Different Circumstances: Part 4C of ? by Marzee Doats
Author's Note: A few things...
- I think that the Jericho writers/producers tried to rehabilitate Jonah's character a little too much in Vox Populi. I think he's a rather nasty piece of work, and that's how I portray him. If you're a Jonah fan, you might not like what Jake has to say. Sorry!
- I couldn't remember if we've ever been given a name for Emily's mom, so I made one up. If it turns out she has a name, then I know how to edit.
- The book Heather and Jake discuss is Second Foundation by Isaac Asimov. Everything Heather says is my little Mary Sue moment. Hopefully it's not too bad. Obviously, it would be hard for me to have Heather reading a book I hadn't read myself!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Saturday, October 13, five years before the bombs
Heather pulled away from Jake, giggling nervously. "Okay, that's a little bit ominous," she said, studying him closely. "Uh -"
"It's not bad," he assured her, taking her hand into his own. Jake sighed, annoyed at himself. Belatedly, it occurred to him that announcing 'There's something I have to tell you' was more than a little dramatic. "Whatever you're imagining, it's not it, I promise," he told Heather.
"Okay, well, good," she murmured. "Because I have a really good imagination," she joked uneasily.
"You work with eight year olds," Jake returned. "I'm guessing it's a job requirement."
Heather closed her eyes. "Jake, please just tell me that you're not married, dying of an incurable disease, or wanted by the FBI," she requested softly.
Jake groaned, shaking his head. "Heather, I am not married, I've never been married," he declared, letting go of her hand so he could cup her face between both his hands. "And, I'm not dying," he continued, "And, you really do have a good imagination."
"You didn't deny the FBI," Heather reminded, her gaze locking with his. "Though, not married and not dying is good," she allowed, trying to smile. "Either of those would really suck."
"I'm also not wanted by the FBI." He kissed her quickly, hoping Heather would take it as a reassuring gesture, and then dropped his hands from her face. He reached into his jacket, and pulled a leather wallet out of his inside pocket. "Here." He found her hand again, and the dropped the well worn case on her open palm.
"You're giving me your wallet?" Heather asked, her forehead wrinkling in confusion, as she looked back and forth between Jake and the item, sitting heavy on her hand.
He hooked his thumb in the fold of the wallet, opening it. "My badge, actually," Jake explained. He didn't usually carry it with him these days, but he had put it in his jacket just before he'd left the ranch earlier in the evening. At the time he'd told himself it was just in case, but now he realized, after wrestling all afternoon with Stanley's advice about telling Heather 'everything', he'd been leaning toward doing so all along. Their evening together, not to mention the run in with Emily Sullivan, had only cemented a decision Jake had already been on the verge of making.
Heather looked at the badge without really seeing it. With only the light of a nearby streetlamp to see by, she could identify a brass shield, and a photo ID, but not much more. She glanced up, staring at him, uncertainty written across her face. "You're a cop?" she asked.
"No," Jake denied, shaking his head. "Federal agent," he corrected.
"Okay," Heather nodded, licking her lips. "So, you work for the FBI? How very Fox Mulder," she chuckled, her expression dazed.
"I've worked with the FBI," Jake replied, modulating his voice so that it was as soothing as possible. He could see that she was shocked by his admission, and he was suddenly afraid of scaring her off. "But, I work for the DEA."
She nodded again. "Drug Enforcement Agency?"
"Administration," Jake corrected, adding quickly, "But, I don't know what the difference between an 'agency' and an 'administration' is. I must have slept through that part of orientation."
"Wow," Heather sighed. She was beginning to look a little less stunned, though her eyes were still wide. "Wow," she repeated, starting to giggle. "I mean yesterday I thought you raised horses with your grandfather, and this afternoon I thought you were a pilot." She paused, taking a deep breath. "When I got home today, I looked up Aeronautical Science on the internet," Heather confessed, blushing. "I wanted to know what it was, exactly."
Jake caught himself starting to smile. Heather was just so ridiculously upfront and honest, it took his breath away, just as much as kissing her did. "You looked up my degree?"
"I did," she admitted, unable to meet his gaze. "I wanted to know about you."
"Heather, it's -" Jake stopped, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. He placed both his hands on her shoulders, moving a step closer. "You could have just asked," he told her.
"Next time I will," she promised, offering him a smile. "So," she continued, taking a deep breath, "You work for the Drug Enforcement Administration."
He nodded. "I do, though right now I'm on administrative leave, except when I have to go to Denver to talk to a couple of federal prosecutors. And, I do raise horses," he continued. "Right now, I am working for my grandfather. And, I am pilot. I was recruited by the DEA, as a pilot, right out of college."
Jake sighed, studying Heather closely. She was watching him in return, and he could practically see her processing what he was saying. At least, he thought, relieved, she didn't look like she was planning to run. Of course, he'd hardly started. He caught himself wanting, obstinately, to make sure she couldn't leave, and so Jake pulled her against himself. "I flew aerial surveys, an automatic camera in the belly of my plane, taking pictures of forests, public land mostly, looking for signs of illegal pot cultivation," he explained. "Wasn't exactly what I thought I'd be doing with my life, but it satisfied the Green family public service gene, anyway."
Heather laughed at that. "There's a Green family public service gene?" she asked, still giggling. She maneuvered herself halfway under his jacket, and he felt her shiver against him.
"You're cold," he observed. "We should go inside," he suggested.
"We could just go for your walk," Heather countered, shuddering again. "I'd warm up then."
"Your teeth are practically chattering," Jake argued, stepping back, and slipping out of his jacket. He dropped it over her shoulders, waiting while she fit her arms into the sleeves. "So now you do have my wallet," he teased, offering her his hand. "C'mon."
They stepped out of the minimal shelter offered by the market entrance, and back onto the sidewalk proper. Jake looked around, deciding that, perhaps, they had escaped becoming grist for the Jericho gossip mill. The southern end of Main Street was deserted, though high school students swarmed around The Pizza Garden and a few other open shops to the north. It appeared that the adult population of Jericho had left the town to the teenagers for the night, and with nothing beyond Gracie's Market but town hall and Bailey's Tavern, there really wasn't anyone around to see them, despite the fact that it wasn't even ten yet.
"Where are we going?" Heather asked, realizing that they were walking away from the active end of Main Street.
Jake led her to the left and across Spruce Street. "Town hall," he replied. "But, we have to be quiet."
"Okay," Heather agreed, her tone skeptical, though she followed him up the walk. "We're gonna break in?" she asked quietly, a few seconds later. "Is that a good idea? You're a federal employee, and I'm - well I work for the JISD, but my retirement's through the state of Kansas."
He glanced at her, laughing soundlessly. "We're not old enough to be worrying about retirement," Jake said, squeezing her hand, still held in his. "And, you can't break into town hall," he reasoned, "Because the door's never locked. The sheriff's station is right inside," he reminded. "And, it's open twenty-four, seven. Besides," he added, "If we're caught, I'll take the blame. Trust me, no one would believe otherwise."
"This is crazy," Heather grinned, "But okay."
They mounted the stairs, both trying to stay as quiet as possible. Jake halted at the top, whispering, "Take off your shoes." He toed of his own, and picked them up. "The floor's stone inside, and it's hard to be quiet in shoes," he clarified. "We go in the door, and go to the right - sheriff's station's to the left - then turn left into the hall after the staircase. At the end of that hall is the town council room."
Heather shook her head at him, and Jake could tell that she was still unsure about what they were doing. Still, she removed her shoes as he had asked. "You've really thought this through," she murmured.
"I am a trained operative," he replied, winking at her. "C'mon, it's an adventure," he invited, moving forward to cautiously open the front door. They slipped into town hall, Heather following Jake to the right, away from the light spilling out into the corridor from the sheriff's office. They continued along the route Jake had outlined and, after they accidentally glanced at one another, they both found themselves struggling to keep from laughing out loud. Reaching the door to the council room, Jake placed his shoes on the floor, and then retrieved a chair from against the wall, moving it into the doorway.
"What are you doing?" Heather asked, whispering.
Jake stopped, turning to face her. "I pretty much grew up in this building," he explained. "So I happen to know that the janitor keeps spare keys to all the rooms above the doors." He climbed up on the chair, feeling along the top of the casing until he found what he was looking for. "Here it is," he declared quietly, stepping down off the chair.
The hallway was dark, but Jake could see well enough by the outdoor safety lighting that streamed in through the windows along one side. He fit the key in the deadbolt, and unlocked the door, pulling it open and motioning Heather inside. Jake retrieved his shoes and followed, flipping on the light switch next to the door. "Welcome to the Jericho town council chambers."
"The 'Eric Jacob Green Council Room'," Heather read from a small brass plaque mounted next to the light switch.
"Yeah," Jake acknowledged, exhaling. "I think that was my father's first official act as mayor, getting the rest of the town council to vote for that."
"The Green family political dynasty," Heather observed, her expression thoughtful.
"Public service gene," Jake corrected. "I've had enough of politics from the sidelines. Believe me, I have no intention of ever being mayor of Jericho. That's what I have a brother for. Eric can be mayor. He went to law school."
Heather nodded, though she was still trying to wrap her mind around the assumptions that apparently came with being a Green in Jericho. It made sense, she guessed, that Jake didn't consider what they were doing to be breaking into town hall; could you truly break into a room named in honor of your grandfather? And, he spoke like it was a given that the next mayor of Jericho would be a Green. Of course, Heather supposed, if she'd never known a time when she wasn't related to the mayor, she might end up thinking the same way.
"So, you're named after your grandfather? You, and your brother? Eric and Jacob?" she asked, gesturing at the plaque.
"Eric is," Jake responded. "We all have the middle name 'Jacob'. I'm named after my Dad." He stepped toward Heather, taking from her the badge case she still had in her hand. He opened it, holding it up at head-level out of habit. Heather peered closely at his identification, and Jake ended up shaking his head, laughing at himself. "Sorry," he apologized, returning it to her.
"'Johnston J Green, Jr.'," she read. "'Agent, Drug Enforcement Administration'." Heather paused for a second, contemplating the object in her hand. She folded the case closed, and gave it back to him. "You don't seem like a junior to me," she told him. "Just 'Jake' fits you better."
Jake smiled at her, a smile that caused Heather's heart to race slightly. "That's what I've always thought," he agreed.
He started to put his badge away in his back pocket, and Heather realized she was still wearing his jacket. "Oh, here," she said, quickly shrugging it off. She handed it to him. "Thanks for the loan."
"Sure you're warm enough?"
"I'm fine, really," she assured him over her shoulder, walking farther into the room, looking everything over. "I can handle a little cold," Heather continued, examining a photo of Main Street, circa 1920. She looked at him again, smiling. "But thank you."
Jake draped his jacket over the back of a chair in the last row of the gallery seating. Watching Heather move around the room, he seated himself at the end of a row in the middle. After a few moments she glanced at him, and then walked back to where he was, slipping past him, their knees bumping, to seat herself next to him.
"So," Heather began, looking at him sideways, "You were saying?"
"Yeah, where was I?" Jake muttered, leaning back in his chair. "I went to work for the DEA right out of college," he repeated after a moment's pause. "They sent me to some pretty basic training to start, enough so I'd have a clue what I was looking for. And, I was never alone. I always had someone else with me, an experienced agent. I was good at it," Jake claimed, grinning softly at Heather as she found his hand, lacing her fingers through his.
"Aerial survey isn't that hard, it just requires a pilot's license and some common sense," he told her. "The growers know we're looking for them, so they look for planes. You can't fly like you're looking for them. I was good at it," he repeated. "Pretty soon, I could spot an illegal grow, find an illegal camp, without even thinking about it, really. I got friendly with the agents I was working with," Jake continued. "They started inviting me along into the field, mostly for the boring stuff. I've thrown a lot of pot plants into the back of trucks. Millions of dollars worth."
"Well, that puts confiscating slam books from third graders into perspective," Heather giggled, her eyes wide. "Jake, I hope you won't be offended if I don't invite you to Career Day at school," she teased. "I can't imagine having to do your job."
Jake laughed along with Heather. "Yeah, I'm sure that wouldn't go over well with the PTA, either," he agreed. "And, I know your job isn't a piece of cake, 'cause I know what I was like in school."
"Ah, yes, your history of detention," Heather intoned knowingly, pursing her lips. "I may just have to go over to the records room and see if I can find your cumulative folder," she threatened with a smile. "That's probably some pretty interesting reading, and then there's always the pictures."
"Funny, you don't look like someone who would abuse their power," Jake complained lightly. He leaned over, bestowing a gentle kiss on her mouth. "Anything I can do to talk you out of it?" he murmured against her lips. Jake pulled back slightly, his gaze locking with hers. "'Cause I had a couple of really bad haircuts for picture day during the eighties."
"I'm sure I could be persuaded," Heather flirted in return, shocking herself a little. "Whatcha offering?"
"What do you want?" he asked, stroking her cheek with his thumb.
Heather blushed, fighting a nervous smile. "Nothing," she whispered, "Nothing more than this." She leaned toward him this time, pressing her mouth to his. Jake cupped the back of her head, and tried to pull her closer, but quickly realized that the folding chairs they were sitting on made that a dangerous move. Both laughing, they separated. "Just finish telling me about your job," Heather requested, biting her lip.
"That'll take longer than you think," Jake predicted, shaking his head. Still, he complied. "I got sent back east after about nine months in," he told Heather, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, which he figured he could do safely despite their seating. "They put me through a full field agent course at the academy, after which I went back to California for awhile, and then transferred to the Denver office three years ago."
"I did the normal field agent stuff. Investigative work, the occasional raid on a farm or a lab or a warehouse, lots of paperwork." Jake continued. "I even flew aerial surveys when they needed someone to fill in, though that wasn't my job any more." Jake paused, taking a deep breath. "And then, my boss started giving me undercover assignments. Nothing big at first, but it turned out I was good at them, and that's where she put me. She says I'm very good at appearing disaffected," Jake explained, rolling his eyes. "Apparently that convinces idiot drug lords and suppliers to trust me."
"Your boss is a woman?" Heather sounded more intrigued than suspicious, which was confirmed when she asked, "Isn't that unusual?"
"In the DEA? You better believe it," he answered. "She clawed her way into her job, and it took her twenty years. But, Gretchen is brilliant, not to mention a pain in the ass, most days." Jake glanced down at Heather, who was now snuggled against him, balanced somewhat precariously on the edges of both their chairs. "Do you know who Jonah Prowse is?" he asked, catching her eye.
She stared at him blankly. "No," Heather answered, shaking her head. "Should I?"
"Not if you're lucky," Jake grumbled. "Jonah Prowse is a low life thug with a nasty mean streak," he explained. "Do you know the West Kansas Shipping and Freight center out Route 40, east of town about six miles? That's his place."
"I've seen it," Heather nodded. "But it's completely deserted."
"How long have you been in Jericho?"
"Um, since the end of July," she answered. "I applied for my job at the end of May, beginning of June, I think. I don't really remember," Heather admitted, her expression sheepish. "I was doing a lot of job applications right then. I do remember that I was halfway through the application before I realized I was applying for a job in Kansas," she confessed, laughing at herself. "There's a Jericho, Vermont, which I've driven through, and I got mixed up," Heather sighed. "Anyway, I was here for a couple days right after Fourth of July to interview, and then I moved the last weekend of July."
"I've been wondering how exactly you ended up here. Thank God for Jericho, Vermont," Jake murmured, grinning at her.
Heather shook her head, chuckling. "How I ended up in Jericho, Kansas is a long, complicated, somewhat embarrassing story, and it touches on things I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to talk about on a first date. Not that we're being all that conventional," she observed with an amused grin. "I tell you what," Heather bargained, "I'll tell you the whole story on our next date."
"Deal," Jake declared immediately. "And, well played," he teased. "So, what are you doing Monday night?"
"Grading the math test I'm giving Monday morning. I'm sorry," Heather apologized, her tone regretful. "Sometimes I really do have to claim 'school night'."
Jake nodded. "I'll accept that for now. But we are going out again," he promised, kissing her once more. "Soon." Heather smiled in acknowledgment, and then they both sat up, realigning themselves in their chairs.
"I arrested Jonah Prowse and fourteen of his employees on June eleventh," Jake continued his explanation, his tone turning serious. "It was the culmination of nearly two years of undercover work and investigation. Big news in Jericho, for about three weeks, so I guess you just missed it." Jake paused, frowning, trying to find the best way to say what he needed to say next. "All of this, everything I'm about to tell you, I'm not supposed to," he admitted. "I'm under a gag order from a federal judge, but it's fairly common knowledge in Jericho, and I need you to know what happened," Jake explained. "And, I trust you."
Heather turned her head, meeting his gaze with a solemn expression. "I'll keep whatever you tell me in strictest confidence," she promised.
"Thank you," Jake acknowledged with a nod. He reached for her hand, holding it tightly in his, needing some sort of physical connection with Heather. He sighed, beginning again. "There are a lot of turf wars between the various federal law enforcement entities, but it's not so bad in Denver. Gretchen's the only female Special Agent in Charge there, and she uses that pretty effectively to maintain ties with the other local field offices." He shifted in his seat, playing absently with her hand. "It turned out that Jonah Prowse was on everyone's radar for something. Drugs, illegal assault weapons, counterfeit cigarettes, you name it. He was supplying street gangs in Denver, white supremacists and survivalists in Wyoming and Nebraska, and drug labs pretty much everywhere, all out of West Kansas Shipping and Freight."
"Everyone wanted to get Jonah," Jake continued, chuckling humorlessly. "The FBI, the ATF, the DEA, we all wanted to bring him down. Gretchen brokered a joint task force with herself in charge out of our office in Denver, and she offered me up as an in. She knew I was from Jericho, and somehow she even figured out I was acquainted with Jonah." Jake looked Heather in the eye, declaring, "Jonah's Emily Sullivan's father."
"Wow," Heather muttered. "Well, I guess that explains why she doesn't like you. If you arrested her dad."
"Nah," Jake denied. "That's not why. Emily hates Jonah's guts more than she hates mine. He's always been a crappy father," he said. "I don't even remember meeting Jonah until I was maybe fifteen, though I know he was around. I was at Emily's, and he showed up, apparently to scare her mother into giving up on trying to collect on ten years of back child support. There was a new DA in the county, and he was really putting the screws to Jonah. They got into a screaming fight, and Jonah hauled off and smacked Carol."
Heather could tell from the set of Jake's jaw, and the way his grip on her hand tightened almost imperceptibly, that he was still affected, still angered by what he'd witnessed more than a decade before. "What'd you do?" she asked quietly.
"Nothing really," Jake replied, his voice gravelly. "I got between Jonah and Carol, but he was bigger than me, and meaner, so I didn't try to do anything else. Besides, Emily had already called the sheriff. Jonah took off before anyone showed up." Jake stared unseeingly past Heather. "I tried to tell Gretchen that I couldn't get to Jonah. As far as he was concerned, I was the mayor's punk kid, his daughter's worthless high school boyfriend. I knew Jonah'd have absolutely no use for me."
Shaking his head, he refocused, his gaze settling on Heather. "This didn't fit Gretchen's plan, and she didn't listen, which turned out to be right in the end, I guess. She started laying the groundwork so I could present myself to Jonah as someone he'd want to bring into his organization."
"But, didn't people in Jericho know that you worked for the DEA?" Heather asked, her forehead wrinkling with confusion. "Your family, Stanley?"
"Exactly," Jake agreed, "Which is why Gretchen's solution was to have me investigated by Internal Affairs, and eventually fired for being on the take. None of it was true," he assured Heather quickly, "But it did give me a way in with Jonah. As a disgruntled, former DEA agent, Jonah suddenly had all kinds of use for me."
"So you lied to everybody you knew," she murmured, frowning. "That's a lot to do for a job."
"Sure is," Jake acknowledged, exhaling deeply. "It about killed my Mom, and Stanley didn't talk to me for almost a year. Worse," he scowled, "It became obvious the longer I was in that they wanted to extract me with my cover story intact. Gretchen's plan was for me to manufacture a falling out with Jonah, and take off. They'd come in a few days or weeks later, and snatch Jonah and his gang up. Then I could use the same disgraced DEA agent story for my next assignment."
"What happened?"
"A few months in, I'd convinced Jonah to bring in a 'friend' of mine. In reality, another agent, ATF, named Ken," he explained. "Ken wouldn't play. The night we'd settled on for the fight we were going to stage, he balked. Jonah was branching out, and he'd planned a bank robbery. It was supposed to be me, Ken, Mitch Cafferty, this completely psychotic kid I'd gone to high school with, and Chris Sullivan, Emily's little brother." Jake shook his head. "She wouldn't have anything to do with Jonah, but Chris would, and Jonah had brought him in a few months before that."
"Anyway, I picked the fight with Jonah, told him I'd drive his trucks, make his deliveries, but I wasn't robbing anybody. Ken was with me, and so Jonah sent Mitch and Chris out alone, then threw Ken and me off the compound." Jake studied Heather, observing as her reaction went from simply disturbed to out and out appalled. He decided, wisely, against telling her how Jonah had had four of his goons rough him and Ken up before tossing them out on the highway.
"I thought that was it," he continued after a moment's pause. "I was ready to drive back to Denver, go through my debrief, and then tell Gretchen I was gonna go sit on a beach somewhere for a few weeks, and don't call me. But, Ken had had other ideas. He'd called in a small army, FBI, ATF, US Marshalls - nobody from the DEA, 'cause Gretchen never would have gone for it - and we ended up turning right around and raiding the compound that night. I have to admit, I enjoyed getting to be the one who slapped cuffs on Jonah Prowse, sonofabitch, rat bastard that he is." Jake emitted a harsh bark of laughter. "And, it completely blew my cover, so I got to tell my family what was really going on."
"Wow," Heather breathed. She stared at him, unblinking, her gaze appraising. "Just wow."
"Yeah," Jake muttered. "Exactly. But, the thing is, that wasn't it, that's not all that happened that night. Chris and Mitch, they tried that bank robbery, just the two of them," he told her. "And, Chris ended up dead. That's why Emily hates me," he sighed, "And, I can't blame her for it. I was so busy protecting the two year's worth of work that I'd done." Jake paused, shrugging helplessly. "I'd known Chris since before he could talk, really. I should have stopped him, protected him, anything but let him go off with Mitch Cafferty alone."
"Jake, that's not your fault," Heather protested, studying him. He wasn't crying, but his eyes were suddenly red, and there was a haunted look about him. It was obvious that Emily Sullivan wasn't the only one who blamed Jake for her brother's death. "They were committing a robbery," she argued. "They were wrong -"
"I could have stopped him," Jake countered obstinately. He looked away. "Chris and I were friends, he would have listened to me if I'd told him not to go."
"You did tell him not to go," Heather reasoned, "When you said you weren't going. That's a pretty big hint." She caught both his hands in hers, gripping them tightly, forcing him to face her. "You don't get to tell me all this, everything that other people decided and did, and then say it's all your fault. What about Jonah? He was Chris's father, for goodness sake. He gets some - most - all - of the blame."
"Heather," Jake croaked tiredly.
"No," she told him, holding her finger to his lips. In the next instance, she shocked Jake by shoving her own folding chair away and climbing into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. When Heather finally pulled back, her expression was serious. "I wasn't there, and I know there are things that happened that I don't know about," she sighed, leaning her forehead against his, "But, God, Jake, I also know this wasn't your fault. Just like I know that you're a good person," she added.
Jake buried his face against her neck and shoulder, reveling in the feeling of Heather's hands running through his hair. She waited patiently while Jake worked to regain his self-control, holding him to her, offering him what comfort she could.
"Thank you," he whispered a minute or so later, raising his head in order to meet her eye. Jake frowned, laughing at himself. "Hell of a first date, huh?"
Heather nodded, laughing with him. "Definitely unique in my admittedly limited experience," she agreed. Heather started to blush then, looking down to see the skirt of her dress rucked up to mid-thigh, remembering the sudden impulse that had driven her into Jake's lap without a thought to appearances or propriety. "Ah, excuse me," she muttered, turning even redder as she met Jake's once again even gaze. She leveraged herself up, pushing off his shoulder, Jake reaching out to help steady her as soon as he recognized her intent.
They got themselves disentangled, and then they were both standing, facing one another. Jake smiled at Heather, and hauling her into his arms, hugged her fiercely. "Thank you," he repeated, kissing the side of her head. "You're amazing."
Before Heather could deny his assertion, the council room door opened, and they both turned to see the Jericho Sheriff Department's newest hire, the rookie who always had to work Saturday nights, enter. "Jake! What the hell!" the deputy exclaimed, eyes wide, his voice actually squeaking.
Jake glanced at Heather, who had her face buried in her hands, and was turning such a bright shade of red that he actually found himself worried for her health. Jake took a deep breath, and then looked back at the deputy, meeting the other man's baffled gaze. "Hi, Jimmy," he greeted.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Monday, September 25, five days after the bombs
He found her in his parents' den, on the couch, exactly where he'd left her twenty-two hours earlier, only this time she was awake, and struggling to read by the weak, diffuse light coming in through the east facing window. "You're gonna ruin your eyes, doing that," Jake predicted, leaning against the doorjamb.
Heather looked up, smiling at her husband. "Hey," she greeted, stretching her arms over her head. "I wanted to finish the chapter," she told him, "But, you're right, it's probably not a good idea." Heather shifted position on the couch, swinging her feet around so that they rested on the floor. "C'm'ere," she invited, tossing back the afghan she'd been snuggled under, and patting the spot next to her.
Jake ambled across the room, dropping onto the sofa tiredly. "Hey," he murmured, leaning over to kiss her 'hello'. "Mom said you were taking a nap."
"I'm actually not tired, believe it or not," she chuckled. "But, after the fourth or fifth time your Mom told me to go lay down, get some rest, I took the hint," Heather explained, scooting over a few inches to fit herself into Jake's embrace. "I think she just needed some time to herself. So, I came in here and raided your Dad's sci-fi collection."
"Not getting enough science fact in daily life?" Jake asked with a snort.
"Well, there is that," Heather agreed, shaking her head. "But, I was going for something escapist. Everything else that your Dad has is military history," she reminded. Heather rested her head against Jake's shoulder, turning her face into his neck, inhaling deeply. "You smell good," she told him.
"'Cause I usually smell bad?" Jake questioned, laughing.
"I meant clean. You smell clean," Heather corrected herself, giggling. "And, aside from that one incident with the manure," she teased, "I have to say, you do usually smell good."
"The manure was completely Stanley's fault," Jake reminded, his hand finding its way into her hair to massage her scalp. "And, I had to take a shower," he added, sighing. "The people - all the people at the lake - they died of radiation poisoning."
Jake felt Heather nod against his shoulder. "Yeah, Bill radioed your Dad with the news."
"So, what're you reading?" he asked. Heather closed the paperback she held in her right hand, handing it to Jake. He inspected the front cover. It was Asimov's Second Foundation, which he remembered reading at some point during high school. "Isn't this the third book in?"
"Yeah," Heather acknowledged with a shrug. "But the main character, Arkady Darrell, was my childhood hero. She might not have actually figured out where the Second Foundation was, but she was still very cool and kick ass," she laughed. "I kinda needed that today," she admitted, turning her head to look up at Jake. They exchanged weak smiles, and Heather continued. "I wanted to be Arkady Darrell when I grew up. And, if I couldn't be her, then I was at least going to name my first daughter 'Arcadia' in her honor."
"And, is that still the plan?" Jake inquired, his tone somewhat strangled, as he tried not to laugh.
"I was eleven. Eleven," she emphasized, chuckling. "I'm thinking a little more traditional now," Heather assured. "There is no Arcadia Green in our future, I promise."
"Good," he agreed, resting his head on top of hers. "'Cause Arcadia Green sounds like one of those new crayon colors they come up with so they can sell more crayons," Jake declared. "That, or a golf course."
Heather laughed. "Arcadia Green would have to be a golf course," she told him, tilting her head back, dislodging his. Jake took advantage of the situation to plant a kiss on her mouth. "Heather Green is a color," she continued a moment later, reaching up to lay her hand on the side of his face, caressing his cheek.
"Huh," Jake grunted, shaking his head. "You're right. I've never thought of that." He glanced at her, his expression sheepish. "Sorry," he apologized.
"I figured it out about five minutes after you asked me to marry you," she told him. "Well, maybe ten," Heather conceded with a giggle, recalling those first heady, wonderful moments right after Jake had proposed; she hadn't been thinking about anything but him. She sighed, "I knew what I was getting myself into, Jake, down to the name. I was quite happy to be a color then, and I still am now."
"And, you know," she continued barely pausing to breathe, "I do have fun with this. I've actually ordered things from catalogs in heather green," she admitted. "And, I always wonder what the person putting the package together must think. Can you imagine?" Heather asked, turning in Jake's arms so she could watch his face. "I mean, she's checking the packing slip, right? All ready to peel off that sticker and slap it on the box and she thinks, 'Okay, Heather Green of Jericho Kansas, here's your heather green sweater.' Whoever she is, she's gotta think I'm nuts," Heather declared, chuckling and rolling her eyes for affect.
Jake started to laugh, quietly, almost silently at first, but soon giving in to a full-on belly laugh. "Oh," he groaned. "That's - I adore you," he told Heather, still chuckling.
She laughed, resisting the urge to check him for fever, even in jest. "You adore me?" Heather repeated, grinning. She was secure in Jake's love and affection for her, but he was rarely so effusive. "It was a silly story," she reminded, "Frivolous, really, considering."
"Yeah," he agreed, grinning, too. "But I still adore you," Jake repeated, insistent. He gathered her closer then, pulling her onto his lap. He pressed his lips to hers, and Heather responded eagerly, burying her hands in his still damp hair, kissing Jake back with an equal passion. "I adore you," Jake whispered again, moving from her mouth to her jaw. "Just don't name our kid Forrest or Olive," he requested, kissing his way to her ear. "Okay?"
"Okay," she giggled in agreement. "Deal."
"So," Jake sighed, resting his forehead against hers, "Where in the world did you find this?" He fingered the sleeve of the sweatshirt she was wearing. It had 'Jericho High Varsity Baseball' printed across the chest, and Jake recognized it as his own, though he was sure he hadn't seen it since his first year of college.
"In the basement," Heather answered, adjusting herself so that she sat sideways in Jake's lap, her arms looped around his neck and her head resting on his shoulder. "Your mother has literally everything in the world in that basement," she told him. "It's amazing. And, there's a lot down there that's probably going to come in handy. She wanted to get some linens and clothing together, that sort of thing," Heather continued, gently rubbing his neck. "In case, you know, the people from the lake needed them. I helped her go through some boxes, and we found this. She said that you wouldn't want to give it away, and I was cold, so I put it on."
"I'd wondered where it went," Jake admitted, fighting a yawn. "Shoulda known it ended up in the basement. Everything else does."
Heather nodded. "Your Mom, she has a giant collection of your old baby clothes down there," she informed him. "And, she has a story about literally every item. 'Jake's fireman shirt', 'Eric's railroad engineer's outfit', 'the boys' first pairs of cowboy boots'," Heather listed, pressing her lips to his collarbone. "And, oh my God! She found your first suits." She raised her head, meeting Jake's weary gaze. "You had the cutest powder blue suit, with a clip on Winnie the Pooh tie, when you were three. It was seriously the most adorable thing I've ever seen."
Jake groaned, his eyes falling closed as he tried not to laugh. "Powder blue?" he protested. "What was she thinking when she bought it, and then why did she save it?"
"'Cause it's cute," Heather argued. "And don't worry," she assured, "Eric's is worse. It's not quite orange, but also not quite khaki. Salmon, maybe. With a Tigger tie," she added. "You know, I bet you both wore them to your Dad's first inauguration."
"No doubt," Jake agreed, giving into a chuckle. "So," he sighed, "Our kid's gonna get stuck wearing my thirty year old baby clothes?"
"Your Mom's pretty attached to them, so I don't know," she answered. "And, there's still a lot of time. Who knows what's gonna happen, right? I mean, maybe things aren't as bad as they look on TV, right?" Heather attempted a smile, but it never quite materialized, turning instead into a slight frown accompanied by a deep sigh. "Though, I guess, to be safe, I should get her to teach me how to do more sewing than just reattaching loose buttons."
Jake didn't answer, and Heather didn't really mind. She snuggled back down against him, his arms snaking around her to keep her secure. They remained that way - silent, cuddled together, strengthened by one another - for a number of minutes before Heather finally murmured, "Rough day, huh," against Jake's neck, her warm breath causing his skin to goose pimple.
"Yeah," he agreed, hugging her more tightly to himself. "Yeah, it was," he sighed, glancing sideways at her. "I don't think I'm gonna be as laidback as you think I am," Jake said.
"What?" Heather asked, not following.
"The other night, you said I'd be a more laidback parent than you," he reminded. "But, I don't think so," he told her. "As soon as I knew that Victor Miller's daughter was out there..." Jake paused, shaking his head. "I didn't know anything about her, except that he said she existed. That's all I needed to know; I was obsessed," he confessed. "I needed to find her, needed to save her, needed to reunite her with her father. And, after he died," Jake admitted, "It was even more important."
It's okay, Jake," she comforted, kissing the side of his face. "It was a good thing, you were trying to do a good thing."
He didn't seem to hear her. "At Bailey's, when I went to get help, everyone was just watching the damn video loop, over and over. I couldn't stand it. We're all worried about what happened out in the rest of the world, but they'd all rather keep watching the same old stuff rather than help anyone from outside," he complained, stroking her arm absently with his fingertips. "I had to turn off all the damn TVs, yell at them, guilt some of them into coming with me. And," he sighed, "In the end it didn't matter, 'cause everyone was already dead when we got there."
"We found three girls in the group," Jake continued quietly. "A little one, four or five, another who was maybe ten, and a thirteen or fourteen year old. I don't know which one was Miller's daughter. I'll never know." He exhaled, shuddering. "And there was this doll - your basic doll - that must have belonged to the four year old. I found it, picked it up, and I just stared at it. And, I just kept thinking, there was a little girl, a baby really, and now she's dead." Jake looked at Heather. "So, I'm not feeling very laidback right now."
"I know, hon. I know," she crooned, hugging Jake tightly around the neck. They clung to each other, Jake pressing his face into Heather's shoulder. She waited, kissing him softly wherever she could reach, knowing that Jake wouldn't allow himself to be so vulnerable, even if it was only in front of her, for very long. She was right, and he soon lifted his head, clearing his throat self-consciously, meeting her concerned gaze.
"You know, two completely un-laidback parents is probably the best thing you could give a kid these days," Heather told him, smiling softly.
"Probably," Jake agreed, chuckling. "Probably."
"Your Dad's arranging a memorial service, kinda, for tonight," Heather explained quietly a few moments later. "For the people at the lake, for every -"
"Dinner!" Gail Green's shout sounded across the house, interrupting Heather.
"Uh, for the people at the lake," she repeated, "And for everyone to just take a moment to reflect, I guess," Heather sighed, smiling softly. "I think we should go. And," she added, "Your Mom insisted we stay for dinner, 'cause I think she's worried we'd starve without her."
Jake laughed, shaking his head. "She knows I can survive on nothing but microwave popcorn, beef jerky, and peanut butter cookies, if necessary," he argued. "This is all aimed at you, 'cause we all know how long my Mom has wanted a grandchild," Jake said, kissing her temple and placing his hand over her stomach.
"Yeah," Heather agreed, joking, "Really, shoulda seen that coming." She slid off his lap, and then they helped each other stand.
Jake held his hand out to Heather. "C'mon, dinner," he said, just as his mother yelled for them a second time.
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