Different Circumstances: Part 10B of ?
by Marzee Doats
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Tuesday, November 21, two months after the bombs
"Jake!" Heather poked her husband in the side, trying to wake him, but he didn't stir. "Jake!" she tried again, shaking his shoulder. "Wake up. There's someone outside," she whispered urgently.
"Wha?" he groaned, turning over so that he faced Heather, trapping her hand under his arm. Jake cleared his throat, repeating, "What, babe?"
"I woke up. I heard a car stop outside, and someone's banging on the front door," she told him, pulling her hand loose. "Listen," she ordered softly.
"Stay here," Jake instructed, rolling away and pulling himself up out of bed. He padded quickly across the cold floor to the front window, and then pushed the curtain aside in order to check the street outside. An unfamiliar truck was parked at the curb. Jake's heart began to pump harder as the pounding on the door downstairs increased. He turned around, striding across the room to his dresser. Yanking the top drawer open, he retrieved his gun, checked it, and then turned around to face Heather. She was standing next to the bed, her feet shoved into her sneakers, working her arms into the sleeves of a cardigan sweater. Making a frustrated noise, he told her again, "Stay here."
"'Cause being prepared by wearing shoes is a bad thing?" she demanded, staring pointedly at his bare feet before following him to the door.
Jake glanced over his shoulder at her, shaking his head, but didn't say anything as they stepped out into the hallway. April was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, her robe pulled around her, and his parents were also awake and up, his father already heading for the stairs. "Dad," he called after the older man. "Wait, I'll go." Johnston stopped and turned around to look at Jake, who moved past him. "Just keep 'em up here," he muttered so only his father could hear.
Reaching the front door, Jake looked back to see that Johnston had managed to keep the women on the staircase, above the landing, if not actually on the second floor. Whoever was outside had stopped pounding on the door, settling now for knocking two short raps every few seconds. Jake tried to peer through the window, but it was too dark to make out much beyond the fact that there was more than one person standing on the porch. Shaking his head, he clicked off his pistol's safety and, resting his hand on the doorknob, called out loudly, "Who's there?"
"Clyde Davis," was the reply, muffled by both the steady, biting wind and the solid wood of the door between them. "I've gotta special delivery for Heather."
"What's going on, Jake?" Gail demanded anxiously from the stairs.
"I don't know, Mom," he yelled back, exasperation evident in his voice. "It's Clyde Davis. Hold on a sec." Taking a deep breath, Jake slowly and quietly undid the deadbolt and lock. "Okay," he shouted, closing his eyes for a second and hoping to high heaven this wasn't some sort of trap. "Step back," he commanded. "I'm opening the door."
As soon as Jake had the door open, Davis snapped on the flashlight he had with him, pointing it at one of the three - Jake had counted - men who accompanied him. "Mornin' Jake," he greeted cheerfully. "I believe this one belongs to you?"
"Jake!" his brother-in-law yelped just as Jake recognized that the man standing in front of him was most definitely Michael Lisinski. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded, his expression one of pure shock.
"Me?" Jake practically crowed, stepping out onto the porch and pulling Michael into a bear hug that would have done Stanley Richmond proud. "What the hell are you doing here?" Relief flooded through Jake, and he actually laughed out loud as he hauled his brother-in-law through the front door and into the house, shouting for his wife. "Heather! Heather, get down here!" he yelled, "There's a special delivery for you."
"What are you talking about?" Heather muttered, slipping by Johnston who, along with Gail and April, trailed her down the stairs. Grinning widely, Jake stood in the middle of the entry with Michael, waiting for what he knew would be quite the scene. Behind him, he heard Davis shoo the other two men into the house and then close the door against the early morning cold. Heather, her foot hitting the bottom step, squeaked incoherently as she realized who it was standing with Jake. "Oh my God," she swore, covering her face with both hands. Her eyes were wide and she appeared to be rooted in place, incapable of doing anything more than stare at her brother.
"Hey, sis," Michael murmured, stepping toward her. He shook his head, grinning softly. "Wow, I guess you two really did have a good time in Hawaii," he teased, his gaze focused on the evidence of her pregnancy.
Shaking her head, Heather moved toward her brother, socking him in the arm as soon as she was within range. "Mikey!" she grumbled, fighting a giggle. However, in the next instance she burst into tears and threw herself into his arms.
"Hey, hey," Michael soothed, holding her to his chest and rubbing her back. "Lisinskis don't cry," he mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Don't you remember that? You want Tommy or John callin' you 'sissy' the rest of your life?" Michael demanded, drawing a rather shaky breath.
"I - I thought - thought you were - you were dead," she sobbed out. "That you were - you were all - all dead."
"Well, I'm here," Michael assured his sister, speaking, somehow, around the giant lump in his throat. He continued to pat her back, refusing to give voice to his darkest thoughts; he was alive and she was alive, but they might very well be the last two living members of the Lisinski family. Michael hugged Heather closer, brushing against the swell of the child she carried. Chuckling, he stepped back, shaking his head. "And, hey! Look at you," he grinned. "A baby. Of all the things I thought I'd find when I got to Kansas, you pregnant and Jake home," Michael told her, looking over his shoulder at his brother-in-law, "Were really not on the list."
Heather started to laugh along with him, but within seconds her face had crumpled and she was crying again. April, looking a little weepy herself, stepped behind her sister-in-law, laying her hands on Heather's shoulders. "We'll just blame the hormones, and not any deficiency in those superior Lisinski genes," she suggested, smiling at Michael. "Hi, Mikey," she greeted.
"April," he replied, turning to offer her a hug. "What are you doin' here?" Michael questioned, not bothering to wait for an answer. "Oh, wait! These guys have been looking forward to meeting you," he declared, turning to look at the two nervous young men waiting just inside the front door with Clyde Davis. "Jeff, Drake," he motioned them forward. "This is 'A Green Doc'," he announced, pointing at April.
"'AGreenDoc'?" Heather chuckled, leaning back against Jake, who'd moved behind her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. "Your email address?" she asked, looking at April and then Michael.
"Yep," Michael agreed. "April started sending me a study tip a day, and I started passing them along," he explained. "First to Drake - this is Drake McCrary," he introduced, gesturing to the shorter of his friends. "And, this is Jeff Maguire. My sister, obviously," he continued, motioning to Heather. "Drake you've met Heather," he reminded quickly. "And Jake, my brother-in-law. Mayor and Mrs. Green," Michael said, pointing to each of them in turn. "Mayor, ma'am," he nodded, smiling tiredly. "Sorry for - for the early hour," he muttered, his eyes widening as he belatedly realized that the Greens were all still in their pajamas. "The last week or two, we've only been travelling at night," he shrugged, "Guess I forgot we'd be bustin' in on you."
Gail shook her head. "Oh, Michael," she insisted, "I've never been so glad to be scared out of my wits." She marched over to him and pulled him into a tight embrace. "You're a member of our family, and no one in this family ever need apologize for comin' home," Gail told him, kissing his cheek.
"Exceptin' of course, if one breaks a window sneaking back into the house at three AM 'round about the middle of January," Johnston drawled, throwing a significant look in Jake's direction. "Then an apology would be nice."
Jake offered his father a sheepish grin. "Sorry, Dad."
"We're very happy to have you here, Michael," Johnston continued, smiling gently at the young man. "Drake, Jeff, that goes for you boys as well."
"Thanks," Michael's friends muttered in unison, both of their expressions guarded, though Jeff managed to paste a smile on his face a few seconds later. Glancing at April, he said, "You really had quite the following back at school. Mike would forward your tips to, I don't know, four or five of us, and within a couple of weeks, I think every first and second year - and half the thirds - were gettin' copies somehow."
"What were you sending?" Heather asked, curious. Although she'd known that April and Michael had corresponded on occasion - April had proven to be a great resource for Michael during the medical school application process - Heather had had no idea that April was emailing her brother daily, or that she'd achieved minor celebrity status with his fellow students.
"Mnemonic devices, other ways to memorize things," April shrugged. "I had shoeboxes of study cards from when I was in med school. I found 'em, cleaning out a closet just before Mikey started school, and an idea was born. I was having fun doing it," she admitted with a sigh. Frowning softly at the three young men, she asked what everyone else was thinking. "How in the world did you get here?"
Taking a deep breath, Michael started to answer, but Johnston cut him off. "I'm thinkin' this might be a better topic to discuss over breakfast." He looked the three of them over, taking in how their grimy clothes hung loosely on their frames, the greasiness of their unkempt hair, the utter exhaustion, written across their faces in their ashen skin and the dark circles under their eyes. "And, after breakfast," Johnston suggested, "I'm bettin' a shower - even our cold ones - and some sleep sounds good?"
"Breakfast! Of course," Gail declared brightly. It had been a long time since she'd seen such hesitant yet hopeful expressions as the ones Michael, Jeff and Drake wore, and it was those faces, complete with puppy dog eyes, that stole their way into her heart at that moment. Johnston knew with one glance that his wife had adopted three more children. "Do you all like eggs?" she asked, smiling at them each in turn.
"Eggs?" Drake repeated, his eyes widening at the thought. "It's been awhile since we've had any real food," he admitted. "I don't know -"
"We'd love some," Jeff interjected. "Thank you."
"Eggs and toast then," Gail decided. "I baked a loaf of bread yesterday. Oh!" she declared, clapping her hands together as she started to lead them all into the kitchen, "French toast! A celebratory breakfast."
Jake, hanging back to speak with Clyde Davis and to see him out, smiled as Heather, linking arms with her brother, gleefully proclaimed, "We don't have butter, but I know I saw a half bottle of syrup in the back of the pantry."
"Thanks, Clyde," Jake sighed, offering Davis his hand. "I don't know what I'm gonna get her for Christmas now," he joked weakly, "But that's okay. God," Jake muttered, his forehead wrinkling, "They just showed up?"
"Tacoma Bridge checkpoint," Davis confirmed, "Just before five. Cooper Ridley and I were 'bout to come off shift, and they drove up. Jimmy Taylor came out to check them, and then I drove over with 'em. Nice to be part of somethin' good for once," he shrugged.
"You seem to get stuck out there with Ridley a lot," Jake observed.
"Mrs. Crenshaw knows what she's doin', and I know where my loyalties are," Davis told Jake. "Your grandpa helped talk my father into my going to college after my stint in 'Nam. Course it helped that your parents were both at school in Lawrence by then," he chuckled. "Pops never was above tryin' to keep up with the Greens. But going to school got me the paper, and I was grateful to EJ Green for that."
Jake nodded. Before the bombs, Davis's paying job had been as the regional sales and customer service rep for one of the large farm equipment manufacturers, but his real love, occupationally speaking, had been the Jericho Record, the town's weekly newspaper. Davis had been the editor-in-chief, which like all the other positions, was unpaid. Most of the paper's reporters had been students from the high school, though both Gail and - more recently - Heather had made their contributions over the years. Jake remembered the interview he'd given Davis about his part in the investigation into West Kansas Shipping and Freight and the arrest of Jonah Prowse before the federal judge had issued his gag order. Davis had treated Jake fairly in both the article and editorial he'd written, ultimately helping restore some of his reputation in Jericho, a favor he'd always been thankful for.
"Gray Anderson's workin' real hard to get himself elected mayor, and there's a fair number of people behind him. But I think your father's doing a decent job, certainly the best anyone could expect," Davis continued. "Ridley works for Anderson," he reminded. "Mrs. Crenshaw knows what she's doin' when she makes up the schedule."
Letting out a deep breath, Jake acknowledged Davis's declaration with one sharp nod. "I see," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "Well, according to Mrs. Crenshaw's schedule, I'm supposed to be meeting a hunting party out at the Ash Creek overcrossing at six-thirty."
"Okay," Davis agreed immediately. "I'll go."
"You've been up all night, and I'm supposed to be hunting with Dave Christopher and Kevin Rowe," Jake argued, looking back over his shoulder toward the kitchen. "I really can't ask you -"
"I've got teenagers I can roust outta bed," Davis grinned. "It's good for 'em to hafta work for their supper on occasion. And, they can teach Dave and Kevin a thing or two. You should be here," he added. "Eat some French toast for me."
"Thanks," Jake acknowledged, walking the older man to the door. "I'd like to know what happened with them," he admitted. "But afterwards, go home and get some sleep. I don't need Mrs. Crenshaw comin' after me for killing you with too much work."
Davis chuckled at that, assuring Jake that he'd go home as soon as the hunting trip was over. Closing the door behind him, Jake shivered as the overnight chill easily penetrated the sweatpants and thermal shirt - a concession to the almost complete lack of heat in the house - he'd worn to bed. Passing through the dining room, Jake stowed his gun in the top drawer of the buffet, leaving it pillowed on a pile of cloth napkins and making a mental note to retrieve it before his mother found it and yelled at him. He entered the kitchen a few seconds later to find Heather seated at the table next to her brother with his friends occupying the chairs across from them. His mother and April were working at the counter next to the sink, Gail humming happily as she sprinkled cinnamon and nutmeg into a shallow bowl. Jake stopped behind Heather, laying his hands on both her shoulders and prompting her to look up at him, a wide grin lighting her face.
The backdoor opened and Johnston entered the kitchen, stomping his feet against the cold. "Here you go," he said, presenting Gail with four eggs. "All I could find."
"Thank you, honey," she smiled, accepting the eggs and placing them carefully on the sideboard. She then took the opportunity to check April's progress with the instant mashed potatoes she was mixing. "A little more, I think?" Gail suggested, gesturing at the box. "Just be sure to leave enough for Thanksgiving."
"Speaking of Thanksgiving, do you know who laid them?" Heather asked Johnston, her expression hopeful, as Jake squeezed her arm one last time before moving to the chair at the end of the table.
Shaking his head, Johnston laughed softly. "Sorry, darlin', but I'm not on a first name basis with your chickens, and I don't expect I ever will be. They're chickens," he grumbled. "You're not s'posed to be able to tell 'em apart."
Heather slumped in her seat, frowning. "But if we knew who the best producers were, that'd at least make it easier to pick who to eat for Thanksgiving," she argued. "Especially now," she added, grinning at her brother, "With three more for dinner, we should probably just have two chickens."
"Does that mean - does that mean we can stay?" Michael asked, stammering. He looked around the room, first at Heather and Jake, then at Gail and April, who frowned at him over their shoulders, and finally at Johnston. "Me, and Drake and Jeff, too?"
"Well, of course you're staying," Heather answered immediately, her tone almost irritated. "You're my brother, so of course you're staying."
"We're not your brothers," Drake reminded tiredly. "There's no reason for you to let us stay."
Jeff picked up the argument. "We've seen places like this before," he told them. "Not many. You don't have FEMA, or the Red Cross, Homeland Security contractors, or the military here, which means you're lucky. You do have food and gas and roadblocks up, which means you're really lucky," he declared, allowing a harsh chuckle. "Things looked fairly middle America drivin' through town, what we could see," he added, turning to face Johnston. "You're the mayor, right? You're not taking in every refugee that happens by, right? The men at your roadblock questioned us, so you don't just let anyone in."
"At first we tried to help everyone," Johnston admitted, swallowing hard. "But most were from Denver, and most died. Others who've come have family here. Friends." He crossed to table, taking the last free chair, opposite Jake. "Reverend Young's taken in a few people," he shrugged. "Generally, if you've got a sponsor -somewhere to live - you can stay."
"You've got a sponsor," Jake added quietly, glancing around the room at his family. "Five of 'em, really."
"Besides, you're medical students," April interjected, turning around. She continued to shape a handful of the cold, instant potatoes into a ball while she spoke. "I'll put you to work at the med center," she suggested. "We could use the help, and there isn't anyone in town, even Gray Anderson," April insisted, rolling her eyes at Johnston, "Who can argue about that," she finished, twisting back around to plop her potato ball on a plate and then smash it down into a cake.
"You've got a working hospital?" Drake asked his voice full of awe.
"It's more a clinic and less a hospital," April sighed, rotating to face them all again. "And, 'working' is a rather optimistic description. Basically, we muddle through each day, and are amazed when we get to the end of it and realize most - sometimes all - of our patients are still alive," she said, flattening another potato ball between her hands to form a pancake.
"Drake and I hadn't even had two month of school before everything happened," Michael protested. "We can help out, but we're nowhere near doctors yet."
"Mikey, you're already an EMT, and you've got to continue your training somewhere," Heather argued. "So, why not at the Medical College of Jericho, Kansas?" she grinned, looking around the table at the three young men. Under the table, she found her brother's hand and squeezed it. "May I present Dr. April Green, President, Dean and Professor," she joked, pointing at her sister-in-law with her other hand. "And of course, Mayor Johnston Green, Chair of the Board of Trustees."
Laughing softly, Johnston shook his head. "Board of trustees for a medical school? Now that might just be a step up from presidin' over town council meetings and settlin' Bill's and Jimmy's arguments." He looked at Heather and winked. "And, it sure beats judgin' the 'Mayor for a Day' essay contest and then showin' the winners around town," he muttered. "Remember last year?" he demanded. "That one kid - Corey Somethin' - threw up all over me during the tour of the east landfill."
"Corey Brooks," Heather groaned, wincing. "First through third grade winner. I am so sorry about that, Dad."
"Well, the contest is definitely cancelled for this year," he informed her, slapping the table with one hand. "I'm chartering a medical school instead." Johnston glanced over at Gail and April then, checking their progress with breakfast. Gail was slicing bread while April, her potato cakes waiting to be fried, whisked the egg batter a little more. "Who wants coffee?" he asked, looking around the table.
The three young men exchanged disbelieving looks. "Coffee?" Jeff asked. "With caffeine and everything?"
"As a rule, we Greens like our coffee fully leaded," Johnston shrugged, grinning at them. "For some reason, we're even lettin' Heather drink the good stuff. Thank God for Costco," he sighed. "If we're careful, we've got enough to get us through Christmas, at least. So, eight cups?" he asked rhetorically, lifting himself from his chair.
The group fell momentarily silent as Johnston prepared the coffee pot and got it going on the camp stove. April, finished with her prep work, took his seat at the table while Gail got the first piece of French toast going on the camp stove's other burner. Michael, letting out a deep breath, folded his arms together on the table and laid his head down on top of them. Frowning, Jake cleared his throat. "So, guys - Mike - you wanna tell us.... How you got here?"
Michael raised his head, facing his brother-in-law with a bleary-eyed stare. "What about you?" he asked. "Last I heard, you were in the Middle East." He twisted around then, looking at April. "And, you live here too? Deputy Taylor said that the ranch was too far out, but your house is three blocks away." He paused, frowning. "Where's Eric?"
April stiffened, meeting Michael's gaze with a tight-lipped smile. "My house burned down six, seven weeks ago, believe it or not," she answered. "Not completely destroyed, but certainly not livable. As for Eric, he's at his mistress's." She stared at Michael for a long moment, neither of them speaking. "Dammit," she swore, wiping at her eyes. "I always sound bitter when I say that."
"Who wants the first piece?" Gail inquired loudly, stepping toward the table with the frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. "Jeff? Drake?" Jeff motioned at Drake, and she dropped the French toast on his plate, flashing a stiff smile.
"Jake thought he'd surprise all of us, and just show up," Heather explained, reaching for her husband's hand. "Eat, Drake," she ordered when he didn't dig in immediately.
"I was gonna get Mrs. Crenshaw to call you down to the office, and tell you that you'd had flowers delivered," he grinned, lacing their fingers together. "Like the old days."
Heather laughed at that, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. "And I would've fallen for it, too, since you were supposed to be in Iraq."
Groaning, April pulled a napkin off the pile in the middle of the table, crumpled it up, and tossed it in their general direction. "You two!" she complained.
"Thank you," Michael chuckled, throwing her a tired grin.
Sighing, Jake leaned back in his chair, lifting it up onto just the back legs for a moment, and then letting it drop back down. Both Gail and Heather yelled at him, and he muttered, "Sorry," before picking up the explanation of his presence in Jericho. "My flight was delayed from San Diego, and I was about ten, twelve miles from town when I saw the cloud go up over Denver in the rear view mirror. Just my luck that I ended up in a wreck with a car coming from the other direction. Knocked me out. When I came to, I started walking toward town," he continued, "And ran into a couple of kids who'd been in a school bus crash."
"My class had a field trip that day," Heather added, "And our bus had engine trouble, so we were still on the way home when we saw the cloud over Denver. The bus driver had a heart attack, and..." she shrugged.
Michael stared at them, gaping for a moment. "Only you two," he muttered.
"They are quite the pair," Gail agreed, leaning over the table to place a piece of French toast on Jeff's plate. She dropped the spatula into the frying pan, cupping Michael's head with her free hand. "Yours will be ready in just minute," she assured him.
"From his accident, Jake had a two inch laceration to the thigh, plus he hit his head, though he really didn't show any signs of a concussion, because his head is very, very hard," April informed the three medical students. "And from her accident, Heather had a hairline fracture of the tibia."
"You broke your leg?" Michael questioned. "Heather, you're pregnant!"
"It's not like I woke up that morning thinking 'why don't I get in a bus crash and break my leg'," she grumbled. "And, what about a little thing called doctor/patient confidentiality?" Heather demanded, frowning at April.
"You're the one who put me in charge of a medical school," she reminded, chuckling softly. "These are my students, and this is a teaching... kitchen."
"Coffee's ready," Johnston announced then, lifting the pot off the stove and stepping around Gail. "Jake, will you get some cups?" he requested. Jake placed a kiss on Heather's palm - earning groans from both Michael and April - before letting go of her hand and climbing to his feet. Johnston watched as his son moved to a cabinet and began pulling down mugs. "So," he started, letting his gaze drift over the three new additions to his table. "It's pretty rough out there, huh?" he questioned gently, accepting the first mug Jake handed him. "What was it when you and your Dad drove out with Heather, Michael?" Johnston prompted, handing the younger man his cup of coffee. "Three, four days?"
Michael nodded. "I think that's right," he murmured, his expression guarded. He took a sip of the coffee, enjoying how the liquid scalded the inside of his mouth; it was the first hot thing Michael could remember consuming in weeks, in forever. "New Haven's four hundred miles from Buffalo," he reminded, looking sideways then, at his sister. "We tried to go to Buffalo first. Couldn't get there."
"I'm from California," Drake interrupted, accepting the coffee mug that Johnston passed his way. His slice of French toast was long gone, consumed in under a minute. "San Fernando Valley, outside of LA. We heard that Los Angeles was gone pretty early."
"Alaska," Jeff added, finishing his last bite. "Air Force brat. We just seemed to bounce between Elmendorf and Eielson when I was growin' up, and then my parents retired to Fairbanks." He let out a long sigh, meeting Johnston's gaze with a grim smile. "Once we knew we needed to leave," Jeff shrugged, "Well, Mike's family was closest."
Johnston nodded, stepping out of Gail's way as she carried Michael's breakfast to him. With the coffee made, she'd taken over the second burner, and the smell of the mashed potato cakes frying in beef fat filled the air. Gail touched Michael's shoulder. "Here you go, dear," she murmured, pushing the French toast out of the frying pan and onto his plate.
"So, how'd you know that it was time to leave?" Johnston asked, handing a steaming mug to April, and then one to Heather, whom he teased, saying, "Now, you're sure you're allowed to have this?"
"I'm sure," Heather told him, grinning. She took a sip of her coffee, savoring it, and then set her cup down in order to pass Jake's to him.
"Kinda figured it was time to leave when the National Guard locked us all in Sterling Hall and started handing out assignments to FEMA camps from Maine to Maryland," Jeff answered. "That was a week and a half in, maybe?" he guessed, looking between Michael and Drake for confirmation.
"Day eleven," Drake nodded, frowning. "At first, staying at the school made sense. Everywhere else was without power, but we had it, at least some of the time, and the hospital was always up. The whole town was outta control, really," he explained, studying the contents of his mug. "And, the hospital was overrun from the start, so anybody who was injured but still conscious was sent our way. We could help, at the school."
"Two days in, there were three thousand people at least living in Sterling alone," Michael muttered as Gail served Heather her French toast. She returned to the stove, retrieving the other pan and then quickly dished up potato cakes for Jake, Johnston, Jeff and Drake. "And a couple of hundred at minimum in each of the other buildings," Michael continued. "It was chaos at school, but we'd all seen the bombs over Boston and Philadelphia," he explained, frowning. "And we were hearing about the others. We knew it was bad everywhere."
"The National Guard secured the entire medical center campus after three, maybe four days, and set up a supply line of sorts," Jeff said, taking over. "So we had food and basic medical equipment and supplies coming in. The appearance of safety," he laughed derisively. He paused to eat a bite of his potato cake, smiling appreciatively at Gail, who was serving April her French toast. "The supplies all went to the hospital first though and we were still getting patients at the school by the busload. Dr. Mortimer, a real tight ass - excuse me," Jeff muttered, grimacing as he looked over at Gail, who was now frowning at him. "But, Dr. Mortimer is the bane of every first year's existence," he explained, Michael and Drake nodding in emphatic agreement. "Only he knows his stuff, and he had taken charge of Sterling Clinic as we'd been designated. He got Mike and me, some other guys together -"
"The biggest guys he could find," Drake added, interrupting. "That's why I didn't qualify."
"I shouldn't have either, but Mortimer had found out I played hockey," Michael supplied. "Turns out he had season tickets to the Whalers, and figured a hockey player'd be good to have along if it came down to a fight."
"A fight?" Heather protested, "Mikey what were you guys doing?"
"Liberating supplies from the hospital," Jeff answered. "We hadn't seen anything in two days. We had new patients comin' in all the time and we couldn't get anyone to leave. Couldn't even get the National Guard to pick up the dead when they were supposed to," he complained. "But at the hospital, somebody recognized Mortimer right away and drafted him for a consult."
"Then nurses nabbed the rest of us and put us to work," Michael grumbled, shaking his head.
"I ended up helping treat an eight year old with a high fever. Grandson of the Dean of somethin' at UMass Amherst," Jeff said. "Muckety-muck enough, anyway, that the National Guard had flown the kid, his mom and grandfather over for treatment. That's when we found out for sure we were the only trauma center - pretty much the only official hospital - up and running in two or three states. It made sense," he sighed. "You take out Boston, you take out the medical backbone of New England."
Gail tried to serve the next piece of French toast to Johnston, and then to Jake when Johnston refused it. "You take it, Mom," Jake told her, repeating his father's admonition.
"Okay," she murmured, reaching for a spare plate on the drain board. Gail plopped her slice onto the plate and then handed it to Heather, requesting, "Can you squirt a little syrup on there?"
"So what happened with the eight year old?" April asked, cradling her coffee cup in both hands.
"I don't really know," Jeff admitted. "Mortimer sprang me, and then we commandeered a truck as it was pulling into the loading dock. I was only there about a half hour. Could've gone either way for the kid. I did talk to his grandfather, though," he explained, expelling a deep breath. "Dean Muckety-Muck was freaked. He told me - told everyone in that room - as soon as the National Guard minders left that UMass was now a FEMA camp with a quarter of a million people livin' on a campus meant for thirty, thirty-five thousand students. Survivors from the Boston blast," Jeff muttered. "Lots of people crammed into every nook and cranny, lots of people goin' hungry and gettin' sick."
Silence reigned for a long, uncomfortable moment as the Greens all digested this new information. The idea of two or three hundred thousand people packed into a college campus to die of radiation poisoning or starvation was mind-boggling. Michael, Drake and Jeff could only stare down at their empty plates and wait. Clearing his throat, Johnston crossed to the camp stove and pried the spatula out of Gail's hand. He handed her plate to her, and then sent her with a gentle push toward the chair Jake had vacated for her.
"More coffee, guys?" Jake offered quietly, retrieving the pot from the counter. The three medical students nodded, and he made his way around the table, pouring for each of them. "So, you said you were gonna be farmed out to FEMA camps?" he muttered, catching Michael's eye for just a second before they both looked away.
"Almost every major city in the northeast was gone," Michael answered dully. "Manhattan was still there, but New York City - the whole state, really - rolled up the welcome mat. They'd stopped their bomb, and they were doin' it on their own. They didn't need the federal government, and they weren't in a sharing mood."
"And, outside of New York, Yale had the biggest supply of doctors, and almost doctors, and nowhere near doctors around," Drake added, speaking so quietly they all had to strain to hear. "We were all drafted -"
"Conscripted," Jeff corrected, interrupting. "Just go where you're told. Staff some non-existent clinic in some camp somewhere without - without anything. Watch the people you're supposed to help die, and probably die yourself. I told Mike and Drake no way in hell."
Gail reached out, laying her hand over the top of Jeff's, startling him. He looked at her, their gazes locking momentarily. His eyes were red-rimmed, haunted, and her heart broke again for everything these three young men - boys, really - had been through. She squeezed his hand, smiling at him gently, and then withdrew.
"How'd - How did you get away?" Heather asked, her eyes wide, as she glanced between her brother and his two friends. Jake came up behind her and dropped one hand on her shoulder. She leaned back, resting her head against his chest. "It's a miracle that you're here," she declared softly.
"Yeah, the miracle of the EMP," Michael muttered, crossing his arms over his chest.
Heather stared at her brother, surprised by the hard expression he wore and the cynicism in his tone. "Oh. Well, I guess you take what you can get, right?" she chuckled uncomfortably.
"They gave us assignments to the different camps," Jeff said, throwing Michael an annoyed glare. "But, the National Guard was stretched pretty thin, and they just didn't have any way of getting us all where they wanted us in a hurry. I was supposed to go to Orono, Maine -"
"I was goin' somewhere in Delaware," Drake added.
Johnston handed Jake his plate of French toast, and then began to distribute potato cakes to those who hadn't had them yet. "Where were you supposed to go Michael?" he inquired as he deposited the last cake on the young man's plate.
"Uh, Vermont. Brattleboro," he answered, shifting in his chair. He glanced sideways at his sister. "A couple of teams had just left. The roads were a mess, and they were using helicopters to transport everyone out to their assignments," he sighed. "That's why it was taking so long, because they had a hard time getting the helicopters. Anyway," Michael shrugged, looking away, "I'd watched them take off. Ten minutes - ten minutes later," he frowned, not bothering to explain further. "Well, in the confusion the three of us were able to - to get away." With that, he stabbed his fork through the middle of his potato cake and shoveled half of it into his mouth.
"Michael," Heather murmured, laying a tentative hand on her brother's arm. He twisted around to face her again, and she offered him the weakest of smiles. "I'm glad - I'm grateful - that you're here."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Monday, November 19, five years before the bombs
They were four blocks from the school - three blocks from Heather's house - when she signaled abruptly and then pulled over to the side of the road, leaving just enough room between her bumper and the street corner for Jake to park his car behind hers. Concerned, he shoved his door open, practically jogging as he moved toward her car. Through the window he could see that she was on her cell phone, and that she was frowning, her free hand pressed to her forehead. Jake tapped softly on the glass to get her attention. Heather glanced at him, holding up her hand as she continued to listen intently to whomever was on the other end of the call, nodding along, but not saying anything. She chewed her lip for a moment, and then meeting his gaze, offered a tight, distracted smile before leaning across the emergency break and passenger's seat to unlock the door. Nodding, Jake strode around the front of the car and climbed in.
"How's Jess?" he heard Heather ask, her voice catching. She held her hand against her cheek, her mouth puckered as she listened to the answer. "Well, I'll call her later," she decided, licking her lips. "And Aunt Gerri. But I need to get a plane ticket first." Jake reached across the emergency break then, taking her hand in his own. Heather flashed him another preoccupied smile which quickly turned into a grimace. "Dad, I'm coming home!" she argued, grumbling under her breath. "I have to. I can't be the only one not there."
She covered her phone's mouthpiece with her hand, whispering to Jake, "My Uncle Burt had a heart attack and died this morning." Before he could respond, she was dragged back into her conversation with her father. "No, I'll try and get a flight for tomorrow. I'll have to get a sub, and that's probably not easy to do right before Thanksgiving, but -" Heather broke off, listening for a few seconds. "No, Dad," she protested. "There's no school on Wednesday, but I'll never get a ticket. I'll - I'll try for Thanksgiving Day if I have to." A moment later she frowned, sniffing, "No, I'm not home yet." Jake could see that she was fighting to keep it together. "I'm parked on Fifth Street, probably illegally," she claimed, forcing a chuckle.
She looked out her window, trying to check the signage, Jake realized, and he squeezed her hand. "You're okay. It's fine," he murmured.
"Dad, I'll call you in an hour?" Heather suggested, giving Jake a watery smile. "I'm gonna go home and see what I can find for a plane ticket on the internet, okay?" There was a short pause and then she answered softly, "I love you, too."
"I'm sorry," Jake told her quietly as he watched her thumb the 'off' button, ending the call. Heather folded the phone closed, clutching it in her fist, which she pressed to her forehead, her eyes shut. She was fighting not to cry, Jake could tell, and he didn't really know what to do. He settled for raising her hand, still in his own, to his mouth, gently kissing her knuckles.
"Thank you," she managed to force out a moment later, her voice shaking. She carefully extracted her hand from Jake's and leaned across him, opening the glove compartment to retrieve a tissue travel pack. Heather pulled one loose, dabbing it at her eyes. "I can't - I don't know -" she started, but gave up, her lips pressed tightly together.
"Unexpected, huh?" Jake guessed, mentally berating himself as an idiot as the words left his mouth. He simply didn't know what to say to or do for Heather.
"Oh, I don't know 'bout that," she argued, chuckling humorlessly. "This is my uncle with the ice rink. He practically lived there, so he ate most of his meals out of the snack bar," she sighed, dropping her phone into the cup holder. Leaning back against the headrest, Heather turned so she was facing Jake. "Never went to the doctor, as far as I know," she added. "He's probably been a heart attack waiting to happen for years."
Jake nodded, which was apparently enough to prompt Heather to continue. "Uncle Burt's married to my Aunt Gerri - my Mom's younger sister. There's only eleven months between Mom and Aunt Gerri. Irish twins except that my maternal grandparents were one hundred percent German," she murmured, rubbing one eye absently. "They were in the same grade all through school. Best friends. Aunt Ger's my second mother, really. And, Jessica," she continued, "My cousin, we're almost the same age. She's three months older, and we were best friends when we were little. Not quite as close in high school," Heather admitted, making a face. "She went boy crazy in the eighth grade and I - I didn't."
He smiled at that, reaching over to caress her cheek. "Yeah, I just can't see you chasing boys. Though they were idiots if they weren't chasing after you," he told her.
"I was a geek, Jake," Heather argued, giggling softly. She twisted her head, planting a kiss on his palm before he withdrew his hand. "Jess was - is - the pretty one," she sighed. "The boys chased her as much as she chased them. But, when my Mom got sick," she recalled, her eyes suspiciously bright, "Jess and Aunt Gerri - even Uncle Burt - did everything they could. That first time she was in the hospital, every night, one of them would show up with dinner for all of us. And, when Mom died, Jess stayed over for a week in case I needed her. I've - I've got to return the favor, at least a little bit," she declared.
"Sure," Jake agreed. "And, we'll find you a plane ticket and getcha home," he promised, letting out a deep breath. "Uncle Burt," he muttered, "This is the one who only goes to church twice a year?"
She nodded, confirming, "Yeah. And, confession once a year, on the Tuesday before Easter," Heather smiled. "Even Uncle Burt won't take communion on Easter without going to confession first. I remember when I was about ten," she continued, "There was something both Jess and I both wanted really badly. Can't remember what," Heather claimed, though the blush that tinged her cheeks suggested otherwise. "Anyway, Uncle Burt was letting us do odd jobs around the rink to earn money. We were still both short and he ran out of things he could trust us to do, so he gave us each the last ten dollars we needed for the promise that when we were grown up and got married we'd plan our weddings for two weeks after Easter, so he'd still be covered by that one trip to confession," she giggled. In the next instance though, she was frowning. "I can't believe this happened to us again."
"C'mere," Jake invited, leaning toward her, his arms open. Heather scooted to the edge of her seat, contorting herself over the emergency break in order to lay her head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, muttering, "I'm sorry," against her hair.
"Thanks," she whispered, taking an unsteady breath.
"And, I hate your car," Jake groaned a moment later, loosening his hold on her.
"Ow, yeah," Heather agreed, pulling away. The operative word when it came to her ten year old Corolla was small. "But at least -"
"It's paid for," Jake completed along with her, reaching for her hand. It was ice cold, and so he folded it between both of his own, rubbing it, trying to warm it. "You okay to drive?" She nodded, and Jake leaned over, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Okay," he agreed, popping his door open.
A patrol car pulled over in front of them as Jake was climbing out, and he stood inside the shelter of the car's door to watch as Jimmy Taylor exited the cruiser. From inside the vehicle, Jake heard Heather groan. "Jimmy," Jake called out, raising one hand in greeting. "What's up?"
"Everything okay?" the deputy asked, coming around the car to the driver's side. He peered in the window at Heather, who quickly rolled it down. "Heather, hey," he greeted.
"We pulled over so she could answer the phone," Jake supplied. "Death in the family."
Jimmy's eyes widened. "Aw, man, I'm sorry."
"Thank you," Heather acknowledged. "And, I didn't think I was supposed to park here," she chuckled nervously.
"Nah, it's allowed," Jimmy assured her. "Just this curve can be dangerous at night," he explained, bending over so he was eye-level with Heather. "It's always rough when this happens around the holidays. I sure am sorry about your loss," he consoled, laying his hand over hers for a moment.
"Thanks," she repeated, offering him a tight-lipped smile. "How's that adorable little Sally doing?" she asked then, noting the spit up on Jimmy's collar but deciding against mentioning it.
"She's still perfect," he grinned, straightening. "Even when she's bawlin' her head off she's perfect."
"Of course she is," Heather agreed. "Say 'hello' to Margaret for me, will you?" she requested. "And give Woody a hug from 'Hezzer', okay?"
"Will do," he promised. "And, if you need anything, just let us know."
"Thanks, Jimmy," Jake and Heather said in unison. "Good night," Jake added, watching as the deputy stepped away from Heather's door. Ducking his head back into the car, he asked, "Ready?"
* * * * *
Jake was startled out of his doze by the sound of Heather moving around in the kitchen. Sitting up, he found the remote still in his hand and he pointed it at the TV, turning off a program he didn't recognize. He stood up from the couch only to find that his leg had gone to sleep at some point without him realizing it - much like how he'd nodded off without meaning to - and he stumbled slightly on his first step. Entering the kitchen a few seconds later, Jake found Heather standing next to the sink, gulping down a glass of water and holding a piece of cold pizza - left over from their dinner - on a paper towel in one hand. "Hey," he greeted quietly. "How're you feelin'?"
Finishing the water, Heather twisted around to set the empty glass on the counter and, after considering it for a moment, set the pizza slice down as well. "I'm - I'm okay," she answered, stifling a yawn as she turned back to face Jake. She attempted a smile, blinking tiredly.
Taking two steps forward, Jake held his arms open. That was all the invitation Heather needed; she rushed into his embrace, laying her head on his chest. "It's okay," he told her, threading his hand through her hair. His words sounded hollow - ridiculous - to Jake, but she at least seemed comforted, relaxing in his arms and nodding her head softly against him. "How's your cousin?"
It had taken nearly three hours and many more phone calls to get Heather's plane ticket purchased. After seeing her home, Jake had changed clothes and run out to The Pizza Garden to pick up dinner, only to return and find Heather near tears, having made no progress. There simply weren't any tickets available for Tuesday or Wednesday, at least not at anything like a reasonable price. Abandoning the internet, Jake and Heather had both gotten on their cell phones - leaving the landline open for her father to call in - and had started phoning the airlines directly, but again without success. Finally, Jake had forced Heather to take a break and eat a piece of pizza, which had luckily prevented her from buying a ticket on Thanksgiving Day before Joe Lisinski called with the news that the funeral wasn't until Saturday afternoon. Heather's father had advised her to keep her Thanksgiving plans with the Greens, and fly home on Friday. Within ten minutes they'd booked her ticket for Friday morning, returning - unfortunately - on Monday and, after sending Mrs. Crenshaw and Mrs. McVeigh an email requesting that a substitute be found, Heather had gone into her bedroom to phone her aunt and cousin, speaking with them for over an hour and a half.
"Stunned," Heather murmured, her breath creating a damp spot on Jake's t-shirt. She lifted her head then, shaking it. "At least with my Mom we were sorta prepared. I - I don't know. It hasn't hit her yet," she sighed, reaching back for his hand. "Aunt Ger either," Heather added, leading him out of the kitchen and into the living room. Flopping down on the couch, she looked up at Jake, patting the spot next to her. "I think I need to talk about something else," she told him. "Anything else," Heather insisted, as he sat down beside her.
"Well, how 'bout those Mets?" Jake asked, settling Heather into the crook of his arm.
"What?" she asked, looking up at him sideways, her expression one of pure confusion. "The Mets? Baseball's over, Jake," she reminded, chuckling tiredly.
"I know," he agreed, gently forcing Heather's head back to rest against his shoulder. "I was changing the subject. Stupid. It's like when my Dad needs something to say so he says, 'Sure is cold out there'," he explained, affecting a somewhat gruff tone in imitation of his father.
"Oh," she acknowledged, yawning. "Sorry. I'm so tired, and my brain isn't really working," Heather complained, resting her hand over his heart, lightly scratching her fingernails back and forth. "I'm sorry our - our plans for the evening got completely derailed," she apologized, frowning.
Jake studied her profile for a long moment, realizing she was too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to even blush per normal. An overwhelming feeling of protectiveness washed over him then, one that caused his heart to beat a little faster and made him tighten his hold on Heather. "Hey," he laughed softly - shakily - "My original plan for this evening was to get a burger and a beer in the hotel bar and then see how fast we could kill my cell phone."
Heather giggled at that, her eyes falling closed. "Well, you gotta check in on your favorite waitress," she decided.
"Gotta," he agreed quietly, still watching her closely. It occurred to him then that he loved her. Abstractly, all along he'd known it was happening, that this was where they'd been heading. Jake had been intrigued by Heather Lisinski from the first moment they'd met. He remembered his amusement at how she had kept insisting she could change her own tire, and how she'd blushed nearly every time she'd looked at him. He adored her determination, her independent, can-do spirit, and even her sense of modesty. He recalled, too, their conversation as they'd toured the ranch that first day and their discussion at dinner with his grandfather that first evening. Everything excited and interested Heather. Jake loved her passion for her job, for what she knew was right, for life, for him, for everything. He loved her.
"Well, we killed your cell phone, so that part of the plan was fulfilled at least," she murmured, curling her fingers into the soft cotton of his t-shirt.
"Nah, it's still goin'," he argued, glad for the distraction of needing to respond. He pressed a kiss to her hairline. "Besides, being here with you, in person, beats talkin' on the phone any time."
She pulled herself up, looking him in the eye. "Jake, I really am sorry. This is so not how I wanted tonight -"
"Babe," Jake interrupted, cupping her head with both hands and then kissing her softly, "It's okay, I promise. I mean, you don't turn into a pumpkin at midnight, do you?" he teased, offering her a gentle smile. "'Cause unless you do, well, I'm hoping we'll have other opportunities. Many of them," he sighed, kissing her again. "Opportunities where all we've got to think about is each other."
Heather giggled, returning his smile. "I don't turn into a pumpkin or anything else at midnight," she assured, reaching for his hand. "And I look forward to those - those opportunities," she finished primly.
Afraid he would confess his feelings for her, and nowhere ready to do that, Jake did the only thing he could think to do, and kissed her again. When Heather finally pulled away from him moments later she was yawning and apologizing. Jake shook his head at her. "You're exhausted," he admonished. "We need to get you in bed," he told her, quickly adding, "Alone. To sleep."
"Probably a good idea," Heather agreed, chuckling and blushing. "I have to pretend to teach tomorrow," she reminded with a sigh. "Thank heavens it's the last day before break, and I already had six kids out today."
Jake forced himself to his feet then, offering Heather his hand to help her up. "Walk me to the door, and then go to bed," he ordered, brushing his lips across her forehead.
"Yes sir," Heather declared. She gave Jake a mock salute and then leaned against him, standing on tip toe in order to kiss him.
Groaning, Jake pulled away from Heather, reaching for both her hands to steady her. "C'mon," he muttered, tugging her along with him. At the door, he hugged her close, pressing a chaste kiss to her mouth. "Good night," he told Heather, gently pushing her away. "I'll see you tomorrow. Five minutes after school's out," he promised, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Better make it fifteen," Heather yawned. "Sorry," she added, blinking rapidly. "I've got perpetual bus duty," she reminded with a shrug and another yawn.
"Fifteen it is," he nodded, laughing at her softly. He studied her tear-stained, utterly exhausted face for a long moment, and then gave into the impulse to kiss her one last time. 'I love you,' he thought, trying the words out in his mind. He couldn't tell her yet, but he knew without a doubt that it was true. He was in love with Heather Lisinski. Jake took a deep breath and stepped back, reaching for the doorknob. "Night, babe."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thursday, November 23, two months after the bombs
"Thank you," Gail Green said, smiling automatically at Karen Harper as she accepted the other woman's donation to the food drive. Gail, having volunteered at the food closet every other Wednesday afternoon for nearly fifteen years, knew her as a regular contributor. The former PTA president had always been good for a case each of canned green beans, cling peaches and tomato paste, dropped off on her way home after every trip she made to Costco. Gail looked over the six cans Mrs. Harper had placed on the table. Even the apocalypse couldn't alter this woman's routine, she thought to herself, knowing it wasn't exactly nice, but not really caring. "Thank you, Karen," she declared warmly, assuaging the slight pricking of her conscience. "This is very generous of you." And, it was generous, Gail reminded herself. She was still rather surprised by the food drive's success.
"Well, it's important to be aware of those who are less fortunate," Mrs. Harper replied. "Especially at this time of year," she sighed. "The holidays and all. That's what I tell my Ryan," she added, looking back over her shoulder at her gangly thirteen year old son. "It's important to have a charitable spirit."
The boy looked as cowed as ever, Gail thought, but he did manage to grin at her, saying almost inaudibly, "Hi, Mrs. Green," at his mother's insistence.
"Hello, Ryan," Gail returned, and this time her smile was completely genuine. "Happy Thanksgiving."
"Happy Thanksgiving," both the Harpers echoed before turning and hurrying down Main Street, Mrs. Harper clinging to her son's arm.
"Do you think she knows about the bombs?" Drake, Gail's assistant for the morning, asked staring after the departing pair. "I mean, seriously?" he continued, grabbing the canned peaches off the donation table and placing them with the other fruit products on the table behind them. "The less fortunate? That's pretty much the whole world right now. She is one of the less fortunate. We all are."
"Drake," Gail scolded gently, handing him the cans of tomato paste. "It's a beautiful day," she reminded opening her arms as if to take in the sunshine and crisp air and hug it to herself. "And, it's Thanksgiving -" she continued, breaking off when her eyes met his. Drake's expression was haunted, and she remembered belatedly that this poor young man had seen too much and lost a lot more. A shower, shave, haircut and clean clothes had gone a long way to improving his outer appearance, but fixing the rest would take time. "Well," Gail sighed, offering him a weak smile, "Karen's heart is in the right place. Though, Heather and Jake would agree with you," she admitted. "They both dislike her immensely."
"Heather?" Drake questioned. "She's too nice to dislike anyone."
"She's nice, but she's human, too," Gail smiled, patting his arm. He flinched at her touch, taking a half-step back. "Like the rest of us, not perfect," she continued, willing herself not to frown at his reaction. Allowing a sigh, Gail passed the last two cans to Drake, telling him, "There are a few people Heather doesn't care for, trust me. And, you haven't seen Heather and April in action yet. Those two just feed off one another, and then no one's safe," Gail chuckled. "Funny, as long as you're not the poor specimen being dissected. And," she added, "I can't say that I blame her for how she feels about Karen Harper, either."
"Huh," Drake muttered, considering this revelation as Gail turned around to accept the next donation, smile firmly in place.
"Thank you!" she declared warmly, picking up the single can. She turned, handing it to Drake and then caught sight of Emily Sullivan approaching out of the corner of her eye. Hey!" she called out in greeting.
"Hey!" Emily returned. She dropped an open cardboard box on the table and began to pull out boxes and cans.
"Whoa!" Gail protested even as she accepted a package of crackers from Emily, "You sure you want to donate all that?" She peered into the top of the box, noting that if Emily gave everything she had to the food drive, she'd easily quadruple Karen Harper's donation, perhaps quintuple it.
"Lotta folks need it more than I do," Emily shrugged, watching Gail as she grabbed a package of spaghetti off the top of the box. "Some of my students are so skinny I barely recognize them," she added, gazing past Gail at Drake. "Speaking of skinny," Emily whispered, leaning closer to the older woman, "Should I know him?"
Laughing softly, Gail shook her head. "I doubt it," she assured, patting Emily's hand. "Drake, dear, I'd like you to meet Emily Sullivan," she invited, motioning him over from the storage table where he was carefully rearranging cans by size and contents.
"Hey," he greeted cautiously, crossing his arms over his chest as he stepped toward the two women.
"Hello," Emily returned, holding her hand to him. Drake hesitated a moment and then pulled his hand loose, shaking hers quickly.
"Emily, this is Drake McCrary," Gail said, ignoring his breach of etiquette. She felt him tense the second she laid her hand on his elbow, and withdrew it quickly, explaining, "We have had a bit of a miracle. Tuesday morning, Heather's younger brother Michael arrived in Jericho with two friends, Drake here, and Jeff, who's out on patrol with Jake this morning."
"Jeff's good at that kind of thing," Drake mumbled, hugging himself once again.
"All the way from Connecticut," Gail continued. "Michael's around, too. He's been sticking close to Heather, so they're over at town hall working this morning. But it does give us a real reason to celebrate for Thanksgiving."
Nodding, Emily offered Drake a bright smile. "That's great. Amazing. Welcome to Jericho."
"Thanks," Drake replied.
"I've known Emily since she was an itty bitty thing. You remember?" Gail chuckled, "You took the wrong bus on the first day of first grade and ended up following the boys home," she recalled, pulling a pair of soup cans out of Emily's donation box. "She went all through school with Jake. April too, in high school for that one year."
"Actually, Jake and I dated in high school," Emily added quickly. "All through high school and then some."
Drake watched Emily with a dull stare, not bothering to respond. He reached for her donation box. "I'll - I can sort this stuff?" he asked.
"Of course, dear," Gail agreed, helping him pull the box across the table. She glanced into it one last time as it passed beneath her nose, and then looked up at Emily, her smile tight. "Where'd you find all that?"
"The garage," Emily admitted, pursing her lips. "Roger was such a planner you'd think we already had five kids," she explained, chuckling self-consciously.
The tension in Gail's smile eased as she questioned, eyebrow cocked, "You wanted to have five kids?"
Emily shook her head. "He wanted five kids," she clarified, twisting her fingers together. "I said I was good for two and after that he was on his own," she laughed.
"I don't quite know what I'm serving for Thanksgiving this year yet," Gail admitted with a sigh. "Jake's still sure he can get a turkey this morning. He'd do about anything to keep Heather's chickens off the chopping block," she confided with a pleased smile. "So he asked me to wait. But we'll pull something together," Gail chuckled, shaking her head. "And always know that you're welcome at our table, honey."
"Thanks," Emily responded, though 'But no thanks,' was quite evident in her tone. "I - I usually go to my aunt's," she explained.
Gail nodded and smiled but didn't say anything. She picked up a box of oatmeal, turning to hand it to Drake.
"Do -" Emily began, hesitating for a moment. Her face had clouded over, and she was chewing her lip. "Do you guys still have that football game before dinner?" she asked
"Of course," Gail confirmed, making a dismissive noise that could have been a snort. "There's some things the apocalypse can't change," she assured, passing Drake a pair of soup cans. "And this year of course, we have three new contenders," she declared looking over her shoulder and smiling at the unresponsive young man. "Heather and April won't be playing this year," Gail added, turning back to face Emily. "But Kenchy's joining us if things stay quiet at the clinic. And, well," she sighed, tossing her hands up in the air, "How's your throwing arm?"
"Still better than Jake's," she laughed, her smile returning. She was obviously reconsidering. "And, I've never had wild turkey," Emily added, joking, "Well, not real wild turkey, anyway. I've had the other once or twice," she admitted with a sheepish grin.
"I'm sure," Gail chuckled, clucking gently at the younger woman.
Drake actually met Emily's gaze then, though she found it impossible to tell what he was thinking. Discomfited, she crossed her arms over her chest, watching him as he returned to his sorting project. Turning her attention to the street, she caught sight of Gray Anderson leading a contingent of stone-faced men carrying ballot boxes toward the church. "Gray's finally getting that election, huh?" she asked, glancing at Gail.
"Yeah, next week," the older woman confirmed, her lips pursed.
"Is the mayor nervous?" Emily asked, frowning softly.
"Not as nervous as he should be," Gail murmured, her expression guarded. "But Emily," she continued a few seconds later, pasting a smile on her face. "Do come. You know me. The more, the merrier, and the apocalypse can't change that either," she declared.
"Okay," Emily acknowledged, "I'll think about -" The noise of a jet breaking the sound barrier reverberated in the distance, cutting her off. "What the hell?" she demanded, shading her eyes and looking up at the sky along with nearly everyone else on Main Street.
"It's a plane," Drake answered, head down. He alone continued to work as an airplane passed overheard, casting its long shadow over them all.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *