Different Circumstances: Part 12B
by Marzee Doats
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Monday, December 4, two and a half months after the bombs
"Jake!"
Turning around at the sound of his wife's voice, Jake watched as she made her way down Main Street. She was wearing her red wool coat, the bottom buttons left undone to accommodate her pregnancy. He caught himself smiling, with pride, and at her beauty. He didn't know what he'd do without her, and he knew that no matter what - for his own sanity - he couldn't let her go to Black Jack.
"Hey, babe," Jake called in return, stepping around his father and then the hand truck from which they were loading bags of salt into the back of the Roadrunner. Amazingly Gray, having promised to provide salt for them to trade, had had the bags brought up from the mine's storehouse immediately. They would be able to leave for Nebraska as soon as their party was determined and ready to go. "How're you feelin'?" Jake asked taking her hand as they met about twenty feet from the car.
"Better," she sighed, forcing a smile. "I lost my breakfast, and then Emily," Heather grumbled, making a face, "Tried to help."
"I know," Jake admitted as he rotated around to stand in front of her. "I'm sorry," he muttered, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "She insisted, something about how I'm not supposed to go in the ladies room."
Heather rolled her eyes, snorting, "Right."
"I was looking for you, after," he continued, leading her back toward the car. Johnston had stopped working and was watching them both. "But then Ridley Cooper showed up with the salt Gray's giving us for Black Jack, and we figured we'd better get it loaded."
"Well, I went to see Mrs. Crenshaw, looking for you," Heather told him. "And somehow she had crackers and Pep-O-Mint Lifesavers, so I'm all better now. But Jake, I went upstairs and talked to the team," she frowned. "None of them is willing to go to Black Jack. We need to talk about -"
"No," Jake interrupted. "Heather, I don't want you going," he argued. Scowling softly, he dropped her hand. "I won't go, if that's what it takes to keep you here," he added, glancing at Johnston, trapped between them and the car, his expression distinctly uncomfortable. "But look, Mike offered to come along, and you can give him - and me, too - a crash course in windmill governors. Teach us what to look for. And, we won't leave for Black Jack until you're satisfied that we've got it," Jake bargained. "Okay?"
"I pretty much decided I wasn't going after - after what Roger said," Heather admitted with a shrug. "And Jeff's story just cemented my thinking." She rested a hand on her belly, offering him a tentative smile. "So, okay. Deal."
"Deal," Jake agreed, letting out a relieved breath. He took a step toward her, laying one hand over hers and cupping the back of her head with the other, pressing a quick kiss to her mouth. "Deal," he repeated.
Johnston cleared his throat and they broke apart, thwarting him unintentionally as he tried to step around them. "I'm just gonna ...." He began, not bothering to finish his thought. His gaze settled on Heather, and he allowed a thankful grin. "Darlin', you made the right decision," Johnston told her. "'Cause I really wasn't lookin' forward to havin' to yell at you twice - once for myself and once for Joe," he clarified, catching her questioning look. "And I sure wasn't lookin' forward to being around when Gail found out."
"Oh, yeah," Heather acknowledged, her nose wrinkling as she considered her mother-in-law's likely response. "I'm glad we all get to miss that one," she chuckled self-consciously. "The windmills are important to me," she sighed, rubbing circles against her rounded abdomen. "But this," she continued, looking down, "Is a lot more important."
"Exactly," Jake agreed as he turned away, reaching for a bag of salt. "So, Mrs. Green," he teased, throwing her a rakish grin, "Lemme get this loaded up and we can find Mike and then go play school."
Heather giggled, wagging a finger at him as he hefted the heavy bag into the car's trunk. "Well, okay, but I'm warning you now, I'm very strict and there will be pop quizzes."
"Excuse me," Johnston snorted, moving around his daughter-in-law. "Heather, I can't wait to see his report card," he declared, his lips twitching as he fought a smile. "I'll see you both later."
"Bye, Dad," Heather smiled, stopping him long enough to give him a quick hug. She watched as he ambled toward the sidewalk, where he ran into Dale Turner, who dragged him into the market. "So," she began, watching Jake heave another bag into the trunk, "Can I help? That looks like a two person lift," she argued.
Jake stared at her, his forehead wrinkling with disbelief. "Uh, no thanks," he said, shaking his head. "I've got it. You just stand over there and incubate, please," he ordered, grabbing another bag off the pile. "Though feel free to be impressed by my manly display of strength here," Jake added a few seconds later, winking.
"Oh, but I am," she grinned, their eyes locking for a moment before he returned to his task. "Always." Jake was making short work of the pile, and there were only two layers - seven bags - left to load. "Gray's gonna give you extra gas, right?" Heather asked, frowning gently. "That's gotta be an extra four or five hundred pounds to haul -"
"Five hundred and a little more," he confirmed. "Sixteen bags, thirty five pounds each. But it should only be one direction," Jake reminded. "And Gray's got some gas for me, and I've got some of my own we'll take along, too."
"You can siphon what I've got in Charlotte," she offered, moving so that she stood just on the other side of the dolly from Jake. "Just - just to be safe."
He stopped in his work, letting go of the corner of the bag he'd started to lift. "Okay," Jake agreed, his voice a low rumble that was just above a whisper. "Better safe than sorry, right?" he asked, cupping her face with both hands. She offered him a tight-lipped smile, nodding, and Jake stroked his thumb over her lower lip. "I'll take you up on that. Thank you," he said huskily.
"You're welcome," Heather answered as he dropped his hands from her face. "Your hand is salty," she chuckled, her tongue darting out to taste her lip.
"Go figure," Jake muttered, staring down at the last five bags to be loaded. He groaned quietly.
"'Nothin' to it but to do it,'" she told him, quoting one of his grandfather's favorite sayings. Jake allowed a small smile and, grunting, picked up the next bag of salt, heaving it into the trunk. Heather took a step back, continuing to follow his every movement with her eyes. "The Millennium Falcon," she announced suddenly. "Well, The Millennium Falcon Two," she corrected herself, holding up two fingers on one hand.
Pausing again in his work, Jake looked over to see his wife flashing him the peace sign. "Huh? What?"
Heather giggled self-consciously. "That's - that's what I named your car. Just for myself, in my head. Like five years ago," she added in a rush of breath. "It seemed to fit, and it's kind of amusing, and, well, that's what I named it."
"Millennium Falcon?" Jake grinned. "So that makes me Han Solo?"
"Yeah, and me Princess Leia," she pointed out, pressing her hand to her middle as she started to laugh harder.
"Of course," he agreed, chuckling along with her. Jake shook his head. "But what does that make Stanley? Chewbacca or Luke?" he asked, affecting a serious expression.
"Jake," she groaned, starting to blush. "I never, ever kissed Stanley, I swear."
"You sure about that?" he demanded, smirking. "Does mistletoe ring a bell?" Jake challenged, throwing her a pointed look at the same time he threw the next bag of salt into the trunk. "Seems to me, you two always manage to find it," he teased.
"That doesn't count," Heather insisted primly. "It's only once a year, and it's - it's very...brotherly." Jake snickered at that, but she persevered in making her case. "Besides, after Stanley gets me under the mistletoe - which I must remind you, your mother puts up every year - I know where to drag you for the rest of the evening," she grinned.
"Uh huh," Jake nodded. "So Stanley's Chewbacca," he decided, throwing the next to last bag of salt into the trunk. "Makes sense."
Heather shot him a confused look. "Chewbacca? I was thinking Luke," she argued. "I mean, Luke started off as a farmer, and there's the whole separated at birth, long lost brother thing. And, Leia did kiss him at least twice before she knew."
"To make Han jealous," Jake agreed. "But remember, Leia told Han she'd rather kiss a wookie."
"Well, that's true," Heather admitted a second later, giggling. "But I'd rather kiss you," she told him, leaning in expectantly.
"Gimme a sec," Jake requested, lifting the last bag of salt into the back of the car. He dropped the trunk lid closed and stepped over the empty dolly. "All things considered," he shrugged, reaching for Heather's hand and then drawing her into his arms. "I'd rather kiss you, too," he murmured, his mouth meeting hers.
She smiled, catching his lower lip between both of hers. "Instead of Stanley or a wookie?"
"Both," Jake growled from deep in his throat. He hugged Heather close, molding himself around her and their baby, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "God, I love you."
"I love you, too," she returned, massaging his neck with one hand. "So be careful, Jake, okay? Just be careful out there."
Loosening his hold on her, Jake took a step back, nodding. "I will. Promise," he said, clearing his throat. "And hey," her reminded, finding and squeezing Heather's hand, "This car is named after the spaceship that made the castle run -"
"The Kessel run," Heather interrupted, smiling at him. "The Millennium Falcon is the ship that made the Kessel run in less than twelve parsecs."
"Exactly," Jake exhaled, lifting her hand to his mouth so he could press a kiss to her knuckles. "So everything'll be fine. It's guaranteed." Holding his gaze, Heather nodded. They stared at one another for a long moment before, finally, he let go of her hand and reached for the dolly's handle. "So, why don't we find Mike and go get started on windmill governors for dummies," he suggested. "'Kay?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thursday, December 6, five years before the bombs
Spotting his mother's car in the circular driveway in front of the house, Jake pulled the truck over to the side of the farm road and turned it off. He grumbled to himself, hoping that he'd stopped far enough away that they weren't aware of the vehicle's approach inside the ranch house. The last thing he needed tonight was a visitor. Jake had seen his grandfather that morning at breakfast - they'd grunted at one another over cold cereal and coffee - but other than that he'd had no human interaction all day which was exactly the way he'd wanted it. He knew he wasn't good company these days and he was fine with that.
Jake yanked the keys out of the ignition and shoved the door open. The truck would be fine where it was overnight, and there was a chance - a small one - that they hadn't heard him inside and that he could sneak into the house without running into anyone. He'd spent the day out on the ranch checking and, when necessary, repairing fences. It had rained off and on all day, and he was soaked to the bone and muddy. Given the rain, Grandpa would have said to wait on the fences, but Jake had headed out for the day without actually telling his grandfather his plans. Slogging through the mud and fighting with the wind had suited his mood.
He crept onto the front porch quietly, pausing on the top step to take off his boots. Jake knew he should have gone in through the back door and into the mudroom, but with any luck his mother and grandfather were waiting for him in the kitchen, and by going in through the front door he'd be able to avoid them and head straight upstairs. He peeled off his rain slicker and hung it over the railing before yanking off his dripping DEA baseball cap. Halfheartedly, he tried to wring some of the moisture from the hat, but soon gave up and looked around for someplace to put it, settling finally for stuffing it in his left boot. Padding across the porch in his socks, Jake let out a long breath before carefully grasping the front door's handle and, twisting, eased it open.
"Well, there you are!" his mother declared before he'd even set both feet over the threshold. "Jake, come in," Gail clucked, frowning at him as she pulled herself up out of the wing chair in which she'd been sitting just inside of his grandfather's study, directly across the hall from the door. "It's raining and freezing out there. You must be soaked through," she continued, shaking her head. "Come in, come in. You need to get out of that shirt, those clothes," Gail decided as she reached his side, tugging on the sleeve of his blue flannel shirt.
"Mom, it's fine, I'm fine," he argued, annoyed, pulling away. "I'll just go take a shower."
"In a few minutes, sweetheart," Gail insisted, laying her hand once again on his arm. "Please. I need to talk to you first."
"Mom!" Jake protested, glaring at her. "I just need -"
"What you need is to march your butt in there," Grandpa interrupted, pointing back into the study at the chairs he and his daughter-in-law had vacated, "Sit down, and listen to what your mother has to say." His eyes narrowed as he studied his grandson's defiant expression. "Now!" Anger flared in Jake's eyes, but he did as he was told, yanking his arm free of Gail's grasp and stomping, as best he could in just his stocking feet, into the room. A frustrated sound escaping him, Grandpa turned to face Gail, and they exchanged rueful looks. "Good luck, Abigail, darlin'. Holler if you need me."
Gail watched as her father-in-law made his way down the hallway toward the kitchen, waiting until he'd pushed the door open before she turned to look over her son. Jake really was a mess, she decided. The muddy, wet clothing was to be expected given the weather, though she couldn't understand why he'd stayed out in the elements, especially for the entire day. But even disregarding his clothes, Jake didn't look well at all. There were dark circles under his eyes and he was sporting a scraggly beard, having apparently given up shaving. Letting out a long sigh, Gail moved into the room, seating herself in the empty chair next to her son's. "Honey," she began, reaching out, once again, to place her hand on his arm.
"Mom!" he barked in return. "Just - just say it, and get it over with, already."
"Johnston Jacob, Junior!" Gail objected, startling her son. She'd never been one of those mothers who signaled to her children that they were in trouble by using their full names, and he stared at her, open-mouthed. She took a deep breath, expelling it audibly. "Jake, your grandfather is mad enough with you that he's threatening to drop you off on my doorstep, and frankly, given your charming attitude," Gail informed him, meeting his gaze with a frustrated glare, "I don't know that I'd let you in the front door!"
Closing his eyes, Jake slumped in his chair, letting his head fall against the well-padded back. "Mom," he muttered, a shiver running through him.
"Get up Jake," Gail ordered then. "Go stand in front of the fire," she suggested when he opened one eye, looking at her sideways. "Before you catch your death of a cold."
"I just wanna go take a shower and be left alone," he complained, grumpily. "Is that really too much to ask?"
"Jake, I think what you need, more than anything, is someone to talk to," Gail said, offering a hesitant smile. "So talk to me."
He groaned, sinking again in his chair. Gail decided to wait him out though, and her instincts were proven correct when not quite thirty seconds later he mumbled, "We had a fight. A big, stupid fight." Gail emitted an encouraging noise and Jake moaned pitifully. "She told me to go away, so I did. And that's that."
"And that's that?" Gail asked, one eyebrow raised in question. "And that's what?"
"And that's it," Jake returned, his tone turning exasperated. "She told me to go away, so I did. I'm honoring her wishes, which I believe is how my mother taught me to treat a woman," he threw out sarcastically. He pulled himself up and out of his chair, stalking across the room to stand in front of the fire which was burning cheerfully in the grate. "So we broke up, I guess," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked incredibly uncomfortable.
"You broke up? Or, you guess that you broke up?" Gail asked, confusion marring her expression. "I mean, did Heather say -"
"Mom!" he interrupted, frowning. "Look," Jake argued, untangling his arms before running a hand through his wet hair, "She told me to go away, and I haven't heard from her since then. I think that's the answer."
"So you're waiting for Heather -"
Jake flinched at the sound of Heather's name, grinding out another annoyed "Mom!" and throwing his hands up in the air.
"Okay, Jake. Okay," she murmured soothingly, her instinct to comfort her hurting child taking precedence - for the moment - over the need to figure out what had gone wrong. His nervous energy was catching, and Gail found herself getting up from her seat and taking a few steps toward him before Jake's frown warned her off. She settled then for perching herself on the edge of his chair, two feet closer to the fire and - more importantly - her son. "Can I ask - will you tell me what the fight was about?"
His scowl deepened and he shook his head 'no', but again she waited him out - twenty seconds this time - and again he gave in. "It was stupid. So stupid," Jake complained. "God!" he swore, "She got mad because I didn't want to go to Gretchen's stupid party. She said I was embarrassed by her! That I didn't want my boss to meet her!" He was getting loud now, his expression full of righteous indignation. "She doesn't embarrass me! I don't care if she meets Gretchen!" Jake paused, his lips pursed as he considered what he was saying. "Well, I sorta care. But because of Gretchen, not because of Heather," he insisted, meeting Gail's eye for just a second. "She was so mad," he mumbled, looking down at his socks. "She told me to go away. Locked the door and turned off the phone."
"Oh my," Gail sighed. She studied her son, taking in the defeated slope of his shoulders and seeing through new eyes the shadows and hard angles that had settled on his face. He was more than hurting, she couldn't help but think; he was completely at sea with no idea what to do. Jake shifted from foot to foot, pulling at his wet jeans. "But, honey," Gail argued, frowning softly, "That was on Sunday. You both probably just needed the rest of the night to cool off -"
"She hasn't called," he interrupted, exhaling sadly. "And, she's gotta be real cooled off by now."
"Well, honey, have you tried calling her?" Gail inquired, frowning sympathetically.
"She told me to go away. She turned off her phone."
"That was Sunday, Jake," she reminded. "I don't think she meant forever. Honey," Gail continued, twisting her hands together in her lap, "You know, Heather's been so busy with everything at school right -"
"I know that, Mom," Jake interrupted, grumbling.
"Okay then," Gail nodded. Shaking his head, Jake turned around so that he was facing the fire, ostensibly to warm and dry his front, but Gail knew that it was a calculated retreat. "Jake," she tried, "She's probably just stressed, and not necessarily acting like - like she would if things were normal." His shoulders tensed, but he didn't otherwise respond. "Sometimes when people are stressed, they overreact," she reminded, frowning to herself. Gail took a deep breath. It was a risk, but she had to ask. "Honey, do you love Heather?"
Jake froze, and for a long moment the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire. Finally though, he answered her question with an anguished, "Yes. Completely."
Quietly, Gail let out the breath she'd been holding, a smile blooming on her face. She got up, moving across the small space to stand next to her son. "Well, sweetheart," Gail began, resting a gentle hand on his back, "I have to tell you, it would be really stupid if Heather were sitting at home thinking, 'he hasn't called me, so I guess that's it,' while you're sitting here thinking, 'she hasn't called me, guess that's it.' You love her," she reminded, squeezing his shoulder. "And you shouldn't throw that away over a stupid fight."
"I know, Mom," Jake muttered, his head dropping forward so that his chin almost touched his chest. He let out a long, noisy breath, and then glanced sideways at her. "It's just - look, I'm gonna - I'm gonna go take a shower now, okay?"
"Sure, honey," she agreed, letting her hand fall back to her side. "Okay."
* * * * *
Twenty minutes later, Jake bounded into the kitchen, running shoes and socks in hand, and threw himself down in a chair. Gail looked up from the pot she was stirring at the stove and smiled, pleasantly surprised by the transformation before her. Jake was showered, shaved, and dressed in clean if well-worn jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt. His hair was still damp, but at least it wasn't sopping. "Feel better?" she asked, watching him pull on a sock.
"Yeah, thanks," Jake replied absently. He crammed his bare foot into the other sock and looked up at Gail, smiling. "Mom, I -"
"You must be starving," she told him, lifting the pan from the burner and then carrying over to the table. "I heated up some of that spicy steak chili you all like," she explained. "I'm sure, left to his own devices, that this is what your father's having for dinner tonight," Gail chuckled, starting to dish the chili into the bowl she'd already set out on the table.
"Ma, thanks, but I don't have time," Jake argued, working his left foot into his shoe. "I'm - I think I'm gonna take your advice and -
"Well, look who I found!" Grandpa Green boomed out, cutting Jake off, as he came through the swinging door and into the kitchen. Jake and Gail both glanced toward him, surprise evident in their expressions as they realized who was with him.
Heather, her heart pounding and her stomach churning, was grateful for Grandpa's arm around her and his strong presence beside her. She was certain he was the only thing keeping her knees from buckling. Her eyes locked with Jake's, and Heather felt her mouth go dry. She cleared her throat and somehow forced air from her lungs, managing to produce a soft whisper. "Hi."
Jake, wearing only one shoe, leapt to his feet. "Heather!"
"I'm so sorry," they both blurted out then, staring at one another across the kitchen. A moment passed, and then another. Gail, looking first at her son and then at the young woman who owned his heart, caught herself smiling at, and sighing over, the pure, unadulterated longing in both their expressions. Finally, Grandpa cleared his throat which, it seemed, was enough to wake Jake up. Dropping his right shoe on the floor, he closed the twelve feet that separated them, stopping in front of Heather and reaching for her hand.
"Hey," he greeted, offering a testing grin.
"Hey," she returned, lacing their fingers together. Jake clutched at her hand, and Heather smiled, letting out a deep sigh. Grandpa took a step away from the couple.
His own held breath escaping him, Jake looked back at his mother and then glanced sideways at his grandfather. "Excuse us," he requested perfunctorily, his gaze once again settling on Heather. With that, he tugged on her hand, leading her back toward the main hallway.
"Well," Grandpa muttered, watching the door swing closed behind Jake and Heather.
"Thank God," Gail breathed out, chuckling happily to herself.
"Amen," Grandpa agreed.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Tuesday, December 5, two and a half months after the bombs
"So, do I need to answer some sort of essay question, or draw you a diagram so I can come in?" Jake asked from the open doorway, startling Heather, who jumped almost imperceptibly and quickly shoved a dresser drawer closed.
"Jake!" she declared somewhat breathlessly, twisting around to face him, a pair of his socks clutched in one hand. "I didn't hear you," Heather admitted with a sheepish grin. "And no, you don't have to answer a question or draw me anything. Unless you want to," she giggled, "Class is officially over and you passed. With flying colors, I might add."
"Uh-huh," he agreed, smiling at her - leering, really - as he stepped into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. For most of the previous day and a half, Heather had tutored Jake and Michael on the mechanics of windmill governors, taking over Johnston's den and hauling out the collection of books and magazines she'd amassed from the Jericho Public Library on the subject of operating windmills both for generating power and pumping water. She'd made them go over everything time and time again, lamenting that the best she could do was provide diagrams and very crude, very simplified models built out of popsicle sticks, bits of Styrofoam cups, rubber bands, paperclips, and play dough. She'd given three pop quizzes. And finally, at four that afternoon, she'd declared them as prepared as she could possibly expect or hope for.
"Flying colors?" Jake inquired. "I don't know about that. But I hafta say, the report cards were a nice touch, Mrs. Green," he laughed, loping toward her. "Only you gave me a B-plus in Conduct," he reminded, coming to a stop in front of Heather. He pulled her into his arms, planting an affectionate kiss on the tip of her nose. "I think I deserved more than a B-plus," Jake argued gently, brushing his lips over hers. "I mean, you gave Mike an A-minus. What did he do that I didn't?"
"Absolutely nothing," Heather giggled against his mouth. She pulled back then, just far enough that she could look him in the eye. "But the question you should be asking yourself is, what did you do," she emphasized, "That Mikey didn't do? 'Cause that's what got you the B-plus."
"Well, Mike's just a little bit scared of you, that's true," Jake sighed, resting both of his hands over their child. "But a B-plus?" He tried a pout, but quickly gave it up, shaking his head and grinning at her.
Heather nodded. "Yep. A B-plus. The grade stands. But remember," she teased, cocking her head to one side and returning his grin, "As a teacher, I've always had a secret soft spot for the rapscallions."
"So I qualify as a rapscallion, do I?" Jake laughed, lightly stroking his thumbs against the mound of her pregnant belly.
"Just a little bit," she confirmed, holding up one hand and demonstrating about an inch of space between her thumb and index finger. Heather felt a slight kick and, instinctively, she dropped her hand on top of Jake's, moving it over so he could feel as well. "I'm thinkin' B.G. might have a little rapscallion in him or her, too."
"Yeah, probably," Jake agreed, not bothering to try and keep a pleased smirk off his face. "And, Dad sure loved your report cards."
Once Heather had turned Jake and Michael loose, Gail had sent them out to split wood for the fire, a job the two men had been more than happy to take on, grateful for the chance to do something physical. Meanwhile Heather had put the hour she had before dinner to good use creating report cards for her two students. The report cards had been hand-drawn and lettered but were on official JISD letterhead, complete with grades for Jake and Michael in Windmill Theory and Design, Mechanical Drawing and Model Building, and Conduct. With a flourish, Heather had presented the two reports to Johnston just as he'd seated himself at the table, reminding him that he'd wanted to see Jake's.
Smirking, Johnston had examined both grade reports, questioning Jake's B-plus in Conduct and raising an eyebrow over some of the comments. Heather had written that Michael was 'a diligent student' with 'a clear grasp of windmill mechanics', and that Jake drew 'top notch diagrams' and had 'offered a unique and correct explanation of the purpose of a mechanical governor'. "What's that mean?" Johnston had demanded, his lips twitching.
"Uh, that Jake used sound effects and smashed my first windmill model - but quite accurately - to demonstrate his understanding of why we really need to get our hands on a governor," Heather had replied, rolling her eyes. "And, he did make me a new model."
"Yeah, and mine was way better," Jake had claimed teasingly. "That's why that's an A in Mechanical Drawing and Model Building," he'd added, pointing at the report card which Johnston had still held in his right hand.
"It wasn't that much better," Heather had argued, shooting her husband a mock dirty look.
"And you got a B-plus in Conduct," Johnston had snorted, getting up from his chair and moving behind Heather's. He'd leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Thank you, darlin'," he had sighed, "This is exactly what I needed tonight. So," Johnston had continued, clearing his throat, "I take it we leave for Nebraska in the morning?" he'd asked Jake, reseating himself.
"Your Mom was pretty excited, too," Heather reminded, folding Jake's hand into her own. She fumbled the pair of socks she was carrying, dropping them on the floor, and then started to bend over to pick them up. However, Jake stopped her, stooping to retrieve them himself. "She put both report cards up on the fridge," Heather chuckled.
"After you had Dad sign them," he groaned.
April, Drake and Jeff were all in the middle of shifts at the clinic this evening, and so it had just been the five of them for dinner. Laughing, Gail had asked if she could have the report cards to put up on the refrigerator - Jake grumbling that the appliance wasn't good as anything but a bulletin board anymore - and Heather had agreed, but only if Johnston, in his capacity as a 'parent or guardian' signed them first. She'd pointed out the signature block she'd drawn at the bottom of the report and, with a wicked gleam in his eye, Johnston had demanded a pen. He'd signed the two grade reports with an enthusiasm which would have done John Hancock proud, Gail had joked, thanking Heather once more. The report cards had provided the levity they'd all needed that evening, a topic of conversation that allowed them to - mostly - avoid the subject of Black Jack while the ate.
"Here," Jake continued, smiling as he returned the socks to her. "What are you doin' anyway? You can't possibly need to steal those."
Heather stared at him for a few seconds, her mouth hanging open. "Well, I sure better not get so big I can't wear my own shoes and socks," she complained, smacking him on the shoulder with the small bundle. Shaking her head, she stepped around him, moving toward the bed.
"Exactly what I'm saying," Jake defended, following behind her. He reached after her hand and caught it in his own. "You're not big everywhere," he argued, "Just where you need to be." He seemed to process what he'd just said and quickly clarified. "And, you're not even big, really, just -"
Tossing the pair of socks down on the bed, Heather shook her head at him, chuckling softly. "Maybe you should quit while you're ahead, hon," she advised, grinning at him over her shoulder.
"Think I will," he agreed, squeezing her hand. Jake looked down at the items she'd gathered on the bed. In addition to the socks, she had one of his sweatshirts, a rain poncho rolled up in its own pouch, three different road maps of Kansas and Nebraska, a Five-Star notebook with a mechanical pencil hooked to the spiral wire, and two of the Popular Mechanics magazines that they had studied over the past day and a half. "What's all this for?"
"I'm packing you a backpack," Heather shrugged, suddenly unwilling to meet his gaze. "I mean, you don't have to take it, but I thought - and you might be gone overnight - plus, there's peanut butter granola bars," she informed him, picking up the sweatshirt to reveal a box of six. "One's missing," she admitted.
"You've been holding out on me," Jake teased, picking up the package and then making a show of peeking inside. Turning to face Heather, he caught a glimpse of her troubled frown before she quickly pasted on a smile. Although Heather had originally been excited about the trip to Black Jack and had even wanted to go herself, the more time she'd had to think about it, the more worried she'd seemed to get. She hadn't actually said anything, but he'd caught her staring at him on a number of occasions, and the previous evening while they'd gotten ready for bed, Heather had broached the subject of his trip to Rogue River the month before, asking questions about how his car had handled and the state of the roads. Jake didn't know how to assuage her fears, but he knew that at least he could accept the offer of a well-prepared backpack in the spirit of love and concern with which she offered it. "It's a good idea. I'm glad you thought of it. Thanks, babe," he murmured, shaking the box of granola bars. "So, I suppose you're gonna say I have to share, huh?" he guessed, letting out an exaggerated sigh.
"Well, you really should," she reminded. "But there's five bars, and only four of you going, right? So you can have the extra, at least," Heather suggested before asking, "Dale's still going, right?"
"Yeah," he confirmed. After dinner, Jake had walked over to Gracie Leigh's to let Dale know that they now had a departure time. Dale and Skylar Stevens - it still surprised Jake every time he saw them together - had been locking up for the night and, they'd told Jake, were headed 'home' to the Stevens' house in The Pines. "I just talked to him," Jake explained, "And he said he'll be here at five thirty so we can get on the road before sunrise."
Heather nodded. Neither she nor Gail had been very happy at the news that Dale wanted to go with Jake, Johnston and Michael, but their protests - the only ones they'd bothered to register - had fallen on deaf ears. "Okay," she acknowledged, making a face. "You know, I found those in the pantry out at the ranch, when we were packing up after...." She didn't need to explain after what. "Anyway. I think I ate the missing one on the field trip that day. I've been saving them for a treat. Actually, I was thinkin' that was gonna be your Christmas present," Heather admitted with an apologetic chuckle. "Merry Christmas."
"Thanks," Jake laughed, pulling her into his arms. "And you've got a leg up on me," he admitted, brushing his lips across hers. "'Cause I hafta admit, you might be getting a mechanical governor for Christmas."
"I'll take it," she told him, pressing one finger to his mouth. "Happily. But, I have two words for you. Lip balm," Heather announced, her tone completely serious. "Jake, I'd kill for just one tube. Burt's Bees, Blistex, ChapStick, Lip Smackers. Anything. And since Black Jack's supposed to be kind of a trading post now," she shrugged, "Maybe?"
"I'll keep my eyes open," he promised, removing her finger from his mouth so he could kiss her again. "Lip Smackers, huh?" Jake teased, letting go of her a few moments later. "Didn't you get all the nieces soda pop flavored Lip Smackers last year?" he asked, remembering the afternoon the previous December when she'd wrapped presents to be shipped back to Buffalo. After Heather had called him into the dining room for the fourth time so she could tie a bow around his finger, Jake had given up doing anything else for the duration, and had planted himself in a chair, taking over the job of tearing off pieces of scotch tape for her and writing out gift tags that he'd signed 'Love Auntie Heather & Uncle Jake'.
"For stocking stuffers, yeah," Heather confirmed, tracing the tip of her tongue over her chapped lower lip. "And, you have no idea what I'd do for root beer flavored lip balm right now."
Jake grinned at that. "Well, root beer flavored Heather has strong possibilities," he agreed.
"I'm sure," she laughed. This time, Heather kissed him. "Just so you know," she smiled as she pulled away, "There's a lot more where that came from. Especially if you find me lip balm," she teased.
"Then I'm definitely finding it," Jake vowed, reaching her hand and lifting it to his mouth so he could press a kiss to her palm. "So... no book?" he joked, surveying the items piled together on the bed. "After all, we're gonna be crossing a state line. You always pack a book. Or two."
"You're driving," Heather reminded, rolling her eyes. "And don't make fun of how I pack," she scolded half-heartedly.
"Trust me, I love how you pack," he assured. "Every contingency covered. I never get hungry, and I never get bored."
"Okay," she sighed. "Why don't you pick out a backpack," Heather instructed, pointing him toward the closet. "I'm guessing you don't want to use my purple one."
"No, not really," Jake agreed. He stepped behind her, dropping both hands on her shoulders and pressing a kiss to the back of her head. "Thanks, babe," he murmured into her hair before letting go and moving toward the closet.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thursday, December 6, five years before the bombs
Jake, his gait comically uneven, dragged Heather down the hallway to where it widened into the foyer proper and pulled her to a stop. "One second," he requested, toeing off his running shoe. He looked around the space and then, shrugging, kicked it under the hall table. Heather raised an eyebrow and grinned at him, but didn't say anything. "Hey," he greeted again, squeezing her hand.
"Hey, yourself," Heather answered, her smile growing. "Jake," she sighed, holding his gaze with her own, "I am so sorry."
"I'm sorry, too," he interjected quickly.
"And, I love you," she added in a rush of breath, taking a half step toward him.
Recognizing her intention, he opened his arms, tucking her head against his shoulder and wrapping her in his embrace. "I love you, too," Jake practically growled, burying his face in Heather's hair. They clung to one another for a long moment before finally, both laughing self-consciously, breaking apart. "Look, we can go to the Christmas party -"
"No," Heather interrupted, shaking her head. "No, you're right. It would be stupid to go all the way to Denver just for dinner. Can I - can I just claim temporary insanity? I don't know what got into me -"
"Well, I shoulda told you about the party," Jake argued, curling a strand of her hair around his finger before then tucking it behind her ear. Frowning softly, he reached for her hand. "Look. Come with me?" he requested with a glance toward the foot of the staircase. Heather nodded her agreement, and Jake reached for her hand, knitting their fingers together. Silently, he led her up the stairs and then into his bedroom, dropping her hand so he could close the door behind them. "So..." he began, turning to face her.
Heather had moved into the room, standing between the bed and dresser, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. She stared at him, chewing her lip nervously. "Jake, I, uh," she began and then stopped, clearing her throat. She slipped her purse from her shoulder and set it down on the bed. "What happened? I mean, I know what happened," Heather chuckled uneasily. "But it all got so - so out of control," she shrugged, "And I don't know how."
"Whiplash," Jake snorted, shaking his head. "That's what it felt like, babe," he informed her as he shuffled across the room, stopping at the end of the bed, three feet separating them. "I - seriously - I don't know either," he sighed. "I thought - I was trying -" Groaning, Jake lifted one knee, resting it on the mattress.
"Jake," Heather sighed, shoving her purse out of the way before perching herself on the edge of the bed. She reached for his hand, tangling their fingers together. "I - there's just been so much going on."
"And I was trying," he insisted, gripping her fingers tightly. "I'm - I'm not good, always, at - at talking about these things, but I thought I was - I was helping. I knew you were stressed out about everything," Jake grumbled, "School, and the play. But I was trying to help."
"You - you were being supportive?" Heather guessed, the slightest of smiles touching her lips. Jake frowned though, and she rushed to assure him. "Jake, you were. Absolutely," she said, scooting down the mattress toward him. "I knew it. You volunteered at school," Heather reminded, her smile widening. "That you would do that for - for me. I - I love you for it."
"I love you, too. But, babe, you really kinda lost it," he accused, letting go of her hand. "Over a stupid party. You said - you said you couldn't talk to me," Jake continued, his tone growing strident. Clenching his fist against his leg, he complained, "You - you told me to go away."
"I - I did?" Heather replied, her forehead wrinkling as she squinted at him. "Really?" she squeaked. "Jake, I just meant right then."
"Well, you know what," he barked in return, "That wasn't what it sounded like."
Heather flinched, biting her lip against the tears that suddenly flooded her eyes. "Jake, I'm - I'm sorry," she choked out. "I don't know what else you - you want from me," she muttered from behind the hand she'd pressed to her mouth.
"I want - I want you to not slam doors in my face," Jake decided, forcing himself to take a deep breath. "God," he swore, his gaze dropping to his lap - anywhere, as long as he didn't have to watch her cry. But he was also frustrated with their situation, and he couldn't keep himself from asking, "What - what happens next time? What happens when it's the science fair, or the school carnival, or whatever the hell comes next?"
"Well, I can't promise not to lose it ever again," she answered after an interminable ten seconds of silence. Jake looked up in time to see her slip off the bed. "But what I can promise is that I won't slam doors in your face, okay?" Heather turned to face him, catching his eye and offering a weak smile.
He offered a somewhat skeptical grin, but nodded, murmuring, "Okay."
"I mean, I can't say I'll like being called on acting - acting like a - like a child," Heather admitted, stammering nervously. "But you certainly have the - that right," she sighed, rolling her eyes. "But Jake," she continued, "I need - I guess I want - I need - to understand." Heather stopped, shaking her head and frowning. She looked down concentrating her attention on her clenched fist which she ground against her thigh. "Why didn't you just tell me about the Christmas party?" she questioned. "Even if you didn't want to go, why didn't you say anything? I just don't get it," Heather complained, shrugging and letting out a frustrated breath. "I've - I've tried to let you into - into everything - my life, and I - I just don't get it."
"It's just a stupid party, Heather," Jake groaned. "I got the email and I ignored it, like always."
"And when I asked you to go with me to the school party it didn't occur to you to just mention that you had a party at work, but you didn't want to go?" she demanded.
"It didn't occur to me that Gretchen would call Gramps and get him involved," Jake ground out in exasperation. "You are a part of my life, babe. You're - you're at the center of everything that's important, okay? A party at work?" he argued. "So my boss can spend the evening interrogating you? That's not important."
"Okay," Heather acknowledged with a shake of her head. But her expression was still confused, still guarded, and she bit her lip, not quite able to meet Jake's gaze.
"You know, work - work for me isn't like work for you," he argued. "For me it's work," Jake chuckled humorlessly. "I mean, I like my job - mostly. It's fun and interesting. Sometimes it's addictive. But it's not like teaching for you, it's not a -a calling. If I stopped doing it, I'd miss it, but it wouldn't feel like I was missing a piece of myself."
"Oh," Heather whispered, blinking, surprised. She stared at him, unsure of what to do or how to respond. "Oh," she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest, hugging herself.
"God, babe," he swore. "You want into my life? You already are. Completely." It wasn't a word Jake ever used, but he'd said it twice in less than an hour, and about Heather both times. He didn't know how else to tell her what she meant to him. His eyes locked with hers, he slid up the bed, toward where she stood. "I promise," he murmured huskily.
She gave him a watery smile and took a half stumbling step backwards, bumping into the dresser. "Ow!" she giggled, planting both hands behind her, on the bureau's top, to steady herself. "And - and thank you," she grinned shyly, leaning against the dresser. "And, okay." Chewing on her lip, she caught his eye, her expression turning serious. "I'm sorry I lost it, Jake. Truly."
He stood up then, crossing to stand in front of her, leaving three or four inches between them. "I'm sorry I didn't mention the party," Jake apologized, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind Heather's ear, prompting her soft smile. "It was stupid not to."
"Well, I certainly forgive you," she told him, pushing away from the dresser. "And I hope -"
"Forgiven," he assured her.
"What the heck?" Heather giggled, looking down at her palm. A piece of paper - a cocktail napkin, of all things - was stuck to it, and she carefully peeled the offending item off. "H.L. plus J.G.," she read off quietly a moment later, her voice catching in her throat. She looked up at him, grinning, her eyes suspiciously bright.
"I doodle sometimes," Jake admitted with a shrug. "Keeps me awake in boring meetings."
"And in hotel bars, apparently," she suggested, examining the logo on the back of the napkin before turning it back over to study his drawing.
Chuckling, he nodded. "And in hotel bars."
"I like the heart," Heather sighed, "And the jet."
"Yeah, well, I draw aircraft," Jake smiled, taking the napkin from her. He reached around Heather, placing it carefully on the bureau's top. "Some cars," he continued, "Your basic robot, a horse - side view only - and pretty good stick people."
"Pretty good stick people, huh?" Heather laughed quietly, leaning into Jake as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "My stick people suck," she admitted, tilting her head so that their mouths were lined up and separated by an inch and a half. "You can ask my kids. They're really bad," she smiled, brushing her lips across his.
"I'm guessin' that's okay with them," he grinned against her mouth, his hand finding its way into her hair. "As long as it's generally okay with the state of Kansas for teachers and future principals to draw really sucky stick figures," he teased.
"Future principal?" Heather questioned, pulling back, her forehead wrinkling. "I don't think so. I'm just trying to survive teaching, year one."
"Well, it sure sounded like Mrs. McVeigh picked you as her successor," he informed her, extracting his hand from her hair so he could cup her face. Heather looked pleasantly stunned by this news, and he smiled. "Surprise," he whispered, bringing his mouth down on top of hers.
Heather wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing herself to him. Her lips parted beneath his in an invitation. Jake accepted eagerly, exploring her mouth, their tongues dueling, as he drank her in, reveling in the heady taste of her kiss. "Cinnamon Heather," he muttered thickly, resting his forehead on hers some moments later. "One of my favorites," he teased, winding a lock of her hair around his finger.
"Yeah, well, April came by to talk some sense into me, and then she supervised my preparations," she laughed softly. "She made me wear my hair down so you could play with it," Heather admitted, catching his hand as he, snorting, pulled it loose from her hair. She pressed a gentle kiss to his palm. "And I picked the cinnamon lip gloss," Heather informed him, blushing, "Since I know you like it."
"Well, nice job," he grinned, lacing their fingers together and then pulling her against him once more, kissing her softly. "'Cause I do like." They separated and Jake, still holding onto her hand, tugged her back over to the bed. "So April got you, and my Mom got me, huh?"
"I guess they had lunch with Gramps today," Heather reminded as she seated herself. They both moved into the middle of the mattress, lying on their sides, facing one another. "It seems a plot was hatched," she joked, tucking her arm underneath her head like a pillow.
"And for once I'm glad to come from an annoying, interfering family," Jake teased, grumbling, though it was obviously all for show. He reached over, cupping her cheek with his hand, stroking her impossibly smooth skin with the work-roughened pad of his thumb. He studied her, checking his memory of her face against the genuine article in front of him, so close. "I love you," he breathed out, earning an immediate smile.
"I love you, too," she replied. "And, I know I pretty much started it, but let's never, ever, ever fight again," Heather suggested with a sigh.
Jake groaned, his expression equal parts dubious and amused. "Think we can manage that, huh?"
"Probably not," Heather admitted with a shrug. "But it'd be nice. I hated it. Every minute," she complained, rolling onto her back. She grabbed his hand, smiling when Jake took the hint and moved next to her, pressing himself into her side. "I missed you," she told him, playing with his fingers.
"Missed you, too," he echoed. "So, how are you?" Jake whispered, brushing a lazy kiss over her lips. "How're things?" he asked, nuzzling the corner of her mouth.
Heather smiled, turning into his kiss. "Better now," she answered, "Much better now." Still exchanging sweet, chaste kisses with Jake, she sat up, propping herself on her elbows. "I think - I think I've got things under control," Heather sighed, their eyes locking. "Dress rehearsal's tomorrow after school, plus an extra bonus one on Saturday morning, and then opening night on Monday."
"So, I can take you to dinner on Saturday night?" Jake asked, finding her hand and lacing their fingers together. "Maybe go to a movie?"
"Like a date?" she grinned, dropping back onto the mattress. "You're asking me on a date?"
"Guess so," Jake shrugged. He sat up and twisted around so that he was leaning over Heather. "Sound good?" he murmured, dipping his head to kiss her.
"Yeah," Heather nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down on top of her. "Sounds good," she agreed, capturing his mouth with her own.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs
"I've got cornbread made yesterday, a hardboiled egg for each of you, and I found a half box of raisins," Gail informed her husband and son as she carefully placed the items inside a six-pack sized cooler that was sitting on the counter. "Now, Johnston, you made the extra coffee?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him though she didn't bother to wait for his answer. "And there's a can of Spam in the pantry -"
"You actually bought Spam, Mom?" Jake interrupted with a snort. "Before the bombs? Why?"
"Nothin' wrong with Spam," Johnston offered, taking a sip from his mug. "I happen to like it fried with mustard. Better'n most Army food, let me tell you."
Jake groaned, shaking his head. "Might as well send it along, Ma," he agreed, "Just in case. I've got some granola bars, too," he admitted, smiling gently at Heather, who was sitting beside him. Under the cover of the table, he reached for her hand, squeezing it. "And, I've already got water in the car. We're ready to go, I guess."
"Where'd you get granola bars?" Michael yawned, pushing his bowl out of the way as he sat forward to lean his elbows on the table. Their breakfast, as it always was these days, had been scanty, and therefore quickly consumed. But at least it had been hot, as was the coffee in the cup Michael wrapped his hands around, happy for the heat that bled through the ceramic, warming his chilled fingers.
Jake sat back, draping his arm across the back of Heather's chair, and grinned at his brother-in-law. "Your sister loves me."
"They're his Christmas present," Heather added, "Peanut butter."
"Geez, if that's Jake's big present, what are you gettin' me?" Michael returned, rolling his eyes.
"Apparently you get one of my granola bars," Jake answered, making a face. "Heather says I have to share."
"Clean sheets," Gail declared, stepping behind Michael and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "That's what you get," she clarified as she pressed a kiss to the top of the young man's head. "As long as it doesn't rain, I'm going to wash everyone's bedding today."
"I'll help you, Mom," Heather offered. "Though, I think I may go back to bed for a little bit before," she decided with a soft groan. It wasn't even five thirty yet, still dark out and bitingly cold, but the men planned to hit the road early - in hopes of making the roundtrip to Black Jack in one day - and the women wanted to see them off. "I've gotten used to sleeping in some," she admitted, stifling a yawn.
"Well, you are sleeping for two," Gail teased, smiling at her daughter-in-law.
"I guess I am," Heather agreed with a soft laugh, laying her head on Jake's shoulder.
"And, thank you, sweetheart," Gail added as she moved toward the camp stove to retrieve the coffeepot, and then crossed to the counter where she began to pour the hot coffee into a thermos. "I'll take you up on the offer. It's a rather ambitious project, I think," Gail sighed, screwing the cap back on the thermos.
Yawning, Heather lifted her head, nodding. Laundry had become as complicated and time consuming of a task as feeding themselves was, though less vital. Clothes were worn until they were absolutely filthy and then scrubbed clean on an improvised washboard in the deep utility sink in the basement. Jeans and towels took nearly a week to dry when they were hung on racks indoors, but would dry in an afternoon if the weather was nice and they could be hung outside in the sunshine and wind. They never seemed to find the time to tackle bedding; her nose wrinkling, Heather realized that the sheets on their bed were the same ones she'd put on when Jake and she had first moved in nearly two months before. "But for clean sheets it'll be worth the work."
The back door rattled and then there was a knock. Johnston finished off the last of his coffee and then got up, shouting, "Coming!" He didn't bother to ask who it was, instead pushing the curtain out of the way and holding up the lantern for light as he peered through the window. "Dale, come in," he invited once he had the door unlocked and opened. "Skylar, you too," Johnston ordered. "It's cold out there this morning."
"Good morning, Mayor," Dale greeted automatically, leading Skylar into the house.
"I'm not the mayor anymore, Dale," Johnston reminded for what he calculated was at least the tenth time.
The teenager frowned, nodding. "Right. Sorry, sir." His gaze swept the room, and he offered them all a distracted smile. "Good morning, Mrs. Green," he said, facing Gail. "And, good morning, Mrs. Green," he added, glancing at Heather.
"That's always been confusing, hasn't it?" Heather chuckled, smiling in return. "So I think it would be all right if you called me Heather now, Dale," she suggested. "And you, too, Skylar," she invited. "I'm not a teacher anymore."
"I've got a report card over there that says differently," Jake argued, cocking his head toward the refrigerator. Under the table he stroked his thumb over the back of Heather's hand, frowning absently as he studied the young couple standing closely together in the middle of the room, their hands brushing together. For just a moment Dale curled his fingers around Skylar's. Jake shook his head. It was all too weird.
"Well, you know what they say," Michael joked. "You can take the teacher outta the school, but you can't take the school outta the teacher."
The Greens at least all laughed quietly at that, Heather rolling her eyes. "Dale this is Michael, Heather's brother," Gail introduced, moving to join the teenagers. "You've met," she reminded, "At the wedding."
"That's right," Michael agreed, nodding. Dale was a little less scrawny than he had been four and a half years ago, but Michael could still recognize in him the gangly, too-tall, all elbows and knees adolescent who'd arrived at the Green house with Eric on the morning of Heather's and Jake's wedding.
Michael and his father had been staying at Heather's while they were in Jericho, but on that morning her house had been turned into Bride Central, and as a groomsman, he'd been banished, sent over to the Greens with Stanley when the co-best man had come by to drop off Bonnie, the junior bridesmaid. They had all been in the kitchen, drinking coffee and teasing the suddenly nervous Jake - Johnston had even resorted to spiking Jake's coffee with Irish whiskey while Gail was out of the room - when Eric had arrived, announcing, "I've got Dale and doughnuts." The boy had shuffled in behind Eric, the pastry box clutched in his arms, looking even more anxious than Jake.
Johnston had relieved Dale of the doughnuts, and he, Jake, Stanley and Michael had broken into the box immediately, arguing over who got the one Boston cream. "Don't fill up on those," Gail had ordered, shaking her finger at them. "I've got a Denver omelet casserole that'll be ready in ten minutes and we all need to start out with some protein in our stomachs. It's a big day."
"There's a lemon-filled in there for Mom," Eric had announced, hanging his suit bag on the back of the door into the dining room. "So keep your hands off."
"Thank you, sweetheart," Gail had beamed at her son, who'd taken her by the elbow and pulled her a few feet away from the others. Dale, having been handed a chocolate bar by Johnston, had actually cracked a smile, sliding into an unoccupied chair at the table, and Michael, in need of more caffeine, had crossed the kitchen to the coffeepot.
"Looks like he's grown two, three inches since April and I got married," Michael had overheard Eric tell his mother quietly. "His pants are way too short," which Michael had confirmed with one glance at Dale; nearly four inches of white tube sock had been visible between the cuffs of his dress pants and the tops of his shoes. "And, all I can guess is that he ironed his own shirt," Eric had muttered. "Annie was there - I think with a friend - when I picked him up. Still asleep."
Gail had nodded her understanding, and then, exchanged distracted smiles with Michael as he'd traded places with Eric, who'd headed toward the coffee pot. Gail and Michael had moved back toward the table, where she'd exclaimed, "Dale, honey, you're just growin' like a weed. We had to have those pants taken up when we bought them, and now I think I better let 'em down," she'd told him, ruffling his hair and giving him a sideways hug.
"I think, Dale," Johnston had added then, "Since you're twelve now, that it's time you learned how to tie a tie. That's about when I taught Jake and Eric," he'd explained. "We'll pick out one of mine and I'll show you how."
"Finish your doughnut, honey," Gail had ordered, flashing her husband a grateful smile. "Then we'll borrow a t-shirt from Jake for you. You can pick out your tie, I'll hem your pants, and since I still need to iron Johnston's shirt, I'll do yours, too."
"Oh. Okay," Dale had choked out around a mouthful of doughnut, his eyes wide. Gail had hugged him again, offering to get him a glass of milk, and the boy had smiled finally, drinking up her mothering, Michael had thought at the time. He'd come out to Jericho early, two weeks before the wedding, so he could spend some time with his sister, and he'd gotten to know and like all of the Greens, but at that moment, seeing how they took care of Dale - and not just his material needs, but his dignity, too - had relieved any lingering worries Michael had about Heather getting married and living so far from her family.
"I thought I recognized you," Michael added, his gaze settling on Dale. "I've see you around town. And, hey, you beat me in the ping pong tournament, that morning before the wedding," he remembered, chuckling.
Heather pulled away from Jake, staring back at him, amusement and annoyance warring for dominance in her expression. "You guys held a ping pong tournament on our wedding day?" she demanded.
"My idea, darlin'," Johnston interjected. "It seemed like a good way to keep everyone out of trouble for an hour or so."
"I see," Heather laughed, still eyeing her husband speculatively. "So, how'd you do?" she inquired. She and Jake had availed themselves of the ping pong table in his parents' basement a few times over the years, and Jake was surprisingly good - and surprisingly competitive - at the game. "Dale beat Mikey. Where'd you place? You win?"
"I'm pretty sure I was dead last," he answered with a snort. "I had a lot on my mind," Jake reminded, raising her hand, still held in his, to his lips so he could press a kiss to her palm. "So, Dale," he began a second later, "Uh, Skylar. You know, we - we really only have room for four, especially if you're bringing stuff to trade. And, besides, I - I don't think we should be taking a girl to Black Jack, 'specially after listenin' to Roger."
Skylar rolled her eyes at him. "I'm not going going," she informed him, flashing Dale a wide smile when he laced their fingers together and squeezed her hand. "I'm gonna take care of the store today," she explained, her voice turning sing-songy as she and Dale made goo-goo eyes at one another. "I just wanted - I wanted to walk over with Dale, so I did."
"We need to go by the store to get my stuff, anyway," Dale reminded, reluctantly pulling his gaze away from Skylar. "We can give her a ride over, right?" he asked Jake.
"Sure," Jake shrugged.
Gail, though, was not having it. "You're going to the store now?" she demanded, frowning at the teenagers. "It's two hours at least 'til sunrise, and I don't know that it's safe for you to be there by yourself, Skylar."
"I'll be fine," Skylar dismissed, shaking her head. "There's a cot in the back, and I can make tea. I'll be fine."
"And there's a couch here in the den you can lie down on, too. Just until it's light, and then Drake or Jeff can walk you over to the store," Gail decided. "I insist."
Skylar frowned in response, but didn't say anything, leaving it to Dale to accept the offer. "Thanks, Mrs. Green," he exhaled. "I just didn't want her walking in all the way from The Pines by herself."
"I'm gonna grab my coat," Jake announced, clearing his throat. He stood up, holding out his hand to help Heather. "We should probably hit the road."
Michael started to get up to follow his brother-in-law - and his sister - out of the room, but stopped when Johnston, fighting a smirk, clapped a hand on his shoulder, requesting, "Get mine and Mike's too, wouldja?"
Jake threw his father a grateful look and, tightening his grip on Heather's hand, pushed open the door into the dining room. Heather followed him through the dining and living rooms and into the foyer, where she tugged on his hand forcing him to stop. "You know, I think we've - we've been doing this way too much lately," she told him, twisting around so that she stood facing him, holding both of his hands in her own.
"This?" he questioned gently, stepping toward her, closing the gap between them.
"This," she confirmed, sighing. She played with his fingers, the action betraying her worry, as did the fact that she wouldn't look at him. "The big, dramatic goodbye. We do it more now than we did when this was your job," Heather grumbled, letting go of his hands so she could lean against him, hugging him.
Immediately, Jake's arms came up around her. "It's kinda still my job," he reminded, pressing his face into her hair, kissing the top of her head.
"Yeah," Heather muttered reluctantly. "But I liked it better when you got paid and had health insurance and we got to use all your frequent flier miles to go to Jamaica."
"Had life insurance, too," he reminded, tightening his hold on her.
"That's not funny, Jake," Heather complained into his shoulder, her breath leaving a warm, damp spot on his t-shirt. "Everything - it's just all so much more dangerous now."
Jake let go of her so he could cup her chin with one hand, tilting her face up. Even in the pre-dawn darkness of the hall their eyes locked instantly. "Not trying to be funny," he told her. "It - it is dangerous out there. But you know, I will always do everything in my power to come home to you. Babe," he sighed, twisting a strand of her hair around his finger, "I promise you that."
"Okay," she nodded, closing her eyes. "Thank you. And, I do know that, Jake. I do." Heather covered her mouth with one hand, shaking her head. "But I'm not gonna say it," she decided. "Not this time."
"Not gonna say what?" Jake chuckled, his tone puzzled.
"It," Heather repeated, her eyes opening. "Sorry," she apologized, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. "But I'm not jinxing anything."
"Come back in one piece?" he guessed after a few seconds' contemplation. "Is that it?" Heather nodded, and Jake gave into the urge to kiss her in return. "'Cause that's the goal, babe. That's the goal."
"Good," she agreed, laying one hand on his chest, over his heart. "And, when you get home," Heather reminded, her fingers curling in the soft cotton fabric of his t-shirt, "Clean sheets."
He laughed softly. "Clean sheets will be good. I love you," he murmured a beat later. "And you," he added, his hands splayed across Heather's abdomen and the swell of their baby nestled within her. Jake kissed her then, his hands coming up to cup her face. The kiss started off slowly, lazily, but then grew more urgent. Jake dropped his hands, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Their kiss deepened as they both poured all of their love, all of their affection, all of their trust, and also, all of their fear into one another.
"I better get the coats," he decided, letting out an unsteady breath a few moments later. "Before they send a search party," Jake joked, kissing her on the forehead before finally taking a very definite step away.
"Get mine, too," Heather requested, following behind Jake as he moved toward the hall closet.
"Babe," he protested, frowning over his shoulder at her, "It's cold and there's no reason for you to come outside."
For a few seconds, Heather considered arguing the point, but ultimately decided it wasn't worth fighting about. "So you don't want me walking you to the car, huh?" she asked, allowing a soft sigh.
"No, but you can walk me to the door," Jake suggested, stepping out from behind the closet door. Grinning, he handed her his father's coat. "Kiss me goodbye."
"Hmm," she teased, folding the coat over her arm. "I'll have to think about that."
Jake groaned. "Fine," he muttered, holding up a navy blue parka for her to see. "This is Mike's, right?"
Heather nodded. Her brother and his friends had arrived in Jericho without winter coats, and so Gail had scoured the closets, locating every spare coat in the house, and had then presented them to the young men and Kenchy Dhuwalia to choose from. Michael had selected an old parka that Eric had left behind when he'd moved in with Mary Bailey. "That's his."
Handing Heather Michael's coat, Jake found his own and then shut the closet door. After retrieving his backpack from the bottom step of the staircase where he'd left it earlier, Jake offered his hand to Heather and led her back toward the kitchen. "So are we ready?" he asked as they re-entered the room.
"Here," Heather said, giving Johnston his coat. "And here," she continued, grinning at her brother as she handed him his. "Jake doesn't want me to go outside, so I have to hug you here," she informed him as he pulled the parka on. Heather held her arms open and Michael stepped into them, embracing her in return. She kissed him on the cheek. "Be good," she ordered.
"Yes, Miss Bossy Heather," Michael laughed, giving her one last squeeze.
Rolling her eyes, Heather took two steps sideways, moving into her father-in-law's arms. "Good luck," she sighed, shaking her head.
"Don't worry 'bout me, darlin'," Johnston chuckled, planting a kiss in her forehead. "I can handle this lot," he grumbled, eyeing Jake, Michael and even Dale over the top of Heather's head. "You just take care of that grandbaby of mine."
Extracting herself from Johnston's arms, Heather turned around, her sights set on Dale. "I have to hug you, too," she told the surprised teenager, watching out the corner of her eye as Gail and Jake exchanged a fierce embrace. "Sorry," she smiled, her tone totally unrepentant, "But I have to."
A sour look flashed across Skylar's face as Dale dropped her hand, stepping forward to hug Heather quickly, and in the end, awkwardly. "You be careful, Dale, okay?" Heather requested.
"Okay, Mrs. Green," he agreed, expelling an anxious breath. He stepped back and found Skylar's hand without looking, clutching it tightly in his own.
"So you're really not gonna kiss me goodbye, huh?" Jake asked, his tone teasing, as Heather approached him, Gail slipping by her and out of their way.
"Hmm," she said, pretending to contemplate the question before deciding, "Guess I will." She stepped in front of him them, brushing her lips over his, leaning for a moment into the shelter of his body.
Behind them, they heard Johnston say, "It's just a shopping trip, sweetie." Heather turned around, Jake wrapping one arm around her shoulders, in time to see her father-in-law press a kiss to his wife's forehead and then her lips. "We'll be home before you know it."
After that, there was another flurry of hugs as the men moved toward the door. Heather kissed Jake one more time, a chaste kiss, though it still felt urgent to them both. She watched, too, as Gail pulled Johnston to a stop so she could kiss him one more time. Dale and Skylar exchanged a parting kiss as well, Skylar's enthusiasm raising eyebrows around the kitchen. At the last moment, Gail remembered the food she was sending with them and bundled the small cooler and the thermos of coffee into Michael's arms.
And then they were gone.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
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