Different Circumstances: Part 10D of ?
by Marzee Doats
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thursday, November 23, two months after the bombs
"It's not fair," Jake heard Heather complain as he slipped in the back door. "I understand the scientific principles at work," she continued, grumbling, "But actually applying it in real life, and cooking something? It's never gonna happen."
Johnston chuckled kindly, easing the oven door closed. "We're gettin' it, darlin', we're gettin' it."
"Besides," Gail reminded, "Cooking's more art than science."
Heather threw her hands up in the air. "Great. Well, that leaves me out."
Jake laughed then, pushing the door closed with his shoulder. The other three all glanced back at him, Heather and his mother both smiling. "Aw, we all know I married you for your peanut butter cookies," he teased, crossing his arms and winking at Heather. "Who cares if you can't cook, you can bake."
"Oh, that's why you married me, huh?" she laughed, skirting the table as she maneuvered her way across the kitchen. She stopped six inches in front of him, her hands clasped over their baby, her expression expectant. "Hey, you," she greeted softly.
"Hey," he returned, pressing himself against Heather, his hands finding their way to her hips. "It's one of the reasons anyway," Jake murmured before kissing her. "In the top twenty." He brought his hands up, cupping the sides of her belly and stroking his thumbs over the soft flannel of her purloined shirt. "So, everything's good?"
"Everything's good," Heather assured, smiling at Jake. "Even if I can't be trusted to cook a chicken by myself," she joked, finding Jake's hand with her own and lacing their fingers together. "But hopefully we got the fire hot enough, and then we'll be able to eat in an hour or two," she explained, leading him toward the oven.
"So, who're we eating?" he asked.
"Jake!" Gail scolded immediately, though the effect was somewhat diminished when Johnston let out a loud guffaw, and Heather giggled. "Well, really," she muttered, looking at each of them.
"Well, you hafta admit, it seems kind of callous to not acknowledge that we're eating ... individuals... with names," Heather shrugged, grinning at Jake. "And, I really am okay with this. I didn't want to watch the - the process," she decided, drawing a snort from Jake. Two months before, Heather wouldn't have even attempted to do anything with chicken that hadn't come boneless and skinless from the store; he had no doubt she'd avoided watching the butchering of two of her flock. "So, thank you for handling that, Dad," she said, glancing at Johnston. "Besides," Heather confessed, "I'm really looking forward to having meat."
"I think we're all lookin' forward to the meat," Johnston declared. "We thought about bathin' them in barbeque sauce, but your mother wouldn't let us," he told Jake, earning himself a harmless smack on the arm. "But I have to admit, Jeff did most of the work. From what he said, he grew up hunting the same way you did. He offered to take care of things, and I didn't see any reason to turn him down."
Jake nodded. "He seemed to know what he was doing when we were out this morning. Said he'd join the border patrol, too."
"I'm just glad someone else did the dirty work," Heather announced, making a face. "And for the record, we're eating Henny-Penny and Pippi," she informed them. "I went with recognizable female names in children's literature. Well, for the hens. The rooster is Rocky."
"So, if you get another rooster out of your chicken breeding project, can I name it Bullwinkle?" Jake teased throwing his arm around her shoulders and pulling her against his side.
Heather chuckled, grinning up at him. "Sure. It's actually Rocky Balboa, but we can call the next one Bullwinkle."
"You're gonna try your hand at setting eggs, huh?" Johnston asked, scratching his chin.
"Yeah, I think so," she nodded.
"That coop's not near as solid as the one out at the ranch," he reminded. "We should move it to the garage," Johnston decided, nodding to himself. "Hafta find feed, too. Soon as it snows, we can't just leave 'em in the yard and hope they get by."
"I guess - Maybe I should wait 'til spring?" Heather frowned.
Jake, watching Heather's profile, could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she processed his father's input and began to doubt her plan. Johnston cleared his throat. "Darlin' -"
"We brought in all the feed from the ranch," Jake interrupted. "We just need to figure out how to do this."
"Exactly," Gail agreed, patting Heather's arm as she moved around them, crossing to the sink. "It'll work out."
"Jake's right," Johnston nodded. "We'll get it squared away. I think we're all enjoyin' the eggs, and I know we're gonna enjoy these chickens."
"Okay," Heather acknowledged, her frown giving way to a distracted smile. "Guess I really do need to get that pamphlet from the 4-H office," she chuckled, "Then figure out what I'm doing."
Smiling, Gail turned around and made her way back toward them, carrying a half gallon-sized plastic container. She screwed the top on as she walked, handing it to Johnston when she was done. "Shake, please," she requested, shooing Heather and Jake with her free hand. "We've got everything under control," Gail assured. "Jake, get your pregnant wife off her feet."
"I want to help," Heather protested, pursing her lips when her mother-in-law shook her head.
"You've been working all day, you need to take care of yourself," Gail argued. "And no reason you shouldn't have Jake pamper you for a bit," she smiled. "Football's in a half hour, so take a break."
"What am I doing this for?" Johnston grumbled. He stopped shaking the bottle and peered at it, trying to discern the contents through the textured plastic.
"Shake!" Gail insisted, grabbing his wrist and moving his arm up and down in demonstration. "It's powdered milk."
"Powdered milk?" Johnston questioned, distaste curling his upper lip. "What in the world do you need powdered milk for? Be better off just usin' plain water," he muttered.
"I've been trying to figure out something for dessert all week," Gail explained, an impatient note ringing in her tone. "We're having pudding. And, for pudding, I need four and a half cups of milk if there's going to be enough for everyone. I'm not using real milk for that, not when it'll taste just fine made up with the powdered. Keep shaking," she ordered.
"Pudding?" Johnston frowned.
Frustration flared in Gail's eyes, and she planted her hands on her hips, glaring daggers at her husband. "Yes. Pudding. Pistachio for Heather and butterscotch for April," she emphasized, eyebrows raised. "And now if you will just shake that up for me, then you may pick between chocolate and vanilla for the last batch."
"And on that note, we're leaving," Jake announced, tugging on Heather's hand. He knew it was time to beat a hasty retreat, and he hurried her toward the door.
"Well, can't we at least have lemon?" Johnston complained as the door swung closed behind them.
Jake and Heather, both snickering softly to themselves, were careful to avoid making eye contact as they walked through the dining room, Heather leading the way. They only looked at one another as they entered the living room, bursting immediately into laughter. "Promise me we will never argue about how to make pudding," Heather demanded, leaning against Jake's arm, still giggling. "It's pudding!"
"You definitely have a deal," he answered, grinning at her. Heather started toward the couch, but he stopped her, pulling on her hand and cocking his head toward the stairs. "How 'bout we get away from everybody else for awhile?" Jake suggested.
"Okay," she agreed, allowing him to guide her to the staircase. "But football's in a half hour."
"I'll take a half hour," Jake replied, squeezing her hand. They walked upstairs and to their bedroom without saying a word though the glances they exchanged said more than enough. Stepping behind Heather, Jake dropped his hands on her shoulders, steering her through the door and straight to the bed. "One moment," he muttered distractedly, moving around her. Heather watched, bemused, as Jake carefully fluffed three pillows and then reached for her arm, gently forcing her to sit down.
"Two is sufficient," she joked, pulling one of the pillows out from behind her back. "But nice job on the pampering," Heather complimented with a grin.
"Well, I had my orders," he reminded, frowning as he studied her for a moment. "Maybe you should lie down," Jake suggested, taking Heather's hand in order to assist her.
"I'm fine. I'm not tired," she protested. "And believe it or not, I actually can still lie down all on my own when I want to."
"Okay," Jake conceded, holding his hands up in surrender. He walked around the foot of the bed and then sat down on the other side before stretching out along side Heather.
She watched in silence as he scooted closer and began to play with the hem of her shirt. "We've got all of twenty-five minutes before your Mom starts rounding everybody up for football," Heather reminded, running her hand through his hair.
Jake laughed at that. "Get your mind out of the gutter," he grumbled even as he undid the bottom button on her shirt, and then the one above it.
"Don't," Heather practically whined as he separated the ends of her flannel shirt, exposing her pregnant belly to the cool air. The fireplace in the living room, the only constant source of heat in the house, was carefully fed all day and carefully banked at night, but the warmth it gave off certainly didn't penetrate the second floor. They were lucky that the weather had remained mild but that still hadn't kept Heather from feeling an almost constant chill. "Jake, it's cold," she complained, allowing a soft sigh a moment later when he splayed his surprisingly warm hands gently over her tummy. "Okay," she conceded, "Keep doing that."
"What? Keep doing this?" he teased, skimming his hand over the mound of their child. "Or should I keep doing this?" he suggested, circling her belly button with one finger.
"Not that," Heather argued, reaching for his hands and then pressing them down over her stomach. "That," she directed, frowning. "I hate always being not warm," she admitted, her expression turning guilty. "I know that it's not important - we're not freezing, we're not sick, we've got food to eat - but I would really just like to be warm, too."
"No, it's important," Jake assured Heather, smoothing her shirt back into place before re-buttoning it. "Wanna steal a sweatshirt?" he offered, grinning at her, though his eyes betrayed his own frustration with their situation. "We got the generator back, and we've got some extra fuel now," he continued without waiting for her answer. Jake glanced at Heather, releasing an aggravated breath. "If the food turns out to be okay... I don't know," he finally admitted with a shrug.
Their eyes locked then, and they watched one another, recognizing their unspoken fears in each other's gaze. "It's all gonna be okay," Heather declared finally, nodding once, decisively. "Because it has to be, right?" she added, laying a hand over his on her belly.
"It does," Jake agreed, his lips pressed into a tight line.
Heather waited a few seconds and then, after squeezing his hand, removed hers. Jake began to massage her abdomen again, and then she felt him poke her lightly in the side. "He's sleeping," she informed him, chuckling softly.
Jake threw her a grin and then scooted down the bed until he was able to press his lips against the side of her flannel-covered tummy. "Hey you, wake up," he whispered.
"Stop," Heather grumbled, trying not to giggle, but failing. "You get him going like you did yesterday," she complained, "And I'm gonna have bruises on the inside."
"Yesterday you were sayin' 'her'," Jake reminded, drawing a circle around their baby with two fingers.
"Well, I'm expecting either a 'him' or a 'her'," she sighed. "I don't know. Some days I think 'she' and some days I think 'he'. But as long as she's healthy," Heather teased, smiling at Jake, "Who cares?"
Jake returned her smile. "Not me," he agreed, letting his hand still against her belly.
"So, if the offer still stands," she decided, "I think I will steal a sweatshirt."
"The offer still stands," he agreed, sitting up. Jake cupped her chin and kissed her quickly before rolling away and off the bed. He crossed to the dresser and retrieved two zippered sweatshirts, holding both up for her to choose between.
"I'll take the green," she decided, laughing softly. "It matches my shirt, and I have this thing for green," she teased.
He snorted at her, shaking his head. "Babe, we've got twenty minutes 'til football," he reminded, tossing Heather the green sweatshirt. "And, you're puttin' clothes on, not takin' 'em off," he added, dropping the other sweatshirt, a grey one, on the dresser top.
"True," she chuckled, a slight blush tingeing her cheeks. "So, I guess we need a change of subject."
Nodding, Jake moved back to the bed, settling himself next to Heather. "Think I've got one. April's pregnant?" he said, glancing at her sideways. "And, we're talking about it now?" he asked. "I mean, the look Mom gave Dad over the butterscotch pudding? I take it he knows."
Mouth open, she stared at him for a few seconds while she finished zipping up the sweatshirt he'd given her. "You of course figured that out all on your own," Heather muttered, rolling her eyes at him.
"When she's not at work, she's sleeping or crying. The bathroom smells like vomit half the time, and you're not sick anymore, right?" he questioned, reaching for Heather's hand. She nodded. "You and Mom always have some excuse if she has to leave the room," Jake added, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "And, Mom plans meals around April as much as she does around you. That was a big clue," he laughed uncomfortably. "Plus, Mom could literally wring Eric's neck. I'd expect her to be mad, but she's way beyond mad. There had to be more goin' on than the world's absolutely worst-timed divorce."
"She was gonna tell him, only he told her he was in love with Mary Bailey first. Kinda threw a monkey wrench into the works," Heather frowned, exhaling deeply. "April swore us to secrecy while she tried to decide what she was doing. I didn't think that your Dad knew though," she murmured, shaking her head.
"He knows," Jake answered, "Trust me."
"This whole situation is such a mess," Heather grumbled softly. "I'd like to wring Eric's neck, too."
"Yeah," he acknowledged with a sigh. "But I don't think it'd do anything to change his mind. He says he loves Mary."
Heather tensed immediately, withdrawing her hand from Jake's and clenching it into a fist which she ground against her leg. "So he'll throw away a marriage - eight years with April - his family, for that?" she demanded, glaring at Jake. "I think - I think we better change the subject again," she muttered, looking down.
"I'm not Eric," Jake reminded, cupping her cheek with one hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. "We disagree about something, I don't walk away, okay? We work at it 'til we've driven each other crazy," he demanded, recalling the conversation he'd had with April the night after Eric left and the confrontation with Ravenwood. He and Heather had had this discussion already, more than once over the intervening three weeks, but he'd have it as many times as she needed, he decided, silently cursing his brother for the millionth time. "We don't give up," he told her, running the pad of his thumb over her slightly chapped lips. "Okay?"
"Okay," she agreed, offering him a watery smile.
"How 'bout that new topic of conversation?" Jake suggested a few seconds later, dropping his hand from her face. He leaned back against the headboard, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer once he felt some of the tension leave her frame. Heather laid her head against his arm and, smiling, Jake pressed a kiss to her temple. "You know, I'm pretty sure you were supposed to tell me what you named my car."
"Actually, the deal was I'd tell you if you didn't go out to Jonah Prowse's," Heather argued, tracing a circle around his heart with the nail of her index finger.
Jake held his breath, waiting for whatever she was going to say next but it never came. Finally, he broke the silence. "I had to go today. We had to get the generator back, there wasn't any choice," he said, massaging her neck.
"I know," she nodded against his arm. "'I got your note. Zack Davis brought it by." Heather tilted her head back, catching his eye. Jake was relieved to realize she wasn't angry, and in fact, she was giggling softly. "He told me he was my 'Z-mail' provider," she laughed, shaking her head. "And, I know you had to go out there," she sighed a moment later. "I just - thank you for letting me know what was happening."
"You're welcome," Jake murmured thickly, brushing a kiss across her forehead. He cleared his throat and asked, chuckling, "'Z-mail'? Zack Davis was never in your class, was he? One of the admiring throng?"
"Nah. I had his little sister my first year. Lindsay. But that's it," she replied. "He's a cutie though. Nice kid." Heather pulled away from him then, twisting slightly in her seat so that she faced Jake sideways, her expression suddenly serious. "I'll admit that it's persnickety of me -"
"Persnickety?" he interrupted, laughing gently, "Not you."
Heather snorted, socking Jake harmlessly on the arm. "Yeah. Me. It's persnickety, but on principle - even though I understand and acknowledge that you had to go out there - I can't tell you. Not when Jonah Prowse could've killed you today," she told him, frowning softly. "Ask me tomorrow, and we'll see."
"Hey. I'm not gettin' myself killed by Jonah or anybody else," Jake promised. He reached for her hand and pressed it to her abdomen, laying his larger hand over hers. "I know what's at stake, babe," he declared, kissing the tip of her nose. "I love you Heather, and when I'm not here I'm still thinkin' about you, and about how to get back here. To you," Jake added a second later, kissing her mouth this time.
"Good," she agreed, pulling back, her eyes suddenly bright. Heather freed her hand from beneath his and quickly wiped her nose and eyes before shifting over so that she ended up in his lap. Jake immediately wrapped his arms around her, holding her against his chest. "I love you, too," she whispered against his neck, her breath tickling him. "And, I want to argue about pudding thirty years from now, if that's what we want to argue about."
Jake groaned. "Anything but pudding," he chuckled, pressing his lips to the sensitive spot just behind her ear. "Please." She giggled in response while he concentrated on tracing her jaw with kisses and, at the same time, snaked his hand up beneath her shirts, letting it rest on the bare skin of her rounded belly.
"Football's in ten minutes," Heather reminded, laughing and twisting away from him to place her own kiss on his jaw.
"Aw, you're no fun," Jake complained jokingly, rubbing circles against her stomach.
"Am too," she teased in return, letting her head fall back against his shoulder.
They sighed in unison, and then laughed at themselves in unison, too. "So, speaking of fun things," Jake began a few seconds later, "Your new friend, Rob, is hooking up the generator to get lights goin' on Main Street."
"I just officially met him," Heather replied. "He's your friend, not mine."
"We're not exactly friends," Jake countered. "And, I don't get to call him 'Rob' like you do," he added, tickling her bellybutton and making her squeal.
She clamped her hand down over the top of his. "Don't you dare!" Heather warned, glaring at Jake. "And, you can call him 'Rob'. He calls you 'Jake'."
"I'm pretty sure I can call him 'Hawkins'," Jake snorted, slowly withdrawing his hand. "But, after football and dinner, if you want, we can bundle you up and walk over, gawk at the pretty lights," he joked, knitting his fingers with hers, "And then you can take a look at the generator and tell 'Rob' everything he did wrong. That's the part that'll be fun for me," Jake added, chuckling softly.
"You want me to grade his generator mobilization skills?" Heather laughed, shaking her head. "What'd he ever do to you?"
Before he could respond though, Gail knocked on the door, calling out, "Jake, Heather! Football!"
"C'mon," Heather murmured, slipping off of Jake's lap. "Time for football."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thursday, November 22, five years before the bombs
"Eric, I am so, so sorry," Heather declared, not for the first time. She trailed Jake and Johnston, carrying Eric between them, into the house. Inside, April directed them into the living room, and Heather followed, hovering, as Jake and Johnston deposited the injured man on the couch. "I am so sorry," she repeated, her expression stricken. Somehow, she ended up with the football, and now she hugged it to her chest, grimacing as she caught sight again of Eric's bleeding nose.
"Head back," April instructed, forcing Eric to sit back. "Pinch your nose there, Ricky," she teased gently, combing his hair off his forehead. "We'll getcha fixed up," she promised, glancing over her shoulder at Johnston and then at Gail who, along with Grandpa Green, had come in behind everyone else. "First aid kit, maybe a couple of towels and some ice?" she suggested. Eric groaned, and April looked down at him, shaking her head. "Maybe you just better lie down."
Johnston headed for the bathroom and Gail for kitchen. Grandpa moved next to Heather and put his arm around her. "He'll be okay, sweetheart," he comforted, shaking her gently. "He's a Green. He's got a hard head."
"I dink by ankle's broken," Eric muttered, gingerly lifting one leg and then the other onto the couch. "Ow."
"Oh God," Heather moaned, dropping the football and covering her mouth with both hands. The ball bounced off of Grandpa's shoe and then rolled to a stop a few feet away. "Eric, I am so sorry," Heather repeated, her words muffled by her fingers. "I didn't see you, and then I turned around and - Oh God."
Jake stepped around April and then the coffee table to join Heather and his grandfather in the middle of the room. He pulled her into a sideways hug, dislodging Grandpa's arm. "You're a bruiser, Lisinski," he joked, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Grandpa glared at him and Jake rolled his eyes in return. "Don't worry. He'll be fine," he assured Heather, pulling her in front of him and then wrapping one arm around her shoulders from behind. "Besides," he reminded, kissing her ear, "Eric tripped over you."
"It was all just an accident," Gail declared, coming through the dining room from the kitchen. April was kneeling now, examining Eric's ankle, and Gail hurried over, offering the towels and ice she'd collected to her daughter-in-law. "Here you go."
"Thanks," April replied distractedly. "Here," she said, handing Eric one of the towels. "Clean up a little so I can take a look. And, your ankle's not broken, just sprained. Guess you're off KP later," she joked, carefully easing his shoe off his foot. "Rest, ice, compression, and elevation, my friend," April informed her husband, glancing up to check his progress. "That's our plan for the rest of the day," she smiled, patting his knee.
"Here's the first aid kit," Johnston announced, re-entering the living room. He carried it to April, continuing, "We've got a coupl'a pairs of crutches out in the garage, if you think we need 'em."
"I am so sorry," Heather groaned, resting her head against Jake's chest, prompting him to tighten his hold on her.
"It was an accident," Gail repeated, helping April wrap Eric's ankle in an ice pack. "Okay, twenty minutes on, twenty minutes off, so, hmmm...." She checked her watch, deciding, "So we'll need to pull it off at three thirty-five."
"Heather, we hardly ever get through a Thanksgiving without some sort of injury," Johnston assured, bending over to retrieve the football off the floor. "Usually, scrapes and bruises," he allowed, tucking the ball beneath his arm before moving to stand next to Jake, "But when he was fourteen, Stanley Richmond went long, ran right into the front of my mother's Cadillac, and broke his leg in two places. Coach Bauer was fit to be tied. Stanley was only a freshman," Johnston explained, offering her a sympathetic smile. "But he was a starter. Team lost out in the first round without Stanley."
Eric's ankle seen to, April had turned her attention to his nose and eye. "That's gonna be one impressive shiner, my friend," she decided, frowning softly. She carefully checked his nose with one hand. "Not broken - again - either, so at least your snoring won't be any worse."
"Ouch," Eric yelped, grabbing April's wrist. He scowled at her, almost pouting. "It still hurts, eben if it's not broken. 'Sides, I dought you lubbed by snoring," he joked weakly, settling back against the couch's arm.
"I love you," April snorted in reply. "And, I wear earplugs so I can coexist with your snoring." She grinned at him, pressing two fingers gently against his lips. "How 'bout some ibuprofen?"
"Danks, doc," Eric sighed.
April sat down on the coffee table and pulled the first aid kit into her lap. She opened it, and found a pill packet which she opened and handed to Eric. "Do you want some water?" she asked, smiling at him gently.
"Nah," he replied, 'I'b good." He shook the tablets out on his hand and then threw them into his mouth, swallowing them dry.
"Okay," April acknowledged, reaching for his hand and squeezing it. "I didn't actually see it," she admitted a moment later, looking over her shoulder at Heather. "What happened?"
"I didn't see him," she began, pulling out of Jake's embrace and taking two steps toward coffee table and couch. "I didn't see you, Eric," Heather squeaked, grimacing softly. "Gramps said if he or Jake got the ball to me, I should run for our end zone. I got the ball, and I turned around, and I didn't know you were there until -" She cringed, covering her face again. Jake moved behind her, dropping both hands on her shoulders. He began to massage her neck with his thumbs and Heather leaned back into his touch, sighing. "I'm sorry."
"Here, honey. This'll help, too," Gail said, passing a second towel-wrapped ice pack to her son.
He placed it diagonally over both his injured eye and nose, grunting at the initial sting. "It's okay," he muttered. "I'll - I'll lib." April leaned over Eric and adjusted the placement of the ice pack before stroking his forehead. He smiled at her and let out a deep sigh. "I was trying to tag you out, Header," he explained, holding the ice pack to his face so he could turn his head and look at her with his good eye. "You just got be first. I just - I dought you said you didn't know how to play football."
"This was my first time," Heather confirmed. "My family's into hockey more than football."
"Hockey?" all the Greens except for Jake repeated in surprise. "Like Wayne Gretzky hockey?" Grandpa asked, a smile twitching his lips. "Well, that explains the black eye and the bloody nose."
Heather giggled self-consciously. "Yeah. That's what we play on Thanksgiving. And Christmas, New Year's, Fourth of July, even, sometimes. Street hockey if there isn't too much snow or it's not too cold. Or we can always head to my Uncle Burt's ice rink. My brothers all went to college on partial hockey scholarships, and John's was full ride," she told them, looking between Grandpa and Eric. "Plus I was varsity field hockey in high school. We all get out on the ice. My Dad too, couple other uncles and some cousins," Heather continued becoming more and more animated. "My sister-in-law, Kerry, plays. She was on the same pee-wee team as John when they were eight," she told April and Gail. "Hated each other then, but fifteen years later they were dating, and they got married last September. We have a good time."
"You know this, Dad?" Johnston chuckled. "Seems you picked a ringer."
"I guessed," Grandpa laughed in reply, winking at Heather.
"Please tell me you injure each udder and I'm not just a wimp," Eric groaned, lifting the ice pack off his eye for a moment to peek at her.
"Scrapes and bruises, mostly," she answered, wrinkling her nose. "Sometimes a little ice burn. Though, last year, actually, someone did end up needing stitches," Heather admitted, looking up at Jake. "New Year's Day morning after game, not Thanksgiving. Seven AM at the ice rink. My nieces and nephew come in their PJs to cheer us on, and then we all head back to my parents' for this massive brunch."
"Who in the world gets up to play hockey at seven in the morning ever, let alone on New Year's Day?" Jake complained, shaking his head.
"Fanatics," Heather giggled softly. "We're fanatics. Besides, my uncle opens the rink to the public by ten, so we have to go early. Or he did, anyway," she shrugged.
Not saying anything, Jake pulled Heather into a quick hug, kissing her temple. Gail exchanged a smile with April and then forced herself to stand up. "Well, Doctor Green, I assume our patient's going to live?" she joked, throwing Eric a fond look.
"Yeah, he's gonna make it," April agreed, perching herself on the edge of the couch next to Eric. She lifted the ice pack off his eye and nose, clucking sympathetically. "Poor baby."
"I need some help in the kitchen," Gail announced, looking at her husband expectantly. "Johnston, the turkey needs to be carved. And, Dad, you can taste test the mashed potatoes for me."
Grandpa grinned. "I suppose if I must."
"Can we help?" Heather asked, holding up Jake's hand to include him in her offer.
Gail shook her head. "No, but thank you, sweetheart," she smiled, linking arms with Johnston. They started toward the kitchen, Grandpa following a few steps behind. "Dinner's in a half hour," she advised, looking back over her shoulder.
Jake waited until the door had swung closed behind his parents and grandfather before he tugged on Heather's hand, cocking his head in the direction of the staircase. "C'mon."
"Oooh! Gonna sneak Heather upstairs, huh, Jake?" April teased. She pulled the coffee table closer and dropped a throw pillow on top of it before helping Eric prop his injured ankle. "Scoot over."
"Uh-oh," Eric said, dislodging his ice pack as he adjusted his seat. "Bake sure you leeb de door open," he joked. "An' one foot on de floor - each - at all tibes."
"Yeah, we'll be sure to do that," Jake muttered, rolling his eyes.
"You think we're kidding," April snorted, allowing Eric to draw her back into his arms.
"Seriously, Jake," Eric began. "Last Chrisbus, April fell asleep up in by old room -"
"I'd worked a thirty-six hour shift, and then added Gramps' eggnog on top of that," she interrupted, giggling. "I never even made it to dinner. Finally woke up at three AM and snuck downstairs for something to eat. Your Dad was already there, and he made me a plate of ham and scalloped potatoes," April recalled. "Made me drink three or four glasses of water, too. Said he had a lot more experience with Gramps' eggnog than me," she chuckled. "It was sweet."
"Yeah, well, when you fell asleep and I didn't wanna wake you, Bom said I had to go back to my place for de night," Eric grumbled.
"Sorry," April chuckled, kissing him softly.
"She gabe be dis whole speech about how she couldn' hab April and be stayin' togedder, unbarried, in the same bedroom obernight, dat it wouldn't be proper," Eric told them, shaking his head. "So, unless you two got barried yesterday, don't say I didn't warn you," he grunted. "It'd be really e'barrassing to hab Bom bust in on you awake."
"She can't be any worse than Gramps," Jake muttered. "I'll think we'll risk it?" he decided, throwing Heather a questioning look.
"Oooh la la," April teased, grinning from ear to ear. "What'd he catch you two up to?" she demanded. Heather's immediate blush was all the answer she needed. "Oh, man," she giggled, snuggling back into Eric embrace and shaking her head.
"Okay," Heather answered Jake, smiling at him softly. "Eric," she added, looking back as Jake started to drag her toward the stairs, "I'm really, really sorry."
"Don' worry," he returned. "De ice and de drugs are helping."
"Well, you may want to stop talking 'til the swelling goes down some," Jake suggested, stopping in the archway to glance back at his brother. "Right now you sound like a cartoon character."
"Yeah, better put this back on, Ricky," April agreed, replacing the ice pack Eric had removed from his eye and his nose. "Sorry I can't kiss it and make it all better," she joked quietly, pressing her lips to his cheek.
"C'mon," Jake grinned at Heather, leading her up the stairs and then across the hall. Stopping in front of the door, he turned around and pulled her against him, kissing her gently.
"So," she murmured, snaking her arms around his waist, "Jake's old bedroom."
"Yeah," he nodded, reaching behind him to turn the door knob. He took a step backwards into the room, drawing Heather with him. "We can check out the baseball trophies and, believe it or not, the junior rodeo belt buckles. I'm pretty sure they're around here somewhere."
"The junior rodeo gives out belt buckles?" she giggled.
"Yeah," Jake snorted. "It's the rodeo." He stepped around her to close the door, leaving it open just a crack. "So, where do you wanna start?"
Heather surveyed the room. "That's the famous window with the tree and the sticker bush?" she asked, pointing across the room.
"Uh-huh," he agreed stepping behind her and wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Baseball trophies are over here," he explained, steering her to the dresser.
There were nearly a dozen trophies lined up on the bureau top, all recently dusted, Heather realized. Gail Green obviously kept the room in order, a commemoration of her son's childhood. She picked up a trophy at random, reading, "'Western Fillmore County Little League - AAA Baseball Champions - 1983 - The Angels'." Heather chuckled, glancing sideways at Jake. "So you were an Angel, huh?"
"Two years, and don't laugh," he confirmed, smiling at her. "I was also a Giant, a Cub, and a Twin. Ironically, Eric was an Angel, a Giant and a Cub, and gave up baseball just before I went onto the Twins," Jake shrugged. "And, then in high school of course, I was a Jericho Raider. Pitcher. All four years on varsity," he told her, a note of pride in his voice.
"Very cool," Heather acknowledged, laying her head against his shoulder, prompting Jake to kiss her. "This is cute," she said a moment later, reaching for a picture that was wedged into the corner of the mirror. "May I?" she requested, looking back at him.
Jake nodded. "Sure," he murmured, pressing himself against her back and gathering her hair up in one hand, lifting it off her neck. "High school graduation," he explained unnecessarily, kissing her below the ear. With one eye, he watched Heather work loose the photo of Eric, Stanley and himself in their caps and gowns. Nipping at her earlobe, Jake saw a second picture fall out from behind the first and flutter to the dresser top. In an instant, he recognized it and, sucking a deep breath in through his teeth, Jake stretched past Heather, picking it up before she could really see it.
"Hey, what was that?" she asked, reaching for the photo, but he held it away from her. "Oooh! Embarrassing picture?" she laughed, trying again to get it from him.
"You don't want to see that one," Jake argued. "It's not important, just a stupid high school picture," he told her, folding it in half and shoving it into his back pocket.
"What's wrong? Bad haircut? Please tell me you did not have a mullet," Heather teased, giggling and turning around in his arms. "Or, are you wearing baggy jeans, or - worse - those pants where the legs rubbed together and made the 'sh-sh-sh' sound when you walked?"
"Eric had a mullet, not me," Jake returned, rolling his eyes. "Plus I think he lived in wind pants for some reason. And you know, April witnessed all that, and still she married him," he chuckled.
"Well that just proves that love really is blind," she joked, tilting her head up to invite his kiss.
Smiling, Jake brushed his mouth across Heather's. "That it does," he agreed, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He took a deep breath, beginning, "Babe. Heather -"
"But I still want to see what's so embarrassing about this picture," she interrupted, reaching around Jake, fumbling to pull the wrinkled photograph out of his pocket. Heather spun away from him then, banging into the dresser. "Whoops, sorry," she giggled, putting her free hand down to steady herself. She unfolded the picture and looked at it. "Oh."
"Yeah," Jake acknowledged. "I - I didn't know that was there. I'm sorry," he muttered, looking over her shoulder at the photo of himself with Emily Sullivan. "I - I've always stayed in this room when I was home, visiting. I stayed here when I first got back to Jericho, and then after I got out of the hospital, before I moved out to the ranch. But it's pretty much the way I left it when I - when I went to school." Jake forced Heather to turn around and face him, flashing her an uncomfortable smile. "I really had no idea this was here," he sighed, taking the picture from her hand and crushing it into a ball.
"Jake," Heather protested, grabbing his hand. "You - you don't have to do that. I'm well aware that you and Emily Sullivan used to be a - a thing," she decided, unconsciously making a face. "Your mother has pictures of you and Emily in her albums, and I don't think she's gonna get rid of 'em just because you and I - we're together. You don't have to get rid of this either," she told him, trying to smooth the photograph out.
"I don't want it," he retorted, his expression turning annoyed. "I woulda gotten rid of it a long time ago if I'd known it was there. I don't need or want any reminders about - about that." Shaking his head, Jake took the picture back from Heather and studied it for a moment. Emily was sitting in his lap, and he had his arms around her, his chin resting on her shoulder. They were both grinning at the camera. He offered Heather a tight smile. "Senior picnic out at Bass Lake, two days before graduation. Not our picnic spot," Jake assured her quickly. "Completely on the other side of the lake. And for the record, we broke up two days after graduation," he offered, expelling a short breath. "Then we broke up three weeks after graduation, followed by a week before I left for school, and then, for good, really, halfway through my Christmas break." He threw the photo down on the dresser and reached for both of Heather's hands, gripping them tightly. "Do you kinda get the picture that it was inevitable?"
Heather nodded, squeezing Jake's hands in return. "Yeah, I do," she agreed, smiling at him weakly. They stared at one another for a long moment before she finally let out a deep sigh, and continued. "Look, I know you didn't spring up, full grown, just in time to meet me," she laughed a little nervously. "You played baseball and went to the junior rodeo, and to the prom and to college. You did all of these other things that made you into the guy in a suit who stopped to help me change a tire. That includes dating Emily," Heather shrugged. She tugged on his hand, leading him over to the foot of the bed where she sat down. Jake stared at her for a few seconds and then joined her, sitting so that their legs were pressed together. "You're not dating her now, so I think I win here."
Jake cupped her head with both hands and brought his mouth down upon hers, hard. "I think I'm the winner here," he murmured, resting his forehead against hers moments later. Heather, I - you're the one I want to be with," he told her, chickening out at the last second. He'd been trying to work up the courage to tell her how he felt about her, that he loved her, for the past three days. He'd almost managed it a few minutes before, but then she'd grabbed the picture out of his back pocket, completely derailing him. "You're - You're the only one I want to be with," he stammered, kissing her again, the words he truly wanted to say catching and then dying in his throat.
She smiled at him like he'd given her a long-desired gift. "You're the only one I want to be with, too," Heather declared softly, finding his hand again and lacing their fingers together. She opened her mouth, intending to continue, but then closed it without saying anything, instead leaning into him, pressing her mouth to his. Drawing back a few seconds later, Heather expelled a quick breath, her expression suddenly serious. "At the New Year's hockey game last year, the person who needed stitches?" she began again, her eyebrow rising in question.
"Yeah," Jake acknowledged, tightening his grip on her hand, his sixth sense telling him there was something about this he wasn't going to like.
"Mark Metzger," she informed him, pressing her lips together into a thin line. "I usually do New Year's in my pajamas in front of the TV with my parents and Dick Clark, maybe Mikey. But, we went to a party, 'cause that's what you do for New Year's, right?" Heather shrugged. "But I was still home by a quarter to one. I invited him to come to the game. He hadn't played in a few years, but it wasn't like he'd never been on skates before."
"No, that'd be me," Jake chuckled somewhat derisively. "Heather, you don't -"
"Hold on," she ordered, laying one finger against his lips, smiling at him softly. "There is a point to all this. Maybe," she giggled. "Okay, so if Jess or Kerry or I play with the guys, my Dad and Uncle Burt always disallow body checking along with anything else that's dangerous. It's not like anyone really suits up for the family games, anyway, so it makes sense. My brothers will tell you it makes the game boring, but those are the rules. That day though, I don't know, about halfway through the game, Mikey rammed Mark into the boards," Heather said, frowning. "I still have no idea why. And, Mark cut his head open."
"Well, seeing how he turned out to be a world class -" Jake broke off, noting the way Heather's expression had clouded over. "Can I at least say that I think I like your little brother?"
A hint of a smile touched Heather's lips, reversing her frown. "Sure," she agreed. "But I was mad at him. It was embarrassing. I have no idea why he did it, not that it matters anymore, I guess. I had to take Mark to the emergency room. Eight-thirty in the morning on New Year's Day is not a good time for that, trust me," she grumbled. "And, as for my point, well, sometimes Emily is gonna come up in conversation, and I'm okay with that. Sometimes Mark is gonna come up in conversation -"
"Well, I'm not okay with that at all," Jake interrupted, obviously over-reacting for her benefit. "Not unless I get to call him your prick ex-boyfriend."
Shaking her head, Heather smiled at him, bringing her hand up to cup the side of his face. "You might want to say 'jerk' if your Mom's around or she'll wash your mouth out with soap," she predicted, eliciting a concessionary nod and laugh from Jake. "I'm with you," she told him, stroking his cheek with her thumb. "And I trust that, Jake. I believe you when say that you want to be with me. It's a ten year old picture," she shrugged, allowing her hand to fall back into her lap. "It can't hurt me, okay?"
"Okay," Jake agreed, letting out a long breath. "You know, Mom always had a pretty strict 'no girls upstairs' rule," he grinned then, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger.
"Apparently still does," Heather teased, brushing her mouth over his.
Jake laughed. "It sure sounds like it," he acknowledged, wrapping his arms around her, trying to drag her onto his lap.
Heather resisted though, instead lying back on the bed, propping herself on her elbows. She caught Jake's eye, and blushing prettily, told him, "For the record, I was never once in a boy's bedroom during high school. You probably guessed that," she sighed, her nose wrinkling. Jake nodded and, taking a deep breath, lay back himself, turning on his side to face her. "I did end up in a coupl'a classmates' dorm rooms in college," Heather admitted, scooting toward him. "But only on a platonic basis. Which I guess means," she informed him, reaching for his hand, "That I maybe have some lost time to make up for?"
With a groan, Jake rolled halfway on top of Heather, covering her mouth with his. He swept his tongue along the seam of her lips, demanding entrance, which she immediately granted. Within moments, he'd inserted his leg between hers, wedging his hands beneath her, cupping her buttocks, vainly trying to draw her closer. While their mouths continued to mate, Heather's hands began to roam too, up and down his back until finally she found her way underneath his t-shirt, pressing her palms against the bare skin at his waist. The sensation of her flesh against his drew another groan from Jake and he lifted himself up just enough so that he could yank her blouse free from her jeans.
"Babe," he croaked out, his eyes locking with her own passion-filled gaze. "God, what you do to me," Jake muttered, resting his hand on her stomach before he again lay over her, trapping his own hand between them, as he returned his attention to her lips.
"What you do to me," Heather breathed into his mouth, while her hand clutched at his head, her fingers tangling in his hair. "No one - no one ever has," she confessed, her voice shaking as he kissed his way along her jaw.
It was then that they heard the distinctive noise of Grandpa Green stomping his way up the stairs. They pulled immediately apart, Heather's blush darkening by at least three shades, though certainly, Jake realized looking at her, there was already ample evidence of what they had been doing. One glance in the mirror confirmed that his hair was just as messy as hers, his clothing just as rumpled. With nothing else to do, Jake cupped her chin and kissed her softly. "It'll be okay," he promised her.
Grandpa knocked perfunctorily on the door, sticking his head in two seconds later. Jake and Heather were sitting on the end of the bed, his arm around her, watching one another. Grandpa let his gaze sweep over them, recognizing immediately what they'd been up to. He shook his head, offering them a thin, not entirely approving smile. "You'll wanna wash up now," he instructed. "And then it is requested that you set the table."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thursday, November 23, two months after the bombs
Jake and Heather were the last members of family to report to the living room for football, walking downstairs together, his hand resting against the small of her back. At the foot of the staircase, they ran into Gail, who forced her son to stop, grabbing his arm. Heather proceeded into the living room, throwing Jake a distracted smile over her shoulder.
"Ready to rumble, Dad?" she teased Johnston, who was sitting in a club chair, retying his shoes.
He looked up from his task, offering her a gentle smile. "As ever," Johnston agreed. "Too bad you're not playing this year. You and I could teach these young whippersnappers a thing or two," he joked, winking at her before nodding at Michael and Jeff, sprawled out on the couch with April.
"Well, April and I are going to incubate and cheer," Heather joked in return. "And in a couple of years, we'll have the next generation out there, playing with the rest of us."
"You're not playing?" Jeff asked April, sitting forward on the couch.
She glanced between him and Michael. "No, this year I'm just gonna cheer." April crossed her arms over her chest, taking a deep breath. "Like Heather said, we're incubating," she chuckled nervously. "I'm - I'm pregnant, actually. Nine, almost ten weeks."
"Seriously?" Michael demanded, obviously surprised. "April - congratulations!" he grinned at her. "I - I get to be an uncle. Twice," he realized, pulling her into a sideways, one-armed hug.
"You do," April agreed, her smile relieved. "I mean that's the deal. I get to share Heather's brothers, and she gets to share my sisters," she reminded, exchanging grins with her sister-in-law. "I love my sisters, but I've always thought I got the better end of that deal," April joked. "You get to be an uncle too, Jeff," she said, turning to face him. "If you'd like. I think this baby is going to need all the uncles she can get."
Jeff nodded. "Sure. I can - I can do that."
Across the room, Johnston grunted. April glanced over at him, meeting her father-in-law's gaze. His smile was grim, but she recognized the concern and affection in his eyes. She'd been dreading telling him - for real - that she was pregnant and that he was going to be a grandfather not once, but twice over, and so she'd been relieved when Gail had pulled her aside earlier in the day and informed her that Johnston now knew. April loved her father-in-law dearly, and she'd chafed under what she knew was his disappointment over the failure of her marriage. "Seems we're gonna have babies comin' out our ears around here soon," he chuckled softly. "Or at least that I'm gonna have one for each arm."
"Something tells me you're still going to be fighting 'Grandma', 'Grandpa'," Heather joked, looking back and forth between Johnston and the three on the couch. "Even with two to share."
"No doubt," Johnston nodded, allowing a quiet sigh.
Heather took a deep breath, and then asked, "So, how's Drake? Did you ... ?"
"Sleeping," April confirmed. "Like a baby, speaking of babies," she laughed somewhat uneasily. "But it was easier to convince him than I expected. I let Mikey and Jeff do most of the talking," she admitted, shrugging. "I just gave him the ProSom after he agreed to take something."
"We were ready to hold him down and force it down his throat," Michael muttered, shaking his head. "But I think he's going to be okay."
"We'll just have to make sure he is," Johnston said, clearing his throat.
Jake had been about to follow Heather into the living room when his mother had grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Hey, listen," she'd murmured, handing him the football, undoubtedly the same one they'd used for the annual Thanksgiving game since his childhood. "Your father's not a hundred percent, so no roughing the passer."
Distracted by the conversation going on in the other room, he'd stared at her, unblinking for a few seconds before he'd finally asked, "Are you kidding?"
"What?" Gail had returned, frowning at Jake.
"All of it," Jake had complained then, allowing some of his constant sense of dread and frustration to surface, if just for a moment. "I mean the football, the Thanksgiving dinner. I mean -"
"What about it?" she'd interrupted, staring at Jake as he fidgeted with the football, tossing it back and forth between his two hands.
"We're just holding onto these - these traditions like nothing happened out there?" he'd questioned, anxiety lending a harsh note to his tone.
Gail had squeezed his arm then, her eyes full of understanding. "We're holding onto these traditions because of what happened out there," she'd corrected. Glancing into the living room, she'd cocked her head toward Heather, who was nodding along in agreement with what Johnston was saying. "Besides," Gail had concluded, "We still have things to celebrate, Jake. Things we can be thankful for. We really do."
"Okay, let's get this show on the road," Heather declared, clapping her hands together. "Everybody up."
From his spot sprawled out on the couch, Michael rolled his eyes at his older sister and complained, "You know, we're not third graders."
"The sooner we play football, the sooner we get to eat," she reminded.
"And there's pudding for dessert," Johnston added, forcing himself up and out of his chair. The front door creaked open then, and Eric slipped into the house. "Oh! Son!" Johnston greeted, apparently the only person not surprised by Eric's sudden appearance. "Good to see you made it."
Jake tossed the football, under handed, to his brother. "Yeah," Eric muttered, taking a tentative step into the house. "I'm not staying." With that, he returned the ball to Jake, before glancing over the group now assembled in the archway between the living room and the entry. He did not make eye contact. Finally, quietly, he asked, "I was wondering if I could talk to April."
April, standing between Jeff and Michael, her arms crossed protectively over her chest, couldn't quite manage to hide her shock at his request. Gail and Heather both studied her for a few seconds, and then glanced at each other, exchanging troubled looks. "Sure," Gail answered, her tone and expression guarded, beating out Heather's 'no' by a split second. April blanched, pressing her lips into a thin, hard line.
With no other choice open to her, Heather hugged April quickly before following her brother out of the living room. Eric stopped Michael, offering him his hand. "Mike, I - It's great you're here," he muttered, shaking the younger man's hand once.
"Eric," Michael acknowledged with a neutral nod.
Heather stepped past Eric, giving him a wide berth and glaring at him. Jake, holding the door open for everyone, reached for her hand, catching his brother's eye for just a moment over the top of her head, flashing him a vaguely sympathetic smile. They exited the house, and Jake pulled the door closed behind them. April and Eric faced one another across the five feet that now separated them, alone for the first time in three weeks.
"So," she began, wrapping her scarf around her neck in order to distract herself. "It's over," April declared, a hint of a sob catching in her throat.
"Yeah," Eric agreed, nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. She stared at him, biting her lip, looking very much like she was about to cry. He closed his eyes, for a second, against the sight. "When were you planning on telling me about the baby?" he demanded quietly, looking down at his shoes.
Hugging herself tightly, April stared at her husband for a long moment, not speaking. "When I knew it wouldn't affect your decision," she told him finally, clearing her throat. "I didn't want you to stay with me because of the baby, Eric," she said, her voice cracking.
"Well," he snapped in return, "I think we're the only two people who agree on that."
Her lips trembling, April fought to get her emotions under control, her expression sour. "Great," she ground out eventually, staring at Eric, her eyes suddenly bright. "Why did you come here?"
Eric took a breath. "I came here to tell you I'm sorry for what I did," he muttered. "But I can't live a lie anymore," he added, his voice rising.
"Well, no of course not," she agreed, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "We wouldn't want you living a lie," April chuckled derisively, shaking her head. "Though, I have to admit that the one thing I never expected from my straight-laced, politician husband is that he'd ever cheat on me. You were gonna run for mayor," she reminded. "And in a few years, you'd've probably moved on to the state legislature or the county board of supervisors," April predicted, pressing her fist to her mouth. "Hell, I was half expecting you to run for Congress in ten or fifteen years. I would've supported you in all of that, Eric, because it was important to you." She paused for a moment to study him, and then gasped suddenly. "God," she realized, her eyes widening, "You never would have done this if it hadn't been for the bombs. I mean, what were you gonna do? Campaign with your barmaid mistress at your side?"
"She - She's a business - a small business owner," Eric contradicted, sputtering.
"She knows how to mix drinks, and she inherited the bar from her father," April countered. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, and she forced a bitter smile. "Does she know?"
Eric sucked a breath in through his teeth, his expression hardening. "I'll do whatever it takes to take care of that baby," he said. "I want you to know that."
A sob escaped April then, and she demanded, "Why should I believe you?"
"You don't have to believe me," Eric grumbled. "I'll just be there."
They stared at one another for a few seconds before he looked away and then started to back up, turning toward the door. "Eric," April said loudly, following him into the entry.
He stopped just as his hand touched the doorknob, taking a deep breath before rotating around to face her. "What?" he groaned, closing his eyes for a moment.
"This baby - my child," she emphasized, folding her hands tightly together over her still flat abdomen, "Is going to be raised here, in this house, surrounded by her family. And, if you want to go play house with Mary Bailey, well, no one's stoppin' you. But do not think I will allow you to make my child a part of that."
Eric turned without responding, yanking the door open and stumbling out onto the porch. Heather was sitting on the middle step, her back to him, watching the always loosely organized annual Green family Thanksgiving football game. At the sound of the door, she turned around, using the handrail to pull herself to her feet. They faced one another, the perpetual scowl that Heather now wore whenever Eric was around firmly in place. "Heather," he began tiredly, "Just - not now - don't -"
"Just you don't, Eric," she barked in return, shoving past him. He watched her as she opened the front door and then slammed it closed behind her.
"Wonderful," he mumbled to himself, scrubbing a hand over his face, trying to clear his spinning head. On the lawn, the football game had come to a stop and the five participants stood around in a knot, watching him. Gritting his teeth, Eric moved off the porch, surprised when Jake tossed the ball in his direction. More by luck than anything, he caught it, handing it back to his brother when Jake jogged over to join him. "Did you know that April's pregnant?" Eric asked.
Jake nodded. "Yeah," he agreed, his lips pressed tightly together.
"And you didn't tell me," Eric complained angrily. "How long?"
"How long have I known?" Jake asked rhetorically, juggling the football between his two hands. "Just about as long as I knew you were sleeping with Mary Bailey and didn't tell April. That almost makes you two even."
Frowning, Eric shook his head. "See you later, Jake."
"Later," Jake acknowledged, watching his brother as he stalked down the walk. Sighing, he ambled back across the lawn to where his parents stood with Michael and Jeff. "So are we playing?" he asked.
"Hey!" they heard Heather shout. They all turned to see her walk down the porch steps with April. "We're ready for some football," she joked, drawing a shaky smile from April.
Johnston wrapped an arm around Gail, calling back for the group, "We're playing."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *