Different Circumstances: Part 14C of ? by Marzee Doats
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs
Daylight was a fleeting thing. Barely five o'clock in the afternoon, it was already dark out - and darker still thanks to the affects of the EMP and the almost complete lack of light pollution. But this evening, in spite of the gloom, Main Street was bustling. The citizens of Jericho milled about as they had all day, keeping their watchful eyes on the Marines and their tank, fearing irrationally that it would all disappear, afraid that if they went home they would wake up in the morning and find that it was all a dream.
That fear, it turned out, wasn't so irrational after all. The tank parked in front of town hall rumbled to life, sending a wave of worried whispering through the crowd and Gray Anderson chasing after Gunnery Sergeant Hill. "Hey, Gunny!" he called out to the younger man. "Gunny! Why are you leaving?" the mayor demanded, catching up.
"'Cause we were ordered to," the gunnery sergeant answered. He spared a glance in Gray's direction before returning his attention to scribbling something in a notebook, though it seemed highly unlikely that he could see what he was writing in the gloom that had settled over Jericho like a blanket. "Sorry," he grumbled softly, "But I can't reveal operational orders." He looked sideways at the mayor, taking stock of the desperation in the other man's expression. "Army Corps of Engineers will be through eventually," he offered, throwing a bone.
"Eventually?" Gray questioned, a desperate note sounding in his tone. "How - how long?"
Sergeant Hill tucked his notebook into his jacket. "Sir, listen," he began, letting out a long sigh, "I'm sorry, but I just don't know." One of his men appeared before them then and, clearing his throat, the sergeant barked, "You ready to roll?"
"Good to go, Gunny," the young Marine confirmed, "But I don't know about the tank," he admitted, his eyes on his boots. "I don't know if we'll have enough fuel to make it back to Dodge City."
"Leave it behind if we hafta," the sergeant decided, his tone gruff. "We'll post Siglock and Kantor until we can make it back."
"Sergeant, without armor we're sittin' ducks on those highways," the young man argued.
Sergeant Hill, however, wasn't having it. "We're Marines," he reminded, dispatching his subordinate with a glare. "We'll make do."
Gray, who knew in his bones that he was watching Jericho's best chance for survival pack up and prepare to head out, had to fight the trembling of his knees to bark out the offer he wasn't sure he could back up. "I - I can get you fuel," he claimed, feverishly refiguring the calculations he'd been arguing over with everybody and their brother for a week. He'd find some - something - a few gallons at least, he told himself, whatever he could bargain them down to. Jericho just needed a boost, that's all, with a boost they'd make their own luck, they'd make it through the winter.
"I can get you fuel," he repeated in a rush of breath. "Uh, not much," Gray admitted, frowning, "But, uh, enough - enough to get you back to Dodge." Of course, it was two hundred miles to Dodge and he'd been lucky to get twenty miles to the gallon in his Silverado...and the tank would be good to get half that, he figured. So where the hell was he going to get twenty, twenty five gallons? Gray wondered, biting the inside of his cheek. "Just give me an hour," he requested, managing to sound much more confident than he actually felt.
But it did the trick. "I'm listening," Sergeant Hill answered, turning to face the mayor.
"Uh, plus whatever supplies you need," Gray offered, hoping to sweeten - and seal - the deal. "But - but I just need assurances that Jericho will be taken care of."
Eyes met and an understanding was reached. "There are three C-130's from the Red Cross that are supposed to arrive in Kansas in ten days." The sergeant paused for a second, letting this information sink in. "I guarantee you'll be at the top of the list."
Gray's relief was evident. "That's all I ask," he sighed.
"All right, people, listen up," Sergeant Hill bellowed, stalking around the other side of the tank. "We're gonna stand down for one hour!"
* * * * *
"So, when the relief effort comes, are you, uh, are you guys comin' with it?" Michael inquired, following two steps behind Maggie, where he'd been for most of the afternoon. He hadn't been of much assistance to her - except as a tour guide to Main Street, Jericho - but she hadn't objected to his presence, so he'd stuck around.
"Nah," Maggie answered, looking back over her shoulder at him, her expression unreadable. "You're gonna hafta flirt with a whole new batch of grunts," she teased, "And the Corps of Engineers are nowhere near as cute as I am."
Michael responded with a tight smile. "Right," he muttered, "Story of my life."
"Hey," she protested, stopping and then rotating around to face him, her arms crossed over her chest. "You better not be planning to add me to your list, list of all the girls you've loved and lost, because - well, I refuse," she declared.
"Don't flatter yourself," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "Though, if you think the Corps of Engineers would be more open to my sob story with you featured prominently...."
Fighting a smile, Maggie turned back around, chiding, "You are incorrigible. Now c'mon," she added, cocking her head toward the front of Gracie Leigh's Market.
Michael hurried forward to open the door for her. "But you know," he began again once they were inside the building, "You should think about, uh, coming back. When you get out," he clarified, his gaze concentrated on his boots.
Holding her breath for a moment, Maggie moved to the counter and busied herself by fussing with the straps on the pack she'd come to retrieve. She couldn't believe he'd come out and said it - she couldn't believe that she was actually contemplating it. But it would never work, she reminded herself. Chemistry and a couple of hours of easy conversation didn't change reality. And yet, there was a part of her.... She risked a wary glance in his direction. "And what would I do here?" she inquired, feigning disinterest.
"That's a question we're all asking ourselves," he reminded with a shrug. "This isn't exactly where I ever thought I'd end up either. Visit, sure.... But live?" She kept her back to him, continuing to fiddle with her pack, and it was only when he saw her unzip, zip, and then unzip the same pocket without even checking inside it that he found the courage to say, "But you're - you're a good fit here."
"I am, huh?" Shaking her head, Maggie risked a glance back over her shoulder. "Something tells me your sister wouldn't agree."
"Oh, she'd be fine with it," Michael countered, though he couldn't stop himself from crossing his fingers behind his back or from advising, "Just don't flirt with Jake."
Maggie spun around, glaring at him. "Yeah, well, Jake just better not flirt with me."
"I'll be sure to tell him that," Michael promised, fighting a smile. He took a step toward Maggie, but her closed off stance and annoyed expression stopped him from taking a second. "See? Problem solved, you can stay," he declared.
"Stay? Mike, I'm - I'm a Marine," Maggie reminded, nervously licking her lips. "They're not - it's not optional. I have to go."
"I know," he acknowledged with a grimace. "But, it's not forever, right? When your tour, your enlistment - whatever - when it's up, you could come back. Please, just think about it," he implored, their gazes locking.
She tried to paste on a smile but it faltered on her lips, dying almost immediately. Taking a shaky breath, Maggie studied Michael, her expression wary. She wanted to believe it was all as easy as he said it was. He was a decent person - nice, funny, someone she could have a conversation with - and he'd held onto that even though he'd been out there too. He gave her hope that she knew she didn't have any right to have, not anymore. "You know, before all this started, I might have agreed with you..." Maggie shook her head against all the thoughts swirling through her brain. It had to be better - kinder - to be honest with him now, as honest as she could be, than it would be to give him a false hope. "But I won't make it back here."
It was his expression that undid her, a look like she'd killed his puppy or like he'd just been sucker punched. All Maggie knew was that she had to make it go away, and without thinking she found herself moving toward him, pressed against him. She'd surprised him with that kiss, but Michael caught on quickly, bringing his arms up around her, holding her against his chest, and Maggie let herself go, gave into the truly foreign and surprising feeling of being safe.
Much too quickly though, it was over. The door rattled and they broke apart, jumping away from one another like they were suddenly both radioactive. Stomping his feet, Sergeant Hill entered the small store, his gaze narrowing as he comprehended the scene in front of him. "Corporal Mullin!" he practically bellowed.
She tensed, quickly extracting herself from Michael's embrace though she didn't bother coming to attention. "Yes Gunnery Sergeant," she answered.
"Why's your gear not loaded up?" he demanded, eyeing the couple suspiciously.
"Uh...." Maggie began, though she knew she didn't have a good answer. 'Well, I've been busy crushing on a local,' wasn't likely to go over too well.
"Don't answer that," Sergeant Hill commanded then, holding up his hand as if to ward off her reply. "We're headed over to town hall," he informed her, "Mayor wants to express his appreciation. Somebody needs to stay here, and you just drew the short straw," he declared before turning on his heel, already headed for the door.
"Aye, Gunny," she called after him. The couple watched his back, not talking, until he'd exited the building.
"So..." Michael began, reaching for Maggie's hand as she started to move away. She stopped and looked back at him, her expression suddenly and painfully neutral. "Well, I guess I'm gonna go get the last of the supplies from the sheriff's office," he told her, squeezing her fingers.
Nodding, she pulled her hand from his grip. "Okay."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thursday, January 3, five years before the bombs
The Lisinski house was a two story yellow clapboard colonial, somewhat narrow across the front, and smaller than the house on Chestnut Street in Jericho in which Jake had grown up. It was comfortable looking, and well maintained, with a small covered porch in front and a long driveway that could easily park ten cars, running the length of the yard on one side and leading to a large, detached garage at the back of the lot.
Pulling into the driveway, Michael parked beyond the end of the house, behind a late model Impala that was covered in a few inches of snow. They entered through the back door, Michael leading them through the kitchen, dining and living rooms, and immediately up the stairs, barely giving Jake a chance to look around and get his bearings. "That's Dad, that's the bathroom, that's Heather," Michael explained, pointing out doors as the three of them stood in the middle of second floor hallway.
"And, you'll be in there," Heather added, pointing to the door next to her own - and directly across from her father's.
"Actually, you'll be upstairs with me," Michael corrected, gesturing to yet another door. "In the attic."
Frowning Heather scrutinized her brother. "So who's idea is it that Jake should stay upstairs instead of the guest room?" she demanded. "Dad's?"
"Tommy and John's, really," Michael shrugged, looking down at his feet. "Dad just got tired of listening to 'em. Besides," he added with a 'help me' glance at Jake, "The attic's like a bunkhouse. Close as you're gonna get in Buffalo, anyway, so you should feel right at home," he joked nervously.
But his sister wasn't buying it. "This is ridiculous," she complained, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.
"Babe, it's fine," Jake assured, throwing her a quick smile. He turned toward Michael, motioning for him to lead the way. "You first."
Nodding, Michael moved toward the door, opening it to reveal a steep and narrow staircase leading up. Reaching above his head, he pulled on a string, turning on a light. "Uh, Heth, no girls allowed upstairs," he reminded when she reached for Jake's hand, lacing their fingers together, clearly intending to come along.
Heather was very familiar with her parents 'no girls in the attic' rule, but it had never applied to her and she had no intention of obeying it now. "That's girls who don't live here," she protested.
"That's dates," Michael argued, "And that definitely applies here." Her eyes narrowed and he held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Hey, none of this was my idea," he assured, "Just give us two minutes, we'll be right back down."
Jake squeezed Heather's hand and they exchanged a quick kiss before he moved to follow Michael upstairs. Frowning, Heather turned and stomped into her bedroom, pulling her suitcase behind her. She promptly abandoned it in front of the dresser, throwing herself down on her twin bed. Three days before she'd made this bed up in a hurry, uncertain of when she'd be back. She'd felt guilty, too, for not stripping and remaking it, though she'd soothed her conscience by reminding herself that the most likely candidates for using her room while she was gone were her nieces, who'd neither notice nor care that the sheets weren't completely fresh. Definitely, she hadn't imagined that she would be back so soon, and she absolutely wouldn't have guessed - not in a million years - that she'd return as an engaged woman.
Forcing herself to sit up, Heather crossed her legs so that she was sitting 'Indian style' in the middle of the mattress. She couldn't help but smile at the thought. Engaged! She was engaged, as wonderful and unreal as that was. She took a moment to admire her ring, though in the dim light of the falling dusk it just didn't sparkle in the way she was now used to, and so she leaned over to click on the bedside lamp.
"So, Dad said to just pick up a pizza at Geppetto's if that works for you," Michael announced, appearing in her doorway along with Jake.
"Sure, sounds good," Heather agreed, swinging her legs around so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed. She held her hand out to her fiancé, who moved past Michael and crossed the room, dropping to a seat next to her. "Just no Hawaiian," she ordered. "Jake doesn't like it."
"Really?" her brother questioned. "I thought everyone liked Hawaiian," Michael argued before shrugging this information off. "But, whatever. Do you eat supreme, or should I just get pepperoni?"
"Supreme's fine," Jake assured, wrapping one arm around Heather, who snuggled into his side.
"Okay," Michael acknowledged with a nod. "There's stuff in the fridge for a salad, and," he continued, waving his hand in their direction, "I'm gonna pretend that this isn't completely against the rules and go." He turned around and then stopped, smirking at his sister over his shoulder as he threw out, "'Cause remember, engaged's not married."
"Jerk!" Heather shouted, twisting away from Jake to grab a pillow that she chucked after her brother, though it landed a good foot and a half short of the door he was no longer standing in.
"Engaged's not married, huh?" Jake repeated, drawing his fiancée's attention back to himself.
Heather shrugged, her nose crinkling softly. "Oh, we used to torture Andy and Deb with that," she admitted with a sigh, letting her head rest against Jake's shoulder. "They were engaged for like two years, and pretty early on, I overheard Mom telling Andy that," she explained. "'Engaged's not married.' You could just totally tell that Andy hated it, so I said it as often as I could get away with it, and taught Mikey to, too. That was dumb of me, huh?" she chuckled.
"Well, you didn't know it was gonna come back to bite you," he argued. "But engaged for two years?" Jake complained, kissing the side of her head. "We're not doing that, right?"
"We're so not doing that," she confirmed, adding, "But they were still in school, and everything. Couldn't give up on the parental financial supplement and health insurance. And actually, they were both younger than me when they got engaged," Heather declared, flashing Jake a soft smile. "So, totally different situation."
"Good," he murmured, scooting back on the bed so that his back was against the wall. With a tug on Heather's hand, he drew her to him, and with a little maneuvering she was settled between his legs, her back pressed to his chest. "So, I've never actually slept in a bunkhouse - unless you count, maybe, the cabins at summer camp - but I have to say, that attic is scarily like one," Jake told her. "There are six beds up there."
"Right, the 'Lisinski Home for Wayward Boys'," Heather declared with a chuckle. "At some point this became the place to crash among my brothers' friends if they were on the outs with their parents, or whatever. My cousins, too - And one Christmas break, I swear, half of the Saint Mike's hockey team was sleepin' up there," she claimed, tilting her head back in a rather awkward attempt to catch Jake's eye. "My mother would let anyone stay, but she'd start assigning chores if they were here more than three days."
"That'd get 'em out of the house," Jake laughed, wrapping his arms around her middle.
"Mostly did," she agreed, "I think the longest anyone ever stayed was two weeks. Well, my cousin Adam was here most of the summer one year, but that was different since he's family. Andy, Tommy and John used to be crammed into the guest room," she explained, absently stroking his forearm with the fingers of one hand. "And then, when Mikey was little, he was actually in here with me for a few years. So the first day of summer vacation one year - I think I'd just turned nine - Dad took the week off and finished off the attic. Put us all to work. The three of them moved upstairs and Mikey moved next door. Then when Tommy moved out, Mikey went upstairs with John."
"Okay, so you do know that Mike's got a way better deal than you, room wise, right?" he asked. "Tell him that, next time he claims you're the favorite," Jake suggested as he pressed a gentle kiss on her temple.
"Trust me, Mikey knows that we all think he's got the total 'Greg Brady' set-up, up there," Heather assured, chuckling. "But this is my room." She twisted around in Jake's arms then, accidentally elbowing him in the stomach, drawing a half-hearted "ow!" which he promptly forgot all about when she brushed her lips over his. "My bed."
Somehow they ended up lying across the bed, facing one another, their legs tangled. "Nice room," Jake murmured thickly against her mouth while his hands drifted down her back, over her bottom, and finally up under the hem of her sweater and turtleneck to rest against the bare skin just above the waistband of her jeans. "Really tiny bed, though," he teased a moment later, stroking her skin with his thumb as he lifted himself up an inch, catching her eye.
Watching Jake watch her in return, Heather forgot to breathe. His desire for her was plainly written across his face, as hers for him was undoubtedly mirrored in her own expression. She knew that they were playing with fire, that they couldn't take this where they both wanted it to go - that would not be a good way for her father and fiancé to meet one another, she reminded herself, squirming against Jake - but, oh, he was hard to resist! "It's got a trundle bed," Heather argued, giggling softly.
She rolled onto her back, her hair fanned around her, much too tantalizing of a picture for Jake to ignore. "Well, if it's got a trundle," he joked, his mouth descending upon hers, "I take it back." But then, outside, a car backfired, startling them both. Jake pulled away, extracting his hand from beneath her clothing and expelling a shaky breath. "So... we're supposed to make a salad, right?"
* * * * *
The backfiring car, Heather determined looking out of her window, was a signal that it was the Lisinskis' across the street neighbor who had returned home from work and not her father, but still they headed downstairs. In the kitchen, she dug salad fixings out of the refrigerator and, after doing a quick reconnaissance of the cupboards, counters and cookie jar - finding nothing - suggested that she could whip up a quick batch of peanut butter cookies if Jake could handle the salad. More than willing to take that deal, Jake got to work, chatting and joking with Heather about his first impressions of the Lisinski family. Then, with the salad finished and returned to the refrigerator to chill, he offered her his 'crisscross' assistance. Grinning, she turned the cookie sheet over and he got to work, though his progress was somewhat slowed when she planted herself in his lap and he had to reach around her to press the fork she'd provided him into the cookies. Easily distracted, Jake managed to steal one kiss for every cookie he completed.
This was the scene that Joe Lisinski walked in on - two young people, lost in a world made up of only each other. He paused in the open door, unmindful of the cold air he was letting in, and studied his daughter and the young man to whom she'd given her heart. He'd had time over the previous month to get used to the idea that Heather had fallen in love for the first time, and he'd even enjoyed the new vibrancy - when she hadn't been pining - that seemed to exude from her every pore. Still, he hadn't anticipated this. An engagement.
But watching them, he couldn't help but be transported back in memory to when he had been newly married. They'd lived in the world's tiniest apartment - Renate had jokingly referred to the kitchen as the hall closet - scrimping to make the rent every month while he'd worked hard to move up at work and his wife had put in long hours as the head cashier of the neighborhood drugstore. But they had been so in love, so excited about the life they were building together, that none of the things working against them had mattered, instead becoming just another part of the adventure.
They had brought Andrew home to that apartment when he'd been born. As he now well knew, babies' things required exponentially more space than the babies themselves, and just turning around had been to risk bodily injury that last year in the apartment, they'd been so crowded. They had moved to this house while Renate had been pregnant with Tommy and they had reveled in the space. He remembered coming home an hour early one night a few weeks after they'd first moved in to find his six months' pregnant wife and toddler son running races across the empty dining room in their socks. In the end, they had filled up the house - easy enough to do with five kids, their friends, and a large extended family. But they'd been happy, even if they could have, as his wife had often laughingly reminded him, used another bathroom.
He'd loved - still loved - his wife, and all he could wish for Heather and her intended was that same kind of love. A lifelong love, a strong and abiding love, one that would withstand the stresses of everyday life and the small hurts they would undoubtedly inflict upon one another without meaning to. He hoped, for his daughter's sake, that the passion, the romance, the giddiness, that was so evident in this new love would have staying power.
Finally remembering to close the door, Joe cleared his throat, announcing, "I'm home."
Immediately, Heather scrambled off her fiancé's lap, narrowly avoiding sending the cookie sheet on the edge of the table flying. Jake followed her lead, jumping to his feet, bumping into her in the process and then reaching for her arm to steady them both. "Dad!" she declared brightly.
"Mr. Lisinski," Jake added as the two of them moved around the corner of that table, an almost perfectly synchronized pair. He held his hand out to his future father-in-law. "I'm glad to meet you finally."
"Likewise, Jake," Joe agreed, shaking Jake's hand. "But I believe we agreed that you should call me Joe," he reminded, holding the younger man's gaze over his daughter's head as they exchanged a quick hug. "Sweetheart," he greeted, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
"Joe it is, then," Jake acknowledged, wrapping one arm around Heather when she stepped back, her shoulder brushing his. "Thank you, sir."
Joe nodded. "Peanut butter cookies?"
"Yeah," Heather confirmed, turning back toward the table. "I didn't spot anything for dessert when I looked, so I thought I'd whip some up," she explained, reaching for Jake's abandoned fork so she could press crisscrosses into the last three cookies.
"There's ice cream downstairs in the freezer," Joe replied, "But cookies'll be a nice treat."
"Oh." She allowed a flustered chuckle, admitting, "Forgot to look down there. But you know what goes good with cookies..." she reminded.
"Yeah, ice cream," Joe grinned. "We can make those little ice cream-cookie sandwiches."
"Just what I was thinkin'," she smiled in return. "So, uh, Mikey's gone after the pizza, and Jake made the salad while I was mixing these up," Heather continued, carrying the cookie sheet to the oven which had just dinged to let them know it had finished pre-heating. "So as soon as he's back, we can eat."
"Sounds good," Joe answered automatically. He watched as Heather placed the cookie sheet on the oven rack, and then gave it the last little shove in before closing the door. Snapping on the light, she peered through the window, like she always had, as if she expected there was some chance the cookies could already be done. Smiling to himself, he inquired, a chuckle in his voice, "Have a good trip? You're practically livin' in airports these days, sweetheart."
Turning around, Heather shrugged. "Well, once we get home on Monday, that'll be it for me for awhile." Jake and her father were both still standing in the middle of the room, and Jake especially looked like he wasn't sure what he should do next. Sidling up beside him, she reached for his hand, drawing him back toward the table. "But oh, Dad! Jake had some frequent flier awards so he got our tickets upgraded to first class, and it was - it was so cool," she declared, seating herself.
Joe nodded, following them to the table. "Sounds like you had fun," he murmured, taking a chair across from the young couple, his gaze settling on Jake. "Never have flown first class myself," he admitted, "But I don't travel much. So, you do, Jake?" he asked, still watching his future son-in-law closely. "Travel? For work?"
"Dad!" Heather hissed in protest. "Don't start."
"What's that starting?" her father countered, holding his hands up as if to show he was unarmed. "That's a 'get to know you' question," he insisted, "Which I thought that was the point of this weekend? For Jake to get to know us, and for us to get to know Jake?"
"It's okay, Heather," Jake murmured, reaching for her hand and lacing their fingers together. He flashed Joe a quick smile, well aware of what his future father-in-law was asking, and what Heather was trying to protect him from having to answer. But Jake didn't want her feeling she had to defend him, or choose sides between her family and him. "I have had to travel for work," he acknowledged clearing his throat, "Sometimes a lot. And, I've taken assignments that as a single, unattached person I had no reason to turn down. But obviously, from now on, I'll have a lot more to consider."
"Okay, Dad?" Heather demanded, her eyebrow arched in obvious displeasure.
Her eyes locked with her father's, the two of them carrying on a silent but expressive argument. Joe gave in first, looking down as he allowed a slight nod, the corners of his mouth turning up slightly. "Okay, Daughter," he agreed, a chuckle warming his voice. "So, Jake, in all your travels -" Heather let out an annoyed grunt at her father's words, but he ignored her, continuing, "Have you ever been to Buffalo before?"
The twitch of Heather's hand in his betrayed her surprise at her father's new tact. Jake squeezed her fingers automatically, clearing his throat as he answered, "No, this is my first time. First of many, I'm sure."
Joe laughed softly, a glint of appreciation in his eye. He'd never cared for a hard sell -- though he wasn't completely sure that he was getting one from Jake - and he had to admire his future son-in-law's confident, unapologetic approach. Jake Green was here to play ... and apparently to stay. "Undoubtedly," he agreed. "Well, I'm sure that Heather wants to show you the sights, take you up to the Falls. You're welcome to use your mother's car," Joe reminded his daughter.
Heather smiled at that. "Thanks, Dad. But you know, you don't have to keep Mom's car just for me. I mean, we can rent a car," she assured with a quick glance at Jake, "When we're here, so you shouldn't hold onto it for me. Maybe - maybe you should drive it yourself," she suggested.
"No, no," Joe protested, shaking his head. "I'm gonna sell it. Just your Uncle Larry says I'd be better off waiting 'til spring, that's all."
"Okay," she acknowledged, though her tone was doubtful. "Just don't keep it because of me."
"So, all right if I ask Jake about his job?" Joe inquired. Frowning, Heather emitted a noncommittal squeak that earned her a smile from her father. "Just so I can get a clearer picture of what it is he does," he assured. "'Cause right now all I've got to go on is everything your brothers have told me, and I'm pretty sure they made half of it up."
"Try more like ninety to ninety-nine percent," Heather complained, rolling her eyes. "And speaking of brothers' mine, you gotta talk to Tommy, Dad. Seriously. He's totally up to some -"
She was cut off, however, when the side door flew open once more and Michael marched in, bearing a pizza box with a large paper bag lying sideways on top, in the center. "We've got pizza, and we've got wings," he announced, grinning. "Gratis. All thanks to you Jake," Michael explained, setting everything down in the center of the table. "Joe at Geppetto's - not you, Dad -"
"Thanks for clearing that up," his father interjected with a soft snort.
"Right, sorry," Michael acknowledged. "Anyway, he listens to The Home Run religiously, so he was askin' about you guys - said to give you his congratulations, Heth - and when I said it was Jake's first time in Buffalo, he insisted on throwing in the wings so you could have the authentic Buffalo pizza and wings experience." Grinning, he pulled a cardboard container out of the bag and opened it to reveal a dozen wings doused in hot sauce along with two small containers of blue cheese dressing and a small baggie of celery and carrot sticks. "Thanks, Jake."
"Any time," Jake chuckled.
"Well, let's get some plates and then we can eat," Joe suggested, standing up and moving around the table toward the cupboard. "And talk."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs
"So, where the hell have you been?" Jake demanded from his perch on the edge of a desk - Bill's, if Michael was remembering correctly - in the sheriff department's bullpen. He put down the spiral notebook he'd been reading through, throwing his brother-in-law a curious look. "Just swear to me that you haven't gone and joined the Marines."
Stopping in the narrow path between the front counter, bank of desks in the middle of the room and the offices off to one side, Michael faced Jake, shrugging. "Haven't joined the Marines," he assured. "I just came - came to get the radio," he explained, pointing at it through the window at the table inside the interview room Jake shared as an office with Mrs. Crenshaw.
"Good," Jake declared, running a hand through his hair. "'Cause I'm pretty sure I'd get the blame for that," he complained.
"Probably," Michael agreed with a chuckle. As much as his sister got after him, nagging him, mothering him to death - and she'd been doing it since childhood, long before their own mother had passed away - she still tended to hold Jake responsible for any trouble that the two of them got into together. Michael counted himself lucky, and Jake even luckier, that apparently she'd never learned of his rather expensive Jericho speeding ticket the summer before last. "So speaking of Heather, where is she?"
Pushing himself up off the desk, Jake moved across the small space, stopping so that he was standing nearly toe to toe with the younger man. He sighed, explaining, "Med Center. Dad and Gray needed April's top three, five and ten medical supply needs to turn into Sergeant Hill, so we walked over to take the message to her, and Heather stayed down there when I brought the list back."
"Ah," Michael murmured, nodding absently. "You two okay?" he asked, watching for his brother-in-law's reaction. "'Cause you know how Heather is. She can get really, really mad and blow up, but it usually doesn't last. Starts feeling guilty for bein' mad and -"
"We're fine," Jake interjected, "Don't worry about it. She was just cold and the Med Center's got some heat. And, she's not -"
"Not a big fan of the Marines at this point?" Michael guessed, taking his turn to interrupt. "Gee, I wonder why?" he added sarcastically. "By the way, the Marines suggest that you don't flirt with them anymore."
Jake rolled his eyes, grumbling, "I wasn't flirting." Though actually, he wasn't even sure of that anymore after Heather had insisted on discussing the topic yet again on their walk to the clinic. She'd admitted to a twinge of jealousy, a moment of insecurity, telling him that he was a flirt. He flirted with every female from Sally Taylor to Mrs. Crenshaw, she'd continued, and it had never bothered her. But something about this particular instance - or this particular woman, he'd silently surmised - had gotten to her. Jake wasn't quite ready to concede to being a pathological flirt, but neither had he been ready to mount the argument that he hadn't been flirting so much as falling back on the skills that had served him so well professionally. Of course, Heather had never seen him at work, something he was glad of, and so he'd decided that avoiding a certain Marine for the remainder of her stay in Jericho was the most prudent option. "So," he continued, squinting at his brother-in-law, "You and Corporal Mullin...?"
"Maggie." The word - the name - slipped out of Michael as a sigh, one that was heavy with confusion and regret. "She's...." There were so many ways to complete that thought, all of which betrayed more than he was willing to admit to Jake at this point, despite the surprising closeness of their relationship. But she was just so intriguing. Fascinating. Distracting. He shook his head, clearing his throat. "She's leaving. They're - the Marines - they're packing up as we speak, got orders to return to Dodge City." Heaving a frustrated breath, he cocked his head toward the window and the radio beyond. "Promised I'd pack all this up for her," he explained before taking a hesitant half step toward the door.
"Well, just because the Marines are leaving doesn't mean she has to," Jake argued, wondering all the while why the hell he was butting in. "I mean, what are they gonna do, court martial her?"
"Yeah, I'm sure that would go over well," Michael grumbled, "With the Marines, and with Heather. She'd just love -"
But he was interrupted by the crackle of the radio in the next room. "Lima Charlie Thunder," someone hollered at the other end of the channel. "This is Charlie Company Actual, do you copy?" There was a momentary pause, one that allowed both Jake and Michael to shove their way into the office where they stood over the radio, waiting for something - anything - else. "Lima Charlie, it's cold as hell out here," the operator complained.
The skin on the back of Jake's neck prickled, his hair standing on edge. He reached for the radio's handset, beating his brother-in-law by a mere half second, calling "Hello!" into the receiver. "Hello, this is Jake Green."
The two men held their breaths through another pause, but the operator soon responded, snarling, "Jake Green, this is an official Marine channel. Get off this frequency," he ordered as a muffled burst of some sort - Gunfire? Mortar round? - reverberated in the background.
"Hello, hello, are you taking fire?" Jake shouted into the radio, wincing at the noises he recognized as warfare continued, and then at the telltale click of a dropped connection.
A dropped connection followed by another explosion. Confused, Jake glanced toward the source of the noise, his gaze following Michael to the window. Yet another 'boom' sounded, accompanied by a flash of red - or maybe it was purple - light. "What the hell?"
"I th - it's - it's fireworks."
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Thursday, January 3, five years before the bombs
"What are you - No! Dad, make him stop!" Heather screeched as she leapt to her feet, abandoning her fiancé on the couch, where they had been going through her baby book. During dinner, Jake had jokingly complained to Joe and Michael that she'd seen all of his most embarrassing pictures and it was time to even things up. Joe had presented Jake with the album right after dinner while Michael had made a beeline for the family room closet promising, over his sister's protests, to find the 'good stuff'.
Stomping across the room, Heather advanced on her brother, shaking a fist at him. "Mikey, you're - you're so - you're such a jerk!" she sputtered.
Jake, who'd found the pictures of infant and toddler Heather much more interesting than he'd ever expected to, looked up from a fading photograph of her first day of kindergarten, complete with braids, a plaid Catholic school jumper, white knee socks and a pair of pink Hello Kitty sneakers. Following her with his eyes, he smirked when she smacked Michael on the shoulder to emphasize her point.
"Hey, I've got years of talent show video tape here that I know Jake wants to see," Michael informed his sister, holding five of the cassettes over his head. He was taller than her, but not by that much, and had to take a step away when Heather tried jumping to knock them out of his hand. "Coupl'a field hockey matches," he continued, backing up into the TV cabinet, "And at least one really nerdy science fair presentation."
"Somebody actually records science fair presentations?" Jake asked no one in particular.
Heather, hands on hips, whipped around to face her father. "Dad!"
"Michael," Joe chided from his un-reclined recliner, fighting a smile. "Though personally, I've always enjoyed the Burns and Allen routine you and John did when you were in first grade," he informed his daughter, adding, "'Look it's got a coat of arms. It's a bona fide castle.'"
Heather huffed a sigh, but responded immediately. "'Oh! That's where Napoleon comes from.'"
"'Napoleon?'" Joe repeated, his confusion obviously exaggerated.
"'Napoleon Bona Fide,'" Heather grinned.
"That's not the best one," Michael argued, placing the videotapes on top of the cabinet before choosing one out of the stack. "The best one's 'Gracie, let me ask you something. Did the nurse ever happen to drop you on your head when you were a baby?'"
Rolling her eyes, Heather answered, "'Oh, no, we couldn't afford a nurse, my mother had to do it.'"
"Ba-da-bump-bump!" her brother declared with a grin. He turned on the TV, shoved a tape into the VCR and, grabbing the remote off the shelf, backed up with it, pressing the play button. "All Saints School Talent Show," Michael announced, throwing himself down on the opposite end of the couch from Jake. "Circa what? 1984? 1985?"
"Eighty five," she grumbled, following him back to the sofa. Catching her hand and shifting himself over two feet, Jake pulled her down so that he was seated between the two siblings.
Joe acknowledged the move with a nod and a soft smile. "Jake, she was in pigtails, missing both her front teeth, and she delivered every line with such - such aplomb," he chuckled. "Everyone loved it, they were the hit of the show."
"It wasn't that big of a deal," Heather insisted, blushing softly. "It was Mom's idea, and she put our script together, made us rehearse." She glanced sideways at her fiancé, the two of them exchanging a quick grin. "You know, what I really wanted was Optimus Prime tennies," she informed Jake, pointing at the album in his lap, still open to the photographs of herself at age five, standing outside of the school, both alone and with her three older brothers. "But Mom wouldn't let me get boys' shoes," she explained, resting her head on his shoulder, "So I settled for those."
Jake considered this information for a moment, and then nodding, said, "Yeah, I can see you bein' an Optimus Prime fan. Leader of the good guy band of robot cars and all."
"Optimus Prime rocked," she giggled, reminding, "And he wasn't just a car -- he was a big rig, an eighteen wheeler."
"And when she was a little kid, she said she wanted to marry him," Michael interjected, rolling his eyes for Jake's benefit.
"Oh, I so did not," Heather protested. She reached behind her back for a throw pillow which she tossed over Jake at her brother. It bounced harmlessly off his knee. "And, like you would know what I did or said or anything when I was in kindergarten. You were a baby!"
"I have a very reliable source," Michael countered. "Jess. Champagne. John and Kerry's wedding. A lot of reminiscing. This ringing a bell?" he questioned, smirking.
Heather let out a frustrated groan and then threw herself back against the couch, Jake's arm settling around her shoulders. "Okay, so you really want to know what happened?" she inquired of the room. "When we were little, for like the whole year, Jess was obsessed with weddings. Not just playing bride - which she did a lot - but with the whole shebang. She'd plan everything, and then she'd want to be the priest too, which was always getting her sent to Sister Georgiana's office -"
"I remember this," Joe interjected, chuckling. "Burt thought it was the funniest thing ever, really encouraged Jess to keep playin' priest. About the only time I ever knew that he and Geraldine really disagreed. Gerri actually hit him over the head with a pie tin - empty - one night, so upset that she couldn't stop cryin'," he remembered, shaking his head. "Said that she'd long before reconciled herself to the danger he put his own mortal soul into, but that she wouldn't let him endanger her only child's."
"Really?" both the Lisinski children asked, eyes wide. This was a piece of family history neither had ever heard before. "I - I just can't picture Aunt Gerri doing - doing that," Heather confessed, glancing up at Jake who offered her a sympathetic frown, before returning her rapt attention to her father.
"At the time, it was rather... shocking," Joe said, deciding on a word. "Your mother was afraid that Gerri'd divorce him over that. She'd never seen her so mad either. But Burt took her worries to heart and had a talk with Jessie, told her that she couldn't play priest anymore, that he'd been wrong and that it wasn't funny after all."
"Jess just stopped playing wedding one day, all of a sudden," Heather sighed, resting her head against Jake's shoulder. "I was so glad, I never asked why," she admitted, "I was just happy that I wasn't having to marry all my cousins anymore. That's who she'd make me marry, at family get-togethers, so she could be the priest. And that's why I said I wanted to marry Optimus Prime, to get out of marrying Lucas," she informed her brother, raising her head long enough to make a face at him. "But Jess just claimed that Lucas was Optimus Prime, so a fat lotta good it did me to declare my undying devotion to a cartoon robot truck."
Fighting a laugh and losing, Jake pressed a kiss to the top of Heather's head. "Sorry, babe," he snickered, squeezing her shoulder. "I just never figured that my competition would be Optimus Prime."
"Not really competition, seeing as I've been over him for about seventeen years," she giggled, tilting her head up for a kiss. Jake obliged, brushing his mouth across hers gently. "Maybe only sixteen," she allowed with a sigh.
Joe found himself smiling at the couple - and at the face his youngest made over their display of affection. So far, he liked Jake, liked how he treated his little girl, clearly not afraid to tease her, yet taking care to not belittle her. And, he listened to her, Joe had noticed, feeling uncommonly grateful for this fact. He hadn't realized until this evening that this was one of the problems - besides the fact that Heather hadn't loved him - he'd had with her previous boyfriend, Mark Metzger. But Mark, for all his effort to appear attentive, really hadn't heard much of what Heather had had to say to him.
"Michael, why don't you start the tape?" Joe suggested then, folding his hands in his lap.
"Okay, sure," his son agreed, aiming the remote at the TV. "If I remember correctly, this is the one where Uncle Larry and Aunt Ava argue about whether or not he's started recording at least eight times," Michael informed Jake.
"It was a new acquisition," Joe explained, defending his sister- and brother-in-law. "Larry was always the early adopter - that's what it's called, right?" he asked, looking at Heather, who nodded her agreement. "He was always the early adopter in the family, he'd just gotten the video camera, and I think out of somethin' like twenty acts, he was related by birth or marriage to six of 'em." The tape was playing now and, as predicted, the camera moved jerkily over the crowded school auditorium then panned the floor, the ceiling, and finally the stage curtain, while Larry and Ava debated in hushed tones whether or not it was on and recording. "Maybe you should fast forward," Joe suggested.
Over the course of the next two hours, much to Heather's embarrassment, her father and brother shared the video highlights of her first two decades of life with her fiancé. Michael had managed to dig up a wide assortment, everything from the fifth grade Christmas concert to her turn as junior bridesmaid in Deb's and Andy's wedding to an athletics banquet where she'd received awards for both good sportsmanship and achievement as a scholar athlete. Jake, though, seemed to enjoy it all, even the tape of her science fair demonstration on why the sky is blue, which ended with him commenting, clearly impressed, "I have a degree in Aeronautical Science, and I didn't know that. Probably should've," he admitted sheepishly, "But I didn't."
"Well, if you didn't know before that I was a geek," she giggled, blushing softly, "I guess you do now."
"Yeah, but I like your geeky moments," he reminded, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her back against his chest. "With your star charts and posters explaining osmosis," Jake teased. "And hey, now I know why the sky's blue," he added, gesturing at the screen.
"And if he still wants to marry you after seein' all that, then I think we can all pretty much agree it must be true love," Michael opined. Climbing to his feet, he pointed the remote at the TV set, turning it off as he moved toward the cabinet to deposit the remote in its place. "See? I look out for you, Sis," he insisted, throwing her a grin over his shoulder.
"Thanks," Heather returned, rolling her eyes. "But I already knew that without reliving the humiliation of side pony tails and stirrup pants." She found Jake's hand then, lacing their fingers together and glancing up at him. "We are still engaged after all that, right?" she joked.
"Yeah, think so," he smiled. "And I think we're even now, too. You've seen a picture of me in a mullet, my prom picture, the mutton busting picture my Mom dug up from when I was seven," he listed, deciding - after a glance at her father - to omit mention of the photographs of his naked baby butt. "Seems pretty much even to me."
Confusion flashed across Michael's face and he asked, "Mutton busting?" though with his next breath he declared, "You know what? Never mind, I don't wanna know." Shaking his head, he continued. "Well, I hate to break up the party, but I need to hit the books for awhile, and I better do it now since I hafta be up at four thirty."
"Ugh, that's mean of Jess," Heather commiserated, extracting herself from Jake's loose embrace and stretching her arms over her head. "Night, Mikey," she called after her brother, who was already halfway up the staircase between the basement and ground floor. "I need to run upstairs, too," she added, looking first at her father and then at her fiancé. "Okay?"
Joe was pretty sure the question was directed at Jake, but he answered anyway. "We'll be fine, sweetheart. I promise, I won't try and scare 'im off."
"Thanks," she grumbled, shaking her head as she got up - Jake holding onto her hand to help steady her - from the couch. "I'll be right back," she assured, squeezing his fingers.
It was an awkward thirty seconds as the two men watched her disappear up the staircase, then listened to her footfalls as she hurried across the floor above, headed - Joe assumed - for the half bathroom just off the kitchen. He cleared his throat, ready to ask some innocuous question, really just to have something to say, only to be surprised when Jake beat him to it. "Mr. Lisinski - Joe -" his daughter's fiancé began, "First, thanks for having me here, for giving me the chance to show you that I - how much I love Heather, and - I hope - maybe, uh, deal with your - your concerns. Some of them, anyway," he clarified with a not completely comfortable chuckle. "So, uh -"
"You tryin' to get me in trouble with my daughter?" Joe joked, one eyebrow raised in mock consternation.
"Uh, no sir," Jake replied. He let out a long breath and, sitting forward on the edge of the couch, his elbows resting on his knees. "I just want - I want - you and I both - just want what's best for Heather, so if you have anything you want to ask, say, about my job or - or anything you're worried about...." He trailed off for a moment, inhaling deeply before finishing, "Go ahead. Ask me anything."
"Well, thank you, Jake," he answered, his brow furrowing as he studied the young man sitting across from him for another, somewhat uneasy ten seconds. "And well, I do have my - my worries," he admitted finally, lips pursed. "Because I know how much you mean to Heather, how much she loves you. And, I'm not sayin' you don't love her," he added quickly, "I see how you look at her, how you treat her, and I see that you love her."
"I do love her," Jake murmured, "More - more than I can say."
Joe nodded, adding this to the store of facts, feelings and impressions he was collecting about his daughter's intended, deciding that Jake probably wasn't thrilled to be having this conversation, but glad that he'd been willing to broach the subject. "I appreciate that," he acknowledged, offering a fleeting smile. "And I appreciate what - everything you do for Heather. You've really helped her adjust and settle in, and I remember how you supported her at Thanksgiving, when her uncle died. When she talks about you - even just thinks about you - she just lights up. But that - that kind of love, that kind of devotion, dependence, whatever you want to call it, if something happens..." he trailed off for a moment, frowning as he tried to marshal his thoughts and emotions. "If what you two have now doesn't have staying power, or if something happens to you - an accident, something at work - she'll be devastated. And she'll be two thousand miles away, so that I can't even kiss it and make it a little better."
"Don't suppose it makes you feel any better to know that's how much - how I feel about her too, huh?" his future son-in-law asked, folding his arms over his chest.
"Actually it does, in a way," Joe chuckled. "But don't think I'm ever not gonna worry about my little girl, even if you really are the best thing since sliced bread."
"All I want is for Heather to be happy," Jake said.
It was becoming more and more obvious to Joe just how uncomfortable Jake was with this line of discussion - not that he wouldn't have preferred dental work himself - so it was a bit of a blessing to hear the toilet flush from above and know that she'd soon rejoin them. "That's what I want, too," he sighed. "And while this might get me in trouble," he continued, glancing up at the ceiling as if he could see Heather's footsteps as she made her way back through the kitchen, "You did say I could ask, so I'll risk it," Joe decided. "Outside of Heather's brothers' wild speculations, I don't know really even what it is you do."
"Okay," Jake nodded, "Well, I always thought I'd be a commercial pilot, flying for an airline or maybe a shipping company. That's what I went to school for, what I trained for, what I wanted to do. My Dad wanted me to go to West Point - join the army - but I didn't think I'd get to fly, at least not the way I wanted to."
"Huh," Joe acknowledged with a murmur. Above them, he could hear Heather puttering around in the kitchen. "But instead?" he prompted.
Jake shrugged. "I went to this recruiting fair on campus and ended up talking to the DEA. They needed pilots, so I signed up. Ended up flyin' a surveillance plane in California, looking for illegal activity, mainly pot cultivation, on federal lands," he explained, and Joe could tell by the tone of his voice that this was easier for him to talk about than his earlier declarations of his feelings for Heather. "My supervisor, some of the agents I worked with, they all kept saying I should apply for the special agent position, so eventually I did. Went through the academy, and then got assigned to the field office in Denver."
"So, you're a special agent, just like in the movies, huh?" Joe asked, chuckling softly.
"Well, less guns and big explosions than in the movies, and they sure don't show all the paperwork and time spent talkin' to lawyers," the younger man laughed. "But, yeah. Surveillance, undercover work sometimes, apprehending suspects, plus paperwork and -"
"Talking to lawyers," they said in unison. "A real favorite of yours, I can tell," Joe joked.
"Oh, yeah," Jake snorted.
"So, how do your parents feel about your job?"
"Dad!" Heather was standing two steps up from the bottom of the staircase, a plate of cookies balanced across her arms and a glass of milk in each hand. She glared at her father.
"Babe, it's okay," Jake countered, jumping to his feet and crossing the room to help her. "I'm the one who brought it up, okay?" he added, taking a glass of milk from her, though she held onto the other glass and the plate, letting him steal a cookie.
"Oh," she mumbled, glancing back and forth between the two men, clearly trying to assess the situation. "Okay."
"My parents aren't really big fans of my job," Jake answered, taking a step back to allow Heather to pass. He looked over at her father. "But, since I had to lie to them for over a year because of it - ended up embarrassing them - I think they're allowed." Heather handed Joe the other glass of milk, waiting while he selected two of the cookies, and then moved back toward the couch where Jake had already reseated himself. "And, I wouldn't - I wouldn't take an assignment like that again," he declared, reaching for Heather's hand, pulling her down next to him, their legs pressed together. "I'd resign before I'd let what I have to do for work hurt my family again."
Heather, eyes bright, smiled at that, leaning against Jake's shoulder as he wrapped his arm around her. This left him with only one free hand in which he held his glass of milk, half a cookie balanced on top of the rim. A few seconds later, Heather relieved Jake of the glass, handing him back his half cookie before she took a sip of milk. Stifling a chuckle, Joe decided against reminding her of the time when she was sixteen, and she and Michael had gone with the newly wedded Tommy and Mandy to a Sabres game. She'd come home and sounded off to him about how they had shared everything - down to their pop - and had ended up declaring to him that she'd never be so 'goopy in love' that she wouldn't get her own drink.
"I'd fly planes or raise horses with my grandfather full time, I guess," Jake continued, swallowing a bite. "I could even drive a truck if I had to. Had to get a commercial driver's license, go to trucking school for work," he explained, popping that last of his cookie into his mouth.
"Oooh! We could call your truck Optimus Jake!" she declared, handing him the milk. "Nice green and silver cab, and get that airbrushed on the door. OJ," Heather suggested and then immediately changed her mind, "Well, maybe not."
"That'd be like the best of both worlds for you, huh?" Jake teased. "But let's call that Plan C or D," he requested, raising his arm up and over the top of her head so he could snag another cookie off the plate balanced on her lap. "I can do it," he added, "But long haul trucking's boring."
"Plan D it is," Heather agreed, "Behind the DEA, flying and ranching."
"Deal," he returned, pressing a kiss to the top of her head before leaning back into the couch.
"Well, I've got a few things to do before bed," Joe declared, finishing off the last of his milk. "Thanks for the cookies, sweetheart," he smiled, standing up.
He held out his hand for the cookie plate which, after she took her second cookie, Heather was more than happy to give up. "Thanks, Dad."
"Sure thing," Joe nodded, instructing, "Now don't stay up too late, you two."
Heather yawned then, leaving it to Jake to answer her father. "We won't. Think her jet lag's kicking in, anyway. Good night, Joe."
"Good night," Joe replied, "Glad to have to you here, Jake."
"Happy to be here," Jake answered as Heather called "Night, Dad," after her father. They watched in silence, Heather snuggling back into Jake's arms as Joe climbed upwards, neither speaking until they heard the snick of the door closing at the top of the stairs. She tilted her head back, smiling up at her fiancé, inviting his kiss. "So," Jake grinned at her a long moment later, "Where'd that baby book go? I said we were even earlier," he reminded, tickling her side. He leaned in close again, brushing his lips over hers. "But we won't really be even 'til I get to see a naked baby picture."
Giggling, she wrapped her arms around her fiancé's neck, kissing him again.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Saturday, December 30, three months after the bombs
"It's fireworks," Michael repeated, shaking his head at the sight before him. The citizens of Jericho were gathered outside of town hall watching the display - though where the hell it had come from, he didn't have a clue - and they actually looked happy, like they were having a good time. He let go of the blinds, turning to face his brother-in-law, consternation written in his expression. "But the radio -"
"Yeah," Jake acknowledged, his tone strained, "C'mon."
Michael, jogging behind Jake, couldn't keep himself from wondering out loud, "We can barely feed ourselves, but somebody can come up with fireworks?"
"Gray," Jake guessed, leading the way down a narrow hallway that Michael realized wasn't open to the general public. "Mine's got demo experts, and they do the Fourth of July show every year in that whole good corporate citizen crap thing."
"Right," Michael muttered. They'd reached the end of the passageway, an imposing door, scuffed and knick-scarred, in front of them. Jake took a second to pull his hood up over his head. "You all right?" Michael asked as his brother-in-law wrenched the door open.
"Just a little cold," Jake practically shouted, looking back over his shoulder. "No biggie."
They stumbled out onto a small stoop off the side of the building that looked out over a barren patch of hard packed soil where even weeds didn't grow anymore, and the strip of paved road that took you around to the back of town hall to the dumpsters and the small parking lot. There was a flash of white light which the crowd 'oohed and aahed' over, but which left Michael trying to blink away the spots that swam before his eyes. He glanced around, trying to get his bearings - this just wasn't where town hall was on his mental map - realizing belatedly that he'd sat in the small park kitty corner to the building nearly five years earlier with his father, sister and all the Greens to watch the Fourth of July fireworks. There was another burst of bright light, and shaking his head, he hollered to his brother-in-law, "Stanley told us about your turn at pyrotechnics. Getting caught on the roof during a lightning storm."
Even under his hood, Jake's skeptical, 'you bring this up now?' expression was illuminated by a burst of light above them, but all he did was slap Michael lightly on the arm, cocking his head at the crowd. "Stanley," he yelled, nodding once and shoving his not completely steady hands into his sweatshirt pockets. "We need to find Stanley, do a little recon. C'mon."
Another rocket exploded overhead, lighting up the sky and drawing more excited chatter from those who'd gathered to watch. Michael quickened his pace, trying to keep up with his brother-in-law. "The guy on the radio -"
"Could be anything," Jake argued, leading Michael around the edges of the crowd, searching for his friend. "Gotta check it out."
"But -"
"Stanley!" Jake pulled away, jogging toward the other man.
Stanley was sitting on a wooden barricade having apparently been deputized for crowd control. "Hey!" he called in return, grinning as yet another colorful burst brightened the sky above them.
"You need to grab some of our guys from patrol and do a sweep of the area, all right," Jake told him in a rush of breath. "Take guns."
"What?" his friend questioned, gaping. Stanley scrambled to his feet, frowning and repeating himself. "What? Are you kidding? We got the US Marine Corps here," he reminded, gesturing toward the middle of the mob of people where the gunnery sergeant and most of his squad stood with Gray Anderson, admiring the pyrotechnic display.
Frowning, Jake shook his head. "Something's wrong about all this, all right? Trust me," he muttered, glancing sideways at his brother-in-law.
"Something weird's going on," Michael added reluctantly. "Or one helluva coincidence."
"Okay, okay," Stanley huffed, holding up a hand to stop the tag team effort. He didn't look completely convinced that he was needed, especially at this moment when he'd thought that they could all take a breather, enjoy the fireworks, and for once let their guard down, just for a little bit. "Well, what am I looking for?" he grumbled.
"A guy with a radio, for starters," Jake answered, looking back over his shoulder as yet another rocket exploded overhead. "Check anywhere within earshot of the fireworks," he continued, expelling a quick breath. "All right, maybe it's nothing.... Just check."
"Okay," Michael began, "I'm gonna -"
"You're gonna not talk to the Marines, all right?" his brother-in-law interrupted.
"Jake -"
"Stanley!" Mimi called out hurrying toward the three men. "Can I -"
Jake exchanged a look with his friend. "All right, go," he directed.
Nodding, Stanley turned and moved away, hurrying past Mimi with a quick, "I can't talk."
"I need to talk to her," Michael barked out, drawing Jake's attention back from the irritated woman before them.
"... nice talkin' to you," Mimi complained, throwing her hands up in the air.
Grabbing Michael's sleeve, Jake growled, "No! If something's up, she knows all about it, and you tip 'em off." His gaze narrowed as he contemplated his brother-in-law for a moment. "I need to find Dad and Gray." His grip loosened. "Don't you go near her," he ordered before walking away.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 14D.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It turns out there is a Geppetto's Pizzeria in Buffalo NY. No infringement is meant, I just wanted to use the name since Geppetto is a nickname for Guiseppe, which is Joseph in Italian.
Hello Kitty is a fictional character produced by the Japanese company Sanrio. She was first introduced in the United States in 1976, and her likeness has appeared on pretty much everything including many pairs of little girls' shoes.
Burns and Allen are George Burns and Gracie Allen, an American comedy duo, who appeared together in vaudeville, films, radio and television from the 1920s until the 1950s. On their TV show (The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show) Burns would always end the show with "Say goodnight, Gracie" to which Allen simply replied "Goodnight." She never said "Goodnight, Gracie," as legend has always had it. The lines that the Lisinskis recited are some of my favorites from the wealth of material with which they have left us.
Optimus Prime is a fictional character from the Transformers franchise. He is the main protagonist and leader of the "heroic" faction (primarily the Autobots) in most of the various Transformers continuities. The original Optimus Prime transforms into a cab over truck - Heather's eighteen wheeler.
Credit must be given to SandraDee, who first wrote of Heather having a crush on Optimus Prime in her story Dangerous. I loved that detail, even commented on how much I loved it at the time, and then convinced myself it was all my own original idea when I wrote it here in Different Circumstances. Luckily, my theft was pointed out to me by our wonderful shared beta reader, Skyrose, and when I asked Sandra was quite willing to share this Heather "fact" with me, so it appears here with her permission.