Different Circumstances: Part 12E
by Marzee Doats
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs
They drove until they crossed the border and were back in Kansas, more than two hours after they'd escaped the fairgrounds by the skin of their teeth. Russell didn't seem interested in stopping - and his truck would have taken the brunt of the damage - and Jake sure as hell wasn't either. So they kept going. It was dark by the time they pulled off the highway somewhere outside Oberlin, Russell finally stopping near an abandoned rail spur. They climbed out of the vehicles, limbs shaking with the pent up tension of the past few hours, and found themselves in the hulking shadows of a pair of dead locomotives, a number of looted boxcars, and most oddly a rotary snowplow despite the fact that the bombs had gone off in September.
Standing in the beams of their vehicle's headlights, the two groups faced one another, each of them aware that they were lucky to be alive. "Uh, thanks," Johnston sighed, glancing between Russell and Ted before his gaze settled on Mindy. He offered the girl - he still did, and always would, think of her as a girl - a smile. "I don't know how this would've turned out if it weren't for you guys," he admitted.
"You'll make it up to us some day," Russell acknowledged with a shrug.
"However we can help," Jake assured, folding his arms over his chest. It was a rash promise, one Jake knew he might not be able to keep - or would end up regretting - but for now he was simply relieved to have escaped Black Jack with his life and with everyone else safe.
Ted and Mindy exchanged a look, and then Ted cleared his throat, taking a half step toward the group from Jericho. "Those windmills you were looking to build," he began, "I was thinking, the guys down at the old brake assembly, maybe they can convert part of their plant," Ted suggested. "Help build what you need, and the town could use a good source of - a good source of salt."
"Well, it looks like we're going to be seeing a lot of each other," Johnston replied, shaking hands with Ted, and then Russell. "Thanks again, guys," he smiled, "You take care." He faced Mindy, holding his arms open. "And you, young lady, get over here," he ordered, chuckling. Pulling her into bear hug, Johnston held onto her for a long ten seconds and finished off by pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Now I've known this one since she was in pigtails," he informed Ted and Russell, keeping one arm around Mindy. "This girl once talked me into buyin' fifty dollars worth of Girl Scout cookies. Had thin mints comin' out our ears," he laughed softly. "She's family, so you boys make sure you take good care of her."
"That's Ted's job," Russell argued, "But I'll make sure he does."
Reaching for Mindy's hand, Ted nodded, his expression serious as he met Johnston's gaze. "I'll do my best, sir. Promise."
"Gimme a second," Mindy requested, pressing a kiss to Ted's cheek before tugging her hand loose from his. "Jake," she sighed, twisting around to offer him a lopsided smile.
The others watched as Mindy and Jake moved a few feet away before they turned back to face one another, falling into a discussion of some of the details involved in trying to gear up for windmill production. Michael suggested that, maybe, some of Jericho's technical solutions team could pay a visit to New Bern in the near future, admitting that while Jericho had the academic knowledge needed for the project, they didn't have the machining capabilities or access to the necessary raw materials. Ted and Russell both agreed that Jericho's expertise and assistance would go a long way toward getting the project on the fast track, which would be a benefit to both towns.
"This is so great," Mindy declared, grinning widely at Jake. They were standing two or three feet in front of the Roadrunner between the headlight beams. "This is just the sort of thing we need in New Bern."
"Yeah," Jake agreed, though his thoughts were centered on what the joint venture would mean for Jericho. "With a dozen full sized windmills, I bet we could power the whole town, power the med center, forget about gas," he decided, nodding to himself.
"So if a dozen would turn the lights on in Jericho, maybe three dozen - three and a half - for New Bern?" she guessed. "It'll take a bit to ramp up production and turn out the first few, I'm sure, but then...." Mindy trailed off, sighing happily. "I'm gonna hafta figure out what you use to build a windmill, and find the stuff," she giggled, glancing back at the group and waving at Ted. "Well, Russell will help with that. And Ted."
"Can't go back to Black Jack," Jake reminded, frowning.
"Well, there's gotta be materials at the factory, I'm sure," Mindy reasoned. "I mean some of it has to be useful, right? Russell used to work there - not on the floor, he was the IT guy - and Ted's father and uncle both worked there for years. We'll figure it out. Besides, I think Russell has other contacts."
"Right," Jake acknowledged, pursing his lips. He had no trouble believing that while losing access to Black Jack was a blow to Russell, it wasn't a fatal one. Studying her closely for a moment, Jake debated whether or not to give into his curiosity and ask. In the end he did. "So, you and Ted? How long's that been?"
Mindy rolled her eyes at him. "Don't go all big brother on me, Jake," she grumbled. "And, we've been together since July. Ted's aunt works - well, worked - in the pharmacy, and she invited me to a picnic for the Fourth. She put us in charge of the fireworks," Mindy grinned. "Apparently Ted's uncle is a pyromaniac and she wants her grandkids to grow up with all their fingers and toes still attached. We had fun and he asked me out. The rest is, as they say, history," she declared primly, though Jake could see by the glow of the headlights that her cheeks were pink.
He made a face. "So, probably no chance I can convince you to come home to Jericho, huh?"
"Jake," she grumbled in protest. "I live in New Bern now. But I'll - I'll visit," she assured, "We're gonna have windmills to deliver, right?" Mindy predicted, "And I'll come with the first truck, promise. I love Jericho - Jericho's my hometown, but it's not my home, you know?" she sighed, offering Jake a sad smile. "Not anymore. Not with Mags in Florida. Plus, they went and changed The Pizza Garden into the Cyberjolt Café," Mindy complained with a snort. "I couldn't believe it. I was up there, just before - well, before, and I couldn't believe it. I just stood out on the sidewalk and stared."
"Yeah, I know," Jake muttered. "But Heather says the coffee's good. Or was."
"We had coffee there. Heather, Ted, and me, I mean," she explained, surprising Jake. Heather hadn't mentioned that Mindy had a new boyfriend, or even that she'd seen Mindy. Too close to the bombs, he reasoned, frowning to himself, and with everything else that had happened in those first few days, she'd probably forgotten all about it.
"Ted and I were in Jericho," she clarified unnecessarily, "That Sunday, I think. So completely weird. And - and Colleen," Mindy continued, frowning softly. She took a deep breath and then bit her lip. "You know, I actually thank God that my little sister got pregnant and dropped out of school to marry Specialist Butthead because at least she and little Alex are safe in Germany and not here."
"Specialist Butthead?" Jake snickered, shaking his head slowly in agreement. "He really is kind of an ass, huh?"
Jake had only met Colleen's husband once, at their wedding, a hasty affair the previous December, but his first - and last - impression of the man left a lot to be desired. He'd done the right thing, Jake supposed, in marrying Colleen, but that had seemed to be his only redeeming quality. He'd been volatile and easily annoyed, picking at Colleen about everything he'd thought had gone wrong with the ceremony and at the small reception, and Jake remembered at one point being abandoned with only his father and the groom's brothers for company when Heather and his mother had gone with Mindy to attend Colleen, who'd been throwing up or crying - or both - in the bathroom. That day, too, had turned out to be the last time he'd seen Mags, and at one point she'd taken him to task for letting her lap his mother. "Now, how is it I'm gonna end up a great granny before you even do the courtesy of puttin' your mother outta her misery, and makin' her a grandma?" she'd scolded, only half-joking.
"Heather's pregnant," he informed Mindy quietly. Jake smiled as he always did when he thought about their unborn child, and then let out a deep breath, acknowledging - if only to himself - just how frightening it was to be facing fatherhood in the world in which they now lived. "Five months - twenty one, twenty two weeks, I guess is how I'm s'posed to say it."
She stared at him for a moment, gaping, before declaring, "Well, congratulations, Daddy! That's so great!" Mindy beamed, hugging Jake. "Mags would be so happy, and your Mom," she giggled, "Has your Mom even come down yet? She must be thrilled."
"Yeah, she's pretty excited," Jake agreed, smiling at Mindy as she let go of him and took a step back. "Dad, too. Double excited, actually. April's pregnant too. Three months, something like that."
"Wow, when you Green boys finally decide to do something, you really go for it," she teased.
Jake rolled his eyes in response, and for a moment he considered trying to explain the mess his brother had made of his marriage and life before he thought better of getting into it. For one thing, it wasn't his story to tell. And besides, the temperature was hovering around freezing now that the sun had gone down and he really wanted to get home sometime that night. "Guess so," he mumbled. Clearing his throat, Jake offered Mindy a crooked grin. "Anyway, you're an honorary aunt, you know."
"I better be," Mindy giggled softly. "After all, I was the official waitress at your first date. Luckily I held it all together, got you through the eating part of your evening without incident," she joked. "I mean anything coulda gone wrong, and then no second date, no wedding, no baby."
"So, I guess we owe it all to you, huh?" Jake asked, allowing a dry chuckle.
"Well, obviously," she agreed, flashing him a wide smile. "And as Auntie Mindy, I'll have to see if a big box of diapers - two actually, since there're two babies - can find it onto that truck when I come to Jericho. Little bit of an abuse of my authority," she admitted, her nose wrinkling, "But, oh well."
"Hey, if you're gonna abuse your authority, bring toilet paper," Jake laughed. "It's sure gonna be a bad day when we run out of that," he predicted with a snort. "And, while you're at it, bring coffee and peanut butter, too," he requested.
"Jake!" Mindy scolded, shaking her head at him as she fought a smile. "Peanut butter and coffee would definitely be an abuse of my authority. So would toilet paper for that matter."
"Hey, I'm not askin' for a big box of Reese's here," he argued with a grin. "Or Charmin. The generic stuff is fine."
"Jake!" she repeated, giggling. "Okay, I'll see what I can do," Mindy sighed a moment later. "But, you know, it's my responsibility to make sure that people in New Bern have what they need," she told him. "It's a big job, and I wanna do it right."
"Huh," Jake acknowledged, his grin disappearing. "So you're really some sort of big shot in New Bern now, huh?" he asked, raising one eyebrow in question. "Logistics manager?"
Mindy shrugged. "I'm not a big shot," she denied, "I'm just doing my job. They need me, Jake," Mindy insisted, her tone turning earnest. "You know, after - after the bombs, Sheriff Constantino tried to get Mr. Wright - that's really his name - the general manager to open up the warehouse, and he wouldn't. Against company policy, he said. It was like two weeks in - the day the electricity was on, actually, just before the EMP - and we hadn't been open at all. We didn't even give the milk and eggs, the frozen stuff, any of that out," she admitted, frowning. "It all spoiled in the cases when the back-up power went. By then, none of the employees were showing up anymore, and even some of the managers weren't. People were getting worried and hungry. There were kids - babies - who needed food, formula, diapers, and we had it."
"Yeah," Jake murmured, nodding. He caught himself thinking of Mr. Murthy, the gas station manager who'd had the same response - it belonged to the company and wasn't his to give - when they'd gone to him for gas to run the clinic's generators. For that matter, Gracie Leigh had tried to operate her business as if the world hadn't changed, and had paid for it with her life.
"I was at the meeting, and they just kept arguing. Sheriff Constantino kept saying we were in a national emergency, and he'd get Judge McCormick to issue an emergency order to open the warehouse under eminent domain or something like that. Well, Mr. Wright wouldn't budge, so Sheriff Constantino left, but then he came back with his neighbor. She's younger than me - Colleen's age, actually - and she had a baby, a little girl, maybe eight, nine months old," Mindy explained, her tone subdued. "The baby had diaper rash and a fever. The mom said she could hardly get her to eat, that she had nothing left that she'd take. She just wanted to buy some Children's Tylenol, some baby wipes, maybe some cereal. Mr. Wright said that maybe he could accommodate her, but then he asked for her Costco card." Mindy groaned, closing her eyes for a moment. "She didn't have one, of course. I mean, she's nineteen, for goodness' sake, and she lived with her parents. But they'd been out of town...."
Breaking off, Mindy caught Jake's eye, their gazes locking, her lips pressed together in a tight line. "Sheriff Constantino got his card out of his wallet and threw it down on the table. 'Sell her the damn medicine,' that's what he said," she chuckled humorlessly. "And, that's when I knew. I couldn't hide behind company policy, and who cared anyway? We'd all seen what had happened. Even when the electricity and the phone came back there wasn't any real help from outside. I told Sheriff Constantino I'd do it, I'd open the warehouse."
"Wow," Jake murmured, his expression full of admiration. "That's pretty damn brave, Min."
"Kinda," she shrugged. "I mean, Mr. Wright fired me, of course. But then Sheriff Constantino called him an idiot and told him he was fired, and then he said I was hired. He was the one with the gun, so that pretty much put him in charge, right?"
Jake nodded, his lips pursed. "Yeah, that's how it usually works."
"The mayor and Sheriff Constantino did get the judge to sign an order basically seizing the warehouse on grounds of public welfare," Mindy said, resuming her story. "The order also put me in charge. To start, I was just running the warehouse, and I didn't have a lot of help. A deputy and Ted, 'cause he said it was the only way he ever got to see me," she giggled softly. "And the girl with the baby - her name's Candy - plus a few other people who realized that there were perks to being on the inside. We were only giving out food, some medicine, diapers," she chuckled, rolling her eyes, "Things that people had to have. But we were blowin' through everything like there was no tomorrow. I was so worried. At first, I couldn't come up with a way to control things, and knew there were some people coming every day, taking more than their share. Finally, I made people show their ID and they could only come once a week - one day a week - based on where they lived. They had to bring everyone in the family too, and that's how we gave out food."
"You did better than we did in Jericho," Jake admitted, an admiring gleam in his eye. Shaking his head, he crossed his arms over his chest, grinning. "We didn't - it was Halloween before we were even thinking like that."
"Mr. Houghton," she confessed, smiling softly. "My US history term paper was on the use of rationing during the two world wars. I had to come up with something, and that was it. But it was still so hard," Mindy told him. "And then when he - when Sheriff Constantino was appointed city manager, he asked me to head of logistics for - for everything," she sighed. "By then, he could've gotten Mr. Wright to do it, and I told him that. I told him that I didn't think I could - I could handle it all. I'd already made some mistakes," she insisted, "Not implementing the rationing system right away, and fighting with Russell about the cigarettes."
"Cigarettes?"
"Cigarettes," Mindy confirmed. "We're Costco," she reminded, "We've got a lotta cigarettes, all in a cage right up at the front of the store." She looked past Jake for a moment, staring into the Roadrunner and at Dale, who had stayed in the back seat, scrunched into the corner, a wary look in his eye. Mindy offered the teenager an understanding smile and then took a deep breath. "Anyway, like the third day that I was in charge, Russell showed up with his truck - that one," she indicated, pointing at the empty cargo truck parked behind Russell and Ted. "Came into the warehouse - the deputy from the sheriff's department let 'im in - went to the cigarette cage and cut the lock with bolt cutters like he was Principal Gerhardt doin' a locker search or somethin'," Mindy complained. "When I got there he was piling cartons into carts and then haulin' them out to his truck through the loading dock."
"Well yeah, Min," Jake interjected, shaking his head. "Cigarettes would be worth a helluva lot in trade." He glanced over at Russell, who was explaining something to his father. "He seems like the go-to guy for that sort of thing."
"Yeah," she sighed, though Jake wasn't sure which statement she was agreeing with. "I know that now. But back then, we really got into it," she grumbled, rolling her eyes. "I was so mad. I yelled at him, accused him of stealing. Russell was pretty nice about it, honestly. He coulda just yelled back, but instead he kept trying to explain how valuables cigarettes were." Mindy made a face, laughing softly at herself. "In trade, like you said. Guess there's some luxuries that people just can't give up," she murmured. "Anyway, the deputy radioed Sheriff Constantino, and then he came to the warehouse and pulled me aside. He told me that he'd sent Russell to get the cigarettes, and that they thought he could trade them for gas, diesel, food, medicine, all kinds of things we needed. I think that was his first trip to Black Jack."
"So, you and Russell work pretty closely together, huh?"
"He goes to places like Black Jack and brings stuff back. I run the warehouse and all the distribution of goods from the city's supply to the people," she shrugged. "Where that intersects, we work together." She paused to take a deep breath and offer Jake a smile. "New Bern needs me - needs us. And, Sheriff Constantino trusts me even though I've made some mistakes. He said that he'd rather have me in charge -"
"Mindy!" Russell called out then, interrupting her. She and Jake looked over at where he was standing with the others to see him gesturing at his wrist - although he wasn't wearing a watch - indicating that it was time to go. "We need to hit the road."
She faced Jake with a frustrated smile. "Well, I am cold and hungry, so this is probably a good thing," Mindy said.
"Yeah," he acknowledged with a nod. "I'd like to get home early enough that I get to actually see Heather. Awake."
"Sounds good," Mindy smiled. "And, we'll see each other soon, right? Maybe you and Heather can both come to New Bern, tell the guys at the factory what they need to know about windmills," she suggested.
"We'll see," Jake agreed. "So, uh, take care of yourself, Mindy, okay?" he added after a second's pause.
"What, you worried about me?" she tried to tease though she couldn't quite pull it off. "Don't be. I'll be fine, Jake," Mindy insisted then. "I've got Ted."
"He better do a good job," Jake insisted. "And I'm allowed to worry," he added crossing his arms and scowling softly. A smile started to tug at his mouth a moment later. "Okay, that sounded a lot like my Mom, didn't it?"
"Exactly like your Mom," Mindy confirmed, laughing. "But what I'm gonna love is when you start sounding like a dad," she told him. "'Clean this room, eat your vegetables, do your homework, and don't go like that and it won't hurt!' That's gonna be fantastic," Mindy giggled.
"My deal with Heather is that I don't have to care about vegetables," Jake snorted, shaking his head at her.
"She's too nice to you," Mindy complained half-heartedly, letting out a sigh. "So, uh, tell her congratulations for me, okay?" she requested a few seconds later. "I can't wait to meet baby Green. Baby Greens! Or babies Green? Whatever. And congrats to April and Eric, too."
Jake nodded. "You got it." He took a step toward her then, opening his arms and murmuring, "C'm'ere." Mindy stepped into his embrace and they hugged one another tightly for a long moment. Finally, after kissing her on the temple Jake let Mindy slip from his grasp.
"Bye, Jake," she murmured, watching him as she took a step back, and then another. "See you soon."
"See ya soon," he echoed.
Finally, she turned around, hurrying the last few steps back toward Ted and Russell. Michael and Johnston exchanged their goodbyes with the other three and then moved to join Jake in front of the car. They watched as Ted, after stealing a kiss, helped Mindy into the truck's cab and then climbed in after her. The beast rumbled to life and Russell forced it into gear, driving off into the night.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Monday, December 17, five years before the bombs
Heather hummed happily to herself. It was just after four o'clock on Monday afternoon and, having been freed from bus duty by Mrs. Parker who'd taken pity on her while the play had been in rehearsal, she'd gotten quite a jump on her backlog of grading. Not that she had completely caught up, but at least she was feeling better about things, and she'd decided that as soon as she heard from Jake or he turned up, she'd put the rest away for the next day and allow herself to be distracted. And she wouldn't let herself feel guilty about it at all. She was halfway through reading Jason Cale's creative writing assignment - his ideas were strong and he had an authentic voice, but his spelling truly was atrocious - when her cell phone trilled the first few bars of Take Me Out to the Ballgame. Heather finished printing the correct spelling of 'Merry Christmas' - Jason had written 'Mary Chrismus' - and reached without looking for her phone, extracting it from the side pocket of her purse. "Hey, you," she greeted throatily, crossing out 'ornmint' and writing 'ornament'.
"I'm sick," Jake groaned pitifully at the other end of the line.
"You're sick?" Heather repeated, her tone instantly sympathetic. "You poor baby," she clucked, capping her pen and dropping it on the desktop. "You have a cold?" she guessed, remembering how Jake had coughed off and on throughout the previous evening, and how, when he'd taken her home after his parents' open house, he'd only stayed for ten minutes, admitting that he was zonked and just wanted to go to bed.
"Flu, I think," he rasped out, going into a coughing fit. "Uhhh," he moaned a few seconds later, "I feel like I got hit by a Mack truck."
"Aw, hon," Heather commiserated, frowning to herself. "Can I do anything for you?" she asked, propping her elbow on the desk. "I can go to the pharmacy and get you some medicine. Or bring ginger ale and make you soup," she offered. "Well, heat some up," Heather corrected chuckling quietly. "I'll keep you company," she decided. "I can read to you if you want. I promise I won't inflict my kids' stories on you although they've got really great titles like 'The Christmas Without Presents' and 'The Littlest Snowman'." Jake made a strangled gasping noise. "Or I could just hang out."
"Hang out," Jake agreed, sniffling into the phone. "Keep me company."
She was instantly on her feet, slinging her purse over her shoulder. "I'm gonna hit the store, and then I'll be out. An hour, tops."
* * * * *
Forty five minutes later, Heather brought her car to a stop in the circular drive at the Green Ranch, directly behind Grandpa's truck. She was gathering her things from the back seat when he came out of the house. "Afternoon, sweetheart!" Grandpa greeted, giving her a hug and relieving her of the bags she was carrying. "Come in, come in," he ordered, watching as she closed the car's door. "Winter's almost here, and there's a nip in the air, isn't there?"
"There is," she smiled, climbing the porch steps beside him. "How's Jake?"
"Still breathin'," Grandpa joked. "He's in pretty sorry shape. I've been checkin' in on him all day, but I'm sure he'll be happier with you for a nurse than his ol' Grandpa. You're prettier to look at," he chuckled, winking at her. "We moved him down into the family room," Grandpa continued, "Don't want you exposed to all the germs up in his room."
Stepping past Grandpa Green and into the house, Heather forced herself to swallow a snort. She guessed that the vice and virtue squad was still hard at work. "I've had a flu shot," she told him. "When it comes to the flu, third graders are nothing more than carrier monkeys. Besides, the last few years with my Mom being on dialysis, her doctors were pretty adamant that we all get the flu shot just to protect her," Heather explained, stopping in the center of the foyer. She twisted around to face Grandpa, offering him a wan smile. "Last thing she needed was the flu on top of everything else."
Grandpa smiled gently in return. "You're a good girl, Heather," he sighed. "And I hope you have the patience of a saint," he added a few seconds later, making a chuffing sound. "You know, my Betsy always said there're two types of sick people in the world," Grandpa explained, leading Heather toward the kitchen. "There's the ones that just wanna be left alone. You check 'em a coupl'a times a day, and that's that. Betsy and I were both always like that."
"That's me too," Heather interjected.
"Well, Jake's the other kind. He wants company," Grandpa informed her, shaking his head. "But Johnston was like that too, so I s'pose he comes by it honestly." He placed Heather's grocery bags on the table, and looked up, meeting her gaze. "Both our kids were like that," he chuckled. "I remember comin' home once when they were little and Betsy meetin' me at the door, her coat on and purse in hand. They'd both come down with the chicken pox, and she'd been dealin' with 'em for days. She told me it was my turn, that dinner was in the oven, that I needed to keep 'em from scratchin' - she recommended an oatmeal bath - and to call her at her brother's and sister-in-law's if I needed anything. She'd rather help Rosemary with puttin' up preserves for the evening than read The Color Kittens to the baby one more time. I still remember that book," he smiled, a far off look coming into his eyes. "She never got tired of it. 'Blue is blue, and red is red! But they had no green paint!'"
"I don't know that one," Heather murmured, playing nervously with her purse's strap. "And I - I thought - I always thought Johnston was an only child?"
"It was a cute little story," Grandpa replied, shaking his head. He stared past Heather, continuing, and she wondered if he'd even heard her question. "These two little kittens try to mix paint together to make green. They get every color except green 'til near the end, and then all that paint they'd mixed runs together and makes brown. She thought it was the funniest thing. You'd read it to her, and she'd just laugh and laugh, and soon you were laughin', too." Grandpa let out a deep breath and shifted his focus to Heather. "Our little girl, Susie. She died when she was six. I loved havin' a little girl. There's just somethin' special about a little girl," he sighed. "I'm sure your Dad knows exactly what I mean. Always looked forward to havin' a granddaughter, but it just wasn't meant to be. S'pose I just need to be patient and hope for great-granddaughters," he smiled gently.
A soft blush suffused Heather's cheeks, but she didn't avert her eyes, and instead held Grandpa's gaze, smiling in return. She wasn't embarrassed by his implication, Heather realized, and actually she wasn't even embarrassed, really, just overwhelmed - in a good way - by the possibility. It did seem after all - Heather felt it with every fiber of her being - that she and Jake were heading toward something permanent. Marriage. And eventually - a number of years eventually - children. She could imagine building a life and a family in Jericho and, most importantly, with Jake.
"You're a good girl, Heather," Grandpa repeated, stepping toward her. He reached for her hand, catching it in his own, his skin cool, dry, and rough against hers. Squeezing her fingers, he smiled. "You're good for my grandson," he declared, "And you're good to listen to an old man prattle on."
"Oh, you're not an old man," Heather protested, prompting his chuckle.
"Well, I'm certainly no young buck, that's for sure," Grandpa proclaimed, letting go of her hand. "Though I'm still a mite smarter than your young buck in that I got my flu shot," he added. "Jake seems to think you can get the flu from a flu shot -"
"You get the flu from the flu!" Heather interrupted, rolling her eyes in exasperation. "He and I have had this discussion, and now he's sick, so I guess I'm right and I win," she decided, giggling softly to herself. "But I'll be nice and wait 'til he's better to tell him." She paused for a few seconds, and then frowning uncertainly, said, "I brought TheraFlu and ginger ale and chicken noodle soup, so is it all right if I warm it up for Jake?"
"Heather, darlin', you don't even need to ask," he informed her with a smile. "Long as you can stand workin' in the kitchen of two bachelors. And help yourself to anything you want or need," he instructed. "Gail sent home some of those little sausages and meatballs on toothpicks last night, and some of the German potato salad," Grandpa recalled. "So make sure you help me eat it. You'll need somethin' more substantial for dinner than chicken soup, for sure."
"Thank you," Heather replied, extracting a six pack of ginger ale from one of the grocery bags. "Everything was really good last night. I didn't even get a chance to try that potato salad," she admitted, finding a bottle in the bag she was searching. She held it up for Grandpa's inspection. "I brought some Echinacea. We probably both should have some."
"Echinacea?" Grandpa questioned, chuckling.
"It's a herb that's supposed to help boost your immune system, and if you take it after exposure but before you get sick, maybe you don't get sick," Heather explained, her earnest tone bringing a grin to Grandpa's lips. She examined the bottle's label. "I think it's daisies. Well, pinky-purply daisies."
"Purple coneflower, actually," he corrected. "And the Plains Indians did use the plant medicinally," he agreed, nodding. "Just hadn't realized anyone was bottlin' the stuff into valu-paks," Grandpa snorted, gesturing at the label on the bottle Heather held in her hand. "And makin' a fortune off it, I would guess. It's a pretty flower, though," he told her. "Come spring - on in toward May, I'd say - get Jake to take you out on horseback, over by Dinah's Bluff. He knows where that is. You should see a whole field of wildflowers, out there on the prairie - includin' the purple coneflower - far as the eye can see."
"That's really cool," Heather smiled distractedly as she worked to peel back the safety seal on top of the container. "I'll have to remember that," she decided, gaining access to the bottle's contents. Shaking a couple of capsules out onto the palm of her hand, she offered them to Grandpa. "Sure you don't want some?"
"Think I'll take my chances," he decided. "Haven't quite had the exposure you had," Grandpa teased, winking at her. "You and Jake did seem to find yourselves under the mistletoe rather often last night."
The open house hosted by Gail and Johnston the previous evening had been both fun and successful with, at one point, more than a hundred people crammed into every nook and cranny of the first floor. Even the second floor had gotten its use, Heather knew, having been dispatched by Gail at one point to show Margaret Taylor, who'd needed to nurse baby Sally, to the guest room for some privacy. The dining room table had been overflowing with food, cheerful conversation and joyful laughter had abounded, and children had chased one another from room to room. "It's been awhile since we've had this many kids at the party," Gail had confided with a smile before hastily depositing a wiggling Woody Taylor into Heather's arms. Then she'd hurried into the foyer - Heather trailing behind - to help sort out the giggling pile at the bottom of the staircase after a group of those children had attempted to sled down the stairs on a sleeping bag.
"The downside of grandchildren," Heather had overheard Mrs. McVeigh grumble to Gail as she'd corralled her five year old granddaughter, scolding her and then Bonnie, Dale and Skylar, the apparent ring leaders of the conspiracy. Skylar though, had protested her innocence, claiming she was just watching, and Gail, shaking her head, had confessed - throwing her son an exasperated look - that Bonnie and Dale had likely been taught the trick by Jake, who'd first attempted something similar during the Christmas open house some twenty years prior.
Stanley had grabbed Woody from Heather's arms then, returning the protesting toddler to his father before - acting quite mysteriously - insisting that she come with him. Holding her hand, he'd led her back into the living room, threading their way through the crowd, Jake trailing behind them, a suspicious look on his face. "Here," Stanley had directed, patting the pad of the window seat. "Sit."
"Okay," Heather had giggled, settling herself on the cushion. "What's up?" she'd asked as Stanley had plopped down beside her, throwing an arm around her shoulders.
"Well, looky here," he'd exclaimed immediately, glancing toward the ceiling and at the same time reaching over with his free hand to tilt Heather's chin upwards. "Mistletoe!" Stanley had boomed out then - before, actually, Heather had spotted the sprig that was tied to a nail inside the window casing - attracting the attention of nearly everyone in the living room. Stanley had let go of her chin then, smiling at her widely. "You know what the mistletoe rule is." With that, he'd stood up, pulling her to her feet and then into his arms, dipping her so that her hair practically swept the carpet. He'd kissed her too, in a move highly reminiscent of Pepé Le Pew, though there was certainly more noise to Stanley's kiss than actual kiss.
Heather had been giggling - and Jake, glowering - by the time Stanley had settled her back on her feet. "So?" he'd asked, his expression hopeful.
"Not bad," she'd laughed, shaking her head. "But I think I'm gonna stick with Jake," Heather had told him, patting his shoulder comfortingly. With that, she'd twisted around and walked straight into Jake's waiting embrace.
"Mistletoe rule!" Stanley had defended himself one last time, garnering chuckles from around the room and an annoyed eye roll from Jake.
Coming up behind Stanley as everyone had returned to their prior conversations, Grandpa Green had clapped the younger man on the shoulder. "She's got her heart set on Jake, methinks," he'd sighed, his grin sympathetic. "But at least you found where Gail hid the mistletoe this year," he'd added, cocking his head toward the window seat, which three couples had already been eyeing. "There's plenty of people grateful for that."
Jake had waited a half hour before he'd pulled Heather toward the window seat, and they'd found their way there periodically over the rest of the evening, eventually not even bothering to sit down, just sort of ducking into the alcove. Jake had taken care not to embarrass Heather, as aware as she had been of the presence at the party of Mrs. McVeigh, Mrs. Crenshaw, the entire school board, and three other teachers from the elementary school. Still, though he'd been careful to keep their kisses chaste, the mere brush of his lips over hers, the smoldering look in his eye, the way he'd held her hand, his fingers caressing hers, had been enough to send frissons of delight up her spine and had left Heather with the taste of anticipation in her mouth.
"Maybe," she giggled, blushing prettily as she met Grandpa Green's eye, "But I'm pretty sure I saw you under the mistletoe, too. With Mags, and then with Mrs. Moreno."
Grinning at her, Grandpa shrugged, neither confirming nor denying her charge. "Tell you what. If I hear that Mags Henry or Ellie Moreno has come down with the flu in the next week, I'll take your Echinacea," he informed Heather. "Otherwise, no thanks," he chuckled quietly. "Now, I've got some emails to return," Grandpa declared, "So come find me if you need me."
"Thanks, Gramps," Heather smiled, opening a can of the ginger ale one handed. Watching Grandpa as he moved toward the door, she threw the Echinacea capsules in her mouth and then took a sip of the soda, swallowing. Quickly, she emptied the second grocery bag and then carried everything to the counter where she organized it, forcing herself to ignore the crumbs 'the bachelors' had left scattered around the toaster. Heather found a plastic glass in the cupboard and, after filling it with ice from the freezer, carried it and the open can of ginger ale into the family room.
Jake was asleep on the couch, wrapped up in cocoon of quilts, snoring softly. Heather set the glass and soda can on the coffee table and then knelt next to the couch, tucking the quilt back up to Jake's chin and taking a moment to admire the hand stitched double wedding ring pattern. "Hon," she whispered, leaning over him to brush a sweaty strand of hair off his face. "Jake. You wanna wake up for me?"
He didn't stir immediately, and she continued to murmur his name, stroking his face, which was rough with a day's growth of beard. "Hey," he croaked eventually, not bothering to open his eyes as he turned into her touch.
"Hey, yourself," Heather sighed, sitting back on her heels. "How you feelin'?"
"Worse than dead," he groaned, his eyes still closed. "But glad you're here." Heather's answer was to lean forward again, kissing him on the forehead. "I don't have a fever," he complained, "Stop checking."
"Actually, you do have a fever," she told him, shaking her head. "Not that I was checking. I just wanted to kiss you without - without any mucus membrane contact," Heather declared, chuckling gently. Jake opened his eyes at that, initially startled, though his lips soon twisted into a lopsided grin. She laughed harder. "Sorry, mister. I love you, but I don't want your germs. I don't wanna get sick."
"So, which are the mucus membranes again?" Jake inquired, catching her hand in his. He leered at her tiredly, the gleam in his eye definitely not an effect of the virus currently running its course through his system.
"I think you know," Heather returned, fighting a laugh, pink staining her cheeks. He started to cough and frowning in concern, she helped him sit up, and then sat down on the very edge of the couch, patting his back as he worked through the attack. "Poor baby," she consoled as the fit came to an end a long moment later.
Jake flopped backwards into the sofa's corner, kicking the quilt away and revealing that he was barefoot, dressed in gray sweats and a well-worn Van Halen concert t-shirt. "Too hot," he complained grumpily before elbowing the couch cushions a few times, groaning "Too lumpy."
"How 'bout some ginger ale?" Heather offered, turning to retrieve the glass of ice and soda can from the coffee table. "With ice?" she asked, holding both up for him to see. "Or straight from the can?"
"Ice," Jake mumbled, "Thanks."
Heather poured the remaining of the soda - she'd really only had two sips - into the glass and handed it to him. "I'm gonna make up some TheraFlu for you too, okay?" she told him, brushing the hair off his face again, unable to resist touching him, even if he was germ-ridden. "And, I'll heat some soup?"
"'Kay, yeah," he agreed, taking a sip of the soda. The ice had melted some and was now stuck together in one giant clump that shifted in the glass and slid forward hitting Jake on the lip. He frowned, throwing Heather a piteous look. "Can - can I get a straw?"
Smiling sympathetically, Heather nodded. "Sure, hon," she agreed, standing and then leaning over to kiss him on the forehead again.
In the kitchen, Heather washed her hands and put the kettle on to heat, and then dug around in the drawers until she'd come up with a can opener and a straw left over from a fast food restaurant. The kettle whistled, so she made up the TheraFlu, and took it along with the straw back into the family room. Jake had turned on the TV - it was tuned to a re-run of M*A*S*H - and fallen back asleep. She decided against waking him, figuring she could always reheat the TheraFlu while he was eating the soup later. She opened the straw, leaving it in the half glass of ginger ale. Finally, she tucked the quilt, which he'd pulled back over himself, up to his chin.
The soup heated in ten minutes, and Heather found some crackers in the pantry to add to the meal as well. Grabbing a can of soda for herself, she took the food into Jake, waking him with a kiss to his forehead. He sat up on the sofa, making room for her, and Heather, deciding to trust in her flu shot and risk the exposure, curled up beside him. Together, they laughed at the antics of Hawkeye and BJ while he gagged down the lukewarm TheraFlu and spent more time stirring his soup than actually eating it.
Grandpa came into the family room just as Heather took the remains of his soup away from Jake, ostensibly to inquire if she'd like him to warm up some dinner for her while he was making up his own plate, though Jake didn't buy the excuse. "Don't think the vice and virtue squad believes in sick days," he muttered, collapsing back against the couch.
"Yeah, I think you're right," Heather giggled, frowning at him sympathetically.
Heather suggested playing a board game or cards, and Jake countered that he could go for strip Monopoly or strip poker, but in the end, he didn't really have the energy for a game, even of the non-strip variety. They ended up watching a movie on cable. Grandpa came in to check on them a few times, the last just as the credits were starting to roll. Jake had fallen asleep, his head in her lap, a half hour before and Heather figured he was out for the night. "Down for the count, I think," she told Grandpa Green, combing her fingers through Jake's hair. "So I think I'm gonna go," she added, making absolutely no move to get up. "But, I'll come back tomorrow after school," she assured, pressing a kiss to her middle and index fingers, and then pressing them both to Jake's forehead. Finally - carefully - she extracted herself from beneath Jake, substituting a pillow under his head and tucking the quilt around him.
Grandpa watched all of this silently, a gentle smile on his lips. "You're a good girl, Heather," he murmured, nodding softly to himself. "I'll walk you out."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Wednesday, December 6, two and a half months after the bombs
The downtown district was dark and deserted when Jake turned the car onto Main Street, bringing it to a stop outside the market. It wasn't even nine o'clock, but the sidewalks in Jericho definitely rolled up at dusk these days. Johnston popped his door open as the car rolled to a rest, eager to stretch his legs.
"Hey!" Jimmy Taylor called out. He was starting to feel like a vampire, banished to the nightshift, and was always glad for any company. The safe return of the Black Jack party was a big relief, and he caught himself smiling. "Welcome home. Success?" he inquired, hopefully. "Get the part?"
"Had it," Jake muttered, frowning softly at the deputy. He turned around and tossed the keys over the top of the car to his father. "Then we lost it."
"Well, I'm sure Heather'll forgive you," Jimmy shrugged, clapping Michael on the shoulder as he climbed out of the car.
A ghost of a smile graced Jake's lips. "Let's hope so, anyway," he murmured.
Johnston let Dale out of the backseat and then followed him around the back of the car to open the trunk. "And you," he grumbled at the teenager, "You do realize that what happened today was unnecessary."
"Yes," Dale mumbled, tugging on the corner of a bag of soybeans. He flashed Michael a grateful look as the other man moved to help him, and together they carried the sack to the sidewalk.
"And stupid," Johnston continued his lecture, following behind the two young men. "You've got a lot of responsibility now," he reminded, catching sight of a light inside the store. Skylar, he thought, and she was only one of Dale's many responsibilities. "You gotta learn how to be smart," Johnston admonished.
Dale, returning to pull the next bag - barley this time - from the back of the car, nodded. "I understand."
Together, Jake and Johnston lifted a small drum from the trunk, lugging it between them to the store's entrance. "And you," Johnston addressed his son, "You knew that this car," he bellowed, pointing at the Roadrunner after they had righted the drum, "You knew this car was not gonna fit through that gate!"
"I know," Jake said softly, shaking his head. "I heard you talking to me," he admitted as he followed his father back to the car, dodging Jimmy, Michael and Dale as they continued to off load supplies. "And I knew you were right."
"Why didn't you stop the car then?" Johnston demanded.
Jake shook his head again. "I dunno." Though actually, he did know. It was a combination of things, really. He hated being trapped, for one. And there was the video from Iraq, the contractors' bodies being dragged through the streets. Jake had tried to steer clear of it, but especially in the Ravenwood circles it had been morbidly popular and damn near impossible to avoid. 'This is what this place is like,' they'd say, 'And don't forget it. Don't let it be you.' Back at Black Jack, when he'd seen the hanged man, he'd thought of that video. Then when the guards had tried to take Dale, all he'd been able to think was that they'd hang him too, and Jake had known he couldn't let that happen. And in the car with the gate closing in front of him, all Jake could think was that he refused to end like that video, and that he'd promised Heather he'd be home.
"We had to get home," Jake shrugged, glancing at his father but then looking past him, refusing to meet his eye.
His brow furrowed, Johnston contemplated this response for a long moment, stepping out of the way to allow Michael and Dale to pull the last of the goods for the store from the trunk. There were still the four bags of salt that they hadn't banked with Black Jack management and those would need to be returned to Gray in the morning. "Okay," he nodded finally, watching as his son dropped the trunk's hood closed.
"Hey," Skylar greeted, stepping out the store's front door. She threw her arms around Dale, planting a kiss on his cheek. "What'd you get?" she asked, surveying the pile of goods on the sidewalk. "Look at all this stuff!" Skylar smiled, letting go of Dale though they joined hands almost automatically. "Ah! You did great!"
"You need help Dale?" Johnston inquired, abandoning his conversation with Jake for the moment as he stepped toward the young couple. "Gettin' everything inside?"
"I'll help 'im, Mayor," Jimmy volunteered, cringing a second later as he realized what he'd said.
"Jimmy," Johnston snapped tiredly, "I'm not the -"
"Mr. Green," the deputy corrected himself quickly. "Sorry, sir. But I'll help Dale get everything in, sir. Mr. Green."
Johnston nodded his thanks at Jimmy and then turned his gaze on the teenagers. "Dale, remember -"
"I know, sir. Be smart," Dale interrupted. "And responsible. I - I'll be smart and responsible."
"Well, good night then," Johnston answered. He glanced first at Michael and then at Jake. "Let's go home."
Jimmy and Dale, with some assistance from Skylar, quickly had all the goods moved inside the store and off the sidewalk. Jimmy offered to help move everything into the back or 'wherever', but Dale turned him down with thanks, escorting the deputy to the door which he then locked behind him.
"There's just so much here," Skylar exclaimed, smiling over her shoulder at Dale when he came up behind her, resting his hand gently on her back, between her shoulder blades. By the soft light of the lantern burning on the counter, she looked over the bags and other items, counting them and trying to figure out what - exactly - this would mean for the store. "You did great!" she repeated.
"This is nothing," Dale contradicted, rubbing her back. He waited a second and then asked, "Skylar, how much of the salt mine does your family own?"
"I don't know," she answered, turning around to face him. He slipped his arms around her waist, drawing her to him. "Why?" Skylar whispered, her mouth mere inches from his.
Surprisingly, Dale didn't kiss her though he did study her face intently for a long moment before answering. "'Cause I think we may be rich," he informed her, leading her toward the counter. He helped her hop up onto it and then followed suit so that they were both sitting on the edge, legs dangling, their feet almost but not quite touching the floor. "Well, you're rich anyway," Dale amended, lacing their fingers together.
"I'm rich? Whaddya mean?" she laughed, her expression confused. Skylar shook her head in denial. "Not anymore. Dale, what -"
"Salt," he interrupted, "It's an antibiotic and a preservative and money. Wars have been fought over salt," he quoted Johnston, squeezing her hand. "Jericho's got the largest salt mine for four hundred miles and the men to mine it," he added, repeating Jake's words. "You own the salt mine, part of it, anyway," Dale reminded. "So you're rich."
"No. If I'm rich, then we're rich," Skylar insisted, twisting around so she could reach for his other hand. Clutching both his hands in her own, she studied him, her gaze locking with his when he glanced in her direction. "We're rich," she declared a second time, tightening her hold. "We'll share. We're -" She broke off once again, chewing her lip. "Part - part of the mine should be yours anyway," Skylar murmured, offering him a tentative smile. "I know - I know about - about your father," she stammered, "I know about him."
"Yeah?" Dale grunted, yanking his hands from her grasp as he practically reared away from Skylar.
"I - I heard my parents talk about it, about him," she admitted, squinting at him nervously in the dim light. "And about you, and about how your Dad left town, and how your grandfather was my Dad's business partner until he sold his part of the mine to Mr. Anderson."
"I never met him," Dale confessed, his lips pursed. "I never met any of them. They weren't interested in havin' anything to do with me, so why should I be interested in them?" he demanded, the tightness in his throat giving his voice a harsh quality.
"Yeah," she whispered, studying her hands for a moment, unable to meet Dale's pained gaze. "My Mom - well, she didn't think it was right, what happened," Skylar frowned, looking up at him. "She worried about you."
Dale allowed a slow nod, the strain in his expression easing slowly. "Your Mom was always nice to me," he murmured, "I liked her. And maybe," he added, a hopeful note in his voice, "Maybe she's okay, and she'll still come home."
"Maybe," Skylar agreed, her smile tremulous. "I'm sorry," she apologized with her next breath, surprising Dale. "I'm sorry about when we were kids, how I wasn't, you know, always nice."
"You don't have to say you're sorry," Dale told her, shaking his head. "That was before. That wasn't the real you, or you've changed." He had to believe that was true because the Skylar he'd known before the bombs, and even after sometimes, had often been more than mean. In fact, when she'd deigned to notice him, it had usually been to humiliate him. But that was because of her friends and what it took to be popular, and to stay popular. That wasn't the real Skylar, Dale knew, because since the bombs - since everything that had happened - they had found what they had in common. They were both alone, and sometimes scared. They needed one another. She didn't have those same friends anymore. She relied on him, and he relied on her.
"I know the real you," he continued, leaning over to kiss her. They bumped noses - twice - laughing self-consciously, but then finally got it right. Dale closed his eyes, trying to memorize the feeling of her lips against his because even as he argued to himself that she was different now, he still wondered, every time he kissed her, if it was for the last time. "You don't have to say you're sorry," he repeated when their mouths separated. "It's okay."
"Okay," Skylar answered quietly, her expression unreadable. She cleared her throat, absently kicking her heels against the counter. "You know, everyone always said that my Dad was controlling partner. That means he owned half, right? Or more?"
"Yeah," Dale agreed. "I think, more."
"And, that means we own half the salt mine," she emphasized, "At least." They stared at one another for a long moment before, taking a deep breath, Skylar continued. "So, how was your trip? What was Black Jack like?"
Dale looked away. The last thing he was going to tell her about was Black Jack. If Skylar had changed, then so had he. All his life, Dale had been bullied and he'd put up with it - tried to stay out of the way - because he'd known he couldn't win. He had always been smaller, poorer, unliked; the bastard kid from the trailer park. Once - on the QT - Johnston Green had tried to teach him how to defend himself, and Dale could throw a punch if he absolutely had to, but he'd still been just as likely to come home with a bloodied nose and a torn shirt. After Gracie Leigh had died, he'd decided no more and he'd taken care of it. But then today, at Black Jack, he'd been right back where he always was, at the mercy of someone bigger and stronger, and it was only because of luck and the fact that the Greens had fought for him that he was here, home, unscathed. Again, Dale vowed, that he wouldn't allow himself to be bullied, not any more.
"It was fine," he answered, forcing a smile and squeezing her hand. "It was just a place," Dale shrugged. "And, hey, I got you a present!" he announced, playing with her fingers. "You want it?"
Much as he'd counted on, Skylar hadn't changed so much that the mention of a gift wasn't enough to distract her from her line of questioning, and she grinned at him widely as she asked, her voice lilting, "What kind of present?"
"Well, it's not a really big present," Dale backpedalled, "But I - well, let me get it." He turned around and knelt next to a crate he'd brought in from the car, clearing off the top layer of merchandise - multi-packs of 'AA', 'A', 'C' and 'D' batteries. Letting out an anxious breath, he pulled two six packs of soda from the bottom of the crate and carried them back toward Skylar, setting them on the counter next to her. "It's Shasta, so basically generic," he told her. "But it's diet at least. Diet vanilla cola and diet black cherry, sorry," Dale grumbled. "They didn't have Diet Coke. I asked."
"Oooh! Dale! Thank you," she declared, her eyes shining. Reaching for his hand, she pulled him over so that he stood in front of her, her knees pressed into his stomach. "You - you're so sweet," Skylar giggled, throwing her arms around his neck and then kissing him. "I'm glad you're home," she told him a long moment later, drawing back, though her gaze locked with his.
Dale, his arms wrapped around her waist, nodded and leaned in for another kiss. "Me too," he murmured.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The Color Kittens is a Little Golden Book written by Margaret Wise Brown and illustrated by Alice and Martin Provensen. It was published in 1949.
As for the soda Dale brought to Skylar, I went with Shasta because they used to bottle it in my home town. I still think they make the best black cherry and cream sodas. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shasta_(soft_drink)