Different Circumstances: Part 10C of ?
by Marzee Doats
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Thursday, November 23, two months after the bombs
Heather was returning from the restroom when she heard the utterly familiar - yet utterly foreign-sounding - drone of an airplane passing over town hall. Holding her hand over her pregnant belly she began to hurry down the hallway, almost at a jog. The members of her team who'd come in this morning - they were at about half-strength because of the holiday - were already pouring out of the conference room, Michael and Harry Carmichael bringing up the rear. "Was that what I think it was?" Heather demanded as her brother took her arm, dragging her toward the stairs.
"Sure sounded like an airplane to me," Carmichael answered, his tone a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
There were a surprising number of people in town hall this morning and now they were all flooding into the hallway. Heather spotted Johnston at the front of the crowd. He made eye contact with her and with Michael, nodding at them both, before taking charge and leading the mass exodus from the building.
"I guess we're done for the day," Heather decided a minute or so later, surveying the chaos on Main Street. Townspeople were standing around, staring up at the sky and pointing, despite the fact that there was nothing left to see. Those who'd actually witnessed the planes - and the parachutes, Heather realized, overhearing one particularly animated conversation - were describing the sight to those who'd been indoors when everything had happened. Shaking her head, Heather turned to Carmichael, offering him a weak smile. "Happy Thanksgiving, Harry."
"Happy Thanksgiving, Heather, Mike," Carmichael returned. "I'll see you in the morning." They watched as he moved over to join the knot of S&A Mining Company engineers who were discussing this latest event.
With nowhere else to go, Heather and Michael started to wander down the street toward where Gail and Drake had set up for the food drive. Just before they passed Gracie's Market, a truck with a rather mottled paint job turned onto Main Street, and the driver laid on the horn in an attempt to disperse the crowd. Coming parallel with the food drive table where Johnston stood with Gail, Drake, and Emily Sullivan, he rolled down his window and stuck his head out, shouting to Johnston, "It's a food drop!" Everyone within hearing distance became instantly twice as agitated, and Michael tightened his hold on Heather's arm, dragging her back from the curb until they were almost pressed up against the building.
Johnston guided the truck to a stop right in front of the market. Derek Hyde hopped out of the cab shaking his head. "Mayor!" he called out. "I saw the planes, and then a parachute, and this landed just off the road, 'bout ten feet," he explained in a rush of breath, pointing at the pallet wrapped in green canvas that took up nearly the entire truck bed. "Dad and I packed it up, and brought it here," Derek continued as Heather forced her way through the crowd of curious onlookers, Michael trailing reluctantly behind her.
"Thank you, Derek," Johnston nodded. "George," he added as the elder Hyde came around the back of the truck. "Let's get this unloaded, and see what we've got." With that, he pointed to a few men in the crowd, Michael included, deputizing them for the job.
Gail, trailed closely by Drake, joined Heather, wrapping an arm around her daughter-in-law's waist. "You okay, honey?" she asked quietly.
"I'm fine," Heather assured, laying her head against the older woman's shoulder for a moment.
Derek Hyde, spotting them together, hurried over to speak with them. "Mrs. Green - Mrs. Mayor," he clarified with a chuckle, "I was bringing in some milk for the food drive. We figured you could see that it got to families with small kids or pregnant women," Derek explained softly, obviously wary of the press of anxious people around them, though the crowd's attention was all on the men working to lift the pallet off the truck. "Steph sent some especially for you," he added under his breath, looking directly at Heather.
"Thank you," she nodded. Stephanie Hyde had taken a particular interest in Heather over the preceding month, and the Hydes delivered milk and sometimes meat to the Green residence whenever one of them came into town.
Derek jerked his head toward the cab. "I've got it behind the seat, if you wanna take it?" he suggested.
"Drake, dear," Gail said, glancing at the young man beside her. He was only a half head taller than her, and for once she wasn't straining her neck to look up at him, the way she did with her husband and sons. "Derek's gonna give you a box?" she asked, looking at Derek for confirmation.
"Crate," he returned quietly. "Two crates."
"Can you take a crate into town hall?" Gail prodded. "Heather will go with you."
"Yeah," she smiled at him encouragingly, noting his rather wild-eyed appearance and his suddenly shallow breathing. She was fairly certain he was near to or already experiencing a panic attack, thanks to the swarm of anxious people around the truck. "We'll take it inside and find a nice, cool place to store it, okay?"
Gail squeezed Heather's shoulder, relief evident in her expression. "Sounds good. We'll figure out how to distribute it all later."
Derek pulled the old-fashioned wooden crate out of the tight space behind the truck's bench seat. A piece of burlap was tucked in over the open top in order to hide the contents. "It's heavy," he cautioned, handing it off to Drake, who only barely managed not to drop it.
"Come on," Heather encouraged, taking a step towards town hall. "Let's go." Glancing back over her shoulder, she saw the canvas-wrapped pallet come down off the Hydes' truck. Ten or twelve people rushed it, ripping down the heavy green material which protected the contents, and Johnston started to bellow at them to hold up. Heather touched Drake's shoulder then, causing him to jump, sloshing the milk around. "Come on."
Pulling the second crate from behind the truck's seat, Derek followed them, catching up with Heather and Drake as they were crossing Spruce Lane. "Usually we share and trade with family and friends," he explained as they mounted the steps at town hall. "I've been trading the extra with Gracie Leigh, but I'm pretty sure that means it all goes to Jonah Prowse and his gang," he muttered, shaking his head. "Dad, Steph and I, we figured that for the holiday we could afford to give some away, but we had three more cows go dry this week, so it's not that much," Derek sighed. "About eight gallons. Enough for fifteen families, maybe?"
"Well, if we divide it into quarts, that's enough for thirty families," Heather countered, stopping for a moment in the foyer. She looked around, and then finally turned toward the sheriff's station. "Mrs. Crenshaw," she decided. "Her office is in the back, so it's pretty cool, temperature-wise, and she'd be willing to make a list of candidates for us, I'm sure."
"Well, she does know everybody," Derek chuckled, looking almost as relieved as Drake to be off the street and out of the crowd.
Mrs. Crenshaw, it turned out, was holding down the fort in the sheriff's station, and quite possibly for all of town hall. She was desperate for news of what was happening outside - Were they being invaded? How much food was there? Was it enough for everyone? Did this mean that the government was up and running again? - but neither Derek nor Heather could answer her questions so that she was truly satisfied. They hid the crates in the border patrol's small office, and Mrs. Crenshaw agreed to compile a list of families for the milk to be given to later in the day. "Is it all right if I put the Taylors on the list?" she asked Derek. "Woody's seven and a half, nearly eight, but Sally's just turned five. Or were you lookin' for families with younger kids?"
"The Taylors are fine, Mrs. C," Derek assured her. "We trust your judgment. Just don't give away Mrs. Green's milk," he joked distractedly, flashing Heather a quick grin. "It's in its own container," Derek explained, "And Stephanie put her name on it."
"Well of course not," Mrs. Crenshaw replied. "And, I do happen to know of one, maybe two pregnancies that aren't common knowledge yet," she confided, walking them out of the station. "I'll put them on the list. Those bombs may end up causing a bigger baby boomlet than the last big blizzard."
Heather nodded. It made perfect sense to her. The first week after the bombs had been hell, with the fallout, with half the sheriff's department turning up murdered, with dead and dying refugees from Denver, with simply the uncertainty of their situation. But by the second week, things had calmed down some, or at least had gone into a holding pattern. She and Jake had even taken the opportunity for a few lazy days - alone - out at the ranch. They'd done chores, working in the garden, cleaning spoiled food out of the refrigerator, taking inventory of the pantry. They'd taken inventory of each other, too. Heather had no doubt children had been conceived in those days when everyone had believed there was nothing to do but wait for the help that had never come. "Bomb babies," she mused, offering Mrs. Crenshaw a wry smile.
"Bomb babies," Mrs. Crenshaw confirmed, parting from them at the door.
Out in front of the building, they ran into Michael, who'd come after Heather and Drake. Derek took his leave of them then, impatient to get back to his father and his truck. "It's crazy, the food's from China," Michael told them as they started back towards the market. "And I saw blankets, drums of something - fuel, maybe cooking oil."
Heather saw a familiar copper colored truck rumble to a stop a little way's down and across the street. A second pallet, much like the one the Hydes had retrieved sat in the back. "That's Stanley," she told the two young men, pointing. "Jake and Jeff should be with him," she added, turning toward the street.
"I think we're gonna hang back here," Michael decided, frowning at his sister. "But you go ahead."
Heather looked back and saw that Drake once again looked like he was in the middle of an anxiety attack. It had become clear over the previous two days that all three young men had been profoundly affected by their experiences since the bombs. At times, Michael, suddenly cynical and seemingly all hard edges, was barely recognizable to Heather as the happy-go-lucky baby brother she adored, and she mourned that loss as much as she rejoiced for his safe delivery to her. But it was Drake who seemed the most scarred, though that fact hadn't been truly apparent until this morning when he'd been forced out of the house and into contact with general society. "Okay," Heather agreed, offering Drake a sympathetic smile. "You know, the park's nice," she suggested, pointing to the lawn that peeked out from behind town hall. "Nice place to just sit and - to sit."
"Thanks," Michael nodded.
With one last look back over her shoulder, Heather made her way across the street, meeting Stanley as he climbed out of the cab. Grinning widely, he threw his arm around her shoulders, giving her a sideways hug. "Hey, Mama," he teased.
"You know, you guys have brought some interesting things back from your hunting trips," Heather told him, watching over the truck as Jake and then Jeff exited the cab, "But this may take the cake."
"Yeah," Stanley chuckled, rolling his eyes. "I thought it was a bomb, but your husband pointed out that it's kinda stupid to put a parachute on a bomb. Thanks, Jake," he called out, waving at his best friend.
"Hey, no sweat," Jake returned, coming around the back of the truck with Jeff.
"Turns out we've got Chinese food fallin' from the sky," Stanley explained, shaking his head. "'Only they forgot the moo shu pork, and they definitely forgot the extra plum sauce."
"So what did we get?" Heather inquired.
"Stanley says fish crackers and dried seaweed," Jeff replied. "I found a lotta rice. Somethin' that looks like Cup o' Noodles," he catalogued. "Is that Mike and Drake over there?" he asked, squinting past Heather.
"Yeah," she confirmed. "Drake - Drake seems to need a little space this morning."
Jeff nodded, muttering, "Okay," before he headed off to join his two friends.
"Well, I need to get back," Stanley announced as Jake moved toward the back of the truck and lowered the tailgate. "Bonnie and Mimi must be freakin' out," he decided, dropping his arm from around Heather's shoulders.
"Be nice to Mimi," she ordered, shaking a finger at him.
"I'm always nice to Mimi," Stanley protested.
Jake, who was listening closely to their conversation, couldn't keep himself from laughing at that. "Didn't you tell her she'd have to sleep in the barn?" he questioned, not expecting an answer. Two men he knew by sight from the border patrol approached, and he ordered, "Give 'im a hand," before walking back around the truck and coming to a stop in front of Heather.
"Hey," he greeted, reaching for her hand. "C'mere a minute," he requested, leading her onto the sidewalk and safely out of the men's way. "I'm sorry," Jake began, expelling a frustrated breath. "We tried, and we were close, but we didn't get a turkey."
A soft smile bloomed on Heather's face, and she squeezed his hand. "Is that all?" she sighed. "Jake, it's okay. Really. I've been resigned to giving up a chicken or two for a couple of days now. But it was very sweet of you to try," she insisted, gripping his forearm for support as she leaned against him, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."
"I didn't want you to have to," Jake grumbled.
"I know," Heather acknowledged. "And I love you for that. But it's okay, really," she repeated. "Actually, I think I'm going to try my hand at setting eggs, believe it or not," she told him, taking a half-step back. "I think that's how you say it? 'Setting eggs'?"
"No idea," Jake admitted. "That's what my Gram called it, but she used an incubator. You're gonna hafta use a real hen. I guess it's the same."
"Well, I'll figure it out," she decided, releasing a long breath. "I'm gonna take Mikey over to the high school on Sunday and see if we can break into the 4-H office and find some literature. Find out if it's even feasible to try and build up the flock this time of year."
"Okay," Jake acknowledged, stroking the back of her hand, still held in his, with his thumb. "But you know, if you're gonna break into the high school, there's no reason to introduce your brother to a life of crime when you've got me," he reminded. "After all," Jake chuckled, winking at her, "I might just have some experience breaking into that particular high school."
Heather giggled. "Oh right. How can I forget that episode in 'The Adventures of Jake and Stanley'?" she teased. 'But, really, it's okay," she assured, glancing back over her shoulder to check what progress had been made on unloading Stanley's truck. "You're busy. I can -"
"We're all busy," he interrupted, an unintentionally harsh note in his tone. "You're busy," Jake continued, forcing himself to speak gently. "I'm busy, Mom and Dad are busy. That's just the way it is right now. But I'm not too busy for you, when you need me for something." Heather's only response was to stare at him, and in his next breath, laughing uncomfortably, Jake added, "Besides, it would be fun to see if I could still do it."
"Well that I believe," she chuckled, "Absolutely." Jake frowned, and Heather recognized, though she didn't completely understand, the hurt in his expression. "Hey," she declared, shrugging, "If you want to break into the high school with me, then it's a date."
"Sure," he agreed, allowing one quick nod. "Just know -" Jake broke off having spotted Robert Hawkins across the street, examining one of the other retrieved pallets. Tightening his grip on her hand, he requested, "Come with me for a minute," before hurrying her across the street, calling out, "Hawkins!"
"Hey," Hawkins returned, walking slowly around the pallet, examining it. He squatted down and then looked up at them. "Jake, Mrs. Green," he greeted.
Heather had met Robert Hawkins a few times, but only in passing in and around town hall. She smiled at him, inviting, "Call me Heather, please."
"So, I'm guessing 'Mrs. Green' is your mother-in-law," he teased, offering a genuine - if slight - smile, surprising Jake. After two months of knowing Hawkins, he'd assumed the other man's suspicious smirk was the closest he got to expressing amusement. "That's what my wife always used to say, anyway," he continued, standing up. "'Mrs. Hawkins is my mother-in-law.'"
"Well, I like my mother-in-law," Heather chuckled. "But since I'm not the mean third grade teacher in town anymore, I can just be 'Heather'."
"Fair enough," Hawkins answered, still smiling. He offered her his hand, saying, "Call me Rob." They shook and then he bent down again, picking up a cardboard box.
"What's it say?" Jake questioned, frowning. He took a half-step toward the other man, peering down over the top of him.
"Your guess is as good as mine," Hawkins shrugged, flipping the box over.
Jake snorted. "I doubt that. Only one of us speaks Chinese," he reminded.
Hawkins looked up at him, all traces of good humor gone from his expression. "What're you talkin' about, Jake?" he demanded, his voice a low, almost dangerous rumble originating deep in his chest.
"The broadcast," Jake returned, reaching blindly for Heather's hand. "When it came over the satellite, you knew it was Mandarin."
"Hey, ya know," Hawkins answered, holding up both his hands, "You can know when somebody's talkin' German, but that doesn't mean you can speak German, right?" He looked at Heather then, offering her a tight smile, completely devoid of its former warmth. She nodded slightly.
"That's not was I meant at all," Jake protested. He followed Hawkins, pulling Heather along with him, as the other man turned away, moving over to examine the next pallet. "What I'm sayin' is -"
"Jake!" Johnston called out, jogging to catch up with his son, Eric right behind him. Hawkins, taking advantage of the younger man's distraction, made a beeline across the street, and Jake gave up the chase, as much for Heather's sake as to allow his father and brother to catch up. Johnston fell into step beside him. "Didja get a good look at those planes?" he questioned.
"Yeah," Jake nodded, noticing how Heather turned toward him, literally giving his brother the cold shoulder as he came up alongside her. As far as he knew, Eric and Heather hadn't spoken at all in the three weeks since Eric had moved out of their parents' house and in with Mary Bailey. "The jets were MiG Nineteens," Jake answered as they walked toward the pallet his mother seemed to be monitoring. Hawkins stopped to join her, flashing Gail a distracted smile. "The bombers, they looked like Antinovs," Jake finished.
"You know your planes," Hawkins observed as Jake stepped around his mother.
Heather squeezed his hand and then tugged her own loose, moving to stand next to Gail. Jake glanced back at her, offering a quick smile, and then circled around the pallet. "My grandfather made sure of that," he answered, catching Hawkins eye briefly.
"So they were Russian," Hawkins decided.
"Yeah," Jake confirmed, his gaze flicking over the other man again, unable to completely hide his surprise at Hawkins tacit admission to a gap in his knowledge. "Except the Russians stopped making them in the seventies," he added, frowning and wondering if Hawkins was actually testing him.
"Since when do we let foreign jets fly through our airspace?" Eric interjected, frowning in consternation.
"Happened only once," Hawkins responded, crossing his arms. "Italy patrolled the border after Nine-Eleven. But that was it."
"And Italy's an ally," Johnston ground out. "Russia? China?" he questioned rhetorically. "I imagine the last contact we had with them were those missiles we saw flyin' a few weeks back."
Jake looked over at his wife and mother and then back at the pile of food and other necessary supplies before him. Pursing his lips, he started to speak and then stopped, shaking his head. "We can't give out this food," he announced a second later, his forehead wrinkling with concern.
"What are you talking about?" Eric snapped, insisting, "The people are hungry, Jake!"
Glancing around at the crowd, Jake shook his head again. People were wandering down the street, looking the piles over, obviously interested, obviously anxious. He moved toward Heather then, reaching for her arm, forcing her to take a step back. "I don't care," he barked out in return.
Gail glanced between her son and her husband, frowning. "We can't have this conversation here," she murmured, her voice quiet and commanding.
Johnston nodded. "Inside." He turned on his heel then and, joined by Gail, hurried toward town hall. Eric took off after them trying to catch up, Hawkins following behind at a more sedate pace. Jake and Heather brought up the rear.
"Try to look nonchalant, people," Jake muttered, affecting the tone that he used when he imitated, usually mockingly, his father. Heather could see his point; there was nothing subtle about their retreat indoors.
She frowned, glancing sideways at him. Jake caught her eye, forcing a grim smile that he couldn't maintain. "Jake, do you really think there's -"
"Inside," he reminded in his normal voice, squeezing her hand.
Surprisingly, they all made it into town hall without interference. Johnston held the door for them all, and they filed past him, Eric leading them to form themselves into a small circle right outside his office door. Gail pounced first. "Jake, the people need that food," she argued. "The food drive is a stopgap measure at best. It just moves what we already have around. People with a little more give to people with a little less, and a month from now we're all out of food."
"Exactly," Eric agreed. "We all could use that food."
Jake faced his brother with a hard stare. "How do we know it's safe?" he demanded.
"Well, if the Chinese are trying to hurt us they sure picked a funny way to do it," Gail answered, rubbing her arm across her forehead.
Dropping Heather's hand, Jake clenched his into fists, growling in frustration. "What if this is the second wave of attacks?" he suggested, glancing around the circle. "They wait until we're hungry and then they poison our food supply." His gaze settled on Heather for a long moment and then he turned to face his mother again, throwing her a pointed look. "Are you willing to take that chance? I'm not. Not yet."
Gail's eyes widened as she caught his meaning. Heather's baby, and April's, too - her grandchildren - would be especially vulnerable to any toxins introduced through the food their mothers consumed. She covered her mouth with her hand, croaking out, "Who would do that?"
"A smart enemy," Johnston supplied, his expression thoughtful.
"If they invade," Jake muttered through clenched teeth, "We'd have no one healthy enough to fight them."
"It's like what the British did to the Indians," Hawkins said softly. "Gave 'em blankets for the winter but forgot to mention that they were infected with smallpox."
"Good old Lord Jeffrey Amherst," Heather added, threading her arm through Jake's. "The smallpox blankets," she clarified, frowning at Hawkins. "He probably wasn't the first or the last to do it, but he's certainly the most infamous. And," she continued, "Warring factions have been poisoning wells with fungus or herbs, and catapulting the corpses of plague victims over the walls of cities under siege since the beginning of time. Poisoning food seems kinda expeditious." Heather paused, chewing her lip and she looked around the group. "Sorry," she sighed, leaning against Jake's arm. "It's - It's easier to think about if I keep it academic."
"Well, I don't even want to think about this," Gail declared, throwing her hands up in the air. She glanced at Johnston and then at Jake. "Do you really think the Chinese are trying to poison us?" she questioned, her voice turning husky.
"I don't know," Jake returned sharply. Heather could feel the tension in his arm - in his whole body - and she let go of him, taking a half-step away. He missed the comfort of her touch immediately. Looking over at her, Jake grabbed her hand, squeezing it. "Sorry," he breathed, offering a slight smile, before turning to address his mother again. "But, whoever it was, they had no problem blowing us up."
"Check with April," Johnston ordered, clearing his throat. "Maybe there's a way we can test the food."
"Well, what if there isn't?" Gail demanded, her head still swimming with the dilemma they found themselves in. Morally, how could they withhold the food from the hungry townspeople? And morally, how could they possibly distribute it, not knowing if it would harm - even kill - them?
Johnston shook his head. "Well in the mean time, we tell everyone who's handlin' this stuff to put gloves on," he decided. "And we don't hand out anything to anybody 'til we're sure it's safe." He looked around their circle then, collecting nods of agreement from them all. "Okay then."
The sounds of an argument filtered in from outside then, growing louder as they all paused to listen. 'That's mine!' and 'Hey, gimme that!' and 'C'mon!' echoed through the still agitated crowd. Gail pushed past Jake in order to get a better look. Standing at the door, she turned around and, a sob catching in her throat, announced, "We may not have that choice."
The Greens all followed Gail to the door and then out onto the steps at the front of the building. The scene playing out before them was one of complete chaos. People were ripping into the pallets, grabbing what they could, fighting over a single package when it would have made much more sense to simply take the next one. Jimmy, Bill, and a few members of the border patrol were trying to hold them off, but the people were irate and willing to fight. Someone shouted, "We have a right to it!" and Jake noticed his parents' next door neighbors, the Thoms, standing on the sidewalk out front, gaping at the melee taking place. "This is crazy!" Mr. Thom declared.
Johnston and Eric took off jogging. Jake dropped Heather's hand, throwing her what he hoped was a reassuring look. She started to move after him, but Gail grabbed her arm, and Jake paused long enough to order, "Stay back." Biting her lip she nodded, and he ran after his father and brother.
"Folks! Let's calm down," Johnston demanded.
"Hey! Hey!" Eric shouted, two steps behind his father. He headed after a group of people trying to make off with a few boxes. "Back it up! Right now!"
A gunshot rang out. Instinctively, Gail dropped back into the building's entrance, crouching down and pulling Heather with her. Jake's first impulse was to duck too; his second was to find his wife and mother and make sure they were okay. Twisting around, he let out a shaky breath, relieved to see them safe - if obviously frightened - and together.
"Everybody! Drop what you have and take a step back!" Bill shouted, his gun pointed up at the sky and his finger still on the trigger.
At that moment, Jake saw red, as did his father. Johnston charged toward the errant deputy, yelling, "Bill! Put that damn gun away! Get this area cordoned off!" Looking like he was about to wet himself, Bill lowered his gun and stepped down off the pallet he was standing on. Johnston took this for compliance and began to walk through the crowd, exhorting them to calm down. "Don't do this people," he demanded. "This is Jericho. This is not some third world village."
"We got no power, no phones, no gas," Gray Anderson countered, stepping out from behind a knot of people, still clutching boxes of food to their chests. He advanced on Johnston. "It may not be the third world, but we're getting' there," he claimed. "We need food now."
Johnston shook his head and, ignoring his mayoral rival continued to address the people. "Folks, we don't know what is safe and what is not safe."
"The only people I've seen tryin' to hurt us have been out on that road," Gray continued, shouting. "And they look a lot like you and me."
Gail and Heather could hear people around the edges of the crowd muttering their agreement, essentially throwing their support behind Gray. "Why - What don't they get?" Heather grumbled, glancing sideways at her mother-in-law.
"They're scared," Gail murmured in return, her lips pressed together in a tight, thin line. "Gray confirms their fears and they like him for it." To herself, she thought, 'And they may elect him for it, too,' though those were words she would never say aloud.
The two women watched as Gray pulled a package of something - biscuits or cookies, Heather guessed - out of torn box on top of one of the pallets. He broke the plastic open, extracting and then examining one piece. His actions were slow and deliberate, everything calculated to show the nervous citizens of Jericho that he was a strong leader - the perfect mayor for the apocalypse.
"Mrs. Green, Heather," Jeff called out softly, running up the steps, taking them two at a time. Gray Anderson bit into his biscuit, and those watching held their collective breath, but Gail, Heather and Jeff all missed it. "I - Drake's not doing too well right now," he admitted, studying his feet. "I think we need to take him home - back to your house," he amended quickly.
"Do you know if something - if something specific happened?" Gail inquired. "He's very ... prickly," she decided.
"Everything," Jeff chuckled derisively. "It's nothing specific, just everything. I don't think he's slept," he disclosed with a sigh. "Mike and I talked about it. There wasn't much chance to sleep, but we don't think he's slept in two weeks at least. Maybe he doesn't know how to go to sleep anymore. I don't know. We don't know what to do," Jeff confessed.
"We'll figure it out," Gail declared, "All of us. We'll take care of it. Take care of Drake," she added, frowning softly. "We'll talk to April, see if she has something to give him to help him sleep. Work from there."
Jeff nodded. "Yeah, okay," he agreed, though his tone was not hopeful. "Mike and Drake are waiting by your truck," he informed Heather.
"Okay," she acknowledged, releasing the breath she'd been holding and smiling at him encouragingly. "We'll take care of him, I promise," Heather assured, laying her hand on his arm. Jeff offered her a thin smile. "Mrs. Crenshaw has the Hydes' donation," she said, glancing at Gail. "She's putting together a list."
"I'll take care of it," Gail promised. "You two go take care of Drake."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thursday, November 22, five years before the bombs
For the first time, Jake led Heather into his parents' house by the back door, the entrance family and friends used more often than not. Heather took this as a sign of something, though she couldn't articulate to herself exactly what, and she was secretly pleased. Jake, resting his hand on her back - her hands were full with the casserole dish she was carrying - quietly steered her up the driveway and to the rear of the house.
"Happy Thanksgiving!" Gail and April greeted the two of them in unison as they entered the kitchen.
Hurrying across the room, Gail pulled Jake into a hug. "Happy Thanksgiving, Mom," he answered with a grin, obviously in a good mood.
Gail smiled widely. She couldn't help but think that Jake's good humor had everything to do with the young woman standing next to him, and she heartily approved. "I'm glad you're here," she told him, patting his cheek and remembering the previous year when Jake, supposedly in the employ of Jonah Prowse, had missed Thanksgiving dinner both because he'd been in Nebraska and because he and Johnston hadn't been on speaking terms. He'd phoned her from a truck stop somewhere along I-80, and they'd talked for two minutes; afterwards, she'd sat in the swing on the back porch, quietly crying, for fifteen.
"And, Heather, we're very happy you're joining us," Gail said a few seconds later, clearing her throat and turning her smile on the younger woman. She relieved Heather of her burden, handing it to Jake, and then surprised Heather by embracing her as well. "Thank you," Gail whispered before letting her go and taking a step back.
"Well, I'm glad to be here," Heather assured her. "April," she added turning to smile at her friend, who was peeling potatoes at the sink. "This is a surprise. Happy Thanksgiving! But I thought you had to work 'til two?"
"Somebody took a bazooka to the schedule," April answered, groaning. "They offered me last night and today off, but I have to go in at midnight tonight and basically work the entire weekend. I'm not even sure what I've agreed to do in exchange," she laughed, wiping her forehead with her arm. "I'm missing the day after Thanksgiving rush on the malls, but I think Eric's happier that way, anyway," she joked.
"Well, I'm sorry you have to work the weekend, but I'm glad you're here," Heather answered.
"Thanks," April smiled. "And, I see that you did make the green bean casserole," she observed, watching as Heather took the dish from Jake and carried it to the refrigerator. "I heard a rumor. Eric's gonna love you," April laughed.
"You don't say?" Heather responded, closing the refrigerator door, and turning around, her hands on her hips to glare at Jake. Their eyes locked as they stared at one another across the kitchen. "Jake tried to convince me this morning that none of you liked it," she told them, chuckling softly, her gaze never straying. "He said I should make peanut butter rice krispie treats instead."
April and Gail exchanged grins, and laughing, Gail apologized to Heather. "That would be my fault. I didn't try to curb his peanut butter habit when he was a little boy, and now he's a bit of a fiend."
"You're actually comparing me to a drug-seeking crack head?" Jake accused with a snort. "Thanks, Ma."
"Don't worry, you'll get over it," Gail assured, squeezing his shoulder. She moved to the sink and, working around April, washed her hands quickly.
"Hey, I just figure that for a Green, eating a green bean's a little cannibalistic or fratricide or something," he teased, his eyes still on Heather, who laughed appreciatively as she walked over to stand next to his mother. Gail had moved back to the table and was beginning to knead the dough she'd abandoned when they had come in.
"Except, by that logic," Heather replied, "'Green' is a first name, so 'Green Bean' is actually a member of the 'Bean' family, and a distant cousin of Mister and L.L.," she joked in return. "Not a 'Green'."
Gail, having moved to the table, glanced back at April, seeing her own surprise and delight over Jake's playful attitude mirrored in her daughter-in-law's eyes. Certainly, Jake had seemed happier since he'd met and begun dating Heather, but it had been a long time since they'd seen him so jovial, silly even. Gail was almost certain she'd never heard him purposely make a pun. Heather's influence on him was quite obvious.
Setting her purse on a chair, Heather began to slip out of her coat and Jake crossed to help her. "Thank you," she murmured, looking back over her shoulder before turning to face Gail. "I baked the casserole this morning, so we just have to nuke it for a minute or two before we eat," she explained. "Now, what can I do to help?" Heather asked, wiping her hands on her jeans.
Looking around the kitchen, Gail shook her head. "Nothing, so far," she replied. "April's peeling potatoes, jello's made, we'll do the gravy later, and I've got this under control," Gail said, looking down at the bowl of dough she'd started to knead. "Unless you want to peek in on the bird for me? We don't eat until four," she admitted, laughing. "And football's at three, but April and I can only take so much televised football, so we're hiding out here and pretending to make dinner."
"You gotta understand, the Green family football game doesn't have a whole lot in common with actual football," April interjected, giggling.
"What we lack in skill, we make up for in enthusiasm," Gail declared, punching her dough. "Have a seat," she suggested, motioning Heather toward a chair. "And, you will find the rest of the men in the living room," she informed Jake, who had just draped both his and Heather's coats over the back of another chair.
He crossed his arms over his chest, smirking at his mother. "You're actually kicking me out," Jake complained with a chuckle.
"This is a girl talk zone, Jake," April informed him, setting her potato peeler down on the counter. She moved to the table, taking the seat across from Heather. "And how can we talk about you if you're here?"
"Exactly," Jake agreed, rolling his eyes. "Fine," he conceded a few seconds later, looking between his mother and April. "But I better still have a girlfriend when you're done with your girl talk," he warned jokingly, dropping his hands on Heather's shoulders and squeezing them. She tipped her head back, and he leaned down to kiss her. "Only believe the good stuff they tell you about me," he ordered, grinning against her mouth.
"I always only believe the good stuff anyone tells me about you," Heather assured him, reaching up to lay her hand over his.
"Oh, good Lord, where's a blood sugar monitor when I need one," April groaned.
Before either could respond, the door pushed open and Johnston walked into the kitchen. "Heather! Jake!" he declared, smiling at them both. "Happy Thanksgiving! Grandpa didn't think we'd see you two for another hour at least."
Jake crossed his arms over his chest again. "Yeah, well, apparently I really want to watch football."
"We've got the U of Illinois game on right now," Johnston told him over his shoulder as he headed for the pantry. "That Kittner kid's pretty damn good." They could hear him rooting around inside the small space. "Jake, grab a couple of bowls down from the cabinet," he shouted, just as Jake picked up his and Heather's jackets, resigned to his banishment from the kitchen.
"Sure," Jake answered, as Johnston appeared in the doorway with a can of chili in one hand, a jar of salsa in the other and a bag of tortilla chips hanging from his teeth. Jake set their coats down over the back of the chair again.
The three women watched in silence as Johnston joined Jake at the counter, handing him the bag of chips. "Pour those in there," he ordered pointing to one of the bowls Jake had retrieved. Johnston went to the refrigerator and pulled out a block of cream cheese and a bag of Mexican Fiesta! shredded cheese.
"I'm glad you remembered to wear jeans, Heather," Gail said, smiling at the younger woman but still keeping an eye on her husband. She threw a clean dishtowel over the bowl of dough and, detouring by way of Johnston and Jake in order to peek over their shoulders, carried it closer to the oven to rise.
"Well, Gramps called to remind me this morning that I would be playing football," she explained, chuckling and exchanging a quick look with April, who shrugged in return.
"We're a little more formal at Christmas, but the football game's been a tradition since EJ was in the Army," Gail continued. "Legend is, his unit played a three hour football game somewhere in Luxembourg on Thanksgiving Day 1944, and so he's insisted on a Green family game ever since."
"Belgium," Johnston corrected, dumping the can of chili into the bowl, over the cream cheese. "Dad was in Antwerp for Thanksgiving."
"Fighting the Battle of the Bulge for Christmas," Jake added.
Nodding, Johnston tore open the package of shredded cheese. "Exactly. Belgium."
"It's why we play football on Thanksgiving, anyway," Gail declared with a dismissive wave, seating herself next to Heather. "I'm very sorry about your uncle," she sighed, laying her hand over the younger woman's.
"Thank you," Heather murmured. "It was a shock and all," she added, flashing Gail a tight smile, "But now I just want - I just want to be there for my aunt and my cousin."
April, sensing that Heather would be grateful for any subject change, inquired, "So what time's your flight?"
"Quarter to eight," Heather answered, making a face. "That doesn't sound too bad until you factor in that they tell you to get there an hour to an hour and a half early because of all the new security restrictions, plus it's a three hour drive to Wichita. We've decided that we need to leave at three in the morning, just to be safe."
April twisted around in her seat to stare at Jake, who was now leaning against the counter, picking at the bowl of tortilla chips he was in charge of. Johnston edged past him, carrying his concoction to the microwave to heat it. "So, you're telling me that Jake Green is willingly getting up at two-thirty in the morning to take you to the airport. Interesting," she declared, grinning widely at Heather.
Jake shook his head. "It's not like I've never been up at two-thirty in the morning before," he grumbled.
"And, I'm bringing plenty of coffee along to keep us awake," Heather interjected.
"Well, I'm telling you," April chuckled, still smiling at her friend, "Jake's only up in the middle of the night if he just didn't go to bed. Definitely not a morning person. But, you know," she suggested a moment later, "You two should just drive down tonight and stay at a hotel."
Heather turned immediately pink and even Jake looked embarrassed, gaping at April for a moment. "I don't - I don't sleep well in hotel rooms," he argued lamely just as the microwave dinged.
"Plus, I - I haven't packed," Heather managed to stammer out then. She tried to meet April's eye, but quickly returned her attention to her hands, folded together on the table.
"Right," April agreed quickly. She glanced at Gail, who looked like she couldn't quite decide whether to be horrified by April's suggestion, or amused by the couple's response. Looking over her shoulder, April watched Johnston pull his chili-cheese dip out of the microwave and, carefully keeping his back to them, stir it. His shoulder twitched almost imperceptibly and she realized he was laughing silently to himself. "Well, it's probably for the best. Just take lots of coffee," she chuckled self-consciously. "That's a flat, boring drive, and the dark's not gonna make it any more interesting."
"Dip's ready," Johnston announced them, clearing his throat. "And, halftime's over, I'm sure." He picked up the bowl with two potholders and cocked his head toward the door. "After you, Jake."
"Sure," Jake muttered. He set the bowl of chips on the counter and then moved behind Heather's chair. Stooping, he pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered, "I'm sorry."
Heather, her blush subsiding, twisted around to look up at him. Their eyes locked and she found his hand, squeezing it. "I'm okay," she smiled softly.
Gail, from her seat next to Heather, couldn't help but overhear their exchange, and more than anything, it gave her a good feeling to have such tangible evidence of their affection and concern for one another. "Stop worrying, Jake," she laughed softly, reaching out to touch his arm as he stood back up. "We've got no plans to scare Heather off. We like her," she said, including the younger woman in the smile she offered her son. "Now go away."
"Yes, ma'am," Jake conceded with a soft grin. He touched Heather's shoulder one last time and then retrieved the bowl of chips from the counter. Johnston, balancing the dish of chili-cheese dip in one hand, held the door open, waiting on his son.
"And, Johnston, Jake," Gail called after them just as Jake set foot outside the kitchen. "Dinner's at four. Don't let that ruin your appetites," she warned.
"I was wondering when you were going to say something," April declared, snickering, as the door, after swinging back and forth a few times, settled back into place.
Allowing what could only be classified as an impish grin, Gail said, "Well, I've found with my gang, timing is everything."
Heather and April laughed in appreciation. "And you handle them very well, Mom," April smiled.
Chuckling, Gail forced herself to stand. "Self-defense," she assured them, walking to the oven. Her hand on the door, she paused, looking back at the two young women sitting at her kitchen table. "I've been completely outnumbered around here for quite awhile," she reminded. "But, we're starting to even that out, aren't we?" With that, Gail pulled the oven door open, and began to check on her turkey.
Flashing Heather an embarrassed smile, April leaned across the table and whispered, barely audibly, "I'm so, so sorry."
"It's okay," Heather mouthed in return, shaking her head. "I - I'll explain later," she promised quietly, bending toward April. Wrinkling her nose, she offered her friend a sheepish grin. "I don't know," Heather murmured, "For some reason, with Jake, I'm always blushing."
"Gee, now, I wonder why that is," April joked, smiling at Heather gently.
"Well, it looks like the turkey's right on schedule," Gail announced, closing the oven door. April and Heather both sat back in their chairs, facing Gail with identical semi-guilty smiles as she walked back toward the table.
Just as she passed in front of the door, it pushed open and Grandpa Green barreled in, followed closely by Jake. "Gail, m' dear," he called out, catching her in his arms and spinning her around. She laughed and shook her head at him. "April, darlin'," he added throwing his granddaughter-in-law a smile as he walked around the table, coming to a stop in front of Heather. He offered her his hand and then pulled her to her feet. "I realized as soon as I saw Jake, that you'd snuck by me, sweetheart," he scolded. "Now, where's my Thanksgiving hug?"
"Sorry, we came in the back door," Heather admitted, giggling. She stepped into the older man's embrace. "Happy Thanksgiving, Gramps."
"Happy Thanksgiving, kiddo," Grandpa echoed, kissing her on the forehead.
"Supervising, Jake?" April teased, shooting her brother-in-law a knowing look.
Jake rolled his eyes. "I just came in to get something to drink," he insisted, turning toward the refrigerator. He made a big show of opening the door and finding a beer.
"So, ready for the big game?" Grandpa asked Heather, releasing her.
Laughing nervously, she took a half-step back. "Ready as I'll ever be. You do remember that I've never actually played football," Heather reminded. "I'm game, but I might do it all wrong," she warned, frowning softly.
"It's not hard at all," Grandpa assured, "And you must've seen football."
"On TV," she agreed. "But that's pretty much it. And, honestly, once we saw 'Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man' - the X-Files episode - my Dad, Mikey and I - we all decided that there really was no way the Bills would ever win a Super Bowl, and we kinda gave up on them."
Grandpa stared at Heather blankly. She glanced at April and Gail, only to find similar, non-comprehending expressions on their faces. Jake, preoccupied with opening his beer bottle, smiled at her distractedly. "You do know the X-Files, right?"
"I never could get into it," April admitted, shrugging. "Sorry. Eric used to watch it, but I don't think he does anymore."
"That's 'cause it's not any good anymore," Heather grumbled. "But this was a funny episode. The Cigarette Smoking Man - he pretty much secretly controls the world - he gets to make all of these decisions on the day before Christmas, I think, and he picks a Super Bowl winner, and says 'Buffalo will never win while I'm in charge,' or something like that. I remember my Dad just threw his hands up in the air and said, 'Well, that explains everything.'" She looked at Grandpa, and then at Gail. They both smiled at her kindly, but didn't say anything. "We thought it was funny, anyway."
"I remember that episode," Jake interjected. "It was funny. Had that whole twist on the 'life is like a box of chocolates' thing," he added, throwing Heather a grin before taking a sip of his beer.
"Right, exactly," she agreed, smiling brightly at Jake in return. Heather stepped around Grandpa, moving over to where Jake leaned lazily against the counter. He straightened, snaking one arm around her before pulling her close for a kiss. Grandpa shook his head, grinning at them, and at the table, Gail and April exchanged an indulgent look.
"He knew everything that was gonna happen in the world," Heather continued a moment later, turning around to face the rest of them. "But he still couldn't do what he really wanted to do, which was write the next big thriller novel, and it all just made him grumpy," she recalled. Jake nodded his agreement.
"Didn't realize you were such a big X-Files fan, Jake," April teased.
"Some of the guys I worked with in California were obsessed," he shrugged. "I started watching just so I could follow the conversation. It was a pretty good show, though I can't really swallow the whole 'vast government conspiracy' thing," Jake snorted, taking a sip of his beer before setting his bottle down on the counter next to him so he could wrap both his arms around Heather. "I work for a government agency," he reminded. "No way we could coordinate an alien invasion, let alone keep it secret for fifty years."
"That's probably why they call it fiction," Heather decided, leaning back against Jake. "But, if you're from Buffalo, and you've seen that episode, then you either think the line about the Bills is really funny because it's as good an explanation as any for how they could get to the Super Bowl four years in a row and not win," she said, emitting an exasperated noise. "Or you think it's really depressing, because the Bills actually went to the Super Bowl four years in a row and somehow managed to never win!" she declared, groaning. "I stopped even paying attention to football after that, not that it was ever really my sport."
"Can you run for our end zone if Jake or I getcha the ball?" Grandpa asked, his lips twitching with a smile. "'Cause, if you can do that much - and avoid Johnston, 'cause he was pretty good on the football field growin' up - then you'll do just fine."
Heather twisted her head around, looking up at Jake, their eyes locking. "That I can do," she said, answering Grandpa's question though all of her attention was concentrated on Jake. "I think so. Probably. I hope," she giggled, turning, somewhat reluctantly to offer Grandpa a wry smile.
Everyone laughed along with Heather, and Jake kissed the shell of her ear, assuring her quietly, "You can do it."
From the living room, they heard Johnston and Eric shouting, "Run! Run! Run, run, run!" before they dissolved into a series of unintelligible hoots and grunts.
Gail shook her head. "I think you two better get, if you're planning to watch any of that game," she said, looking between Jake and Grandpa.
"Throwing us out of your kitchen, Miss Abigail?" Grandpa teased, earning himself a dirty look. "Jake, I guess we better skedaddle," he advised, chuckling.
"Yeah," Jake agreed, grinning. "Girl talk zone," he murmured, kissing the top of Heather's head. She twisted around again, tilting her head up, and he took prompt advantage of the opportunity by dropping a chaste kiss on her mouth. "Okay, fine, I'm leaving," he muttered, throwing his mother a mock glare before smiling at Heather. "I'll see you later," he told her, hugging her around the waist one last time before letting her go.
Heather half stumbled toward the table, almost running into Grandpa as she watched Jake over her shoulder. "Careful there, sweetheart," Grandpa laughed, catching her by both arms. She blushed and nodded, moving around him. "C'mon Jake," he said, sighing deeply. "We'll leave the womenfolk be." With that, Grandpa headed for the door, with Jake, dragging his feet slightly, following behind.
"And you wonder why you're always blushing," April laughed at Heather, rolling her eyes. She got up, crossing to the refrigerator. "Soda?" she asked over her shoulder as she opened the door.
"Please," Heather nodded, "And, thank you."
"Don't let us embarrass you," Gail told Heather then, laying her hand over the younger woman's.
"I'm not," she protested quickly. "Really. I feel right at home, I promise," Heather said, smiling softly.
"Well, good," Gail acknowledged, smiling in return. "We're just all talk anyway, and I have no doubt you can keep up."
"Oh, she can," April grinned, setting three soda cans down on the table before passing them each one. "Heather's definitely one of us."
More cheering erupted from the living room then, and they could clearly hear both Grandpa and Jake yelling along with Eric and Johnston. Chuckling, Gail stood up, saying, "Sounds like the men's attention is back on the game. I think I can get out our little snack now," she decided. "I made spinach dip."
"Don't we need to worry about our appetites?" Heather asked, her forehead wrinkling.
"Nah, we've got self-control," April argued. "Besides, we're not eating until four. We need something to tide us over."
"Exactly," Gail agreed, opening the refrigerator door. "There's a baguette in the breadbox," she told them, retrieving a red plastic container. "Grab a cutting board and the bread knife, and then we can have some girl talk."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thursday, November 23, two months after the bombs
"So are we after whoever it was that snatched the genny?" Hawkins asked once it was evident no one from West Kansas Shipping and Freight was giving chase. His tone was maddeningly neutral, though Jake, easing up on the gas so he could glance at his passenger, recognized genuine interest in the other man's expression.
"Nah," Jake said, shaking his head and returning his full attention to the road. "Em'll take it straight back to town. She's with us."
"I see," Hawkins muttered, looking back over his shoulder to check the position of Jimmy's truck, bringing up the rear of their retreating column. As soon as they'd realized what was happening, the men from town had scrambled for their vehicles, eager to get away before Jonah and his men regrouped or just got it into their heads to start shooting. Johnston and Eric were in the lead, and getting farther and farther ahead. Hawkins smirked softly, laughing under his breath. Apparently Jake Green had come by his lead foot honestly, inheriting it from his father. "Thought I'd seen that blond head before," Hawkins added. "This Em, she's a professional car thief?"
Jake grunted, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Hardly. she's a high school teacher," he contradicted with a snort. "English. And, she's Jonah Prowse's daughter." He spared Hawkins a quick glance. "They're not really on speaking terms."
"I see," Hawkins repeated. "Guess that explains why he wouldn't shoot her."
"Let's hope it explains why he's not comin' after us, too," Jake murmured.
Hawkins nodded, checking the road behind them in the side mirror. "Let's," he agreed.
Ten minutes later, Jake turned onto Main Street, allowing a relieved sigh when he spotted the flatbed parked right outside town hall, the generator waiting to be unloaded. His father's truck was behind the flatbed and Johnston and Eric were already at work pulling the ropes off the machine.
"So, what's the plan?" Jake asked a minute later as he and Hawkins climbed up on the truck to help.
"Get it unloaded and running," Johnston answered. Jimmy squealed to a stop, abandoning his truck in the middle of the street, parallel to the flatbed, as he and Bill piled out. Johnston shook his head at them. "Bill! Jimmy! Get over here," he yelled, jumping down off the truck bed. "Mr. Hawkins," Johnston continued, looking up at the other man, "You know something about getting this working?"
"Little bit," Hawkins nodded. "You wanna get power to town hall?"
"That'd be nice," Johnston agreed. "But how 'bout we start with just gettin' some lights up on Main Street?"
"We can do that," Hawkins promised.
"So what do we do with the truck?" Eric asked, coiling a rope around his arm as he came around from behind.
"Jimmy, you and Bill help Mr. Hawkins and Jake with the generator," Johnston ordered. "When it's unloaded take the truck over to the corporation yard, then give the keys to Mrs. Crenshaw," he instructed. "Eric," he continued, "I need you inside."
"Hey," Jake interrupted, "You see where Emily went?"
"She's in - over there," Eric said, jerking his head toward Bailey's Tavern. He looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"Right," Jake acknowledged with a sharp nod. He watched as his father and brother headed inside, and then went to work, letting Hawkins take charge of the operation. The generator quickly drew a crowd, though it was nowhere as big as the mob they'd handled earlier in the day after word of the airdrops had spread through town. Soon there were twelve men working on getting the generator off the truck. Jake moved over next to Hawkins. "There's something I need to go take care of," he explained quietly, and distracted, Hawkins waved him away. "Thanks," Jake muttered.
He spotted Emily, playing pool, her back to the door, as soon as he walked into the bar. She took her shot, shaking her derriere unerringly in his direction. The hair on the back of Jake's neck stood up; he had no doubt that she knew he was there, and that she'd been waiting for him. He took a deep breath and stalked across the twenty feet that separated them.
"What the hell were you thinking?" he demanded, skidding to a stop behind her and clenching one hand into a fist.
Emily stood up, arching her back. "That you coulda gotten killed, and that Jonah wouldn't've hurt me," she answered, smiling at him over her shoulder. She took two steps sideways, sliding past Jake, almost but not quite touching him, maintaining eye contact the entire time.
"What?" Jake snarled, taking a half-step back. "What about Mitchell?" he demanded. "He almost shot you. Hell, we almost shot you!" Jake barked at her, crossing his arms over his chest.
"But you didn't, Jake," she replied calmly. "God," she chuckled, leaning on her pool cue, "When we were in high school you woulda been right there with me."
"Well, we're not kids anymore," he retorted through clenched teeth.
She was flirting with him, Jake realized, and he realized that had as much to do with the success high she was on as with any real affection she still felt for him now, more than a decade after their last and final break-up. Jake knew that feeling, the feeling that you were invincible and that world was, for the moment, perfect. He also knew that that feeling was fleeting, and that those who sought it time and again ended up getting themselves killed. For her own good - for his own good - he needed to shut her down.
"Why don't you just say 'good job'?" she demanded softly, frowning at him. She walked around to the other side of the pool table, putting its solid bulk between them, eyeing him warily.
Jake allowed an eloquent growl of frustration. "What?" he snapped, shaking his head. "No!"
One eyebrow cocked, Emily moved back toward Jake, taking slow, catlike steps. Stopping in front of him, she laid one hand on his arm, squeezing his bicep gently. "I know it's what you're thinking."
"You have no idea what I'm thinking," he told her, shaking her hand off his arm. "But, you wanna know what I think about?" Jake continued, taking a deliberate step away from her. "What I was thinking about out there, at Jonah's? I was thinking about my wife, and our kid, and our family. You never even crossed my mind, not until you pulled that stupid stunt," he practically spat out. "I'm not getting myself killed because you're an idiot," Jake informed her, pressing his lips into a grim line. "High school?" he chuckled harshly a second later. "High school was a lifetime ago, Em. What you did was stupid, and you're just lucky it worked."
Something Jake identified as fear flashed across her face and, pouting softly, she objected, "You don't mean that."
"Yeah, I do," he contradicted, shaking his head. "Do you know how what you did today makes me feel?" he asked rhetorically. "It makes me feel sorry for Roger."
"Jake -"
"I'm only here because somebody needed to tell you that what you did was stupid. Now, that should be Roger, but he's not here, so I'll do that much for him." He paused for a long moment, trying to decide whether or not to say anything else. She looked deflated, and he knew that what he was going to say would only wound her more, but he had to be sure she knew where they stood. "I love Heather, and nothing's ever going to change that."
Jake turned on his heel and left the bar.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *