The Greens of Jericho

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Auld Lang Syne: A Problem

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4 PM, December 31, 2008

Frowning, Major Edward Beck stared at the obviously happy couple in the photograph on the front page of The Jericho Record.  His wife had always liked small town newspapers with their recipes and stories about the spelling bee and their detailed police log of petty crimes or non-crimes.  'Where else are you going to read about a neighbor calling the police to report child abuse,' he could hear her chuckle against his neck, her breath - and then her lips - warm against his skin, 'Only to have the resolution be that a three year old hadn't wanted to take a bath and had screamed bloody murder when her father made her?'

There was certainly truth in this argument; their own daughter had hated taking a bath.  She'd hated change, really.  She'd scream when you'd changed her diaper, hating the fact that she was suddenly naked, and then - having adjusted to being naked - would scream when you would put her new diaper on.  But nobody had ever called the police over the baby's shrieks coming from Lieutenant Beck's, and back then they'd lived cheek to jowl, packed into junior officer quadraplex housing with its thin walls and echoing air ducts.

For some reason, newsprint was impossible to get still, and The Jericho Record was being photocopied onto good, old letter size paper, both sides.  The front page photo was therefore a little grainy, and for a moment Beck tried to convince himself that they didn't look quite that happy.  But they did.  He did, and she did.  Beck reached for his drink, throwing back the shot of whiskey in one gulp.  Still, he couldn't make himself stop looking at the picture or stop himself from reading the caption printed below it.  Jericho's own power couple: Heather Lisinski marries Jake Green in a lovely Christmas Eve ceremony.

The article continued from there, and for some reason Beck tortured himself by reading it all again.  The ceremony had been simple and elegant, according to the reporter, one Lindsay Davis whom Beck knew to be all of fifteen years old.  The couple had opted for 'mostly' traditional vows, which had been spoken by candlelight at four in the evening on Christmas Eve at the Main Street Presbyterian Church.  The groom's brother and best friend had served as co-best men, while the bride had asked their wives to stand up for her.  The groom's mother was quoted as saying 'I couldn't be happier,' and 'I only wish my husband had lived to see this day.'  A small supper had been hosted at Bailey's Tavern following the ceremony, after which, at the bride's insistence, the wedding party and guests had attended Christmas Eve services before the bride and groom had departed for a ten day honeymoon at an undisclosed location.  The couple would reside at 112 Chestnut Street with the groom's widowed mother.

Beck allowed an annoyed grunt.  Undisclosed location, indeed.  The Greens' honeymoon destination was currently the worst kept secret in Jericho.  Everyone knew that Jake Green had taken his bride to the family hunting cabin an hour or so northwest of town.  Heather Green nee Lisinski had more than once in the week preceding her wedding been overheard saying that she was looking forward to cross country skiing - which she hadn't done in years - and to learning how to snowshoe - which Jake had promised to teach her to do - during their time alone together at his family's cabin.  Naturally, these pronouncements were almost universally met with snickers and knowing looks and even outright declarations of 'yeah, sure,' from whomever Heather had been speaking with.  All Beck knew was that even thinking of Heather on her honeymoon gave him a headache.  And heartburn.  A headache and heartburn.  Dropping the paper onto the bar, he thumped his glass on the wood to get the bartender's attention, then hoisted it to indicate he needed a refill. 

Groaning to herself, Mary Bailey-Green acknowledged the major with a slight nod.  She picked up the whiskey bottle and moved toward him, stopping only to refill Emily Sullivan's glass along the way.  "Here you go," she told the officer, her tone conveying that she really didn't think this was a good idea.  But Beck didn't hear her tone; he was already lost once again in his study of the photo of the happy couple.


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5 PM, December 31, 2008

As Emily Sullivan stared absently into her glass of half-drunken whiskey, she hummed a song to herself under her breath. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of booming laughter. She swiveled on her stool to see that Jimmy Taylor had entered the bar with his wife Margaret. They were exchanging greetings with a few friends, and laughing far too loudly for the tavern's confines. Soon, they were walking towards the bar, occupying the stools near hers, Jimmy's hand on the small of his wife's back as she steadied herself on her seat.

Emily twirled herself around again to avoid the display of affection she sensed coming, and peered through the dim lighting for some other people to watch. As luck would have it, her eyes focused on Art Robson and Lucy Hale, sitting across from each other in the booth across the room. Their hands rested flatly on the table, overlapping and they were staring into each other's faces. Emily snorted. Who did that, besides characters in movies? The way people talked about Art and Lucy when they announced their engagement a few weeks ago, you would think they were characters in a movie. They were both refugees, her from Chicago, him from New York, and they'd met as they followed Roger across Nebraska. Emily didn't understand what was so special about their story. It seemed lots of couples who would never have met if not for the bombs were getting married and forcing their happiness upon the public at random these days.

Emily quickly downed the last of her whiskey, slamming the glass onto the bar. She waited for a few minutes, but Mary had disappeared in the back. She could hear Jimmy and Margaret laughing again, so she slipped off her stool, deciding to find something else to occupy her. Avoiding Art and Lucy's booth, her eyes swept the room. Music. That would help. She made her way over to corner of the room, already anticipating the un-romantic song she would pick.

Running through the selections in her head, she was only a few steps away from the jukebox when she looked up and found her way was blocked by Stephanie and Derek Hyde, their arms wrapped around each other, connected in an intense lip lock. Emily was suddenly and very forcibly reminded of those times in ninth grade when she'd found her locker blocked by a similar scene. Married, three kids, and an apocalypse later, Stephanie and Derek seemed like they could still be those high school juniors who had been so captivated by each other that they'd been oblivious to the students and teachers roaming the halls. Emily sighed, decided it was not worth trying to interrupt, and turned around.

At the pool table, she was met with an even more sickening sight. Scott Nystrom, one of her students from the year before last, stood behind Allison Hawkins, one hand on her waist, his other on the pool table, whispering in her ear. Allison was leaning over, readying her shot, pretending to be ignoring his advice but smiling all the while. She made her move, the pool balls scattered, and she made a small triumphant gesture with her fist. She turned to Scott, who had slid both hands to her waist now as he smiled and said "Nice shot, Allie!" Emily expected Allison to shrug it off. The Allison Hawkins she knew would have. But this Allison playfully tapped Scott on the chin with one finger before stepping to the side so he could take a shot. He raised his cue to the table, but he was still looking at her and grinning.

Emily groaned. She was beginning to despair that there would be no good distraction for her this evening. She dodged around another pair of high school sweethearts from her own days at Jericho high, leaning against each other as they walked to the bar, and then another pair of former students dancing closely to a slow song. At last, she spied her salvation. The dart board was free.

Mary was wiping glasses when she noticed Emily Sullivan playing a bizarre game of darts in the corner. She paused mid-wipe. Emily was mumbling to herself, fixing various parts of the room with a glare, and turning to heave another dart at the board. Most were landing on the wall or the floor. After a moment's hesitation, Mary quickly made her way over to the dart board. As she approached, she could hear Emily saying, "Only meeting after their planes crashed, and suddenly they're the town's sweethearts. What's so great about falling in love after the end of the world anyway?"

Mary cleared her throat loudly, but Emily continued muttering. "And now even children are falling in love over the pool table. Children. They don't know what they're getting into, no." She lobbed another dart. It hit the wall at an angle and fell to the floor.

 "Emily."

Emily turned, and after she saw who had interrupted her, she narrowed her eyes at the bartender. "What? What's your problem? You don't have any problems. You know why?"

Mary sighed. She knew from experience she was about to find out.

 "You're married. Someone wanted to marry you. You get to live happily ever after. Even if it is with Eric Green." With a nod, as if she were approving such a match, Emily held up a dart. "Married to Eric! Mary married Eric! And when you had a bouquet to throw, you threw it at her! But what a surprise, you're one of them now, those oh-so-happy Greens! I should'a known you'd stick together. So you can't talk, about problems!" For a second it was unclear just what her intended target was, but she swung her arm wildly and threw it at the dart board. It was several feet off, and only several feet from another patron. Mary took her chance.

"Give me those!" she said, wrestling the remaining darts from Emily's hands, all the while listening to more of the anti-marriage diatribe. When she finally made it back to the bar and stashed the handful of darts underneath a box, Mary glanced back at Emily. She was fast becoming her second most disruptive customer of the evening, but at least she no longer had her hands full of sharp objects.


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6 PM, December 31, 2008

Mary was sure she'd never been so glad to see her husband.  At the very least she'd never been so glad to see Eric since he'd become her husband just over three months previously.  Catching her eye, he smiled at her, jogging the rest of the way across the tavern.  He came around the bar and pulled her into his arms, hugging her and kissing her 'hello'.  Mary clutched at his coat.  "Thank God you're here," she groaned against his shoulder.  Lifting her head she made a face.  "We've got a major problem, and you're just the man to fix it," she claimed.

Eric frowned, cupping her face with one cold hand.  "What's wrong?" he asked, suddenly serious.

She shook her head and pushed him not so gently, backing him up into the corner.  "Him!" she whispered fiercely, pointing at Beck, who sat hunched on his stool, scowling at his empty shot glass.  "He just sits there drinking and looking mad and mean, scaring off all my customers!  He came in three hours ago with a copy of The Record, and he won't stop staring at the picture of Heather and Jake from the wedding," Mary complained, rolling her eyes at her husband.  "It's creepy, and I think he cried once, and it's bringing the whole place down!"

"Well, it does seem kind of dead in here," he agreed, letting out a frustrated breath.

"And then there's her," Mary groaned, directing Eric's attention to Emily, who was sitting on the other side of the bar, an equally mean look on her face as she contemplated her own drained glass.  "She's drunk too!  Plus, she keeps trying to assassinate my customers with darts when she isn't busy spouting off anti-marriage rhetoric and being disgusted by post-bombs romance and vilifying the entire Green family.  And, she's got a copy of the paper, too, only she's drawn a mustache on Heather and horns and a tail on Jake."

"Sweetie -" he tried to interrupt, but it was to no avail.

"Eric, you've got to do something," she insisted.  "We don't have the Super Bowl or March Madness or NASCAR or the World Series anymore. We don't have golf anymore, even though, really, you and your Dad were the only ones who ever watched that.  What we do have is New Year's.  This is our biggest night," Mary reminded, wringing his hand between both of hers.  "But as long as we've got these two here, being all mopey and mean and trying to kill people, we're never gonna do the business we should be doing.  The business we need to be doing."

"Okay then," he declared, his expression hardening with determination.  "I'll take care of it," he decided, shrugging out of his coat and handing it to his wife.   Mary was right; sure, he was still deputy mayor, and some day when Gray Anderson died or retired, he'd probably get to take his place as Jericho's mayor, but what little economic security they had in this new world was all tied up in the tavern and they had to protect that.  Eric squared his shoulders and gave her a quick kiss - "For luck," he told her - and then turned and marched forward ten feet.  Glancing between Emily and Beck, he sized up their two recalcitrant patrons. 

Emily, he decided with a nod of his head.  They'd known one another nearly all their lives, and Eric felt like he could reason with Emily, felt like he could understand where she was coming from.  He liked his new sister-in-law and considered Heather to be a friend.  She was good for Jake and, strangely, they worked, though she was obviously too good for his brother.  However, Eric couldn't help but feel a little sorry for Emily.  He'd tried to make things up to April, and he felt that they had made their peace before she'd died, but still ... helping Emily come to terms with Jake's choice - even if it had been more than a year since their rather spectacular break-up - would be like doing a little extra penance ... kind of like taking out a small, karmic insurance policy. 

Pasting on a determined yet considerate smile, Eric turned and strode toward his brother's ex.  She stared at him, her gaze narrowing as he approached.  "Emily -"

"Drop dead, Green," she growled, glaring.

Eric stopped in his tracks and hastily reconsidered his options.  He glanced right, evaluating Jericho's lame duck, figurehead military governor.  The preceding eighteen months had certainly not been kind to the proud army officer, a fact that was eloquently illustrated for Eric when the major, after smoothing one shaky hand over his copy of The Jericho Record, collapsed face down on the bar, sobbing softly.

"Okay then," Eric muttered under his breath as he executed a quick about face turn.  His head hanging, he shuffled - defeated - back toward his wife.  "I - uh - sorry, sweetie," he apologized, obviously embarrassed.

Mary offered him an understanding smile and patted him on the shoulder.  She couldn't help it; she loved him so much.  "We'll - we'll figure something out."


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7 PM, December 31, 2008

A gust of cold air signaled the arrival of two more customers. Waiting until Mimi had entered and then shutting the door quickly behind him to keep out the blowing snow, Stanley announced, "Okay, the party can start now!"

"I'd say so. Happy New Year!" said Eric, quickly coming over to his friends.

They shook the snow off their clothes, exchanging breathless greetings. "Your coat, my lady?" asked Stanley. Rolling her eyes just a little at his dramatic display of chivalry, Mimi pulled off her oversized coat and watched him retreat to the corner with the hooks.

"Non-alcoholic drinks this way," said Eric. Mimi followed him over to the bar, where she spied her friend distractedly sorting bottles.

"Happy New Year!" exclaimed Mimi. Mary looked up, quickly smiling. "Hey! Happy New Year."  She hastily hugged her friend, and then glanced across the bar.

"Oh! Oh, kicking again!" exclaimed Mimi. "Here, feel!" she grabbed Mary's hand and held it to the swell of her stomach.

"Beautiful," said Mary, not looking away from the patron slumped at the end of the bar.

"Always after sunset. Stanley's already despairing that she'll be a night owl like me." Mimi stopped, puzzled by her friend's inattentiveness. The last dozen times she'd shared the baby's kicking with her friends, they had all exclaimed over the miracle. Letting go of Mary's hand so it dropped, Mimi followed her gaze. "Alright, what earth-shattering event is happening over there?"

Eric had poured Mimi a glass of cider and he handed it to her. "Ah, the Major is single-handedly dragging down the evening."

Mimi gulped down some of her drink. "What's he doing? Target practice with your darts?"

"No, she is," said Eric, motioning over to the other end of the bar where Emily was leaning precariously on her stool.

"Or was. I hid them," said Mary.

"So he..." Mimi trailed off as the Major let out another strangled sob, wiping his nose on his sleeve. She exchanged a glance with Mary, wrinkling her nose.

"Hey, isn't this supposed to be a party?" asked Stanley, coming up behind them and putting an arm casually around each of their shoulders.

"Yeah, soon as we get rid of him," said Mary through gritted teeth.

Stanley followed the women's gaze in time to see Edward Beck bury his face in the picture he clenched in his hands.

"Is that -"

"The Record," said Mary.

"The wedding picture?" asked Mimi.

"He's been staring at it all night. And scaring off customers," said Eric, stepping around to stand on Mary's other side and stare at the major along with his friends.

"And this is supposed to be the party of the year!" said Mimi.

"Yeah, someone should go talk to him," added Stanley.

Mary and Eric exchanged a glance. "I tried," said Eric, a beleaguered expression on his face.

Mary slid her hand to his arm. "We both did. I don't know if anyone can talk to him, in that state."

"Well, I will!" said Mimi. "He is not ruining one of my last big nights out. And he is not going to do that, to my friends."

"Do what?" asked Stanley, with just a hint of a smile on his lips as his wife grew more resolute.

"That -" she gesticulated towards Beck, who was now, it seemed, pointing at his paper and describing his woeful tale to an unfortunate bar patron. "With the picture, and the staring, and the scaring off of customers. No, he's not going to ruin the night!"

She thrust her cider into Eric's hand and, nodding her head once in the direction of her friends, started marching across the floor.
 
Stanley folded his arms and watched her retreat with keen interest. Eric started to say something, but Mary said, "Shh." All three fell silent and watched their friend.

Lorraine Carmichael, who had been waiting at the bar while her husband Harry was in the bathroom, was the first to look up from the copy of The Record that the major had pushed in her face. She saw the imposing figure of a very business-like and very pregnant Mimi Richmond towering over them, her arms crossed and her foot tapping. Beck lifted his head a moment later, moving with the slow motion of the morosely inebriated.

"Excuse me," said Mimi in a dangerously calm voice.

Lorraine would later thank her savior, but for now, she mumbled an excuse and made a hasty retreat. Beck pulled the now partially crumpled picture towards him and blinked up at Mimi.

"What can I do you for - for you do - do for you, ma'am?" he asked.

"You can stop crying over my friends' picture, stop creeping people out, and stop scaring away my friend's customers!" She put a hand to her belly. The baby had emphatically kicked as she punctuated her words.

Beck looked up at her in silence for a few moments, a strange look on his face. Having not gotten the instant reaction she had been hoping for, Mimi felt herself losing a little bit of the determination she had had when she first set out on her heroic quest. Especially when the Major's eyes began to well over. Especially when he lurched towards her.

"I didn't mean to...You just don't understand!" he choked, grabbing her hands in his. "And why should you, have to know this kind of pain? No one should! And you with a baby on the way. A beautiful, little baby..."

Mimi tried to wrench her hands out of his grasp, and he collapsed into sobs again. She wanted to carry out her task, and she tried to shove her discomfort at his unwanted touch aside. "Look, I'm sure you feel bad, but could you go somewhere else to let it all out? These people are here to have a good time."

"I shouldn't be ruining it for them then. I should let the happy be happy. And you, with that beautiful miracle growing inside you. You're just so beautiful." He pressed both his hands against the rounded part of her belly.

Mimi doubted she looked very beautiful as she seethed and glowered. Across the room, Mary gasped, Eric's eyes widened, and Stanley took a quick step forward, though Mimi was already shoving his hands from her as quickly as she could. "Don't touch -" she started to say, but he was still talking, and still reaching.

"I had a beautiful baby once," Beck continued, oblivious to the horror his contact with Mimi's beautiful baby had caused. "Her name was Alexandra. Do you have a name for your child yet?"

She continued to push his hands away and he continued to speak in that horrible anguished voice. "My poor girl, gone forever. You take care of yours."

As Mimi recoiled from the touch of the man who had been in charge when her little sister had been killed, who had bulldozed the town as her family struggled to keep their heads above water, she could only think to sputter, "I - I think I'm having a boy."

"A boy!" She immediately regretted her choice in words. "Oh, to dream about sending a boy out into the world." His face was crumpling quickly and Mimi wondered how much longer she herself would last. "I had dreams once! But they're all gone! Gone!" His hands had found the place where Mimi's child kicked again, and as he dissolved into tears, he leaned his face against her too.

Beck sobbed into her stomach, right up against her child, his tears wetting her shirt. From their place across the bar, her friends were frozen in horror, but Mimi reacted swiftly. She stepped back, lifted her right hand, and slapped the Major across the face.

As much as he had been sobbing earlier, he was now completely silent. He didn't even raise a hand to his stinging cheek. Mimi stood up to her full height and said in as firm a tone as she could manage, "I said don't touch."

She turned her back and stalked over to where her friends were staring at her in amazement.

"Mitigating circumstances," Eric sputtered finally. "You were provoked -"

"Who cares?" exclaimed Mary. "It was awesome!" she added, as Stanley shouted, "That's my wife! Mother of my child!" He high-fived Mary, and then grabbed Mimi in a hug, planting a huge kiss on her forehead.

Mimi leaned her head on his shoulder for a moment, before pulling away to look apologetically at Mary and Eric. "Sorry, but I just couldn't. You know how I feel about the touching and the people who aren't invited -"

"Yeah, no, for sure," said Mary quickly, and Eric nodded.

"We'll just have to figure another way to save the night," said Mimi.

"Excuse me, can I get another drink?" came a voice from some distance away. All four turned to look. Emily was waving her glass in the air. Mary gritted her teeth.

"Hey, let me try this one," said Stanley.

"Are you sure?" asked Mary. It amazed her every time she saw Stanley pick himself up and reach for happiness again whenever he got knocked down by life. After Emily's earlier ranting about happy couples, she wasn't sure it would be fair to subject Stanley to such negativity, as he was still grinning over his wife's adept handling of the incident.

"Yeah, I figure it's my turn," he said.

Casually, he made his way over to Emily, who was still trying to attract the attention of someone who could fill her glass, but it was hard to tell who, as she was saying, "Can I get another server too? One who is not a Green?"

Stanley cleared his throat. He had never gotten along swimmingly with Emily Sullivan, but he'd known her forever. That had to count for something. "Emily."

She turned around, as if expecting someone else at first, and her face fell quickly. "Oh. It's you."

"Hi. Happy New Year," he said with a small smile, trying to impress that he meant it.

"Happy," she said, almost as if it were a question. "For some people I guess."

"Well," he said, searching for whatever he might say next. "Things have been rough this year, for sure, but still, I'm sure you have some things to be happy about, and -"

"What are you doing, Stanley? You don't care about how happy I am," said Emily.

"That's - that's not true," he said, firming his expression into one of righteous indignation. He had never wished ill of Emily Sullivan. Perhaps he hadn't made great efforts to make her life pleasant over the past year, but he hadn't done that for lots of people. Just making sure Mimi was okay, and that he himself was coping, had been difficult. It didn't mean he didn't care about the others. "Of course I want you to be happy. But Emily, you have to make yourself happy."

"What do you know?" she asked fiercely.

He paused. What did he know? A lot. Did he want to go into it with an irate, drunken Emily Sullivan as his wife and friends waited for the fun to begin? "Look, if you're going to be that way -"

"Why don't you just go back to your stupid happy wife and your stupid happy baby and your stupid happy life!" she spat.

Stanley blinked. For a moment it looked like he might become as irate as her, but instead, he smiled. "Think I will. Thanks. And you have a happy year."

He spun around and walked away, Emily looking on in shock for a moment before turning back to her empty glass.

Having witnessed the scene but not the words exchanged, Eric, Mary, and Mimi looked at him expectantly. "How'd it go?" asked Eric.

"She gave me a suggestion; I took it," said Stanley, putting an arm around Mimi. "I love you," he said, kissing her. "You too," he said as his hand brushed over the swell of the baby. He placed a quick kiss on her stomach too. "But I'm sorry, I don't think I convinced her to stop annoying everyone."

Mary gave him a sympathetic grimace, Eric sighed, and Mimi shook her head. "It's okay," said Eric quickly.

"She's just - I've never seen her in this bad a mood. At least not since junior prom when Jake caught her dress in the car door."

Mimi patted him on the arm before putting both her hands on her belly. "Jeez, the kid hasn't stopped since. He didn't like it either."

"Or he wanted to hit the guy who was annoying his mother too," suggested Eric.

All four of them turned to look at the Major once more. He had collapsed onto the bar, his head lolling to the side, the picture of the wedding on the bar under his head.

"There has to be a way," said Eric. Each of the friends narrowed their eyes and thought hard.


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8 PM, December 31, 2008

"I gonna hafta kill Gray," Eric complained, gritting his teeth. 

Mary placed two bottles of beer on a tray and turned around, throwing her husband a sympathetic smile as she reached for some glasses.  "It'll be okay, hon," she assured. 

Gray Anderson, it seemed, had developed a small crush on Gail Green.  His pursuit was the talk of all of Jericho and Eric was fuming, having just heard the story of how his mother, warned by Kenchy Dhuwalia of her improbable suitor's arrival through the med center's west entrance, had barely escaped out the east door.  Luckily, Gail had managed to flag down Bill in the staff parking lot and had secured a ride with the deputy, speeding out of the lot just as Gray had run out of the building after her.  Gail and her knight in dull khaki were now installed in a booth with Stanley and Mimi, awaiting their drinks.

"I can't believe him!" Eric continued.  Mary didn't think he'd heard her at all.  "A week ago, everything was perfectly normal, but now...." He trailed off, emitting a frustrated snarl.  "He asked me what her favorite color, flower, book and dessert were!  Can you believe that?" Eric seethed.  He looked at his wife then, anticipating her response, but she had none, her attention centered instead on the lemon she was slicing on the small shelf under the bar.  "What are you doing?" he asked with a sigh, his indignation dissipating some, if only for the moment.

"I'm making an amaretto sour," she whispered in return, glancing around quickly - furtively - to make sure that no one else had heard her answer.  Dale Turner had developed into quite the wheeler and dealer, and having thrown in with him early, Mary was now reaping the benefits.  In addition to cases of a microbrew beer from Idaho and wine from Napa, her last shipment had included a number of liqueurs she hadn't seen since the bombs and a case each of lemons and limes. Still, her stock was limited as she wasn't prepared to start mixing drinks for everyone.  "It's your Mom's favorite," she explained quietly, scanning the room while she rubbed lemon juice along the rim of a tumbler beneath the cover of the bar.  "Just a little New Year's surprise."

"Her favorite?" Eric inquired, "Really?"

"It sure better be," Mary replied, dipping the glass in a saucer full of granulated sugar.  "Your parents used to meet here sometimes for drinks, and if your Dad was running late, which he usually was, he'd call ahead and order her an amaretto sour with his apologies," she explained.  "After awhile, she knew what it meant when she saw me coming.  She'd be annoyed, but," Mary shrugged, measuring the amaretto into a shaker, "She was always happy by the time they left.  And she always finished her drink."

"Well, whatever you do, don't tell Gray about that," he muttered, crossing his arms and shaking his head.  "I just don't get while all of a sudden he's - he's -"

"Hot for your mother?" Mary teased gently, giving into a chuckle when her husband's eyes bugged out comically.  "She's still an attractive woman, Eric," she reminded, attempting to shake the cocktail mixer - not quite successfully - at hip level.  She glanced toward the circular booth in the corner where her mother-in-law sat, safely ensconced between Stanley and Bill.   "I wouldn't pick Gray for her either, but it has been two years -"

"A year and a half," he grumbled.

"And, she's not interested in Gray even one little bit," she comforted, watching as Mimi, bracing herself against her husband's shoulder, levered herself to her feet and then waddled toward them.  "But you know, it wouldn't be the end of the world if she did ... move on."

Eric closed his eyes, his expression pained.  "I need a drink."

"You want another beer?" Mary inquired as, still shaking his mother's cocktail with one hand, she moved to add another bottle of beer to the tray she was preparing. 

"Better not," Eric answered, waving her off.  "I mean," he smiled somewhat wolfishly, "We are still on for our own celebration later, right?"

Mimi, coming into range just in time to overhear Eric's inquiry, suppressed a groan.  She loved her friends - she and Stanley even planned to ask them to be their child's godparents - but there were some things she just didn't need to know about them!  "Well, we still have that 'near beer' in the back if you want," Mary reminded her husband, offering Mimi an apologetic smile.  "And, get a jar of maraschino cherries, please.  I need 'em for your mother's drink."

"Be right back with the cherries," he agreed, slipping an arm around Mary's waist and pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head before turning and heading toward the back of the tavern.

"Another cider?" Mary asked her friend. 

"Sure," Mimi sighed, resting both hands on her pregnant belly.  "That can be my third and fourth trip to the toilet."

"Well, it's the homestretch, right?" Mary encouraged, arranging the other items on her tray to hide Gail's drink.  "Less than a month to go."

"Yep," Mimi agreed, already starting to shuffle around the bar, heading for the restroom in the back.  "See you when I get back in ten, fifteen minutes."  Rounding the corner, she gave Major Beck a wide berth, looking toward the tavern's entrance when the door clattered loudly open.  Gray Anderson appeared at the top of the stairs, his eyes wild as he scanned the crowd.  Shaking her head, Mimi decided to give the mayor a wide berth, too.

Gray Anderson was a man on a mission.  He'd waited twenty minutes after Eric Green had left for the evening, unable to concentrate, pacing his office, thinking about her.  Gail  Green.  For the last week, he'd been unable to get her out of his thoughts.  He'd peppered Eric with questions about his mother until the younger man had grown suspicious of - and then hostile to - his inquiries.  Gray had realized then that he'd have to be more discreet in how he expressed his interest and growing affection for Gail.  It was a tough order though; he wanted to sing his admiration from the rooftops. 

He hadn't expected to find the woman of his dreams in Gail.  They had known one another for more than a quarter of a century, and while he'd always recognized that she was intelligent, kind, good looking and steadfastly loyal to those she loved, he'd also always known her as the wife of Johnston Green, his longtime political rival.  But then - unexpectedly - he'd been invited to the small wedding reception given in honor of Jake and Heather, and he'd stood next to Gail as they all waved the bride and groom off on their honeymoon.  She'd taken his arm to steady herself at one point and there was just something in her gentle touch which called to him.  He'd patted her hand, and before he'd known what was happening, the words spilled out of him.  "Johnston would have been proud."  Gail had smiled at him, thanked him, and then for just a second, had allowed her head to rest against his upper arm.  The moment had been magical, and now Gray just couldn't get her out of his head.

His eyes came to rest on the unusual sight of Stanley and Bill standing, shoulder to shoulder, in front of the corner booth, acting almost as a screen for its occupants.  Gray shook his head.  There was just no understanding those two.  But, he remembered, frowning softly, Bill's patrol car had been speeding out of the parking lot when Gail had disappeared from the clinic, and now Bill was here....  She had to be here, too, of that much Gray was certain.  He had already driven by the Green house but it was dark and locked up tight, and with Jake and Heather still on their honeymoon, Bailey's Tavern was the next logical location.  Gail was, after all, as devoted to her sons as she had been to her husband, and not likely to miss the opportunity to celebrate New Year's with Eric. 

Watching as his deputy mayor - a can of 'near beer', of all things, in one hand - trailed a step behind his wife who was carrying a tray full of drinks to the corner booth, Gray decided his instincts were right.  Gail was there.  He didn't bother to contemplate why Stanley and Bill were on guard duty or why she'd be hiding, and instead sprang immediately to action, intent on continuing his pursuit.  His concentration was so fierce, his tunnel vision so complete, that he didn't see Emily Sullivan until he'd smacked into her.  Instinctively, Gray reached out to catch the young woman, who seemed to collapse in his arms.

"Mayor," she tittered, fluttering her eyelashes in his direction.  "Gray," she amended huskily, her hand making its way - rather proprietarily - under his coat. 

"Emily," he acknowledged, frowning softly and taking a step back.  She was, he was pretty sure, drunk.  "Miss Sullivan," he muttered disapprovingly, lifting her hand from his chest.

She was undeterred.  "You're an important man, Gray," she declared with a purr, practically pressing herself against him.  "So distinguished.  Handsome.  I've always felt a - a connection between us," Emily confessed then, offering her best seductive smile as she snaked an arm around his waist.  "Ever since the day you were shot and I applied pressure to your wound," she explained, squeezing his bicep affectionately.  "Do you remember that day, Gray?"

"Uh, yeah, of - of course," he replied, stumbling over his words. 

He had that 'deer in the headlights' expression that Emily was quite used to seeing in the eyes of men when she addressed them romantically.  She preferred that reaction; it meant they were malleable.  Her smile grew.  "What's such an important man like you doing single?" she asked, leaning - if it was possible - closer.  "All alone?"

"I'm - I'm -"

"You should be married.  You need a wife to help ease all your burdens," Emily informed him, twining her hands around his neck.  She allowed a contented sigh when after a second's hesitation he let his hands rest on her hips, if only to keep them both from falling over.  "And, children.  Don't you want children, Gray?  I want children," she declared loudly.  "And I just know that you'd make a wonderful father."

Mimi, making her way back to the table after her trip to the restroom, shook her head, wondering yet again at her timing.  She could only hope that once she gave birth she would stop waddling up in time to hear conversations she did not want to hear! 

"I've been - I've been fixed," Gray announced, trying to extract himself from the iron grip Emily had on him.  "My third wife, she insisted."

Making a strangled noise, Mimi hurried as fast as she could manage away from the truly odd couple.  Not taking quite as much care in her flight away from Gray and Emily as she should have, she came within hearing if - thankfully - not touching distance of Major Beck.  The sniffling army officer caught her eye, letting out a soft sob.  "A baby," he blubbered, "A child.  New life.  It's so beautiful."

Mimi glared in return and then turned and stomped - sort of - toward her table.  Already though, everything she'd heard was starting to fall into place.  Allowing Eric to assist her, she slipped into the booth.  "You know our two problems?" she asked, accepting a glass of cider from Mary as she cocked her head in the general direction of Emily and Beck.  "Well, I think I may have a solution...."

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

To continue in Auld Lang Syne: A Plan