Author’s Notes: A special thanks goes out to skyrose, my ever-talented Beta reader.
“Annie’s Song” was written by the incomparable John Denver.
Warnings: There’s nothing too graphic in this chapter, but there is profanity and plenty of fluff.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Chapter 11, Part C
Emily Sullivan clasped her hands together in satisfaction as she looked at the roasted chicken she’d just pulled from the oven. “Looks good enough to eat,” she said to no one in particular as she pressed the off button on her stainless steel oven. She supposed that most people would assume that she’d be helpless in the kitchen. Truth be told, it wasn’t her preferred room, but then again, she was used to being underestimated.
But that was one thing about Jake that she appreciated. He never underestimated her. For instance, he always knew that she was smart, whereas others couldn’t get past the blonde hair and doe eyes. He knew she had a dangerous streak and never judged her when people around her warned her to watch herself and that she didn’t want to capitalize on her reputation as Jonah Prowse’s daughter. He knew the good and the bad. They fought, and they made up, but they were never indifferent with one another.
Her eyes fell upon the clock on the stove. 7:02. If Jake didn’t get there soon, they’d have a fresh subject to fight about. Dinner was ready, and she’d taken pains to make sure everything was just perfect. For instance, she thought about setting the dining room table, but settled instead for the small table in the breakfast nook. It would be more intimate there, and she figured Jake would be more comfortable. Despite the less than formal setting, she expended the extra effort to spruce up the appearance of the table itself, from the selection of the burgundy colored tablecloth and contrasting cloth napkins to the candles in the center of the table. In the months following the EMP, she’d grown used to the candlelight, though it certainly was no longer a necessity. The houses in the Pines had been among the first to have electricity restored once the power grid came back on-line.
Emily found herself pacing. The heels she wore clicked on the hardwood floor as she made her way down the hall and to the front door. Did she hear a car door close? Was it him? Her heart quickened slightly at the thought. The last month had been difficult for him, difficult for them. Watching Jake hurt over the death of his father, having him alternately reach out to her and then keep her at arm’s length, had been excruciating. She wanted the comfort of Jake, the familiar touch, the way his eyes would follow her when she walked in a room, the laughter, the whispers in her ear—the way it was before.
Lately, being near him had been anything but comfortable. There was no laughter from him, few touches. How she ached for those touches! They’d been together on the night of the battle, wordless, desperate for one another. And they’d been together two other times since, but with the exception of that first night, he’d seemed so distant from her. Three times in four weeks. They weren’t exactly setting any records or having sex marathons the way they used to. But Emily knew it could be like that with them again, once things got back to normal. They had to be that way again, the way they were before.
Before.
Emily supposed that most people nowadays measured their lives according the bombs: what happened before the bombs versus what happened after. Not her. She dared not admit this to anyone; for that matter, she barely wanted to admit it to herself, but she measured so much by Jake. Before Jake left versus after Jake left. Hadn’t much of her existence been tied up in him?
“Oh, that Prowse girl is running around with Jake Green. Can you believe it? She’s a pretty thing, but her father’s in prison, you know.”
“How long are you going to stay mad at Jake, Sis?”
“I don’t think we should get married yet, Jake, but someday…”
“You should have had his back! It’s your fault. This is on you! Get out. Get out!”
Emily drew back the curtains slightly and saw someone across the street running from his car into the house, trying to avoid the rain.
‘The rain. That’s probably why Jake is late. He’s slowed down to drive more safely. He will be here soon. And with any luck, he’ll be staying put. The thought of falling asleep in his arms while the rain fell on the roof made Emily feel warm.
She needed it to be like it was before.
“Let’s see. We have Vienna sausages, maraschino cherries, and bread and butter pickles.” Jake held up the jar of pickles to the candles that illuminated the kitchen of the ranch house. “At least, I think these are pickles. They’re looking greener than usual.”
Heather wrinkled her nose when she saw the jar. “Well,” she said with a sigh, “it wouldn’t be the strangest thing I’ve eaten.”
“Oh?” Jake was intrigued. “Here I thought you’d be tried and true. Fried chicken, apple pie…”
“Stop! You’re making me hungry!” Heather protested. “But for your information, I’m not completely without adventure in my cuisine choices. I had cow tongue once.”
Jake shook his head. “Don’t think I want to taste anything that can taste me back.”
Heather laughed. “It was actually pretty good once I got past the texture. Let’s just say that I was motivated to try it.”
“Oh, and what was your motivation?”
“That’s another story for another time,” Heather hedged. “So, what’s the strangest thing you’ve ever eaten?”
“Other than my mom’s sour kraut?”
“I’m going to tell her you said that,” Heather teased with a grin.
“My word against yours,” Jake replied. Heather tilted her head knowingly and Jake swore softly, knowing whose word Gail Green would believe. “Well, I did have king snake once. That was unusual.”
“Snake?” The pitch of her voice became decidedly higher at the mere mention of snakes. Mrs. Beverleigh, who taught across the hall from her, used to have an albino snake as a classroom pet. It was harmless, and the children used to remove it from its cage to carry around during free time. Even so, Heather never particularly liked it and had warned Mrs. Beverleigh that if the snake ever got loose and came to her classroom, it would likely find itself on the wrong side of a very heavy book. Heather had teased Mrs. Beverleigh by asking her whatever happened to having furry animals as class pets. That was when her co-worker showed off her pet tarantula.
Jake smirked at Heather’s revulsion. “Yeah. At a little restaurant in Afghanistan. It was an interesting restaurant.”
“Interesting?” Heather scoffed. “That sounds like an understatement.”
Jake crossed his arms, enjoying watching her reaction. “The cook brought the snake out for my approval beforehand—still slithering.”
Heather shuddered. “That snake would have to bite me at least three or four times before I’d be mad enough to eat it.”
“Well, it was either eat the snake or eat sheep testicles.”
Heather’s eyes widened. “I am so grateful for the can of Vienna sausages and the jar of cherries.”
“Thought you would be.” Jake felt back into the cupboard again. “We’ve hit the jackpot.” He pulled out a package of marshmallows. They were perhaps a bit stale, but if roasted, he was fairly certain that they would come back to life.
“Marshmallows!” Heather practically squealed with glee as Jake tossed her the plastic package. She held it in her hand like a revered relic. “This is…” she felt a little catch in her throat. “I was just wishing for marshmallows not even five minutes ago.”
“Then maybe while you’re on a roll, you could wish for a slice of pizza and some nachos for me.”
“So long as it’s not from the Pizza Garden,” Heather replied. Certainly, that was an impossibility. When the Pizza Garden closed, the Cyberjolt Café opened in its place. Now the building was in the process of renovations for a permanent Jennings & Rall office. Heather hugged the package of marshmallows to her chest. Even out here, try as they might, there was no escaping what was happening out there. The frightening part to Heather was that as much as she found herself growing suspicious of the Cheyenne government, it was the thought of certain individuals out there that put her on edge.
“We’ll have to straighten a hanger and roast some of those,” Jake said pointing to the package Heather held, shaking her from her thoughts.
“So sausages, cherries, and marshmallows it is,” Heather replied.
“I think I see a two-liter of Pepsi in here. It’s probably flat, but it’s wet.” Jake twisted open the jar of cherries and sniffed its contents. “Still smells good.”
“I’m glad it’s sweet cherries rather than pie cherries.” But as she thought on it, she wouldn’t have expected any less from E.J. Green. The man had a fervent love of sweet cherries, an affinity that Heather could liken to her own partiality for marshmallows.
Jake pulled a cherry from the jar by its stem and tried it. “Just like I remember.”
Heather took one from the container and watched the strange expression come over his face, as though his tongue was pushing against his inner cheeks. After about ten seconds, he opened his mouth and pulled out the stem. Heather could see where he’d tied it into a knot with his tongue. “A man of many talents.”
“All well hidden, I assure you,” Jake replied with a glint in his eyes.
Heather leaned against the counter. “What other hidden talents do you have?”
“I’m a wicked ping pong player,” he provided as he took another cherry from the jar. “You sharing?”
“Cherries?” Heather asked, confused as Jake was the one holding the jar.
“No. Talents,” Jake responded. “I’m sure you have some hidden ones yourself.”
“Well,” Heather paused trying to think of something that qualified as hidden. “I can usually solve a Rubik’s Cube in fewer than twenty-two moves, no matter how mixed up it is.” She frowned wishing she had some exotic skill like swallowing swords or eating fire. Even twirling batons would’ve sounded more intriguing at this point.
His eyebrows shot up. “Impressive.”
“Doesn’t exactly live up to tying a cherry stem with your tongue,” Heather replied shaking her head. “I’ll bet the girls loved that.” As soon as the words came from her mouth, Heather groaned. “That came out sounding far different than I intended. I just meant, I thought they would be impressed by you.” No, that’s no better. “By the skill, I mean.” She averted her gaze, much as Jake remembered that morning at the hospital when she saw him after he’d just gotten out of the shower.
Jake watched her, bemused.
“Umm,” Heather continued rambling. “I also cut hair. Though it’s been a really long time since I have. That wasn’t something that came quite so naturally to me, not like the Rubik’s Cube, but at least I’ll have something to fall back on if the post-apocalyptic job market isn’t looking so good.”
Jake ran his hand through his own shaggy hair. “We may have to put that talent to the test sometime soon.”
“I’m a little out of practice,” Heather admitted. “Sure you’d trust me near your hair with a pair of scissors?”
There was no hesitation as Jake spoke. “I’d trust you with my life.”
7:25. Where was he? Emily picked up the phone to call Jake’s house, grateful that at least the phones worked, for the most part, locally. It was an old-fashioned rotary phone, and she began to dial his number, but placed the ear piece back on the receiver.
No. I’ll give him a few more minutes.
But the chicken was already getting cold, and her temper was getting hot.
“So what’s your poison tonight? Pot roast and potatoes or chicken pot pie?”
Lieutenant Jacob Hamilton looked up from his report he was drafting as two MREs fell onto the portable table in front of him. Hamilton would’ve recognized the bland Midwestern voice that accompanied the less than appetizing MREs anywhere: Lieutenant Barrett Buchs.
“They finally let you off of babysitting duty?” Hamilton joked to his friend, a common pastime between the two who’d known each other since their days of basic training at Fort Sill, advanced training at Fort Bragg, and through two tours of duty in Iraq.
“You’ve done your share,” Buchs defended. “You know, to hear people around these parts talk, this Constantino guy is hardcore. At least I got that angle going for me. Your babysitting job was for what—some little girl that couldn’t find her way back to Kansas?” Barry wrinkled his nose. Of all the places he thought he’d be, Kansas was not one of them. Not that there was anything wrong with it, per se, but everything looked the same. Fields, the occasional small town, more fields, a road to nowhere. Growing up in Green Bay, Wisconsin, he’d spent more than his fair share of time at the lake. But what was there to do around here? Grow corn? Pick corn? Eat corn? Oh, that’s right. They could also grow wheat, pick wheat, and eat wheat.
“I guaran-damn-tee that my babysitting job’s been far more fulfillin’ than yours. And she’s not a little girl. Heather’s a grown woman.”
“Good body?” Buchs asked.
“Mmmhmmm,” Hamilton replied. “And a good mind. She’s sharp, probably one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. And just decent.”
“Pretty much everything I’m not looking for, except for the part about the good body,” Buchs commented with a chuckle. “Your mama would be glad to know I’ve not corrupted her baby boy too much.”
Hamilton groaned. How many times had Buchs ribbed him about his mother? “You don’t know what you’re missin’ with all the chasin’ around you do.”
“Right now I’m missing dinner,” Buchs commented, but rather than reaching for one of the MREs, he reached for a pack of cigarettes in his front pocket.
Hamilton lifted a sandy colored eyebrow. “Where’d you score those?” Tobacco products were not completely unattainable, but they weren’t commonplace anymore, either.
“Told you my babysitting job wasn’t as boring as yours.”
Buchs didn’t elaborate, but he didn’t have to, either. Hamilton knew him well enough. “You can’t smoke those in here,” Hamilton protested.
“Wasn’t even going to try,” Buchs retorted as he pulled a cigarette out of the packet. “Know how you are. Goddamn rain’ll probably drown me, but what the hell.” With that, he ambled out of the large tent.
Hamilton pushed aside the MREs and continued writing his log of the day’s events. It had been particularly long, but he couldn’t say that it had been boring. He was starting to get a feel for Jericho and looked forward to getting back to see Heather, particularly because he’d be bringing back a few surprises for her from Ted.
Hamilton wondered if they were doing any good. He suspected their current method of handling the tenuous relations between New Bern and Jericho was akin to putting a bandage on a gaping wound and expecting the bleeding to stop; it wasn’t going to happen. Despite a curfew in place in New Bern, which was intended to curtain vigilantism, Hamilton wouldn’t be surprised if the next morning he received word of another attack in Jericho from one of New Bern’s citizens—or vice versa—if one of Jericho’s finest made his way to New Bern for some quality vengeance time.
“You’ve got to let me talk to him! He needs to know!”
Hamilton’s head jerked up and he was immediately on his feet bridging the expanse between the small table and the entry to the tent. Pulling open the flap, he saw Ted Lewis flanked on either side by two soldiers.
“You break curfew, you go to holding,” one of them said.
“If I was just going to cause trouble, why would I come here?” Ted argued plaintively. He looked from one soldier to the next. “I need to see Lieutenant Hamilton! It’s a matter of life and death!” Evidently, the three men had not seen him standing there.
“It always is,” one of the soldiers commented.
“I’ll take it from here.” Hamilton spoke with conviction in his voice.
“Yes, Sir,” the two men yielded to the officer’s authority and stepped aside while Hamilton guided Ted into the tent.
“Ted, why’d you break curfew to come out here? Couldn’t it have waited until the mornin’?” Hamilton asked, his voice lowering.
Ted shook his head and, if possible, looked even more peaked than earlier in the day when Hamilton had delivered Heather’s message to him. “Couldn’t wait. They know she’s alive, and now they’re going after her.”
Hamilton didn’t have to ask who. He knew.
Barrett Buchs had finally found his haven, or a reasonable facsimile of one. He’d edged toward the camp’s perimeter hoping to escape the curious stares of those who’d wonder how exactly he’d managed to secure tobacco. How convenient that the Army had established camp in New Bern’s Smith Park. Buchs was able to use one of the metal park shelters as protection against the rain. Lightning had died down for the time being, but even if it hadn’t, Buchs was fairly convinced that he would’ve taken his chances. Pulling a lighter from his pocket, he flipped the lighter on, and enjoyed that first scent of the lit cigarette. Holding it as an object of worship, he lifted it to his lips and puffed.
He closed his eyes, inhaling the sweet aroma of the cigarette and feeling his body already begin to react to the nicotine. It had been too long.
And then the cigarette was flying from his mouth.
What the hell? Why had it done that? But as one sensation was substituted for another, Buchs had his answer in the form of a follow up left hook to his jaw. And then there was nothing.
Barrett Buchs never saw the end coming.
Rose Lisinski had always told her daughter not to lick her fingers. But as the sticky remnants of the roasted marshmallows clung to Heather’s slender fingers, she couldn’t resist. Getting stranded had been worth it, if for nothing else than to have marshmallows again.
Heather didn’t figure that there was a huge demand for that particular food product these days. Marshmallows certainly held little nutritional value. She wondered how difficult it would be to make them and mentally noted that she wanted to look at the ingredient list on the package. Maybe she would be able to fashion a reasonable facsimile to the Jet-Puffed brand marshmallows that were in danger of giving her a sugar rush.
Sitting on the floor with her back against the couch, she looked from the fire toward Jake. He was a few feet away, kneeling in front of one of the built-in cabinets. She couldn’t see his expression, for his back was turned to her, but nevertheless, she felt amazingly content with him there.
“John Denver. The Carpenters. Perry Cuomo. Neil Diamond. Gramps had quite a collection,” Jake murmured as he fingered through the record collection.
Heather stifled a giggle. “Did you ever hear him sing ‘Thank God I’m a Country Boy’?”
Eyebrows raised, Jake turned to face Heather. “He didn’t,” Jake groaned at the image in his mind of his grandfather serenading Heather.
“He did.”
“On behalf of music lovers everywhere, I gotta apologize.”
Heather waved her hand. “No need for apologies. Your grandfather may have been tone deaf, but he made up for it in spunk quotient.”
Jake’s hands lingered on the John Denver album that had been his grandfather’s. These tidbits that Heather provided about Gramps had him hungry for more information. Gramps was one of the few people with whom he’d maintained contact after he tore out of Jericho. All the time, E.J. Green tried to coax him home, but Jake wouldn’t budge. And now here was someone who could help to fill in the gaps of what his grandfather had experienced in those last years. Yet in the time Jake had known Heather, she’d not told him about her friendship with his grandfather. The thought only reinforced what Jake continued to realize: there was much more to Heather than met the eye.
“You never mentioned him to me before.”
“Well,” Heather began, “we’ve not exactly been in the same place at the same time for very long. And I have to admit, I wasn’t sure how you felt about him. Being gone, I mean,” she added. “I didn’t want to open any old wounds.”
Jake exhaled. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure the wounds were old. He had no way to change those moments in his life that he regretted, but that didn’t stop him from dwelling on them from time to time. “I was out of the country when he died. Didn’t know about it until a week after the funeral.”
Heather could hear the self-recrimination in his voice. She had opened old wounds for him. But maybe there was a way to make him feel better, to remember the good, not the bad.
“Well, in honor of your grandfather…” Heather leaned forward and took the Back Home Again album from Jake. “Is the hand cranked phonograph still around here?” Heather stood and looked around the room. “Mmm. There it is.” She removed the record from its cover, placed it on the turntable, and cranked it.
Broken guitar chords filled the room and Heather gasped slightly.
“You fill up my senses
Like a night in the forest
Like the mountains in springtime
Like a walk in…”
Heather pulled the stylus off the record. “Sorry. Wrong side.” But the creases on her forehead, the way her eyes took on a glassy appearance did not escape Jake’s notice.
“You okay?”
Heather shrugged and managed a smile. “I’m fine. Just not paying attention to which side the song was on.”
“But that song has you upset.” Jake’s own troubles were forgotten as he concentrated on Heather.
“I’m not upset,” Heather insisted, though a slight edge to her voice suggested otherwise. “Sorry, but I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
She exhaled loudly, wishing she could shake off his questions. “Maybe not. But Jake, I will be fine. It just brings back memories. That’s all.” She licked her lips absently. Wasn’t she supposed to be making him feel better?
“Was it your song with someone?”
Heather shook her head. “I never had a song with anyone. I mean, there have been songs that reminded me of people, but I’ve never had a song…” her voice trailed off as she realized she was rambling again. “It was my parents’ song.”
“’Annie’s Song’ was?” Jake asked.
Heather nodded. “Yeah. But Dad called it ‘Rosie’s Song’. There was always so much music in our house with the two of them. One of my earliest memories is of listening to my dad play the guitar and my parents singing that song together, their voices harmonizing. I thought then that I’d never heard a more beautiful sound. It was more than guitar chords or musical notes. It was about more than perfect pitch. I could feel their love almost as easily as I can feel this album cover in my hand.”
“It sounds as though they were crazy about each other.”
“They were. Don’t get me wrong. I don’t believe in fairytales and knights on white horses.”
“Too practical for that?”
“Yeah. But I know that there are some things that can’t be explained away by science, by pheromones, by social conditioning, by the biological instinct to procreate. With some people, it’s as though their very souls connect.” She paused. “I guess I’m not very practical after all.”
But Jake understood what she meant. He’d seen the same connection between his parents. Some wrote it off as basic compatibility, being in the right place at the right time with the right attitudes. But Jake knew better. Even when his father had a difficult time expressing his love for Eric and him, Jake never doubted it was there. With their mother, it was less subtle. The looks they gave one another, as though they were speaking in a secret language, the way they would curl up with one another in his father’s oversized recliner, the laughter between the two of them—all of it spoke volumes.
“The song makes you sad instead of happy, though.”
“I…” she began but stopped. She wanted to choose her words carefully. “As long as I don’t dwell on things, I’m fine. I can’t hear it without thinking of them, and right now, I don’t know that I can think of them. Not without…” A lump formed in her throat, and she willed it away. She would not cry. Others had endured far worse than she had. Not that the suffering of others made her feel better, but it did put her losses into perspective. “It’s just that he sang that song to her on their first date. He sang that song to her at their wedding. He sang that song to her as she lay in the hospital dying. And then he never sang that song again.” Her eyes pooled with unshed tears. Groaning, she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She sniffed as she added, “This is not what I want to be.”
Jake took the album cover from her hands and set it aside. “It’s okay to mourn what you’ve lost. You don’t have to be strong all the time.”
“Are you taking your own advice, Jake?”
“I’m working on it.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”
“Shhhhh,” he soothed, reaching down and taking her left hand.
“What are you doing?” she asked as he brought her hand onto his shoulder.
With his free hand, he reached the phonograph and returned the needle to the record. The familiar chords of “Annie’s Song” began once again. “We’re going to make a new memory for you.” His hands circled her waist, pulling her close as John Denver’s melodic timbre filled the room that was otherwise quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the falling of the rain outside.
“You fill up my senses
Like a night in the forest
Like the mountains in spring time
Like a walk in the rain…”
Heather was stunned as she looked up at Jake. The soft, earnest expression in his eyes had her swimming in a sea of confusion. This man—this man who she’d seen wield a weapon on more than one occasion, tackle a would-be assassin, wire explosives, and take his life into his hands more times than she could count— continually surprised her. Though she supposed she shouldn’t have been. This was, after all, the same man who came to the aid of a bus full of children, despite his own injuries; the man willing to help a radiation-stricken stranger; the same man who knelt and solemnly retrieved a doll at Bass Lake the day they searched for survivors; and the man who made sure she had a place to go when her apartment was destroyed.
“Like a storm in the desert
Like a sleepy blue ocean
You fill up my senses
Come fill me again…”
Heather slid her arms around his neck and rested her cheek against his chest. The two moved slowly with the music as the beauty of the words washed over her. This was different from the night before, she decided. She’d ached to be held by him and felt racked with guilt for it. Now she felt something else entirely.
She felt safe.
“Will you tell me how they met?” he asked gently.
“Dad was a chaplain, drafted into the U.S. Army during the Vietnam War. He didn’t agree with the war and probably could have sought conscientious objector status, but he felt like it was his duty, God’s will, or a combination of both to go. He felt that he could do some good there.
“He and some friends from his division were on furlough in California, waiting to go overseas. His friends slept in on Sunday morning, but my dad went to church. That was when he first saw my mom. He went back to the motel and told his buddies that he’d met the girl he would marry. They thought he was insane.”
“Come let me love you.
Let me give my life to you.
Let me drown in your laughter.
Let me die in your arms.
Let me lay down beside you.”
“When you know, you know,” Jake commented, resting his chin on the top of her head. “How long did they date?”
Jake could feel Heather smile against him. “Three days.”
Jake drew in a sharp breath. “That’s fast.”
She shifted slightly so she could look up at him. “Like you said, when you know, you know.”
Jake nodded, his brown eyes focusing on her blue ones. “So I did.” He moved one of his hands upward, traveling the small of her back before resting it at the nape of her neck.
“Let me always be with you.
Come let me love you.
Come love me again…”
Jake’s gaze lowered to her lips. He remembered the one time they’d kissed and how he’d avoided her afterward. He knew she’d considered herself to be safe—too safe. But the fact that he’d found himself standing at the precipice of feeling strongly for her and all the complications that went along with it had made her dangerous to him at the time. He couldn’t afford to lose focus on what was at stake: their very survival. He knew Heather thought it was risk that made him tick, but he wanted the same things that most any man wanted.
Heather swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry. As Jake leaned down, she thought he might kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her. Instead, he whispered in her ear, “When you know, you know.” His voice was low, husky.
With the way he spoke, his words felt more intimate than any kiss could. Her heart pounded as he pulled back slightly and captured her gaze again, a half-smile on his lips.
“You fill up my senses
Like a night in the forest
Like the mountains in spring time
Like a walk in the rain…”
“Things can change so suddenly,” she uttered as she felt his fingers toying with her damp hair.
“Yeah.” They were no longer talking about her parents.
Jake wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to touch her. But until he resolved his relationship with Emily, he wouldn’t put Heather in that position. Maybe it was time to take the conversation back to her parents. “So three days? That must’ve been a shock to your grandparents.”
“That’s putting it mildly. They wouldn’t attend the wedding, but they eventually warmed up to my dad. Took a few years, though.”
“I’m guessing it coincided with your arrival.”
Heather’s brows furrowed in surprise. “How did you know?”
“Let’s just say my grandmother—my dad’s mother—didn’t immediately take to my mother.”
“But when you came along…”
“Yeah. I guess she decided my mother wasn’t entirely evil.”
Heather did a double take. “I can’t imagine anyone not loving your mother!”
Jake couldn’t either, but then again, he was biased. “There’s a story there. I’ll tell you sometime, but I want you to finish yours first.”
“One of my dad’s Ranger buddies served as witness. Mom didn’t have the chance to get a fancy wedding dress, but she looked beautiful from what I remember of the pictures. She wore a pale blue dress and carried Queen Anne’s Lace. My dad played his guitar and sang this very song. Mom told me that he was singing so enthusiastically, he broke one of the strings on his guitar and didn’t even notice.”
“Like a storm in the desert
Like a sleepy blue ocean
You fill up my senses
Come fill me again…”
Jake absently ran his teeth along his bottom lip, a look of intense concentration crossing his features.
“What is it?” she asked.
“You’re going to think this is crazy, but that story…it sounds familiar somehow.”
“Really?” she asked tilting her head. “That surprises me. I always thought their circumstances were unique.”
Jake shook his head as the last notes of “Annie’s Song” finished. “I’m sure they were.”
Heather pulled away from Jake, reluctantly, and picked up the stylus from the record on the phonograph. When she did, she could still hear the rain falling on the roof in a steady downpour. “Thank you, Jake.”
“For what?”
“Giving me a new memory to associate with the song.”
He took her hand and squeezed it lightly before letting go. “Glad I could do that for you.”
She walked to the window, trying to look out into the darkness, but with the light of the fire reflecting off the glass saw nothing other than water beading on the windows before streaking down the glass. She felt Jake’s approach behind her, intensely aware of his presence. Was it his faint scent of sandalwood that drew her senses? The warmth he emitted? His even breathing? His strength and tenderness? Or was it just the fact that from the very moment she’d met him, she’d found herself connected to him, whether it was in those rare, quiet moments or occasions when they worked together to solve a problem?
Now he was close to her but not close enough. Heather had to stifle a sigh. Wasn’t this more than she’d ever had with him? Was she so greedy that she needed his arms around her again, the sensation of his hands warming her cool skin? But she felt so many feelings rising within her, unfamiliar. Did she even have the word for them? Yearning? Somehow the word didn’t seem potent enough. Her heart quickened and her face suddenly felt flushed.
Jake’s eyes ran the length of Heather’s body. His sweatshirt swallowed her whole, but there was something very satisfying in seeing it wrapped around her body. Similarly, the sweatpants she wore looked to barely hang on the gentle swell of her hips. When they’d danced together, he’d had to fight the urge to tuck his thumbs in the waistband and….Jake pushed the thought aside. His imagination was carrying him away, no doubt about it.
Heather was different. There was a dichotomy to her that had him intrigued. She was angelic and earthy, smooth and rough. Her bashfulness over the drying of her clothing earlier, juxtaposed with the ease in which she’d held her own against him, had his mind and body racing. Her innocence, he was beginning to realize, was about more than a cheerful disposition or self-effacing demeanor. It was genuine, and Jake suspected that her innocence extended to the bedroom, as well. In the past, women like her would’ve scared the hell out of him. They were too complicated, would’ve expected too much from him, and generally were not worth the trouble. But who was he kidding? Comparing Heather to other women was akin to comparing stealth bombers to crop dusters.
As it was, Jake felt like he was flooring an accelerator with the car in neutral. So many impulses warred within him simultaneously. He wanted to protect Heather, to keep her safe from the outside world, safe from what he feared was coming. He wanted to pull her close, feel her skin against his, discover how far downward her blush extended. He wanted to reveal his past. He wanted to bury his past. He wanted to laugh with her until his sides hurt. He wanted to know every detail about her.
And so standing behind her, seeing her pull up the too-large pants before they dipped lower, seeing the glint of firelight on her mussed hair, Jake was content to be there with her.
Still looking out the window, Heather asked, “Do you think your mom is worried about us?” She pushed up a too-long sleeve that had fallen.
Jake grimaced. He hated the thought of his mother being worried; she’d had far too many occasions to feel that emotion than she deserved. But as Jake considered Heather’s question, he was fairly certain he could ascertain his mother’s response. “She’s probably wondering why we aren’t back yet, but she knew we were coming here. She’ll figure the weather is keeping us out here.”
“I wonder what time it is,” Heather murmured, her hand pressed against the window pane.
Jake shoved his hands in his jean pockets. “It’s gotta be past 8:00 by now.”
Jake remembered he was supposed to be at Emily’s house at 7:00 p. m. Sharp, she’d told him. At this point, she was undoubtedly beyond pissed off, but that made two of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t regret spending this evening with Heather.
As if on cue, lightning flashed in the night sky followed a few seconds later by a clap of thunder. “Doesn’t sound like the weather is going to let up anytime soon, does it?”
“Ready to get rid of me?” Jake teased.
“Hardly,” Heather replied. Didn’t he know that she wanted to hold on to him and never let go?
Jake cleared his throat. “We should probably bunker down for the night.”
She nodded as she turned to face him. “That’s right. You had an early morning.” What was going on with him? Between a to-do list, which seemed completely out of character for Jake, and his unexplained early morning excursion, Heather was curious. She’d tried to keep her curiosity in check, but she couldn’t help but wonder. Nevertheless, she didn’t press. “You must just be running on fumes.”
“And maraschino cherries,” he added.
“And maraschino cherries,” she echoed with a smile. “So,” she began sheepishly, her eyes dropping to the floor, “sleeping arrangements.”
Jake sucked in a breath as a myriad of possibilities rushed through his brain, but in the end, his better judgment won over, a fact that would’ve had the old Jake Green in a state of utter disbelief. “Temperature’s still dipping pretty low at night. We can stay in here near the fire.”
Heather nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”
“So what’s your pick? Sofa or recliner?”
Heather shrugged. With the exception of the night before, she’d had precious little luxury at bedtime over the last few months. “I don’t have a preference. I’ll take the one you don’t want.”
“I’ll take the recliner then. You can have the sofa.” His eyes captured hers and held her gaze. “I’m going to find some blankets and pillows.”
Heather watched as Jake disappeared down the hall. Leaving the window, she crossed the short distance to the sofa before sinking onto the couch, tucking her legs underneath herself. Listening for Jake’s footsteps, she leaned her head against the cushioned sofa, realizing that going back tomorrow would be difficult. Not the trip itself. Heather was fairly certain that as soon as the rain stopped and she could get the truck parts dried, they’d be on their way. Even if they couldn’t get Charlotte running in the morning, the walk back wouldn’t be so bad once the storms passed. No, Heather was more concerned about leaving the relative solitude of the ranch. Being there with Jake had only served to strengthen her feelings for him, feelings she had tried to keep buried.
She thought back to her Rules to Live By. They were so incredibly black and white and, by extension, her life had been one filled with absolutes. With Jake, it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t black, white, or even shades of gray. Instead, she imagined being near him as living in a black and white world and seeing vibrant colors for the first time. Being near him was dizzying and exhilarating and made her want things she’d never known she wanted for herself. He’d probably scoff at the notion, as abstract as it was, but it, nevertheless, struck her as true.
But what was she going to do about it? To say that their situation was complicated was an understatement. Emily and Jake had complex histories, inextricably bound together. Emily was the first friend Heather made when she moved to Jericho. Before Heather left for New Bern, the two had been able to confide in one another, depend on one another. Now Heather could feel their friendship slipping away, straining under the weight of the realization that what each of them wanted was at cross purposes.
Heather of old would have bowed out gracefully, taking herself out of the equation. Come to think of it, three days ago, she would’ve willingly bowed out, but now, now she was unwilling to do that. Whether it was in spite of her better judgment or because of her better judgment remained to be seen. All Heather knew was that the more she was around Jake, the more she wanted to be around him. She’d fought the battle to remain indifferent where he was concerned and lost. Granted, that was one battle she wasn’t sorry to have surrendered.
Was she setting herself up for a fall? Was she reading too much into this day spent with Jake? Was she projecting what she hoped for rather than what actually was? But as she saw Jake come back down the hall carrying blankets and pillows, a smile upon his face, Heather had her answers.
Nothing in life was guaranteed, least of all the future, but for the first time in a long time, Heather felt hope.
“Emily, I didn’t expect to see you here.” Gail Green surveyed the woman who stood before her on the front porch, her arms tightly hugging herself. Gail recognized this posture. She’d seen it too many times over the last two decades. Come to think of it, the first time Emily Sullivan—then Prowse—had shown up on her doorstep, her posture had been much the same, though now certainly the woman who stood before Gail was a far more graceful creature than the girl who was all gangly arms and legs and whose blond hair was pulled up in braids.
“Is Jake home?”
Past and present blended the images in Gail’s mind. Those had Emily’s words then, too. Though back then, Emily had wanted Jake to come out to play baseball. Now…now it was very different between them.
Gail shook her head. “No, I thought he was with you.” Emily looked a little lost. “You’re soaking wet. Come on in. Let’s get you dried off.”
Emily stepped into the foyer of the Green home. How many times had she been in that house? Hundreds? Thousands? At one point, it had felt like home to her, but now as she stood there, she felt detached. Her eyes took in the sights, all so familiar to her, from the polished cherry furniture to the oversized sofa and recliner in the living room. She noted the photo albums spread out on the coffee table, along with a few piled on the sofa. She’d interrupted a trip down memory lane, Emily realized. If only that lane weren’t a one way street…
Gail’s curious gaze was upon her.
“He didn’t show up to dinner, and I thought…I thought something might be wrong,” Emily began. Now she wondered if she was overreacting. Jake would probably be upset with her if she concerned Gail, but they had agreed upon 7:00 p.m. sharp. Lately, though, they couldn’t seem to be in the same place at the same time for very long. There was always something pulling him away, whether it was working on the ranch, border patrol, dealing with the Army, or now making sure that Heather was settled.
Emily felt a twinge of guilt. She wanted Heather to be happy. She honestly did. Just—Emily sighed internally—why did she need Jake to pick up the pieces for her? And damn it, why was Jake so willing to drop everything to run to Heather’s side but couldn’t be bothered to show up to dinner on time?
Gail studied Emily’s expression and could see the worry in her eyes; it was the same look she’d seen last night at Bailey’s when Emily approached the dinner table with Jake and Heather.
It wasn’t worry for Jake’s safety.
Gail sensed she was stepping into a mine field and didn’t particularly want to place herself in the position of having to make a proverbial quick getaway. She chose her words carefully. “He and Heather went to the ranch earlier today to take care of the horses and borrow some plumbing fixtures to do some repairs around here. They probably just decided to ride out the storm there.”
“Think I should drive out there and make sure everything’s okay?”
Gail shook her head. “No, I think you should dry off and sit for awhile.”
“You’re afraid of what I would find out there, aren’t you?”
Emily’s words didn’t entirely surprise Gail. Her attempts to sidestep the conversation were too little too late. “Emily Sullivan, you and I both know that Jake is not the type of man who would cheat on you. The only thing I’m afraid of is that you’ll get yourself or someone else hurt driving out there in this rain when you’re obviously upset—or if you do make it out there, you’ll end up doing or saying something you’ll regret.” Gail gave Emily a meaningful look before she walked down the hall to the linen closet and pulled out a towel and blanket for her guest.
Tears stung Emily’s eyes, and she willed them away as Gail extended the towel to her. “I—“ she began but stopped as she ran the towel along her wet arms and rubbed her hair.
“Come sit by the fire. I’ll get you some coffee.”
Emily shook her head as she walked toward the fireplace. “Thanks, but I’m going to pass on the coffee. I just…” she sighed loudly, “I don’t understand what’s going on with him. He’s put up this wall that I can’t break through. Everything I do, everything I say is wrong. Yesterday was the first time I’d seen him smile in weeks.”
That hadn’t escape Gail’s notice, either.
“It wasn’t always like this with us, you know,” Emily went on as her eyes went to the photo albums open on the coffee table. Staring up at her from the table was a picture of Jake and her. They must’ve been twelve or thirteen. Both wore baseball caps and mussed uniforms. Emily remembered how she’d fought tooth and nail to play baseball instead of girls’ softball, and she’d been a good athlete. That summer of their first kiss, of baseball, of just feeling suddenly so grown up, had been one of the best of Emily’s life. It was the summer before her father went to prison, the summer before her mother got sick for the first time, the summer when everything looked so incredibly bright.
“I know.” Gail had watched her son’s relationship with Emily evolve over the years, from that of childhood friendship to first loves. From rushing headfirst to slamming into brick walls. Gail had seen Emily pull Jake out of trouble, and she’d seen Emily put him in situations where there could be no positive outcome. They pulled together, and they pulled apart, over and over, tearing each other and themselves down in the process.
After Jake left town, it had been a relief to Gail when Emily moved on with Roger Hammond. When she and Johnston had received a wedding invitation, Johnston had grumbled about attending, but Gail was anticipating it. Perhaps finally Emily would find the happiness that eluded her. And if Emily could find happiness elsewhere, then so could Jake. The cycle would be broken.
But that was not the way it had worked out.
And Gail watched as Emily went from Roger back to Jake again. It had seemed so sudden and yet so inevitable.
Emily nervously chewed on her lip. “I shouldn’t bother you with this.”
Gail took a deep breath. She had been wont to get involved in her son’s relationship, but as she studied the woman who had, at times, been like her own daughter, she could no longer bite her tongue. “Are you happy, Emily?”
Gail’s question caught Emily off guard. “What do you mean?”
“It’s not a trick question.”
“I…” Emily frowned as she thought for a moment. Her eyes falling to the floor, she shook her head ever so slightly.
Gail pressed on, “What would it take for you to be happy?”
“I just…I don’t know. Maybe if Jake would open up to me, involve me in his life the way he used to, if we could just go back to how things were before…”
Gail knew what Emily was going to say. Before Chris died. Before Jake left town.
No, Jake didn’t just leave. He was driven out of town—by Emily’s rejection, her anger toward him, and by his own grief. Gail had to take a deep breath to keep from tearing into the woman who stood across from her. Could Emily really not see that so much of what she thought was wrong in her life was her own doing?
Amazingly, Gail found the strength to keep her voice even. “There’s your problem right there.”
Emily was startled by the interruption. “I don’t understand.”
“It’s not up to Jake or any other man—including your father—to make you happy. It’s up to you. What do you want that you can provide yourself?”
Emily did not respond to Gail’s question. Instead she dropped the towel onto the hearth and murmured, “I should get going. When Jake comes home, please let him know I was asking about him and that I really need to talk to him.”
“Emily, I’m not trying to scare you away. I want things to work out for you. I want you to be happy.”
“But not with Jake,” Emily replied numbly.
“That’s not my call,” Gail replied. “That’s for you and Jake to decide.”
Emily tilted her head, a look of exasperation on her features. “But you think that Jake would be better off without me. You always have.”
“This isn’t about what I do or don’t think,” Gail repeated.
“Isn’t it, though?” Emily crossed the living room toward the foyer, stopping once her hand hit the doorknob. “I love your son. I always have. Jake and I…we’re always going to be tied to one another.”
“I don’t doubt that, Emily, but your happiness—your identity—should never be wrapped up in another person.”
“And if someone said that to you about Johnston?” Emily asked. As soon as the words came from her mouth, she wished she could take them back. The pained expression on Gail’s face only verified that she’d crossed the line. “I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Her voice steely, Gail replied, “No, you shouldn’t have, but because you did, let me make one thing clear. There is no comparison between my relationship with Johnston and yours with my son. I’d like to think that Johnston and I brought out the best in each other—not the worst. We spent four decades building a life together, not tearing each other down. If you don’t listen to anything else I say, hear this, Emily: you aren’t going to be happy with anyone unless you are happy with yourself. And you aren’t going to be happy until you stop demanding more from others than you are willing to give yourself.”
Wordlessly, Emily opened the door and walked into the rain.
To be continued in chapter 12...