The Greens of Jericho

 Chapter Nine: “Pretenses”

Heather Lisinski was a light sleeper, though that wasn’t always the case. When she was growing up, her father used to tease her that she’d sleep right through the second coming. Maybe it was because she typically found herself busy from the moment she awoke to the time she went to bed that she could sleep so soundly. Maybe it was because she used to feel safe. Maybe it was because she used to have a clear conscience. For whatever reason, Heather no longer slept like the dead.

But she did dream of the dead.

Usually those dreams involved snapshots of hands the color of crimson or a mouth forming stunned, pained words. Sometimes those dreams provided snippets of sound and scent. But always those dreams shook her to her very core.

It was a little before 4:30 A.M. when Heather awoke, her senses initially groggy. She heard shuffling in the room next door, the sound of the door opening, and sure but quiet footsteps going down the hall. She was grateful for the sound which roused her from the dreams.

She sat up in bed.

Jake. It had to be. Why was he awake so early?

Heather thought back to the strange expression that crossed his face yesterday when Gail mentioned his to-do list, as well as how Jake covered when she saw him outside the bathroom.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself. If he wanted you to know, he would have told you. Besides, the best thing you can do for yourself is keep your distance.

Logically, Heather knew this to be true, but as she lay back down and was lulled to a near dream-like state in the sleepy recesses of her mind, her old dreams were replaced by new ones as she could almost feel his hands on her hips, the way he pulled her close to him as they danced, and how his warm breath against her ear sent shivers down her spine. “You could have any man you wanted.”

Why did that man have to be Jake Green?

She drifted back to a restless sleep.

When Jake let himself out of the house around 4:30 A.M, it was still dark and quiet. Locking the deadbolt behind him, Jake pulled his jacket more securely around himself and set off by foot for Hawkins’s place. It was easy enough to avoid the few soldiers he saw on foot patrol, and he spoke to no one along the way, which was the point of the early morning rendezvous.

Jake arrived at Hawkins’s house some twenty minutes later. To the best of his knowledge, it had been empty for the last four weeks, and no one had heard from the family, except for a quick note left by Darcy for Jimmy Taylor, thanking him for his hospitality and asking him not to worry. Eric had inquired about the legality of allowing some of those who were left homeless from the war stay at the empty Hawkins house, but Jake’s strong reaction to the request put an end to Eric’s pursuits. While Jake didn’t divulge details to his brother, he knew they couldn’t take the chance of letting someone stay there. Too much was at stake; if someone were to find Hawkins’s hidden room or the “package” in the shed, all hell would break loose.

His eyes, aided by the half moon, surveyed his surroundings before he inserted the key he’d found in the horse barn into the keyhole. He unlocked the door, let himself inside, and closed the door behind him.

And then he heard the cocking of a gun.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Jake said wryly as Robert Hawkins emerged from the shadows holding a .45.

“You’re early,” the other man replied calmly, lowering the weapon. He placed the safety mechanism on and tucked the gun in his holster.

“You’re late,” Jake replied. He’d been left wondering over the last four weeks what had become of Robert Hawkins and his family.

Hawkins half grimaced and half smiled. “I need your help, Jake.”

Minutes later, the two men were in Hawkins’s basement. The last time Jake had been there, he’d held Hawkins at gunpoint, demanding to know who he was and what his connection to the attacks had been. Jake found out more that day than he could have ever imagined, culminating with a first-hand view of the “package.” Hawkins’s burden had also become Jake’s burden.

“Anyone been asking questions about me?” Hawkins asked as he leaned against the small metal desk.

Jake’s eyes went to the map that hung on the wall. Red push pins indicated cities hit in the nuclear attacks. Despite the fact that six months had passed since the attacks, he still found it stunning that twenty-three American cities were destroyed. People he knew and cared about were dead, some he’d seen alive the day before the attacks. “The usual questions. Where you went, why you left.”

“What did you tell them?”

“Exactly what you asked. Nothing more, nothing less. So where were you really?”

“Tying up some loose ends.”

“Loose ends,” Jake repeated numbly as his mind raced. He knew better than to ask what those ‘loose ends’ were. “Did you have trouble getting back to town?”

“I know the back roads.” Hawkins’s time with the Rangers had been valuable, as was his familiarity with military protocol from his years in the service as a younger man.

“The Army has the main roads blockaded. They control who comes in and out. ’Protection,’ they call it…goes to show their ‘protection’ leaves a lot to be desired.”

“Home field advantage,” Hawkins commented on his ease of returning undetected.

“Three hundred soldiers arrived yesterday. The visitors’ section is getting a little crowded.”

Hawkins’s eyebrows rose. He could hear in Jake’s tone his disdain for the military presence in Jericho. Truthfully, that presence complicated matters. Complicated things like hell. But perhaps they could get it to work to their benefit.

“Any official word on why?” Hawkins asked.

“The major and I aren’t exactly what I would call close, but I think we both know why they’re here.”

Hawkins stepped forward, his casual demeanor melding into one more intense. “I need you in there, Jake. I need your eyes and ears. Your influence.”

“My influence?” Jake fought the urge to laugh. “The biggest influence I have over Beck is that I’m a pain in his ass.”

“Beck?” Hawkins asked crossing his arms.

“Major Edward Beck. By the book, hardcore Army major. He’s in charge of the ‘reconstruction.’”

Hawkins turned away, his eyes falling upon the photographs on his cork board. Giant red X’s crossed the features of some of the photographs. These were the people with whom he began his journey; now there were only three remaining, himself included. “And where does Mayor Anderson fit into all this?”

“He’s like a puppy jumping around trying to satisfy everyone. He’s rolling over, letting the military do as it pleases, promising resources that we can’t spare.”

“I need you in there,“ Hawkins repeated as he turned to face the man who had become his partner, out of necessity, out of luck. “Make it happen.”

The thought of cozying up to anyone in the new government nearly made bile rise in Jake’s throat. If Hawkins was going to ask him to do this, there better damn well be a good reason. “Why is this so important?”

Hawkins said with a steely gaze, “If you don’t, someone’s gonna get away with killing millions of people. Listen carefully…”

When Heather arose two hours later, she found the house empty. The door to Jake’s room was open, and his bed was made. Gail, too, had already left for an early shift at the clinic.

Heather wandered down the stairs, wearing the t-shirt of Jake’s that Gail had loaned her the day before along with the military issued pants in which she had traveled. She fingered the fabric of the shirt slightly; it seemed intimate to be wearing his clothing, and the thought brought color to her cheeks.

When Heather walked into the kitchen, she saw a bag on the counter along with a note that had her name on it. She picked up the note and found that it was taped to a key chain. The corners of her mouth lifted somewhat as she examined the key chain’s decorative attachment, a thin silver plated piece of metal with “Home is where you’re loved” etched into it. Heather was sure it was a key chain that Gail had lying around unused; nevertheless, it made Heather feel welcomed.

Heather,

I pulled together a few things that I thought you could use until we can get you some more essentials. I also wanted to make sure you had a key to the house so that you can come and go more freely. There’s some instant oatmeal for breakfast, and eggs are in the fridge.

I’m really glad you’re with us.

Gail

Her eyes went to the paper bag on the countertop. In the bag, she found a pair of blue jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt, a flannel over shirt, packages of socks and panties, and a razor. When had Gail found the time or resources to do this for her? Heather tightly held the keychain in the palm of her hand and fought the tears that were forming in her eyes.

Some time later, after eating a bowl of oatmeal and cleaning the dishes, Heather retreated upstairs to shower and change. The water heater was still on the fritz, as was evidenced by the steady stream of cold water that hit her back. It was a definite incentive to shower as quickly as possible. She supposed she could have heated some water on the stove and taken a bath, but she decided to suck it up and take the quicker route with a shower instead. Besides, tackling the issue of the hot water heater as soon as possible only meant she could solve the problem sooner.

Once out of the shower, she wrapped herself in a towel, tucking the edge of the terry material under her arm. She opened the door to the bathroom and scurried out to walk across the hallway to her room, eager to put on clean, dry, warm clothes.

In her haste, she collided with Jake, momentarily losing her balance. He steadied her, his calloused hands on the tender flesh of her bare arms. Heather stood dumbfounded by his nearness and the warmth that permeated her cool skin from his touch.

The towel loosened, but Heather caught it before it dipped too low. “Jake! I—I didn’t hear you come home,” she stammered.

Jake watched as redness colored her cheeks, spreading down to her neck and chest area. “When the water rattles through these old pipes, it’s hard to hear much of anything else,” he replied, his eyes sweeping over her. Tiny droplets of water made their way down her chest, some disappearing into her towel and some between the valley of her breasts. Jake’s breath hitched as he forced his gaze upward, meeting her startled blue eyes.

“We’ve…we’ve got to keep meeting this way. I mean, stop. Stop meeting this way.” The pinkness of her skin deepened. “Oooh,” she groaned as she pushed past him into her bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Jake could hear her leaning against the door.

He lifted his hand to knock on the door, thought better of it, and went to his room.

Glancing at the clock, he saw it was still early, but he felt like he’d already put in a full day. The meeting with Hawkins had his mind on fire. The run in with Heather in the hallway had his body on fire. He had to get a handle on it. Heather was his friend and nothing more, even if her eyes did sparkle like the sun on San Diego Bay, even if she was a breath of fresh air and reminded him of a warm spring day.

Get a handle on it, Jake.

He plopped down on top of his bed, not bothering to pull back the covers or take off his shoes, and found himself staring at the ceiling. His life had become increasingly complicated, and he was still trying to wrap his mind around all the changes.

Six months ago, everyone viewed him as an unreliable punk who had torn out of town with his tail between his legs, a prodigal son who had come to stir trouble. Six months ago, Jake had no idea 

who Robert Hawkins was, the involvement Hawkins had in the most momentous crime ever committed, or that he would be seeing the birth of a new nation. Six months ago, he was running from Ravenwood, convinced that if he managed to make it another half a year, it would be a miracle.

Some miracle.

“Listen carefully. The military wasn’t sent to keep the peace between Jericho and New Bern. It would’ve been easier for Cheyenne to just let the towns fight it out, come in, and take what was left.”

Jake thought back to his earlier conversation with Heather and how Colonel Hoffman’s original assertion that the battle was out of his jurisdiction had been swiftly replaced by a strong desire to intercede. “No, they’re here to find a terrorist, and they needed people alive so they could field their investigation.”

Jake was torn. A part of him resented what Hawkins had brought upon their town. Then there was that part that had grown to trust the man who stood before him, despite the shroud of mystery that had surrounded him when he first arrived in Jericho and still did, in many ways.

“Exactly,” Hawkins replied.

“So they think they’re looking for you?”

“No, they’re looking for Sarah Mason.” Hawkins indicated one of the photos on his cork board.

“Your handler.”

“Right. They think if they find Sarah, they’ll find the bomb. Every bomb has a signature, a calling card that indicates its origin. If you were in the upper level of the Cheyenne government, would you want the world to know you were responsible? Cheyenne needs legitimacy. The bomb proves this government is bastardized.”

Jake’s jaw clenched. “What do you want me to do?”

Hawkins smiled. “I’m glad you asked.”

And just like that, Jake had been pulled back into an untenable situation. And somehow he had to make it work.

On the other side of the door, Heather sat on the floor muttering, “You have got to get over this bad case of the stupids.” She took a deep breath, pulled herself up, and got dressed. She was pleased to discover that Gail, in addition to being extremely thoughtful, also had a good eye for size. Now if only there was something in that bag Gail provided that could combat Heather’s knack for making a fool of herself in front of Jake.

She sighed softly. The new clothes would be comfort enough. The shirt and jeans Heather pulled on were simple but fit perfectly. She brushed her hair and pulled it into a ponytail.

Heather hesitantly went into the hallway, walked a few feet, and stood in the doorway to Jake’s room. The door was open, and he was lying on his bed, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. “Um, hi.”

Jake propped himself on his elbows and looked at Heather. “Hi.”

Heather’s heart quickened. It was a purely physical reaction to him, and, she knew, entirely superficial, but seeing the way his t-shirt stretched across his muscled chest and broad shoulders, made her feel even more inept. “Okay. So there’s something you should know. Two somethings, actually. First, I am a dork.”

He scowled.

“No, really, I am! I don’t know why that is, but I am, and my dorkiness will periodically shine through. Consider yourself warned. The other something is that I have no tools, and I feel really lost without them. Your mother has been very kind to me, and I would like to return the favor by fixing the hot water heater. Do you have any tools I could use? Oh, and I may also need a hose to drain the water heater.”

“Industrious as always,” Jake commented as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Heather could see the weariness in his eyes.

“Well, you know the old saying. Idle hands…”

“…do the devil’s work. Yeah, I’ve demonstrated that adage repeatedly.” A lopsided smile formed on Jake’s lips as he sat all the way up, but his smile was not met with one from Heather. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked to the doorway. She stiffened slightly at his approach. Noticing her reaction and wanting to reassure her, he continued, “I don’t want you to be nervous around me, Heather. I’m just a man.”

Heather’s breath caught within her. He wasn’t just a man. He was special. He was brave and bold and beautiful and tormented and smart and funny and wonderfully imperfect and taken. “And I can’t afford to get too comfortable around you, Jake.” She spoke steadily, her words carefully measured. “Now, about those tools…”

Jake nodded. “Right.”

Some time later, Jake shut off the electricity to the water heater and closed the water supply valve so that Heather could safely drain the water from the unit and open it. He watched as she attached a garden hose to the drain valve near the base of the unit. She gave him a quick nod, and he stretched the hose from the basement laundry room where the water heater was located to the bathroom adjacent to the laundry facility, finally securing the hose in the stand alone shower so that water could drain once she turned the valve.

“Here’s something I never thought I would see,” Jake commented loudly so Heather could hear him from the other room, “a garden hose in my parents’ basement. I’ve got it on my end.”

“Okay. Here goes,” she called back opening the valve to let the water drain.

Jake came back into the laundry room and saw her kneeling next to the tank, examining the metal plates covering the thermostats. “It’s a 60 gallon tank. This’ll take awhile.”

“You look sleepy,” she commented. “I can take it from here.”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” he asked with a half-teasing tone.

She didn’t immediately answer; she didn’t have to. Jake already knew.

He cleared his throat. A gentleman would have heeded her wishes, given her space and time, but Jake’s legs were unwilling to make the trek up the stairs. Heather had been gone for four months, and he couldn’t help but want to be near her, to learn more about her life and her experiences. What made Heather Lisinski tick?

“So how did you learn to do all this?”

Heather paused, realized Jake wasn’t going anywhere, and finally answered, “My dad. He was a jack-of-all-trades, a real tinkerer. He thought it would be a good idea for me to learn, and who was I to argue? I liked the time we spent together taking things apart and putting them back together again.” She stood and placed her hand on top of the water heater.

“So what do you think is wrong with it?” Jake asked.

“My guess? The heating coils. That should be easy enough to fix if we can find working parts. You see, most electric water heaters are pretty much the same.” She pointed to the two copper pipes attached to the top of the unit and found herself falling into teacher mode. “Cold water comes in and is heated by the heating elements which are, by the way, similar to what can be found in an electric oven. The hot water then goes out through the other pipe. As the hot water is used, it is then replaced by fresh cold water. Despite the influx of cold water, a hot water heater should maintain water at a preset temperature because the warm water rises to the top and the cold water sinks to the bottom. The cycle repeats itself.” She looked back at him, expecting to see a glazed over look on his features, but was surprised by the look of interest she saw there instead. “I get carried away. You probably already knew all of that, Mr. I-Can-Blow-Things-Up."

Jake chuckled. “Pyrotechnics were more my thing, not hot water heaters. But if you want help blowing it up…”

“I think I’ll pass. Granted, blowing things up probably is more exciting than repairing household appliances. Still, the great thing about appliances and cars is that they may have problems, but there’s always a clear cut solution.”

“Unlike with people.”

She nodded as she looked through the tool bag to find a wrench to take the protective plates off the thermostat and heating coils. “I understand little people. Children, I mean. They don’t have pretenses. They eventually learn to, but they aren’t inherently programmed that way.” Her eyes fluttered closed, and she could envision her former students, so full of life and personality. Her job hadn’t been easy—no job ever done well ever was—but teaching third grade had been fulfilling. She’d considered it a privilege to get to share in the children’s lives and their learning experiences.

Jake watched Heather and got the sense that she was holding on to far more than she revealed. He knew better than anyone how complex human nature was, how near impossible it was to maneuver through the cavalcade of what people said versus what they did or thought. Hadn’t he been caught up in that cavalcade for the good portion of his adult life? Working for Jonah Prowse, sugar-coating exactly what those “deliveries” were about, being in war zones, unwittingly providing weaponry to the highest bidder, hiding his past from his family for so long, even being caught up with Hawkins and “the package” again, pretending there wasn’t a nuclear warhead hidden under a garden shed only a mile and a half away?

Jake took a deep breath. And he’d maintained a pretense with Heather. He hadn’t outright lied to her, but a lie of omission was a lie, just the same.

“Your students will be excited to see you. Do you think you’ll go back to the elementary school to teach once classes get underway again?”

That was the million dollar—was there even such thing as a dollar anymore?—question. What would come next? Could she go back in the classroom and be what her students needed and deserved, when if they only knew what she had done, they would view her as a monster?

Using the wrench she found in the tool bag, Heather began unfastening the thermostat covers from the hot water heater. “I don’t know that I’m the right person for that job anymore,” she said quietly. When she was in New Bern, she would try to imagine what Ashley or Jason or Sammy was doing back home. Then she would see children the same age as them, so bright, so young, exposed to the horrors of the world. Without those bombs, without Ravenwood’s plundering, without Constantino’s butchery, their futures would have been so different. The thought gnawed at her.

Heather was so lost in her thoughts she dropped the wrench. Jake knelt to pick it up for her. Yet when Heather reached to retrieve it from him, he pulled it back from her reach. “Give it.”

“The water is going to take awhile to drain. In the meantime, I think we need to talk.”

“Are you holding the wrench hostage?”

“Something like that.”

He walked out of the laundry room through the short hallway that opened up into a den area. He sank onto a couch, new since he left five years previously. It didn’t quite feel like the old one, but the neutral color sure beat the loud orange furniture that used to be in the basement. “You coming?”

Heather followed him into the den but did not sit. “You know, I could just use a flat head screwdriver instead of that wrench.”

“You could, but I was hoping you would humor me,” he replied.

Heather sat on the edge of a chair kitty-cornered to the sofa, and Jake studied her. Her body was rigid, as though protesting his tactics. Yet in her eyes, he could see emotions swimming. Heather was haunted. Truly, she had done a remarkable job of covering, but he recognized the look. What had happened to her in New Bern? Eric had mentioned that Heather had saved his life, but his brother had refused to elaborate. Whatever it was, Jake recognized the guilt she carried, and more than anything, he wanted to help her let it go.

“Did I ever tell you where I was before I came back to Jericho?” Jake’s question was more rhetorical than anything else. He’d only told snippets of his real whereabouts to four people: his parents, Eric, and Randy Payton, the young Ravenwood soldier in Rogue River.

Heather had asked around about Jake months ago, but she’d always gotten different answers when broaching the subject of those five years. Army. Navy. Minor league baseball. Some others told her they suspected Jake had been in prison. Heather theorized that Jake had spent time in the military because of the dog tags he wore and his demonstration of what could only be described as advanced military training, but they’d never had occasion to discuss it. “No, you never told me.”

“I spent part of that time in Afghanistan,” he said watching the expression on her face. He knew her mind was racing and the questions were forming. “I worked transporting materials for the military, sometimes by way of truck, sometimes by way of airplane.” Jake’s preferred method of travel had always been by plane, ever since his grandfather used to take him up in the old crop duster. Flying in Afghanistan wasn’t a problem; it was the landing in rough terrain that proved more difficult.

“Oh, wow.” That information definitely hadn’t made its way into the rumor mill. She swallowed hard, imagining what he must have seen in the war zone. She’d read about the military efforts in Afghanistan to overthrow the Taliban regime and weed out terrorism. She knew that over the last decades, conditions in Afghanistan had been dire, particularly for women and children. “That must’ve been…”

“Yeah. When I was there, I spent some time in Kabul. I can still remember the jagged peaks of the mountains that surrounded the city. The city was dry and barren, but the mountains were thick with snow.

“There were a lot of kids who used to wait outside the headquarters for work. Most of them were shoeshine boys, and I got to know a few of them. My favorite was a boy named Nasim. He was shy, probably about eleven or twelve, and always serious.” Jake rubbed his forehead. He’d been about Nasim’s age when he’d started flying with his grandfather. He’d had so many more opportunities in life than the young Afghani boy. “One day I asked him if he would show me where he lived. I just wanted to understand his situation better. So he took me to a neighborhood, a shanty village really. His house, if you could call it that, was made of straw and mud. There was no running water, no furniture, no fire to keep them warm at night.” A stream of liquid flowed through the middle of the packed down dirt street that divide the shanties from one another. Jake remembered how pungent the stench had been. “I met his mother, a widow, and Nasim’s older brother who had been injured some weeks before in a bombing raid. They were very gracious to me, an outsider.”

Heather sucked in a breath. With all the craziness of the last six months, it was easy to forget that not every place in the world enjoyed the high standard of living that they’d once enjoyed in the United States—still enjoyed, relatively speaking. Hearing of this family’s living situation made a hot water heater in need of repair seem almost frivolous.

“Nasim was the bread winner for that family. He earned the equivalent of about a dollar per day. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to buy bread and unrefined sugar. On occasion, he splurged for rice. He told me he was proud to be providing for his mother and brother.”

“Did he go to school?”

The corners of Jake’s mouth were upturned. Leave it to Heather to think about his education. “There was also a school set up for the street children. Nasim and his friends went there and had big plans for the future.”

Jake paused, remembering a day when Nasim and his friend Majid got hold of a rare treat, a soccer ball that one of the British soldiers had given them. They marked a couple of goalposts on the street with the worn wooden boxes containing their brushes and polish and challenged Jake to a game. Jake’s pride had been soundly pummeled that day as he played soccer with the kids, but they’d also told him that day what they wanted for themselves.

“What was the school like?”

“Small. One room. Boys only. Limited supplies. But the teacher had their imaginations awakened.”

“What did they want to do?” Heather asked softly, Jake’s words painting a vivid word picture in her mind. She’d remembered a time when she thought she had her own students’ minds alive with dreams and possibilities.

“Some wanted to be translators. Others wanted to be drivers or carpenters. A few wanted to be professional soccer players. The point I’m trying to make is that they hadn’t given up, Heather. Their lives by all accounts were hard, but still they found happiness in the least likely places.”

“What do you think happened to Nasim and the others?” Heather asked.

Jake shook his head. “I don’t know. I honestly don’t. I know what I’d like to think.” His brown eyes sought her blue ones, and he could see turmoil within them.

“What do you think will happen to the kids in New Bern and the kids here in Jericho?”

Jake spoke with certainty. “They’ll adapt. Probably better than some adults. It isn’t right. It isn’t fair. But they’ll make it, Heather. They will.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears. New Bern is….” Heather’s voice trailed off. Jake had seen New Bern firsthand. He knew exactly what New Bern had become.

“I shouldn’t have let you go there,” he said quietly.

“You couldn’t have stopped me,” she spoke matter-of-factly. “I had a bee in my bonnet. I wanted to help our town, Jake, but I…I think some part of me wanted to play hero and prove my worth. I wanted to be dangerous. Can you believe it? How’s that for a pretense?” She stood, leaving him on the couch.

Jake stood, shoved the wrench in the back pocket of his jeans, and trailed her. Heather had followed the garden hose into the bathroom, studying the flow of water going down the shower drain. It was still running as a steady stream.

“You do know that nothing that happened out there was your fault, right?”

She was silent and kept her back to him though she was intensely aware of his physical presence.

“Right?” he repeated.

She took a deep breath and turned to face him. “I know the only person whose actions I have any control over are my own. I know that I didn’t personally send those mortars upon Jericho, but if I hadn’t been so naïve…” Heather’s voice trailed off. Who was she kidding? She was still naïve about so many things.

“Naïveté had nothing to do with it, Heather. Phil Constantino would have found a way to produce those mortar rounds with or without your assistance. But the wind turbines—we’d never have had those without you.”

“Not everyone is going to see it that way.” A worry line creased Heather’s forehead. She had seen the damage done to Jericho and heard that over sixty people were killed in the attacks and many more wounded. She’d spent her time away fantasizing what it would be like to get home, but she’d not been prepared for the reality of it. And the reality was that nothing was the way she remembered it. How could it be? And how could those people who lost family members ever look at her the same way 

again? She went to New Bern, lived in New Bern, and helped New Bern, the enemy. “I don’t want my being here to reflect badly on you, your mom, or Eric.”

Jake fought the urge to groan. More times than he could count, he was grateful to be in Jericho. Despite that gratitude, he knew that the same attitudes that drove him away in the first place persisted. Civilization could be on the verge of collapse, but gossip mongering and self-righteousness could survive all of that. “I don’t care what they think.”

“You should. You are this town’s leader, Jake.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

“Maybe not in name, but they all look to you. You’re Super Jake to them.”

Jake nearly snorted. “What?”

Despite the heaviness of her heart, Heather managed a small smile upon seeing his surprised expression. “You’ve not heard that nickname? Really? I thought for sure you would have by now. Jake, how many other people in this town can do what you’ve done? Tracheotomy? Check. Rescue a school bus full of children? Check. Rig the salt mine entrance to collapse? Check. Rescue Bonnie and Emily from fugitives? Check. Retrieve information from flight data recorders? Check. Take on Ravenwood by strapping explosives to yourself? Check. I’m sure if you filled me in on your exploits while I was gone, I could add to that list.”

Jake held up his hands. “That’s enough about me.”

“They all trust you.”

Trust. Such a small word. Strange how veritable strangers could put their trust in him but Emily could not.

Jake tried to brush his thoughts of Emily aside. He would have to deal with that situation, but for now he wanted nothing more than to see Heather feel better. “And I trust you, so if what you’re saying is accurate and people are unhappy with you, your association with me may very well be the first time that I’ve improved someone’s reputation rather than ruined it.”

“Were you really such a bad seed?” Heather asked, disbelief written across her features.

Jake leaned against the bathroom vanity. “You have no idea. If you’d have known me back then, you never would have given me the time of day.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

A smile formed on his features. “Oh, believe it. Given half a chance, I would have completely corrupted you.”

She smiled back at him. “Who knows? I might have been willing to let you try,” she replied flippantly. “Wow. You are something else. How did you do it?”

“What did I do?”

“You cheered me up. That’s twice in two days,” she replied lifting two fingers.

“And to think you were trying to get me to leave you alone,” he teased. But he realized it went both ways. He may have been able to cheer up Heather, but she’d done the same for him. Ever since he saw her yesterday morning at city hall, he’d been filled with something he’d not felt in longer than he could remember: hope.

Heather shrugged. Part of her felt it would have been easier if Jake had left her alone. Being around him was—oh, goodness, what was it? Mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time? Alternately safe and dangerous? The more she was around him, the more difficult it became to keep her feelings in check. Yet the more she was around him, the more alive she felt. “Right now I’d just settle for the wrench.”

Jake retrieved it from his back pocket and passed it to her. “So, you and this Lieutenant Hamilton…”

“Yes?” Where was he going with this?

“Are you going to see him again?” Jake’s tone was nonchalant, but his eyes betrayed him. The intensity of his gaze made Heather feel weak in the knees, much as she had when she ran into him in the hallway only an hour before.

Yes, you are more dangerous than safe, Jake Green, Heather thought.

Heather’s thoughts briefly traveled to the affable Lieutenant Hamilton. He was incredibly charming, boyishly attractive, and being around him was just so easy. There were no complications and no expectations. “Well, he’s stationed here in Jericho, so I’m sure that we’ll run into one another.”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

Heather fought the urge to reach out to Jake, to stroke his face. Instead she found herself squeezing the wrench tightly. “I know. But—I want to discuss Hamilton with you about as much as you want to discuss Emily with me.” Heather looked down at the hose, which was still draining. Her voice took on a playful tone, “So what does it say about us that we seem to hang around bathrooms a lot?”

Some time later, Jake and Heather found themselves on Main Street. The bustle of activity gave the place the appearance of normalcy, and Heather found herself relaxing. A number of businesses had reopened, and it looked as though several new businesses were in the preparation stages for opening soon.

“So what do you think are our chances that someone has heating elements for a hot water heater?” Heather asked walking next to Jake.

“Let’s see. Post-apocalypse appliance parts. Can’t say there’s a huge demand.” Jake stuck his hands in his pockets. “You know, back in the day, a lot of people would’ve just bought a new hot water heater.”

Heather tilted her head, a look of mock warning crossing her features. “Don’t let Marvin hear you say that,” she insisted.

“Marvin? Don’t tell me you’ve named it,” Jake chuckled. First Charlotte, now Marvin. He shook his head slightly at what she had called him earlier: Super Jake. Heather and her names. Jake had a few names for her, but it was just as well to keep them to himself.

Heather clasped her small hands together, squeezing her fingers. “Well, repair work is a very intimate experience, and I wouldn’t want Marvin to think I’ve totally given up on him. Besides, the era of the throwaway society is so over.”

What Heather said was true. Once they were cut off from the rest of the country, they lived or died by their own resourcefulness. It was only in the last few weeks that supplies began to trickle in from beyond Jericho’s borders—just not the supplies they desperately needed. “Mr. Steele’s Appliance Mart is open again,” Jake commented, “though I don’t know if he’ll be much service.”

“Why do you say that?” Heather asked.

“Jennings and Rall helped a number of businesses to reopen. Appliance Mart. American Clothing. Murthy’s Gas Station. In doing so, these businesses had to agree to certain terms, terms that mostly involve holding the customer in a stranglehold.”

Heather’s eyes traveled the length of the street. “Hmmm. I notice none of the gun shops are open again. There used to be, what, two on Main Street?”

“Yeah. Don’t count on seeing those reopen any time soon, at least, not sanctioned by the Cheyenne government.”

“Where do people get what they need?” Heather asked.

But Jake did not answer her. He held out his arm, stopping her in her tracks, and his body was suddenly very rigid. “Stay here,” he commanded as he began to walk quickly with purpose.

As Jake watched a man he didn’t recognize start to reach into the jacket he wore, Jake had a bad feeling. In his youth, he’d not listened to his gut, and it had gotten him in trouble more than once. In the last five years, he’d become far more adept at trusting his instincts. And something about the way the man carried himself just wasn’t right.

Not again. Jake could see the man drawing a weapon, could hear him calling to Tony Schubert who stood only a few yards away with his wife and young son. Jake took off running, caught the gunman by surprise, and tackled him to the ground. The man’s pistol fell a foot away. He struggled to reach it, but Jake had him pinned, his forearm to the man’s throat.

Soldiers quickly surrounded the two struggling men. One retrieved the pistol while the others pulled Jake off the stranger and took the perpetrator into custody.

Tony Schubert’s son—what was his name? Donald?—buried his head in his mother’s skirt. Jake felt for the child. It was a different world now. He wished the child hadn’t seen it, but the knowledge of how much worse the situation could have been assuaged some of Jake’s guilt.

He dusted himself off, turned, and saw Heather approaching in a jog. “Jake! Are you all right?” Jake was taken aback when she threw her arms around him and felt her tremble. “If something had happened to you, I--”

Jake wrapped his arms around Heather and held her for a moment. She felt so small in his arms, and he could feel the pounding of her heart. “Ssshhhh. I’m fine, Heather,” he whispered in her ear.

Heather pulled back slightly, trying to compose herself, but he noticed that her chest rose and fell rapidly, the rush of adrenaline mingled with fear still affecting her. Jake rested his forehead against hers. “I’m fine,” he repeated quietly, still seeing the concern in her eyes. “I promise.”

“That man. I don’t remember his name, but I—I think I recognized him,” Heather said as she let go of Jake and turned to watch the soldiers take the man into town hall.

“From New Bern,” Jake stated.

“Yeah,” Heather replied. She wondered how he knew and was about to ask but never got the chance.

“Jake, I can’t thank you enough,” Tony Schubert said extending his hand to Jake, who, in turn, shook it. Tony was a business systems analyst, or had been before the bombs and EMP. Now he worked at the salt mine, and he was one of the Rangers Jake had trained late last fall.

“I’m just glad I was here. Do you know that man?”

“No,” Tony said shaking his head.

“Well, he seemed to know you,” Jake responded. He turned back to Heather. “I need to see this through. Will you be okay without me?”

Heather nodded. “Go.”

“Have you got a key to the house?” he asked as began backing away.

“Sure do,” Jake heard Heather reply, though he could have sworn he heard her add under her breath, “Super Jake.”

Tony turned to his wife and son. He knelt down and took the little boy in his arms. “Daddy’s fine, Donnie. Don’t cry.” Tony looked up at his wife. “I need to go with Jake, see what this is all about. Will you be okay, Marnie?”

Tony stood, and Marnie Schubert took their son from her husband’s arms. “We’ll be fine. Just be safe, Tony.”

He placed a tender kiss on her lips before heading toward town hall himself.

Marnie looked at Heather, whose eyes followed Jake as he hurried down Main Street. “It’s never easy, is it?”

Heather’s eyes met Marnie Schubert’s. Heather knew Marnie mostly in passing; from time to time, Marnie would substitute at the elementary school, and they’d meet in the hallway or on the playground. Sometimes they would see each other around town. “What do you mean?” she asked.

Marnie smoothed her son’s honey colored hair and cast her eyes on him. He looked so much like his father; the thought that they had come so close to losing Tony sent chills down her spine. “Seeing the men we love in harm’s way. If Jake hadn’t come along when he did, I can’t even begin to think what would have happened. ”

The men we love…

Heather felt flushed. “No, Mrs. Schubert, I think you have the wrong idea about Jake and me. We’re not, we’re not a couple,” Heather stammered.

Marnie Schubert shrugged. “I could have sworn.”

Moments later, in what had once been the sheriff’s office, Major Edward Beck folded his arms over his broad chest as he circled the man brought in for questioning. “What happened out there?” The man, in turn, looked at Beck petulantly and uttered nothing. “You don’t have anything to say for yourself?”

Jake Green and Tony Schubert exchanged glances, impatience evident on both men’s features. This was taking too long. Weren’t there enough eyewitnesses to settle this matter definitively? “I have plenty to say,” Jake asserted. “This man,” he said pointing to the stranger, “attempted to murder Tony Schubert in cold blood. I heard him call Tony’s name, saw him pull the gun from his jacket, and take aim. That’s when I tackled him.”

“Do you know this man?” Beck asked Tony.

Tony shook his head, his bespectacled gray eyes filled with bewilderment. To think that someone wanted to kill him. “No. We’ve never even spoken before.”

“Heather thinks he’s from New Bern,” Jake added.

“Heather Lisinski?” Beck asked. “She recognized him?” Their interview had been cut short, but Beck suspected that Heather still had much valuable information that she could impart, and he was determined to get it. Soon. Despite—or perhaps because of—the role of saboteur she’d taken on in New Bern, Beck believed that there was something inherently decent about the young woman. He also sensed that she carried with her a lifetime’s worth of regrets about her time spent there.

Beck knew something about regret. But he pushed aside the stray thought, compartmentalizing it just as he would a weapons inventory file.

The New Bern man sat listening to the conversation among the other men and futilely pulled at the plastic cord ties that bound his wrists together. A flicker of recognition darted across his features at the mention of Heather Lisinski. She had become the stuff of legend in New Bern, a hometown girl sent to infiltrate and destroy New Bern on behalf of Jericho. But wasn’t she supposed to be dead? He imagined Phil Constantino would be interested in knowing she was still alive and kicking.

Jake nodded. “It makes sense. He wouldn’t be the first from New Bern to come here and seek vengeance.”

Beck’s words were measured, patient, the same overbearing patience that made Jake’s blood boil. “Goes both ways, doesn’t it, Jake? I’ve held a few men from Jericho in New Bern for the same reason.” Beck turned back to the detainee, choosing not to see the look of hostility on Jake’s face. “You know Heather Lisinski?”

The man said nothing, though he breathed heavily, seething. The whites of his eyes contrasted with the filth of his dirt-smudged face. This man’s demeanor reminded Beck of his first encounter with Jake Green four weeks earlier at the Richmond farm. Beck’s men had brought Jake in to sit across from Phil Constantino to discuss the terms of the ceasefire between New Bern and Jericho. Jake’s first reaction had been to physically attack the leader of New Bern. Now this man who sat bound in the wood chair looked as though he wanted nothing more than to tear apart anyone in his path.

Jake voiced his disapproval. “I thought the point of having the military here was to prevent things like this from happening.”

Beck’s eyes narrowed. He considered himself a patient man, but his patience was wearing thin. He wanted to help Jericho. Truly he did, but some of the townspeople, Jake Green in particular, were hell bent on making his job all the more difficult. “Unless you’re willing to show me all the back ways to get in to Jericho, I can’t guarantee anything. He knows what you know, and he’s not talking.”

Jake looked away from Beck. Living in a military occupation in Kansas—and all the complications it brought—wasn’t exactly what he’d envisioned for himself. Yes, the New Bern people were using the back roads, but so were people from Jericho, people like Hawkins. Beck was right; Jake could put an end to the chances of similar scenarios recurring, but at what price? Did he really want this new government’s military knowing everything? Hell no.

“What are you going to do once the military moves out, Jake?” Beck asked as a subordinate handed him a box consisting of the detained New Bern man’s belongings. Beck briefly riffled through it and saw a Swiss army knife, a wrinkled photograph, and a wallet. He opened the wallet and pulled out an expired driver’s license with the man’s photograph. Jack Yeargan.

“Is the military moving on?” Jake asked twisting his neck to see the license. The briefest tinge of hope arose within him.

“When our mission is complete.”

“Well, if your mission is complete, shouldn’t this be a moot point? It’ll be our problem, not yours.”

“You have a police force of two, no sheriff, and no way of defending yourself.”

Jake glared at Beck, unappreciative of the fact that the major was divulging this information in front of the New Bern man. Though the thought did then occur to him that the man was probably all too aware of the conditions in Jericho.

“We were doing just fine,” Tony Schubert contributed.

Beck glanced in Tony’s direction. It was clear the man owed loyalty to Jake and was trying to honor that loyalty, but enough was enough. “With all due respect, you were getting your clocks cleaned. You were outgunned and outmanned. These retaliatory missions aren’t going to end overnight, but they will end. On both sides.”

Another pronouncement from Edward Beck. Jake fought the urge to roll his eyes. Just because Major Beck declared it was to be so didn’t mean that it actually was. What had been settled between their towns? Absolutely nothing. Phil Constantino was still in New Bern, surrounded by his minions, albeit under house arrest. Who knew what influence he still wielded?

Jake’s harsh gaze fell upon the man from New Bern who listened to the conversation but contributed nothing. “Are you one of Constantino’s men, Yeargan? Is that why Heather recognized you?” Moving quickly, Jake grabbed the collar of the man’s shirt, pulling him slightly off his seat.

And nearly as swiftly, Edward Beck pulled Jake away from Yeargan. Jake looked angrily at the shorter man, and Beck lifted his forefinger, pointing at Jake, his tolerance sorely tested. “Back off.”

Jack Yeargan’s face contorted , hatred and grief mingling on his features, as he finally spoke. “This man,” he spat out as he lifted his bound hands and pointing at Tony Schubert, “killed my brother four weeks ago.”

The blood drained from Tony’s face. He was computer expert, not a soldier, but the other man’s words sank in. Four weeks ago, their towns had fought against one another, both struggling to survive, whatever the outcome may be. He’d never thought himself to be a fighter, never had any aspirations to be, but fate had intervened, and Tony had been willing to do whatever it took to defend his town and keep his family safe. It was entirely possible that he had killed this man’s brother.

Tony leaned against a nearby desk, his legs feeling wobbly under him. “I—I don’t know what to say.”

Jack Yeargan’s eyes narrowed. “There is nothing you can say that I want to hear. What I do want is to see your blood spill, just like you spilled Tom’s.”

Beck intervened, looking at the New Bern man, though his words could be equally applied to Jake’s situation, as well. “There were losses on both sides. That’s what happens in battle. You choose your fight, and you live with the consequences.” There was nothing glorious about it; perhaps at one point in his youth, Beck might’ve considered war to be, but he’d seen too much in his seventeen year career to ever feel that cavalier, that foolish, again.

Beck motioned to two soldiers. “Take him to the holding cell until I decide what to do with him.”

“Yes, Sir!” the soldiers replied in unison before flanking either side of the detainee, forcing him to stand, and then walking him out of the room.

Jake turned to Tony and felt for the man. He wasn’t a murderer. Six months ago, the man had never even held a gun. Jake was the one who had taught him to shoot. “You okay?”

Schubert nodded, hesitantly at first then with more assurance. “Yeah. That was…surreal.”

“Why don’t you go find Marnie? She’s got to be wondering about you. I’ll handle things from here,” Jake offered.

Tony nodded numbly. How was he ever going to tell his wife the reason Jack Yeargan wanted him dead?

Beck watched the interaction between the two men. The respect Tony Schubert had for Jake Green was evident. Jake had leadership skills, Beck noted, and had displayed those skills on more than one occasion. “Tony, watch your back,” he said as Schubert slowly left the room. “Jake, stick around. We need to talk.”

Jake bristled slightly at Beck’s brusque commands. He didn’t like being addressed as though he were one of the major’s underlings. His brows furrowed as he met the major’s gaze.

Major Beck didn’t beat around the bush. “Gray Anderson and I spoke yesterday.”

“What do you want? An award or something?”

Beck ignored Jake’s verbal jab. “Your name came up.”

This caught Jake’s attention. “Why?”

“I want your assurance of discretion.”

“You and Gray Anderson were talking about me, and you’re concerned about my discretion?” Jake retorted as he crossed his arms.

“Fair enough,” Beck replied. “I told you earlier Jericho would have a military presence until our mission is accomplished.”

“And I nearly offered to help you pack your bags.” Tone it down. This might be your chance to get an in with Beck the way Hawkins wanted.

“I need your help, Jake. I have reason to believe that a terrorist is at large either in or near Jericho.”

Jake’s heart pounded. How close was Beck to putting together the pieces of Hawkins’s involvement with the attacks? Keep your cool, Green. Get Beck to talk. Find out what he knows. “What does this have to do with me?”

“You know better than anyone else what goes on around here. People come to you. Tell you things.”

“And you think someone came up to me and admitted to being a terrorist? Why would a terrorist come here, of all places?”

“Why not? Jericho has working farms, a salt mine, a safe water supply, and isn’t in a fallout zone. It seems to me that Jericho would be a very ideal place for someone to set down roots.”

Jake threw Beck his best ‘unconvinced’ look. “What does this has to do with the conversation you had with Gray Anderson?”

“Mayor Anderson mentioned someone to me, a Robert Hawkins. Do you know him?”

“Sure I do. Jericho’s a small town. But Hawkins and his family left shortly after the war.”

“Have you heard from him?”

“No.”

“Any idea where he went?”

“Before he left, he mentioned something about his wife Darcy having relatives in Texas.”

“And you think that’s where they went?”

“I have no reason to think otherwise. Why the questions about Robert Hawkins?”

“Mayor Anderson told me that Mr. Hawkins was an FBI agent and that you and Jimmy Taylor investigated him for possible ties to terrorism. You and I both know the terrorists apprehended in New York City were carrying phony FBI badges.”

Jake sucked in a breath. Did Gray Anderson ever stop talking long enough to let his brain catch up with his mouth? “Yeah. We investigated. I believe Hawkins is the real deal.”

“And you know this because—“

“Call it a gut feeling. That, and the fact that his FBI badge was heavy.” Beck raised a brow. “Let’s just say I’ve had occasion to get up close and personal with the FBI before.”

“So an FBI agent just happens to show right before the attacks crippled our country? Damn strange coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Life is stranger than fiction. If ever there was any doubt, the last six months should’ve erased it.”

“So you don’t think Robert Hawkins had anything to do with the attacks?”

Jake shook his head. “I don’t see a connection. Though if you know something I don’t, shouldn’t you be on your way to Texas about now?”

Beck began to speak, then thought better of it. “What you did out there today on Main Street was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.”

Jake cleared his throat. “That sounds like something my father would’ve said.”

“I’ve heard a considerable amount about your father.”

Jake frowned. “From Gray?” Jake could only imagine what Gray would have to say.

“No. From others. Jimmy Taylor, for one. I’ve been told he cared for this town a great deal.”

“You’ve been told right.”

“And I see that same quality in his sons. You don’t have to like the fact I’m here, Jake. I don’t like the fact I’m here. But I’m not going away, not until my job is done. I’m asking for your help. You handled yourself well out there today—and from all accounts, this isn’t the first time you’ve proven yourself under pressure.”

“You’re asking for my help?”

“I am. This town needs a sheriff.”

Jake nearly snorted. “Me? A sheriff? The extent of my experience with law enforcement has been on the other side of the law.”

“I’m well aware of that. I am also aware that the people here respect you in a way that they do not respect me. It would be better for all involved if someone from Jericho could take on more of the law enforcement responsibilities. It would be the first step in diminishing the military presence here.”

“I need to think about this,” Jake replied calmly, though on the inside his mind was racing. This was the in that Hawkins had wanted him to find, and it was falling perfectly into his lap. Nevertheless, being too eager might arouse the major’s suspicions.

“I understand. Just don’t take too long.”

Some time later, Heather found herself at the appliance store in search of replacements for the heating elements. Much to her chagrin, she quickly discovered that free trade was not alive and well. The store operated on what Mr. Steele, the proprietor, explained as the Buffalo Credit system. While the new federal government in Cheyenne was working toward printing and distributing new monies, a credit system based on vouchers from the Allied States Federal Reserve care of Jennings and Rall was being implemented.

“Are you sure I can’t trade something for these, Mr. Steele? I don’t have much, but I could offer my repair services periodically.”

The mustached man with the salt-and-pepper hair shook his head mournfully. “I wish I could help you, Heather. The condition of my store getting back on its feet was that I wouldn’t barter. Cheyenne wants my cooperation with this new money system they’re working out. They feel that bartering undermines it.”

“Isn’t there something I can do?” Heather pleaded.

“You can do what a lot of other people are doing. Go to Jennings and Rall. They can get you set up with the Buffalo Credit.” Mr. Steele could see her hesitation. “Or,” he added, with his voice lowered, “you might try Dale Turner over at Gracie Leigh’s. I don’t know how he does it, but he comes up with all kinds of obscure things. Who knows? He may have your heating elements.”

Heather nodded. “Thanks. I’ll try that.”

She left and headed straight for Gracie Leigh’s. As she approached the store, she could see that it wasn’t quite what she remembered. No longer did the outer windows feature advertisements for Duncan Hines cake mix or Aunt Jemina syrup. Rather, posters hung advertising ammunition, firewood, and grain.

As she entered, she noted two security guards who stood near the entrance. These are Dale’s guards, she realized. My how times have changed.

Though she never had Dale Turner as a student, Jericho Elementary, Jericho Middle, and Jericho High were housed on the same campus. Heather made it a point to learn the names of every child she could, particularly those who seemed isolated on the playground. Dale had been about twelve or thirteen when Heather began teaching at the elementary school, but the curly haired boy pulled at Heather’s heartstrings. He was smaller than the other kids his age, he didn’t have a father in his life, and he had always seemed out of place. The other kids seemed to sense his vulnerability and preyed on that.

Heather remembered a conversation she once had with her father.

“Be nice to everyone, Heather,” Matthew Lisinski told his twelve year old daughter as he pulled his reverend’s collar from his shirt.

“I know, Dad, because God wants us to treat others with kindness. Rule Number 8: Treat others the way you want to be treated.”

“That—and someday, that person you’re mean to might become your boss.” His blue eyes twinkled, and Heather laughed.

Heather couldn’t help but wonder how many young people in town were wishing they had treated Dale with more respect.

As Heather surveyed the store, she noticed a slew of miscellaneous items. A few cans of soda were in the refrigerated case. Only a few aisles over, she saw antifreeze and car batteries.

“Ms. Lisinski?”

Heather turned and saw Dale Turner. He looked older than she remembered, but she could still see remnants of the little boy she befriended years ago. “Dale!”

Dale hugged her lightly. “I’d heard you were back.”

“Word travels fast. I just got back yesterday.”

“Skylar is going to be floored,” he commented. “Did you just stop in to say hi, or were you looking for something in particular?”

“A little bit of both,” Heather replied. “I’m trying to repair a hot water heater, and I need some heating elements. You don’t happen to have any, do you?”

He shook his head. “I’ve got a couple for an electric oven, but that’s it.”

“They work on the same principle, but they won’t be the right size.”

“Have you tried over at the Appliance Mart?” Dale asked.

Heather nodded ruefully. “Two words: Buffalo Credit.”

“Enough said. Give me a few days, and I’ll see what I can come up with. I can’t promise anything, though.”

“Thanks for trying,” Heather replied.

Dale paused. “You might try the junk yard. Maybe there’s something out there you can use that isn’t picked over.”

Heather smiled. “One man’s trash is another man’s treasure. I hadn’t thought of that. Thanks, Dale.”

Walking was becoming a way of life for Heather. She found herself enjoying the fresh spring air and the familiar sights. She decided to heed Dale’s advice and walk to the junk yard, which was about a mile outside of town.

On her way, she found herself passing Jericho Elementary. Unable to resist, she ducked into the building. Walking through the hallways felt surreal. Children’s art work hung on the walls, even after all the time that had passed. During the week of the bombs, they had been celebrating Dr. Seuss Week. The teachers and children had decorated their doors with Dr. Seuss themed drawings and cut-outs. She noticed the Green Eggs and Ham on Mrs. Thompson’s door and a half-taped Cat in the Hat on Mrs. Leimer’s door. Heather’s classroom door theme had been The Butter Battle Book. The irony was not lost on Heather as she remembered that Dr. Seuss wrote that children’s book as an allegory for nuclear war.

Heather felt a lump in her throat as she approached her own classroom. She never imagined she’d be back. She stood trying to gather her wits about her. Finally, she grabbed the door knob and turned it.

Walking inside, she saw her room was just as she’d left it. Twenty little desks were situated in the room, along with bean bags in the reading corner. One of the bulletin boards featured photographs of her students’ heads on Dr. Seuss characters’ bodies. She studied each of their smiling faces and prayed a silent prayer that wherever they were, they were still smiling.

Heather walked to her desk and settled in her chair. She’d spent little time there during the day, largely because she adhered to the adage that “a teacher on her feet is worth two teachers in her seat,” but this desk and chair was where she’d spent many an hour brainstorming lesson plans, grading papers, and writing grant proposals for the scores of field trips and extra materials she wanted for her students.

Heather opened the desk drawer and found a tube of Chapstick, a stick of antiperspirant, a pack of gum, and a powder compact. Little treasures. She wondered what else she could dig up. She walked to the closet and nearly squealed with delight when she saw bags of clothes. Some were what she would term rather ratty—older clothes she brought to school when her students did artwork involving paint. Still, she did happen upon an attractive azure colored sleeveless turtleneck shell and matching sweater, a black woolen pencil skirt, and black high-heeled shoes. She vaguely remembered having worn those to school for Renaissance Day, but she’d changed into the Renaissance costume that Haley Simmons’s mother made for the occasion and had gone home in costume instead.

Heather held the high heeled shoes up by their straps. She never had been much of a shoe fiend, but seeing them gave Heather a small thrill. Not that she was certain when she’d have the opportunity to wear such a thing as high-heeled shoes again, there was just something about actually owning a pair. Her shoes, not someone else’s.

She gathered the bags, along with the few items from her desk. She knew she could spend hours in the classroom, lost in memories. Perhaps she would do that on another day. For now, though, something else was more pressing.

Heather headed out of Jericho Elementary and was crossing the grounds when she heard someone calling her name.

Emily.

Heather stopped. She wasn’t sure what their conversation would entail, but she owed her friend that much.

“Hey.”

“Hi!” Emily awkwardly hugged Heather. “I was over here going through my materials and thought I saw you through my window.” She was slightly out of breath. “I rushed out here as fast as I could.”

“About last night—“ Heather nervously bit her bottom lip.

Emily groaned, interrupting her friend. “God, Heather, I’m sorry. If I could take back that whole stupid conversation, I would. I didn’t mean to get you caught in the middle of what’s going on with Jake and me.”

“What is going on with you and Jake?” Heather asked.

“Same thing that’s been going on most of our lives,” Emily replied. “Can you sit down for a few minutes? Get caught up?”

Heather thought of the hot water heater elements, but pushed that thought aside. Sitting down with a friend she’d not seen in the last four months was more important. “Sure. Playground benches?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Emily agreed.

The two walked to the playground, but its familiar appearance seemed wrong to Heather. Mostly, she figured, it was because there were no children on the equipment and an eerie quiet met them instead. Heather’s eyes focused on the merry-go-round that remained empty. An absurd thought occurred to her. Before the bombs, her principal had been considering removing that particular piece of playground equipment. Too dangerous, she’d commented. Strange how a merry-go-round quickly became the least of their worries for the children.

“Did you sleep okay last night?” Emily asked. “First night back, and you didn’t even get to stay in your own bed.”

Heather frowned. Emily’s tone was sympathetic but made her feel uneasy nonetheless. After the spectacle at Bailey’s the night before and Emily offering Jake to trade Kenchy for her, the issue of the living arrangements was still touchy. That, and the fact that her own bed didn’t even exist anymore added to her disquiet. “It was fine. Gail has me in Eric’s old room.”

Emily chuckled to herself lightly. “Oh, God! Those walls were always so paper thin. When Jake and I were in high school, he’d sneak me into his room. I became quite good at climbing the trellis in the backyard.”

Heather was fairly certain the trellis had since been removed, as she had not noticed it when she’d looked at the backyard, but she said nothing.

Emily continued with a waggle of her eyebrows, “Eric would get so mad because he’d hear us in there and couldn’t sleep. He’d knock on the wall and threaten to tell their parents that I was with Jake. Johnston and Gail were progressive parents in many ways, but that was not one of the ways.”

Heather said nothing. Why was Emily telling her this? They’d spent a great deal of time together, but their friendship never extended to discussing what went on in the bedroom when Emily was dating Roger. Frankly, Heather wasn’t comfortable with it. Some things were just private. But Emily talking about Jake, even if it was years ago, set Heather on edge.

“Heather?” Emily asked, shaking her from her thoughts.

Heather looked at Emily and managed a small, almost pained smile. “I’m sorry. I was off in my own little world.”

“I guess I was, too,” Emily replied, a smile playing upon her lips as she could almost see the past before her eyes. “Those were really happy times when life was deliciously uncomplicated. So you’re back now, and it’s been awhile.”

“True. So how have you been?” Heather asked eager to steer the conversation away from herself.

“That was going to be my question for you!” Emily scolded gently. “But, since you asked…” She made a face as she answered. “Well, I fought in a war, have been told by Jennings and Rall that the way I teach history is wrong, my father is still a delinquent bastard—no big surprise there—and I’ve been having major cravings for ice cream with none in sight.”

“What flavor?” Heather deadpanned.

Emily looked at her friend in disbelief and then burst into a fit of giggles. Only Heather could listen to a list consisting of gloom and doom pronouncements and focus on the ice cream. “I’ve missed you Heather.”

Heather squeezed her friend’s hand. “I’ve missed you, too, Em.” She paused, thinking of the cumbersome list of life events her friend had just shared. “I’m sorry things haven’t gotten better with your dad.”

Emily shrugged, pushing the image of Jonah Prowse from her mind. “I’m used to it. I should’ve learned my lesson by now anyway. If you don’t expect much, you won’t get hurt.” That wasn’t entirely true, Emily conceded to herself, but to acknowledge that her father’s actions hurt her would be to give him power over her life, and that wasn’t something she would willingly do again. “You don’t know how lucky you are to have had a normal family.”

Heather wasn’t entirely sure she believed in ‘normal.’ Most people would have considered her upbringing to be somewhat atypical in that from her early teen years, it was just her dad, her, and, oh, about three hundred parishioners. Living in the small house adjacent to the church building where her father preached lent itself to little privacy, as members of the congregation called upon Matthew Lisinski for guidance and support at all hours of the day or night. With that said, Heather never doubted how incredibly fortunate she had been to be born into a supportive family.

Heather took a deep breath, a worried look crossing her fair features. “So can I ask you something without you thinking I’m strange?”

Emily shook her head. “Fat chance. I already think you’re strange.”

“Must be why you missed me.“

“What did you want to know?” Emily asked getting back to Heather’s original query.

Heather bit her lip, suddenly wondering if she should ask and if she truly wanted an answer. She thought about prefacing her question with levity in the form of ‘I’ve been dying to ask someone,’ but decided against it considering the real losses Jericho had sustained, including the loss of Jake and Eric’s father. “Did I—did I have a funeral?” Her blue eyes were wide with curiosity, albeit morbid curiosity.

“No body to bury,” Emily pointed out. “Truthfully, the time between when we heard you were ‘dead’ and when the fighting with New Bern started wasn’t very long.” Emily’s eyes surveyed her friend. Heather looked the same, minus the weight loss. Then again, most everyone had lost some weight. Yet there was something about Heather that was different; only Emily couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. 

“So what did happen to you, Heather? When I asked you last night, you gave me a really lame response about touring northern Kansas and southern Nebraska.”

Heather felt foolish. This was the very subject she wanted to avoid, but she’d incited it with her pointless question about whether she’d had a funeral. “I went to New Bern, worked in a factory, tried to blow up the factory, was arrested, escaped, was found by the military, and finally returned to Jericho.” There. She’d told her story—and in one breath, at that. That should be enough. Right?

“Okay. Now don’t go overboard with the details or anything…”

Heather exhaled loudly. “I’m sorry, Em. I just—“ she broke off, uncertain of where she was going with her statement. “I guess there are just some things that are better left unsaid.”

Emily nodded knowingly. She could appreciate Heather’s stance, even if she wished her friend were being more forthcoming. Emily had to acknowledge that she expected a few questions to come her way that she didn’t particularly want to field either. “So what do you have here?” Emily’s eyes fell upon the bags sitting at Heather’s feet.

“Treasures,” Heather replied with a small smile. She pulled a paint splattered FHSU Tigers t-shirt from one of the bags. “Who’d have thought, right?”

“That one’s seen better days,” Emily remarked, noticing the paint under the tiger’s nose gave the impression of a rather peculiar mustache.

“Well, at least it’s not charred! I guess I can’t be too picky, but I did find something mildly worthwhile,” Heather replied as she pulled out her high heeled shoes.

Emily chuckled. “I remember when you bought those! I take credit! It was a dare from me, remember? You wanted to get those little black shoes with the buckles.”

Heather joined Emily in laughing. “And you wanted me to live a little.”

“The ones you picked made you look like a Puritan,” Emily replied, her voice full of disapproval.

Heather held up the strappy shoes by the crook of her forefinger. “These are, by the way, completely unsuited for teaching third graders. I learned that the hard way.”

“But they look good,” Emily pointed out. “Maybe you can wear them next time you see that young lieutenant.”

Heather pulled back in surprise. “You know about that?”

“Come on, Heather. I was there.” True enough, but Heather hadn’t thought Emily was paying her much attention once she left Jake and Emily to hash out their differences. Emily continued, “Everybody knows. Have you been gone so long that you’ve forgotten how Jericho works?”

Heather felt her face grow warm. She wasn’t sure why it bothered her that people were discussing her life. Better they grasp onto the dance she had with Hamilton than the dance she had with Jake. If Emily had heard any talk about that, she’d certainly not let on. Emily had nothing in the world to worry about, Heather knew, but gossip had a way of distorting events, much as seen through a carnival’s hall of mirrors.

“So what’s this about you getting your materials together and Jennings and Rall trying to tell you how to teach?” Heather asked changing the topic. “Does this mean school is reopening soon?”

Emily exhaled loudly, her teasing about Heather and the soldier briefly forgotten. “That’s the big question, isn’t it? I think it’s going to take some type of mandate to get the kids back in school, to be honest with you. Gray’s not really been on top of that, though. Maybe once growing and harvesting is over and the kids have too much time on their hands…But going back to your question about Jennings and Rall, they’ve sent over new teaching materials, including textbooks, which completely rewrite the history of the twentieth century and the years leading up to the attacks. Essentially, they’ve retooled textbooks to discuss the fall of the United States, that it was weakness and corruption that led to the attacks.”

Heather’s brows furrowed. “How did they get the textbooks written and printed so quickly?”

Emily’s jaw clenched. “Another good question. You know this from serving on textbook committees, same as I do. It takes years to research and write textbooks. Revisions from one edition to the next take months and months. It’s almost as if someone had this textbook ready and waiting.”

Emily’s words weighed on Heather, who shifted in her seat and crossed her legs. Heather was suddenly feeling uncomfortable as disconcerting theories began to invade her mind. What if….? No. No. Surely not. She tried to push them aside. “So what are you going to do?”

Emily shook her head vehemently, her blonde curls cascading over her shoulders. “I won’t teach it, Heather. Of course, if we can’t get the kids to school, it’ll be a moot point anyway.”

“A lot has changed around here,” Heather said softly. “A man from New Bern nearly gunned down Tony Schubert on Main Street earlier today. Six months ago, something like that would never have happened.” Her thoughts drifted to the military presence. From what she’d gathered, the soldiers had been positioned at checkpoints along the roads leading into Jericho. How had this man managed to make his way past them? What did this say about the safety of their town?

Emily sighed. “Wouldn’t be the first time. The war ended, not because anything was actually settled, but because the military showed up and got into a pissing match with us. Their guns were bigger, and they would’ve taken us out if we didn’t stand down. Same for New Bern.”

“What do you make of Major Beck?” Heather asked thinking of the no-nonsense man she’d met the day before. She remembered the confidence in which he moved, his perfect posture, the strength in his dark eyes, and the aura of professionalism he exuded.

“The jury’s still out,” Emily replied. “I know his men respect him, and I’m pretty sure it’s about more than the insignia on his uniform. Jake—well, Jake’s not so convinced. He doesn’t think Beck is doing enough to get to the bottom of what went on between us and New Bern…”

Heather looked up at the sky and pursed her lips so tightly they turned white. She would have to do it. She would have to tell everything, if for no other reason than to insure that Phil Constantino never saw the light of day again.

“…But I think Jake will only be satisfied once there’s either a bullet between Constantino’s eyes or a noose around his neck.”

Heather swallowed hard. If she could do this for Jake and Eric, it would be worth it, whatever the consequences she would face. “I wasn’t here when—when the war broke out, when Mayor Green was killed, but I heard he died before the last battle. How did Jake and Eric go on?”

“They had no choice,” Emily replied simply. “It was us or them, Heather. Jake funneled his anger and grief into that battle. Eric…” Emily paused, not really sure what to say about Jake’s brother. They’d known each other practically their entire lives, but she wasn’t really sure how Johnston’s death had affected him. To Emily, he was Eric, business as usual.

Heather looked at Emily expectantly, hoping to hear some information that would put her mind at ease about her friend. When she and Eric had been imprisoned together in New Bern, they’d discussed their families at length. The closeness they shared with their fathers had been one of the things she and Eric had in common. Eric had told her, more than once, how important his father was to him, how Johnston Green was the type of man Eric aspired to be. Heather wondered about the wisdom of Eric building his own existence upon that of his father’s expectations and wishes, but to Eric, it was natural.

Emily’s explanation went back to Jake, leaving the issue of Eric untouched. “But Jake took it really hard, I guess because there were so many years when they weren’t on speaking terms. Jake had so many regrets. The one good thing to come from all of this is it made us realize how much time we had wasted.”

Heather tilted her head. “So you and Jake have only been back together for a month?” This tidbit of information was fascinating to Heather, perhaps more fascinating than it should have been. She had assumed Jake and Emily had been together much longer, that perhaps it was their reunion that prompted Roger to leave town. But it had only been a month? Four measly weeks? So what was it that drew them back together? Comfort? Familiarity? Grief?

Emily’s eyes narrowed somewhat as she heard the disbelief in her friend’s tone. “It wasn’t just about grief, us getting back together.”

Heather’s face colored somewhat. It was as though Emily had read her thoughts.

“It’s more than that,” Emily continued insistently as her blue eyes sought Heather’s. Her tone softened, “I wouldn’t want to hurt you for anything in the world, but Jake is the man that I’m going to marry, Heather.”

Heather tried to pull together a coherent sentence in response, even if only a polite platitude, but she was caught up in a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. She looked at the merry-go-round, and felt she must have been on it, for her head was spinning and the world going by too quickly. Jake and Emily were getting married?

Get yourself together, Heather. You will not say anything to discourage your friend. She deserves happiness and your well wishes. Jake deserves happiness. He’s lost so much; he needs your support in this, not your doubts.

But the ache that filled Heather’s very soul made the words impossible to form.

Heather nervously picked at the skin on the side of her thumb. “I’m just really lost here, Em,” she began, her thoughts finding voice. “Nothing is the same! What happened here? Where is Roger?” In the time Heather had known Emily, her friend had been completely absorbed in the incredibly devoted and handsome, if not mildly stuffy, investment banker. Roger Hammond had returned to Jericho after literally walking hundreds of miles and seeing unspeakable things. He emerged as a leader among the refugees, a man changed by his experiences, but whose compassion and courage had grown. When she’d left for New Bern, she thought for certain that she’d be coming back for a wedding between Roger and Emily, not between Jake and Emily. New Bern. Always New Bern. “How did things escalate between Jericho and New Bern? Why aren’t there kids on this playground? They should be in school! And you never even mentioned Jake to me before he came back to town, and now suddenly…”

Emily shook her head. “There’s nothing sudden about it.” Her words sounded sharper than she intended. Steadying herself through the long breath she took, Emily added, “I want to tell you everything. I do. I just—I don’t want you to hate me, to think I’m a bad person.”

“Em, I could never think you’re a bad person,” Heather replied. “I just—I just want to understand.”

“When you and I met, Jake had been gone for a year, and that had been the hardest year of my life. I didn’t talk about him because it was too hard, Heather. He—he was everything to me, my whole existence was wrapped around his. I know that isn’t politically correct and I’m sure somewhere in there, I’ve taken a step back for the women’s lib movement, but he was my everything. My identity was so tied to him. My past was tied to him, and I thought my future was, as well. And then he was gone.”

“You two had a bad break up?”

Emily coughed slightly. “Bad? There isn’t even a word. There’s a lot about Jake you don’t know, Heather.”

Heather frowned. Emily had tried to warn her before that Jake was dangerous, that there was more to him than met the eye, but at the time, she’d glibly brushed aside Emily’s admonition. Now that her friend was opening up, Heather was hungry for the information, good or bad, that would help her to better understand Jake Green.

“Jake worked for my father,” Emily began, watching Heather’s blue eyes widen. Heather had known that there was a connection between Jake and Jonah Prowse, but she’d assumed their only connection had been Emily. “He graduated from school, came back to Jericho for the summer, and my dear old dad offered him a job.” Her tone became bitter. “I was grateful at the time. It meant it would keep him close to me. And the summer job extended into fall and then into winter and then into summer again. Jake and I lived together in a small house on Fascination Street, and I think it was the best time in my life. He was wild and reckless, but so was I.

“And then one day, Jonah wanted Jake to go as backup for a job my brother was doing. Just to keep Chris safe. That’s all Jonah was asking. When Jake realized the job was a robbery, he bailed on Chris, and my brother was shot to death all because Jake didn’t have his back.”

Tears spilled down Emily’s cheeks. “And then he bailed on me. He couldn’t take the aftermath, but I was left picking up the pieces. I hated him for letting Chris die. I hated him for leaving me when I needed him most. But most of all, I hated myself for still loving him.”

Emily closed her eyes and remembered throwing Jake’s clothes from the second story bedroom window of their house, his t-shirts and jeans littering the yard. He had tried to reason with her and had been met instead with Emily hurling anything and everything at him that she could get her hands on. Emily recalled how the corner of a book she’d thrown caught him above his eyebrow and made him bleed. She had been so furious, so out of her mind, she had taken delight in making him feel the tiniest semblance of the pain she felt at the time. She recalled beating her fists against his chest, shouting at the top of her lungs when he’d told her of his involvement in Chris’s death, how she wished him dead instead of her baby brother. She demanded that he leave, over and over, she demanded it of him. Yet when he did leave, she hadn’t expected it.

Heather found her own eyes welling with tears, sorrow for Emily’s loss and immense sadness for Jake, as well. This incident separated him from everyone he knew and loved. Yet Heather simply could not reconcile the Jake that Emily described with the Jake she knew. Jake Green was one of the most fearless people she’d ever met. For him to just turn tail and run didn’t make any sense. “I just can’t believe Jake would run out on you like that, Em. It doesn’t sound like him.”

Emily opened her eyes and looked her friend over, partly feeling sorry for her friend for being so blindly naïve and partly feeling sorry for herself that she didn’t have that same blind faith in people anymore. “You don’t know Jake, or at least, the Jake he used to be.”

Emily’s words hit Heather like a ton of bricks. What did she know of Jake? Only that he made her heart alternately race and fill with laughter, only that he had to be the bravest man—often to a fault—that she’d ever met, only that despite what Emily had said, she trusted him completely. “Then why…?”

“I had time, Heather. I had time to sort through my life, to settle down. I had time to put things in perspective. You really helped me. I guess you didn’t know that, but you did.” Emily remembered how tentative they’d both been at the new teacher orientation.

“And you showed the new girl the ropes around Jericho. I would’ve been incredibly alone if not for you.”

“Roger helped me, too,” Emily said, her expression softening. “He was the complete opposite of Jake. Very smooth around the edges, successful, and sure of what he wanted. And he wanted me. With all my faults, with all my demons, he wanted me. He promised me he’d never leave, and I believed him.”

“Where is he, Emily?”

“He left,” she replied simply. “He chose the refugees over me, and he left.”

Heather’s brows furrowed. What Emily was saying didn’t make sense. “When I asked Jake if you and Roger had gotten married, he told me that Roger had to leave. He didn’t make it sound like a choice.”

The playground around Emily melted, and she was once again in town hall with Roger and Gray, the two men arguing over the refugees. And then there was the gun shot. Roger looked at her in shock and panic as Gray crumpled to the floor. Emily knew at that moment everything had changed.

“We all have choices, Heather.”

“And Jake?”

“I chose to forgive him for what happened with Chris, for leaving. When I did, it was like coming home again, and I was swept away by those old feelings.”

Heather wondered if Jake knew how much Emily was staking on their relationship. It made her uncomfortable, just as she felt troubled that Emily could transfer her feelings from Roger back to Jake so quickly.

She needed to get away and needed time to sort through the onslaught of information Emily had given her. “Look, I still have to get over to the junk yard.”

“Looking for clothes there?” Emily teased.

Heather’s grip around her bag tightened and the muscles in her body went rigid. “Ha, ha,” her voice decidedly lacking in good humor as she uttered her words. “Actually, I’m looking for heating coils for a hot water heater. I already tried the Appliance Mart and Dale. No luck yet.”

“You’ve been in town only a day and you’re already fixing things?”

“What can I say? There are things that need to be fixed. Mr. Steele offered to let me use Buffalo Credits, but I am not really sure about those. I’d really prefer not to owe the new government anything. Hence my trip to the junk yard.”

Emily raised a brow. “Good luck with that.”

Heather rose to leave. “Well, I’ll see you around, Emily.”

“See you, Heather,” Emily replied. Heather had walked a few yards when Emily called out to her. “Hey, are we okay?”

Were they? Heather felt drained emotionally and physically; their conversation had taken its toll. She’d gotten more insight into Emily and Jake’s relationship than she wanted, quite frankly. And all their conversation had done was raise more questions in Heather’s mind, none of which made her comfortable.

“Are we?” Emily repeated.

“Yeah.”

But as Heather turned and continued on her way, she felt like a liar.

The strong odor of gasoline filled Jake’s nostrils as he tilted the gas can, making certain its nozzle was still properly inserted into the gas tank of Heather’s truck. The truck—Charlotte, she called it—was rickety by even today’s standards, but it was a source of pride for Heather. Jake thought it must’ve been a testament to her mechanical abilities and her devotion. Who else could’ve kept it running for so long with so little?

Most people were still walking everywhere they went, but Jake figured Heather was owed a favor or two. After all, someone did siphon the gas from Charlotte at some point during Heather’s absence.

“Thank God. If I had to look at that monstrosity for one more day…” Gray Anderson muttered as he walked to his vehicle, a newer model Cadillac, parked several spots over in the small parking lot behind town hall. The Cadillac stuck out like a sore thumb in a town where the only newer vehicles in use were those brought in by Jennings and Rall or the military.

It was obvious to Jake where Gray had gotten the car. What wasn’t obvious was where Gray’s loyalties lay. Gray Anderson had been willing to give Phil Constantino and New Bern several of Jericho’s outlying farms as a form of appeasement before the New Bern War. To hell with the farming families who’d in many cases owned the land for generations. He was willing to deal with the devil, and everyone had been burned for it. Jake had hoped that Gray learned from those experiences, but now Gray was practically in bed with the military and J&R.

Jake set the gas can down and approached Gray quickly as the taller man opened the door to his vehicle and got in. Gray didn’t see him coming and was putting the key in the ignition when Jake tapped on window. “Hold up, Gray. We need to have a talk.”

Gray could hear him through the window, hesitated for a moment, and then turned his key to power the window switch. With the touch of a button, the window slid down in compliance. “If it’s not you, it’s the other,” Gray glowered, the wrinkles between his eyebrows becoming more pronounced. Why couldn’t anyone named Green just let him have a moment’s peace? It had gotten so bad, that even the mere mention of anything green—green beans, turnip greens, Green Street, the ugly green monster his ex-wife once accused him of being—made him think of Johnston Green’s brood.

“Get your head out of your ass long enough to listen,” Jake replied, his teeth clenched.

Gray swallowed hard and blinked several times, momentarily stunned to silence.

Jake placed his arm against the car and leaned his head into the opening for the window. His voice was low, but his tone harsh. “Stop giving information to the military about what’s gone on here in Jericho. Beck doesn’t need to know any of the ‘private’ ins or outs of our town—“ Jake began, thinking of the less obvious entrances and exits to town, “and he sure as hell doesn’t need to know about its citizens.”

“What are you talking about?” Gray asked, exasperation filling his voice.

“Decide whose side you’re on, and use your brain. I heard about your conversation with Beck.”

“How?” Gray asked.

“Beck told me.”

“Then you also know why the military is here. We’ve got to do what we can to help them find this terrorist, Jake. If someone is out there with another nuke—someone here in Jericho—just think what could….”

“Wait a second. What’s this about another nuclear weapon?” Jake hissed. The package, Hawkins and Jake called it, seemed safe so long as nobody knew. And now? If they weren’t careful, Gray was going to broadcast its existence to the whole town. And how did Beck know about it? Naturally the major hadn’t said anything about it to Jake. Likely Beck didn’t trust Jake with the information. But he trusted Gray? That was laughable.

“I wasn’t supposed to say anything,” Gray mumbled as he leaned back against the head rest. A loud sigh escaped from him.

“Do us both a favor, Gray. Keep your mouth busy kissing babies, not running it off. Or do you want to set everyone off into a panic?”

“That’s a rich how-do-you-do!” Gray huffed. “The only reason I stuck my neck out in the first place was because Eric came to me rambling about Potsie Come To Us or somethingerother. He practically begged me to ask questions of Beck, and here you are getting all pissy because I did. Why don't you just back off and let me do my job? Now get out of my window, or I’ll roll you up in it and you’ll be running down the street trying to keep up with the car.”

Jake glared at Gray. “Look at the big picture,” he urged, his voice gravelly. He backed away from the Cadillac.

Gray said nothing, instead putting the car into reverse and pulling out of the parking spot.

Had his words sunk in with Gray? Jake couldn’t be sure. The only thing he could be sure of was that Gray evoked in him the strong desire to punch something. At one time, that something probably would’ve been Gray’s face—and someday it still might be—but for now, for now Jake had to content himself with clenching his fists.

What was Eric thinking? Why would he enlist Gray’s help? Gray Anderson of all people?

Jake walked back to the truck and resumed pouring the fuel into the tank. Part of Jake wondered whether the old truck had enough life left in it to start again; he hoped it did for Heather’s sake. He didn’t want her to face more disappointment. Of course, knowing Heather, she’d probably look at it as an opportunity to get her hands dirty and delve right into the repair work.

“Hey.”

Jake looked up and saw Emily approaching, her hands in the pockets of the blue jean jacket she wore and her hair blowing lightly in the wind. She was stunning. Even when they were twelve years old, he’d thought so, though stunning probably wasn’t the word he would have used back then.

It was always easy to look at Emily; it just wasn’t always easy to be with Emily.

A small smile curled on her lips, and Jake knew he should return it, but he couldn’t. “Hey.”

Emily walked to the side of the truck and leaned against it. “Am I getting the silent treatment?” she asked, her tone playful.

Jake placed the cap on the nozzle of the gas can and set it in the bed of the truck before sealing the gas tank itself. Emily’s eyes followed him, watching as his lean muscles became more evident beneath his blue t-shirt as he moved.

“Not exactly,” Jake replied. “Just don’t know what to say to you right now without causing an argument.” He opened the door to the truck and felt around for the spare key, eventually finding it in the glove box.

“Then let me do the talking,” she replied before running her teeth along her bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that last night.”

“Or Heather,” Jake added.

“Or Heather,” Emily conceded. “I know that nothing is going on with the two of you. What I said was petty…and neither of you deserved it. ”

No, nothing was going on. Not exactly. He wouldn’t do that to Emily—nor would he put Heather in that situation. But last night, he almost had before he came to his senses, before he regained his bearings. He’d hated the thought of Heather dancing with that lieutenant and wanted to be near her, so he’d pushed the envelope by holding her closely as they danced. They’d said little to one another after Emily left, but Jake remembered all too well how it felt to hold Heather close to him, how her body seemed to meld with his, how he’d wanted to drink her in.

“Look, let’s just forget it, okay?” Jake responded, irritation creeping into his voice. He couldn’t stand to hear her apologize when it would have been so easy…so desirable…to start something with Heather.

Emily’s smile fell. His words were what she wanted to hear, but the surliness of his tone would have made her take a step back if not for the truck behind her.

Jake saw the look on her face as he stepped up into the truck and cursed himself silently. “I’m sorry, Em,” he replied, his tone softening. “It’s not you. I’m not upset with you.” I’m upset with myself. And Eric. And Gray.

“Tell me, Jake,” she insisted as she moved closer to the cab, standing to prevent him from closing the rickety door, her hand holding onto the worn upholstered bench.

Jake ignored her. “So what do you think are the chances that this old clunker will actually start?”

Emily looked away, the briefest moment of resignation exhibiting itself in her posture before she bucked up. “Slim to none, but let’s make it more interesting. If the truck starts, you come over for dinner tonight. Kenchy and Jessica are both working late shifts at the clinic, and we’ll have some peace and quiet.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “And if the truck doesn’t start?”

“Then you come over for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, a win-win,” Jake chuckled as he put the key in the ignition.

Emily felt warmth spread through her at the sound of Jake’s laughter. She missed that sound. When they were kids, they used to laugh so much. Well, that and fight. Now it seemed all they did was fight.

Jake turned the key and heard Charlotte’s engine begrudgingly turn over before roaring to a start.

“I guess that settles it then. I’ll see you at 7:00 p.m. sharp.”

“7:00 p.m.,” Jake repeated.

“And Jake, don’t keep me waiting,” she said leaning into the truck to kiss him. Before she could get close enough to him, the truck suddenly sputtered and began to shake. “Better shut it off,” Emily said stepping back. “This thing has a mind of its own, and I think it just might be explosive if left idling.” She would never understand Heather’s devotion to the decrepit piece of junk.

“She just wants to be driven,” Jake said before pulling the door closed. Depressing the clutch, he put the truck into reverse and it lurched backward. Moving it into first gear, he pulled out of the parking lot and on his way.

Emily watched as Jake left, puzzled by his reference to Heather’s truck as ‘she.’ It wasn’t like him. Even when he used to fly airplanes, when his eyes used to light up as he recounted his in-air maneuvers, Jake never referred to a plane as though it were a person. No, that sounded more like Heather.

Heather.

Were they okay? Emily had asked, and Heather had told her they were, but Emily had been around Heather long enough to know when her friend was telling her what she wanted to hear. Would 

they be close like they once were? Shouldn’t they have just fallen back into their comfortable friendship? She and Roger used to take trips in the summer, and when Emily would return to Jericho and see Heather again, it was as though no time had passed at all. Why was this different?

But as Emily paused to think, she knew. Jake was one thing they had in common and one thing that had the potential to pull them apart. Wasn’t that the dichotomy that always troubled her existence? It went back as far as she could remember. Stability and excitement; endearment and lust; forgiveness and rancor. They had all warred within her at some point; still did in many ways. And now she found another dichotomy. More than anything, she wanted her relationship with Jake to be different this time, to actually work out. Maybe then she would be able to let go of the past. She also wanted her friendship with Heather to continue. Heather Lisinski was the first person in Jericho who looked beyond Emily’s troubled past, beyond her father’s influence, and beyond the stares and whispers.

The look on Heather’s face, as well as Heather’s staunch defense of Jake, when they discussed his leaving left very little doubt in Emily’s mind how Heather felt about him. As Emily began walking down the street, the thought occurred to her that Heather was actually quite lucky that Jake was attached to her and not free for Heather to pursue in her clumsy school girl manner. Jake would eat Heather alive, and she didn’t even have a clue.

It was a moot point, anyway. There was no way anything further would develop between them. It had always been JakeandEmily, EmilyandJake. Even when there had been others, this was what they always came back to. This was what they would always come back to. The bombs had changed many things, but not that.

When Emily concentrated, she could still feel Jake’s approach on the porch of the Richmonds’ farm house and how he backed her against the wall. Jake had just lost his father; Johnston’s blood was still on his hands. As they kissed, shortly before going into battle to defend their town, she mused that it very likely would be their last kiss, their last chance to try to put right what had gone so horribly wrong five years before, even if just for a brief instant.

Emily thought their kiss was an ending.

But it wasn’t.

They expected to be dead by the end of the day.

But they weren’t.

Instead, later that night Emily had found herself against the wall of her bedroom with her legs wrapped around Jake’s waist. They reached out to one another and held on for dear life. So why since that moment, had they been going in opposite directions when they had worked so long to find their way back to one another?

She wished she had the answer, but tonight would be a step forward. She was sure of it.

Emily continued walking, stopping when she neared the Jericho Library. Some months ago, she’d had the shock of her life, literally, when the electrical system in town had overloaded, sparking a fire at the library. The building and its contents had been preserved as best as they could until repair work could get underway. Now Emily noted the salvaged books were being taken back inside by the citizen and military work crews that Jennings and Rall had organized, the restoration, completed. It was a symbolic restoration, in many ways, but void of meaning. There were too many people who still lacked the basics. How much use was the library going to get? It bothered Emily, but what could she do?

“Here’s a box,” a young man said, his voice invading Emily’s thoughts. Before she knew it, he was loading a box of books into her arms.

“No, wait,” Emily protested as she looked at the soldier on duty who had pushed the box upon her. “I’m not part of the work crew.”

The man’s hazel eyes twinkled. “You have somethin’ more important to do?”

Emily frowned. The truth was she didn’t. Not exactly. Then again, she didn’t particularly want to be suckered into moving boxes all day long. She had a meal to plan and prepare and some subtle changes she wanted to make around the house, changes that she thought would make Jake more comfortable. “I was on my way somewhere,” she managed meagerly.

“Yeah. Stoppin’ in your tracks is a surefire way to get there,” he replied as he stacked another box on the one she already held. “Those are goin’ to the reference section.”

The soldier’s Southern drawl gave Emily pause as she looked at the name patch on his fatigues: Hamilton.

Realization dawned on her. “I know who you are.”

“What a coincidence. So do I.” Said in a different tone, his words might have come across as gruff, but he sounded so smooth and friendly, Emily was certain this man could melt honey.

“I saw you last night, dancing with Heather Lisinski.”

Hamilton nodded knowingly. He was tempted to reply, I saw you last night, arguin’ with Jake Green, but opted against it. While true, it wouldn’t exactly be gentlemanly. “You’re friends.”

Emily nodded, the weight of the boxes starting to tire her arms. “Best. Look, since I’ve been put to work, I’m going to set these in the reference section like a good worker.” She flashed him a brilliant smile. “When I get back, are you free to talk for a minute or two?”

“Are you free to carry more books inside?” Hamilton asked as he walked to the back of a wagon and picked up two crates of books seemingly without effort. He began to walk inside the building, and Emily followed. The officer walked with purpose, had confidence, and oozed charm.

Emily licked her lips. She could see why Heather liked the lieutenant. “Are you twisting my arm? You won’t talk to me if I don’t carry books?”

“I’m on duty, Ma’am. Right now my job is to carry books, so if you want to talk with me, you might as well make yourself useful.” Hamilton sidestepped a couple of the other workers who were coming down an aisle with books being directed by Marjorie Simcox, librarian extraordinaire. Hamilton had already had the pleasure of making her acquaintance from almost the moment he arrived at the refurbished building that morning. Mrs. Simcox was quick to let him know that she’d been there for twenty-five years—nearly as long as Hamilton had been alive—and that there was a right way and wrong way of carrying a box of books. Hamilton nodded politely, listened to her concerns, and assured her that he and the other workers would treat the books as valued treasures.

“My name’s Emily Sullivan,” she said following him to the reference section. “You’re Hamilton, right? You’re already making a name for yourself.”

“Oh, and what are people sayin’?” he asked nonchalantly as he placed the crates of books on a reading table and then turned to Emily to take one of her boxes and stack it, as well.

“That you brought Heather back from Camp…” Emily paused trying to remember the exact camp where Heather said she’d been situated.

“Hayward,” Hamilton supplied.

“Right. Hayward. And that the two of you have become very friendly,” Emily replied as she set the box on the reading table.

Hamilton straightened the box to Mrs. Simcox’s specifications and turned to Emily, crossing his arms. “It’s easy to be friendly with Ms. Lisinski. She’s a very nice person,” he replied walking past her and headed outside the building for the wagon, which was still stacked high with books.

Emily followed. “She is. I’m not here to pry or run interference or anything like that. I didn’t even know that I would run into you, but now that I have, I just want to thank you for bringing Heather back safely. We thought she was dead, and there’s just been so much loss lately, it’s nice to have a happy ending for once.”

Hamilton’s mind was racing. It was all nice and fine that Emily Sullivan thought that this was a happy ending, but after talking with Heather the night before, he wasn’t so convinced that it was quite the happy ending that his Dorothy had in mind. Returning to Jericho, finding out life had gone on without her, and discovering that she had no home would have been more than the average person could bear. Hamilton suspected it had taken its toll on her, only she kept her feelings close to the cuff.

But if Emily Sullivan was Heather’s best friend, shouldn’t she be aware of that? And yet in listening to her and her reference to a happy ending, it occurred to Hamilton how completely oblivious this woman was. “Have you talked to her today?”

“I did. Just a little while ago, in fact.”

“How’s she doin’?” Hamilton asked as he loaded Emily with another box of books from the wagon.

Emily paused, searching for the right words. “She’s getting acclimated to life in Jericho again.”

“Does she have what she needs?” he asked collecting two crates labeled 500s. He started back into the library with the books and headed toward the 500s section, determined to make Melvil Dewey and Mrs. Simcox proud.

Emily’s brows furrowed. Heather had reclaimed quite a few things she’d left in her classroom, but if the FHSU shirt her friend pulled out was any indication of the state of the remainder of her clothing articles, they left quite a lot to be desired. Emily immediately felt shame wash over her. Why was it that this man, this stranger to their town, could see what Heather obviously needed and she could not when it was staring her in the face?

Emily exhaled loudly and pursued. “Not really, but we’ll pull together and take care of her.”

Hamilton remained pensive. He by no means considered himself an expert on Heather Lisinski, but from what he did know of her, he had a difficult time imagining Heather allowing herself to be taken care of. There had to be some way to help her out and let her maintain at least a semblance of pride and independence. A plan began to form in his mind.

“Everything still going okay here?” a tall bald man appeared from the office of the library speaking to a nearby group of citizen workers, his voice booming with joviality that, to Hamilton, seemed forced.

“Well, wonders never cease,” Emily muttered at seeing the mayor. “You’d almost think it was an election year.” She wondered what had happened to prompt Gray Anderson to leave the refuge of town hall and delve into fray with everyone else.

“He’s been here a few minutes,” Hamilton commented, his expression dour for the first time that Emily had seen.

“How come you didn’t put him to work moving boxes?” Emily asked, a hint of playfulness in her tone.

“Don’t think I didn’t try,” Hamilton deadpanned.

“Are you staying in Jericho long?” Emily asked, hope in her voice. Lieutenant Hamilton might’ve been just what the doctor ordered for Heather. Emily had to admit that he was very handsome, albeit it a little too clean cut and straight-laced for her preference these days. But there was something about him, a quality she couldn’t quite pinpoint, that she found very appealing. And he definitely seemed to have taken an interest in Heather, for which Emily was delighted. If Heather could find happiness with 

him, that would be perfect. And if Lieutenant Hamilton would help Heather to get her mind off of Jake, then that would be the icing on the cake.

“For however long I’m told,” he replied. Truthfully, his presence in Jericho was a bit of a puzzle to Hamilton. He and the other men had been told that Jericho was of vital strategic importance, but none of the strategy had been shared.

“But you’re not from around here. By your accent, I would say…Georgia?”

“Oh, you wound me, Ms. Sullivan. Tennessee.”

“There’s a difference?” Emily asked.

“What? If I called you a Cornhusker, that wouldn’t matter to you?”

“You’ve got me there,” Emily conceded with a grimace. “I need to go. It’s going to be a busy afternoon for me.”

“Lieutenant Hamilton! Oh, Lieutenant Hamilton!” Majorie Simcox called from the 800s section, breaking the cardinal rule of libraries: Thou shall be quiet. “Have you met Mayor Anderson yet? Wasn’t it nice of him to come and check on us?”

Emily looked to Mrs. Simcox and back to Hamilton. “That’s definitely my cue to leave.”

Hamilton shook his head. Heather Lisinski sure did have an interesting taste in friends.

Michael Flaherty, for what was not the first time since the bombs went off more than six months ago, wished his grandparents would not have emigrated from Ireland. He’d been there to visit once as a youngster, met with his extended family, and reveled in the sights and sounds. Sure, he had heard the stories that had been passed down through the ages, tales of tough times and a certain barroom brawl which led his family to Kansas, all in search of a promised land. Yet as Flaherty rubbed his tired eyes and reflected on the task ahead of him, he couldn’t help but feel that his family would have been better off as potato farmers than as carpenters in a post-Apocalyptic society. Not that he hadn’t made a good living over the years, because he had, but the one thing he’d never had to deal with was trying to put things back together again with a bare-boned operation.

Flaherty’s brown eyes surveyed his companion as the two stood outside the Flaherty Construction headquarters. Granted, headquarters was something of a loose term for the metal building that served as a bookkeeping and storage area. Business had been good, and it never seemed too important to have a showroom. The work Flaherty had done around Jericho and the surrounding areas over the years, that was his showroom.

It really was the end of the world if the two of them were working together again. What was the old saying about strange bedfellows? Flaherty ran his tongue along his teeth. He needed a toothpick, and he resigned himself to the fact that he wasn’t likely to find one, just as he’d resigned himself to many other inconveniences in recent times.

For example, he’d really been looking forward to using his new pneumatic roofing nail gun. Of course, it was hard to do without coil nails or reliable electricity to power his air compressor. When he bought the nail gun, he’s been amused by all the warning cartoons. His personal favorite featured a man chasing another person with the nail gun, complete with a large red circle and line through the picture. DO NOT USE NAIL GUN AS A WEAPON. Flaherty had never been tempted until he started dealing with the representatives from Jennings & Rall. He was convinced that if he ever had the chance—and a fresh supply of coil nails—there would be hell to pay. “I talked to that little guy over at Jackasses & Rall about building materials. Chet somethin’ or other. Pretentious little prick. Even his name sounds pretentious.”

The corners of Eric Green’s mouth turned up. When he’d worked construction one summer in high school nearly half a lifetime ago, he’d meshed with Michael Flaherty about as well as oil does with water. However, now that he was older, he appreciated the curmudgeonly older man’s finer qualities. “And?” Eric asked as he rubbed his too-long beard. It was getting itchy.

“Said it’d be a few weeks. Supplies are running low all around.”

Eric frowned. It was the same story they’d been hearing since Jennings and Rall arrived nearly four weeks ago on the heels of the army, and it struck him as patently ridiculous. Wasn’t J&R supposed to be renowned for rebuilding infrastructure? How could they make this claim without having an ace up their collective sleeve? For that matter, how had they managed to conduct renovations of town hall and repairs to some of the ‘select’ businesses in town without access to basic supplies? “I wonder if we could get people to go through their sheds and garages and pull out any building scraps they have? Maybe they would be willing to donate them.”

Flaherty shook his head. “I’m guessing any wood scraps people had are long gone. It was a cold winter.”

“And we’re in the wrong part of the country for lumber production.”

Flaherty frowned. Jackasses & Rall were punishing him for not playing ball. Damn if he wasn’t getting too old for these games. “Look, I’m happy to give what I can out of my warehouse. Provided I can get a few necessities in return.”

“Of course. Make a list of what you need. We can work out a trade.”

“And you know,” Flaherty added, “we could talk to Jonah Prowse. He has a way of getting things.”

“No,” Eric replied, remembering the last time Jonah had been involved with anything related to their town. “We’re desperate but not that desperate.”

Flaherty studied the younger man. There might come a time when Eric Green would soften his stance on Jonah Prowse, but today wasn’t that day, so he wasn’t going to push it. “What shape do you think New Bern’s in? You think they might have supplies we could use?”

Eric nearly chortled. “Last time I was there, they were in shambles. They didn’t have enough to get themselves fixed up. And of course, I doubt they’ll be offering to help us anytime soon.” An absurd thought occurred to him, that they were stuck in a really bad Western waiting for the stage coach to get to town. Eric missed the support of the Eastern states, the Northeast with its manufacturing hub, the Southeast with its plentiful lumber.

E pluribus Unum. When Eric considered the unofficial motto of what had been their country, it now filled him with a sense of melancholy where it had once made him feel hopeful. They were stronger as one than as these fragmented parts. But who was going to be willing to yield authority to the other factions? Their information was limited, but if Eric knew his history and human nature, he was certain that changes were coming down the bend.

“Look, I’ll get some of the boys to see what I’ve got that we can get started with. Got some plans on file. We’ll have to change ‘em around, of course, but we can pull together some ideas and work toward getting them approved.”

“Thanks,” Eric nodded, though the thought did occur to him that it was questionable about who exactly would be granting approval. Was it the landowner? Gray Anderson? And who bore the burden of rebuilding? There was still a lot to be worked out, but Eric felt better knowing that at least they were doing something.

He began walking back toward downtown, eager to kill two birds with one stone: he’d urge Gray to put pressure on J&R for more supplies and he’d stop in to see Mary. The thought of the curly haired woman put a spring in Eric’s step. By all rights, they should never have been together, but like moths to a flame…

He’d disappointed so many people when he’d left April: April, who had let down her guard long enough to fall in love with him but raised her guard in the years that followed, his mother who had always taught him about respecting others, and his father, the man who tried to instill principles of honor and trust.

Eric swallowed hard when he thought of his father. A little more than a month had passed, but Eric could still see Johnston Green lying on the kitchen table at the Richmond farm. His dad had known his wound was mortal, and through his last moments, he’d worried more for those he’d be leaving behind than he did for himself.

Eric knew Johnston Green had always been a man’s man. Strong, direct, and not one to dwell on emotions. Yet as his father looked at Jake and him, his two boys—men—Eric could see the cacophony of emotions sweep over him. Pride, regret, and most of all love.

Eric reeled as his dad’s eyes focused on him, trying to imbue him with strength. Eric had tried to be his father’s rock, a son his dad could rely upon. Even as a child, he’d wanted to be his father’s rock, sometimes at the expense of just being a kid. And now his father was looking to him, pain written across his features. Pain mingled with love. Eric wanted to be his father’s rock once again, even as his father tried to be strong for him.

Their father’s regret was evident. He would’ve done anything to protect them both from what was to come. “I’m sorry you have to see this. You’ve been through enough.”

Eric fought to keep his tears at bay. This man, this giant of a man. his father, looked so pale. It was happening before him, and he was powerless. “Dad. Dad stop.”

The older man struggled to form the words, his strength fading from his body just as he tried to instill strength in Eric. “You’re stronger than you think you are, though. Always have been. I love you, son.”

The lump in Eric’s throat made it impossible to speak. He choked away a sob.

The smallest hint of humor crossed their father’s face. “I guess I zigged when I should’ve zagged out there, huh?”

The familiar lump formed in Eric’s throat as he rounded a street corner. He tried to push it away and immediately felt guilty. In pushing away the emotions, he wondered if he was pushing his father away. Some part of him needed to remember, even if it was the most painful recent memory he held, for those memories of his father spurred him on. And Eric supposed he should feel grateful. Not every man had the opportunity to have his father as his best friend or to the chance to spend his last moments saying goodbye. But as Eric walked along, luck and gratitude were not what he felt. Overwhelmed was more like it.

It was then that a slight figure caught his eye walking along the railroad tracks.

Heather. Despite his glum state, he immediately felt his spirits lift.

“Heather!”

“Eric!”

The two met, and their arms wrapped around one another, seeking the familiar comfort of friendship. “I still can’t believe you’re alive,” he marveled as they pulled away from one another.

“Yeah. I’ve had twenty-six years to get used to the idea. You’ve only had a day,” she quipped.

Eric smiled back at her, albeit sadly. If Heather Lisinski could rise from the ashes, so could Jericho. There was no way in hell that Eric would let his father’s death be for naught.

“Are you okay, Eric?” she asked, seeing the look of sadness his face.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied. “It’s just been one of those days when I’ve really missed having my dad around.”

Heather nodded. She understood completely, having had quite a few days like that herself. “I’m sorry, Eric. I wish you didn’t have to go through this, and that there was something I could say or do to make it easier for you.”

“Just knowing that you’re okay makes it easier for me,” he replied with sincerity. “So what are you doing? And what are those?” Eric asked indicating the bags she carried.

Heather looked at him, debating whether to press the topic of his father, but decided against it, as Eric had deliberately changed the direction of the conversation. They would talk about it when he was ready. “These,” she said lifting the bags in one hand, “are some things I found in my classroom. As for what I’ve been doing, I have been on The Great Water Heater Adventure.”

“The what?” Eric asked as he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt and rolled up the sleeves. The early afternoon sun was starting to get the better of him.

Heather groaned. “I undertook what I naively thought would be a simple task, to fix the water heater at your mom’s house. Little did I know that parts are still not so easy to come by. And since Mr. Steele is no longer bartering,” she explained as she watched a dour look flash across Eric’s face, “I’ve tried some alternative methods of getting replacement parts. Namely, I went to the junk yard.”

“And what did you find?”

“A whole lotta junk,” she shrugged.

“Where you headed?” Eric asked.

“Back toward the center of town.”

“Same here. I’ll walk with you,” he said reaching over and taking her bags from her. Heather smiled slightly. She’d have been perfectly fine carrying the bags herself, but it was nice to know that despite the end of the world as she knew it, chivalry wasn’t completely dead. “Have you had lunch yet?”

“I think I just got so busy, I forgot to eat,” Heather admitted. The day had been an emotional rollercoaster, and food had been the last thing on her mind.

“The Great Water Heater Adventure can wait. You need some food.”

“Eric, I’m fine. Really,” Heather insisted.

His brows furrowed, an expression similar to one she’d seen on Jake’s face earlier. Though the two brothers looked very little like one another, Heather found herself noticing common mannerisms from time to time.

Jake. Why did the thought of him continue to taunt her? This needed to stop. She couldn’t go on seeing him everywhere she looked. He would be marrying her best friend—oh goodness, she was going to have to break down and add a new rule to live by.

“Don’t argue with me. I’m going over to Mary’s. You are going to come along.”

“You’re bossy!”

“And don’t forget it,” he replied with exaggerated bossiness. They fell into step together, and Eric slowed his long stride to match her shorter one.

“Rule #5: Know when to say when, and know when to give in.”

Heather’s exaggerated sigh made Eric smile. “Ah, the famous rules to live by. How many of those do you have anyway?”

Heather shrugged. “The number keeps going up. So what have you been working on today?” she asked inclining her head slightly in his direction.

“The Great Construction Adventure,” he replied, mimicking her earlier description.

Heather began to laugh but stifled it with a cough, trying to cover her reaction.

“What?” he asked noticing the amusement that glinted across her features.

“It’s nothing,” she replied quickly.

“No, tell me,” he insisted.

Her eyebrows lifted. “I just seem to remember a certain cell mate of mine divulging memories of a summer spent working construction. Wasn’t that summer part of the reason you were determined to go to college?”

Eric shrugged. “Damn. See, this is the problem with being convinced you’re going to die in prison. You tell all your deep dark secrets, end up making it out alive, and then—bam—you get blackmailed.”

Heather chuckled lightly. Saboteur, spy, blackmailer. Her résumé was beginning to take on a life of its own. “Well, you can trust this jail bird not to rat you out. So…construction? Really? You mentioned rebuilding when I saw you yesterday, but I guess I didn’t put two and two together.”

“That’s understandable.” Eric remembered how his father had urged him toward that job with Mr. Flaherty the summer between his junior and senior years of high school. Johnston Green had been convinced that it would help build character and instill in Eric an appreciation for hard work. That was the same summer that Jake lived and worked on the ranch with their grandfather after managing a QPA of 1.8 in his first year of college, the summer which marked the beginning of Jake becoming mildly involved with Jonah Prowse’s operations, a decision that set their parents on edge. The more Jake pushed their father away, the more Johnston had pushed Eric to succeed. “I never figured I would have anything to do with building again. I wasn’t cut out for construction back then.”

“Only because you kept arguing with the foreman about the best way to do things.”

“You want to hear something ironic?”

“Always. I live for irony.” When she’d sat in the booth with Jake and Emily the night before, she’d been confounded by ironic situations. Irony was a dutiful companion.

“I’m working with that same foreman again.”

Heather’s eyes widened. Despite the fact that it had been many years ago that Eric worked in construction, he’d been very clear about just how miserable working for Michael Flaherty had been. The man had been determined to bring him down a few pegs, and Eric, the golden child, was not accustomed to being dumped on. “So how is that?”

“Better. I’m not a teenage know-it-all anymore.”

“No, you’re a grown-up know-it-all,” Heather teased.

“Says one know-it-all to another,” Eric shot back.

“Touché. So, all kidding aside, how is The Great Construction Adventure really going?”

Eric exhaled loudly. “Slowly. J&R is dragging its feet.”

It was just as Heather feared, and the question that arose in her mind nagged at her. Why could they almost immediately distribute a new textbook series but be so far behind in procuring supplies for struggling towns?

The fact that a number of weeks had passed and rubble could be seen in various places in Jericho, including the site of what had been her apartment building, told Heather more than any words could. Rebuilding under the best of circumstances would have been difficult and time consuming. Rebuilding in the midst of shortages would be a test of their ingenuity and determination. “I wonder if we could appeal to someone else.”

Eric had already run through scenarios in his mind and conversed with Mr. Flaherty about the same thing. Each time he came up empty. Perhaps a fresh perspective was just what he needed. “Who did you have in mind?”

“What about Major Beck?”

Eric frowned. While he didn’t hold Beck in as much disdain as his brother did, he held little confidence in the military man’s abilities to institute real change. “A man like that is all about the chain of command. He won’t get involved unless someone beneath him brings it to his attention. Even then, he’d probably say it’s out of his jurisdiction.”

“It doesn’t hurt to try. Plus, I do happen to know someone,” Heather added slowly, “a young lieutenant.”

Eric’s eyebrow shot up. “Lieutenant Hamilton?”

“You know about him?” Heather asked taken aback.

“I came back to the tavern last night, but you and Jake had already left. Mary told me all about it.”

“By ‘all about it,’ you mean….” Heather could still feel Jake’s warm breath against her cheek and the sensation of his hands on her hips. She could’ve so easily lost herself in him the night before. He affected her, to her utter detriment he affected her.

“Yeah.”

Heather cleared her throat trying to cast aside thoughts of Jake. “So maybe I can talk to him and see what the proper channels are. There just has to be something we can do.”

“I don’t hold out much hope, but who knows? Stranger things have happened. After all, we weren’t supposed to make it out alive, were we?” A shadow crossed Eric’s features, memories of New Bern fresh on his mind.

“Yeah. We had them all fooled, didn’t we, Eric?” Heather replied, her tone softening. They walked in silence for a moment before she broached the topic she’d wanted to ask. “Are you okay after what happened in New Bern? I mean…” Her voice trailed off, remembering how Phil Constantino and Bart Travers had brutally beaten Eric in their quest to secure information about Jericho.

“I know what you mean,” he replied mercifully cutting her short. “I am. It’s been one hell of a year, but I’m making it. I won’t lie and say I don’t think about what happened because I do, but having distance and having something else to focus on has made all the difference in the world.”

“I’m glad, Eric. I’m glad you made it back. I’m glad I made it back. I’m just really…”

“Glad?” Eric supplied. “Why do I get the feeling that some part of you is still in New Bern, Heather?”

“I don’t know,” Heather replied evasively.

“What happened back there was not your fault. Travers left you no choice.”

“I know.” And logically she did, but her emotions tasked her. “I would do it again in a heartbeat. I would. I just—I close my eyes and see it every night. I can hear and feel everything from that moment, too. Does it get easier?”

“It will. It has to. You were the one who got me through that, Heather, and I promise you this. I am going to get you through what’s happening now. You have a lot of people here who care for you.”

“Eric, you don’t have to worry about me. I might bend a little, but I’m not going to break,” Heather replied earnestly.

“You and Jake…”

Heather groaned good-naturedly. “Ugh, not this again!”

“Heather, you don’t have to cover with me. Remember? There are no secrets between us. We know more about each other…”

“…than most couples do. I know. You’re a good friend, Eric. I just don’t really think there’s anything to say about Jake and me. That chapter was written a long time ago.”

“You sure? Mary said you and my brother shared quite a dance.”

“She’s exaggerating. The only reason it could be considered ‘quite a dance’ would be because I avoided stepping on his feet. Besides, Jake and Emily are getting married. And I know exactly what you’re doing. You’re trying to get me to talk about him, and darn if it isn’t working.”

“What?”

“I am not going to talk about him anymore,” Heather repeated.

“No, no. Back up,” Eric spoke quickly. “What’s this about Jake getting married to Emily?”

“You mean you didn’t know?” Heather bit her lip. “Oops.”

Eric looked unconvinced. “Are you sure?” he asked with a frown. To the best of his knowledge, Jake and Emily hadn’t been that serious. Together, yes. Serious? Ready for a lifelong commitment? They’d not managed to pull it off yet. Not that Jake confided in Eric all that much, but Eric was sure Jake would’ve said something to Stanley. And knowing Stanley Richmond, if there was news of a wedding, it wouldn’t be secret for long.

“Well, Jake didn’t tell me. Then again,” Heather sighed, “Jake didn’t really tell me anything about Emily and him. So the wedding thing didn’t really come up.”

Eric frowned. Yesterday he’d warned Jake to tell her, and the fact that Jake didn’t listen infuriated Eric. Of course, what else was new? Since when did Jake take his advice? Since when did Jake do anything Jake didn’t want to do? “Then how did you hear?”

“I ran into Emily over at school. She filled me in on what happened while I was gone. Roger leaving. Getting back together with Jake. I was certainly surprised. But you know what, Eric?” Heather continued. “It really doesn’t matter. I’m fine with it.”

Eric stopped walking and turned to look at his friend. “I’m fine with it,” she repeated lifting her chin defiantly, though Eric could’ve sworn he saw her quiver as she spoke.

“Fine with it? Who are you trying to convince? Me or yourself?”

“You make it sound as though Jake and I had some grand love affair before I left for New Bern. Eric, I had a crush on him. That’s it. I humiliated myself by kissing him in the middle of Main Street, and then we didn’t even talk about the kiss until I brought it up a month later. The only reason it came up was because he was acting all weird that I wanted to go to Black Jack with the group. During that month he, by the way, avoided me like the plague. So, yes, I am fine with it.” But as she’d spoken, her voice had become shakier, more tenuous. “He doesn’t want me Eric. He never did. And I am fine with it.”

Eric draped an arm around her shoulder and absently kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, Heather. I’m sorry I pushed. I just don’t want you feeling like you have to pretend for my benefit.”

Heather swallowed hard. She thought back to the conversation she’d had with Jake earlier in the day about the differences between adults and children. She could summarize it in one word: pretenses. Grownups learned to filter their thoughts and knowingly manipulate others as well as themselves, a skill so inherent in adults and so absent in children. Sometimes the pretense was for personal gain, and other times it was for preservation. Whatever the reason, pretenses flourished.

And as they walked together in silence, Heather knew she wasn’t pretending for Eric’s benefit. She was pretending for her own.