Mimi, smiling and telling her, "I'm totally jealous of you for that."

"Take care of that Green baby," he instructed, kissing her forehead. "Uncle Stanley's orders. And you," he continued, pointing at Michael, "Make sure she doesn't slip on the ice or anything."

"Will do," Michael agreed, gesturing for April to lead the way.

The two of them headed for the door and Stanley re-seated himself, taking April's chair between Gail and Mimi. Balling up her napkin, Heather chucked it at Stanley, startling him. "What the heck's that for?" he demanded.

"Don't say 'green baby'," Heather commanded. "It makes me think of that creepy reptile hybrid clawing its way out of Robin in V," she said, shuddering visibly. "It had teeth, it was gross, and since I've been pregnant I've had very vivid dreams, so if I start having nightmares about giving birth to a lizard baby, it's your fault."

"You could totally tell it was a rubber puppet," he scoffed. Jake took the opportunity to shoot Heather's birthday hat at Stanley by its elastic string, eliciting a surprised noise from him. "Why'd you do that?" he asked, rubbing his shoulder at the point of impact, though there was really no way he could have felt it through his heavy coat.

"Defending my wife's honor," Jake shrugged. "Besides, if she has nightmares, I'm the guy she kicks all night."

"I believe Heather prefers Baby Green," Johnston drawled, "Isn't that right, darlin'?"

"Yes," she agreed, rubbing her hand over her pregnant tummy. "B.G. Doesn't make me think of aliens."

"Well, sorry I made you think about giving birth to an alien," Stanley said, offering Heather his hand over the table. "Or a lizard."

"Apology accepted," she chuckled, shaking his hand.

"So Jake, man, thirty three," Stanley proclaimed as he sat back in his chair.   "You're gettin' old."

"You are," Heather teased, "Now you're six years older than me."

Jake rolled his eyes. "Still only five and a half," he corrected her with a kiss. "And, Stanley, you're all of fifty five days younger than me," he reminded, glancing at his best friend. "If I'm gettin' old, so are you."

"Maybe," Stanley returned, shrugging. "But for the next fifty five days, I'm still thirty two, and that's younger than you."

"When's your birthday, Mimi?" Gail asked, smiling at her kindly.

"Oh!" she declared, surprised. "Uh, August. The only month without a holiday, that's what my father always said. So he declared my birthday the August holiday. Mimi's Day," she chuckled. "August twelfth."

"That's really sweet," Heather sighed.

"You're right, it was," Mimi confirmed, smiling.  "Plus, we always did something fun," she added.  "And Jake, Stanley, I'm a little bit older than both of you," she admitted, demonstrating 'a little bit' by holding her thumb and index finger about a half an inch apart. "So I hope that makes you feel better. And, Heather Green," she dismissed with a wave, "We're not even gonna talk about what a baby you are."

They had dined by candlelight of course, but even so they could all see the blush that suffused Heather's cheeks at Mimi's offhand accusation.  "I'm not that much younger than all of you," she protested.

Jake laid his hand over the top of hers on the table. "Really?  Because you know, technically, until June six, I am six years older than you… baby," he teased.

"Okay, I deserved that," she snorted, knowing that aside from Jake and possibly his mother, her statement probably confused them. She was vain enough that she didn't want people assuming that she was older than she was, but she also didn't like it when anyone implied that she was too young – too naïve – to keep up with Jake. "You're five years older," Heather declared. "That's what I always tell people."

Jake nodded in acknowledgement, exchanging smiles with his wife before turning his attention to his father sitting next to her. "Hey, so, isn't this the part of the evening when you remind me that at my age you'd been married forever, that you had two… six year old kids," he calculated, "And were already the mayor?"

"Nah," Johnston denied, shaking his head. "No need. You've been married for half of forever," he said, winking at Heather, "You're expectin' your first child, and for all intents and purposes you're the sheriff of this town now. Doesn't seem like you need any reminders from me," his father explained. "Besides, more'n half the reason I started makin' that speech was to keep in my wife's good graces.  'Cause we all know that your mother doesn't want to be the only one pushing."

Heather, Jake and even Gail joined in on the word 'pushing', and the six of them, Mimi included, dissolved into laughter. "Well, when there're babies on the way, it can't be considered pushing anymore," Gail declared, still chuckling softly.  "Okay," she continued a beat later, starting to stand up from the table, "I think I'm gonna get started on the dishes, and Johnston, you may dry."

"Yes, ma'am," her husband agreed, heaving a resigned sigh before slowly climbing to his feet.

"I can help, too," Heather offered, though her in-laws quickly turned her down.

"That's okay, darlin'," Johnston assured, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of her head.  "I know my way 'round a dish towel."

"You four should visit," Gail insisted.  "That's one thing we never seem to have time for anymore.  Just visiting with friends."

"Dinner was great, Mrs. G," Stanley said, "I really liked that cornbread soufflé-y thing."

"Spoon bread," Gail explained.  "Heather and I thought we'd try something a little different – a little fancy – for Jake's birthday dinner."

"Well, if you're sharin' the recipe…" Stanley prompted, earning him a smile from Gail.

"Of course," she agreed readily.  "It's cornmeal, eggs, butter and buttermilk –"

"I traded Stephanie like a month's worth of lesson plans," Heather interjected.

"And green onions," Gail finished.  "Johnston and Drake have some onions growing in the boxes in the garage, so we threw those in for flavor.  And you can use regular milk of course.  It's a little bit of work, but I think it's worth it," she sighed.

"Definitely," Mimi agreed, "Very tasty."

"I'll write it all out for you, okay?" she offered, looking between Stanley and Mimi.

Stanley grinned.  "That'd be great.  Thanks, Mrs. G."

"Yeah, though if it's too complicated, Stanley'll have to make it," Mimi said, chuckling self-consciously.  She glanced at Heather, smiling wryly, "I'm not known for my cooking skills, either."

"Babe, you wanna move into the living room?" Jake asked Heather, reaching for her hand.  She was in her red wool coat, which she could at least button at the top, though – especially when she was sitting down – she had to leave the bottom half of the buttons undone and her pregnant belly – except for the three layers of clothing she was wearing – exposed.  "Closer to the fire?"

She considered the suggestion for a moment before shaking her head 'no'.  "I'm fine, Jake.  B.G.'s fine.  And the sofa's just as far from the fire as right here, I think."  The couch had been moved closer to the fire during Jake's convalescence of course, but the arrangement had proven awkward for the cooks – three quarters of their meals were prepared over the fire now – and so it had been returned to its original location, and even the club chairs that had always flanked the fireplace had been moved farther away in favor of a card table that now served as a "kitchen counter".

"Okay," he acknowledged, getting up so he could assume his father's chair next to his wife.  Mimi also changed chairs, taking Gail's, so that the two couples sat facing one another across the table.  "But, if you change your mind," Jake reminded, squeezing Heather's shoulder as he scooted his chair in, "We can move, okay?"

"Yup, pregnant ladies rule," Stanley concurred.  "Or the pregnant lady's rules.  Whichever you prefer."

"Well, today's your birthday," Heather countered, offering Jake a gentle smile. "So, actually, we should be operating under birthday rules.  But I'm happy here, so I'm using a pregnant lady veto," she declared, folding her hands together over their baby.  "And, speaking of birthdays," she continued, "I hafta tell you Mimi, you may think you've experienced Saint Patrick's Day before, but you haven't really until you've experienced it as Saint Stanley Patrick Richmond's Day."

"Hey, I did Saint Patrick's Day in Boston when I was in college," Mimi argued, "And they know Saint Paddy's Day in Beantown.  But Stanley Patrick Richmond?" she questioned, her expression both amused and confused.  "You told me your middle name is George."

"It is three hundred and sixty four days a year," Stanley agreed.  "Every day but my birthday.  Then it's Patrick, since you know, we have the same birthday."
 
"It's a feast day, not his actual birthday, Stanley," Heather laughed, "That’s not how it works."

"Close enough," he shrugged.

"Anyway, it's quite the party," Heather informed Mimi, her tone conspiratorial as she leaned in over the table.  "Stanley will wear one of his 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish' t-shirts –"

"You know he owns three of them," Mimi laughed.  She glanced sideways, rolling her eyes at her lover.  "Maybe four."

"My wardrobe horrifies her," Stanley declared proudly, crossing his eyes as he leered at her.

This only made Mimi laugh harder.  "It does, it really does," she agreed.

"So, babe," Jake began, laying his arm across the back of Heather's chair, cupping her shoulder with his hand.  "What do you do when you see Stanley, on his birthday, wearin' a 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish' t-shirt?" he asked.

She grinned at him. "I give him a great, big smooch of course," Heather giggled.  "A great, big, platonic smooch," she assured Mimi with a quick glance.

"Ha!" Jake declared.  "And now I refer you to our conversation of … seven weeks ago," he decided after pondering it for a moment.  "We were standing next to my car, I was loading salt, you were incubating… ringin' a bell for you yet, babe?"

"Uh-huh," Heather said warily.

"Good," he proclaimed.  They could all tell that he was enjoying himself.  "And, you said that you only ever kissed Stanley if there was mistletoe involve –"

"Okay, so I forgot about his birthday and 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish' t-shirts," Heather conceded, with an exaggerated sigh.  "So sue me."

"I'm just trying to establish the facts of the case," Jake replied, his tone almost gleeful.  "So Stanley, I have a question for you."

"Okie-dokie," Stanley agreed, "But, Jake, man –"

"Who would you rather be, Chewbacca or Luke Skywalker?"

"Jake!" Heather gasped, "You are not!"

"Uh, that was not the question I was expectin'," Stanley admitted a few seconds later.  However, the question certainly seemed to intrigue him as – forehead wrinkled in concentration – he considered it for a long moment. "Are you talkin' group costume, or what?" he inquired.

"I don't do group costumes," Jake said, rolling his eyes.  "This is just in general, who do you see yourself as?  Luke or Chewie?"

"Jake doesn't really do costumes," Heather reminded.  "The only one I've ever seen him in is his Count Jake-ula costume, and I'm the one who bought that.  To exact some timely revenge," she told Mimi.

"Oh, right.  That was totally classic," Stanley crowed. 

"Of course, Emily claims that back in the day you'd wear three, four costumes in a night so you could re-trick-or-treat all the same houses," Heather informed her husband, smirking.  "She told me all about it while we were setting up for the Halloween party this year."

Jake rolled his eyes.  "That happened once, maybe twice," he insisted.  "Gracie Leigh recognized me, told my dad, and trust me, that was the last year I ever went trick-or-treating."

"You know I take anything Emily says with a giant grain of salt," she sighed, smoothing the fabric of her sweatshirt over her tummy.  "Especially anything she says about you."

"Make it a bowling ball sized grain of salt," Jake advised.  "And no changing the subject," he accused, pointing a teasing finger at her.  "And, you," he continued, aiming his finger at Stanley, "Answer the question.  Luke or Chewie?"

"So who's Han Solo?" Stanley asked, "You?" 

"Yep," Jake confirmed with a nod.  "And Heather's Princess Leia."

"Well, I'm not sure I buy into your scenario," Stanley complained, "But, you know, whatever.  And Luke or Chewbacca?  I dunno, their love lives both kinda suck."

"Chewbacca's married," Heather reminded.  "And he has at least one kid, I think."

Stanley nodded.  "Right.  On Kashyyyk.  And he's got a sister and a nephew too.  'Cause the nephew goes to the Jedi Academy."

"What?" Mimi muttered, glancing at Jake.  "Do you know what they're talking about?"

"You know Star Wars?" he asked.

"Of course I know Star Wars," she returned.  "I saw the movies when I was a kid."

"There's a lot more than the movies.  There're books, and they've read them," Jake explained, pointing first at Heather and then at Stanley.  "And then they have book club sometimes.  Like right now."

"Well, I knew he was a fan," Mimi replied, leaning around her lover – who was leaning over the table, chatting animatedly with Heather – to talk to Jake.  "I found his old The Empire Strikes Back sheets in the linen closet my first week at Stanley's."

"Sad thing is, those sheets were still on his bed the night he took April to the prom," Jake joked.

Mimi chuckled appreciatively, but Stanley was so wrapped up in his discussion of Chewbacca's family tree that his best friend's dig didn't even register.  "Okay, so Lumpawawa – Lumparawoo – Lumpy – whatever his name is – he's Chewbacca's son, and Lowbacca's the nephew, right?" Stanley asked Heather. 

"Yeah, and the two of them take over Chewbacca's life debt thing with Han," Heather reminded, "After he, you know, dies, saving Anakin's life."

"Right, right," Stanley nodded.  "And you know, that Chewbacca / Lowbacca thing is a nice way to honor an uncle," he suggested.  "I'm just sayin'," he continued, motioning at Heather's pregnant belly, "Have you thought about Bradley or Shirley or Lesley?  Names that end in –ley, just like Stanley," he clarified unnecessarily.  "Marley!  That's another one."

"Yeah, I don't think so," Jake declared.  "I'd use my veto on those names," he promised, reaching for Heather's hand.  "Shirley?  Poor kid would spend the rest of her life answering the question 'where's Laverne?'"

"Kids in this generation probably won't have that particular cultural reference, hon," Heather reminded, smiling at her husband.  "And I'm also pretty sure you'll never need to veto those names," she chuckled.  "Sorry, Stanley."

"S'okay," he dismissed with a wave.  "Just a thought.  But back to this Star Wars thing –"

"Don't be Chewbacca," Mimi interjected.  "I just mean, you should pick Luke," she advised, shrugging.  "He's a farmer and you're a farmer, so that makes sense."
 
"And, Luke is Leia's brother," Heather chimed in, "And I always say you remind me of my big brothers."

Stanley pantomimed taking an arrow to the heart and then pretended to twist the shaft.  "That still kinda hurts, Lisinski," he grumbled.

"Awwww.  I feel so bad for you," Heather drawled, even going so far as to stick her lower lip out as far as she was physically able to do.  "But I'm sure Mimi can kiss it and make it all better," she giggled.

"Yeah, that'd probably do it," Stanley agreed before leaning toward Mimi his lips puckered expectantly.

She, however, put her hand up, blocking his advance and earning herself a somewhat sloppy kiss on the palm.  "So," she said, glancing around the table at her companions as she removed her hand from Stanley's lips, shaking it off, "What exactly am I making all better by kissing you?"

"Uh, that Heather told Stanley, on their first and last date, that he reminded her of her brother Andy," Jake explained, smirking at his best friend.  "Before he could even get a goodnight kiss."

"Says the man who didn't take the opportunity to kiss me," Heather complained.

"Excuse me," Jake yelped, throwing her a look that clearly implied she was crazy.  "What first date were you on?  Because I definitely remember some kissing."

"I'm not talking about our first date," Heather argued, blushing.  "I'm talking about our zeroth date, which sure felt like a first date from where I was standin'.  See, I'd gone out to the ranch to meet Gramps – Jake's grandfather," she explained, looking at Mimi and Stanley. "So six, seven hours later, when I'm going home, Jake insists on following me back to town, to make sure I get home safely.   And when we get to my house, he walks me to my door, and I so think he's gonna kiss me because, hello, we'd just spent hours together having a really great time… and I pretty much close my eyes and pucker up, and then nothing.  He says goodnight and leaves."

"Okay, first of all, I was tryin' to be respectful," Jake countered, "And second of all, if you'd actually puckered up – which you didn't – I would have kissed you, so there."

"Really?" Heather grinned, puckering up. 

"Really," Jake confirmed, kissing her.

Mimi too, relented and kissed Stanley.  "I'm still not sure why I'm supposed to kiss you to make up for the fact that Heather didn't kiss you umpteen years ago," she declared as they separated, "Especially when apparently she's been kissing you a couple of times a year ever since to make up for it." Fighting a grin, she shook her head at him, but she didn't pull away when he leaned in again, grazing her mouth with his own.

"Okay, now I'm totally over her," Stanley announced, wrapping his arm around Mimi.  "Sorry, Lisinski."

"I actually prefer Green now," Heather reminded, "I'm old fashioned that way.  And, Stanley," she continued, her expression animated, "There's another reason to pick Luke Skywalker.  'Cause in the books he did have a love life.  He had that whole cat and mouse flirtation thing going with Mara Jade.  You know what I mean, they were enemies but there was all that... tension.  And they did get together in the end."

"Right!" he agreed gleefully.  "She was 'The Emperor's Hand'," Stanley said, pitching his voice low in order to emphasize the seriousness of the title.  "Sure sounds like the job description of an IRS agent to me," he joked, reaching for Mimi's hand.  "So, Uncle Sam, you wanna be my Emperor's Hand?" he asked, brushing a kiss over her knuckles.

Mimi's expression was skeptical.  "I honestly don't know if I should be insulted or flattered," she grumbled.

"Be flattered," Jake advised, "That was actually one of his best pick-up lines of all time."

"How do you know that?" Heather inquired, fighting a giggle.  "Maybe his lines have improved in the last five, six years."

"See, even you think they needed to improve," Jake countered, "Which brings up the question: what line did he use on you?"

Heather sucked a calming breath in through her teeth.  "He didn't use a line on me," she sniffed, "He just asked me to dinner.  That's all," she insisted, rubbing her hand in circles over her pregnant tummy.

"That bad, huh?" her husband concluded.  "What did you say to her?" Jake asked, his gaze focused on his best friend.  "'Oh, Heather, you're so good with my tractor, it practically purrs –'"

"He didn't say anything like that!" Heather interrupted.  "He was very sweet.  And that was a very, very bad line."

"Yeah, that was my point," Jake returned, smirking.

"You know, Jake, I just remembered that you weren't at my birthday last year," Stanley announced suddenly.  "But your wife was, and she had a very good time.  What was that drink you and April liked so much?" he inquired, flashing Heather a friendly and somewhat nervous grin.

"Where were you?" Mimi asked Jake.

"Afghanistan," he answered with a shrug.  He glanced at his wife, taking in the telltale blush that stained her cheeks and was slowly spreading down her neck.  "What the hell was the drink?  Did you – did you get drunk?" he stammered out.  The thought was mind boggling; Heather seldom had more than one drink in an evening, and on the rare occasions when she did indulge, she at the most got adorably tipsy and then promptly fell asleep.  "You never drink enough to get drunk," Jake insisted, though it sounded to them all – him especially – like a question.

She held up three fingers, waggling them in his face.  "Three piña coladas, Jake.  Remember?"  Heather then pointed an accusing finger toward Stanley.  "And you – I was trying to defend you, and you throw me under the bus," she charged. 

"Wait a minute," Jake interjected, "That was you drunk?" He remembered the evening in question quite fondly, and not just because Heather had declared, rightly or wrongly, that it was the night on which they had conceived their baby. It had been their third night in Hawaii, the first occasion on which they'd ventured out for dinner – rather than ordering in – and, simply put, they'd had a great time. Jake remembered it well, how they had talked – flirted – in hushed, low tones, holding hands across the table while playing footsie underneath. He'd ordered her the third drink while she was in the restroom, not to get her drunk, but because he'd wanted them to linger, to enjoy the tropical breeze, the sound of the surf, the field of bright stars above, and most importantly, the time they had together. And later, when they'd slowly made their way back to the condo, laughing, holding onto one another, exchanging kisses and caresses, it hadn't occurred to Jake that she was actually inebriated, just happy and maybe a little more amorous than usual, not that he'd minded.

"I don't know," Heather answered, meeting Jake's eye and offering him an embarrassed smile. "Probably."

"Well, you were definitely drunk at my party," Stanley announced, earning himself a dirty look.

"I was not!" Heather insisted vehemently. "And you wanted to know what he said when he asked me out, well, now I'm gonna tell you," she announced, slapping the table with one hand for emphasis.  Jake recognized the slightly desperate note in her tone as she launched into her account.  Clearly, she wanted off the subject of Stanley's birthday party.  "He said he wanted to take me to dinner to thank me for tuning up his tractor and for everything I'd done for Bonnie at school," she said, glancing between Jake and Mimi.  "But I assumed Bonnie would be coming with us, so then he had to tell me it was a date. Which I was actually glad to hear," she admitted, laughing at herself, "But it was still a little embarrassing that he had to explain it to me.  No bad pick-up lines, just a little misunderstanding."

Jake cleared his throat, trying to suppress a laugh. "We may just hafta agree to disagree on that one, babe," he told Heather.  "But, what I really wanna know is, what the hell were you drinkin' at Stanley's party last year?"

"Uh-uh," was Heather's only reply though the crimson stain on her cheeks spoke volumes.

"Do you know what she was drinking?" Jake asked, glancing at his best friend.

"Of course," Stanley returned, "But trust me, you wanna hear it from her."

"And that's so not gonna happen," she declared, her lips pressed tightly together as she tried to keep from giggling.  "You'd enjoy it way too much," Heather informed her husband, flashing him a tight smile.  "And I'm not goin' there."

"It's my birthday," he countered, "If I'm not supposed to enjoy things on my birthday, when can I?"

"You can enjoy anything else," she told him.

Every visible inch of her skin was now red, Stanley and Mimi were observing their discussion with a concentration usually reserved for tennis matches, and Jake knew he was pushing his luck, but he decided that he didn't really care.  Catching his wife's eye, he offered her his most winsome smile, cajoling, "C'mon, you know you're gonna tell me…."

"It was a coffee drink," Heather shrugged, "No big deal."

"Like an Irish coffee?" Mimi guessed.

"Exactly," Heather agreed.

"It was more ... specific than that," Stanley asserted.

"What were you drinking?" Jake demanded.  "Babe, you hafta tell me.  C'mon, it's my birthday," he tried again.

She shook her head at him, laughing softly to herself, and Jake knew he had her now.  "I can't believe..." Heather muttered under her breath.  "Fine!" she announced a few seconds later, straightening in her seat and folding her hands together over their baby as primly as the most severe of schoolmarms.  "If you must know, at Stanley's birthday party, I had two Nutty Irishmen."

Her three companions immediately erupted in laughter.  "I'm – I'm pretty – pretty sure it was – was three," Stanley wheezed between chortles.

"Wow," Mimi chuckled, wiping her eyes, "Not really how I woulda put it."

"I swear, that's gotta be the dirtiest thing you've ever said to me," Jake teased, smirking at her.

Fighting a losing battle with a smile, Heather rolled her eyes in return.  "Really?" She questioned, "Outta everything I've ever said to you, you can't think of anything else?"

"Well, definitely the dirtiest thing you've said to me in front of other people," he amended, chuckling.


"Besides, maybe it's not even really a sexual innuendo thing," she reasoned, "Maybe – maybe they're just referring to a man of Irish descent with a little joie de vivre," she suggested before giving up and giving into a giggle.

"Even you don't believe that," Jake snorted.

"If you can see the innuendo in an alcoholic drink's name, it's there," Mimi argued, "That's pretty much a given."

"Thank you," Jake agreed, nodding appreciatively at Mimi.  "And maybe it wasn't the dirtiest thing you've ever said," he continued, leaning toward his wife, "But I did enjoy it."

Laughing, Heather pressed a quick kiss to his mouth.  "Well, happy birthday then," she sighed.  "And, I will have you know, I rather enjoyed my two Nutty Irishmen –"

"Yeah, but it was still three," Stanley interjected with a snicker.  "Coulda been four."

"It was two," Heather insisted.  "Well, two and a half, really.  But not three, and definitely not four.  And they were good," she drawled, "Those Nutty Irishmen of mine."

Her three companions burst into laughter once again, Heather joining in this time.  The door from the kitchen opened, and the elder Greens came into the dining room.  "Okay, you kids, knock it off," Johnston ordered with mock gruffness.  "You're havin' just too good'a time in here," he joked.

The four of them all just laughed harder.  "Somewhere – somewhere in time," Jake chuckled when he was finally able to catch his breath, "My fifteen year old self is feeling an inexplicable sense of validation, 'cause Dad has finally just admitted that he really is the fun police."

Surprisingly, Johnston's response was to chuckle right along with the "kids".  "Now, that was actually funny, Jake, it really was," he said.  "Long as we can all agree that my forty-two, forty-three year old self likely took one look at fifteen year old you smirkin' at him over the dinner table and got the sudden urge to check the lock on the liquor cabinet, for damage on your mother's car –"

"For broken branches in the bush underneath his bedroom window," Heather suggested.

"Thank you, darlin'," her father-in-law acknowledged, "Never did check on that poor bush as often as I should've," he admitted, laughing softly.  "Though, what I was gonna say was t' check your hidin' place in the heating vent over the door in your room," Johnston informed his son.

"Well, me then and me now, we'd both lose a little respect for you if you didn't," Jake assured his father.  "Or hadn't," he amended.  Squinting at his parents, Jake shook his head.  "You guys knew about the vent?"

"Sorry, honey," Gail apologized, squeezing his shoulder.  "But if it makes you feel better, we didn't find the stash in your old footlocker 'til last month."

Jake frowned, looking back and forth between his parents.  He had absolutely no idea what his mother was talking about.  "What was I hiding in there?"

"Most of a bottle of some very smooth Scotch," Johnston answered. "So thank you.  We enjoyed it."

"You're welcome, I guess," Jake returned.

Johnston chuckled in acknowledgement.  "Well," he sighed, "I just hope, for your sake, Heather, that the Lisinski genes can temper some of the wilder Green ones."

For most of his adult life – really, since his early teens – Jake knew that he'd have only heard the censure in Johnston's comment, taken it as an indictment of his character and choices.  But now – whether it was because he was about to become a father himself, or because he'd grown more comfortable in his own abilities and decisions, or simply because they had been forced into each other's company, forced to work together so much, over the last few months – Jake could recognize everything else that was conveyed in his father's statement.  Johnston wasn't attacking him for his failings as much as he was admitting to having a few failings of his own.  His father, Jake realized, was accepting his share of the responsibility for the conflict and misunderstanding that had existed between them for so long.  The least he could do was follow Johnston's lead.  "Hey!  I resemble that remark," Jake complained, pretending to scowl at his father. 

"So've I," Johnston said, meeting his son's eye, "On many an occasion."

"And I happen to be rather partial to the Green genes, even the wilder ones," Heather announced, reaching for Jake's hand. 

"Me too," Gail concurred, wrapping one arm around her husband's waist.

"Though I do have to wonder if there are really alleles for daredevilry and sneaking out of the house," Heather joked.

"See, what you don't know, Dad, is that Heather has a secret thing for rapscallions," Jake informed Johnston.  Brushing a kiss across her knuckles, he winked at his wife.  "Why else do you think she married me?"

"It's true," Heather confirmed, giggling.  "Not that that's the reason I married you," she assured Jake in her next breath, "But that I like rapscallions.  My favorite kinda student.  The goody two shoes kids secretly irritate me, and I say that as a borderline goody two shoes –"

"What?" Jake teased, "Not you!"

She rolled her eyes at him.  "But the rapscallions, with their Rube Goldberg plans … always tryin' to outthink you… I definitely want a few of them in class.  Besides," she sighed, "I will remind you that the same Lisinski genes that gave me to the world, also gave you all my brothers."

"Mike seems like a nice kid," Mimi argued.  "Wants to be – is gonna be a doctor."

"Yeah, well, you haven't met Tommy," Jake returned, "And, I'm pretty sure I can handle it if our kid turns out like me –"
 
"Because you know all your tricks," Heather interjected.

"Half of which you're gonna think are adorable," he predicted, snorting.

Heather grinned at him.  "Probably.  Though, interesting that you apparently won't," she added, nodding thoughtfully.

"The goody two shoes kids irritate you, right?" Jake reminded, "So if our kid ends up having a bad attitude, that'll probably get under my skin sometimes too."

"You know, Grandpa used to talk me down whenever I started threatin' to ship you off to military school," Johnston recalled, "So I can probably do the same for you and my grandchild."

Jake met his father's eye.  "I'll keep that in mind.  Thanks."

"And that only happened a few times," Gail added, "It's not like it was every other week."

"Like I said, I could probably handle a kid who turns out like me," Jake repeated, "But God help me if our kid takes after his Uncle Tommy."

Heather groaned, letting her head rest on Jake's shoulder.  "I love Tommy – all my brothers," she insisted, "But I think I'd rather have the lizard baby."

Except for Gail – who made a face – they all laughed at Heather's pronouncement.  "Let's just assume that that baby is a perfect blend of you both, and not worry about aliens or reptiles," Gail said, moving around the end of the table.  She stopped next to Stanley's chair and handed him a folded piece of notebook paper. "Your recipe," she smiled.

"Thanks Mrs. G," he grinned in return.  "And, speaking of questionable teenage behavior – no offense, Jake –"

"Sure," his friend grunted, "None taken."

"Bonnie's home with Sean Henthorn," Stanley explained, pushing back from the table.  "And I can't stop 'em from seein' each other, but I don't hafta make it easy on 'em either."  Standing, he held his hand out for Mimi.  "But, thanks for dinner," he said, glancing between Gail and Heather, "And happy birthday, Jake."

"Thanks," Jake smiled.  "Make sure you tell Bonnie she missed out, skipping this year," he added, drumming his fingers on the table.  "Peanut butter cookies – well, cookie," he reminded.

"We will see you out," Heather decided, starting to maneuver herself out of her chair. 
Jake quickly scrambled to his feet, offering her his hand.  "I can still do this," she reminded, even as she accepted his assistance.

"Not saying you can't," he countered, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. 

"So, we're gonna swing by to see Eric first," Stanley told Jake and Heather as the four of them made their way into the entry.  "Just to say 'hi' and 'bye' and 'happy birthday'," he clarified.  "You two wanna come along?"

Heather's expression was the picture of distaste.  "Eric and I aren't on speaking terms at the moment, Stanley," she reminded. 

"I already saw him this morning when I was downtown," Jake added, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist.  They stood facing Stanley and Mimi, who were now at the door.  "And, it's not like we get each other cards," he grumbled.  "We have the same birthday, so if I say 'happy birthday' to him it's like I'm askin' him to say it to me.  Pretty lame."

"Okay, well, thought I'd mention it," Stanley shrugged, his tone disappointed.

"Look," Heather began exhaling a frustrated breath.  "You can tell him 'happy birthday' from me, okay?  I mean, I'm not talking to him, but you can tell him 'happy birthday'," she decided, "If only because he drove me home after your birthday party last year and he didn't make a big deal about it."

"I think he drove me home, too," Stanley said, his forehead wrinkling as he tried to work out his hazy memory of how that particular evening had ended.

"He did," she confirmed, frowning softly.  "And he took me to get my car the next day and didn't make fun of me or anything.  So, for that, you can tell him 'happy birthday' from me."

"They're both my friends, you know?"  Stanley sounded aggravated.  "I don't know what you want me to do.  I can't – can't pick sides."

She wanted to argue that, yes, he could pick a side, that, yes, he should pick a side, that it should be obvious – Eric was wrong, and April the wronged party.  But she also knew it wasn't that easy.  They were all in an impossible situation, and they could each only do what they thought was right.  One day, even she would have to talk to Eric again; he was always going to be her brother-in-law, her baby's uncle, her niece's or nephew's father.  Heather pulled free of Jake, stepping close enough to Stanley to place a kiss on his cheek.  "It's okay, you don't have to," she assured, "Just tell him 'happy birthday' from me."

"Will do," Stanley agreed, pulling her into a bear hug.

Mimi had taken advantage of their distraction to move to Jake's side, and just as Heather turned back around, she cupped Jake's face with both her hands and planted a kiss on his lips.  "Happy birthday, Jake," Mimi smiled fifteen seconds later when she finally pulled away, taking a step back.

"Uh, thanks," he returned a beat later, clearing his throat. 

"Okay," Heather muttered, frowning, as she maneuvered past Mimi then slipped under Jake's waiting arm.

"Oh, don't scowl at me like that, Heather Green," Mimi sniffed, clearly not intimidated.  "First, it's his birthday, and second, I'll probably never do that again," she explained, "But still, I figured Jake's earned a little payback.  After all, how long again have you been kissing Stanley?"

Fighting a smile, Heather shook her head.  "Well, half the time, he kisses me, but, yeah, I guess we deserved that."  She glanced at Stanley, "Just so you know, I'm probably not gonna kiss you again, either."

"Yeah, that's cool," he agreed, "'Cause that was so not cool," Stanley complained, wrapping his arm around Mimi.  "Sheesh!  Besides, I have my own someone to drag under the mistletoe now, anyway," he reminded with a grin.

"And, I'm very happy about that," Heather sighed.  "I mean, that you have someone."

"We better get goin'," Stanley decided.  He glanced at Mimi.  "Ready Uncle Sam?"

There was a flurry of goodbyes, and then Stanley and Mimi were out the door, hurrying toward his truck.  Jake closed the door behind them, locking it, and then turned to face his wife.  "You enjoyed that," she accused, chuckling.

Jake shrugged.  "Sure," he agreed, reaching for her hand and drawing her to him.  "What's not to enjoy?  But you're a better kisser," he assured, trying to kiss her.

"Not so fast," Heather grumbled, stopping him with her hand and making a half-hearted attempt to scrub the kiss off his lips.  "I'm not kissing you while you're wearing her lipstick, mister.  Not that I don't like Mimi."

He waited until she was done before he continued.  "I like Mimi, too," Jake told her.  "She's smart, funny, and, you know, she probably saved my life.  Plus, Stanley's madly in love with her –"

"He really is, isn't he?" Heather interrupted, smiling at the thought. 

"Yup," Jake confirmed.  "Like I am with you," he added, wrapping both arms around her waist.  "Wants kids with her, wants to be a hundred years old and sittin' on the porch in rocking chairs with her," he sighed.  Grinning, Jake brushed his mouth across hers.  "And really, you're a way better kisser.  Though, I'm probably biased."

"Probably," she agreed, giggling.  Heather threw her arms around his neck, kissing him in return.  "So, my nutty half Irishman," she began a few seconds later, smiling at him, "What –"

"More like nine sixteenths," he interrupted.  "There's a little bit of Irish on Dad's side, too, ya know."

"Okay then," Heather acknowledged, stroking the back of his neck with her thumb.  "My nutty nine sixteenths Irishman," she chuckled.  "Your party's over, but birthday rules still apply for the next four, five hours …" she reminded, pressing her lips to his.  "So I'm sure we can find something… private … and celebratory… to do…."

"No doubt," he agreed with a grin.  Jake disentangled her arms from around his neck and, after pressing quick kisses to both her palms, laced their fingers together.  "So, whaddya say we take this party upstairs?"

Heather smiled.  "You're reading my mind, hon," she breathed.  "Happy birthday, Jake."


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday January 21, five years before the bombs


"Okay, from here on out, this is what I wanna do for my birthday," Jake decided, dipping a French fry in ketchup, "Every year."

"Have grilled cheese and chocolate shakes at midnight?" Heather asked, laughing at him over her sandwich. "Well, at least that's a birthday wish I'm pretty sure I can make happen."

"I meant going away for the weekend," he clarified, popping the fry into his mouth. "Just the two of us. I – this has been great, babe," Jake smiled, leaning toward her for a kiss.

Jake had first floated the idea of going away for the weekend to celebrate his birthday two weeks before, as they had traveled home to Jericho from Buffalo. Heather had readily agreed, noting the luck of his birthday falling on a school holiday – Martin Luther King Jr. Day – this year, and confessing that the idea of spending two days alone alone together was rather exciting. He'd refused to tell her where they were going until the night before, and he'd actually planned three possible trips – his preferred destination and two back-ups in case of bad weather – but luckily mother nature had cooperated, and Friday afternoon at four, they had departed Jericho Airfield in a Jayhawk Aviation Cessna bound for Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

"But I like the midnight snack idea, so keep that," Jake ordered, chuckling. "Just hold the tomatoes."

"I like tomato in my grilled cheese," she argued half-heartedly. "However, it's your birthday – and actually, now, it's officially your birthday," Heather informed him, pointing over the back of the sofa at the digital alarm clock on the bedside table that read 12:02. "So happy … official … birthday, Jake," she declared, getting up on her knees so she could wrap her arms around his neck and give him a quite thorough birthday kiss.

Turning in his seat, Jake lay back against the arm of the sofa, pulling Heather to him. "This is so how we're doing my birthday from now on," he assured her, groaning softly as he played with the belt on her bathrobe.

Jake had planned for a romantic ski weekend, booking them into a fireplace room at a hotel that was an easy walk to the Jackson Hole Aerial Tram. Johnston Green had put his boys on skis almost as soon as they could walk, and although he hadn't been skiing in a few years, Jake had always enjoyed the sport. Heather, he had learned in Buffalo, was also a skier, having spent her teenage years joining the Burkes – her sister-in-law Kerry's family – at their condo in Vermont. The only thing was, they were leaving Jackson Hole at lunchtime the next day, and they hadn't yet found time to ski.

"You know," Heather grinned, running her hands through his hair, "It's your birthday, but I feel like I'm the one who got the present. This weekend has been amazing. So, thank you."

"Present for you, present for me… that's pretty much the same thing, right?" he teased.

"Yes!  Absolutely!"  She kissed him soundly and then began to lift herself off of Jake, drawing his protest.

"Where're you goin'?" he grumbled, forcing himself to sit up as well.

"I'm hungry," she whined, giggling at herself. "And the French fries smell really good," Heather sighed, reaching for one.

"Fine," Jake muttered, affecting a put upon air. "Eat." It had been her rumbling stomach that had led him to suggest that they avail themselves of the room service menu one more time in the first place. "Gotta keep you fueled up," he joked, tilting his head toward hers, though at the last second he changed his mind, stealing her French fry instead of a kiss.

Heather squeaked in indignation, but shrugged it off a moment later when Jake moved the plate of fries from the coffee table to her lap. "Tell you what," she began, leaning close, her tone flirtatious, "Let's finish our midnight snack, and then we can do whatever you want. It's your birthday, after all. We should make that a rule," Heather decided, reaching for the remnant of her sandwich. "A birthday rule."

"Whatever I want, huh?" he returned, catching her eye. "Carte blanche?" Jake reached for his milkshake. "Oh, the possibilities," he drawled.

"Well, nothing that will get us hospitalized, dead or arrested," she cautioned, pointing a fry at him for emphasis. "And remember, it'll be my birthday next."

"I can work inside those parameters," Jake assured her. "And, I thought the rule was not dying, not wanted, not married," he joked.

"That's married to other people," Heather clarified, "'Cause you are marrying me, mister, in one hundred seventy … three days," she decided, finishing off her sandwich. "And don't you forget it."

"Can't wait, babe." Jake could also no longer resist the urge to kiss her. Cupping her chin with one hand, he brought his mouth down on hers. Somehow, she ended up in his lap, and when they finally pulled apart, they were panting and grinning and Heather had worked both her arms into his robe. "I also kinda love that you know exactly how many days it is 'til our wedding," he declared, kissing the tip of her nose.

"Not too control freaky of me, I hope," she sighed, her hands roaming over his shoulders and chest.  "I started keeping track to make sure I got everything to Father Reynaldo on time, and now I just know," Heather smiled.

Nodding, Jake caught her hand against his collarbone and extracted it from inside his robe, pressing a kiss to her palm before lacing their fingers together. "Nah, just the right amount of control freaky," he chuckled. "So, I hafta warn you," he continued a beat later, "It's been the same room service waiter all day." They had ordered breakfast, dinner and their midnight snack from room service, only managing to get dressed and out of the room long enough to take the tram up the mountain, have lunch at the snack bar, and then decide that they didn't really want to ski after all. "And this time he didn't even pretend that he wasn't dying to knowing who's in here with me. I betcha anything he's staking out the lobby tomorrow when we check out, just so he can see you."

"So that's why you shouted, 'babe, the food's here', huh?" Heather laughed, letting her head rest in the crook of his neck. "Trying to get me out of the bathroom so the waiter could check me out?"

"More like tryin' to make sure he knew I wasn't in here all alone," Jake explained, grinning.  There wasn't much Heather had been shy about this weekend – to Jake's great delight – but she had scurried off, blushing, to hide out in the bathroom each time a room service waiter has shown up at their door.

Lifting her head, Heather cast her gaze pointedly toward the bed, which was in complete disarray. "I sincerely doubt he thought you were alone."

"Well, yeah, okay," Jake conceded with a shrug. "And he heard you say 'just a minute, hon' … just the sound of your voice…. Trust me," he chuckled, "I got the 'lucky bastard' look from the guy."

"The 'lucky bastard' look? This is a guy thing, I take it."

"Yep. Guys know when another guy is givin' them a look that means 'you lucky bastard', and that's the look I got," Jake insisted.

He could feel Heather laughing silently as she kissed the side of his neck, quickly working her way up to his earlobe. "Well, I agree with the lucky part," she whispered, her tone tempting and teasing at the same time. "Not so much the bastard part, especially not on your birthday."

"What – whatever you say," he groaned as she continued to pepper his skin with kisses.

"So, when do we need to leave tomorrow?" she inquired, sighing and letting her hand drift languidly across his chest.  "Or, I guess – technically – today," Heather finished, pressing one last kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Uhhh…. Check-out's at noon," Jake answered, blinking hard and taking a deep breath. "So… noon?" he suggested, reaching for her hand.  "Grab a bite – somethin' – to eat, and be in the air by one?"

Frowning softly, Heather nodded. "And it's a four hour flight home, right?"

"Maybe a little less," he explained, "If we get a good tailwind."

"Would it be all right if we left a little earlier?" she requested. Heather held his hand cradled in her lap and she played with his fingers nervously. "It's just that dinner at your parents' is like six tomorrow –"

"We don't hafta go, babe," he interrupted.

"Yeah, we do," she contradicted. "It's your birthday, Jake. If anyone has earned the right to spend some time with you on your birthday, it's your mother," Heather argued, smiling at him. "It's kind of a significant day in her life, too."

"Well, when you put it that way," Jake chuckled.

"Besides, I'm making you a peanut butter pie for your birthday and that takes three or four hours, so I kinda need to get back to Jericho by like one or two," Heather confessed in an anxious rush of breath. "And, I'm sorry, I knew we were going somewhere, but I didn't know where, and I didn't realize that it was gonna be four hours away by plane –"

Jake cut her off, his expression bemused. "You're – you're making me a peanut butter pie?"

"Uh, yeah," she shrugged, offering him a shy smile. "I mean, I went over to see your mom on Tuesday, to ask if I could make your birthday cake, and she said that you always want peanut butter pie – which made total sense – so now I'm making a peanut butter pie."

"Babe, you don't hafta do that," he argued even though he was grinning at the idea.

"I want to, Jake," Heather informed him, squeezing his fingers. "I love you, and this is what you do for the people you love," she reasoned. "It's what I do, anyway. Bake birthday cakes. Or, in this case, mix stuff together and refrigerate." She brushed her lips over his, repeating, "I love you, Jake. And I wanna make your birthday peanut butter pie," she practically sang.

"So, Mom gave you the recipe?" Jake asked, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"Yes," she grinned, "I have the official, sanctioned, Jake Green's birthday peanut butter pie recipe, don't worry. And she was totally nice about it," Heather added, "But I think she was a little bit sad too. Like she was passing a torch or something. Probably didn't think last year was the last year she was gonna be in charge of your preferred birthday dessert."

"Well, it's been a coupl'a years since I celebrated my birthday with my family," he admitted, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing the inside of her wrist. "Work… and last year, I was in Oklahoma, undercover, makin' a delivery for Jonah. I called her – when I knew my dad wouldn't be there, he wasn't talking to me – but it kinda just made things worse."

Their gazes locked and they stared at one another for a long moment until Heather finally announced, "Okay, new rule. We can go away for the weekend to celebrate your birthday, wherever you want, however you want –"

"Even if it's just to hole up in a fancy hotel room for a couple days?" he teased.

"Yes," she agreed, "'Cause this is a very fancy hotel room, and we both know how quickly I adapted to it," she laughed. "The king-size bed, the fireplace," Heather listed, "The 'his and hers' robes…."

"The jetted bathtub," Jake suggested with a knowing smirk.

"Oh, yeah," Heather laughed, squirming a little in her seat. "That's another highlight," she sighed. The room's amenities – the luxury and elegance of the room itself – had overwhelmed Heather at first, and she'd told Jake more than once that she'd never stayed in such a nice hotel. However, as she said, Heather had adapted quickly. "Anyway," she continued, clearing her throat, "We can go away for the weekend, absolutely. But you're also gonna let your mom make you a birthday dinner for as long as she wants to make you birthday dinners," she ordered. "'Cause I think maybe you owe her that. So agree now, or –"

Jake kissed her, murmuring, "Deal," against her lips.

"Good," she declared, pulling back a few inches and smiling at him.  "And then, when she can't or doesn't want to make your birthday dinners anymore, I'll take over. So hopefully, I'll have learned how to cook by then."

"Or, you know, we can always go to a restaurant," he suggested.

She made a sound then that was a cross between a giggle and a snort, and which Jake found oddly adorable.  "Well, that's probably your best bet," Heather conceded, rolling her eyes at him, "But it's very rude of you to point that fact out, mister.  Therefore, I demand a kiss – a good one – right here," she continued, pointing a finger at her own mouth, "Right now."

"I see," he intoned, gently cupping her chin with one hand.  "So this is my punishment?" Jake inquired, leaning in so that his lips were a hairsbreadth from hers.  "Kissing you?"

"Yes!" Heather giggled, "Your punishment."

He pulled back a few inches, smirking softly at her indignant expression.  "You know, when I was a little kid and my aunt Bridget caught me doin' something wrong, she always made me give her a kiss.  Eric too," he added, "But me, more, 'cause I probably got in trouble more," he admitted.  "And I always hated it.  That was punishment," Jake insisted, once again moving toward her.  "And this so isn't," he finished, capturing her mouth with his own.

When they separated a long moment later, Heather had that dazed, glazed, almost drugged look that always made him feel like he was ten feet tall.  "So, am I forgiven?" Jake asked, reaching for her hand and lacing their fingers together.

"Yeah… think so," she murmured huskily.  "So… you don't like your aunt?  Or you just don't like kissing your aunt?" Heather asked, smiling at him.  They had been doing this all weekend, letting the conversation go where it wanted to go, asking each other anything, from silly to serious and a lot in between.

"I was eight," he shrugged, "I didn't like kissing anybody, especially girls.  I mean, my mom I guess, if no one else could see."

"You're always eight," Heather informed him, leaning in to brush her lips over his.  "When you tell me stories about you growing up, you're always eight."

"Musta been a big year for me," Jake returned, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand.  "I don't know," he continued, clearing his throat, "You like eight year olds, so when I try to figure out how old I was…."

"I actually like kids of all ages," she told him, "But I think it's cute that you want me to… I don't know… love eight year old you, too, I guess."

"Hey, I'm really not kidding when I say that eight year old me didn't like girls," Jake reminded.  "Though, my third grade teacher was Mrs. Owensby," he teased, making a face, "Not Miss Lisinski.  So, maybe that's the difference."

"Soon to be Mrs. Green," Heather emphasized.  "And I shouldn't say this about a fellow educator," she admitted, "But you may be right."  She had met Mrs. Owensby just once, but that had been enough to convince Heather that her predecessor had maintained order and discipline in her classroom by instilling fear into her students – she'd even scared the bejeebers out of Heather. That one meeting had been more than enough to make Heather vow that she would not be emulating the other woman's style.

"Can't be soon enough for me," Jake sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.  "A hundred and seventy three days," he complained half-heartedly before kissing her.

"Well, we'll find some way to survive," Heather declared a few seconds later, squeezing his fingers.  "I promise.  But Jake, I have another rule, okay?"

"Another birthday rule?" Jake joked.

"No, it's an each and every day of the year rule," Heather returned, frowning softly.  "Jake, I – I can't help thinking about your mom, and how – how awful it was for her all that time when she didn't know you were undercover," she informed him in a rush of breath.  "And – and I don't think I could handle that," she admitted, her tone strained.  "And I get that there're things you can't tell me, things that have to be secret or classified or whatever… but don't lie to me, okay?"

"So, you're sayin', no undercover assignments where I'm supposedly some corrupt, disgraced DEA agent who also happens to know all the weak links in the system?" Jake inquired sourly. 

"Well, I don't see how they could ask you to do that again," she argued, "Thankfully.  And I wouldn't believe that about you, anyway," Heather insisted, chuckling nervously.  At least I really hope I wouldn't."

"But there are gonna be things that I can't tell you, Heather," he reminded.  "Not because I don't want to, but because I just can't."

"Then tell me that," she requested.  "I can't promise I'll be overjoyed, but I'd rather hear that than a lie."  Their gazes locked then, and she exhaled sharply.  "I'm serious, Jake."

"I know," he interrupted, clutching her hand in his own. "Heather, I know.  And you know – you hafta know – that you're more important to me than my job – than any job," Jake sighed, offering her a tentative and lopsided smile. "And I promised your dad that I won't let you get hurt because of my job, so now I'm promising you the same thing. I'll quit, if that's what it takes. And it's not like – like I'm gonna do it forever, okay?"

Heather leaned in, kissing him gently – sweetly. "Okay," she agreed, taking a calming breath. "And I know.  'Cause I trust you, I really do."

Jake flashed a relieved smile. "I love you," he told her, "I really do."

"Love you, too," she grinned.

"Okay, get up," he demanded a moment later, climbing to his feet. He offered her both of his hands and she pulled herself up, allowing him to lead her back toward the bed. "And, forget about the dishes," Jake ordered when she started to glance back at the coffee table.

"If I must," Heather conceded with a put-upon sigh followed by a giggle. "So, what are we gonna do now, birthday boy?"

"Not what you're thinkin'," he chuckled, letting his hands rest – possessively – on her hips. "'Cause if we're gonna be back in Jericho by one, I think we need to be up by eight at the latest," Jake reasoned, his tone turning serious. "And since I'd prefer not to crash the plane and kill us both – especially on my birthday – we probably need to get some sleep."

"Well, I definitely vote for avoiding pilot fatigue," she replied, her nose wrinkling. "And crashing."

"Me too," he agreed. Jake dropped to a seat on the edge of the bed, pulling on Heather's hand until she joined him.

"I'm sorry," Heather apologized, rubbing his arm. "First I make the birthday rules, and then I break 'em."

"Hey, babe, it's okay. It's been a great birthday," he assured her with a kiss. "And now I can't stop thinkin' about that peanut butter pie," he joked, reaching for the alarm clock.

"Yeah, but it's back to the real world tomorrow," Heather cautioned, "Completely.  Including the vice and virtue squad waiting up for you every night."

"Hey!  That's only for another hundred seventy two days," Jake reminded, flipping the alarm over and then turning it right side up again. Frowning, he shook it.  "After that, we won't have to sneak away to avoid scandalizing the Jericho masses," he teased, twisting around and grazing her lips with his own. "But we're gonna hafta do this a few more times over the next hundred seventy two days," Jake decided, adding, "Sneak away," just in case she wasn't following.

"Well, that sounds like a plan I can get behind," Heather replied, allowing a contented sigh.  "Though, maybe more like one hundred sixty days, depending on when my dad comes out," she reminded.

"Right," he yawned.  "Avoid scandalizing your dad, too.  That's important.  But you know," he continued, grumbling softly, "Worse than the vice and virtue squad is Tuesday when I hafta go back to Denver and we're back to killing my cell phone every night."

"That is way worse," she agreed, "Darn it."

"Yeah," he murmured distractedly.  "Hey!  Can you – do you know how to set this?" he asked, holding the alarm clock out to her.

Heather attempted – unsuccessfully – to stifle a laugh. Rolling her eyes, she took the clock from him, made three quick adjustments, and then handed it back. "It's a ten dollar – well, this is a really nice hotel," she decided, interrupting herself. "So it's a fifty dollar alarm clock, maybe. But it's definitely not the airplane that's worth who knows how many hundreds of thousands of dollars that you'll be operating in eight and a half hours."

"Yeah, but it's my birthday," Jake defended, bumping her shoulder playfully with his own. "And I hate alarm clocks."

"But you love planes," she reasoned, wrapping her arms around his neck. "So I'm probably pretty safe flying Jake Green Air."

"I like planes," he contradicted, brushing his mouth across hers. "But I love you. And you're definitely safe with me, 'kay?"

"Never doubted it," Heather smiled, "And, I love you, too.  So we're gonna go to bed now?" she inquired.  "I mean, to sleep?" she added a beat later with a self-conscious chuckle.

"Yes, to sleep," Jake returned, rolling his eyes.  "I like – I like sleeping with you," he confessed, looking momentarily past her and chewing his lip.  "Almost as much as I like sleeping with you," he declared, meeting her gaze.  "I like – I like that when I wake up in the middle of the night… that you're there… that I know you're there.  That's – that's the part I'm looking forward to the most, I think, about a hundred and seventy two days from now."

"A hundred seventy three," she corrected gently.  "And me too."  Heather's eyes were bright and she was grinning like an idiot – but then again, so was he, Jake figured.  "Okay, c'mon," she demanded with her next breath, standing and tugging on his hand until he, too, got up.  Together, they stared at the mess of hopelessly tangled bedclothes.  She shook her head, glancing sideways at her fiancé.  "I guess maybe we should make the bed," Heather reasoned, giggling, "Before we go to bed."

Jake's only answer was a satisfied smirk.


* * * * *

"Heather, this is my sister, August," April proclaimed.  Though the truth was, August needed no introduction; she was so obviously a version of April – the same delicate frame, the same porcelain skin, the same luxurious, red hair – that no one could have ever mistaken the two Glendenning sisters for unrelated strangers.  "August," April continued, "This is Heather."

"The girl who stole Jake from me," August declared dramatically as she jumped to her feet.

"August," April and her mother, Karen Winter, intoned in simultaneous disapproval. 


Heather had met Karen – also strikingly beautiful, also quite obviously the mother of April and August – and her husband, Paul, at the Greens' Christmas open house six weeks earlier.  Karen and Paul were a gracious and charming couple who both clearly loved April, respected and approved of Eric, and – as they had declared in unison – had been delighted to meet Heather, were glad to see how happy she made Jake. 

"Your parents are great," Heather had told April a few minutes later, when they had taken their leave of the younger women, Paul, his hand resting in the small of her back, steering his wife toward the McVeighs. 

"Well, we all wish Dad was actually our dad," April had sighed.  "If only he had a different last name," she'd added, with a snort.  "Trust me, we would've all changed ours in a heartbeat.  August was twelve when they got married, and she almost went for it, but Autumn especially was not interested in being 'Autumn Winter'," she'd chuckled.

"But now you've missed your chance to be Doctor April Winter-Green," Heather had teased as they'd ladled up mugs of hot mulled cider for themselves.

"Not helpful," April had complained, allowing a groaning laugh.  "Though April Winter-Green really wouldn't be so bad," she'd conceded after a moment's contemplation.  "But I'm happy with April Green.  And Heather Green has some very colorful possibilities," she'd joked, smirking at her friend.  "I bet you by next year's party," she'd predicted, leading Heather toward the dessert table, "That's in the works – if not a done deal."


"Sheesh!  Can't anyone take a joke?" August grumbled.  She looked Heather up and down and then held out her hand.  "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too, August," Heather returned, shaking the younger woman's hand with her free one.

"Heather, Jake, congratulations," Karen interjected then.  "We were so excited to hear your news," she smiled, glancing toward her husband, who was sitting with EJ and Johnston near the fireplace.  "Isn't that right, Paul?"

"Definitely," he confirmed, moving to join his wife.  "Great news.  And, happy birthday, Jake."

"Thanks," Jake acknowledged from behind Heather.  He squatted down, releasing Baron from his leash.  "Go to bed," he instructed the puppy, pointing at the monogrammed dog bed that was waiting for him in the corner of the room.  "Go to bed," he repeated, adding, "Good boy," when Baron trotted over and settled himself down with a rubber bone.

"And that is my new grandpuppy," Gail informed Karen and Paul.

"Because Heather figured Jake needed some practice for when they have actual kids," April joked.

Eric, who had been sitting with Stanley, Bonnie and August on the couch, got up, crossing the room to join his wife.  "Okay, if that's what pets are for, we may be doomed, doc," he teased, resting both his hands on her shoulders.  "Remember what happened to the goldfish."
 
April made a face, her nose wrinkling.  "Oh, the goldfish," she muttered before declaring, "Well, I hafta believe that we'll be better with a mammal."

"Let's hope," Eric chuckled, pressing a kiss to the back of her head.

"So, does that mean we're raising the dog Catholic?" Jake inquired as he wrapped his arm around Heather's waist.  "If he's the practice kid?"

She shot him a surprised and slightly suspicious look.  "Yes," she decided a moment later.  "We are.  If only because then we can take Baron to the Blessing of the Animals, and he can be… blessed."  Heather looked at Gail.  Jake's mother had been of invaluable assistance as they had made a flurry of time sensitive wedding decisions – when and where to have the ceremony, who should officiate – over the last two weeks, and she and Heather had also found a common bond in their shared Catholic heritage, though Gail was always quick to remind that she was an extremely lapsed Catholic and her knowledge was rusty at best.  "They've got to do that around here somewhere, right?" Heather asked.

"For sure in Rogue River," Gail answered, frowning in concentration.  "And, you'd think they would have it in some of the little parishes around here, the congregants are all farmers, and their animals are their livelihood."

"Okay, good," Heather smiled, glancing sideways at Jake.  "The Blessing of the Animals is a fun thing.  Well, not always," she corrected with a rueful giggle.  "One year, my cousin Jess and I hauled her two cats to church for the blessing.  Big mistake.  Buster saw this German Shepherd comin' down the aisle, freaked out, and somehow ended up on Father Bouchard's back, but underneath his cassock.  And, that was the first and last time the cats got to go," she sighed.

Everyone laughed at that, though it was kind laughter, the kind that Heather had no trouble joining in on. "Oh, sweetheart," Gail clucked sympathetically.  "Now, my husband and sons insist that I'm a 'city girl'," she continued, casting an accusing glance at the three men.  "But actually, growing up, my brother Dennis – he's a year younger than me – and I did a bustling business raising rabbits.  So one year we loaded, must've been fifteen rabbits, secured in cages, onto a wagon – our baby brother Donald's – and took 'em down to the church," she explained.

By now everyone had vacated their seats in the living room and had gathered in a half circle around Gail, Heather and the others, listening politely, August – who was studying sign language in school – trying valiantly to translate everything for Bonnie.  "It all went well for the first ten or so," Gail continued with her story, "But then this one rabbit, scared out of its mind, poor thing, got away from Dennis.  Somehow ended up kicking Father Timothy in face, bloodied his lip something awful. My mother was ashamed to be seen with us in front of him for a month," she chuckled.  "But Dennis always was a salesman, so he just went to the rectory's housekeeper the next week and offered her the rabbit at a discount.  Now, Father Timothy always enjoyed a good rabbit stew, but I think that night he probably ate his dinner with extra relish."

With the exception of Heather and Bonnie, both of whom wore identical, stricken expressions, the group chuckled in appreciation of the story.  Heather though couldn't help but give voice to her feeling of horror.  "He – the priest ate the bunny?!?" she yelped.

The laughter turned to guffaws now, though it was still kind.  Jake kissed the top of Heather's head before resting his chin there.  "Okay, so Ma, you're not nearly the 'city girl' that Heather is," he conceded.  "Not that there's anything wrong with that," he added quickly when his fiancée protested this remark, dislodging him as she turned her head to glare at him.  "Tell you what, babe – I promise you never have to eat rabbit unless you want to," Jake assured her, "'Kay?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure that will never happen," Heather huffed, fighting a chuckle.  "I have a pet bunny!" she reminded, "I mean, sure, I foist him on my students for weekends and holidays, but he's still technically mine."

"Classroom pet?" Paul inquired, "Good idea.  You know, we've been having a lot of success with a program that brings dogs into inner-city classrooms for kids who are behind grade-level in reading," he explained to Heather.  "They read to the dogs because dogs don't care if your pronunciation is off, and it's actually working to bring up their test scores.  I'm sure you could use a bunny in the same way."  Paul was high up in the Department of Education in Topeka – he'd met Karen through his work – and he and Heather had talked educational theory for nearly twenty minutes at the Christmas party.

"Bungee is the spelling bunny, right, Bonnie?" Heather asked, smiling at the twelve year old who nodded vigorously in agreement.  "It was Bonnie's idea.  When she takes a group of kids in the back for some extra practice, Bungee goes along to assist."

"Bungee makes the little k-kids think they can spell better," Bonnie said quietly.  "S-so then they can."

"And that's why Sandy McVeigh can't keep herself from singing your praises," Karen sighed.  "The three of us had lunch on Saturday, and I shouldn't tell you this, Heather, but Sandy is very jealous that Gail gets to have you in the family."

"That's – that's very – very nice of her," Heather stammered out, blushing.  She raised the pie carrier she had been holding since she and Jake had arrived at his parents, showing it to Gail.  "I think this needs to go in the fridge, if there's room. It's only had three hours – that's why we were late," she explained in a rush of breath.  Jake and Heather had been the last to arrive, fifteen minutes late, and that was mostly because of his peanut butter pie.  "I don't think it's completely set up yet."

"Well, it looks lovely," Gail said, taking the carrier from her.  "And, actually, we're ready to eat," she announced.  "I'll put this in the refrigerator, and all of you take your seats," she ordered, "Dinner will be right out."

April, Karen and Heather all immediately volunteered to assist with getting the food on the table, though Heather held back a moment to ask her fiancé a question.  "So you've really eaten rabbit?"

"Not like regularly," Jake answered with a shrug.   "But, yeah, I've had it.  Tastes—" and here all the other men – Eric, Johnston, Grandpa Green, Stanley, and even Paul – joined in.  "—just like chicken."

Heather rolled her eyes.  "Of course it does," she agreed, giving him a quick kiss before turning to follow the three women into the kitchen.

Gail had cooked a prime rib – Eric's request – as well as a number of side dishes, favorites of both her sons, and the twelve of them had settled down to dinner with gusto, passing bowls and platters back and forth, exclaiming over the tenderness and flavor of the meat and generally expressing their appreciation for the cook's efforts.  Gail sat at the head of the table, closest to the kitchen, with Jake and Eric seated right next to her on either side of the table, facing one another.  "So how was your ski trip?" Gail inquired of Jake and Heather, seated on his other side.  "Did you like Jackson Hole?" she added, passing a bowl of baked potatoes to Eric.

"Well, the snow was perfect for skiing," Heather jumped in, answering before Jake could.  "Actually, all the conditions were just right," she continued before launching into a rather detailed ski report, one that Jake recognized as the same one given – almost verbatim – by the loudmouth who had been waiting with them in the lobby of the restaurant they had gone to Saturday night. 

Heather had insisted that she needed to take him to a nice dinner over their weekend – going so far as to bribe the waiter into giving her the bill with the promise of a generous tip – as part of her birthday present to him.  He'd been reluctant at first, wary especially of interrupting the amazing, wonderful, magical time they were having alone together with only the occasional intrusion of a room service waiter.  But she'd wanted to go out – she'd wanted to dress up, she'd confessed – and later he'd had to admit that it had been a great idea.  The tension that had built up between them over those three hours they had been out, from the time Heather had stepped out of the bathroom in teal colored lace cocktail dress, holding her hair up with one hand and requesting his assistance with her zipper, through their dinner at a candlelit table in a secluded corner of the restaurant where they'd touched and flirted and enjoyed each other's company, to how they had held hands as they'd hurried back to the hotel room….  That tension had been delicious.  And fraught.  And they had certainly both enjoyed its resolution as they had continued their private celebration of his birthday.

"… yesterday, though, we were both kinda tired and Jake's ankle was bothering him, so we decided to not go skiing," Heather was explaining to the table as he shook his head, trying to clear it.  "Instead, we just walked around the town – it's cute but also kinda ritzy – had some lunch, and then went back to the hotel and spent the afternoon in front of the fire, reading and drinking hot chocolate."

"Sweetheart, is your ankle okay?" Gail inquired, a concerned frown marring her expression.

"Uh, yeah," Jake assured quickly.  "I just wasn't looking forward to putting it in a ski boot," he added truthfully.  Actually, everything that Heather had told his family was technically true, up to and including their afternoon spent in front of the fire reading.  Not that he'd gotten very far in the legal thriller that Heather had loaned him, but still.  He found her hand underneath the table and squeezed it, wondering if she knew what he was thinking.  After this weekend, the chances were pretty damn good that she did.  "No big deal," he continued, "I don't even notice it most of the time."

"You know what that's a sign of," Stanley intoned from his spot halfway down the table.  "It's a sign that you're getting old, man.  You too, Eric," he snorted.  "Twenty eight!" he declared, shaking his head in feigned sympathy.  "So, so old."

Eric rolled his eyes.  "Stanley, you're fifty five days younger than us.  That's not even two months," he reminded.

"Well, when I turned twenty eight, you boys had just turned a year old – were just startin' to walk and gettin' into all kinds of trouble – and Dad and Dick Leigh and Wallace Sherman were startin' to talk about how I should run for mayor the next time 'round," Johnston informed his sons from his seat at the foot of the table.

"The arrival of his grandchildren was an impetus to retirement for your grandfather," Gail laughed.  "He was lookin' forward to playdates before that was a thing."

"Absolutely, Abigail, darlin'," Grandpa Green confirmed with a grin.

"And I'm sure I can convince your father that he has better things to do with his time than run this town," Gail claimed tearing a slice of garlic bread in two, "Once he finds himself a grandfather."

"Like that's not pushing," Eric grumbled.

"Man, you better get on that," Jake suggested to his brother, smirking.

"What, like you're not gonna have kids?" Eric questioned.

Jake glanced sideways at Heather, exchanging quick smiles with her.  "Course we're gonna have kids," he returned easily, "But I'm sure as hell –"

"Jake!" his mother protested, "Not at the dinner table, please."

"Fine," he conceded with a sigh.  "But I'm sure as heck never gonna run for mayor.  You want it, you go get it," he advised.

"Thankfully – for us all – Eric has the temperament to be mayor," Grandpa Green opined from his seat between Stanley and Johnston.

"And Jake does not," Jake assured his family.  "All those council meetings and neighbors fighting over whose leaves end up on which lawn and what color so-and-so repainted their house...."  He made a face and a strangling noise. 

"That's not all there is to the job," Eric argued.  "The mayor works on all kinds of things – economic development, housing, the schools.  Gramps and Dad both worked on getting an ER and birthing center added to the clinic," he reminded, throwing his wife a smile.  As soon as her residency was complete, the Jericho Medical Center would have a new doctor in April Green.  "It's all important."

"It is important," Grandpa confirmed, clearing his throat.  "Though, you know, Eric, you do run for mayor, Gray Anderson is gonna come at you hard with the 'what we need is new blood' argument," he warned his grandson.

"And besides, I'm not quite ready to be put out to pasture yet," Johnston drawled.

"The next mayoral election's still four and a half years away, right?" Karen inquired, leaning around her daughter to catch her son-in-law's eye.  "Eric, just so you know, I vote for a granddaughter first – that'll distract your father, no problem –"

"Then you can slide right on into the mayor's office," Paul joked.  "After that, I figure, county supervisor, maybe state senator, congress eventually, perhaps a small detour to the governor's mansion –"

"And then the presidency!" Karen declared, giggling.  "I think President Green has a very nice ring to it.  And think of all the fun you and I will have," she added, catching Gail's eye, "Visiting our son and daughter at the White House."

Smiling, Gail leaned over to squeeze her son's shoulder.  "Now, that would be wonderful.  Christmas at the White House!  Spring in Washington!  Though, sweetheart, you know that if all you ever do is run for mayor, I'll still be proud."

"Thanks, Mom," Eric smiled.

Jake, though, couldn't suppress a groan.  "No offense, but if you're president, I'm quittin' my job.  I don't need you as my boss," he reminded.

"What, you don't want to be director of the FBI, or somethin'?" Eric asked his brother.  "We could do a kinda JFK – Bobby Kennedy thing," he suggested.  "And, Stanley, Agriculture Secretary?" he offered, "Heather, Education?"

"Shouldn't that be Paul?" she asked, clearly surprised by Eric's vote of confidence, even in jest. 

"Nah," Paul dismissed with a wave.  "Us grandparents get to while away our time takin' the kids to the museums.  I figure you go to the Air and Space museum with the president's kids, they let you sit in the lunar module," he joked.

They all laughed at that, though Eric did caution, "I don't know that it works that way...."

"Well, I'm sure you'll be great as mayor, and in the legislature or congress," April told him, letting her head rest against his for a moment.  "But anything higher than that, we need to talk."

Eric nodded, turning so they could exchange a quick kiss.  "You got it, doc."

"So, Johnston," Heather began tentatively, glancing down the table at her future father-in-law, "When is your birthday?  It's coming up, right?  You said that Jake and Eric were 'just a year old' on your birthday," she reminded.

"Two weeks," he answered, smiling at her.  "February fourth.  Actually, when we thought there was only the one baby, he or she was due on my birthday.  But I think the two of 'em got tired of kickin' each other all the time in there," he teased, winking in the general direction of Heather and his wife.  "Decided to make an early appearance."

"I was getting tired of them kicking me all the time," Gail argued.

"That certainly would have been a memorable birthday," Heather grinned, "If they had been born on yours."

"It was still memorable," Johnston assured her.  "They'd only been home for a week, and it was our first night completely alone with them.  Gail's mom and sister had come to help out, and my mother was over every day, but I guess they all decided that my birthday was a good time to disappear," he chuckled softly.  "But I don't think Jake and Eric liked be abandoned to us, their clearly incompetent parents," Johnston joked, shaking his head. 

"They were both so cranky, and we were up half the night, walkin' 'em around," he continued.  "Finally, at one in the morning, I knew I needed some sleep, even just an hour – I was teachin' school in the morning, and the first bell was at seven forty five.  So, even though it was the middle of the oil crisis, and I only had 'bout an eighth of a tank, and I had an even license plate number so I wouldn't be able to get gas until the day after, we bundled them up in their snowsuits and decided to drive 'em around, see if that helped."

"It worked," Gail said, picking up the story, "Though your father ran out of gas over on Green Street – in front of the Berry's house actually, Heather – and we had to hoof it the five blocks home, each with a baby tucked into our coats," she laughed.  "Which is funny now, but was absolutely nerve-wracking back then.  For the next week I was sure they were both gonna come down with pneumonia."

Jake's and Eric's gazes connected across the table and they offered twin shrugs.  "Sorry," they mumbled in unison.

Heather poked her fiancé in the side, frowning softly at his brother.  "That did not sound very sincere," she informed them. 

It wasn't like when she nagged Jake, Gail realized, watching as he flashed his fiancée a grin that seemed to say 'ya caught me'.  It was almost as if he'd expected her response, like he'd started a joke and she'd filled in the punch line.  Eric, too, seemed both admonished and amused by Heather's reprimand.  "Sorry, Ma," Jake apologized, "Sorry, Dad.  You know, for my behavior when I was two weeks old."

"Our behavior," Eric corrected.  "But you know," he continued, smirking at his brother, "I'm pretty sure it was all his idea."

"Yeah, like I've never heard that one before," Johnston returned with a dry chuckle.

Shaking her head at her husband and sons, Gail smiled at her future daughter-in-law.  "Heather, dear, you have no idea how happy I am you're joining our family."

"Me too," Heather smiled in return.  "So, Gail," she continued, stabbing together a bite of her baked potato, "When's your birthday?"

"July thirty first.  And this is rather embarrassing," she admitted a beat later, "But I don't know when your birthday is."  Frowning, she glanced at her son.  "Jake," Gail demanded, worry coloring her tone, "Please tell me that you know –"

"Of course I know when my future wife was born," Jake interrupted his mother, exasperated.  "What kinda jerk do you think I am?" he inquired, not bothering to wait for an answer before he continued.  "June sixth, 1979, at three thirty eight AM."

"Absolutely correct," Heather confirmed, laughing quietly.  "Though I literally have no idea how you know three thirty eight in the morning," she admitted.

"The big book of Heather," Jake returned easily.

"He means my baby book," she translated, recognizing the confusion in his mother's and sister-in-law's expressions.  "The pretty copy of my birth certificate's in there.  My dad showed it to Jake."  Gail, April and Karen all smiled, comprehension lighting their faces.

"She's a Gemini," Jake offered, "And even though she thinks it's hooey, she reads her horoscope every day."

"I read yours, too," Heather reminded, giggling.  "And, yeah, it's hooey, but it's also cheap entertainment, conveniently located right next to the crossword puzzle."

"And Gemini's the twins," August interjected, "No wonder you decided you liked Jake."

"I actually didn't know Jake was a twin," Heather replied, glancing down the table at August.  "Not until he brought me to dinner the first time, and April and Gail showed me his baby pictures," she added, smiling at the two women.  "And I already knew I liked him by that point," she finished, her eyes locking with Jake's.  "A lot." 

His response was to chuckle, and then, shaking his head, Jake cupped her chin in his hand so he could place a chaste but lingering kiss on her lips. 

"I looked up our astrological compatibility, too," she informed their companions once they'd separated, her gaze still concentrated on her fiancé.  "And it turns out that Gemini and Aquarius are a good match.  Of course, I'd have just ignored it if it had said we were completely wrong for each other," Heather admitted with a laugh, "'Cause it really is just a bunch of nonsense."

"Well, Jake and I are a perfect match by the Chinese zodiac," August announced.  "I'm just saying… Ox and Rooster go together great, and Stanley and Autumn are perfect, too.  Tiger and Horse.  I figured it all out just before your wedding," she informed her sister.  "Though, you guys are only so-so.  Ox and Tiger."

"Only, there's no way I'm marrying Autumn," Stanley reminded, adding, "No offense," as he looked between Paul and Karen.  "I don't care what the menu at The Jade Dragon says," he continued, mentioning Jericho's only Chinese restaurant.  "But I'll totally marry you, Augie."

Bonnie had been watching August – she'd continued to helpfully sign the gist of the conversation to the younger girl even after they had all sat down at the table – when Stanley had made his surprise announcement.  August had abruptly stopped translating, leaving Bonnie hanging.  "What did you say?" she demanded, tugging on her brother's sleeve.  "What did you say?" Bonnie repeated, her voice growing louder.

Grinning, Stanley answered his little sister, enunciating clearly so he was sure she could read his lips.  "I said I could never marry Autumn, but I would marry August."

"Yes!" Bonnie crowed, smiling widely as she glanced at August and then back at Stanley.  "Yes!  Marry Augus', marry Augus'.  Please, please, please!" she begged, grinning at August.  "Marry Stanley so you can be my sister."

Paul waved at Bonnie to get her attention.  "August can't get married until she's graduated college," he explained carefully to the young girl.  "But after that, Stanley," he sighed, his gaze settling on the younger man, "You certainly have my blessing."

"Da-ad!" August protested.  "I think I can pick my own husband, thank you very much.  It is the twenty first century, after all."

"Augie, I'm so gonna show up at your graduation with a ring and propose right as you come off the stage," Stanley threatened, grinning and waggling his eyebrows at her.  "You just wait."

"You should take him up on it, Aug," Jake threw in.  "'Cause, I'm sorry to say, I'm gonna hafta go with my Gemini," he added, kissing Heather on the temple.

"I'm a sheep," she told him, smiling, "By the Chinese zodiac, I mean.  And Stanley," Heather continued, leaning around Bonnie, "You should bring flowers when you propose."

Stanley nodded.  "Yeah, good idea, thanks."  He rubbed his hands together, contemplating his plan.  "Year and a half from now, right?  You just watch out, Augie."

"And what are you gonna do if I say 'yes'?" August challenged, crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Get married," he returned, not missing a beat.  "Which totally works for me.  You'll love farm life," Stanley assured, "Up at five thirty – six in the winter – for a day of hard work and clean living.  Go to bed early, then get up and do it all again.  Hey!" he realized, his grin widening, "You can run the farm stand.  That'll free up loads of my time.  Aw, man.  This is gonna be sweet!"

"Not so much fun when somebody else tries to arrange your life for you, is it sweetheart?" Karen asked her youngest daughter, her tone sympathetic.

August rolled her eyes.  "Well, it's not like I really thought Jake and I would get married," she conceded, "It was just a nice thought – the three Glendenning sisters marrying the three Green twins."

"Marry me, and that's two outta three," Stanley reminded, throwing her a teasing grin.

"I think we should induct Heather as an honorary Glendenning girl, and then it's six out of seven," April laughed.  "Besides," she snorted, "Autumn is officially the lost cause in this equation.  She's pregnant, and she's joined this vegetarian commune."

The rest of the Greens did not appear to be surprised by this news, but Jake was, gaping at April.  "Seriously?  She's a vegetarian?"

"Forget vegetarian.  She – she's pregnant?" Stanley yelped.  "Well, I – I sure as – as heck had nothin' to do with that," he assured Karen and Paul, his eyes wide.

"A fact we are unfortunately quite well aware of," Paul sighed.

"And, she's not living on a commune," Karen protested, "It's a cooperative housing situation –"

"Well, she's still pregnant with no intention of marrying the father, which must seem very cooperative to him since all she'll say is that he doesn't believe in marriage," April grumbled.  "I bet you a – a five course dinner at Harrison's that Autumn's back in her old bedroom by Easter," she told her mother, including Paul with a glance.  "She can't take care of herself – clearly – so how is she supposed to take care of a baby?"

"Personally, I prefer that she move home rather than pile a bad marriage on top of motherhood," Karen argued.  "And, dinner at the steakhouse?" she questioned, shaking her head.  "If you're right, and I'm paying up, that's not really fair to your sister the vegetarian."  Karen paused a moment, letting out a deep breath and then pasting on a smile over her frown.  "But I really don't think that this is a conversation for Eric's and Jake's birthday party," she declared.  "So, Heather, Gail says the wedding plans are coming along nicely?"

"Pretty well," Heather agreed, quickly swallowing a bite of broccoli in cheese sauce.  "I mean, for only being engaged three weeks exactly," she laughed somewhat self-consciously.  "But we have a date –"

"July thirteenth," Jake interjected.  "One hundred seventy two days.  See?" he said, throwing his mother a pointed look.  "I know these things."

Gail smiled at her son.  "I'm sorry that I ever doubted you, honey."

"Well, it's really still one hundred and seventy three days," Heather corrected gently, placing a quick kiss on her fiancé's cheek.  "But I'm glad you know these things, too."

"You said it was a hundred seventy three last night," he argued.

"Yeah, but that was at like two minutes past midnight," she countered, "So I calculated based on today, and it's still today.  Not that it really matters."

"The wedding's at two, right?  It's like seven now, so that makes it a hundred seventy two."

"I hadn't thought of it that way," Heather confessed after a few seconds contemplation, "But you are absolutely right." She smiled at Jake, laying her hand over the top of his on the table, squeezing his fingers.  "So," she continued, turning her attention back to Karen, "We are in fact getting married in one hundred seventy two days, on July thirteenth, two in the afternoon, at Main Street Presbyterian Church."

"And next Saturday we go dress shopping," April interjected, grinning.  "That'll be fun.  And actually, you can pick out the guys' tux style too."  She glanced at Gail.  "The joy of going to Auntie Bridget," April laughed.

"Yes, even Jake is scared of my sister," Gail told Heather.  "So whatever the rest of us want him to do, Bridget can make happen," she chuckled.

"Plus, Stanley's totally terrified of her," April laughed.

"Heck yeah," he confirmed, his eyes bugging slightly.  "She's – she's like Cruella de Vil," he argued, "Only short."

"She's not anything like Cruella de Vil," Gail reassured her future daughter-in-law, shaking her head at Stanley.  "Though, she is only five feet tall.  And she can't wait to meet you, Heather.  She's closing the shop down for the day for us," she announced.  Bridget was Gail's younger sister and she owned Bridget's Bridal and Formal Wear, the biggest of the three bridal shops in Rogue River.  "So pity all the other brides in the area this weekend," Gail laughed.  "Bridget says she's having a champagne luncheon catered in, and she's already contacted the shop in Buffalo your sister-in-law recommended so the coordination is all under control…. It's going to be quite the day."

"Well, I guess so," Heather returned, her expression bemused.  "Sounds like it’ll be a lot of fun."  She looked at Karen, smiling.  "So, yeah, things are coming together, I think.  We've taken care of all the Catholic stuff, knock on wood," she chuckled, rapping her fist gently on the table.  "I think we have anyway.  And if something goes wrong with a dispensation, then we'll just work on whatever they want post-wedding and try not to mention it to my dad."

"That reminds me," Gail interjected, "I have your parent forms – or Jake's, rather – filled out and signed, so don't leave without getting them from me," she instructed. 

"Great!" Heather declared, "I'll take 'em over to Saint Elizabeth's after school tomorrow and everything should be fine."

Gail smiled.  "Well, you can always blame the lateness of our forms on your lapsed Catholic future mother-in-law."

 "I'd never do that," Heather protested.

"Then blame it on your never was Catholic future father-in-law," Johnston advised, "And the water main break on Walnut last week."

"It'll be fine," Heather repeated, glancing between Jake's parents and smiling.  "We really only have to get everything started six months before the wedding, and as long as you're using a twenty eight day month, we're gonna have all the paperwork finished up with four days to spare," she reasoned.

"So, Jake, are you gonna be Catholic now?" Eric inquired, swallowing a bite of Jell-O salad. 

"What?  No," his brother answered, throwing him a weird look.  "Why would –"

"Hey, you said you're gonna be raising your dog and your kids Catholic," Eric reminded.  "I just wondered how that worked.  Like, do you need to convert or just sign something or what?"

"Why do you care?" Jake grumbled, rolling his eyes.  He took a breath, his nostrils flaring for an instant, before continuing.  "Look – I'm not religious, and Heather is.  Catholic," he emphasized.  "So, raising our kids Catholic seems pretty logical to me.  But that doesn't mean that I'm gonna convert," he snorted, "Or go to church more, or anything."

The sudden awkwardness between the two brothers was palpable, though some of it was diffused in the next instance by Heather's relieved declaration.  "Thank goodness!" she proclaimed, finding her fiancé's hand under the table.  "I love you, Jake, but I'm pretty sure I can only stand sitting next to you in church a few times a year," she teased, squeezing his fingers.  "Like ten, tops."

"He really is Mister Fidget in church, isn't he?" Gail clucked, throwing her son's fiancée a sympathetic look.

Heather groaned.  "And it's only church," she complained, "Not the movies, not in restaurants, on planes… anywhere else where you sit next to him.  Just church," she grumbled, shaking her head.

"That's 'cause he's always afraid God's gonna smite him down when he goes to church," Stanley suggested, snorting softly.  Jake – who for right or wrong always took Stanley's ribbing better than Eric's – settled for merely rolling his eyes at his best friend.  "He's gotta be ready to tuck and roll outta the way of the lightning bolt," Stanley declared, prompting gentle laughter all around the table

"I'm not that bad," Jake protested as their chuckles subsided.  "I've gone to church with you three times this month, and I've been good," he reminded his fiancée, teasing, "I mean, you haven't killed me yet."

"Well, that's true," she grinned, "And, it's all been Catholic churches." 

In addition to attending mass with her father in Buffalo, Jake and Heather had tried Saint Elizabeth's on the recommendation of Mary Bailey, the only other 'for sure' Catholic Jake knew in Jericho who was anywhere near their own ages.  Unfortunately, the sanctuary itself had seemed too small for the wedding they were shaping up to have – Heather figured that between her extended family and Jake's, plus friends and colleagues, they would end up with a guest list between two hundred and two fifty – but Father Reynaldo had impressed them both, so much so that after attending Saturday evening mass the previous weekend they had decided to skip the two churches they had planned to hit on Sunday and instead had headed back to Saint Elizabeth's to feel out Father Reynaldo on his willingness to help them through the dispensation process.  Luckily, the priest had been more than amenable.  Heather, also, had been relieved to find a church and priest that she liked and that were a reasonable distance from Jericho, as long as she used the back roads that Jake had introduced her to instead of going the long way around by three state highways.

 "Maybe the incense soothes your jitters," Heather joked, stroking her thumb over the back of Jake's hand.

"Shorter services, too," he argued.

"Maybe behaving in church was Jake's New Year's resolution," Grandpa Green offered from the other end of the table. 

"Nah," his grandson returned without missing a beat.  "My only New Year's resolution was to get you to marry me," Jake informed his fiancée, winking at her, "And that's workin' out so far."

"Good answer," Heather giggled before questioning, "Though 'so far'?  There's no 'so far' about it," she insisted, "We're getting married in a hundred and seventy two days, and don't you forget it!"  She punctuated this statement with a quick kiss that drew indulgent smiles from the women and Grandpa Green – and also a pair of good natured groans from Eric and Stanley.

"Hey, I'll be there," Jake assured.

"So, Eric," Heather continued, glancing across the table at her future brother-in-law.  "To answer your question, Jake doesn't have to convert or sign anything.  Now, I have to sign an attestation that says I'll share my faith with our children and that they will be baptized and raised as Catholics," she clarified.  "Jake just has to know that that's what I'm doing."

"See?  No big deal," Jake told his brother.  "And, why do you care anyway?"

"Just curious," Eric replied as he cut a bite of his meat.  "I mean, if you're signing a letter of intent – well, this attestation," he amended, gesturing at Heather, "That's a contract, or at least contract-like.  It's interesting.  Really interesting, because it's not like they can enforce it –"

"They kinda can," Heather interrupted.  "I mean, we're going through all this – this rigmarole because they can enforce it.  The dispensations are required so that I can continue to receive the sacraments of my church, and that's kind of important to me," she explained.  "And it's not like if I didn't do all this stuff that a tattoo that says 'don't give this woman communion' would suddenly appear on my forehead, but still."   Heather took a deep breath and, forcing a shaky smile, continued.  "If I wasn't eligible, I'd know, and that would bug me.  Trust me, I already got indignant over all of this, and I threatened to just get married outside of the church," she admitted, "But luckily Jake and my dad talked me down off that particular ledge," she chuckled self-consciously.  "So now we're dotting all the Catholic I's and crossing all the Catholic T's."

April smiled approvingly at her brother-in-law.  "Way to go, Jake!  Seriously," she continued while the rest of the diners laughed softly at her enthusiastic proclamation, "I'm proud of you.  We all should be proud of you," she added, looking up and down the table.

"Hey, I'm with you," Heather returned, patting Jake on the shoulder.  "I was really kinda freakin' out."

"Well, I just figure, after Heather, her dad is the person it's most important to keep happy," he argued with a shrug.  "And Heather being Catholic makes him happy."

"Gail, Johnston, I can officially declare that you did not raise an idiot," Paul announced, "I congratulate you," he chuckled.

"So says the assistant director for educational instruction in the great state of Kansas," Karen reminded, smiling at her husband.

"And – more importantly – I say that as a man who's dad to three daughters," Paul sighed.  "Two non-idiots… you're a success as parents."

"I believe that calls for a toast," Grandpa Green proclaimed from his seat at the other end of the table.  "So, everyone, raise your glasses, please."  He waited a few seconds while everyone reached for their wineglasses or – in the case of August and Bonnie -- soda cups before continuing.  "First," Grandpa announced, "To Jake and Eric!  Happy birthday, boys!"  There was much clinking of glasses as around the table this toast was echoed by the celebrants, and April and Heather each gave their respective birthday boy a birthday kiss.  "And second," Grandpa continued once some of the hubbub had died down, "To Gail and Johnston, who as Paul pointed out, didn't raise themselves any idiots."

"To Gail and Johnston!" Paul and Karen called out while Jake, Eric and April announced "To Mom and Dad!" 

This was followed by a flurry of 'please pass' requests as Grandpa asked for more meat, Bonnie for the Jell-O, and Stanley for another baked potato, drawing an eye roll from his 'future wife'.  "What?" he grumbled, dropping a dollop of sour cream on his potato and frowning at August.  "I worked today.  Nine hours.  There're no paid holidays on a farm."

"Way to sell the whole marrying you thing, Stan," August teased.

"Here you go, sweetheart," Gail said, passing a three-quarters empty basket of garlic bread to Jake, who took a slice before handing the basket to his fiancée.  "When Johnston and I got married, Heather," she smiled, watching as the young woman selected her own piece of bread.  "Well, the wedding itself was a quick thing.  Johnston only had two weeks of leave, and we didn't decide until he'd been home a few days that we just wanted to get married—" 

"Which is what we did," Johnston interjected.  "In exactly eight days."

"It was eight days plus a few hours, though back then when you made a decision like that at nine-forty-five in the evening, there wasn't anyone you could call to get started that night.  I didn't even tell my parents until the next day." 

"Johnston told us as soon as he got home that night," Grandpa Green informed his daughter-in-law.  "Woke us up – it was after eleven.  I was real happy for you both."

"I was happy that you were friends with a justice of the peace," Gail returned, smiling at him.  She glanced then at Heather, explaining, "Our priest was a good friend of my father's, but he wasn't comfortable marrying us, especially on such short notice."

"The minimum six months' of preparation," the young woman nodded.

"Exactly.  But after that – and with everything else going on….  Well, remaining Catholic just never seemed like an option," Gail confessed, emitting a rueful chuckle.  "I was the first in my family to get married – my brothers Eddie and Stuart are older, and Eddie got married right after we did, but I was still the first.  Plus, my parents still had three teenagers at home, so they were too distracted to really care what I did," she explained.  "But Johnston's mother did seem to care.  My being Catholic was just another thing that made me different from the Greens—" 

Gail broke off then, her father-in-law catching her eye from his seat at the other end of the table.  "Sorry, Dad," she apologized.

"Abigail, darlin', you've no reason to apologize to me," Grandpa Green assured her.  "I know Betsy wasn't perfect," he continued, "She just happened to be perfect for me."

This statement drew a round of aws and smiles from the women at the table, Gail included.  "Now Ricky," April laughed, resting her head against her husband's shoulder, "You should totally feel free to say that about me any time you want."

"You too, Jake!" Heather interjected, grinning.
 
"Well okay, if you insist," he acknowledged, though his tone was skeptical.  "April," he began, his eyes locking with his sister-in-law's, "You may not be perfect –"

"Hey!  I meant me!" his fiancée objected, smacking him lightly on the shoulder and giggling.  "I meant you could say that about me!"

"Oh yeah," Jake said, twisting around to face Heather.  Smirking softly, he pressed a quick kiss to her mouth.  "That makes more sense."

Smiling and shaking his head at his grandson's antics, Grandpa Green cleared his throat, addressing his daughter-in-law.  "Gail, I hope you know that, in the end, Betsy liked how things worked out in this family.  She loved you, and she loved her grandsons, even when they insist on being a pair of comedians," he snorted.

"What?" Eric protested, insisting, "I had nothing to do with this," as he pointed an accusing finger and his wife, brother and future sister-in-law.

"It'd be okay if you did have something to do with it, Eric," his mother informed him.  "I thought it was rather funny."

"And I'm pretty sure my mother would have loved her granddaughters, too," Johnston opined from the end of the table. 

"Even though I insist on being Catholic?" Heather inquired.

"Even though," Grandpa Green smiled.

"And while my mother-in-law was shocked that her son would want to marry a Catholic girl," Gail told Heather, "Your mother-in-law is not so secretly delighted that you are – and that some of her grandchildren will be Catholic, too.  I happen to be looking forward to attending first holy communions and confirmations that look like the ceremonies I went through as a child."

Heather offered her a relieved smile.  "Good!"

"Now," Gail continued, "Unfortunately, Paul, Karen and August need to hit the road, so we should probably move onto birthday cake and pie.  So – and I can say this because we're all family here –" she chuckled, "Everybody grab your plate and follow me."


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Sunday January 21, four months after the bombs


His hands on her shoulders, Jake steered Heather back into the living room where his parents were busy brewing themselves cups of tea. "We're gonna head up," he told them, cocking his head toward the staircase. "So goodnight."

"Yes, goodnight," Heather echoed, smiling.

"You sure you don't want some tea first?" Johnston asked, holding his own cup up in demonstration. "Feels like it's gonna be a cold one tonight."

Heather tilted her head back so she could meet her husband's gaze. She already knew from the way he was impatiently tapping his thumbs against her shoulders that he was eager to continue on upstairs, and it was only his good manners – admittedly coupled with a desire to hang the proverbial 'do not disturb' sign in his parents' minds – that had driven him to stop into the living room and bid Gail and Johnston goodnight.  "I think I'm good," she declared.

"I'm good, too," Jake added quickly, almost before the words had completely left Heather's mouth.

"Well, goodnight, then," Gail said.  "And happy birthday, Jake."

"Thanks," her son returned, grinning.  "And you know, uh, thanks for the womb and the labor and all that."

Gail couldn't help but laugh.  Jake had certainly never said anything like that to her before, and she knew that it could only be his current and very close-up view of pregnancy that had prompted him to do so now.  She set her mug down on the mantle and crossed the room so she could join the younger couple.  "You are very welcome," she told him, hugging him with one arm and pressing a kiss to his cheek.  "I think that turned out nicely for all of us," she added, turning to hug Heather.  "Sleep well."

The four Greens exchanged another round of goodnights, and then Gail and Johnston watched as Jake, walking backwards and holding onto both of her hands, led his wife to the foot of the staircase.  She leaned in close, whispering something they couldn’t – and probably didn't want to – hear, but that made Jake smile at her widely.  Holding hands, they climbed the stairs at a surprisingly quick pace.

Gail joined Johnston on the couch, gladly accepting her mug of tea, which he'd carried over from the fireplace for her.  "'Sleep well'?" he asked, his lips twitching beneath his beard and mustache.  "It's not even eight," he reminded as she settled in beside him, pulling a quilt off the sofa's arm and tucking it in around them both.  "I doubt sleep's what's on their agenda right now."

Gail glanced sideways at her husband, one eyebrow arched elegantly in question.  "You'd rather I'd said 'have fun'?" she inquired.  "Probably more appropriate," she conceded, "But it would've left poor Heather blushing for an hour at least."

"It would've left me blushing for an hour," Johnston muttered from behind his mug.  "And 'have fun'?" he quoted, grumbling, "She's seven months pregnant."

"Oh, Johnston," Gail laughed softly.  "I realize it's been thirty years, but you and I both know that being pregnant only makes things different, not impossible," she sighed.  "And I certainly was not left with the impression that Heather was doing anything under duress."

"True," he agreed, allowing an uncomfortable chuckle.  Johnston placed his mug on the coffee table and pulled the quilt up higher before seeking out his wife's hand, cradling it in both of his own.  "Those two," he complained fondly.

"Think of it like this," she advised, "At least we know that one of our grandchildren is going to grow up with the sense of security that comes from knowing that your parents truly love one another.  Whatever else happens, their baby will at least have that."

"Well, I doubt that Heather and Jake were ever plannin' to stop at one," he replied, loath to take the bait.  He was too cold and too unwilling to give up this chance to cuddle with his wife to get into their millionth discussion regarding their younger son's personal choices.  "I'm guessin' – provided we can find some, some sort of stability – that they're good for at least two."

Gail relaxed against him, letting her head rest on his shoulder.   "She wants three or four," she confided with a smile, "And Jake's agreed to two, maybe three."

"So that's four grandbabies, pretty much guaranteed," he teased, "Long as she doesn't find childbirth too excruciating."

"Or her doctor doesn't advise against it," his wife replied, offering him a sad smile.  They had both wanted more children themselves, a daughter especially, but it hadn't been meant to be. "And, I'd guess five – April's, plus four from them.  Heather gets her way more often than you think, Johnston," she informed him, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze.  "And women's brains are designed to forget about the horrors of childbirth pretty quickly. It's a little thing called 'perpetuation of the species'."

"Still, those two," Johnston moaned good-naturedly, shaking his head. "Sometimes, bein' around 'em, it's just embarrassing!"

Gail shook her head at him.  "Like we were any better," she argued.

"We did not act like that when you were pregnant," Johnston countered, "Or when we were their age."

"Well, that's debatable," she chuckled, threading her arm through his.  "Frankly, it still astonishes me that we both managed to graduate college, Mr. 'Let's Take A Study Break'.  And you made the Dean's List every semester to boot!"

Johnston had the good grace to at least look sheepish as he acknowledged the truth of her accusation.  "You never seemed to object," he reminded.  "And we were younger – a lot younger than Jake."

"We married younger," she returned.  "I'm glad Jake waited 'til he found the right girl, and I refuse to be embarrassed by the fact that they love each other.  No, those two aren't what embarrasses me."

And they were back to that, Johnston realized, his stomach turning over.  The giant, Eric-shaped elephant in the room.  "Gail," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair, "You're gonna hafta forgive him –"

"Our son doesn't appear to believe that he's done anything that requires an apology," she snapped, pulling away from him.

"You hafta forgive him sometime," Johnston repeated, exasperation coloring his tone.  "Or you're gonna lose him," he argued, "We're gonna lose him.  And I, at least, don't want that.  He's our son."

Her eyes bright with angry tears, Gail glared at him, shaking her head.  "You act like –" She bit off whatever she was going to say – going to charge him with – her lips pressed into a tight, thin line.  "Your father would be spitting nails about this," she declared, folding her arms over her chest protectively.  "He'd disown Eric, or at least threaten to.  And your mother!"  She let out a heavy, frustrated breath.  "She'd probably blame me – 'breeding always shows' –" Gail said, mimicking Betsy Green's higher, quieter voice. 

The phrase, too, was all his mother, Johnston acknowledged to himself, one she'd used more than once in reference to Gail during their engagement, hoping to talk him out of marrying her.  The two women had eventually learned to get along, an uncomfortable relationship made somewhat easier by their shared love for two active and entertaining boys, but they had never been the best of friends.   "Sweetie –"

"But the irony is, I'm just as – as – as ashamed," Gail finally decided, "As she would've been."  She covered her face with her hands, groaning in frustration.  "How did this happen?" she complained.

"Does it matter?" Johnston countered, "It's not like things can – can go back to the way they were.  Before."

"I'm not naïve, Johnston," she told him, letting her hands – clenched into fists – drop into her lap.  "I know that April and Eric won't be getting back together.  I wouldn't want them to.  She still loves him, at least a little bit," Gail insisted, "She couldn't despise him – hate him – as much as she does if she didn't.  But she doesn't trust him – could never trust him again, not with her heart – and we both know you need love and trust for marriage to work."  She stared past him, frowning sadly, the stiff way she held herself broadcasting loudly and clearly: 'don't touch me'.  "I don't want them back together," she repeated, "But I do –"

The rattle of a key in the front door cut off her statement, leaving Johnston to wonder what it was that Gail did want – presumably – for Eric to do or say.  She scrambled to stand up, swiping the back of her hand across her eyes and pasting on a smile.  Quickly, Gail moved toward the entry, ready to greet Jeff and Drake as the came in the door, stomping their feet and making chuffing noises about the cold.

"Come in, come in, you two," she ordered, her tone warm and inviting.  It was how Gail had always welcomed her family – those she loved – home.  Johnston could remember the first time he'd been in her parents' house – the only time he was there before they were engaged – and her father and eldest brother had returned home at the end of a long day of working in the family's butcher shop.  The way Gail had greeted them both, with hugs and kisses and fussing, you would have thought they'd been gone a month instead of eleven or twelve hours.  Johnston had known then that he wanted that in his life – that easy affection, that demonstrative love, the beautiful woman to whom it all came so naturally. 

 He had already known that he loved Gail – that he'd known after a week – but it was in that moment that he'd known he had to marry her.  Johnston had grown up understanding that his parents loved him – of course they had loved him – but it wasn't something they went out of their way to express, his mother particularly, especially after his sister's death.  And so, seeing Gail with her family had left him craving such openness, such warmth; it had left him yearning for her and the life he'd been sure they could build together.  Johnston had proposed two days later. It was a choice that he had never regretted, and he considered having Gail as their mother to be the best gift he'd ever given his sons.  Neither was perfect, but when it came to their emotions they were both much more O'Brien than Green, and those that Jake and Eric loved were all the better for it.

Jeff, Drake, and Michael, too were all the better for the mother's love his wife was more than happy to shower upon them, and which they soaked up like sponges.  "Come over to the fire," Gail clucked, linking her arm through Drake's.  "We need to get you boys warmed up.  Did you eat?  There's plenty of dinner left over," she assured before they could answer.  "And Jake left you each a cookie, from his party."

"Mrs. Davis is still bringing venison stew by every evening, for the clinic staff," Jeff answered.  Lindsay Davis had both broken her arm and come down with bronchitis the previous week, and Shannon, Gail knew, was still operating from that jittery, helpless place a mother always ended up when one of her children was in danger and there wasn't much she could do to resolve things.  Providing dinner for the doctors and nurses that had seen her daughter through this scare seemed, to Shannon, like the very least she could do. 

"But April told us to get home quick if we wanted a cookie," Drake added, chuckling, "So we hurried."

"Yeah," Jeff confirmed, turning around in front of the fire, apparently trying to decide whether to warm his back or front first.  "So where is the birthday boy?"

"Jake and Heather have already retired for the evening," Johnston informed them, somewhat gruffly, as he moved across living room to join the two young men by the fire.

"Right," Jeff returned dryly, fighting a smirk.  "Well, good for them."

Drake shook his head at his friend.  "He's just jealous," the young man explained to Johnston.

"Here you go," Gail said, presenting their peanut butter cookies first to Drake and then to Jeff. 

"Thanks," they said in unison.  "And, I am a little jealous," Jeff admitted a beat later, shrugging.  "I mean, they have – what they have, it's worth living for, you know?  We've all survived up to now, and that's great.  But they have a life.  They have each other," he continued, the words practically flowing out of him on their own volition.   "They're gonna – they're having a kid.  Probably scary as hell," he conceded with a humorless chuckle.  He paused a moment, examining his cookie before taking a nibbling bite.  "But still…" Jeff sighed, "I'd take it." 

"He asked a girl out, and she turned him down," Drake reported, glancing back and forth between Gail and Johnston.  "He's not used to it."

"I didn't ask her out," Jeff grumbled.  "I mean, where would I take her?" he inquired rhetorically, frowning.    "I only go three places – here, the med center, and border patrol."  He shook his head, frowning.  "It's just we've been – well, I guess I've been," he corrected, "Flirting with her the last week.  So she cornered me in the supply closet today and told me I'm not her type," Jeff complained.  "Which is fine.  Whatever," he sighed, "But y' know, when I said I was gonna go to med school, everyone said 'don't get serious', that med school and internship, those are relationship killers.  But then the bombs happened, and now… sometimes just surviving … it's – it feels pointless.  I mean, I'm not a doctor, I can't even take a girl on date, and it just – it just sucks."

"Oh, Jeff," Gail clucked, pulling the young man into a one armed hug.  "Honey, I promise you that someday – and probably pretty soon – you're gonna flirt with some girl who's gonna think you're exactly her type," she predicted, while in the back of her mind she ran through her mental roll of med center staff and volunteers, trying to figure out which young woman could have possibly turned him down.   "Don't you worry.  Because any girl is gonna be lucky to have you," Gail assured him, kissing his on the cheek.  "And, Jeff, you are a doctor, we just need to get a little more training into you, okay?"

He nodded, flashing her a muted grin.  "Okay."

"And as for where to take a girl on a date," Gail continued, "Well, you can always bring her to dinner here.  Jake brought Heather to dinner a week after they met," she told him, smiling, "And it seems to have worked out for them, wouldn't you say?"

"He really brought her to a family dinner after one week?" Jeff asked, chuckling.  "Wow."

"I believe it was actually nine days," Johnston interjected.  "Though we still shoulda known that he was plannin' on marrying her after that, doncha think?"  He caught his wife's eye then, and decided to amend his statement.  "Though, I suppose you did know that that's what he was up to, Mrs. Green?  Way ahead of Jake himself."

"I thought the chances were good, that's all," Gail replied, shrugging.  "But I knew better than to push," she claimed.

"Of course," Johnston acknowledged with a nod and a grin.  "Well, Jeff," he continued, "If you're brave enough to bring a date to dinner with all of us, we won't even require that ya marry her later," he promised, clapping the young man on the shoulder.  "You too, Drake."

Drake made a face, drawing gentle chuckles from the other three.  "You can have the first go at that, Jeff," he muttered, blushing.

"Yeah, okay," Jeff agreed, rolling his eyes at his friend.  "And you know what else I'm gonna have first go at?  The shower," he announced, answering his own question.  "'Cause the shower's always colder when you hafta go after someone else."

"You're crazy," Drake informed him.  "The shower's just cold.  And if it got colder it'd be comin' out as icicles."

"Well, it feels colder," Jeff argued stubbornly.  He appealed to Johnston.  "You know what I mean."

"I'm with Drake on this one," the older man replied.  There had been a rash of burst pipes back during the first week of December, after the first hard freeze, and some of the unoccupied houses in town had flooded.  Work crews had been organized – after the fact – to turn off the water at the entrance valves, to pump out swamped basements and storm cellars, and to tear out ruined sheetrock, though it probably hadn't been enough to ward off mold, and the buildings would likely be uninhabitable come spring.  So, for the two months since, they had left all their faucets and showerheads dripping – and Johnston knew that Jake had done the same at the ranch – in order to preserve the plumbing.  Their water was cold, but at least it wouldn't freeze in the pipes.  "Ice water is ice water."

"Okay then, you really won't care if I grab the first shower," Jeff reasoned.  "Besides, my shift starts before yours."

"When do you two need to be back?" Gail asked, frowning at the dark circles under both their eyes. 

"I'm on six to noon at the med center, then one to nine on the border patrol," Jeff answered, frustration creeping into his voice as he added, "I told you I only go three places."

"I go in at noon tomorrow, on 'til six the next morning.  Half the town's sick," Drake reminded, "So whatever April says, we work it." 

"And she keeps insisting on these twelve or eighteen or twenty four hour shifts for herself, too," Gail grumbled, shaking her head.

Drake pained expression mirrored Gail's. "We try to keep her from working too much," he assured, "But she's the boss… and she's April!"

"Oh honey, I know," Gail assured him, squeezing his arm.  "You know I just worry."

"April's glad to have you guys around," Johnston told them, "Allows Gail to spread some of that worry 'round."

"Well, feel free to worry about me, turnin' blue in the shower all you want," Jeff instructed, snorting.  "'Cause I'm goin' in," he declared, taking a step away from the fire.

"I'm going to bed," Drake added, moving to follow.  "I can take a shower in the morning.  Always a chance the water will be warmer then," he joked.

Jeff waited for his friend to catch up, throwing an arm around his neck and noogying his head.  "Oh sure, the shower will be warmer in the morning," he accused, elbowing the door to the kitchen open.

"Ow!  Le' go!" Johnston and Gail heard Drake protest, but he was also laughing and groaning as Jeff dragged him into the other room.

Grinning, Johnston shook his head at their antics.  "It's like having Jake and Eric, circa 1989, around again."  He offered his hand to his wife.

"Yeah," she nodded, a ghost of a smile touching her lips, "It is, isn't it?"  Tentatively, Gail accepted his hand, her fingers curling around his, allowing him to lead her back toward the couch.  "Though," she chuckled, "I could almost see Jake doing that now.  To Michael… or Eric."

A soft bark of laughter escaped Johnston then.  "I bet Jake'll be one of those fathers who roughhouses with his kids right before bed," he predicted as they settled themselves on the sofa.  "Get 'em all riled up," he continued, relieved that Gail allowed him to tuck the quilt in around them both, to wrap his arm around her.

"Aggravating Heather to no end," she sighed, letting her head rest against his shoulder.  "Though… at least Jake will be putting his children to bed," Gail reminded a long moment later, her voice pitched so quietly that Johnston had to strain to make out her words.  "How often will Eric be able to put his son or daughter to bed?" she demanded, "Not often – maybe never."

"It'll be difficult at first, I imagine," Johnston conceded, "While the baby's nursing, especially.  Can't do anything about that – the baby and the mother hafta be together in the beginnin'," he reasoned.  "But after that… we can offer a buffer.  Eric can come here, or –"

"April's not going to let him take the baby home with him and – and Mary Bailey," she interrupted, her mouth puckering as if she'd tasted something that was rancid.

  "The two of them are going to hafta learn to deal with each other at some point," he argued.  "April and Eric, and April and Mary.  For the baby's sake."

Frowning, Gail shook her head, dismissing the idea.  "You know… yesterday, she said if the baby's a boy – though she's hoping for a girl – but if it's a boy, she's going to call him Jason."  She sat up, pulling away from her husband though she did look back over her shoulder, her gaze locking with his.  "Jason," she emphasized, "That's the name of Paul's son, the one who died in the car accident with his wife."

"I know," Johnston acknowledged.  Jason had been Paul's only child, up until he'd met Karen Glendenning two years after he'd lost his family to a jack knifed semi on I-70.  He'd once confided in Johnston that he'd been glad that Karen only had daughters, that he loved her girls and treasured the chance to be a dad again, but that he was also grateful that Jason remained his only boy.  "And that sounds like April," he added, clearing his throat, "To name her child in honor of the stepbrother she never knew.  Paul'll like that." 

"He will," Gail agreed, her voice cracking softly.  "If – if he's alive, he certainly will.  And, if he's alive, if Karen's alive, if Topeka is okay…."  She paused, shaking her head as if to clear it of that thought.  "I want them to be alive, of course I do," she insisted in the next moment, throwing the quilt off and turning in her seat so that her knee bumped his.  "They're our friends, our grandchild's other grandparents – I want them to be okay.  But – but if they're okay, and the government comes back, and – and it's safe….  We will lose our grandchild, Johnston," she predicted, her eyes flooding with tears.

"Gail," he began, reaching for her hand, but she evaded his grasp, balling it into a fist that she ground against her thigh.

"I want it to be okay," she repeated, whispering.  "For all of us, I want it to be okay.  But if that happens, why would April stay?  What reason would she have to stay?" she demanded, not waiting for his answer.  "She lived here one year when she was a teenager, Johnston, and then this town drove her mother out, chose the chauvinist football coach instead.  She only came back here because of Eric," Gail reminded, swiping the back of her hand across her eyes.  "And now he insists on humiliating her on a daily basis, carrying on with that woman," she continued, her voice rising and her tone growing more and more desperate with each word.  "Telling anyone who'll listen how he's never been happier.  So, why would she stay?" she repeated, "How could we possibly ask her to?"

She took a deep breath, though it didn't seem to have any calming effect.  "Autumn and Blake lived with them for nearly three years.  Karen still misses them – Paul too.  They'd want April to come to them, of course they would.  And, she'll apologize profusely, but she will leave," Gail predicted with a sniff.  "She'll – she'll tell us to come visit any time, and the first few years, we'll make the birthday party, maybe manage a trip during that week between Christmas and New Year's….  But we won't be a part of our grandchild's life, not really," she croaked, "Not the way we're supposed to be, the way I always thought we'd be.  Just – just friendly strangers in a photograph."

Tears were rolling, unheeded, down the bridge of her nose, and she looked so forlorn, so torn, so lost, that Johnston couldn't keep himself from hauling her into his arms and onto his lap, holding her close.  "It'll be okay," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hairline, insisting again, "It's gonna be okay."  But even as he spoke these words of comfort, Johnston could feel his own chest constricting and growing heavy with dread.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 15B.

V was a television miniseries that first aired in the United States in 1983.  V: The Final Battle aired in 1984, and episode 2 ended with the scene of Robin giving birth to alien hybrid twins, one of which was distinctly reptilian and green (and also obviously made of rubber).  DC Heather would have been just about to turn 5 when this episode first aired, and I don't think her mother would have wanted her watching V, let alone allowed her to stay up until 11 PM on a school night, but there are always reruns.  V: The Final Battle was produced by Kenneth Johnson and David Blatt.

Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back, Luke Skywalker, Chewbacca, Han Solo, and Princess Leia are all owned by Lucasfilm.  Mara Jade, Lowbacca and Lumpawaroo are characters in the Star Wars books, published by Lucas Books a division of Lucasfilm and an imprint of Del Ray Books.  Personally, I have enjoyed many of the Star Wars novels, and would be happy to have book club with Heather and Stanley any time.

Laverne and Shirley is a television sitcom made by Paramount Television and created by Garry Marshall.

The Blessing of the Animals (also known as the Blessing of the Pets) is a special ceremony conducted in remembrance of Saint Francis of Assisi's love for all creatures.  It is commonly held in conjunction with his feast day on October 4th.

John F. Kennedy (JFK) was president of the United States from 1961 until his assassination in 1963.  His brother Robert "Bobby" Kennedy served as his Attorney General, continuing in this post through September 1964, and was also assassinated in 1968.  The Kennedy brothers are perhaps not the best choice for Eric (and Jake) to emulate, but they are a ready example of a political dynasty.
The oil crisis of 1973 ran from October 1973 through March 1974 and resulted in the rationing of gasoline and long waits to fuel up in the United States.  Johnston speaks of odd-even rationing which was the practice of allowing gasoline purchases based on the last number on a license plate: if the last number was even, you could purchase gas on even numbered days; if the last number was odd, you could purchase gas on odd numbered days.

Cruella de Vil is the antagonist in the book and movie 101 Dalmatians.  She kidnaps Dalmatian puppies for their fur and was the movie villain who scared me the most as a child.  I've no doubt that Stanley would agree with me.  I'm sure Jake's aunt Bridget is nowhere near as mean and evil as Cruella de Vil.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Different Circumstances: Part 15B of ? by Marzee Doats


Author's Note: Much thanks to my wonderful beta reader, Skyrose, especially for finding time for me (and DC) even when real life has gotten so busy.  And thanks to Penny Lane for late night assists and all the wonderful Mikey prompts – he owes his appearance in this chapter to you. :-)

Warnings: This is another long one, so maybe use the restroom, grab a beverage, and settle in for a while.  Also, I should add that there is quite a chunk of discussion on medical matters, including birth control.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday January 22, four months after the bombs

The doors at the main entrance to the Jericho Medical Center had been automated for as long as she could remember – as long as she'd lived in Jericho – or at least they had been, until the unthinkable had happened.  In actuality, the entrance consisted of two sets of doors separated by what the building engineer had pompously referred to as an airlock vestibule when he'd given her a tour of the facility some years before.  Still, it had been a sensible solution, preserving heat in the winter and the air conditioning in the summer.  The sliding doors had been triggered by pressure sensors that had allowed patients on crutches or in wheelchairs or mobility scooters as well as parents pushing strollers easy access to the building.  But now automation was a luxury they could not afford, given their limited electricity generation capabilities, and the power connections for these doors and the ones in the emergency room had been disabled early on, back when they'd all still hoped that the generator was a stopgap measure and that the real power would be back on soon.

Unfortunately, there hadn't been a reason to remove the weighty mechanical fixtures – again, they had been hoping against hope – and so Gail was left to struggle with the heavy door, grunting softly as she worked to shove it back far enough along its track that she could squeeze through, all the time remembering how easy it had been before.  It was, she conceded to herself, an odd thing to fixate on, but still she welcomed it.  Better than the worries that had been plaguing her for days, and which she'd made worse – not better – when she'd confessed them out loud to her husband the night before.  Now, every time he looked at her she could tell that he was worrying about her, and not about the choices that April might make in the future.  There was an element of pity in his expression too, one that made her bristle, and that, coupled with her already shaky, on-the-edge feeling, had left her out of sorts and not completely capable of being around him this morning.

Johnston had offered to walk her over, but she'd turned him down, arguing that the medical center was in the exact opposite direction of town hall where he was headed, and besides, she'd much rather that he walked with Heather, the only other member of the family who'd joined them for a breakfast of leftover spoon bread.  Jake was already out of the house for the day, Heather had reported, having left around six, claiming that he was too cold to sleep, and so he might as well get an early start.  For a moment, Gail had been able to push away her other concerns as she'd marveled at the notion of her would-have-happily-made-a-career-out-of-sleeping-in son getting up before dawn, and apparently of his own volition.

"Well, it really is cold this morning," Heather had argued, her hands wrapped tightly around her mug of herbal tea.  "Frankly, once he left, I was too cold to sleep myself," she'd complained half-heartedly.  "I almost told him that was gonna happen, but then he would've stayed, and I would've felt bad."

"That's not something you need to feel bad about," Gail had countered, "Not when you're seven months pregnant." 

This statement had elicited a strangled snort from Johnston, though Heather hadn't seemed to notice.  "But he really does have a lot on his to do list these days," she'd insisted, heaving a sigh.  "So maybe since he's gotten a jump on things, he'll be able to call it a day at a reasonable hour, and will actually be home in time for dinner."

"That would be nice," Gail had agreed.  "Still… Jake up at six AM.  Will wonders never cease?" she'd laughed softly.  "You know, I used to threaten that I was gonna borrow a stick of dynamite from the mine and blast him out of bed," she'd told them.  "I was thrilled any day when he was up by seven fifteen."

Shaking her head, Gail locked the outside door behind her.  By the night they'd witnessed the ICBMs being launched from somewhere in Wyoming – two weeks after the bombs – April had already been the senior physician at the Jericho Medical Center for three or four days.  While they all hoped that Craig Peterson had found Darlene, his daughter, in Kansas City, all they knew for sure was that he'd never come back to town.  Dr. Hoder had stuck it out about a week longer, but then, he too had hit the road, wanting to reach his parents and sisters in Lincoln, Nebraska.  Left with the gargantuan task of keeping the facility running, April had closed all the entrances to the building save the two in the emergency department.  But Gail still had her key and today had seemed like a good time to make sure it still worked.

She had never been an actual employee of the medical center or any of the doctors who had operated their practices from the facility, but a few months after April had hung out her shingle in Jericho she'd recruited her mother-in-law to fill in for a Lamaze class when the regular instructor had been called out of town for a family emergency.  It was freelance work – the four moms-to-be in the class had paid her directly – and since she and Johnston hadn't needed the money, that hundred dollars had been the first deposit she'd made into a new savings account at Kansas Liberty Bank, all funds earmarked for an eventual grand tour of Europe.  Gail had enjoyed her stint as a health educator and so, after taking a few certification courses through the university extension, she'd begun a part-time job teaching not only Lamaze and New Baby Basics, but also on occasion other classes such as CPR and Living with Diabetes. 

The key to the medical center had come with her new position, not that she'd needed it very often, Gail found herself thinking as she went to work on opening the second sliding door.  No, back then each time she had come into the facility through this entrance, her arms full of materials for whichever class she was teaching that particular day, the doors had always whooshed open before her.  She'd exchanged pleasantries with the volunteer working the reception desk – on Tuesdays that had always Ellie Moreno, one of the widows who'd chased EJ Green during his last few years – before heading downstairs to the Health Education classroom to set up.  Everything had been the way it was supposed to be then, and it had been easy.  Too easy perhaps, she admitted to herself.  Though, she'd happily give up automatic doors and elevators – not to mention quite a few other modern conveniences – for the rest of her life, if only everything else, everything important, didn't insist upon changing.

But that was a deal the universe was clearly unwilling to make with her, Gail   acknowledged, allowing a rueful chuckle, as she turned sideways and shimmied through the gap she'd created.  She was now inside the lobby, a section of the building that had also been abandoned early on.  It was an open, tiled, formerly bright and airy, but now completely useless space, and the consensus had been that it wasn't worth heating, even to provide more room for patients or staff.  Standing here now, her arms wrapped around herself, Gail had to wonder what she'd been thinking to try and steal into the building this way.  A bad evening, the feeling of dread that still left a bitter flavor in the back of her mouth and which tightened her throat painfully, none of it justified this crazy act: sneaking into the med center through the used-to-be-the-front-door-now-closed-off-never-to-be used-again entrance.  She hurried across the lobby, past the reception desk, the elevator, and the blood pressure check station, feeling almost like she was trampling a grave.

Gail turned for the east wing of the building, where the emergency room/urgent care clinic was located, along with the laboratory, x-ray and cast rooms.  The birthing center which, after having been stripped of its useful supplies, had been closed off for the time being, occupied the west wing along with four leased suites that had housed the individual doctors' practices.  Those practices were also now abandoned, the result of the departures of not only Dr. Peterson and Dr. Hoder, but also Dr. Clement, Jericho's one full-time obstetrician/gynecologist.  Aside from April, only Dr. Leland – an optometrist – and Dr. Rocha – a dentist – had remained in town.  They were both more than willing to pitch in at the clinic, but deferred to April – and now even Jeff, Michael and Drake – on all matters of treatment.

Yanking open the fire door, Gail stepped, finally, into the occupied part of the building.  It was noticeably warmer – though definitely not warm – on this side of the door, and she could now hear the buzz of human activity from the other end of the hallway.  She took a deep breath and pasted on a smile.

"What are you doing here?" her daughter-in-law inquired as Gail came around the corner.  April was standing just outside her office, locking the door.  Before the crisis, April had had an office and exam room where she could meet with and treat her general practice patients, and a nurse, receptionist and small waiting room that she'd shared with Craig Peterson in the west wing but, she'd always been more in her element in the ER and clinic.  It was her office on the east side of the building that she'd taken the time to truly personalize, and that she practically lived out of now.  "Skulking around?" she guessed, chuckling, one eyebrow raised in question, as she used a whiteboard marker to quickly scribble her status – around – on the message board, right below a permanent label that proclaimed 'Dr. Green is …'.  "And listen to me…" she sighed, "I say that like I can pay you with something other than my undying gratitude."

"And that's more than enough for me, sweetheart," Gail answered, squeezing the younger woman's arm.  "You know that."

"Well, I'm still thankful," April smiled tiredly.  "For you," she added, gesturing at her mother-in-law, "And for everyone else who shows up here every day.  It's not like I can run this place on my own.  But you really are early," she reminded, her forehead wrinkling as she tried to recall the work schedule she'd put together for the day.  "You're not supposed to be here for another couple of hours at least."

"Actually, I think I am skulking around," Gail laughed softly in reply.  "Doing a little investigative work, anyway.  Apparently, Jeff has been flirting with someone around here," she confided, "And now she's – not broken his heart, but definitely bruised it a little."

April's smile turned indulgent and she rolled her eyes playfully.  "Jeff flirts with everybody," she reminded, "He flirts with me!  And Lindsay Davis – he set her arm last week and now she's got a mad crush on him, practically swoons whenever she sees him."

"Well, I certainly never considered Lindsay for the culprit," Gail sniffed.  "But he really was kind of low about the whole thing last night," she argued, sighing softly.  "Besides, it was too cold to sleep in this morning – for all of us – I mean, Jake was up and outta the house at six, if you can believe that," she explained, shaking her head.  "Well, Drake somehow managed to sleep in," Gail corrected herself, "He didn't stumble upstairs until the rest of us – Heather, Johnston and me – were headed out the door."

"Okay then," April grinned, wrapping her cardigan more tightly around herself.  "Feel free to skulk around.  And, if you figure out who the mystery woman is, resistant to all of Jeff's charms," she joked, "Lemme know."

"I will," Gail assured.  "But April," she continued, stopping her daughter-in-law as she began to turn away, "You know, you can flirt back… if you want to, I mean."  Even before the words had left her mouth, she'd known she shouldn't say them, that they would come out all wrong, and yet there they were, hanging awkwardly between them.  "I don't mean with Jeff," Gail added quickly, an uneasy chuckle escaping her.  "Not that there's anything wrong with Jeff – I love Jeff – but –"

"He's a little young for me, don't you think?" April interrupted, making a face.  "I mean, total kid brother territory," she grumbled uncomfortably.

"No – or yes," Gail replied immediately.  "I mean, I'm not saying you should flirt with Jeff," she explained, "Though there'd be nothing wrong with it, if that's what you wanted to do.  I just mean…."  She paused, letting out a long, anxious breath.  "I just mean, if there was someone you wanted to flirt with, if there was someone you were interested in – in having a relationship with…."

"This is so weird," April muttered, closing her eyes and rubbing them with her thumb and index finger.

"It really is," her mother-in-law sighed.

"So you're – you're trying to say you think I should date?" April guessed.  All traces of her earlier good humor had disappeared, and to Gail's eye she looked tired, even overwhelmed by all of her never-ending responsibilities.  "Because, well, I guess it's not actually nuclear winter, but it's as close as I ever wanna get," she said, allowing a dour chuckle.   "And, I'm pregnant.  And, I'm not divorced….  Not exactly married, but we're not divorced either," she repeated, frowning and looking past Gail as she let her hands come to rest over the child she carried.

Gail nodded.  She'd overheard her daughters-in-law discussing this very subject the week before, and she knew that Eric and April had agreed to wait until after the baby was born to worry about the dissolution of their marriage.  "I can't really explain it," April had complained to Heather, "I mean, I know we're through, I don't want to be with him….  But still, shouldn't our baby be born inside our marriage and not two, three months after our divorce?"

"But he agreed, right?"  Heather had reminded, her tone soothing.  "That means something."

"Maybe," April had muttered, "Though probably he's just hoping I'll give in some on custody if he gives me this," she'd argued, adding sarcastically, "Time heals all wounds, don't you know?  God, this is such a mess."

"I'm really making a mess of this," Gail confessed then, frowning.  It had seemed like a good idea when April had given her the opening.  After all, if she found someone and that someone was in Jericho, then the chances that she would leave town – would take their grandchild away – would necessarily be reduced.  "I just mean that I – we – Johnston and I, we love you, April," Gail explained, her hands fluttering.  "And, you are always going to be our daughter, for as long as you want to be … longer, probably," she chuckled anxiously.  "And, if – when – you find someone… we will only be happy for you."

"And we all thought this Thanksgiving was weird," April returned drily.  She paused a moment, taking a deep breath and offering her mother-in-law a weak smile.  "I'm not really ready to contemplate that quite yet.  Dating," she clarified unnecessarily.   "I just – I think I'm gonna concentrate on more important things for a while.  This clinic.  My baby.  Everything else… I just can't think about right now." 

Gail nodded, feeling an odd mix of relief and disappointment.  April was devoted to the clinic, and for now, that would be enough of an anchor to keep her in Jericho.  It was, she realized, the reason Johnston wasn't nearly as concerned about their daughter-in-law as he was about her.  But what would happen in a few years?  After things got better – and they had to get better! – after the baby was born, and then down the road a bit when perhaps Eric and Mary had had a child of their own?  All her life, Gail had found the unknowable future to be exciting, and she'd entered into nursing school, marriage, the University of Kansas, and motherhood not entirely prepared for what she was in for, but always with the enthusiasm of a novice, ready to confront and surmount all challenges.  But now, the future was simply frightening with all the ways everything could go so wrong.

 "Well, that's … understandable," Gail decided, letting out a long breath.

"And, I do appreciate your – your position, I guess," April mumbled, shrugging.  "And your love and support and the fact that I'm not out on the street –"

"April!" her mother-in-law protested, "That would never happen.  You know that.  Forget Johnston and me, Eric wouldn't have let that happen."

She looked conflicted – not like she disbelieved the claim, but certainly like she wanted to argue it, though in the end she decided to let it go.  This was April's way.  Once they had all recovered from the initial shock of Eric's announcement and hasty departure, the situation wasn't one that they'd discussed much.  April, Gail knew, would talk to Heather about some things, but mostly her natural reserve had taken over, and she'd swallowed her pain, refocusing it in her work and her drive to make sure the citizens of Jericho survived the winter.  And so, once again, April bit back her first impulse, acknowledging Gail's statement with a shake of the head.  "I know," she murmured finally, emitting a soft sigh.  "But, uh, do you think we could change the subject to … well, really, anything would probably be less awkward."

"Probably," Gail agreed with a tired chuckle.  "So," she prompted, as they both turned to head down the hallway toward the – these days – always bustling clinic.  "Did you get the chance to sleep last night?"

Stopping in her tracks, April glanced sideways at her mother-in-law.  "Oh my God!" she declared, making a frustrated noise in the back of her throat, though her tone was mostly admiring.  "That was such the super mom thing to say," she accused jokingly.  "Start off with the most uncomfortable, most awkward thing possible and then segue into the mildly nagging thing, so your kid's actually grateful that you at least dropped the first thing.  I'm gonna remember that one," she vowed.  "And use it!"

Gail shrugged, offering a smile that neither confirmed nor denied her daughter-in-law's hypothesis.  "And you're gonna be a great mother; that much is for sure."

"Thanks," April sighed.   "Luckily, I have two of the world's best as my role models," she reminded as they reached the main desk.  She reached for the clipboard on which the week's schedule was posted.  "Okay, you really aren't supposed to be here 'til noon," she informed Gail.  "So skulk away."

"Thanks, I think I will.  But don't think I haven't noticed that you didn't answer my question," Gail told her.  "Because, honey, you look tired.  Are you getting enough sleep?" she asked.

April's lips twitched before finally committing to a small smile.  "Almost seven hours," she declared.

"Where?" her mother-in-law returned immediately as April started to turn toward the clinic and her never-ending list of duties therein.

"In my office," she answered.

"Sleeping in your office doesn't count," Gail complained, following closely behind.  "You're gonna give the baby a crook in its neck."

April looked back over her shoulder, her grin now full size.  "You're gonna make a terrific grandmother," she announced.

Gail nodded.  She only wanted the chance to prove it.  "I know."

* * * * *

"You really don't hafta do this, Jeff," Jessica Williams argued to the young man's back as she hurried to catch up with him.  "I mean – I just mean, you don't hafta do me any favors, okay?"

Stopping, he glanced down and sideways, first catching her gaze and then rolling his eyes.  "What makes you think I'm doing this for you?" Jeff questioned, his chin jutting out as he crossed his arms over his chest.  "Maybe, I'm doing this for me," he suggested.  "We're way short on doctors around here, and you're a doctor.  Closer to one than me," he reminded.  "We put you into the rotation, maybe I get a night off."

"Yeah, that's just what you need," she returned, fighting a grin, "A night off."

"It is," he grumbled.  "We could all use a night off," he continued, "But you're gonna hafta go to the end of the line.  Low doc on the totem pole, ya know."

Jessica groaned.  "Yeah, there's nothing culturally offensive about that statement," she complained.

"I grew up in Alaska," Jeff countered, "I am allowed to make culturally offensive statements about totem poles.  Plus, moose, sled dogs and the aurora borealis."

"What?" she squeaked, "That doesn't – what could possibly be offensive about the aurora borealis?"

"Well, if insomniacs or people who're afraid of the dark have a group identity, maybe."

"I so could never go out with you," Jessica informed him, shaking her head.

"'Cause I grew up in Alaska?  That's pretty narrow-minded of you," he joked, offering her a grin that quickly faltered in the face of her frown. 

"Can you just be serious," she demanded, "For like two seconds?"

"Okay, fine," he muttered, "Serious.  First, you didn't break my heart, okay?  I mean, get over yourself already.  And second," Jeff continued, "We need the help around here.  We need your help," he amended with a sigh.  "And sure, you can keep earning your keep – your bed – doing scut work in the clinic.  Or you can be a doctor, which is what you really wanna be anyway, right?"

She nodded, her lips pressed into a thin, neutral line.  "Yeah," she conceded.

"So then, I'll introduce you," Jeff promised, resuming his walk down the hall.  "And – for the record –" he told her as they moved together toward the center of the clinic, "I happen to live in what has been described as one 'swinging medical student bachelor pad', which is way better than your bed here.  Just sayin'," he finished.

Jessica rolled her eyes.  "I'm allergic to bachelor pads."

"Of course you are," he groaned, glad to spot April and Gail at the main desk.  "Okay, there she is," Jeff announced, cocking her head in the women's direction.  "C'mon."  He walked another ten feet, and then waved April over, calling her name.

"What's up?" she asked, adjusting the stethoscope she had draped around her neck.

Jeff glanced sideways at Jessica.  "Okay, go," he instructed.

She shot him a quick, annoyed glare, before turning to face April, a smile plastered on her face.  "Dr. Green?"

April nodded.  "Yes."

"Jessica Williams," she introduced herself, holding out her hand and adding, "Nice to meet you," as they shook.  "Mr. Ostrowski says he's having chest pain, but he doesn't want anyone to look at him but you."

"He chased me and Mike off, too," Jeff offered in corroboration.  "Wants to deal with the big cheese herself."

She snickered softly but otherwise ignored him in favor of Jessica.  "Are you the doctor who came in with the refugees?"  She had heard that the refugees' doctor was in the clinic – she'd come over from the church with two cases of pneumonia more than a week before – but April literally hadn't had time to seek the other woman out. 

"Close," Jessica shrugged.  "Third year med student, University of Chicago," she explained, "And I prefer 'visitor' to 'refugee'."

"I'm sorry," April apologized, attempting a smile.  "Thanks for the help."

"Don't thank me," the younger woman argued, "I'm just working here 'cause I get to sleep in a bed instead of the church basement."  She waited a beat before asking, "Where do I start?"

April led them back over to the main desk, pulling the first folder off a stack nearly a foot high.  "Pneumonia, malnutrition, hypothermia…" she cataloged, "Just grab a chart and pick a patient."

"You got it," Jessica acknowledged, accepting the medical chart from April.  "Just …. Don't forget about Mr. Ostrowski," she reminded before heading off to find her first patient.

"Introduce yourself as Dr. Williams," April called after her, "That's how we work around here."  She waited a moment, and then turned to face Jeff.  "So, she's interesting."

Jeff frowned gently.  "She's actually kinda cool, April.  You just have to get to know her.  Plus she's had it pretty rough since the bombs, so cut her some slack, okay?"

"Okay, okay," April returned, holding up both hands in a show of surrender.  "Trust me, I'll take pretty much any doctor who walks through the door," she reminded, "I'd still let Dr. Dhuwalia in the building if he'd just sober up and show up."

"Right," Jeff acknowledged.  For some reason – probably to do with his having saved Johnston's life – April had a soft spot for Kenchy Dhuwalia.  True, they disagreed on almost everything, medical and otherwise, but if you didn't count their constant bickering, they were actually quite compatible.  She seemed willing to forgive him both his demons and his complete inability to deal with them, and even though he'd been on a bender for most of the previous month and had only made it into the clinic for one shift in the last two weeks – eleven days ago – April, ever hopeful, still kept him on the schedule.  "Well, put Jessica in everywhere you've got Kenchy, and then if he comes in, it'll be a bonus," Jeff advised.

"Yeah," April sighed, "That's probably the way to go."

"Yup," Jeff confirmed.  "And then, when Kenchy's back from his vacation," he continued, making air quotes as he said the word 'vacation', "Maybe we can all get a night off on occasion?   Just sayin'…."

"Well, I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you," she warned, "'Cause I may be on maternity leave before he comes back, and when that happens – my maternity leave – you're the one who's gonna be running this place.  Unless you'd prefer that I put Jessica in charge?" she asked, her tone teasing.

Jeff made a face.  "She's my friend and all, but still… I think I can handle it.  As long as you're comin' back," he added, "'Cause you are comin' back, right?"

"I'm coming back," April confirmed.  "I mean, I always knew that being a doctor probably meant I'd never get to be a stay-at-home mom," she chuckled self-consciously.  "And I was always good with that, mostly.  Besides, now, everything that's happened… it'd be even harder to justify."  She paused, frowning to herself before finally adding, "But the baby and the clinic are my priorities, so I'll just hafta find a way to balance and make it all work." 

"Well, you know there's lots of us who'll help you out with that," he said.  "But, I still don't know how to change diapers."

"Yeah, well, I hear there's gonna be a training class for that," she joked, "And as your boss, I makin' attendance mandatory."

"Must be nice to be the boss," he returned, grumbling in mock annoyance.

"That's really not the word I would use for it," April argued, shaking her head.  "But look.  While I'm out, you're gonna be in charge, okay?  Even if Dr. Dhuwalia makes a miraculous recovery and comes back, then you just tell him that he gets to be the brilliant doctor and surgeon and you'll handle all the administrative crap.  'Cause that is the word I use for it," she grumbled, "In my head."

He acknowledged her plan with a nod.  "Will do."

"Though what you should do is take every opportunity to learn from him," she advised.  "Okay?  'Cause he knows his stuff, and everything you need to know about surgery especially, he's the one who can give you that, not me," April insisted.  "But still, when the time comes, you're my back up, and you're in charge," she repeated.  "'Kay?"

"Okay," Jeff agreed, exhaling deeply.  "And thanks, April.  For you know, trusting me with your other baby," he grinned, glancing sideways at her.  "Hey, you okay?"  April was frowning and had her hand pressed into her side.  Doctor that she was, she was tenderly probing the spot, and there was something about her expression that worried him.  "April!" Jeff said loudly, trying to get her attention.  "What's wrong?" he demanded.

"It was – just a – just a weird little pain, or a poke, maybe," she explained, rubbing her hand gently over her still small pregnant belly.  "A poke, definitely," she declared.  There was a note of uncertainty in her tone, though she laughed it off in the next moment.  "I think this baby's saying enough of that long range, strategic planning –"

"Crap?" Jeff supplied, smirking softly.

April rolled her eyes.  "I was gonna say mumbo jumbo, but that works, too," she sighed.  "Obviously, she's not her father's daughter," April groused.  "Though I really shouldn't be saying things like that," she corrected herself with her next breath.

"Hey, you can say 'em to me," he argued.  "I mean, I hardly know the guy, and besides, he's clearly an idiot."

"Well, thank you for that, but he's really not.  Trust me, this'd all be easier if he were," she countered, frowning.  "Turns out he's just not quite the cautious, stable, always-working-on-his-five-year-plan lawyer I thought I'd married," she shrugged.  "And maybe this baby's just trying to tell me he's a boy and doesn't appreciate being called a girl all the time," April decided, folding her hands together over her child.  "So you can stop it with the weird poking, okay?" she requested, addressing her belly.  "I get the message."

"Well, that'd bug me," Jeff snorted.  "If you'd called me a girl, and if I'd – you know – understood English in utero."

"And you're saying that my baby doesn't?" she demanded, putting her hands on her hips to further exaggerate her pretended annoyance.  

"Course not," he grinned.  "Your baby's a genius, probably speaks French and Italian too."

'That'd make her – or his – grandmother happy, anyway," April acknowledged, chuckling softly.  "So, since apparently we're gonna while away the morning chatting and letting Dr. Williams do all the work…you've been flirting with her?"

"What?" Jeff protested, his gaze darting around the clinic until it fell upon Gail who was standing outside one of the exam rooms, chatting with Doug Houghton, the history teacher from the high school.  "How'd you – she told you?"

"She did," April nodded, glancing over her shoulder to confirm that the 'she' in question was her mother-in-law.  "Because she cares about you," she insisted.  "Jeff, she came in three, four hours early today just so she could skulk around, see if she could figure out who it was that almost broke your heart.  She's worried about you." 

Jeff groaned at this new piece of intelligence.  "Seriously, she didn't break my heart."

"Look, Gail's in total mom mode today.  She already got me this morning, too," April admitted.  "And it's just because you're, you know, one of the Green kids now.  You've been officially adopted, so sometimes she's gonna interfere.  But really," she assured, "It's a small price to pay." 

"Fine," Jeff muttered.  "But… will you tell her?" he requested, "Just so she doesn't chat up Jessica, trying to figure out that who she's looking for is Jessica?"

"That I can do," she agreed. 

"Thanks.  And, speaking of the Green kids," he said, blinking hard as the lights flickered to life throughout the clinic.   "Here comes the original," Jeff announced, cocking his head toward the end of the hallway.  "Jake!" He called out, waving.

Jake hurried down the hall, dodging a couple of ambulatory patients and a volunteer carrying a precariously tall stack of clean linens.  "Hey," he greeted as he joined the other two.

"Happy birthday, man," Jeff said, offering Jake his hand and a lopsided grin.  "Sorry I missed you last night."

"Thanks," Jake replied easily, yanking off one of his bulky gloves – even a month after he'd been declared recovered from his hypothermia he found that it was hard to keep his extremities warm – so he could shake the younger man's hand.  "We were tired," he claimed, "So we turned in early.  Stanley keeps tellin' me I'm getting old, so that must be it."

April shook her head, valiantly fighting the smirk that was threatening to blossom on her lips.  "He went to bed before you made it home?" she asked, glancing at Jeff who nodded in confirmation.  "I'm so not touching that one with a ten foot pole," she informed her brother-in-law.

"Probably for the best," he agreed.

"The generator's back on," Gail declared, obviously relieved, as she joined the others.  Lights were blinking on all around them.

April smiled at her mother-in-law, sighing, "Thank God!"

"And his able assistant, " Gail suggested, gesturing at her son.  "See what you can accomplish when you get up early in the morning and commit to your day?" she teased him gently.

"Yeah, that's gotta be it," Jake agreed with a snort.  "'Cause you know what they say," he continued, rolling his eyes as he glanced back and forth between Jeff and April.   "'Early to bed, early to rise' –"

"'Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise'," his mother completed for him.

Jake groaned.  "She's been telling me that my whole life, but I'm still pretty sure there's no correlation.  And, I'm also pretty sure you shouldn't be thanking me," he told them, lowering his voice so only the three of them would hear him.  "'Cause that's it.  We're on our last tank of diesel.  Power's out to everything but the medical center."

"Our last tank?" April questioned, dismayed.  "How – how long will we have power?" she asked, her voice a harsh whisper.

"Ten, maybe twelve hours," Jake answered, resisting the urge to grit his teeth.  "If you turn off everything you're not using."

"That's two days according to the MOU," Jeff reminded, "And only if there're no emergencies." 

After the road gang attack on Jake, Stanley and Mimi, the Memorandum of Understanding between the medical center and the town council had been amended to include an exception for any life threatening medical emergencies involving local residents.  Eric had argued for more, reminding the council members that the staff at the clinic had all taken oaths that didn't allow them to discriminate against nonresidents, but even Ron Mortimer, his father's longtime ally, hadn't been willing to go that far.

"And that's a pretty big 'if'," April added, sighing.

"Okay, so we only run the bare essentials for three, four hours a day, and we pray for no accidents, heart attacks or strokes," Jeff suggested, "Then maybe we make it three more days."

"What about the biodiesel?" Gail asked. "There has to be something," she insisted, "We can't operate with no reserve."

Frustration flared in Jake's eyes, and it was enough to spur April into administrator mode.  "Jeff, start turning lights and equipment off, okay?  Right now.  You're in charge of that.  And everything's non-essential unless and until you or I say otherwise," she informed him.  "Got it?" 

"I'm on it," he agreed over his shoulder, already three steps down the hallway, already snapping off a light switch.

April watched Jeff for another few seconds, and then turned to face her brother-in-law.  "We'll figure it out and we'll make do," she assured him, squeezing his arm before finally letting her hand rest against her pregnant tummy.  "Okay?  No worries."
,
"Yeah," he nodded, exhaling deeply.  "Look, we've burned through it – the biodiesel, it's all gone," he clarified, glancing first at his mother and then at his sister-in-law.  "And April," Jake reminded, "You told Heather to get outta the manufacturing business, so she has."  His emitted a nervous bark of laughter, crossing his arms over his chest.  "And I – you know, thanks for that, 'cause I'd sure rather that my wife didn't accidentally poison herself and our kid before he's even born."

"Poison!" Gail protested, clearly appalled at the thought that her daughter-in-law and unborn grandchild had been in such danger.

"Well, the chances that she'd poison herself or even the baby are really quite small," April assured flashing him a sympathetic smile, "But why take the chance, especially with the baby," she stressed, "When there's so many other not pregnant people who could do it instead?"

"Absolutely," Jake agreed, "But that's also a problem.  Because, we don't have a line of people – anybody – volunteering for this work.  I've been pitching in the last few days, but it's just not my thing…." He trailed off, shaking his head.  "We're not gonna have any more for days," he told them, shrugging.  "I'm sorry."

"Then we'll make do," April repeated, her hands braced protectively over the child she carried.  "For a week or ten days, whatever we have to do… we'll do it."  She looked stunned, but still resolute.  "I'm gonna go help Jeff," she decided, frowning.  "Plus, I need to check Mr. Ostrowski before I forget him again," April remembered, groaning softly.  "But we are gonna make this work," she insisted.

Gail turned to face her son.  "Jake, I – I didn't realize that Heather helping – helping with –"

"Mom, it's okay," he interrupted, "We didn't either.  And, you know, when April told her she should stop – not that she needed any extra convincing – but apparently April was gonna sic you on Heather if it came to it," he informed her. 

"I suppose I do have a certain reputation," she replied, the tension in her voice and expression easing.  "Still, we need to come up with a plan," she told him, "We're getting more and more people in here every day."

"Ma, I know!" Jake was obviously frustrated.  "You think I don't want this place up and running?  Two, three months from –"

"Oh God!" Gail shouted, interrupting him, as she watched her daughter-in-law crumple to the floor.

Something had seemed wrong to Jake – something on the periphery of his vision – but he hadn't really noticed what was happening until his mother screamed.  Then though, he was off like a shot, reaching his sister-in-law's side within a few seconds. He dropped to the ground beside her, frantic as he checked her pulse, his gaze roaming over her form, trying to identify the cause of her collapse.  "April," he yelled, "April, can you hear me?"

"Is she breathing?" his mother demanded hoarsely, falling to her knees beside them.

Jake leaned in close over her.  "April, wake up," he ordered, but she didn't obey.

"Oh, honey!" his mother sobbed out, reaching out to cup his sister-in-law's face with one hand.

She wasn't coming to, and her pulse was so weak it was almost non-existent.  Jake felt his heart rising in his throat, but somehow he forced it down and he began shouting again.  "Jeff!  Anybody!  Get over here!"


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday January 23, five years before the bombs


"Oh, God!  You scared me," Heather admitted, hand clutched to her chest and giggling at herself.  "What are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Looking for you, actually," April returned, chuckling.  "And I wasn't trying to sneak up on you.  I tried to make noise," she informed her friend.   "But you were totally daydreaming," she accused, her tone lilting.  "So, what – or should I say who – was it about?"

"She really did try to warn you she was coming," the woman who was behind Heather in line interjected, saving her from having to answer April's question, though not from the blush that bloomed on her cheeks.  "Stomped and everything."

"Thank you!" April declared, looking back over her shoulder.  "And I swear, I'm not trying to cut the line," she assured the other woman, who was fourth in line – Heather was third – for the pharmacist.  It appeared that only old man Williamson was working the back counter, and the line was slow-going as he moved from the cash register to pulling prescriptions to performing consultations for each customer.  "I'm just gonna keep her company, I don't need anything," April added, pausing a second as she finally, really looked at the other woman.  "I know you," she decided, surprised, "We went to high school together, didn't we?"

Nodding, the other woman hitched her toddler up on her hip.  "We did.  You're April, Principal Glendenning's daughter and you married Eric Green last summer, so I don't actually know your last name...?"

"Green," April supplied.  "I wasn't all that attached to my maiden name, plus my mom was already remarried, and you know, I was getting married.  You kinda want to commit to that," she explained with a shrug.  "And you're Sta –"

"Stephanie," the other woman corrected, smiling.  "And I know exactly what you mean," she added, "It's how I felt, too.  Back when you knew me, I was Stephanie Parsons but even then I knew I was gonna end up Stephanie Hyde."

"Right, Derek and Stephanie.  I'm sorry," April apologized, making a show of slapping her own hand.  "And it's probably really awful of me to admit this, but if I'd run into you with Derek, I'd have probably remembered your name right away.  She glanced at Heather.  "They were the couple at Jericho High back in the day."

"Oh, that's okay," the other woman dismissed.  "That's our reputation.  My own sister says that we're the youngest old married couple she's ever known, and she's right.  I mean, we've been together since we were both fifteen, so that's, like, over thirteen years now," she laughed, shaking her head at the thought.

"Something for the rest of us to aspire to," Heather offered, grinning. 

"You'd probably love it if I started referring to you and Jake as an old married couple," April teased her friend.  "Stephanie, this is Heather Lisinski, the new third grade teacher in town, and – more importantly to me, mostly because I don't have kids to send to school yet – Jake's fiancée," she introduced.  "They're getting married in July."

"Nice to meet you," Stephanie smiled, shifting her daughter from her side to her front, a move the toddler protested with a squawk before laying her head against her mother's shoulder and sticking her thumb in her mouth.  "And this is Katie," she said, planting a kiss on the girl's hairline.  "And this is –" she glanced down at her side and then quickly around the drugstore, the sudden tension in her posture easing when she spotted a little girl, three or four years old, carefully studying a cardboard display of Valentine's related paraphernalia about fifteen feet away.  "Amy Hyde," Stephanie called out, "Come back by me, please.  Right now."

Amy skipped back to her mother's side on command, beaming and holding up a cellophane wrapped packet for inspection.  "Stickers, Mama!" she chirped happily. 

"I see that," Stephanie chuckled, accepting the packet from her daughter.  "And, we need these stickers?" she inquired, flashing April and Heather a knowing smile.

"For Daddy," Amy insisted, nodding vigorously to emphasize her point.

"Well, we know Daddy love stickers," Stephanie agreed, affecting a serious tone.  She cupped the side of her daughter's face with one hand.  "Okay, tell you what, you be good and stay here with me the rest of the time we're here, and we can buy the stickers on the way out.  Okie dokie artichokie?"

"Okie dokie," Amy grinned.

Mr. Williamson called the next customer up to the counter and they all took a couple of steps forward.  "I loved stickers, had albums full of 'em when I was a kid," April offered, "That was a thing, remember?"

"Oh yes, we all had our sticker collections back then," Stephanie laughed.  "I was absolutely obsessed with Lisa Frank when I was nine, ten."

"Hey, I'm a teacher, so I still have a massive sticker collection," Heather informed them.

"Well, congratulations," Stephanie smiled.

"Congratulations?" Heather replied, puzzled.  "On my sticker collection?"

"Uh, on your engagement," Stephanie reminded. 

"Oh, right," Heather acknowledged with a tittering giggle.  "I'm really not this spacy, usually.  I swear."

"S'okay," Stephanie shrugged.  "Though, wow.  I mean, I read about everything with Jake and Jonah Prowse last summer.  I worked on the paper back in high school, so I still always read it," she explained.  "It's like you're required to take out a lifetime subscription when you stop volunteering –"

"Actually, that sounds like a pretty good business model," Heather joked.

"Yeah, really," Stephanie agreed, bouncing her daughter.  "But anyway, I read about Jake, and I'm pretty sure I read a profile of you back in September, October?"

"You did," Heather confirmed, "Lindsay Davis is in my class so her mother asked if she could interview me the first week of school.  That was a little weird," she confessed, shaking her head at the memory, "But Mrs. Davis is really nice.  And now, come Friday, you can read our engagement announcement in the Record."

"Then I certainly know what I'll be reading first this week," Stephanie teased.  "I usually go with the police blotter, 'cause Derek and I have this game where we try to identify which deputy took which call.  It's really not as lame as it sounds," she insisted, chuckling at herself.  "Though I'm pretty sure they all hafta take turns with the ones you know are Oliver Bruce.  Unless they arrest someone, there aren't any names," she explained, removing her baby's hand from her nose and kissing it, "But you can always tell which ones are him.  Nobody else is calling the police about mind reading aliens."

"Mind reading aliens?" Heather giggled.

"Our local conspiracy theorist," April clarified.  "And, actually, he doesn't trust law enforcement, so he's more likely to call Johnston – and now Eric – than into the sheriff's station.  Every once in a while they get exasperated enough to entertain us all at Sunday dinner with the 'Oliver Update'.  Not all that often," she told Heather, "Since you haven't heard one yet.  Actually, it's a sad story," April sighed, frowning gently.  "He was this brilliant ag economist, teaching in Manhattan, and then he was badly injured in a car accident that killed his wife.  Went a little crazy, and so when he got out of the hospital, his father brought him back to Jericho.  He's Gracie Leigh's cousin, so I guess she at least makes sure he has food, though a lotta the time he just cusses her out when she takes groceries over."

Stephanie's expression had turned perturbed.  "I didn't know all that," she admitted, resting her cheek on top of her daughter's head.  "Especially about Gracie Leigh."

"See?" April said to Heather, "These are the joys of being related to the mayor."

"I'm still learning what I'm getting myself into," Heather informed Stephanie, offering her a sympathetic smile.  "Luckily, April's blazed all this territory before me."

"It's still sounds so crazy to me," Stephanie declared, tightening her grip on Amy's hand as the little girl leaned away, singing softly to herself.  "First Jake Green takes down Jonah Prowse's criminal empire from the inside, and now it turns out he recruited the new third grade teacher, too?  I mean, were you guys dating while he was undercover?  That's gotta be so weird," she mused.

"Oh!" Heather exclaimed, "No!  I didn't meet Jake 'til after I was already hired at the school.  And, he wasn't working undercover by then, either.  We just …" she shrugged, "Met one day.  Actually, he stopped to help me change a tire, and things just went from there."

"They've had a very whirlwind romance," April added, her tone teasing.

Heather blushed prettily.  "Well, we kinda just clicked from the beginning," she told them.  "And we only got engaged at New Year's."

"Nothing wrong with clicking," Stephanie returned, smiling over the top of her daughter's head.  "Derek and I were like that, too.  I just knew, you know?  But – cautionary tale – when I was sixteen and told my dad that I was gonna marry Derek, it got me grounded for a month," she chuckled.  "Probably should've mentioned that I was thinking six, seven years down the road.  Then, maybe, he would've taken it better."

Amy tugged on her mother's sleeve.  "I wanna go home," she whined.

"Well, we have to get sissy's medicine first," Stephanie reminded, just as Mr. Williamson called up the man who was in front of Heather in the line.  "See, now we're second."

"She's sick?" Heather questioned, her head cocked toward the bundled up little girl.  "You can go in front of me," she offered quickly.

"Oh, you don't hafta do that," Stephanie protested.

"Seriously, switch places with me," Heather insisted, "I mean… sick baby."          

"Are you sure?  It's just an ear infection.  Her seventh," Stephanie confided, letting out an exasperated breath.  "And she doesn't even turn two 'til next month.  We're pretty used to the drill by now." 

"Seven!" April repeated, surprised.  "That's a lot.  And ear infections are no fun – for you or for her.  What does your doctor say?"

"Dr. Peterson says he wants her to get tubes," she answered, "But I don't know that I want to subject a baby – my baby – to surgery."

"But it's really a safe surgery," April argued, "And you don't want her in pain all the time, either, right?  Both my sisters had tubes before they were three," she told Stephanie, "So, trust me, this is totally tried and true, old school surgery.  She'll have it in the morning and you'll be headed home by lunchtime," April assured, smiling encouragingly.  "And I have a colleague in Rogue River, Dr. Quigley – Bob Quigley – who's really good.  It's all he does, tubes and tonsils."

Stephanie nodded.  "Dr. Quigley… I'm pretty sure that's who Dr. Peterson recommended, so that makes me feel better."

"I'm just surprised he didn't recommend tubes awhile back," April said, frowning sympathetically at little Katie.  "Seven ear infections."

"Well, he first suggested it last summer, when she was only eighteen months," Stephanie admitted.  "And then we were fine, really, until Thanksgiving.  But then it was boom, boom, boom.  Three in a row."

"Three in three months is definitely chronic," April advised.  "And my unsolicited, second opinion is that you should at least go see Dr. Quigley.  You'll like him, I swear," she promised, offering Stephanie an encouraging smile.  "He's a real teddy bear, and he great with kids.  Heck, he's great with parents, too," she joked.

"You must think I'm such a bad mother," Stephanie sighed.  "Letting my baby get seven ear infections and not trying to do anything about it."

April shook her head.  "I don't think you're a bad mother," she assured.  "A bad mother is the woman who was in the ER last night after she drank, drove and crashed into a tree with her kids in the car.  She had superficial cuts and bruises, but her kids were both headed for up for surgery.  Broken bones, internal bleeding, the usual.  That's a bad mother," she repeated.

"Oh, God, that's awful," Heather frowned.

"Yeah," April agreed, "And it's always the cases with kids that get to me.  We had another cup of noodles case last night, too.  But that's not bad parenting, it's just not knowing, not thinking," she sighed.

"What's a cup of noodles case?" Stephanie asked.

"You know, parents give their three, four year old kids those Styrofoam cups of noodles filled to the brim with boiling water, and then the kid being a kid, knocks it over into their lap and ends up with second, third degree burns on the groin and legs.  I hate those cups," April grumbled, expelling a frustrated breath.  "Last night it was a three year old girl and her distraught twenty one, twenty two year old dad.  The mom had gotten an extra shift at McDonalds, and he'd been late getting the little girl from the sitter's so he was trying to give her a treat so she wouldn't fight him on going to bed."

"Oh God, that happens?"  Stephanie yelped, clearly horrified at the thought.  She glanced down at her daughter, tugging on her hand so that the little girl was forced to take a half step closer.  "Amy loves those things," she told April, meeting her gaze.  "What – what –"

"Just don't give it to her in the cup, especially the tall, skinny ones, they're way easier for the kiddoes to knock over," April advised quickly.  "Just – just let it steep for a few minutes so it's still not boiling and pour it into a nice, short bowl.  Takes away like ninety five – ninety nine – percent of the danger, okay?"

"Okay, that makes sense," Stephanie nodded.  She still looked a little shaken, but somehow she managed to take a deep breath and paste on a smile.  "And I guess we know what I'm telling Daddy when we get home," she informed her daughter.  "No cup of noodles in the cup!"

Mr. Williamson called for the next customer then, and Heather stepped to the side, gesturing for Stephanie to proceed.  "Go, please.  Sick baby," she reminded, "I insist."

"Well, thank you," the other woman sighed.  "This won't take long," she promised, steering her daughter past Heather and April.  "Like I said, we know the drill."

"So, rough night at work?" Heather inquired, her expression concerned.

"Yeah," she acknowledged, "And I realized about halfway through saying all that, that saying all that to someone I haven't seen in more than ten years when she's standing there with her kids probably wasn't the best idea," April groaned, shaking her head at herself.  "What was I thinking?"

"You're tired," Heather diagnosed immediately, "And it's okay, it really wasn't that bad.  I'm sure she's much happier to know what could happen so she can keep it from happening to her kids.  I mean, I've never heard of that –"

"Nobody has," April muttered, "Outside of the ER.  And, it's such a preventable accident."

"Well trust me, I'll be emailing my sisters-in-law tonight," Heather told her friend.  "And, seven, eight, nine years from now when I have a three year old?  Cup of noodles are totally banned from the house," she declared.

"They're banned from my house now," April countered, yawning.

"What are you even doing here?" Heather asked.  "Haven't you literally been working since I last saw you?"

"Yeah, pretty much," April agreed.  "But I was off at noon, and I got a nap in this afternoon.  Two and a half hours, so I'm good 'til tonight," she insisted, yawning again.  "Eric's taking me to dinner –"

"Nice!"

April nodded.  "It really is.  Especially since while Jake got to spend his birthday weekend playing in Jackson Hole with you," she emphasized, grinning as Heather's blush returned immediately, "Eric had to spend his entertaining my family.  Not that he minded," she admitted.  "I actually minded way more than he did.  And, I told Mom that it wasn't a good weekend, but then she just talked to Eric and he said they should come, so they did."

"She was excited to see your new house," Heather reminded, "She told me that, like, three times."

"I know," April sighed, "And I should just be glad that he loves my family as much as I love his, but still.  He wants to go out tonight, so we're goin' out."

"Where's –" Heather began, only to be interrupted by Mr. Williamson, calling her up.  "Be right back," she promised.  April watched as she hurried toward the pharmacy counter, pausing for a few seconds to exchange pleasantries with Stephanie as the two of them traded places.

"And thank you, too," Stephanie said, joining April who was now standing next to a revolving rack of non-prescription reading glasses.  "I think I'm going to take your advice on the tubes," she declared.  "Plus, tell Derek what you said so he'll nag me and not let me back out," she added, allowing a frustrated chuckle that was clearly aimed at herself.

"Just call Dr. Peterson's office, I'm sure DeAnne will be happy to make all the arrangements with Dr. Quigley's office," April suggested.  "And I'm sorry about the whole cup of noodles thing," she apologized quickly, "That's not really how I want to go about renewing acquaintances."

"Oh, don't apologize for that," Stephanie contradicted with a tight smile.  "I'd rather find out it's a problem from you now than sometime later in the ER," she assured.

"Dr. Green?" Mr. Williamson inquired loudly from the counter, his expression quizzical.  He pointed at Heather.  "Do you –"

"It's a complete coincidence that I'm here," she called back.  "Go ahead and fill the script as written," April instructed.  "And that was a total lie," she added in the next beat, dropping her voice so only Stephanie could hear.  "Something tells me it's gonna be an issue if I'm still her doctor when we have the same last name.  Though," she confided, "I've written prescriptions for both Eric and Johnston since we got married and he didn't bat an eye over those."

"Something it would never occur to me to think about," Stephanie laughed gently.  "Is it all right if I ask – do you have an office in Jericho, or how does that work?"

April smiled.  "You can definitely ask.  And, I'm in the last throes of my residency, so I don't have an office in Jericho yet, but I will.  It's still all being negotiated.  One of the reasons I'm glad I married a lawyer," she joked.  "Eric's handling all the nitty-gritty details, but if things shape up like I'm hoping, starting in the summer, I'll actually be sharing Dr. Peterson's suite, plus working in the clinic and ER at the med center.  So, August probably, because of Jake's and Heather's wedding, plus I could really use some time off between jobs," she admitted with a chuckle.

"So, if I wanted to switch to you for me and the girls, would that be okay or awkward?" Stephanie questioned.

"A little bit of both, honestly," April sighed, her grin faltering.  "I mean, personally, I'm honored that you'd ask.  But right now, that's all a part of the negotiations.  Things like how much of Dr. Peterson's current patient load is he willing to direct my way, what do I need to drum up on my own, how many more holidays in a row do I need to work before my dues are finally paid."

"Okay then," Stephanie nodded, "How 'bout I just wait 'til August or September and ask the question again?"

"That works," April declared.  "And seriously, the fact that you're even considering it… completely makes my day."

"Well, it's somewhat selfish on my part," Stephanie admitted, allowing an embarrassed laugh.  "I like Dr. Peterson – I mean, he's been my doctor since I was a little girl.  But I also figure that it'd be nice to have a doctor who's a woman – who I can talk to like a woman, as a friend – and who can be my doctor for the next thirty, forty years instead of retiring on me in, like, ten."

"Makes sense to me," April returned.  "And I'm just really excited that I may have my first private practice patient that I'm not related to," she joked, making a show of clapping her hands quietly together.

"Mama!" Amy interrupted, tugging on her mother's sleeve.  "We need to get stickers now," she insisted.

"Oh, so you think you've been a good girl?" Stephanie questioned, peering down at her daughter.

Amy's answer was emphatic.  "Uh-huh!" 

"I see," Stephanie acknowledged.  She glanced at April, a twinkle in her eye.  "And do you think she's been a good girl, Dr. Green?"

"I do," April confirmed with a smile.  "Good as gold."

Heather joined their little knot then, and Stephanie turned to her for her vote.  "And do you….well, you'll be Mrs. Green by the time it matters to Amy and I forgot your last name," she admitted, "So do you, future Mrs. Green, think that Amy's been a good girl?"

"Abso-tutley!" Heather proclaimed, grinning.  "And I'll be Mrs. Green in a hundred seventy days, which – I'm pretty sure – is before you hafta go to Kindergarten," she informed Amy, her tone overly serious.

"Mom?" Amy asked, sounding worried.

"You're gonna like Kindergarten, sweets," Stephanie promised, letting her hand rest on top of her daughter's head for a moment.  "We're putting her in the preschool program at Main Street PC in September," she explained to Heather and April.  "Just three days a week, in the mornings, so the next year she'll be all set to head off to Jericho Elementary."

"I think that's a really good plan," Heather assured.

"Thanks," Stephanie sighed.  "And it is unanimous," she announced a beat later, "We all think that Amy's been a good girl.  So I guess we need to go buy us some stickers," she decided, cupping her daughter's head with one hand.  "And I will now predict that Derek comes to bed tonight with a pink heart that labels him a 'cutie pie' stuck to his forehead," she joked.

"That’s adorable," Heather smiled.

"It really is," Stephanie agreed, "He's a good dad."

"And who knows, maybe it'll say 'hot stuff' instead," April teased.

"Oh, if I'm at all lucky, it so will," Stephanie laughed.  "And on that note… it was good to meet you, Heather, and I'm really glad I ran into you, April.  Hopefully it will not be September before we talk again," she said, shooting her a significant look.  "Okay, let's go," she continued a second later, smiling and pointing her daughter toward the front cash register.

Heather and April watched as the Hydes hurried off to purchase their stickers.  "I like her," Heather declared, turning to look at her friend.  "She's nice."

"She is," April agreed.  "She was nice in high school.  She was a year ahead of me, so we didn't have that much to do with one another.  I mean, Derek and I at least had physics class together, with Eric and Jake and five other boys, because I was the only girl in the class," she explained, rolling her eyes.  "It made my mother as mad as it's making you," April added, smiling at Heather's outraged expression.  "But Stephanie, at least, was one of the girls who'd include me in stuff.  Not everyone did," she admitted.  "And now she wants to be my first private practice patient that I'm not related to."

"That's really cool," Heather grinned, "Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"So, you were looking for me?" Heather asked, tucking the little white bag that contained her prescription into her purse.  "You said that back when you first snuck up on me," she reminded, chuckling softly.

"I wasn't sneaking," April argued, "But I was looking for you," she confirmed.  She glanced around the pharmacy, which was now empty aside from Mr. Williamson, the twenty-something cashier at the front counter, the Hydes, the two of them, and a middle-aged man who had just come through the door.  "Look, uh, why don't we go outside?"

"Okay," Heather agreed, though she was clearly confused by the request.  Still, she followed April out of the pharmacy and down the sidewalk about ten feet.  "So what's up?" she demanded, turning around to face her friend.

"Did Mr. Williamson ask you if you were taking any other medication?" April inquired.  "Or talk about adverse drug interactions with the amoxicillin?"

"Well, he said to call you if I had trouble breathing or developed hives or a rash," Heather catalogued.  "And he said to take it with food, because sometimes it causes stomach upset," she added, starting to dig into her purse.  "There's a leaflet in the bag."

"But he didn't ask if you were on an oral contraceptive, or mention that some antibiotics, this one included, can reduce the effectiveness of oral contraceptives?"

Heather's eyes grew alarmingly wide, and she stopped rifling through her bag.  "Uh, no," she squeaked.  "That – that can – can happen?"

"Oh, yeah," April confirmed, letting out a long breath.  "I forget that not everyone knows this – and that isn't a slam, I swear," she insisted.  "Obviously, it's not as well-known as it should be because I'm personally aware of more than one baby conceived during a course of antibiotics."

"Most of what I know about the birds and the bees was taught to me by nuns," Heather reminded, momentarily pursing her lips.  "So they actually talked about things in terms of the birds and the bees.  And the human part was all, like, interior to the body, shall we say?  But definitely no birth control," she muttered, "Not even the Catholic Church approved kind, and they definitely assumed abstinence until marriage."

"Right," April acknowledged with a nod.  "That's what I kinda figured this morning when I was faxing in your prescription.  And I also assumed you'd really rather not be walking down the aisle six months pregnant?" she concluded, waving to Stephanie as she backed out of her parking spot in front of the pharmacy.

"You assume correctly," Heather returned, giggling nervously.  "I mean, it has come up… mostly because, when we were in Buffalo, my brothers kept accusing me of being pregnant," she grumbled. "So, yeah, it came up."

"Oh dear," April commiserated.

"Yeah, well… we basically decided that if it happens, then it happens and we'll figure it out," she explained, expelling a deep breath.  "But hopefully it doesn't happen for a long time, 'cause we're really not planning to start a family for at least a coupl'a years.  Jake – he says we'll let you guys have the first crack at that."

"Well, thanks," April chuckled, "I think."

"Sorry," Heather apologized immediately, "That's not exactly how I meant to say that.  It's just –"

"It's okay, really," her friend interrupted.  "And, actually, that's what Eric thinks I'm doing over here, so…."

"What you're doing over here?" Heather repeated, confused.  "Whaddya mean?"

"I was meeting him at his office, but I got there early and Johnston was dragging him into a meeting," April explained, "So I told him I needed to run over to the pharmacy anyway, and I could just tell from his expression that he's hoping I'm over here to get a pregnancy test, that's all," she concluded, heaving a sigh.

"So… do you need to get a pregnancy test?" Heather inquired, her voice pitched low.  It was clear she was fighting a smile.

A small grin twisted April's lips, but she shook her head, denying the possibility.  "No, not really.  I mean, I don't really want to be six months pregnant at your wedding, either," she argued.  "Maternity bridesmaid dress," she said, making a face, "That a frightening concept.  It's just… we're living between two houses right now," she reminded, "And I use a diaphragm, which is proving to not always be convenient, that's all."

Her statement hung meaningfully between the two of them for a long moment before Heather could react.  "I see.   So I take it that means you two found time to christen your own living room, huh?" she teased, blushing softly.

"Something like that," April admitted, allowing a small smile.  "But it wasn't that much of a risk, trust me.  I would've nixed things if it had been.  And under no circumstances would I ever be over here buying a pregnancy test," she groaned, "Not when Gail'd know all about it before we even made it home tonight, and not when I work in a hospital where I can draw my own blood, send it to the lab under the name 'Minnie Mouse' or whatever, and have the results back in a couple of hours, all without becoming grist for the Jericho rumor mill."

"Makes perfect sense to me," the younger woman returned.   "And – you know – thanks for warning me about the – the drug interaction," she added, "'Cause I'd really rather not go through the rumor mill either."

"I'm sorry, I should've told you earlier that this issue could come up," April apologized, chiding herself.  Heather had phoned the previous afternoon, during lunch, to report that she was pretty sure she had a urinary tract infection, and could April write her a prescription?  April had agreed, pending the results of the lab test she'd ordered for Heather and that she could take after school at the Jericho Medical Center.  The results had come back positive that morning, and April had faxed a prescription to the pharmacy in Jericho and then had left a message to let Heather know she could pick it up any time after three in the afternoon.  "But I was tired and didn't think of it when we first talked, and then I didn't want to leave it in a voicemail," she explained.

"No, I totally appreciate that," Heather assured, sighing softly.  "So, we'll just avoid – you know –"

"You don't actually have to avoid anything," April interrupted, offering Heather a knowing smile.  She reached into her own purse then, producing a small, almost flat, white paper bag with blue lettering that proclaimed 'Fillmore County Regional Medical Center'.  "You just have to… supplement," she decided, handing the bag to Heather.  "Which is why I put together a little care package to get you started," April explained, "Though you'll want to mention the situation to Jake, preferably before he gets home, just in case he –"

"Oh God," Heather yelped, quickly folding the top of the bag closed three times before shoving it into her purse.  She didn't really know what she'd expected to see inside – dried cranberry powder, maybe? – but certainly two strips of condoms had never crossed her mind.  "Well, okay, yeah….  I'll, uh, I'll talk to him," she promised.  "Uh, thanks."

"You're welcome," April replied, studying her friend closely.  Heather tended to blush at the drop of a hat – or the mere mention of Jake's name – but this was way more than her usual, glowing rosiness; she had practically turned purple.  "You guys have talked about this stuff, right?  I mean, you at least know that you don't want kids yet," she reminded, "So, birth control has come up, right?"

Heather's nod was forceful.  "Of course we've talked about it.  It's just I'm on the pill, so that made the conversation pretty easy – and pretty short.  And it's not that I think I can't talk to him about this stuff….  I can – I know I can," she insisted, squaring her shoulders.  "After last weekend, I'm pretty sure we can talk about anything," Heather confessed, the slightest of smiles turning up the corners of her mouth.  "Because we did.  I mean, we talked about so much….  Things that I didn't know people ever talked about.  You know, really personal stuff.  But it was, like, personal to both of us – or personal to us together, as a couple."  She paused, frowning gently.  "Does that make sense?" Heather questioned, meeting April's eye.  "This is just still all really new for me."

"It makes sense to me," April assured, "Perfect sense.  And that sounds like a pretty good definition of intimacy, actually," she continued, explaining, "Those things that are personal to you together as a couple, I mean."

"That's the right word for it, I think," Heather sighed, "Intimacy.  It was like we were under this … magical spell.  We – we never even went skiing," she admitted, her expression turning sheepish.  "We – we barely left the hotel room. Just twice," she added, "From Friday night 'til Monday morning."

Her friend smiled widely.  "I see."

"And, it wasn't just sex," Heather argued, looking around and dropping her voice so that it was barely audible, especially on the last word.  They were alone out on the sidewalk this evening – it was already dusk and all of thirty five degrees out – but clearly she wasn't taking any chances.  "I mean, we did that.  But we also spent a lot of the time just talking," she repeated, "And that part was just as – as amazing."

"Hey, I'm a big fan of talking," April claimed, grinning.  "Especially 'nekkid' talking," she teased.  "It's bonding.  Like physiologically speaking," she continued, clearing her throat and affecting a professional tone.  "Skin to skin contact," she clarified, "We use it with moms and new babies – preemies especially – in the hospital.  And obviously it's just as effective with your chosen life partner in some swanky resort hotel in Jackson Hole," April teased, "Or in my case, a roadside motel in Somewhere, Kansas."

"Oh?" Heather returned folding her arms together, one eyebrow raised in question.

"We road trip, you know?" she shrugged.  "I mean, my parents are in Topeka, Eric's family's here.  He went to law school in Lawrence, I went to med school in Kansas City….  Well, I spent my fourth year in Wichita," she corrected, "In the rural medicine program, and then Eric moved there too, to clerk for the US District Court."

"Really?" Heather interjected, "That's cool."

"Yeah, it was," April confirmed.  "That was a great year, actually.  And then, when I moved to Rogue River for my residency, he moved back to Jericho to work for his dad, for the town.  But basically, we've spent the last four – four and a half – years all over the state… and that means road trips."

Heather nodded.  She'd known some of this, from things that April or Eric or the rest of the Greens had said, but certainly not all of it.  "So – just curious – were you guys living together in Wichita?  Jake said you basically were in Rogue River."

"In Wichita?" April repeated, "Not officially.  But I had three roommates – all fellow med students – in a two bedroom apartment, while Eric had a studio all to himself.  Guess what? I spent a lot of time at his place.  Not that that didn't have its awkward moments," she chuckled self-consciously, "Especially the first and last time Gail and Johnston showed up unannounced for the weekend."

"Oh, wow," Heather murmured.

"Oh, wow, is right," April returned, shaking her head.  "And, it's not like they were planning to stay there, and they didn't even walk in on anything, really.  But I did have my textbooks all over the table, and we were both still in our PJs, at like, noon, and Eric was getting ready to take both our laundry downstairs…."  She let out a soft groan.   "In the end it was okay.  I mean, they already knew we were dating – knew we were both living in Wichita – but I don't think they were quite used to thinking about Eric like that, like an adult," she admitted.  "And, I know, to you, it's gotta seem totally unfair –"

"Nah, it's okay," Heather dismissed with an offhand wave.  "I mean, even if the school board and Gramps and Gail and Johnston didn't have their opinion, my dad would still have his, right?" she reasoned.  "And, none of my brothers lived with their wives before they got married.  Not unless you count the two weeks pre-wedding that one or the other of them was living in their married apartment, and the one who supposedly wasn't living there yet was actually there all the time helping 'set up', if that makes any sense."

"I think I got it," April grinned.

"Basically what I'm saying is that they were all discreet," she declared, "So, Jake and I, we're being discreet, too. Plus, I'm starting to think he sees it as a challenge.  Like exactly how late can he stay before tongues start wagging all over town?" Heather joked.

"That's really kind of amazing, you know," April sighed.  "I mean, before you, Jake's attitude was always kinda 'screw this town'.  He didn't care what people thought.  And now, he's trying to thwart the gossips.  Which just goes to show how much he loves you," she concluded.

"Yeah," Heather smiled, "But thwart or outsmart?  Not that it really matters to me.  None of it does.  We do what we hafta do, 'cause it's only six months, right?"

"Right," April agreed, "Plus, this is why you get taken to fancy-shmancy resorts for the weekend, and all I get is single nights at the Super Eight outside Salina."

"The Super Eight outside of Salina?"

 "Yeah, slightly pathetic, I know," she chuckled.  "It's just, we always end up leaving Topeka or Lawrence so late that – two hours later – it's really easy to convince ourselves that we'll just sleep a few hours and then get back on the road before sun up."

"Doesn't quite work out that way, huh?" Heather teased, offering April a knowing smirk that would have done her fiancé proud.  "I find that soooo hard to believe."

"It's not always our fault," April defended, giggling.  "I mean, last September, coming home from my parents', we got the last room, the one they try to never, ever rent.  And the desk clerk warned us that the elevator equipment was on one side of the room, and the pool equipment was on the other," she explained, groaning softly at the memory.  "It was as bad as they said.  Worse.  So, we decided to make the best of the situation, that's all.  Plus hit the McDonald's drive thru at three AM," she recalled with a smile.  "Not that I didn't totally pay for it the next day at work…. But still, given the right set of circumstances, I'd rent room one twenty three again," she laughed.

Heather grinned at her friend.  "I bet you would," she snorted.  "Okay, so, you know … we kept ordering room service," she confided a beat later.  "Like, nine, ten times.  And, yeah, I hid in the bathroom each time the waiter showed up, but still.  Actually, the whole thing was totally fancy-schmancy – there was a fireplace and a Jacuzzi tub in our room," she bragged.

"Okay, now I'm jealous," April informed her friend, shaking her head.  "They've never even heard of room service at the Super Eight.  They barely have vending machines," she groused.  "It's just too bad I can't tell Eric all of this," she sighed,  "Get him to up his game a little."

"April, you can't!" Heather protested, "I – if – if he ever said anything to Jake…" she trailed off for a moment, shaking her head at the thought.  "I think he'd be really hurt.  He's okay – I hope so, anyway – but he's okay with me talking to you," she insisted.  "He teases me about it sometimes, that I need 'girl talk', but –"

"No, I know.  I get it," April interrupted.  "Eric and Jake…. Sometimes they're as bad as Cain and Abel.  They both drive me so crazy sometimes," she complained, rolling her eyes.  "You know, when everything came out about Jonah Prowse, I was so relieved – so happy.  We all were.  Except not so much – not completely – Eric," she admitted.  "We were happy that it was all a lie, that Jake wasn't really this wayward criminal.  But Eric… he was just so mad that he'd lied, kept asking how we could just forgive the lying.  I had to threaten to call off the wedding just so he'd let Jake be a co-best man."

Nodding absently, she let the implications of April's admission sink in.  "You know," Heather confessed, chewing her lip, "He hasn't said anything, and he's going along with it… but I think Jake feels a little bit like I forced him to make Eric a co-best man for our wedding too, just by asking you to be an MOH."

"Probably," April agreed, "But we do these things for their own good.  A little sibling rivalry is completely normal, but those two really need to let a few things go."

"Yeah," Heather muttered.  "Would you have really called off your wedding?"

"No.  And he knew that," April sighed, "But at least it convinced him of the depth of my feeling on the matter.  Anyway," she added, "That's not anything we're gonna solve tonight."

"Probably not," Heather conceded with a wry grin.

"Okay," April declared throwing her shoulders back so she stood a little taller.  "It's cold out here, and I have, like, three or four more things that I hafta tell you before we bring this meeting of the 'It Ain't Easy Bein' Green' club to a close."

"So, this," Heather said, gesturing back and forth between the two of them, "Qualifies as a meeting of your secret society?"

April made an indignant noise.  "Our secret society," she insisted.  "Look, we've discussed keeping up appearances and keeping the peace.  Which – that's like our charter, because – trust me – fifty years from now, you and I are still gonna be running interference between our husbands.  And our kids and grandkids, too, probably."

"Well, they will all be Greens, right?" her friend chuckled.

"Exactly," April confirmed.  "So, is it all right if we walk back toward town hall?" she requested, "And talk?  It's just I'd be remiss as your doctor if I didn't cover a few things with you."

Heather groaned softly.  "There's more?  I mean, besides what I can read in my pamphlet and – you know – 'use the care package'?"

"Yes," April answered simply.

"Sure, let's walk," Heather sighed.

They fell into step beside one another, heading up Main Street toward town hall.  "So," April began, once their pace – slower than either of them would have walked on their own – was established.  "You do know that, in my line of work, we have another name for urinary tract infection, right?"  She paused a moment, but Heather didn't respond.  "We call it honeymooner's disease," April supplied finally, "Mostly because UTIs can be caused by a certain repetitive activity, long associated with honeymooning."

Heather stopped in her tracks, right beneath a street light which illuminated the blush that reddened her face, creeping up past her hairline, out to the tips of her ears, and down her neck.  "I've had UTIs before, April," she whispered insistently.   "I had – I had, like, four last year when I – when I was a – a student teacher," she stammered, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.

"Hey, agreed," April returned, rotating around so she was once again facing her friend.  "Absolutely, UTIs are super common amongst teachers," she added, holding her hands up in an 'I come in peace' gesture.  "Mostly because none of you go to the bathroom as often as you should during the day, and then because you aren't going to the bathroom when you need to, you also don't drink water all day," she explained, prompting a reluctant nod from Heather.  "And really, all I'm sayin' is, if you're gonna spend three straight days in a hotel room, then you need to drink lots of water and pee regularly, okay?"

"Sure," Heather mumbled, looking down at her feet.  "That’s good – good advice.  Thanks."

"You're welcome.  But that's not the only advice I have for you," she cautioned.

"Okay…."  Heather's tone was hesitant.

April flashed a sympathetic smile.  "First, just breathe, okay?" she ordered, waiting until Heather did indeed suck a long breath in through her teeth.  "Good.  Okay, so my next bit of advice is to tell Jake about what's going on.  At the very least you need to tell him about the antibiotics and the condoms," she amended, "Because birth control is both your responsibility, not just yours.  And also because I'm told that some guys have their preferences as to, uh, brand and type," April added, "So, I don't know, Jake might wanna do some shopping while he's in Denver rather than relying on what I found in the giveaway cabinet at work," she finished.

Her eyes scrunched closed, Heather nodded in acknowledgment.  "Yeah, okay, that – that makes sense.  Shopping in Denver instead of Jericho, I mean," she clarified, exhaling audibly as she met April's concerned gaze.

"It's certainly the more discreet way to go," April offered.  "And, so, you're gonna need to use condoms for as long as you're taking the amoxicillin, plus another week – two, if you want to be super, super safe."

"Which I do," Heather assured, inhaling deeply.  She took a step forward, declaring, "We do."

"Thought so," April said, matching her friend's stride.  "Okay so, last thing…" she began a few seconds later, laying her hand on Heather's arm.  "For the next few days at least – a week, maybe – good old 'insert tab A into slot B' will probably be pretty uncomfortable for you –"

"Oh God," Heather moaned, halting once more mid-step.  She ducked her head, all of her concentration suddenly trained on her boots.

"Yeah, I really wasn't sure whether to go euphemistic or clinical there," April admitted, her nose wrinkling. 

Heather glanced up from her feet.  "Well, don't switch now," she instructed, emitting a rather shell-shocked giggle.  "Just – just stick with euphemistic."

"Will do," April sighed.  "And, hey," she offered brightly, "Just think of it as an opportunity to explore other options… to expand your horizons."

"Well, we've explored plenty, already," Heather returned almost primly a few seconds later.  She started to chuckle quietly, shaking her head at herself and letting out a slow breath.  "I – We'll be fine," she declared, "Like I said, I'm pretty sure we can talk about anything."

April nodded.  "Good."

"And, thanks for the advice," Heather continued.  "All of it.  Really.  Even the parts I kinda freaked out about.  I do – I do appreciate it.  Thanks," she repeated.

"You're welcome.  And, like you said, this is all new for you," April reminded.  "Well, it's new for me, too.  Having a patient who's also my friend and also a family member," she explained.  "I don't want to mess up on any of those aspects of our relationship."

"Right," Heather acknowledged, "Me either.  Though that does make me imagine having the conversation with my family doctor back in Buffalo," she admitted, allowing a self-conscious chuckle.  "Incidentally, the last person to write me a prescription for amoxicillin," she chuckled.  "Dr. Panchik's, like, my dad's age.  And, he's the father of a girl I went to school with – had sleepovers with.  He used to ask me about my grades, and then write them into my chart.  So what I'm sayin' is, it would've been a million times worse to have had this conversation with him."

"Oh, yeah," April commiserated, "Seriously.  Though, that grades thing?" she smiled, "I like that.  That's the kind of doctor I wanna be."

"And you totally will be," Heather assured.  "Though, in fifteen years, when my kids are coming to see Doctor Auntie April, they'll probably be complaining to you about how they didn't get extra credit for their bottle rocket science experiment."

"What does that even mean?" April laughed, clearly confused. 

"It's not important," Heather dismissed.

April acknowledged her statement with a shrug.  "Okay.  And, hey, there's Eric," she announced a moment later, starting to wave.

Heather turned around, looking toward town hall in time to see her fiancé's brother ambling down the steps.

"C'mon," April demanded, tugging on her friends arm.  The two of them hurried the last thirty feet up the sidewalk and toward the intersection, both waving to get his attention.  "So, I move that we adjourn this meeting of the "It Ain't Easy Bein' Green' club.  Can I get a second?" April requested, giggling.

"Uh, second," Heather offered a beat later.

"Great.  All in favor, say 'aye'.".

"Aye?"

"And the 'ayes' have it," April declared.  "We're adjourned."

"Stay there," Eric called from the opposite side of the street.  "I'm coming to you!"  He waited for a car to pass, and then jogged across the road.  April held her hand out to him, and he took it, squeezing her fingers.  "Hey," he greeted, smiling.  "And, hi, Heather," he added, glancing in her direction.

"Hi," she returned.

"You know we could've come to you," April informed her husband, leaning toward him so she could brush a kiss across his mouth.  "We're actually headed that way."

"But I like comin' to you," Eric argued, grinning.  "So, get what you needed?" he asked, looking her up and down, presumably for a shopping bag that wasn't there.

"No, but I didn't actually need anything," April told him, playing with the zipper on his parka.  "I do work in a hospital," she reminded quietly, "I have other ways. And, how 'bout we talk about this when we get home, okay?"

"'Kay," he agreed easily as they exchanged another kiss.

"So, Ricky," April began, threading her arm through his, "I have a proposition for you –"

"Well, I like the sound of that," he teased in return.

"Good," she laughed.  "So, whaddya think about pulling a Gramps, and taking not one, but two, beautiful women to dinner tonight?" April asked, tilting her head toward Heather.

"No way," his brother's fiancée objected before he could.  "I'm not horning in on your guys' date.  No way," she repeated.

"We're only going to Bailey's, so it's hardly a real date," April reasoned.  "Look at me," she added, unzipping her jacket to reveal a well-worn KUMC sweatshirt paired with jeans.  "I'm totally not dressed for Roma Italia or the Grille.  I mean, you two could go, no problem," she continued, glancing between her husband, who had on Dockers, and her friend, who was wearing a corduroy skirt paired with tights and knee-high boots. "Besides," she challenged Heather, "What plans do you have for tonight besides running down the battery on Jake's cell?"

"I have a social studies test to grade," she protested feebly.  "And math homework."

"You still need to eat," April argued, "Look, take an hour, have dinner with us, and then you can go talk to Jake for the rest of the night and grade tests, or whatever.  We want you to come with us, Heather," she said, throwing her husband a pointed look.  "Don't we, Eric?"

"Yeah, we do," he confirmed almost immediately, squeezing April's hand on his arm.  "Now, c'mon," he cajoled, crooking his elbow in Heather's direction.

"Fine," she giggled softly, a long moment later.  "Thanks," she added, accepting Eric's arm.

"Great," he grinned in return.  "Though, I do have one request," he informed the two women as they started to cross the street, headed toward the tavern.  "Can I be the one who tells Jake about all this?"


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday January 22, four months after the bombs


"So?" Jake demanded, practically jumping up out of the seat he'd taken in the hallway.  "What happened?  How is she?"

"Well, she's awake now, and we're trying to keep her calm," Jeff began, speaking softly as they were congregated just outside the open door of April's clinic room.  "Uh, Jake, this is Dr. Williams –"

"Jessica," the young woman interrupted.  "Just call me Jessica," she instructed.  "So, you're her husband?"

Jake shook his head.  "Brother," he corrected, though he wasn't sure what he was saying – claiming.  His brother was her husband, even if he didn't want to be anymore, and April was his friend – his sister – and nothing Eric did was going to change that.  "Do you know what's going on?"

Jeff and Jessica exchange a quick – and to Jake's eyes – troubled look.  "My gut tells me the baby's having a problem," she answered finally, her gaze shifting to Gail who'd been settling April in her hospital bed, but had now joined their anxious little knot outside the door.  "And if I know it," she added, glancing back into the room, "She knows it."

"What – what are we going to do?" Gail asked, her voice cracking softly.

"Get Kenchy," Jake suggested without missing a beat.

"Dr. Dhuwalia, our sometimes surgeon," Jeff explained for Jessica's benefit.

She was clearly surprised by this news.  "Wait – there's another doctor in town?" she gaped.  "A surgeon?"

"That man can barely sit up in his barstool," Gail complained, "I really don't think he's April's best – best option."

"Well, she does," Jeff snapped in return.  "I'm sorry," he apologized in the next second, shooting Gail a guilty look.  "I'm sorry, but she does," he insisted, "She just told me she that.  Thirty minutes ago, she told me that he was welcome back any time and that he –"  Jeff broke off shaking his head.  He wasn't going to quote her, tell them that she thought he was a 'brilliant surgeon', if only because he wasn't ready to say that she needed a surgeon.  A real doctor, yes; but not a surgeon, not yet, and hopefully not ever.  "April would want him.  She trusts him."

 "I trust him, too," Jake offered.  "And, he's actually graduated med school," he reminded, adding, "No offense," as he looked back and forth between Jeff and Jessica.  "I think we should get 'im."

"No, uh, that's a good reason to get him," Jessica assured, "A really good reason."

"She was having pain," Jeff told them quietly.  He looked back over his shoulder at April.  She looked too small in the oversized hospital bed with the covers pulled up to her chin so all he could really see of her was a shock of red hair.  "When we were talking, she had a really sharp pain, in her side, I think.  I mean, she laughed it off, made a joke about the baby poking her 'cause it's probably really a boy and she keeps calling it a girl.  I should've –"

"Made her stop working?  Made her rest?" Gail interjected, the faintest of smiles touching her lips.  "Not likely, honey," she sighed.  "It's hard to make April do anything she doesn't want to."

"Look, what we really need is an ultrasound machine," Jessica argued, flashing Jeff a look that – unlike Gail's – was more grim than encouraging.  "You've really got another doctor?" she continued, glancing at Jake.  "Well, he's gonna want this, too.  Without it there's no real way to know what's going on."

"Yeah, good thinkin'," Jeff confirmed, heaving a sigh.  "We need to get Mike and Drake back here, too so they can take care of everybody – everything – else, and we can concentrate on April."  He spotted a familiar figure at the end of the hall, and waving, he called out, "Brett!  Come're."

The stocky teenager waved in return, making a beeline for the group huddled together outside April's room.  "Hey, I was looking for you," Brett Davis declared.

"You were?" Jeff asked, surprised.

"Well, not you," Brett admitted, "Him.  Jake," he explained rotating slightly so that he faced the other man.  "Mrs. Green – the teacher Mrs. Green, I mean," Brett clarified, glancing quickly at Gail, "She told me to find you and tell you that she's sorry, she had pregnancy brain and didn't think about it 'til she saw me this morning, but my eighth grade science project was called 'Can a farmer farm fuel?'" Brett reported.  "I, uh, extracted vegetable oil from corn and sunflower seeds and soybeans and then determined where the yield of oil was best and which offered the best energy output.  Mrs. Green was the advisor for the –"

"So, what you're sayin' is you've actually manufactured biofuels, right?" Jake questioned, interrupting.

"Four years ago, yeah," Brett agreed, "And not like a lot.  I made it in baby food jars," he admitted.  "Like five, total.  It was kind of a hard project, took a lotta time.  But, I won first place at the school and county fairs, came in fourth in the state.  Probably could still do it."

"Gotta be better at it than me," Jake snorted.  "Okay, I'm kicking you off border patrol," he decided, "Just for now.  We're in an emergency situation and right now fuel's gotta be our priority."

"Sure," Brett shrugged.  "I can go back later, right?"

"Probably.  Look, go find Harry Carmichael," Jake ordered, "And tell him about how you won the science fair and that he should put you to work."

"Can you go tell Mrs. Crenshaw I'm not gonna make my shift today?" Jeff requested, "And maybe stop by our house and tell Mike he needs to come back, and Drake that he needs to come in now?  Just tell 'em we've got an emergency goin' on here."

Brett nodded, his gaze drawn into April's room.  "Is – is Dr. Green gonna be okay?"  She'd pushed her blankets down and her pale, drawn face was clearly visible from the hallway.

"We hope so," Jessica told him.  She glanced sideways at Jeff.  "And that means we really need to get back to our patient."

"Jessica," Gail said, getting the younger woman's attention.  "Maybe we have an ultrasound that survived the EMP in the basement.  I'll go look."

"Thanks," she returned, steering Jeff back into April's room.

"Brett, hold up," Jake requested, "I'm gonna walk back with you."  He turned toward his mother.  "I've gotta go find Heather.  Make sure she's okay….  Plus, she'd wanna be here."

"You've gotta get your father, too," she said.  "Tell him to find Eric," Gail instructed, "He's the one who should be here."

"I was gonna anyway," Jake admitted, "Even if you didn't tell me to. He'd want to be here – I'd want to be here.  God, I'd be so – I am –" he stopped, shaking his head, his fist pressed to his mouth.

Gail gripped his other arm.  "We're all scared, honey.  But it's gonna be okay.  It has to be.  And, I don't know what this is," she confessed, "But whatever it is, it's not contagious, all right?  It can't be.  Heather and your baby, they're fine," she insisted, trying to force a smile.  "And we're not gonna let anything happen to April or this baby either."

"Yeah," he agreed, expelling a shallow breath.  "Yeah, okay."

"Now," she ordered, "Hurry."

* * * * *

"Hold on there, Heather, darlin'," Johnston requested just as his daughter-in-law reached the main exit door from town hall.  "There was ice on those steps when we got here, and I doubt it's all melted away in an hour," he reminded, reaching her side.  "I try to stay in my wife's good graces, and she gave specific instruction that I was to make sure you didn't slip on the ice."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't want to get you in trouble with Mom," Heather chuckled, "Or end up sprawled out on the sidewalk on my backside."

"Let me get that door for you," Gray Anderson said, maneuvering around them.  His tone was solicitous – nearly cheerful – prompting the two Greens to exchange bemused looks.  "Gotta keep Gail happy," Gray declared, "And you on your feet, Heather.  That baby's the next new citizen of Jericho, after all."

Johnston swallowed a smile, shaking his head and marveling once more at the strange state of his relationship – daresay, friendship – with Gray Anderson.  With the election behind them and their 'X factor' conspiracy between them, Gray appeared to have decided that they were no longer rivals. The morning after the phony marines' departure – New Year's Eve day – Johnston had gone to explain about the tank and his executive decision to hide it in Stanley Richmond's barn, and he'd had to admit – to himself, and then later to his wife and family – that Gray's response had surprised the hell out of him. 

"I think we need to work together," Gray had declared in a completely unexpected overture of reconciliation.   "For Jericho – all the people in town and the ones out on the farms.  Hell, for your family, those grandbabies of yours."

"We must all hang together," Johnston had countered, quoting Benjamin Franklin, "Or assuredly we shall all hang separately." 

Gray had simply stared back at him, smirking.  "Know what, Johnston?  I'm pretty sure we're sayin' the same damn thing." 

And it was true; more importantly, it had stayed true.  Now, Gray and Johnston worked together.  Ten times a day, Gray asked for the former mayor's opinion – and considered it.  He assigned responsibility on some matters – and not always minor ones – to Johnston, and more importantly he backed his predecessor's decisions.  They were a team – a team of frickin' ducks, Gray had joked one evening as they'd shared a nightcap in the mayor's office: serene on the surface and paddling furiously underneath.  Victory followed by setback had proven to be the secret combination to unlocking Gray Anderson's softer, humbler, more human side.

"Well, thank you, gentlemen," Heather smiled, taking her father-in-law's arm and nodding at Gray as they moved through the door he held open for them. 

Johnston breathed a small sigh of relief.  Jake was the most skeptical of them all – Stanley Richmond included – when it came to accepting at face value Gray's new policy of comity, and Heather seemed to be mostly in agreement with her husband on this matter.  Still, they were both polite in their dealings with the mayor, a fact for which Johnston was truly grateful.  "Guess the ice melted away after all," he mused, his gaze concentrated on the damp limestone steps beneath their feet.  The winter sunshine was a welcome change from the previous week of clouds and snow and damp, and though it wasn't warm by any stretch of the imagination, the brightness of the morning was enough to cheer even the grumpiest among them.  "Still slick, though, sweetheart," he warned.

"And still some ice right here," Gray pointed out with his toe.  "Gotta keep an eye out."

Grinning, Heather shook her head at the both of them.  "I think I'm safe," she declared as her foot hit the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps.  "But, Dad," she continued urgently, tightening her grip on his arm.  "Look!"

Johnston, depositing his hat on his head, did as instructed.  A trio of unfamiliar trucks had just come around the corner at Spruce Lane.  Unfamiliar and rather unremarkable save for one thing: the cargo sitting in the bed of the lead truck.  He let out a low whistle.  "It's the guys from New Bern.  They actually built the thing.  I can't believe it."

"Oh, I gotta see this," Heather practically squealed with delight.  "C'mon!" she ordered, trying to hurry her father-in-law toward the street. 

"Now, hold your horses," Johnston chuckled, though he quickened his pace to match hers.  As they moved toward the street, they watched the first truck stop directly in front of town hall while the other two turned onto Main Street and found parking in front of the market.  "Hey, Russell," Johnston greeted moments later as the younger man, the driver of the second truck, jogged around the back of the lead truck.

"Hey," he returned, smiling.  "It's good to see you."

"Good to see you," Johnston echoed, quickly shaking Russell's hand while out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar figure climb out of the lead truck.

"Johnston, you S.O.B., how the hell did you lose an election?"

Grinning and shaking his head, Johnston turned to face the new arrival.  He'd known Phil Constantino for more than fifteen years, and they had often been allies in the dangerous game of local politics, and fishing buddies besides.  Phil and his wife, Judy, were always invited to Gail's and Johnston's Christmas open house, and the two couples had gotten together for dinner every six months or so for more than a decade.  They were friends. 

"Now the question is, how did you get to be in charge of New Bern?" Johnston drawled, shaking the other man's hand.  "Did they get tired of you being the sheriff?"

"Naw," Constantino returned easily.  "I'm still the sheriff," he explained, "Just got a little more authority now."

"Ah," Johnston acknowledged.  "You remember my daughter-in-law, don't you?  Heather, this is Phil Constantino," he introduced, "You two've have met before."

"Of course I remember Heather," Constantino boomed out.  "I was at your wedding," he reminded, taking her mittened hand into both of his and squeezing it.  "And I must say, you were a beautiful bride, and now even more so, in the full bloom of motherhood," he teased, practically leering at her.

"Well, not full bloom – not full term, anyway – not quite yet," Heather countered, allowing a somewhat uneasy giggle. 

"I know I'm not supposed to say you're 'glowing', right?" Constantino joked, glancing between Russell and Johnston.  "That's like a rule these days," he nodded to himself, "Used t' be, you could tell a woman who was with child that she 'glowed' and it was considered a compliment.  But, not anymore," he sighed.  "So, I'll just hafta settle for telling you that you're looking as lovely as always, and that Jake is one very lucky man."

"Careful there, Phil," Johnston advised, chuckling.  "You don't want Jake to hear you flirtin' with his wife.  He's got a bit of a jealous streak when it comes to Heather."  Generally, Jake's jealous streak only surfaced when he was competing for her attention with eight year old boys or his now deceased grandfather, but still Heather gave a small nod, confirming her father-in-law's statement.  "Well," Johnston continued, directing Constantino's attention to the man standing to his left.  "This is our new mayor, Gray Anderson."

"Mayor Anderson!" Constantino declared, offering the other man his hand.

"Nice to meet you," Gray returned, shaking his hand.

"Congratulations," Constantino smiled.  He waited a beat – barely enough time for Gray to get a 'thank you' out – before continuing.  "So, we come bearing gifts," he announced.  "Though I don't mean this beautiful piece of machinery," he said, gesturing at the turbine pieces that sat in the back of his truck.  "Which, unfortunately, we must offer in trade rather than as a gift.  But we can discuss all that in a moment," New Bern's new mayor promised.  "No, I'm speaking of the special delivery item that my logistics manager handed over this morning, and which she took great pains to impress upon me, was actually my most important duty on this trip.  So, Heather, I hope you won't accuse me of flirting with you," he teased, winking at her, "And sic your husband on me, because I swear this present was all orchestrated by a mutual acquaintance of ours, Ms. Mindy Henry."

"Mindy, really?" Heather asked, surprise evident in her expression.  "But she already brought diapers and peanut butter last time.  And I promise," she giggled self-consciously, "I won't send Jake after you."

"Mindy's pretty excited that she gets to be 'Aunt' Mindy," Russell offered.

"That she is," Constantino agreed.  "So she sent a duffle bag full of –"

"It's not a duffle bag," Russell interrupted, snorting.  He opened the passenger door on the truck and reached behind the seat, pulling something loose.  "It's a diaper bag," he explained, turning around and holding it up for Heather's inspection.  "The man never had kids," he grumbled, tilting his head toward Constantino.

"So you do, Russell?  Have kids?" Heather smiled, accepting the gift from him.  It was a very nice diaper bag, clearly brand new, in a cheerful green plaid with three jolly, cartoonish bears – Papa, Mama and Baby – embroidered on the front, messenger style flap.  "This – this is amazing," she declared.

Russell returned her smile.  "Just one, a little girl," he shrugged.  "And, you can use it as a backpack, too," he said, pointing out the straps on the backside of the diaper bag.  "Plus Mindy loaded it up with some good stuff."

Heather couldn't resist peeking inside – and then she couldn't help but agree with Russell's assessment.  There was a small bundle of cloth diapers, a package of diaper pins and another of pacifiers, a bunch of baby bath products, a giant tube of diaper cream, and even an infant health and grooming kit.  "Just goes to show that Mindy knows Jake," she laughed, extracting a three-pack of onesies and showing them to Johnston.  "Airplanes," she laughed, "So cute."

"Sure is," her father-in-law agreed.

"Okay, sorry guys," Heather apologized a few seconds later, glancing quickly at each of the men.  "I had a girlie moment," she admitted, tucking the onesies back into the diaper bag and zipping it closed.  "Sorry," she repeated.  "And thank you," she continued looking between Russell and Constantino.  "Please tell Mindy 'thank you' for me, and thanks to both of you, too, for delivery services.  This is absolutely amazing," Heather sighed, "Really, really generous.  Thank you."

"Happy to do it," Russell assured.  "And Mindy said to tell you that she's workin' on one for April, for next time."

"Oh good," Heather chuckled, "I can tell her that and she won't have to be jealous so much."

"So this is the windmill, huh?" Gray interjected, glancing at Heather.  "I mean, if you're through and we can talk about it now," he teased gently. 

It was the sort of statement that, coming from Gray Anderson, would have made Heather bristle the month before, but now she was able to shrug it off.  "Well, yeah," she returned, slinging the diaper bag over one shoulder, "'Cause I'm dying to talk about it!"

"Actually, it's the power generating wind turbine," Russell informed them, taking a step toward the machine.  "To be technical."

"What are you getting for output?" Heather demanded excitedly.

"About fifteen hundred watts an hour," Russell answered.

Heather made a delighted noise.  "That's amazing.  I was only hoping to achieve like sixty, seventy percent of that," she admitted, moving to stand next to Russell.  She reached out, placing a tentative hand on the turbine blade and sighing.  "It is truly beautiful to behold."

"Don't even think about it!"

Her head whipped around, seeking the source of that very familiar voice.  "Jake!" Heather squeaked, blushing, as she watched her husband jog across the street.  "What?" she giggled guiltily as he reached her side.

"Hey, I could see what you were thinkin' from fifty feet away," he claimed, letting his hand rest on the mound of her pregnancy.  It wasn't something he usually did, not out in public, but after everything that had happened with April in the preceding hour, Jake couldn't help but feel the need to reassure himself that Heather and their baby were both okay.  "So unless you wanna give me a heart attack," he continued, their gazes locking, "Just give up on that idea of climbin' up  to get a better look at this thing, okay?"

"Okay," she conceded, laying her hand over the top of his and squeezing his fingers through the thick material of both their gloves.  "I can probably get as good a view from down here as up there."

"Probably," Jake agreed, his lips twitching with a grin. 

"Oh!  Did you feel that?" Heather demanded in the next instant, moving his hand over and down a few inches.  "He's been pretty quiet all morning – sleeping in," she joked, "Until you show up."

"Yeah?" he returned, one eyebrow raised in question.

"I'm just sayin'….  He knows it's you," she declared, "Knows you're his dad."  Jake was grinning, softly, but he didn't say anything, and Heather knew he wouldn't, not in front of this group.  She changed the subject.  "So, what're you doing here?  I mean, not that it isn't nice to see you in daylight and everything.  And, oh, did Brett Davis –"

"Daylight's good," he agreed, "And, yeah, Brett found me.  He's reporting to Harry as we speak."  For a moment – a few seconds, a half minute at most – with his hand resting on Heather's middle, over their baby, Jake had been able to push out of his mind what had happened at the clinic, with April.  But now it all came rushing back.  Taking a half-step back from his wife, he caught her hand in his own and turned his attention to Russell, greeting the other man.  "Hey."

"Hey, Jake," Russell returned.  "And happy birthday," he added.  "Mindy made me promise I'd say that."

"Right," he acknowledged, frowning.  It seemed weird to think about – his birthday had been just yesterday, his party only sixteen hours ago.  "Thanks.  So, does this thing work?" Jake demanded, gesturing at the turbine with his free hand.  "Can we get power from it?"

Russell nodded.  "Probably sometime tomorrow."

"We need to get it up as fast as we can," Jake insisted, "We're gonna need it at the medical center."

"You got it," Russell assured.

"What's goin' on?" Heather asked, "I mean, besides being low on biodiesel?"

Jake's frown deepened.  "Babe," he began, tightening his grip on her hand and tugging on it so she'd turn with him as he moved toward his father.  "Dad," he continued, glancing back and forth between the two of them.  "There's – there's something wrong with April."

"What?" Heather yelped.

Johnston's thick "What is it?" was a more measured response but certainly no less concerned.

"She passed out," Jake explained, unable to disguise the grim worry in his tone.  "They think there's a problem with the baby."

"Who's 'they'?" Gray demanded.   Recognizing the annoyance that flared in Jake's expression, he held his hands up in a show of mock surrender.  "Hey, I'm just askin' because she's our only board certified physician.   I don't think an optometrist counts.  Or – no offense to your brother and his friends, Heather – a couple of med students....  'Cause in the end, they're still – you know – students."

"What about a surgeon?"  Jake returned, "Kenchy's still in town," he reminded.

"Saved my life," Johnston added.

"So, he's treating April?" Gray asked.  "Resurfaced finally?  That's a relief."

"Well, not yet," Jake admitted.   "Jeff and Jessica – she's the med student from Roger Hammond's group – they're taking care of April.  And Mom."

"Jake, I need to get over there," Heather interjected.  She was clearly distressed and he knew she was giving him a twenty or thirty second warning before she struck out for the med center with or without him.

"That's why I'm here," he reminded,  keeping a tight hold to her hand – or as tight as he could manage with his gloves on and fingers that didn't quite respond to his commands the way they always had up until Christmas. "I came to get you," he told his wife, "And to ask you if you've seen Eric?" Jake finished, looking at his father.

"Naw, I've been with Heather all mornin'," Johnston replied.  Heather, they both knew, was only around Eric when she absolutely had to be, and then only for the briefest of moments.  "Did you try Mary's?"

"Yeah, I tried there, I tried at Bailey's," Jake answered, expelling a frustrated breath.  "Everything's locked up tight.  Look, can you find him?" he asked, glancing at Heather.  "He should be there – he'd want to be there."

"Yeah, I'll see if I can find him, and maybe," Johnston said, looking at Gray, "Jimmy can help out?"

"He's doin' the refugee census, but we can put Bill on it," Gray offered.

"Thanks," Jake and Johnston said in unison.  Jake glanced at Heather.  "Okay, let's go."

"You two wanna ride?" Russell inquired, jerking his head toward the truck.  "We're headed the same way, after all.  You can show me the best way to go," he suggested, "And besides, I'd feel like a real ass letting a pregnant woman walk when I could give her a lift."

Heather's smile was tremulous and didn't reach her eyes.  "I think we'll take you up on that," she sighed.  "Thank you."

* * * * *

"Mikey, you beat us here," Heather greeted her brother frowning softly.  Jake had explained what he knew about April's condition – not a whole lot – and about Jeff's decision to send Brett Davis to ask Michael and Drake to come in to assist with an unspecified emergency, but she'd assumed that she and Jake would arrive ahead of the two younger men, if only because they'd cut at least twenty minutes off their trip by riding over with Russell.  "I'm surprised," she admitted, moving in to hug him.

He held up a hand, stopping her.  "You don't wanna do that," he warned.  "My patient just peed on me.  I mean, he's two, so that's not, like, really weird.  But I'm still … damp," Michael said, pointing to a wet spot on his scrub top.  "And don't laugh," he ordered, noticing his brother-in-law's smirk.  "Chances are, the next couple of years, somebody's gonna pee on you, too," he reminded, glancing significantly at his sister's pregnant belly.

"Can't wait," Jake grumbled quietly.  "So, you've heard what's goin' on, right?"

"Yeah, Brett came and got us," he replied, "Said it was a big emergency, so we left right away.  Jeff met us at the door and filled us in," Michael shrugged.  "We're just gonna try to keep the rest of the patients from rioting.  And turn off every light they turn on, so we can save power for April," he explained, yawning.  "Sorry," he apologized automatically, blinking hard.  "What is that?" he inquired, his gaze settling on Jake and the diaper bag hanging off his shoulder.  "Where'd it come from?"

Jake had asked the same question not ten minutes before as he'd helped Heather into the truck, relieving her of the diaper bag as she'd brushed by him.  He'd recognized that it was baby related, but he'd wondered about its origin.  "Where'd this come from?  Something for the baby?"

"It's a diaper bag," Heather had answered, sighing softly.  "Mindy sent it, like a baby present.  And, God," she'd sworn, "She really packed it full.  It has so many things that we're gonna need.  Things that I haven't really wanted to think about not having," she'd confessed, watching Jake as he'd slid in on the bench seat next to her, setting the diaper bag in his lap. 

"Wow.  That – that's great," Jake had acknowledged.  Heather was usually so optimistic, so sure that everything would turn out okay, and she didn't often admit that there were things she worried about not having – things that they would have had, if not for the bombs – for their baby.  "You'll tell Mindy thanks?" he'd requested, glancing past his wife at Russell.

"You bet," the other man had promised, starting the engine and then slowly easing the vehicle out into the road.  "From both of you."

"Thank you," Heather had returned.  "And this is gonna sound so mercenary, and that's really not me," she'd assured Russell before turning her head to look at her husband.  "But hon, thanks for having the foresight to adopt Mindy as your sister twenty years ago.  It's totally paid off."

"Twenty years?  Seriously?" Jake had snorted, shaking his head at her.  "I'm really not that old, okay?  Think about it."

"Oh, right.  You probably weren't washing dishes at the pizza parlor when you were twelve, thirteen, huh?" Heather had agreed.  He'd been trying to distract her, she'd known, from her worry and fear about April, and she'd been grateful for his efforts.  "So, what?" she'd asked, more than willing to play along.  "Sixteen years?"

"Try, like, seventeen," Jake had offered, adding, "And a half," before directing Russell to take the next left.

"It's a diaper bag, you dork," Heather answered for her husband, rolling her eyes at her brother.

"Well, I know that," Michael countered.  "Got seven nieces and nephews," he reminded.  "Soon to be eight –"

"Nine," his sister interjected.

Michael nodded.  "Right, nine.  But the idea of Jake with a man-purse is fun, too," he joked, smirking at his brother-in-law.

Jake, though, didn't take the bait.  "New Bern showed up with a windmill this morning," he explained.  "They're installing it outside right now.  Russell and some other guys.  Mindy sent the diaper bag with 'em as a gift."

"So we're gonna have power that's not from the generator?" Michael asked, hope and relief mixing in his expression.  "Like all the time?  Or at least when the wind's blowing?"

"Up to fifteen hundred watts an hour," Heather informed him, a ghost of a grin touching her lips.

"Might not be today," Jake cautioned, "So keep turning off lights.  But tomorrow, definitely."

"Okay, good," Michael yawned again, apologizing again.  "Sorry.  You know, it's lucky that Brett got there right before I was gonna go to bed.  At least I'm just zonked and not groggy, too," he claimed, fighting – and ultimately losing that fight – another yawn.

"So it was a rough night here, last night?" Heather asked.  "I mean – I guess I'm just trying to figure out how this happened," she murmured, her forehead wrinkling.

"It was a pretty easy night, actually," her brother contradicted.  "It's not … people don't come in on the night shift anymore, not unless they stop breathing or have a heart attack or something," he reminded.  Generally, there wasn't power at night, and being admitted to the clinic wasn't even a way to get a free meal as patient food service was a distant memory.  Now, families had to bring in meals for their loved ones or patients went hungry.  It was infinitely harder to travel at night, too, so – barring life threatening emergencies – people tended to tough things out at home, waiting for dawn before they came into the clinic.   Now, seven to ten in the morning was their busiest time of day, April had explained more than once.

"Last night was quiet, and April told me she was tired, so when she said she wanted to get some sleep, it wasn't a problem.  If somebody had come in and I couldn't handle it, I would've woken her up.  Her or Jess," Michael amended, "'Cause she sleeps here too."

Heather nodded.  "But if she was tired last night… was that a symptom of whatever this is?"

"I don't know, maybe," Michael shrugged.  "Heth, we don't actually know what's going on with her yet," he admitted.

"Right, sorry," she sighed.

A volunteer – Connie Gireaux, the town's treasurer before the bombs – approached them then, addressing Michael.  "Dr. Lisinski, Mrs. Nolan's in exam three.  It's seems to be something respiratory.  She's having trouble breathing, anyway."

"Okay, I'll be right there," he promised.

"Mrs. Nolan was my neighbor on Green Street," Heather reminded, "So take good care of her, Dr. Lisinski."  She smiled at the title, admitting, "I just wish Dad could hear people calling you that.  He'd be so proud."

"Hey, maybe one day he will," Jake offered, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder.  "It could still happen."

"Yeah, exactly," Michael agreed.  "So you guys better go check on April, and I better go take care of Mrs. Nolan," he prompted.  "Though, would you like me to lock that up?" he asked, pointing at the diaper bag that was still hanging from Jake's shoulder.

"Sure, good idea," Jake returned, handing the bag to his brother-in-law.

"Is that really necessary?" Heather questioned.

"Looks valuable to me," Michael reasoned, "And valuable stuff has a habit of growing legs and walking away around here.  Even the not so valuable stuff."

"But there aren't that many pregnant women in town, or babies, even," Heather argued.  At least three of the women who had gotten pregnant right after the bombs – the 'bomb babies' Mrs. Crenshaw had dubbed that impending baby boomlet – had left town in the two caravans that had set out south back in December, hoping to get to Texas or Arizona before they ran out of food and fuel.  There had been a number of small children in those caravans, too, a fact that still left Heather heartsick when she thought about it.

Jake offered her his hand.  "Yeah, babe, but why risk it?"  He glanced at her brother.  "Thanks, Mike.  Now, c'mon," he instructed Heather, beginning to lead her farther into the clinic.

They ran into Gail as she exited a supply closet down the hall from April's room, a bag of saline in her hand.  "Heather, Jake!" she greeted them, "I'm glad you're here."

"How's April?" Heather inquired breathlessly, "Where is she?"

"Room five," her mother-in-law answered, pointing at the door.  "But hold on a second, sweetheart," she requested.  "I just want – I want to make sure you know that I worry about you, too –"

Surprise and confusion warred for dominance in Heather's expression.  "Uh, yeah," she agreed, looking back and forth between her husband and his mother.  "Trust me, I've never doubted that," she chuckled somewhat uneasily.  "Did – did someone say differently?"

"Not me," Jake defended himself, holding up both his hands.

"No, of course not," Gail assured, "But I did just hear about how you were risking poisoning yourself by making biodiesel," she scolded gently.

"That was s'posed to be our little secret," Heather reminded her husband shaking her head.

"Well, the, uh, circumstances under which I revealed that information were… pretty mitigating," he returned.  "But still.  Sorry."

"And I seem to be putting my foot in my mouth with every other conversation I have today," Gail admitted, expelling a deep breath.  "But I do worry about you.  And that baby.  But I also know that you have Jake, and I don't want to be accused of meddling, so I worry a little more quietly, that's all."

"You don't have to be quiet about it, Mom," Heather told her.  "I mean, I think we've proven that I'll push back when I do think you're meddling," she contended, a slight grin quirking her mouth.  "Even when – ultimately – you're right and I'm wrong."

Their gazes locked, and it was clear that they both knew what they were talking about, even if Jake didn't.  "Heather, you weren't wrong," her mother-in-law comforted.

"No, but, you were definitely right," she countered, "And I was being a little bit stubborn."  She reached for the older woman's free hand, squeezing it.  "I love you, too," Heather announced.  "And now I'm gonna go check on April, okay?"

"Okay," Gail agreed, sighing.  "Give this to Jeff, if you don't mind," she requested, handing Heather the IV bag.

"Absolutely," Heather returned before hurrying down the hallway toward room five, her free hand braced over her baby bump.  "Dr. Maguire!" she declared, greeting Jeff who was – she assumed – in the middle of taking April's vitals.  "I supposed to give this to you," she explained holding up the bag of saline.

Jeff extracted the ear pieces of his stethoscope from his ears, draping the device around his neck.  "Thanks," he smiled distractedly, quickly noting something in April's chart.  "Just hang it on the pole, okay?" he requested, "Uh – since we're being formal – Mrs. Green."

"Well, I know that April – excuse me, Dr. Green – likes things to be run professionally around here," she explained, placing the saline bag on an unused hook on April's IV pole.  "And I just called Mikey 'Dr. Lisinski', so I figured I owed you the same respect.  At least once," Heather teased, moving around to the other side of April's bed.  Taking her sister-in-law's hand into her own, Heather brushed the fingers of her other hand across April's forehead at her hairline.  "Hey, how you doin'?" she crooned quietly.

April's eyelashes fluttered momentarily as she struggled to focus on her best friend.  "Really… tired," she managed to croak out, quickly giving up on keeping her eyes open.  Still she was able to curl her fingers tightly around Heather's.  "Hi," she sighed.

"Well, you know what this all does," Heather responded with forced cheer.  "This just goes to show that 'Grandma Gail' was right all along, and that we've both been doing too much."

"Always…" April whispered, though her statement seemed to peter out. 

Heather glanced over her best friend at Jeff, who was now taking her pulse.  "Always right," he guessed, "I mean she's pretty much always right, right?"

"Yeah," Heather agreed, frowning softly.  "She's pretty much the über mom."

A young African-American woman jogged into the room, heading straight for Jeff's side.  Heather was pretty sure she recognized her from the night that Roger Hammond's group arrived in Jericho, so she assumed she was the female medical student everyone – especially the three male medical students she lived with – was talking about.  The younger woman eyed Heather interestedly, but spoke only to Jeff.  "How's her –?"

"Still dropping," he muttered in return.  "Did you find it?"

"No," she retorted, frustrated.  "We're definitely out."

"Well, we'll hafta figure something else out then," he answered, aggravation creeping into his tone as well.  "Look, Jess, this is Heather Green," Jeff continued a few moments later, nodding in Heather's direction.  "She's Mike's big sister, Jake's wife, and –"

"Sis'er-in-law," April slurred softly. 

"Dr. Green's sister-in-law," Jeff repeated on her behalf.  "I was gonna say that," he complained, "And you're supposed to be saving your strength," he chided, though it didn't match his relieved smile at all.  "Heather, this is Jessica – or Dr. Williams, since we are trying to maintain our professionalism around here."

"Really, you can call me Jessica," she assured Heather.  Her smile was forced, and it contained a hint of severity that made the hair on the back of Heather's neck stand on end.  "So," the younger woman added, gesturing at Heather's middle. "That's some pretty good familial coordination – overlapping pregnancies."

"True," Heather giggled softly, trying to shake off her worried feeling.  "And we are the only two Greens who actually could physically be pregnant at this point in time, so that's a little different, huh?"

"We're – we're havin' both girls," April mumbled, squeezing Heather's fingers.  "Grow 'p bes' friends."
           
"That's right," Heather confirmed, trying to clear her throat of the lump that was forming rapidly there.  "That's our nefarious plot.  We're both gonna have girls and they can grow up and be best friends always. The – the Green girls."

"That's a nefarious plot?" Jeff questioned skeptically.  "I'm pretty sure 'Grandpa' requested girls at Thanksgiving," he reminded.

"See how easily he played right into our hands?" Heather joked, "That's how nef –"

"Oh God," April cried out, thrashing beneath her blankets.  She struggled to sit up, repeating, "Oh God.  I think I'm having a contraction –"

"April, you're not having contractions," Jeff insisted.

Jessica was already trying to take April's blood pressure, although Heather was almost certain Jeff had done so not three minutes earlier.  She looked nervous, and she shook her head at Jeff, glaring, telling him to shut up with her eyes. 

"I did," April argued, almost sobbing.

"I think you did, too," Jessica told April.  "But it's okay.  We're gonna take care of you, okay?"  With that she took a step back and then turned and sprinted into the hallway, yelling, "Gail!"

* * *

"Jake," Gail said, laying a hand on his arm to stop him when he started to follow his wife down the hallway.  "Wait a minute, please."

"Sure," he agreed, "What's up?"

"Let's go this way," she requested, starting to move back toward the supply closet she'd just come from.  The door was closed, but Gail had left it unlocked when she'd spotted her son and daughter-in-law and had hurried to meet them.  Quickly, she threaded the combination lock through the loop on the door and then snapped it closed.  "So… where the hell is Eric?" she demanded roughly, not looking at Jake.

His mother wasn't one to mince words, these days especially, but she also didn't usually swear just for the effect.  One eyebrow raised, Jake cleared his throat and answered her quietly.   "Nobody knows, Mom.  Dad's getting Bill on it."

"Did you look for him?" she wanted to know.

"I went by Mary's house and by Bailey's.  Both were locked up tight," Jake explained.  "I'm sure they'll find 'em somewhere."

"Since when does your brother just take off without telling anyone where he's going?" she demanded angrily.  "You or your father?  Harriett Crenshaw, if no one else," she insisted.

"I don't know, Mom," he shrugged helplessly. 

It was a fair question as it was one of the few constant, unaltered rules of his childhood.  As soon as Jake and Eric had been allowed to play outside of their own yard – off their own block – this was the rule that had tripped them up most often; Jake because he hadn't always wanted his parents to know what he was up to, and Eric because he'd hadn't wanted to look like a baby to the other kids by calling his mother every time his plans changed.  But innumerable days on restriction, not to mention Gail's practically patented disappointed looks, had drummed it into them both that they always needed to tell someone where they would be, a habit that had followed them into adulthood.  Throughout college and law school, Eric had always kept his parents apprised of his travels, and even Jake had made a point of regularly letting his mother know which state he'd be in while – unbeknownst to her – he'd been working undercover to bring down Jonah Prowse. 

"Yesterday was his birthday, too," Jake reminded, "Who knows?  Maybe they decided to do something." 

Gail winced.  "That does not make me feel better," she informed her son.  "He – he shouldn't be gallivanting around the countryside with Mary Bailey," she argued, throwing her hands up in the air, "He should be here.  With his wife."

"Mom," Jake began, but she interrupted without even seeming to realize that she'd done so.

"And, I know it was his birthday," she rasped out quietly.  "I'm his mother.  Do you really think I didn't feel it every minute of the day?  That he wasn't there where he belonged?  At dinner with all of us?  Sitting next to April and pretend pouting because she was planning to go into work on his birthday?" Gail demanded, her eyes falling closed and her head dropping so that her chin almost touched her chest. 

It was a plausible scenario.  April had always taken her responsibilities as a doctor very seriously, and Eric had always supported that, had always been proud of the good, important work she did in the community he also served as vice mayor.  But if there was anyone who could distract April from her work that, too, had always been Eric.  At least until it wasn't.

"He would've convinced her to stay," she reasoned with her next breath, meeting her son's concerned gaze.  "That this once, she didn't need to charge in herself, that Michael could handle things for one evening.  And she wouldn't be sleeping in her office every other night, wouldn't be working these – these hours – these shifts that are designed to – to –"

Gail broke off, unwilling to say it.  She wouldn't give voice to her worst fear.  That being a doctor, April's refuge, the one solace she'd had in this untenable situation, would – would kill her.

Jake let out a deep sigh.  "Ma, they're not getting back together," he said quietly, like he was breaking bad news.

"I know that," she chuckled sourly.  "I've – I've accepted it, even," Gail claimed.  "But what I haven't accepted," she continued slowly, "Not by a long shot, is that they broke up in the first place."

"Mom –"

"I know it doesn't make sense," Gail interjected, "But it's how I feel.  They were so perfect for each other."

"Yeah, they were.  Were," he repeated, emphasizing the past tense.  "But that's over."

"It's supposed to be for better or worse.  In sickness and in health."  She stopped, shaking her head again.  "Her blood pressure's dropping," Gail confided, her voice a scratchy whisper.   "We keep – we keep checking it, and it just keeps dropping.  If – if this was before… she wouldn't be here.  Craig Peterson?  Maureen Clement?  Both of them would've transferred her to Rogue River in a heartbeat.  A five months' pregnant woman?  Neither of them would have ever taken that chance," she insisted.  "April wouldn't take that chance with –"

"Gail!"  Jessica's shout sent chills running up both their spines.  They rushed into April's room, moving around to the far side of her bed, where Heather was standing, April's hand clenched in her own, out of Jessica's and Jeff's way.

"I'm feeling contractions," April insisted, a hysterical edge in her tone. 

"I think she's going into labor," Jessica announced grimly.

"No!" April protested, her free hand pressed protectively over her abdomen.  "No, I can't.  The baby's only nineteen weeks.  I need – I need Ritodrine, to stop the labor."

Heather watched as Jeff and Jessica exchanged a quick, rather ominous look.  She was sure this was what they had been talking about before.  "I already checked," Jessica returned, "We don't have any more."

"Well, try to find some – some Nifedipine,"  Jeff snapped, sending Jessica scurrying out of the room while he continued to try and take April's blood pressure yet again.

Gail took a calming breath.  "All right," she declared firmly, patting April's leg.  "What are you feeling?"  This was the part with which his mother really could help, Jake realized.  She'd been a Lamaze instructor for more than four years now, and a number of the mothers-to-be had hired her to be in the delivery room with them.  Gail Green had participated in dozens of routine births over the last few years, and she was the expert here – more so than Jessica or Jeff or even April -- when it came to determining whether his sister-in-law was really in labor or not.

April though just shook her head.  "If I lose consciousness and you can't find any medicine, use alcohol," she advised.

"What?" Jake demanded, clearly confused – or at least convinced that April was.  She'd been fighting so hard all morning, and this wasn't the first time she had said something that seemed garbled with pain and terror.  "What do you mean?"

Heather though seemed to understand.  "April, what kind of alcohol?" she asked, squeezing the other woman's hand.

"Anything – anything coming out of the still," she explained breathlessly.  "Give me a – a ten percent drip," she decided, biting her lip, "And it'll stop the contractions."

"Okay," Heather assured her friend, "We got it, okay?"

"This makes sense?" Jake demanded, glancing from his wife to his mother to Jeff. 

"It worked on the Quantum Leap pilot," Heather explained in a rush of breath.  "Scott Bakula leapt into a fighter pilot in, like, the fifties, and stopped the guy's wife's pre-term labor with an IV full of alcohol."

"It makes sense," Jeff confirmed. "Both biochemically and TV-wise.  My dad loved that show," he admitted.  "I remember the episode."

"Then, we'll get the alcohol," Gail declared confidently.  "Jake can go right now, and we'll have it, just in case Jessica can't find the medicine."

April's head lolled on her pillow and her eyes were again closed.  "Please," she begged, obviously straining to produce the harsh whisper that appeared to be all she was currently capable of.  "Don't wanna – can't lose my baby."

Gail pulled her son a few feet away from the hospital bed, keeping her voice pitched low so that only he could hear her.  "Break in if you have to," she instructed, both of them highly cognizant of his report minutes earlier that Bailey's was 'locked up tight'.   "Bust a window, hell, knock down the door.  I don't care what you hafta do.  Mary Bailey owes us at least that much."

"Got it," Jake acknowledged, turning for the door.

He only managed to take a step and a half before his wife's frightened "Oh God!" forced him to spin around.

"She passed out," Jeff ground out his ear practically pressed to April's chest.  "But she's breathing," he reported, relieved, a long ten seconds later.

"Oh God," Heather repeated, pointing down at the hospital bed.

"She's bleeding," Gail croaked, lifting the sheet and blankets to reveal an alarmingly large and deeply crimson stain.  She looked at her son.  "Get Kenchy now!"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 15C.


'Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise,' is a quotation from Benjamin Franklin, just as 'We must all hang together or assuredly we shall all hang separately,' is.  One of my challenges to myself is to one day reveal each member of the Green family's favorite Franklin quote as they now all have one, at least in my mind.  Gail probably has multiples as she would need one to preach to each of her growing list of children.

Lisa Frank's artwork features extremely bright rainbow and neon colors and stylized depictions of animals, including dolphins, pandas, and unicorns. In the 1980s and 1990s, her products – including school supplies such as lunchboxes and Trapper Keepers, as well as toys and stickers – were extremely popular among elementary and middle school-aged girls.

I first heard of the potential dangers of cup of noodles in 2008 when a co-worker's nephew was injured by tipping them into his lap.  There are medical journals that discuss the risk as early as 2006, and published news reports as early as 2011 which state that they are the bane of many an ER doctor's existence.  Cup of noodles have been available my entire lifetime so I figure that April would have likely been aware of the dangers by 2002.

Amoxicillin is a penicillin antibiotic that fights bacteria in the human body.  Amoxicillin can make birth control pills less effective and a non-hormonal form of birth control should be used to prevent pregnancy while taking amoxiciilin.

On the show, although Jake says the windmill is needed at the medical center, it is actually set up outside of town hall on Main Street.  This is nonsensical to me, so I had it set up outside the medical center.  Clearly, I am not an apologist for canon, and I fix the stupid parts when I can.

Also on the show, April says that she is sixteen weeks pregnant, not nineteen.  I needed to alter that fact for my timeline which I have extended for my own purposes, not the least of which is that I have a hard time placing an episode called Winter's End in January let alone December.

Ritodrine is a prescription drug that is used to stop premature labor.  In the seven years since Winter's End originally aired on television, this drug has been removed from the U.S. market.

Nifedipine is a prescription drug that while primarily used to treat hypertension and angina has also proven effective for treating premature labor.  It is on the World Health Organization's List of Essential Medicines, a list of the most important medication needed in a basic health system.  We never heard whether or not they still had any in Jericho, but given its essential nature, I hope they did.

Quantum Leap is a television series that ran for 5 seasons in the United States between March 1989 and May 1993.  The show starred Scott Bakula as Dr. Sam Beckett a quantum physicist from the near future who becomes lost in time following a time travel experiment, temporarily taking the places of other people to "put right what once went wrong."  The episode that Heather referred to was called "Genesis" and aired in the U.S. on March 26 1989.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Different Circumstances: Part 15C of ? by Marzee Doats

Author's Note: First, my apologies for letting a whole year go by without posting.  I am very annoyed at myself for that.  All I can say is I had writer's block.  Now I have the opposite of writer's block, so fingers crossed that will keep up.  Thanks, as always to my friend and beta-reader, Skyrose for her insight and input.

Warnings: Since I assume you've all watched Jericho, I will just say that peril and tough choices abound throughout this part.  Also, there is some correction/expansion on scenes as aired that might offend a strict canon-ist, though I can't imagine that those types actually read this story.  Lastly, this is another long one. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday January 22, four months after the bombs

Jake pounded on the door.  He'd been at it for a full two minutes, and his hand ached, even with the extra padding his glove afforded him.  "Kenchy!" he yelled again.  "Dammit," he swore in frustration, "Wake up!  Kenchy!"  He paused for a moment, listening for a sign - any sign - that the doctor was inside the house.   There was none.  "Kenchy!" Jake shouted, starting to bang on the door once more.

Just as he was ready to give up and try something else - break a window or whatever - Jake heard the telltale, grinding squeak of the deadbolt being thrown open.  "What... the... hell... do... you... want?" Kenchy Dhuwalia demanded gruffly through the four inch opening that indicated he'd left the chain lock on the door. 

"Lemme in, Kenchy," Jake commanded.  "You need to come with me to the clinic," he informed him.  Dhuwalia didn't react immediately, and Jake - tapping his foot anxiously - added, "Right now!" hoping to spark a sense of urgency in the other man.

Finally, making a guttural noise, Dhuwalia fumbled around, taking off the chain and opening the door enough that he could stick his head out the gap.  "What must I do to make you go away?"

"Mornin', sunshine," Jake drawled sarcastically, pushing his way into the house.  He looked his friend up and down.  Dhuwalia was, in a word, unkempt.  His eyes were bloodshot, he needed a shave, and while his hair wasn't exactly a mess, he'd clearly slept on it at one very odd angle.  He was barefoot and wearing jeans that really needed to be washed, paired with a Chicago Bulls t-shirt that proclaimed that the team had won the 1998 NBA championship.  Over this, he wore a black hoodie that Jake was fairly certain had once been his.  But of course, everything that Dhuwalia owned was hand-me-down; he'd arrived in Jericho with, literally, nothing but the scrubs on his back.  "So, when did you last have a drink?" Jake demanded.

Staring at his friend blearily, it was a long moment before Dhuwalia answered, and even then it was with a question.  "What is the time?" he inquired.

"It's eleven," Jake returned impatiently, "A little after eleven."  Dhuwalia continued to watch him, neither responding nor blinking.  "In the morning," Jake added, a hint of annoyance sharpening his tone.

"What day?" Dhuwalia countered, eyes closed and scrubbing his face with one hand.

"Monday."

Dhuwalia nodded, and Jake could practically see him doing the math in his head.  "So... eight or nine hours," he decided, his head still bobbing up and down.  "I think you're right," he informed his friend, "Time for another drink."

"Of water, maybe," Jake retorted, inserting his body into the open doorway before Dhuwalia could remember to shut the door in his face.  "C'mon.  Look, April passed out, and then she started havin' contractions, and then she passed out again, plus now she's bleeding."  Dhuwalia turned and headed into the living room, Jake hot on his heels.  "And her blood pressure keeps dropping, and you need to come.  Right now."

In one of those small town coincidences that Jericho specialized in, Dhuwalia lived in Heather's old house on Green Street.  Jake had lived here too, officially for a month - though they'd been on their honeymoon for three of those weeks - and he'd certainly spent enough time here before their wedding that he knew his way around, even though the furniture had changed, even in the dark.  This fact, coupled with Dhuwalia's questionable sobriety level, meant that he beat the other man by half a step to his apparent destination: a mason jar on the coffee table, its contents glowing amber in the dim illumination offered by the dying fire.

 "If you would be so kind," Dhuwalia prompted, holding his hand out expectantly.

"I don't think so," Jake informed him, unscrewing the jar's top so he could take a sniff and confirm his assumption.  It was definitely alcohol, and some pretty strong stuff at that.  The jar was about a third full - no more than four or five ounces - but at a ten percent drip he figured there was more than enough here.  He hoped there was, anyway.  "April needs this.  She said we could use alcohol to stop the contractions.  Put it in her IV."

Dhuwalia considered this for a moment.  "Yes, that should work," he agreed, nodding absently.  "So, if I give you that," he reasoned, gesturing at the jar, "You shouldn't need me.  Clearly, Dr. Green is more than able to handle the situation."

Jake groaned.  Obviously he had overestimated Dhuwalia's ability to comprehend everyday speech at this particular moment.  But still, even half-drunk, his presence had to help April's - and her baby's - odds.  "April is Dr. Green," he bit out.  "She's the patient.  Dr. Green is the patient.  And right now, she's got two medical students lookin' after her when what she needs is a doctor.  A real one."  Jake let out a frustrated sigh, fixing his friend with a hard stare.  "She needs you, Kenchy.  Now!" 

"I - I see," Dhuwalia muttered a long fifteen seconds later, understanding deepening his frown.  "I will come then," he agreed, nodding softly.  "For Dr. Green," he sighed, "To help April."

* * * * *

"Come on!"  Jake commanded for what was easily the fiftieth time in the last half hour.  Dhuwalia had agreed to come help April, but hurrying him along had proven to be an adventure in teeth gritting.  "Come on!" he repeated, pointing the other man into April's clinic room.

Dhuwalia entered the room already pulling off his black pea coat which he dropped on a chair.  "What's her pressure?" he inquired, shoving his sleeves up to his elbows and glancing between Gail and Jessica, who were both hovering over April. 

"You smell like a wino," Jessica complained, her nose wrinkling, as he stopped beside her.

Jake suppressed a snort.  If she thought he smelled bad now, then she - and everyone else - was lucky that he'd made Dhuwalia change clothes before they'd left his house.  There hadn't been time for him to take a shower - April had needed him too much, besides which none of them were willing to endure that particular torture, given the recent cold snap - but Jake, having stood downwind from Dhuwalia for all of twenty seconds, had insisted, in the name of public safety, that the other man find some cleaner clothes than the ones he'd been wearing for who knew how long, and which had reeked of sweat and smoke and, of course, alcohol.

Thankfully, Dhuwalia had not required any assistance as he'd changed.  Still, it had seemed to take him forever to dress, at least to Jake who'd waited outside the bedroom door, calling out "C'mon already!" at roughly thirty second intervals.  Finally though, the other man had reappeared, and after a quick assist with his laces - he'd complained of a raging headache when he'd tried to bend down - and a reminder to take a coat, Jake had deemed the doctor fit enough to report to the medical center.

"Nice to meet you, too," Dhuwalia retorted.

There was enough sarcasm in his tone, and he was already working on assessing April's condition, so Jake decided that he wasn't needed to run interference.  He turned, intending to join Heather in the corner of the room, clearly trying to stay out of the way, when Jeff jogged through the doorway, prompting Jake to alter his course so he could hand off the jar of alcohol.

"What's this?" Jeff asked, his expression puzzled.

"Well, it's not a urine sample," Jake grumbled.  "It's alcohol.  Everything he had on hand," he added, cocking his head toward Dhuwalia who was now standing at the small sink, washing his hands.  From what Dhuwalia had said on their walk over, Jake had gathered that Mary Bailey hadn't opened the bar the day before - citing Jericho's blue laws - and so she'd presented Dhuwalia with a 'care package' of a full jar of alcohol when she'd kicked him out Saturday night.  "I figured it was at least enough to get started, and if we need more -"

"Nah, this is great," Jeff interrupted.  "Thanks.  And Kenchy," he added raising his voice, "Thanks for coming."

Drying his hands with a washcloth - they had long since run through their supply of paper towels and  had been force to switch to regular bath linens, keeping a small army of volunteers busy in the makeshift laundry on the patio outside - Dhuwalia glanced over his shoulder.  "I owe the Greens a debt of honor," he reminded, dropping the washcloth in the hamper next to the sink.  "Dr. Green included."

"Still, thanks," Jeff repeated.

Dhuwalia acknowledged the younger man with a shrug, crossing the space between the sink and the end of April's bed in two quick strides.  "What is her pressure, please?" he demanded.

"Eighty eight over forty four," Gail answered.  "And dropping."

Jake moved to his wife's side.  "She hasn't - she's been unconscious the whole time - the whole time you were gone," Heather whispered, a sob straining her voice, as he took her hand into his.

"Well, Kenchy's here now," he argued, squeezing her fingers and promising, "He'll figure it out."  Jake wrapped one arm around her waist, twisting around so he could plant a kiss on the top of her head when she laid it against his shoulder.  "I had to tie his shoes and make him wear a coat," he informed her quietly.  "It felt kinda... dad-like."

"Yeah?" she returned distractedly, pressing her face against his arm.

"Just sayin'," he sighed, "If I can do it for Kenchy, then I can sure as hell do that sorta stuff for our kid.  April's too," he added a beat later.

"Uncle-like," Heather suggested, taking a deep breath.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Is she dilated?" Dhuwalia inquired.

"Two centimeters," Jeff answered.

"And her contractions are six minutes apart," Jessica added.

"Should we - should we start the alcohol drip?" Jeff asked, frowning softly.

"Not yet." Dhuwalia's response was preoccupied.  "We need to figure a few things out first," he argued, his brow furrowing as he contemplated his next move.  "I need an ultrasound," he decided.

"I brought some old ones up from the basement," Gail announced.  "I'll go check them now," she offered, returning her borrowed stethoscope to Jeff.  "Jake?" she said, glancing at her son, "C'mon."

"Me?" he returned, surprised.  "Heather," he countered, pointing at his wife.

"If you want to, sweetheart, of course," Gail said, offering Heather a half-hearted smile.  "I just - I assumed you'd want to stay here with April."

"I want to help April," she insisted, worry cracking her voice.  "I need to," Heather argued, already moving toward her mother-in-law and the door.  "And getting an ultrasound working is probably my best bet at this point."

"Do we have fresh plasma?  Any blood on hand at all?" Dhuwalia inquired, facing Jessica as the other two women hurried from the room.  He knew it was a long shot; there was no way to reliably store blood and blood products these days so generally they waited until there was a need and then scrambled to find eligible donors.

"No," she admitted, making a face.

"Okay," he nodded.  "We need to stop the bleeding and then get her blood volume up," he reminded, glancing at Jeff and then back to Jessica.  "So I need you to find somebody -"

"With O-negative blood," Jessica supplied.  "I'm on it."

"I can help with that," Jake offered, catching up with the young woman at the door.

"Great," she returned as they exited the room.  "So... what's your blood type?" 

"O-positive," he grumbled. 

"Yeah, me too," Jessica sighed.   "Actually, only about six, seven percent of the U.S. population is O-negative," she explained, paused for a second before inquiring, "What about your wife?"

"A-positive," he answered, remembering how he'd teased her that of course she'd have a blood type that was written out  'A+' when the topic had turned to their genetic and medical histories during their long, meandering conversation over his birthday weekend in Jackson Hole five years earlier.  Heather, he recalled smiling softly at the memory, had giggled appreciatively and then, kissing the corner of his mouth, she had reminded him that she was required by contract to grade on the O-G-S-N-U scale which meant that in her world his blood type meant 'Outstanding plus'.  Not that she had any reason to disagree with that assessment, she'd grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his.

"But you really think pregnant women are your best pool of blood donors?" Jake challenged.

"No, not at all," she assured.  "My last choice by far.  I was just wondering if she might have an Rh factor issue down the road," Jessica explained.  "But, since you're both Rh positive, there shouldn't be a problem.  Though, do you happen to know Dr. Green's blood type?"

Jake shrugged.  "Heather might," he offered, "And my brother should know, if we can find him."

"Well, when one of us gets to her - or him - we should ask," Jessica instructed.  "I mean, there's only about a three and a half percent chance she's AB-positive - a universal recipient.  But it's still worth finding out.  So," she continued, pointing left down the corridor, "I'll go this way?"

"And I'll go that way," Jake agreed, pointing to the right.  "Find each other in twenty minutes or when we have our first donor, whichever comes first?"

"Yep, sounds good," she nodded.

He made it about ten feet down the hallway before he ran into Bonnie and Mimi.  Bonnie's expression was distressed and she frowned at him, croaking "April?"

"Back there," Jake said, hooking his thumb back over his shoulder.  "Room five."  Bonnie pushed past him, and he turned his attention to Mimi who was dressed in scrubs, her arms crossed protectively over her chest.  "So... IRS agent turned candy striper?" he guessed.

"More like bedpan scrubber," Mimi countered, rolling her eyes.  "That's what Bonnie thinks I should be doing, anyway," she sighed.  "We ran into Gail and Heather and they said that April collapsed and she's having contractions.  Bonnie got really upset," she explained, her eyes clouding as she watched the teenager hurry down the corridor.

"Well, Bonnie's known April for a long time, and they're close," Jake offered.  "At least they were.  I mean, April's the one who gave Bonnie the whole, uh... the whole 'welcome to womanhood' talk."

Mimi nodded.  "Gotcha," she sighed, unable to keep herself from smirking.  "You really had to think about how to say that, huh?"

Jake looked - and felt - more than a little uncomfortable, but he shrugged it off, countering, "Well, there's a little more to it than just the birds and the bees, right?"

"Sure," she intoned, still grinning at his discomfort.  "I mean, there's 'Aunt Flo's' monthly visit, right?  Though - swear to God - Jake," Mimi said, shaking her head at him, "I really thought you were a married man.  You're tellin' me you've never been sent to the store for a box of tampons?  And what if Heather Green goes and has a girl?  What're you gonna do in twelve, thirteen years then?"

"Well, to answer your first question, no.  My wife is extremely organized and tends to buy in bulk.  So aside from loading the giant box into the car at Costco -"

"Okay, that blows my mind," she interjected.  "Jake Green: Costco shopper.  That's just way too normal."

He rolled his eyes.  "What can I say?" Jake shrugged, "I'm just a normal kinda guy."  Mimi's expression turned skeptical but she didn't interrupt.  "And, to answer your second question," he continued, "I'm married to a teacher and my sister-in-law's a doctor.  That's not really a conversation I ever expect I'll have to take the lead in."

"True," she admitted with a sigh.  "So.... April has really looked out for Bonnie, huh?"

"Yeah," Jake confirmed.  "I mean, when Bonnie needed to volunteer somewhere for her community service hours, April didn't bat an eye - didn't argue about it like all the other places kids go in town.  Like the library," he grumbled.  "When the library - the librarian -" he amended, "Didn't think she could handle shelving books - basically putting them back in the right place - April told her to come here, that there was plenty she could do.  So, yeah, April looks out for her.  Plus," he continued, chuckling softly, "When she was younger, Bonnie actually wanted Stanley to marry April's sister."

"Okay, that explains a lot," Mimi acknowledged.  "And it's a little weird," she chuckled humorlessly.  "Even for a small town.  I mean, he takes April to the prom and then later dates her sister?"

"They never dated," Jake corrected, "It was just a running joke that Stanley used to torture August with.  Bonnie was the only one who took it seriously, and - trust me - the whole farm wife thing really wasn't August's thing."

"I can relate," Mimi snorted.

Jake made an exasperated noise that was clearly directed at himself.  "You know he cares about you," he argued, "A lot.  Besides, if you like to eat, a farm isn't the worst place in the world to be these days."

"Yeah.  I actually know both of those things," she sighed, attempting a smile.  "And I care about him, too.  A lot."

"Okay, good," Jake declared, clearing his throat.  "So, what's your blood type?"

* * * * *

Expelling a frustrated breath, Johnston Green exited the medical center, automatically placing his hat on his head as the door swung closed behind him.  Constantino had offered both Johnston and Gray a lift, but Johnston had needed to find Bill and get him looking for Eric, and then he'd tromped back over to town hall to find Harriett Crenshaw and ask her to keep an eye out for his son as well.  Mrs. Crenshaw was already aware of the situation - and the hole it had made in her duty roster - but still she'd done him one better, promising to keep praying for April and the baby, and to send Zack Davis, her runner for the day, out to all the checkpoints to pass on orders for every ranger to keep an eye out for Eric.

Johnston had hoofed it over to the medical center then, jogging most of the way, though he'd found himself huffing and puffing the last few blocks, and was forced to acknowledge that it had been a hard winter so far - and that he was now just two weeks shy of his sixtieth birthday.  He'd been relieved to see that the efforts to raise the windmill were well underway, but he didn't bother checking in with Gray or Constantino, instead heading into the clinic to see if he could get any news on his daughter-in-law and grandchild.

He'd run into Drake almost immediately, coming out of a supply room, a short stack of towels in his arms.  "Too many patients," he'd complained, padlocking the door behind him before explaining, "The laundry can't keep up."  Balancing the pile of linens on one arm, he'd turned off a light switch, eliciting a soft, discontented grumble from the throng of patients who lined the hallway.  "Sorry folks," he announced, "But we're in a crunch and we have to save power for direct patient care only."

"Careful now, you're startin' to sound like me," Johnston had accused mildly as he'd followed the younger man down the corridor, carefully weaving through the crowd.

"Good," Drake had declared.  "That's what I'm tryin' for.  People listen to you, and right now I need 'em to listen to me."  Ahead of them, the ceiling lights had flickered to life and Drake had stalked the three feet to the nearest switch, slapping it off.  "Okay people!" he'd shouted, "Here's the deal!  No lights allowed until further notice."

The crowd had rumbled again, a male voice protesting, "But what about -"

"No exceptions!" Drake had bellowed before adding, more quietly, "Live with it or leave."

They had waited a few seconds, both holding their breath, but while the group had still buzzed with displeasure, no one had appeared ready to challenge Drake again.  Johnston had offered the young man - young doctor - a small smile.  "Well, don't look now, son," he'd told him, "But they're listenin' to you."

"Yeah," Drake had muttered at his feet. 

Without lights in the interior of the building it had been dim to say the least.  Johnston hadn't been able to tell for sure, but he'd thought that Drake might be blushing, and so he'd decided to move on and spare the young man any further discomfort.  "So, Drake," he'd begun again, clearing his throat.  "Have you heard anything more about April and the baby?  How they're doin'?"

"Dr. Dhuwalia's here now," Drake had reported.  "He's assessing the situation, but I haven't heard anything else.  Jake's been tryin' to find someone with O-negative blood, so I guess she needs a transfusion.  But other than that..." he'd shrugged.   "Hey, what's your blood type?"

"O-positive," Johnston had sighed, "Same as Gail, Jake and Eric."

"Yeah, Jake probably knew that, huh?" Drake had guessed. 

"He might've.  Gail, for sure, knows."

"April's in room five," Drake had informed him then.  "They're all in there with her, Gail and Heather and Jake.  You can go in if you want."

"Nah," Johnston had dismissed with a shake of his head.  "I don't wanna get in the doctors' way.  But I'll be right outside," he'd said, "They're puttin' up a windmill - a turbine, actually - t' give this place a reliable source of power.  So if, uh -"

"If I hear anything, I'll come tell you," Drake had offered, "Promise."

Johnston had acknowledged his pledge by clapping the young man on the shoulder.  "Thank you, Drake."

He hurried down the sidewalk. The wind turbine was being erected in the flowerbed at the center of circular driveway adjacent to the medical center's currently shuttered main entrance.  "Okay, we're going to go on three," Constantino called out to his crew, throwing Johnston a nod and a grin as he skirted the work zone.  "One, two, three."

Gray was standing on the sidewalk at the Park Street driveway, observing the crew's progress as they worked to stabilize the tower on its base, yelling instructions and encouragement to one another.  Johnston walked toward the mayor, listening to the cacophony of voices as they shouted, "Careful!  A little more," and "Okay, easy!  Good, good...."

"Hey," Gray greeted as Johnston joined him, glancing sideways at the other man.  "How's the baby?"

"I don't know," Johnston sighed.  "Kenchy's with April now, so that's good.  But he thinks she may need a transfusion...."  Frowning, he trailed off, not bothering to complete his statement.  "Hey, what's your blood type?"

"B-positive," the mayor answered easily.  His blood type was rare enough that he'd often been asked to donate blood, especially during the summer - car wreck season, his favorite phlebotomist at the blood bank in Rogue River had always called it - and while he was more than willing to donate for April, he knew that unless she was AB- or B-positive herself, his blood would be of no use to her. 

Johnston nodded, his lips twitching softly.  "Nothin' ironic 'bout that," he joked.

"What? You're sayin' I can't be positive?" Gray returned, affecting a tone of mock-annoyance.  "I'm positive.  Hell, I think this is gonna work out real well for us," he predicted, pointing at the wind turbine's tower.  It was standing now, though the turbine wasn't operating yet as the installation crew was still working to secure the windmill with ropes that were being run to the clinic building and to power poles on the street.  "Another ten of these things?" he suggested, "Power for town hall, the corporation yard, the mine?  Free up gasoline and diesel for the farm equipment?  That'd solve a lot of our problems 'round here," he declared, not even pausing to breathe before he continued.  "And put another one here?  Power the med center full-time?  I'll tear up the MOU and give it to April as a 'get well' present," Gray promised boldly.  "How's that for being positive?"

"Not bad," Johnston conceded, "Not bad at all."

"Ten windmills, Johnston," Gray proclaimed, "That's all we need to save our town."

"Yeah," Johnston agreed.  Ten windmills would be enough to save Jericho; the question was, had New Bern come soon enough to save April and her baby?  "So, how close is this?" he asked, shaking his head to clear it and pointing at the wind turbine.

"Another hour at least," Gray answered, admitting, "Though that's thinking positively.  It'll probably be more like a few more hours.  Did you find Eric?"

"No, but Bill and the rangers are out looking for him," Johnston explained, frowning, as Constantino ambled toward them.

"So, whaddya think?" New Bern's sheriff and mayor inquired, flashing them a knowing smile. 

"I think... this is good," Gray replied.  "So, Phil, can we buy some more of these things?"

Constantino's grin widened.  "Yeah," he nodded, "Let's talk about it."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Wednesday January 23, five years before the bombs

"Here for dinner?" Jim Bailey inquired from behind the bar.  He didn't wait for an answer, telling them, "Sit wherever you like," in direct contradiction to the 'Please Wait to be Seated' sign that the three of them - Heather, April and Eric - were standing next to.

"Slow night, huh?" Eric commiserated over his shoulder as Jim followed them to a booth on the outer edge of the tavern.

"For a Wednesday in January," Bailey's proprietor returned, waiting while Eric helped his wife take off her coat, "This is almost hopping," he chuckled.  In addition to the four of them, Eric noted, there were nine other people - all men - in the establishment: Gray Anderson and Shep Cale had taken over a booth at the far end of the row, both nursing beers and working on a plate of nachos supreme while they shoved papers back and forth at each other; there were five men, all of whom he knew by sight if not name, on stools around the bar, watching a basketball game and doing a little light trash talking amongst themselves; and lastly there were two men in the back 'game room' working behind caution tape to put in the mechanical bull that Eric had issued the final permit for just the previous Friday.  "Of course, I'm havin' to pay those two," Jim reminded, pointing over his shoulder at the two installers, "To be here, 'stead of the other way around."

"Well, it should bring in the crowds at least," Eric offered as he hung April's and Heather's coats on the hooks mounted on the post between their booth and the next. 

"I hope so," Jim sighed.  "Hope somebody's willin' to give it a whirl, so to speak, or that's a lotta money down the drain," he added, chuckling humorlessly.  "Course, Mary did think of that, went and promised Stanley Richmond two free drinks any night he's in here for a month if he'd get things started," Jim explained as he gave menus, first to Heather, and then to April.    "So, provided we pass your final inspection on Friday morning," he reminded Eric handing him the last menu, "The bull's gettin' a 'grand opening' all its own come Friday night."

"Knowing Stanley he would've tried the bull out without the free beer," April laughed, "But it was still nice of you," she told the proprietor as she scooted over in the booth to make room for Eric.  "I'm off at noon on Friday," she reminded her husband, wrapping her arm around his.  "I'll grab a nap and then we should come cheer him on."  She looked across the table at her friend.  "You and Jake should come too."

"Yeah, but if you do, you know there's no way you're keeping Jake off that bull," Eric warned his brother's intended.

"Then you should definitely come," Jim informed Heather, not missing a beat.

"Jim, have you met Heather?" Eric asked, nodding at the young woman sitting opposite him.  "Heather Lisinski, Jake's fiancée," he continued, "Heather, this is Jim Bailey."

"Well, I don't think we've been officially introduced," Jim admitted, offering Heather his hand, "But I've seen you in here with Jake a few times, and heard about you from Mags.   You've certainly got her seal of approval," he informed her as they shook, "Along with Gail's and Johnston's and EJ's."

Even in the tavern's low light, Heather's soft blush was evident to them all.  "Well, you know it's only fair that the woman with four brothers is marrying the man with two mothers," April teased, grinning at her friend.  "Evens things up."

"Three," Heather returned, giggling.  "I haven't met her yet, but he says his boss Gretchen is like having a mom at work.  But back to the mechanical bull," she continued a few seconds later.  "Why should I care if Jake wants to ride it?  He was a junior rodeo champion," she reminded.

"In calf roping," her future brother-in-law countered, "So not the same thing.  Though he was getting into bronc riding - I mean, Gramps raises broncs - but Mom and Gram didn't like it, plus baseball and rodeo season are basically the same time around here," Eric explained.  "Jake didn't want to get thrown - break something - and miss out on pitching, so he only ever competed a coupl'a times.  And bull riding's a whole 'nother level.  No way they'd have ever let him on a live bull," he added, referring, presumably, to his mother and grandmother.  "But a mechanical bull's a lot safer," he declared, glancing up at Jim.  "Right?"

"Oh yeah," the older man assured.  "They're puttin' in a padded floor - real big, takes up two thirds of the back room, and we've got a separate insurance policy just for the bull.  Requires special training and certification of the operators," he informed them.  "So Chuck, Mary and me, we're all goin' through that tomorrow.  It's s'posed to be fun - safe and fun.  And for now, it's just gonna be Friday and Saturday nights, eight to midnight."

"Sounds fun," Heather proclaimed, echoing Jim's assertion.  "And, if Jake wants to come on Friday, then I will too.  Cheer him on, and Stanley, and you, too, Eric," she challenged, grinning at him.

Eric held up both hands in a sign of surrender.  "No way," he denied, shaking his head.  "You're not gettin' me up on that thing, sorry Jim.  I ride horses, not bulls, mechanical or otherwise," he insisted.  "But any time you want to put in a karaoke machine...."

"Karaoke?" Heather questioned, surprised.  "Really?  You're a karaoke fan," she chuckled.  "Wow.  My brothers are all major karaoke fiends."

"Well, sorry to say, Eric, but it's gonna be over my dead body that a karaoke machine ever gets into Bailey's," Jim informed him.  "So," he continued, clearing his throat, "Are you waitin' for Jake, or can I get you something to drink?"

"Dad, that's my job," Mary Bailey insisted, retying her apron as she hurried up the three steps to the upper ring of booths on the outside edge of the establishment.

Jim looked as if he couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused.  "So, I'm dismissed am I, Miss Mary?" he chortled.  "I've been stalling these folks for nearly five minutes, hoping their waitress would find a way to finish up her personal phone call," he sighed heavily and clearly for show.   "After all," Jim added, catching Eric's and then April's gaze, "She is the one waitress 'round here that I can't say anything to about having too many personal calls."

"It wasn't a personal call, Dad," Mary contradicted, "It was for school."

For Jim, this really did seem to make all the difference.  "Good enough," he returned, flashing his daughter a proud smile before turning it on their customers.  "Mary's in her last semester at Rogue River J.C.," he told them proudly, "Getting her AA in Business Administration, first one in the family to go to college."

"They call it community college now, Dad," she corrected, shaking her head at him. "And, it's just an AA, it's not like I'm gonna be a lawyer or a doctor," Mary reminded, pointing at Eric and April.  "Or a teacher," she added with a glance at Heather.

"It's still impressive," Heather argued, smiling encouragingly at the other woman.  "I mean, you work here full-time, right?  Plus, go to school full-time, at a school that's ninety miles away?"

"It really is," April agreed.  "I'm totally counting the days 'til I'm not making that drive back and forth.  That - that takes real dedication."

"Thanks," she acknowledged.

"What's the name of your business class this semester?" Jim prompted.  "Every time I hear it, it knocks my socks off, just to think my daughter's takin' that class."

"Advanced Topics in Small Business Management," Mary answered, almost reluctantly.  "That's what my friend Shauna was calling about, actually," she continued.  "You remember Shauna?" she said, glancing at her father.  "She came by once, with Austin, her little boy, you liked her," Mary reminded.  "Well, she's five and a half months pregnant, and this is the last class she needs to graduate.  But then yesterday her doctor said she had to go on bed rest, and the drop deadline was last Friday, so it's all a big mess.  She's freaking out, her fiancé's freaking out, and I'm just trying to do what I can to help her out."

Everyone looked to April then, all of them wondering what she might have to add, given the admittedly incomplete facts of the situation.  "Obviously I'm not privy to the details of her - Shauna's - case, but I'm sure her doctor wouldn't order three to four months of bed rest without a good reason," April offered.  "A very good reason," she amended quickly.  "Especially with another little one in the house, that's gonna be tough."

Mary nodded.  "Exactly.  Austin's not even three, and Tim - her fiancé - works for FedEx outta Wichita, so she really doesn't know what she's gonna do.  But she wants to finish the class," Mary declared, "She's been of the phone all day with the instructor and he's agreed that I can tape the lectures for her, and we'll be a group of two for the project, and, well, I've gotta do what I can to help her out, right?"

"It's very nice of you," April replied, smiling, "Really, above and beyond type stuff."

"Well, you know," Mary dismissed with a wave, "There but for the grace of God and all that," she chuckled.

Her father groaned.  "Mary Kathleen," he complained, shaking his head.  "There are some things you just shouldn't say in front of your poor, old dad, okay?"

"Sorry, Dad," she apologized, clearly fighting to suppress her grin. 

"And on that note," Jim announced, "I leave you in my daughter's capable hands.  Enjoy your dinner," he bid them, squeezing Mary's shoulder as he moved around her, "And have a wonderful evening."

"So, what can I get you to drink?" Mary inquired a few seconds later, her gaze sweeping across the three of them.  "Or are you waiting for Jake?"

"Jake's in Denver, so we'd be waiting 'til Friday if we waited for him," Heather explained with a soft sigh.  "So we won't.  But, I'm pretty sure that we'll be back on Friday night for the mechanical bull's debut performance."

"Cool," Mary smiled.  "I promised Stanley that he gets to go first, but Jake can be the solid second, show us all how it's supposed to be done," she declared, her eyes lighting with the growing prospect of her event coming together as she'd always envisioned it.  "What about you, Eric?" she challenged, grinning at him.  "You wanna be number three?"

"No way," he returned immediately.  "Nope.  Sorry." 

"Aw, c'mon, don't be such a stick in the mud," she complained.

"Not happening," Eric insisted, straightening in his seat and then pushing away from the table so that his back was plastered against the booth.

It was clear from his body language that he was a lost cause, so Mary turned her sights elsewhere.  "Okay, fine.  Well, how about you ladies?" she asked, looking back and forth between April and Heather.  "Why should the guys have all the fun?"

"I'm coming to cheer and to man the first aid kit if necessary," April replied, "But I'll take a pass on actual participation."

Mary groaned.  "Bite your tongue," she ordered, "About the first aid kit, I mean.  Dad would have a tizzy," she predicted.  "Besides, this is totally gonna work.  I did a study - my final project for my marketing class last semester - and people are looking for this sort of entertainment.  The closest venues to Jericho with mechanical bulls are Smitty's in New Bern - and that's a dive, absolutely disgusting - and then The Station House in Rogue River, and like you said," Mary reminded, pointing at April, "That's a really long drive.  We already pull in customers from Fielding, Sandy Mush, Cedar Run," she listed, "And some of the more discriminating citizens of New Bern.  Well, this -" Mary concluded, tilting her head toward the back room, "- will just be a bigger draw."

"So, what you're saying is that you got an A on your marketing project?" Eric teased, the tension draining out of his posture.

"A minus," Mary sighed, her nose wrinkling with the admission.  "The instructor said that I was overly optimistic in my estimation of my marketing campaign's start-up costs," she explained, "Which it turns out I kinda was.  But anyway," she continued, her gaze settling on Heather, "What about you?  You could totally do this.  You'd be good at it," Mary cajoled.

"Me?" Heather squeaked in surprise.  "No, sorry, not me," she added quickly, answering her own question.  "But I swear I have two very good reasons."

"Such as?" Mary prompted, crossing her arms in a display of expectant waiting.

"Okay, well - first - we're going wedding dress shopping on Saturday," she said in a rush of breath, including April in the 'we' with a quick glance.  "So I'd rather not be all stiff and sore for that, since I'm assuming no one actually buys the first wedding dress they try on.  Or, if they do, it's only after they've tried on twenty more," Heather reasoned with a shrug.  "And second, according to Jake, I'm a 'city girl' so I'm pretty sure I have no business trying to ride a mechanical bull," she declared, "Even though he did tell me I have a pretty nice seat."

The other three all tried valiantly to not react, but it was hard not to and they only lasted approximately five seconds.  First April tittered; then Eric snickered; finally Mary allowed a giggle to escape before pressing her fist against her mouth to prevent more. 

"I meant when we went horseback riding," Heather protested, burying her face in her hands.  "We went riding and I told Jake he needed to give me pointers because I'd only ever been on a horse at summer camp, and he did - he helped me saddle my horse, he picked the horse, heck, he had the horse," she babbled, slowly coming out from behind her fingers.   "And he showed me how to hold the reins right - because that I was definitely doing wrong - but he also said that I had a good seat - a natural seat - that I remembered how to sit on a horse the right way, even though I hadn't been riding since high school, probably, so I really am a city girl, and it's kinda amazing that I remem -"

"We knew that," April assured, interrupting her.  "And, I shouldn't have laughed and set you guys off," she added, frowning apologetically at Eric and Mary.  "I'm sorry.  I'm just - I'm just operating on waaaay too little sleep, and I'm sorry."

"And to be fair, this is my brother we're talking about," Eric chimed in then, coming to his wife's defense.  "Knowing him, I can pretty much guarantee he meant it in both senses of the word."

"Eric!" April hissed, socking him harmlessly on the shoulder.  "Not helping!"

Heather, though, started giggling.  "Well, I should hope so!" she gasped out.  "Because - because -"  She paused a moment, first exhaling and then inhaling deeply.  "Well, if there's one person in the world who should be ogling my backside, it's my future husband, right?"

"Right," Mary chuckled, "Hard to argue with that.  And, I will let you off the hook this time, in favor of successful wedding dress shopping," she informed Heather.  "But if Jake says you can ride a horse, then you can give my mechanical bull a try.  I mean, it has settings, so you can be a beginner and that's totally okay.  Think about it."

"Sure," Heather returned, though she didn't look at all convinced.  "I'll think about it."

"So really, what can I get you guys to drink?" Mary inquired, producing a notepad from her apron pocket.

"You know what?  I'm really craving a glass of cranberry juice," April announced, throwing Heather a significant look across the table. 

"Oh!  That does sound good," her friend chirped with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm.  "Uh, I'll take a glass of cranberry juice and uh, a cup of coffee."

If this seemed like an unusual combination for six o'clock in the evening, nothing in the waitress's tone betrayed this fact. "Cream?"

"Please."

"Okay, two cranberry juices, one cup of coffee," Mary repeated, turning toward Eric, her pen poised over her notepad to capture his order.

"And, can you bring me a bottle of mineral water, too?" April interjected before her husband could make his request.  "With lime."

"San Pellegrino, okay?" Mary asked, eliciting a nod from the other woman.  "You got it.  Eric?" she prompted.

"Why don't you just bring the large bottle of mineral water," he decided, "And two glasses."

"You can bring the big bottle," April informed Mary, "But, Eric - seriously - get what you want.  Like a beer," she suggested, resting her head against his shoulder.  "I'd totally get a glass of wine if it wouldn't put me right to sleep," she yawned softly, emphasizing her point.

"You sure?" he said, twisting so he could press a quick kiss to her hairline.  "I'm fine with the mineral water."

"I'm sure," she returned, lifting her head and then squeezing his arm.  "This, you don't have to be polite about, okay?  Get what you want."

"Gee, doc, you're so demanding," Eric complained, affecting a tone of mock annoyance as he cupped her chin so he could brush a chaste kiss across her lips.  "Fine," he declared a moment later, dropping his arm around his wife's shoulders as he turned his head so that he was facing their waitress.  "I'll take a Sam Adams," he ordered, glancing across the table at his future sister-in-law.  "You sure you don't want something else?"

"School night," Heather reminded with a shrug.  "And I really do have to grade that social studies test.  Besides, I love coffee."

"So that's two cranberry, one coffee, one large San Pellegrino plus lime, and one Sam Adams lager," Mary announced, collecting confirming nods from her three customers.  "I'll go round these up, then be back to get your dinner orders."

"Thanks, Mare," Eric acknowledged with a smile, although she was already turning away.

"Ee," she declared, stopping in her tracks, and looking back over her shoulder at him.  "Mar-Y," she stressed.  She turned back around, her hands on her hips, her expression flashing with exasperation.  "I'm not a horse, and I don't call you 'Er', and my name is Mary," she informed him.  "I just - I just prefer to be called Mary, that's all."

"Oh, oh - okay," Eric stuttered a long, awkward, ten seconds later.  "Sor - sorry, Mary."

"Thanks," she mumbled before turning on her heel and making a beeline for the bar.

"Whoa," he said, letting out his held breath once she was definitely out of earshot.  He glanced at April, making a face.

"Hey, don't give me that look," his wife told him, "I'm with Mary on this one, 'cause you ever start callin' me 'Ape', there's gonna be some retaliation in your future."

That's not necessarily a bad thing, doc," Eric returned, grinning at her.  He leaned in close enough to press a kiss to the side of her head, reminding, "I've enjoyed a number of your retaliations...."

April shook her head at him, clearly fighting a smile.  "Okay, Ricky, that's enough.  Time to behave," she declared a few seconds later.  She pointed at Heather, sitting across from them.  "We're embarrassing her.  Look," she commanded, "She's blushing!"

"I'm blushing?" Heather echoed, raising her hand to feel first one cheek and then the other.  "That's just left over from before," she decided, "Trust me.  You guys are fine.  You're cute and completely appropriate."

"You sure?" Eric asked as April snuggled into his side, finding his hand and lacing their fingers together. 

"Yes," she assured him, refraining from pointing out that she and Jake were just as bad - though probably worse.  "But I do have two things for you, Eric," she informed him.  "First, you may call me 'Heth' whenever you want.  All my brothers do," she chuckled. 

He smiled at that.  "Well, I am gonna be one of your brothers," Eric agreed, "So thanks, Heth."

"Well, it helps that as far as I know 'Heth' refers to nothing in the animal kingdom," she conceded, "But like I said, it's my family nickname.  And my second point," Heather continued, "Is that you and Jake are a lot more alike that you or he thinks."

Eric was clearly unconvinced.  "How do you figure?" he challenged.

"You like it when April 'retaliates', right?  Well, Jake likes -" She cut herself off then, frowning softly. "I should probably choose my wording a little better this time," Heather decided, prompting chuckles from both her companions.  "Okay, so, he told me about how, when you guys were little, your Aunt Bridget would make you kiss her when you got in trouble. And -"

"This is a story I've for sure never heard," April declared, pulling far enough out of Eric's embrace that she could shoot him an appraising look.  "Ricky, you got some 'splainin' to do," she teased.

He shook his head at her.  "Don't make it gross," he complained, rolling his eyes.  "She just figured out that making us give her a kiss on the cheek was actually worse punishment than a spanking. And this is when we were really little, and it was mostly Jake, anyway," he insisted.

"He said that," Heather admitted, flashing them both a small smile. 

"That's hilarious," April giggled, "And super smart.  You're gonna like Auntie Bridget," she told Heather, not for the first time.  "So what, you punished Jake by making him kiss you on the cheek?"

"Not exactly," she sighed, a small grin creeping onto her lips.  "There was just something he needed to make up to me, and when I said he owed me a kiss, he told me the story and then said kissing me - and it wasn't on the cheek - wasn't punishment."

"What was he making up for?" April asked, studying her friend closely.  "That's what I wanna know."

"It wasn't anything big," Heather hedged, "He insulted my skills as a cook.  Actually, that wasn't what bugged me, it was him implying that even given ten or twenty years, they probably weren't gonna improve, and that we should just go out to eat," she grumbled.

April snorted.  "Well he deserved a smack, so he's lucky that he got away with a smooch," she chuckled sympathetically.  "You should just tell him that he can always learn how to cook."

"Yeah, anyway.  Punishment and retaliation... those seem like two sides of the same coin to me," Heather declared.

"Now this sounds like an interesting conversation," Mary Bailey joked as she arrived at the booth, this time bearing a tray of drinks.  "Punishment and retaliation."

"Suffice to say, you don't need to worry about Eric calling you anything but 'Mary' from here on out," April informed the waitress, poking her husband in the side to emphasize her point.  "Right?"

Eric grabbed for her hand, and both giggling, they scuffled for a few seconds before he seemingly scored a victory, tucking her arm through his and then covering her hand with his free one so that she was prevented from tickling him.  "Right," he chuckled, "I try not to repeat my mistakes."

"Okay, so we can clearly see how retaliation works," Heather teased.

An impish gleam lit Eric's gaze then, and he twisted his head so that he could place a noisy kiss on April's cheek.  "And now - clearly - I've been punished."

Heather, April and Eric all laughed, though April protested this claim, grumbling, "I think I'm the one who got punished here," as she yanked her arm loose of Eric and made a show of wiping off her cheek.  "Bleh!"

"Sorry, inside joke," Eric apologized to Mary after she'd set his beer in front of him. 

"No problem," she dismissed, "Happens all the time around here.  So, are you ready to order, or do you need a minute?"

"Oh, I need a minute," April interjected immediately.  "I haven't even looked," she chuckled, quickly opening the menu.

"Heather?" Mary inquired.

"I think I'll go with the BLT," she answered after taking one last look at the menu.

"And fries, potato salad, coleslaw, or fruit cup?"

"Coleslaw," Heather decided.

"Got it," Mary acknowledged.  She glanced at April, who was still flipping between the back and inside pages of the menu as she tried to make up her mind.  "So, I've been meaning to ask you," she said, her attention returning to Heather, "How'd you like Father Reynaldo?"

"Oh, he's awesome," Heather smiled.  "I just wish he was a little less close to retirement age," she sighed.  "And, unfortunately, St. Elizabeth's sanctuary is a little too small for our wedding.  Well, it's probably a good thing," she decided, contradicting herself.  "We weren't gonna do a full mass anyway, since Jake's not Catholic.  So now we're getting married here in Jericho, at Main Street PC - somehow Jake's still considered a member there -"

"Gramps used to be clerk of session," Eric interjected, "And he's still in charge of maintaining the membership roll.  Jake's gonna be a member as long as Gramps is in charge.  Unless he joins somewhere else."

"Huh," Heather acknowledged, frowning thoughtfully.  "Well, that works in our favor, because there's some committee at the diocese that has to sign off on a dispensation for me to get married there, 'out of canonical form' they call it, but they'll do it since it's technically his home church, thank you Gramps."  She paused half a second to breathe and then launched right back in.  "Anyway, now everything is basically happening in Jericho at the church, The Pizza Garden, and The Jericho Grille.  Plus as a bonus I have some place that's only twenty, thirty minutes away to go to mass, unless the diocese up and closes the church, or something."

"Well, they've been threatening to do that for years," Mary warned, heaving a small sigh.  "And when they do, that's it for me.  I know I shouldn't say it, but I can't stand St. Matthew's," she complained, emitting a frustrated chuckle.  Heather nodded sympathetically.  She'd tried St. Matthew's once, but the congregation was definitely demographically skewed toward the AARP.  "St. Elizabeth's is the only reason I wasn't officially labelled lapsed years ago."  April had closed her menu and was waiting to order, so Mary smiled at her and said, "Okay, sorry 'bout that.  What can I get you?"

"I'm gonna have the Cobb salad," she requested, "Ranch dressing, but on the side and...."  April glanced sideways at her husband, "Split a basket of fries with me?"

"Sure," he agreed easily.

"And, I was trying to be good," Heather grumbled.  In the next second, she made a show of slapping her own hand, apologizing, "But I'm also horning in on your date, so I'm taking that back.  No complaining."

"Just have some of ours," April advised, "And then you're still being partly good."  She glanced at Mary.  "Make that a large basket."

"Got it," the waitress acknowledged.  "So, Eric, how about you?  And don't say 'the usual'," she instructed, "You don't have a Wednesday night usual."

April glanced at him sideways, shaking her head.  "You really do eat here all the time, don't you?" she chuckled.

"Not all the time," Eric protested.

"Lunch at least three times a week," Mary contradicted, "Dinner on Monday nights before the council meeting, and when he knows Walt's workin' the grill, he likes the fried egg sandwiches for breakfast," she cataloged before concluding, "And this is the third time I've seen him today."

"Breakfast, lunch and dinner, Eric?" April teased, rolling her eyes at him. 

"Coffee break slash site inspection," he corrected with a nod toward the back room, "Then lunch, now dinner."

"Still," she smiled, leaning toward him for a kiss he was more than happy to give her, "We're gonna hafta get your cholesterol checked.  It's just embarrassing when the doctor's hubby has a heart attack at thirty."

"Do whatcha hafta do, doc," he said, offering her a lopsided grin.  "But," he continued, turning toward Mary, "In that case, I'll take my Monday night usual."

"Which is?" April prompted, leaning around him to look at Mary.

The waitress snorted.  "Double bacon cheeseburger."

"Eric!"

"With onion rings," Mary added helpfully.

"Well, I can skip those tonight," he assured quickly, "Just do the fries."

Mary confirmed their order and then headed off to the kitchen to turn it in.  Eric wrapped his arm around his wife, who was still shaking her head at him.  "The crazy thing is, he'll pack a lunch for me, but then he eats out every day," April told Heather.

"Aw, that's so sweet," her future sister-in-law declared, grinning.  "Nice job, Eric.  I'm just hoping that maybe every other weekend, Jake will make me pancakes, using the secret Green family recipe."

"So you know what the secret is?" Eric inquired, one eyebrow raised in question.  "Or just that there is a secret?"

"I know about the orange juice, yes," Heather answered, grinning.  "Gramps told me.  And Jake says he'll make 'em, but he didn't really commit to a frequency," she sighed.

"Orange juice?" April questioned, "Wow. That really is the secret ingredient," she decided in the next instance, nodding to herself. "Huh!"

"That's it," her husband confirmed.  "A Green family tradition, passed down from father to son on camping and hunting trips, and, you know, Mother's Day."

"Your mom loved that, I'm sure," April said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.  "All her boys, bringing her breakfast in bed."

 "Yeah, she did," he acknowledged with a smile.  "And the reason I pack your lunch," Eric continued, "Is that you're usually at work for twenty-four hours - or more - and you said you got tired of cafeteria food all the time.  So the least I can do is make you a sandwich or whatever."

"Well, Heather's right, it's very sweet," April declared, patting his arm.  "And your PB and J really is the best.  Plus," she told Heather, "He always cuts up the apple, peels the orange, et cetera, et cetera."

"For that you get another 'aww'," the younger woman informed him.

"So Heth," Eric began, grinning at her, "How did The Pizza Garden end up as a venue for your wedding?  I get the church, and the reception's at The Grille, right?  But The Pizza Garden?"

"Rehearsal dinner," she chuckled.  "Jake's idea, and your mom didn't hate it.  Plus, Mags is thrilled, and this way we can invite all the out of towners - including who knows how many of my relatives - and maybe the bill doesn't give your dad a heart attack."

"That is so Jake," April laughed, "And it'll be fun.  Casual and fun."

"Mags does a really great pizza buffet, too," Eric told them.  "That's the other place I go for lunch."

"Please tell me you at least get the salad bar, too," April implored, smiling at him fondly.

"Of course," he nodded.

"It's also where we ended up for our first date, actually," Heather offered.  "Because The Jericho Grille had a kitchen fire.  So hopefully that doesn't happen again, or I guess Mags will have to close for a private party two days in a row."

"But you know she'd totally do it for you and Jake," April said.  "Not that that's gonna happen.  Though it reminds me," she continued, "Our double date was at The Jericho Grille, and we're overdue for the next one."

"True," Heather agreed.  "What with the holidays and getting engaged and going to Buffalo twice, it kinda fell off my radar," she confessed.

"Completely understandable," April dismissed, "But we should plan the next one.  This weekend's out of course -"

"Why not?  We're all comin' here on Friday," Eric reminded.

"Oh, Ricky," April groaned, "That does not count as a double date."

"Why?" he challenged.

"Because," Heather declared.

"Because we say so," April added.  "And because Friday's the mechanical bull grand opening, Saturday's Auntie Bridget and wedding dress shopping, and Sunday I work.  This weekend is definitely out."

"Definitely," Heather echoed.

"And the next two weekends I'm working more than I'm not, so -"

"Out."

"Which brings us up to Valentine's Day...." April sighed.  "Though if we wanna plan something for that weekend, it's better to do it now anyway."

"Valentine's is a Thursday actually," Heather offered, "And then that weekend is President's Day weekend. But, Jake and I are leaving right after school that Friday - he's coming home Thursday night, late, so we can.  We're driving to Lawrence so I can go to an information session for the Masters of Education program I'm interested in," she explained.  "And then after that, we're driving to Kansas City so we can get our wedding registry done.  We need to hit at least one national store so my relatives in Buffalo can calm down."

"They've got national stores in Wichita," Eric told her.  "And Amazon does wedding registries now.  We did an Amazon wedding registry," he added, glancing at his wife.

"We did," April agreed, "Because I had no time.  But Eric, it's a three day weekend."

"Yeah?  So?" he returned, evidently not understanding the significance.

"So," she began, catching his eye, "If they drive to Lawrence and then turn around and drive back to Wichita... well, they're not really taking advantage of the three day-ness of the weekend...."

Heather nodded, watching her future brother-in-law as he performed the same mental calculus that she - and then Jake - had done a week earlier.  It was three and a half hours to Lawrence, and another hour more to Kansas City; Wichita was a little over two hours - south and west - of Lawrence, and then it was three more from Wichita to Jericho.  Ultimately, the difference was only an hour to ninety minutes, and it was hard to justify - but not impossible.  If they went to Kansas City they could stay over another night, but if they went to Wichita then Gail and EJ might expect them to come home on Saturday night.  "Registering might take a while," Heather argued, "So I wanna make sure we have plenty of time." 

"Right," Eric said, clearing his throat.  "Got it.  Though you know, Heather, Jake doesn't really like shopping."

April snickered at that.  "And you do?" she asked her husband.  "Jake'll get over it," she continued, not bothering to wait for Eric's answer.  "And if he gets really fidgety," she advised, "Just take a break in the lingerie department.  He'll be fine."

"Probably," Heather agreed, giggling, a rosy blush suffusing her cheeks.

"Okay, so President's weekend is officially out," April decided.  "How about the weekend after?"

"Also out," Heather frowned over her coffee cup.  "That's the weekend of our pre-Cana retreat.  Or, as Jake calls it, Catholic marriage camp."

"Huh?  Pre-Cana?" Eric repeated.

"It's from the Bible.  Jesus' first miracle is at the wedding in Cana, he turns water into wine," she explained.  "It's required Catholic pre-marital instruction.  It's just what they call it."

"Like when we met with Reverend Young," April added, leaning against Eric.  "I really liked those sessions, I just wish I'd been a little less busy with everything else."

"Actually, we hafta meet with Reverend Young, too," Heather told them, "So it's good to hear that you thought it was valuable.  I've been reading some of the Catholic and the Presbyterian materials, and it all seems like good stuff to spark discussion, not that we haven't talked about some of it already.  Like family traditions. I was already aware that you Greens open your Christmas presents on Christmas Eve," she complained jokingly, "Instead of Christmas morning, like normal people."

April chuckled.  "I know!  Complete blasphemy, right?"

"Yes," Heather grumbled.  "I told Jake that it totally messes with getting a present from Santa, and then he regretted to inform me that Santa Claus isn't real," she snorted, rolling her eyes.

"That's exactly what I said," April said, nodding emphatically.  "Kids should get to believe in Santa, at least when they're little," she insisted, poking her husband in the side.  "Why would you want to take that from a little kid?  Especially your own little kid?"

"I don't wanna take that away from any kid," Eric defended himself - and his family.  "But you can still open all your other presents on Christmas Eve, and be excited for your Santa present in the morning.  It actually makes that one present on Christmas morning extra special," he argued.

Heather didn't look convinced, but she did admit, "Yeah, that's pretty much what Jake said.  That, and that if I wanted to wait 'til Christmas morning to open my presents he wasn't gonna force me to open them earlier."

"Well, that's nice of him," April groaned, shaking her head.  "But I think you're right, it's good to talk about all of these things ahead of time.  I really wasn't sure about getting married," she confessed, "Child of divorce and all, but..." she glanced sideways at her husband, offering him a soft smile.  "... I was convinced.  Eventually."  She settled back into the arm Eric wrapped around her shoulders, concluding, "And the pre-marital counseling sessions, the time just to talk to one another, that all really helped remind me why - why it was all okay.  That it was all gonna be okay."

"Just okay?" Eric inquired, one eyebrow raised in consternation.  "Try great."

"Fine. That it was gonna be great," she amended, giving him a chaste kiss.  "Was, is, and shall be great."

"I'm actually looking forward to it," Heather said.  "Both sides, sets, whatever. Though it looks like some parts will be kinda repetitive - the two workbooks have a lot of the same chapter headings."

"That makes sense to me," April argued, "I mean, relationship skills hopefully aren't specific to your religious denomination."

"Right," Heather conceded, allowing a smile.  "But that's one reason why we're doing the retreat for the Catholic side of things.  At least we can get that all done in one weekend."

"That's still pretty unbelievable," Eric interjected.  "To me, anyway.  My brother - Jake Green - willingly participating in double pre-marital religious counseling.  Wow," he chuckled before declaring, "Heather, he must really, really love you."

"We have to do both," Heather returned, exasperation lending an edge to her tone.  She really didn't want to get into all of this with Eric again, but she also couldn't seem to keep herself from trying to explain the situation to him one more time.  "I have - we have - to do the pre-Cana retreat, or a class, or - or something, so I can get the necessary dispensations -"

"Yeah, Okay," Eric interrupted, "I get that part.  But what I'm saying is that's way more church than Jake's done since Mom and Dad stopped making him go back in high school.  He'd go on Christmas and Easter sometimes, but other than -"

"It's - it's not like Jake's an atheist, Eric," Heather snapped.  "I - I couldn't marry an atheist, no matter how much I loved him, but Jake's not," she insisted.  "He's not even agnostic - he believes in God - he's just not that big on church and that's - that's absolutely fine with me," she finished, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.

"Whoa, Heather, calm down," Eric grumbled, holding his hands up in a show of surrender.    He glanced at his wife, but all she did was frown at him in return.  "That's what I was trying to say, okay?" he protested, returning his attention to his future sister-in-law.  "I mean, he believes in God.  Sure, not arguing that.  But I also know that he wouldn't be doing all this church stuff if he didn't love you, okay?  A lot," he declared.  "And, I'm not exactly used to seeing my brother put anyone else first, but it's nice."

"And, we're very glad it's you," April added for her husband, smacking him lightly on the arm.  "Right, Eric?"

"Definitely," he agreed.  "I'm glad you're marrying my brother.  Really glad.  Jake's a lucky guy.  Just not quite as lucky as me," he claimed, winking at April.

"Nice save," his wife grinned in return.

"Yeah, and thanks," Heather sighed.  "And, I'm sorry for jumping down your throat -"

"It's okay, I probably deserved it.  Friends?" he asked, offering her his hand over the table.

He had made the same overture on Thanksgiving after she'd caused him to sprain his ankle and had nearly broken his nose.  It had been a generous offer then, and it still was now.  Heather accepted his hand, shaking it.  "Friends," she agreed, flashing him a wry grin.  "And, well, just so you know, Jake is doing one thing that's sorta church related, and it has absolutely nothing to do with me."

Twin skeptical smiles appeared on both Eric's and April's faces.  "I can't even begin to imagine what that could be," April laughed.

"He's joining the church softball team this spring," Heather declared.

Eric looked truly surprised by this news.  "Are you serious?"

She nodded.  "When we went to the church with your mom to see if we could have our wedding there, Reverend Young and Jake got to talking, and Reverend Young asked if he'd like to join the team.  Apparently he doesn't mind always losing to the team from the mine, or the team from town hall -" She pointed at Eric, though he didn't actually need the reminder that he played shortstop for the Town of Jericho Juggernauts.  "- But always losing to the Baptists is really starting to bug him."

"Great," Eric snorted.  "I can't hit off Jake," he admitted, "Not since we were kids.  Dad can't hit off him.  So I'm pretty sure Connie Gireaux can't either," he said, naming the town's treasurer and left fielder.

"But it's underhand pitch, right?" April asked, touching Eric's arm to get his attention.  "Probably not Jake's forte," she suggested, offering her husband a sympathetic smile. 

"Yeah, but that's still how the Batty Baptists win all the time," Eric complained.  "They've got Martin Brooks, and he doesn't throw balls - strikes only - and Jake can probably still do that, even if he has to do it underhand."

"The Batty Baptists?" Heather asked, "Really?"

"The Batty Baptists, the Jericho Juggernauts, the Main Street PC Sluggers," Eric listed.  "And, S & A Mining actually has three teams - the Salty Dogs, the Salt Kings, and Mine All Mine."

"Oh man," Heather giggled, "I'm gonna be cheering for the Sluggers of course, but I'm gonna be so tempted to cheer for Mine All Mine, just for the name."

"And there we have it - the real reason Jake's playing spring softball," April declared.  "I mean, Jake's a pretty good pitcher and all," she told Heather, "But this is just a co-ed rec league.  No offense," she added with a quick glance at Eric.

"Oh yeah, none taken," he grunted.

"I just think it's a bit of stretch to say that Jake's softball interest is 'church related', but it's also pretty easy to then determine where said interest came from," April opined.  "Because - let's face it - he's not above taking the opportunity to show off for you."

Heather looked surprised - though not unpleased - by her friend and future sister-in-law's hypothesis.  "Well, he could just want to play," she countered, her cheeks flushing.  "You know, get outdoors and get some exercise."

"It could be that," April agreed genially, "Or it really could be all about you."

"That's what I like about you, Heather," Eric decided suddenly.  "You always see the good in everyone, try to see them in the best light possible."

"Not everyone," she returned, making a face.  Heather looked around the tavern quickly and then leaned in over the table.  "Not Karen Harper," she whispered, "Because her best light is like the inside of a tomb."

"Try the center of a black hole," Eric suggested, his frown reminding Heather that he and Jake had both mistreated - abused - by their babysitter.  "So she doesn't count."

Mary Bailey appeared then, bearing a tray with their food.  "Okay, folks," she told them, setting up a stand with one hand and placing the tray on top of it, "I'm sorry this took so long."

"'S'okay," Eric dismissed with a wave.  "We didn't even notice, we were having too good of a conversation."

"We are now taking a survey, however," April announced as Mary placed her salad in front of her.  "And you are our first participant."

"Okay..." Mary chuckled, depositing Heather's sandwich on the table.  "What's the first question?"

"Only one question," April assured.  "So, Jake Green joins the church softball team.  Is the reason for his joining (A) a religious conversion; (B) a chance for fresh air and exercise -"

"Or (C) an attempt to impress his future wife?" Eric threw in, grinning.

"Exactly, thank you," April nodded, returning her husband's smile.

"Or - I get to do one, too," Heather insisted, "It's only fair - or (D) all of the above?"

"Jake's joining the church softball team?" Mary asked as she placed a basket of fries - the last item of their order - in the center of the table.  "Wow.  Don't tell my dad, he's trying to get the Main Street Merchants Mickey Mantles going again this year - you know it's always hard to get enough women, but Colleen says she's playing, so...."

"The Mickey Mantles?  Do all the teams have better names than the Sluggers?"

"Stop trying to change the subject," April ordered, pointing a fry at Heather.  "So Mary, A, B or C?"

"Or D," Heather reminded.

"Okaaaay," Mary stalled while she finished collapsing the stand she'd been using.  "So, religious conversion, exercise -"

"And, fresh air," Heather mumbled.

"Fresh air and exercise," Mary amended gamely, "Impressing you, or all of the above, right?"

"Correct," Eric confirmed, reaching for his burger. 

"Well, A seems unlikely," Mary reasoned, holding her tray over her chest, "Which eliminates D.  I think I hafta go with C.  Good news for you," she said, smiling at Heather, who groaned softly and slumped in her seat.  "Enjoy your dinner, and I'll be back to check on you in a bit," Mary promised.

* * * * *

"Oh, just let us get this one," April instructed her friend, fighting a chuckle.  Heather and Eric were in the middle of a literal tug-of-war over the bill for their meal, and it was getting a little ridiculous.  "We invited you," she reminded, "Paying was implied."

"Seriously, Heather," Eric argued, trying to pull the tray out of her hand, "Dinner's on me.  Gramps would probably disown me if I didn't pick up the tab."

"You really don't have to do that," Heather countered, yanking the tray - and nearly sending the three star mints that were sitting on top of the check flying - away from her future brother-in-law.  "I only want to pay my -"

The trill of her cell phone distracted her, and she reached for it with her free hand.  That was enough to give Eric the upper hand, so to speak, winning him physical custody of the bill.  "Don't answer that," he ordered, holding out his hand in a silent demand for the phone.  "Take Me Out To The Ballgame?  That's Jake.  And you did say that I could tell him."

"I don't think I actually said that," Heather frowned, though two seconds later she handed over her cell, informing him, "But now I'm not gonna argue about who pays."

"Good," Eric said, flipping her phone open.  "Hey, Jake."

"Eric?"  His brother sounded surprised and - interestingly - more worried than suspicious.  "Why're you answering Heather's phone?" he demanded.  "Is she okay?"

"She's fine.  And at this moment, well-fed.  I pulled a Gramps, and took not only my wife but yours - future anyway - to dinner," Eric explained cheerfully.  "And now, having told you that, she's no longer gonna argue about the bill."

"No I'm not!" Heather announced loudly enough for her fiancé to hear.

"Well, just so you know, you're gonna need to tip really big if you want to impress her," Jake drawled.  He waited a beat before requesting, "So can I talk to her?"

"Sure," his brother agreed, tossing Heather a mint before handing her the cell. 

"I hope you got dessert," Jake teased as soon as he heard her breathy 'Hi, you'.  "And, hey, babe."

"Hey," she repeated, "And no, I did not.  We're at Bailey's."

"Didja get the steak at least?"

"Sorry, a BLT," she reported, giggling softly.  "But it was really good.  And we've had a nice talk, and - oh, hey - the Bailey's mechanical bull is debuting on Friday night.  Stanley's going to be the first rider, and Mary says you can be second if you want," Heather explained, fiddling absently with her candy.  "And if you don't, we should still come cheer Stanley on."

"I'll do it, could be fun," Jake decided immediately.  "So, you gonna cheer for me?" he inquired huskily.

"But of course!" she returned.  "And I'll cheer just a little bit louder for you than for Stanley, how's that?  Not like a lot," Heather cautioned, "Because he's still my friend, but you're my -"

"Your man?" he guessed, his tone sending a delicious tingle up her spine.  "Your lover?  A complete stud?"

Heather felt her cheeks flood with warmth, eliciting a knowing smirk and a raised eyebrow from April on the other side of the table.  "All of those things and more," she told him, "Though what I was gonna say was 'my fiancé, whom I love more than anyone'."

"I'll take that.  So, you're blushing now, aren't you?" Jake asked, his tone sympathetic.  "I'm sorry."

"Oh, yeah," she sighed, "But that's okay.  It's pretty much par for the course," she chuckled.

"Still, I don't wanna embarrass you, okay?" he told her, equal parts concern and affection coloring his tone. 

"You don't.  Actually I do that pretty well all by myself," she said with a giggle that quickly gave way to a sigh.  "I'll explain later."

"'Kay.  And tell Mary I'll go second.  And then if I totally embarrass myself, you'll just hafta comfort me somehow."

Heather could hear the smile in his voice - and feel the widening of her own.  "That's not gonna happen, but I will make sure to think something up anyway," she promised.

"Oh, it could happen," he contradicted, chuckling.  "It's been awhile since I did anything rodeo related."

"Well, Mary says the bull is preprogrammed with different levels, beginner to expert," Heather explained to her fiancé just as the waitress stopped back by their booth to make sure everything was all right and to handle the settling of their bill.  "Right?" Heather asked, glancing at the other woman.  "It's Jake, he says he'll go after Stanley."

"Great!" Mary declared, "And it does have different settings.  Thanks," she added when Eric handed her the bill and more than enough cash to cover their dinner.  "You need change?"

"Nope.  Jake told me to tip well," Eric explained, rolling his eyes at Heather. 

"Yeah, but it kinda ruins the effect when you tell your waitress you're giving her a big tip," April warned, squeezing his arm.

Heather glanced at the tray in Mary's hand, made an educated guess as to what Eric had given her - she already knew the total - and made the bold declaration, "Jake's would be bigger."

"Whoa, babe," her fiancé chuckled, "Do I wanna know?"

Once again, she'd stunned her three companions into silence, at least for a few seconds, before April and Mary gave into snickers.  "How - how come you're not like beet red?" Eric demanded.

"Eric's tip was like thirty, maybe thirty two percent, and he said that you told him to tip well," Heather explained calmly into her cell phone, ignoring her future brother-in-law.  "I'm just pointing out that your tip would be bigger."

"A mildly suggestive reference to her behind and I'm reviewing the steps for CPR in my head because she looks like she's gonna pass out," Eric complained to April, "But she says that and she's as cool as a cucumber."

"I'm starting to think that as long as she plans to say something - even if it's just for a few seconds before she says it - well, she can control the blushing," April told him, yawning softly.  "It's the things that come out her mouth without really passing through her brain that cause the blushing.  Just my theory," she sighed, "And if it comes down to it, remember I can always talk you through CPR."

"Right," he acknowledged, pressing a kiss to her forehead.  "Okay, doc, time to get you home and to bed," Eric declared.

April nodded.  "But after we walk Heather to her car," she informed him, kissing him quickly, "Even if it is just Jericho."

"Oh yeah," Eric agreed, "Gramps would disown me for that, too."

"Jake, hon, I've gotta go," Heather told her fiancé.  "But call me back in, like, fifteen minutes?" she requested, "Because I do have something I need to talk to you about, and it's not even wedding related."

"I'll call you back," Jake promised, "And we can talk wedding, too, if you want.  Love you."

A smile bloomed on Heather's face.  "I love you, too," she declared before thumbing off her phone.

Eric caught his future sister-in-law's eye, smirking.  "Yeah, I'm sure that social studies test is gonna get graded tonight," he teased.

"Thanks again," Mary said, saluting Eric with the bill as he helped April out of the booth.  "Have a good evening, and I will see you all on Friday."

"But you'll see him tomorrow," April joked, wrapping an arm around her husband's waist. 

"Undoubtedly," Mary agreed, chuckling.  "Walt's working breakfast after all."

"Good to know," Eric acknowledged brightly, handing Heather her coat.  "Ready, ladies?" he asked, holding April's open for her.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday January 22, four months after the bombs

"You've got one of the only salt mines around for four hundred miles," Constantino reminded.  "And a year without salt... New Bern will be a ghost town."

Gray relaxed visibly.  The mine and salt, those were the mayor's true comfort zone, his natural fit, much more so than town politics where he had to listen to and consider everyone else's arguments, where votes had to be taken, and where his word was not actually law - or at the very least official company policy, in the best interest of every employee to obey.  But the citizens of Jericho were exactly that; citizens, not employees, and at least for now, Jericho still operated under its charter first established in 1887, a fact that Gray had - slowly - come to terms with.

Actually, it was this fact that had delayed the negotiations with New Bern for a half hour.  Gray had wanted to commence immediately, and had been surprised when Johnston had argued that they needed to wait until they had at least token representation from the town council.  Besides - as Johnston had explained later, pulling Gray to the side - nothing they decided today, whether it was right away or an hour later, was likely to change anything for April and the baby.  As much as he hated it, their fates were in God's - and Kenchy Dhuwalia's - hands.  However, Johnston had contended, involving the council from the get go would save him - save both of them - some headache down the road.

In his preoccupation with what was happening inside the medical center, Johnston hadn't realized that Stanley Richmond was outside the facility, assisting with the efforts to raise the wind turbine.  Stanley was now the officially elected Jericho Farmer's Alliance delegate to the town council, a position that Johnston, Ron Mortimer and Norm Trotter had all advocated for adding to the council.  That Stanley had been elected - and that he'd run unopposed - to represent the new farmers' union had been a relief to Gray and to Johnston, if only because it had meant that they didn't need to bring one more person - one more family - into their 'X factor' confidence/conspiracy. 

And, Stanley had thrown himself into his new duties with a vengeance.  Hardly a day went by that he didn't make an appearance in town hall, on top of taking regular shifts with the border patrol, and making rounds to all the farm properties that ringed Jericho, keeping in contact with his constituents.  Apparently he'd arrived at town hall just after Johnston had departed - first to bang on Mary Bailey's door, and then to check in with Harriett Crenshaw - and in plenty of time to catch a ride over to the medical center with Constantino and Gray.   

Stanley had immediately volunteered to go fetch Carolyn Doyle, who represented the third ward in town and lived nine blocks from the medical center on Cherry Street.  Eight years earlier, Carolyn had been Bonnie's Brownie troop leader and - though he was loathe to admit it - she'd been Stanley's piano teacher twelve years before that.  This had left Johnston with the easier assignment of crossing the alley between Park and Cornish Streets in order to get Norm Trotter, the councilman for the second ward.  (Ron Mortimer, who represented the fifth ward and lived at least a half hour's walk from the medical center had come down with pneumonia the week before and therefore wasn't available to join them, no matter how much Johnston trusted his counsel.)  Johnston and Norm had arrived back at the medical center twenty minutes before Carolyn and Stanley, leaving them plenty of time to stand around awkwardly with Gray and Constantino. 

"Should just be a few more minutes," Johnston had assured his old friend at one point.

"It's fine," Constantino had assured, his lip twitching softly.  "I always enjoy watching democracy in action."

"So," Gray inquired, once everyone was assembled.  "What're we talkin' about?" he asked, glancing sideways at New Bern's sheriff and mayor.  "Couple hundred pounds?"

Constantino looked simultaneously annoyed and amused.  "For the first one, maybe," he informed them, glancing quickly over at the wind turbine that stood in the middle of the flower bed, tantalizing, almost ready to go. "But you want more," he reminded, "So no, we're gonna need a lot more than -"

"Wait a minute," Gray interjected, frowning.  "I think we're entitled to the 'friends and family' discount here, Phil.  It was our idea, our designs.  Your people came here and consulted with my team -"

"Drawings on the page aren't what's gonna power your clinic," Constantino countered.  "New Bern built that," he reminded, pointing at the wind turbine, "When Jericho couldn't, when all you had were a couple of technical drawings done by a third grade teacher."  He glanced at Johnston, his tone lightening for a moment as he added, "Beautifully drawn, you be sure to tell Heather that.  But still... we're the ones who made it happen." 

He paused a moment, his tone softening somewhat as he explained, "We came to you first, you know.  Maybe that's not 'friends and family' enough for you, Mr. Mayor, but we could've gone elsewhere," Constantino argued, his gaze locking with Gray's.  "There isn't a town for a hundred miles in any direction that wouldn't be willing to pay fairly for one of our turbines.  Fielding's still got more'n two thousand, and Rogue Ranch," Constantino continued, mentioning an exclusive enclave that was barely inside Rogue River's northeastern border, "Just closed up their gates and put a man with a rifle every fifty feet when FEMA showed up to evacuate them.  Well, they're still there, six, seven hundred of 'em," he declared.  "Hell, Russell," Constantino added, pointing at the other man, "Claims there's even a hundred still in Cedar Run though I don't think Cedar Run had a hundred people to begin with," he joked.

Cedar Run had one hundred six people, Johnston knew - or they had had anyway, as of December twenty ninth.  Chatting with Clyde Davis as they'd packed their Bass Lake haul into ice chests, Johnston had floated the idea of going home to Jericho by Cedar Run Road.  The fish had practically jumped out of the lake for them and they were at least ninety minutes ahead of schedule as a result.  Cedar Run wasn't that far out of the way, he'd reasoned.  Besides, he'd confided quietly, he and Gail had a nephew who lived in Cedar Run, and he'd like to see if Kevin was still there, and how he and his family were faring.

"I'm a newsman, Johnston," Clyde had reminded.  "I'm willin' to spend a gallon or two of gas to see if we can't get some news."  They had driven out to Bass Lake in two cars, but unlike Clyde, Martin Brooks hadn't been interested in using any more fuel than was necessary to get home, and so the party had split up, Martin taking his four men and half their catch home via the more direct route - Bass Lake Road to Highway 40 - while Clyde Davis, his sons, Drake and Johnston had detoured to the south through Cedar Run.

Calling Cedar Run a town had always been overly generous, even before the bombs.  In reality, it was a two and a half block long speed trap - the speed limit dropped from fifty to thirty five for the small stretch that was the unincorporated hamlet of Cedar Run - notorious as one of the main revenue generators for the Fillmore County Sheriff's Department.  Those two and a half blocks consisted of a gas station, a grocery store, a hardware store, a bakery and coffee shop - famous throughout the county for its scrumptious apple fritters that were as big as a man's head - and a Baptist church.  At the northwestern end of this business district there was a rundown putt-putt golf course, and across the road from that was a cluster of eight or nine houses.  There was a tiny, three classroom elementary school too, one that was hard to find unless you knew it was there, off of Cedar Run Road at the end of Second Avenue.  Kevin, his wife Janine, and their two kids lived on Second Avenue as well, on a five acre ranchette about a half mile west of the school.  Before the bombs, Janine had taught kindergarten through second grade at the school - a feat that had always left Heather in awe of the other woman - while Kevin had commuted to Rogue River each day where he had been a manager at an insurance claims processing center. 

There had been no sign of life as they had driven down Cedar Run Road, past the Cuppa Joe Cafe and Murray's Market, not a wisp of smoke rising from a chimney, not a movement of a curtain to betray the presence of a person inside any of the structures.  For sure the town was empty, Johnston had told himself, his stomach clenching, everyone likely sent to a FEMA Camp.  But still he'd directed Clyde to turn onto Second Avenue, and then two minutes later into the O'Briens' gravel driveway.  "One quick honk, okay?" Johnston had instructed, popping the lock on the passenger side door.  "If Kevin or Janine are in there - even the kids -" he'd said, not wanting to think about what it would mean - what he'd have to do - if Alexander and Zoey were there alone.  "-If they're there, and they see me, they'll come out."  With that, he'd exited the car, taking his rifle with him, to stand, exposed, out in the open on the driveway.

"Uncle Jay!" It had been an excruciating thirty or forty seconds - an eternity - before Johnston had heard the front door squeak open and Kevin call his name. 

"Kevin!  Kevin, son, are you okay?  Are y'all okay?"  It had seemed like a stupid question as soon as the words had left his mouth.  His nephew was alive, and healthy enough to come to the door - wasn't that answer enough?

"We're good, we're all here," Kevin had answered, opening the door wide enough that he'd been able to stick his head out.  "You can - you should - come in."

"I've got friends in the car," Johnston had told him then, "From Jericho, friends," he'd repeated.

"They can come in too," Kevin had called back.

Johnston had signaled Clyde and he and the three young men - Clyde's two sons, Brett and Zack, along with Drake - had quickly piled out of the '76 Oldsmobile they'd driven out to the lake.  Clyde had sent the other three on ahead, staying behind only long enough to lock the vehicle before making his way as quickly as he'd been able to manage into the house.

"Uncle Jay, it's good - great - amazin' to see you," Kevin had declared admitting them through the storm door and onto the sun porch at the front of the house. 

"You're a rather welcome sight yourself," Johnston had told him, grinning. "Uh, this is Clyde Davis and his boys, Brett and Zack," he'd introduced, "And this is Drake -"

The inner door had opened and Johnston had received one of the bigger shocks of his life (though twins was still and always would be the biggest) when Stuart O'Brien and then Donald O'Brien, Gail's oldest and youngest brothers had stepped out of the house.  "Johnston Green," Stuart had declared almost giddily, "Where - how the hell did you get here?"

"I could say the same to you, Stu," Johnston had chuckled, clapping his brother-in-law on the back.  "Is everybody here?" he'd asked, relief swelling up in him at the idea.  Stuart was Kevin's father, but it wasn't as if he and Donald - there was twelve or thirteen years between the oldest and youngest of the O'Brien siblings - had ever been particularly close.  "Bridget and Wayne?" he'd suggested.  Like Stuart and Donald, Gail's sister and her husband lived in Rogue River.  "Eddie and Linda?"

Kevin and Janine, they had quickly explained, had taken in twelve relatives in the weeks following the bombs, their household swelling to sixteen.  First, they had gone to Fielding three days after everything had happened to get Janine's Uncle Bob from his assisted living facility.  Bob Morgenstern and his wife had taken their niece in when, at sixteen, she'd lost her mother - Bob's much younger sister - to cancer, and there had been no way Janine was going to leave him in that facility with the power out and no news and who knew what was happening out in the world.  The facility's director had been more than happy to have one of her client's taken off her hands, and had even asked if they'd been willing to take Bob's friend Charlie, too.  But Bob had nixed the idea, arguing even as he'd helped Kevin load his belongings in the back of the O'Brien's SUV that they should just leave him there, that they needed their resources for the children, not some eighty six year old man.

The others had arrived a month later, exhausted and scared, having escaped Rogue River less than a day ahead of the city's evacuation.  Stuart and his wife, Dorothy; their daughter Kendra - Kevin's younger sister - and her husband, Brian along with their two boys, Hunter and Caleb; Donald and his wife Sharon; Bridget, Lorrie, and Marissa.

"Lorrie's here?"  Johnston had demanded.  He knew you weren't supposed to have a favorite child - and Johnston didn't, no matter his sons' opinions on the matter - but no one had ever said you couldn't have a favorite niece, and Lorrie - born on his thirty fifth birthday and his goddaughter - was his.  "With the baby?"

"With Marissa," Kevin had confirmed, naming his cousin's three year old daughter.  "Weijin had to go to DC to teach some boot camp class - a network engineer's boot camp, she said.  So Lorrie came up to spend the week with her parents."

Johnston had nodded, his brain whirring as he'd worked to assimilate this new information.  Lorrie Gallagher and Weijin Zhu had been college sweethearts - college sweethearts who had found themselves with a baby on the way during their last semester.  While her parents - devout Catholics, both - had been relieved that Lorrie never considered abortion, they hadn't always supported the couple's decision to marry.  Weijn had been in the United States on a student visa, had already been accepted into a graduate program at Carnegie-Mellon, and they hadn't been together that long.  The baby should be given up for adoption, Bridget and Wayne had argued, and in a year, everything could be put behind them. 

However, Lorrie and Weijin had remained committed to one another, readily complying with all the conditions Bridget and Wayne had imposed upon them. Lorrie had moved back to her parents' home after graduation, and Weijin had given up his graduate school slot, instead taking a job as an IT trainer at a company partially owned by his college roommate's father.  He'd made the four hour roundtrip between Wichita and Rogue River every weekend and every weekday night he could manage for six months, all for the chance to sit - sometimes for just an hour - on the living room couch with Lorrie and her parents, or - if he were staying the night - to sleep in the extra twin bed in her brother's room.  In the end, Weijin had won Bridget and Wayne over, and the young couple had wed the first Saturday in November, welcoming their daughter to the world three weeks later on the day after Thanksgiving. 

"But where's Wayne?" Johnston had asked, a sense of dread building within him.  Wayne was a devoted husband, father and grandfather.  "How -"

"He was killed back in Rogue River," Stuart had said, his lip trembling as he'd imparted this news.  "He didn't think we should stay, even before those military types showed up -"

"Ravenwood," Donald had supplied, "That's the company name.  They locked down the town, said we were all gonna be evacuated in forty eight hours to a FEMA camp down toward Wichita."  Frowning, he'd shaken his head.  "Wayne... he just went to talk to 'em and they shot him."

"Oh Lord," Johnston had murmured, though whether it was in prayer or as a curse, he couldn't have said.

"We were all ready to go," Stuart had said, picking the story back up.  "Doro and I were comin' here with Kendra and Brian and the boys, plus we were tryin' to get Eddie and Linda to come with us but they wouldn't leave without Anthony, and Anthony wouldn't leave without Corey, and Corey's mom wasn't lettin' him take off with her kid, not that I blame her."

The story had spilled out of Gail's brothers in convoluted pieces that Johnston hadn't fully been able to make sense of until he'd gone over them all with his wife later that night.  Wayne had wanted to get Bridget, Lorrie and Marissa out of Rogue River early on, and he'd intended to head for Jericho, for the Greens.  Bridget and Wayne had talked to Donald first; he and Wayne had been Army buddies - that was how Bridget and Wayne had met - and becoming brothers-in-law had only deepened their friendship.  Donald's only hesitation had been about his children.  Michael - the only child from his first marriage -lived in Lincoln with his wife and two kids, and called his father maybe four times a year for ten or fifteen minutes of very stilted conversation, but Scott and Alicia - twenty five and twenty three - were both close with their parents, and Donald and Sharon hadn't wanted to leave Rogue River when that was the place - the home - their kids would come back to.

Bridget and Wayne had understood this impulse.  It had only been by luck that Lorrie had brought Marissa up from Wichita for the week, seeking some adult interaction as her husband's travel schedule always picked up once Labor Day had passed.  But the Gallaghers had three other children - Cassie, an RN in St. Louis; David, who'd moved to Los Angeles over the summer; and Tara, a junior at Notre Dame on a basketball scholarship - who they had worried for, too.  Still, Rogue River had been growing more dangerous by the day, food more scarce.  Getting out of the city, into a better situation, Wayne had argued, was the best bet for all of them.

Stuart and Dorothy had seen the wisdom in his argument, as had Kendra - the older of their two daughters - and her husband, Brian, who had lived a short two blocks from the house she'd grown up in.  Brian's only other family in Rogue River had been his stepmother, with whom he was not close, and so although he felt a little guilty, he'd agreed to not tell her about their plan to strike out for Kevin's place in Cedar Run.  With Kendra's and Brian's two boys, that had brought their party up to six, small enough of a group that they had felt they could show up on his doorstep unannounced.

But Wayne, despite his desire to get his family to safety, had insisted on taking one more try at convincing Eddie and Linda that they needed to leave Rogue River.  However, they had remained adamant that they wouldn't leave without Anthony, whom they'd always treated as a golden boy, though none of the rest of the family - his siblings especially - could see it. They had remained unpersuaded, and the attempt to talk some sense into them had cost the rest of the family two precious days, and Wayne his life.

"With Eddie and Linda saying they weren't coming, that meant six for Jericho, six for Cedar Run," Donald had explained.  "We knew it'd be a burden, but we'd hoped, only six in each place, we could be absorbed in," he'd continued, as Kevin had led them into the house.

"We'd've found a way," Johnston had confirmed.  "Our place is a might crowded -"

"Uncle Jay!" 

Lorrie's exclamation had derailed his explanation, but Johnston had hardly minded.  "Lorrie, darlin'," he'd smiled, striding across the great room to envelope his niece and great-niece in a hug.  They had been snuggled together under a sleeping bag, sitting on one end of a couch, the other of which was occupied by Janine and five year old Zoey, buried in a pile of at least three quilts.  "I'm - I'm so sorry about Weijin and your dad," he'd murmured, kissing the side of her head.  "So sorry," he'd repeated, taking a half step back as Marissa had squawked in protest over being squished between them.

"Thanks," she'd whispered, hitching her daughter up on her hip, the sleeping bag dropping to the floor.  "We were - we were supposed to go along with him to DC.  I like DC - nobody gives us a second look there.  But Rissa came down with an ear infection the week before, and we didn't want to torture her with a plane ride, so...."  Lorrie had trailed off, her brow furrowing as if it had become hard for her to remember a world in which there were airplanes and computer training classes and everything they had all taken for granted mere months before.  "And, Dad... he - he just wanted her to be safe," she'd said, choking back a sob and resting her cheek atop Marissa's head.  

"Of course, darlin'," he'd returned, feeling that his response was distinctly inadequate.  "They both wanted that, for you and Marissa to be safe."

She'd sucked in a deep breath, and had pasted on a smile, blinking away her tears.  "Rissa, this is Uncle Jay," she'd told her daughter, bouncing her to get her attention.  "You remember Uncle Jay.  We went to his house and he took you in the treehouse and then he pushed you on the swing for an hour."  Marissa had watched Johnston, not blinking, her thumb shoved into her mouth.  "She's having a bit of a shy day," Lorrie had sighed, offering her uncle an apologetic shrug. 

"Understandable," he'd acknowledged, his tone more gruff - more rough - than he'd intended.  He could only imagine the trauma this little girl had been through with first her father, and then her grandfather disappearing from her world without explanation.  Even though she hadn't witnessed the violence that had stolen them from her, she would still carry those scars - and others - forever.  It was impossible to expect that she would be the same bubbly, chattering, innocent toddler - so like her mother at that age - whom he'd played with on that hot as blazes afternoon back in July.  Johnston had patted Marissa's leg.  "You be as shy as you want to, baby," he'd told her.

"I remember your treehouse," Zoey had announced then.  She and her mother had extracted themselves from the end of the couch, and Johnston turned to offer them both hugs.  "It was fun," she'd declared, holding onto the leg of his jeans.

"Uncle Jay," Janine had greeted, "It's good to see you."

"You too, Janine," he'd said, embracing her quickly, "You too."

Johnston had glanced around the room then, taking it all in.  The window blinds had been closed, despite the fact that it was still light - though overcast - outside.  There had been piles of bedding everywhere, leading him to surmise that they were all sleeping in the great room, around the fire, which had been banked, but at least - he'd thought, relief flooding through him - they had one.  Their clothes had hung on Janine's and Lorrie's frames, and Lorrie, who'd always been lithe - had practically been swimming in her borrowed cold weather clothing.  The little girls had looked healthy - skinny, but not emaciated - though their faces had been pale and dirty, their lips chapped, their hair snarled in places.  "Where's Alex?" he'd asked, looking around the room for the eight year old.

"Working off some energy in the basement," Janine had sighed.  "Kendra and Brian are down there with the boys, letting them ride the bikes around.  They don't last long these days, but they're still boys," she'd shrugged

At that moment it had occurred to Johnston - his throat immediately going dry - that this was a group under siege, wary of going outside, or even betraying their presence by letting the fire burn to warm the house during the day.  But his question - and he'd been struggling with how to phrase that question - had died on his lips when he'd heard his sister-in-law's voice.

"Johnston!" Bridget Gallagher had croaked, stopped in the archway between the great room and the bedroom hallway of the house, her hand covering her mouth.  "What - what on earth are you doin' here?"

His response had been to move quickly across the room, pulling her into his embrace, holding her up when she'd sagged against him.  "Bridget," he'd ground out, stooping to press a kiss to the top of her head.  "I'm - I'm sorry," he'd mumbled against her hair, cringing inwardly at the insufficiency of his words in the face of all her loss. 

She'd nodded against his chest, sniffling, while behind them, Clyde had moved farther into the room, gathering with the rest of the family around the island that divided the kitchen and great room.  Clyde had introduced his sons and Drake, and as soon as she'd heard that Drake was a doctor - he'd protested 'medical student', but Clyde had corrected and confirmed 'doctor' - Janine had dragged the young man passed Bridget and Johnston, intent on having him examine her uncle.

Later, in the car, as they had headed home to Jericho, Drake had explained that the only thing ailing Bob Morgenstern was a desire to die.  He'd howled and whimpered while Janine had been in the room, but as soon as she'd stepped out at Drake's request, Bob had pulled him down to his level and had whispered, his voice scratchy, that Drake didn't need to examine him, and should just make up whatever would most convince Jannie to accept that he wouldn't recover.  He was too old, resources too scarce, Bob had insisted, they needed to let him die and concentrate on the children.  "He and Kevin are in cahoots - that's what he said, the word he used," Drake had reported.  "Trying to convince Jannie - Janine - that it's okay to let him go.  He fakes not being able to swallow - makes himself choke on anything they give 'im - but can't quite manage always on water, so he's still alive.  He won't make it much longer of course, but with the water and all he does is lay in bed ... so far he's survived."  

In the great room, Johnston had kept half an ear tuned to the conversation going on behind him while he'd continued to offer what comfort he could to his sister-in-law.  As he'd reminded Johnston earlier that afternoon, Clyde was a newsman, and he'd immediately begun to interview Kevin, Stuart, Donald, Lorrie and the others - Dorothy and Sharon had both come into the great room from somewhere in the back of the house, and Kendra, Brian and the boys had clomped up from the basement at about the same time.  Only the three little boys had eschewed the gathering of adults around the island and breakfast bar, instead eyeing Johnston and Bridget curiously as they'd moved by, throwing themselves onto the couch and burrowing into the still warm nest of blankets Janine and Zoey had left behind.

"How're y'all doin' for food?" Clyde had questioned, and Kevin had admitted that things were tight.  They'd bought the ranchette - moved to Cedar Run - so they could keep horses, but over time they had taken on chickens and a vegetable garden that had gotten bigger each year.  They even had a greenhouse for growing winter vegetables.  Their horses were gone, Kevin had confessed, instinctively covering his daughter's ears with both hands.  Stuart had been a butcher for his entire working life, and once he'd arrived in Cedar Run he'd gone to work; there were only a couple of horses, three llamas, a forty year old donkey and a dozen goats left in the town, sprinkled across  five of the six other occupied properties. 

"So there're others still here?" Clyde had inquired, and Kevin had nodded, informing the older man that there were at least ninety other people - in addition to the sixteen living at their place - still resident in Cedar Run. 

"Before Dad got here, I tried hunting a few times," Kevin had added.  "Uncle Jay used to take me sometimes, along with Jake and Eric, when I was a teenager.  I even went with them... two years ago?  Two years ago, I think.  I have three guns, but nowhere near enough ammunition, so...." he'd trailed off, frowning. "But on those trips when I was a kid, Uncle Jay showed us lots of stuff, you know, how to set snares," Kevin had continued, "So I got Uncle Bob to show me again, and we've gotten, maybe, three dozen rabbits that way."

"You own fishing equipment?" Clyde had asked, just as Johnston, his arm still around Bridget, supporting her, had joined the group.  "We've been out at Bass Lake today, ice fishing.  Got a pretty good haul."

"Always liked fishin' but I've never done ice fishing," Donald had answered for his nephew.

"I've got poles though," Kevin had confirmed, "And only Zoey's has Hello Kitty on it," he'd joked, though his heart hadn't seemed to be in it.  "So - yeah - maybe in the spring.  We - uh - we don't like to get too far from home right now."

Sharon had smiled weakly at him.  "So, Johnston, how're things in Jericho?  How's Gail?"

"She's good," he'd answered, huffing a little as he'd added, "Ah, Heather and April are both expectin', actually - Heather's six months along, April's about four - so that's - that's how Gail's doin'," Johnston had chuckled.

Bridget had squeezed his arm, offering him a slight smile.  "That's good news, indeed.  Though, poor Heather," she'd sighed, her smile turning to a frown.  "With Jake overseas -"

"Oh God!" Lorrie had yelped, tightening her hold on her daughter while everyone else had reacted in kind with shocked gasps and groans.

"No! No!" Johnston had declared loudly, "Jake's home - he's home.  Got back the night - the night everything happened.  Typical Jake.  But he's fine.  Got into some trouble with a road gang three days back," he'd explained in a rush.  Kevin had glanced at his father and Donald then, his expression clouded in a way that had made the hair stand up on the back of Johnston's neck.  "But anyway, he's okay - gonna be okay," he'd stammered.  "Can't - can't wait to be a daddy."

"Now maybe, Gail can forgive me for beating her to grandmotherhood," Bridget had sighed, "And don't try to tell me she wasn't jealous."

"You'll hafta tell them congratulations from all of us," Lorrie had said, "And Auntie of course," she'd added, "And to you, too."

"I will," Johnston had promised, "And thank you.  We're all real excited.  Though, maybe you can tell 'em all yourselves," he'd continued, suddenly catching himself giving voice to the crazy idea that had been swirling in his mind since he'd heard about Wayne's plan and then had spotted his niece across the room.  "Clyde's gonna wanna wring my neck for suggestin' this," he'd predicted, flashing the other man an apologetic smile, "But we could take Bridget, Lorrie and Marissa with us, back to Jericho.  It'll be a tight fit in the car, but we could do it.  That would take some of the pressure off for the rest of you," he'd reminded.  "We've - we've had two airdrops of relief supplies in Jericho - one from China, the other from Italy - and there could be more.  You were gonna come to us anyway, originally.  Wayne was gonna bring you to Jericho.  So whaddya say?"

They had all seemed too stunned by this offer to speak, and so it had been Clyde who'd weighed in first.  "I'm not gonna wring your neck," he'd assured Johnston, "But Gray Anderson might."  He'd looked at Bridget, and then Lorrie, inviting, "Still, if you ladies want to come with, I'm happy to take ya."

But Bridget had shaken her head 'no'.  "We can't," she'd frowned, casting a scolding look at her daughter when Lorrie had started to argue.  "We don't know how they'd react," she'd argued.  "We can't endanger everyone else by leaving.  We - we can't."

"How'd who react?" Clyde had asked, and then suddenly everyone was talking, responding, arguing, upset.

"God, Uncle Jay, I didn't -" Kevin had gasped, practically doubling over as if he'd been hit in the stomach.  "I didn't think, I shoulda told you to go -"

"It's not your fault, Kev," Stuart had assured, "It's not your fault -"

"The gang that attacked Jake," Donald had barked, "Black truck?"

"We should've hunkered down, pretended we weren't here -"

"You didn't do this, Kevin.  We should've realized -"

"Late model?"

"But I thought you were comin' to help -"

"You - you didn't tell them?" Bridget - or maybe it was Lorrie, or Sharon, or Dorothy - had demanded.

"Souped up?"

"I'm sorry, Johnston.  So, so sorry -"

"You hafta go," Kevin had decided, sucking in a deep breath and regaining some of his equilibrium.  "If you just go now, maybe they won't know you were here -"

"What if they're attacked?" Lorrie - and it was definitely Lorrie - had asked.  "Drive right into 'em?  Do we even know which way they went today?"

"The road gang's from here?" Johnston had mumbled as all of the pieces - the horrible, ironic, sickening pieces - had fallen into place.  "The road gang," he'd repeated, his voice growing louder, "That - that attacked Jake is from Cedar Run?"

Kevin, his eyes red, had only been able to meet his uncle's gaze for a second.  To Johnston, he'd looked as if he'd aged ten years in five minutes.  "I'm so sorry, Uncle Jay," he'd gasped out.  "But they're not from here - they're not friends, we're - we're not with them!  We - we don't even know who they are!  How many -"

"They just showed up one night, invaded the house - the big house on the bluff," Stuart had supplied, laying a hand on his son's shoulder.

For support, for consolation, for absolution, Johnston had figured, watching the pair and recalling how he'd offered Jake - his son - the same only fifty some hours before.  "I know the place," he'd mumbled.  They'd driven by the house, in fact, coming into Cedar Run from the west.  It had appeared as deserted as the rest of the town.  "So, they invaded, just took over?"

"Zoey, sweetie," Dorothy had interrupted Kevin before he'd answered.  "Why don't you go over and play with the boys, okay?"

Her son had flashed her a grateful - if fleeting - smile, while Lorrie had quickly set Marissa down, asking Zoey to take her along, too.  "Come on, Rissa," Zoey had grumbled, taking her younger cousin's hand in her own and leading her across the room.

"It happened about three weeks ago," Donald had begun quietly, once the girls were a good fifteen feet away.  "They... attacked - it was an attack, an ambush, really - but they attacked just at dusk, killed everyone...."

"The Edmonds," Kevin had supplied, his expression grim.  "Ten people livin' there, including two teenage girls.  Jannie had the younger one in school when we first moved here, so yeah, we hope they killed everyone."

"We heard the gunshots," Kendra had reminded, shuddering at the memory.  "It went on forever, and was way more than ten shots," she'd added, casting her husband an appreciative look when he'd wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder.

"I counted twenty, twenty five," Donald had said, "It was a half hour, maybe forty minutes."

"So a group of unknown origin," Clyde had begun, "Unknown size, even -"

"Our best guess?" Stuart had interrupted, "Four or five.  But -"

"Chris Conrad - his place is closest - he swears there's seven of 'em," Kevin had explained.

"Okay, five to seven men invade the house from which they can best keep tabs on the rest of the town," Clyde had summarized, almost too matter-of-factly for Johnston's liking.  "Kill the residents, and then use the place as a base of operations to attack vehicles up to... what?"  He'd looked at Johnston.  "Jake and Stanley had to've been thirty, thirty five miles from here?"

"Sound about right," Johnston had agreed cautiously.

"Thirty miles," Kevin had echoed, "Oh God."

It was a distance that wouldn't have phased any of them four months before - Kevin, because of his commute, had routinely driven two hundred fifty miles or more in a day, and it hadn't been unusual for any of the rest of them to log a hundred miles as they'd gone about their business - but on that late December day the implications had been apparent to them all.  There were only twelve miles between Cedar Run and Jericho and it had clearly been a shock to realize exactly how far away their resident gang had been getting.  Presumably the crew had been ranging - hunting - farther and farther afield as the pickings closer to home had grown slim.  They had come from somewhere - who knew where - and they would be forced to move on once it was no longer profitable to operate out of Cedar Run.  But what would they do to the people living in Cedar Run?  That was the question.

Kevin had taken a deep breath and, shaking his head, had admitted, "We kinda always knew this would play out one of two ways.  One day they'd either just disappear or we'd - we'd be forced to deal with 'em."

"Just didn't know it would be nearly this soon," Stuart had added sourly.

"We've been careful - really careful - since they got here," Donald had insisted.  "The kids, the women, even Brian - none of 'em - have been outside since that night."

"I'm like a secret weapon," Brian had joked humorlessly, though Johnston had known there was truth in his statement.  Brian Merrill had been a star fullback for the Washington High Wolverines, a team that the Jericho Red Raiders had played - and been crushed by - once a season for over two decades.  He'd been two years ahead of Stanley Richmond in school, and a teammate for the one year Stanley had spent at the University of Kansas.  He was the epitome of big and tall, and Johnston had seen the merit of keeping his presence a secret from the road gang.  In a purely physical fight, Brian would win, ninety nine times out of a hundred; but unfortunately, any confrontation with the road gang was inevitably going to involve weapons and a strong show of force.

"We're the only ones who go outside," Kevin had said, pointing at his father and then his uncle.  "And we still don't go out in the daylight, if we don't hafta.  In case there's someone up there watchin' during the day.  Everybody else in town does the same.  When we've got business to conduct, it's in the dead of night, we never use lights.  We walk a mile or two across town - across fields, and woods, and whatnot - at two AM to trade with our neighbors or so Dad can butcher some goat -"

"They hafta know there're more of us down here than we show 'em, right?" Donald had interrupted.  "And they're cowards - cowards don't pick fights they aren't sure they can win," he'd reasoned.  "So they're - they're just as likely to go away as - as attack us, right?"

"They'd attack the Conrads, first, anyway," Lorrie had argued, surprising them all.  "The Conrads or the Tuttles, 'cause they're closest.  I mean - I mean, it's horrible to say that...."  She had paused, clearly uneasy with the subject.  "But - but you know it's true.  Unless - well, unless we give them a reason to come after us instead," she'd frowned.

"Well, we're not gonna be that reason," Johnston had decided immediately.

"No we're not," Clyde had concurred.  "Brett," he'd said, turning toward his older son, "Go get -  Drake!" he'd declared, relieved at the young doctor's reappearance, alongside Janine.  "C'mon, son," Clyde had ordered, "It's time we get goin'."  Satisfied that Drake had been headed toward the door, three steps behind Brett and Zack, Clyde had turned to face Kevin.  "We really did do well out at Bass Lake, so I was gonna offer you some of our catch -"

"No," Kevin had returned, "Thanks, but no.  We're managing, and you guys just need to go."

"Good luck," Clyde had wished them.  "And if - when they're gone, and you can get to Jericho...."

"Come," Johnston had instructed.  "We'll do what we can for you," he'd promised, quickly hugging Lorrie, Bridget and then Kendra goodbye. 

With that, they'd been out the door, hurrying toward the car, inside the vehicle, on guard as they'd traveled back down the driveway, down Second Avenue, turning onto Cedar Run Road and making their way out of town.  "We could still run into 'em," Clyde had reminded, five tense minutes later, "But they won't know where we've been at least."  However, they hadn't encountered the road gang - hadn't encountered any traffic at all - until they had been two miles from Jericho and they'd run across their own patrol. 

"There's - there's at least a hundred in Cedar Run," Johnston said, clearing his throat.  "We've got family there, and they were there still, back three weeks ago."

"I was there last week," Russell told him, "Traded some surplus clothing, medical supplies, for some - I dunno - yak meat -"

"Llama?" Johnston suggested.

"Yeah, that's it," Russell agreed.  "And a side of venison."

"That's where the venison steaks came from?" Constantino interjected.  "Those were good," he grinned, "We're gonna hafta trade with Cedar Run more often." 

"Well, today, we're hoping you'll trade with us," Carolyn said brightly. 

"Glad to hear it," Constantino returned with a smile.

Russell pulled Johnston off to the side.  "I mostly deal with Rob Tuttle.  In Cedar Run," he clarified when the older man raised an eyebrow.  "Not sure who your family is, but pretty much the whole town came out, and everyone seemed to be in good shape."

"Our nephew's Kevin O'Brien," Johnston supplied.

"Met a Kevin," Russell nodded, "His father's the butcher, right?"  Johnston nodded.  "Well, he said there'd been a death in the family, but it sounded like it was just old age."

"Bob," Johnston identified, sighing.  "So, the road gang?"

"Up and cleared out, a week earlier," Russell returned. 

He couldn't help but wonder why no one had come from Cedar Run if they'd been free of the road gang for two weeks, but that was an issue to contemplate later - after April and the baby were out of danger, after they finished these negotiations with New Bern.  The important thing was that they were safe. Johnston offered the other man a relieved smile, "Thanks, Russell."

"So, gentlemen - and lady," Constantino began, with a nod to Carolyn.  "We came to trade.  Why don't I start?" he suggested rhetorically.  "How does two thousand pounds of salt sound?"

Gray looked uncertain.  "How many - how many windmills does that get us?" he asked, "Four?  Five?"

Constantino snorted.  "It's a wind turbine," he corrected, "And that gets you one.  That one," he clarified, pointing toward the flower bed. 

"Two thousand pounds per?  That seems kinda steep," Gray complained.

"Really?  How do you figure?" Constantino inquired, his gaze narrowing almost imperceptibly.  "What's the going price per pound?  Back before what'd you get wholesale?  'Cause I'm pretty sure I was buyin' fifty pounds for what? Ten bucks?"

"That's for rock salt, road grade," Norm Trotter disputed.  He'd been the head of sales at the mine before retiring ten years earlier.  "For human consumption?  You were payin' at least a buck and a half per pound, retail."

"Sure," Constantino agreed, "But what were they paying you?  The company that took your salt, added the iodine and packaged it up, slapped the little girl with an umbrella on the side of the box?  And whaddya think a wind turbine kit used to go for?  Well, I'll tell ya," he said, not waiting for an answer.  "A thousand would get you a piece of crap, two grand would get you something useable but not on the scale you need.  So, you buy our turbine - and it comes assembled, it comes installed - and at your buck and a half," he reminded, his tone clearly implying that he considered the rate to be a straight up gift, "You get something you need, on the scale you need, all for three grand."

Nodding softly, Gray expelled a nervous breath.  "Yeah, okay, so two thousand pounds per turbine, we could probably swing -"

"Now hold on," Constantino ordered, interrupting Jericho's mayor.  "Those are the terms for the first one.  And if that's all you want, then fine," he proclaimed.  "We'll take our salt and be on our way."

This second mention of New Bern picking up and leaving hung like a threat, heavy in the air, and although he tried to tell himself that he needed to let Gray lead this negotiation, let him figure out his way through it, Johnston couldn't keep himself from asking, "And if we want more?"

"Then we're gonna need a lot more than that," Constantino returned as easily as if they were discussing the weather.  "And we're gonna need food."

Stanley shook his head.  "No food to spare," he insisted, crossing his arms over his chest.  "We won't see another crop 'til spring."

Constantino turned toward the younger man.  "Spring crop's what I'm talkin' about," he informed the Jericho contingent.  "Ten wind turbines for ... let's say ... ten percent of your spring crop."

The pauses were perfectly spaced, meant to lure you into believing that he was coming up with this all off the top of his head, but Johnston had been in one too many bass tournaments alongside Phil Constantino not to recognize the gambit by which he'd successfully separated more than one fellow contestant from a significant chunk of his funds after suggesting a casual side wager.  Unfortunately, Gray took the bait.  "No, no, we can't put ourselves in that position," he argued.

"The spring crop might not even get us through next year," Stanley contended, "If we lose ten percent, we'll just be in the same position we are now."

"Worse," Johnston declared, glancing up from his feet to meet his old friend's eye.  "Look, all we're asking you to do is be reasonable."  But even as the words were leaving his mouth, he knew they weren't going to do any good.  It was clear from the set of his jaw that Constantino wasn't going to make any concessions out of friendship.

"And we're just trying to survive," Russell countered, frowning.

"Starve next fall or freeze this winter," Constantino said, giving ominous voice to the choice that lay before them.  "Take your pick."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 15D.

Okay, so I've done it again.  Or, actually multiple its.  I've effectively gone back in time and altered my own story.  In recounting Johnston's visit to Cedar Run I've added a major component to a trip he thought about in passing at the beginning of Part 14, a major component that I have to admit had not wormed its way into my brain when I wrote Part 14.  I've also insisted on adding a bunch of new characters to the story.  They are minor characters, but they will likely pop up again (in better days and as soon as Part 15D).  At least they have a small basis in canon; if you remember, during most of season 2, Gail was off staying with cousins in Cedar Run.  Frankly, the O'Briens saw all the fun the Lisinskis were having and insisted on equal time.

On the episode as aired, Kenchy asks for fresh plasma, and Jessica says she will find someone with O-negative blood.  That's it, and that's actually the complete opposite of medical reality.  If your blood type is O-negative then you are a universal donor for red blood cells; the universal donor for plasma is actually a person with AB blood type and the Rh factor (positive or negative) is not an issue for plasma donations.  However, I will forgive the writers this error because the fact of the matter is that given that April's blood pressure was falling and that she was bleeding (a lot), she actually needed red blood cells in order to get her blood volume up.  So I put back in that part which I'm sure the writers actually wrote, and which was then cut for time.  That's what I tell myself anyway. ;-)

Rh (Rhesus) factor becomes an issue if a pregnant woman is Rh-negative but the fetus she is carrying is Rh-positive (because the father is Rh-positive).  If blood passes between the mother and baby during pregnancy or childbirth, this fetomaternal transfusion can be fatal to the baby, just as it is dangerous for an Rh-negative person to receive a traditional blood transfusion from an Rh-positive donor.

The O-G-S-N-U grading scale is one version of the grading scale used in primary school education, specifically grades K - 3, in the United States.  The scale is: Outstanding - Good - Satisfactory - Needs Improvement - Unsatisfactory.  I don't know if there's an official standard in the state of Kansas, or which version Kansas schools tend to use.  It doesn't really matter - O-G-S-N-U fits the purposes of this story. :-)

Only about 6% of the salt that is mined from the earth or captured from sea water is used for human consumption.  Other uses include water conditioning processes, de-icing highways and agricultural use. Edible salt is sold in forms such as sea salt and table salt which usually contains an anti-caking agent and may be iodised to prevent iodine deficiency.  Salt is one of the oldest and most ubiquitous of food seasonings, and salting is an important method of food preservation.  (Pretty much everything that Johnston told Dale at Black Jack.) 

Constantino reminds Gray, Johnston, and the others that New Bern will be a ghost town if it goes a year without salt.  Clearly that is true, as is the fact that they need it for a variety of reasons.  For this reason, too, it's clear that it would be hard to put a single price on a pound of salt as the price varies dependent on the quality of the salt and the intended use.  I'll pay two or three dollars for a box of salt at the grocery store, ten or more for some gourmet salt at an expensive kitchen store, but then I'll skip the pool supply store for charging three more dollars than Home Depot for a fifty pound bag of pool salt.  

I don't know the cost of wind turbine kits back in 2006 - 2007.  I have to assume that wind turbine kits have gotten a little cheaper, and that the price of salt (all the prices of all the types of salt) probably keeps up with inflation.  So the economics of Constantino's proposal for the first turbine might not pencil out exactly, but it's an informed approximation.  It also doesn't match the episode - later on Gray says the agreement was for 500 pounds - but I think my calculations are realistic, though not exact.

The Morton Salt Girl is dressed in a yellow dress and carrying a large umbrella in the rain.   She is the official mascot of the Morton Salt Company whose slogan is "When it rains, it pours". 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Different Circumstances: Part 15D of ? by Marzee Doats

Author's Note: So, here I am, posting the first chapter of Different Circumstances that I've managed to write in more than six years.  I have no idea if anyone is still checking for updates at this site, but just in case you are, I am posting this.  The last few years have been rough, but I feel like I can write again, and even if it is just for myself and my stalwart beta readers (Skyrose and TiggyRN) then I'm going to do it. 

That said, I don't know how much longer I will keep The Greens of Jericho site up and running, so if you really want to get new chapters of this story, please email me at: marzeedoats @ gmail dot com (please format as an email address – I am trying to avoid getting additional junk mail).  I promise I will only use this information to send you pdf copies of later chapters, if and when the site closes (would be late May 2023 at the earliest).  Contacting me directly is the best way to let me know if there is still interest in this story, and you want to know (eventually) how it ends(?). 

Warnings: The present day (that's funny, we're talking about 15 years ago now) is tragic at this point in the series, so the 5 years ago scenes are a little more light-hearted.  Also, this is the Different Circumstances universe, so Jake and Heather are married and expecting, and Jake and Eric are twins.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday January 22, four months after the bombs

Together, Heather and Gail maneuvered an ultrasound cart into room five.  "Does it work?" Jeff asked hopefully, abandoning his position next to Mimi at April's bedside. 

"It should," Heather answered, sighing softly.  Her mother-in-law had found five 'retired' ultrasound machines in the basement, four of which still had their manuals on their carts.  Heather had eyeballed the machines, lining them up in what she'd guesstimated was newest to oldest, and then she'd begun her tests.  The first device hadn't powered up.  But the second had.  "I ran the self-diagnostic, and it came back A-okay."

"Great, you guys are awesome," Jeff declared, flashing Gail a relieved smile as he handed his stethoscope off to her so he could assist Heather with moving the cart into place. 

"It was all Heather," Gail assured.

"Mom, you helped—"

But Gail was having none of it.  "All I did was plug it in when you told me to," she countered, fitting the stethoscope's earpieces into her ears so she could take over monitoring April's vitals.  "Sweetheart, you did the rest."

"So did you test it on yourself?" Jeff asked Heather as he engaged the foot break once the cart was positioned next to April's bed.

"I ran the self-diagnostic," Heather repeated, retrieving the manual from its holder on the side of the cart and showing it to him.  "There's a 'quick start' guide, and it said exactly what to do—"

"You're probably due for an ultrasound yourself, Heather, now that we've got a working machine," he reminded quietly, "That's all I'm sayin'."

She frowned thoughtfully.  "Oh.  Well, once April's in the clear and the turbine's working, I'll probably come asking for that, Dr. Maguire," Heather promised.

"So, does it work?" Dhuwalia inquired, striding back into room five.  He'd accompanied Bonnie down to the drug closet – luckily the combination hadn't been changed in the week and a half since he'd last come in for a shift – and after showing her where to look and writing down the name of the drug they needed for April, he'd left her to the task so he could return to his patient.

"Once it's plugged in, yes," Heather answered, handing the end of the power cord to Jeff and pointing at the wall socket.  "Sorry, seven months pregnant," she reminded sweetly.

"Yeah," Jeff muttered, dropping to his knees so he could worm his way between a rolling chest of basic medical supplies and a chair to plug in the ultrasound machine.

"And you turn it on here," Heather explained to Dhuwalia, flipping a switch on the side of the machine.  It hummed quickly to life, and although she stood at the ready with the manual, the doctor didn't avail himself of it.    Frowning, he adjusted a few knobs, then turned toward Jeff, inquiring about transducer gel.  The younger man moved across the room, grabbed a bottle off the counter and plunked it down on the ultrasound cart.  Dhuwalia nodded curtly, his attention returning to the screen and control panel before him.

Bonnie rushed into the room, an IV bag clutched in her hand.  Dodging Jeff and then Heather, she reached Dhuwalia's side and showed it to him. "Yeah, vancomycin, good," he confirmed, ordering, "Start her on a drip, two hundred fifty milligrams IV…."  But Bonnie couldn't hear him or see his lips and, frustrated, he grabbed for the bag, grinding out "I'll do it."

"I'll do it!" Jeff exclaimed, intercepting the IV bag.  "Bonnie, c'mon," he said, waving her over so he could show her how to add the drug to April's IV.

"We found four people who are O-negative," Jake announced, jogging into April's room, juggling a couple of bags of donated blood, Jessica hot on his heels.  She relieved him of the blood, and he stepped back, out of the way, naturally finding his way to his wife's side.  "Hey," he murmured, reaching for her hand. 

"Hey," she returned, offering him a thin, ghost of a smile.  "Success, huh?"  Jake had found her, thirty or forty minutes earlier, to ask if she knew April's blood type.  She hadn't – and neither had his mother – though Heather had been able to tell him that April kept a medical chart on herself in her office.  April had been the only MD in town for over a month, Heather had reminded, and besides once she'd known she was pregnant, she'd wanted a record – a journal, really – of her experience.  Jeff had searched April's clothing for her office key – and then her office for the chart – but unfortunately, while she'd captured much more than was usually found in a medical file, she hadn't recorded that particular piece of information within it.  And so, the search for O-negative donors had continued.

"Yeah," he acknowledged, exhaling softly.  "You too, right?" Jake asked, pointing at the ultrasound.  "You got it working."

"I just found one that worked," Heather corrected, shaking her head.  "There's a difference.  And, God, I'm pretty sure it's at least twelve years old," she groaned, turning the manual cover so she could show him the colophon page and – more importantly – the copyright date of 1994.  "I – I didn't even have my driver's license."

"But it works," Jake reminded, squeezing her fingers. "That's the important part."

"Doctor," Mimi began, trying to get Dhuwalia's attention as he maneuvered the ultrasound cart a few inches closer to April's bed, "Fetal heart rate is—"

"We'll get it off the ultrasound," he interrupted.

"Blood pressure is one thirty over seventy," Gail announced, "Respiratory rate is eighteen and her pulse is eighty-eight.  It's going up," she declared, relieved.

Frowning, Jessica shook her head.  "She's losing blood," she argued, trading places with Jeff next to April's IV pole.  She slipped a bag of blood onto the hook at the top of the pole.  "Her heart is compensating by pumping harder."

Dhuwalia squirted gel onto April's abdomen and then began to run the ultrasound wand over it.  "Start an IV for the blood," he commanded, reminding, "Whatever else, we need to get her blood volume up."  He peered at the image on the screen – everyone was looking toward the screen – studying it intently as he slowly moved the wand lower. 

A long, tense fifteen seconds passed and then – finally – Gail gave voice to the question that was caught in all their throats.  "What – what do you see?"

"Placenta previa," Dhuwalia answered flatly.

Next to him, her hand clutched in his, Jake felt more than heard his wife gasp.  He glanced at her quickly, taking in the shock in her expression, the tight, thin line of her lips pressed together.  Heather had been reading – studying – pregnancy books like she expected to be graded on how she did.  It was endearing, so typical Heather, and he would've worried had she not thrown herself so fully into learning what was coming, if she hadn't embraced being pregnant so completely.  Obviously, she understood what placenta previa was, and although he knew placenta – even without her semi-regular, impromptu lessons, provided when she read something in one of her books that she thought was particularly interesting – he didn't know previa. "What's that?" he questioned, glancing between his wife and the three doctors.

Jeff and Jessica had joined Dhuwalia around the ultrasound, blocking everyone else's view of the screen, while Dhuwalia pointed out what he was seeing to the two of them.  "There," he muttered "And there."

Frowning, Jeff looked back over his shoulder, explaining, "The placenta is covering the entire cervix –"

"And there's no way for me to find out where the bleeding is coming from unless we operate," Dhuwalia added, clearly frustrated.

"Well, what are we going to do?" Gail demanded, her face ashen, worry sharpening her tone.

Dhuwalia turned around to face her.  "Under the best of circumstances, this is not an operating facility," he declared.

"Jake…" Heather prompted quietly enough that he doubted anyone else had heard her.

"Then we don't have a choice," he declared, tightening his grip on her hand.

"We cannot operate here," Dhuwalia returned, stripping off his gloves.

"Why?" Jake challenged, stepping closer to the doctor, the hold he had on Heather's hand forcing her to move with him.

Shaking his head, Dhuwalia's gaze shifted back and forth between Heather and Jake.  "I have been through this more times than you can possibly imagine."

Jake had been in enough tense situations in his life that he could recognize when one had the potential to spin out of control, and he knew he couldn't let that happen here.  Now.  "Well, we've all been through a lot, all right," he tried calmly.  "Just tell us what you need and we'll—"

"I've seen hundreds of people die because of dirty facilities and infection," Dhuwalia interrupted, his voice rising in his agitation.  "And because I didn't have the proper medicine or the equipment that I needed.  I am not doing it again," he proclaimed.

"We are not losing this baby!" Gail insisted.

"Or April," Heather added, a sob catching in her throat.  "We have to help her."

Dhuwalia just shook his head.  "Well," he bit out, throwing his gloves down on the cart, "You can find yourself another butcher."

"Jeff?  Jessica?" Jake questioned as Dhuwalia stomped out of the room, "Is there any way—"

"We can't do this without him," Jessica interrupted, frowning.  She glanced sideways at Jeff and they stared at one another, speechless for a long moment.  "I wish we could," she said finally, "But we just can't."

"April couldn't do this by herself," Jeff admitted, expelling a shallow, almost hiccupping breath.  "It's exploratory, obstetrical surgery," he emphasized, "It – she needs a surgeon."

Jake nodded in acknowledgment and, dropping his wife's hand, took off out of the room and after Dhuwalia, catching up with about twenty feet down the hall.  The surgeon – and that was how Jake had to think of him, as a surgeon, as the only person who could help April, the only one who could save her life. Not as his friend, and not as the wounded soul he so obviously was, but as a surgeon and as April's only hope.   Dhuwalia – the surgeon – was standing in the middle of the corridor, his hands covering his face, heedless of all the clinic activity happening around him.  He didn't look good.

"There's gotta be a way," Jake began gently but firmly, the way he'd speak to a restless horse or to Baron.  "C'mon," he cajoled before pleading, "Kenchy."

"Listen," Dhuwalia commanded, rotating around so that he was facing Jake.  "We need a sterile operating room, sterile instruments, anesthesia," he listed.  He was looking past Jake now, and the other man glanced back over his shoulder, confirming the presence of his mother, Heather, Jessica and Jeff right behind him.  "Spinal block tray, cesarean tray," he continued, shaking his head at the impossibility of it all.  "Have you ever even seen a surgery before without an electro cardio machine?" Dhuwalia asked acerbically.  "No, you haven't," he answered himself, "Because it's not even taught anymore."

"So, you teach us," Jeff argued.  "April – April says there's things only you can teach us, and – and – this has gotta be one of 'em.  Teach us," he repeated.  "You – you said you owed her.  So, help her!  Help us help her."

"Can't we just use laparotomy sponges to stop the bleeding?" Jessica suggested.

Dhuwalia pinched his nose with his thumb and index finger.  "God, my head is killing me," he complained quietly.  But at least, Jake couldn't help but think, he seemed to be listening.

"We've got several spinal block trays," Gail informed him.

"Even got anesthesia," Jeff offered.

"And we can boil the sheets and the tools," Jessica declared.

The surgeon still looked like he could be sick at any moment, still looked like he wanted to argue, but then he gave the slightest of nods.  It had to be an involuntary gesture, but Jake seized upon it anyway.  "Is it possible?" he demanded.

"Remotely," Dhuwalia conceded through clenched teeth.

"Then start," Jake requested, letting out a long-held breath.

Heather moved next to Jake then, wrapping her arm around his, and catching Dhuwalia's eye.  "Kenchy.  Please."

 * * * * * *

"Hey," Stanley hailed softly, coming up behind Gray, Johnston, Carolyn and Norm.  "We've gotta problem," he told them, jerking his head to indicate that they should move away from the building and – more importantly – away from the foot traffic in and out of clinic.

"What's that?" Johnston returned, though he could think of ten major problems the council was currently juggling.  He didn't even want to consider the myriad of small issues that they didn't have the time to notice – let alone handle – and he sure didn't want to spend too much time contemplating the crisis his daughter-in-law and grandchild were going through inside the medical center.  Please, God he thought, sending that simple prayer heavenward for what had to be the five hundredth time that day.

"Okay, so, Eddie and Frank are asking how come we're not makin' the deal," Stanley reported once they were standing on the sidewalk outside the now closed main entrance to the facility.

"Word's gonna start to spread," Johnston muttered, his expression turning sour.

"As far as they know, the Marines said the Army Corps of Engineers would be here in a month, six weeks, tops," Stanley reminded.  "'What difference does it make if we give New Bern a part of next year's crop?'" he said, obviously quoting part of their conversation.

"Well, they think there's gonna be food by then," Carolyn surmised, sighing.  "Understandable."

"You all didn't want to tell them it was a bunch of crap," Gray grumbled, casting a reproachful glance at the four of them. 

"We had to do something," Johnston argued.  "Besides, it was gonna come to a head soon enough.  Now?  Or three weeks from now?  Take your pick."

"So now, what're we gonna do?" Gray demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. 

It was a long moment before anyone responded, and then – somewhat surprisingly – it was Stanley who spoke up.  "All right," he decided, nodding his head, "Maybe we should tell the town that help's not comin'.  That we just told them that to give 'em something to get through the winter."

In his heart of hearts, it was what Johnston wanted to do, too.  It would be the honest thing to do – and he hated lying – but it wasn't necessarily the right thing to do, even now, with their backs against the wall and New Bern snapping at their heels.  "Town's already on edge," he cautioned, grinding his fist against his leg.  "We'll have anarchy," he predicted.

"Well, I'm not going to leverage next winter's food," Gray announced, "That would be suicide."

"That's not—"

"Stanley," Johnston interrupted, his tone sharp.  He stared – glared, really – at the younger man, though he was entirely sympathetic to his cause. 

Gray had gotten better at leading over the last few weeks, but at times like these – these stressful, pressure-filled situations – he had a tendency to panic and revert to his previous, dictatorial form.  Because the fact of the matter was that Gray couldn't make decisions about the spring crop.  Not unilaterally anyway.  The agreement between the Farmer's Alliance and the town still left control of the farms in the hands of the owners.  The farmers had pledged to feed the town, had agreed to trade a stake in their crops and their livestock for access to Jericho and her amenities: additional labor as needed, rights to use the medical center, a seat on the town council, a share of any and all relief supplies, a portion of the town's bio-fuel production (for which they provided the bulk of the biomass anyway), the privilege to send their children to Jericho's schools, when (and if) they reopened. But they had not ceded their property rights.

"We are all in agreement, and until we're all in agreement, we don't talk to New Bern," Johnston declared, looking at each of his four companions in turn.  "That's the only way this works."

"What if we tell New Bern that we'll give them ten percent of next year's crop?" Stanley proposed.  "We get power now," he reasoned, "And if next year we don't have the food to give, we don't give it up."

Johnston felt his heart plummet into his stomach.  "That's how wars get started," he contended.

* * * * * *

"Heth!  Jake," Michael said, coming to a stop in front of his sister and brother-in-law.  They were seated just outside April's clinic room, Heather leaning against Jake, her eyes closed, his arm around her shoulders, their heads together.  "What's happening with April?" he demanded.

"Kenchy's getting ready to operate," Jake told him, straightening in his chair though he kept his arm around his wife.  "She's got placenta – uh – placenta previa, and he says he can't tell where the bleeding's coming from—"

"So, yeah, he's got to operate," Michael agreed, nodding thoughtfully.  "And it explains the bleeding.  The contractions, too, though that's not as common of a symptom or anything."

Jake shook his head, offering his brother-in-law a half-hearted grin.  "You only had, like, six weeks of med school," he reminded, "I don't know how you learned all this, let alone remember it."

"I was pre-med," Michael argued, "And an EMT.  Plus, since we got to Jericho," he shrugged, his gaze drifting to his sister, "I've been studying up on obstetrics, okay?"

"Just so long as you understand, you're my OB of last resort," Heather sighed, massaging her pregnant belly with both hands.

"That's cool," he chuckled nervously.  "The idea of seeing you naked kinda freaks me out, anyway."

"Yeah, me too," she mumbled, pressing the back of her hand against her forehead. 

"Actually, the idea of seeing April naked freaks me out, too," Michael admitted.  "Some doctor I'll be, huh?" he grumbled.  "You're supposed to be able to detach from your patients.  But, you know, Jeff was already thinking about obstetrics before everything happened.  So, she's in good hands, with Kenchy and Jeff."

"Good," his sister acknowledged, her eyes fluttering closed.  She leaned against Jake's shoulder, yawning softly.  "So—"

"Sis – don't take this the wrong way – but, you don't look so good," Michael interrupted her, frowning.  Her face was pale and drawn – and she was seven months pregnant.  The last thing they needed was for her to come down with some sort of complication.

"I'm just worried about April.  And, probably, I need a drink of water," Heather claimed, forcing a smile as she sat up in her seat.  "But, really, I'm fine."

"You need to eat something," Jake countered, "Seriously, babe, you skipped lunch."

"Lunch-shmunch," she grumbled, "When was the last time either of you had lunch?"

"Yeah, well, we're not pregnant," Jake retorted, squeezing her hand.  "You're eating for two, remember?  B.G. wants his lunch/dinner."

"Okay, first, according to every pregnancy book I've ever read, it's eating for a very healthy one, not for two," she informed them, an obstinate note creeping into her tone.  "And second, I'm not going home 'til we know April's okay.  So there."

"Luckily, Mrs. Davis is already here with dinner for the staff," Michael announced.  "So there," he mimicked.  "And – not that I think she's not gonna give you some – but if she won't, then tell her I gave you mine."  He looked at his brother-in-law.  "She's set up in the staff lounge.  Look, I better get back to work.  But I'll check on you later," he promised, "Okay?"

"Thanks, Mike," Jake acknowledged with a nod.  The younger man returned the gesture, then started back down the hallway.  "C'mon," Jake prompted, pressing one hand against her belly, their child safe inside her.  As always seemed to happen, his touch was rewarded with a gentle kick.  Jake grinned.  "See, that was Morse code.  B.G. wants his dinner."

"I know Morse code, too, you know," Heather sighed, "And that was just an 'E', or maybe a 'T'."

"Yeah, exactly," Jake agreed, climbing to his feet and turning around to offer her both his hands.  "Eat.  That's what B.G.'s sayin'."

"Fine," Heather said, flashing him a rather watery smile.  She grasped his hands, allowing him to help her pull herself up.  "You win.  B.G. wants dinner."

Shannon Davis began dishing up bowls of stew for Heather and for Jake as soon as they appeared in the doorway of the staff lounge, waving them into chairs around the table and asking for any news on April. 

"Well, Dr. Dhuwalia's gonna operate, see if he can stop her bleeding," Jake explained, accepting a bowl from her after she'd insisted for a second time that he eat something too. "So that's where we're at.  We're gonna go wait after this, but Heather really needed to eat something."

"Of course," Shannon murmured, smiling at the younger woman.  "There really is plenty, so if you want some more – please – take it."

"I think you'll get plenty of customers," Heather countered, blowing on her – amazingly – still hot stew.  "It just might be an hour or two.  But thank you.  How's Lindsay doing?"

"Better," Shannon assured.  "Though, she doesn't want me to tell Dr. Maguire that, because she's still hoping for at least one more house call," she joked.  "After two sons more interested in hunting and fishing than girls, I wasn't quite prepared for my daughter to turn thirteen and boy-crazy," she admitted with a wry grin.

"That's not something we're gonna hafta worry about for quite a while," Heather reminded her husband, leaning toward him.

He brushed a kiss across her mouth, saying, "Yeah, 'specially if B.G.'s a boy." 

"You know that's not necessarily true," Heather returned, sighing.

"The truth is, you never know what you're gonna get with any kid, boy or girl," Shannon cautioned.  "So, you love 'em, you do the best you can, make judicious use of time-outs – for you and for them – and you hope everything works out," she declared.    "And now, you both have my two bits of parenting advice to add to your – no doubt – growing collection," she chuckled.  "So, with that, I'm gonna go see if I can drum up some customers who aren't heading into surgery."

"Thanks," the two Greens called after her as she slipped out the door.  Jake got up, moving around the table to get a couple of glasses which he then filled up at the sink.  "Here, your water," he said, handing one to Heather and taking the opportunity to glance at her bowl.  She had two – three at the most – bites left to eat.  Color was coming back into her complexion and she was smiling, albeit hesitantly.  "You want some more?" he asked.

"Yes," she answered, "But no.  Everyone else needs to eat, too," Heather insisted.  "And I needed to eat, you were right about that."  She took a sip of water, and then reached for his hand, pressing it into the side of her belly.  "Now B.G. really is transmitting in Morse code," she joked.  Their baby was always more active right after she'd eaten.

"Tap dancing," Jake agreed.  "Okay, I gotta think about this," he announced, and then a few seconds later, nodding to himself, he was tapping something in response.

"'Love U'?" Heather guessed.  "And just the 'U'," she noted, "Not 'Y' – 'O' –"

"Too many dashes in 'Y' and 'O'," he argued, "And it's the thought that counts, right?"

"Absolutely," she returned before picking up her bowl and finishing off her stew.

Jake watched her, silently, as she placed her bowl back on the table and then reached for her glass, taking another drink of water.  She didn't put the glass back, instead holding onto it, absently rolling it back and forth between her two hands.  Finally, she met his gaze, her eyes bright with unshed tears.  "Tell me," he ordered quietly. 

Heather's face crumpled, and she wiped her eyes quickly with the back of one hand, the other gripped tightly around her glass.  "This – this shouldn't be hap – happening to her," she managed to choke out before stopping to take a deep breath.  "She doesn't have any of the risk factors.  She's white, and she's under thirty-five.  April – she's never smoked, never used drugs, never been pregnant before this or had an abortion," Heather listed.  "Scar tissue can cause this.  Or having twins or triplets.  But none of that applies to April," she insisted. 

"None of it applies to you, either," he reminded, exhaling a relieved breath.  "Thank God."  Jake reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together.  "I hate – hate that this is happening to her," he assured her, letting out another shallow breath, "But it would be a million times worse if this were happening to you."  She frowned softly at that and he squeezed her hand, adding, "Sorry, babe, but for me, it would be."

"I know," she murmured, returning his squeeze and placing her glass on the table, freeing up her other hand.  "I just…."  But she didn't – couldn't – complete her thought.  "Back before, they would've identified this in a second trimester ultrasound," she informed him.  "You get that at sixteen to twenty weeks, so you know April would've already had it, and they would've seen it, and she would've gone on bedrest, or whatever they wanted her to do, and it'd be okay."  Heather paused, her lips pressed tightly together as she fought for control.  "She'd be okay." 

"Hey, she's gonna be okay," Jake promised, although he knew he was an idiot for saying so.  Anything could happen, especially given their current circumstances.  "Kenchy's gonna figure why she's bleeding, and he's gonna stop it and – and – it's gonna be okay."

He could see in her eyes that Heather wanted to believe him, but there was also doubt, and Jake could understand that.  She was too smart and she knew too much about what was going on, about their resources or – more accurately – their lack of resources, to just accept his empty assurances.  But still, she smiled weakly and nodded.  "Yeah, it's gonna be okay," she parroted.

"Okay," Jake echoed, returning her smile.  He reached for his bowl, telling her, "I just need to finish this, and then we can go back, okay?"

"Yep," she agreed, "Because you and I both know you don't want your mother hearing from Shannon that you didn't finish your dinner," Heather teased, though her heart didn't really seem to be in it.

"Hell, no," he confirmed with a chuckle that quickly turned into a sigh.

"So, Jake – uh – Jeff wants me to have an ultrasound," Heather told him a few seconds later, inhaling softly.  "Now that we have a machine that works, and we're gonna have the wind turbine here—"

"Heather," he interrupted after swallowing his latest bite of venison and cabbage whole, "I want that, too," Jake told her.  "Look, we've – we've just been goin' along, assuming that it was all gonna be okay—"

"Everything has been okay, Jake," she interrupted, her hands arranged protectively over their baby.

"Yeah, but we should know if there's anything – not just placenta previa, but anything – that could go wrong, so we can … get ahead of it," he reasoned, "Figure out a plan."

They shared a look then, their eyes locking.  There was so much more to say on the topic, and they both knew it.  But they also knew that if they started to discuss it now – here – it would spiral out of their control, take them places that they couldn't afford to go at this moment, not when April needed them, even if all they could really offer was moral support.  That particular 'what if' conversation would just have to keep.  "No, I agree," she said finally, nodding.  "And I already told Jeff I'd do it in a day or two, once this all calms down," Heather explained.  "I just wanted you to know what's comin' up."

"All right if I tag along?" Jake inquired, flashing her a quick grin.  The sight of April's baby – tiny and vulnerable and full of promise – on the ultrasound machine had started his pulse racing, had left his mouth dry; and now, just the thought of being able to see his own unborn child in the same way made his head swim.  "See B.G.'s big screen – well, it's a pretty small screen – but, see his screen debut for myself?" he joked.

"Yeah," she sighed.  "'Cause I really need you there," she said, reaching for his hand.  "For handholding and 'oohing' and 'aahing' if nothing else."

"Well, I'm good for at least two of those things," he assured, squeezing her fingers.  "Not so sure about the 'oohing'," Jake clarified before withdrawing his hand so he could scrape together the last spoonful his bowl had to offer.

"But 'aahing' you don't have a problem with?" she said, fighting a smile and shaking her head at him.

 "Here," he said, holding the spoon out for her. "Say 'aah'," Jake ordered.

Heather accepted the bite.  "Carrots," she grumbled after swallowing.  "I know what you're up to, mister."  It was a major understatement to say he didn't care for cooked carrots, and it was only in their current state of scarcity that he deigned to eat them – most of the time – now.

"Yeah, feeding my wife and my kid," Jake said, feigning outrage that she would question his motives on this matter.  "So, maybe – maybe when we get you that ultrasound, maybe we can find out if we're gonna have EJ or Abby," he suggested softly, a beat later.

"Maybe," she shrugged, stacking their bowls together and dropping both spoons in the top bowl.  "Just so we confirm that it's not EJ and Abby," Heather added, expelling a nervous breath.  "But we could just let it be a surprise."

"You don't wanna know, huh?" he realized.

Heather made a face, pursing her lips and wrinkling her forehead.  "Not really, no," she confessed.  "I want it to be a surprise, I want April or Jeff or your mom to announce it, right when they hand me – us – B.G.  I want – I want that, that piece of happiness, at that exact moment."  They watched one another for a long moment before she asked, "Is that okay?"

"Very okay," he assured, leaning in to brush a kiss across her frown. "Sounds perfect, actually."  Jake climbed to his feet and reached for her hand.  "C'mon," he invited.  "And leave the dishes.  Shannon'll understand."

The crowd in the clinic was thinning out now, a sign that it was getting later in the day, closer to dusk, closer to dark.  Jake led Heather down the hall and around the corner, heading back toward April's room, adjacent to the trauma bays in the emergency department.   

"Heather, Jake," Drake greeted, exiting room five just as they arrived back at the three chairs lined up against the wall that they had claimed for their waiting area. 

"Have they started?" Heather asked, leaning against her husband.  "How's April?"

"They're close, but we found another O-negative donor," Drake replied, "So Mike's collecting his donation.  They need to operate, but they need to have extra blood on hand, too.  Just in –"

"Jake!"  The sound of his brother's voice carried across the clinic.  "Jake!" Eric called out again as he and his twin moved toward one another.  "How's April?  Where is she?" he asked once they were within five feet of each other.  "What's happening?"

"What's her blood type?" Jake demanded, ignoring his brother's questions.  "Eric!" he challenged, grabbing him by the arm, "What's April's blood type?"

"O," he answered, blinking hard.  "O-positive, same as me," Eric added. 

"You sure?"

"Of course, I'm sure.  We – I'm sure.  She – April needs blood?" he realized in the next instance.  "I'll donate – I can donate blood for her," Eric volunteered, exhaling raggedly. 

Drake, arriving along with Heather at Jake's side, shook his head.  "You said O-positive, right?"

"Yes," Eric retorted, "O-positive, like me."

"Practically every other person around here is O-positive," Drake told them, grinning in relief.  "And everybody we've asked wants to donate for April, we just didn't know who – besides the O-negatives – it was safe to take."  His gaze settled on Mary who was waiting, arms crossed, just behind Eric.  "So what's your blood type?"

"Oh!  A – uh – A-negative," she answered, "Sorry."

"Doesn't matter," Drake shrugged, "There's lots of other people.  I'm gonna go tell Mike," he informed them.  "The more blood we have ready to go, the better."

"Hey, Drake, I'm O-positive, too," Jake reminded as the younger man turned away. 

"Yep.  When you're ready, come to the lab," he instructed over his shoulder.

Eric started to follow Drake, but his brother stepped into his path, blocking the way.  "Jake, I can – I wanna donate for April and the baby!" he protested.  "I hafta help them!  Anything I can do to help them."

"I know that," Jake acknowledged, "But Eric, just stop, okay?" he ordered.  "Because, look, they're taking her into surgery any minute now."

"What?" Eric questioned, "Here?  No, they can't," he argued, "You can't do surgery here.  They don't do surgery here," he told them, his voice frantic, "The facility's not licensed for that.  Not even planned C-sections in the birth center.  Not even outpatient procedures.  They can't do that here!"

"Yeah, well, here's all we got," Jake snapped.  "And she needs surgery."

"Eric," Heather interjected, addressing – acknowledging – her brother-in-law for the first time in a month or more.  "Eric, you want to help her?  Then you need to be in there with her," she told him, her eyes flashing.  "April needs you."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Friday January 25, five years before the bombs

"Well, Jake Green, don't you clean up nice."

Jake dropped the trunk closed, and slung his duffle bag up and over his shoulder – his garment bag was draped over his other arm – before turning around to see who it was that had addressed him.  "Stephanie, Derek," he greeted, recognizing the pair holding hands on the sidewalk beside his car.  They had been a year ahead of him in school, but Jericho High was a small school and they had been a rather infamous couple.  Plus, he and Derek had been baseball teammates. 

"Uh, thanks," he added, not entirely sure that she was offering him a compliment – or that she should.  There had been no less than three major accidents in Denver, and his usual three hour – though he always told his mother that it took him three and a half – drive home had taken him more than seven.  At this point, His jacket and shirt were pretty rumpled, and he didn't think his slacks had fared much better.  "So, what're you two up to tonight?" he inquired, stepping out of the street and up onto the sidewalk with the Hydes.

"Tonight is date night," Stephanie announced as the three of them started walking east on Fourteenth Street, heading toward Berge Avenue. 

"We're headin' over to Bailey's Tavern," Derek added, "Same as you, right?"

"Yeah," Jake agreed, surprised.  He would have guessed The Jericho Grille or Roma Italia for 'date night', even though both of those establishments were over on Wilber Street, a good three blocks farther of a walk from their current location than Bailey's Tavern was.   "They just put in a mechanical bull, so I'm supposed to meet my fiancée and—"

"I met her the other day," Stephanie interrupted.  "Your fiancée," she clarified, "I really like her."

"Yeah, me too," Jake chuckled.  Heather had told him she'd met Stephanie Hyde, and that was probably why he'd been able to come up with her name moments before.  She'd changed some since high school – gained a few pounds, cut her hair, didn't wear as much make-up now as she had back then, though he suspected that she was wearing more tonight than she usually did these days – but he could still see in her the pretty if somewhat shy teenager she'd once been.  But the truth was he hadn't seen her or Derek – hadn't thought about them – in probably seven or eight years.

"Okay, yeah, that was a stupid thing to say," Stephanie laughed.  "It's not like I'd tell you if I didn't like her.  Or you'd listen to me if I did."

"Nah, don't think I would," Jake confirmed.  "Though if you said she was too good for me, I'd probably hafta agree with that," he joked.

"I don't think she's too good for you," Stephanie returned, once again surprising Jake.  "Mostly because I don't think she thinks she's too good for you.  And – admittedly – I'm basing this on a ten-minute conversation while we were in line at the pharmacy, but the impression I got was she thinks you're great, and that she loves you a lot.  She said you guys really clicked."

"Yeah," he acknowledged, clearing his throat.  "She's pretty great, too."

"And?" Stephanie prompted.

They had reached Berge Avenue – Fourteenth Street dead-ended into it – and Jake was able to ignore her for a few seconds as they crossed to the other side and then turned north, heading toward Almond Lane. 

"Well, I guess you don't have to tell me that you love your fiancée the first time we talk to each other since, like, 1994," Stephanie allowed.  "But I sure hope you tell her that you love her."

"I do," Jake said finally.  "I love her and I tell her.  Happy?"

 "Extremely," Stephanie grinned.

Cars were parked bumper to bumper on both sides of the street, and for as far up Berge Avenue as Jake could see.  When he'd been looking earlier, there hadn't been any parking within four blocks of Bailey's Tavern in any direction.  Briefly, he'd considered availing himself of his father's spot behind town hall – Eric's Explorer had been in the vice mayor's parking space – but he'd known that all it would take was for the right deputy (Bill Kilroy had come to mind) to walk by and his car would have been as good as towed.  Jake had checked his watch, seen that it was after seven, and decided that he'd have better luck if he tried to park farther out and just accepted the ten-minute walk that was ahead of him.  "These cars… seriously, all these people are comin' out for a mechanical bull?"

"They're makin' a big deal of it," Derek answered.  "There're flyers everywhere, all over town—"

"Quarter page ad on the front page of The Jericho Record this morning," Stephanie threw out.  "And I heard a radio commercial earlier, too.  On the Rogue River station, so it was probably playing on the Fielding station, too."

"You're joking, right?" Jake grumbled softly.

"Nope," Derek said, shaking his head.  "I was in the feed store yesterday, and Stanley Richmond was tellin' anyone who'd listen all about it.  Said he's riding first, and you're goin' second."

"I think I was tricked into agreeing to this," Jake said, allowing an exasperated chuckle.  "Mary Bailey got Heather to ask me when I was out of town," he complained, making another frustrated noise.  "So, Derek, you riding tonight?"

"Hell, no," was the other man's quick response.  "Your fiancée convinced you to do this?  Well, maybe you still need to seal that deal –"

"Hey, our deal's sealed," Jake had assured. "The Catholic Church just has a six-month waiting period for getting married, and Heather and her dad are Catholic."

"Fair enough," Derek nodded.  "But still, I've got two kids and a wife who says she's driving home tonight," he continued, grinning at Stephanie.  "That's a big enough night in my book, and all without embarrassing myself in front of the whole town.  Besides, I also have four hundred cows that hafta be milked tomorrow – early – which means I'm up at four AM."

"And that's why date night turns into a pumpkin at nine thirty tonight," Stephanie sighed.

Jake groaned.  "Think I'll stick to horses," he told the Hydes as they reached the corner of Almond and, after waiting for a truck – its driver obviously searching for a parking place – to come through the intersection, they crossed the street and turned east.

"You takin' over your family's ranch?" Derek asked, clearly interested in the answer.

"Nah," Jake denied quickly, "Not any time soon, at least. I'm supposed to be on administrative leave, but I just spent the week in Denver, working," he explained with his next breath, pointing to his clothes. "Believe me, I'm changing as soon as I get to Bailey's."

"Don't wanna ride a mechanical bull in a neck tie, huh?" Derek drawled, shaking his head.  "Can't say I blame you for that."

"Derek hates ties," Stephanie informed Jake.  "Only wears them to church or if he has to go to the bank."

Jake laughed at that, apologizing with his next breath.  "Sorry, it's not you.  It's – the first time I met Heather, I was wearing a suit – on my way home from a week in Denver for work, actually – and that's what she asked me.  'Do you work at the bank?'" he explained.  "So that's funny to me – the bank."  Stephanie and Derek both chuckled appreciatively.  "Anyway," Jake continued a moment later, "My job, it's interesting and I'm actually pretty good at it.  So, for now at least…." He trailed off, shrugging.

He and Heather had talked about this just the night before, both of them feeling a little frustrated over their admittedly short separation, and both feeling a little silly for minding, given that they'd be reunited in less than twenty-four hours. Jake liked his job, but he loved Heather, and he was starting to wonder how compatible those two things really were. He'd told her – not for the first time – that he wasn't going to work for the DEA forever, that eventually he'd go to one of his back-up plans, flying or ranching. That he would be closer to home.

"Good," she'd murmured. "Because I think – or, really, I don't think – I don't think we should have kids until you're here at least most of the time," Heather had continued nervously. "I know what I'm getting myself into," she'd claimed, though Jake had wondered if she really did, "And I'm choosing it. But a child isn't gonna get to make that choice, and besides, kids are pretty much a fulltime endeavor."

"Yeah," he'd acknowledged, nodding to himself. "Kids – kids deserve that. Two parents who are present, like – like we both had.  Like we're gonna be." 

"Exactly," she'd agreed, and Jake had caught himself smiling, knowing he'd said the right thing. 

"Besides, somebody's gonna need to be available to drive 'em to school at a decent hour – if seven thirty can be considered decent – once you're the principal and you decide you hafta be the first one there every single day," he'd joked, predicting, "Because our kids are probably gonna take after me and wanna sleep as late as possible."

It had been Heather who had started this dialogue – 'thinking ahead', she'd called it – between them, almost as soon as they'd gotten engaged, and it still surprised Jake to realize how easily he'd fallen into it with her.  He'd never been a person who'd enjoyed discussing his future plans with anyone; too many awkward, stilted conversations during his teen years with his parents and even his grandparents, he supposed.  But it was different with Heather.  Her vision of the life they would build together was so charming, so full of possibility, and Jake had found himself drawn into it, always awaiting the next little tidbit she would impart.  He'd started joining in, too, at first just offering a corrected detail here or there, but soon he'd begun making bold statements such as this one, claiming their future offspring for the night owl camp.

"You know that I'm not actually against sleeping in," Heather had reminded, "Never have been.  Though I must admit to having a new found appreciation for the practice as of late," she'd added, her voice growing husky.

"Plus, there's somethin' to be said for just not getting outta bed at all," Jake had countered.

"That there is," she'd agreed and he'd heard the smile in her tone.  "But – sadly – I am on a career path that is rather incompatible with making a habit of sleeping late."

"Well, there's always summer vacation," he'd suggested.  "Christmas break.  Federal holidays.  Weekends."

"Yes!  Saturdays are very good days to sleep in, especially when someone who loves you gets up just a little bit earlier and makes you pancakes," she'd teased.

"Yeah, I've heard that," he'd returned drily.

"Well, if our children do take after you when it comes to sleeping in – and they probably will," Heather has chuckled, "Then you are very sweet to say you'll drive them to school a little later so they can sleep in some.  Though remember," she'd added a few seconds later, "They still need to be on time."

"You sure it has to be on time?" Jake had joked, "Like every day?"

"I'm actually quite sure that it's bad for the principal's – or any teacher's – kids to be labeled truant, yes," she'd groaned. 

"Fine," he'd conceded.  "But I'm warnin' you now, at least some of the time, breakfast's gonna end up being a doughnut and chocolate milk from McBee's Bakery." It had been Johnston's breakfast of last resort on those infrequent occasions when getting his sons to school on time had been left all up to him.  "That's what my dad used to get us for breakfast if Mom was out of town or something," he'd told her.  "Or we'd stop by on our way outta town, if we were going camping or hunting, or for baseball, and we were leaving early Saturday morning instead of Friday night."

"So, you can get up before noon on Saturday!" Heather had practically crowed.  "When you want to, you can.  Jake, you totally just admitted it," she'd accused gleefully.

"Aw, man.  I'm busted, huh?" he'd asked, laughing at himself.

"You are so busted, mister," she'd declared, giggling.

"Well, can I pay it off in pancakes?" Jake had inquired, although he'd already known the answer.  Pancakes and whether he'd make them for her had become a recurring theme in their speculative discussions of the future, so much so that he'd ordered her pancakes from room service while they'd been in Jackson Hole, and Heather – who had never actually tasted a pancake that Jake had had anything to do with making – had decided that the hotel's twenty-five dollar short stack was lacking in comparison to the pancakes he'd one day make for her. 

"I think pancakes will do nicely," Heather had decided.  "Plus, on those days – and it really can't be every day – that you take our children to get doughnuts for breakfast, you can bring me a doughnut, too."

"I think I can manage that," Jake had allowed.  "So, here's the deal," he'd declared a moment later.  "When we have kids, I'll be home in Jericho so I can do things like drive them to school and buy them – and you – doughnuts for breakfast.  But no more than twice a week – say Tuesdays and Thursdays – because Saturdays are reserved for pancakes, and I'm in charge of those, too.  Sounds good?"

"Sounds perfect," she'd murmured contentedly. 

"Yeah, it does."  They had agreed that kids were a few years off, and Jake could feel himself being ready to give up his job – without regrets – by then.  More than anything though, he wasn't willing to give up Heather and what they would have together – what they would build together – for his job.  "But I also reserve the right to quit my job before we have kids," he'd added, clearing his throat.  "If I'm gone too much, miss you too much.  Quit my job – and then get another one real quick, of course," he'd chuckled softly.

"Well, yeah, requirements must be met," she'd teased then, though over their cell connection he'd heard a hint of a sniff in her voice, too.

"Hey, all I'm talkin' about is the official, Lisinski approved plan B-slash-C," Jake had argued, "My bases are covered."

"One hundred percent pre-approved, yes," Heather had concurred. "Plus, technically, there is also a back-up plan D."

"Yeah, but plan D is really plan D," he'd grumbled. "D for 'dud' or 'damn' or somethin'."

"Fair enough," she'd sighed, "But – just for the record – you should know that I am not gonna try and talk you out of it if you decide to execute on plans B or C a little early, mister."

"Good," Jake had returned, "'Cause I'll be pissed if you do. In fact, if you ever even just think you need to talk me into executing early, you should do it."

Though – much as he'd suspected she would – Heather had rejected this suggestion.  "That wouldn't be fair," she'd argued.  "And besides, I'd probably start right now," she'd admitted, groaning softly.  "But, it's your job, Jake, so it's your decision – when you stop.  I mean, if you're still doing it ten years from now, I'm gonna object.  But outside of that… we have a timeline," she'd reminded, "And I'm good with that."

"Okay," he'd acknowledged, "But things change, babe.  So you know, you can change your mind, too."

"…. I'm stickin' with the DEA," Jake informed the Hydes.  "But later – when we have kids – I'm pretty sure I'll be askin' my grandpa for a job," he admitted.  "And, you never know what's gonna happen, right?"  He flashed Stephanie a grin as the three of them started up Spruce Lane.  "I mean, six months ago, I sure didn't expect that I'd be about to get married, but now I am."

They were looking at the backside of Bailey's Tavern and the building was lit up like a Christmas tree, the low thrum that was emanating from the structure indicative of the volume level inside.  "God," Jake swore, shaking his head, "This really is a big deal, huh?"

"Yeah, pretty much," Stephanie laughed sympathetically.  "I mean, it's not like Jericho has a lotta big events," she continued.  "The Fourth of July and Labor Day picnics, the Harvest Festival and football in the fall, right?"

"Hey, there's baseball, too, Steph," Derek protested.

"Well, yeah," she agreed, "Duh.  I do know that I'm walking between two baseball players.  But what I meant is things that get the whole town to come out. Everyone goes to the football games," Stephanie explained.  "And I went to basically every game you guys played in – but I sure didn't see the whole town there.  Plus, nothing ever happens around here in January," she declared.  "So, this came along and people got excited."

"Hafta say, my January's been eventful," Jake argued.  "Got engaged for New Year's, and my birthday was Monday."

"And now you get to ride a mechanical bull in front of the whole town," Stephanie teased as they reached the front door of Bailey's Tavern.  "Happy Birthday!"

"Thanks," he chuckled, as the bouncer – he'd never seen one at Bailey's before – asked to see their identification. 

After giving each of their driver's licenses a cursory glance, the bouncer had waved the three of them into the building.  Jake had held the door open for the Hydes before following them into the establishment. The place was as packed as he'd ever seen it, every barstool occupied, every booth and table claimed.  Everywhere you looked there were happy, chattering, laughing patrons.  The juke box blared country music, in keeping with the theme of the evening, Jake supposed, noting that the waitresses and bartenders – he counted eight of them, more than he'd ever seen in here all at once – were all wearing cowboy hats.  A couple that he didn't know brushed past them, apologizing, the man leading the woman on a circuitous route through the crowd, in a futile search for a table.  Jake, too, was scanning the room, looking for Heather, but so far, he hadn't located her in the throng.

"That's my sister, Michelle," Stephanie said, pointing toward a booth in the center of the tavern and the blond woman who was waving at them furiously.  Stephanie waved back and then offered Jake a quick smile, squeezing his arm.  "Good luck tonight," she wished him, "It was nice to run into you.  And, again, congratulations.  Like I said, I really like your fiancée."

Derek extended his hand.  "Good to see you, man," he proclaimed, shaking Jake's hand.  "Don't fall off," he advised.

"Yeah, I'll try not to," Jake returned with a groaning chuckle.  "Have a good evening.  A good date night," he corrected himself with his next breath. 

He watched the Hydes maneuver their way toward their booth, Derek keeping a tight grip on Stephanie's hand.  A couple of giggling young women – teenagers probably, he thought, out-of-towners testing out their fake IDs – moved by, forcing him to take a step back.  "Whoa there," a man – Clyde Davis, Jake identified, looking over his shoulder – ordered as Jake's duffle bag knocked into the camera that hung around Clyde's neck.  "Movin' in are you, Jake?" he joked.

"Traffic in Denver was a disaster this afternoon," he explained as he and Clyde disentangled themselves.  "I was supposed to be home three, four hours ago."  His plan had been to head directly to Heather's house, change clothes, and then hang out with her until it was time to head to the bar.  But instead, when he'd still been within the Denver city limits at four fifteen, Jake had called Heather to break the bad news.  They'd talked about once every half hour since then, and when six had rolled around and he was still nearly eighty miles from Jericho, they'd agreed that she should head for Bailey's without him.  "And I need to change before I even think about riding that mechanical bull," Jake informed the newspaper editor.  "You covering this thing for The Record?"

Clyde shrugged.  "It's not hard-hitting journalism, I'll give you that.  But it's still news, and Jim Bailey's spent enough on advertising this week that I really should return the favor.  And since most of my reporters – and all my photographers – aren't old enough to get in here tonight, I'm gettin' to play cub reporter," he chuckled.

"Gotcha," Jake nodded absently, his gaze drifting over the crowd as he tried once more to locate Heather in the mass of people.

"So, everything's still on track in Denver?" Clyde inquired.

"Yeah, it is," Jake frowned softly.  "Trial should be at the end of April, maybe May.  Sorry, that's really all I can say."

"That's okay," Clyde dismissed, "I wasn't fishin' for a story, promise.  But it'll be good for you to get all that behind you before your wedding.  I suspect you're gonna wanna concentrate on your bride for a good, long while," he predicted, grinning.

"Oh, yeah," Jake agreed, scanning the tavern once again in a vain attempt to locate said bride.

Taking pity on Jake, Clyde directed his attention toward the far end of the upper ring of booths.  "She's sittin' over there," he said, "With your brother and Stanley Richmond—"

"And my cousin," Jake interjected, surprised.  He still couldn't see Heather – or Eric or April for that matter – but Kevin and Janine O'Brien were squished into one side of the last booth in the line, along with Stanley, who leaned momentarily into view before disappearing back into the corner and out of Jake's line of vision.  "That's my cousin and his wife," he explained to Clyde.  "They – they live in Cedar Run."

"Well, like I said, Jim's really gone all out on the advertising," the older man reminded.  "Have a good evening, Jake."

"Thanks, you too," Jake acknowledged, already moving toward his fiancée.

* * * * * *

"Aw, I really like the picture you guys chose," Janine O'Brien told Heather.  She was studying the Lisinski-Green engagement announcement which took up the top third of the back page of The Jericho Record.  "You guys are adorable!"

"Thanks," Heather returned, flashing the other woman an absent smile before glancing not-so-surreptitiously down at her phone.

"Stop," April murmured from beside her.  "He's gonna be here any minute."

"I know," Heather sighed, leaning out of the booth and then glancing over her shoulder.  "Sorry," she apologized as she turned back around a few seconds later.

"Oh no, we totally stole your view of the door," Janine realized, frowning softly.  She and her husband, Kevin – first cousin to Jake and Eric – had arrived at Bailey's Tavern fifteen minutes earlier to find that the place was already packed, and there wasn't a table to be had.  Luckily, Stanley Richmond had spotted them and – after hugging them both – had dragged them back to the booth he was sharing with Heather, April and Eric.  Heather had quickly switched sides, joining April and Eric opposite of Stanley and the O'Briens.  "That's why you were sitting over here, huh?"

"Yeah, but it's okay," Heather assured with a dismissive wave.  An hour before, she had steered Stanley into the other side of the booth knowing that she'd be able to watch the door – watch for Jake – from there, but it had only made sense that she switched to the other side of the booth in order to allow the O'Briens to sit together.   "I'm marrying a man who – technically – works in another state.  So sometimes things are gonna go wrong – just hopefully not too often," she groaned. "But I should probably still get used to it."

"Jake's still gonna work in Denver after you guys get married?" Janine inquired, her surprise clearly evident in her expression.

"Well, the DEA has a district office in Kansas City, and a really small office – they call it something else, a resident office, I think he said – in Wichita but those are both under a different division than Denver," she explained.  According to Jake, the DEA also had a resident office in Buffalo, a fact he had shared while they had been back there three weeks before.  But Heather's response to this news had been to kiss him and then inform him that under no circumstances were they moving to Buffalo.  "Plus, you know, he likes his boss in Denver, so…."

"Well, he's gonna be here any minute," April repeated, "You'll see.   You said parking is a mess out there, right?" she asked Janine, who nodded in agreement.  "See?  He has to find someplace to park, and then he'll be here."

"Still, do you wanna switch?" Janine offered, "I'll switch with you."

"It's really not necessary," Heather returned.

"Jake will find us," April added.  "Or rather, Jake will find Heather," she corrected herself, chuckling.  "And the rest of us will just be here."

"Gotcha," Janine grinned.  "And I really do love this picture," she repeated before gently elbowing her husband in the side to get his attention.  "Isn't this a nice picture?" she demanded, showing him the paper.

"Sure," Kevin agreed, glancing down at the newspaper before turning back to the discussion of the Rams' chances in the upcoming Super Bowl that he was currently embroiled in with Eric and Stanley. 

"Kev!  At least look at the picture for two seconds," Janine ordered.

"Yes dear," he returned drily, reaching for the newspaper.

Glaring, she pulled it back, clutching it to her chest.  "I cannot believe you just 'yes deared' me," Janine grumbled.  "And in front of your family!" she accused.

"You know I didn't really mean it," he cajoled, offering her a lopsided grin that seemed very familiar to both Heather and April.

"His father is always doing this to his mother," Janine told the two women, "And I love my in-laws, but it drives me up the wall," she complained.  "So passive-aggressive."

"Sorry, Jannie," Kevin wheedled. "Okay, lemme see this picture," he requested, leaning toward her.  Sighing, Janine surrendered the paper to her husband, earning herself a quick kiss as well as a "Thank you … dear."

"Uhhh!" she groaned, smacking him lightly on the arm.  "You are such a – a – jerk sometimes," Janine complained, fighting a smile.

"But you love me anyway," Kevin reminded, before finally looking down at the photograph which accompanied the three-hundred word announcement.  "Huh," he said a few seconds later, passing the newspaper back to his wife.  "It's a nice picture.  You look great," he told Heather, "But, wow, I actually didn't know that Jake could smile."

"What are you talking about?" Janine countered, "Jake smiles."

"Yeah, but not if someone's taking a picture," Kevin argued.  "You remember this," he said, looking across the booth at Eric.  "When we were little and someone would make us all line up for a kid group photo, Auntie Bridget would always throw a fit because Jake wouldn't smile."

Eric rolled his eyes.  "Oh yeah.  You know it would've been two minutes – ninety seconds – except Jake wouldn't cooperate.  He thought it was dumb, so he made the rest of us suffer."

"I've seen pictures of Jake, as a child," Heather emphasized, "Smiling." 

"Well, Auntie Bridget usually won," Kevin conceded.

"This is where the kissing as punishment thing came from?" April laughed, "Because Jake wouldn't smile for the camera?"

"Can we please not talk about that?" Stanley grumbled.

April looked intrigued.  "Wait a minute," she demanded, "You've had to kiss Auntie Bridget, too, Stanley?  Why?"

"We've all had to kiss Auntie Bridget at one time or another," Kevin interjected.  "Just on the cheek," he clarified, catching his wife's questioning look.  "And Stanley's an honorary O'Brien – been to enough of our events – so, odds are she'd catch him up to something, especially with Jake, because it was only like ten percent of the time that she busted him over the pictures.  The rest was something else."

"But Bridget made you kiss her?" Janine asked, trying to catch her husband's eye though he was doing a pretty good job of avoiding her gaze.  "Right?  That's what you're sayin', right?" she questioned, glancing quickly at April and then back at Kevin.  "If you were misbehaving, she made you kiss her?  I have never heard this!"

"It was always on the cheek," Eric insisted, prompting vigorous nods from Kevin and Stanley.

"I only found out about it, like, two days ago," April told Janine.  "I'm starting to think it's their secret shame."

"Jake told me about it last weekend," Heather added.  "But I hafta say, he's a lot less scarred by it than these three," she declared with an off-handed wave toward the other end of the booth. 

"You haven't met Auntie Bridget yet, have you?" Janine remembered, grinning at Heather.

"Nope," the younger woman confirmed.  "Because she wasn't at the Christmas party," Heather recalled.  She'd met Kevin, Janine and at least ten other O'Briens at Gail's and Johnston's open house the month before.  "She had to go to her daughter's concert in Kansas City instead.  But I'll meet her tomorrow.  Gail, April and I are going wedding dress shopping."

"Well, that'll be fun," Janine assured.  "I got my wedding dress from her, too.  She really does get a lot of business just from family weddings," she laughed, "But she's wonderful about it, gives you lots of extra attention.  And, since she's actually at the wedding, she can also give you the once over before you walk down the aisle, make sure everything's perfect."

"She saved the day at our wedding when the hem came out on Paul's pants literally three minutes before he was supposed to walk me down the aisle," April informed them.  "She has a whole kit for going to weddings, just pulled out the hem tape and – voila – crisis averted."

"And – I promise – Bridget's a lot more benign than these guys would have you believe," Janine added, cocking her head toward the three men.

"Jake wasn't smiling in any of our wedding pictures," Eric announced suddenly. 

"Seriously, we're back to this?" April groaned, shaking her head at her husband.  "I mean, I don't know what Jake's thing was when you all were kids, but he gets a pass on our wedding.  He was on crutches and heavy-duty pain meds, and he was in pretty bad shape, actually.  But don't worry," she continued, grinning and glancing sideways at Heather.  "He'll be smiling in your wedding pictures, guaranteed."

"Yes, he will," Janine concurred.  "Just like he's smiling in this picture," she proclaimed, pointing at the photograph in The Record, "Because he's with the woman he loves."

"Same reason I'm smiling now," Kevin declared, grinning at his wife.  "Just a different woman."

"Nice save," April complimented as the O'Briens exchanged another chaste kiss.

"Thanks," Kevin acknowledged with a smirk.

"So, did you guys take this picture specifically for the announcement, or was it just a picture you had?" Janine asked, glancing at Heather.

"Oh, it was one we already had," Heather responded.  "And, actually," she giggled softly, "It's a little bit surprising that he was smiling for it.  I cropped it, so you can't see it anymore, but we were standing in front of an airplane, because Jake flew us to Wyoming for lunch, and the picture was taken by the fuel truck guy – I don't know what you're supposed to call him.  But anyway, I'd just taken a picture of Jake right before, and he complained about it, and then the fuel truck guy offered to take another one with both of us in it, and you know, Jake smiled."

"You should see some of the other pictures from that day," April laughed, "Oh, oh my!"

"She's really just talking about one picture," Heather argued, shaking her head.  "Where we're kissing, and it's not a big deal."  She refrained from quoting her brothers on the matter; they had asked after her firsthand knowledge of Jake's fillings and whether or not he still had his tonsils.  "Though it's funny now that we're getting married, but that day, people kept asking if we were newlyweds."

"Then – clearly – you are just meant to be," Janine declared warmly.  She picked up newspaper, quickly checking the text of the announcement.  "July thirteenth," she said, "Okay, I'm putting that on the calendar as soon as we get home.  And is it a kid-friendly wedding, or do I need to find a sitter?"

"Kid-friendly, definitely," Heather assured.  "I mean, I'm a teacher, and I've got three nieces and a nephew, and some of my cousins with kids may come, and trust me, all weddings in my family are very kid-friendly."

Great," Janine acknowledged.  "Kev's mom is our babysitter tonight, but she's gonna wanna be at the wedding, for sure," she smiled.  "I could find a teenager – we've got a few in Cedar Run, older sisters of kids at the school – but Zoey still won't be a year old by then, so I'm not entirely sure I could actually leave her with a teenager for eight to ten hours," she chuckled uneasily.  "I mean, I'm way better about her than I was about Alex—"

"Oh yeah," Kevin confirmed with a vigorous nod.  "That kid's diapers should've been made outta bubble wrap," he joked, pressing a kiss to the side of his wife's head.

"I was a first-time mom," Janine defended herself, shrugging, "What do you expect?  But Zoey's still my baby," she sighed.  "Actually, tonight is the first time I've ever been away from her.  Ever," she repeated, "Since – well, really, in her whole existence."

"Whaddaya mean?" her husband demanded, "You've been away from Zoey.  You went shopping last weekend."

"I went grocery shopping – pretty much so we weren't eating cereal and ice cream sandwiches for dinner – and I was only gone a half hour and she was asleep the entire time.  It doesn't count," Janine argued.  "Because why was I gonna take her out in the cold to run to the market when you were there?"

"I'm just sayin', it's not like you've never been away from her," Kevin countered.

"Well, tonight is definitely the first time I'm spending multiple hours away from her," Janine declared.  "My official return to the land of grown-ups," she giggled. "Which is why you're driving home tonight—"

"You got it, baby," Kevin interjected, winking at her.

"—and I'm having multiple margaritas," Janine continued.  "At least two, maybe three, could conceivably be four, though I suppose I'd hafta pump and dump more than twice, huh?" she inquired, frowning softly and looking to April for confirmation.

"Depends on when you're pumping," April replied, "I assume when you get home, but then—"

"Wait a minute," Stanley interrupted, glancing back and forth between April and Janine, "I thought 'pump and dump' was a stock scheme.  Like, the second-rate stockbroker, workin' in the 'boiler room' calls and convinces the little guy like me to buy in, so the price goes up, then that jerk sells, and the little guy gets screwed."  He glanced around the table and was met with five equally blank, equally polite stares.    "You hafta know what I'm talkin' about," he insisted, frustrated, appealing to Eric.  "You're a lawyer, and – and there was just a movie about this."

"I'm pretty sure they're talking about a different kind of 'pump and dump'," Eric chuckled uneasily.

"We are," April confirmed.  "This is using a breast pump to make sure that a baby doesn't get alcohol through the mother's milk.  So, you 'pump and dump' – throw away – the potentially tainted breast milk to protect the baby."

"Oh," Stanley mumbled, looking down at the table.  "Yeah.  That's definitely different."

 "Well, alcohol in breast milk is pretty much the same as blood alcohol," April explained, returning her attention to Janine.  "But whereas you're legal to drive once you're at a point-oh-eight, you probably don't want to feed Zoey until the alcohol has completely cleared your system."

"Definitely," Janine agreed, nodding.

"Then I'd recommend limiting yourself to two or three drinks, tops," April advised, her lips quirked as she thought through what was ultimately a math problem.  "I mean a hundred-forty pound woman who has –"

"Oh, my goodness!" Janine exclaimed, giggling and grinning at April.  "Bless you!  And Eric," she continued, addressing her husband's cousin, "Thank you for marrying her.  I mean, not only did you add a doctor to the family, but a very complimentary one at that." 

"Hey, my pleasure," Eric smiled, draping his arm around April's shoulder and distracting her long enough to steal a kiss.

"My official, license weight is one forty-five," Janine informed the other woman a moment later, "But trust me, reality is somewhat north of that."

April returned Janine's smile.  "Okay then, a hundred-fifty pound woman?" she suggested.

"Sure, we'll go with that," Janine laughed. 

"So, a hundred-fifty pound woman who has four margaritas probably isn't safe to drive for around seven hours," April calculated, her forehead wrinkling as she considered all of the variables.  Having worked in the emergency room for nearly three years, she'd been called on more than once to evaluate a driver suspected of being intoxicated.  "And then it's another… well, could be two or three hours before all the alcohol would clear her system," she warned.  "Plus, you haven't had any in over a year, right?"

"Year and a half," Janine admitted.  She glanced at her husband, shrugging.  "We were trying.  Which means I was stuck drinking sparkling cider with all the kids for, like, three weddings before your guys'," she complained jokingly.  Janine had been seven months pregnant when she and Kevin – with just turned three years old Alex in tow – had attended the Glendenning-Green wedding the previous June; then Zoey had been born – at the Jericho Medical Center – the last week of August.

"Well, you'll be able to drink all the champagne you want by our wedding, right?" Heather offered cheerfully.

"I can at least do the toast," Janine nodded, smiling.  "Even if I am still nursing, I'll do that much at least."

"So, you're gonna breastfeed for a year?" Heather asked, clearly surprised.  "Sorry, that's nosy," she admitted, "But the longest either of my sisters-in-law went was, like, six months."

"I'm not sure," Janine answered with a shrug.  "I went, I dunno, five months with Alex, but I had to go back to work when he was four months old.  With Zoey I'm on maternity leave 'til August – the next school year – which is not completely by choice, but it is how it is.  And nursing saves money – if you don't think about extra food, and the time, and everything – so for now...." she trailed off, her attention turning toward April, "Anyway, it sounds like I should stick to one – maybe two – margaritas?"

"That would be my advice," the doctor agreed, nodding.  "I mean, you don't know what might've changed biochemically, and you might end up feeling the effects of the alcohol more strongly than you remember.  Even with two drinks, that's still five hours – maybe six, to be absolutely safe – that you're gonna wanna dump.  Plus, when you get home tonight you still need to take care of your kids, right?"

"Oh yeah," Janine replied, making a face.  "Dorothy's spending the night, but that's just because the drive home is so long.  But yeah, that would be embarrassing," she groaned gently, "To be drunk enough in front of my mother-in-law that she had to take care of my kids.  And – just so you know – I was never really gonna have four margaritas," she assured them, glancing around the table.

Kevin pulled his wife into a loose, one-armed, sideways hug, planting a kiss on the top of her head.  "Yeah, I figured that was the mommy hormones/cabin fever talking," he chuckled.

"I'm really not that big of a drinker," Janine announced with a sigh.  "Outside of the one time I got really drunk in college, I don't even think I've ever had four drinks in one night," she admitted.  "And that's definitely in the 'Before Kids' era."  Her eyes were suddenly bright with unshed tears which she blinked away furiously, forcing a tremulous smile, her gaze fixed on April and Heather.  "Well, you two will know what I'm talking about soon enough."

"Hopefully," April returned, glancing sideways at her husband and flashing him a quick smile. 

"Yeah," Heather agreed.  "Though in a few years," she qualified a beat later, "For me, anyway.  I mean, I'm only twenty-two."  She looked around the table at the bemused expressions of her companions, coming to the belated realization that they were all at least five years older.  "And a half," she added, with an embarrassed chuckle.  "And even though my brothers were all worried that I'd end up an old maid – or worse, a nun – I personally wasn't planning to worry about any of that for another decade at least."

"And then you met Jake," Janine concluded.

"Right, then I met Jake," Heather echoed, a soft grin creeping onto her lips.  "And getting married seemed like a really great idea," she giggled.  "But still – for us – kids are a few years off."

"So, don't take this the wrong way," Kevin said, catching Heather's eye.  "You either," he joked, throwing his wife a quick look, "But you're way too cute to ever end up an old maid.  Except by choice, of course."

Heather offered Kevin a bright smile, starting to ask him what would be the wrong way for her to take his statement, but then, suddenly, two hands landed on her shoulders and a most familiar voice rumbled  next to her ear.  "So, what if I take that the wrong way, Kev?" Jake demanded, "Because it sure sounded to me like you were flirtin' with my girl."  He pressed a kiss to the top of her head then, murmuring, "Hey, babe."

Valiantly, Heather tried to suppress her surprised – and it wasn't scared, she wouldn't admit to scared, even in her own head, even only to herself – reaction, but she was not entirely successful.  She jumped a little in her seat and a small squeak escaped her before she could stop it.  Still, hoping no one – and by no one, she really meant Jake – had noticed, she tilted her head back, offering him a beatific smile and a clear invitation, which he took her up on, also smiling as he brushed his mouth across hers. 

"I wasn't flirting, Jake," Kevin defended himself, holding his hands up in an 'I surrender' pose.  "I was just stating the obvious," he argued.

"Good point," Jake agreed genially.  He took a half step back so he could hang his garment bag on the post coat hook – already overloaded with Heather's, April's and Eric's winter coats – and then dropped his duffle bag on the floor, kicking it half-heartedly into the baseboard running beneath the bank of booths.  "Because you're right.  She is too cute – too gorgeous, really – and too smart, too fun, too good," he declared.  "Though what she's supposed to not be is a girl you can sneak up on.  Four brothers and all that, she claims she's impervious," Jake informed them all, grinning down at his fiancée.

"That is what you say," Stanley chimed in, "I've heard you."

"I wasn't scared," she argued, her chin jutting defiantly.

Jake grin was now a full-blown smirk, and he reminded, "I never said 'scared', babe.  Just hypothesized that I'd snuck up on un-sneak-up-on-able you."

"Well, it's pretty loud in here, so I guess you did sneak up on me," Heather conceded, sliding out of the booth and spinning around so that she stood facing her fiancé, the two of them toe-to-toe.  "But yay!" she declared, grinning broadly at him. "You're home!"

She stepped into the open, waiting circle of his arms then, wrapping hers around his neck while he wound his around her waist, pulling her against him.  Their lips met for a long, lingering moment, and when she reluctantly broke the seal of their kiss his only response was a husky "Yay, I'm home," all thoughts – and discussion – of whether or not she'd been scared or surprised by his arrival forgotten.  She took a half-step back and he held onto her hand, quickly glancing her up and down.  "You look great," he told her, grinning.

Heather laughed self-consciously.  "Well, I did my best western New York impression of a cowgirl."  She was dressed in a denim skirt paired with a long sleeve shirt in red hues – Jake wasn't sure if the print qualified as plaid or just checked – layered over a scooped t-shirt, the top four buttons left undone.  Her outfit reminded him of the one she'd worn – and he'd quite liked – for their picnic at Bass Lake.  "It seemed appropriate to the evening," she shrugged, "So you know…."

"Hey, I like it," Jake said, squeezing her hand.  "Very thematic," he teased, "Just need to get you some real boots."  Her boots were knee-high, more in the style of English riding boots than western ones.

"What about a hat?" she countered as Mary Bailey – sporting both western boots and a cowboy hat – approached their booth, bearing a tray laden with drinks and appetizers.  "Don't I need one of those?"

But Jake shook his head, much as Heather – knowing that his own preference was for a ball cap over a cowboy hat – had suspected he would.  "Nah, that'd be overkill," he argued.

"Well, if you really want one," Mary interjected, "Dad's still got four or five in his office I'm sure you could borrow from."

"That's okay," Heather assured as Jake tugged on her hand, pulling her back toward him.  He maneuvered them both around, dropping into her seat next to April and then pulling her down so that she sat across his lap.  "But thank you," she giggled, flashing the waitress a quick smile.

"So, this seems like a long-term solution to you?" April inquired, throwing her brother-in-law a skeptical look.

Heather tilted her head back, catching her friend's eye.  "Sorry," she apologized.

"Well, it's our fault," Janine interjected, sighing.  "We really weren't expecting it to be this packed, and then we crowded in here with you guys."

"Yeah," Mary smiled, "I've actually never seen it this full in here before, so it's good you got here, Jake.  I can tell the guy at the door to start limiting admission, because – and, close your vice mayor ears for this part, Eric – we are super close to hitting maximum occupancy for the building."

"You do realize that I'm on the fire department, too?" Eric returned, frowning.  "Maximum occupancy figures are set for public safety, they're not—"

April leaned toward her husband.  "How 'bout you close your firefighter's ears now, too?" she suggested sweetly.  "Because half the fire department is here tonight, so you guys'll keep us safe, and besides Mary's gonna go talk to the guy at the door."

"Yeah, okay," he agreed, his frown morphing into a smile when April kissed him.

"Okay," she began a moment later, turning back toward their waitress.  "Tonight is Janine's first post-partum night out," April announced, pointing across the booth at her, "So please, give this woman her margarita."

"Oh, absolutely," Mary agreed, presenting the drink to Janine with a flourish.  "Congratulations!  Boy or girl?"

"Thanks," Janine smiled, "And girl.  Zoey.  She'll be five months old on Monday, actually."

"Your first?" Mary inquired, placing drinks in front of Heather and then April. 

"Second," Janine corrected, "We have a little boy, too.  Alex.  Three and a half."

"So tonight's 'date night'?" Jake asked, surprising his fiancée, who twisted her head around and shot him an inquisitive look.  "What?  I'm tryin' to get up to speed on my married people lingo," he told her, his tone teasing.  "That okay?"

"Okay by me," Heather assured him, grinning and brushing her lips across his.

"Heather, just be glad that the married phrase Jake wants to get down first is 'date night' and not 'honey, what's for dinner?'" Janine chuckled.  She caught her cousin-in-law's eye, telling him approvingly, "You're starting in the right place."

"Well, I try, Janine," Jake returned, winking at her.  "I try."

"Now I'm gonna tell you to stop flirtin' with my wife," Kevin said, feigning annoyance.  "But you're right, this is 'date night'," he confirmed, passing a bottle of beer to Stanley before accepting his own from Mary.  "Right, honey?" he asked, leaning into his wife.

Janine smiled at him.  "At least you didn't 'yes dear' me," she noted. "And, I give you tons of 'date night' credit for this one.  All the credit you want.  Even if you didn't exactly come up with it all on your own."

"Yeah, well," Kevin shrugged, draping his arm around her shoulders.  "I actually knew this shindig was going on – there're flyers all over the shops in Cedar Run –"

"Oh good," Mary beamed, placing baskets of potato skins and Buffalo wings, followed by a plate of loaded nachos, in the center of the table.  "You saw those!"

"At the coffee shop, grocery store, hardware store, even the gas station," he catalogued.  "But it wasn't 'til Mom called me at work yesterday morning and told me that you guys—" he looked at Jake and then at Stanley "—were gonna be here, kicking things off, and then offered her babysitting services, that I put it all together."

"That's when he called me," Janine explained, picking up the story from her husband, "And went through this whole hemming and hawing routine, said that if I didn't already have plans, did I – maybe – want to go with him to Bailey's in Jericho?  It was so formal and cute," she grinned, "As if he isn't painfully aware that my usual Friday night routine consists of laundry and watching America's Funniest Home Videos with Alex.  Really," she sighed, catching her husband's eye.  "You could've had me with the promise of dinner at Sonic and an action movie.  But this is way better."

"You definitely made the right choice," Mary declared as the O'Briens exchanged a quick kiss.  "So, Jake," she continued, tucking her tray under her arm, "What can I get you?"

"Cheeseburger?" he requested immediately.  "And somethin' not brewed in the state of Colorado," he grumbled, glancing across the table at his cousin.  "What are you drinking?" Jake demanded.

Kevin showed him the label on his bottle.  "You know it?"

"Yeah," Jake replied, surprise evident in his voice.  It was a California craft beer that he was familiar with from the two years he'd been posted there with the DEA.  "I've been to the brewery, actually," he told them.  "We had this major bust up in the Trinity National Forest – middle of nowhere – and we had to stay in this podunk town fifty miles away.  Ten days.  Took every room in their one motel, drained the one gas station dry, cleaned out the diner and the grocery," he described.  "But the brewery was just across the highway from the motel and they had a bar/restaurant, so every night we all ended up there until they kicked us out." 

It had been his first multi-day field assignment, a reward for having been the pilot who'd flown the plane that had detected the illicit grow in the first place.  And it had given Jake a taste for field operations.  He loved to fly, but being on the ground – investigating and enforcing the law – that had been a different kind of exhilaration, and just as addictive.  "It's really small," Jake explained, "The brewery.  And I've never seen their beer anywhere else, so I sure didn't expect to see it halfway across the country, in Bailey's."

"I got Dad to let me go through our distributor's entire catalog a few months back," Mary said, "We're trying a few new additions out."

"Well, lemme have one of those," Jake requested pointing to the bottle in his cousin's hand. 

"You got it," Mary acknowledged before hurrying away.

"Why'd it take ten days?" Kevin inquired, "Your bust?  Don't you just go in and arrest the bad guys?  So, then what?"

"The bad guys all got arrested on day one," Jake confirmed with a shrug.  "Well, I think that was the time this other team caught this teenager – undocumented, basically a farmhand – on day three or four, but he was hungry and scared – so not much of a threat – and it was a pretty easy take down," he amended, his brow furrowing as he tried to recall the details of the operation.  "But the crime scene, so to speak, was spread out over a couple thousand acres of what's pretty rugged, backcountry, virgin forest.  So, we were in there for a week just cuttin' down plants, sendin' them out to be destroyed. And we had to locate and disarm all the booby traps.  The drug gangs go where they think they won't be disturbed," Jake explained, "But they still take precautions, and we hafta make sure that we clear everything out so some hunter or backpacker doesn't get injured or killed two years down the line, you know?"

"Wow," Kevin muttered, giving voice to what the rest of their group were all thinking.  He shook his head.  "Do you know what I do at work?"  The question was rhetorical.  "You know how when you call into some call center somewhere and they say 'this call may be recorded for quality assurance purposes'?  Well, right now, I'm the guy who listens to all the calls for quality assurance purposes and then has to write up the customer service reps for their inappropriate phone demeanor."

Jake groaned sympathetically.  "Your paperwork sounds worse than mine.  And that's the part I left out.  The paperwork's what took the other three days."

"You wanna talk about paperwork overload?" Janine interjected, nodding at Heather.  "Try being a teacher."

"Or a doctor," April chimed in.

"I've got paperwork comin' out my ears," Eric claimed.  "Actually, of all of us, I bet Stanley, you get to do the least amount of paperwork."

Stanley shook his head.  "Doubt it.  Farming's just running a small business.  You gotta deal with the bank and the government and the producers' association and the purchasing agents…."

"Well, that's depressing," Eric grumbled.

"Yeah," April sighed.  "So, I'm changing the subject.  And proposing a toast," she declared, lifting her glass into the air.  She paused a beat and then, smiling, proclaimed, "To Janine!  And to her return to the land of grown-ups!"

"No matter how brief it may be," the woman in question added as her companions all raised their bottles and glasses – Jake borrowing Heather's water glass for the moment – to salute her. 

"To Janine!" they all declared in unison, and Kevin, after pressing a kiss to the back of his wife's head, mouthed 'thank you' to April.

Heather set her glass back down on the table only to have her fiancé immediately pick it up and begin an inspection of its contents.  "So, Miss Lisinski, what exactly are you drinking here?" Jake demanded as he sniffed the concoction, and then raised an eyebrow.  "Interesting…."

Grinning, she wrapped both arms around his neck.  "There's a special drink menu for tonight," she informed him, giggling softly.  "So, I'm having a special drink, a Bull Rider.  Partly in your honor, but really it just sounded good.  I mean, I didn't even know that crème de bananes was a thing until tonight.  And it has Kahlua and coconut rum – half and half, too.  And something else I can't remember.  It's like a yummy milkshake. Try it," she urged.

"Jagermeister," Stanley announced from the opposite corner of the booth, waving around the acrylic T-frame holder in which the Bailey's specials were always advertised.

Jake took a sip of her drink, letting the liquid sit in his mouth for a long moment before he swallowed.  It was too sweet and too creamy for his taste – and in a way that he suspected masked a lot of the alcohol.  He wasn't sure Heather was really ready for this drink, not because she was necessarily a lightweight, but just because by her own admission, she wasn't a big drinker.  She was, however, waiting for his reaction, her expression expectant.  "Whoa," he said, coughing softly before brushing his lips across hers.  "Not really my kinda drink, but I can see why you like it…Kahlua with cream, that's right up your alley," Jake teased, kissing her again.

"And bananas and coconut," Heather reminded, still grinning.  "I'm not sure what any of that has to do with bull riding, but I like it," she laughed.

Jake laughed too, promising, "I'll explain it later.  But, uh… I think your Bull Rider goes down kinda smooth, so you know, maybe, take it slow to start, babe?" he advised quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

It took her a moment, but Jake could see in her face when comprehension hit.  "Right," she nodded sharply, once, allowing a nervous giggle.  "Right," she repeated, "Good thinkin'."

"Hey, you're with friends here," he reminded, offering her a gentle smile.  "We're not gonna let anything happen."  Certainly, he wouldn't let anything happen, wouldn't let her be embarrassed or end up in a situation that could cause her any trouble, especially of the PTA/school board variety. 

Her hand found its way into his hair momentarily as she pulled him to her for another kiss.  "Thank you," she murmured against his mouth.

"So, Stanley," Jake said a long moment later, interrupting his friend's debate with his brother – the topic was anyone's guess – "What else's on that special menu?" he demanded.

"Well, for sure what you don't wanna get is the Bull Shot," Stanley decided, making a face.  "All you need to know about that one is it involves beef bouillon and orange juice."  He shook his head. "I don't care how much vodka is involved, you're not gonna get me to drink that.  But now, Bull's Milk sounds pretty good," he determined with his next breath.  "I mean if you're a girl and like frou-frou drinks," he backpedaled.  "But you know, it's got nutmeg."

"Okay," Jake acknowledged with a chuckle.  "So, what are you drinking tonight?" he inquired, leaning – and forcing Heather to lean – toward April.

"Cowgirl Lemonade," his sister-in-law returned, shifting toward Eric who wrapped one arm around her, more than willing to take advantage of the overcrowding situation in their half of the booth.  "It's good, I just wish I'd gone for the Cowboy Cocoa, at least that's hot."

"I'll warm you, doc," Eric suggested with a grin that grew wider as his wife immediately took him up on the offer, snuggling into his side.

"And Janine?" Jake asked, continuing his poll.  "That just looks like a regular margarita," he complained.

"This is my first drink in – like – eighteen months," she informed him, "So, yeah.  It's a good ol', regular margarita.  I wanted to know I'd enjoy it."

"Right," Jake acknowledged, teasing, "You guys have been busy reproducing."

"Well, I'm pretty sure we're all done with that," Janine sighed, sharing a quick look with her husband.  "Probably we're all done with that," she corrected herself.  "But don't worry, your time is coming," she threatened lightly, pointing at him.  "All of you, actually," she added, aiming her finger across the booth and at each of them in turn.  "Though, we already know that Heather says it'll be a few years, so I guess April and Eric, you're up next."

"Yeah, apparently Jake says we should have first crack at that," April snorted softly.  "But once my residency is finished, and we take a good, long vacation, and then I get settled into my practice…." She trailed off, letting a smile and a shrug fill in the conclusion to that statement.

"Hey, we've got a plan, too," Jake announced then surprising them all.  "I mean, I'm marrying a teacher, they're pretty good planners, right Janine?" he teased.

"Right!" she giggled, grinning.

"So, are you gonna tell them what our plan is?" Heather challenged her fiancé, brushing a kiss across his mouth.

"Sure," he agreed, their eyes locking for a moment.  She offered him an encouraging smile, and then he addressed his family.  "It's like the song says, 'first comes love, then comes marriage—'"

"—then comes Jake with the baby carriage!" Stanley sang enthusiastically.

Jake rolled his eyes.  "I was gonna say, 'then comes Heather with a Masters of Educational Administration'," he informed his friend.

"Some time after which, Jake can get his baby carriage," Heather added with a gentle smile.

"My baby carriage?" her fiancé repeated, eyebrows raised, his tone skeptical.  "How 'bout our baby carriage?" he proposed.

Heather kissed him again.  "Okay, that does sound better," she agreed.

"So, you're planning to go into administration?" Janine asked, once the young couple had tuned back into the larger conversation.

"Trust me, that's not set in stone," Heather countered immediately.  "I don't even know when I'll be starting the program yet," she explained, "And I'm definitely not sure about my concentration.  I mean, there isn't anyone at Jericho Elementary who specializes in science curriculum, and that's right up my alley.  So, I dunno," she shrugged, "We'll see."

"Well, Mrs. McVee is totally planning a velvet revolution," Jake contended, enfolding his fiancée in a loose embrace.  "She wants you all in place, ready to take over for her when she's ready to retire."

"Yeah," April concurred, "You get your Master's – in Educational Administration – and she can name you her vice principal, then when she does decide to call it quits the superintendent and school board are not gonna feel an overwhelming urge to look far and wide for the next principal.  I know how this works," she reminded.  "They have to advertise, and they have to especially consider all internal candidates, but Mrs. McVeigh's endorsement will carry a lot of weight."

"But Scott Rennie has a Master's in Educational Administration," Heather argued, "And, we're friends."

"You can be friends," April dismissed with a wave of her hand.  "But Mrs. McVeigh never got around to making him vice principal, now did she?  Besides, if you think he'd be good at it, then when you're principal, you can appoint him."

"You should do it," Janine encouraged, "Though I say that for totally selfish reasons.  One day they may close my little school, and then I'm gonna want onto the Jericho substitute list," she explained, taking a sip of her margarita.  "I'd like to have an 'in' – well, assuming I have an 'in'," she laughed over the rim of her glass.

"If I'm ever in a position where I have a say over the sub list, you definitely have an 'in'," Heather sighed, "Promise."

"Thanks."

"I vote Educational Administration, too, babe," Jake said, lacing their fingers together.  "And not just because it'll drive Eric crazy."  He threw his brother a knowing smirk before returning his attention to his fiancée.  "I mean, if my going to the Elementary staff Christmas party was a sign of the apocalypse, I dunno what my being married to the school principal would be," he teased.

"Pretty much the end of the world as we know it," Eric snorted.  "But you should still go for it, Heth."

Heather leaned back, tilting her head so she could catch his gaze, albeit upside down.  "Thanks, Eric," she grinned.  "And that's totally your karaoke song," she decided, singing, "It's the end of the world as we know it—" Eric joining in on the next line, "—and I feel fine!"

"Karaoke?" Jake questioned, glancing between his brother and future wife, "Really?"

"Don't worry," April chuckled, "Jim said that karaoke will only come to Bailey's – and I quote – over his dead body."

Jake acknowledged this with a nod.  “Good.”

"Hey, you said you like it when I sing," his fiancée reminded, frowning at him.

"I do like it when you sing," he confirmed, "But you can just sing, you don't hafta go to a karaoke bar for that.  But, hey, if you wanna...."

"Well, I don't want to do it, if you're not gonna have fun," Heather argued.

"I'll have fun watching you have fun," Jake countered.

"Yeah," April interjected.  "You and Eric can be karaoke buddies, and Jake and I will cheer you on from the audience."

"Yep," Jake agreed, flashing his sister-in-law a grin, "We'll clap and cheer … and drink."

"Oh, yeah.  There will definitely be drinking," April chuckled, taking a sip of her Cowgirl Lemonade to illustrate her point. 

"Fine," Heather returned, her skepticism written across her expression.  "But now I'm totally gonna find somewhere that has karaoke, and that's what we're doing for our next double date," she informed them.

"The bowling alley bar in Fielding," Janine supplied.  "Strikes.  Every other Friday night they have karaoke."

Heather grinned at the other woman, proclaiming "Perfect!  Jake says he hates bowling.  We are so doing this."

"Hey," Jake protested, "What happened to you don't wanna do it if I'm not having fun?"

"It got replaced by 'if I'm having fun, you're having fun'," Heather reminded, puckering her lips expectantly.  He brushed a kiss across her mouth, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.  "But you don't have to bowl."

Jake shrugged.  "We can bowl if you want," he muttered, earning himself a bright smile.

"Well, in the spring, you all should come visit us in Cedar Run and we can play mini-golf," Janine suggested.  "That's our one amenity besides apple fritters," she laughed.

"Those fritters are good," Stanley groaned happily, reaching for a potato skin. 

"So at least Stanley will come," Janine grinned.  "And you should bring Bonnie and/or a date.  Though really, bring Bonnie – Alex absolutely loves her."

"We'll come, too," Eric offered, taking a swig of his beer and exchanging a confirmatory look with his wife.

"Yeah, putt-putt is way more my speed," April added, explaining, "Though Eric keeps insisting that I get actual golf lessons."  Janine and Heather groaned sympathetically.

"You're a doctor.  You need to know how to golf so you can take full advantage of all the Palm Springs medical conferences you're gonna take me to," Eric teased.

"I'm pretty sure the kind of medical conferences I'll be attending aren't gonna be in Palm Springs," April sighed, "More like Kansas City or Omaha – maybe Minneapolis if they're really trying to mix things up."

"They've got golf courses in those places too, doc," Eric assured, leaning toward her for a kiss.

"I'm guessing you can count us in, too," Jake said, catching his fiancée's eye.  "Right?"

"Right!" Heather chirped, giggling, "For the mini-golf, not the medical conferences."

"So, Kev, you riding tonight?" Jake asked, glancing across the booth at his cousin.  "I mean, that's what this is all about," he reminded, gesturing to the tavern at large, "Right?"

"Hadn't really thought about it one way or the other," Kevin hedged, rolling his beer bottle between his hands. 

"Oh, you should," his wife opined, squeezing his arm.

Kevin shot her a surprised look. "Really?" he questioned, his tone suspicious.  "Why?  Because you want to see me humiliate myself, or because—"

"I do not want to see you humiliate yourself," Janine interrupted, emitting a put-upon noise.  "I think you'll have fun, and I think I'll be wildly impressed," she claimed, offering him a broad smile.  "And – for the record, particularly the record with your family – I generally don't go around hoping you humiliate yourself."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes!" she insisted, shaking her head at him.  "You can humiliate yourself enough all on your own without me wishing for it," Janine huffed.  "You should just count yourself lucky that I witnessed your departure for the junior prom and was still willing to marry you ten years later."

"Okay, now you hafta tell us about the junior prom," April grinned.

"My date—"

"Brandy Whipple," Janine supplied helpfully.  "That was her name, Brandy Whipple," she repeated.

"Brandy Whipple?  I'm pretty sure that's the name of a drink on this menu," Stanley joked, making a show of checking the front and then the back of the drink menu for said item.  Everyone – Kevin included – laughed.

"She's the first person I thought of when I got to KU and the RA in my dorm summed up the anti-hazing policy as 'No branding, no whipping'," Janine confessed.  "Kinda fitting, really, given how she tortured poor Kev."

"And?" Jake prompted.  "We're gonna need more than that."

"C'mon, hon," Janine cajoled.

"Fine," Kevin said, heaving a sigh.  "The thing about Brandy was, she was one of those girls where everything had to be exactly her way, but not in a good way," he explained, garnering understanding nods from his cousins and Stanley.  "And her prom dress was orange—"

"Very, very, very orange," his wife confirmed.

"—and she wanted me to get an orange cummerbund, to match," he continued, "Which is easier said than done.  Auntie Bridget only had one in her entire catalog, and it had this cartoon spider and cobweb embroidered across the front of it."  Everyone groaned.  "Well, I told Brandy about it, because I really didn't want to wear that," Kevin sighed, "But she really didn't care what I wanted, said I had to wear it or she wasn't gonna go with me."

"So, he wore it," Janine declared flatly.  "And, I love you, Kev," she assured, flashing him a sympathetic smile, "But you were not quite cool enough at sixteen to pull that off."

"You should've called her bluff," Eric argued.  "You pick her up for the prom and you're not wearing it – what's she gonna do?  Not go?"

"How come you didn't go to the prom with him, Janine?" Heather asked, clearly curious. 

"Probably because he didn't ask," April suggested, throwing her husband a pointed look.  It was an old joke between them; April had attended the junior prom with Stanley – the first and only boy to ask her – while Eric had taken the girl next door, Wendy Thom.

"Face it, April," Stanley said, "You had a way better time goin' to the prom with me than you would've if you'd gone with him."  There was a large dose of swagger in his tone.  "'Cause everyone knows there's the guys you marry, and then there's the guys—"

"We definitely had a very good time," April agreed, cutting him off, "And we have also decided that we don't talk about it," she reminded, cocking her head at her husband.

"Exactly," Eric grumbled, "Discussion of the junior prom is off-limits.  Waaay off-limits," he emphasized.

"Wow," Janine murmured, fighting to keep her smile under control – and to not ask any questions, though she was obviously dying to do so.  "Okay.  Well, you're right, Kev did not ask me to his junior prom," she confirmed, nodding at April.  "But that's … really okay with me, since I was in the eighth grade at the time.   Well – and, you know – thirteen," she added a beat later. 

"Oh, yeah," April responded, making a face.  "That would not have been good.  And, I did not remember your age difference, I thought it was like a year and a half, maybe."

"Three and a half years," Janine clarified, reaching for a nacho.

"See, Heather, there's hope for you yet," April declared, "Five, ten years from now, Janine will be like: 'You're younger than Jake?  I didn't realize.'"

"I don't mind that people know that I'm younger than Jake, that's fine," Heather returned, earning her chuckles all around, and a 'Gee, thanks, babe,' from her fiancé.  "I just wish everyone would stop accusing him of robbing the cradle.  That, and carding me for alcohol," she groaned.

"Jake isn't robbing the cradle," Janine scoffed.  "As anyone who's ever taken a course on Human Development knows," she continued, raising her hand – quickly joined by Heather, April, and Eric – "Girls-slash-women mature ahead of boys-slash-men.  But it's all on a spectrum, and some people who are the same age," she said, pointing at April and Eric, "Also have the same maturity level, and some are more compatible with others in an age range. And once you've both passed your mid-twenties—"

"Or early twenties," April interjected. 

"Right, even your early twenties," Janine agreed, "I mean you're a professional, adult woman.  So, you're what? Four years younger than Jake?"

"Five," Heather mumbled.

"Well, still.  Just get married, live your life, and trust me, the more time goes by, the less anyone will care," Janine assured Heather.  "I mean, a fifteen year old with a twenty year old is just icky—"

"And illegal," Eric interjected

"Yeah, gross and illegal," Janine acknowledged.  But Jake," she said, catching her cousin-in-law's gaze, "You're like four, five months younger than me, right?  So, twenty-eight and twenty-three.  Or almost," she added, remembering Heather's earlier declaration.  "But who cares? We got married when I was twenty-three," she argued, reaching for her husband's hand to confirm the 'we' in question. "No big deal.  And, soon you guys will be twenty-five and thirty, and then really, who cares?"

"Thank you," Heather sighed heavily with relief.  "Exactly."

"Yup," Jake agreed, pressing a kiss to Heather's cheek. "And, you know, you probably are more mature than me." 

"We both know that's not true," his fiancée muttered, but Jake wasn't having it.

"Hey, you're the one who brought up retirement.  I am not kidding," he told the others.  "We were on our first date," he continued, glancing back and forth between Janine and April, "And she felt the need to talk about our retirement plans.  Way more mature."

"And, I wonder what you were up to that would cause that?" April snorted. 

"That's totally need to know," Jake returned smoothly, "And you don't need to know," he assured his sister-in-law, earning him another snort and an eyeroll.

Heather's blush was spreading down her neck and to the part of her chest visible above the neckline of her scooped t-shirt, prompting Janine to take pity on her.  "Now – because this just tickled my brain," she started, "Word of warning – I am pretty sure that Auntie Bridget is a year older than Uncle Wayne.  So just – I guess – be aware for tomorrow," she advised.

"You're right," Eric interjected.  "Uncle Donnie's the baby of that generation, and he's probably two years younger than Auntie Bridget.  And, Mom always says she remembers Uncle Wayne's birthday because it's a year and a day before Donald's, right before Christmas."

Jake could see Heather's blush quickly fading during his brother's explanation, and he breathed a sigh of relief.  He made a mental note – one that he acknowledged he'd probably never follow through on – to thank Eric later.  Certainly, this was the best way to distract his intended: provide details about Green – or in this case, O'Brien – family history.  "You get all that, babe?" he teased, pressing a kiss to her fully clothed shoulder. 

"I'll ask your mom later," she chuckled, arching her neck in an invitation that it took every bit of his willpower to resist.  Some things would just have to wait.

 "So, how was it that you were able to able to observe Kevin leaving for the prom if you were only thirteen, and weren't going yourself?" April asked Janine then.

"Because I've been best friends with Kendra since the second grade," Janine returned with a shrug.  "My mom and I moved to Rogue River because she was supposed to help set up the regional 9-1-1 call center – training and stuff.  It was her specialty – her niche – especially after my dad split. I went to Kindergarten in Sheboygan, and first grade in Tucson," Janine explained, "But my Uncle Bob and Aunt Helen live in Fielding, and they were sending her to Alaska next, so when the county offered her a permanent job, she took it.  And, they made her a supervisor for the weekend swing shift, which only worked because Dorothy gave me a standing invitation to sleep over."  Janine shot her husband a rueful grin.  "So that meant, when Kev went to the prom, he had quite the audience of little girls to see him off," she laughed.

"Seriously, so many little girls," Kevin confirmed, "Every weekend of my life, junior high and high school.  Jannie, Kendra, Kristy and her friend, what's her name –"

"Bibi, back then," Janine supplied, "But Bethany now – her baby brother mangled Bethany into Bibi, and that's just what we all called her."  She flashed her husband a suspicious look.  "You do realize that Bibi and Kristy's friend Bethany – they're both on a Caribbean cruise, right now," she explained to the rest of the table, "Are the same person, right?"

Jake almost made a crack then about Kristy – his little cousin – off partying on some Jolly Roger excursion when it occurred to him that Kristy was probably a year or two older than Heather. 

"Well, that makes sense when you think about it," Kevin admitted, throwing his wife a sheepish look.

"And everyone always wonders why Kristy says no one in this family pays attention to her," Janine sighed, shaking her head at her husband.  "I guess when I finally ran into you again, I should be glad that you remembered who I was."

"Well, you and I had actual conversations back then," he argued.  "I never talked to Bibi – Bethany.  She just giggled a lot, and ran away if Dad or I said 'boo' to her.  But yeah," he continued, turning his attention back to his cousins and their significant others.  "All those girls at the house, and Mom still made me pick Brandy up and bring her back to the house so she could take pictures."

"And, we all came down to see," Janine said, picking up the story, "And Bethany told Brandy she looked like a pumpkin – which she kind of did – and we all caught the giggle fits, and I am sure ruined Kev's evening.  Sorry about that."

"No, you're not," Kevin countered, draping his arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.  "But, yeah, she was pretty pissed, and we never went out again after that."

"So, when – and how – did you two finally get together?" Heather demanded.

"Well, it was years later," Janine answered, "Like – really – years later.  And only after we hadn't seen each other for five, six years."  She paused to take a breath, her lips twisting with consternation.  "See, my mom died when I was fifteen—"

"Oh, my goodness!" Heather gasped, "I – I'm – I'm so sorry.  That's – my mom just died last May, but I—"

"I know," Janine interrupted, offering the younger woman a wan smile.  "I liked how you just came out and said it in your engagement announcement.  Only there wasn't a way to tell you that earlier that didn't sound weird," she admitted with a nervous chuckle. 

"Thanks," Heather murmured.  It had been the hardest part of the announcement to write and she'd edited it out three times, but Jake had told her to put it back in each time.  Finally, she'd – they'd – settled on the absence of Heather's mother, who passed away last year, is keenly felt in this joyous season.  "And, I do miss her," she sighed.  "But on the other hand, if she hadn't died, I probably wouldn't have moved to Kansas, and I wouldn't have met Jake, we wouldn't be getting married, so then there'd be no engagement announcement to even write." 

"Well, I'm not happy that your mom died, but I am happy about the rest of it," her fiancé informed her, kissing the side of her head.  "Especially the getting married part," Jake added, his warm breath on her skin inducing a small shiver within her.

"Me too," Heather returned immediately.  "It's like the butterfly effect, or a temporal loop on Star Trek.  You can't change one thing without changing everything."

"Where's Captain Picard when you need him, huh?" Stanley joked, flashing her a small grin.

"Right," Heather agreed with a quick nod. "Though I don't think even Captain Picard could unravel this one, so – as almost all science and speculative fiction teaches us to do – I'm gonna stick with the timeline I'm in.  A timeline in which at least I get a pretty great mother-in-law," she reminded, resting her head against Jake's.  "And April," she added, glancing at her friend, "An awesome sister-in-law."

"Thank you, same to you," April grinned. 

"As did I," Janine offered, tucking her arm through her husband's.  "An amazing mother-in-law, plus two great sisters-in-law.  And sure, I was pretty much already a member of the family, but I'm still very glad we made it official."

Kevin brushed a kiss across her lips.  "You better be," he teased.

"You're s'posed to be telling us how that happened," Jake reminded.  "How exactly did Kev trick you into marrying him, Janine?" he questioned, affecting a serious, investigatory tone.

"Gee, thanks, Jake," his cousin drawled.

"Yes, thank you," Janine giggled.  "And like I said, we hadn't seen each other in years."  She took a deep breath.  "Okay, so after my mom died, I moved to Fielding to live with my aunt and uncle.  Well – actually – I lived with the O'Briens for about six weeks so I could finish out the school year, then I moved to Fielding," she corrected herself.  "Kendra and I were still really good friends, we stayed in touch, and I'd visit the O'Briens a couple of times a year, but Kev was always off at school.  Even when I got to KU, we overlapped for a year and a half, but I never saw him."

"That was Kendra," Kevin claimed.

"I don't think Kendra purposely kept us from meeting," Janine contradicted.

"I saw her practically every day, she never once mentioned that you were in Lawrence," he argued, "I only knew that when Mom mentioned it over Christmas break."

"And what did you do with that knowledge?" his wife questioned rhetorically.  "Absolutely nothing.  And neither did I," Janine admitted with a shrug, "But I just figured we'd run into each other at some point, and I'd be glad to see you, and you'd be nice to me, and that would be it.  Kinda like on my third day of high school when I was feeling totally geeky as I stood outside my Geometry classroom, waiting for the teacher to show up, completely ignored by the three junior class cheerleaders standing right next to me, until Kev walked by and said 'What's the haps, Jannie?'  Suddenly I was worth acknowledging," she laughed.

"Aww!" Heather and April said in unison.

While Eric repeated dubiously, "'What's the haps?'  Really?"

"Please.  You totally would've said 'what's the haps' back in high school, Eric," Jake informed his brother, earning a set of confirmatory nods from April and Stanley.

"All I know is, I never had a crush on Kevin back when I was a kid.  He really was just my best friend's big brother.  But that week… that week, I was a little bit in love with him," Janine smiled.  "Which Kendra told me was gross."

"See?" Kevin grumbled, reaching for his beer.  "I told you it was her fault we never met up back then."

"Then it's also her fault that we got together," Janine reasoned.

"Which was…?" Heather prompted.

"After I got back from my semester abroad," Janine declared.

"Ooh!  Where'd you go?" April demanded, immediately confessing, "I have major study abroad envy.  I did my undergrad degree in three years – AP credits, summer school, plus I knew I had four years of med school and three years of residency ahead of me, and I just wanted to save some time, get to have a real life just that much sooner.…"  She shrugged.  "So, the one thing I didn't get to do was go JYA."

"You're KU, too, right?" Janine asked, "What year did you graduate?"

"Ninety-five undergrad," April answered, "And then again in ninety-nine from the med school."

"I graduated in ninety-five," Janine grinned.  "And I know it's a big school, but that's so funny that we were in the same class and we never met."

"It really is," Stanley confirmed.  "Because, I ran into all three of you at KU, and I was only there for a semester and a half.  Though, you might not remember that, Janine."

"No, I totally remember that," she countered.

"Wait," Kevin said, glancing between his wife and the Stanley, "You two knew each other at KU?"

"We knew each other from before KU," Janine corrected, "Because – you know – Kendra." 

Kevin nodded.  "Right."  His sister was the proverbial social butterfly, and she and Brian – a high school and college football star, and her husband of five years – had been together since before their parents had actually allowed them to date.  In high school, Kendra had followed Brian from game to game, all over then northwestern part of the state, his biggest cheerleader.  And then she'd followed him to the University of Kansas.

"She dragged me to a football party on Homecoming Weekend, our sophomore year," Janine explained.  "And it was nice to run into a familiar face." 

Stanley acknowledged this with a nod and a slight grin, prompting Jake to ask, "So Stan, have you made out with every woman at this table?"

Heather smacked her fiancé's arm, "We didn't make out!"

It took April longer – mostly because she was trying to avoid accidentally hitting Heather – but in the end, she socked Jake in the shoulder, punctuating her friend's claim with a rather noncommittal "So there!"

In turn, Janine plowed ahead.  "Well, to answer your question," she said, catching April's eye, "I went to Costa Rica."

"Nice," April returned, before once again shooting a glare in her brother-in-law's direction.

"And, you're just not gonna answer the other question on the table?" Kevin inquired of his wife, smirking.

Fighting a laugh, Janine shook her head 'no', then picked up her Margarita glass and finished the drink off.  "Anyway," she exhaled, a moment later, "When I got back from Costa Rica, Kendra needed a roommate – particularly one who didn't mind that Brian was the unofficial third roommate, which is why her other roommate had moved out – and I needed a place to live, so it worked out.  And then," she sighed relaxing back into her husband's embrace, "The second week I was living there, I go to answer the door on Friday night, and who's standing there but Kevin O'Brien."

"And, I'm standin' there thinkin' 'Wow, Janine Curtis grew up,'" Kevin offered, "Because I don't think I changed that much between nineteen and twenty-four, but wow, fifteen year old Janine was a nice kid I'd known forever, but grown up Janine…."

His wife seemed equal parts embarrassed and pleased by his pronouncement, though she did muster enough energy to protest, "Oh, you had changed, too, Kev.  Trust me."

"Well, I think you're both right," April announced then.  "Kendra was keeping you apart, long enough to implement her plan to get you back together when the moment was right."

"That's playin' the long game for sure," Eric laughed, reaching for a chicken wing.

Kevin shook his head.  "Well, I wouldn't put it past her."

"I am so sorry, tonight is just crazy," Mary Bailey declared, still five feet from their booth, balancing a large tray.  "Ack," she complained, glaring at Jake's duffel bag.  "Seriously, you can't leave that there forever, Jake, you're gonna make me – or someone who'll sue us – break my neck."  Still, she off-loaded his beer and burger, then took second drink orders from the table, before reminding Jake, "Can you take care of this, please?  Or, Eric, cite him for me?" she requested, before hurrying three booths down to drop off the rest of her tray.

"It is kinda dangerous, Jake," his brother reminded him, as Heather slipped off his lap to stand in the aisle. 

"Fine, I need to change anyway," Jake conceded, taking a quick bite of his burger and then a swig of his beer.  He stood up and pulled his garment bag from its hook, and then picked up his duffel.  Heather moved to squeeze past him, and he stole a quick kiss, promising, "I'll be right back."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Monday January 22, four months after the bombs

"Well, is the baby okay?" Eric demanded, following his brother and Michael down the hallway.

They had hustled him into the men's locker room and shoved scrubs at him, ignoring all his offers to donate blood for April.  Jake, urging him to change clothes, had outlined the basics of what had happened over the preceding six or seven hours, with Michael pitching in medical terms that had just confused Eric more.  He understood the administrative side of the Jericho Medical Center, but even after nearly a decade spent in April's orbit – as a medical student, a resident, and a fully-fledged doctor – his medical understanding had never progressed much beyond what he'd retained from his Bio 101 course and the ability to render first aid when necessary.

"I don't know, all right?" Jake's tone was cautious, almost gentle, but it was belied by the tension that was radiating off of him.  Eric couldn't always read his brother, but this was obvious – Jake was worried.  Scared.  "Mom said there's a problem," was all he would admit.

"I was just collecting firewood," Eric protested.  He felt like he was underwater, all the clinic noises – the people moving around them – sounded muffled in his head, the air felt too thick.  All he knew was that he had to make them understand – he would have been here, if he had known.

Heather was sitting in a chair against the wall, and he saw her reach for his brother's hand as he moved past.  Jake flashed her a preoccupied smile, squeezed her fingers and then let go.  Michael stepped toward his sister, distracting her for the moment, and Jake looked back at Eric.  "You don't have to explain to me," he insisted. 

Jake's tone was still too generous, too forgiving.  If there was one thing Eric had grown used to in the months since the spectacular implosion of his marriage, it was the low level of hostility that came across in every interaction that he had with his family.  They all blamed him.  The sudden switch to this kid-glove treatment frightened and disoriented him.

"What about Mom?" Eric demanded. 

"Don't worry about that," Jake advised, giving him a careful shove into room five.

Eric stood frozen in place, staring at his wife, completely unaware as his brother pulled the door closed behind him. What was happening? How was this happening?  Why? he wondered bleakly, his heart hammering in his throat.  He tried to move closer, but his feet wouldn't obey his command, and instead stayed rooted in place while he watched, horrified, as his mother, Kenchy, Jeff, and the others furiously worked on, and worried over April.

She's so pale, he thought, Too pale, and too still.  How had this happened? he demanded of the universe once more.  She'd been fine the last time he'd seen her, only a week ago.  Not even, Eric decided, recalling that afternoon.  It'd been Tuesday, and today was Monday.  But she'd been fine.  And healthy.  And combative.

He'd come to the med center then too, to her office, determined that they would finally have a long overdue discussion.  Her office door had been ajar and he'd knocked on it perfunctorily before sticking his head in.  "Hey," he'd greeted like he'd done – they'd done – a million times before.  Emphasis on before.  "Can I come in?"

She'd looked up from the notebook she was studying, squinting and frowning.  "I'm not doing this right now, Eric," she'd told him, her tone sharp with annoyance.

Eric had anticipated her response.  She'd been putting him off for weeks – months – ever since he'd broken things off, and he'd let her.  It had been easier her way, easier to just not deal with everything that still needed to be worked out between them.  But they weren't going to be able to hide from one another – to avoid one another – forever, and so, he'd decided it was time he did something about it.  "Uh, you look good," he'd tried, unwilling to acknowledge her brush off.  "Like really good.  You're—"

"So help me, Eric, if you say I'm 'glowing' I'll – I'll go get the two biggest guys I can find out there," April had threatened, pointing east, toward the emergency department, "And have you forcibly removed from the building.  You don't have the right," she'd continued, glaring daggers in his direction, "To say things like that to me.  Not anymore."

"You're right," he'd agreed quickly, holding both hands up in a sign of surrender.  "I don't get to say those things to you.  That's – that's fair," he'd sighed, dropping into the guest chair across from her.  "But April, we're gonna hafta talk sometime," Eric had argued.  "You wanna do this some other way?  Fine.  Some other place?  At the house, maybe?" he'd suggested, "I'll come over tonight.  Some place neutral?  The library or town hall?"

April had met his gaze then, her own narrowing slightly before she shook her head and looked away.  "Well, the library's half burnt down – and therefore closed – and town hall is hardly neutral territory," she'd complained, grumbling.

"Well, neither's this," he'd countered, "Or my parents'.  But we need to talk," Eric had reminded, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, "So I'm willing to come here – to your office, your territory – as a show of good faith."  His words had sounded stupid even to him, even as they left his mouth, but it had been too late to take them back.  His wife had looked thoroughly unimpressed. "Look, April, at least I'm trying—"

"Fine," she'd interrupted, exasperation coloring her tone.  She had paused then, inhaling deeply and forcing a not entirely convincing smile.  "How 'bout tonight, at your parents'?  Say seven?"

Relieved, he'd nodded, perhaps with too much enthusiasm.  "Okay, great," Eric had declared, extracting himself from the chair.  "I'll be there," he'd promised, offering a smile in return.  "April, thank you."

"Eric."  She spat out his name like it was a curse word, or poison, before adding, her voice hitching softly, "I'm working 'til midnight tonight.  At least."

Her words had stopped him in his tracks, already halfway out the door.  He'd spun around, confusion marring his expression.  "Then why would you...?"  Eric hadn't bothered to finish his question, realizing belatedly what was going on.  Even after the last two years, during which arguing had pretty much been the only thing they did, he still wasn't used to this April – bitter April – and he'd cringed inwardly, knowing that he bore just as much responsibility for her existence as she did.  Probably more.

"It'd serve you right to get over there tonight and finally hafta deal with your mother, for one thing," she'd told him, shrugging.  "Look, I just got here.  My shift doesn't even start for another hour.  Well, forty-five minutes," she'd amended, checking her wristwatch.  It was, he'd noted – feeling a twinge of sadness – the one he'd given her for their first wedding anniversary.  "All this," she'd continued, gesturing at the neat piles of file folders and notebooks on her desk, "Is just the administrative part of my world.  Work schedules and inventories of our non-existent supplies," April had declared.  "And I only told you that to illustrate my point: running this clinic is my number one priority.  That's all I can handle right now.  It's enough.  And some – some conversation with you about I don't know what is so far down on my list...."  The tight set of her jaw told him that she was angry and upset.  "We might as well make an appointment for some time next summer," she'd informed him, expelling an annoyed breath.

"You shouldn't be working so hard, April," he'd admonished with a sigh, dropping back into the chair across from her.  "And I know, I don't really have the right to say that," Eric had conceded, frowning and leaning in over her desk, "But I do worry about you – I care about you."

"Of course you do," April had snorted, stiffening in her seat and pushing back from the desk.  "Must be why I've been feeling so well cared for as of late."  She'd let her hand rest on her middle then, pulling her shirt taut over her still small belly and giving him his first real glimpse of her pregnancy, their child growing within her.  "But you're right about one thing, you don't get to say things like that to me anymore."

"I never meant to hurt you, April, I really didn't," he'd told her.

April had rolled her eyes at that, reminding him of how she'd paced the house making faces while on the phone for marathon sessions with her sister during Autumn's pregnancy.  They'd laughed about it then, the fact that Autumn called nearly every day to verify with her big sister, the doctor, that this startling or bizarre or downright creepy thing was supposed to be happening to her body.  And they'd exchanged knowing smiles and suggestive looks, both assuming that that would soon be them, marveling at the changes pregnancy would wreak on her body.

"Well, I know you don't believe that, but it's true," Eric had concluded, shrugging helplessly.  "It's true."

Silently, they had stared at one another for a long moment, until finally, allowing a sigh, April had inquired, "So, Eric, what do you wanna talk about?"

"I think we need to talk about a divorce," he'd replied, licking his lips nervously.

She hadn't answered, instead frowning softly and turning slightly in her chair to stare at a framed photo on her desk.  Without thinking he'd leaned forward, curious about the picture, and who was in it.  Eric had immediately recognized the photograph as one he'd taken the Fourth of July before last, of April and their – at the time – three years old nephew Blake, wide-eyed and grinning, as she had sat with him, atop her horse, Arabella.  "Why?" she'd demanded suddenly, her eyes bright as she met his gaze.  "Why do we need to talk about this now?  Seriously, what's the rush?"

"How about that it's time?" Eric had returned, sitting back in his chair.  He'd reached into his coat then, extracting a manila envelope that he'd dropped on the desk.  "It's just time, April.  We can sign these now," he'd continued, reaching to pull a pen out of the cup on the edge of her desk, "And just stop torturing each other, okay?"

April had stared at the envelope, tensing as she'd recognized the label. "Of course you have them," she'd grumbled, shaking her head. 

"You're the one who had 'em drawn up," he'd reminded.

"But I never signed them.  And, I'm also the one who threw them away," she'd countered, "Yet you still have them."

Eric had taken a deep breath.  "I don't wanna fight with you, April," he'd told her stiffly.  "I'm so tired of fighting with you.  And we agreed that we weren't going to stay together just because you're pregnant.  Let's get out of this limbo," he'd requested, uncapping the pen he'd selected, "And sign 'em."

Her frown deepening, April had eyed him closely – and cautiously – as she'd contemplated her response.  Eric had quickly grown uncomfortable in the charged silence and under the heat of her glare, and had been about to launch back into his argument from a different angle when she'd finally deigned to speak.  "God Eric, did you get her pregnant, too?" she'd accused.

"What?  No!" he'd declared, rearing back in his chair, startled by her question. "It's – this has nothing to do with Mary," he'd argued, "And she's not pregnant.  I mean, given my 'less than ideal' semen quality," he'd muttered, quoting the fertility specialist they'd gone to see in Kansas City, "Those'd be some pretty sky-high odds don't you think?  Both of you being pregnant?"

"Is this the part where I'm supposed to feel sorry for you?"  April had retorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm.  "That you accidentally got your wife pregnant instead of your mistress?"

Eric had felt his face grow warm under her withering glare.  "You know that's not what I meant," he'd snapped in return.  "I want this baby – our baby – and I always have."

She had sat back in the chair then, her arms wrapped around herself protectively.  He had tried to tell himself it was to ward off the chill – the med center was the least freezing place in town, though calling it 'warm' was a joke – but he'd known that, really, it was him that she'd felt the need to shield herself from.  He'd wanted to settle things between them, but instead he'd only made them worse.  They were both too raw still, Eric had acknowledged to himself, both much too wounded for this to have ever worked.  "Look...I'm gonna go—"

"Wait," she'd commanded, a deep frown settling onto her features.  "There's something – something I need to know first."

Reluctantly, Eric allowed a nod.  "Yeah?"

"Were you using condoms?" April had inquired, affecting her most clinical tone.  "When you were sleeping with her, did you wear a condom?"

"That's not really any of your business," he'd replied, too startled at first to even be annoyed.  "Coming here was a bad id—"

"It is my business – very much my business," she'd contradicted.  "Unless you're telling me that you weren't having unprotected sex with both me and her for some period of time.  And I'm not asking what that time period was," April had added quickly, holding out a hand to emphasize that he was not to answer that question.   "But I do have the right to know.  It could affect my health – this baby's health," she reminded, laying a protective hand over the swell of their child.

His face had been burning by that point, but still from somewhere inside he found the gumption to push back.  "She didn't give me an STD, and I didn't give you one, April," he protested.  "You know that!"

"Actually, I don't know anything of the sort," she contradicted, her eyes bright as she shook her head at him.  "Those things are a little hard to test for these days.  And, you might be surprised by who's shown up in my exam room, with what around here.  Back – back before, and now," she sighed. 

Eric allowed his head to drop forward, not willing to meet her gaze any longer.  He didn't want to see her cry – had always hated it – especially when he knew he was to blame.  "I know you don't like her," he muttered, "And that's fine, that's your right.  But you don't always hafta think the worst of her, okay?"

"Yeah, she's not the one I'm thinking the worst of," April returned, her voice cracking with the hint of tears. She forced herself to sit up in her chair then, blowing out a long breath before informing him.  "And actually, I'm thinking like a doctor.  I made you wear a condom most of the first year we were together."

"Yeah, I remember," Eric acknowledged, his jaw tightening.  "The romance of opening our screening results together by candlelight."

"Trust but verify, right?" she'd reminded.  "That was your line."

"It was Reagan's line," he'd countered, "But yeah." 

He'd suggested one evening, four months into their still fledgling relationship – in front of April's closest medical school friend no less – that 'trust but verify' was the common thread between their two professions.  The law was, he'd argued, all about agreements between parties and how you made sure each side fulfilled their obligation.  April had smiled at him tiredly, clearly bemused or confused – or both.  Still, he'd pushed on, telling her – them – that medicine also required trust between doctor and patient, and that it was the doctor's job to verify –

His argument had clearly been falling apart, the word spilling out of his mouth had been ridiculous, but he hadn't been able to stop himself.  He had fallen head over heels for April, and at that point he still hadn't known where he stood with her.  Sometimes, he'd thought he'd do anything just for a reaction, some sign that she wasn't letting him come around out of pity.

April had still been smiling – but also trying not to laugh – and it had fallen to Danny Coates to respond.  "Dude, what?" he'd snorted, shaking his head.  Eric had liked Danny – at least once he had confirmed that April wasn't secretly in love with her best friend.  And by then, Danny had been his friend too, but he'd been April's friend first and foremost.  "Eric, dude," he'd started again, but then his cellphone had rung, and checking the number, he'd jumped to his feet.  "It's Nic," he'd told them, referring to his wife.  Danny had flipped the phone open, answering, "Hi, honey, hold on a sec."  Angling the phone away from his mouth for a moment, Danny had demanded, "April, will you just put this guy out of his misery already?"  He'd caught Eric's eye then, informing him, "Trust me, she likes you," before heading for the cafeteria door.

It had been a long moment before she'd said anything, before Eric could bring himself to glance at April.  But then she'd chuckled nervously, confessing, "He's not wrong."  She'd quickly closed up the three textbooks she'd contributed to the pile on the table and shoved them into her bag.  Then, taking a deep breath, she'd reached for his hand, inviting, "You wanna get outta here?"

On that evening, however, April had no hand – no invitation – to offer.  Instead, she'd stared at him, frowning, hugging herself, clearly fighting to hold it together.  "I trusted you," she'd sighed.  "I certainly trusted that – that you'd never do this."

"Look," he began a long fifteen seconds later, once again beginning to leverage himself up out of his chair.  "I'm just gonna –"

"Have you even read these?" April had interrupted.  She'd picked the manila envelope up, and flipped it over, examining the clasp for a moment.  It looked like it could have been opened, beyond the three times she'd looked over the documents herself, back before the world had ended.  But still.  "Because I totally screwed you over on everything in here.  Did you notice that?" she'd asked, curiosity and confusion replacing outright hostility in her tone.

"Yeah, I noticed," Eric had chuckled humorlessly, slouching back in his seat.  "And who was this guy you used? Bill Garity?  I've never heard of 'im," he'd admitted, frowning.

April had shrugged.  "Just some schmuck attorney in New Bern," she'd muttered.  "Couldn't really go to Gunnison and Gunnison, after all," she'd reminded, mentioning the law firm the Green family had used for four generations.  "You wanted me to go to somebody in Rogue River," she'd suggested then, "Who'd probably turn out to be golfing buddies with one of your uncles?"

"My uncles don't really play golf," Eric had countered, rubbing his forehead with the back of his thumb.  "Well, Dennis and Patrick," he'd conceded with his next breath.  "But they're in Napa."

"One of their fishing buddies then," she had snapped, exasperated.  "You know what I mean.  Everyone knows who you are," she'd ground out. "Who the Greens are.  Even Bill Garity schmuck attorney from New Bern knew exactly who you are," April had grumbled, rolling her eyes.  "But at least he wasn't old pals with your dad.  And he was perfectly happy to take the fee, and draw up this lopsided agreement," she'd explained, shaking her head.  April had opened the envelope's clasp then, withdrawing the pages that she'd gone to such efforts to procure – and even now wished didn't exist.  "Ironically, he assumed you were cheating on me," she'd informed him, pausing to check something on the first page.  "Wouldn't believe me when I said you weren't."  She'd met his eye then, her lips pursed.  "And I defended you," she admitted with a shrug.  "I told him that you weren't like that." 

Eric had hung his head again, unable to face her.  "April," he'd started, but he hadn't been really sure what he wanted to say – what he could say.  She'd already admitted that she thought the worst of him, and he couldn't really blame her for that, he'd realized.  "I – I'm sorry."

"Sure."  Her acknowledgement had been clipped.  April had taken a fortifying breath.  "Look, you want me to sign these, right?" she'd asked rhetorically, waving the sheath of documents at him.  "I mean, does it really matter if you give me a house that's a total loss—"

"It's your house," he'd interjected.  "We bought that house because you loved it.  I wanted that house for you," Eric had insisted, grasping at that truth.  It was one of the times – maybe the last time, though that didn't feel fair – that he'd done something solely because he'd loved her, without mixed motives or bruised feelings playing a part.  "I was never gonna fight you over the house."

Chewing her lip, April had nodded in acknowledgement.  "Well, thank you for that at least."

Eric had exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.  "Seventy-five percent of everything else, though?" he asked, forcing himself to keep his tone light.  He'd known the chance was small, but still he'd hoped that one day they could get past the hurt, and at least be civil with one another, for their child if nothing else.  And if he needed to be self-deprecating, cracking jokes at his own expense, to make that happen, then he'd manage it somehow.  "I mean seventy percent, fine.  But seventy-five?" he'd argued, arching one eyebrow to punctuate the question.

"I wasn't trying to be fair," she'd informed him, refusing to engage in the joke.  "God, that sounds so bad," April had acknowledged with a caustic snort.  "But it was a – an opening bid, not anything—" 

But she'd stopped herself from completing that thought, shifting – Nervously?  Uncomfortably?  Eric was back again in a world where he couldn't read her – in her chair.   "Well, it didn't matter," she'd insisted.  "You'd still have your inheritance – which I purposely didn't mention to the lawyer because I didn't want any part of it.  I love your family," April had declared, "I wasn't gonna end our marriage and then walk off with a – a piece of Gramps' life work."  She'd thought about it for a moment, and then amended, "Well, an even bigger piece."

Eric knew his grandfather – the man he'd been named in honor of – would have been disappointed in him for divorcing, maybe even disgusted with him, if the facts about his relationship with Mary Bailey had come out. For all Eric knew, his grandfather – had he still been living – would have disowned him.  EJ Green hadn't believed in divorce, had seen marriage vows as sacred, and had considered April to be his granddaughter.  The only reason he hadn't specified financial bequests for his daughter-in-law and granddaughters-in-law was truly because he didn't think he needed to.  In EJ's mind, bequeathing his estate to Johnston, Jake, and Eric was the same as providing for their wives.  "Gramps wouldn't have seen it that way," he'd told her.

"But I would've," April had countered.

"Jake wants the ranch, says he's always wanted the ranch," Eric had told her then, his tone scoffing. 

His brother had come to see him a few days after New Years' to let him know that he was choosing to exercise his option – per their grandfather's will – to take over management – ownership – of the ranch.  Eric had challenged him on the convenience of reaching his decision now; the ranch, while always the most valuable of the Green family assets, was now the only holding in their portfolio that was still worth anything.

"I don't care if you believe me," Jake had shrugged.  "That was my plan.  All I wanted – want – is to be present for Heather and our kids, be a part of their lives," he'd insisted, not quite able to suppress the note of censure in his tone. 

Eric had bristled at his brother's implication – accusation – that he was the bad husband – though Eric had to admit, if only to himself, that he had failed April – while conveniently ignoring his own years'-long status as an absentee spouse.  But Eric hadn't said anything, and Jake had continued, letting him know, "Dad and I talked. He gets where I'm coming from."

  "I know," she'd returned tiredly.  "He told me.  But I always figured that's what Jake would do – go for the ranch in the end.  And, I knew you would be fine – better than fine.  Your dad would've arranged things, assigned you a nice chunk of passive income, let you go on your merry—"  April had stopped then, choking slightly on the word, finishing her sentence a beat later.  "On your way."

"Well, you've always understood Jake better than me," Eric had retorted, not bothering to address the rest.  April had always gotten along with his brother – hell, liked his brother – better than he had, plus she and Heather were close, so of course she would know – or at least assume she knew – which option Jake would take.  That didn't mean it hadn't irritated him.

April had emitted a frustrated sound, pressing the palms of both hands against her eyes.  "You know, we're arguing about seventy or seventy-five of our marital assets in a financial system that currently doesn't exist, and probably never will again.  You get that, right?" she'd demanded. 

Eric had, and he'd chuckled sourly in acknowledgement.  "Yeah, I know."

Dropping her hands from her face, April had reached for the legal documents she'd abandoned on her desk.  "You realize that these —" April held up the thirteen page document and shook it in his direction.  "—these papers may get you the divorce you seem so dead set on having…."  Her face had been pinched, and he'd been sure she was about to cry, but she'd sucked a deep breath in, through her teeth.  "But this document – this meaningless document – doesn't address the only thing you should care about – the only thing I do care about."  With that she had thrown the packet back down on the desk, and had sat back in her chair, letting both her hands rest over the child she carried.

Her statement hung heavy in the air between them.  Eric looked up, startled and feeling a little sick, his gaze immediately locking with her fiery one.  "So, I'll sign 'em," she declared.  "Right after you add a clause that states that I have primary physical and legal custody of this child—"

"That's not fair!" he'd protested, "April you can't seriously be—"

"Life isn't fair, Eric," she had informed him, rolling her eyes.  "That really is the kindest summary anyone could come up with for the last four months, isn't it?" she'd grumbled.  "Life isn't fair.  And, I am serious," she'd continued a beat later.  "You want to be done with me now?  Right this minute?  Fine.  I want custody."

"No way," Eric barked in return, "No way, I'm not doing that." 

April's only answer had been a sigh and a shrug.

"So, the plan is we just stay married and hating each other forever?" He'd asked a long moment later.  "Because that sounds great," he'd declared sarcastically.

"Not forever," she'd answered quietly after another uncomfortable pause.  "Just until the baby is born."  April had caught his eye then, holding it for a moment before she'd looked away again, swiping one hand across her own eyes.  "Everything – everything that has happened between us has been dictated by you, by your schedule.  Your terms.  So, for this, we're gonna do this one thing my way.  And it's stupid – I can't even explain it—" she'd admitted.  "But I want this baby to be born while we're still married.  In wedlock," April had finished, an acerbic note in her voice.

Eric had offered a slight, tentative nod.  "Okay, sure."

"I know I sound crazy," she had told him, laughing at herself derisively.  "I'm the one who was reluctant to get married, I'm the one who turned you down the first time you proposed….  But," she'd continued a moment later, "That's why actually, I want us to stay married, just for now.  Because this baby is the only child I'm going to have—"

"April, you don't know that," Eric had protested. 

"Oh, I'm pretty sure," she had contradicted him with a harsh bark of laughter.  "I'm gonna hafta take a hard pass on post-apocalyptic dating.  Definite hard pass," she'd repeated under her breath.  April had closed her eyes, rubbing them, and then had pinched her nose for a second.  "But – later – when it comes up – if it comes up, I want to be able to tell her that we wanted her that much," she'd declared.  "That she wasn't a mistake, and if anything, we stayed together longer than we should have.  For her.  Because we wanted her so much."

He'd nodded, blinking rapidly to hold at bay his own tremulous emotions.  "Okay," Eric had agreed thickly, shocked that he could speak given the lump in his throat, and the heavy weight in the center of his chest. 

"Give me that, and you can have your divorce," April had declared.

Nodding again, Eric had paused before asking, "With or without your custody clause?"

Her eyes had flashed with irritation, but somehow she'd managed to bite most of it back before she'd replied.  "With," April had shrugged, adding grudgingly, "But we'll figure out something reasonable for visitation." 

They had stared at one another for a long moment, long enough that she apparently had felt she needed to defend her position.  "Look, I'm not being vindictive," she'd argued, "But I have to look out for myself and for this baby.  Because we failed at the one thing… the one thing I really didn't want to mess up in this life," April had sighed before squaring her shoulders and insisting, "So, I won't risk messing things up for this baby, too."

"Okay," he'd agreed, closing his eyes.  He'd felt … not defeated exactly, more like worn out.  And unspeakably sad.  "I wanted us to work, too," he'd murmured, finally forcing himself to climb to his feet.  He'd taken a step toward the door, but then had turned to face her again.  "I loved you April, so much.  Practically from that moment when I fell down at your feet.  You know that, right?" he'd asked, his eyes suddenly bright.  "Part of me – part of me always will."

"Just not enough to try and save our marriage, huh?" she'd asked, furiously swiping the back of her hand across her eyes.

"By then, you stopped needing me," he'd replied, sighing, "I couldn't even get you pregnant."

"I always needed you!" April had contradicted immediately, clearly shocked by his claim.  "You – you just stopped being available," she'd accused, practically sputtering.  "You – you stopped being there – stopped listening to me."  She had paused a moment, breathing heavily, her nostrils flaring.  "I – I needed a break.  I needed to be enough for you, even if we never had a baby."  She broke off, shaking her head, clearly about to burst into tears.  "Just go, Eric," April had ordered. "Go."

Don't go, April, Eric wanted to scream, Stay, you've got to stay.  Fight, April.  Just keep fighting, please.  But he couldn't give voice to any of his pleas – whether because it would make the possibility real, or because she might just do the opposite to spite him, Eric didn't know.  So, he hovered, silently – anxiously – behind the group working to save April and their baby.

They were really going to do it, he realized, watching Kench Dhuwalia select a scalpel off a tray of instruments.  They were going to perform surgery, here at the Jericho Medical Center.  Four months before, the center would have been shut down if anyone had attempted this…. But now, Eric knew in the marrow of his bones, in the pit of his stomach, this was April's only chance.  Their baby's only chance.

"…. Losing too much blood, clamp it off!" Dhuwalia's barked command reached Eric's ears, and finally Eric's feet would cooperate.  He took two small steps closer.  "Get away from the incision," the doctor ordered his mother.

But Gail wasn't having it.  "I need to hear if the baby's in distress," she complained.

Dhuwalia was insistent.  "Get away from the incision," he repeated, practically barking at her.

"You haven't let me get a pulse from the baby in an hour," Gail returned, obstinately refusing to move away from her daughter-in-law. 

Mimi, stationed next to April's head, rattled off, "Respirations are sixteen.  Pulse is eighty-four."  She sounded as worried as Eric felt.  Neither of them were medical professionals, but anyone would recognize that those were bad numbers.  April, he wanted to yell.

"Fetal heart rate is less than five beats per minute!" his mother protested, and Eric wanted to throw up.

"You're not close enough to the fetus," a young woman argued.  She was from the Roger Hammond's band of refugees, the medical student, Eric identified, somehow pulling that piece of information from the back of his brain, when he knew he really should be concentrating on the baby and April.  On their survival.

"It's not an accurate measurement, Gail," Jeff said then.  The young man tried to pull her away from April, but she wouldn't move.  Go Mom, Eric wanted to shout.  Help April, help the baby.

"The placenta is going into the uterine wall," Dhuwalia ground out, his gloved hands still buried in April's abdomen.  "It's ripping away.  That's what's causing the bleeding," he pronounced.

"I've lost it," Gail wailed then, "I can't hear anything!"

Finally, Eric found his voice.  "What – what's going on?" he demanded. 

His eyes met his mother's, and she announced, her voice cracking, "The baby's heartbeat – it's stopped."

"What do you mean it's stopped?" Eric cried out, giving into the wave of fear that was crashing over – through – him.  He wanted to fall to his knees, to beg for forgiveness, to tell God that April didn't deserve this – their baby didn't deserve this.  He'd give her everything, just don't take the baby away…. "What do you mean?"

Eyes flashing, his mother wheeled on Dhuwalia.  "Do something!" she commanded.

In the next instance, the room was plunged into darkness and all mechanical sounds ceased.  Jeff realized what was happening first, and his voice rang out hollowly in the suddenly quieter space.  "That's the last of the diesel."

"Open the door!" Dhuwalia yelled, and finally there was something that Eric could do.  He stumbled toward the door, more falling than walking.  "Open the blinds!" the doctor roared, turning to yank them open himself.  "I need light!"

Gail seemed to be the only one who didn't understand.  "Why aren't you doing something about the baby?"

Jeff again reached for her, placing his hand on her arm.  "This – this hasn't been about the baby for several hours," he confessed quietly.

The refugee doctor stepped next to Gail on her other side.  "The baby never really had a chance," she said taking over the explanation for Jeff.  "I'm sorry."

No, Eric wanted to argue with them all.  No. He wouldn't accept it.  He couldn't lose yet another dream.  "What are you saying?"

Dhuwalia was back working on his patient, his hands once again navigating their way through her abdominal cavity.  He didn't look up.  "I am trying to save April."

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 15E.

I really am continuing to write this story, and I have a pretty good outline to get me through the rest of season one and beyond.  But again, I don't know how fast that will be or if there is still any interest in this story.  If there is, and you want me to know that, the best way to do so (unless you are a registered user of this site and want to leave a review) is to email me directly at: marzeedoats @ gmail dot com (please format as an email address – I am trying to avoid getting additional junk mail).  I promise I will only use this information as encouragement to write, and potentially to send you pdf copies of later chapters, if and when the site closes (would be late May 2023 at the earliest).  Contacting me directly is the best way to let me know if there is still interest in this story, and you want to know (eventually) how it ends.

America's Funniest Home Videos is a really long running TV series where people submit home videos (in 2002 they probably were recorded on a camcorder, too) in order to compete for a cash prize.

It's the End of the World as We Know It (and I Feel Fine) is a song by R.E.M. on their album Document and was released in 1987.  I think it would actually be very difficult to sing at karaoke, but maybe Eric could do it.

Star Trek is an American science fiction franchise created by Gene Roddenberry and owned by Paramount.  Captain Picard is a character on Star Trek: The Next Generation which debuted in September 1987.  He is also a character on Star Trek: Picard, but that series does not exist in the Jericho universe as it did not begin production until a few years ago.  If Stanley or Heather had known about Star Trek: Picard in 2002, that might have caused a temporal loop, or temporal paradox, one type of which is a causal loop.  That is actually what Heather is referring to when she speaks of a temporal loop.  Her mother's illness (as described in earlier parts of this story) and death were causal in her decision to move to Jericho where she met Jake.  Heather is right to avoid instigating a temporal/causal loop or paradox.

"Trust but verify" is a Russian proverb that Ronald Reagan adopted during his presidency for his dealings with the USSR on issues of nuclear disarmament. He was taught the proverb by an advisor, but is often credited with the saying as he very famously used it while conducting foreign policy.