The Greens of Jericho

Different Circumstances: Part 11E of ?
by Marzee Doats

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

Wednesday, November 29, two months afterf the bombs

Jake jogged down the stairs, pulling his jacket on. Heather looked up from the old issue of Popular Mechanics she was reading, her attention drawn by the noise. She was sitting next to the fire in a club chair, wrapped up in a quilt inherited from Jake's grandmother Betsy. "Hey!" she called out, setting the magazine down, open, over her pregnant belly. "Where're you going?"

"I'm, uh, I need to talk to Eric about somethin'," he admitted, his pace slowing as he moved into the living room. Johnston was at one end of the couch, looking through a military history book, and Drake, seated at the opposite end, was shuffling a deck of cards, apparently waiting for April so they could finish their cribbage game. Both men wore identically dubious expressions, Johnston raising one eyebrow in question. "Just - just border patrol business," Jake insisted, stopping next to his wife's chair.. "But I need to talk to him. I'll be right back, promise," he told Heather.

"Bailey's?" Heather inquired, grimacing in distaste. "Jake -"

"It's border patrol business," he interjected, making an annoyed noise. "Besides, he's my brother, Heather. I'm allowed to talk to him."

Pressing her lips tightly together, she nodded. "I'm not arguing that, Jake," Heather grumbled in return. She stared at him for a moment, their gazes locked, before sitting forward in her chair so she could grab his hand. "It's just that," she sighed, playing with his fingers, "I was thinking we could make an early night of it." Heather smiled at him sweetly, dropping the volume of her voice to just above a whisper. "Tonight."

"Okay," Jake grinned in return, relieved more than anything that, after a day of rest, she seemed to be feeling as good as new. "You've got yourself a deal," he joked gently, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand. He glanced at his father and Drake, his grin transforming into a smirk as he noted the rapt concentration they both now had for their respective activities. It was dark in the living room, with only a few candles and the fire for illumination, but Jake was pretty sure that the tips of Drake's ears were now pink. "Lookin' forward to it," he added, leaning down to brush his mouth across hers.

"I think I finally understand why Grandpa always refused to get a hearing aid there at the end," Johnston drawled, not bothering to look up from his book.

"Sorry, Dad," Heather apologized, giggling, her expression turning sheepish. "We'll behave now," she assured, meeting Jake's gaze with a severe frown.

"We will?" he inquired, folding his arms over his chest, his expression completely unrepentant. It was a challenge, living in a house with - now - seven other adults. Privacy was hard to come by, and Jake was sure they'd all, at one time or another, overheard things they wished they hadn't. He could remember, too, how everyone had thought he and Heather were crazy to live out at the ranch with Grandpa Green after they were married, though that arrangement had worked out well. Grandpa had insisted on moving into the first floor guest room, leaving the entire second floor to the newlyweds, and - as Johnston had pointed out - EJ had never bothered to get a hearing aid. With Jake and Heather in the house, Grandpa had been able to stay, even at the end, with the help of in-home nursing care. They'd had their awkward moments to be sure, but compared to their current living situation, sharing the ranch house with Grandpa had been a breeze.

"We will," Heather confirmed, picking up her magazine. "Besides," she added, looking up at Jake, "You're gonna go talk to Eric, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded, taking a step toward her. "I'll be back. Half hour, forty-five minutes, tops," Jake swore. He cupped her head with both of his hands, pressing a kiss to her mouth. "And, I promise I won't have any fun," Jake joked, laying his hands over the swell of their child, smiling as the baby rewarded him with a small shove in return. "B.G. can be my witness. But," he sighed, "I gotta do this, babe."

"Just hurry," Heather instructed, catching his hand and squeezing it quickly before letting go.

Not quite fifteen minutes later, Jake strode into Bailey's Tavern, intent on talking with his brother and then getting home. Tonight, between the lanterns that hung from the rafters and the candles scattered across every flat surface, the bar was better lit, Jake couldn't help but think, than it had ever been before the bombs when they'd had a ready supply of electricity. He shook his head, scanning the crowd for Eric, finally spotting him behind the bar, locked in a rather intimate embrace with Mary Bailey. Rolling his eyes, he moved toward them.

"Hey, hold on." Jake stopped and looked down, surprised by the hand that had suddenly clamped down on his forearm. He looked up, noticing Emily Sullivan for the first time, perched sideways on a barstool. "They're having a moment," she told him, shrugging, "So let them have their moment."

"I just need five minutes of Eric's time," Jake insisted, pulling loose of her grip. His brother chose the same moment to drape his scarf around Mary's neck, tugging her close. Jake shook his head again and then glanced at Emily, who was smiling softly. "I can't believe you approve of this," he grumbled, watching the couple's antics.

"Well, Eric wouldn't be my choice," Emily giggled, leaning toward him and whispering, "Too boring. But," she continued, sighing, "She loves him. He makes her happy." She patted the empty barstool next to her. "Sit. Have a drink. Give 'em thirty seconds to pretend everything's normal and the bombs never happened. Then you can - whatever."

Frowning, Jake took the seat. "I really just need to talk to Eric," he told her again, his mind on Heather, waiting at home for him.

Mary and Eric broke apart then, though he held onto her hand. "Mary," Emily called, waving at her friend. "Jake needs a drink," she proclaimed, pointing at her companion. "Unfortunately," she confided with her next breath, tracing the rim of her glass with one of her still perfectly manicured nails, "They're fresh out of apple wine coolers."

"Yeah, that is unfortunate," Jake agreed, not quite able to keep the sarcasm out of his tone. Mary placed a glass, three-quarters full, in front of him. The liquid was clear, and gave off a pungent aroma much too close to that of paint thinner for Jake's comfort. "Thanks," he muttered, catching his brother's eye. "Eric, I need to talk to -"

"In a minute," Eric said, cutting him off. He pulled Mary back against his chest, wrapping both arms around her and kissing the shell of her ear. "Wanna dance?" he invited.

It was then that Jake recognized the other change in the bar's atmosphere. Music. Aside from catching Heather humming or singing to herself on occasion, he hadn't heard any in over two months. Tonight though, the jukebox was up and running and, he confirmed, looking over his shoulder, there were plenty of people happy to take advantage of this new development. He'd seen the packed dance floor when he'd come in, but it hadn't really registered. "This is what we stole the generator back for?" Jake asked, watching Eric follow Mary as she threaded her way into the crowd, both of them disappearing.

"I stole the generator back," Emily reminded, taking a sip of her drink and making a face. "By myself," she declared, letting out a deep breath. "From Jonah. All by myself," Emily repeated. "And, besides," she added, shrugging, "Mary already had a generator. Now she's got gas... she can use it how she wants."

"Right," Jake acknowledged, surprised to realize that he didn't completely agree. He'd always had a 'live and let live' personal philosophy, but now, with scarce resources only getting scarcer, he wondered at Mary's choices. He couldn't help but think of Heather, back at the house, huddled under a quilt for warmth when the next day was only the last day of November, and not even winter yet. "So," he muttered, looking sideways at Emily. "How'd it go? You know. With Jonah."

She stiffened, responding flatly. "He's gone."

"It's the best thing for now," Jake argued, finally trying his drink. The flavor was ... unique, Jake decided, gasping quietly, as the alcohol burned its way down his throat, bringing tears to eyes which he blinked away.

"Yeah," she muttered. They both fell silent for a long moment, each lost in their own thoughts. Suddenly, Emily sat up straight, throwing back her shoulders. "You come alone?" she asked, "No Heather? No three musketeers?"

Jake stared at her for a long moment, his expression incredulous. "Heather's boycotting," he told her, turning his head to look over his shoulder, trying to find his brother and Mary, but he couldn't spot them in the sea of people. "They're all boycotting. Heather, Mom, April, of course," he listed, rolling his glass back and forth between his two hands. "The Green women stick together."

"Right," Emily nodded, her reply clipped. She looked away, lifting her drink to her lips. "And the musketeers?"

"All work for April," he reminded, glancing sideways, at the back of her head. "And, they've got names."

"I know," Emily declared brightly, facing Jake with a forced smile. "Uh, Jeff, right?"

"Yeah, Jeff," Jake confirmed, peering at her over the rim of his glass. "And?" he prompted.

"Mike," she decided, her forehead wrinkling as she tried to recall the three young men's names. "Jeff and Mike and ...."

"Drake," he supplied. "Rhymes with Jake, so that should make it pretty easy for you to remember. Does seem to trip my Mom up when she's yelling for one of us," Jake joked, "But other than that, it's not hard. Jeff, Mike and Drake."

"Jeff, Mike and Drake," Emily repeated, "Got it. So, uh," she began a long moment later, "I'm - I'm sorry your Dad lost the election."

Jake didn't answer right away, waiting until she looked over at him. "Don't be," he shrugged. "People spoke, and they got exactly what they wanted."

"Yeah, fifty percent of the people," she agreed, frowning as she fiddled with her drink. "What about the forty nine percent of us who still wanted the mayor?" Emily asked, losing control of her glass and bumping it into the nearest votive candle holder, almost knocking it over. She caught it - barely - yelping as the tender flesh at the heel of her hand touched to heated glass. "Ow," she giggled, "Whoops!"

"How much of this have you had?" Jake questioned taking her drink away from her. "And, where's a fire marshal when you need one?" he complained half-heartedly, looking up and down the bar. There were at least fifteen candles lining the counter on just this side, all dangerously close to someone with a drink. He set her glass out of reach, and then finished off his own, coughing as the alcohol hit the back of his throat.

Another somewhat awkward pause ensued, and Jake was grateful when the song playing on the juke box ended, and a new one began. He concentrated on the first few notes, noting the slower tempo and the melancholy quality of the song. Turning in his seat, he saw many of the couples on the dance floor draw instinctively closer together, their movements slowing. The vocals began, and Jake groaned, rotating back around to roll his eyes at Emily. "The bald girl," he muttered, shaking his head. "It really is depressing, you know."

"I swear, it wasn't me," Emily defended herself, though her expression still betrayed her sudden embarrassment over the situation. "I haven't been anywhere near the jukebox all night."

"So that means there's actually two people in town who like this song," Jake snorted, shaking his head.

"It's a good song," Emily argued, frowning at him. "I like it," she insisted, "And when I was sixteen...."

"Well, none of us should be held responsible for what we did or said or thought when we were sixteen," he muttered, meeting her gaze. Her grimace deepened, and Jake tried to clarify. "You know what I mean," he argued. "High school was fun, but it wasn't the best years of my life. It wasn't the best years of your life, either, right? I mean, what about Roger?"

Emily nodded. "Yeah - yeah, of course," she acknowledged softly, though, to Jake, she looked almost startled by the idea. "Roger. Since I met Roger. Those have been my best years," she agreed. "At least until now... everything that's happened." She paused, taking a deep breath and forcing a smile. "And for you, it must be Heather."

"Since the day we met," Jake confirmed, completely unaware - Emily thought, experiencing a jealous twinge - of how his grin widened and how the light in his eyes warmed at the mere mention of his wife. "And getting better," he added, surprising her. "Even with things the way they are now."

"Well, yeah," Emily murmured, standing up so she could reach past him for her glass. Jake didn't try to stop her. "You're gonna be a dad," she declared quietly. "And that beats everything else - everything happening out there," Emily said looking toward the door.

"Yeah it does," Jake smiled, his gaze unfocused as his thoughts once again drifted to Heather. Clearing his throat a few seconds later, he turned in his seat, scanning the crowd for his brother. "Where the hell's Eric?" he grumbled quietly. "I need to talk to him, and I promised -"

"But I can't -" Emily interrupted, breaking off when Jake stopped talking, looking at her questioningly. She closed her eyes, shaking her head at herself. "I can't believe you told her about - about when we were sixteen... when I thought I was pregnant," she finished with a whisper.

Jake swallowed hard, staring at her for a long moment before finally drawling sarcastically, "Why's that, Em? Because you were really looking forward to telling her yourself? Some day when you were drunk off your ass in a bar? Sorry, but I prefer my method."

"She told you," Emily muttered, studying her glass for a moment before lifting it to her mouth and tipping it back, finishing it off with a wince.

"Yeah." Jake's confirmation was short and clearly annoyed. "We talk. Though, I'm surprised you remember," he snorted.

"That I remember. It was still early," she giggled nervously. "But pretty much after that," she confessed, "It's a blur."

"You can't -" he began and then changed his mind. "We're not sixteen anymore," Jake reminded, his tone hardening. "All that's ancient history - literally half a lifetime ago," he declared. "So don't try to hurt my wife," he ordered, "And don't try to come between us."

Emily, her face burning, didn't respond. Staring straight ahead, she willed Jake away, but he didn't go. She looked down at the bar, noting how he clenched his hand around his empty glass so tightly she was surprised he hadn't managed to break it. Mary appeared before them - from where, Emily didn't know - and she let out her breath, grateful for her friend's presence.

"Who needs a refill?" Bailey's proprietress practically sang, beaming at them both. "Jake?"

"No thanks," he muttered, pulling his glass away before she could pour him another drink. "I need to talk to Eric. And - trust me - he wants to talk to me. But I'm leavin' in two minutes," Jake warned.

Mary's grin faltered a bit. "He'll be right in," she told him. "He's just - just checking on the generator for me," she muttered, pouring for Emily who'd shoved her glass toward Mary, thumping it on the bar in a wordless demand for more.

"Two minutes," Jake repeated, his expression stony. "Then I'm -"

"Jake!" Eric's shout sounded through the bar even before he appeared in the doorway. "Jake!" he yelled again, wild-eyed, "You gotta come outside! Now! They need help!"

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

Monday, November 26, five years before the bombs

She spotted him through the crowd as she passed out of the security zone and into the main terminal. He had roses - Heather giggled happily at that, feeling utterly spoiled - and was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and a well-worn bomber style leather jacket which gave him a rakish look that left her mouth dry. He spotted her a second later, a smile breaking through his slightly bored expression. Their eyes locked, and Jake waved. Her heart beating almost in her throat, she hurried toward him.

"God, Heather," he swore, wrapping one arm around her as soon as she came into range.

"Shhh," she ordered, pressing one finger to his lips. "I love you, Jake," Heather told him, smiling widely. "I love you. I've been waiting four days to say that when I could see your eyes," she sighed. "And, now you can talk," she declared, giggling and withdrawing her finger.

He nipped at the digit, grinning at her as she snatched her hand back, laughing joyfully. "I love you, too, Heth," he replied, slipping his hand beneath her sweater and untucked blouse to rest against the bare skin above the waistband of her jeans. Heather's backpack trapped his hand, though Jake was able to use this to his advantage as it hid from the passing crowd that he was rubbing circles against the small of her back. He was staggered by the wave of relief that washed over him, just because she was back in his arms, where she belonged. "Hey," Jake greeted huskily, brushing his mouth over hers.

"Hey," she murmured in return. "But 'Heth'?" she asked a beat later, her nose wrinkling. "How 'bout 'babe'," Heather requested, reaching for his free hand and lacing her fingers through his. "Everyone in my family calls me 'Heth'," she explained, making a face. "Always have. Kinda makes me feel permanently twelve years old."

"Okay then, 'babe' it is," Jake chuckled, squeezing her hand. He took a deep breath and then a half step back. "So, these are for you," he announced, showing her the bouquet of a dozen red roses. "But first," he grinned, holding them out of her reach as he sidestepped around her, "I gotta check a few things." Jake laid the bouquet across the top of her suitcase before stooping over it to examine it closely from all angles. He unzipped the front compartment and peered inside before knocking on the back of the bag with his fist.

"What're you doing?" she demanded, throwing him a funny look and beginning to laugh.

"Heather post-flight check," he joked, circling around her. She started to turn around, but Jake grabbed her backpack stopping her. "One second, please," he requested, patting his hands down the sides of her pack until he brought them to rest on her hips.

"Jake! What are you doing?" she repeated, giggling as she twisted around to meet his eye.

"Just checking for brothers," he teased, giving her a little squeeze. "You're sure they didn't follow you on the plane? Sneak into your carry-on?" he questioned.

"They're all at work, except for Mikey, who went back to school last night," Heather reported, pulling away from him. She shrugged out of her backpack and dropped it on the floor, next to her suitcase. "Even my Dad went to work," she added, grinning and moving toward him. "Deb drove me to the airport and there's no way she'd let Andy sneak into my bag," Heather told Jake, pressing against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "I think we're safe."

"Good," he declared, cupping her face with both hands. Smiling, Jake traced her lower lip with his thumbs. "So that means it's safe to do this," he murmured, bringing his mouth down on top of hers. When they separated moments later, they were both grinning and breathing a little harder. Jake dropped his hands to her waist again, not willing to let her get too far away. "I missed you," he sighed.

"I missed you, too," she smiled, making a contented noise. "And, I'm ready to go home."

He grinned at that, pulling her closer so that they were pressed together, from their knees to their navels. "Home sounds good," he murmured, his breath stirring the small hairs that framed her face. "Home sounds real good."

"It does," Heather laughed softly in agreement. "Though we should probably go," she suggested, amending her statement a moment later as he fitted his hands into the back pockets of her jeans. "Or not," she giggled, blushing softly. She leaned against him, burrowing her face against his shoulder. "Jake, we're in public," she reminded, turning her head into the crook of his neck.

"Okay," Jake conceded with a chuckle. "Let's get outta here," he suggested, withdrawing his hands and then catching one of hers in his own. "Time to get you home," he grinned, raising their joined hands to his mouth so he could press a quick kiss to her knuckles. Letting her fingers slip from his, Jake turned and retrieved the bouquet, presenting it to her with a flourish. "Welcome home, babe."

"Thank you," Heather murmured, beaming at him. "It's great to be home," she declared, savoring the words - the thought - for a moment while she rearranged her coat, which was draped over her arm, so she could hold the bouquet and still have one hand free. She really was home, Heather realized, her smile growing. As much as Buffalo was her home and would always be the place where she'd grown up, it also felt absolutely right to be coming home to Kansas and to Jake. "I love you," she declared, taking a step toward him. "I just - I just love you."

Throwing her backpack over his shoulder, Jake offered Heather a crooked grin. "Love you, too," he replied, reaching for the telescoping handle of her suitcase. He held his other hand out to her. "Ready?"

"Yep!" Heather accepted his hand, but then moved closer, tucking her arm through his before laying her head against his shoulder. They started toward the exit, walking slowly while they found their rhythm and simply enjoy being reunited. The airport was busier today, Thanksgiving weekend already mostly forgotten by all except the few travelers like Heather who had waited an extra day before returning. The terminal had been transformed, too, in her absence, and was now decorated for Christmas. Snippets of carols - never more than a few words at a time - played over the intercom system between the almost constant announcements regarding unattended baggage, illegally parked cars, and where lost persons could meet the rest of their parties.

"Ah, success!" she joked as the automatic doors slid open in front of them, allowing them to leave the terminal. "No National Guard run-ins," Heather explained, grinning, in answer to Jake's questioning look.

"Well, I did promise Gretchen," he reminded with a snort, turning so he could press a kiss to the top of her head. "Now," Jake continued, leading her across the road toward the parking lot, "I was thinkin' we'd stop in Rogue River for dinner on the way home. Harrison's - it's Gramps' favorite steakhouse. It'll take awhile, but as long as you don't have a lot of stuff to do at home -"

"I'm yours for the rest of the evening," she informed him, squeezing his arm. "And dinner sounds great."

"Okay," he agreed, glancing sideways at Heather. The sight of the woman he loved on his arm pulled a grin and a contented sigh from Jake. She looked up at him, smiling in return. They had reached the entrance to the parking lot, and he pulled her to a stop, brushing a quick kiss across her mouth. "I'm glad your home," he told her, marveling at his good fortune.

* * * * * * * *

Sunday, December 2, five years before the bombs

"Why can't you just get that I don't wanna go?" Jake demanded finally, forcing the car into park and yanking his keys from the ignition.

"Oh, I get that," Heather snapped in return. She sat stiffly in the passenger's seat, almost against the door, as she tried to put more space between them. "I get, loud and clear, that you don't want to go with me," she accused.

"I don't want to go with anyone!" he snarled in frustration, his hand clenching into a fist around his keys. "I just don't wanna go! What's so hard to understand? Why are you being so crazy about this?"

Jake knew he was making a mistake even as the words left his mouth, a fact that was confirmed for him by Heather's expression. She gaped at him, her mouth a perfect 'O' of outrage. Her face crumpled and he closed his eyes, not wanting to see her start to cry. "Babe -"

"No!" she interrupted, a sob catching in her throat. "No! Just don't -" Heather broke off with a noisy gasp. In the next instant, though, she'd popped open her door, a move that took Jake by surprise. She fled his presence.

"Heather!" he shouted, exasperated, scrambling from the car a second after she'd slammed the passenger door shut. Momentarily paralyzed, he watched as she hurried across the lawn and then up the front walk toward her house. Finally, Jake forced his legs into motion, jogging after her. He caught up with Heather on the porch, laying a tentative hand on her arm as she worked to open the front door.

"Don't," she muttered, arching her back and shrugging his hand off. "I - I can't - can't talk to you about - about this right now," Heather sniffled, stumbling over her words. "Just go - go away, Jake."

"Dammit, Heather!" Jake protested, dizzy with fear and even anger. "Don't - don't be like this!"

She shook her head, shoving the door in front of her open. "Don't be like this?" Heather demanded, spinning around. She wiped one eye, fighting to maintain control. "This is me, Jake. But apparently you don't want to be seen with crazy me," she charged, her chin jutting out. "Not in public. Not by your co-workers, and certainly not by your boss." Heather took a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full height. "So now you don't have to go anywhere - be seen anywhere - with me."

Before he could respond, Heather had stepped into the house, slamming the door and then, with much noise, bolted it shut. Staring blankly after her, it was a long moment before Jake could react. He tried knocking and rang the doorbell twice, but she ignored him, instead extinguishing all the lights at the front of the house. Finally, defeated, Jake staggered back to his car, throwing himself into the driver's seat. Irritation and panic warred for dominance in his mind, and he gave into the baser of his emotions, smashing his fist into the steering wheel. "God dammit," Jake swore, punching the wheel again.

Belatedly, he remembered his cell phone, but when he called Heather's cell he discovered that she'd turned it off, and then that her home line rang busy. Snapping the phone closed, Jake tossed it angrily on the passenger's seat - her seat - and then began to search the seats and floor in the dark for his keys, which he'd dropped in his haste to go after her. There was nothing left to do. Feeling sick to his stomach and a heavy constriction in his chest, Jake did the only thing he could, and started the car before backing slowly out of the driveway.

They had had a good trip home to Jericho, almost a week before. Travelling halfway across the state with Heather had made the time pass much more quickly than when he'd made the journey by himself. Their dinner had been good and they'd lingered over coffee and dessert, talking and flirting, so that it had been nearly nine when they'd made it home to Jericho. Heather had invited Jake in, but she'd obviously been fighting to stay awake, finally admitting that she had jetlag despite having changed only one time zone. He'd laughed at that, which she'd seemed to have expected, and then he'd kissed her good-bye, telling her again that he was glad that she was home, and that he loved her, and that he'd see her the next day.

The next day, though, had brought the news that, in her absence, Heather had been 'volunteered' to assist Mr. Rennie with both the winter concert and the winter play, which Jake was pretty sure was a brand new invention. She'd been stuck at school until six-thirty running a rehearsal of A Christmas Carol which, Heather had explained during the short break she'd taken from grading to eat a piece of the pizza he'd picked up, "Is kinda more Mickey's Christmas Carol than true to the original Dickens. We're skipping the creepy 'Ignorance' and 'Want' kids for one thing. Not that they're not important to the story," she'd added, swallowing quickly, "But this is five to thirteen year olds."

"Mickey's Christmas Carol?" Jake had asked, amused by the idea.

"You're telling me you never saw Mickey's Christmas Carol growing up?" she'd questioned, reaching for a second slice. "I know I saw it in the theater," Heather had told him, her forehead wrinkling as she had tried to remember the details. "And, I was pretty little, but it wasn't the first movie I saw in at the theater - that was Return of the Jedi," she'd decided with a snort. "My brothers were annoyed that my Dad said I could come - they thought I'd be scared - and I kinda was," Heather had admitted with a giggle, picking a piece of sausage off her slice and popping it into her mouth. "I think I was four, and Jabba the Hutt and the carnivorous sandpit were a little too much for me. I sat in Dad's lap and hid my face through the first twenty minutes of the movie. But I was fine once we got to Ewoks."

"I hated Ewoks," Jake had protested, groaning. They had been sitting on the couch in Heather's living room and he'd reached for her hand, tugging on it to pull her closer so he could wrap one arm around her. "Stanley, Eric and I spent the whole rest of that summer pretending that we were Ewok hunters," he'd chuckled. She'd gasped, sitting forward and then had stared back over her shoulder at him, her expression a picture of righteous indignation. "Sorry," Jake had apologized, still grinning softly, "But teddy bears do not belong in Star Wars."

Heather had laughed at that, shaking her head at Jake before moving back in his arms. She'd leaned over to kiss him, tasting like pepperoni pizza and cream soda, and he'd frowned when she'd pulled away all too quickly, admitting, "Well, my brothers would all agree with you, I'm sure. But anyway," she'd sighed, "We're doing the 'G' version of A Christmas Carol."

"I know I saw the Mickey Mouse version," Jake had shrugged, letting his hand settle possessively on her hip. "Scrooge McDuck, right? I've just never thought about it again since I was - I dunno - nine, ten?" he'd guessed. "Mom's always liked the one George C. Scott did, so I've seen that a couple of times, and I get why you'd want to dumb it down to keep the PTA happy."

"Exactly," Heather had grumbled, starting to clean up the remains of their dinner. "Because - of course - Karen Harper stopped in to give us her opinion on what she thinks is an appropriate program," she'd added, rolling her eyes. Jake had helped her clear off the coffee table, and she'd gotten back to work. He'd stayed with her for the rest of the evening, content as he'd promised he would be during their phone call a few nights before, just to spend time with her.

The rest of the week had gone pretty much along the same lines, with Heather staying late at school every day and then continuing to work on school business when she got home, whether it was correcting homework or calling parents to arrange for costumes to be made, sets to be built, and - most importantly - snacks to be provided. Jake hadn't even seen her on Thursday. She hadn't left the school until after seven, and so Heather had called him on the way home to say she was going to eat and go straight to bed, she was that exhausted. Luckily, there had been no rehearsals on Friday, so they had spent the evening together, though - unluckily, as far as Jake was concerned - Heather had accepted Grandpa's invitation to dinner at the ranch before he could stop her, and they'd ended up with a chaperone for the evening.

Saturday morning had found Jake, much to his surprise, at the elementary school assigned to help Stanley Richmond, Dale Turner and two other sixth grade boys build a counting house set. "That girl of yours," Stanley had complained, only somewhat facetiously, "Just bats those baby blues and the next thing you know, you've agreed to be head carpenter."

Jake hadn't bothered to tell Stanley that Heather, along with her baby blues, had been standing right behind him. "What do you expect? You built the world's best rabbit hutch and showed it to her," he'd reminded, winking at Heather. For years, Stanley's father had had a successful side business building furniture - Johnston Green's den had been almost completely furnished by George Richmond - and he'd taught his son both of his professions. "But, yeah, that's pretty much how it works," Jake had continued, smirking at his best friend. "How d'ya think I ended up here at eight-thirty on a Saturday?"

"Yeah, well, at least you get -"

"Don't say it Stanley," Heather had cautioned then, stepping around him to stand next to Jake. She scowled at him, cocking her head in the direction of the three boys who were all paying very close attention to the conversation. "Just don't."

"Fringe benefits," Stanley had declared, meeting her glare with a grin. The three boys all snickered knowingly. "That's all I was gonna say," he'd argued, smirking as he had watched Jake very deliberately drop an arm around Heather's shoulders, pulling her close before brushing his mouth over hers in a chaste kiss. The three boys had exchanged interested grins. Miss Lisinski, as the only single teacher and the only teacher younger than their parents, was the one teacher both the boys and the girls in the upper grades had deemed worthy of speculating about. They'd all known she had a boyfriend - and who that boyfriend was - but with the exception of Dale, none of the older students had actually seen them together, as a couple, before that moment. "Fringe benefits," Stanley had muttered, shaking his head.

Heather had rolled her eyes at that, and extracted herself from Jake's embrace though she'd held onto his hand, lacing their fingers together. "And, you agreed to be my head carpenter over the phone by the way," she'd informed Stanley, batting her eyes at him, before smiling up at Jake. "Your Mom just got here," she'd pointed out, directing his gaze toward the bank of doors at the far end of the multipurpose room. "She's got all the food, so why don't you go help her bring it in," Heather had suggested with an affectionate squeeze.

"You recruited my Mom, too, huh?" Jake had chuckled, giving into the urge to kiss her again. "Nice."

"C'mon, guys," Stanley had ordered, directing his sixth grade assistants away from the couple and onto the stage. "I'm pretty sure this isn't PTA-approved curriculum, and we've got work to do. Jake, we'll be doin' the real work when you're ready to join us," he'd called back over his shoulder.

"Your Mom called me, and volunteered actually," Heather had defended herself. "She's still a member of the PTA in good standing, she likes to sew costumes, and she's got her own sewing machine, so no way was I gonna turn her down. Now go," she'd ordered, giving him a small shove. "I need to find Bonnie. She's got my clipboard."

Jake had crossed the room and offered his mother his assistance, which she'd accepted with a distracted smile and a relieved sigh. They'd run into Mrs. McVeigh out in the parking lot, and between the three of them, they'd managed to carry in all the food in one trip. "You bought all of this?" he'd asked, setting three stacked pastry boxes down on the table Heather had designated for refreshments.

"No," Gail had contradicted. "The McBees donated it, so all I had to do was go to the bakery and pick it up," she'd continued, opening a box of doughnuts. "Apparently Heather talked them into breakfast and lunch for thirty today, plus twelve dozen cookies on each of the performance nights," Gail had laughed, exchanging smiles with Mrs. McVeigh. "She's a wonder. You know, they actually thanked me for coming to pick everything up! And between you and me and the lamppost, I'd rather have the McBees' food than their help," she'd concluded with a rueful grimace.

Mrs. McVeigh nodded. "Well, between you, me and the lamppost, I agree. Sharon McBee makes a great scone, but she sure is high maintenance. Jake," she'd declared, turning to face him, "Do me a favor and work on keeping Heather here in Jericho, permanently, will you?" she'd grinned. "We just need a Masters degree for her, a couple of grandbabies - in a few years - for your mother," Mrs. McVeigh had decided, throwing Gail a teasing look, "And then I can retire, knowing that I'm leaving my school in good hands." She'd returned her gaze to Jake, her smile growing. "Oh my! Now, I never expected that anything I said could make your son blush," she'd joked, glancing again at Gail.

"It is possible, on occasion," Gail had laughed, patting Jake comfortingly on the arm. "However, I know better than to push," she'd assured her son. "Honey, why don't you take the sandwiches into the kitchen and put them away in the fridge, okay?"

"Sure," Jake had nodded, glad for the opportunity to escape.

"But Jake, whatever you do, don't marry Heather and take her away from Jericho," Mrs. McVeigh had admonished. "We want her here."

"I - I won't," he'd stammered, picking up a party tray of sandwiches. "Promise," Jake had added as he'd backed away from the two women.

They had ended up working until two in the afternoon, most of the volunteers sticking it out, to Jake's surprise. No one, it seemed, had wanted to tell Heather they were leaving early. After putting the sandwiches away and retrieving his mother's sewing machine from her car, Jake had stuck to set building, though Stanley had caught him more than once scanning the room, trying to locate Heather in all the activity. She'd come by too, to check their progress, squatting down next to Jake, resting her hand on his back while he'd pretended to explain what they'd been doing.

Heather had called a lunch break at noon, and the volunteers had picked up their sandwiches, chips and sodas, and spread out across two cafeteria tables. Jake had hung back, waiting for Heather, and then they'd joined Stanley, who had been sitting at the far end of one table, holding court among the sixth and seventh graders. They'd sat next to one another, touching occasionally under the table, though they hadn't actually held hands, both well aware of how closely they were being observed, a fact that was confirmed for them when, at the end of lunch, Heather had kissed Jake on the cheek, earning a round of excited giggles from all the girls and even a few of the boys at the table.

Later, they had held hands as he'd walked her from the school building to her car, pinning her against the door and kissing her thoroughly. "I've been wanting to do that for hours," Jake had told Heather, pulling her into a hug and burying his face against her neck. "Don't look now," he'd muttered, "But I think Mom and Mrs. McVee are enjoying the show."

"Yeah, I think they are," she'd giggled, running one hand through his hair. Gail and Mrs. McVeigh had stayed behind to help clean up, despite Heather's repeated assurances that she and Jake had it all under control, and the four had ended up walking out together. "Maybe we should stop," she'd suggested, making absolutely no move to do so.

"Nah," he'd denied, teasing her earlobe. "I got the impression they approve. I'm under orders to make sure you stay put in Jericho."

She'd placed a hand on his chest, pushing him back gently so she could look him in the eye. "Well, I think there's a very good chance of that," she'd smiled, blushing prettily. "And - and thank you for doing my little school project. I know this couldn't possibly be the way you wanted to spend your -"

He'd pressed his lips to hers, cutting her off. "I want to spend my time with you," Jake had murmured against her mouth. "And, sure, this wouldn't be my first choice," he'd admitted a moment later, shrugging, "But it was fine. Besides," he'd joked, "Somebody needs to supervise Stanley when he's got power tools."

"No doubt," Heather had agreed with a contented sigh. "But still. Thank you."

"You're welcome," Jake had acknowledged, taking a half step back, her hand once again in his. "So, I'll pick you up at six-thirty?" he'd asked, drawing Heather forward so he could open the door for her.

"I'll be waiting," she'd grinned, brushing her mouth over his as she'd slipped past him, sliding into the car. "See ya, Jake."

True to his word, Jake had knocked on Heather's door at exactly six-thirty. She'd answered, smiling at him shyly and reaching for his hand to draw him into the house. "Hey," she'd greeted throatily, holding him at arm's length so she could look him over, her gaze appraising. He'd worn a dark gray jacket and slacks with a white dress shirt and black tie. "You look great," Heather had told him a few seconds later, stepping close, "But this doesn't really seem necessary," she'd grinned, loosening his tie. She'd pulled it free of his collar, turning to drop it on the hall table. "There," she'd declared, moving to stand in front of him. Still grinning, there had been a gleam in her eye as Heather had reached up to undo the first two buttons of his shirt before wrapping her arms around his neck. "That's better," she'd decided.

Jake had laughed, kissing the corner of her mouth. "You know, April ordered me to dress like a grown up tonight," he'd argued as he'd dropped his hands to her hips, pulling her against him. "She specifically said to wear a tie."

"No," Heather had contradicted, shaking her head. "No tie," she'd insisted, pressing her lips to his. "But don't worry," she'd whispered, "You look all grown up to me."

"And you look all gorgeous to me," Jake had returned, taking a step back. He'd let out a low whistle, offering an admiring grin. Heather had been dressed to the nines in a classic little black dress which, he'd noted, had done everything to accentuate her form. "This is - you look amazing." He'd let out a deep breath. "Why the hell are we goin' out again?" Jake had asked, catching his lower lip between his teeth as he'd shot her a lopsided grin.

Heather had moved back towards him. "Pretty much so we can come home again," she'd teased, hooking her index fingers through his belt loops to pull him to her for another kiss.

They'd arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes late to find that April and Eric had already been shown to their table. A double date with his brother and sister-in-law definitely wasn't Jake's first choice for how to spend their evening, but April and Heather had wanted to go to The Jericho Grille and had had everything arranged before they'd bothered mentioning it to Eric or Jake. Even before he'd seated Heather she and April had launched into a discussion of everything that had happened since they'd last spoken, prompting the Green brothers to exchange identical eye rolls. Giggling, April had smacked her husband harmlessly on the arm. "None of that," she'd commanded, laying her hand over his, knitting their fingers together.

"Hey, I'm just shocked by the sight of Jake in somethin' besides jeans, that's all," Eric had protested, chuckling softly. "All that effort to get ready," he'd continued, raising an eyebrow and smirking at his brother, "That's probably why you're late, huh?"

"Right," April had laughed, exchanging a knowing look with Eric. "You really do look nice Jake, though -"

"Before you say it," he'd interrupted, "I should tell you that Heather stole my tie."

"I did," she'd nodded, twining her arm around Jake's before leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. "Couldn't help myself," she'd teased, their eyes locking.

"And, we've lost them," April had declared, allowing an amused sigh as she'd let her head rest against Eric's arm.

Their waiter had arrived then, apologizing for the delay and ready to collect drink orders. He'd known Eric and April and had recognized Jake as Eric's brother when April had introduced him and Heather. The men had ordered a local microbrew on tap, and April had decided on a banana daiquiri, with Heather following her lead. The waiter, stammering out an apology, had asked for her identification, prompting April to demand jokingly to know why he didn't want to see her driver's license.

Flustered, Heather had shot her friend a grateful look as she'd pulled away from Jake, fumbling for her purse. She'd come expecting to be carded, but as they'd settled into their conversation, had put it out of her mind. "Here," she'd muttered, blushing, as she'd thrust her driver's license at the waiter.

"Thanks," he'd mumbled in response, barely glancing at it before he'd handed it back.

Jake had wrapped his arm around Heather as she'd sat back in her chair, slumping slightly. Cupping her shoulder through the smooth fabric of the lightweight red shawl she'd worn, he'd rubbed her arm, offering a smile that was equally sympathetic and annoyed. "So," he'd began, glancing at April and Eric, "How soon do you think before everyone in town's talkin' about Jake Green, cradle robber," he'd inquired, his tone mocking.

"Sorry to break it to you," April had laughed softly, "But they've been talking about the two of you for weeks, cradle and all."

"Heather," Eric had added then, almost managing to maintain a straight face, "All I have to say is, you must've been a beautiful baby."

She'd groaned, closing her eyes. Jake, feeling her tense, had pulled her closer until she'd relaxed some, resting her head on his shoulder. "See if I ever go to dinner with you guys again," she'd muttered, frowning.

"Poor baby," Jake had consoled, snorting a moment later when he'd realized what he'd said. "Well, you know what I mean," he'd added, pressing a kiss to her temple.

April had taken pity on Heather then, asking about her trip home to Buffalo. Grateful for the change of subject, Heather had offered a relieved smile before launching into a detailed account of her weekend at home, highlighting Sunday's hockey game and her brothers' threats to come to Jericho in order to check Jake out. Eric had snickered at that, taking the opportunity to again rib Jake about dating a girl with four brothers. Jake had surprised him though, and had shrugged off the teasing, saying that he wasn't going to be scared off by a few brothers. Heather had grinned in response, rewarding him with a quick kiss before informing Eric that her brothers had all been sufficiently cowed by news of Jake's badge and gun.

The waiter had brought their drinks and had taken their dinner orders. The conversation had continued, light-hearted and lively, carried mostly by April and Heather, though Eric and Jake had both made their contribution. They'd teased and joked, enjoying each other's company as salads and then entrees were delivered to their table, until finally the waiter had returned with the dessert tray. "I'm so stuffed, I couldn't," April had protested, allowing a satisfied sigh. "But tell us what everything is anyway," she'd commanded, earning chuckles from her three companions.

"Okay, I've gotta have the bread pudding," Heather had decided once they'd heard the selections. She'd glanced sideways at Jake, a smile lighting her face. "Wanna share?"

"Sure," he'd agreed, draping his arm over the back of her chair. "But it's got a rum sauce, right?" Jake had asked the waiter, smirking. "Sure you don't need to check her ID?"

The waiter had assured them that he didn't need to see Heather's identification again, somehow managing to maintain his bland expression. Heather had pressed her face against Jake's shoulder, groaning. "Can we just all forget about that?" she'd mumbled. "Please?"

"We'd like the caramel apple cheesecake," Eric had ordered for April and himself then. "To split. And, coffee? Four?" he'd added, looking around the table.

"I'd love some coffee," Heather had confirmed, raising her head to shoot Eric a grateful smile. "Regular," she'd told the waiter, yawning. "I need the caffeine," she'd explained with a sigh, letting her head rest again on Jake's arm.

"I can't believe they dropped responsibility for the school play on you when you were out of town," April had objected, shaking her head. "They're running you ragged."

Yawning again, Heather had thrown her friend a funny look. "I'm not working nearly as much as you do all the time," she'd argued, waving off April's concern. "I'm gonna sleep in tomorrow, skip church," she'd admitted, guilt flashing across her face, "And just take the day - the afternoon, anyway - to get ready for the week. If I can get better organized, it'll be fine," Heather had insisted.

The waiter had brought their coffee then, returning two minutes later with their desserts. They'd continued their conversation, turning to lighter subjects, as they'd all dug in. Eric and April had shared their cheesecake politely, both exclaiming over its flavor, while Jake and Heather had raced to see who could eat more of the bread pudding, dueling with their forks for bites. Watching them, April had laughed, rolling her eyes for Eric's benefit. "Oh! Good block, Heather," he'd complimented, laughing. "Watch out," Eric had warned next, pointing at Jake, "He's faking right, gonna go left."

"Stay outta this!" Jake had ordered, grumbling as Heather had blocked his fork again, before stabbing together a bite and dipping it into the pool of rum butter sauce.

"Hey, I'm the one who plays hockey here!" she'd declared with a grin, savoring her mouthful.

Jake took his own bite, swallowing quickly. "Well, you're not winnin' this one, Lisinski," he'd challenged, waving his fork at her.

April had cleared her throat, her gaze focused on a point behind them. Heather had looked back, spotting their waiter, while Jake had taken advantage of the opportunity to steal an uncontested bite. "No fair!" Heather had argued, turning back around in time to catch him.

"I'll just leave this," the waiter had told them, setting the portfolio with the bill down on the table between Jake and Eric.

"Truce?" Jake had offered, and Heather had nodded her agreement, using her fork to cut the last of the dessert into two pieces. They'd finished it off, and then Jake had pulled his wallet out of his inside jacket pocket. Finding a credit card, he'd thrown it down on top of Eric's. The waiter had returned and, silently, had picked up the portfolio, disappearing toward the front of the restaurant.

Heather had threaded her arm through Jake's, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "Thank you," she'd murmured, smiling against his skin. "But, really, just tip normally, okay?" she'd requested, giggling softly.

"Yeah," he'd laughed. Yawning, Heather had laid her head against his shoulder, and Jake had taken advantage of the situation, pressing a kiss to her temple. "That I can do."

"You look like you're gonna pass out, Heather," April had chided. "Jake, you need to take her home and put her to bed," she'd instructed as the waiter came back, this time with charge slips for Jake and Eric to sign. April had repeated her admonitions as they'd parted company out in front of the restaurant before smiling and declaring, "This was fun. We should plan to do this, once a month, maybe."

"Oh, I'd like that," Heather had agreed, pulling her shawl loose and folding it up so Jake could help her into his jacket. The wind had picked up and he'd noticed that she'd started to shiver a soon as they'd exited the restaurant. "We should definitely do it," Heather had declared, looking over her shoulder to offer Jake a grateful smile. She and April had exchanged a quick hug and then the two couples had headed, in opposite directions, for their cars.

Jake had driven Heather home, refusing to come in when she'd invited him. "I think April's right," he'd told her, massaging her shoulders as he'd trailed her up the front walk, "You just need to go to bed."

Reaching the porch steps, she'd mounted the first one and turned around to face him. For once, thanks to the stair and the two inch heels she was wearing, she'd been taller than Jake, if only by an inch. "I really want -" Heather began, frowning as she broke off, shaking her head. "I'm sorry," she mumbled, frowning as he'd wrapped both arms around her waist, kissing her on the chin. "This is not how I wanted tonight to end," she had confessed as one hand had found its way into his hair.

He'd kissed her then, not speaking until he'd pulled away a long moment later. "I know," Jake had whispered quietly against her lips, unable to resist the urge to kiss her again. "Me either," he'd admitted, allowing a frustrated sigh.

"I'm sorry everything's so crazy right now," Heather had apologized, combing her fingers through his hair. "I've still got rehearsals all this coming week, and then the play performances are the week after, Monday through Wednesday, with the concert on Thursday," she'd outlined. "But I'll get myself organized tomorrow, I swear, and there's always the week after that, before Christmas break. All I have to do is teach," Heather had explained, leaning into his embrace. "And if worst comes to worst," she'd shrugged, "Maybe we take April's advice and go down to Wichita the night before I fly out."

Surprised by her suggestion, Jake had resisted the urge to frown. The truth was, he didn't want their first time together to be in a hotel room, and he really didn't want to wait three weeks. But he also wanted Heather's complete attention, undistracted and unhurried; he wanted them to enjoy themselves. "Hey," he'd said, raising one hand to capture her chin. "We'll figure it out, don't worry," Jake had told her, running his thumb over her lower lip. "Waiting a little longer probably won't kill either of us," he'd joked, offering her a regretful grin. "Tonight's just not the night."

"Okay," Heather had nodded, taking a deep breath. "But you can still -"

"Babe," he interrupted, shaking his head. He'd dropped his hand back down to his side. "I think it's just better that I go home, and you go to bed, okay?"

Heather had waited a few seconds, studying Jake's expression closely, before she'd finally nodded her agreement. "Right," she'd acknowledged with a disappointed smile. "I love you, Jake," she'd declared, kissing him.

"Love you, too," he'd agreed as they separated. "Now, c'mon," he'd ordered, laughing gently and motioning for her to turn around, "You need to get some sleep." Jake had walked her the last few feet to her door and, kissing her one last time, had bid her good night. She'd shrugged out of his jacket, and shivering, had returned it to him, though she hadn't made any move to open the door. "Go inside," Jake had chuckled, shaking his head at her as he'd taken a deliberate step back. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The next evening had found them at Gail's and Johnston's for Sunday dinner, arriving at five, almost on the dot. Earlier, just after noon, Heather had phoned Jake to let him know she was up and that she was frying bacon for BLTs. If he wanted one, she'd told him, he should come over. Jake had been there within fifteen minutes. They'd hung out at her house, Heather doing laundry, putting together lesson plans, correcting homework and otherwise organizing herself while Jake had entertained himself by playing DJ and by raiding her collection of political thrillers for something to read. At four, his mother had called to tell them that she was moving dinner up and they should be there in an hour. Flustered, Heather had decided she needed to take a shower and, dismissing Jake's suggestion that they skip this week, had disappeared into the back of the house, reappearing forty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a dark green long-sleeved shirt.

"We really don't have to go," Jake had repeated, pulling Heather into his arms and burying his face in her hair, which had smelled like coconut. He'd inhaled deeply before stepping back, both her hands in his. "Mom knows how busy you are, and she'd understand."

But Heather had insisted. "I want to go," she'd told Jake, squeezing his fingers. "I like that she includes me."

They had gone. April had been in the dining room when they'd walked in, dressed in scrubs and setting the table. "Mom moved dinner up for me," she'd explained after they'd all said hello. "I have to be at work at eight, so I need to leave here at six fifteen, six thirty at the latest, and I really didn't want to miss lasagna."

"See? Lasagna," Heather had grinned, kissing Jake on the cheek. "Aren't you glad we came now?"

Gail had come through from the kitchen before he could answer, dispatching Jake to the den to round up 'the men' and drafting a more than happy to help Heather to bring the food out from the kitchen. They'd settled in around the table, Heather in her usual spot between Jake and Grandpa Green, who'd pulled her into a bear hug before he'd insisted on seating her himself.

Eric had been tasked with pouring wine for everyone, and he'd stopped behind Heather, withholding the bottle of cabernet and teasing, "I'm sorry, miss, but I'll need to see some ID."

She had groaned, blushing, and Jake had pushed his chair back, leaning over to sock his brother in the side. "Knock it off," he'd ordered.

"Geez, Jake," Eric had complained before apologizing to Heather. "Sorry, but I couldn't resist," he'd said, pouring her wine for her.

"Heather got carded at The Grille last night," April had explained, spotting the confused looks on Gail's, Johnston's, and Grandpa's faces.

"Well, just take it as a compliment, Heather," Johnston had advised, taking a piece of garlic bread before passing the basket to his father. "It'll be even worse when people stop asking you to prove you're old enough, and instead just assume that you are."

"I guess," she'd sighed, clearly not convinced.

Dishes had been passed around and they'd all loaded up on lasagna, salad and garlic bread. "Abigail O'Brien," Grandpa had declared after taking his first bite, throwing his daughter-in-law a devilish grin. "Run away with me, sweetheart," he'd demanded, allowing a contented sigh. "You have outdone yourself with this lasagna, I must say."

Laughing, Gail had shaken her head. "I'll run away with you on Thursday when I take you to your doctor's appointment," she'd told him. "And then you can buy me lunch."

"You'll be in Rogue River?" April had asked, guessing, "Your appointment's with Doctor Brunson?" Gail and Grandpa had nodded their confirmation. "Do you want me to come, too? Just for another set of ears?" she'd suggested, taking a bite of salad. "I'm working on Thursday, but as long as there isn't some pile-up on the highway, I should be able to get away."

"Then I can take two lovely ladies to lunch," Grandpa had announced, smiling smugly. "I thank you, gentlemen," he'd added, glancing between Johnston and Eric, "For going to work and leaving it to me to entertain your wives."

Johnston had snorted at that, but hadn't otherwise responded, settling for lifting a forkful of lasagna to his mouth. Eric, shaking his head, had addressed his brother. "Guess you're glad Heather eats her lunch with third graders," he'd joked.

"Well, I have to say, Heather, you're doing a wonderful job with the third graders," Gail had said, smiling down the table at the younger woman. "And the fourth and fifth and sixth graders," she'd added with a laugh. "I talked to Dale and Bonnie yesterday, and they both say you're their favorite teacher at school. Of course, they also made me promise not to tell that to Mrs. Walker."

Heather's expression had turned embarrassed, and she'd protested the compliment. "I'm just doing my job. I like being a teacher," she'd shrugged.

"Nothin' quite like it, is there?" Johnston had inquired, clearing his throat. He'd caught Heather's eye, smiling at her softly. "I taught at the high school - history - for a few years before I ran for mayor," he'd explained, "It's a hard job, sometimes, but you go home most days knowing what you did, what you accomplished."

"Yeah," she'd nodded, surprised but also honored by Jake's father's disclosure. "Exactly."

"Johnston and I will be coming to see the play, of course," Gail had informed Heather. "And Dad, I think you'll want to see it," she'd continued, glancing at her father-in-law. "A Christmas Carol, directed by Heather and with Dale starring as the Ghost of Christmas Past."

"I've got a ticket waitin' for me in will-call," Grandpa had assured Gail. "Bought it from the director herself," he'd grinned at Heather. "Goin' Monday night."

"And the play runs?" Gail had questioned then.

"Monday - next Monday, the tenth - through Wednesday," Heather had answered, "And then the concert's on Thursday, and I'm done with extracurricular activities, at least for the calendar year," she'd declared, her expression relieved. "Then there's a week of school before the break, and I really have no idea when I'm going to my Christmas shopping done," she'd concluded with a laugh.

"Oh dear," Gail had clucked sympathetically. "Well, two weeks from tonight, Johnston and I are hosting our annual Christmas open house," she'd told Heather. "The sixteenth. It's an evening of friends dropping by, certainly nothing formal, and by the end we may even get silly enough to sing Christmas carols. I hope you and Jake don't have other plans, and will be able to make it?"

Surprised and amused that his mother was now checking his schedule with his girlfriend instead of with him, Jake had squeezed Heather's hand underneath the table, hoping to signal to her that he was game. It had been years since he'd attended his parents' open house, not since high school really, back when he, Eric, Stanley and Emily would take over the den to play Nintendo and complain about having been forced to attend, only deigning to mix with the rest of the party when they'd wanted food. Jake wasn't sure what to expect from the party as an adult, but he'd realized he should go.

Heather had glanced at him quickly, her smile questioning. He'd nodded, squeezing her hand a second time. "Oh, of course we'll be here," Heather had answered. "We - we always leave Sunday night open to be here, anyway," she'd reminded, "And it sounds like fun. Can I bring anything?" Heather had asked.

"Hard as you're working," Johnston had interjected, shaking his head, "We'll just be glad to have you here. Same goes for you, April," he'd added.

"Trust me, until my residency's done, I'm happy to mooch," she'd laughed, tearing off a piece of garlic bread and popping it into her mouth.

"Well, I'm not that busy that weekend," Heather had argued. "I mean, Jake and I are going to the elementary school staff party at Mrs. McVeigh's on Friday night, but other than that," she'd shrugged. "I guess that's the weekend I'll do my Christmas shopping. Though, for my family, I'm thinkin' one big Amazon order, have it all shipped to my Dad's, and wrap it when I get there."

"Now, that's gotta rip some sorta hole in the space-time continuum," Eric had snorted, almost choking on a mouthful of wine. "I can think of four - maybe five - teachers who'll take Jake Green at a school staff party as a sign of the apocalypse," he'd joked.

"Eric," Gail scolded, "Be nice."

"Hey, all I can tell ya is, Mrs. McVeigh said she's lookin' forward to my bein' there," Jake had retorted, rolling his eyes at his brother.

"Well, I'm glad you're coming with me, too," Heather had added soothingly. Under the cover of the tablecloth, she'd found his hand again, twining their fingers together. "But you don't have to if you don't want to," she'd reminded.

"I want to," he'd answered immediately, earning himself a bright smile and a kiss on the cheek.

"I thought you were goin' to Denver for your office party on that Saturday," Grandpa had frowned. "It's the fifteenth, right? That's what your boss said when I talked to her the other day."

Jake had shot his grandfather an incredulous look. "You talked to Gretchen? Why?"

"She called the house and you weren't home," he'd explained with a shrug. "Delightful woman," he'd smiled. "Just the right amount of vinegar in that one, and smart as a whip to boot," Grandpa had chuckled, taking a bite of lasagna. "Anyway," he'd added a few seconds later, swallowing, "We had a nice little chat, 'bout a half hour."

"But what did you talk about?" Jake had demanded, clutching Heather's hand. She'd felt the tension suddenly radiating off of him and had looked at him sideways, trying to catch his eye, but Jake had avoided her gaze. "Gramps," he'd ground out, looking at his grandfather over her head. "What did Gretchen say? What - what in the world could you two talk about for a half hour?"

Grandpa's eyes had narrowed and he'd frowned at Jake. "Whaddya think we'd talk about?" he'd grumbled. "You, of course, and Heather. Gretchen's lookin' forward to meetin' you, sweetheart," he'd smiled at Heather, who'd turned to face him at the sound of her name. "At the party."

"Well, I'm not going," Jake had announced, extracting his hand from Heather's. He'd glanced at her briefly as he'd reached for his wineglass. "We're not going," he'd muttered, drinking.

Heather's forehead had wrinkled with confusion, and she'd studied Jake's profile, frowning. "Why - why don't you want to go?" she'd asked quietly.

April had asked Johnston to pass the salad then, and everyone else had taken it as a cue to make themselves busy. Jake had glanced around the table at his family, all of whom had avoided looking at him. Finally, taking a deep breath, he'd faced Heather. She hadn't looked angry, just upset and puzzled by his response. "Babe, look," Jake had begun, "These aren't my friends, okay? This is dinner in some stuffy restaurant with my boss and a bunch of people I sometimes work with," he'd grumbled. "Gretchen's just trying to get me -" Jake had broken off shaking his head. "I'm tellin' ya, I wouldn't go even if I were in Denver, let alone from here." He'd paused again, reaching under the table for her limp hand, which he'd held gripped tightly in his own. "Okay?" he'd asked with a testing grin.

"Okay," she'd agreed softly, staring at him with wide eyes. "Okay," Heather had repeated, forcing a smile. She'd pulled her hand from his and had balled it into a fist that she'd pressed against her leg. But something about her reaction had left the short hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

"So Heather," Gail had asked, her tone cheerful enough to dispel some of the tension in the room, "When do you leave to go home?"

"Oh!" she'd exclaimed, startled out of her private thoughts. "Um, Saturday. The twenty second. The last day of school is Friday, and - it's a half day. Just a Christmas - I mean, a holiday party, really," Heather had corrected herself. "Though, we still get to have Santa come," she'd giggled, though she sounded a bit too shrill to Jake, who'd studied her, worried. "Right?" she'd prompted, glancing at Grandpa.

"You're gonna be Santa, Gramps?" Eric had laughed. "How'd that happen?"

Grandpa had straightened in his seat, his chest practically puffing up. "I guess Gary McVeigh is usually Santa, but he broke his arm last week, so Sandy asked me if I'd step in," he'd grinned. "I'm growin' my beard in for the part, even," Grandpa had told them all, stroking his chin.

"I just thought you'd forgotten to shave, Dad," Gail had chuckled.

"Now, I'm not that doddering yet, m'dear," he'd returned.

Still shaking her head at her father-in-law, Gail had put everyone to work clearing the table so they could have dessert before April needed to leave. "I ordered a tiramisu at McBee's yesterday when I went to pick up the food for school," she'd explained. "Worked backwards from there to lasagna."

Heather had helped clear dishes and then had put herself to work at the sink rinsing them off. Jake had joined her, loading each item into the dishwasher after she'd run it under the hot water and swiped it with a scrub brush. "Heather?" he'd inquired once, "You're quiet. You okay?"

"Just tired," she'd insisted, smiling at him quickly, distractedly.

They'd left his parents when April had, Heather apologizing profusely to his mother, who'd responded that she was just glad that they'd come. In the car, Heather hadn't said a word, staring out her window, refusing to look at him. "What's wrong?" Jake asked finally, turning left, toward Heather's house, at the corner of Chestnut and Eighth. "And, don't say you're just tired."

"You don't want me to meet your boss," she mumbled.

Despite the darkness, Jake saw her press her hand to her mouth and realized she was fighting not to cry. "Babe," he breathed, steering one-handed so he could reach across the center console to squeeze her shoulder. "It's not -"

"Or maybe you just don't want your boss to meet me," Heather argued, folding her arms across her chest, hugging herself. "I can understand that. I'm too young and - and - and naïve," she decided finally. "I - I'll embarrass you. After all, I get carded for alcohol in restaurants," she declared with a frustrated groan, "And make you look like a cradle robber, right?"

"That's what you think this is?" Jake demanded, making an exasperated noise of his own. "I don't care about any of that," he insisted, turning the car onto Walnut.

"If you don't care, then why aren't we going?" she countered, glaring at him.

"Because!" he barked. "Because we've got parties in Jericho on Friday and Sunday, and it would be stupid to go to Denver for less than a day."

"So now I'm stupid because I think we should go," Heather complained, looking out the window once more. "And for another thing," she almost yelled, whipping her head around to meet his gaze with an angry stare, "You didn't know about the party on Sunday, but you still never once mentioned that there was a party at your work, even when I asked if you'd come to mine," she accused as they turned onto Green Street.

Neither of them spoke as he maneuvered the car for the last half block before pulling into her driveway. "Why can't you just get that I don't wanna go?" Jake demanded finally, forcing the car into park and yanking his keys from the ignition.

"Oh, I get that," Heather snapped in return. She sat stiffly in the passenger's seat, almost against the door, as she tried to put more space between them. "I get, loud and clear, that you don't want to go with me," she accused.

"I don't want to go with anyone!" he snarled in frustration, his hand clenching into a fist around his keys. "I just don't wanna go! What's so hard to understand? Why are you being so crazy about this?"

Jake knew he was making a mistake even as the words left his mouth, a fact that was confirmed for him by Heather's expression. She gaped at him, her mouth a perfect 'O' of outrage. Her face crumpled and he closed his eyes, not wanting to see her start to cry. "Babe -"

"No!" she interrupted, a sob catching in her throat. "No! Just don't -" Heather broke off with a noisy gasp. In the next instant, though, she'd popped open her door, a move that took Jake by surprise. She fled his presence.

"Heather!" he shouted, exasperated, scrambling from the car a second after she'd slammed the passenger door shut. Momentarily paralyzed, he watched as she hurried across the lawn and then up the front walk toward her house. Finally, Jake forced his legs into motion, jogging after her. He caught up with Heather on the porch, laying a tentative hand on her arm as she worked to open the front door.

"Don't," she muttered, arching her back and shrugging his hand off. "I - I can't - can't talk to you about - about this right now," Heather sniffled, stumbling over her words. "Just go - go away, Jake."

"Dammit, Heather!" Jake protested, dizzy with fear and even anger. "Don't - don't be like this!"

She shook her head, shoving the door in front of her open. "Don't be like this?" Heather demanded, spinning around. She wiped one eye, fighting to maintain control. "This is me, Jake. But apparently you don't want to be seen with crazy me," she charged, her chin jutting out. "Not in public. Not by your co-workers, and certainly not by your boss." Heather took a deep breath, drawing herself up to her full height. "So now you don't have to go anywhere - be seen anywhere - with me."

Before he could respond, Heather had stepped into the house, slamming the door and then, with much noise, bolted it shut. Staring blankly after her, it was a long moment before Jake could react. He tried knocking and rang the doorbell twice, but she ignored him, instead extinguishing all the lights at the front of the house. Finally, defeated, Jake staggered back to his car, throwing himself into the driver's seat. Irritation and panic warred for dominance in his mind, and he gave into the baser of his emotions, smashing his fist into the steering wheel. "God dammit," Jake swore, punching the wheel again.

Belatedly, he remembered his cell phone, but when he called Heather's cell he discovered that she'd turned it off, and then that her home line rang busy. Snapping the phone closed, Jake tossed it angrily on the passenger's seat - her seat - and then began to search the seats and floor in the dark for his keys, which he'd dropped in his haste to go after her. There was nothing left to do. Feeling sick to his stomach and a heavy constriction in his chest, Jake did the only thing he could, and started the car before backing slowly out of the driveway.

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

Wednesday, November 29, two months after the bombs

Heather followed April into Bailey's Tavern. Johnston held the door open for them both, and for Drake, who was right behind them. She flashed her father-in-law a distracted smile and took a deep breath. She hadn't been in Bailey's for nearly a month, not since the fateful day that everything had changed. The second fateful day that everything had changed, Heather allowed, though Ravenwood, Eric's desertion of April, her fight with Jake - the most serious of their relationship - had, in some ways, been worse than seeing a mushroom cloud go up over Denver. It had certainly affected them all much more personally, rocking the Green family to its core. And now, it seemed that those days that changed everything just kept coming, what with the election, and now this.

"It'll be okay," Heather murmured, catching up with her sister-in-law. She squeezed April's arm comfortingly, following the path of the other woman's gaze to where Eric and Mary Bailey stood together, their heads close as they looked over the contents of a spiral bound notebook.

"Yeah," April muttered. "Let's just get the wounded assessed, and go from there."

Eric noticed the four new arrivals then, and came over, Mary trailing two hesitant steps behind. "Hey," he greeted, glancing them all over without actually making eye contact. "Thanks for comin'," he muttered, leading them farther into the bar.

"My God, where'd they all come from?" Johnston demanded, looking over the huddle of exhausted, shell-shocked refugees who had taken over the tables and booths at the center of the bar. He recognized two or three people from Jericho working amongst the crowd, providing water and passing out a few blankets, but most of the blank faces that stared back at him were new. "How many?" he asked his son.

"Just over fifty," Eric answered. "They walked from Nebraska, almost from South Dakota, the ones from the plane crash." He turned, pointing toward Emily Sullivan, who was sitting with a bearded, wild-haired man in a torn and dirty overcoat. "Roger Hammond led them here."

"That's Roger?" Johnston muttered, stunned by the changes in the other man's appearance. "The banker?"

"That's him," Eric confirmed.

April, Heather, and Drake were already examining those nearest to them. April and Heather exchanged a dismayed look as they helped one woman unwrap her hands only to discover open, bleeding sores. "Chilblains," April murmured, shaking her head. She looked over at Drake, who was speaking quietly and encouragingly with an older man. But in the next instance she realized that he probably wasn't as old as she thought, just worn out. Taking a deep breath, she drew herself up to her full height and, stepping around Heather, moved to stand next to Johnston. "I'm going to need warm water," she told Eric, her gaze focused on his nose. "As much as you can make."

"I made a list of the injured," Mary announced, holding up the notebook she and Eric had been reviewing earlier.

Annoyance flashed in April's eyes and she stared at the other woman, her expression the picture of distaste. Finally, looking down, she concentrated on unbuttoning her coat, leaving it to Johnston to break the awkward silence. "I'll take that, Mary," he offered gruffly, reaching for the notebook as April turned away. He glanced over the list and then, folding the notebook open, tucked it under his arm. "Where's your brother?" he asked Eric.

"We need more blankets, someplace for them all to stay for the night," he replied. "Jake went over to parsonage to see if Reverend Young would open up the church, see if he has some supplies still."

Heather, relieved to know that Jake was only off running a rather mundane errand, followed Drake as he moved onto his next patient, smiling at the young woman and asking her name and age. She watched him interact with the girl - her name was Rachel and she was all of fifteen - impressed by how he handled her, gently coaxing her to show him her injuries and promising that things would be better now. "You're in Jericho," he told her, "You're gonna be just fine. We've got some supplies comin' from the med center," Drake had added, examining one blistered, swollen foot. "We'll find you a bandage and some clean, dry socks, how's that?"

"What they must've been through," Heather whispered, as much to herself as Drake when they moved onto the next person.

He shrugged. "This isn't too bad," Drake told her, keeping his voice low. "I've seen worse."

Eric appeared not quite ten minutes later, carrying a stockpot which he placed on the table nearest where Drake was now examining his fifth patient. "Heather," he called softly to get her attention. "Hot water, some extra towels," he said, pulling a set of dish towels off his shoulder and laying them on the tabletop.

"Thanks," she mumbled, pressing her lips tightly together. Drake looked up, interested, and the two men studied one another for a long moment. "Eric, this is Drake McCrary," Heather finally introduced with obvious reluctance. "Drake, Eric, Jake's brother."

"Right," Drake nodded, moving to the table and picking up one of the towels, which he dropped into the pot of water. "April's husband."

"Uh, yeah," Eric grimaced, "Sort of."

Heather saw Mary come up behind Eric in time to hear Drake's declaration. About to lay her hand on Eric's back she'd pulled it back, scowling at his response. Heather's eyes met hers for just a second. She almost felt sorry for Mary, with whom, before everything had happened, she'd always been friendly. But her loyalty was - and always would be - to April. "Thank you, Eric," she repeated, frowning at him for a moment before turning away.

Forty minutes after he'd first lain eyes on Roger Hammond's band of refugees, Jake re-entered Bailey's Tavern, stomping his feet against the cold. He spotted Heather - somehow, he always knew when she was present - working across the room, holding a cup of something steaming for a woman, helping her drink, while Drake examined her feet. April was similarly engaged a few steps away, and Johnston and Eric sat together in a booth, going over the information about the refugees that Mary had collected in a notebook.

"Hey," he greeted quietly, joining his father and brother. Eric slid over, allowing Jake room to sit. "The church is open. Reverend Young and I stopped at a couple of the deacons' houses on the way back, and they're over there setting up the basement with cots, pallets, that sort of thing."

"Good," Johnston acknowledged. "We're waitin' on Jimmy to get back from the clinic with some supplies, but we can probably start moving people over. April says that everybody's got sores, blisters, some frostbite, but not a whole lot more than that. One broken arm that's a couple of weeks old that they tried their best to set," he sighed. "Probably won't ever be the same. But no reason not to get everyone bedded down for the night."

"There's a medical student in the group," Eric reported, "Jessica. Says one of the other women had a miscarriage coupl'a days ago. All that walking, the malnutrition, who knows," he shrugged. "But she should probably go to the clinic."

"And, she hasn't bled to death yet?" Johnston inquired, his eyes widening. He exhaled through his teeth, shaking his head. "Okay, I'll make sure April knows. And, we've got another medical student, huh?" he chuckled softly, "She really is gonna end up running a med school," he decided, exchanging crooked grins with Jake. "Which one's Jessica?" he asked. Eric pointed the young woman out to Johnston, who stood up, pausing for a moment to study his sons. "So, it didn't occur to either of you boys to get Gray, huh?"

Eric and Jake exchanged a glance and then both looked down at the table. Jake shrugged as he admitted, "Guess it occurred to us. But we already know how Gray feels about refugees," he reminded, meeting his father's gaze. "Seemed like this would all go easier - faster - without him."

"Well, I'm not gonna argue that," Johnston snorted. "But somebody's gonna have to tell him in the mornin'," he told them.

"I will," Eric volunteered a few seconds later, following his brother as Jake slid out of the booth. "Gray and I ... get along," he decided, shaking his head. "And, I'll just tell him that things happened so fast and we were concentrated on getting everyone warm, and fed, and sheltered. It's the truth."

"Good luck with that," Jake muttered, rolling his eyes. He turned then, moving across the bar and through the crowd to where Heather stood, watching Drake assess one of the refugees. "Hey, babe," he greeted, laying his still cold hand on her back. She looked over her shoulder at him and, smiling softly, let out a long breath. "This sure as hell blows our plans for the evening, huh?" he complained, kissing the top of her head.

"Yeah," she sighed, leaning back against him. "There's some sort of odd lesson in that, hmm?"

Jake nodded, his gaze focusing on Emily and Roger, sitting together but otherwise alone toward the back of the bar. "Anyone checked him out yet?" he asked cocking his head in Roger's direction.

"Not yet," Heather answered, lowering her voice. "April tried, but he wants everyone else to be seen first, so that's what we've been doing. Well, what April and Drake have been doing," she corrected. "Supposedly I'm assisting," she told him, pointing at Drake, who was squatting next to his latest patient, taking the man's pulse. "He doesn't really need me, though."

"Jimmy come and get you guys?" Jake guessed, starting to massage her shoulders.

"Yeah," Heather confirmed, practically purring at his touch. "I came along for moral support, really," she admitted. "I'm okay being home alone during the day, but it's a little creepy at night."

"Right," Jake agreed. His mother, Michael and Jeff were all working at the clinic tonight, and Heather would have been by herself if she'd stayed at the house. "Works for me," he declared, kissing the back of her head as his hands worked their way along her shoulders until he could use his thumbs to massage the back of her neck.

"Your hands are cold," Heather complained, shivering reflexively. "But don't stop," she ordered a second later, easing back into his touch. "Jimmy dropped us off and then took a list of supplies from April over to the clinic," she told him, and Jake didn't bother to tell her he already knew that much. "They - they just walked in?" Heather asked, looking around the room and then back at Jake.

"Through the Cedar Street checkpoint," he answered. "We don't get much business out that way, just the people still livin' on farms northeast of town, so we only ever have two people out there," Jake explained, his hand stilling on her shoulders as she let her head fall back against his chest. "They radioed into town hall and Jimmy caught the call. He talked to Roger and gave the okay to let 'em through."

"Good thing Bill wasn't on duty," Heather grumbled, pulling a short laugh from Jake.

"Bill, seems to have earned himself a permanent daytime assignment," Jake reminded, snorting. "Okay," he sighed, reaching for her hand, tugging at her fingers. "Come with," he requested.

Jake held onto Heather's hand as they approached Roger and Emily, who were sitting at a table, their two chairs pushed together. The couple weren't talking, but Emily's hand rested on his arm, and she couldn't seem to take her eyes off of him. Jake couldn't help but stare at Roger either. The skin on his face was chapped and peeling from windburn or even frostbite, Jake guessed. In a few places there was mud matted in his hair and beard, and his overcoat was dirty and threadbare. He bore little resemblance to the regional bank manger, celebrating his engagement to Emily, whom Jake had last seen in passing ten months earlier.

"I - I thought that was you," Roger rasped out, reaching across Emily to offer Jake his hand, which was encased in a leather glove that was splitting at the seams. "But I thought - I thought you were overseas. Middle East, according to your brother."

They shook hands. "Well, I was on my way home when the bombs went off, so..." Jake shrugged.

Roger allowed a bark of laughter. "So was I," he reminded.

"Right," Jake acknowledged with a rueful grin. "Guess I was closer. But, it's okay now, man. You're safe and your people are safe," he assured, looking back over his shoulder at all the bustle as Eric, Johnston, and the just arrived Jimmy Taylor were starting to get the refugees up and moving toward the door. "Reverend Young can put 'em up at the church, long as necessary."

"Thanks," Roger nodded, his chapped lips pressed together. "I - I feel responsible for them, so...." He didn't complete the statement, his gaze settling on Heather and the evidence of her pregnancy. "Congratulations. To both of you," he murmured.

Heather smiled, rubbing her free hand in circles over her baby. "Thank you. We're excited," she declared, her smile growing as she looked up at Jake.

"Excited, terrified," Jake joked, wrapping an arm around his wife. "That's all pretty much the same thing, right?" The other three all laughed along with him, although Heather also retaliated, poking him in the side.

Reaching for Emily's hand, Roger grinned at her. "I been trying to talk Emily into a passel of kids for the last year," he teased.

"I suppose we can consider that still under negotiation," she returned kissing his cheek.

"Roger!" a young woman called out as she approached.

"Jessica," he greeted in return. "Uh, this is my - my Emily," he introduced, stroking her back. "And the - the Greens," he remembered finally. Blinking, he apologized quickly. "Sorry."

"Nice to meet you all," Jessica threw out, not bothering to even look at Jake and Heather. "They're moving us over to the church now," she informed him, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at him expectantly.

"Oh, right," he muttered, starting to get up, but Emily pushed him gently back into his seat.

"You're home, Roger," she reminded, grasping his still gloved hand in her own. "We're gonna go home. To our house."

"Okay," Roger agreed, nodding slowly. He met Jessica's eye. "I'll - I'll come by in the morning, okay, Jess? See how everybody's doing."

"Sure," she replied, forcing a smile. "Guess I'll see you tomorrow," Jessica added, starting to move away. "You did - you did get checked out by the doctor, right, Rog?" she asked, turning back around to face him, frowning. "You gotta take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will, Jess, I promise," Roger assured.

Jake caught April's eye and waved her over. She examined Roger quickly, checking his extremities for frostbite, as well as taking his pulse and listening to his heartbeat. "If you're like everyone else, I'm guessing you haven't had a lot to eat lately?" she asked, earning a nod from Roger. "Well, sleep, stay warm and keep your skin dry, hydrate, eat. But start slow, maybe soup," April suggested, looking at Emily.

"Soup it is," Emily agreed, urging Roger to his feet. "I think I'm gonna take him home now," she smiled at the other three, tossing her hair over her shoulder and tucking her arm through her fiancé's. "We'll see you guys later."

"You did good, Roger," Jake told the him as he and Heather stepped back to let the other couple move past. "Go home, and get some rest," he advised, clapping Roger on the shoulder as he shuffled by. You deserve it."

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

A Christmas Carol was written by Charles Dickens and published in 1843.

Mickey's Christmas Carol was produced by the Walt Disney Company and released in theaters in 1983.

Star Wars Episode VI: Return of the Jedi was produced by Lucasfilm and was also released in theaters in 1983.