Different Circumstances: Part 10A of ?
by Marzee Doats
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Monday, November 20, two months after the bombs
"What are you doing here?" Harriett Crenshaw demanded before Jake had made it two steps into Interview Room Two, the new headquarters of the Jericho Town Border Patrol and, ostensibly, their shared office, though she certainly spent more time there than he did. "It's your day off," she reminded.
"Kenchy's all moved," Jake answered, dropping into the chair across from her. "Not much to move, so I figured I come in, I dunno, check schedules," he shrugged, looking at her expectantly. "If there's a hunting trip tomorrow, I need to be on it," Jake explained. "Actually, I need to be on any hunting trip for the rest of the week."
"Okay," Mrs. Crenshaw agreed, opening her notebook. "You're the boss."
Jake, grateful that she was concentrating on her lists rather than looking at him, barely managed to suppress a snort. While technically Mrs. Crenshaw was now his assistant, it was a volunteer position, and she was still Mrs. Crenshaw. Johnston had announced the formation of the border patrol, and Jake as its leader, at the first town council meeting following the confrontation with Ravenwood. These days the council meetings were standing room only, even overflowing into the hall early in the evening before those who lived on the outskirts of town headed home so as not to be caught out alone on the roads too late. Jake hadn't even realized Mrs. Crenshaw was present that night until she'd cornered him as he and Heather were leaving in order to offer her services as an administrative assistant.
She'd explained that she and three other widows - Mr. Crenshaw having passed away the prior winter - had, as she put it, 'Set up housekeeping together'. As a result, with Mrs. Haines, retired from teaching English at the high school, in charge of things on the domestic front, Mrs. Crenshaw was looking for a job and she figured Jake could use her help. Heather had urged him to take Mrs. Crenshaw up on her offer, and he'd accepted on the spot, more to please his wife than anything else. Mrs. Crenshaw, naturally, had proven to be an invaluable asset. She knew everyone, student or parent, who'd passed through the halls of Jericho Elementary in the last thirty years which, along with what she knew from maintaining student records and her natural inclination toward gossip, meant that she'd been able to provide Jake with some very good - and very discreet - guidance on who should be accepted into the border patrol's ranks. She efficiently managed the organizational end of things for Jake, putting together all the duty and training schedules, and although he had final say, he'd never had a reason to overrule her.
"We've got a group meetin' at six-thirty tomorrow morning out at the Ash Street Bridge," Mrs. Crenshaw informed Jake. "Kevin Rowe, Dave Christopher, Martin Brooks," she read off, looking up at him. "That's it, so far, and nothing else tomorrow."
Groaning, Jake nodded. "Well, put me down, too. Hell, they need somebody with some experience," he complained.
"Don't swear," Mrs. Crenshaw scolded automatically. She wrote his name in on her list, and then looked up, offering a sympathetic smile. "Though, I was looking for someone more seasoned to go along with them," she admitted. "You've solved that problem for me, at least."
"Any parties going out Wednesday?" he asked, shaking his head absently. "I need a turkey for Thanksgiving, or Heather's gonna have to pick out one of her chickens, and that'd be a disaster."
Mrs. Crenshaw chuckled softly. "She's named 'em all, huh?"
"Heather names everything," Jake returned with a smile. "And, so far the chickens are making it pretty much on scratch, plus they're laying, so...." Jake shrugged. "If we do a chicken, I'm gonna get stuck killing it and dressing it," he complained.
"And you won't with a turkey?" Mrs. Crenshaw countered with a grin.
Jake laughed. "Well, I'd hafta kill it, sure. But, I could get my Mom to handle the rest. She's a little attached to the chickens now, too. That's what Dad and I get for marrying city girls," he joked, winking at Mrs. Crenshaw. "They make friends with the animals, and then they can't eat 'em."
"Is that so?" Mrs. Crenshaw chuckled, shaking her head at Jake. "You know, she's still upstairs," she continued, glancing up at the ceiling. "Heather. It's early yet, though there is the council meeting tonight. But your Dad's still here, and he always walks her home," she reminded unnecessarily. "Still, I bet she'd quit a little early if her husband showed up to escort her instead, seein' how it's his first day off in three weeks," Mrs. Crenshaw suggested with a grin.
A thoughtful look crossed Jake's face, and then he knocked twice on the table, forcing himself up from his seat. "Guess I'll go spring her," he smiled. "But put me on for any hunting parties that come up, okay?"
"You got it,"' she agreed. "There's already one for Wednesday, and I'm sure there will be one on Thursday soon enough," Mrs. Crenshaw told him. "You're not the only one hoping for a turkey."
"Right," Jake muttered. He was already halfway out the door when he turned back, frowning. "You're okay to get home?"
"I live two houses down from Jimmy Taylor now," she reminded. "He doesn't leave without me."
"Okay," Jake acknowledged, ducking his head. "Well, see you in the morning then."
The Ravenwood incident had wrought the biggest changes on Jericho yet. People had been scared after the bombs, but had stayed put, certain that help would arrive sooner or later. This confidence had been shaken by the EMP, but with a few exceptions, the general belief that they were at least safe in Jericho had remained. Ravenwood had changed that, teaching them that the outside world was a threat. Even the most insulated of Jericho's citizens had finally been forced to admit that things had been irrevocably altered.
Although in the first few weeks after the bombs cash had remained king, a bartering system was now firmly in place. People traded for labor, food, and fuel. Much of what had formerly been valuable was worthless now, and even Gracie Leigh wasn't accepting family heirlooms in trade for food any longer. Jake, walking to town hall from Dhuwalia's new house - funnily enough, Heather's former residence on Green Street - had run into Margaret Taylor and her children, on their way home from a winter clothing exchange at the church. Brushing Woody's too long bangs out of his eyes, Margaret had complained that he'd grown five inches and two shoes sizes from the previous winter. Luckily, they'd been able to trade for both new boots and a coat. Sally had twirled around them, insisting on modeling her new-to-her Hello Kitty ski jacket for Jake. In any case, the kids had seemed happy, and Margaret had seemed relieved. People were starting to adapt; now it was an open question as to whether or not they would adapt fast enough.
At least at the town government level, things were finally falling into place. Three weeks before, during the same town council meeting in which he'd announced the formation of the Jericho Town Border Patrol, Johnston had also pushed the council members to charter an energy and technical solutions commission. He'd surprised everyone, Jake included, by appointing Heather to head the commission whose ranks were otherwise filled by engineers from the mine. Tapping his engineers had given Gray Anderson an in at town hall, but surprisingly he hadn't taken advantage of it that often, as he was spending most of his time out in the community, campaigning for mayor. There had also been some grumbling about all the Greens in positions of power, but Johnston had quashed most of it by offering seats on all sorts of committees to anyone who wanted them. "Course, I'm not payin' anyone, and we're all out of coffee here at town hall," he'd explained. "But, we'd still be happy to have any of you join us."
Jake reached the top of the stairs and turned toward the left, heading for the conference room that the Energy Team, as they'd designated themselves, had taken over. He'd just come around the corner when he heard Harry Carmichael call out, "Hey, Heather! Your ride's here."
Frowning, Jake paused two steps outside the door. "Drivin' carpool at my age," he heard his father joke before heaving a deep sigh. "You ready to go, darlin'?"
"Sure," Heather answered, though she sounded preoccupied to Jake. "I guess this can wait 'til tomorrow."
"Unfortunately, Mayor," Carmichael informed Johnston, "We're still exactly nowhere without a governor."
"But we'll get it, Dad," Heather insisted. "We have to."
"That's a task for tomorrow," Carmichael suggested. "We've all got dinner waiting on us, and a council meeting to attend after that. Now go home, Mrs. Green, so the rest of us can get outta here," he ordered, chuckling.
Jake knew he should go into the conference room, but for some reason he couldn't make himself, and instead he listened, essentially eavesdropping, to more chatter between the men and Heather while his father helped her into her coat. He had just forced himself to take a step forward when Johnston and Heather came out of the conference room, arm in arm.
"Hey," Heather declared as she and Johnston came to an abrupt stop. She tightened her grip on his father's arm, throwing Jake a distracted smile. "What are you doing here?" she questioned.
"I thought I'd come walk you home," he answered, a note of uncertainty in his voice. "Didn't realize that Dad already was."
"Dr. Dhuwalia all moved?" Johnston asked as Jake moved to the left, out of their way. He and Heather started forward, Jake falling into step beside Heather as they headed for the stairs.
"Not a whole lot to move," he reminded. "Luckily, the prior tenants only took what they could fit in their car when they left, so he's got some furniture and other stuff." The house had been occupied by renters when the bombs had gone off, but they'd packed up, abandoning Jericho in the middle of the night, about a week after the EMP. With no chance of renting the house out now, the owners had gratefully offered it, free of charge, to Dhuwalia after he'd treated their only grandson during an asthma attack. "Biggest problem is the plumbing." Jake said, glancing sideways at Heather and flashing her a quick grin. "I'd forgotten how bad it was in that house."
Heather giggled in agreement. "Oh, the plumbing's awful," she nodded. "Did you ever take a shower there where I didn't end up scalding or freezing you in some way?" She shook her head, offering Jake an apologetic smile.
"I don't think so," Jake chuckled, shrugging in response to his father's raised eyebrow. "You always seemed to go on a plant watering, dish washing, laundry doing frenzy if I was in the shower," he teased Heather.
"Gotta say, you were lucky Gramps wanted us to live at the ranch house," she laughed, rolling her eyes. "Otherwise, you might not have survived. Seriously. That house is only safe for one person at a time," Heather sighed, tearing her gaze away from Jake to glance at Johnston, whose expression had grown more and more inscrutable as he'd listened to the two of them joke. "But, I guess Kenchy's safe from the plumbing for the time being, anyway," she added, her grin faltering slightly as she turned back to face Jake. "He's there alone, and there's no chance of being scalded these days, though frozen's pretty much a guarantee," she grumbled.
"He'll be fine," Jake argued then, reaching for her free hand. Heather was wearing red, lightweight knit gloves which abraded his chapped skin ever so slightly as he laced their fingers together. She looked up at him, surprised, but offered a pleased smile which Jake returned. "Besides," he added, squeezing her hand, "April and Kenchy really need to have some time apart."
"Ain't that the truth," Johnston snorted, observing Jake over the top of Heather's head. The two doctors had been driving the rest of the Greens nuts by bringing their work disputes home with them every night. The two of them could argue for an hour over the treatment plan for a patient who'd already been seen, cared for, and sent home. "You know, sweetheart, I promised Reverend Young I'd review his latest proposal ahead of the meeting tonight, and I still haven't gotten 'round to it," he told Heather, gently extracting her arm from his. "I was gonna walk you home," he continued, holding her one hand in both of his for a moment before raising it to his lips and pressing a perfunctory kiss on the back of her glove. "But now Jake's here to see to it, and I should stay."
"You need to eat," Heather protested, pulling her hand free from Jake while at the same time his father gently let go of the other. Hands on her hips, she turned the full measure of her most concerned glare on Johnston. "We don't want you to get sick again, Dad."
It had only been in the last few weeks that Heather has started to call his parents 'Mom' and 'Dad', and it still surprised Jake a little to hear it. He wasn't entirely sure what had prompted the change; it could have been Eric's desertion of April, who had often referred to Gail and Johnston - especially Johnston - as such since the first days of her engagement, or maybe it was simply a part of the grieving process she'd seemed to be absorbed in recently. Heather had woken Jake up crying three nights before, sobbing out that she would surely never see her father again, that he was more than likely dead, and that Joe Lisinski would never know that he was to be a grandfather for the eighth time. Nothing Jake had whispered to her as she'd clung to him in the dark had seemed to comfort Heather, but the next morning she had acted as if nothing was amiss.
"We'll bring you something when we come back for the town meeting," Jake interjected, moving next to Heather. He glanced at her sideways, taking in her anxious expression. "Mom was just takin' a loaf of bread out of the oven when Kenchy and I left for his place, so we can always put together a sandwich if nothin' else."
"That'll be fine," Johnston murmured, his gaze flicking to his son for just a second. "If you wanna bring a thermos of hot tea, that alone'd make my night," he admitted with a sheepish smile. "Hot tea'd warm me up nicely."
"I still think you should come with us," Heather grumbled as Jake once again found her hand, fitting their fingers together. "And we can at least bring back something warm besides tea," she assured. "Soup or something."
Johnston smiled at Heather and then leaned over her, pressing an affectionate kiss to her forehead. "Sounds good," he told her. "Now you go home and eat," he insisted, taking a shuffling step back. "You don't need t' be worryin' about me anymore. But," he added, grinning and holding up one finger to forestall the argument he knew was coming, "We still all get to worry about you, much as we can manage and then some."
"Exactly," Jake agreed, his arm brushing hers as he twisted around to kiss the top of her head. He waited a beat, and then, playing with her hand, asked, "You ready to go?"
Heather nodded. "Sure. We'll be back in an hour and a half," she continued, looking again at Johnston. "With your dinner and for the meeting."
"Thank you, darlin'," Johnston acknowledged, taking another step away from the couple. He turned on his heel then, heading back down the hallway toward his office.
Jake, still holding onto Heather's hand, escorted her down the stairs and out of the quickly emptying building. Monday night had long been town council night in Jericho and Jake assumed that before the bombs most people planning to attend the meeting had simply grabbed a quick bite to eat at one of the restaurants on Main Street. But those establishments were shuttered and dark these days, and so everyone rushed home for dinner. Jake smiled sourly to himself, thinking that the social commentators had to be happy about one thing; in Jericho at least, the bombs had brought about the return of the long lamented family meal time.
Outside of town hall, he stopped Heather for a moment, offering her his arm which she accepted with a grin. Taking it slow and not bothering to talk, they followed the path to the street, crossing Spruce and then making their way north down Main Street. Passing the church, they spotted Reverend Young locking up the building. They waved but didn't stop, and Heather chose that moment to break their surprisingly comfortable silence in order to tell him about her day.
It was a conversation like hundreds they'd had during their marriage, be it in person, on the phone, by instant message, or even - during those times when their schedules and locations had been at complete odds - by email. Heather, always one to include copious amounts of detail in any report she made, told Jake about the personalities on her team, and about the practical joke war between Harry Carmichael and Don Barrett, which they'd brought with them from the offices of the S&A Mining Corporation and somehow managed to keep going despite the current deprivations being felt at town hall. Jake listened, commenting on occasion, as she continued, repeating things he knew about their early success in manufacturing biodiesel and in converting vehicles to run on the fuel. She told him, too, about their frustrations and setbacks with the windmill project, where most of their efforts were now concentrated.
"So, that's my day," Heather sighed, leaning her head against his shoulder for a moment. "What about you?" she asked, looking up at Jake expectantly.
"Not much to say," he shrugged as he led her across Berge Avenue at Seventh. "Spent a couple of hours with Doc Hansen," Jake explained, naming the Greens' veterinarian, "Out at the ranch. Helped Kenchy move this afternoon. That's pretty much my day." He looked at her sideways, catching her eye for just a second. "So what do you guys talk about every day?" he asked, suddenly quite curious. "You and Dad?"
"Just stuff, really," Heather answered, her nose wrinkling as she contemplated the question. A couple of kids, no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, rode by them on bicycles, waving and calling out 'hellos' to Heather, which she returned. They watched them speed off into the falling night, and then she looked up at him, smiling softly. "Same thing, mostly," she continued, sighing. The windmill project. Though sometimes we just can't talk about it anymore, and then he tells me stories about when he was a kid, or about you."
"Oh, great," Jake groaned.
"It's not what you think," she insisted, swatting his arm gently with her free hand. "It's nice. I like talking to your Dad," Heather murmured. "Yesterday - well, Saturday," she corrected herself. Sunday was the one day of the week Heather and her team didn't work, and Johnston at least didn't go into the office. "When we walked home he told me a really cute story about the first time your Mom left the three of you all alone together overnight," she whispered dramatically, grinning up at him before once again laying her head against his arm.
Jake waited a long moment for her to continue, and when she didn't, demanded teasingly, "So let's hear it. How adorable was I? And what'd I do? Couldn't have caused too much damage," he drawled somewhat sarcastically, "Or I'd already know what you're talking about."
"Well, I can't tell you," Heather returned, lifting her head and slipping her arm out of his, though she reached immediately for his hand. "Your Dad swore me to secrecy from your Mom, for one thing."
"You know you want to," Jake prodded, tugging on her hand. He stepped sideways toward her, bumping his hip against hers as he tried to catch her eye despite the lack of light. "Especially since it was cute."
Heather laughed, smiling widely so that he could see the white of her teeth. "Well, yeah," she conceded with a sniff. "But, if I tell you, it's a secret."
"Who could I possibly tell that would care, except maybe Mom, and I promise that I won't tell her," he declared, holding up his free hand. "I solemnly swear," Jake joked.
"Okay," she agreed, obviously eager to tell someone this story. It was the sort of thing, Jake assumed, that she would have told April before, but if it involved Eric, then he knew there was no way Heather would mention it to April. "Your Dad said that he was doing pretty well with you two. You were two and a half - almost three - and he'd gotten you through breakfast by himself, and dressed and out of the house, all that. He took you out to the ranch for lunch with your grandparents, and he said they got you up on the burro for a riding lesson -"
"Becky," Jake recalled, nodding. "Becky the Burro. She ate everything. Gramps used her to clear brush, more than anything. And, she hated to be ridden," he added. "She'd bite you. That's why Gramps had to buy the pony. Legend is, Mom told him there was no way he was putting her babies up on a full-size horse," he chuckled.
"Snuffleupagus," Heather said, naming the pony that had still been in residence at the Green Ranch when she'd met Jake.
"Eric must have named him," he decided, wrapping an arm around Heather's shoulders. "Not really my style."
Heather stiffened at Jake's mention of his brother, shaking her head, but she didn't say anything about Eric. "You had a style? At three years old?" she teased.
"Of course. I've always been the cooler brother," he told Heather, feeling her tense again. "So, there's gotta be more to this story," he prompted.
"Yeah," she agreed. "After visiting your grandparents, your Dad went to the car wash, the first completely automated one in Jericho."
"We still only have one," Jake reminded, stroking his thumb back and forth over the ball of her shoulder. "Well, we did, anyway."
"Right," Heather sighed. "Your Dad said you were fascinated by the whole thing - the rollers, the jets of soap and water, the big air dryers. You thought it was a ride, and wanted to go again," she giggled. "But of course, your Dad wasn't going to do that. Now that night," she continued, clearing her throat, "Everything was going reasonably well, it was bedtime, your Dad was feelin' pretty good about his parenting skills, and then you suddenly realized that your Mommy was not there," Heather declared, quoting, Jake was quite certain, his father.
"You - both of you - were immediately in tears," she informed him. "But your Dad held it together. He knew what to do. Apparently you were a colicky baby," Heather accused, craning her neck to look up at him.
Taking advantage of the opportunity, Jake dropped a kiss on her upturned mouth. "Sorry," he said, offering an offhand apology.
"Yeah, right," Heather laughed, shaking her head. "So anyway," she continued, "Your Dad loaded the two of you in the car and took you for a drive. Right past the car wash. And, since you were both still crying when he went by the gas station, he got a brilliant idea. You liked the car wash so much, he decided to give it a try." She started to giggle, and shook her head at him again. "He took you through that car wash seven times. He told me that you'd be perfectly quiet - not a peep - while going through the car wash, and it was dark, so he was holdin' his breath, just hoping you'd fallen asleep, and as soon as it shut off, and he drove out, your lower lips would come out, one of you would say, 'Mama', and then total waterworks," she chuckled, resting her head against his arm. "All he could do was drive through again."
Jake groaned and tightened his arm around Heather. "And the moral of this story is?" he muttered.
Heather laughed softly, the sound dissipating into the night around them. She didn't say anything for a long moment, instead slipping out from underneath his arm. Catching his hand in hers, she turned, stopping him in his tracks. "I think your Dad might say that the moral is that kids are ungrateful," she chuckled, standing close enough to Jake that it was the most natural thing for him to lay his free hand over hers, resting on her pregnant belly as it so often was these days. "He bought seven car washes," Heather chided gently. "Spent all the cash he had on him, and then was run off by the gas station attendant because operating the car wash so late violated the noise ordinance. And then you both fell asleep on the way home. Zonked. Out for the night," she chuckled. "But I think," Heather continued, turning her hand palm up under his and then squeezing it, "That it just goes to prove that there isn't much your Dad won't do for the people he loves. Even if he's still doesn't want your Mom finding out about it, thirty years later."
"There - there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you," Jake quietly stammered out as Heather began to pull away, twisting around so that she again stood next to him. "And our kid," he added, gripping her hand. "I hope you know that. Though, I'm kinda glad seven trips through the car wash is off the table, at least for the time being." He chuckled self-consciously.
"Thank you," Heather murmured, squeezing his hand in return.
It was definitely past dusk now and there was a nip in the air, a cold breeze that promised an overnight frost, if not this night then soon. They stood there, stopped in the middle of the sidewalk just watching one another until the rowdy sounds of an approaching pack of teenage boys reached them. They started to move along Seventh Street again, passing six boys in their late teens, including, Jake recognized, Brett and Zack Davis, who at seventeen and fifteen, were already volunteering with the border patrol where Mrs. Crenshaw would allow them. The boys all carried fishing poles and were in high spirits, joking and horsing around with one another. "Outta her way," and "Geez, watch it," they told each other, spotting Heather. "What! Were you raised in a barn?"
"Hey, guys," Jake greeted and he and Heather moved by the group. "Catch anything?" he asked, looking at Brett.
"Coupl'a," the teenager admitted, holding up his string for inspection, as did another boy. "Zack and I each got one, and so did Lance and Austin."
None of the fish were huge, but they were good size, and any protein was a welcome supplement these days. "Not bad," Jake complimented. "Hope you like fish."
Brett nodded. "Yeah," he laughed self-consciously, looking back at Jake before hurrying to catch up with the others.
"I'm glad," Heather started, only to have whatever she meant to say be swallowed up in a yawn. "Excuse me," she requested, covering her mouth with her hand. "I'm glad they can still - still be like that," she admitted, leaning against Jake. "That they can still be kids," Heather sighed. From behind them a cacophony of hoots and catcalls erupted from the knot of boys. "Well, teenagers," Heather chuckled before yawning again.
"Tired?" Jake guessed, wrapping his arm around her.
"A little," she admitted, slipping her arm under the bottom edge of his jacket and around his waist.
"So, skip the council meeting tonight," he suggested as they reached the corner of Chestnut.
Shaking her head, Heather pulled away from Jake as they turned down the street he'd grown up on. "I have to go," she protested. "I have to report on my team's progress -"
Jake caught her hand in his. "Harry Carmichael can give your report," he suggested.
"It's my team, my report," Heather countered. Jake could hear the frown in her tone. "I'd like to have heat this winter," she grumbled, "And if you want something done right, you do it yourself, right? Well, this is what I'm doing. Trying to turn the lights on - trying to heat this town."
"Okay," he muttered. They continued their trek down Chestnut in silence, passing three darkened houses. Jake knew the houses were occupied, by older folks he'd known all his life, people he'd mown lawns for when he was a teenager. But now, without the heat and light Heather wanted to restore, the houses were sealed up tight to conserve what little warmth was to be had, giving them a forlorn, deserted appearance. Finally, in front of the Thoms', Jake tugged her to a stop. "I'm - I'm not trying to tell you what to do," he told her, pulling her around so they were facing one another. "And, I don't want to fight with you. I - You're workin' pretty hard. Just don't over do."
Heather inched closer, and even in the dark, Jake could see the beginnings of a sheepish smile forming on her lips. "So you're being overprotective," she sighed.
"Not over," he argued. "Just protective. Going to the council meeting's politics, not work. If there's one thing to give up, that's it."
"I need to give my own report," Heather insisted stubbornly. "I don't tell you to have Mrs. Crenshaw give your report," she reminded, earning an exasperated snort from Jake. "And, I don't want to fight with you, either," she admitted softly, holding up one hand to forestall his response. "But this is what I need to be doing right now, 'cause I have to do something."
Jake studied her, their gazes locked, for a long moment, not saying anything. He didn't want to fight with her, but he still had to squelch the urge to debate the point with her. Some days it felt like they were still trying to get their rhythm back after the debacle of the Ravenwood incident, and some days it felt like everything was fine, but he still didn't want rock the boat. "Okay," he agreed finally, nodding. "Better get in then," Jake suggested, cocking his head at the Green house, which was as dark and lonely looking as all the other houses on the street, in the whole town.
"Yeah," Heather murmured, smiling at him shyly. "Thanks," she added, squeezing his hand.
Impulsively, Jake pulled her into a hug. "Just - Just be careful," he requested. "Don't over do," he said, kissing her on the forehead and then the lips.
Pulling back, Heather rested her hands on his chest and looked up at Jake. "Deal."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Monday, November 19, five years before the bombs
"Hi, Miss Lisinski," Dale Turner greeted Heather, startling her.
She glanced sideways at the eleven year old, standing at her elbow, and then after the last bus, just now turning out of the school's driveway. "Dale!" Heather yelped, panicking. "You - you missed your bus!"
"Nah," Dale replied calmly, shaking his head. "I'm goin' over to Reverend Young's to rake leaves and stuff," he explained. "I help him with yard stuff and he gives me five bucks an hour," he confided, allowing a small grin. "I'll get ten dollars at least."
Heather heaved a sigh of relief. The manse, she'd recently learned, was two blocks past the high school on Fifth Street, an easy walk from the elementary school. "And, Reverend Young will give you a ride home?" she prompted, frowning as she took in the too large jean jacket Dale wore layered over a hooded sweatshirt; it was still a month until winter officially began, but there was a definite chill in the air that called for warmer clothing, especially if he'd be working outside for the rest of the afternoon. Heather had to fight the urge to do up another button on her coat in response to the shiver that ran up her spine from looking at Dale.
"I'm gonna go to Mrs. Green's after that. My Mom had to go to Kansas City," he told her, scuffing the toe of his worn sneaker against the sidewalk. "So I'm gonna spend the night at Mrs. Green's. I'm too old for a babysitter," Dale insisted, looking up at Heather. "And, I stay by myself all the time when Mom has to work late, but...." he shrugged.
"Well, I'm glad you're going to spend the night at Mrs. Green's," Heather told him, frowning gently. She patted Dale on the shoulder, somewhat awkwardly, but it was always hard to decide how much affection to show a student, especially since she really just wanted to hug him. "When you're a little bit older, it'll be fine if you stay by yourself overnight," she continued, thinking, 'And legal'. "Besides, Mrs. Green is a really good cook," Heather smiled. "I love having dinner at her house. I had dinner there last night."
Dale grinned, nodding his head. "I talked to her this morning after Mom called her. She said we'd have spaghetti. Mrs. Green makes good spaghetti - better than Mom's," he admitted, whispering loudly. "Mrs. Green puts real stuff in, ya know? Not just from the jar. Even zucchini is good in her spaghetti."
"You're right, that does sound good," Heather agreed, smiling at him. "So, you're Mom's gonna be back from Kansas City in time for Thanksgiving? That's pretty far away," she added, one eyebrow rising.
"She promised she'd be back on Wednesday," he explained. "She has to work on Thanksgiving, but I'm gonna go with her. Millie - she works with my Mom - She's gonna make a dinner just for her and me and Mom. Maybe Dave, too. He runs the place, and doesn't have any other family either, but we're kinda family. Then Mom says we're gonna go to the movies in Fielding. She said I can have popcorn and candy both," Dale grinned, "Since it's a special occasion."
Heather forced a smile, wondering what business suddenly took Annie Turner to Kansas City, and what Gail Green thought of all this. Something sure seemed off to Heather. "Well, that'll be fun," she told Dale. "Do you know what movie you're gonna see?"
"Didn't pick yet," Dale admitted, shrugging. "But I'm s'posed to tell you for Mrs. Crenshaw that you've got a delivery in the office," he continued without pausing for a breath. "She said it's important, and to tell you to go to the office right away."
"Oh!" Heather acknowledged, her surprise at Dale's message distracting her from their previous topic of conversation. "Okay. Did she say what it is?" she asked, her forehead wrinkling. "I'm not expecting anything," she muttered to herself, glancing back over her shoulder at the school.
Dale shook his head. "Nope. Sorry."
"Did you see flowers?" she asked, almost as soon as the thought occurred to her, her stomach fluttering with hopeful anticipation. Heather could see Jake sending her flowers, especially after the hard time she'd given him the day before over the fact that - for the third week in a row - he had been leaving for Denver. Some of her initial enthusiasm dissipated though as a bitter taste flooded her mouth. If Jake had sent her flowers, she hoped it wasn't out of guilt, or because he'd promised to make it up to her. Heather crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself as she stared past Dale, frowning, remembering how disappointed she'd been, and how she hadn't even tried to disguise it.
"I thought you were on administrative leave," she'd grumbled at Jake the previous afternoon, looking up from the Sunday crossword she'd been half-heartedly working. They had been in his bedroom - only the third time Heather had ventured upstairs at the ranch house - and she'd been sitting, Indian-style in the middle of Jake's bed, watching and waiting with him while he packed for his trip. "How's it leave if you have to go to Denver every week?" Heather had asked, plucking an imaginary piece of lint off the end of his duffle bag.
"This is the last time this year," he'd reminded, dropping a handful of socks into the duffle. "Then I don't have to go back at least until January," Jake had added, turning to retrieve his shaving kit off the dresser.
Heather had nodded, already aware that the federal prosecutor was trying to tie everything up for the year so she could take the month of December off. Heather appreciated that Jake wouldn't have to go anywhere for a good long while, but right then and there, she'd been feeling a little bit obstinate, and a little bit lonely. "I miss you," she'd complained softly.
"I miss you, too," Jake had told her, zipping up the duffle bag before moving it nearer the open door. Returning to the bed, he'd sat down next to Heather, taking the newspaper section from her and setting it aside. "C'mere," he'd demanded quietly, flashing her a smile that had caused her heart to skip a beat.
Heather, her scowl replaced with a playful grin, had scooted toward Jake, leaning into him, brushing her mouth over his. He'd snaked his arm around her waist, tugging her closer. She had half fallen against him, giggling as she'd worked to unfold her legs. Before long, Heather had ended up in Jake's lap, her arms twined around his neck, as she enjoyed the sensation of being thoroughly kissed. "I still don't see why you have to go," she'd grumbled a few minutes later, sliding off of his lap and then laying back on the bed, propped on her elbows. "You'll have a much better time if you stay here with me."
"Undoubtedly," Jake had agreed, grinning at her as he'd found both her hands with his own. Knitting their fingers together, he'd helped her lay down completely, and had then joined her, their legs tangling together, his weight atop her a most welcome burden. "Though, I'm just betting," Jake had murmured, pressing a teasing kiss to the corner of Heather's mouth before tracing her jaw with his lips. "I'm betting," he'd repeated in his distraction, "That somewhere on that list of requirements you have, I'd find 'gainfully employed'." He'd raised his head then and, cupping her face with one hand, had looked her in the eye. "Right now," he'd reminded Heather, his tone suddenly serious, "Goin' to Denver is my job. But," Jake had continued, his rakish grin returning, "Come Wednesday night, I am all yours to do with what you will."
"I guess if that's the best you can do," Heather had sighed melodramatically. "Then I'll just have to take what I can get. When I can get it," she'd declared, smiling at him crookedly before lifting herself up to press her lips to his.
"Guess so," Jake had agreed, pushing her back down on the bed. He'd covered her mouth with his own, moaning softly and deepening their kiss when she'd opened her lips to him immediately. Jake had just slipped his hand beneath Heather's shirt, his fingers splayed over her stomach when they'd heard stomping on the stairs, followed by Grandpa Green clearing his throat loudly. Withdrawing his hand, Jake had lifted himself up, shaking his head and groaning. "Here comes the 'vice and virtue squad'," he'd joked, obviously frustrated. His grandfather hadn't said anything when Jake had taken Heather upstairs with him after lunch, but instead he'd made a point of checking on them at roughly fifteen minute intervals.
Chuckling softly, both embarrassed and disappointed, Heather had closed her eyes. Sucking a long breath in through his teeth, Jake had sat up, offering her his hand in assistance. Pulling herself up, Heather had surprised Jake by wrapping her arms around his neck and nipping at his lower lip. "I really do love your grandfather," she'd murmured, gently worrying his tender flesh with her teeth, "But my virtue really, really wishes he'd butt out."
"Heather," Jake had said, emitting a low growl.
"Well, you've gotta go to Denver, right?" she'd returned pouting, though there had been a teasing gleam in her eye. "So - for now - never mind."
Jake had captured her chin with his hand then, forcing her to meet his eye. "Babe, if you're still thinking that way when I get back," he'd informed her, leaning close to kiss her softly, "Then, we'll talk."
"Okay," she'd nodded, smiling against his mouth.
Arriving at Jake's open bedroom door approximately fifteen seconds later, Grandpa Green had found Heather once again sitting, cross-legged, in the middle of the bed, and Jake standing at the open closet door, holding up a dress shirt and two ties, asking which she liked better. "Everything okay in here?" he'd inquired, his brow puckering as he had glanced between the two of them.
Heather shook her head to clear it, smiling distractedly at Dale. She could feel the heat that had risen in her cheeks as she'd recalled the events of the prior afternoon, and had no doubt that she was blushing. "So you didn't see flowers?" she guessed.
"Just the UPS man with lots of boxes," Dale answered, his expression puzzled. "Are you okay, Miss Lisinski?" he asked a second later, wiping his nose on his sleeve.
"I'm fine," she said automatically. Over the top of Dale's head, Heather watched the UPS man exit the school building, pushing a dolly ahead of him as he moved toward his truck. "Probably supplies for the book fair next week," she muttered, mostly to herself.
"Yeah," Dale agreed, picking his backpack up from the ground at his feet and shrugging it on. "I gotta go, Miss Lisinski," he reminded her. "But, remember to go to the office, okay? Mrs. Crenshaw said so."
"Okay," Heather promised with a nod. "You better get to Reverend Young's. And enjoy your spaghetti tonight," she grinned, patting Dale's shoulder before he turned, hurrying off toward the pastor's home. Allowing a deep sigh, Heather started toward the school. Inside the office, she found the just delivered boxes stacked against the wall. Glancing down she confirmed that they had been sent from the book fair vendor and were addressed to Karen Harper in her capacity as PTA president. Squelching the urge to make a face, Heather instead pasted on a smile and moved to the counter, looking around for flowers, but spying none. She decided to be grateful that Jake hadn't sent any, and also that she would be patient about this last separation until she went back to Buffalo for Christmas. Seated at her desk and seemingly engrossed in the email she was composing, Mrs. Crenshaw continued to type, not even bothering to look up. Amused, Heather called out, "Hi, Mrs. C."
Startled, the school secretary practically jumped up out of her chair, declaring loudly, "Miss Lisinski, there you are!"
"Yes," Heather agreed genially. "Dale Turner gave me your message as instructed. And, I'm here, as instructed. He said I had a delivery, but all I saw was the boxes for the book fair," she added, pointing her thumb back over her shoulder at the pile of cardboard cartons.
"Oh, that book fair," Mrs. Crenshaw dismissed with a wave. "Mrs. Harper won't let me have Lou move the boxes to the auditorium unless she's here to watch, and then when she shows up, he's supposed to drop everything and hop to," she complained, whispering. "But!" she continued, clapping her hands together, "You do have a delivery. I put it - your delivery," she practically shouted, "In Mrs. McVeigh's office for safekeeping."
"But, I'm really not expecting anything," Heather argued, frowning. She bit her lip, grimacing softly. "Is it flowers?"
"Flowers?" Mrs. Crenshaw questioned, once again enunciating loudly enough to be heard in the Kindergarten classroom across the hall. "I can't really say," she decided, glancing back over her shoulder at the principal's office. Mrs. Crenshaw looked again at Heather, forcing a smile for a few seconds before she threw her hands up in the air, grumbling, "Well, really, I think I'll just go get it." With that, she turned on her heel just in time to watch Mrs. McVeigh exit her office, followed by Jake Green, who was, in fact, carrying a small autumnal bouquet.
"You're not supposed to be here," Heather blurted out, her expression turning embarrassed as she realized what she'd said. Pressing a fist to her mouth, she stared across the counter at Jake. Acutely aware of the presence of Mrs. Crenshaw and Mrs. McVeigh, Heather chuckled nervously and corrected herself. "I mean, hey. This is a surprise. A good one," she assured, dropping her hand from her face and offering him a tentative smile. "That was a quick trip."
"Very," Jake agreed, coming through the door which separated the inner and outer offices. "Ms. Dawkins' family emergency became more of an emergency overnight," he shrugged, stopping a foot or so away from her. He could tell that his early return had unnerved her, and he was sure that had everything to do with the talk they might soon be having. Jake glanced back over his shoulder, confirming that Mrs. Crenshaw and Mrs. McVeigh were both watching them with undisguised interest. Turning back to face Heather, he held the flowers out to her. "But, I guess I could just deliver these," he decided, "Then head back to Denver, and come home on Wednesday like originally planned," he teased.
Laughing softly, Heather shook her head at him and stepping forward, accepted the bouquet. "Or, you can just hang out with me," she told him, speaking quietly enough that there was a small chance their audience couldn't hear her. "I keep telling you, that'd be a lot more fun," Heather murmured, pressing a quick kiss to his mouth, drawing audible sighs of contentment from the two older women, both of whom - unbeknownst to each other or the younger couple - took the opportunity to recall the great romances of their youths. Blushing, Heather took a step away, but not before catching Jake's hand in her free one and squeezing it.
"So, I should stay?" he grinned, earning himself an eye roll and, finally, a chuckle. Tucking her hand under his arm, Jake turned to face Mrs. McVeigh and Mrs. Crenshaw. "All right if I steal Heather away for the rest of the afternoon, ladies?"
"Well, it is Thanksgiving week, and the kids are all gone," Mrs. McVeigh smiled. "So, I think that's acceptable."
"Go!" Mrs. Crenshaw said, shooing them away with one hand. "Have fun."
"Jake, it was nice to chat with you about something other than why the history teacher's an idiot, or why setting off every type of bottle rocket known to man isn't really a science project," Mrs. McVeigh laughed.
"Hey, I took notes," he argued. "And my data was rock solid."
"Yes, I believe you mentioned that," she returned dryly. "But please, feel free to drop by any time. Next time, I'll have to pick your brain about a couple of boys I've got on my hands."
"Okay," Jake laughed, his expression bemused. He glanced at Heather. "Ready to go?"
"Sure," she nodded, allowing him to lead her out into the hall. "I just need to get my purse, I promise," Heather told him, starting toward her classroom. "I won't even look at what's sitting on the top of my desk," she assured. They started down the hallway, their fingers still entwined. "So what did you and Mrs. McVeigh talk about in lieu of the great bottle rocket experiment?" Heather grinned, looking sideways at Jake.
"Sure. Mock scientific progress," Jake joked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders as they continued down the corridor. He shrugged, answering, "And, we pretty much talked about you. Kinda glad you came in, because that was starting to feel like practice for meeting your Dad," he explained, allowing a relieved chuckle. "She was very in loco parentis."
"In loco parentis?" Heather questioned, throwing him a surprised look. "Way to bring the Latin," she giggled.
"Hey, I went to college," Jake protested, affecting an affronted expression. "A few things stuck."
"I don't think it's usually the Latin that sticks," she said, still chuckling. They arrived at her classroom, and Jake dropped his arm from around her shoulders while Heather fished her keys out of her coat pocket, unlocking the door. "I took three years in high school - Catholic school, so of course we had to take Latin," she reminded, pulling on the handle. "And, all that's ever gotten me is a few crossword answers and a little more amusement when I read the spell names in Harry Potter."
They entered the classroom, allowing the door to slip closed behind them. Heather carefully placed her bouquet on the nearest student desk, and then stripped off her coat, laying it over the back of the desk's chair. Smiling, she turned around to face him. "I see you took my tie advice," she murmured. He was still dressed for his meeting that hadn't happened in his black suit, a pinstriped dress shirt, and the burgundy tie Heather had selected the previous afternoon. "You look nice."
"Thank you," Jake returned, staring at her. "You look pretty great yourself," he sighed, drinking the sight of her in. She was wearing a short green corduroy jumper over a turtleneck. It was an outfit that would have done nothing for most people, but on Heather, with her hair down and the sparkle that always seemed to light her eyes, Jake couldn't help but understand why she got love letters from eight year olds. What he couldn't understand was why she didn't get love letters from eighth graders. Reaching back, he found the doorknob and pushed the button, locking it again. "So, Latin," he grinned, stepping forward so that the toes of their shoes touched and their arms brushed together. "Which I didn't take, by the way, so I'm probably getting this wrong, but pro bono habeas corpus quid pro quo?"
Heather contemplated this for a moment, laughing softly, and then somewhat nervously, as her eyes widened and she gaped at him, her mouth forming an almost perfect 'O'. "I - You're - That's a proposition," she accused, planting her hands on her hips. "At least, I'm pretty sure," she chuckled. "'Cause I'm translating that as 'For the good, show me the body, tit for tat'?" Heather asked, giggling. Sounds like a proposition to me," Heather accused, leaning against Jake.
"Maybe," he agreed, grinning at her. Jake snaked one arm around her waist, resting his hand against the small of Heather's back, holding her in place so they were touching from chest to thigh. She had to fight the overwhelming urge to press herself into him while he continued to study her expression, one eyebrow cocked questioningly, tracing small circles with his thumb in the hollow at the base of her spine. "Are you proposition-able?" Jake whispered, placing a feather light kiss on her cheek.
He felt Heather shudder against him, and then she twisted her head so she could bring her mouth into contact with his. She threw her arms around him and Jake tightened his hold on her, fighting to keep them both from falling over. They kissed passionately, furiously, their senses overloaded with one another. When they finally broke off they were both panting. Heather slumped against Jake momentarily before pulling herself together, and then pulling away.
"I do believe I am," she told him, though it took Jake a long moment to remember what in the world she was talking about. Gripping his hand tightly, she led him across the room, not letting go even when she opened the bottom desk drawer and retrieved her purse. To Jake's amazement, Heather was true to her word and didn't even glance down at her desk.
"Babe, stop," Jake commanded softly, forcing her to a halt before she could charge back across the classroom, dragging him with her. Lifting her hand, he pressed a quick kiss to her palm, and then, clearing his throat said, "This - There are no points for speed in this, okay? We have time," Jake insisted, drawing her back into the circle of his arms. "All kinds of time."
"I know," she insisted, taking a deep breath and leaning her forehead against his shoulder. "And, I'm just - I -"
"Nervous?" he guessed, letting out a rather anxious breath of his own. Jake combed one hand through her hair and pressed his lips to her temple. "Trust me," he muttered, "That's okay."
"I want to be with you, Jake," Heather whispered into his chest, her voice so quiet he almost couldn't hear her.
Every inch of her skin that Jake could see was immediately pink, and he tightened his hold on her, kissing the top of her head again. "I want to be with you, too," he assured Heather, rubbing her back. They stood clinging to each other for a long moment before Jake, clearing his throat, finally put her away from himself. He looked Heather over, taking in her tangled hair, smudged lip gloss, and the blush that still tinged her cheeks. She was gorgeous, he couldn't help but think, and he had to fight his first impulse, which was to drag her back into his arms and kiss her senseless. "Babe, I think -" Jake started, only to cut himself off and try another approach. "Do you have a mirror around here?" he asked. "You look, uh, a little mauled," Jake admitted. "Gorgeous," he added, grinning at her, "But, I don't know that you want to walk down the hall."
"Oh!" Heather exclaimed, her color brightening. She made a face and giggled self-consciously. "Right. Yes," she declared, stepping around Jake to get back to her desk. She sat down in the chair, and then rooted around in one of the drawers, producing a small hand mirror and a comb. Jake watched, openly admiring Heather as she did the best she could to tame her hair, and then used a tissue to wipe her mouth clean before applying fresh lip gloss. She glanced at Jake, smiling, and then handed the tissue to him. "You probably want to...."
"Right," he agreed, scrubbing it across his face. "Better?" he asked, watching as she returned the mirror and comb to her desk drawer and then stood up. Heather nodded, and their gazes locked again. "We better go," Jake suggested after a few seconds, clearing his throat. He really wanted to kiss her again, but knew that would end up undoing all of her efforts. Instead, he settled for offering her his hand. "Ready?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Tuesday, November 21, two months after the bombs
Jimmy Taylor brought his freezing cold patrol car to a stop at the Jericho end of the Tacoma Bridge and climbed out, offering up a silent prayer request that the vehicle would start again when he returned. It was two days until Thanksgiving, and though they had been blessed with a mild fall so far, there had been frost on the car this morning and, as always these days, it was running on fumes. The last thing he wanted was to have to walk back to town once he was done out here.
Despite nearly ten years in service as a sheriff's deputy, despite the bombs that had disrupted the world two months before, Jimmy was generally known for his positive outlook. However this morning - middle of the night, more like it, he groused silently to himself - there was little evidence of his positive nature or cheerful disposition. When his alarm had gone off an hour before, dragging him from the warmth of his bed and his wife cuddled at his side, Jimmy had actually cursed the damn thing before forcing himself into the shower for an icy and eye-opening thirty seconds.
Now, awake, but still exhausted, Jimmy trudged across the bridge. He hadn't had two sips of his coffee - Mayor Green had announced there wasn't any at town hall, but Jimmy had his own stash of Folgers Crystals which he kept locked safely in his desk - before a call had come in over the radio, indicating that there was a 'situation' at the Tacoma Bridge checkpoint, and a deputy was needed to sort it all out. They had a few working radios, cobbled together from cannibalized parts, none of which were very reliable, and the transmission had cut out before they could get more information. Bill, going off duty and grumpy as all get out, hadn't been willing to stop by on his way home, or even roshambo to see who'd take the call. He'd stomped out of the station, leaving Jimmy with no choice but to grab his hat and gulp down his coffee, burning his tongue but at least warming him momentarily, before heading back out into the cold.
A gust of wind whipped up just as Jimmy crossed the halfway point on the bridge. Shivering, he raised the zipper on his jacket the last few millimeters, stuffing his hands into the pockets as he yawned. He'd been out late the night before, attending the town council meeting - in street clothes to signal that he was there as a private citizen - until the bitter end, which on this night had turned out to be nearly eleven. There had been a little excitement around ten when, with only the stalwarts remaining, Gray Anderson had interrupted Heather Green's report on the Energy Team's progress to accuse the mayor of nepotism. Gray had snidely referred to her a 'second grade teacher' whose only qualification for the position was that she was the mayor's daughter-in-law. Nearly everyone in attendance had corrected him, shouting that she was in fact a 'third grade teacher', which had the effect of harpooning his argument. Mayor Green and, surprisingly, Harry Carmichael had ably defended Heather from there, forcing Gray to back down, and he'd sat in the back of the room, glowering and grumbling for the remainder of the meeting.
Jimmy had been relieving Gail Green of the burden of his daughter, Sally, who had fallen asleep in Gail's arms when she'd taken over the task of amusing the bored and tired child for a few minutes, just as Heather had returned to her spot between her husband and mother-in-law. Lifting Sally, he'd overheard Heather, pressing her hand to Jake's shoulder, comment jokingly, "Thanks for the spirited defense, hon."
"No sweat," Jake had teased in return, reaching up to lay his hand over the top of hers. "I know what grade you teach."
"Taught," Heather had murmured softly as she'd seated herself. She'd yawned then and laid her head on Jake's shoulder. He had wrapped his arm around her, and Jimmy, who'd settled Sally limply over his shoulder, had looked immediately to his wife, offering her a wistful smile. Margaret, sitting in the row behind the Greens, the sleeping Woody's head in her lap, had nodded at him, the corners of her mouth turning up ever so slightly.
Approaching the checkpoint, Jimmy repeated to himself the words with which he sustained himself these days - 'No matter what else, we're together' - before pushing the thoughts of his wife and children from his mind in order to focus on the task at hand. "Hey!" he called out spotting the men huddled around the barrel fire. "What's goin' on?"
"We got three guys, just drove up," Ridley Cooper supplied. Squinting, Jimmy could barely discern the outline of a truck parked about fifty feet away, off of both the bridge and the road, on the edge of the river bank. Another group of men - Clyde Davis, Brian Roth, and Steve Nolan - stood guarding three young men, who were clustered together just inside the permanent barricade that had been erected at the 'rest of the world' end of the bridge. "One of 'em claims he's Heather Green's brother," Cooper scoffed.
Jimmy was glad for the dark, hoping that the firelight wasn't enough to betray the surprise he was sure showed in his face. "Well, maybe he is," he suggested, working to keep his tone neutral.
"Well, you've met 'im, right?" Todd Krider asked. "Her brother? You're friends with the Greens."
"At their wedding four, five years ago," Jimmy agreed, resisting the urge to snort. "She's got four of 'em, I think, and she's from back east. New York," he muttered to himself, shaking his head. Jimmy's mind boggled at the thought of anyone even attempting these days to make it the fifteen hundred miles cross-country from the east coast to Jericho. Still, the eternal optimist in him couldn't help but question 'what if?' He looked around the circle of men, spotting a flashlight on Krider. "Mind if I borrow that?" he asked, reaching for it. Krider handed the flashlight over without a word and Jimmy clicked it on, striding down the bridge toward the second group, the others trailing behind him.
Nodding at Davis and the other two, Jimmy raised his light, letting it play over the faces of the three strangers. They were gaunt; not starved, but Jimmy supposed that it had been awhile since any of them had had a good meal. At first glance, none of them was familiar, and certainly none of them obviously resembled Heather Green. Taking a second look though, peering past the scraggly beards they all sported, something clicked for Jimmy, and he kept the beam of his flashlight trained on the middle one, blinding him. "I clocked you doin' a hundred down Route Ten in Jake's Roadrunner two years ago," he chuckled softly. "You're - you're the younger one, right?"
"Yeah," he nodded, shielding his eyes from the glare of Jimmy's flashlight. "I'm Michael - Michael Lisinski - Heather's baby brother," the younger man sighed, rolling his eyes. "You're Officer Taylor, right? We followed you back to the station, and Jake paid the ticket - cash - on the spot. Heather would've killed us both if she'd found out," he laughed nervously.
"Deputy Taylor. Or, Jimmy," he corrected, nodding. "I remember that," Jimmy added, pointing the flashlight at the ground. "How the hell did you get here? We heard that New York City survived, but..."
"Wasn't in New York," Michael shrugged. "I'd started med school. Yale," he chuckled humorlessly. "That was about a million years ago now. I was in Connecticut when it happened," he explained, shaking his head. "When we left, we tried to get to New York first, to Buffalo, where Heather and I grew up, but no dice. So we came here. I need to see - Is she all right?" Michael demanded then, panic creeping into his voice. "Is Heather all right?"
"Yeah, she's fine," Jimmy assured. "Sat behind her at the town meeting last night. She's fine."
"Jimmy, they're drivin' a truck with Alaska plates," Roth interjected then. "But they're comin' from the east. Alaska's west."
"I learned my geography from Mrs. Owensby, same as you, Brian," Jimmy returned, not quite able to keep the sarcasm from his tone. "I know where Alaska is."
"And, I'm from Alaska," one of Michael's companions, the big one standing to his right, explained. "The EMP killed both their cars," he continued, pointing first at Michael, and then at the third in their trio. "Mine's the only car that still worked."
"Besides, his truck was way better than my Civic," the third stranger muttered, throwing his companions nervous glances.
"You were drivin' a Scout around Connecticut?" Cooper demanded, laughing derisively. "Martha Stewart lives in Connecticut," he grumbled. "Jimmy, you believe this story?"
"Right," Jimmy returned tightly. He looked at Michael. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested, jerking his head toward Jericho.
Michael looked at the other two, and then nodded. "Okay."
They walked about thirty feet up the bridge before Jimmy addressed the younger man. "I'm responsible for the safety of this town, so I have to ask you this. You aren't being forced to bring those two here, or -"
"No, no, I swear," Michael interrupted. "Drake's my roommate, and Jeff lived across the hall. When we realized we needed to get the hell outta Dodge," he shrugged, "Well, Jeff had a working car. They're my friends," he sighed, looking back over his shoulder at them. "Like my brothers. I trust 'em with my life," Michael insisted, releasing a deep breath. "'Cause gettin' here, they've saved it."
"Okay," Jimmy nodded. He'd watched Michael carefully as he'd offered his explanation, and knew instinctively that Heather's brother was being truthful. He caught himself feeling sorry for the younger man, wondering about what must have happened to these three between Connecticut and Kansas. "Well, I guess -"
"If these weren't my friends, if I didn't trust 'em, we wouldn't be here," Michael interrupted, his expression hardening. "I wouldn't bring them anywhere near Heather if that would put her in danger. I can promise you that." He paused a moment, his forehead wrinkling, as he considered the situation. "I can prove it, too. We've all got ID."
Jimmy smiled in relief, letting out the breath he'd been holding. "Good, good," he murmured. "That'll clear it all up," he declared, leading Michael back toward the others.
"Drake can get our ID," Michael said, glancing at the shorter of his two friends. "He's the one who put it away," he explained, nodding in the direction of the two-door Scout SUV that looked exactly like the one Jimmy's father had taken hunting for years. "After about Ohio, it was better not to have it."
"What happened in Ohio?" Nolan asked, his expression turning friendly. Cooper shot him a dirty look.
"Roving National Guard," Michael's taller companion - Jeff, Jimmy deduced - muttered. "If they could prove you weren't a resident, then they threw you in the local FEMA camp," he shrugged as they watched Drake, accompanied by Davis, walk back to the truck. "No such thing as just passin' through in their book. Not that they weren't happy to throw you in for other reasons," Jeff shrugged, "But still better not to give 'em an easy reason."
"It's real bad out there, huh?" Krider mumbled, looking down at his feet.
"It's not good," Michael answered.
Davis, carrying a purple medical glove so that the fingers hung down, accompanied Drake back to the group. Chuckling, Davis handed the glove to Jimmy. "This one's from California," he said, pointing at Drake. "And, that one's from Alaska, just like he said," Davis continued, with a glance in Jeff's direction. "And, his name is Lisinski, from New York," he confirmed, looking at Michael. "Our youngest, Lindsay, was in Heather Green's class the year she was Miss Lisinski. They've all got driver's licenses and med school ID in there," he added, watching as Jimmy dumped the contents of the glove out on his hand. "Tied up, and tucked up into the coils through a rip in the upholstery under the back seat. Not a bad hiding place at all," he complimented with an absent nod. "Plus, there's a pile of medical text books on the back seat. I guessin' they're legit, and this isn't a Ravenwood Trojan Horse."
"So, can Mike come in?" Jeff asked, crossing his hands over his chest. "He just wants to see his sister, make sure she's all right."
"Yeah," Jimmy decided. He looked around at the group of men. There were always four men on duty at the Tacoma Bridge checkpoint, on six hour shifts, with pairs rotating in and out every three hours. It appeared that Michael Lisinski and his party had had the interesting turn of luck to arrive during a shift change. "Clyde, you goin' off?" Jimmy enquired, glancing at Davis, who confirmed with a nod. "Can you escort these three to the mayor's?"
"I just need to drive through town, so I can get out to the ranch," Michael protested.
"Heather's at the mayor's," Jimmy explained quickly. "The ranch is too far out to be safe, and they moved in with Mayor and Mrs. Green after the EMP. Good thing, too. Had some trouble with horse thieves about a month ago."
Drake shook his head, allowing a slightly maniacal chuckle. "Horse thieves?" he demanded. "You said horse thieves, right?" He caught the censoring look that Michael was shooting in his direction, and bristled slightly. "Hey, all I'm sayin' is, the rest of the world is all 'The Stand', but here it's 'Gunsmoke'. Horse thieves."
"We've had some other trouble, besides the horse thieves," Davis assured him. "But we do our best to take care." He glanced at Michael. "We'll open the gate, and you can bring your truck in. Then, I'll take you over to see your sister."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
I have to confess that Heather (and I) took a little liberty in interpreting Jake's Latin. It's one interpretation, and the one that best suited our purposes.