Different Circumstances: Part 7B of ? by Marzee Doats
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Wednesday, November 1, six weeks after the bombs
The way to West Kansas Shipping and Freight, even five years later, was still as familiar to Jake as the back of his own hand or his wife's silhouette across a crowded room. He drove on autopilot, his eyes on the road but his brain engaged in a review of his plan of action. Jake's plans were never very detailed; he'd always been a person who had had more success operating by the seat of his pants than was truly fair. His boss had once called him 'lazy but lucky', and he'd had to admit that the description was fair. The problem was that he'd learned early in life that the best laid plans were only as good as your ability to improvise at the first sign of trouble. Jake could improvise with the best of them, and that meant that, though he usually knew where he wanted to get and had a general idea of how to get there, he didn't usually bother to think more than two or three steps ahead.
Today, though, Jake did have the semblance of a plan, enough of a proposal for Jonah Prowse to hopefully keep from getting himself killed. That much Heather had insisted on, keeping him on this particular subject for much longer than he would have preferred, the evening prior. It had been her idea - one he'd initially resisted - that he offer up Gracie's Market as the 'retail outlet' for Jonah's operations. After all, Heather had argued, Gracie had already been working with Jonah, whether she knew it or not, thanks to Dale's misguided decision to go to Sean Henthorn and Mitchell Cafferty for help. He'd been surprised by Heather's pragmatic view of the situation, the fact that she didn't recoil at the idea of forcing Gracie Leigh into partnership with a man who was, for all intents and purposes, a gangster. But Heather, Jake realized, as much as any of them, was adjusting to their new reality, and that reality was that it took more than a trip to the grocery store or a favorite restaurant to put dinner on the table now.
Jake turned into the driveway of West Kansas Shipping and Freight, proceeding slowly up the narrow concrete lane, bringing the truck to a stop between what he knew were the two main loading docks. It looked like half of Jonah's 'staff' were on hand to meet him; Jake stopped counting after ten. Pushing open his door, he climbed out, coming around the front of the vehicle, a smirk plastered firmly on his face.
Mitchell Cafferty was seated on an upturned crate, pencil in hand, going over something on a clipboard. Jake caught his eye. Mitchell, accompanied by two men Jake didn't recognize, hopped down from the dock, all three grinning malevolently. "Quite the runner, Mitch," he called out, loud enough to attract the attention of everyone in the vicinity. He was immediately surrounded by eight or nine men, one of whom - Vince McMahon - grabbed Jake's arm and, grunting, threw a punch.
His defensive instincts took over, and Jake ducked, struggling against the grips of the men who had grabbed him from behind. Jake didn't have time to think about what was likely to happen, only time to react, pulling away and kicking, before Jonah Prowse strode out of the warehouse, whistling loudly for their attention. "Knock it off," he shouted, annoyed. "Let him go!" Jake continued to fight off his attackers, backhanding one of them - he didn't know who - before finally breaking free. Jonah approached, waving the men away with an irritated "Break it up, break it up!" He grabbed Jake's arm, pulling him out of the knot of men who melted away on command. "All right, all right," he grumbled, glaring sideways at Jake. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Lotta people in town who aren't just gonna let this stand," Jake growled, eyes narrowed, not looking away even when he pointed at Mitchell. "They're angry, talkin' about comin' out here to get 'im," he continued, snarling as much at his absent brother as he was at Jonah. "By force, if necessary."
Jonah actually grinned at the threat, and chuckling, glanced back at Mitchell. "Didja ever in your life think anyone'd care this much about Mitchell Cafferty?" he snorted, turning back to face Jake.
"You don't want it to come to that," Jake argued, not bothering to acknowledge Jonah's amusement with the situation. "I don't want it to come to that," he continued, plowing on. "I'm here to negotiate."
"The last time we negotiated," Jonah responded, wiping his hands clean on a rag, his grin gone, "It didn't work out so good for me."
Jonah's allusion to the previous day's events was enough to throw Jake off for just a few seconds. When they had met Halloween morning, and Jake had been forced to admit that the town - or at least Gray and Eric - had refused to broker a deal with Jonah for Mitchell's release, Jake had only been surprised that Jonah hadn't tried to run him over after walking away without a word. Jake hadn't really expected him to bring it up now. "Keep Mitch," he conceded with a sigh. This particular compromise wasn't strictly a part of the plan he'd hashed out with Heather, but Jake knew that no one had a bigger beef with Mitchell than he did, unless of course you counted Bill's, Gray's, and Eric's now wounded pride.
"Keep Mitch," he repeated. "Keep the food, and sell it back to the town through Gracie Leigh's Market," Jake suggested, launching into the proposal. "Take your cut off the top in supplies that we have, and you don't. Fresh water, crops, salt from the mine," he listed, noting with relief the spark of interest in Jonah's eye.
"I'm listening," Jonah muttered.
Jake took a deep breath. "In exchange, you'll guarantee that your ... your business," he decided, biting back his sense of distaste, "Stays away from town. And, we'll send a trailer to pick up supplies," he added quickly. "You don't come to us."
"I'll think about it," Jonah replied, prompting a sharp nod from Jake. "Now, let's talk about what I need," he continued, frowning. "I wanna talk to Emily."
"She doesn't want to see you," Jake returned immediately. His association with Emily was superficial at best these days, but Jake knew that hadn't changed, and that knowledge had been heavily reinforced by their conversation two days before. He'd promised Emily that Jonah wasn't back; there was no way a visit with her father was on the bargaining table.
Jonah's expression hardened. "She blames me for Chris's death," he surmised, a slight hitch in his voice. Even this small betrayal of feeling surprised Jake; in his experience, Jonah's entire emotional range could best be described as miffed to enraged. Jake couldn't recall ever witnessing anything which might be construed as true affection for his children from Jonah. In the next second however, he was able to convince himself that he'd imagined it all. "Things might be different if she realized whose fault it really was," Jonah accused.
"Mine?" Jake snorted rhetorically. "Don't worry, Emily tried to blame me for that too," he muttered, shaking his head. "Maybe she still does. But I figured that one out in a bar in Denver five years ago. Chris got killed doin' the only thing he could think of to get your attention, your approval."
"Chris had my attention," Jonah countered with a grumble. "We were friends."
"He didn't need a friend," Jake snapped in return. "He didn't even need a boss. He needed a father!"
As the accusation left his mouth, Jake couldn't help but feel grateful for the father he had in Johnston Green. His father wasn't a perfect man, and they'd been butting heads probably since Jake had learned to talk, definitely since he'd announced his first independently attained opinion. But still, through all the disagreements and disappointments, Jake had always known that all he ever had to say was 'Dad, help,' and Johnston would have found a way, perhaps gritting his teeth the entire time, to assist his son. Jake and Eric had certainly never starved for their father's attention in the way Chris Sullivan had starved for Jonah's.
"I was his father," Jonah growled, his voice pitched low in warning. "And, I am Emily's father, and I wanna see her," he added, repeating his earlier demand.
Jake shook his head, clenching his fist against his thigh. "I told you, she's not interested." The mid-morning sunlight glinted off the ring he wore, catching Jonah's eye.
"You got married?" he mumbled, gesturing carelessly at Jake's hand.
"Yeah," Jake agreed, his tone cautious. He wouldn't have guessed that Jonah hadn't already known that, but he supposed it was possible. If he was digging for information though, Jake wasn't going to be providing any. He glanced down at his wedding ring, a plain gold band that, to his surprise, Jake had come to feel naked without. "Not to Emily," he continued, touching the ring with his right hand. "So what does it matter to you? Hell, even if it was Emily," Jake added, "It wouldn't be your business. She doesn't want you around."
"Emily's my daughter," Jonah retorted. Jake didn't respond, and Jonah continued, allowing an annoyed bark of laughter. "Huh! You, married," he mumbled. "That cute brunette...." he guessed then, nodding to himself. "Sat with your mother all through the trial, looked sick any time you mentioned gettin' a hangnail."
"My wife has nothing to do with you," Jake countered, unwilling to confirm that the woman Jonah remembered was in fact Heather.
"S'pose," Jonah shrugged. "Does explain why you don't care that Emily never forgave you."
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Jake refrained from repeating that what had happened to Chris wasn't his fault and there really wasn't anything for Emily to forgive. "I don't know whether she ever forgave me or not. It doesn't matter," he argued.
"But it does," Jonah returned, his voice hardening. "'Cause you're gonna get her to see me, or I'll do business wherever the hell I please," he threatened.
"I can't," Jake answered, frustration bleeding into his tone.
Jonah frowned. "Then I guess we don't have a deal," he muttered, already turning away.
A sour taste pervaded Jake's mouth. He turned back toward the truck, taking a deep breath that he didn't release until he was safely back in the cab. He started the engine, and backed out of the loading dock. When he reached the road, he stopped the truck, and slammed his hand on the dashboard, muttering a string of curses. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the steering wheel for a moment before restarting the truck, and turning onto the highway.
* * * * *
Jake sat alone on a barstool at Bailey's nursing a drink. It was just after four in the afternoon, and he'd been at the bar for an hour, mainly because he'd had nowhere else to go. After the debacle at Jonah's, he'd kept his promise to Heather, arriving back at Carlisle's Garage a good hour and a half before lunchtime. He'd offered her the barest of explanations regarding how the conversation had gone and why the deal had failed. Recognizing his rather foul mood for what it was, Heather hadn't questioned him on anything, instead putting him to work as her assistant. She'd still been working on the Roadrunner, and it still wasn't looking good. Finally, lunchtime rolled around, and Jake had walked her home.
The house had had the closed up, stuffy feeling that indicated serious illness. Jake had wanted to walk out as soon as he'd stepped inside. Gail had appeared briefly when she'd heard them come in, and again when April arrived five minutes later. Johnston wasn't feeling up to making the trip downstairs today she'd told them all, and since he was cranky that was probably a good thing, she'd added, forcing a weak smile. April had promised to spell Gail as soon as she'd had something to eat, claiming that there wasn't anything going on at the clinic that needed her attention anyway.
They'd eaten a rather bizarre soup, made from pumpkin and (as far as Jake could tell) chicken bouillon cubes. Heather and April had joked about how a year ago pumpkin soup would've been a delicacy on some fancy restaurant's menu, and then they'd spent a good ten minutes debating how much the soup would have cost, and what garnishes would have been offered with such a soup, deciding finally on sour cream swirls and sprigs of mint. They'd ignored Jake during most of their conversation, which had been more than fine with him, and he'd sat silently next to Heather, all of his concentration devoted to choking down the meal.
Once lunch was over, April had disappeared upstairs and Heather had announced that she was going back to the garage. Catching Jake's hand in her own, she'd squeezed it and invited him along. He'd kissed her on the forehead and, admitting that he didn't want to inflict his black mood on her any further, had offered to at least walk her back. With Heather seen safely back to work, Jake had headed downtown, though he'd had no real destination. He couldn't bring himself to go to town hall, not with Gray and Eric firmly ensconced there. He wasn't ready to tell either of them that his plan for dealing with Jonah Prowse had failed.
With nothing to do, he'd settled himself on a bench in the park for awhile, reviewing and re-reviewing his conversation with Jonah in his mind. Jimmy Taylor had walked by on his way back to the sheriff's station, and Jake had called him over, asking if he knew Emily Sullivan's new address, or could explain how to get to her house. Everything he thought or felt always showed on Jimmy's face, and there was no way he could have hidden his surprise at Jake's request, but he hadn't said anything about it, just given Jake the street name and a description of the house.
Jake had gone to Emily's. She'd invited him in which he'd declined and so, making an obviously annoyed noise, she'd joined him on the porch, facing him squarely, her arms crossed over her chest. Jake had told Emily even less than he'd told Heather about his meeting with Jonah, warning her only that the deal breaker had been Jonah's demand to see her, before turning on his heel and leaving her standing, gaping, on her front porch. He'd returned downtown and, after making a meandering patrol of the streets in the immediate vicinity of town hall, had ended up in Bailey's, nursing a rather questionable drink, in the middle of the afternoon.
"Hey." Jake, taking another sip of his drink, glanced sideway in time to see his brother slide onto the barstool next to him. "Where's Mary?"
Setting his glass down on the bar, Jake contemplated Eric's question, unsure of whether he should be disgusted by the fact that Mary was the first thing Eric asked about, or simply grateful that Eric didn't already know and had to ask. "Ah, Wednesday," he shrugged, "Night off."
Eric's expression was one part disbelieving and two parts tired. Jake shrugged again; he hadn't known that Mary Bailey ever took time off either, certainly not since she'd inherited the bar from her father after his untimely death two years before. But Eric didn't comment any further on Mary, instead pointing at Jake's glass. "What're you drinkin' there?" he inquired.
"I dunno," Jake confessed, allowing a short, soundless chuckle. He cleared his throat, guessing, "I think it might be kerosene." He picked the glass up, examining the dregs of his drink as he swished the contents around. "Haven't quite figured out the still yet."
"So, how'd things go with Jonah today?" Eric asked then, folding his hands on top of the bar, and looking straight ahead, refusing to meet his brother's eye.
Jake blew out a tired and somewhat defeated breath. "I think I mighta gotten us into a fight we don't wanna be a part of," he admitted.
Eric glanced at his brother finally, apparently to gauge whether or not he was being serious. "Nice," he muttered, recognizing the grim set of Jake's mouth. He looked away.
"How 'bout you?" Jake questioned in return, studying Eric for a second. He really didn't want to get into the whole Jonah Prowse issue with his brother at the moment, and although he wasn't feeling at all social, he figured talking about Eric was better than talking about himself. "How was your day?"
"Well, I think I'm becoming Gray Anderson's 'yes' man," Eric answered, meeting his brother's gaze for a just an instant. "Worse part of it is," he continued, looking away, "I'm not sure that's a bad thing."
Throwing Eric a hard look, Jake considered and then discarded the idea of telling his brother what he thought of Gray Anderson in general and becoming his 'yes' man in particular. But now - tonight - he just couldn't work up the energy to beat that dead horse. Besides, Jake had to admit, he had his own problems and he'd made his own mistakes, and he couldn't worry all the time about Eric's. Sitting up, he reached over the bar to retrieve a glass and a mason jar from the counter. "Big day for the Green boys, huh?"
"Yeah," Eric agreed, a conflicted smile twisting his mouth. "You avoiding going home, telling Dad?"
Jake unscrewed the jar's lid. "Hell yeah," he grinned. He'd been relieved when his mother had said Johnston would be remaining upstairs for the afternoon, knowing it bought him a few more hours to figure out what to say. Unfortunately, in the intervening time, Jake had come up with exactly nothing. "You?" he inquired.
"Same," Eric admitted with a sheepish grin.
"Hey," Jake began, carefully pouring Eric a half glass of the home brew. "Remember that time we set the carpet in Dad's office on fire?" He was grinning now at the memory. "All you hadda do was stick to the story, we'd've been fine."
Eric's expression turned incredulous. "You wanted me to tell Dad I'd had a seizure and knocked over his desk lamp."
"Desk lamp," Jake said along with Eric, both of them chuckling. Jake couldn't help but think that it was that particular childhood incident that had shaped his feelings about planning and taught him the art of improvisation. Of course, there had been no getting out of being punished on that particular occasion, despite Jake's creativity with excuses, once Eric had broken down and confessed everything that had happened that day, not to mention a few things that they'd gotten away with in the preceding weeks. Still, for some reason, Jake found himself grinning as he recalled the whole ridiculous situation.
"Any other brilliant ideas to get us outta this one?" Eric asked, taking a drink.
"Not at the moment," Jake acknowledged, his tone and expression turning serious.
"Well," Eric sighed, "Whaddya say we finish these drinks, go home, and try to explain all this to Dad in a way that won't kill 'im?"
They were both grinning softly now, and for the moment Jake found he could put away all the disagreement and distrust that currently stood between his brother and himself. At least they could agree on a strategy of not killing their father as they attempted to explain what they'd managed to do to his town while he was ill. Jake caught Eric's eye and held up his glass. "I'll drink to that," he murmured.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Saturday, October 27, five years before the bombs
It was after nine when Heather turned onto Green Street, spotting Jake's car parked in front of her house from a block and a half away. She felt herself starting to smile. She'd had a great time at dinner with April, and she could see the other woman quickly becoming a very close friend. Now, with Jake waiting for her, she couldn't help but think that her evening was complete. Driving past Jake's car as she pulled into her driveway, Heather realized that he wasn't inside, and so she assumed that he was waiting on the porch. She couldn't see him however, and although she remained in her car a good half minute after she'd parked, he didn't appear from wherever he was hiding. Frowning, she climbed out of her car and walked back to his to verify that he really wasn't there. Confused and somewhat concerned, she hurried up the front walk, finally spotting Jake as she mounted the first porch step and the motion activated flood light her Dad had insisted on installing before he'd left Jericho came on.
Jake had pulled the narrow bench at the far end of the deck out a few inches from the rail and was lying on his back, sacked out and snoring softly. He was also filthy, having come, apparently, straight from his hunting trip. Heather approached cautiously, calling his name quietly, but it wasn't enough to wake him. She knelt next to him and brushed an errant lock of hair back off his forehead, which along with the rest of his face, she realized giggling softly to herself, was about the only part of his body that wasn't completely mud splattered.
"Wake up, Jake..." Heather called, raising her voice just a notch. He didn't stir. Grinning, she got up on her knees and leaned over him, careful not to actually touch any part of him but his head, and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "Wake up, Jake," she tried again. "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty."
His eyes fluttered then, and she moved back, still smiling, and waited for him to rouse. Yawning, Jake propped himself up on his elbows. He grinned at Heather. "Hey, babe," he greeted, reaching out with one hand to cup her face.
"Hey," she returned, catching his hand before he could touch her. She examined it, and decided that there was a second part of Jake that wasn't covered in mud. Heather squeezed his hand, and then let go. "So, why in the heck are you sleeping on my porch?" she teased, leaning into his touch as his fingers brushed her cheek.
"Wasn't sleepin'," Jake protested, raising himself up, and then swinging his legs around so that he was seated on the bench. He brushed the spot next to him clean - mostly - and offered it to Heather. "Just restin' my eyes."
"So, I guess chivalry's dead, huh?" she joked. "Well, it was a nice while it lasted," Heather said, emitting an exaggerated sigh. She took her own swipe at the bench before seating herself next to Jake, leaving a good six inches between him and her own unsoiled, dry clean only dress. "'Cause I had to get out of my car all on my own!"
A sheepish expression stole over Jake's still sleepy features. "Okay, maybe I dozed off for a minute," he conceded.
Heather smiled at him shyly. "That's all right. I wasn't expecting to see you tonight, so this is definite bonus material," she said. Looking him up and down, Heather took in Jake's clothing beneath all the mud. He was wearing an olive green t-shirt over a black thermal top, camouflage pants, and a bright orange vest. "You know, where I come from, a guy dressed like you is usually the dangerous, loner type getting ready to blow something up that all the moms and nuns say to avoid like the plague," she informed Jake, her grin widening.
"Not a lot of hunting going on in Buffalo, huh?" he teased.
"Not in my neighborhood, anyway," Heather shrugged. "But you know, except for the safety cone orange vest, you do look pretty darn hot."
"'Safety cone' orange?" Jake repeated, a note of indignation sounding in his tone. He let out a put upon sigh, grumbling, "City girl." He couldn't quite maintain his affronted posture however, and chuckling, he tilted her chin up with one finger and kissed her softly.
"How 'bout neon orange then?" Heather murmured as she pulled reluctantly away. She wanted nothing more than to wrap her arms around Jake, but he really was a mess. "Though," she continued, arguing, "That is the color of safety cones. Actually," Heather teased, her eyes dancing, "That vest looks just like the one the flag guy on the highway wears. 'Stop'," she intoned, holding up her hand. "'Slooow'," she added, signaling him 'forward' with a wave of her hand.
Laughing, Jake shook his head and decided to follow her direction, pressing another kiss to her mouth. "Hunter orange," he corrected. "It's hunter orange, and it helps keep everybody else from accidentally shooting me," he explained even as he moved to take the vest off. "There," Jake declared, tossing the offending garment onto the deck a few feet away. "Better?"
"Yep, better," she agreed, grinning. "But when you're hunting, definitely wear it. I prefer that people not shoot you." Heather looked him over again. "You're still muddy, though," she told him, wrinkling her nose. "Hot," she repeated, '"But muddy."
"Yeah, sorry about that," he answered. "Rained last night, so everything was still pretty swampy today," Jake explained. "But, I'm not staying. I just wanted to see you for five minutes, and then I'll go. You look fantastic, by the way," he added next, his gaze appreciative. "Sure you only went out to dinner with April?"
"Well, we ran into Stanley, but we didn't invite him along, even though he tried," she admitted with a laugh. "So yeah, it was just April and me. You do realize," she continued, "That half the reason women dress up is to impress other women, right? I mean, half the time, men don't notice."
'Trust me," Jake said, his eyes roaming again over her petite form, "I noticed." She was dressed in a burgundy jumper which was almost stereotypically schoolmarmish except for the sheer blouse Heather wore beneath it, and the fact that the dress was short, showing her legs off to great advantage.
She started to blush under his admiring scrutiny, and was grateful when the floodlight turned itself off, leaving them with only the dim glow of the original porch light. "Guess we need to move around a little more," she joked, a hint of nerves in her tone.
"I think it's telling me that it's time to leave," Jake shrugged, starting to stand.
"You really don't have to," Heather argued, laying her hand on his arm, ignoring the dried mud that flaked off.
Jake shook his head. "I'm a mess," he reminded, "And, I haven't had a shower since yesterday morning. I just wanted to see you," he repeated, shooting her a lopsided grin.
He felt stupid. He and Eric had helped their father and grandfather clean up their gear and stow everything away at the ranch, at which point Eric had grabbed his keys from the kitchen and, throwing a black trash bag over the driver's seat of his Explorer, had bid them all goodnight, smiling as he said he wanted to get home to April. Jake had planned to call Heather once everything had settled down, but something about the expression on his brother's face, the hitch in his voice when he'd mentioned his wife, had left Jake needing to see Heather, just for a minute, he'd told himself. He'd grabbed his own keys from inside the house and had headed for his car, telling his Dad and Gramps that he'd be back in a little bit.
"You know, she'd probably 'preciate it if you showered first," Grandpa Green had snorted, exchanging an amused look with his son.
"I'm just gonna say 'hi' and 'goodnight'," Jake had argued, not wanting to waste the fifteen minutes it would take to follow his grandfather's advice. Now, standing on her porch, he realized just how much he'd been lying to himself. He wanted to do a hell of a lot more than say hello and goodbye to Heather, and he should have taken that shower.
Jake leaned over to kiss her quickly. He'd gotten himself into this predicament, and he'd get himself out of it. "I'll call you tomorrow," he promised, straightening.
"I know that a movie is a ridiculous precedent to cite, but you remember the scene in Top Gun?" she asked then, scrambling to her feet. "Where Tom Cruise played volleyball, and then went to dinner at Kelly McGillis' house, and wanted to take a shower?" Heather took a deep breath; she really couldn't believe that she was about to say what she was going to say. "Well, you can take a shower," she declared. "Here."
"The way I remember it, she was annoyed with him, and he didn't take a shower," Jake reminded, starting to step away from Heather. The sensor on the floodlight picked up his movement and flashed back on.
"Only because he presumed," Heather argued, facing Jake under the harsh glare of the floodlight. "You're not presuming," she murmured, holding his gaze even as her cheeks started to color. "I'm offering."
"What, exactly, are you offering?" Jake questioned raggedly. He was tired, and knew that he could very well be misreading her. He told himself that he'd be happy with whatever her response was, even if it was to kiss him goodnight and send him on his way. That didn't mean, however, that he wasn't interested in more; hell, he was interested in everything when it came to Heather. "I don't have spare clothes in the car tonight, Heather," Jake told her. "And - and if my car's sittin' outside your house in the morning when your neighbors wake up to go to church," he continued, watching her face as his words sunk in, "Then you better believe we'll be the hot topic on the Jericho grapevine."
Heather sat back down on the bench, releasing a breath she hadn't meant to hold. "Tom Cruise didn't spend the night," she muttered, blushing deeply now.
"Not that night, no," Jake acknowledged, not quite able to believe they were discussing this particular topic through the lens of a movie he hadn't seen in ten years.
"I don't even like Tom Cruise," Heather groaned. "I'm totally on Nicole's side," she sighed. "Look," she continued, squaring off her shoulders, and glancing at Jake briefly. "My brother left some clothes here this summer, and I'm still trying to put together a care package for him to send 'em back in. My Mom spoiled Mikey, never made him do laundry, so I've tried the last two years to get him to do his own, but even when he was here this summer, he snuck his into mine." Heather was speaking quickly now, not bothering to stop to take a breath, not meeting Jake's eye. He didn't interrupt.
"I talked to my Dad last night and he said that Mikey was doing his laundry at school, and he ran out of soap. Before I left home, I got him ready for school. I bought him some liquid detergent, and I typed up instructions for him and taped them to the bottle," she explained. "Well, he finished off the bottle, and apparently he panicked. Some girl who was in the laundry with Mikey told him to untape the directions from the bottle, and put 'em on the next one, which is exactly what I'd told him to do, but whatever," Heather grumbled, looking up quickly at Jake, and then back down at her hands.
"Dad says Mikey's dating her," she continued, shaking her head. "Now, Mikey told me he had a girlfriend - Caitlin - but he didn't tell me that he met her doing his laundry. Probably knows I'd try and call her to tell her she's under no circumstances allowed to do his laundry for him," Heather joked weakly. "The other three are hopeless cases, and really they're their wives' problems now, but I still have some influence over Mikey." She took a deep breath, and looked up at Jake. "That is a very long, very roundabout way of saying that you can stay, you can take a shower, you can borrow my brother's clothes, and I'll wash yours for you - something I'd kill Mikey for expecting his girlfriend to do. But you didn't ask me to - I'm offering. And, when everything's clean and dry in about two hours," Heather shrugged, "I'll kick you out, like always."
"Okay," Jake answered softly, stepping towards Heather, holding his hand out to her.
She took his hand, allowing him to pull her up. Standing not quite a foot back, Heather faced Jake, taking another deep breath. 'Some night, some time, I'm not gonna kick you out, Jake,' she thought, feeling the heat rush to her cheeks again. But, there was no way she could tell him that, and she couldn't think of anything that she could say.
Jake, recognizing the turmoil in her expression, smiled at her gently. He hadn't really thought that Heather was ready to take any big steps tonight, and he realized that he didn't mind. He wouldn't rush her, because the last thing he wanted was to mess this up. Heather Lisinski, he knew, would be well worth waiting for. Jake raised her hand, still held in his own, to his mouth and kissed her palm. Then, he bent down and began to unlace his grimy, mud-caked hiking boots.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Wednesday, November 1, six weeks after the bombs
Heather stopped on the first step and looked back over her shoulder at the sound of the front door opening. Jake entered, pulling off his jacket, closely followed by Eric. "Oh, thank God!" she cried, turning to face them.
"Babe, what's wrong?" Jake demanded, shrugging back into his jacket. Heather's expression, along with the panic in her tone, caused a sudden sense of dread to claw at his chest.
"I just got home, and ...." Heather's faced crumpled, and she glanced away, taking a deep breath. "Hurry!" she commanded, starting back up the stairs. "Hurry!"
"What?" Jake repeated. However, she was already on the landing and making the turn, disappearing from sight. He took off after her, taking the steps two at a time, Eric right behind him.
They caught up with her at the top of the stairs, in the second floor hallway. "He went into shock or something," Heather explained, fighting back a sob. Almost jogging, she led them into the master bedroom, halting just inside the door.
Catching up with his wife a few seconds later, Jake stood behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders, horrified by the scene before them. He felt Eric brush his arm as he moved passed them into the room, but Jake didn't even glance at him, too transfixed by what was happening on the bedroom floor: Johnston Green was unconscious, and apparently not breathing, as Gail and April worked together to perform CPR.
Jake's assumption was confirmed for him an interminable fifteen seconds later when his mother, sounding both exhausted and a hair's breadth away from bursting into tears, raised her mouth from her husband's, gasping out, "He's not breathing."
Heather stepped forward then, and Jake followed. She led him to the bed, and then pushed him to a seat on its corner. Still standing, she leaned against him, and he wrapped an arm around her waist, needing something - anything - to hold onto. Heather's hand found its way into his hair.
"Okay, one more breath," April ordered her mother-in-law. Jake could barely hear her words through the fog he suddenly found himself in, but he recognized that she at least was holding it together. He closed his eyes, desperately thankful for her professional training.
Gail complied, breathing once more into Johnston's mouth. April glanced back at Eric, Jake and Heather, her own fears reflecting in her eyes. Then she turned back to her patient and began compressions. This time, April didn't count aloud, and so they waited in silence, holding their collective breath, each straining to hear the sound of Johnston's breathing which did not come.
They waited.
Jake had just turned his head, pressing his face against Heather's side and the swell of their child when they all heard it; finally and blessedly, Johnston gasped for air, and then continued moaning and thrashing around, reassuring them all that, for now, he would continue to breathe.
"Let's get 'im over on his side," April commanded, back in doctor mode. "C'mon," she urged Gail, and the two of them worked to roll him over. She checked his breathing again, and then sat back, taking a deep breath. She started to climb to her feet, and Eric stepped forward, holding out his hand in assistance. April smiled weakly at him, murmuring, "Thank you."
"Thank you," Eric muttered in return, his voice tight. He squeezed her hand, and then let go, offering it to his mother to help her get up.
April turned around, facing Jake who was now standing, his hand firmly clasped in Heather's. She glanced back at her husband. "Eric, Jake," she said, looking again at her brother-in-law. "Let's get him back into bed, okay?"
Johnston Green's two sons immediately moved forward and, under April's direction, soon had their father resting once more in his bed. His breathing was labored, and if it weren't for the fact that minutes before he hadn't been breathing at all, this fact would have worried them all greatly. For now, they were simply grateful for the rasping sound of air going in and out of his lungs.
"Gail," April began, resting her hand on her father-in-law's forehead. "Can you get a cool cloth?" she requested. "I'm just going to take some vitals," she added with forced cheerfulness. Waiting until her mother-in-law disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, April looked around the room, catching each of their eyes for a moment. Fitting her stethoscope into her ear she addressed them quietly and grimly. "We all need to talk."
Twenty minutes later, the four 'children' of Johnston Green were assembled in the living room, Eric and April sitting together but apart on the couch, and Heather in a club chair. Jake had perched himself on the arm of her chair initially, but he was too restless to remain in any one place, and had moved almost immediately to the center of the room where he now stood, arms crossed, bouncing every once in awhile on the balls of his feet.
"I've given him three courses of antibiotics," April explained. "It must've been too much for his system. He's become septic," she admitted softly.
Eric, fiddling with his wedding ring, stared at his hands. "How do we treat it?" he asked. April studied her husband, watching and waiting until he finally glanced in her direction. They'd known one another too long and too well for him to not recognize the sorrow and defeat in her expression. "Wait a minute!" he protested. "April, how do we treat it?" Eric demanded again.
Unable to face her husband at just that moment, April looked away, her eyes meeting Heather's across the coffee table. A giant, discomforting lump seemed to form instantly in Heather's stomach; she understood what her sister-in-law was trying to tell them, and she knew why April had called them together for this conference, what she was asking them all to do. Johnston was dying, and April couldn't bring herself to give Gail that news on her own. She needed them - Eric, Jake and even Heather - to stand with her while she delivered that news to the woman who'd been married to Johnston Green just shy of forty years.
Heather had always appreciated the fact that she'd married a man who was the product of as strong and as stable of a marriage as that of her own parents. They had both grown up with good examples, and Gail and Johnston had continued to provide a model of marriage that, while she hadn't necessarily wanted to emulate completely, Heather had always been grateful for. They loved one another so strongly, and they supported one another always. Her mother-in-law had from time to time made allusions to a rocky patch, and while she accepted Gail's word that it had happened, Heather had only seen evidence of their devotion to one another. She couldn't imagine Gail without Johnston; she couldn't imagine her own life without his steady and reassuring presence, certainly not on top of everything else that had already happened. Heather offered April the slightest of nods and the feeblest of understanding smiles before covering her face with her hands, trying in vain to block out everything that she knew would be coming.
April took a deep breath and, bolstered by the support she'd found in her sister-in-law's gaze, faced Eric, beginning again. "If the Med Center was operational, maybe," she murmured, enunciating each word slowly and carefully. Through her fingers, Heather saw April's eyes flood with tears. "If we could medevac him into County Hospital in Rogue River, maybe," she continued, the pitch of her voice rising as she fought a sob. "If we had any heavy duty meds left in the pharmacy, maybe. Without that," she paused and looked up at Jake, who frowned uncomfortably, obviously beginning to comprehend what she was saying. "Twelve hours," April declared, sinking back into the couch. "Maybe a day," she conceded, her voice softening. Eric stood up, moving away without looking back at April. "I'm so sorry," she finished, watching his retreating back.
"What kinda meds?"
"What?" April's head jerked around, and she met Jake's eye, clearly thrown off by his question. He wasn't sure she'd even really heard him.
"You said heavy duty meds," Jake clarified, raising his voice. "What kind does he need?"
She blinked quickly, twice, pulling herself together. "Something strong enough to blow out the infection," April explained, her tone once again that of the professional Doctor Green, rather than that of the stricken daughter-in-law. "Let his body heal itself. Cipro, probably," she sighed, "But we ran out weeks ago."
"They'd have it in Rogue River, though," Jake muttered, drawing all of their attention.
"Jake!" April protested, "That's ninety miles away."
He nodded, obviously having come to a decision. "We'd better get going, then," he declared, reaching for the jacket he'd abandoned on the arm of the rocking chair.
"Wait a minute," April protested, scrambling to her feet.
Jake was already heading for the door. Eric grabbed his own jacket and started to follow. "I'm going too."
"Eric, no!" April cried. "If Gray's right about how dangerous -" She stopped when she felt Heather grip her arm, and looked sideways at her sister-in-law, who was shaking her head 'no'.
Jake and Eric stood in the foyer facing their mother now. Heather had wrapped her arm around April's, forcing her to stay back, but they could both still hear Gail's anguished command to her sons, their husbands. "Go! Go now!" she managed to get out before giving in to her tears. Jake and Eric turned and left the house without another word.
"Why? How? We're just supposed to let them go?" April demanded of Heather, starting to weep. "How do you do that?"
Heather frowned, pulling April into a hug. "Practice," she sighed. "This isn't the first time I've watched him leave, not knowing if he was gonna come back," she murmured, taking a step back, allowing April to see that she wasn't the only one afraid for Eric's and Jake's safety. "It's not even the first time today."
"I'm sorry girls," Gail croaked out. She'd moved into the living room and stood next to them, gripping both their arms for support. "But I can't -"
"It's okay," Heather interrupted, wrapping one arm around her mother-in-law. "We get it. We understand," she assured, kissing her on the cheek.
April closed her eyes, nodding. She looked as pale as Heather had ever seen her. She took a deep breath, and the opened her eyes, her expression resolute. "We - we all want the same thing here."
"Exactly," Heather echoed, flashing them both a weak smile before taking a step back, out of the circle they'd formed. "Excuse me," she said, and then turning, headed for the front door.
Outside, she hurried down the front steps, and then turned to the right. Holding her hand over her stomach, Heather jogged across the lawn to the driveway, and then walked back toward the detached garage where Jake was loading supplies into 'Charlotte', Grandpa Green's old truck, which she'd claimed for herself after the EMP. "Jake," she called out breathlessly, coming up next to him.
He reached over the side of the truck, placing a red ten gallon gas can on the bed. "Only half full," he muttered, shaking his head. "God, I hope Eric can find some gas at town hall."
"That where he went?" Heather asked, trailing behind him as he headed back into the garage.
Jake nodded, pointing her to his father's workbench. "Grab that crowbar and throw it in, okay?" He moved a stepstool in front of a bank of shelving and climbed up onto it, retrieving a thermos jug off the top shelf. They headed back out into the driveway, Jake detouring to fill the jug at the spigot.
Heather placed the crowbar in the truck bed, and turned around to wait for Jake. He moved passed her, smiling at her distractedly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I don't think this is such a good idea," she blurted out, reaching out to catch his free hand.
"Babe, I've got no choice," he answered, frustrated, setting the jug in the back of the truck. "My Dad -"
"I know you have to go," Heather interrupted, "But at least let me do some work on the car, Jake. God," she sighed, frowning. "Give me an hour. Or -"
"There's no time. I have to go now," he countered, glancing at her. "And, wait. You said it was sturdy," Jake reminded, studying the conflicted expression that had settled on her features.
"Sturdy, yeah," Heather muttered, biting her lip. "But what if you need to outrun something?" she demanded, pressing her hand against her mouth.
Jake stared at her for a long moment. "Why?" he choked out. "How fast will it go?"
Heather shook her head, her frown growing. "I really don't know, Jake," she admitted, letting out the breath she'd been holding. "Thirty, maybe forty miles an hour, best case, downhill, and not for very long." Jake's expression was incredulous, and Heather felt herself starting to tear up. "I got it running for myself, for trips around town," she reminded, her voice strained. "See, this is what I'm saying. Maybe you should go on horseback." She glanced at Jake, who now looked pained. "Seriously," she murmured.
"Horse's slower than that," he reminded, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand. "Even if that made sense, we've only got twelve hours. You heard April. A hundred and eighty miles roundtrip on horseback -"
"I know, I know," she acknowledged, rubbing her hand together nervously. "Still. A horse is less likely to explode," Heather tried to joke, but neither of them found it to be funny.
He grabbed a pistol off the bed of the truck. "I'm gonna have to take my chances," he decided, turning toward the open truck door.
Following, Heather offered some last minute advice. "Okay," she breathed, "Well, at least open her up easy." Heather watched him duck into the cab, securing the gun beneath the seat. "Make sure you've got enough car left in case you need to ask for a lot in a hurry," she continued, finding her groove. Heather knew, if she concentrated on giving advice, she wouldn't be thinking about everything that could go wrong, if only for the moment. She waited while Jake pulled off his jacket and stowed it inside the truck. "And remember!" she declared, her words tumbling out, rapid-fire now. "The gas tank in this thing is on the left hand side, so if somebody - if somebody decides to start shooting at you," Heather sputtered, "Make sure it's not on that side."
His back was to her, but she could see him nodding at everything she said, and then she heard him let out a long breath. Jake turned to face her, asking, "Anything else?"
Her answer was to launch herself at him, kissing him with a fervor that staggered Jake. He caught her - barely - wrapping his arms around her, trying to keep them both from falling over as he stumbled, slightly, backwards, into the open truck door. Heather poured everything into the kiss she gave him: her hopes and fears, her passion for him, her trust, her love. Jake drank it in, returning it in equal measure, the two of them clinging to one another, until finally she began to pull slowly away. For a second, he held her tighter, cupping the back of her head, before reluctantly allowing her to put a few inches between their mouths, if not the rest of their bodies.
Heather's eyes were closed. "Come back in one piece," she commanded, her tone ridiculously matter-of-fact.
Jake studied her for a long moment, memorizing the way the tip of her tongue rested against her lower lip, just inside her mouth, and how her lashes fluttered as she slowly opened her eyes. Exhaling, he chuckled softly. "I will, I promise," he assured her with a half grin before pressing his mouth to hers again. "I love you," Jake breathed against her lips.
Her hands were braced against his chest, his right arm wrapped around her waist, forcing her to remain in place. Reaching down between them, Jake splayed his left hand over her pregnant tummy, stroking her lightly with his thumb. He smiled at her gently and then looked down, clearing his throat. "I love you, too, Junior," he murmured, addressing her stomach.
"Junior?" Heather questioned huskily, her eyes bright. "I thought we agreed ages ago - no Trips, no Treys."
Removing his arm from around her waist, Jake allowed Heather to take a half step back, as he placed his other hand over their child. "Could be a Heather Junior," he suggested, starting to write with his finger on her still small belly. She watched him draw 'I ♥ U 2'.
"I don't think he or she can quite read yet," she teased, giggling softly. "But, I'm sure he or she shares the sentiment. I do," Heather sighed. "I love you, too."
"Not reading yet? Whaddya mean?" Jake grumbled, grinning. Leaving his left hand in place, he reached for hers with his right, tangling their fingers together and squeezing. "Our kid's gonna be smart."
"Well, I stand corrected then," Heather chuckled, laying her hand over Jake's and looking down. "Read away, baby. Your dad thinks you're a genius." Raising her head, she met his gaze, offering a wobbly smile. "No Heather Junior, though," she sighed. "If it is a girl, I'm still thinking Abigail Renate, after her grandmothers."
"That's the plan," he agreed, nodding. Jake closed his eyes for a second, not quite able to look at her while he forced the next words from his mouth. "Babe, I gotta go," he muttered, his fingers playing tenderly over the swell of their child. "Baby needs a grandpa."
"Baby needs a dad and an uncle, too," Heather reminded, her throat tightening.
Jake pulled her back into his embrace. "Trust me," he sighed, kissing her hairline. "That's the plan."
"And, what's the rest of the plan?" she asked, burrowing her face against his shoulder.
"Take the back roads," he muttered. "It'll take longer - two and a half, three hours - but it'll be safer, and I know 'em all, thanks to my misspent youth," he joked, putting her gently away from himself.
"Well, thank God for your misspent youth," Heather chuckled. Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away, forcing a smile.
Jake pressed the back of his hand to her cheek, and then tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "Feel free to mention that to Dad when he's better," he told her, taking a step back. He turned around then, climbing into the truck's cab.
Heather helped push the door closed, leaning in the open window. "Will do," she said, giving him a quick kiss. "I promise." Letting out a shaky breath, she took two steps back, watching Jake as he turned the key in the ignition and the truck started up. "Hey. Jake," she called out, catching his eye. "Watch out for giant irradiated ants."
He met her wan smile with one of his own. "Always do," Jake answered, putting the car into gear. "See you at breakfast."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Saturday, October 27, five years before the bombs
Heather had pointed Jake to her bathroom, providing him with a towel and her brother's clothing, before she had really allowed herself contemplate the situation. He was in her bathroom - in her shower - she realized, staring at the closed door and blushing at the thought. Her things were in there: her shampoo, her loofa, her razor and shave gel, bubble bath and scented shower gels. Heather groaned. There was no avoiding the fact that Jake now knew that she was a closet consumer of frou-frou bath products.
Biting her lip, Heather knocked on the door. "Jake?" she called out, uncertainty ringing in her tone. "I - I forgot to tell you. There's a bar of good old Ivory soap -"
"Found it, thanks!" Jake shouted in return, over the sound of the water. "I'm good. I promise."
"Okay," Heather murmured, knowing there was no way he'd heard her.
She stepped away from the door, and walked the four steps to her bedroom. Changing out of her dress quickly, Heather donned jeans and a lightweight emerald green sweater, and then headed into the living room. She knew that the World Series had started earlier that night, and she tuned in the game, which was now in the eighth inning. The Diamondbacks were ahead of the Yankees, nine to one. Heather smiled at that; she might claim a certain amount of loyalty to the Yankees, but she knew Jake would be rooting for Arizona.
Heading into the kitchen, Heather started a bag of popcorn in the microwave, and sliced up two apples. When both snacks were prepared, she carried them into the living room and left them on the coffee table. Jake was still in the shower, and Heather found that she couldn't sit still, or concentrate on the game. Grabbing an apple slice, she returned to the kitchen, and started to wash up the dishes sitting in the sink. Thirty seconds in, she recalled just how bad her plumbing was, and gasped, horrified at the thought that Jake's shower had likely turned to ice water.
Slapping off the tap, Heather backed away from the sink, listening for some indication of distress from the bathroom. He didn't scream, but then again, Heather supposed that Jake was really more the type to grit his teeth and bear it. She waited another moment and, figuring the hot water had to have been restored, heaved a sigh of relief. Deciding that she could only wreak havoc in the kitchen, Heather forced herself back into the living room.
Jake found her sitting on the couch, working on the crossword puzzle from the Wichita Eagle, and keeping one eye on the game. She looked up, smiling, and then started to chuckle. "Hey," she greeted. "Feel better?"
"Yeah," he agreed, feeling unexpectedly self-conscious under her appraising gaze. "All of a sudden, I remind you of your brother, don't I?" Jake asked, looking down at his clothing. She'd loaned him a baggy pair of cargo shorts and a navy hoodie with a giant pocket across the front.
"No," Heather declared, dropping her paper on the coffee table. She unfolded herself from her seat and then crossed the few feet that separated them, standing on tiptoe so she could kiss him. "It just became very obvious to me that my kid brother is barely eighteen," Heather explained, pressing her lips to his jaw, his stubble pleasantly rough against her skin. "And, you are not," she grinned, pulling him with her toward the couch.
"I do feel a certain urge to find a skateboard," Jake joked, squeezing her hand. "And, that was really never my thing."
Heather giggled appreciatively. "Give me those," she instructed, reaching for his muddy clothes which he carried, balled up, in the crook of his arm. "I'll put these in the wash, and you can watch the game," Heather added, pushing him gently to a seat on the couch. She leaned over, kissing him quickly. "It's the last inning, and I'm pretty sure your team's gonna beat the snot outta mine."
He caught her hand, stopping her departure. "You really don't have to," Jake argued.
"It's fine, I want to," Heather assured with a smile. "My mother would be so pleased," she joked. "This almost qualifies as domestic. And besides," she continued, "Now you can't leave until you get your clothes back."
Laughing, Jake let go of her hand. "Okay," he exhaled. "But trust me," he called after her, "You don't have to steal my clothes to get me to stay." Heather was back within two minutes, and he pulled her down on the couch next to him, holding her close.
They watched the end of the game, Jake's arm wrapped around Heather, her head resting on his shoulder, their bare feet propped on the coffee table. The game ended on a fly ball to center field, though the Yankees had actually lost innings before. Heather sighed, smiling at Jake. "Sorry," he murmured, grinning down at her.
"No you're not," she returned, laughing. "But that's okay," Heather told him as his mouth descended upon hers. "So, how'd you do?" she asked when they pulled apart. They had finished off the popcorn watching the game, but there were still a few apple slices, and she reached for one, watching him expectantly.
"How'd I do?" Jake repeated, confused.
"Hunting," she prompted, extracting herself from his arms. "How'd you do, hunting?" she repeated, turning to sit sideways, her legs crossed, facing him. "Or, am I not supposed to ask that? I'm not really up on the etiquette for 'my boyfriend just got home from a hunting trip'," Heather shrugged, biting into her apple slice.
Jake stole the last bite of apple from Heather, the tips of his fingers grazing her lips, and popped it in his mouth. She rolled her eyes at him, while he grinned at her. "Well, first rule, don't make fun of the hunting safety vest," he murmured.
"See, you said safety," she interjected. "So, it really is 'safety orange'."
"'Hunter orange'," he countered, pressing his mouth to hers.
Heather pulled back for a second, eyeing him speculatively. "Interesting," she declared, tracing a finger over his lower lip, giggling when Jake nipped at it. "You don't usually need to be right. Unlike me," she admitted, offering a sheepish grin.
"Not as much as you do," he agreed, kissing the palm of her hand. "I only need to be right when I am," he teased, starting to play with her hair.
"But, I'm always right!" she argued, laughing.
"'Bout everything but this," Jake insisted, kissing the tip of her nose to take out any sting she might feel at his words. "I'm tellin' you, it's 'hunter orange'."
"If you say so," Heather finally conceded. "I guess you would know." She reached for the last apple slice and then leaned back against the sofa's arm, unfolding her legs and planting her feet in front of her, knees bent. Jake moved closer and, tapping her foot gently, communicated that she should lay her legs across his lap. He reached for her hand, clasping it in his own and then raising it to his mouth to brush his lips over her knuckles. "So, how was it?" Heather sighed. "How was the trip?"
"Been a long time since I spent that much time with Dad and Eric," Jake admitted with a shrug. "It was fine. Didn't get much sleep last night, 'cause the three of them all snore like buzz saws," he joked, rolling his eyes. "The hunting cabin's just one big room. It might be time to partition. I had a good time."
"So, did you bag Bambi?" she asked then, drawing a groaning laugh from Jake. He didn't think he'd ever heard anything that sounded stranger coming out of anyone's mouth than Heather Lisinski asking if he'd 'bagged Bambi'. "That's right, isn't it?" she asked, uncertainty and amusement warring in her expression. "When you go hunting you 'bag' things, right?"
"Please don't say 'bag' again," Jake chuckled, shaking his head. "I shot a deer, okay? Just say that."
Heather nodded, inhaling deeply. "Okay. So, you shot a deer?"
"I did," he confirmed. "So did Dad and Eric, which is kinda unusual. Gramps wasn't actually hunting," Jake explained. "He can't anymore, not with his tremors, and he doesn't have the strength, especially for bow hunting. But he comes along anyway."
"Green male bonding," she declared, grinning, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "And, I knew about the bow hunting. Stanley explained that part."
"C'm'ere," Jake said then, tugging on her hand. Heather's expression was questioning, but she did as he asked scooting a few inches toward him, ending up, eventually, in his lap. He cupped her chin, kissing her quickly. "This is weird for you," he declared. It wasn't a question.
"I don't know," Heather replied, shrugging. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers tangling in the hair that lay against the nape of his neck. "I'm not against hunting, it's just outside of my realm of experience. Everyone I know, how I grew up.... It was cars, hockey and football."
"It's the same, really," he assured her. "We go hunting a couple times a year, more when I was a kid. It's just what Dad and Gramps taught us to do. It's more about the hunting than the shooting, if than makes sense."
"It does," she agreed, resting her head on his shoulder for a moment. Heather caught herself thinking ahead twenty years. Jake and Eric, along with Grandpa Johnston, would undoubtedly have their weekends away in the woods, teaching their own sons to hunt. And she, Heather allowed herself to contemplate for the first time, might very well be the mother of Jake's sons - and his daughters. She took a deep breath, hoping to arrest the heat she could feel flooding her cheeks. "So, what happens to the, ya know, the deer?" she asked, pressing an absent kiss to his neck.
"Oh, we eat Bambi," Jake proclaimed. "Every little bit, all winter long. Dinner tomorrow night in fact," he told Heather, looking down at her, his tone and expression completely serious. "Mom makes a mean venison stew," Jake added, watching her closely.
It was obvious to Jake that she wasn't completely sure what or how much to believe. What she said next, though, surprised him. "So, is deer a traditional or non-traditional pizza topping?" Heather inquired, fighting a grin.
Jake chuckled and made a face. "Non-traditional, though I don't think anyone's thought of that yet. And, let's hope they don't," he groaned. "Okay, so what really happens," he continued, cupping her cheek with his hand, "Is that Gramps and Dad'll smoke the meat and freeze it, maybe make some jerky. We'll keep some of it - not a lot, 'cause frankly we all prefer a good steak - and the rest'll go to the food bank in Rogue River."
She lifted her head, craning her neck to meet his eye. "Really?"
"Uh-huh," he confirmed. "My grandmother helped found the regional food bank, and Mom's on the board. Everything goes to Rogue River, and then gets parceled out to food closets in all the smaller towns in three counties," Jake explained, resting his chin on her shoulder. "It's a tradition. We go hunting, and anything we can't use, we give away."
Heather caught herself drifting deeper into her fantasy of the future. In her mind's eye, she could see Jake standing with their sons. They were dark-haired, like the both of them. Heather understood genetics well enough to know that there was no guarantee that two brown-haired parents would produce brown-haired offspring, but the odds were still good, and she figured that she could at least pick her children's hair color in her own day dream. They'd be tall and lanky, like Jake, Heather decided. The men in her own family were built more like fireplugs, shorter and stocky, but she thought, grinning softly, she'd let the Green genes take over in this instance. Chuckling to herself, Heather put them in 'hunter orange' safety vests and sent them all off to experience one of the many traditions of the Green family.
"Well, that's cool," she murmured distractedly. She smiled at Jake, but he couldn't help thinking that she was looking past him.
"Babe? You okay?" he asked, touching her hand. Sighing, Heather shook her head and focused her gaze on him. She tilted her head up so he could kiss her, which Jake did. "It is cool," he agreed, his breath warm on her cheek.
The buzzer on the washer sounded then, and Heather sighed. "I'm being summoned," she joked, sliding off Jake's lap. She stood up, pushing him gently on the shoulder when he tried to follow. "Be right back," Heather promised with a smile. "Save my spot."
Jake reached for her hand. "No worries," he told her, their gazes locking. "It's your spot," he grinned, squeezing her fingers and then letting go.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Wednesday, November 1, six weeks after the bombs
Jake had parked the truck across the street from town hall to wait for Eric. It was nearly six, and they needed to get on the road. At this rate they wouldn't make Rogue River until nine or later. Jake wasn't looking forward to traveling at night, in the dark, but they didn't have a choice. Without the medicine he needed, Johnston Green only had one more night in him, if that.
Grumbling to himself, Jake began to fuel the truck from the gas can he'd brought along from the house, mostly to have something to do. Jake didn't realize that Eric was approaching until his brother protested their vehicle. "Aw, what the hell!" he complained, shaking his head, "This is what we're driving?"
"Yeah," Jake replied, glancing at Eric. He shook the gas can trying to force just a little more out of the container and into the tank. "I mean it's not actually a... Yeah," he muttered. "This is what we're taking. The axle on Dad's truck is cracked," he reminded, "So this is what we have." Eric at least had the good grace to look embarrassed, and he didn't say anything else as he loaded the rifles and duffle bag he was carrying into the back of the truck.
Jake gave up trying to wring anything more out of the gas can, and pulled the nozzle out of the tank. Looking up, he spotted his own supposedly inoperable car turning the corner. "What in the world?" he demanded of nobody in particular, dropping the empty gas can in the truck bed. The Roadrunner came to a stop directly behind the truck. Heather was driving, and Jake hurried to the car in time to open the door and help her out. "What did you do? How?" he questioned, not quite able to fight the hopeful grin that spread across his face. Jake pulled her into a quick hug. "It wasn't working at noon," he argued, taking a step back, though he held her hand firmly in his.
"It wasn't working at two, either," Heather muttered, blowing out a deep breath. "But then, I don't know. I've been going over it for days, and finally something I did actually did work," she shrugged. "I wasn't sure, and I didn't have any time to test it really," she continued quickly. "I was going to do that in the morning, hope everything stayed working overnight. It should," Heather insisted, rolling her eyes. "I've touched every damn part of that engine in the last week. But, I did test it just now. Only ten minutes, but I got it up to fifty on Granville, no problems. Well, I did almost run over Mrs. Crenshaw's poodle," she admitted, making a face. "But no problems with the car." Heather finally stopped to breathe, looking up at him. "Take it, Jake. It's good to go."
"You're absolutely sure?" he asked. "We can -"
"If it's my call, I say take the car," Heather interrupted. "It'll make it. And, you need a fast car."
He smiled at her, exhaling in obvious relief. "Well, it's definitely your call," Jake told her. "Eric," he yelled, looking back over his shoulder, "Load up!"
"Way ahead of you," Eric called back, carrying his duffle bag, the water jug and both rifles to the Roadrunner. He grinned at his sister-in-law as he walked past her. "You're a miracle worker, Heather."
"Trust me, completely my pleasure," she told him, smiling in return. Heather looked at Jake again, holding up the keys to the Roadrunner. "Trade ya," she offered.
"Gladly," Jake chuckled. He took the keys from her hand, and then clasped it in his free one, pulling her along with him as he walked back to the truck. Ducking into the cab, he pulled the truck's keys out of the ignition and then presented them to Heather. "God, I love you," he informed her.
"Well it better be for more than fixin' your car," she joked, watching as he retrieved his jacket from the seat beside him, and then reached underneath the seat for his pistol. He tucked the gun into the waistband of his jeans, before shrugging into the jacket.
Taking a step toward Heather, Jake cupped her face in both his hands, pressing a passionate kiss to her mouth. "Trust me, I love you for a helluva lot more than that," he assured her.
Heather walked him back to the Roadrunner. Eric had just transferred the last of the supplies to the trunk, and he dropped it closed, pressing down on the hood to ensure that the latch had caught. "Be careful," she instructed them both, impulsively hugging her brother-in-law before he could move around the car to the passenger door. "April's freaked, and she needs you," she whispered to Eric, who nodded and then pulled out of her embrace, walking around the car.
She turned around then to face Jake. "Come back in one piece," she told him again, biting her lip. This time when she threw herself at him he was ready, catching her against his chest, trying so hard to gather her closer, hold her closer, that his arms immediately began to ache. "I love you, Jake," she sighed against his shoulder. Then, taking a long breath, she pulled herself loose, looking up at him. "Go save your Dad."
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