The Greens of Jericho

Different Circumstances: Part 11C of ?
by Marzee Doats

Author's Note: I have to admit that I didn't care much for the episode Vox Populi (not a big Jonah fan) and then they went and skipped the most interesting part as far as I was concerned when they didn't show us anything of how the election worked. Okay, I'll admit that it probably wouldn't have made good TV, and some of you will probably be bored to tears by all the gory details made into fanfic, but I couldn't resist. So, for your Different Circumstances reading pleasure, I give you my concept of how you hold an election after the bombs. That, and you get to meet the Lisinskis. :-)

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Tuesday, November 28, two months after the bombs

Election day dawned bright and clear, though there was a definite nip in the air that served as an unwanted reminder that winter was just, inevitably, around the corner. Johnston Green, up at first light and ahead of the rest of his household, stepped out onto the front porch, shivering at the remnants of the overnight chill, to survey the street.

Jericho was his town. Although he'd grown up at the ranch, his parents had maintained a house on Bauer Avenue, within the town limits, to fulfill the residency requirement that had allowed EJ Green, with a wink and a nudge, to serve as Jericho's mayor for more than two decades. Johnston could remember his parents hosting parties at that house, his father had maintained an office at the house, and they'd even stayed there occasionally when storms had cut off the power to the outlying properties that surrounded Jericho. He'd had the run of town hall as a child - just as his boys had - and the run of Main Street as a teenager. He'd been a regular at The Pizza Garden after Mags Henry had opened the restaurant, needing to support herself and her young son after the untimely death of her husband, and he'd cruised Main, Seventh, and Berge - before the interstate had gone in - with Susannah Lawson nearly every Friday and Saturday night, convinced that he was James Dean.

Johnston had been away from Jericho of course, in the military and then at school in Lawrence. He'd finally brought Gail, by that time his bride of six years, home to Jericho to stay in 1973. He'd taught history at the high school for a few years - and had been good at it - until his father and some political allies had convinced him to stand up for mayor. He'd faced only token opposition in that first election, and had been inaugurated in January 1977, a week before Jake's and Eric's third birthday. After that, Johnston had run unopposed in the next two elections. Gray Anderson had moved to Jericho, buying into the S&A Mining Company in 1989, and had thrown his hat into the ring for mayor in 1994. Johnston had won that election easily, Gray receiving only a few hundred votes, not even equal to the number of paychecks he'd been signing each week out at the mine at the time. The next election, in 2000, had been closer. Jake had been back in town, and ironically - given the events of the previous day - working for Jonah Prowse, or so they'd thought. Gray had tried to use this to his advantage, though the election's outcome had never truly been in doubt. But now - today - Johnston knew, this election would be a nail biter.

The whole situation seemed unreal to Johnston as he stood there, rubbing his arms to warm himself, staring out at the deserted and quiet street. He was facing the potential end of a thirty year career - one he'd been willing to give up two months before - and he wondered idly what he would do with himself now, in this new world, if he wasn't mayor of Jericho Kansas. European travel, he reminded himself with a snort, was out. But he still had a family - oddly, a growing one - to lead and care for, and grandbabies to look forward to. Besides, Johnston knew, even stripped of the title of mayor, he would still be working for the good of Jericho. It was his town.

The wind picked up, cutting through Johnston like a knife. He shivered again, and giving up his solitary observation of the neighborhood, turned to re-enter the house, figuring he might as well start the coffee as stand around worrying about things he couldn't control. Closing the front door quietly behind him, Johnston heard the overhead squeak of a floorboard and water running in the kitchen. The fire in the living room had been coaxed back to life, he realized, and he could smell cornbread baking in the dutch oven. The household was waking up.

He ran into Drake coming through the door between the kitchen and the dining room. The 'boys' had been comfortably installed in the basement, in what had been the rec room, and was now - according to April, who'd alternated between snorting and snickering when she'd been given the tour - one swinging medical student bachelor pad. Drake greeted him with a 'good morning' that was mostly swallowed up by a yawn. Shaking his head, Johnston smiled to himself as the young man, still more than half asleep, trudged past him on his way to the bathroom. The cold shower he was heading for would certainly open his eyes.

Gail was in the kitchen, slicing mushrooms. A week or two before the bombs, Heather had started a mushroom kit as a classroom experiment and now, if there was one thing they were in no danger of running out of - as Jake had said more than once - it was fungi.

"I'll put on the coffee," Johnston told his wife as she started to ask, detouring around the table to give her a good morning kiss.

"Thank you," she smiled at him, distracted. "I thought we could all use a hearty breakfast this morning," Gail explained over her shoulder as Johnston moved toward the camp stove to retrieve the coffee pot. "Omelets with mushrooms and zucchini. Well, eggs with mushrooms and zucchini, though we've got a little milk left over from the Hydes," she sighed. "And the cornbread, if it's done in time."

"Whatever we have, it'll be fine," he reassured her. "Our gang's willing to eat near anything these days," Johnston tried to joke, though it fell mostly flat. "Even Jake," he sighed.

"Even Jake," Gail agreed, scooping up a handful of mushrooms and dropping them into a bowl before turning her attention to a small zucchini. "You know," she began softly, "Whatever happens.... Well, it wouldn't be the end of the world." Gail snorted and dropped her paring knife, pressing the heel of her hand to the bridge of her nose. "I can't believe I said that," she groaned, shaking her head.

Johnston carried the coffeepot over to the sink, setting it on the drain board. Turning, he reached for Gail's other hand and pulled her close. "Whatever happens, it really won't be the end of the world," he repeated, pressing his lips to her hairline. "Though, I don't know, Mrs. Green," he continued, allowing a slightly exasperated chuckle, "I don't think we're gonna get to travel much."

"I'll admit I was looking forward to Paris and Florence and Rome," Gail said, tilting her head up to invite his kiss. "But grandchildren are a nice trade-off."

"Once you knew, I never woulda got you on that plane," Johnston grinned, brushing his mouth over hers.

"Probably not," she conceded, smiling at him. "Now," she declared, patting his chest as she pulled away, "Breakfast. Before the hungry horde descends."

"Right," he nodded, swatting her playfully on the behind. "Back to work."

The hungry horde did in fact descend upon the kitchen within a few minutes, Michael and Jeff stumbling up from the basement to stand in the middle of the room, blinking at them blearily. Gail assigned them to set the table, and within ten minutes everyone else, including the wet headed, shivering Drake, had filed into the kitchen. They settled in around the table which was short two seats, leaving Gail to perch herself on the stool in the corner and Michael to lean back against the counter, waving the rest of them into chairs. Their breakfast, divided eight ways, was nourishing but hardly enough to fill any of them up. There were no seconds, though Gail did come up with an extra clump of egg, which she quickly distributed between Heather and April, to the unanimous - if silent - approval of the men in the house.

In spite of the deprivations of the meal and the lack of heat in the house, everyone worked to keep the conversation lively. Johnston suspected some of his family's cheerfulness was forced for his benefit, a plot - spontaneous or planned - to keep his mind off that day's election. Dealing with the recapture of Jonah Prowse the night before had kept them from having dinner together, Jake and Johnston not making it home until after nine. They'd each grabbed a small bowl of leftover soup before heading straight to bed, and now they were being caught up on the events of the previous day. April updated Johnston on the situation at the clinic, as she always did, and Heather admitted sheepishly that she'd played hooky from the windmill project. Gail explained the terms of Gracie Leigh's will - a surprise to everyone but Johnston - and then spoke about the plans for Gracie's funeral before requesting a lighter topic of conversation.

Drake and Michael were able to supply one, revealing that Jeff had woken them up the night before, singing in his sleep. "He asked if we liked piña coladas," Michael snickered, setting his salad plate aside, having inhaled his breakfast. He pushed himself up off the counter, crossing to stand behind his sister at the table. "Man, you have the weirdest playlist in your head," he continued, chuckling. "Seriously, we've had the Madonna incident, The Motley Crue incident, the -"

"The Coolio incident," Drake interjected, laughing quietly.

"You're livin' - livin' in a - a Gangsta's Paradise, huh, Jeff?" Jake managed to sputter out between gasps of laughter.

Grinning, Heather started to hum The Piña Colada Song. April took this as a cue to sing the chorus, Heather, Michael and Drake all joined in immediately, and Jake and the beet red Jeff coming in just in time to sing, "If you have half a brain!"

Gail and Johnston, though amused by the younger generation's antics, opted against participating. Once the serenade was over, with the meal already finished, everyone went their separate ways to finish getting ready for the long day ahead. Twenty minutes later, April and her three escorts were ready to head for the clinic. Gail, having checked the cornbread and found it cooked through, sent them each out the door with a piece, urging them to eat it now while it was still hot. The remaining four sat down again at the table to enjoy their slices, Johnston grabbing the plastic honey bear - almost empty by now - from the pantry. Once they were done, they set off together on foot for downtown and the election.

The Greens arrived at the church, the site of the only polling place that would be opened for this election, at just after eight in the morning. Gray Anderson was already there, waiting at one end of the narthex, accompanied by Harry Carmichael and Ridley Cooper. The Greens approached as a group so that Johnston could exchange a perfunctory handshake with Gray. The two greeted each other only by first name, saying nothing else. Carmichael at least smiled, saying, "Good morning Heather, Mrs. Green." Cooper glared at him, and with the pleasantries out of the way, the Greens retreated to the other end of the long vestibule.

It had turned out that putting on an election wasn't as easy as it had sounded when Johnston had first agreed that they would hold one. Elections were county government functions, and they had soon realized that the Town of Jericho didn't even possess a copy of the voter roll. Also, without a registrar of voters - and no one was volunteering to go to Fielding to try and find one - there wasn't anyone with the authority to compile a voter roll, or to count and certify the vote when it was taken. It had taken two days of arguing just to reach agreement on appointing Sandra McVeigh, the elementary school principal, to head a hastily commissioned elections board. The board was then completed with the addition of Percival Gerhardt, the high school principal, and Clyde Davis. Gray had ground his teeth over Clyde, sure he was secretly for Johnston, but he also recognized that it wouldn't be wise to question the neutrality of the newspaper's editor, and the sole representative of the press in Jericho.

Mrs. McVeigh had begun her task by consulting with Connie Gireaux, the town treasurer and director of finance, hoping the other woman could provide her with a list of properties that were being billed for town services and their owners. But the Town of Jericho had 'gone paperless' four years before, Connie had explained, and they'd outsourced the billing for water, sewer and refuse collection even before that. Her office had still collected payments of course, but she didn't have access to the records of those payments, which had always been posted directly to the computer during the day with all checks then deposited nightly at the bank. "In five years it never even occurred to me to print off a list of accounts in case of a catastrophic system failure," Connie had admitted, frowning at the useless lump of computer that still sat on her desk at town hall.

"It's okay," Mrs. McVeigh had consoled, patting the other woman's hand. "I'll - I'll find a way somehow," she'd assured.

The elections board had then turned to resources they were more familiar with, and had begun to put together a voter roll by going through school registration cards, church directories, and two years' worth of the police log as printed in the Jericho Record to build a list of residents and their addresses. There was of course an issue with the town boundary lines, and proving whether or not someone lived within them; the schools taught students who lived far beyond the town limits, church membership certainly wasn't restricted to Jericho's residents, and the sheriff's department took calls outside of town.

Eric Green luckily still had copies of the town lot maps - easier than trying to look things up on the computer, he'd said - and he'd loaned these to Mrs. McVeigh. The board had utilized these in conjunction with their other sources as they'd built the roll, but as Eric had pointed out, some of the maps were decades old, and not completely reliable. Another problem was the small but significant set of people who had moved into town, both from the surrounding area and from farther afield, since the bombs. It had quickly become apparent to Mrs. McVeigh and her fellow commissioners that their task was going to be difficult to nearly impossible to accomplish. Left with no other choice, they'd requested a meeting with the two mayoral candidates.

They had met in the mayor's office ten days before Thanksgiving. Mrs. McVeigh had outlined the situation and the points of concern. Johnston had listened carefully, acknowledging her frustrations with the occasional sympathetic nod. He'd studied his opponent, watching as Gray processed what they'd been told and then considered how to react. Predictably, he reacted almost immediately.

"Well you certainly can't let anyone vote who wasn't both a resident of Jericho proper and a registered voter on the day of the bombs," Gray declared, draping one arm over the back of his chair. "That should be obvious."

"I can't?" Mrs. McVeigh inquired sweetly, though there was just a hint of acid lacing her tone, one that - Johnston thought - any married man would have recognized, but Gray Anderson, unfortunately for him, hadn't seemed to have learned much from his two brief marriages or the long, drawn out divorces which had followed. "Kansas state election law states that a voter may register up to fifteen days prior to the election," she'd reminded. "By the original date of this election, that would have been October twenty-third, and for the date of the rescheduled election, fifteen days before would be today, actually." Mrs. McVeigh had glanced at Principal Gerhardt. "Percy, Mr. Houghton is rather a fanatic about voter registration, isn't he?" she'd asked, mentioning the history teacher at the high school. "All year long, as the seniors turn eighteen, he hounds them, tells them if they don't vote, they can't complain. He was still passing out voter registration cards on the day of the bombs, wasn't he?"

Principal Gerhardt had thrown Mrs. McVeigh an exasperated look, still smarting from having been passed over in her favor as chair of the elections board. He acknowledged that she'd been principal at the elementary school for twenty three years to his fifteen at the high school but his was the upper school, and that should have counted for something. "That's true, he was," he'd admitted finally, crossing his arms over his chest.

"As I thought," she'd nodded. "Well, I suppose we should go see if there are any voter registration cards laying around at the high school, waiting to be forwarded on. As for knowing who else in town was registered, short of travelling to Fielding and breaking into the registrar of voters' office, we really don't have any way to determine that. I personally know that I was registered to vote, and so was my husband. I assume that both of you were registered, and likely Gail," Mrs. McVeigh had continued. This time she looked at the man sitting on her right. "Clyde?"

"Shannon and I were both registered," he'd agreed.

"And Percy? You and Janet were both registered to vote, I assume?"

"We were," Principal Gerhardt had acknowledged.

"Then, providing we're all willing to trust one another's word here, we know of nine voters who were registered to vote on the day of the bombs. At least with that list - one that's as well verified as we can hope to get - we shouldn't have a tie. Are you willing to accept that voter pool, Mayor Green? Mr. Anderson?"

"Whatever my esteemed opponent prefers," Johnston had answered, stifling a snort.

Gray had glared at him and then at Mrs. McVeigh. "I'm not some fifth grader in need of a civics lesson, thank you. You're the elections commissioner now, so why don't you tell us your plan instead of takin' us through this idiotic charade."

"Every adult resident of Jericho, having lived within the town limits for at least two weeks prior to November twenty-eighth will be eligible to vote," she'd decreed. "Now, I'm confident that we have a complete list of addresses, but not necessarily of residents. This is a problem," Mrs. McVeigh had admitted, frowning. She'd paused for a moment, glancing between her two fellow commissioners. "Therefore, we have decided that each candidate will be allowed to select two representatives, or advocates. These representatives will be allowed to observe each voter as he or she comes into the polling place, and if an advocate has reason to believe that the voter is not qualified under these rules, then he or she may bring a challenge to this board. Additionally, your advocates will be allowed to observe," she'd emphasized, "Though not participate in, the tabulation of ballots. Are these terms acceptable?"

"And if they're not?" Gray had snarled.

"The board will entertain any suggestions toward the improvement of this process that you may have," Mrs. McVeigh had offered with a smile. Gray had stared at her, gaping, unable to articulate his protest.

Johnston had returned her smile. "Sounds good," he'd declared, standing up. "I believe we're done here?"

"Yes," Mrs. McVeigh had agreed. "Let us know the names of your two advocates as soon as you've selected them," she'd requested, following Johnston's example, and standing up. "Gentlemen?"

Shaking his head, Johnston let out a deep sigh. Leaving that meeting two weeks before, he'd been able to convince himself that he still had the upper hand in his running battle with Gray Anderson. But Gray had seemed to find in that meeting the impetus to redouble his campaign efforts. A day hadn't gone by when Johnston hadn't at some point walked past or otherwise witnessed Gray campaigning. The first few days, he'd never been able to find more than three or four listeners at once, but after the Thanksgiving food drop and their very public argument over its disposition, more and more people had been interested in what Gray had to say, nodding along as he'd detailed his vision for a safe Jericho and exhorted them to vote for him come election day. Finally, yesterday, after Gracie Leigh had been discovered murdered, it had seemed that everyone in town suddenly had the time to stand around and listen to Gray Anderson pontificate.

"This is gonna be a long day," Johnston muttered, glancing sideways at his wife.

Gail offered a wan smile, threading her arm through his. They both watched as Jake stepped behind Heather, catching one of her hands in his own. He whispered something in her ear, and she leaned back, letting her head fall against his chest. Reaching up, she cupped his cheek with her free hand, murmuring something in return. "We'll get through it," Gail sighed, letting her own head rest against Johnston's arm.

Mrs. McVeigh came out of the sanctuary then, accompanied by Reverend Young, Principal Gerhardt and Clyde Davis. "Good morning, Johnston, Gail," she greeted, obviously distracted. "Clyde, would you get our other candidate?" she requested, forcing a smile. She glanced down toward the other end of the building, shaking her head. "This is going to be a long enough day as it is. I'm not going to begin it by shouting in a church."

"Happy to, Sandy," Clyde replied, turning around.

"Jake and Heather," Mrs. McVeigh continued, her smile blooming genuinely. "Oh, Heather," she clucked, "You're going to be so tired if you're planning to stand around here all day."

"I'm not," Heather assured her former boss quickly. "I'm - I'm just here to vote, and then I'm going to go work on windmills. Happily," she declared. "There's a fireplace in our conference room, and Dad found me a nice cushy chair to use and everything."

"Okay, dear," Mrs. McVeigh sighed, allowing a relieved nod. "Well then, in my first act as elections commissioner this morning, I say the line starts behind you."

"You're gonna let her vote?" Ridley Cooper demanded, walking up, along with Gray and Harry Carmichael, to join the group. "'Cause you know, technically, she's not a town resident. The Green Ranch is ten, fifteen miles outside the Jericho town line."

Heather stared at the other man for a moment. She didn't really know Cooper; he and his wife had moved to Jericho about the same time she had, and their two children were not yet school age. He was a manager at the mine - but not an engineer - and the mine's managers tended to socialize only amongst themselves. Johnston, however, had explained the rules the election would operate under more than once, so she knew that she and Jake were well within their rights. "My husband and I have resided at one-nineteen Chestnut Street since October the twelfth," she returned, meeting Cooper's scowl with a rather bland expression of her own. "Within the town limits," Heather stressed. "And - for the record - the ranch is only eight miles out."

Mrs. McVeigh's smile was once again full of tension. "You might want to ask your advocates to pace themselves, Mr. Anderson," she suggested, throwing a pointed look in Gray's direction. "Or this is going to be a very long day."

He glared at her for a moment, his expression of distaste mirrored perfectly on Cooper's face. At least Carmichael's nonchalant stance betrayed neither his loyalty to Gray, nor his growing friendship with Heather. "I've no problem with Jake or Heather voting in this election," Gray conceded with a huffed breath. "Though, those refugees your family took -"

"You mean my brother and his friends?" Heather guessed. She stared at Gray, inviting his argument, all the while rubbing her hand in gentle circles over the mound of her pregnancy.

"All I'm sayin' is, we can't just take in everyone who wanders into town, no matter who they're related to," Gray argued obstinately.

Jake had his hand on Heather's shoulder, and he felt her tense at Gray's statement. He started to massage the back of her neck with his thumb, facing his father's rival with a hard stare. "They're all workin' at the clinic, Gray, more than earning their keep," he reminded.

"And, they know they're not votin'," Johnston added with a snort. "Everyone's real clear on the rules of this election, and they know they don't meet the residency requirements."

"I'm glad to hear that we all understand how things are going to operate today," Mrs. McVeigh announced in her best 'I am the principal' voice. "There are a few other things that we need to discuss with the candidates," she continued, glancing left at Principal Gerhardt and then right at Clyde Davis. "Reverend Young has graciously loaned us his study for the day. Shall we adjourn there?"

The mayoral candidates and the elections board returned twenty minutes later to find a hubbub of activity taking place in the narthex. Mr. Houghton, the history teacher from the high school, had been recruited to run the polling place, and had in turn drafted eight of his now former students to work for the day on the promise of two hot meals and a half pound of rice each, which was nearly a third of the budget allotted for election staff by the town council from the airdrop supplies. The rest of the "budget" had gone toward providing those meals - Reverend and Mrs. Young, along with the Women's Auxiliary, were busy making soup downstairs in the church's kitchen - and to pay their impromptu security force. It had become apparent the night before that Jimmy and Bill would be needed at town hall to guard Jonah Prowse, and a last minute decision had been made to hire the football team to provide security. This had been Principal Gerhardt's contribution, and while Mrs. McVeigh had her misgivings, she'd agreed to the scheme, seeing no other viable solution.

In Reverend Young's study, Mrs. McVeigh, assisted by her fellow commissioners, had explained the day's procedures - and their recent alterations of those procedures - to the candidates once more. Ballots had been run off on a ditto machine, salvaged from the bowels of the Jericho elementary school basement. A box of ditto masters had been located, but any of the solvent needed for the actual printing process had dried up long before. Clyde Davis, in charge of printing ballots for both the mayoral and town council elections, had taken Eric Green with him when he'd gone to inform Mary Bailey he needed use of her still for a few days in order to manufacture the alcohols required to produce the ballots. She'd resisted initially, but Eric had pulled her aside, and whatever he'd said had done the trick. It had taken a few tries to get a working formulation, but in the end, Clyde had been pleased with how the ballots turned out, not to mention relieved as he'd watched his oldest son crank the machine's arm for the last time in the wee hours of the morning, producing the three thousand, two hundredth ballot.

Johnston and Gray had looked over a copy of the ballot - Gray, quite pleased to see that his name was listed first - and had approved it, both well aware that there wasn't time to alter it if they'd objected anyway. After that, Mrs. McVeigh had explained that each voter's hand would be stamped - "We're borrowing that from the Iraqi elections," Clyde had interjected helpfully, "Only, over there, we had them dippin' their fingers in permanent ink," he'd reminded - as they turned in their ballots. Principal Gerhardt had placed a shoebox full of stamps and stamp pads on Reverend Young's desk and then had taken out a set, marking a piece of scrap paper. Johnston had smiled softly, recognizing the image - the Jericho Red Raider - as one that had been stamped onto the back of his own hand innumerable times after he'd paid for his ticket to a football or basketball game.

"We're hoping the combination of our voter roll - incomplete though it is - a single polling site, and the hand stamp will discourage any 'vote early and often' impulses," Mrs. McVeigh had added.

The polls were opened officially at nine AM. True to Mrs. McVeigh's word, Heather Green was allowed to vote first. Under the careful scrutiny of the four advocates - Johnston's having arrived while the candidates were in their meeting - Mr. Houghton took the opportunity to offer three of his giddy poll workers, all sophomore girls, a little more training. He exchanged a quick smile with Heather, prompting one of the girls to ask for her street address. Another girl found the 'A - C' binder on the table behind them and then located the piece of lined note paper which had '119 Chestnut Street' printed across the top, and underneath the names of the six Greens: Abigail, April, Eric, Heather, Johnston Jr., and Johnston Sr. The third girl directed Heather to print and then sign her name on the bottom half of the page.

Shaking her head, Heather accepted her ballot and carried it over to a voting booth. There were three fat, black markers laying on the small desk, and she picked one up, uncapping it and quickly marking her votes: Johnston Green for mayor, and Caroline Doyle and Ron Mortimer for town council. She closed the marker, wrinkling her nose as the strong scent of both ditto paper and the marker ink assaulted her nostrils. Heather carried the ballot back to the check-in table, folding it in half as she went. Her X's were completely visible through the thin paper, she realized, snorting softly at the idea of a secret ballot. It didn't matter though, Heather decided, dropping the paper into the locked metal box at one end of the table; everyone had probably already guessed whom she had voted for. Brett Davis smiled at her and held up a stamp. "It's the law, Mrs. Green," he joked, pressing it against the back of her hand. "That's our version of the 'I Voted' sticker," he added, watching as she blew on her skin to dry the ink.

Moving to the center of the narthex where Jake stood with his parents and brother, out of the already long line of voters, Heather held up her hand for her husband to see. "I voted," she grinned, "And I've been branded. This is pretty much the closest I'll ever come to getting a tattoo," she sighed.

"Raider Rafe in the original red," Jake smiled, examining the stamp. "Very nice. Fight, fight, Raiders, fight!" he teased, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. "That's all I remember," he admitted.

"For the pride of the Red and Black, the Jericho Raiders attack! Attack! Attack!" Eric supplied. "For the pride of the Black and Red, the Jericho Raiders will fight 'til we're dead! Fight, fight, Raiders, fight!"

"I never understood why it had to say ''til we're dead'," Gail complained. "Why not ''til the end'?" she suggested. "It's poetic, and not so... so dead."

"Raider Rafe never did strike me as the kinda pirate to sit down with a good book of poetry for some reason," Jake returned, glancing at his mother. He squeezed his wife's hand, offering her another smile. "I'll walk you to work."

Jake saw Heather upstairs to her conference room at town hall and kissed her goodbye, eliciting a series of friendly whistles and catcalls from the members of her team who were already there. This was followed by some good-natured teasing about her sudden disappearance the morning before. Blushing brightly, Heather rolled her eyes at Jake, waving him out of the room before turning to face her team. "All right children," she grumbled, "Let's get to work."

Heading downstairs to the sheriff's office, Jake checked in with Jimmy and peeked into Jonah's cell to assure himself that the other man was still there, safely locked up. Wandering into the empty border patrol office, Jake pulled the schedule clipboard off the door, glancing it over without actually taking anything in. Mrs. Crenshaw was serving as one of his father's advocates today, and wouldn't be in, though as she'd assured him more than once, she always had the schedule firmed up at least a week out.

Mrs. Crenshaw had been selected as an advocate for both her long friendship with the Greens - Gail and Heather especially - and her encyclopedic knowledge of Jericho's residents. The fact that she'd worked for Sandra McVeigh since the other woman's first day as principal was also a point in her favor, one that Gray had objected to, aggravating Mrs. McVeigh, who'd demanded to know if he really meant to question her integrity. Gray had quickly backpedaled. Johnston's second advocate was at least without controversy. Peter Thom, the Greens' friend and neighbor of over thirty years had been chosen simply for his loyal friendship.

Feeling restless and with nothing to do in the office - not that he ever really had anything to do in the office - Jake left town hall ten minutes later, returning to the church. Johnston and Gail were outside in the line that snaked out the door, already more than fifty people long, waiting for the chance to vote. Members of the football team, dressed in their warm-up suits, stood around the edge of the crowd, trying to look official. Jake had had a hard time maintaining a straight face when Principal Gerhardt had explained the players' role for the day, sure that it would cause more problems than it would solve to have the football team in charge of 'security'. But, more than half the team were taking shifts with the border patrol - they were issued guns for that duty - and when it came down to it, Jake didn't figure there were too many people in town who'd argue with Duncan McNerny, the Jericho Red Raiders' two hundred plus pound linebacker, if he told them what to do.

Jake cut across the church's lawn, waving at his parents, though he didn't bother to stop, and then continuing on into the building. Eric was sitting by himself at the far end of the narthex, away from the voting. Taking a deep breath, Jake moved toward his brother. He wasn't looking forward to delivering the message he needed to deliver, but it was still better than standing around with his parents trying to pretend that his father wasn't a hair's breadth away from losing this election.

"Hey," Jake greeted, dropping into a seat on the hard bench two feet away from Eric. "You just gonna sit here all day?" he asked, throwing his brother a quick, sideways look.

Eric shrugged. "I'll vote, when the line goes down," he muttered, looking at Jake for just a second before returning his attention to his hands. "You gonna sit there all day?"

"I'm gonna vote when the line goes down," Jake answered. "Then I'll go out to the checkpoints, make sure things are okay."

"Right," Eric answered so quietly that Jake almost missed it. He waited for a long moment and then jerked his head at line of voters. "You know, that's my job, too. Hell, it's your job. You think Gray Anderson's gonna need Johnston Green's sons for deputy mayor and head of the border patrol?"

"My job?" Jake snorted in reply. "It's not like we're gettin' paychecks, Eric. And, who's Gray gonna put in charge of the border patrol? Ridley Cooper? The man's in charge of risk assessments, cost benefit analysis, whatever," he dismissed with a wave of his hand, "At a salt mine. Even Gray's not that stupid. So maybe he appoints Hawkins," he suggested. "That's fine. I can work with Hawkins. And besides that, maybe Dad'll still win."

"'Yeah," Eric acknowledged with a single nod. He sat back, letting his head rest against the wall. "I was - I was gonna run for mayor," he admitted, glancing at his brother again, smiling sourly.

"Better you than me," Jake mumbled, rolling his eyes.

"No, you don't understand," Eric began, "I was -" But he cut himself off, shaking his head again. "Never mind."

"You say so," Jake returned, studying his brother for a moment. "Look, Eric," he began, taking a deep breath. "You need to - you need to not be here between, say, lunch and two, okay?"

"What?" Eric questioned, staring at Jake. "Why?"

Jake exhaled, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "April would like to vote," he muttered in explanation. "She doesn't want a scene. She doesn't even want people thinking there might be a scene," he continued, raising his voice to talk over Eric when his brother began to protest. "Look," Jake demanded through clenched teeth, "She just wants to come and vote for Dad, without all the gossip, and she was hoping you'd stay outta her way." He waited a beat and then added, "Mary too."

Lips pressed tightly together, Eric nodded tiredly. "Sure," he agreed. "We'll stay out of her way."

"Thanks," Jake returned. He watched as across the room Joe Bentner shuffled up to the check-in desk. The line was moving slowly - Johnston and Gail still weren't in the building - but it was moving. Jake stood up and looked down at his brother. "I'm gonna get in line," he told him, shaking his head. "It's gonna be a long day."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Saturday, November 24, five years before the bombs

"Need a baby fix, Heth?" Tommy Lisinski, Heather's twenty-eight year old brother inquired as she exited the first floor bathroom in their aunt's house. He held his eight month old daughter, Hannah, out to her. "Look at her," he demanded, jiggling the baby. Hannah stared unblinkingly at her aunt, completely unperturbed by her father's manhandling; the Lisinski clan tended to be rough and tumble and Lisinski babies quickly became used to it. "Isn't she cute?" Tommy cajoled.

"Don't take that baby, Heather!" Tommy's wife, Mandy, screeched, coming around the corner at top speed. She skidded to a stop and pointed an accusing finger at her husband. "Tommy Lisinski, so help me -"

"Sorry, Tommy," Heather giggled, holding her hands up to form a 'T' for 'timeout'. "But I'm not changing any diapers for you," she told her brother. Squeezing Hannah's chubby leg, she stepped around him. "Stinky baby," Heather cooed, smiling brightly at her niece. "Pew!"

"Can't blame a guy for tryin', Mandy May," Tommy argued, turning to flash his most winsome smile at his wife.

Mandy shook her head, fighting to keep from grinning. "Sure I can," she told him. Moving past her sister-in-law, Heather rolled her eyes and Mandy shrugged in return. "Change the baby, Tommy," she instructed in her severest tone before turning to follow Heather back down the hallway and into the family room. Mandy paused in the doorway, leaning against the frame, to watch her husband. "Tommy!" she shouted, catching him attempting to con Aunt Heidi into changing Hannah's diaper.

Climbing over her brother Michael, who was sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch, Heather reclaimed her seat between her cousin Jessica and another sister-in-law, Deborah, her oldest brother Andrew's wife. Deborah's and Andrew's daughter, six year old Rebekah, was sitting in her mother's lap, her head tucked under Deborah's chin. Heather smiled at her niece and then turned to face Jessica, resting her head against her cousin's shoulder for a moment. "You doing okay?" she asked, frowning gently.

"Yeah," Jessica claimed unconvincingly. "I'm - I'm tired, that's all," she sighed. "And, I'll be glad when it's just us."

Heather nodded. "Yeah." Over a hundred fifty people had attended Burton Reinhardt's funeral mass and most, at some point during the afternoon, had come to pay their respects, filing through the small brick home he'd shared with his wife and daughter. The crowd was down to about forty people now, mostly family, though there were still a few friends and neighbors visiting in the living and dining rooms. "Everyone loved your Dad. I mean, the whole Saint Mike's hockey team was actually crying," Heather reminded.

Jessica took a deep breath, attempting a smile. "They were," she agreed. "And he was easy to love, like your Mom." The two young women shared a look and a sigh before Jessica straightened in her seat and, patting Heather on the leg, announced, "Okay now. Mikey's been tellin' us all about his conversation with your boyfriend, Heth. We need details. More, better details."

"The boyfriend," Michael corrected, sitting up and then laying his head back on Heather's knee. "He's 'The Boyfriend'," he teased his sister before glancing sideways at their cousin, grinning. "Trust me."

"Right," Jessica agreed, reaching over to hit him lightly on the top of the head. "'The Boyfriend'." She looked to her left, at Kerry, John's wife. "We wanna hear about 'The Boyfriend'."

"Boyfriend Jake," Kerry reminded, leaning around Jessica to catch Heather's eye. "Your Dad told us you were spending Thanksgiving with the fam'. Sounds serious," she practically sang.

"Oooh, Ja-ake," Deborah said, drawing his name out into two syllables. She pretended to swoon, sending Rebekah into giggles. "Sounds very cowboy."

"Who's a cowboy?" Andrew asked, overhearing his wife as he came into the family room, carrying their three year old son, Kyle, piggyback.

John, following two steps behind, his four year old niece Alison - Tommy's and Mandy's oldest - clinging to his back, frowned. "You meetin' a lot of cowboys out there in Kansas, sis?" he inquired, his tone suspicious.

"Just the one," Kerry assured, getting up from the sofa and moving to join her husband. "C'm'ere, Ali, before Uncle Johnny drops you," she scolded, working to loosen the stranglehold their niece had on him. "'The Boyfriend'. Jake."

"He's not a cowboy," Heather protested. "Well, not really," she corrected herself. "I mean, his family owns a horse ranch and he rides and he won the junior rodeo once -"

"The rodeo? Did you hear that, Tommy?" John hooted, grinning at his brother as he came into the family room carrying the freshly changed Hannah, already starting to fall asleep against his shoulder.

"Give me my baby," Mandy demanded, taking their daughter from her husband.

"Heather's new boyfriend's a rodeo star," John snickered, hitting Tommy on the arm. "Can you believe that?"

"He's not a rodeo star," Heather groaned. "He won an event at the junior rodeo when he was nine, that's all."

Andrew swung Kyle around off his back, setting the little boy down on his feet. "Now I'm not an expert, but I'm pretty sure they limit rodeo competition to cowboys."

"And, cowgirls," Deborah corrected her husband, smiling at him over their daughter's head.

"Right," Andrew agreed. He got a devilish look on his face, and then started to sing. "I wanna be a cowboy," he belted out, leering at his wife playfully, "And you can be my cowgirl."

"Oh, good Lord," Kerry muttered, shaking her head and fighting a grin. With Alison settled on her hip, she moved toward the couch. Michael grabbed his niece's ankle as they passed by, making her squeal. "You know, Andy," Kerry announced raising her voice over Alison's slightly hysterical giggles, "I think you've got your next karaoke number."

"Yeah!" Tommy and John declared in unison.

"Please tell me you're kidding," Heather moaned. "Kyle, come sit with Auntie Heather," she invited holding her hand out to her nephew. "We need to shield you from your Dad's insanity," she grumbled, glaring at her oldest brother as she settled his son on her lap.

"He's kidding," Deborah assured, patting Heather on the shoulder and then combing Kyle's bangs out of his eyes. "Drew's been banned from karaoke."

Frowning, Andrew stared at his wife. "I have? Since when?"

"Since the last time," Deborah grumbled, rolling her eyes. "Don't worry, Heather, he won't be singing that - or anything else - at karaoke."

"Thank you," Heather sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of Kyle's head.

Jessica wrapped an arm around her cousin, giving her a sideways hug, almost lulling Heather into a false sense of security. But then, she kicked Michael lightly in the arm, urging, "Tell 'em what you told us about 'The boyfriend' and 'the date', Mikey."

"'The boyfriend' took Heather on a date to Wyoming," Michael reported dutifully, frowning and rubbing the spot where Jessica had kicked him. "That's not right next to Kansas, by the way," he continued, correctly interpreting his older brothers' expressions as they tried to decide where Wyoming was in relation to Kansas on their spotty mental maps of the world west of the Mississippi. "Long drive, except 'The Boyfriend's' a pilot, so he flew them up to Wyoming for lunch, in his private plane."

"Yeah, right," Tommy snorted. Mandy had settled herself and Hannah in Uncle Burt's recliner, and Tommy moved over to join them, taking care to test the chair's arm before perching himself on it. "Good one, Mikey," he chuckled, tickling his daughter's foot. "Heather's dating Richie Rich."

"Jake's not rich," Heather protested, her tone indignant, "His family's - they're well off, I guess, but he has a job, and it's not his plane," she added, sitting forward to let Kyle off her lap, "He borrowed it."

The little boy only made it a step away from her before Michael grabbed him, pulling him down onto his lap and wrapping him up in a bear hug. "Gotcha! Mwhahahaha!" Michael declared, setting Kyle off into a round of uncontrollable giggles.

"Wait. The plane thing's real?" Tommy asked, allowing a surprised chuckle. "I mean, you just got in a plane and flew with some guy to Wyoming?" he demanded, frowning at his sister.

"And who knows someone they can just borrow a plane from?" Andrew demanded. He socked John on the shoulder. "You know anybody who'd loan you an airplane for the day?"

"Gramps - Jake's grandfather, I mean -" Heather corrected herself, blushing softly, "He's part owner in a small aviation company. Jake sometimes works for the company, he can borrow a plane," she shrugged.

"Yeah," John agreed, nodding at Andrew, "Nobody I know owns a plane. I need to get better friends," he laughed, "And stop hanging out with you losers."

"Doncha think we should be worried that our baby sister's just gettin' into airplanes with strange - strange cowboys?" Tommy suggested, scowling.

John and Andrew both nodded. "Good point," John agreed.

Flinging herself back against the couch, Heather groaned loudly. "He's not a strange cowboy. He's -"

"Heather, how'd you meet Jake?" Deborah interrupted, throwing her sister-in-law a sympathetic look.

"I know this one," Jessica answered before Heather could. "I got that email," she said, patting her cousin on the shoulder. "Her tire blew out and Jake stopped to change it for her, and then they went out to his grandfather's ranch - they were there for hours - and when she finally went home he followed her all the way back to town - like ten miles - to make sure she was okay, and then...." Jessica paused, grinning as she looked around the room, catching the eye of each of her three older cousins in turn. "And then... Heather really, really wanted him to kiss her. And he didn't."

"Jess!" Heather protested, gaping at her friend and cousin. "I can't believe -"

"I can't believe you duped this poor guy into changing your tire," Andrew interrupted. "You can change a tire in a blizzard, in your sleep."

"Hey! Andy! We don't like 'The Cowboy'," Tommy reminded.

"I was in a skirt," Heather mumbled, slumping in her seat.

"You were in a skirt?" John repeated. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"It was a short skirt," she muttered, crossing her arms over her chest. "And he insisted," Heather shrugged, "So I let him."

"Yeah, except you're leaving out that he was in a suit," Jessica interjected with a grin. "He had to change into jeans right there on the side of the road," she informed the group.

Heather, now crimson, hid her face behind her hands. "It was not like that!" she grumbled through her fingers. "He was being nice. It was - it was chivalrous," she decided, letting her hands fall into her lap.

"Did you watch, Heth?" Mandy asked, scooting forward, Hannah balanced on her knee, to watch for her sister-in-law's response. "He's cute, right?" Tommy jerked his head around, gaping at his wife. "Hey, I'm allowed to live vicariously," she grinned.

"I'd just met him!" Heather protested, her voice squeaking. She struggled to her feet, tripping over Kyle, who had chosen the same moment to stand up. "I'm sorry, Ky," she frowned, cupping the little boy's head. She could feel angry tears pricking behind her eyes. Swiping her hand across her eyes, Heather plowed forward, heading for the door.

"Aw, c'mon, Heth!" Tommy called out.

"Don't be like that!" John threw in.

Eyes bright and flashing, she turned around, meeting her brothers' suddenly faltering grins with a death glare. "It's not - This is not funny," Heather practically shouted before shoving her way through the half open pocket door that led into the kitchen. On the other side she pushed it closed with a satisfying and jarring 'thunk'.

Looking around the room, Heather was relieved to see that she was alone, though she could hear her Uncle Larry's booming laugh from the dining room next door. That made her smile. Uncle Burt and Uncle Larry had married into the family in the same summer, thirty one years before, and once introduced to each other, had become fast friends. They were the family jokesters and extremely competitive - legend had it that at the behest of their fiancées, Heather's Aunts Geraldine and Ava, they'd arm wrestled to determine their wedding dates, Burt winning June, leaving Larry and Ava with August - and Heather had no doubt that Uncle Larry was amusing his audience with some tall tale from their long friendship. Still smiling, she crossed to the sink and turned on the tap, quickly splashing water on her face. Letting out a deep sigh, Heather pulled a paper towel loose, and was patting her cheeks and forehead dry when her high school principal, Sister Patricia, came into the kitchen, carrying a pair of empty platters.

The two women washed the trays, leaving them on the sideboard to dry. Sister Patricia asked Heather how she liked teaching, smiling as she listened to her former student describe the highs and even a few of the lows she'd experienced in her first few months at Jericho Elementary. Heather followed Sister Patricia out of the kitchen and into the dining room, where she grabbed a can of soda out of the cooler in the corner and the next to last of Aunt Heidi's double fudge brownies off the nearly bare buffet table. She took a bite of the brownie, glancing over the crowd of people who sat in groups or stood around in the living room. Her father was talking to her cousin Adam and his wife, and they waved at one another before she turned around and headed back into the kitchen. Andrew was at the sink, getting himself a glass of water.

Heather stopped, two steps into the room, meeting her brother's gaze as he turned around to face her. She'd been on her way back to the family room, having calmed down enough that she figured she could face her cousin, siblings and their spouses once more. It wasn't that she'd been mad at them, not really, but she had been oddly sensitive to their teasing, mostly Heather realized, because it felt like they were belittling her relationship with Jake. "Hey," she murmured, biting her lip.

"Look, sis, I'm sorry," Andrew apologized, studying his water glass. "We were just having a little fun. And, you know," Andrew shrugged, meeting her eye for just a second, "It's just that we worry about you."

"Okay," Heather acknowledged softly. She hadn't really expected an apology, though if any of her brothers was going to apologize, it would be Andrew. He'd always taken his role as the oldest seriously, and was always the one to switch sides, defending and protecting Heather or Michael from Tommy and John when he realized they had gone too far. "But you don't need to worry about me," she assured him.

Andrew snorted at that. "You move all the way across the country and get big time involved with some guy who flies you to Wyoming for a date. Sorry, but that's gonna make us worry," he told her. "Seriously, John and Tommy are in there plotting out our road trip," he muttered, jerking his head toward the family room.

"I don't need checking up on," Heather grumbled. She shoved the rest of her brownie in her mouth and dropped into a seat at the table. Chewing quickly, she swallowed hard, shaking her head. "And Kansas is only halfway across the country."

"Well, that makes the road trip shorter, at least," Andrew chuckled nervously, taking the chair opposite her. "We don't want you to get hurt, Heth. Not again."

Frowning, Heather looked back over her shoulder, checking the doorway to make sure they were truly alone. "You - you all had your part in my getting hurt last time," she reminded softly, facing him over the table. "That's not blaming you," she added quickly, holding up a hand to cut off his protest. "It worked out. And now, everything with Jake, it's just completely different than it was with Mark," Heather explained, a soft smile lighting her face. Sniffling, she took a sip from her soda and then, setting it down on the table top, began to bend the can's tab back and forth.

"You know, Jake didn't take me to Wyoming to impress me, or at least mostly he didn't," she continued, looking up at Andrew. "He loves to fly, and he wanted me to go with him so he could share that with me," Heather sighed. "And he has to go to Denver for work sometimes," she added, her smile widening, "And when he's there, every night, we talk on the phone, three, four, five hours. Sometimes we talk about the stupidest things, just to keep talking." The tab broke off the can then, and Heather giggled. "He - He corrects math homework for me," she continued, "Just so he can spend time with me. You just have to get - you have to understand. This is so completely and totally the opposite of Mark Metzger," she insisted.

"Okay," Andrew acknowledged, somewhat reluctantly, letting out a long breath. "But if he hurts you.... We reserve the right to beat him up, Heth," he teased gently.

Heather groaned, fighting a grin. "Okay," she agreed finally, "But I should warn you, he's got a gun and a badge and he can arrest you. So, no road trip. I mean it. I'll get him to do it."

You're kidding, right?" Andrew started to chuckle, cutting himself off when Heather didn't join in, meeting his laughter with a bright, 'I know more than you' smile. "Seriously, your boyfriend's a cowboy/pilot/police officer?"

"He's not a police officer, per se," she shrugged. "He works for the DEA, so he's a federal agent, technically. With a badge," she repeated, "And a gun. Well, I haven't actually seen his gun," she admitted a moment later, absently catching the lip of her soda can between her teeth before she took a drink. "But I know he has one."

"Well, he sure as hell better not be showing you his gun," he muttered, eyeing his sister closely.

She frowned at him, intoning his name in the way he'd always thought only his mother could say it. "Andrew," Heather warned.

He continued to study his sister without speaking, the import of this moment hitting him almost as a physical blow. The Lisinski family had always been close knit, and Heather, along with their mother, had long been at their center. She had certainly never put her ... her loyalty, he decided, to anything or anyone else ahead of their family. Andrew understood then, with certain clarity, that things were now different - that Heather was different - and he suspected that her long unclaimed heart had been claimed. He forced the slightest of smiles, blowing out a nervous breath. "Just - just be careful, okay, Heth?" he requested, drumming a finger nervously on the tabletop. "Don't - You're my baby sister and I don't want you to get hurt."

"Jake wouldn't hurt me, Andy," Heather assured, smiling again. She stood up and came around the table, leaning down to give him a hug. "And, I accept your apology," she added, stepping back as Andrew scrambled to his feet. "You're a pretty good big brother, Andy."

He frowned at her softly, not speaking for a long moment. "Hey, I'm the best big brother you have," he said finally, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

"Well, yeah," Heather giggled, her eyes dancing, "But look at your competition!"

Laughing, he followed Heather as she started back toward the family room. "I'm telling them you said that," he threatened lightly, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

"You do that, I'll have to promote Tommy to first place," Heather teased.

"John, maybe," Andrew joked in return, sliding the pocket door open. "But Tommy?"

"But Tommy what?" Tommy demanded as Andrew followed Heather into the family room. "What about me?"

"Can't hit Meat Loaf's high notes in karaoke," Andrew replied, impressing Heather with his quick thinking. "I'll Do Anything for Love," he cringed, "That was bad."

"I could do it," John threw out with the confidence of a person who knew he wouldn't have to prove himself anytime soon.

"That's what we should do tonight," Jessica announced, startling John. Glancing sideways at Heather as she squeezed back into her place on the couch, she continued, suddenly animated, "Karaoke Night at Ike's."

"We can't go to karaoke, Jess," Heather chided. "Your Mom needs you here, and there's too much going on."

"Yeah," Michael agreed, slapping Jessica's calf with the back of his hand. "Besides, pick a place we can all go to. I wanna see John humiliate himself as much as the next guy."

"I've banned Drew from karaoke anyway," Deborah reminded. Rebekah and Ali were now playing with Jessica's old dollhouse - the same dollhouse that had amused Jessica and Heather for hours when they were little girls - and now Kyle was in his mother's lap, thumb in his mouth, threatening to drift off to sleep. "And we couldn't get a babysitter this late, anyway."

"For four kids?" Mandy piped up, "No way."

"You know what we should do, though?" Tommy declared, his voice full of excitement. "I think we need to play for the Burt Reinhardt Memorial Cup tomorrow. The rink's still closed, right?" he asked, looking at Jessica. "Tomorrow morning. We should do it."

Biting her lip, Jessica nodded. Heather put her arm around her cousin, hugging her tightly. "That's - That's a great idea," she sniffed a few seconds later. "Rink's closed 'til Monday," she confirmed, wiping her hand across one eye. "Thanksgiving weekend, so most of the leagues were cancelled anyway," Jessica shrugged, clearing her throat. "Bill opened up for the three that weren't this morning, and there's nothin' tomorrow. I think we should. Dad'd love it."

"So we're all in?" Tommy demanded. "Andy, John? Mike? Heth, Jess, Ker?" Everyone nodded, and Tommy called over to his daughter, still playing in the corner. "Ali-Cat, you gonna come watch Daddy play in Uncle Burt's hockey game tomorrow?"

"Okay!" Alison yelled back, grinning at her father.

The decision made, Andrew and Tommy hurried off toward the living room to recruit more players for the game. Mandy got up from her spot in the recliner, moving to deposit Hannah with her Uncle Mikey. "Don't worry," Mandy assured her brother-in-law, grinning, "Tommy really did change her diaper, so she's good for awhile still. I'll be right back," she promised, "It's always such a thrill these days to go to the bathroom alone."

"My dream!" Deborah laughed, covering her sleeping son's ears in the hope that she would avoid waking him. "See what you have to look forward to Kerry?" she joked, her gaze concentrated on the boy in her arms. "You two, too, Heather, Jess," Deborah sighed, throwing them a quick smile.

Kerry groaned softly, shaking her head. "We just got married," she reminded, looking over at her husband. "Give us another year."

"You got married a year ago," Deborah argued, "And, besides, it takes almost a year to have a baby."

"Heather and I will not be joining the rest of you all in your big childbearing experiment any time soon," Jessica interjected. "But go for it Ker, John."

"What I want to know is what Jake looks like," Kerry replied, leaning around Jessica to grin at her sister-in-law. "Got a picture on ya, Heth?"

"Ye-eahh," Heather admitted, drawing that one word out into multiple syllables. She was already beginning to blush. "In my - In my purse," she muttered, scooting forward on the couch.

Both Deborah and Jessica laid their hands on her arms, stopping her. "Johnny'll get it for you," Kerry offered helpfully. "Right, John? Please?" she cajoled, "For me?"

John rolled his eyes as he pulled himself up from his chair. "Sure," he muttered. "What's it look like?"

"Black leather, medium size, just the one long shoulder strap," Heather described, pantomiming the shape of her purse for her brother.

"'Kay," John acknowledged, frowning softly. "I'll see if I can find it." He was back three minutes later carrying nine purses - Heather counted - and glowering. "Every purse in that bedroom is black," he complained, dropping them all at his sister's feet. "And there are twenty-one of 'em in there. Nineteen are leather, and nine of those are medium with one long strap!"

"Well it is a funeral," Heather reminded, meeting John's annoyed look with a sheepish smile. "We're all wearing black," she added as she sorted through the handbags at her feet, locating her own. "Found it," she announced quietly.

Deborah pointed to a purse next to Heather's foot. "That's mine. The Tignanello." Heather handed it to her sister-in-law, earning a smile and a thank you.

Kerry reached over Jessica, plucking another bag from the pile. "Mine, but you should know that, Johnny," she scolded gently, settling back into her seat.

"I knew it," Michael laughed, though it turned into a squeal at the end when Hannah grabbed his nose, accidentally shove her tiny thumb up one nostril. "Ow, no," he said, frowning at the baby. "Hurts," he told her. Michael looked up at his brother. "Doing a lot of standing around in the mall, holding Kerry's purse?" he joked.

"He thinks my purse is his own, personal ATM machine," Kerry answered for John, rolling her eyes.

"Well, you better make sure that one's yours," John advised, sitting down next to her on the arm of the couch. "I actually do know what yours looks like, but there were two in there, absolutely identical."

"Yeah, Kerry," Heather agreed, pulling loose a second purse that was an exact copy of the one sitting in her sister-in-law's lap.

Kerry unzipped the top of her purse, declaring "Whoops," once she'd seen inside. "Not mine," she confirmed, zipping the bag back up and then trading with Heather. She looked at John, once again offering him the smile she knew he was still powerless to resist. "Can you put the rest back? Please?"

Letting out a put-upon sigh, John stood up, moving around Michael to take the purses that Heather handed up to him. "Any of these yours, Jess?" he asked, slinging two bags over his left shoulder.

"Mine's upstairs," Jessica answered, shaking her head 'no'.

"'Kay," John nodded, heading for the hallway door, where he ran into Mandy, returning from the bathroom.

"Hey, John," she greeted, giving him a puzzled smile as she peeled a purse off his arm. "Uh, thanks," she giggled.

Mandy stepped past John, revealing Sister Patricia, who stood in the hallway, frowning at John. "I went to get my coat..." she began. Hanging his head, John held out both his arms, five black leather, single-strapped handbags hanging from them. Sister Patricia selected the most utilitarian of the bunch, disentangling it from two others. "Thank you," she murmured, obviously unsure of what to make of one of the Lisinski boys turning out to be a ... purse thief?

"Heather needed her purse, Sister," he explained quickly, looking back over his shoulder to glare at his sister. "And all the purses looked the same." He met the nun's unblinking gaze with a chastened frown. "I'll put the rest of these back," he muttered, stepping past her.

Laughing softly, Sister Patricia stepped into the family room. "I have to go now," she informed them, "But I did want to tell you, Jessica, dear, what a good man your father was. I know he didn't darken the church door very often, but I could always call on him, and he loved you and your mother dearly. I remember one day when you were both still at school," she continued, smiling at Heather and Jessica, "I'd phoned to ask if he could come replace the glass in a broken window, which he did. He was in my office afterward and noticed that I had books in piles and not on shelves. Books are a vice of mine," she admitted with a wry grin. "A week later he arrived with three bookshelves he'd built himself. More than I needed, but he said that now I had room to grow. Your father wasn't perfect," Sister Patricia sighed, "He told awful -"

"Sacrilegious jokes," Jessica supplied. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but she was smiling. "I'm so sorry, Sister," she apologized, covering one eye with her hand. "We told him and told him he shouldn't -"

"I never minded, not really," Sister Patricia interrupted. "He did always look embarrassed after he'd told me one, and then he'd ask me to keep him in my prayers, which I did," she assured. "He doesn't need them now, of that I'm certain, but I'll be keeping you and your mother in my prayers."

"Thank you," Jessica sighed, letting her head rest against Heather's shoulder. "And, Sister Patricia," she called after the nun as she turned to leave the room, "When you need something, leave the rink on your list of calls. I'm not handy like Dad, but I can always send Bill."

Sister Patricia smiled. "Thank you, dear, I will. My condolences to you all," she added before stepping out the door which John, returning from the guest room, held open for her.

"Didja hear that the Pope's letting nuns go out on dates now?" Michael asked as John closed the door behind Sister Patricia. The women in the room groaned, recognizing one of Uncle Burt's favorite sacrilegious jokes.

"Yeah, as long as they wear Cross-My-Heart bras and No Nonsense panty hose," John grinned, supplying the punch line.

From the corner they heard twin gasps. Rebekah and Alison were on their feet, hands on their hips, identical expressions of outrage furrowing their brows. "Nuns can't go out on dates!" Rebekah declared, stomping her foot. "Uncle Mikey! Uncle Johnny!" she scolded before looking to Deborah for support. "Mom?"

"You are absolutely right, my girl," Deborah agreed, "Uncle Mikey and Uncle Johnny shouldn't have told that joke. They certainly know better," she added, throwing a pointed look in their direction.

John and Michael had the good grace the look contrite, and Michael quickly apologized to his niece. "Sorry, kiddo."

"But, Auntie Heather does get to go on dates," Deborah continued, smiling brightly. "And we wanna see who she's goin' out with. Hand 'em over," she demanded, turning a bright smile on her sister-in-law.

"Oh, yeah," Jessica, Kerry and Mandy all said in unison, chuckling at themselves.

Heather ducked her head, emitting a groaning giggle. "Fine," she muttered, opening her purse. She had an envelope of pictures with her, having, on impulse, gathered up some of the prints that had been sitting on her desk when she'd gone to get her e-ticket off the printer. She'd felt silly, wanting these pictures of Jake and herself with her, and even sillier the night before when she'd been in bed, talking to Jake on the phone and going through the envelope. After all, it wasn't like she'd forget what he looked like in three days!

"Here," she sighed, extracting the envelope from her purse and then pulling the four prints loose. Heather handed the first picture - one of the pictures of Jake and herself in front of Gramps' plane at the airport in Rock Springs - to Deborah. She passed a photo of Jake alone, checking the plane's engine, to Jessica, and one of the two of them in front of Dolly Doolittle's, to Kerry.

Heather tried to put the fourth picture - the one of Jake kissing her in front of the diner - back into the envelope, but Mandy caught her. "Ooh!" Heather's sister-in-law giggled. "I get the one she doesn't want us to see. Hand it over!" she demanded, getting up from the recliner and stomping across the room, hand outstretched.

Blushing crimson, Heather turned the photo over to Mandy with obvious reluctance. "I - I didn't even know Mr. Doolittle took that picture until we got home," she muttered. "I just wanted a picture of the sign, and then he and the actual Dolly Doolittle came along, and they offered to take our picture for me -"

"Yeah, Heth, I'm not really looking at the sign," Mandy laughed, shaking her head. "Whatever you do, don't let Tommy see this picture," she advised, "Or your Dad. Wowsa!" she teased.

"Trade ya," John insisted then, snatching the picture Kerry held out of her hand and holding it out to Mandy, who somewhat unwillingly exchanged photos. "God, Heather," he complained a second later, staring down at the photo laying on his palm. "Didja count his fillings?"

Kerry and Jessica immediately lunged for the picture. "No fair," Deborah complained, chuckling, as she watched the melee. "I'm pinned down," she pointed out, running her hand through her son's hair. She pressed a kiss to his temple, whispering, "Come on, Ky, wake up."

Michael twisted around, sitting up on his knees, jiggling Hannah in his arms, demanding his turn. "Man, Heather," he snorted, "Tell us, does he still have his tonsils?"

"Ix-nay on-way e-thay, uh, onsils-tay and-way illings-fay alk-tay," Deborah told Michael, nodding at the two little girls in the corner. "Do you know what I'm gonna have to do to make sure the nun joke doesn't end up the talk of All Saints's first grade next week?"

"Sorry, Deb," Michael apologized, leaning over Heather to hand her the incriminating photo. "But seriously. Take a look."

"Boy, you two've got it bad," she grinned, clucking softly over the picture. "But I like this one," Deborah added, holding up the photo of Jake and Heather in front of the plane for everyone to see. "You guys look good together, and he's cute."

"He's more than cute, he's hot," Jessica contradicted. "I think I need to go to Kansas."

Heather's fading blush bloomed again, though she was at least able to smile and nod her agreement with their assessment. "You can come," she told her cousin, giggling softly, "But his brother's married and his best friend reminds me way too much of Andy."

"Oh," Jessica returned, disappointed. She collapsed back against the sofa's cushions, shooting her cousin's wife a guilty look. "No offense, Deb."

"Well, all I have to say is, thank you for not marrying Mark Metzger," Mandy announced, finally taking Hannah from Michael. "And, sorry about the baby barf on your collar," she apologized, backing away quickly.

Michael pulled his dress shirt to one side, groaning at what he saw. Heather dug into her purse, producing a tissue pack, which she handed to him. "I liked Mark - until he proposed - but there wasn't any chance I was gonna marry him," she insisted.

"And Jake?" Kerry asked. "We know you like him," she reminded, gesturing at the picture which Deborah was still holding. "But are you gonna marry him?"

"I've only known him two months," Heather argued, exaggerating the length of their acquaintance by two weeks; she sucked down a deep breath, crossing her fingers behind her back. "We're not anywhere near talking about that yet. You guys dated for three years before you got engaged."

Kerry laughed at that, wrapping her arm around John's waist. "Well that's because we were still in college, and besides, it took your brother six months just to admit that, maybe, he loved me."

"And it took you a week to say it back," John complained.

"I wasn't sure I was ready to be in love with the school hockey star," Kerry answered. "Then it turned out my opinion didn't matter," she smiled, leaning against his side, "I already was in love with you."

"Well, I think I speak for us all," Mandy smiled, glancing down at the photo of Jake alone, working on the airplane, which Jessica had passed to her, "When I say those are the kind of new genes this family could use. You definitely have my permission to marry him," she decided, hefting her daughter on her hip.

"He also wears those jeans very nicely," Jessica giggled, prompting grumbles from her male cousins. "You've got my permission too."

"Rebekah, Ali," Deborah laughed, calling the two little girls over. She hid the picture of Jake and Heather kissing behind the one of them in front of the plane. "What d'ya think?" she asked the girls, showing them the photo. "This is your maybe, someday Uncle Jake. Cute, huh?"

"Uh-huh," Alison nodded, her expression completely serious.

"You should marry him, Auntie Heather," Rebekah added. "You match."

Kyle, waking up, blinked and pointed at the picture. "Airplane," he announced.

Deborah smiled at Heather. "See?"

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tuesday, November 28, two months after the bombs

Jake pulled his house key from his pocket and fitted it into the lock, glancing sideways at his wife, throwing her a smile he wasn't completely sure she could see in the dark. His father had presented Jake and Eric with keys to this house when they were eight, and he'd had one - the same one - ever since, but he'd never needed to use it until the last month. They'd never needed to lock up before the bombs.

The door creaked open and Jake reached back, capturing Heather's gloved hand in his own. "C'mon," he urged, well aware of how exhausted she was. Heather had worked the morning at town hall, but the atmosphere in the building hadn't been conducive to getting anything done. She hadn't even bothered trying to work in the afternoon, instead dividing her time between the church and the sheriff's office, spending way too much time on her feet. Heather took a step forward, almost stumbling, and Jake wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Should've let me get the car," he murmured, kissing her ear.

"Waste of gas," Heather answered, yawning, as they stepped into the house. "I just wanted to leave, and I'm fine," she insisted, pausing in the entry to wait for Jake to secure the door. "But I'm dying to get by that fire," she admitted, leading him into the living room.

"Hey!" Michael greeted, sitting up, as they came into the room. He'd been laying in front of the fireplace, both for warmth and for light by which to read the medical textbook he was studying. "Heather, you look awful!" he exclaimed, frowning at his sister.

"I'm just tired," Heather claimed, waving off his concern. "And freezing," she added with a yawn, pulling away from Jake and shuffling gingerly toward the fire.

"Actually she's ready to fall over," Jake contradicted, dragging a club chair closer to the fireplace for Heather. "She's been on her feet for hours. Here," he said, moving the chair into place. "Sit."

"Heather, what were you thinking?" April demanded from her spot on the couch. "You can't run yourself into the ground like that," she sighed, concern flashing across her face.

Abandoning his solitaire game at one end of the coffee table, Jeff shoved the ottoman he'd been sitting on toward Heather. "Feet up," he muttered.

Drake got up, the candlelit game of cribbage he'd been playing with April forgotten. Without saying a word, he lifted the teakettle off the mantle and checked it for water before putting it on to heat. "Good ol' orange pekoe, Earl Grey, peppermint, and Constant Comment," he informed Heather, rifling through the canister of tea bags that now lived on the mantle. "Which do you want?"

"Peppermint," she answered sleepily, undoing the first button on her coat. "My legs really hurt," Heather admitted with a groan, her expression sheepish.

"Wonder why?" Jake muttered, pushing her knit cap off her head so he could comb his fingers through her hair, cupping a hand over the chilled flesh of her ear.

"Jake?" Drake prompted, clearing his throat, "Which do you want?"

"Same's fine," Jake answered, distracted. "I'll just use her teabag after." Heather was already falling asleep. He squatted beside the ottoman and began to massage her calf.

"Ooohhh," Heather moaned gratefully, "That feels good. Don't stop."

"You need to go to bed," April said, wrapping her sweater more tightly around herself as she moved to join the others in front of the fire. She knelt down next to Jake, fingering the cuff of Heather's other pant leg. "God," she swore, trying to shove the jeans material up as far as it would go, which was not nearly as far as it should have. "You're apparently turning into the elephant woman, Heather, because that's what your legs look like. Elephant legs. You need to be in bed," April repeated, shaking her head. "Ten hours at least."

"After - After I warm up," Heather countered, yawning. "Promise."

April glared at Jake. "I'm puttin' you in charge of making sure it happens. Where were you today?"

"Border patrol," he grumbled in return. "Guarding Jonah Prowse. Doin' my job."

"Well, looking after your wife's your job, too," April reminded sourly.

"I'm on it, April, okay?" Jake replied, his tone defensive. "And, what about you? You're workin' nearly every day, twelve, fourteen hours."

"You don't need to worry about me," she snapped, tugging the leg of Heather's jeans back into place. "I'm not your job. I'm not anyone's job," April muttered, glaring at her brother-in-law through a haze of unshed tears which she quickly blinked away.

"Well, maybe I inherited you," he argued, almost belligerently. "'Cause two pregnant women is exactly what I need."

"Knock it off," Michael interrupted, his voice both hushed and urgent. "We're all just - just takin' care of each other," he muttered, "Best we can. Okay?"

Nodding, April started to stand, bracing herself against the ottoman, only to find Jeff there, taking her arm. "Okay," she sniffed, throwing back her shoulders.

"Okay," Jake agreed finally, not looking up. Heather had fallen asleep, but he moved into the space April had vacated anyway and started to massage her other leg.

"You know, when we were kids," Michael began, peeling the glove off his sister's hand, "My Mom always made us make up like we meant it."

"Don't push it, Mike," Jake warned, catching his brother-in-law's eye. "We're fine, right?" he asked, looking back over his shoulder at April. "Besides," he admitted, letting out a heavy breath, "It's been a bad night."

The teakettle started to whistle, and even that wasn't enough to wake Heather. The rest of them glanced around the loose circle they'd formed, not saying anything, instead settling for exchanging grim looks. Finally, Drake moved to pull the kettle off the fire, pouring the hot water into mugs that were lined up atop the mantle. "Two extra," he announced unnecessarily. "April?"

"Sure," she agreed. "I actually like the Constant Comment."

"So do you, Drake," Jeff snorted. "You take the other."

Again, they all fell silent, watching Drake as he prepared the first two mugs of tea as if the process was the most fascinating thing they'd ever seen. Jake tried to wake Heather up, shaking her shoulder gently and opening her coat, extracting her from it. She fought him a little, grumbling at him in her sleep, finally rousing when he snaked his hand under her blouse and sweater, tickling her side. "Drink up," Jake ordered, handing her the mug that Drake had passed to him. "It's not a piña colada," he teased, "But it'll warm you up."

"Oh, gee, just what we needed," Jeff complained, "Another piña colada joke."

Jake looked back at the younger man. "Turns out there's two piña colada jokes. Yours and Heather's. She thinks she's pregnant because I ordered her a second one at dinner one night in Hawaii."

"I had three that night, actually," Heather murmured. She took a sip of her tea and then, wrapping her hands around the mug to warm them, balanced it carefully on her rounded belly. "I miss pineapple," she declared huskily, her eyes falling closed. "And bananas," she whispered completely unaware of the amused smiles on everyone else's faces. "I wanted to get pregnant," Heather added a few seconds later, her eyes still shut but sounding surprisingly lucid. "I just didn't think I would," she concluded, muffling a yawn.

"T...M...I," Michael ground out, emphasizing each letter.

Neither Jake nor Heather responded; she was starting to drift off again, and he was concentrated on rousing her. "C'mon, babe," Jake coaxed, "Wake up. You need to finish your tea, and then you're goin' to bed."

"Okay," she sighed, not bothering to open her eyes as she raised the cup to her mouth, blowing on the liquid before taking a drink.

April, who'd been forced into the other club chair by Jeff, sipped at her own mug. "So, bad night?" she questioned, staring the back of Jake's head. "That means Gray - ?"

"Is the mayor," Jake admitted, letting out a resigned breath. He seated himself on Heather's ottoman, his free hand settling on her leg. "Three thousand twenty two votes," he continued, swallowing a mouthful of tea. "Fifteen hundred twenty six for Gray, fourteen hundred ninety two for Dad, and four write-ins. One for Oliver Bruce and three for Clark Kent."

"Don't you mean Bruce Wayne?" Jeff asked. "I mean, Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne? Superheroes?"

Jake shook his head. "Oliver Bruce is the town conspiracy theorist. Now, no way he'd actually vote -"

"He didn't," Heather confirmed from behind Jake. He looked over his shoulder at her, relieved when she shot him a tired but somewhat revived smile. "At least he didn't while I was there," she clarified, before taking a sip of her tea.

"Well, somebody voted for him," Jake shrugged, turning back to face the others. "And as for Clark Kent ... it is Kansas. Local boy does good, I guess."

"Imaginary local boy," Jeff complained, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I can't - I can't believe Dad lost," April said, her tone subdued. "How?" she demanded a second later, chewing her lip. "What happened? How?"

"Thirty four votes," Drake muttered. "I mean, that's the - the margin."

"And Gray's takin' it as a mandate," Jake snorted. Grinding his mug against his knee, he shook his head. "The people have spoken."

Frowning, April straightened in her seat. "Where - Where is he? Dad?" she asked. "Why didn't he and Mom come home with you guys?"

"They had to stick around for the last of the formalities," Jake explained, studying the inside of his cup. "Certify the count, all that."

In the end, the vote had been counted three times. The voter roll was counted too, and the totals were compared. Three ballots were discovered to be missing as a result, and they were then found stuck in a metal seam inside the ballot box, despite the fact that - as all four advocates later testified - Principal Gerhardt had practically climbed inside the contraption to clear it out after two football players had carried it into Reverend Young's study once the polls had officially closed at eight. One of the ballots had torn as Principal Gerhardt pulled it loose, prompting gasps from all those present. Mrs. McVeigh had solved the problem with scotch tape.

The second tabulation - including the three missing ballots - had changed the count by five, bringing Johnston Green up to fourteen hundred ninety two from fourteen hundred eighty seven, causing Gray Anderson's advocates no end of consternation. By this point, Mr. Houghton and the five students who had still been in the building had been brought in to assist, and had been put to work sorting ballots into batches of ten based on candidates selected. The elections commissioners had then spent their time auditing the batches. The third count had matched the second exactly. Gray Anderson, it was announced three and a half hours after the polls closed, had been elected mayor of Jericho.

"We stuck around 'til Mrs. McVeigh announced the results," Jake continued, "But I guess she has some paperwork to do, and they need to box everything up in case the county ever wants to look at it."

"In case the county still exists," Michael grumbled.

Throwing his brother-in-law a sour grin, Jake nodded. "Right. Anyway, Mom and Dad stuck around for that." Taking a deep breath, he faced April. "The inauguration, swearing in, whatever you want to call it, is tomorrow morning," he informed her. "Ten o'clock."

"What?" April practically yelped, sitting forward in her chair. "Why? That - That just doesn't make sense."

"Gray pushed for it," Jake shrugged, "And - I don't know - Dad didn't see much point in dragging it out, I guess."

"Jericho finally broke his heart," she sighed, shaking her head at the thought. "He always said that one day they would."

"Yeah," Jake agreed. "Okay," he continued, squeezing Heather's leg as he looked back over his shoulder at her, "How're you doin' on that tea? You're not falling asleep on me, are you? Ready for bed?"

Heather sat up, stretching her free hand over her head. "Ready," she yawned, looking around blearily for somewhere to set her now empty mug.

Jake got up and took the cup from her, placing it on the mantle. "C'mon," he smiled, offering her his hand. "And, hey, you get to sleep in," he reminded, helping Heather stand and take her first few steps toward the entry. "Handy excuse for missing Gray's big day," he muttered. She stumbled again, betraying how exhausted she really was, and Jake wrapped an arm around her waist. "Okay, why don't you just hold onto me?" he suggested.

"Here, Heth," Michael said, coming up on her other side. "If you need me," he added.

She glanced over at him, smiling softly. "Heth?" she yawned, "No one's called me that in ages. You know, I worked really, really hard to lose that nickname when I moved to Jericho," Heather admitted, threading her arm through her brother's.

"Hmm," Michael grinned, first at Heather, and then at Jake over the top of her head, "I'm pretty sure I know all your nicknames, Miss Bossy Heather."

"Well, that's a good one," Jake chuckled, earning himself a harmless elbow in the ribs as they tried to negotiate the first stair as a three person wide unit.

"I was four or five," Michael explained. "Heather always made me play school, and she wanted me to call her 'Miss Heather'. 'Miss Bossy' was my rebellious act. She kept me in from recess," he complained, laughing quietly. "At pretend school. Think about it."

"Not Sister Heather, huh?" Jake asked, leaning over to kiss the top of his wife's head. He'd heard hundreds of stories of the Lisinski children's school days over the years, and they'd always featured a Sister Somebody.

"Never wanted to be a nun," Heather replied, letting Jake help her mount the next step. "Now, when you were really little," She told Michael, looking sideways at him, "You called me 'Hezzer'. Couldn't say the 'th' sound."

Michael nodded, smiling. "That's like Rebekah," he reminded. "Remember, when she first learned to talk? She didn't call Andy and Deb 'Dada' and 'Mama' like a normal kid, she called 'em 'Dew Dew' and 'Dubbah'."

"Yeah," Heather giggled. "She couldn't say her Rs. Remember? She called herself Bub-bekah."

"Because Andy always called her his 'bub' when she was a baby," Michael said. "He'd come into a room and say, 'Where's my bub?' or 'How's my bub today?'"

"That's right," she sighed, catching her brother's eye. "Bub."

The three reached the landing and turned, mounting the second half of the staircase, disappearing from the sight of those still in the living room. April, setting her empty mug aside, shook her head. "I can't believe it," she told Jeff and Drake. "As long as I've known anything about Jericho, Kansas - all the time I've lived in Jericho - Johnston's always been the mayor."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

For the record, the song catalog for this part is:

• Escape (The Piña Colada Song) / Rupert Holmes
• Gansta's Paradise / Coolio
• I Wanna Be a Cowboy / Boys Don't Cry
• I'll Do Anything For Love (But I Won't Do That) / Meat Loaf
• (The Jericho High Fight Song / Me)