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Different Circumstances: Part 15C of ? by Marzee Doats

 

Author's Note: First, my apologies for letting a whole year go by without posting.  I am very annoyed at myself for that.  All I can say is I had writer's block.  Now I have the opposite of writer's block, so fingers crossed that will keep up.  Thanks, as always to my friend and beta-reader, Skyrose for her insight and input.

 

Warnings: Since I assume you've all watched Jericho, I will just say that peril and tough choices abound throughout this part.  Also, there is some correction/expansion on scenes as aired that might offend a strict canon-ist, though I can't imagine that those types actually read this story.  Lastly, this is another long one. 

 

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

Monday January 22, four months after the bombs

 

Jake pounded on the door.  He'd been at it for a full two minutes, and his hand ached, even with the extra padding his glove afforded him.  "Kenchy!" he yelled again.  "Dammit," he swore in frustration, "Wake up!  Kenchy!"  He paused for a moment, listening for a sign - any sign - that the doctor was inside the house.   There was none.  "Kenchy!" Jake shouted, starting to bang on the door once more.

Just as he was ready to give up and try something else - break a window or whatever - Jake heard the telltale, grinding squeak of the deadbolt being thrown open.  "What... the... hell... do... you... want?" Kenchy Dhuwalia demanded gruffly through the four inch opening that indicated he'd left the chain lock on the door. 

"Lemme in, Kenchy," Jake commanded.  "You need to come with me to the clinic," he informed him.  Dhuwalia didn't react immediately, and Jake - tapping his foot anxiously - added, "Right now!" hoping to spark a sense of urgency in the other man.

Finally, making a guttural noise, Dhuwalia fumbled around, taking off the chain and opening the door enough that he could stick his head out the gap.  "What must I do to make you go away?"

"Mornin', sunshine," Jake drawled sarcastically, pushing his way into the house.  He looked his friend up and down.  Dhuwalia was, in a word, unkempt.  His eyes were bloodshot, he needed a shave, and while his hair wasn't exactly a mess, he'd clearly slept on it at one very odd angle.  He was barefoot and wearing jeans that really needed to be washed, paired with a Chicago Bulls t-shirt that proclaimed that the team had won the 1998 NBA championship.  Over this, he wore a black hoodie that Jake was fairly certain had once been his.  But of course, everything that Dhuwalia owned was hand-me-down; he'd arrived in Jericho with, literally, nothing but the scrubs on his back.  "So, when did you last have a drink?" Jake demanded.

Staring at his friend blearily, it was a long moment before Dhuwalia answered, and even then it was with a question.  "What is the time?" he inquired.

"It's eleven," Jake returned impatiently, "A little after eleven."  Dhuwalia continued to watch him, neither responding nor blinking.  "In the morning," Jake added, a hint of annoyance sharpening his tone.

"What day?" Dhuwalia countered, eyes closed and scrubbing his face with one hand.

"Monday."

Dhuwalia nodded, and Jake could practically see him doing the math in his head.  "So... eight or nine hours," he decided, his head still bobbing up and down.  "I think you're right," he informed his friend, "Time for another drink."

"Of water, maybe," Jake retorted, inserting his body into the open doorway before Dhuwalia could remember to shut the door in his face.  "C'mon.  Look, April passed out, and then she started havin' contractions, and then she passed out again, plus now she's bleeding."  Dhuwalia turned and headed into the living room, Jake hot on his heels.  "And her blood pressure keeps dropping, and you need to come.  Right now."

In one of those small town coincidences that Jericho specialized in, Dhuwalia lived in Heather's old house on Green Street.  Jake had lived here too, officially for a month - though they'd been on their honeymoon for three of those weeks - and he'd certainly spent enough time here before their wedding that he knew his way around, even though the furniture had changed, even in the dark.  This fact, coupled with Dhuwalia's questionable sobriety level, meant that he beat the other man by half a step to his apparent destination: a mason jar on the coffee table, its contents glowing amber in the dim illumination offered by the dying fire.

 "If you would be so kind," Dhuwalia prompted, holding his hand out expectantly.

"I don't think so," Jake informed him, unscrewing the jar's top so he could take a sniff and confirm his assumption.  It was definitely alcohol, and some pretty strong stuff at that.  The jar was about a third full - no more than four or five ounces - but at a ten percent drip he figured there was more than enough here.  He hoped there was, anyway.  "April needs this.  She said we could use alcohol to stop the contractions.  Put it in her IV."

Dhuwalia considered this for a moment.  "Yes, that should work," he agreed, nodding absently.  "So, if I give you that," he reasoned, gesturing at the jar, "You shouldn't need me.  Clearly, Dr. Green is more than able to handle the situation."

Jake groaned.  Obviously he had overestimated Dhuwalia's ability to comprehend everyday speech at this particular moment.  But still, even half-drunk, his presence had to help April's - and her baby's - odds.  "April is Dr. Green," he bit out.  "She's the patient.  Dr. Green is the patient.  And right now, she's got two medical students lookin' after her when what she needs is a doctor.  A real one."  Jake let out a frustrated sigh, fixing his friend with a hard stare.  "She needs you, Kenchy.  Now!" 

"I - I see," Dhuwalia muttered a long fifteen seconds later, understanding deepening his frown.  "I will come then," he agreed, nodding softly.  "For Dr. Green," he sighed, "To help April."

 

* * * * *

 

"Come on!"  Jake commanded for what was easily the fiftieth time in the last half hour.  Dhuwalia had agreed to come help April, but hurrying him along had proven to be an adventure in teeth gritting.  "Come on!" he repeated, pointing the other man into April's clinic room.

Dhuwalia entered the room already pulling off his black pea coat which he dropped on a chair.  "What's her pressure?" he inquired, shoving his sleeves up to his elbows and glancing between Gail and Jessica, who were both hovering over April. 

"You smell like a wino," Jessica complained, her nose wrinkling, as he stopped beside her.

Jake suppressed a snort.  If she thought he smelled bad now, then she - and everyone else - was lucky that he'd made Dhuwalia change clothes before they'd left his house.  There hadn't been time for him to take a shower - April had needed him too much, besides which none of them were willing to endure that particular torture, given the recent cold snap - but Jake, having stood downwind from Dhuwalia for all of twenty seconds, had insisted, in the name of public safety, that the other man find some cleaner clothes than the ones he'd been wearing for who knew how long, and which had reeked of sweat and smoke and, of course, alcohol.

Thankfully, Dhuwalia had not required any assistance as he'd changed.  Still, it had seemed to take him forever to dress, at least to Jake who'd waited outside the bedroom door, calling out "C'mon already!" at roughly thirty second intervals.  Finally though, the other man had reappeared, and after a quick assist with his laces - he'd complained of a raging headache when he'd tried to bend down - and a reminder to take a coat, Jake had deemed the doctor fit enough to report to the medical center.

"Nice to meet you, too," Dhuwalia retorted.

There was enough sarcasm in his tone, and he was already working on assessing April's condition, so Jake decided that he wasn't needed to run interference.  He turned, intending to join Heather in the corner of the room, clearly trying to stay out of the way, when Jeff jogged through the doorway, prompting Jake to alter his course so he could hand off the jar of alcohol.

"What's this?" Jeff asked, his expression puzzled.

"Well, it's not a urine sample," Jake grumbled.  "It's alcohol.  Everything he had on hand," he added, cocking his head toward Dhuwalia who was now standing at the small sink, washing his hands.  From what Dhuwalia had said on their walk over, Jake had gathered that Mary Bailey hadn't opened the bar the day before - citing Jericho's blue laws - and so she'd presented Dhuwalia with a 'care package' of a full jar of alcohol when she'd kicked him out Saturday night.  "I figured it was at least enough to get started, and if we need more -"

"Nah, this is great," Jeff interrupted.  "Thanks.  And Kenchy," he added raising his voice, "Thanks for coming."

Drying his hands with a washcloth - they had long since run through their supply of paper towels and  had been force to switch to regular bath linens, keeping a small army of volunteers busy in the makeshift laundry on the patio outside - Dhuwalia glanced over his shoulder.  "I owe the Greens a debt of honor," he reminded, dropping the washcloth in the hamper next to the sink.  "Dr. Green included."

"Still, thanks," Jeff repeated.

Dhuwalia acknowledged the younger man with a shrug, crossing the space between the sink and the end of April's bed in two quick strides.  "What is her pressure, please?" he demanded.

"Eighty eight over forty four," Gail answered.  "And dropping."

Jake moved to his wife's side.  "She hasn't - she's been unconscious the whole time - the whole time you were gone," Heather whispered, a sob straining her voice, as he took her hand into his.

"Well, Kenchy's here now," he argued, squeezing her fingers and promising, "He'll figure it out."  Jake wrapped one arm around her waist, twisting around so he could plant a kiss on the top of her head when she laid it against his shoulder.  "I had to tie his shoes and make him wear a coat," he informed her quietly.  "It felt kinda... dad-like."

"Yeah?" she returned distractedly, pressing her face against his arm.

"Just sayin'," he sighed, "If I can do it for Kenchy, then I can sure as hell do that sorta stuff for our kid.  April's too," he added a beat later.

"Uncle-like," Heather suggested, taking a deep breath.

"Yeah," he agreed.

"Is she dilated?" Dhuwalia inquired.

"Two centimeters," Jeff answered.

"And her contractions are six minutes apart," Jessica added.

"Should we - should we start the alcohol drip?" Jeff asked, frowning softly.

"Not yet." Dhuwalia's response was preoccupied.  "We need to figure a few things out first," he argued, his brow furrowing as he contemplated his next move.  "I need an ultrasound," he decided.

"I brought some old ones up from the basement," Gail announced.  "I'll go check them now," she offered, returning her borrowed stethoscope to Jeff.  "Jake?" she said, glancing at her son, "C'mon."

"Me?" he returned, surprised.  "Heather," he countered, pointing at his wife.

"If you want to, sweetheart, of course," Gail said, offering Heather a half-hearted smile.  "I just - I assumed you'd want to stay here with April."

"I want to help April," she insisted, worry cracking her voice.  "I need to," Heather argued, already moving toward her mother-in-law and the door.  "And getting an ultrasound working is probably my best bet at this point."

"Do we have fresh plasma?  Any blood on hand at all?" Dhuwalia inquired, facing Jessica as the other two women hurried from the room.  He knew it was a long shot; there was no way to reliably store blood and blood products these days so generally they waited until there was a need and then scrambled to find eligible donors.

"No," she admitted, making a face.

"Okay," he nodded.  "We need to stop the bleeding and then get her blood volume up," he reminded, glancing at Jeff and then back to Jessica.  "So I need you to find somebody -"

"With O-negative blood," Jessica supplied.  "I'm on it."

"I can help with that," Jake offered, catching up with the young woman at the door.

"Great," she returned as they exited the room.  "So... what's your blood type?" 

"O-positive," he grumbled. 

"Yeah, me too," Jessica sighed.   "Actually, only about six, seven percent of the U.S. population is O-negative," she explained, paused for a second before inquiring, "What about your wife?"

"A-positive," he answered, remembering how he'd teased her that of course she'd have a blood type that was written out  'A+' when the topic had turned to their genetic and medical histories during their long, meandering conversation over his birthday weekend in Jackson Hole five years earlier.  Heather, he recalled smiling softly at the memory, had giggled appreciatively and then, kissing the corner of his mouth, she had reminded him that she was required by contract to grade on the O-G-S-N-U scale which meant that in her world his blood type meant 'Outstanding plus'.  Not that she had any reason to disagree with that assessment, she'd grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his.

"But you really think pregnant women are your best pool of blood donors?" Jake challenged.

"No, not at all," she assured.  "My last choice by far.  I was just wondering if she might have an Rh factor issue down the road," Jessica explained.  "But, since you're both Rh positive, there shouldn't be a problem.  Though, do you happen to know Dr. Green's blood type?"

Jake shrugged.  "Heather might," he offered, "And my brother should know, if we can find him."

"Well, when one of us gets to her - or him - we should ask," Jessica instructed.  "I mean, there's only about a three and a half percent chance she's AB-positive - a universal recipient.  But it's still worth finding out.  So," she continued, pointing left down the corridor, "I'll go this way?"

"And I'll go that way," Jake agreed, pointing to the right.  "Find each other in twenty minutes or when we have our first donor, whichever comes first?"

"Yep, sounds good," she nodded.

He made it about ten feet down the hallway before he ran into Bonnie and Mimi.  Bonnie's expression was distressed and she frowned at him, croaking "April?"

"Back there," Jake said, hooking his thumb back over his shoulder.  "Room five."  Bonnie pushed past him, and he turned his attention to Mimi who was dressed in scrubs, her arms crossed protectively over her chest.  "So... IRS agent turned candy striper?" he guessed.

"More like bedpan scrubber," Mimi countered, rolling her eyes.  "That's what Bonnie thinks I should be doing, anyway," she sighed.  "We ran into Gail and Heather and they said that April collapsed and she's having contractions.  Bonnie got really upset," she explained, her eyes clouding as she watched the teenager hurry down the corridor.

"Well, Bonnie's known April for a long time, and they're close," Jake offered.  "At least they were.  I mean, April's the one who gave Bonnie the whole, uh... the whole 'welcome to womanhood' talk."

Mimi nodded.  "Gotcha," she sighed, unable to keep herself from smirking.  "You really had to think about how to say that, huh?"

Jake looked - and felt - more than a little uncomfortable, but he shrugged it off, countering, "Well, there's a little more to it than just the birds and the bees, right?"

"Sure," she intoned, still grinning at his discomfort.  "I mean, there's 'Aunt Flo's' monthly visit, right?  Though - swear to God - Jake," Mimi said, shaking her head at him, "I really thought you were a married man.  You're tellin' me you've never been sent to the store for a box of tampons?  And what if Heather Green goes and has a girl?  What're you gonna do in twelve, thirteen years then?"

"Well, to answer your first question, no.  My wife is extremely organized and tends to buy in bulk.  So aside from loading the giant box into the car at Costco -"

"Okay, that blows my mind," she interjected.  "Jake Green: Costco shopper.  That's just way too normal."

He rolled his eyes.  "What can I say?" Jake shrugged, "I'm just a normal kinda guy."  Mimi's expression turned skeptical but she didn't interrupt.  "And, to answer your second question," he continued, "I'm married to a teacher and my sister-in-law's a doctor.  That's not really a conversation I ever expect I'll have to take the lead in."

"True," she admitted with a sigh.  "So.... April has really looked out for Bonnie, huh?"

"Yeah," Jake confirmed.  "I mean, when Bonnie needed to volunteer somewhere for her community service hours, April didn't bat an eye - didn't argue about it like all the other places kids go in town.  Like the library," he grumbled.  "When the library - the librarian -" he amended, "Didn't think she could handle shelving books - basically putting them back in the right place - April told her to come here, that there was plenty she could do.  So, yeah, April looks out for her.  Plus," he continued, chuckling softly, "When she was younger, Bonnie actually wanted Stanley to marry April's sister."

"Okay, that explains a lot," Mimi acknowledged.  "And it's a little weird," she chuckled humorlessly.  "Even for a small town.  I mean, he takes April to the prom and then later dates her sister?"

"They never dated," Jake corrected, "It was just a running joke that Stanley used to torture August with.  Bonnie was the only one who took it seriously, and - trust me - the whole farm wife thing really wasn't August's thing."

"I can relate," Mimi snorted.

Jake made an exasperated noise that was clearly directed at himself.  "You know he cares about you," he argued, "A lot.  Besides, if you like to eat, a farm isn't the worst place in the world to be these days."

"Yeah.  I actually know both of those things," she sighed, attempting a smile.  "And I care about him, too.  A lot."

"Okay, good," Jake declared, clearing his throat.  "So, what's your blood type?"

 

* * * * *

 

Expelling a frustrated breath, Johnston Green exited the medical center, automatically placing his hat on his head as the door swung closed behind him.  Constantino had offered both Johnston and Gray a lift, but Johnston had needed to find Bill and get him looking for Eric, and then he'd tromped back over to town hall to find Harriett Crenshaw and ask her to keep an eye out for his son as well.  Mrs. Crenshaw was already aware of the situation - and the hole it had made in her duty roster - but still she'd done him one better, promising to keep praying for April and the baby, and to send Zack Davis, her runner for the day, out to all the checkpoints to pass on orders for every ranger to keep an eye out for Eric.

Johnston had hoofed it over to the medical center then, jogging most of the way, though he'd found himself huffing and puffing the last few blocks, and was forced to acknowledge that it had been a hard winter so far - and that he was now just two weeks shy of his sixtieth birthday.  He'd been relieved to see that the efforts to raise the windmill were well underway, but he didn't bother checking in with Gray or Constantino, instead heading into the clinic to see if he could get any news on his daughter-in-law and grandchild.

He'd run into Drake almost immediately, coming out of a supply room, a short stack of towels in his arms.  "Too many patients," he'd complained, padlocking the door behind him before explaining, "The laundry can't keep up."  Balancing the pile of linens on one arm, he'd turned off a light switch, eliciting a soft, discontented grumble from the throng of patients who lined the hallway.  "Sorry folks," he announced, "But we're in a crunch and we have to save power for direct patient care only."

"Careful now, you're startin' to sound like me," Johnston had accused mildly as he'd followed the younger man down the corridor, carefully weaving through the crowd.

"Good," Drake had declared.  "That's what I'm tryin' for.  People listen to you, and right now I need 'em to listen to me."  Ahead of them, the ceiling lights had flickered to life and Drake had stalked the three feet to the nearest switch, slapping it off.  "Okay people!" he'd shouted, "Here's the deal!  No lights allowed until further notice."

The crowd had rumbled again, a male voice protesting, "But what about -"

"No exceptions!" Drake had bellowed before adding, more quietly, "Live with it or leave."

They had waited a few seconds, both holding their breath, but while the group had still buzzed with displeasure, no one had appeared ready to challenge Drake again.  Johnston had offered the young man - young doctor - a small smile.  "Well, don't look now, son," he'd told him, "But they're listenin' to you."

"Yeah," Drake had muttered at his feet. 

Without lights in the interior of the building it had been dim to say the least.  Johnston hadn't been able to tell for sure, but he'd thought that Drake might be blushing, and so he'd decided to move on and spare the young man any further discomfort.  "So, Drake," he'd begun again, clearing his throat.  "Have you heard anything more about April and the baby?  How they're doin'?"

"Dr. Dhuwalia's here now," Drake had reported.  "He's assessing the situation, but I haven't heard anything else.  Jake's been tryin' to find someone with O-negative blood, so I guess she needs a transfusion.  But other than that..." he'd shrugged.   "Hey, what's your blood type?"

"O-positive," Johnston had sighed, "Same as Gail, Jake and Eric."

"Yeah, Jake probably knew that, huh?" Drake had guessed. 

"He might've.  Gail, for sure, knows."

"April's in room five," Drake had informed him then.  "They're all in there with her, Gail and Heather and Jake.  You can go in if you want."

"Nah," Johnston had dismissed with a shake of his head.  "I don't wanna get in the doctors' way.  But I'll be right outside," he'd said, "They're puttin' up a windmill - a turbine, actually - t' give this place a reliable source of power.  So if, uh -"

"If I hear anything, I'll come tell you," Drake had offered, "Promise."

Johnston had acknowledged his pledge by clapping the young man on the shoulder.  "Thank you, Drake."

He hurried down the sidewalk. The wind turbine was being erected in the flowerbed at the center of circular driveway adjacent to the medical center's currently shuttered main entrance.  "Okay, we're going to go on three," Constantino called out to his crew, throwing Johnston a nod and a grin as he skirted the work zone.  "One, two, three."

Gray was standing on the sidewalk at the Park Street driveway, observing the crew's progress as they worked to stabilize the tower on its base, yelling instructions and encouragement to one another.  Johnston walked toward the mayor, listening to the cacophony of voices as they shouted, "Careful!  A little more," and "Okay, easy!  Good, good...."

"Hey," Gray greeted as Johnston joined him, glancing sideways at the other man.  "How's the baby?"

"I don't know," Johnston sighed.  "Kenchy's with April now, so that's good.  But he thinks she may need a transfusion...."  Frowning, he trailed off, not bothering to complete his statement.  "Hey, what's your blood type?"

"B-positive," the mayor answered easily.  His blood type was rare enough that he'd often been asked to donate blood, especially during the summer - car wreck season, his favorite phlebotomist at the blood bank in Rogue River had always called it - and while he was more than willing to donate for April, he knew that unless she was AB- or B-positive herself, his blood would be of no use to her. 

Johnston nodded, his lips twitching softly.  "Nothin' ironic 'bout that," he joked.

"What? You're sayin' I can't be positive?" Gray returned, affecting a tone of mock-annoyance.  "I'm positive.  Hell, I think this is gonna work out real well for us," he predicted, pointing at the wind turbine's tower.  It was standing now, though the turbine wasn't operating yet as the installation crew was still working to secure the windmill with ropes that were being run to the clinic building and to power poles on the street.  "Another ten of these things?" he suggested, "Power for town hall, the corporation yard, the mine?  Free up gasoline and diesel for the farm equipment?  That'd solve a lot of our problems 'round here," he declared, not even pausing to breathe before he continued.  "And put another one here?  Power the med center full-time?  I'll tear up the MOU and give it to April as a 'get well' present," Gray promised boldly.  "How's that for being positive?"

"Not bad," Johnston conceded, "Not bad at all."

"Ten windmills, Johnston," Gray proclaimed, "That's all we need to save our town."

"Yeah," Johnston agreed.  Ten windmills would be enough to save Jericho; the question was, had New Bern come soon enough to save April and her baby?  "So, how close is this?" he asked, shaking his head to clear it and pointing at the wind turbine.

"Another hour at least," Gray answered, admitting, "Though that's thinking positively.  It'll probably be more like a few more hours.  Did you find Eric?"

"No, but Bill and the rangers are out looking for him," Johnston explained, frowning, as Constantino ambled toward them.

"So, whaddya think?" New Bern's sheriff and mayor inquired, flashing them a knowing smile. 

"I think... this is good," Gray replied.  "So, Phil, can we buy some more of these things?"

Constantino's grin widened.  "Yeah," he nodded, "Let's talk about it."

 

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

Wednesday January 23, five years before the bombs

 

"Here for dinner?" Jim Bailey inquired from behind the bar.  He didn't wait for an answer, telling them, "Sit wherever you like," in direct contradiction to the 'Please Wait to be Seated' sign that the three of them - Heather, April and Eric - were standing next to.

"Slow night, huh?" Eric commiserated over his shoulder as Jim followed them to a booth on the outer edge of the tavern.

"For a Wednesday in January," Bailey's proprietor returned, waiting while Eric helped his wife take off her coat, "This is almost hopping," he chuckled.  In addition to the four of them, Eric noted, there were nine other people - all men - in the establishment: Gray Anderson and Shep Cale had taken over a booth at the far end of the row, both nursing beers and working on a plate of nachos supreme while they shoved papers back and forth at each other; there were five men, all of whom he knew by sight if not name, on stools around the bar, watching a basketball game and doing a little light trash talking amongst themselves; and lastly there were two men in the back 'game room' working behind caution tape to put in the mechanical bull that Eric had issued the final permit for just the previous Friday.  "Of course, I'm havin' to pay those two," Jim reminded, pointing over his shoulder at the two installers, "To be here, 'stead of the other way around."

"Well, it should bring in the crowds at least," Eric offered as he hung April's and Heather's coats on the hooks mounted on the post between their booth and the next. 

"I hope so," Jim sighed.  "Hope somebody's willin' to give it a whirl, so to speak, or that's a lotta money down the drain," he added, chuckling humorlessly.  "Course, Mary did think of that, went and promised Stanley Richmond two free drinks any night he's in here for a month if he'd get things started," Jim explained as he gave menus, first to Heather, and then to April.    "So, provided we pass your final inspection on Friday morning," he reminded Eric handing him the last menu, "The bull's gettin' a 'grand opening' all its own come Friday night."

"Knowing Stanley he would've tried the bull out without the free beer," April laughed, "But it was still nice of you," she told the proprietor as she scooted over in the booth to make room for Eric.  "I'm off at noon on Friday," she reminded her husband, wrapping her arm around his.  "I'll grab a nap and then we should come cheer him on."  She looked across the table at her friend.  "You and Jake should come too."

"Yeah, but if you do, you know there's no way you're keeping Jake off that bull," Eric warned his brother's intended.

"Then you should definitely come," Jim informed Heather, not missing a beat.

"Jim, have you met Heather?" Eric asked, nodding at the young woman sitting opposite him.  "Heather Lisinski, Jake's fiancée," he continued, "Heather, this is Jim Bailey."

"Well, I don't think we've been officially introduced," Jim admitted, offering Heather his hand, "But I've seen you in here with Jake a few times, and heard about you from Mags.   You've certainly got her seal of approval," he informed her as they shook, "Along with Gail's and Johnston's and EJ's."

Even in the tavern's low light, Heather's soft blush was evident to them all.  "Well, you know it's only fair that the woman with four brothers is marrying the man with two mothers," April teased, grinning at her friend.  "Evens things up."

"Three," Heather returned, giggling.  "I haven't met her yet, but he says his boss Gretchen is like having a mom at work.  But back to the mechanical bull," she continued a few seconds later.  "Why should I care if Jake wants to ride it?  He was a junior rodeo champion," she reminded.

"In calf roping," her future brother-in-law countered, "So not the same thing.  Though he was getting into bronc riding - I mean, Gramps raises broncs - but Mom and Gram didn't like it, plus baseball and rodeo season are basically the same time around here," Eric explained.  "Jake didn't want to get thrown - break something - and miss out on pitching, so he only ever competed a coupl'a times.  And bull riding's a whole 'nother level.  No way they'd have ever let him on a live bull," he added, referring, presumably, to his mother and grandmother.  "But a mechanical bull's a lot safer," he declared, glancing up at Jim.  "Right?"

"Oh yeah," the older man assured.  "They're puttin' in a padded floor - real big, takes up two thirds of the back room, and we've got a separate insurance policy just for the bull.  Requires special training and certification of the operators," he informed them.  "So Chuck, Mary and me, we're all goin' through that tomorrow.  It's s'posed to be fun - safe and fun.  And for now, it's just gonna be Friday and Saturday nights, eight to midnight."

"Sounds fun," Heather proclaimed, echoing Jim's assertion.  "And, if Jake wants to come on Friday, then I will too.  Cheer him on, and Stanley, and you, too, Eric," she challenged, grinning at him.

Eric held up both hands in a sign of surrender.  "No way," he denied, shaking his head.  "You're not gettin' me up on that thing, sorry Jim.  I ride horses, not bulls, mechanical or otherwise," he insisted.  "But any time you want to put in a karaoke machine...."

"Karaoke?" Heather questioned, surprised.  "Really?  You're a karaoke fan," she chuckled.  "Wow.  My brothers are all major karaoke fiends."

"Well, sorry to say, Eric, but it's gonna be over my dead body that a karaoke machine ever gets into Bailey's," Jim informed him.  "So," he continued, clearing his throat, "Are you waitin' for Jake, or can I get you something to drink?"

"Dad, that's my job," Mary Bailey insisted, retying her apron as she hurried up the three steps to the upper ring of booths on the outside edge of the establishment.

Jim looked as if he couldn't decide whether to be annoyed or amused.  "So, I'm dismissed am I, Miss Mary?" he chortled.  "I've been stalling these folks for nearly five minutes, hoping their waitress would find a way to finish up her personal phone call," he sighed heavily and clearly for show.   "After all," Jim added, catching Eric's and then April's gaze, "She is the one waitress 'round here that I can't say anything to about having too many personal calls."

"It wasn't a personal call, Dad," Mary contradicted, "It was for school."

For Jim, this really did seem to make all the difference.  "Good enough," he returned, flashing his daughter a proud smile before turning it on their customers.  "Mary's in her last semester at Rogue River J.C.," he told them proudly, "Getting her AA in Business Administration, first one in the family to go to college."

"They call it community college now, Dad," she corrected, shaking her head at him. "And, it's just an AA, it's not like I'm gonna be a lawyer or a doctor," Mary reminded, pointing at Eric and April.  "Or a teacher," she added with a glance at Heather.

"It's still impressive," Heather argued, smiling encouragingly at the other woman.  "I mean, you work here full-time, right?  Plus, go to school full-time, at a school that's ninety miles away?"

"It really is," April agreed.  "I'm totally counting the days 'til I'm not making that drive back and forth.  That - that takes real dedication."

"Thanks," she acknowledged.

"What's the name of your business class this semester?" Jim prompted.  "Every time I hear it, it knocks my socks off, just to think my daughter's takin' that class."

"Advanced Topics in Small Business Management," Mary answered, almost reluctantly.  "That's what my friend Shauna was calling about, actually," she continued.  "You remember Shauna?" she said, glancing at her father.  "She came by once, with Austin, her little boy, you liked her," Mary reminded.  "Well, she's five and a half months pregnant, and this is the last class she needs to graduate.  But then yesterday her doctor said she had to go on bed rest, and the drop deadline was last Friday, so it's all a big mess.  She's freaking out, her fiancé's freaking out, and I'm just trying to do what I can to help her out."

Everyone looked to April then, all of them wondering what she might have to add, given the admittedly incomplete facts of the situation.  "Obviously I'm not privy to the details of her - Shauna's - case, but I'm sure her doctor wouldn't order three to four months of bed rest without a good reason," April offered.  "A very good reason," she amended quickly.  "Especially with another little one in the house, that's gonna be tough."

Mary nodded.  "Exactly.  Austin's not even three, and Tim - her fiancé - works for FedEx outta Wichita, so she really doesn't know what she's gonna do.  But she wants to finish the class," Mary declared, "She's been of the phone all day with the instructor and he's agreed that I can tape the lectures for her, and we'll be a group of two for the project, and, well, I've gotta do what I can to help her out, right?"

"It's very nice of you," April replied, smiling, "Really, above and beyond type stuff."

"Well, you know," Mary dismissed with a wave, "There but for the grace of God and all that," she chuckled.

Her father groaned.  "Mary Kathleen," he complained, shaking his head.  "There are some things you just shouldn't say in front of your poor, old dad, okay?"

"Sorry, Dad," she apologized, clearly fighting to suppress her grin. 

"And on that note," Jim announced, "I leave you in my daughter's capable hands.  Enjoy your dinner," he bid them, squeezing Mary's shoulder as he moved around her, "And have a wonderful evening."

"So, what can I get you to drink?" Mary inquired a few seconds later, her gaze sweeping across the three of them.  "Or are you waiting for Jake?"

"Jake's in Denver, so we'd be waiting 'til Friday if we waited for him," Heather explained with a soft sigh.  "So we won't.  But, I'm pretty sure that we'll be back on Friday night for the mechanical bull's debut performance."

"Cool," Mary smiled.  "I promised Stanley that he gets to go first, but Jake can be the solid second, show us all how it's supposed to be done," she declared, her eyes lighting with the growing prospect of her event coming together as she'd always envisioned it.  "What about you, Eric?" she challenged, grinning at him.  "You wanna be number three?"

"No way," he returned immediately.  "Nope.  Sorry." 

"Aw, c'mon, don't be such a stick in the mud," she complained.

"Not happening," Eric insisted, straightening in his seat and then pushing away from the table so that his back was plastered against the booth.

It was clear from his body language that he was a lost cause, so Mary turned her sights elsewhere.  "Okay, fine.  Well, how about you ladies?" she asked, looking back and forth between April and Heather.  "Why should the guys have all the fun?"

"I'm coming to cheer and to man the first aid kit if necessary," April replied, "But I'll take a pass on actual participation."

Mary groaned.  "Bite your tongue," she ordered, "About the first aid kit, I mean.  Dad would have a tizzy," she predicted.  "Besides, this is totally gonna work.  I did a study - my final project for my marketing class last semester - and people are looking for this sort of entertainment.  The closest venues to Jericho with mechanical bulls are Smitty's in New Bern - and that's a dive, absolutely disgusting - and then The Station House in Rogue River, and like you said," Mary reminded, pointing at April, "That's a really long drive.  We already pull in customers from Fielding, Sandy Mush, Cedar Run," she listed, "And some of the more discriminating citizens of New Bern.  Well, this -" Mary concluded, tilting her head toward the back room, "- will just be a bigger draw."

"So, what you're saying is that you got an A on your marketing project?" Eric teased, the tension draining out of his posture.

"A minus," Mary sighed, her nose wrinkling with the admission.  "The instructor said that I was overly optimistic in my estimation of my marketing campaign's start-up costs," she explained, "Which it turns out I kinda was.  But anyway," she continued, her gaze settling on Heather, "What about you?  You could totally do this.  You'd be good at it," Mary cajoled.

"Me?" Heather squeaked in surprise.  "No, sorry, not me," she added quickly, answering her own question.  "But I swear I have two very good reasons."

"Such as?" Mary prompted, crossing her arms in a display of expectant waiting.

"Okay, well - first - we're going wedding dress shopping on Saturday," she said in a rush of breath, including April in the 'we' with a quick glance.  "So I'd rather not be all stiff and sore for that, since I'm assuming no one actually buys the first wedding dress they try on.  Or, if they do, it's only after they've tried on twenty more," Heather reasoned with a shrug.  "And second, according to Jake, I'm a 'city girl' so I'm pretty sure I have no business trying to ride a mechanical bull," she declared, "Even though he did tell me I have a pretty nice seat."

The other three all tried valiantly to not react, but it was hard not to and they only lasted approximately five seconds.  First April tittered; then Eric snickered; finally Mary allowed a giggle to escape before pressing her fist against her mouth to prevent more. 

"I meant when we went horseback riding," Heather protested, burying her face in her hands.  "We went riding and I told Jake he needed to give me pointers because I'd only ever been on a horse at summer camp, and he did - he helped me saddle my horse, he picked the horse, heck, he had the horse," she babbled, slowly coming out from behind her fingers.   "And he showed me how to hold the reins right - because that I was definitely doing wrong - but he also said that I had a good seat - a natural seat - that I remembered how to sit on a horse the right way, even though I hadn't been riding since high school, probably, so I really am a city girl, and it's kinda amazing that I remem -"

"We knew that," April assured, interrupting her.  "And, I shouldn't have laughed and set you guys off," she added, frowning apologetically at Eric and Mary.  "I'm sorry.  I'm just - I'm just operating on waaaay too little sleep, and I'm sorry."

"And to be fair, this is my brother we're talking about," Eric chimed in then, coming to his wife's defense.  "Knowing him, I can pretty much guarantee he meant it in both senses of the word."

"Eric!" April hissed, socking him harmlessly on the shoulder.  "Not helping!"

Heather, though, started giggling.  "Well, I should hope so!" she gasped out.  "Because - because -"  She paused a moment, first exhaling and then inhaling deeply.  "Well, if there's one person in the world who should be ogling my backside, it's my future husband, right?"

"Right," Mary chuckled, "Hard to argue with that.  And, I will let you off the hook this time, in favor of successful wedding dress shopping," she informed Heather.  "But if Jake says you can ride a horse, then you can give my mechanical bull a try.  I mean, it has settings, so you can be a beginner and that's totally okay.  Think about it."

"Sure," Heather returned, though she didn't look at all convinced.  "I'll think about it."

"So really, what can I get you guys to drink?" Mary inquired, producing a notepad from her apron pocket.

"You know what?  I'm really craving a glass of cranberry juice," April announced, throwing Heather a significant look across the table. 

"Oh!  That does sound good," her friend chirped with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm.  "Uh, I'll take a glass of cranberry juice and uh, a cup of coffee."

If this seemed like an unusual combination for six o'clock in the evening, nothing in the waitress's tone betrayed this fact. "Cream?"

"Please."

"Okay, two cranberry juices, one cup of coffee," Mary repeated, turning toward Eric, her pen poised over her notepad to capture his order.

"And, can you bring me a bottle of mineral water, too?" April interjected before her husband could make his request.  "With lime."

"San Pellegrino, okay?" Mary asked, eliciting a nod from the other woman.  "You got it.  Eric?" she prompted.

"Why don't you just bring the large bottle of mineral water," he decided, "And two glasses."

"You can bring the big bottle," April informed Mary, "But, Eric - seriously - get what you want.  Like a beer," she suggested, resting her head against his shoulder.  "I'd totally get a glass of wine if it wouldn't put me right to sleep," she yawned softly, emphasizing her point.

"You sure?" he said, twisting so he could press a quick kiss to her hairline.  "I'm fine with the mineral water."

"I'm sure," she returned, lifting her head and then squeezing his arm.  "This, you don't have to be polite about, okay?  Get what you want."

"Gee, doc, you're so demanding," Eric complained, affecting a tone of mock annoyance as he cupped her chin so he could brush a chaste kiss across her lips.  "Fine," he declared a moment later, dropping his arm around his wife's shoulders as he turned his head so that he was facing their waitress.  "I'll take a Sam Adams," he ordered, glancing across the table at his future sister-in-law.  "You sure you don't want something else?"

"School night," Heather reminded with a shrug.  "And I really do have to grade that social studies test.  Besides, I love coffee."

"So that's two cranberry, one coffee, one large San Pellegrino plus lime, and one Sam Adams lager," Mary announced, collecting confirming nods from her three customers.  "I'll go round these up, then be back to get your dinner orders."

"Thanks, Mare," Eric acknowledged with a smile, although she was already turning away.

"Ee," she declared, stopping in her tracks, and looking back over her shoulder at him.  "Mar-Y," she stressed.  She turned back around, her hands on her hips, her expression flashing with exasperation.  "I'm not a horse, and I don't call you 'Er', and my name is Mary," she informed him.  "I just - I just prefer to be called Mary, that's all."

"Oh, oh - okay," Eric stuttered a long, awkward, ten seconds later.  "Sor - sorry, Mary."

"Thanks," she mumbled before turning on her heel and making a beeline for the bar.

"Whoa," he said, letting out his held breath once she was definitely out of earshot.  He glanced at April, making a face.

"Hey, don't give me that look," his wife told him, "I'm with Mary on this one, 'cause you ever start callin' me 'Ape', there's gonna be some retaliation in your future."

That's not necessarily a bad thing, doc," Eric returned, grinning at her.  He leaned in close enough to press a kiss to the side of her head, reminding, "I've enjoyed a number of your retaliations...."

April shook her head at him, clearly fighting a smile.  "Okay, Ricky, that's enough.  Time to behave," she declared a few seconds later.  She pointed at Heather, sitting across from them.  "We're embarrassing her.  Look," she commanded, "She's blushing!"

"I'm blushing?" Heather echoed, raising her hand to feel first one cheek and then the other.  "That's just left over from before," she decided, "Trust me.  You guys are fine.  You're cute and completely appropriate."

"You sure?" Eric asked as April snuggled into his side, finding his hand and lacing their fingers together. 

"Yes," she assured him, refraining from pointing out that she and Jake were just as bad - though probably worse.  "But I do have two things for you, Eric," she informed him.  "First, you may call me 'Heth' whenever you want.  All my brothers do," she chuckled. 

He smiled at that.  "Well, I am gonna be one of your brothers," Eric agreed, "So thanks, Heth."

"Well, it helps that as far as I know 'Heth' refers to nothing in the animal kingdom," she conceded, "But like I said, it's my family nickname.  And my second point," Heather continued, "Is that you and Jake are a lot more alike that you or he thinks."

Eric was clearly unconvinced.  "How do you figure?" he challenged.

"You like it when April 'retaliates', right?  Well, Jake likes -" She cut herself off then, frowning softly. "I should probably choose my wording a little better this time," Heather decided, prompting chuckles from both her companions.  "Okay, so, he told me about how, when you guys were little, your Aunt Bridget would make you kiss her when you got in trouble. And -"

"This is a story I've for sure never heard," April declared, pulling far enough out of Eric's embrace that she could shoot him an appraising look.  "Ricky, you got some 'splainin' to do," she teased.

He shook his head at her.  "Don't make it gross," he complained, rolling his eyes.  "She just figured out that making us give her a kiss on the cheek was actually worse punishment than a spanking. And this is when we were really little, and it was mostly Jake, anyway," he insisted.

"He said that," Heather admitted, flashing them both a small smile. 

"That's hilarious," April giggled, "And super smart.  You're gonna like Auntie Bridget," she told Heather, not for the first time.  "So what, you punished Jake by making him kiss you on the cheek?"

"Not exactly," she sighed, a small grin creeping onto her lips.  "There was just something he needed to make up to me, and when I said he owed me a kiss, he told me the story and then said kissing me - and it wasn't on the cheek - wasn't punishment."

"What was he making up for?" April asked, studying her friend closely.  "That's what I wanna know."

"It wasn't anything big," Heather hedged, "He insulted my skills as a cook.  Actually, that wasn't what bugged me, it was him implying that even given ten or twenty years, they probably weren't gonna improve, and that we should just go out to eat," she grumbled.

April snorted.  "Well he deserved a smack, so he's lucky that he got away with a smooch," she chuckled sympathetically.  "You should just tell him that he can always learn how to cook."

"Yeah, anyway.  Punishment and retaliation... those seem like two sides of the same coin to me," Heather declared.

"Now this sounds like an interesting conversation," Mary Bailey joked as she arrived at the booth, this time bearing a tray of drinks.  "Punishment and retaliation."

"Suffice to say, you don't need to worry about Eric calling you anything but 'Mary' from here on out," April informed the waitress, poking her husband in the side to emphasize her point.  "Right?"

Eric grabbed for her hand, and both giggling, they scuffled for a few seconds before he seemingly scored a victory, tucking her arm through his and then covering her hand with his free one so that she was prevented from tickling him.  "Right," he chuckled, "I try not to repeat my mistakes."

"Okay, so we can clearly see how retaliation works," Heather teased.

An impish gleam lit Eric's gaze then, and he twisted his head so that he could place a noisy kiss on April's cheek.  "And now - clearly - I've been punished."

Heather, April and Eric all laughed, though April protested this claim, grumbling, "I think I'm the one who got punished here," as she yanked her arm loose of Eric and made a show of wiping off her cheek.  "Bleh!"

"Sorry, inside joke," Eric apologized to Mary after she'd set his beer in front of him. 

"No problem," she dismissed, "Happens all the time around here.  So, are you ready to order, or do you need a minute?"

"Oh, I need a minute," April interjected immediately.  "I haven't even looked," she chuckled, quickly opening the menu.

"Heather?" Mary inquired.

"I think I'll go with the BLT," she answered after taking one last look at the menu.

"And fries, potato salad, coleslaw, or fruit cup?"

"Coleslaw," Heather decided.

"Got it," Mary acknowledged.  She glanced at April, who was still flipping between the back and inside pages of the menu as she tried to make up her mind.  "So, I've been meaning to ask you," she said, her attention returning to Heather, "How'd you like Father Reynaldo?"

"Oh, he's awesome," Heather smiled.  "I just wish he was a little less close to retirement age," she sighed.  "And, unfortunately, St. Elizabeth's sanctuary is a little too small for our wedding.  Well, it's probably a good thing," she decided, contradicting herself.  "We weren't gonna do a full mass anyway, since Jake's not Catholic.  So now we're getting married here in Jericho, at Main Street PC - somehow Jake's still considered a member there -"

"Gramps used to be clerk of session," Eric interjected, "And he's still in charge of maintaining the membership roll.  Jake's gonna be a member as long as Gramps is in charge.  Unless he joins somewhere else."

"Huh," Heather acknowledged, frowning thoughtfully.  "Well, that works in our favor, because there's some committee at the diocese that has to sign off on a dispensation for me to get married there, 'out of canonical form' they call it, but they'll do it since it's technically his home church, thank you Gramps."  She paused half a second to breathe and then launched right back in.  "Anyway, now everything is basically happening in Jericho at the church, The Pizza Garden, and The Jericho Grille.  Plus as a bonus I have some place that's only twenty, thirty minutes away to go to mass, unless the diocese up and closes the church, or something."

"Well, they've been threatening to do that for years," Mary warned, heaving a small sigh.  "And when they do, that's it for me.  I know I shouldn't say it, but I can't stand St. Matthew's," she complained, emitting a frustrated chuckle.  Heather nodded sympathetically.  She'd tried St. Matthew's once, but the congregation was definitely demographically skewed toward the AARP.  "St. Elizabeth's is the only reason I wasn't officially labelled lapsed years ago."  April had closed her menu and was waiting to order, so Mary smiled at her and said, "Okay, sorry 'bout that.  What can I get you?"

"I'm gonna have the Cobb salad," she requested, "Ranch dressing, but on the side and...."  April glanced sideways at her husband, "Split a basket of fries with me?"

"Sure," he agreed easily.

"And, I was trying to be good," Heather grumbled.  In the next second, she made a show of slapping her own hand, apologizing, "But I'm also horning in on your date, so I'm taking that back.  No complaining."

"Just have some of ours," April advised, "And then you're still being partly good."  She glanced at Mary.  "Make that a large basket."

"Got it," the waitress acknowledged.  "So, Eric, how about you?  And don't say 'the usual'," she instructed, "You don't have a Wednesday night usual."

April glanced at him sideways, shaking her head.  "You really do eat here all the time, don't you?" she chuckled.

"Not all the time," Eric protested.

"Lunch at least three times a week," Mary contradicted, "Dinner on Monday nights before the council meeting, and when he knows Walt's workin' the grill, he likes the fried egg sandwiches for breakfast," she cataloged before concluding, "And this is the third time I've seen him today."

"Breakfast, lunch and dinner, Eric?" April teased, rolling her eyes at him. 

"Coffee break slash site inspection," he corrected with a nod toward the back room, "Then lunch, now dinner."

"Still," she smiled, leaning toward him for a kiss he was more than happy to give her, "We're gonna hafta get your cholesterol checked.  It's just embarrassing when the doctor's hubby has a heart attack at thirty."

"Do whatcha hafta do, doc," he said, offering her a lopsided grin.  "But," he continued, turning toward Mary, "In that case, I'll take my Monday night usual."

"Which is?" April prompted, leaning around him to look at Mary.

The waitress snorted.  "Double bacon cheeseburger."

"Eric!"

"With onion rings," Mary added helpfully.

"Well, I can skip those tonight," he assured quickly, "Just do the fries."

Mary confirmed their order and then headed off to the kitchen to turn it in.  Eric wrapped his arm around his wife, who was still shaking her head at him.  "The crazy thing is, he'll pack a lunch for me, but then he eats out every day," April told Heather.

"Aw, that's so sweet," her future sister-in-law declared, grinning.  "Nice job, Eric.  I'm just hoping that maybe every other weekend, Jake will make me pancakes, using the secret Green family recipe."

"So you know what the secret is?" Eric inquired, one eyebrow raised in question.  "Or just that there is a secret?"

"I know about the orange juice, yes," Heather answered, grinning.  "Gramps told me.  And Jake says he'll make 'em, but he didn't really commit to a frequency," she sighed.

"Orange juice?" April questioned, "Wow. That really is the secret ingredient," she decided in the next instance, nodding to herself. "Huh!"

"That's it," her husband confirmed.  "A Green family tradition, passed down from father to son on camping and hunting trips, and, you know, Mother's Day."

"Your mom loved that, I'm sure," April said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.  "All her boys, bringing her breakfast in bed."

 "Yeah, she did," he acknowledged with a smile.  "And the reason I pack your lunch," Eric continued, "Is that you're usually at work for twenty-four hours - or more - and you said you got tired of cafeteria food all the time.  So the least I can do is make you a sandwich or whatever."

"Well, Heather's right, it's very sweet," April declared, patting his arm.  "And your PB and J really is the best.  Plus," she told Heather, "He always cuts up the apple, peels the orange, et cetera, et cetera."

"For that you get another 'aww'," the younger woman informed him.

"So Heth," Eric began, grinning at her, "How did The Pizza Garden end up as a venue for your wedding?  I get the church, and the reception's at The Grille, right?  But The Pizza Garden?"

"Rehearsal dinner," she chuckled.  "Jake's idea, and your mom didn't hate it.  Plus, Mags is thrilled, and this way we can invite all the out of towners - including who knows how many of my relatives - and maybe the bill doesn't give your dad a heart attack."

"That is so Jake," April laughed, "And it'll be fun.  Casual and fun."

"Mags does a really great pizza buffet, too," Eric told them.  "That's the other place I go for lunch."

"Please tell me you at least get the salad bar, too," April implored, smiling at him fondly.

"Of course," he nodded.

"It's also where we ended up for our first date, actually," Heather offered.  "Because The Jericho Grille had a kitchen fire.  So hopefully that doesn't happen again, or I guess Mags will have to close for a private party two days in a row."

"But you know she'd totally do it for you and Jake," April said.  "Not that that's gonna happen.  Though it reminds me," she continued, "Our double date was at The Jericho Grille, and we're overdue for the next one."

"True," Heather agreed.  "What with the holidays and getting engaged and going to Buffalo twice, it kinda fell off my radar," she confessed.

"Completely understandable," April dismissed, "But we should plan the next one.  This weekend's out of course -"

"Why not?  We're all comin' here on Friday," Eric reminded.

"Oh, Ricky," April groaned, "That does not count as a double date."

"Why?" he challenged.

"Because," Heather declared.

"Because we say so," April added.  "And because Friday's the mechanical bull grand opening, Saturday's Auntie Bridget and wedding dress shopping, and Sunday I work.  This weekend is definitely out."

"Definitely," Heather echoed.

"And the next two weekends I'm working more than I'm not, so -"

"Out."

"Which brings us up to Valentine's Day...." April sighed.  "Though if we wanna plan something for that weekend, it's better to do it now anyway."

"Valentine's is a Thursday actually," Heather offered, "And then that weekend is President's Day weekend. But, Jake and I are leaving right after school that Friday - he's coming home Thursday night, late, so we can.  We're driving to Lawrence so I can go to an information session for the Masters of Education program I'm interested in," she explained.  "And then after that, we're driving to Kansas City so we can get our wedding registry done.  We need to hit at least one national store so my relatives in Buffalo can calm down."

"They've got national stores in Wichita," Eric told her.  "And Amazon does wedding registries now.  We did an Amazon wedding registry," he added, glancing at his wife.

"We did," April agreed, "Because I had no time.  But Eric, it's a three day weekend."

"Yeah?  So?" he returned, evidently not understanding the significance.

"So," she began, catching his eye, "If they drive to Lawrence and then turn around and drive back to Wichita... well, they're not really taking advantage of the three day-ness of the weekend...."

Heather nodded, watching her future brother-in-law as he performed the same mental calculus that she - and then Jake - had done a week earlier.  It was three and a half hours to Lawrence, and another hour more to Kansas City; Wichita was a little over two hours - south and west - of Lawrence, and then it was three more from Wichita to Jericho.  Ultimately, the difference was only an hour to ninety minutes, and it was hard to justify - but not impossible.  If they went to Kansas City they could stay over another night, but if they went to Wichita then Gail and EJ might expect them to come home on Saturday night.  "Registering might take a while," Heather argued, "So I wanna make sure we have plenty of time." 

"Right," Eric said, clearing his throat.  "Got it.  Though you know, Heather, Jake doesn't really like shopping."

April snickered at that.  "And you do?" she asked her husband.  "Jake'll get over it," she continued, not bothering to wait for Eric's answer.  "And if he gets really fidgety," she advised, "Just take a break in the lingerie department.  He'll be fine."

"Probably," Heather agreed, giggling, a rosy blush suffusing her cheeks.

"Okay, so President's weekend is officially out," April decided.  "How about the weekend after?"

"Also out," Heather frowned over her coffee cup.  "That's the weekend of our pre-Cana retreat.  Or, as Jake calls it, Catholic marriage camp."

"Huh?  Pre-Cana?" Eric repeated.

"It's from the Bible.  Jesus' first miracle is at the wedding in Cana, he turns water into wine," she explained.  "It's required Catholic pre-marital instruction.  It's just what they call it."

"Like when we met with Reverend Young," April added, leaning against Eric.  "I really liked those sessions, I just wish I'd been a little less busy with everything else."

"Actually, we hafta meet with Reverend Young, too," Heather told them, "So it's good to hear that you thought it was valuable.  I've been reading some of the Catholic and the Presbyterian materials, and it all seems like good stuff to spark discussion, not that we haven't talked about some of it already.  Like family traditions. I was already aware that you Greens open your Christmas presents on Christmas Eve," she complained jokingly, "Instead of Christmas morning, like normal people."

April chuckled.  "I know!  Complete blasphemy, right?"

"Yes," Heather grumbled.  "I told Jake that it totally messes with getting a present from Santa, and then he regretted to inform me that Santa Claus isn't real," she snorted, rolling her eyes.

"That's exactly what I said," April said, nodding emphatically.  "Kids should get to believe in Santa, at least when they're little," she insisted, poking her husband in the side.  "Why would you want to take that from a little kid?  Especially your own little kid?"

"I don't wanna take that away from any kid," Eric defended himself - and his family.  "But you can still open all your other presents on Christmas Eve, and be excited for your Santa present in the morning.  It actually makes that one present on Christmas morning extra special," he argued.

Heather didn't look convinced, but she did admit, "Yeah, that's pretty much what Jake said.  That, and that if I wanted to wait 'til Christmas morning to open my presents he wasn't gonna force me to open them earlier."

"Well, that's nice of him," April groaned, shaking her head.  "But I think you're right, it's good to talk about all of these things ahead of time.  I really wasn't sure about getting married," she confessed, "Child of divorce and all, but..." she glanced sideways at her husband, offering him a soft smile.  "... I was convinced.  Eventually."  She settled back into the arm Eric wrapped around her shoulders, concluding, "And the pre-marital counseling sessions, the time just to talk to one another, that all really helped remind me why - why it was all okay.  That it was all gonna be okay."

"Just okay?" Eric inquired, one eyebrow raised in consternation.  "Try great."

"Fine. That it was gonna be great," she amended, giving him a chaste kiss.  "Was, is, and shall be great."

"I'm actually looking forward to it," Heather said.  "Both sides, sets, whatever. Though it looks like some parts will be kinda repetitive - the two workbooks have a lot of the same chapter headings."

"That makes sense to me," April argued, "I mean, relationship skills hopefully aren't specific to your religious denomination."

"Right," Heather conceded, allowing a smile.  "But that's one reason why we're doing the retreat for the Catholic side of things.  At least we can get that all done in one weekend."

"That's still pretty unbelievable," Eric interjected.  "To me, anyway.  My brother - Jake Green - willingly participating in double pre-marital religious counseling.  Wow," he chuckled before declaring, "Heather, he must really, really love you."

"We have to do both," Heather returned, exasperation lending an edge to her tone.  She really didn't want to get into all of this with Eric again, but she also couldn't seem to keep herself from trying to explain the situation to him one more time.  "I have - we have - to do the pre-Cana retreat, or a class, or - or something, so I can get the necessary dispensations -"

"Yeah, Okay," Eric interrupted, "I get that part.  But what I'm saying is that's way more church than Jake's done since Mom and Dad stopped making him go back in high school.  He'd go on Christmas and Easter sometimes, but other than -"

"It's - it's not like Jake's an atheist, Eric," Heather snapped.  "I - I couldn't marry an atheist, no matter how much I loved him, but Jake's not," she insisted.  "He's not even agnostic - he believes in God - he's just not that big on church and that's - that's absolutely fine with me," she finished, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.

"Whoa, Heather, calm down," Eric grumbled, holding his hands up in a show of surrender.    He glanced at his wife, but all she did was frown at him in return.  "That's what I was trying to say, okay?" he protested, returning his attention to his future sister-in-law.  "I mean, he believes in God.  Sure, not arguing that.  But I also know that he wouldn't be doing all this church stuff if he didn't love you, okay?  A lot," he declared.  "And, I'm not exactly used to seeing my brother put anyone else first, but it's nice."

"And, we're very glad it's you," April added for her husband, smacking him lightly on the arm.  "Right, Eric?"

"Definitely," he agreed.  "I'm glad you're marrying my brother.  Really glad.  Jake's a lucky guy.  Just not quite as lucky as me," he claimed, winking at April.

"Nice save," his wife grinned in return.

"Yeah, and thanks," Heather sighed.  "And, I'm sorry for jumping down your throat -"

"It's okay, I probably deserved it.  Friends?" he asked, offering her his hand over the table.

He had made the same overture on Thanksgiving after she'd caused him to sprain his ankle and had nearly broken his nose.  It had been a generous offer then, and it still was now.  Heather accepted his hand, shaking it.  "Friends," she agreed, flashing him a wry grin.  "And, well, just so you know, Jake is doing one thing that's sorta church related, and it has absolutely nothing to do with me."

Twin skeptical smiles appeared on both Eric's and April's faces.  "I can't even begin to imagine what that could be," April laughed.

"He's joining the church softball team this spring," Heather declared.

Eric looked truly surprised by this news.  "Are you serious?"

She nodded.  "When we went to the church with your mom to see if we could have our wedding there, Reverend Young and Jake got to talking, and Reverend Young asked if he'd like to join the team.  Apparently he doesn't mind always losing to the team from the mine, or the team from town hall -" She pointed at Eric, though he didn't actually need the reminder that he played shortstop for the Town of Jericho Juggernauts.  "- But always losing to the Baptists is really starting to bug him."

"Great," Eric snorted.  "I can't hit off Jake," he admitted, "Not since we were kids.  Dad can't hit off him.  So I'm pretty sure Connie Gireaux can't either," he said, naming the town's treasurer and left fielder.

"But it's underhand pitch, right?" April asked, touching Eric's arm to get his attention.  "Probably not Jake's forte," she suggested, offering her husband a sympathetic smile. 

"Yeah, but that's still how the Batty Baptists win all the time," Eric complained.  "They've got Martin Brooks, and he doesn't throw balls - strikes only - and Jake can probably still do that, even if he has to do it underhand."

"The Batty Baptists?" Heather asked, "Really?"

"The Batty Baptists, the Jericho Juggernauts, the Main Street PC Sluggers," Eric listed.  "And, S & A Mining actually has three teams - the Salty Dogs, the Salt Kings, and Mine All Mine."

"Oh man," Heather giggled, "I'm gonna be cheering for the Sluggers of course, but I'm gonna be so tempted to cheer for Mine All Mine, just for the name."

"And there we have it - the real reason Jake's playing spring softball," April declared.  "I mean, Jake's a pretty good pitcher and all," she told Heather, "But this is just a co-ed rec league.  No offense," she added with a quick glance at Eric.

"Oh yeah, none taken," he grunted.

"I just think it's a bit of stretch to say that Jake's softball interest is 'church related', but it's also pretty easy to then determine where said interest came from," April opined.  "Because - let's face it - he's not above taking the opportunity to show off for you."

Heather looked surprised - though not unpleased - by her friend and future sister-in-law's hypothesis.  "Well, he could just want to play," she countered, her cheeks flushing.  "You know, get outdoors and get some exercise."

"It could be that," April agreed genially, "Or it really could be all about you."

"That's what I like about you, Heather," Eric decided suddenly.  "You always see the good in everyone, try to see them in the best light possible."

"Not everyone," she returned, making a face.  Heather looked around the tavern quickly and then leaned in over the table.  "Not Karen Harper," she whispered, "Because her best light is like the inside of a tomb."

"Try the center of a black hole," Eric suggested, his frown reminding Heather that he and Jake had both mistreated - abused - by their babysitter.  "So she doesn't count."

Mary Bailey appeared then, bearing a tray with their food.  "Okay, folks," she told them, setting up a stand with one hand and placing the tray on top of it, "I'm sorry this took so long."

"'S'okay," Eric dismissed with a wave.  "We didn't even notice, we were having too good of a conversation."

"We are now taking a survey, however," April announced as Mary placed her salad in front of her.  "And you are our first participant."

"Okay..." Mary chuckled, depositing Heather's sandwich on the table.  "What's the first question?"

"Only one question," April assured.  "So, Jake Green joins the church softball team.  Is the reason for his joining (A) a religious conversion; (B) a chance for fresh air and exercise -"

"Or (C) an attempt to impress his future wife?" Eric threw in, grinning.

"Exactly, thank you," April nodded, returning her husband's smile.

"Or - I get to do one, too," Heather insisted, "It's only fair - or (D) all of the above?"

"Jake's joining the church softball team?" Mary asked as she placed a basket of fries - the last item of their order - in the center of the table.  "Wow.  Don't tell my dad, he's trying to get the Main Street Merchants Mickey Mantles going again this year - you know it's always hard to get enough women, but Colleen says she's playing, so...."

"The Mickey Mantles?  Do all the teams have better names than the Sluggers?"

"Stop trying to change the subject," April ordered, pointing a fry at Heather.  "So Mary, A, B or C?"

"Or D," Heather reminded.

"Okaaaay," Mary stalled while she finished collapsing the stand she'd been using.  "So, religious conversion, exercise -"

"And, fresh air," Heather mumbled.

"Fresh air and exercise," Mary amended gamely, "Impressing you, or all of the above, right?"

"Correct," Eric confirmed, reaching for his burger. 

"Well, A seems unlikely," Mary reasoned, holding her tray over her chest, "Which eliminates D.  I think I hafta go with C.  Good news for you," she said, smiling at Heather, who groaned softly and slumped in her seat.  "Enjoy your dinner, and I'll be back to check on you in a bit," Mary promised.

 

* * * * *

 

"Oh, just let us get this one," April instructed her friend, fighting a chuckle.  Heather and Eric were in the middle of a literal tug-of-war over the bill for their meal, and it was getting a little ridiculous.  "We invited you," she reminded, "Paying was implied."

"Seriously, Heather," Eric argued, trying to pull the tray out of her hand, "Dinner's on me.  Gramps would probably disown me if I didn't pick up the tab."

"You really don't have to do that," Heather countered, yanking the tray - and nearly sending the three star mints that were sitting on top of the check flying - away from her future brother-in-law.  "I only want to pay my -"

The trill of her cell phone distracted her, and she reached for it with her free hand.  That was enough to give Eric the upper hand, so to speak, winning him physical custody of the bill.  "Don't answer that," he ordered, holding out his hand in a silent demand for the phone.  "Take Me Out To The Ballgame?  That's Jake.  And you did say that I could tell him."

"I don't think I actually said that," Heather frowned, though two seconds later she handed over her cell, informing him, "But now I'm not gonna argue about who pays."

"Good," Eric said, flipping her phone open.  "Hey, Jake."

"Eric?"  His brother sounded surprised and - interestingly - more worried than suspicious.  "Why're you answering Heather's phone?" he demanded.  "Is she okay?"

"She's fine.  And at this moment, well-fed.  I pulled a Gramps, and took not only my wife but yours - future anyway - to dinner," Eric explained cheerfully.  "And now, having told you that, she's no longer gonna argue about the bill."

"No I'm not!" Heather announced loudly enough for her fiancé to hear.

"Well, just so you know, you're gonna need to tip really big if you want to impress her," Jake drawled.  He waited a beat before requesting, "So can I talk to her?"

"Sure," his brother agreed, tossing Heather a mint before handing her the cell. 

"I hope you got dessert," Jake teased as soon as he heard her breathy 'Hi, you'.  "And, hey, babe."

"Hey," she repeated, "And no, I did not.  We're at Bailey's."

"Didja get the steak at least?"

"Sorry, a BLT," she reported, giggling softly.  "But it was really good.  And we've had a nice talk, and - oh, hey - the Bailey's mechanical bull is debuting on Friday night.  Stanley's going to be the first rider, and Mary says you can be second if you want," Heather explained, fiddling absently with her candy.  "And if you don't, we should still come cheer Stanley on."

"I'll do it, could be fun," Jake decided immediately.  "So, you gonna cheer for me?" he inquired huskily.

"But of course!" she returned.  "And I'll cheer just a little bit louder for you than for Stanley, how's that?  Not like a lot," Heather cautioned, "Because he's still my friend, but you're my -"

"Your man?" he guessed, his tone sending a delicious tingle up her spine.  "Your lover?  A complete stud?"

Heather felt her cheeks flood with warmth, eliciting a knowing smirk and a raised eyebrow from April on the other side of the table.  "All of those things and more," she told him, "Though what I was gonna say was 'my fiancé, whom I love more than anyone'."

"I'll take that.  So, you're blushing now, aren't you?" Jake asked, his tone sympathetic.  "I'm sorry."

"Oh, yeah," she sighed, "But that's okay.  It's pretty much par for the course," she chuckled.

"Still, I don't wanna embarrass you, okay?" he told her, equal parts concern and affection coloring his tone. 

"You don't.  Actually I do that pretty well all by myself," she said with a giggle that quickly gave way to a sigh.  "I'll explain later."

"'Kay.  And tell Mary I'll go second.  And then if I totally embarrass myself, you'll just hafta comfort me somehow."

Heather could hear the smile in his voice - and feel the widening of her own.  "That's not gonna happen, but I will make sure to think something up anyway," she promised.

"Oh, it could happen," he contradicted, chuckling.  "It's been awhile since I did anything rodeo related."

"Well, Mary says the bull is preprogrammed with different levels, beginner to expert," Heather explained to her fiancé just as the waitress stopped back by their booth to make sure everything was all right and to handle the settling of their bill.  "Right?" Heather asked, glancing at the other woman.  "It's Jake, he says he'll go after Stanley."

"Great!" Mary declared, "And it does have different settings.  Thanks," she added when Eric handed her the bill and more than enough cash to cover their dinner.  "You need change?"

"Nope.  Jake told me to tip well," Eric explained, rolling his eyes at Heather. 

"Yeah, but it kinda ruins the effect when you tell your waitress you're giving her a big tip," April warned, squeezing his arm.

Heather glanced at the tray in Mary's hand, made an educated guess as to what Eric had given her - she already knew the total - and made the bold declaration, "Jake's would be bigger."

"Whoa, babe," her fiancé chuckled, "Do I wanna know?"

Once again, she'd stunned her three companions into silence, at least for a few seconds, before April and Mary gave into snickers.  "How - how come you're not like beet red?" Eric demanded.

"Eric's tip was like thirty, maybe thirty two percent, and he said that you told him to tip well," Heather explained calmly into her cell phone, ignoring her future brother-in-law.  "I'm just pointing out that your tip would be bigger."

"A mildly suggestive reference to her behind and I'm reviewing the steps for CPR in my head because she looks like she's gonna pass out," Eric complained to April, "But she says that and she's as cool as a cucumber."

"I'm starting to think that as long as she plans to say something - even if it's just for a few seconds before she says it - well, she can control the blushing," April told him, yawning softly.  "It's the things that come out her mouth without really passing through her brain that cause the blushing.  Just my theory," she sighed, "And if it comes down to it, remember I can always talk you through CPR."

"Right," he acknowledged, pressing a kiss to her forehead.  "Okay, doc, time to get you home and to bed," Eric declared.

April nodded.  "But after we walk Heather to her car," she informed him, kissing him quickly, "Even if it is just Jericho."

"Oh yeah," Eric agreed, "Gramps would disown me for that, too."

"Jake, hon, I've gotta go," Heather told her fiancé.  "But call me back in, like, fifteen minutes?" she requested, "Because I do have something I need to talk to you about, and it's not even wedding related."

"I'll call you back," Jake promised, "And we can talk wedding, too, if you want.  Love you."

A smile bloomed on Heather's face.  "I love you, too," she declared before thumbing off her phone.

Eric caught his future sister-in-law's eye, smirking.  "Yeah, I'm sure that social studies test is gonna get graded tonight," he teased.

"Thanks again," Mary said, saluting Eric with the bill as he helped April out of the booth.  "Have a good evening, and I will see you all on Friday."

"But you'll see him tomorrow," April joked, wrapping an arm around her husband's waist. 

"Undoubtedly," Mary agreed, chuckling.  "Walt's working breakfast after all."

"Good to know," Eric acknowledged brightly, handing Heather her coat.  "Ready, ladies?" he asked, holding April's open for her.

 

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

Monday January 22, four months after the bombs

 

"You've got one of the only salt mines around for four hundred miles," Constantino reminded.  "And a year without salt... New Bern will be a ghost town."

Gray relaxed visibly.  The mine and salt, those were the mayor's true comfort zone, his natural fit, much more so than town politics where he had to listen to and consider everyone else's arguments, where votes had to be taken, and where his word was not actually law - or at the very least official company policy, in the best interest of every employee to obey.  But the citizens of Jericho were exactly that; citizens, not employees, and at least for now, Jericho still operated under its charter first established in 1887, a fact that Gray had - slowly - come to terms with.

Actually, it was this fact that had delayed the negotiations with New Bern for a half hour.  Gray had wanted to commence immediately, and had been surprised when Johnston had argued that they needed to wait until they had at least token representation from the town council.  Besides - as Johnston had explained later, pulling Gray to the side - nothing they decided today, whether it was right away or an hour later, was likely to change anything for April and the baby.  As much as he hated it, their fates were in God's - and Kenchy Dhuwalia's - hands.  However, Johnston had contended, involving the council from the get go would save him - save both of them - some headache down the road.

In his preoccupation with what was happening inside the medical center, Johnston hadn't realized that Stanley Richmond was outside the facility, assisting with the efforts to raise the wind turbine.  Stanley was now the officially elected Jericho Farmer's Alliance delegate to the town council, a position that Johnston, Ron Mortimer and Norm Trotter had all advocated for adding to the council.  That Stanley had been elected - and that he'd run unopposed - to represent the new farmers' union had been a relief to Gray and to Johnston, if only because it had meant that they didn't need to bring one more person - one more family - into their 'X factor' confidence/conspiracy. 

And, Stanley had thrown himself into his new duties with a vengeance.  Hardly a day went by that he didn't make an appearance in town hall, on top of taking regular shifts with the border patrol, and making rounds to all the farm properties that ringed Jericho, keeping in contact with his constituents.  Apparently he'd arrived at town hall just after Johnston had departed - first to bang on Mary Bailey's door, and then to check in with Harriett Crenshaw - and in plenty of time to catch a ride over to the medical center with Constantino and Gray.   

Stanley had immediately volunteered to go fetch Carolyn Doyle, who represented the third ward in town and lived nine blocks from the medical center on Cherry Street.  Eight years earlier, Carolyn had been Bonnie's Brownie troop leader and - though he was loathe to admit it - she'd been Stanley's piano teacher twelve years before that.  This had left Johnston with the easier assignment of crossing the alley between Park and Cornish Streets in order to get Norm Trotter, the councilman for the second ward.  (Ron Mortimer, who represented the fifth ward and lived at least a half hour's walk from the medical center had come down with pneumonia the week before and therefore wasn't available to join them, no matter how much Johnston trusted his counsel.)  Johnston and Norm had arrived back at the medical center twenty minutes before Carolyn and Stanley, leaving them plenty of time to stand around awkwardly with Gray and Constantino. 

"Should just be a few more minutes," Johnston had assured his old friend at one point.

"It's fine," Constantino had assured, his lip twitching softly.  "I always enjoy watching democracy in action."

"So," Gray inquired, once everyone was assembled.  "What're we talkin' about?" he asked, glancing sideways at New Bern's sheriff and mayor.  "Couple hundred pounds?"

Constantino looked simultaneously annoyed and amused.  "For the first one, maybe," he informed them, glancing quickly over at the wind turbine that stood in the middle of the flower bed, tantalizing, almost ready to go. "But you want more," he reminded, "So no, we're gonna need a lot more than -"

"Wait a minute," Gray interjected, frowning.  "I think we're entitled to the 'friends and family' discount here, Phil.  It was our idea, our designs.  Your people came here and consulted with my team -"

"Drawings on the page aren't what's gonna power your clinic," Constantino countered.  "New Bern built that," he reminded, pointing at the wind turbine, "When Jericho couldn't, when all you had were a couple of technical drawings done by a third grade teacher."  He glanced at Johnston, his tone lightening for a moment as he added, "Beautifully drawn, you be sure to tell Heather that.  But still... we're the ones who made it happen." 

He paused a moment, his tone softening somewhat as he explained, "We came to you first, you know.  Maybe that's not 'friends and family' enough for you, Mr. Mayor, but we could've gone elsewhere," Constantino argued, his gaze locking with Gray's.  "There isn't a town for a hundred miles in any direction that wouldn't be willing to pay fairly for one of our turbines.  Fielding's still got more'n two thousand, and Rogue Ranch," Constantino continued, mentioning an exclusive enclave that was barely inside Rogue River's northeastern border, "Just closed up their gates and put a man with a rifle every fifty feet when FEMA showed up to evacuate them.  Well, they're still there, six, seven hundred of 'em," he declared.  "Hell, Russell," Constantino added, pointing at the other man, "Claims there's even a hundred still in Cedar Run though I don't think Cedar Run had a hundred people to begin with," he joked.

 

Cedar Run had one hundred six people, Johnston knew - or they had had anyway, as of December twenty ninth.  Chatting with Clyde Davis as they'd packed their Bass Lake haul into ice chests, Johnston had floated the idea of going home to Jericho by Cedar Run Road.  The fish had practically jumped out of the lake for them and they were at least ninety minutes ahead of schedule as a result.  Cedar Run wasn't that far out of the way, he'd reasoned.  Besides, he'd confided quietly, he and Gail had a nephew who lived in Cedar Run, and he'd like to see if Kevin was still there, and how he and his family were faring.

"I'm a newsman, Johnston," Clyde had reminded.  "I'm willin' to spend a gallon or two of gas to see if we can't get some news."  They had driven out to Bass Lake in two cars, but unlike Clyde, Martin Brooks hadn't been interested in using any more fuel than was necessary to get home, and so the party had split up, Martin taking his four men and half their catch home via the more direct route - Bass Lake Road to Highway 40 - while Clyde Davis, his sons, Drake and Johnston had detoured to the south through Cedar Run.

Calling Cedar Run a town had always been overly generous, even before the bombs.  In reality, it was a two and a half block long speed trap - the speed limit dropped from fifty to thirty five for the small stretch that was the unincorporated hamlet of Cedar Run - notorious as one of the main revenue generators for the Fillmore County Sheriff's Department.  Those two and a half blocks consisted of a gas station, a grocery store, a hardware store, a bakery and coffee shop - famous throughout the county for its scrumptious apple fritters that were as big as a man's head - and a Baptist church.  At the northwestern end of this business district there was a rundown putt-putt golf course, and across the road from that was a cluster of eight or nine houses.  There was a tiny, three classroom elementary school too, one that was hard to find unless you knew it was there, off of Cedar Run Road at the end of Second Avenue.  Kevin, his wife Janine, and their two kids lived on Second Avenue as well, on a five acre ranchette about a half mile west of the school.  Before the bombs, Janine had taught kindergarten through second grade at the school - a feat that had always left Heather in awe of the other woman - while Kevin had commuted to Rogue River each day where he had been a manager at an insurance claims processing center. 

There had been no sign of life as they had driven down Cedar Run Road, past the Cuppa Joe Cafe and Murray's Market, not a wisp of smoke rising from a chimney, not a movement of a curtain to betray the presence of a person inside any of the structures.  For sure the town was empty, Johnston had told himself, his stomach clenching, everyone likely sent to a FEMA Camp.  But still he'd directed Clyde to turn onto Second Avenue, and then two minutes later into the O'Briens' gravel driveway.  "One quick honk, okay?" Johnston had instructed, popping the lock on the passenger side door.  "If Kevin or Janine are in there - even the kids -" he'd said, not wanting to think about what it would mean - what he'd have to do - if Alexander and Zoey were there alone.  "-If they're there, and they see me, they'll come out."  With that, he'd exited the car, taking his rifle with him, to stand, exposed, out in the open on the driveway.

"Uncle Jay!" It had been an excruciating thirty or forty seconds - an eternity - before Johnston had heard the front door squeak open and Kevin call his name. 

"Kevin!  Kevin, son, are you okay?  Are y'all okay?"  It had seemed like a stupid question as soon as the words had left his mouth.  His nephew was alive, and healthy enough to come to the door - wasn't that answer enough?

"We're good, we're all here," Kevin had answered, opening the door wide enough that he'd been able to stick his head out.  "You can - you should - come in."

"I've got friends in the car," Johnston had told him then, "From Jericho, friends," he'd repeated.

"They can come in too," Kevin had called back.

Johnston had signaled Clyde and he and the three young men - Clyde's two sons, Brett and Zack, along with Drake - had quickly piled out of the '76 Oldsmobile they'd driven out to the lake.  Clyde had sent the other three on ahead, staying behind only long enough to lock the vehicle before making his way as quickly as he'd been able to manage into the house.

"Uncle Jay, it's good - great - amazin' to see you," Kevin had declared admitting them through the storm door and onto the sun porch at the front of the house. 

"You're a rather welcome sight yourself," Johnston had told him, grinning. "Uh, this is Clyde Davis and his boys, Brett and Zack," he'd introduced, "And this is Drake -"

The inner door had opened and Johnston had received one of the bigger shocks of his life (though twins was still and always would be the biggest) when Stuart O'Brien and then Donald O'Brien, Gail's oldest and youngest brothers had stepped out of the house.  "Johnston Green," Stuart had declared almost giddily, "Where - how the hell did you get here?"

"I could say the same to you, Stu," Johnston had chuckled, clapping his brother-in-law on the back.  "Is everybody here?" he'd asked, relief swelling up in him at the idea.  Stuart was Kevin's father, but it wasn't as if he and Donald - there was twelve or thirteen years between the oldest and youngest of the O'Brien siblings - had ever been particularly close.  "Bridget and Wayne?" he'd suggested.  Like Stuart and Donald, Gail's sister and her husband lived in Rogue River.  "Eddie and Linda?"

Kevin and Janine, they had quickly explained, had taken in twelve relatives in the weeks following the bombs, their household swelling to sixteen.  First, they had gone to Fielding three days after everything had happened to get Janine's Uncle Bob from his assisted living facility.  Bob Morgenstern and his wife had taken their niece in when, at sixteen, she'd lost her mother - Bob's much younger sister - to cancer, and there had been no way Janine was going to leave him in that facility with the power out and no news and who knew what was happening out in the world.  The facility's director had been more than happy to have one of her client's taken off her hands, and had even asked if they'd been willing to take Bob's friend Charlie, too.  But Bob had nixed the idea, arguing even as he'd helped Kevin load his belongings in the back of the O'Brien's SUV that they should just leave him there, that they needed their resources for the children, not some eighty six year old man.

The others had arrived a month later, exhausted and scared, having escaped Rogue River less than a day ahead of the city's evacuation.  Stuart and his wife, Dorothy; their daughter Kendra - Kevin's younger sister - and her husband, Brian along with their two boys, Hunter and Caleb; Donald and his wife Sharon; Bridget, Lorrie, and Marissa.

"Lorrie's here?"  Johnston had demanded.  He knew you weren't supposed to have a favorite child - and Johnston didn't, no matter his sons' opinions on the matter - but no one had ever said you couldn't have a favorite niece, and Lorrie - born on his thirty fifth birthday and his goddaughter - was his.  "With the baby?"

"With Marissa," Kevin had confirmed, naming his cousin's three year old daughter.  "Weijin had to go to DC to teach some boot camp class - a network engineer's boot camp, she said.  So Lorrie came up to spend the week with her parents."

Johnston had nodded, his brain whirring as he'd worked to assimilate this new information.  Lorrie Gallagher and Weijin Zhu had been college sweethearts - college sweethearts who had found themselves with a baby on the way during their last semester.  While her parents - devout Catholics, both - had been relieved that Lorrie never considered abortion, they hadn't always supported the couple's decision to marry.  Weijn had been in the United States on a student visa, had already been accepted into a graduate program at Carnegie-Mellon, and they hadn't been together that long.  The baby should be given up for adoption, Bridget and Wayne had argued, and in a year, everything could be put behind them. 

However, Lorrie and Weijin had remained committed to one another, readily complying with all the conditions Bridget and Wayne had imposed upon them. Lorrie had moved back to her parents' home after graduation, and Weijin had given up his graduate school slot, instead taking a job as an IT trainer at a company partially owned by his college roommate's father.  He'd made the four hour roundtrip between Wichita and Rogue River every weekend and every weekday night he could manage for six months, all for the chance to sit - sometimes for just an hour - on the living room couch with Lorrie and her parents, or - if he were staying the night - to sleep in the extra twin bed in her brother's room.  In the end, Weijin had won Bridget and Wayne over, and the young couple had wed the first Saturday in November, welcoming their daughter to the world three weeks later on the day after Thanksgiving. 

"But where's Wayne?" Johnston had asked, a sense of dread building within him.  Wayne was a devoted husband, father and grandfather.  "How -"

"He was killed back in Rogue River," Stuart had said, his lip trembling as he'd imparted this news.  "He didn't think we should stay, even before those military types showed up -"

"Ravenwood," Donald had supplied, "That's the company name.  They locked down the town, said we were all gonna be evacuated in forty eight hours to a FEMA camp down toward Wichita."  Frowning, he'd shaken his head.  "Wayne... he just went to talk to 'em and they shot him."

"Oh Lord," Johnston had murmured, though whether it was in prayer or as a curse, he couldn't have said.

"We were all ready to go," Stuart had said, picking the story back up.  "Doro and I were comin' here with Kendra and Brian and the boys, plus we were tryin' to get Eddie and Linda to come with us but they wouldn't leave without Anthony, and Anthony wouldn't leave without Corey, and Corey's mom wasn't lettin' him take off with her kid, not that I blame her."

The story had spilled out of Gail's brothers in convoluted pieces that Johnston hadn't fully been able to make sense of until he'd gone over them all with his wife later that night.  Wayne had wanted to get Bridget, Lorrie and Marissa out of Rogue River early on, and he'd intended to head for Jericho, for the Greens.  Bridget and Wayne had talked to Donald first; he and Wayne had been Army buddies - that was how Bridget and Wayne had met - and becoming brothers-in-law had only deepened their friendship.  Donald's only hesitation had been about his children.  Michael - the only child from his first marriage -lived in Lincoln with his wife and two kids, and called his father maybe four times a year for ten or fifteen minutes of very stilted conversation, but Scott and Alicia - twenty five and twenty three - were both close with their parents, and Donald and Sharon hadn't wanted to leave Rogue River when that was the place - the home - their kids would come back to.

Bridget and Wayne had understood this impulse.  It had only been by luck that Lorrie had brought Marissa up from Wichita for the week, seeking some adult interaction as her husband's travel schedule always picked up once Labor Day had passed.  But the Gallaghers had three other children - Cassie, an RN in St. Louis; David, who'd moved to Los Angeles over the summer; and Tara, a junior at Notre Dame on a basketball scholarship - who they had worried for, too.  Still, Rogue River had been growing more dangerous by the day, food more scarce.  Getting out of the city, into a better situation, Wayne had argued, was the best bet for all of them.

Stuart and Dorothy had seen the wisdom in his argument, as had Kendra - the older of their two daughters - and her husband, Brian, who had lived a short two blocks from the house she'd grown up in.  Brian's only other family in Rogue River had been his stepmother, with whom he was not close, and so although he felt a little guilty, he'd agreed to not tell her about their plan to strike out for Kevin's place in Cedar Run.  With Kendra's and Brian's two boys, that had brought their party up to six, small enough of a group that they had felt they could show up on his doorstep unannounced.

But Wayne, despite his desire to get his family to safety, had insisted on taking one more try at convincing Eddie and Linda that they needed to leave Rogue River.  However, they had remained adamant that they wouldn't leave without Anthony, whom they'd always treated as a golden boy, though none of the rest of the family - his siblings especially - could see it. They had remained unpersuaded, and the attempt to talk some sense into them had cost the rest of the family two precious days, and Wayne his life.

"With Eddie and Linda saying they weren't coming, that meant six for Jericho, six for Cedar Run," Donald had explained.  "We knew it'd be a burden, but we'd hoped, only six in each place, we could be absorbed in," he'd continued, as Kevin had led them into the house.

"We'd've found a way," Johnston had confirmed.  "Our place is a might crowded -"

"Uncle Jay!" 

Lorrie's exclamation had derailed his explanation, but Johnston had hardly minded.  "Lorrie, darlin'," he'd smiled, striding across the great room to envelope his niece and great-niece in a hug.  They had been snuggled together under a sleeping bag, sitting on one end of a couch, the other of which was occupied by Janine and five year old Zoey, buried in a pile of at least three quilts.  "I'm - I'm so sorry about Weijin and your dad," he'd murmured, kissing the side of her head.  "So sorry," he'd repeated, taking a half step back as Marissa had squawked in protest over being squished between them.

"Thanks," she'd whispered, hitching her daughter up on her hip, the sleeping bag dropping to the floor.  "We were - we were supposed to go along with him to DC.  I like DC - nobody gives us a second look there.  But Rissa came down with an ear infection the week before, and we didn't want to torture her with a plane ride, so...."  Lorrie had trailed off, her brow furrowing as if it had become hard for her to remember a world in which there were airplanes and computer training classes and everything they had all taken for granted mere months before.  "And, Dad... he - he just wanted her to be safe," she'd said, choking back a sob and resting her cheek atop Marissa's head.  

"Of course, darlin'," he'd returned, feeling that his response was distinctly inadequate.  "They both wanted that, for you and Marissa to be safe."

She'd sucked in a deep breath, and had pasted on a smile, blinking away her tears.  "Rissa, this is Uncle Jay," she'd told her daughter, bouncing her to get her attention.  "You remember Uncle Jay.  We went to his house and he took you in the treehouse and then he pushed you on the swing for an hour."  Marissa had watched Johnston, not blinking, her thumb shoved into her mouth.  "She's having a bit of a shy day," Lorrie had sighed, offering her uncle an apologetic shrug. 

"Understandable," he'd acknowledged, his tone more gruff - more rough - than he'd intended.  He could only imagine the trauma this little girl had been through with first her father, and then her grandfather disappearing from her world without explanation.  Even though she hadn't witnessed the violence that had stolen them from her, she would still carry those scars - and others - forever.  It was impossible to expect that she would be the same bubbly, chattering, innocent toddler - so like her mother at that age - whom he'd played with on that hot as blazes afternoon back in July.  Johnston had patted Marissa's leg.  "You be as shy as you want to, baby," he'd told her.

"I remember your treehouse," Zoey had announced then.  She and her mother had extracted themselves from the end of the couch, and Johnston turned to offer them both hugs.  "It was fun," she'd declared, holding onto the leg of his jeans.

"Uncle Jay," Janine had greeted, "It's good to see you."

"You too, Janine," he'd said, embracing her quickly, "You too."

Johnston had glanced around the room then, taking it all in.  The window blinds had been closed, despite the fact that it was still light - though overcast - outside.  There had been piles of bedding everywhere, leading him to surmise that they were all sleeping in the great room, around the fire, which had been banked, but at least - he'd thought, relief flooding through him - they had one.  Their clothes had hung on Janine's and Lorrie's frames, and Lorrie, who'd always been lithe - had practically been swimming in her borrowed cold weather clothing.  The little girls had looked healthy - skinny, but not emaciated - though their faces had been pale and dirty, their lips chapped, their hair snarled in places.  "Where's Alex?" he'd asked, looking around the room for the eight year old.

"Working off some energy in the basement," Janine had sighed.  "Kendra and Brian are down there with the boys, letting them ride the bikes around.  They don't last long these days, but they're still boys," she'd shrugged

At that moment it had occurred to Johnston - his throat immediately going dry - that this was a group under siege, wary of going outside, or even betraying their presence by letting the fire burn to warm the house during the day.  But his question - and he'd been struggling with how to phrase that question - had died on his lips when he'd heard his sister-in-law's voice.

"Johnston!" Bridget Gallagher had croaked, stopped in the archway between the great room and the bedroom hallway of the house, her hand covering her mouth.  "What - what on earth are you doin' here?"

His response had been to move quickly across the room, pulling her into his embrace, holding her up when she'd sagged against him.  "Bridget," he'd ground out, stooping to press a kiss to the top of her head.  "I'm - I'm sorry," he'd mumbled against her hair, cringing inwardly at the insufficiency of his words in the face of all her loss. 

She'd nodded against his chest, sniffling, while behind them, Clyde had moved farther into the room, gathering with the rest of the family around the island that divided the kitchen and great room.  Clyde had introduced his sons and Drake, and as soon as she'd heard that Drake was a doctor - he'd protested 'medical student', but Clyde had corrected and confirmed 'doctor' - Janine had dragged the young man passed Bridget and Johnston, intent on having him examine her uncle.

Later, in the car, as they had headed home to Jericho, Drake had explained that the only thing ailing Bob Morgenstern was a desire to die.  He'd howled and whimpered while Janine had been in the room, but as soon as she'd stepped out at Drake's request, Bob had pulled him down to his level and had whispered, his voice scratchy, that Drake didn't need to examine him, and should just make up whatever would most convince Jannie to accept that he wouldn't recover.  He was too old, resources too scarce, Bob had insisted, they needed to let him die and concentrate on the children.  "He and Kevin are in cahoots - that's what he said, the word he used," Drake had reported.  "Trying to convince Jannie - Janine - that it's okay to let him go.  He fakes not being able to swallow - makes himself choke on anything they give 'im - but can't quite manage always on water, so he's still alive.  He won't make it much longer of course, but with the water and all he does is lay in bed ... so far he's survived."  

In the great room, Johnston had kept half an ear tuned to the conversation going on behind him while he'd continued to offer what comfort he could to his sister-in-law.  As he'd reminded Johnston earlier that afternoon, Clyde was a newsman, and he'd immediately begun to interview Kevin, Stuart, Donald, Lorrie and the others - Dorothy and Sharon had both come into the great room from somewhere in the back of the house, and Kendra, Brian and the boys had clomped up from the basement at about the same time.  Only the three little boys had eschewed the gathering of adults around the island and breakfast bar, instead eyeing Johnston and Bridget curiously as they'd moved by, throwing themselves onto the couch and burrowing into the still warm nest of blankets Janine and Zoey had left behind.

"How're y'all doin' for food?" Clyde had questioned, and Kevin had admitted that things were tight.  They'd bought the ranchette - moved to Cedar Run - so they could keep horses, but over time they had taken on chickens and a vegetable garden that had gotten bigger each year.  They even had a greenhouse for growing winter vegetables.  Their horses were gone, Kevin had confessed, instinctively covering his daughter's ears with both hands.  Stuart had been a butcher for his entire working life, and once he'd arrived in Cedar Run he'd gone to work; there were only a couple of horses, three llamas, a forty year old donkey and a dozen goats left in the town, sprinkled across  five of the six other occupied properties. 

"So there're others still here?" Clyde had inquired, and Kevin had nodded, informing the older man that there were at least ninety other people - in addition to the sixteen living at their place - still resident in Cedar Run. 

"Before Dad got here, I tried hunting a few times," Kevin had added.  "Uncle Jay used to take me sometimes, along with Jake and Eric, when I was a teenager.  I even went with them... two years ago?  Two years ago, I think.  I have three guns, but nowhere near enough ammunition, so...." he'd trailed off, frowning. "But on those trips when I was a kid, Uncle Jay showed us lots of stuff, you know, how to set snares," Kevin had continued, "So I got Uncle Bob to show me again, and we've gotten, maybe, three dozen rabbits that way."

"You own fishing equipment?" Clyde had asked, just as Johnston, his arm still around Bridget, supporting her, had joined the group.  "We've been out at Bass Lake today, ice fishing.  Got a pretty good haul."

"Always liked fishin' but I've never done ice fishing," Donald had answered for his nephew.

"I've got poles though," Kevin had confirmed, "And only Zoey's has Hello Kitty on it," he'd joked, though his heart hadn't seemed to be in it.  "So - yeah - maybe in the spring.  We - uh - we don't like to get too far from home right now."

Sharon had smiled weakly at him.  "So, Johnston, how're things in Jericho?  How's Gail?"

"She's good," he'd answered, huffing a little as he'd added, "Ah, Heather and April are both expectin', actually - Heather's six months along, April's about four - so that's - that's how Gail's doin'," Johnston had chuckled.

Bridget had squeezed his arm, offering him a slight smile.  "That's good news, indeed.  Though, poor Heather," she'd sighed, her smile turning to a frown.  "With Jake overseas -"

"Oh God!" Lorrie had yelped, tightening her hold on her daughter while everyone else had reacted in kind with shocked gasps and groans.

"No! No!" Johnston had declared loudly, "Jake's home - he's home.  Got back the night - the night everything happened.  Typical Jake.  But he's fine.  Got into some trouble with a road gang three days back," he'd explained in a rush.  Kevin had glanced at his father and Donald then, his expression clouded in a way that had made the hair stand up on the back of Johnston's neck.  "But anyway, he's okay - gonna be okay," he'd stammered.  "Can't - can't wait to be a daddy."

"Now maybe, Gail can forgive me for beating her to grandmotherhood," Bridget had sighed, "And don't try to tell me she wasn't jealous."

"You'll hafta tell them congratulations from all of us," Lorrie had said, "And Auntie of course," she'd added, "And to you, too."

"I will," Johnston had promised, "And thank you.  We're all real excited.  Though, maybe you can tell 'em all yourselves," he'd continued, suddenly catching himself giving voice to the crazy idea that had been swirling in his mind since he'd heard about Wayne's plan and then had spotted his niece across the room.  "Clyde's gonna wanna wring my neck for suggestin' this," he'd predicted, flashing the other man an apologetic smile, "But we could take Bridget, Lorrie and Marissa with us, back to Jericho.  It'll be a tight fit in the car, but we could do it.  That would take some of the pressure off for the rest of you," he'd reminded.  "We've - we've had two airdrops of relief supplies in Jericho - one from China, the other from Italy - and there could be more.  You were gonna come to us anyway, originally.  Wayne was gonna bring you to Jericho.  So whaddya say?"

They had all seemed too stunned by this offer to speak, and so it had been Clyde who'd weighed in first.  "I'm not gonna wring your neck," he'd assured Johnston, "But Gray Anderson might."  He'd looked at Bridget, and then Lorrie, inviting, "Still, if you ladies want to come with, I'm happy to take ya."

But Bridget had shaken her head 'no'.  "We can't," she'd frowned, casting a scolding look at her daughter when Lorrie had started to argue.  "We don't know how they'd react," she'd argued.  "We can't endanger everyone else by leaving.  We - we can't."

"How'd who react?" Clyde had asked, and then suddenly everyone was talking, responding, arguing, upset.

"God, Uncle Jay, I didn't -" Kevin had gasped, practically doubling over as if he'd been hit in the stomach.  "I didn't think, I shoulda told you to go -"

"It's not your fault, Kev," Stuart had assured, "It's not your fault -"

"The gang that attacked Jake," Donald had barked, "Black truck?"

"We should've hunkered down, pretended we weren't here -"

"You didn't do this, Kevin.  We should've realized -"

"Late model?"

"But I thought you were comin' to help -"

"You - you didn't tell them?" Bridget - or maybe it was Lorrie, or Sharon, or Dorothy - had demanded.

"Souped up?"

"I'm sorry, Johnston.  So, so sorry -"

"You hafta go," Kevin had decided, sucking in a deep breath and regaining some of his equilibrium.  "If you just go now, maybe they won't know you were here -"

"What if they're attacked?" Lorrie - and it was definitely Lorrie - had asked.  "Drive right into 'em?  Do we even know which way they went today?"

"The road gang's from here?" Johnston had mumbled as all of the pieces - the horrible, ironic, sickening pieces - had fallen into place.  "The road gang," he'd repeated, his voice growing louder, "That - that attacked Jake is from Cedar Run?"

Kevin, his eyes red, had only been able to meet his uncle's gaze for a second.  To Johnston, he'd looked as if he'd aged ten years in five minutes.  "I'm so sorry, Uncle Jay," he'd gasped out.  "But they're not from here - they're not friends, we're - we're not with them!  We - we don't even know who they are!  How many -"

"They just showed up one night, invaded the house - the big house on the bluff," Stuart had supplied, laying a hand on his son's shoulder.

For support, for consolation, for absolution, Johnston had figured, watching the pair and recalling how he'd offered Jake - his son - the same only fifty some hours before.  "I know the place," he'd mumbled.  They'd driven by the house, in fact, coming into Cedar Run from the west.  It had appeared as deserted as the rest of the town.  "So, they invaded, just took over?"

"Zoey, sweetie," Dorothy had interrupted Kevin before he'd answered.  "Why don't you go over and play with the boys, okay?"

Her son had flashed her a grateful - if fleeting - smile, while Lorrie had quickly set Marissa down, asking Zoey to take her along, too.  "Come on, Rissa," Zoey had grumbled, taking her younger cousin's hand in her own and leading her across the room.

"It happened about three weeks ago," Donald had begun quietly, once the girls were a good fifteen feet away.  "They... attacked - it was an attack, an ambush, really - but they attacked just at dusk, killed everyone...."

"The Edmonds," Kevin had supplied, his expression grim.  "Ten people livin' there, including two teenage girls.  Jannie had the younger one in school when we first moved here, so yeah, we hope they killed everyone."

"We heard the gunshots," Kendra had reminded, shuddering at the memory.  "It went on forever, and was way more than ten shots," she'd added, casting her husband an appreciative look when he'd wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder.

"I counted twenty, twenty five," Donald had said, "It was a half hour, maybe forty minutes."

"So a group of unknown origin," Clyde had begun, "Unknown size, even -"

"Our best guess?" Stuart had interrupted, "Four or five.  But -"

"Chris Conrad - his place is closest - he swears there's seven of 'em," Kevin had explained.

"Okay, five to seven men invade the house from which they can best keep tabs on the rest of the town," Clyde had summarized, almost too matter-of-factly for Johnston's liking.  "Kill the residents, and then use the place as a base of operations to attack vehicles up to... what?"  He'd looked at Johnston.  "Jake and Stanley had to've been thirty, thirty five miles from here?"

"Sound about right," Johnston had agreed cautiously.

"Thirty miles," Kevin had echoed, "Oh God."

It was a distance that wouldn't have phased any of them four months before - Kevin, because of his commute, had routinely driven two hundred fifty miles or more in a day, and it hadn't been unusual for any of the rest of them to log a hundred miles as they'd gone about their business - but on that late December day the implications had been apparent to them all.  There were only twelve miles between Cedar Run and Jericho and it had clearly been a shock to realize exactly how far away their resident gang had been getting.  Presumably the crew had been ranging - hunting - farther and farther afield as the pickings closer to home had grown slim.  They had come from somewhere - who knew where - and they would be forced to move on once it was no longer profitable to operate out of Cedar Run.  But what would they do to the people living in Cedar Run?  That was the question.

Kevin had taken a deep breath and, shaking his head, had admitted, "We kinda always knew this would play out one of two ways.  One day they'd either just disappear or we'd - we'd be forced to deal with 'em."

"Just didn't know it would be nearly this soon," Stuart had added sourly.

"We've been careful - really careful - since they got here," Donald had insisted.  "The kids, the women, even Brian - none of 'em - have been outside since that night."

"I'm like a secret weapon," Brian had joked humorlessly, though Johnston had known there was truth in his statement.  Brian Merrill had been a star fullback for the Washington High Wolverines, a team that the Jericho Red Raiders had played - and been crushed by - once a season for over two decades.  He'd been two years ahead of Stanley Richmond in school, and a teammate for the one year Stanley had spent at the University of Kansas.  He was the epitome of big and tall, and Johnston had seen the merit of keeping his presence a secret from the road gang.  In a purely physical fight, Brian would win, ninety nine times out of a hundred; but unfortunately, any confrontation with the road gang was inevitably going to involve weapons and a strong show of force.

"We're the only ones who go outside," Kevin had said, pointing at his father and then his uncle.  "And we still don't go out in the daylight, if we don't hafta.  In case there's someone up there watchin' during the day.  Everybody else in town does the same.  When we've got business to conduct, it's in the dead of night, we never use lights.  We walk a mile or two across town - across fields, and woods, and whatnot - at two AM to trade with our neighbors or so Dad can butcher some goat -"

"They hafta know there're more of us down here than we show 'em, right?" Donald had interrupted.  "And they're cowards - cowards don't pick fights they aren't sure they can win," he'd reasoned.  "So they're - they're just as likely to go away as - as attack us, right?"

"They'd attack the Conrads, first, anyway," Lorrie had argued, surprising them all.  "The Conrads or the Tuttles, 'cause they're closest.  I mean - I mean, it's horrible to say that...."  She had paused, clearly uneasy with the subject.  "But - but you know it's true.  Unless - well, unless we give them a reason to come after us instead," she'd frowned.

"Well, we're not gonna be that reason," Johnston had decided immediately.

"No we're not," Clyde had concurred.  "Brett," he'd said, turning toward his older son, "Go get -  Drake!" he'd declared, relieved at the young doctor's reappearance, alongside Janine.  "C'mon, son," Clyde had ordered, "It's time we get goin'."  Satisfied that Drake had been headed toward the door, three steps behind Brett and Zack, Clyde had turned to face Kevin.  "We really did do well out at Bass Lake, so I was gonna offer you some of our catch -"

"No," Kevin had returned, "Thanks, but no.  We're managing, and you guys just need to go."

"Good luck," Clyde had wished them.  "And if - when they're gone, and you can get to Jericho...."

"Come," Johnston had instructed.  "We'll do what we can for you," he'd promised, quickly hugging Lorrie, Bridget and then Kendra goodbye. 

With that, they'd been out the door, hurrying toward the car, inside the vehicle, on guard as they'd traveled back down the driveway, down Second Avenue, turning onto Cedar Run Road and making their way out of town.  "We could still run into 'em," Clyde had reminded, five tense minutes later, "But they won't know where we've been at least."  However, they hadn't encountered the road gang - hadn't encountered any traffic at all - until they had been two miles from Jericho and they'd run across their own patrol. 

 

"There's - there's at least a hundred in Cedar Run," Johnston said, clearing his throat.  "We've got family there, and they were there still, back three weeks ago."

"I was there last week," Russell told him, "Traded some surplus clothing, medical supplies, for some - I dunno - yak meat -"

"Llama?" Johnston suggested.

"Yeah, that's it," Russell agreed.  "And a side of venison."

"That's where the venison steaks came from?" Constantino interjected.  "Those were good," he grinned, "We're gonna hafta trade with Cedar Run more often." 

"Well, today, we're hoping you'll trade with us," Carolyn said brightly. 

"Glad to hear it," Constantino returned with a smile.

Russell pulled Johnston off to the side.  "I mostly deal with Rob Tuttle.  In Cedar Run," he clarified when the older man raised an eyebrow.  "Not sure who your family is, but pretty much the whole town came out, and everyone seemed to be in good shape."

"Our nephew's Kevin O'Brien," Johnston supplied.

"Met a Kevin," Russell nodded, "His father's the butcher, right?"  Johnston nodded.  "Well, he said there'd been a death in the family, but it sounded like it was just old age."

"Bob," Johnston identified, sighing.  "So, the road gang?"

"Up and cleared out, a week earlier," Russell returned. 

He couldn't help but wonder why no one had come from Cedar Run if they'd been free of the road gang for two weeks, but that was an issue to contemplate later - after April and the baby were out of danger, after they finished these negotiations with New Bern.  The important thing was that they were safe. Johnston offered the other man a relieved smile, "Thanks, Russell."

"So, gentlemen - and lady," Constantino began, with a nod to Carolyn.  "We came to trade.  Why don't I start?" he suggested rhetorically.  "How does two thousand pounds of salt sound?"

Gray looked uncertain.  "How many - how many windmills does that get us?" he asked, "Four?  Five?"

Constantino snorted.  "It's a wind turbine," he corrected, "And that gets you one.  That one," he clarified, pointing toward the flower bed. 

"Two thousand pounds per?  That seems kinda steep," Gray complained.

"Really?  How do you figure?" Constantino inquired, his gaze narrowing almost imperceptibly.  "What's the going price per pound?  Back before what'd you get wholesale?  'Cause I'm pretty sure I was buyin' fifty pounds for what? Ten bucks?"

"That's for rock salt, road grade," Norm Trotter disputed.  He'd been the head of sales at the mine before retiring ten years earlier.  "For human consumption?  You were payin' at least a buck and a half per pound, retail."

"Sure," Constantino agreed, "But what were they paying you?  The company that took your salt, added the iodine and packaged it up, slapped the little girl with an umbrella on the side of the box?  And whaddya think a wind turbine kit used to go for?  Well, I'll tell ya," he said, not waiting for an answer.  "A thousand would get you a piece of crap, two grand would get you something useable but not on the scale you need.  So, you buy our turbine - and it comes assembled, it comes installed - and at your buck and a half," he reminded, his tone clearly implying that he considered the rate to be a straight up gift, "You get something you need, on the scale you need, all for three grand."

Nodding softly, Gray expelled a nervous breath.  "Yeah, okay, so two thousand pounds per turbine, we could probably swing -"

"Now hold on," Constantino ordered, interrupting Jericho's mayor.  "Those are the terms for the first one.  And if that's all you want, then fine," he proclaimed.  "We'll take our salt and be on our way."

This second mention of New Bern picking up and leaving hung like a threat, heavy in the air, and although he tried to tell himself that he needed to let Gray lead this negotiation, let him figure out his way through it, Johnston couldn't keep himself from asking, "And if we want more?"

"Then we're gonna need a lot more than that," Constantino returned as easily as if they were discussing the weather.  "And we're gonna need food."

Stanley shook his head.  "No food to spare," he insisted, crossing his arms over his chest.  "We won't see another crop 'til spring."

Constantino turned toward the younger man.  "Spring crop's what I'm talkin' about," he informed the Jericho contingent.  "Ten wind turbines for ... let's say ... ten percent of your spring crop."

The pauses were perfectly spaced, meant to lure you into believing that he was coming up with this all off the top of his head, but Johnston had been in one too many bass tournaments alongside Phil Constantino not to recognize the gambit by which he'd successfully separated more than one fellow contestant from a significant chunk of his funds after suggesting a casual side wager.  Unfortunately, Gray took the bait.  "No, no, we can't put ourselves in that position," he argued.

"The spring crop might not even get us through next year," Stanley contended, "If we lose ten percent, we'll just be in the same position we are now."

"Worse," Johnston declared, glancing up from his feet to meet his old friend's eye.  "Look, all we're asking you to do is be reasonable."  But even as the words were leaving his mouth, he knew they weren't going to do any good.  It was clear from the set of his jaw that Constantino wasn't going to make any concessions out of friendship.

"And we're just trying to survive," Russell countered, frowning.

"Starve next fall or freeze this winter," Constantino said, giving ominous voice to the choice that lay before them.  "Take your pick."

 

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

 

To be continued in Different Circumstances, Part 15D.

 

 

Okay, so I've done it again.  Or, actually multiple its.  I've effectively gone back in time and altered my own story.  In recounting Johnston's visit to Cedar Run I've added a major component to a trip he thought about in passing at the beginning of Part 14, a major component that I have to admit had not wormed its way into my brain when I wrote Part 14.  I've also insisted on adding a bunch of new characters to the story.  They are minor characters, but they will likely pop up again (in better days and as soon as Part 15D).  At least they have a small basis in canon; if you remember, during most of season 2, Gail was off staying with cousins in Cedar Run.  Frankly, the O'Briens saw all the fun the Lisinskis were having and insisted on equal time.

On the episode as aired, Kenchy asks for fresh plasma, and Jessica says she will find someone with O-negative blood.  That's it, and that's actually the complete opposite of medical reality.  If your blood type is O-negative then you are a universal donor for red blood cells; the universal donor for plasma is actually a person with AB blood type and the Rh factor (positive or negative) is not an issue for plasma donations.  However, I will forgive the writers this error because the fact of the matter is that given that April's blood pressure was falling and that she was bleeding (a lot), she actually needed red blood cells in order to get her blood volume up.  So I put back in that part which I'm sure the writers actually wrote, and which was then cut for time.  That's what I tell myself anyway. ;-)

Rh (Rhesus) factor becomes an issue if a pregnant woman is Rh-negative but the fetus she is carrying is Rh-positive (because the father is Rh-positive).  If blood passes between the mother and baby during pregnancy or childbirth, this fetomaternal transfusion can be fatal to the baby, just as it is dangerous for an Rh-negative person to receive a traditional blood transfusion from an Rh-positive donor.

The O-G-S-N-U grading scale is one version of the grading scale used in primary school education, specifically grades K - 3, in the United States.  The scale is: Outstanding - Good - Satisfactory - Needs Improvement - Unsatisfactory.  I don't know if there's an official standard in the state of Kansas, or which version Kansas schools tend to use.  It doesn't really matter - O-G-S-N-U fits the purposes of this story. :-)

Only about 6% of the salt that is mined from the earth or captured from sea water is used for human consumption.  Other uses include water conditioning processes, de-icing highways and agricultural use. Edible salt is sold in forms such as sea salt and table salt which usually contains an anti-caking agent and may be iodised to prevent iodine deficiency.  Salt is one of the oldest and most ubiquitous of food seasonings, and salting is an important method of food preservation.  (Pretty much everything that Johnston told Dale at Black Jack.) 

Constantino reminds Gray, Johnston, and the others that New Bern will be a ghost town if it goes a year without salt.  Clearly that is true, as is the fact that they need it for a variety of reasons.  For this reason, too, it's clear that it would be hard to put a single price on a pound of salt as the price varies dependent on the quality of the salt and the intended use.  I'll pay two or three dollars for a box of salt at the grocery store, ten or more for some gourmet salt at an expensive kitchen store, but then I'll skip the pool supply store for charging three more dollars than Home Depot for a fifty pound bag of pool salt.  

I don't know the cost of wind turbine kits back in 2006 - 2007.  I have to assume that wind turbine kits have gotten a little cheaper, and that the price of salt (all the prices of all the types of salt) probably keeps up with inflation.  So the economics of Constantino's proposal for the first turbine might not pencil out exactly, but it's an informed approximation.  It also doesn't match the episode - later on Gray says the agreement was for 500 pounds - but I think my calculations are realistic, though not exact.

The Morton Salt Girl is dressed in a yellow dress and carrying a large umbrella in the rain.   She is the official mascot of the Morton Salt Company whose slogan is "When it rains, it pours". 

 

 

 



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