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Different Circumstances: Part 12D
by Marzee Doats



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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

Russell pointed them back toward the center of the fairgrounds, telling them that his contact for 'specialty items' operated out of one of the old administration buildings.  "There's a red cross outside," he told them.  "Guess it's the old first aid station, the place where they used to take the lost kids."

"You come here a lot?" Jake asked.  "I mean, you seem to know who to go to."

"Every coupl'a weeks," Russell shrugged.  "This is the first time we've brought Mindy," he confided, lowering his voice so only Jake could make him out.  "The boss insisted, and she wanted to come.  But I'll see if I can talk her outta comin' next time."

Mindy kissed Ted on the cheek and let go of his arm.  She turned around, smiling at the other three as she slipped between Jake and Russell to walk with them.  Squeezed out - on the narrow, winding path and with the crowd around them there was no way they could walk four abreast - Michael jogged forward, falling into step beside Ted.  "Sorry," Mindy apologized to his back.  "And it was definitely the Macarena," she decided.

"The Macarena, the Electric Slide, and the Chicken Dance," Michael informed her, looking over his shoulder.  He glanced at Ted.  "Just so you know, she's got a thing for champagne."

"Champagne, huh?" Ted asked, grinning over his shoulder at Mindy.  "I can still get my hands on champagne," he teased.

"Uh uh," Mindy countered, chuckling.  "We're holdin' the alcohol in reserve.  And you," she continued, glaring softly at Michael, "It's all starting to come back to me now, and as I recall, you weren't turnin' it down either."

Jake shook his head.  Admittedly, his recollections of his wedding day hardly included Michael - who'd been a groomsman - let alone Mindy, but he was pretty sure he would have noticed the two of them ... getting friendly.  "I don't remember any of this," he informed them, his tone skeptical.

"That's because you guys were already long gone.  Headed for the big, secret honeymoon," Mindy teased before giving into a sigh.  "So, how's Heather?  How's everybody?" she demanded with her next breath.  "What's been happening?"

"Well let's see, a coupl'a months ago I was out on route forty, and I saw a mushroom cloud, somewhere in the vicinity of Denver, in the rearview mirror," Jake returned sourly.  "So, pretty much same as everywhere."

"Jake," Mindy admonished, frowning at him. 

"This way," Ted directed, looking over his shoulder to flash a grin at Mindy before leading them around a set of neglected benches and then behind a concession stand, the marquee still advertising corn dogs, cotton candy and funnel cakes.

"Sorry," Jake mumbled, throwing Mindy a guilty look as she stepped passed him, to follow Russell, single file, through the narrow alley that ran behind the snack bar.  "Heather's good," he offered with a shrug.  "She's, uh -"  He broke off, watching as Michael, Ted and Russell paused at the end of lane to wait for him and Mindy.  Jake decided he'd save some of his news for later.  "She's working with some of the engineers from the mine, tryin' to build windmills for electricity," he told her as they reached the other three.  "That's why we're here," he added with a nod at his brother-in-law.  "Plus, Dale's hoping to trade for food.  He's running the market now."

"Little Dale Turner?" Mindy repeated, her forehead wrinkling with confusion.  "How'd that happen?"

"Long story," Jake muttered.  "Which way now?"

"Through there," Ted said pointing them onto a wider path.  "Now, I would've figured Jericho's set for food," he challenged, "All that good farmland around town."

There was a resentful note in Ted's voice that made the hair on the back of Jake's neck stand on end and put him immediately on guard.  "It's not easy anywhere these days," he answered brusquely.  "And that includes Jericho."

"Sure, man,"' Ted shrugged, his tone conciliatory.  "I just meant that ....  Well, I mean that in New Bern we'd really be hurtin' if it weren't for the aid drop we got a few weeks back."

"Jericho got one, too," Michael supplied.  "And we needed it.  Food, medical supplies, a generator.  All air dropped courtesy of the People's Republic of China."

"Ours - ours was from Germany," Mindy told Jake.  "There was even Nutella.  I took a jar for myself when they brought everything to the warehouse," she confessed, her expression turning sheepish.  "We split it," she said with a nod at Ted, "Ate it all in one night. Didn't feel too good the next day, but it was still totally worth it."

"The aid must be coming in from all over the world," Michael murmured.

"Well, if aid's coming in from all over the world, who did this to us?" Mindy asked, looking between Russell and Jake as she again fell into step with them.

Russell snorted.  "That's the question, isn't it?  And it's not the only one, either."  He glanced at Jake over Mindy's head.  "You know, we had the feds come a couple weeks back.  Guys claiming to be government contractors, anyway," he muttered, watching Jake closely for his reaction; Jake returned his stare, sucking a quiet breath in through his teeth.  "So the mayor thought we should make security a priority," Russell continued, "Resigned his office, and appointed Sheriff Constantino the acting city manager."

"Phil Constantino?" Jake inquired, the bad feeling he'd had over Russell's mention of government contractors momentarily supplanted by surprise.  "He's a friend of my father's," he explained, "They like to fish.  He and his wife came to our wedding."  Jake didn't bother explaining that, as a politician, Johnston Green had had a lot of 'friends', political allies and officials from all levels of government in western Kansas.  A whole block of these friends had been present at both Eric's and April's wedding, and then a year later, at his and Heather's.  Though they were associates of Johnston's, it had been Gail who had put Phil Constantino and the others on the guest list - and Heather who had talked Jake into going along with it when he'd discovered the additions quite after the fact.

"Probably didn't do the Macarena," Russell replied drily. 

Jake smirked in return.  He wasn't so sure about Ted, especially not as a boyfriend for Mindy, but he was starting to warm up to Russell.  "No, probably not."

"He was at your wedding?" Mindy interjected, her expression the picture of surprise.  "I don't remember that at all."

"Sounds like you were busy with other things," Jake reminded, rolling his eyes.

"Your name's Green?" Russell remembered then, frowning softly, "And your father's a friend of Constantino's?  Johnston Green, Jericho's mayor?"

"Yeah, well Dad's not mayor anymore," Jake muttered, his expression clouding.

"What?" Mindy gasped out, her mouth hanging open.  "Since when?" she demanded, grabbing Jake's arm.  She halted in place, dragging him to a stop as well.  "What happened?"

"That's another long story," Jake answered.  "Gray Anderson won the election by thirty some votes.  Nothin' to do.  It's still a democracy."  He looked at Russell, meeting the other man's frown with a frown.  "So, these contractors," he asked as they started to move forward again.  "Who were they?"

"Security detail from a company called Ravenwood."

Jake forced himself to not react visibly, though his stomach clenched as Russell confirmed his suspicions.  A bitter taste pervaded his mouth, and his ears rang with the memory of Gray Anderson's words on that fateful day when the citizens of Jericho had faced the threat of Ravenwood, and somehow, had achieved a victory of sorts.  "Not before they pass New Bern," Gray had countered when Eric had argued that blowing up the Tacoma Bridge would buy them nothing, and that Ravenwood would just come at Jericho from another direction.  "Or some other town," Gray had added before declaring, "Better them than us."  At the time, Jake had agreed - mostly - with Gray.  They could only protect themselves - only worry about themselves - but even then he'd hoped that Ravenwood would go anywhere else but New Bern.  That moment had been one of the few times since the bombs when he had thought of Mindy and worried for her safety.  Now Jake couldn't help but think that, in a way, they had cursed New Bern with Ravenwood.

"They came in looking for supplies," Russell continued.  The lane they were on widened and straightened as three secondary paths all came together at one spot.  Russell increased his pace and pulled a few steps ahead of Jake and Mindy, addressing them over his shoulder.   "A few of the shop owners resisted, and they got violent."

"Killed three and injured eight," Ted added, "Then drove off with a truckload of our diesel."

"But since then, Constantino's managed to take control of things," Russell explained, continuing the tag-team effort.  "Crime really isn't a problem for us anymore."

Surprise and suspicion fought for dominance in Jake's mind as he forced himself to tear his gaze away from Mindy who, flashing him a quick smile, moved forward to join Ted again.  Jake knew it wouldn't do to betray his hand here; it was obvious Russell - and to a lesser extent, Ted - were playing close to the vest.  Somehow he managed an achingly neutral look and, trying to keep his interest in the answer out of his voice, questioned, "How'd he manage that?" 

Their party stopped again - suddenly - no one answering Jake.  He looked around, following the path of Russell's gaze.  "What is this?" Jake asked quietly, taking in the scaffolding that had been built up around the water tower at the center of the fairgrounds.  A man was up on a ladder, some twelve or more feet above them, armed with a permanent marker and writing information out on long sheets of butcher paper which he pulled down from rolls mounted on a plywood board.  

Russell expelled a breath, trying to disguise a soft chuckle.  "The news," he informed Jake, smirking.

Jake nodded, not speaking as he looked everywhere, trying to take it all in.  He read, the words and phrases passing through his mind, but after two and a half months in a virtual news deficit, it was hard to process.  'Northwest Power Grid beyond repair' he saw, 'P.M. Clements brings neutrality to a vote'.  Was Clements Canada or the U.K., Jake wondered, unsure if he'd ever known the answer.  And, where was Clements bringing something -anything - to a vote?  The U.N.?  In New York?  Maybe NATO?  The EU?   And, what was there to be neutral about?   The headlines continued: 'Cheyenne nears accord with Sacramento', 'Jennings & Rall',  'worst winter in decades', 'I-70 attack', 'Beijing vows to continue aid'. 

"Where did all this come from?" Jake demanded, unable to take his eyes off the board.  'Mosque burnings', 'Florida', 'Senator Tomarchio', 'Posse Comitatus', 'Chicago-Camp West', the news continued, and none of it looked good.

"People pass through here from all over," Russell explained, shrugging.  "Everyone brings a little piece of the puzzle."

Not bothering to acknowledge the other man, Jake moved toward his brother-in-law, slipping off his backpack as he went.  Digging around inside the bag, he found the spiral notebook and extracted it, presenting it to Michael.  "You think you can get this all down?"

"Guess so," Michael agreed, "You can't?  Your hand broken all of a sudden?"

This earned an appreciative laugh from Mindy, standing a few feet away.  "What?" she asked, smiling sweetly at Jake when he shot her an exasperated look.

"I could, but you've got that perfect Lisinski, 'we were all tortured by nuns with rulers', Catholic school handwriting," Jake snorted, returning his attention to his brother-in-law.  "You take the notes, somebody else might actually be able to read it when we get home."

Michael accepted the notebook, pulling the mechanical pencil loose before flipping it open.   A chunk of pages had been torn out, he noted, leaving only clean, blank sheets.  "You actually thought to bring this with you?  Or did Heather -"

"Heather," Jake admitted, allowing a sigh.  "What can I say?  Your sister loves me," he reminded, clapping Michael on the shoulder.

Russell came up on Jake's other side and, crossing his arms casually over his chest, glanced over at Jake, asking, "You guys don't get out much, do you?  Well, c'mon," he ordered, looking back over his shoulder, already walking away.  "It gets better."

He led Jake around the scaffolding to the back side where a chalkboard had been painted with listings of 'In Demand' items - Jake noted that, luckily for Jericho, salt was listed - and 'Red Flag' and 'Yellow Flag' routes in four states.  Above this hung a map of the United States, drawn onto what looked like an old bed sheet.  Red dots, Jake realized, marked bomb locations some of which were news to him.  "What are the stars for?" he inquired, studying the map.

"Capitals," Russell answered easily.

"Of what?" Jake returned, his stomach tightening once more as he looked at his companion.  He was suspicious of the map - what it meant - and he was suspicious of Russell, who suddenly seemed to be enjoying himself.

"The federal government."

"Federal government?" Jake repeated, continuing to study the other man.  Russell looked like he was waiting for Jake to get the punch line of a joke.  "But there's six stars up there," he argued, shaking his head as he tried to clear it of all the frightening possibilities that were starting to occur to him.  "Where's the president?" he demanded, an apprehensive note creeping into his tone.

Russell's smile turned grim, and he answered Jake's question with a question.  "Which one?"

Michael came around the side of the makeshift news tower then, frowning absently as he read over his notes.  Mindy, holding onto Ted's hand and dragging him along with her, followed behind.  Finally looking up, Michael noticed the chalkboard and then the map above it.  "Great," he complained, flipping to a new page in the notebook, "There's more."

"Six presidents," Jake mumbled.  He stared at the map for a second, and then took a step toward it, as if a closer view would help clear things up.  "I don't understand.  Who's in charge of the military?" he questioned.  "We saw - we saw ICBMs launched from silos in Wyoming back in October.  The night - the night of the EMP.  Somebody had to order that," Jake insisted.  "The president has to order that," he insisted.

"You're assuming there's only one of those, too," Russell muttered.

"Wait a minute," Mindy interrupted, her brow furrowing.  "Isn't there a line of succession?" she asked, glancing back and forth between Jake and Russell.  "So that there's only one successor?"

"HHS Secretary Charles is supposed to be next in line," Michael said, looking up from his transcription duties.  "I was in med school in Connecticut when the bombs went off," he explained with a shrug, having spotted Russell's questioning look.  "We were about to be conscripted, as medics, into the National Guard on Charles' orders before a couple of friends and I decided it was time to pay my sister a visit."

Russell let out a low whistle.  "And you made it all the way from Connecticut to Kansas?"  Michael, continuing to copy, nodded.  "So Charles is in Ohio for sure?" Russell questioned.  "Far as I've heard, that's still unconfirmed."

"They read some proclamation out loud," Michael replied, "Didn't even bother posting it.  But they said it was direct out of Columbus, 'the emergency powers capital of the United States of America'," he quoted.  "And they said it was signed by President Charles."

"Huh," Russell acknowledged, rubbing his chin with the side of his hand.  "Well, there are still five other guys who seem to think the attacks changes the rules.  Senator Morrisette in Oregon, Senator Tomarchio in Wyoming, they're all staking a claim," he explained.  "Gathering support."

"So what happens when they figure out who's in charge?" Mindy wanted to know, leaning back into Ted's embrace.

"They start making deals," he told her, pressing a kiss to the back of her head.  "Compromise."

"Or?" she persisted, twisting around to look him in the eye.

Somehow though, it fell to Jake to answer.  "Or they fight," he muttered.

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

Wednesday, December 12, five years before the bombs

"Well, that was pretty good," April decided, still applauding as the curtain was pulled closed and the house lights came up, signaling the end of the first half of the play.  She glanced to her right, smiling at her brother-in-law.  "Heather's done a great job, and they're all so cute."

"And, I'm pretty sure Dale didn't forget any of his lines tonight," Jake replied, motioning April and Eric, who was sitting on the other side of his wife, out of their chairs.  "C'mon.  There're refreshments for sale outside," he explained, "Hot chocolate and cider, plus cookies from McBee's at only a hundred percent mark-up.  But the money all goes to the PTA's field trip fund, so I guess that's okay."

"How can it be a hundred percent mark-up?" Eric asked, reaching for April's hand as he followed her out of their row.  "Mom said they were donated, and a hundred percent of nothin' is nothin'," he argued.

"It's a hundred percent mark-up from what you pay in the bakery, okay?" Jake grumbled, looking back over his shoulder at his brother and rolling his eyes.  Reaching the end of the row, he turned, smiling at his sister-in-law as she exited.  "Buy you a cookie, April?" Jake offered before telling Eric, "You're on your own."

April moved next to her husband and threaded her arm through his, smiling up at him expectantly.  Eric gave her a quick kiss and then looked at his brother, glaring benignly.  "You stick to buying your girlfriend cookies, and leave my wife alone."

"But I do get a cookie, right?" April inquired, chuckling and leaning against Eric's arm. 

"I'll buy you two if you want," he promised, pulling his arm free from hers so he could drape it across her shoulders.  "And, some hot chocolate."

April grinned at Eric.  "Big spender," she teased.

"C'mon," Jake directed, starting toward the exit out into the school's main hallway where the refreshments tables were set up. 

"You know, I wasn't gonna say anything," April sighed, glancing sideways at Jake as she and Eric fell into step beside him, "But I have to say it.  Did you ever - even once - go to a school play when you were a student here?  Or at the high school?"

"Yeah, of course," Jake returned, his tone bordering on defensive. "Mom made me," he grumbled, "'Cause Eric was always in the plays.  And, the musical, every spring."

"I remember you in the spring musical," April told her husband, reaching up to pat the hand he was resting on her shoulder.  "You were the Prince in Once Upon a Mattress," she smiled.

"Prince Dauntless the Drab, at your service, Princess April," Eric assured, kissing her again.

Jake groaned.  "C'mon already." 

Out in the hallway, they got into line to purchase their refreshments.  Eric stood behind April, arms wrapped around her, both of them facing his brother.  "So, which night was the best night?" April asked, grinning at Jake.  "Tonight?  When you came with Gramps?  Or when you came with Mom and Dad?"

"I dunno," Jake shrugged, "It's a school play."

"You know he's only here - every night - 'cause of Heather," Eric reminded April, kissing her ear.  "He's probably not even paying attention."

"Of course he is," April argued, as they all moved forward, following the line. "Because Heather's gonna ask what he thought, and he has to tell her.  So, so far, what do you think?"

Jake was saved from having to answer by Mrs. McVeigh who, spotting him from the other end of the hall, called out his name and hurried over.  "Jake!" she gasped out, "Here you are!  Where did you put the flowers?" she inquired, inhaling deeply.  "I can't find them."

"Mrs. C. put them in the first fridge, right when you walk in the kitchen, the one with all the milk cartons," he explained, frowning.  "You didn't see 'em in there?  A dozen red and white roses."

"I thought Harriett meant the refrigerator in the teachers' lounge," Mrs. McVeigh groaned, shaking her head.  "Though the kitchen makes much more sense," she declared, offering them all a relieved smile.  "Sometimes, I'm just tempted to roll the teachers' lounge fridge down to the science lab and let the eighth grade spend the semester investigating the contents," she confided, chuckling.

"You got Heather flowers, huh?" April asked, flashing a smile at Jake before fixing her husband with a pointed look.  "You might wanna take a lesson from your brother," she informed him.  "I just can't remember the last time someone gave me flowers," she added with an exaggerated sigh.

"Well, we're married," Eric teased.  "Jake's still workin' on Heather, but I've already got you."

April elbowed him in the stomach for that, inquiring, "Oh really?"  Eric grunted, letting go of her.  She took a half step forward and looked up and back at him, smiling sweetly.  "Sorry.  Slipped."

"Eric Green!" Mrs. McVeigh exclaimed, shaking a scolding finger at him.  "I should call your mother," she threatened with a chuckle.

"Oh!  Please do!" April requested, giggling.  "Mom'll straighten him out."

"I'm gonna," the principal decided.  "I can't imagine Gail Green standing for this at all," she said, her hands on her hips as she fixed Eric with a disapproving stare, before giving up the pretense and joining April in her laughter.

"Here's a tip, Eric," Jake drawled, "Mom likes flowers, too.  And - another tip - they've got these shops now, called florists -"

"Okay, okay," Eric grumbled as he reached for his wife's hand.  "What kind of flowers do you want?"

"I'm not answering that," April declared, allowing Eric to pull her back into his embrace. "But I will say this: listen to your brother," she told him, twisting around to kiss him on the chin.  "He's givin' you good advice."

"Well, I'm sure there's something I should be doing as principal," Mrs. McVeigh sighed, smiling at the newlyweds.  "I know where the flowers are," she added, speaking mostly to herself, "And I'll have one of the kids present them to Heather at the end of the curtain call," she said, already turning away.

"Just as long as it's not Jason Cale," Jake joked. 

Mrs. McVeigh stopped mid-step and whipped back around, facing Jake with a confused frown.  "I was actually thinking Jason Cale.  He's playing Tiny Tim, and he's in Heather's class," she reminded.

"Yeah, and the kid has a crush on Heather.  Writes her love notes," Jake chuckled in complaint.  "I don't want him gettin' any credit for my roses."

"Good evening, Greens," Clyde Davis greeted as he, along with his wife, Shannon, moved into line behind Eric and April.  "Now Jake," he continued without pausing, "I was sure I was imagining things - but Shannon tells me I'm not," Clyde grinned, nodding at his wife.  "You've been here every night this week.  I shoulda tapped you to write the review for The Record."

"Lindsay!" Mrs. McVeigh declared, clapping her hands together.  "Excuse me, Clyde," she requested with a quick glance in his direction.  "Lindsay can present the flowers to Heather along with Jason," she suggested to Jake, naming the Davises' youngest child and only daughter.  "She's the other student in Heather's class with a speaking part.  It'll be sweet."

"I can live with that," Jake agreed, laughing quietly.  "And thanks for taking care of this," he added, flashing a smile in her direction.

"Good," Mrs. McVeigh exhaled in relief, adding, "And, thank you.  I should have known the PTA was going to fall down on this one," the principal grumbled, rolling her eyes.  "Now, if you'll all please excuse me," she requested over her shoulder, already heading off to handle her next errand.

"You don't want Jake writing that review, Mr. Davis," April laughed.  "I used to check his English homework.  Trust me on this."

Jake grunted softly, rolling his eyes.  "Yeah, well, your math homework wasn't a lotta fun to go through either."

Chuckling along with everyone else, Shannon Davis patted her husband on the arm.  "Clyde, I told you that Jake is dating Miss Lisinski," she reminded.  "And she's directing the play, so that's why he's here."

"Exactly," Eric snickered.

"That's right," Clyde nodded, giving Jake an appraising look.  "You did tell me that," he acknowledged as he reached for Shannon's hand.  "I may run the paper but I wouldn't know half of what's goin' on in town without Shannon," he confided to April.  "I'd be lost without her."

At first glance, the Davises were certainly mismatched.  To begin, there was the thirteen year age difference between them, one that had set the Jericho grapevine all atwitter when, fifteen years earlier, thirty-seven year old perpetual bachelor Clyde had gotten it into his head to romance twenty-four year old Shannon Bretton while she'd been home for a few months to help her mother after surgery and to do some research for her master's thesis.   Add to that, the fact that Clyde, while not unattractive, had never been considered handsome, and had always carried at least an extra ten pounds on his stocky frame.  Shannon on the other hand, was a reputed local beauty, and had even been elected prom queen in high school.  But they had worked together at The Jericho Record when Shannon had been a student reporter and Clyde had just taken over as editor, and they had become good - if improbable - friends during those years, infamous for their running debates conducted in the newspaper offices and anywhere else in Jericho that they both had happened to be.

"We're intellectual equals," Shannon was rumored to have told her mother when Eloise Bretton had asked her if she was really going to marry Clyde Davis, "And he's the kindest person I've ever met."  So four months after Shannon had dropped by the farm equipment showroom where Clyde worked at his paying job - just to say 'hi' -   and had somehow ended up agreeing to meet him the next night for dinner at Roma Italia, they had been married.  Fifteen years and three children later they were going strong, still obviously happy to be together.  So if some on the Jericho grapevine claimed to have known from the beginning that Shannon and Clyde were meant for one another, while those with better memories chose not to challenge these assertions, who did it hurt?  Certainly not the Davises.

"I understand," April answered Clyde though she was watching her husband.  "And, thankfully, my mother-in-law keeps me in the loop for all the good gossip," she laughed, smiling at Eric.

"Your mother-in-law is one of my best sources," Shannon interjected, chuckling as they all took two steps forward, following the line.  "Actually, I talked to her last night.  Three very informative minutes," she declared, though she didn't bother to elaborate.  "Of course, it was Gracie Leigh who told me you were dating Miss Lisinski," she explained to Jake.  "Though, she might have thought she was warning me, since Miss Lisinski is Lindsay's teacher," Shannon added, rolling her eyes.

"You try to steal some Reese's when you're seven, and you're branded for life," Jake grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.  Everyone laughed in appreciation.

"Doesn't seem fair, does it?" Clyde agreed.  "Shoplifting candy from Gracie Leigh's is practically a rite of passage when you grow up in Jericho. For me it was Hershey's with Almonds," he admitted a beat later.  "Of course, when I was a kid it was still just Leigh's Market, and it was Mr. Leigh who caught me."

"Charleston Chew," Shannon chuckled.  "Strawberry.  And let's see, when Gracie caught Brett it was a Three Musketeers, and with Zack, Rolos."


"Mars Bar," Eric admitted, resting his chin on his wife's shoulder.  "But I only did it because Jake and Stanley dared me."

April reached back, patting him on the cheek.  "A likely story, Ricky," she teased.  "Though we all know that Jake's a bad influence and people should be warned that he's dating Heather," April laughed softly, throwing her brother-in-law a sympathetic look.  "Now, since I didn't go through this Jericho rite of passage, I have to ask.  Does anyone ever actually get away with it?"

The other four were all silent as they contemplated the question, each frowning softly.  "Uh, I don't think I know anybody," Eric answered.  "What about you, Jake?" he inquired, catching his brother's eye.

"You gotta be kidding," Jake snorted.  "Anybody who pulled that off would be legend."

"I think you've got your answer," Shannon smiled at April.  "I've only heard of people getting caught, not anybody getting away with it."

"But you never know," Clyde reasoned, "I mean Lindsay hasn't been caught, so maybe..." he shrugged.  "You never know."

The line moved ahead again, and Jake was called up to the table by a girl he was almost certain had been in the group the Richmonds had been trick-or-treating with on Halloween.  He looked over the cookies that were left and placed his order, still keeping half an ear on the Davises' conversation.

"Lindsay hasn't stolen any candy from Gracie's," Shannon argued, clearly shocked by her husband's suggestion.  "That's ridiculous.  She's a good girl, and I'm her mother, I would know."

"She wouldn't tell us," Clyde chortled.  He glanced at Eric and then at Jake's back.  "Your parents know half the trouble you two got into as kids?"

"Don't think so," Eric answered for them both.  "Jake knows how to tell a good story.  Convincing.  Course, with Dad, you never know," he laughed, "He might know everything, and just not let on."

"He doesn't know everything," Jake grumbled, looking back over his shoulder for a second as he dug money out of his wallet to pay for his refreshments.

"Well, now you've got me worried that our daughter's a - a criminal mastermind," Shannon complained, frowning at her husband. 

"I don't think lifting a candy bar from the market is quite in the realm of criminal mastermind," Clyde replied.  "And, I didn't say she had, just that she's never been caught, so it's possible," he grinned. 

Shannon's frown grew, and she gave into the urge to slap him harmlessly on the arm.  "I can't believe you'd think that about your own child.  And, you like the idea!" she accused.

"It's an interesting possibility, that's all," Clyde shrugged. 

"Don't worry, Mrs. Davis," Eric consoled, laughing softly.  "If Jake can get into all the trouble he did as a kid and grow up to be in law enforcement, I'm sure there's still hope for Lindsay."

"Speaking of that," Clyde said, clearing his throat, his tone suddenly serious.  "I realize you're under that gag order, and this is completely off the record of course, but things are proceeding okay?" he asked Jake as the younger man completed his transaction and turned around to face the rest of them.

"Well, she'd tell her brothers even if she didn't tell us," Shannon reasoned, talking mostly to herself.  There wasn't even a full four years between Brett, the oldest of the Davis children, and Lindsay, the youngest, and the three children were quite close.  "I'll just ask the boys."

"Things are proceeding," Jake agreed, stepping out of the way to let April and Eric move past him.  "That's - that's all I can say," he reminded, and Clyde nodded his understanding.

"Hungry, Jake?" April asked, staring at the two big cookies, wrapped in a napkin, that he held in his left hand.  In his right, he held a Styrofoam cup of something that was still hot enough to give off steam.

"Takin' Eric's advice," Jake shrugged, "Got a cookie for Heather.  I'll see you back inside," he finished, already turning away.

"You can't - you're not allowed to go backstage!" Eric protested.  "Cast and crew only!"

Glancing back, Jake offered them all a grin.  "We'll see about that," he tossed off before starting toward the multipurpose room and - more importantly - the stage door.  From behind, he heard his brother call out one last dire warning against his plan.  Chuckling to himself, Jake paused for a second to take a sip of the coffee he'd purchased, mostly to make it easier to walk with.  The flavor was only so-so, but the girls working the refreshment stand had assured him it was caffeinated, which in the end, seemed to be Heather's only requirement.  Entering the multipurpose room through the open door, Jake skirted the crowd of parents and students standing around at the back, and made his way along the edge of the room to the stage door.  With both hands full, he was forced to take another sip of the coffee and then knock on the door with his elbow.  Getting no response, he tried it again.  Finally, the door opened a crack, two heads appearing in the space.

"Jake?" Bonnie Richmond greeted, almost whispering, and he was impressed as he always was that, somehow, Stanley had managed to teach her how to modulate her volume.  Of course, Jake supposed, it likely helped that Bonnie hadn't always been deaf; as a toddler, before the accident that had taken her parents' lives, she'd been quite the chatterbox. 

"Can I come in?" he asked, speaking softly and clearly so she could read his lips.  "I need to give something to Heather."

Bonnie and her companion - another girl Jake recognized from Halloween - were dressed head to toe in black, even down to the scrunchies that held their hair back in ponytails.  They both wore black Keds, too, and had apparently taken Sharpies to the rubber around the bottom to complete the look.  Shaking her head 'no', Bonnie hugged her neon pink clipboard to her chest like a shield.  There was sticker on the back of the board, labeling it, 'Property of Bonnie Richmond, Asst. Director', with little pink heart stickers as the dots over the three i's.  Jake recognized Heather's handwriting, and couldn't help but smile, knowing she had to have given the clipboard to Bonnie.  "You can't," the girl argued, "Cast and crew only."

"Just for a minute - a second, Bonnie," he wheedled, despite the fact that she couldn't hear his pleading tone.  "It'll be okay."

"No," she shook her head again.  "Miss Lisinski said," she informed him, eyeing the cookies in his left hand.

"She really did," the other girl - Jake was pretty sure her name was Alyssa - confirmed.  "'No visitors.'  It's what she said."

Jake looked down at the cookies as well.  He'd bought a peanut butter one for himself and an M&M cookie for Heather. He hadn't planned on needing a bribe, but he figured it was worth a shot.   "You let me in," he bargained, showing the two girls the cookies stacked together, the M&M one on top, "You can have a cookie.  To split."

"But Miss Lisinski said," Bonnie frowned, glancing to her friend for support.

"She did," Alyssa repeated, making a huffing noise.

"She really just said people's parents couldn't come back, right?" Jake asked after tapping Bonnie on the arm to make her look at him.  "I'm nobody's dad.   I just need to talk to Heather," he reasoned before reminding, "It's M&Ms."

Bonnie's expression was clearly conflicted, and she bit her lip as she looked back and forth between Jake's encouraging smile and the cookie in his hand.  "Okay?" she questioned, looking at Alyssa, who shrugged in answer.  "Okay," Bonnie decided finally, exhaling deeply as she reached for the cookie.  She held it in her hand, her clipboard tucked under her arm, and backed into the door, already breaking it in half.  "I better not get in trouble," Bonnie told Jake as he stepped, sideways, past her. 

"It'll be fine," Jake assured, looking back at Bonnie, who frowned in return and, after handing Alyssa her piece, took a big bite of the cookie.

Jake moved up the short staircase, careful not to spill the cup of coffee, and was once again confronted by a door. He balanced the remaining cookie on top of the cup, and then pulled the door open, stepping into the darkened backstage area.  There were two boys - the two that had helped build the counting house set - sitting inside the lighting cage and he spotted Heather, kneeling, surrounded by half her cast, working to reattach Bob Cratchit's beard with spirit gum.  The door clicked closed behind him and everyone turned to look.

"Jake," Heather stage whispered, surprise obvious in her tone.  "You're not supposed to be back here," she reminded, pressing the beard into place on the little boy's skin.  She removed her hand, breathing a sigh of relief when the fake hair stuck.  "I think you're good to go, Tyler," she smiled.

Duncan McNerny, dressed as Scrooge in nightshirt and cap, uttered a rather unspecific "C'mon," dispersing the gaggle of kids gathered around Heather.  In groups of two and three they moved away, murmuring quietly to themselves.  Duncan, who was actually an inch or two taller than Heather, grinned down at her.  "Five minutes, Miss Lisinski?" he inquired. 

"Yeah," she agreed, "Can you find Bonnie for me?"

Jake didn't bother with telling Duncan that she was out in the hallway, though he seemed to know, heading straight for the door.  "Hey," Jake grinned gently as Heather approached him.  "I brought you coffee," he said, holding the cup out to her. 

"Thank you," she sighed, stopping a good six inches from him.  Tucking her clipboard - neon green with a sticker across the back that said 'Miss Lisinski' - under her arm, Heather accepted the cup and took a sip, watching him over the rim.  "Jake, you're really not supposed to be back here," she reminded with a soft smile.

"I know," he acknowledged, studying her in the low light.  Jake had seen Heather earlier in the evening - he'd brought her dinner, Chinese food, which they'd split, sitting at the group work table in the back of her classroom - but that had been before she'd changed for the play.  She was dressed now in a knee-length black skirt and a red silk blouse with a v-neck that gave him a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage.  Her hair was up, too, pulled into a chignon knot, and while normally Jake preferred it down, he had to admit that it looked nice and afforded him a lovely view of her neck.  "I know," he repeated, clearing his throat.  "And, I'm not staying, I just wanted to say 'hi', and give you a cookie," he explained, inching closer.  "Well, half a cookie," he chuckled, breaking it in two.  He held out the slightly larger piece.  "Had to bribe Bonnie and her friend with your cookie to get back here," Jake admitted.

"I see."  Heather reached past his open hand and the half cookie he offered her, taking the smaller piece from his other hand.  "Thank you," she murmured, giving into a soft giggle.  "Glad to know that Bonnie at least has her price," she added, raising one eyebrow as she took her first bite of cookie.  "Especially when it comes to you," Heather continued, swallowing.  "I wouldn't have guessed that.  She really looks up to you."

"Me?" Jake questioned, honestly surprised.  "Bonnie's all about you, hangs on your every word.  'Miss Lisinski said.'  That's all she kept saying.  It's why I gave her the cookie," he admitted, looking around at the students giggling and talking quietly around them.  It was quite apparent they had an audience.  "Anyway...."

"Anyway," she grinned before letting out a deep sigh.  Looking around, Heather spotted an open place on the little desk she used backstage, and took the three steps toward it, depositing her clipboard and then her coffee cup and the remains of her cookie on top of it.  Jake watched her as she turned, smiling as she stepped back toward him, and then leaned into him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.  Around them, a rash of giggles went up.  Quietly, Heather joined her students in their laughter.  "Thank you for the cookie and the coffee," she whispered throatily, kissing him almost on the ear.  "But now, I'm kicking you out," she told him, pulling away though she took the time to find his hand with her own.  "'Cause you're really not supposed to be here," Heather chuckled, bumping her hip against his as they moved toward the door, dodging two first graders who were playing the Cratchit siblings.

"I'll see you after," Jake told her squeezing her fingers and then surprising her by brushing his lips across hers in a chaste kiss.  The noise level behind them rose again, and he shook his head.  "Break a leg," he told Heather, grinning.  "Not literally."

"Okay," she smiled in return, opening the door.  Bonnie and Duncan came in, and Jake dropped Heather's hand, slipping past the two students and out the door.  Heather closed it behind him, leaning against it for a second as she faced her cast.  "Okay," she repeated, letting out a deep breath.  "Time for act two."

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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

"You look nice," Heather declared, glancing up from her book to offer her mother-in-law a smile as she came into the living room.  "Are you wearing make-up?  You going somewhere?"

Gail, her expression distracted, nodded.  She'd changed out of her work clothes and into a periwinkle sweater paired with clean, almost brand new jeans, and she had her coat draped over her arm.  "Yes, I have an errand to run," Gail explained, "I - there's someone I need to speak with.  Downtown."

"You're ambitious," Heather laughed.  "All that laundry wore me out," she admitted, stretching both arms over her head.

It had taken just over two hours to wash six set of sheets, and the chore had left Heather's and Gail's hands pruney and numb from the cold water.  Before they had left for the day - Jeff to take a shift with the border patrol in Jake's absence, and Drake to walk Skylar to the market before swinging back by the house to pick up April and head for the clinic - Gail had tasked the two young men with stringing up extra clotheslines in the backyard so that everything could be put out to dry at once.  Gail and Heather, chatting as they'd enjoyed the chance to warm themselves in the late autumn sunshine, had taken a half hour to hang the laundry, and afterwards they'd shared a light lunch of squash and rice soup.  Now though, with nothing to do but wait for the sheets to dry, Heather was ready for a break.

"I'm feeling a bit lazy, so I think I'll just stay here in front of the fire and do my homework," she told her mother-in-law, holding up the book she was reading for Gail to see.  It was a copy of What to Expect When You're Expecting.  "It's the revised edition, though not exactly revised for current circumstances," Heather grumbled.

"No, I'd imagine not," Gail chuckled.  She was carrying a folded sheet of paper, which she set down on the coffee table so she could pull on her coat.  "And, I think you definitely deserve to be lazy for the afternoon," she sighed, picking up her piece of paper and tucking it into the pocket inside her coat.  Gail caught Heather eyeing her curiously, and smiled in return, folding her hands together.  "But if you could keep an eye on the sheets -"

"Consider it done," Heather promised.  "I actually do need to go see Mrs. McVeigh," she admitted a beat later.  Gail, who'd started to turn away, rotated back around.  "Margaret Taylor and Stephanie Hyde - plus, Stephanie's sister, actually - have asked me for some help with setting up a home school program for their kids," Heather explained, emitting a soft sigh as she propped the open book against her belly.  "I at least need to get permission from Mrs. McVeigh to issue textbooks out of the school bookroom, but I was thinking that maybe what we really need is to offer a running 'home school' clinic.  You know, once a week, whichever teachers are willing come in and -"

"Heather, sweetheart," Gail interrupted, shaking her head.  She flashed a concerned smile before letting out a long breath.  "Your to-do list is already so long," she cautioned her daughter-in-law.  "You're building windmills, raising chickens, planning next spring's vegetable garden," she listed off, concern and exasperation creeping into her tone.  "Getting ready for a baby," Gail reminded, her gaze settling pointedly on the mound of Heather's pregnancy. "And now you're going to add instituting a home schooling program on top of all that?  Priorities, remember?"

"I know, but somebody has to do it," Heather practically snapped, frowning at her mother-in-law.  "And I don't think any of the other teachers would be willing to head it up.  If I can get Donna Parker and Nancy Wharton just to help - and Mrs. McVeigh, hopefully - I'll be happy," she admitted.  "And I just - I just need to get it started," she rationalized, contradicting what she'd said just seconds earlier.  "And then, in a little bit, they can carry on without me."

"They sure better be able to carry on without you because in four months you're gonna have one project that takes all your time and energy," Gail chided, making a frustrated noise.  She saw Heather bristle, and recognized that she might have overstepped her boundaries before deciding that she really didn't care.  However, Gail decided, she would try to approach the situation with a little more tact.  "I know you know that, sweetheart," she murmured, her tone conciliatory.  "And, getting a home school program started is a great idea, but you need help."

"I know!" Heather repeated, obviously annoyed.  "But Margaret and Stephanie asked for my help, and - and I taught these kids," she argued.  "I can't - I can't just abandon them."

Forcing herself to let go of some of the aggravation she felt, Gail let out the breath she'd been holding.  She understood where Heather was coming from, but she still couldn't help but think that her daughter-in-law was taking way too much on.  "Would you take a friendly suggestion?" she asked softly, seating herself in the club chair next to Heather's.

"Sure," Heather murmured, some of the tension leaving her body as she slumped slightly in her chair.

"Maybe you could recruit some of the high school teachers.  Mr. Houghton, for example.    Maybe Emily," Gail recommended.

"Sorry," her daughter-in-law returned immediately, her jaw tight.  "But no way am I asking Emily Sullivan for anything."  She allowed an irritated noise, shaking her head vehemently.  "I know you like Emily," Heather muttered, "And, I know you're only trying to help," she continued, her hands dropping to cover her belly, "But I just can't."

They stared at one another for a long moment before Gail looked away first, sighing.  "Well, I didn't really think you'd go for it.  And, I'll admit that Emily was a little, shall we say, inappropriate?" she asked, earning an eye roll from Heather.  "She was definitely inappropriate at Thanksgiving."

"She sure was," Heather muttered. 

"I just don't understand why you're - why you feel threatened by Emily," Gail confessed, surprising both herself and Heather.  Gail had had the thought more than once over the years since Heather had come into her son's life, but she'd always managed to quash her curiosity, biting back the question.  "I mean, surely you don't -"

"Well, I'm sure it never occurred to April to feel threatened by Mary Bailey," Heather interrupted, "And we all know how that turned out."  She paused for a moment, her voice softening.  "But that's beside the point.  I trust Jake, and I'm not threatened by Emily," she argued.  "I just don't trust her any farther than I can throw her, and that's the way it is."

"I see," Gail murmured, allowing a resigned sigh.

"And you know what?" Heather inquired, frowning sourly.  "You don't want me taking on any more projects?  Well, I will happily turn down the gargantuan project of figuring out or befriending Emily Sullivan," she decided, her tone dripping with sarcasm.  "How's that?" she asked.

"Touché," Gail murmured, acknowledging both points with a nod.  She stood up and took a step toward her daughter-in-law, holding out her hand.  "Can I borrow your book?" she requested. 

"Okay," Heather agreed, her expression turning quizzical as she closed the book and handed it to mother-in-law.

"Let's see," Gail murmured, starting to leaf through the back of the book.  "'Doing too much'...."  She scanned a page of the index and shook her head.  "Well, they forgot to include that.  How 'bout 'learn - learning - to say no'," she suggested next, flipping forward a few pages.  "Not there either.  'Overdoing'?  Well, that also happens to be missing," Gail admitted with sigh.  "But 'stress' is here.  Pages one forty through one forty four.  And so is 'stress, extreme and premature birth'.  Page forty six," she read, looking up to meet her Heather's less than amused gaze.  "Maybe you should look up 'overbearing mother-in-law, how to handle'," Gail joked a few seconds later, offering a crooked smile that was highly reminiscent of her oldest son's grin.  "But it doesn't look like they address that either.  I just don't know what this revised edition is worth."

Heather couldn't help but smile in return.  "You're not overbearing," she conceded with a reluctant chuckle.  "And I get what you're saying, and I know - I know why you're saying it -"

"I'm saying it because, Heather, I love you like you were my own child," Gail interrupted gently.  "And not only because you're pregnant or because you're married to my son," she assured, handing Heather's book back to her.  "I care about what happens to you.  I worry."

"I have to keep busy," Heather argued, balancing the book on her knees.  "I have to do my part.  Besides, if I didn't," she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest, "I'd just think about all the things going on out there.  The - the things I can't control."  They both knew she was talking about Jake.  "And besides, April works way more than I do."

"Don't even try it, young lady," Gail ordered, affecting a scowl even as she allowed a soft laugh.  "I'll be gettin' after April, don't you worry.  And remember: I raised your husband.  I'm impervious to the 'but so-and-so' argument."

"Well, I guess you would be," Heather giggled, her smile widening. 

Gail stood up then, buttoning her coat.  "I better get going," she decided.  "But, I'll - I'll stop at Sandy's on my way home, see if she has time to come by," she offered.

"Thanks," Heather acknowledged, catching her mother-in-law's gaze.  "And, I'll keep my eye on the laundry.  If I start to feel ambitious, I'll even make some beds.  Besides my own," she clarified with a shrug.

"Sweetheart, having ambition has never been a problem where you're concerned," Gail replied, exhaling deeply.  "And I say that as someone who has always admired that quality in you, along with many others."

Catching her lip between her teeth, Heather nodded.  "I know, Mom.  And I - I get it.  I really do."

"Good," Gail replied, taking a deep, head clearing breath.  "I'll be home in an hour or so," she promised.  "Two, tops."

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

Wednesday, December 12, five years before the bombs

Jake hung back with April and Eric, grinning as he watched a parade of parents and students file by to offer Heather their thanks and congratulations.  Blushing, she thanked them in return, heaping compliments on the cast and crew.  "She did good," April murmured, glancing sideways at her brother-in-law.

"She did great," he countered, nodding.  Heather glanced in his direction, their eyes locking for just a moment.  She hefted the bouquet of roses higher against her shoulder and smiled, chuckling at something Shep Cale - Jason's father - said.  More parents trooped by, and finally, she was free.  "Congratulations, babe," Jake greeted as he joined her, pressing a kiss to her cheek.  "You did great."

"And, it's done," Heather replied, offering a relieved smile.  "Thank you," she added, finding his hand with her free one, squeezing his fingers.  "And, thank you for the roses."  Leaning close, she added, whispering, "And for your note.  Loved stick figure Jake with his stick figure bouquet."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged.

"Nice job, madam director," April interjected, stealing Heather's attention from Jake.  "The kids were so cute."

"It was a great production, Heather," Eric added, stopping behind his wife and wrapping an arm around waist.  "Good sets, good costuming, nice pacing."  He lowered his voice then, chuckling.  "And who knew Duncan McNerny could act?"

"That's what Gramps said when he came the first night," Heather laughed.

"Well, he missed out," Jake told Heather, snaking an arm around her waist, his hand coming to rest on her hip.  "It got better every night, and tonight was the best."

Heather glanced sideways, beaming at Jake.  "It was, wasn't it?" she declared.  "I mean, I thought it was a good show all along, but it really came together tonight."

"Yep," Jake nodded, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose.

"Your flowers are gorgeous," April told Heather, smiling widely.  She threw Eric a quick glance and continued.  "I was a little bit jealous when all I knew was that they existed, and now when I see 'em -"

"Okay, so you want me to get you red and white roses?" Eric grumbled, kissing her ear.

"Do you know how long it's been since he gave me flowers?" April demanded, rolling her eyes.

"Well then, she wants red roses," Heather informed Eric with a giggle.  "Red roses are romantic.  They say 'I love you' and I'm passionate about you," she explained.  "Of course, they can also mean courage and beauty and sincerity," Heather continued, counting off the meanings on the fingers of one hand.  "Now, white roses symbolize truth and innocence.  They can also say 'I miss you'.  And then together, red and white roses mean unity, so that's good, too," she sighed, letting her head rest against Jake's arm momentarily.  "But April definitely wants red roses, Eric.  I guarantee it." 

"Yeah, she's right," April chuckled, leaning farther back into her husband's arms.  She craned her head around so they could exchange a quick kiss.  "Definitely red."

"But I absolutely love my red and my white roses," Heather emphasized, glancing at Jake.  She twisted around and, standing on tiptoe, brushed her mouth over his.  "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he murmured.  "I - uh - I didn't know the meanings and everything.  The girl at the shop - the Edgars' daughter, I guess - she just said that it would be Christmassy," Jake shrugged. 

"That's okay," Heather assured with a smile.  "I still love 'em," she declared, looking down at the bouquet in her arms. 

"Of course it's okay," April joked, rolling her eyes.  "At least you got roses."

"True," Heather confirmed, giggling.  "And, all that stuff about the meaning of roses, I only know it because I was on the Quiz Bowl team in high school," she admitted, her eyes on Jake.  "Plus, I've always wanted to be on Jeopardy.  It's one of my life goals."

He laughed.  "Yeah, I'd kinda figured that out," he grinned.

"Go for Who Wants to Be a Millionaire," Eric advised.  "Bigger payout."

Before Heather could respond, Mrs. McVeigh called out her name, waving her over to where she stood with the Stevenses.  "I better go," she decided.  "Especially since Mrs. Stevens is on the school board now.  Now if I give you these to hold," Heather asked, offering her roses to April though she eyed her closely.  "You'll give 'em back, right?"

"Yeah, I'll give 'em back," April agreed, chuckling as she accepted the bouquet.  Heather threw Jake one last look and then hurried over to join Mrs. McVeigh.  "You know, Jake," April smiled softly, slipping out of Eric's embrace and moving to stand next to her brother-in-law.  "I'm pretty sure you give red and white roses when you get engaged.  Romantic red and bridal white, after all."

"Okay," Jake chuckled, rolling his eyes, "Thanks for the tip."  He exhaled nervously and then leaned past April, socking his brother on the shoulder.  "Would you just buy your wife some flowers already?" he demanded.

"Yeah, I'll get right on that," Eric grumbled, rubbing his arm.

Shaking her head at the two of them, April directed their attention to Heather, now trapped along with Mrs. McVeigh into a conversation with the exuberant Mrs. Stevens who was exclaiming, over and over, "Wonderful job.  Simply wonderful, Miss Lisinski.  Don't you agree, Mrs. McVeigh?  Wonderful!"

"We should rescue her," April decided, looping her arm through Eric's.  "C'mon."

Jake stepped into place next to Heather, slipping his arm around her, just as Mrs. Stevens called out, "Dale!" and waved the boy over.  He came reluctantly, hesitation wrinkling his forehead and slumping his shoulders.  "Dale, you and Skylar did such a good job as the ghosts," she declared, smiling at the boy.  Next to her, Skylar fidgeted, making faces.  "Well, as you know," Miss Lisinski," Mrs. Stevens said, turning to face Heather, "I wasn't exactly sold on Skylar's role, but I think the whole play turned out wonderfully.  And, Dale, dear," continued, not even taking a breath as she whipped around to address the boy.  "Did your - is your mother here?" Mrs. Stevens questioned.

"Uhhh," Dale managed to get out, obviously startled.  "She - she came on Monday," he answered, letting his backpack drop to the ground.  He stared down at his shoes.  "But she had to work tonight."

"Well, I'm sure she's very proud of you," Mrs. Stevens returned.  "Do you need a ride home?"

Dale looked up, eyes wide and mouth hanging open.  "Uh -"

"Miranda," Mr. Stevens began, only to be interrupted by his daughter.

"Mom!" Skylar protested, glaring at her classmate.  "You said we could go for ice cream!"

"That's okay, Mrs. Stevens," Eric intervened, stepping forward to lay a hand on Dale's shoulder.  "We'll take him home."

"And, we better get going," April sighed.  "I have to work tomorrow," she explained, snorting, "Like pretty much always."

"But it's all for a good cause," Jake reminded with a smirk.  "You know - the support of Eric Green, house husband."

"So that's back on?" Eric asked, affecting a hopeful expression.  "Cool," he declared, grinning at his wife.  He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.  "Golf every day!"

"Uh, no," April chuckled, shaking her head.  "Sorry."

"Too bad," Mr. Stevens chuckled, catching Eric's eye, "Think I could get used to golf every day, myself.  Now, I know your parents are members at Fielding Glen along with us," he continued, suddenly animated, "But have you joined?  You'd be a shoe-in for membership."

"Mom and Dad gave us a membership as a wedding present, actually," April explained.  "So now Eric keeps threatening me with lessons for finishing my residency."

"But of course.  A doctor's gotta know how to play golf!" Mr. Stevens argued with a laugh, winking at her.  "But you know, you and your dad should play a round sometime with me and Gray," he told Eric.

"Sounds good," Eric agreed.  "Dad, Grandpa and I played Grinnel Cowpaddy a month or so ago," he added.  "That's a nice course.  Only nine holes, but we had a good time."

April groaned.  "We do not have time for you to discuss the merits of all the golf courses in northwest Kansas," she informed her husband, poking him in the side.  Turning, she emitted a sigh and handed the bouquet back to Heather.  "Here you go.  See, I gave 'em back," she teased. 

"Well, thank you," Heather returned, pulling the other woman into a quick hug.  "And, thank you for coming.  That's so sweet of you, especially since I know how busy you are."

"We wouldn't have missed it," April assured.  "It was fun, and the acting was excellent," she added, smiling first at Skylar and then at Dale.  "Ready to go?" she asked, touching the boy on the arm, prompting his nod.

Eric and April with Dale said their goodbyes and then headed for the door, closely followed by the Stevenses, Skylar walking beside her father, her arm wrapped around his, as she talked about the play, horseback riding lessons, and ice cream sundaes.  "Heather, truly, you did a lovely job," Mrs. McVeigh smiled.  "And, the good news is that it's over, so enjoy that," she laughed kindly.  "Now, I'll see you tomorrow," she told Heather, "And Jake, I'll see you on Friday if not before," Mrs. McVeigh reminded.  "Good night."

 The room was quickly emptying out.  They watched as Mrs. McVeigh held a short conference with Lou Baker, the school custodian, and then headed for the exit where her husband and youngest daughter, Kimberly - a junior at the high school - were waiting.  "So, ready?" Jake asked, glancing at Heather as he threaded their fingers together.

"Almost," she agreed.  "I just need to get my purse from my classroom," Heather added, starting to lead him toward the exit.  "So, do you play golf?" she inquired, throwing Jake a quizzical look. 

"I've played golf, but I don't play golf," Jake muttered, shrugging, "If that makes sense.  That's all Dad's and Eric's thing.  'Cause if I'm gonna whack at a ball it's with a bat, not a golf club.  You?"

"Only putt putt," Heather smiled. 

Jake grinned in return, squeezing her hand.  "So, can I buy you a cup of coffee?" he proposed as they stepped out into the now deserted hallway.  "Or ice cream, if you wanna risk running into the Stevenses," he reminded. 

Allowing a lighthearted groan, Heather shook her head.  "That's all right," she chuckled pulling him to a stop.  "How 'bout I make coffee instead?" she offered, twisting around so that they faced one another, an inch and the bouquet of roses separating them.  "I've got ice cream, too," she breathed, leaning against him, the flowers crushed gently between them, to brush her mouth over his.

Jake caught her chin in his hand as she pulled away, pressing another kiss to her lips.  "Sounds good."

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

Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs

There didn't seem to be anything left to say about the news, and the group fell into an awkward, anxious silence as Michael hurried to finish his transcribing.  Russell was particularly jumpy, and he kept glancing over his shoulder to see who was behind them.  "Look, uh, we better get going," he muttered, catching Jake's eye.

"Yeah, sure," Jake agreed, rubbing his hands together.  It was the warmest part of the day - pushing fifty degrees - and he knew the gesture betrayed his own nerves.  "Just give 'im another minute, okay?" he grumbled, shoving his hands into his coat pockets.

"It's okay, I got it," Michael interjected, shaking his head.  He glanced over the last of his notes, nodding to himself as he compared it to the board in front of him.  "What the hell's even in southwestern Utah?" he demanded, gesturing at the red dot on the map.

"Pretty much desert, scrub brush and rocks," Jake answered, shaking his head. 

"That's St. George," Mindy corrected, stepping between them.  "There's a Wal-Mart distribution center there.  Sorry, professional hazard," she shrugged.  "But it's sixty or seventy miles from Las Vegas.  And, when they did the tests - you know, the nuclear bomb tests - back in the fifties, they only ever did 'em when the wind was blowing away from Vegas and, by default, toward St. George.  I saw a documentary or somethin' on it in college," Mindy frowned, wrapping her arms around herself.  "The childhood cancer rates were...." She trailed off with a sigh.

"Well, this one sure wasn't a test," Russell reminded grimly.  "But hey, if you want that part," he continued, his gaze boring into Jake, "We better get going."

Mindy moved back to Ted's side, and he caught her hand in his own, smiling at her as they fell into step with Russell, Jake and Michael bringing up the rear.  "Here," Michael mumbled, reattaching the mechanical pencil to the spiral wire and then handing the notebook to Jake.  He leaned closer, lowering his voice.  "You probably wanna check out the front pocket," he advised.

"Why?" Jake asked, throwing his brother-in-law a confused look.

"What can I say?" Michael returned, rolling his eyes.  "My sister loves you."

Intrigued, Jake opened the notebook's cover and looked down.  A photograph - one he recognized from their first trip to Dolly Doolittle's Diner five years before - peeked out from inside the manila pocket.  Over the years, when work had kept him away from home, he and Heather had maintained an active email correspondence, which had included her sending him some sort of photo every few days, and Jake had received this particular one - one they both liked - more than once.  A smile starting to play on his lips, he glanced sideways at Michael, earning himself another eye roll.  Returning his attention to the photo, Jake pulled it loose of the pocket and flipped it over, finding - as he expected he would - a note on the back.  'Bring back lip balm and there will be plenty more where this came from,' Heather had written, apparently in reference to the picture of the two of them kissing.  She'd signed it 'XOXO Heather'.

"Okay," Russell began, looking over his shoulder.  Jake slipped the photo back inside the notebook's pocket and closed it.  "It's just over there," Russell continued, pointing at the squat cinderblock building that stood twenty feet in front of them.  A tattered awning hung over the front of the building and a bank of white French doors - incongruous in comparison to the gaudy goldenrod color that had been painted onto the cinderblock - ran along the length of the building's front.  "When we get inside, look around, see if he's got what you're lookin' for," he directed, "And if you find it, signal me, let me do the talkin'."

Jake, working the zipper on the side of his backpack so he could slip the notebook back inside, looked up at Russell, his gaze narrowing.  "You get some kinda commission with this guy?"

Russell, though, ignored the question.  "You just look around," he repeated, "And let me do the talking."

Twenty minutes later, Michael and Jake were looking over a mechanical governor, both trying to work up the courage to call it good.  "I wish Heather was here," Michael confided quietly, throwing Jake a sheepish look.  "I mean, not really here," he clarified, "But I wish she got a vote on this one."

"Yeah, this is one you don't wanna mess up on, huh?" Jake muttered, shaking his head.  The truth was, he hated looking stupid in front of his wife, and he hated disappointing her; here, if they chose wrong, he had the opportunity to do both.  "It - I mean - it's got everything we're lookin' for.  It seems like a perfect fit, right?"  Michael nodded.

The store's proprietor cleared his throat and set his thermos - he'd been eating from it almost constantly since they'd entered the shop - down on the counter.  "That's a good piece of machinery there," he told them.  "You're not gonna find better, not around here."

"Well then, let's talk terms," Russell said, inserting himself into the conversation.  "My friends here have salt."

The door jangled open, drawing Jake's attention to the front of the store in time to see his father, followed closely by Dale, enter.  "Hey," Johnston called out, his gaze meeting Jake's, "I've been looking all over for you.  We were supposed to meet up a half hour ago."

Mindy, who was examining the medical equipment laid out on one table, looked up at the sound of Johnston's voice and let out a delighted squeal.  "Mayor!" she screeched, abandoning her search and making a beeline for him.

"Melinda Henry," Johnston choked out, catching her in a hug.  "What in the world are you doin' here?"  Both hands on her shoulders, he held her away from himself, giving her the once over.  "And I'm not - I'm not the mayor anymore," he told her, forcing a dour smile.  "So if you wanna argue the blue laws from now on, take it up with Gray Anderson."

"Yeah, Jake said," she answered, frowning.  "Completely weird," she muttered.  "And, I'm working, actually.  I'm the logistics manager for the city of New -"

"Mindy!" Russell interrupted from the counter, giving her a hard look.

"Right," she acknowledged, her expression embarrassed.  "Anyway, I'm doing my job.  And, what are you doing here?" Mindy continued, turning to face Dale.  "I still remember that Fourth of July picnic," she giggled, shaking her head.  "You were what?  Eight?  You ambushed Colleen and me with a super soaker.  I coulda killed you.  And, now Jake says you're running the store?"

"Mitchell Cafferty murdered Mrs. Leigh," Dale replied softly, not blinking.  "And, she left the store to me," he shrugged and then looked down at his feet.  "I have to run it for her."

"Wow," Mindy exhaled.  She glanced sideways, seeking Jake's confirming nod.

"Well, you found Mindy," Johnston declared, "Did you find the part?"

Jake sucked a breath in through his teeth.  "We think so," he answered, leading his father toward the counter.  "You see the news?"

"So, you still lookin' to trade for a mechanical governor," the proprietor inquired gruffly, walking toward them.  "Or you just figure my place is a good one for happy family reunions?"

"Yeah, we're still lookin'," Jake muttered in return.

"Okay, let's talk trade," the proprietor said, folding his arms over his chest.  The man, who was somewhere between Jake and Johnston in age, was dressed warmly, sported a few days' growth of beard, and wore prescription sunglasses inside the rather dark store.  Jake guessed his regular pair had been broken since the bombs.  "Now, eight bags of salt at thirty five pounds per," the proprietor intoned, shaking his head in feigned disbelief. 

"Yeah," Jake nodded, confirming the offer.  He forced himself to keep his eyes on the other man, and to not glance at Russell.  They had sixteen bags, and he'd told Russell twelve; all things considered, eight seemed like a good place to start bargaining from.

"Russell," the proprietor challenged, ignoring Jake, "What'd they think?  That they're the first ones to think of this?  I mean, these parts are in high demand," he asserted.  "I'm not giving them away."

"Well then, what more is it gonna take?" Jake asked.

"What more?" the other man scoffed, "I turned away a guy just this morning, and he offered eighty gallons of diesel for the thing," he argued, gesturing at the piece of machinery laid out on the counter behind him.

This time, Jake couldn't swallow his reaction and, his hand pressed to his mouth, he looked up at the ceiling, furiously considering his options.  No way in hell was the five hundred pounds of salt they had with them worth eighty gallons of diesel.  He glanced at his father, but surprisingly Johnston didn't seem interested in jumping into the negotiation.  "All right, listen," Jake said, wheeling around to face the proprietor.  "We have more salt than you can imagine.  We've got the largest salt mine for four hundred miles, and we've got men to mine it," he declared, a desperate note creeping into his voice.  Jake made himself take a breath and, grinding his fist against his hip, continued.  "If you ever want to see any of it, we need to make this deal right now," he insisted, forcing a confident air that he really didn't feel.  "Today, you understand?"

"Okay, listen," Russell interjected a few seconds later.  Jake and the proprietor were locked in a staring contest with no winner in sight.  "I'll vouch for him, all right?  Twelve bags now, okay, and - and a preferential trading relationship in the future."

"All right, all right," the proprietor agreed, holding up one hand as he started to back away.  "Wait here, I'll go get it," he added, walking along the counter.  "These things aren't easy to make, ya know.  Not the good ones, anyway," he finished, disappearing through a tattered curtain into the back room.

The store - and located as it was in one of the few permanent buildings on the fairgrounds, it truly qualified as store - was quite well stocked with a wide variety of items.  When they had first come in, Jake had spotted packages of clothespins on one shelf - between a bunch of flashlights and boxes of kitchen matches - and had thought of Heather and his mother at home, washing sheets.  Dale was taking the opportunity to look around and consider what else he might purchase that would be of use in Jericho.  Wandering along the far wall, peeking into the bins of tools and hardware, he found himself dreaming of operating such an establishment, one that would show people - the whole town - that Gracie Leigh had been right to trust him with her business, her family's legacy.

Dale overheard Jake finish introducing the men with Mindy - Russell and Ted - to his father, and then Johnston picked up the conversation, inquiring about what Mindy was up to and how things were back in New Bern.  Still half listening, Dale started to follow the owner into the back, which he supposed was the stockroom.  Interested to see how fully the store was provisioned, he stepped into the room, just far enough to see that instead of shelves full of garden tools and ammunition, or plastic tarps and sleeping bags, there were metal bunks.  Bunk beds, with thin, pinstriped, soiled mattresses that reminded Dale of when he was in the fourth grade and Mrs. Green had convinced his mother to let him go to church camp for a week.  It had been a scholarship - a "campership" Mrs. Green had called it - of course, arranged with Reverend Young, and surprisingly, Dale had had a good experience.  The other kids from Jericho had been friendly, and he'd enjoyed the hikes - forced marches, they'd whispered to one another - and the free period during which the girls made candles or lanyard key chains and bracelets while the boys tried archery or played kickball, and then the campfire each night with the singing and the smoke rising into the dark sky, twinkling with stars.  He'd enjoyed, too, three meals a day, always at eight, noon and five, always hot, always with seconds if he'd wanted them.  And, he'd slept in the bottom bunk - Zack Davis had had the bunk above him - on a mattress just like the ones in this room, in a bunk just like these.  Except for the handcuffs.

 Mouth hanging open, Dale took another step into the room, squinting, not quite able to believe his eyes.  But he had to.  His heart hammered in his chest as Dale backed slowly out of the room.  "Mr. - Mr. Mayor," he stammered out, interrupting Jake, who was saying something about lip balm.

"No kidding, Dale," Johnston answered, his tone exasperated.  He turned around, shaking his head.  "I am not the mayor anymore!"

Dale, his face suddenly devoid of all color, met the older man's gaze with wide eyes.  He pulled back the curtain, revealing the corner of one bunk and the stained end of one mattress.  "There's blood on it."

Everyone stared, inching toward the back room, their breaths held, as the horrible truth of the situation became apparent to each of them.  The proprietor pushed his way out of the room, moving around Dale and throwing the teenager an annoyed look.  "You need some help there?" he demanded.

"What the hell is this?" Jake barked.

The proprietor yanked the curtain shut and shoved Dale out of the way.  "What?" he snarled, "Are you conducting an inspection, or are we doing a deal?"
 
His jaw clenched, Johnston could barely contain his disgust.  "Yeah, we're not supporting that," he declared, pointing at the closed curtain.  "We'll find another solution."

"Well then, we're all done here, aren't we?" the proprietor snapped, his glare passing over them all.  "Why don't you get out," he ordered.

"Dad..." Jake muttered, his eyes on the mechanical governor in the other man's hand.  He knew his father was right, but the part was right there, and it was exactly the part that Heather needed.  He'd almost had it.  Grimacing, he looked away, the bitter taste of defeat pervading his mouth.  How was he going to tell her that they'd had it and lost it?

"Get out!" the owner shouted then.  "Get out!  Get out!  Get out!" he shrieked, advancing on them.  They all began to retreat, though Russell was a little slow, and the proprietor barreled into him, grabbing his arm and pushing him.  "You , too!  Get outta here!"

Outside they started to move away from the store, threading their way through the milling crowd.  "Guys, I'm so sorry," Ted apologized as they dodged the oncoming foot traffic, working to put some distance between themselves and the store.  "We had no idea...."

"We need that part," Jake grumbled, glancing at his father.  It wasn't just Heather's disappointment that worried Jake.  If the news was to be believed, they were facing the worst winter, weather-wise, in decades; they needed some way of keeping the clinic up and running and the town's residents from freezing to death, and all their hopes had been pinned on obtaining a governor.

Johnston's concentration, however, was elsewhere.  He looked around the crowd, to each side and behind them, his frown deepening.  "Where's Dale?" he demanded, heaving a sigh of relief when, a second later, he spotted the teenager pushing his way through the mob of people.  "Dale, where'd you get off to?" he questioned gruffly, before scolding, "Don't just wander off like that."

Dale held his bag in front of him carefully - oddly.  Michael realized why first, and grabbed his arm, forcing the boy to a stop.  Jake stepped toward him, jerking the pack's flap open. The mechanical governor was inside.  "Did you steal that?"

"Well, he's a bad guy," Dale defended himself, wrenching the bag away from Jake.  "He can't get away with that," he insisted, glaring at Michael, who'd somehow ended up with the governor.

"We've gotta get that back before they realize it's missing," Johnston decided, pointing at the part in Michael's hands.

Dale shook his head.  "It's okay," he argued, "I went out the back.  No one saw me."

This claim was contradicted in the next instance though, as shouts of "Hold it!  Hold it!" went up from within the crowd.  Jake looked back, grimacing when he spotted not only the dark navy coats of two Black Jack security officers but also the shop's owner.  Instinctually, Jake stepped back, grabbing for Mindy's arm just as Ted moved into place on her other side.  Their eyes met for a moment and they exchanged a nod, agreeing to work together for her protection.   Hold it!" the proprietor shouted one more time, pointing them out to the security officers.  For just a second, Jake considered escape, tugging on Mindy's sleeve, but he gave it up as futile.  They were surrounded.

"Hand him over," a hulking security guard demanded, glaring at Dale.

Jake let go of Mindy and moved forward, shoving Dale behind him.  "He made a mistake, all right?" he tried explaining, but the guard stepped toward them both, running into Jake who pushed back.  "He'll give back what he took," he promised, "No harm done.  All right?"

But the guard ignored him, instead grabbing Dale by the collar while another guard relieved the teenager of his pack, handing it over to the store's owner.  The guard forced Dale to move, marching him toward the check-in tent, the crowd scrambling to get out of the way.  "Ah, excuse me," Johnston called after them, hurrying to catch up, "You know, he really is sorry," he argued, an anxious note creeping into his voice.  "And the property is back where it belongs."

"He can explain to management," the guard snarled in return, not even bothering to glance at Johnston.

"I'm just asking you, use a little discretion, that's all," Johnston requested. "Please."  The security guard's only response was to turn and give Johnston a shove before continuing to frog march Dale down the path.  But, Johnston was not deterred.  "Excuse me!" he called after the guard, "But could I talk to whoever's in charge here?"

Giving into his annoyance, the guard wheeled around, growling, "Look old man, I told you -" only to meet the business end of Johnston's fist. 

Everything was chaos after that, with Jake and Michael joining in the fight.  Even Mindy seemed intent on diving in, but Ted stopped her, grabbing her by the shoulders just as two more security guards ran in, wielding their billy clubs viciously.  Russell watched as Jake fell after the first baton struck him on the shoulder, and he knew that he had to act.  "That's enough!" he shouted, producing a gun from inside his coat and leveling the weapon at the man nearest Jake. 

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

A Christmas Carol (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Christmas_Carol) is a novella originally written by Charles Dickens that has been adapted for theater, film, radio, television, and apparently opera. 

And, Once Upon a Mattress (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Once_Upon_A_Mattress) is a musical comedy that is now a staple of high school theater, at least in my neck of the woods. :-)

Lastly, Grinnel Cowpaddy is a real golf course, located (shockingly) in Grinnel, KS.  I couldn't resist.  (http://www.golfnow.com/course-directory/kansas-golf-courses/grinnell-golf-courses/grinnel-cowpaddy-golf-club)



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