The Greens of Jericho

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

Different Circumstances Interludes: Gail and Johnston, Part 2

by Marzee Doats

Author's Note:

First, my apologies.  I know that you are all waiting for the pivotal Jake and Heather phone conversation, and to find out the full contents of Jake's note/love letter.  That is all coming.  But first we're going to take a "short" trip into how Gail and Johnston are feeling about and reacting to both Jake and Heather during the time frame of Different Circumstances Interludes: Long Distance Relationship, Part 7.  Specifically, this first scene takes place in the parking lot of Jericho Elementary School right after April, Gail, and Johnston leave Heather at the school at the end of Field Day during DCI: LDR Part 7. 

If you have absolutely no interest in Gail and Johnston's backstory, then feel free to skip this chapter.  I promise that next month we will go back to our regularly scheduled Heather and Jake romance and the "let's make a baby/kid" discussion that we've all been building up to and waiting for. 

But this is where my muse took me.  Besides, my beta readers had some questions, so I answered them.  Little did they know that I had such a large chunk of Gail and Johnston's backstory to tell. 😊 

This is the promised Part 2 of Gail and Johnston's story (and posted in 6 days rather than the 7 I gave myself).  Please see the much longer Author's note in Gail and Johnston's Story Part 1 for a detailed summary of what we know about Gail and Johnston's relationship both from canon and in the Different Circumstances universe.

As a reminder, there will also be (at least) a Part 3, but I will finish off Long Distance Relationship before I return to this Interlude, and I'll also be getting back to Different Circumstances (proper) Part 15.  I think I've left poor April in limbo long enough. That story (this whole dang universe) is always in the back of my brain, bubbling away.

Warnings:

The only warning this really needs is that I went a little crazy with the flashbacks.  There are flashbacks inside of other flashbacks, and all of Gail's and Johnston's memories are out of order.  So, my apologies if you get lost inside all of that.  (Where it made sense, I've signaled transitions in time with a centered " * * * ", but sometimes this seemed too disruptive, and so I added double line spacing to signal those transitions.  I hope this is helpful.)

Also, if you think of Gail and Johnston as you would your parents, then prepare yourself – they are affectionate in this story (but nowhere near as bad as Different Circumstances Heather and Jake).  In the "present" moments of this story, they are in their late fifties.  In the flashbacks of this story, they range between eighteen and twenty-five.   Personally, I think it's wonderful that they have remained in love and affectionate throughout their relationship.

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

Tuesday June 6, 2:38 pm (Jericho KS)

3 and a half months before the bombs

"Think I'll get outta your hair," Johnston announced, coming into the kitchen from the dining room.  "Go down to the office, get a coupl'a hours of work in."

Gail turned off the tap and placed the frying pan she'd just finished rinsing in the drying rack.  "I thought you were going to work from here," she reminded, not bothering to turn around. 

He'd explained his plan for the day the night before, arriving home after eleven-thirty and a jam-packed town council agenda that had included a nearly two-hour debate over a pair of speed bumps for The Pines.  Eric could man the fort, so to speak, at town hall for the day, he'd groused as they had prepared for bed.  He would attend – and enjoy – Field Day at the Elementary, and then tackle budget review from home in the afternoon.  She'd told him about Heather's dilemma then, and with a minimal amount of groaning – mostly for show – he'd headed back downstairs to the den to send his daughter-in-law an email confirming his willingness to join her roster of umpires.

"Fiscal year end is coming up," she prompted.  "Just as easy to review budget reports here as it is there.  Besides," she said, finally looking over her shoulder at him, "It's good to let Eric mind the store every once in a while.  Good for him, good for you," she clarified, glancing out the kitchen window in time to see a hummingbird take a sip from the feeder before rocketing away. 

"You sound like your dad," he informed her. "'Mind the store'," he repeated, a ghost of a smile gracing his features.  His father-in-law had run a butcher shop – O'Brien's Fine Meats – for over forty years, so if there was one person in Johnston's life who had understood what it meant to 'mind the store', it had surely been his wife's father.  "That's a Walter-ism if I ever heard one."

"Well, it was one of his sayings," she confirmed, smiling at the thought.  She turned to face him, leaning back against the counter.  "Probably his number one saying.  With six kids, he had a lot of us to choose from for minding the store on his behalf, after all."

Johnston, still hovering near the door, nodded.

"And trusting Eric to handle things," she continued, "Might even mean we could leave town for more than three days at a time, too.  Just in case we ever wanted to do that."

"Uh huh," he acknowledged.  This was their current stalemate.  He knew she wanted to travel, and she knew that he was uncomfortable with abandoning his post to go on vacation for a month at a time. 

"I hope you know, Johnston, that your father didn't have a monopoly on common sense," she argued.  "Neither do you."

Johnston, his forehead wrinkling with confusion, inquired, "When did I say otherwise?"

"I don't know," she admitted, allowing a frustrated sigh before letting her eyes fall closed.  "You didn't, not really," she continued, massaging the bridge of her nose with one finger.  "But still, maybe this time, you should pay attention to my father.  It wasn't just something he always said.  It makes good sense."

"Okay," he said slowly.  "You're right," he decided, clearing his throat.  "The Green family hasn't cornered the market on common sense, and the O'Briens have it in spades.  Your dad in particular.  I was honored to know 'im.  He always had somethin' to offer when I needed a dose of common sense, that's for sure."

"So, maybe Eric gets to mind the store today?" she prompted, watching him closely for his reaction.

"Sure," he agreed, offering her a sharp nod.   "And I can still get outta your hair," he suggested.

"I'm not mad, Johnston."

"But you're not happy."

Sighing again, Gail decided to try another tact.  "I made a pot of coffee, and I was thinking about having a piece of cake," she told him, reminding, "Strawberry lemonade.  Would you like some?"

"Sure," he said, though he sounded reluctant.

"Good.  Then get plates and forks if you would."

They both went about their tasks silently, careful not to get in each other's way as they assembled their snack.  Soon, Johnston placed a slice of cake at his wife's spot just as she set a mug of coffee at his.  They seated themselves, finally facing one another. 

"I don't dislike Jake," he muttered, cutting himself a bite.  "I dislike some of his choices."

Gail didn't say anything in response, instead settling for frowning and nodding and taking her own nibble of cake.

"And I think that he chooses," Johnston stressed, "To take Heather for granted.  It's not right."

'He doesn't take her for granted!' she wanted to shout at her husband.  'Not anymore than—'  She tried to quash that traitorous thought, but it didn't work.  'Than you take me for granted,' her petty self supplied.  But where would that get her – get them?  Johnston and her, and more importantly Johnston and Jake.  Sometimes, she just wanted to shake them both.  Shake some sense into them or shake some of the past hurts out of them.  They both needed to give some of that up, if only to make room for all that the future held for them. 

"I talked to Jake on Sunday," Gail told him finally, watching him over her mug.  "Before church.  I said I had a commitment, but it wasn't women's association business like I let you assume.  Jake had asked me earlier in the week, by email, if I could be available so he could fax me something.  A handwritten note for Heather.  He wanted me to take it to the florists for him," she explained.  "She has it by now," Gail realized.  "And I'm sure she's over the moon."

He didn't say anything but emitted an interested grunt before taking a sip of his coffee.  Apparently, it wasn't sugared well enough for him because he added a spoonful from the bowl on the table, earning himself a knowing look and a tentative smile.

"The note was a love letter," Gail confided, her smile taking over her entire face.  "Jake thought it was funny when I said that, but it's true.  He was nervous to let me read it, but he also thought it would be hard for me not to.  He told me not to overreact or get too excited.  And I must admit, I was excited," she chuckled.  "They're still going to talk about having a baby – well, Jake wrote 'kid'.  So, they're going to keep talking about it in Hawaii.  But he told her that while they should talk, they should also start trying.  That he's ready."

Johnston took another bite of cake.  "Is he ready to give up that job and actually be home?  Be present for his family?"

"He didn't say, and I didn't ask," Gail answered.  She also ate a bite of cake, stalling while she gathered her thoughts.  "I don't grill the kids.  When they want to talk, we talk, and we talk about whatever it is they want to talk about.  Besides, I try to avoid giving unsolicited advice.  It's counterproductive and tends to fall on deaf ears." 

"So, it was Eric who asked you to encourage Eric about the fertility doctor," he returned pointedly. 

She blushed immediately at that, finally murmuring a long moment later, "Touché, Johnston." 

"Not really," he contradicted exhaling a frustrated breath.  "That was a low blow.  I shouldn't have said that, and I'm sorry."

"Well, I probably deserved that," Gail conceded.  "And I shouldn't have accused you of not liking Jake, so I'm sorry for saying that.  Maybe we can consider ourselves even?"

"I think we can."

"Thank you.  And you know I include April and Heather in 'the kids', Johnston."

"I know that," he agreed, "And so do I.  Birth, marriage, it doesn't matter.  They're our kids.  But still, Sweetie, you include a lotta extra kids in 'the kids'," he teased.  "All the nieces and nephews – and their spouses and kids – the Richmonds, and Dale," he listed.  "Autumn and August – the Glendenning girls and the Lisinski boys—"

"There are a fair number of Lisinski girls, you know," his wife argued, "Even if you don't count Heather as a Lisinski since she's also one of us now.  And one Glendenning boy – with Blake – too."

"The Lisinski girls and boys, then," Johnston amended.  "The list goes on.  And I love you for that," he insisted.  "How you take everyone into your care, and into your heart.  Me included," he sighed, reaching across the table to gently clasp her hand.

Gail expelled a quiet, slightly irritated breath, her expression plainly conflicted.  But she offered him the smallest of smiles, and when he started to withdraw his hand, she tangled their fingers together, squeezing them.  He relaxed, allowing her to maintain their connection.  "My mother used to

say, 'there's always room for one more'," she reminded.  "I guess I took that to heart.  Or into my heart." she added.

"Your mom was a smart lady," Johnston murmured.  "I should say, she was also a smart lady," he corrected a beat later.  "And she said that to me the first time I met them.  When you were finally sure I wouldn't embarrass you," he joked. 

"When I was finally sure you'd called things off with Susannah," she countered, squeezing his hand again and easing the slight sting he'd felt at her tone.  "Once I was sure I wasn't just a dalliance to you, then I was willing to let you meet my family.  And trust me, I had much more to be afraid of with regard to them embarrassing me in front of you, than anything you might do."

"Your brothers were in rare form that night," he agreed.  "And your mom was just like you.  She said: 'We're very glad to have you join us, Johnston.  We always have room for one more at the table.  Especially a friend of Abigail's'," he recounted.  "Of course, I'm still not sure which thing shocked me more – that I hadn't known your name was 'Abigail' or that your mother thought I was just a mere friend."

"She is the one who named me," Gail offered.  "I always figured she had the right to call me 'Abigail', even though I'd decided to rename myself years before.  And you were never 'a mere friend'," she scoffed.  "As you well know." 

"Well, I hoped that was the case," he smiled.  "I was also hopin' that I was important enough to you that you'd've mentioned me to your mother."

"I'm sure I'd mentioned you," she teased, "At least once.  And you know very well, as far as my mother was concerned, until there was an engagement ring, everyone was just a friend.  To Mom, Eddie and Linda were just friends until four days before their wedding," she sighed.  Eddie and Linda had married two months after Johnston and Gail, and their son Ned had been born six months later. 

"Good that I was able to clear up all that ambiguity we were sufferin' under by proposin' marriage, then," Johnston decided. 

The morning after that first dinner with the O'Briens, Johnston had gone into Fielding, to Dalton and Sons Jewelers, to buy a ring, then after had driven to Rogue River in time to catch Walter O'Brien at the butcher shop.  He'd requested that they speak privately and had proceeded to request the older man's permission to marry his eldest daughter.  Gail had been two hours into a twenty-hour shift at the hospital when her father had clapped Johnston on the back and welcomed him to the family.  She hadn't been terribly pleased at seven the next morning when Johnston had shown up unannounced to meet her as she came off shift, requesting that she take a walk with him in the memorial rose garden.  But then he'd gotten down on one knee, and he'd barely had time to ask his question before she'd thrown herself into his arms, alternating between kissing him and saying "yes".  He'd driven her the two blocks over to Nightingale Hall after that, so she could sleep, returning nine hours later so they could join her parents and siblings for dinner once again, this time as an engaged couple.

"And you were kind enough to give my mother fifteen months of chatting about 'Abigail's fiancée' with her bridge group, too."

"Even though I wasn't Catholic?" he questioned, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.

Gail cracked a smile at that.  "Well, mind you, I didn't say the altar guild.  And you needed to have one flaw in my mother's eyes," she decided, chuckling softly.  "Or I needed you to, anyway."

"I'm just glad you needed me, Nurse O'Brien," Johnston told her, pressing her hand one last time before withdrawing his.  "Minor flaws and all," he joked.  "Real glad we decided not to wait another year.  Or two."

"Me too," she agreed, cutting her remaining cake into two pieces.  "Once you came home, I couldn't see letting you go back as just a fiancé."  Absently, she lifted her fork to her mouth, eating the smaller bite.  "Not that sending my new husband back to the Army was any easier," she sighed, repeating what she'd told their daughters-in-law at lunch.

"I didn't want to leave you either," he reminded.  "But I'd signed a contract and it was either Vietnam or the stockade."

"I could've visited you in the stockade."

Johnston snorted at that.  "Not so sure that's how that works," he told her.  "But I appreciate the sentiment."  Frowning, he stabbed together the last bite of his slice of cake.  "That's what I don't get about Jake.  There's nothing actually keepin' him in that job.  He's got ten years in, right?"

Gail nodded.  "End of this month, yes."

"He's vested for retirement then," her husband declared.  "Has been for five years.  Is he gonna stay twenty? What does Heather think about that?" he questioned.  "She misses him, so how come she doesn't just ask him to give up the job?"

"I don't know, Honey," she admitted, shrugging.  "She wants him to come home, but she says that if he's going to quit his job, it needs to be what he wants to do," she said, repeating what she'd told him an hour earlier.  "Not just because he thinks that's what she wants."

"That doesn't make any sense," he complained.

"I don't know what else to tell you.  That's what she says," Gail countered, swallowing the last bit of her cake.  "I don't grill the kids," she repeated.  "I listen and offer comfort when needed.  I try not to pry or give advice unless they ask.  Now, I suppose if Heather ever told me that she wanted me or needed me to prod Jake about his job then I would," she conceded, frowning.  "Honestly, I can't imagine that she'd ever ask, that she wouldn't just talk to him herself.  But if they were in a rough patch and I could help," she shrugged, "Of course, I would."

"So, Eric and April are in a rough patch," he deduced.

"I get the impression that April feels very alone right now," she hedged.  "She's trying to approach things logically, and for her that means going to see a fertility specialist."

"'Unsolicited advice tends to fall on deaf ears'," Johnston reminded quietly, quoting her back to herself.  "Counterproductive, too."

"I know I'm not practicing what I preach," his wife grumbled.  "But if interfering a little bit, if talking to Eric one time – even if it annoys him – can help save them some heartache….  Well, I never claimed to not be one of those interfering mothers."

"Sweetie, you're a great mother," he declared, starting to chuckle.  "Even when you're interfering." 

"Thank you, Johnston," Gail said, shaking her head at him.

"Eric might not like it – especially if we both hit him in the same coupl'a days – but he'll get over it.  He'll take it better than Jake would," he frowned.  Johnston pushed his plate away, reaching for his mug and clearing his throat nervously.  "I, uh, I gave Jake some unsolicited advice a few days back and it went over 'bout as well as you'd expect," he finished, taking a drink of coffee.

Gail frowned in return, though he wasn't sure if she was annoyed or sympathetic.  Of course, it could very well be both, he realized.  "How'd that happen?" she inquired softly.

"I emailed him about the horses, like you told me to." 

She nodded.  "There didn't seem to be much point to me acting as go-between."

"True," Johnston sighed.  "So, then we were emailing back and forth about ranch business.  It was … nice.  Good to have something we could talk about for once."

"I'm sure," she agreed.  This time it was Gail who reached for his hand, offering him an encouraging squeeze. 

"We were having a good discussion," he continued.  "Jake really has done a lot with the ranch the last few years, more than I'd realized.  I was glad 'bout that.  We were goin' through our roster of studs – you'd told me Jake had recommended Ganymede and I wanted to know why not Caligula," he reminded.  "Which led to me sayin' that it was good that Heather had taken over naming our horses – I can't see her namin' a horse after a mad Roman emperor like Dad did.  That's – that's how the Roman orgy story came up," Johnston confessed.  "Jake still knows his ancient history, which I wasn't really expectin', and he wrote something that I wanted to look up and double check.  Turns out he was a hundred percent right, and I ended up reacquaintin' myself with the Roman orgy story and rememberin' that whole dust up." 

"Heather thought it was a funny story," Gail admitted, shaking her head, "And I was just as appalled as I was back when it happened.  Plus, a little annoyed that you'd tell Jake about that."

"I dunno, I thought he'd enjoy it.  I even thought he might remember it, but he didn't.  Anyway, you'll be happy to know that Jake gave me a list of appropriate story topics to tell his kids one day," he informed her.

"Such as?" his wife inquired.

"No Roman emperors, though general history is probably okay," Johnston explained.  "Also, cowboy stories and animal adventures."

"The kind of stories you used to tell the boys when they were little," she observed, smiling at him. 

"The Adventures of Pecos Bill," Johnston recalled, "And The Rats of NIMH."  He paused a moment, then admitted, "I didn't realize he meant now.  Or soon.  That that's what he was sayin' – that they're hopin' to have kids now," he sighed.  "And maybe that's just my wishful thinking.  Why's Jake gonna confide in me 'bout that?"

"Maybe because he loves you, Johnston, and he wants your approval," Gail offered.  "Wants to make you proud.  Besides, it's what's on his mind.  He's excited and nervous about what's to come.  It's a big step, for Jake in particular.  He's not Eric, he hasn't always known that he wanted to be a father—"  

A bark of laughter escaped her husband.  "Sometimes I think that the only thing Jake and I agreed on between the ages of fourteen and twenty was that he should not be a father."  She frowned at that, and he held his hands up, assuring her, "I don't feel that way now, but back then…."

"I have never prayed so hard for something to not happen as I prayed that weekend for Emily to not be pregnant," Gail allowed, exhaling deeply.  "Neither of them were anywhere near ready for that."

"We were all prayin' that weekend.  You, me, Mom and Dad.  Bridget," he listed.  "Jake even.  Jake especially," Johnston amended, finishing off his coffee.  "First and last time he's prayed in twenty years or more."

"That's not true and you know it," she replied, her tone laced with exasperation.  "Heather's car accident?" she prompted rhetorically.  "You think he wasn't praying?  We both saw him.  He was distraught.  I still don't know how he made it home."

"He made it home because he had to," Johnston argued, shrugging.  "Heather needed him, and he needed to be sure she was okay.  He wanted to be there for her, to help take care of her.  Jake's got good instincts," he declared, fiddling with his empty coffee mug.  "It's just his priorities that I question.  He doesn't seem to realize that his family needs him, that we would appreciate his presence not just in an emergency, but all the time.  Or at least a little more often."

"Have you tried telling him that?"

"Of course, I have," he declared.  "Or I thought that was what I was doing," he muttered, his expression clouding over.  "After a fashion anyway.  But I made a mess of it, that much is for sure."

"Your unsolicited advice," she surmised.  "So, what exactly did you advise?"

"Like I said, we were having an extended discussion of ranch business.  And even after what happened on Saturday with Heather and those punk teenagers, Jake was mostly writing about the ranch – about breeding season.  Telling me what he'd do and not do.  All he said about Heather was that she didn't blame me or him for what happened." 

"I really don't think she does," his wife assured him.  "Heather told me that she felt better after she went to mass, and really felt better after she talked to Jake.  She depends on their phone calls be—"

"Because she misses him," Johnston interjected.  "And that's what I told Jake.  That she is really missing him," he repeated, "And that he should put some of the effort and interest that he has for his job and for the ranch into her and their marriage." 

"Oh Johnston," she sighed.

"Yeah," he acknowledged gruffly.  "He didn't like that.  Called me out as an eavesdropper and told me I didn't know what I was talkin' about.  That I shouldn't assume I knew the whole story."

"I'm kind of surprised that's all he had to say."

Johnston nodded, allowing a derisive chuckle.  "I know.  I made a mess of it."

"He's not the hot-under-the-collar teenager that you constantly butted heads with," Gail argued.

He couldn't help but wonder how long she'd been waiting to say that to him.  "I sent him an email, little bit ago, to apologize," Johnston explained.  "But I don't know.  I don't know what else to do."

"I think – I think that was the right thing to do.  The only thing you could do," she assured him.  Still, it may take him some time," she cautioned.  "Jake is never going to thank you for inserting yourself into his private business."  Annoyance flared in his gaze, just for a moment, and she caught herself biting her tongue against her impulse to snap back.  After all, what had he really expected to happen?  She settled for defending herself.  "I don't insert myself into their business," Gail informed her husband a long moment later, frowning at him. 

"Didn't say a thing," he insisted, his tone mild.

"I could see you thinking it," she returned.  "And I don't – well, I try not to insert myself into their business, Johnston.  I love them, and I listen to them, and I root for them.  And I'm always going to."

"I do too," he claimed immediately.  "That's – that's what this was all about in the end.  I don't want Jake to get two years or five years down the line and then find out that Heather couldn't take it anymore.  I don't want 'im  turnin' around one day and findin' that she's gone.  Especially if they're hoping to add kids to the mix.  I don't think he'd survive that.  And I know he'd hate himself forever if he let it happen."

"Well, you're right.  Of course, you're right," Gail confirmed.  "That would kill him.  But that's also never going to happen.  Jake and Heather are better at being married – at keeping the lines of communication open – than I gave 'em credit for.  Certainly, more than you give them credit for."  Johnston snorted at that, and she held up a hand to forestall his protest.  "That's not a knock, Honey, it's just a fact.  Heather and Jake are both pretty private, especially about their relationship."

This time he snickered.  "You are talkin' 'bout Jake and Heather Green, right?" he asked rhetorically.  "Because those two have never been private about their relationship."

"The PDA is a little misdirecting, I'll grant you that," she sighed.  "But I'm telling you, they keep a lot between themselves.  Private," she emphasized.  "Heather worries about Jake.  That he's exhausted and stressed out and not safe.  And she worries that he's worried about her and that that makes him not able to concentrate on his job.  But really, she just wants him to come home.  And Jake keeps offering to quit and get on a plane if that's what she needs – or even if it's just what she wants him to do," Gail continued.  "And yes, she wants him to come home, but not like that." 

"They're like a damn O. Henry story," Johnston complained.

"Truly," Gail chuckled.  "But it's their marriage, Johnston.  We can't make their decisions for them."

"Well, it was a helluva lot easier when we could," he grumbled.

"I don't think you really mean that," his wife returned.  "I hope you don't really mean that.  Magically keeping them seven years old forever would have been boring after about two years," she decided.  "And they grew up into such – such good men.  Men I'm proud to know, and still would be even if I wasn't their mother."

Johnston grinned softly at that.  "But you're just a little bit proud because you are," he informed her.

"Well of course I am," Gail agreed.  "And I'm grateful that they see fit to include us in their lives.  Not in everything, but in enough – more than enough – that I can be happy."  She offered him a wan smile.  "I just wish you could be happy about it too."

"I am happy about it," he insisted.  "And I know you're right.  I'd just be more happy if he'd come home, that's all."

"Jake told me that when he comes home from this assignment, he's not going anywhere for a year at least." 

"Well, that's somethin', I guess," Johnston muttered.

"It is, Honey," she assured, reaching across the table to lay her hand over his.  "Because if I know our son—"

"—and you do—"  

"I do," she confirmed.  "Which is why I know that he isn't going to be home for six months or a year, especially when they've agreed they want to have a child, and then go back to that job," Gail declared, brushing the pad of her thumb over his knuckles.  "Jake wants to be an involved dad, Johnston.  One who coaches Little League, and teaches his kids to ride, takes them hunting.  He – Jake – wants to do the same things with his kids that you and EJ did with him."

"Jake said that?" he asked quietly, clearly confounded at the thought.

His wife frowned sympathetically.  "Heather, actually," she admitted.  "She was telling me that she didn't think he was ready, but that it was okay.   That she could wait another year or two until he was.  That she knows he wants to be a dad.  And as a dad, he wants to be like you." 

"You sure 'bout that?" he questioned, clearing his throat.

"I am," Gail nodded.  "Sure enough for both of us, that's how sure I am, Johnston Green."  She paused, holding his gaze and offering him the sweetest of smiles.  "And you know, in this scenario, you're the grandpa," she reminded a long moment later.  "The grandpa who goes along on the hunting and fishing trips, and to the baseball games, but maybe doesn't have to deal with tantrums and the worst of the bodily secretions."

Johnston grinned softly in return.  "I could do that.  But their kids'll already have a grandpa – Joe's 'Grandpa'," he reminded.  "And Dad was 'Gramps'.  And I don't like all those other too cute by half names for grandfathers – 'Pops' and 'Grampy'," he listed. 

"You can still be 'Grandpa', Honey," his wife suggested.  "Joe will be happy to share that with you.  If you asked him, Joe wouldn't understand what you were asking.  Of course, he's going to be 'Grandpa Joe'.  Doesn't mean you can't be 'Grandpa Johnston'."

"Nah.  'Grandpa Johnston' is a mouthful, 'specially for a young'un.  And 'Grandpa Green' seems a little too formal."

"'Grandpa Jay', then," she proposed.  "You're 'Uncle Jay', so now you can be 'Grandpa Jay'.  I think it suits you."

"'Grandpa Jay'," he repeated, trying it on for size.  "That might do."

"You know – you have to know – that Jake is going to want to be with his pregnant wife," Gail said, returning to their previous topic.  "Or – if she isn't pregnant – well, by then, Heather will be worried, so he won't want to be away from her if that's the case, either.  I'm telling you, Honey, now that they've agreed to start their family, Jake's going to look around and know that this is exactly where he wants to be," she said, pulling her hand back so she could gesture at the room around them.  "Well, not here in his childhood home, but here in Jericho," she clarified.  "And at the ranch."

"The ranch, huh?  I've always figured he'd go for Jayhawk," he argued, referencing the small aviation company that the Green Family Trust owned a fifty-two percent interest in.  "He loves flyin', loves planes, has since Dad first let him sit in the cockpit."

"He does.  But it's going to be the ranch," she insisted.  "You said yourself that he's been more involved with – done more on – the ranch than you'd realized.  It'll be the ranch," she repeated, her tone confident.  "I'd suggest a friendly wager, but it just doesn't seem sporting."

"Oh ho ho!" Johnston chortled, "Well then, Mrs. Green, I s'pose I concede to your greater wisdom."

"As you should," she teased.  "But you can still hold onto the company, right?" she inquired, her tone turning serious.  "In the trust?  Or at least part of it?  Because he does love the airplanes.  His first love, really.  And I'm sure he wants to share that with his kids too."

"I'm sure between Charlie Gunnison and me, we can find some way to finesse it if and when the time comes," he conceded.  "He still has to formally state his intention."

"I'm just grateful that your father set the five years' time limit," Gail sighed.  "I'm sure that Jake's not going to go back – not once he's home, and especially not after these last four months.  He's going to stay and never look back.  But for the one percent chance that I'm wrong… well, I'm glad for the time limit."

"Yeah, 'cause he can be a procrastinator," her husband acknowledged absently.  "You really think that they might have some trouble too?  Like April and Eric?  You said 'if she doesn't get pregnant'," he reminded.  "But the Lisinskis, they're pretty, uh, productive."

Gail grinned at that.  "That's one word for it," she agreed.  "And I hope they don't have any trouble at all.  But April and Eric have been trying for more than three years, and it was six years before I got pregnant—"

"Those first two years hardly counted," Johnston argued.

"Well, the next four certainly did.  That was hard on me, hoping and then being disappointed every month," she confessed. 

"I know, Sweetie," he acknowledged quietly.  Johnston remembered more than once during their four years in Lawrence, coming home to their small "married students" apartment to find his wife clearly upset; clearly trying to put on a brave face to disguise the fact that she was. 

"And when we got to Lawrence and I enrolled at the university, it was just so I could take French and Italian.  I'd always wanted to learn another language," she recalled, smiling at the thought.  "I thought it would give me something to do for a year or so before we had our first child.  Only it didn't happen," Gail sighed.  "I never intended to actually take a degree—"

"A second degree," her husband corrected gently.

"Not sure my hospital diploma qualifies as an actual degree, but thank you," she nodded.  "It was the only option my parents and I could agree on, and I certainly learned a lot.  It was hard work too.  But rewarding."

Gail had been in her first few months of the nursing diploma program offered by the Fillmore County Hospital when Johnston had first encountered her as he'd regained consciousness in the recovery room after his appendectomy.  Immediately entranced, he'd begun a campaign to get her to tell him her first name – and then to get her to agree to a date.  "Very rewarding for me too," he joked.  "And I'm glad for that Nurse O'Brien – that your parents kept you close to home long enough for us to meet.  Don't know how we would've otherwise.  Not meeting and then marrying you would've been a damn shame.  Least as far as I'm concerned."

"A damn shame indeed," she declared, reaching for his hand, and lacing their fingers together.  "And I've always been rather proud of both our academic achievements."  After his discharge from the Army, they had moved to Lawrence where first Johnston, and then Gail herself had enrolled in the University of Kansas.  Johnston had graduated summa cum laude with a B.A. in History while Gail – who'd also worked part time at Lawrence Memorial Hospital – had graduated cum laude with a B.A. in French and Italian Studies. 

"Lots to be proud of," he agreed, squeezing her hand.  "As for gettin' pregnant, you know my theory about graduation weekend," Johnston teased.

"That I do," she chuckled, shaking her head at him.  "Two sets of twins.  Twin degrees, twin boys.  And if I'd known I just needed to bide my time, I probably would've gone for a more practical degree."

"You'd already done practical," Johnston argued.  "I'm glad you got to do what you wanted.  Learn another language – or two."

"Your mother thought I was being frivolous," Gail reminded.  "Not that I cared because I really didn't think I'd complete a degree.  If I had, I probably would have gone for my B.S.N.  But that seemed like such a headache – figuring out what parts of my training and experience they'd give me credit for.  And once I realized that KU's School of Nursing wasn't in Lawrence, was forty miles away..." she shrugged. 

"Exactly my point.  If you'd been goin' to class in Kansas City, I would've had to do the same, and I was never interested in pursuin' medicine.  You were just choosin' to keep me company in Lawrence instead."

"That I was," she nodded, climbing to her feet.  "There's still some coffee, and if we split it, we'd each get at least half a cup," she informed him, cocking her head in the direction of the coffee machine.

"Sounds good," he agreed.

Gail took a step around the table to get his cup from him, pausing to press a kiss to the top of his head.  "Give me a minute," she requested.  "So, what did Heather say to you?" she asked as she moved across the room.  "Back at the school?  Or – I should say – what did she whisper to you?  When you hugged her goodbye?"

"She said that she and Jake are fine, and that I didn't need to worry about them," Johnston reported, working to keep his tone light and easy.

"And do you believe her?" Gail asked, her gaze appraising as she looked back over her shoulder at him.

"I do," he returned quickly before clearing his throat.  "I want to, anyway." 

She didn't say anything, just turned back to her task of pouring coffee into both their mugs.  He watched her, also not talking, waiting until she'd crossed back to the table and handed his coffee to him. 

"Jake must've told her what I'd written.  She wouldn't've felt the need to set me straight otherwise."  He frowned.  "Now I feel like a world-class jackass," he admitted, exhaling deeply.  "Because I like Heather.  I like them together.  I like that she can get 'im to be serious.  And to think things through.  And he's kind to her.  I'm glad of that.  It's not a side of Jake I always get to see."

"He is kind to her," Gail confirmed, taking a sip of her coffee.  "And I do think he considers her – is considerate of her – more than we might realize from the outside looking in.  Like your mother thinking I was being frivolous when you knew I was just fulfilling a childhood dream," she argued.  "The girl from Rogue River, Kansas who wanted to stroll along the Seine and ride in a gondola in Venice.  You knew that about me, but Betsy didn't.  Of course, she thought I was frivolous."

"I hope – I hope Jake does encourage her dreams.  She deserves that and a helluva lot more," Johnston frowned.

"I'm sure he does," Gail assured her husband.  "She wants to grow in her career, and Jake is very proud about her being appointed vice principal.  And Heather wants to be a mother, and Jake wants to be a dad – they're in agreement about that."

"That’s good," he murmured, repeating, "That's good.  And – I dunno – it's not that he lightens her up, she's not a sourpuss.  But he does know how to get her to stop analyzin' so much and just go with the flow, have a little fun.  They're – Jake and Heather – they're good for one another.  I think."

"They are," his wife confirmed, smiling at him.  "They balance one another, and they love each other.  I don't know what more we could want for them.  Well, children," she amended.  "We're allowed to want that for them, since they want it for themselves."

"Definitely not pushing when they want it themselves," Johnston agreed, grinning at her. 

"Let's just hope that there isn't some Green family curse," she murmured.  "Two couples in two generations is a coincidence, but if it's three…."

"Don't go borrowin' trouble, Gail," her husband advised.  "'Specially on their behalf.  Let's just hope they don't have any.  Trouble, I mean.  We want them to have kids." 

"That we do."

"So, should we split this last piece o' cake, Mrs. Green?" he drawled, pointing at the large slice sitting in the bakery box on the table between them.  "Clear some space in the fridge?"

"The rest is all yours, Honey," she informed him.  "When she made our dinner reservation, April pre-ordered three pieces of tiramisu and one sparkler for a birthday candle," she explained, chuckling.  "I probably shouldn't have had as much of this as I already did," Gail sighed, pointing at the few crumbs left on her dessert plate.  "Anyway, you can have it now, you can have it after you have dinner.  Up to you," she declared.  "And for dinner, there's still plenty of lasagna left from Sunday, or you can just open a can of your steak chili.  I bought a new case when I was at Costco last week."

"How 'bout we save the lasagna for tomorrow?  Give you another night off from cookin'?" he suggested.  "I'll be fine with the chili."

"That would be nice," Gail smiled, deciding, "I can make a – an insalata.  To go with."

"What's Italian for 'garlic bread'?" he asked, "That'd be nice, too."

"Bread is il pane," she recalled.  "And garlic… aglia?  Aglio?  I think it's aglio.  But real Italians don't eat American garlic bread.  To be authentic, we'd need to have bruschetta."  She shook her head, sighing, "Hard to believe I was once able to read Dante in the original Italian – well, in Italian at least."

"We can be real Italians for one night, if you'd like.  Authentic," he said as he finished boxing up the cake.  Johnston stood up from the table.  "Have bruschetta and insalata and lasagna for dinner." 

"That would be nice.  Though, Honey, I think we need to work on your accent."

He walked the five steps to the refrigerator and placed the cake box inside.  "Sweetie, my accent is a lost cause," he told her.  "Always was.  You couldn't teach it to me when we were twenty-five, you're not gonna be able to correct it now.  Hard to teach an old dog new tricks.  Hard for an old dog to learn new tricks." 

"Johnston," she grumbled quietly.

"What we could do though… maybe pull out the red and white checked tablecloth? Some candles?" 

"Hmm.  Candlelight dinner on a weeknight?" Gail said, pretending to ponder his suggestion.  "Whatever has come over you?" she teased.  "Besides, I'm fairly certain the red and white tablecloth is also an American invention."

"Could be," he nodded.  "Candlelight's maybe a little more universal."  Johnston returned to the table, but instead of seating himself, he moved to her side, reaching for her hand.  Gail turned in her seat, looking up at him, watching him as he raised her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips across her knuckles.  "So, unless you think they'll take our old married people card away from us, why not have candlelight on a weeknight?"

"Let's risk it," she decided, chuckling softly.  "Maybe throw in a bottle of wine – vino.  Vino rosso, even."

"Let's," he agreed, tightening his grip on her hand for just a second before releasing it. 

"I've been thinking about Hawaii," Gail began as her husband reseated himself, though this time he took the chair at the end of the table, closer to her, rather than seating himself across the table from her.  "About when we were there. Ever since Heather told us that's where they're going."

"That was a good week," Johnston murmured thickly.  "Not exactly how I would've chosen to get there – to get you there.  But it was a good week."  There were both quiet for a long twenty seconds, and then he added, "Noticed you didn't tell the girls I was on medical leave – that I'd been injured and evacuated to Hawaii for treatment."

"And I'm not going to – we're not going to," she instructed, throwing her husband a pointed look.  "Heather's worried for Jake's safety right now, with this assignment.  She's very worried," Gail frowned.  "And she does tend to overthink – to overanalyze.  So, just like Jake doesn't tell her everything about his work – he doesn't lie to her, but he doesn't tell her everything, either.  Well, we're not going to tell her why you were in Hawaii.  All she needs to know is that you needed rest and relaxation, same as Jake."

"Yes, ma'am," he acknowledged with one sharp dip of his head.    

"It's not ironic," she began again a moment later, looking down at her hands wrapped around her coffee mug.  "Maybe it's fitting," she suggested, and Johnston got the distinct impression that she was in the middle of quite the internal dialogue – and that he was only being made privy to a portion of it.  "It's interesting, anyway.  Now that they've decided to try and have a baby, that their first chance for that to happen will come in Hawaii.  Interesting to me because I very much wanted to get pregnant in Hawaii," she confessed, finally looking up to meet his gaze. 

"And that's interesting to me," Johnston returned quietly.  "You didn't tell me – you've never told me that."

"It's not the sort of thing we talked about back then," his wife offered with a shrug.  "We got married and never even thought to ask each other how we felt about children."

"You got married back then, you just assumed you were gonna have kids," he agreed.  "And none of this 'not ready', 'maybe I'm ready', 'okay, I'm ready' stuff."

"I don't know about that," Gail laughed quietly – and kindly.  "We were very young – babies ourselves, really.  But I knew I wanted to marry you.  And that I wanted to have children with you.  The only thing I didn't want was to have a honeymoon baby."

"You were just tellin' the girls that Hawaii was our honeymoon," he argued, his forehead wrinkling in consternation.  "And me, that you wanted to get pregnant in Hawaii."

"That's not the same thing.  By then we'd been married more than a year.  Nobody would've thought of that as a 'honeymoon baby'.  I meant that I didn't want a wedding night baby or – or a wedding weekend baby," she countered.  "That's what people mean when they say 'honeymoon baby'.  And not that I – or we – did anything to prevent that from – from occurring," she sighed softly.  "But we already had enough that was – was new…" she decided.  "Suddenly we were married, and you were going back to Vietnam—"

"Sweetie," Johnston murmured, his voice a low rumble in his chest.  He edged his chair closer to hers, reaching for her hand.  "How – how is it that you're still blushing over our more 'n thirty-nine years ago wedding night?" he demanded gently, raising her hand to his lips so he could press a fierce kiss to her palm.

"It was a memorable evening," she reminded, turning her hand in his before pulling loose of his grip, but only so she could cup the side of his face.  "Certainly, the most significant day and night of my life to that point."

"And mine," he assured her, laying his larger hand over hers. 

"I didn't want anyone thinking that we rushed to get married for any reason other than that we'd been engaged for fifteen months already, and it was our one chance before that became twenty-six months."

"There's a case to be made that I rushed things when I asked you to marry me," Johnston allowed.  "But I wanted you to know how I felt – that wherever I ended up, whatever I ended up doing, that I wanted you to be a part of my life.  And I didn't want to go back to the Army, knowing we wouldn't be able to see one another for a while – maybe for a long while – without bein' sure of how you felt.  Not knowin' if you felt the same."  

"I know, Honey," his wife said, smiling and patting him softly on the cheek before withdrawing her hand.  "And I don't think we rushed into marriage," she told him.  "It was my idea after all—" 

"I wanted to marry you too," he interjected, arguing, "I wanted to marry you first.  But you were the brave one who said that we could just get married."

"Brave?  Johnston, you were an Army Ranger, and I was the brave one?" she chuckled, her eyebrows rising skeptically. 

"Brave's in the eye of the beholder, Sweetie.  And this beholder," he declared, pointing at himself, "Is saying: you were brave.  Course, there was also a moment there when I was worried you were callin' off our engagement."  

She leaned toward him, pressing her mouth to his in a chaste kiss.  "Johnston, I say this with all the love I've had for you for more than forty years," she informed him as she slowly pulled away.  "That make absolutely no sense."

"Is that so?" he inquired rhetorically.  "As I recall, I was dropping you off at Nightingale Hall and all of a sudden, you were hemming and hawing, talkin' at your feet.  Refused t' look me in the eye, forget about letting me kiss you goodnight," her husband accused, though there was nothing but humor in his voice. "Then you told me – still not lookin' at me – that I was the 'most wonderful person'.  Now, if that isn't the set up for a brush off, I don't know what is."

Her gaze narrowed slightly though she was clearly fighting a smile when she replied, "As if anyone ever gave you the brush off."

"Besides you, Nurse O'Brien?  Nary a one."

* * *

They both knew he was referring to her initial refusal to tell him her first name, or in any other way to flirt with him, no matter how hard he'd tried to engage with her.  At first, Gail had cared for him in recovery under the watchful eye of the most churlish of all the nursing supervisors at Fillmore County Hospital.  He'd been unconscious, but still something – his vitality, she'd decided, observing him as he'd slept – had drawn her to him.  Most patients who passed through the recovery room looked like they belonged there, but not this young man.  He was fit and healthy and handsome, she'd thought.  And then he'd come to, shocking Gail (but also setting her heart aflutter) when he'd opened his eyes – the most beautiful eyes she'd ever seen – and had declared, "Holy hell, you're gorgeous."  From that moment on, it had taken all her effort to maintain her professionalism, especially under her supervisor's hawklike observation. 

A few hours later when she'd accompanied him to his room on the post-surgical ward, and after she'd helped him settle into his bed, he'd snagged her hand and, yawning, had asked for her name.  "I'm just your nurse," she'd told him.  "Well, a student nurse, actually.  Nurse O'Brien."

"You're not jus' anything," he'd slurred, his eyes falling closed.

"Get some rest, Private Green," Gail had ordered quietly.   

The next day, delivering his breakfast and morning medicine, Gail had flirted back.  It wasn't much, certainly nothing that would earn her a reprimand, but still she'd felt daring to even offer a kind smile or let her fingers rest on his bare arm for a moment longer than was necessary.  And though she'd tried to scold him about ignoring the stewed prunes on his breakfast tray, threatening to not bring him a cup of (decaffeinated) coffee the next morning if he didn't eat up, there had been plenty of humor in her tone and a sparkle in her eye.

Johnston, emitting a put-upon sigh, had reached for the bowl and dug in.  "Good 'nough, Nurse O'Brien?" he'd grinned, catching her gaze.

But later, when she'd returned to check on him, his parents had been there, his mother glowering every time Gail or Johnston had addressed one another.  By the end of her visit, Betsy Green had made it clear that she was planning to bring Johnston's girlfriend – "we're expecting to announce their engagement very soon," she'd informed Gail – with her when she returned the next day. 

With new resolve, Gail had withstood his charms for the next day and a half, but Johnston Green was not to be deterred, and he'd taken Nurse O'Brien's sudden reticence and the severe frown she'd thrown his way as a personal challenge.  "Susannah and I are not serious, and we're not getting engaged," he'd argued as Gail had checked his stitches the next afternoon – with Susannah and his mother standing just outside the room.  "Our mothers are friends," he'd claimed later that evening when she'd come to give him his bedtime medication.  "They just keep trying to get us together." 

"You took her to the prom," Gail had reminded him.  "Your mother said.  And something about a Harvest Festival?"

"We were king and queen last year," he'd admitted, his expression turning sheepish.  But he'd held her gaze.

"Of the prom?"

"Yeah," Johnston had grumbled.  "And the Harvest Festival."

"Of course," Gail had nodded, feeling ridiculously disappointed at that news.  She'd arranged things so that he was her last patient before she went off duty, and she'd let herself believe for just a minute that she could sit down in the chair beside his bed and chat with this friendly and funny and good-looking soldier, and that that would be okay.  But he had a girlfriend – practically a fiancée – no matter what he'd claimed otherwise.  "I better go," she'd decided, standing up.  "Curfew is in twenty minutes," she'd claimed, crossing her fingers behind her back.  Visiting hours were over in twenty minutes, but student nurses – when not on duty – didn't need to return to Nightingale Hall for another hour after that.

"Susannah and I, we used to be—" he'd begun but then had stopped.  "Ever since I went into the Army, she's only written me twice.  You wouldn't do that, Nurse O'Brien, I know it.  I bet you'd write me every week – maybe even every other day.  And then," he'd teased, shaking off the melancholy that had overtaken him for just a bit, "You'd hafta tell me your name, Nurse O'Brien."

"Good night, Private Green," she'd bade him, forcing a smile.

"Night, Nurse O'Brien."

"Gail," she'd told him quietly the next morning as she'd taken his blood pressure.  "My name is Gail," she'd repeated.  "And I don't know why I told you—"

"I think you like me," he'd informed her, grinning.  "Gail."

"You can't call me that here," she'd whispered urgently. "If someone heard—"

"I can't call you that here," he had interrupted, "Okay.  But I can call you 'Gail' somewhere that's not here.  Like on a date."

"You're incorrigible Private Green," she'd complained, but he could tell she was trying to not crack a smile.

"Johnston," he'd reminded her.  "My name is Johnston."

"I know," Gail had replied, finally allowing her smile to break through.  "You've told me.    You and your mother.  And your – Susannah."

"She's not my Susannah," he'd argued.  "She's just Susannah."

"Are you sure about that Private—"

"Johnston," he'd interrupted.  "Please call me Johnston, Gail.  And, yes.  I am sure."

She'd looked conflicted still, and he'd offered her a sweet smile, meeting her turbulent gaze with one that was both calm and confident.  Finally, she'd allowed the slightest of nods.

"Good that we got that outta the way," he'd declared.  "Because I would like to take you to dinner, Gail." 

"I—" she had started, but then his surgeon had walked into the room and she'd settled for removing the inflatable cuff from his arm.  "You have excellent blood pressure, Private Green.  The doctor will be pleased."

"Thank you," Johnston had said quietly, once again catching her eye.  "Nurse O'Brien."

* * *

"Hmph," Gail muttered, shaking her head at him.  "That was not me giving you the brush off, that was me sizing you up, Private Green."

"And how'd I measure up?" Johnston asked.

She chuckled.  "You'll do."

"Glad to hear it," he sighed.

"We knew each other so well by then," Gail began a long moment later.  "All those letters we exchanged.  I still have them," she reminded, "Yours and mine, since you always sent mine back to me in yours."

"I always kept back your latest," he told her.  "'Specially the ones that you sealed with a kiss."

"They were all sealed with a kiss," his wife insisted.  "And back then, I always freshened my lipstick before I kissed my letters goodbye."

"That's why I always had one or two on me," Johnston explained.  "You were far away, but at least I had your kisses."

"We knew each other so well," she repeated.

"Better 'n most couples takin' the plunge, so to speak."

"I just wanted to be married to you," Gail declared.  "So, I proposed."

"Now the way I remember it, I'm the one who proposed," he teased. 

"You proposed marriage, I proposed that we get married," she argued, shrugging.  "In all of eight days," she chuckled.  "And yes, I hemmed and hawed, but that was because we'd never talked about when we'd get married.  We just said that we would, and everything we'd do together after that.  But we never said when."

"I wanted to set a date," her husband offered.  "Didn't seem fair though, with two 'n' half years left on my enlistment."

"All I wanted was to be married to you, Johnston," Gail said for the third time.  "And I definitely didn't want to wait another two or three years," she sighed.  "And I didn't want anyone thinking we got married because we had to, which they might have.  We got married for the only reason there is to get married," she declared.  "We loved each other and it's what we both wanted."

"So that’s why you didn't want a honeymoon baby," he realized.  He reached for her hand again, lacing their fingers together, grumbling, "You always worried way too much about what Mom thought."

"That wasn't the only reason, but yes, it mattered to me.  She was your mother," Gail emphasized, exasperated.  "Of course, I cared what she thought.  And she didn't want you to marry me."

"She was my mother and I loved her. Didn't mean – never meant – that she got a vote on who I married."  He peered at her closely.  "You wanted a say in who the boys married?"

"Of course not," Gail returned, "They chose well all on their own."

"They did," Johnston confirmed, "So, did I.  Course," he continued a beat later, "There were a coupl'a years there where I wouldn't have been surprised if Jake 'd shown up with a cocktail waitress from Barstow who'd he married on a lark at some drive-thru wedding chapel in Vegas," he complained.

"You don’t really mean that," Gail said, her voice and expression laced with disappointment.

"I half mean it," he countered, his tone obstinate.  "Or meant it.  That kid…." He muttered, not bothering to complete his thought.

His wife, however, was unwilling to let that pass.  "That kid hasn't been that kid in a good ten or twelve years.  And he certainly isn't that kid now," she grumbled.

"I know that," Johnston acknowledged, allowing a sigh. 

"Also, that kid and you have a lot in common," his wife continued, and he wondered if she'd heard him.  Or, if she'd heard him and decided to make her point anyway.  "So, I hope you're not implying that there was a cocktail waitress in Columbus who caught your eye, back in the day."

Johnston took a deep breath.  "You know there wasn't, Gail," he chided.  "I never claimed to be a saint, but you know me, you know I'm not like that – was never like that."

"What I know is that Jake wasn't the one who had to break things off with another girl so he could take his future wife on a first date," she reminded.  "You can judge him for the things he's actually done," she told him, though the edge in her tone warned him against doing so too harshly.  "You can't judge him for the things you just imagined he might do."

"I – I know," he conceded, a few seconds later, clearing his throat.  "And I'm sorry I said it.  Sometimes it's just…."

"A reflex?  A habit?" she guessed. 

"Yeah," Johnston muttered, "Somethin' like that."

"Honey…" his wife began, shrugging helplessly.  "You need to unlearn that – that reaction," she instructed, straightening in her seat.  "Jake and Heather are going to have a child – children – one day.  Eric and April, too, I hope.  But with Jake in particular, you don't want to cut yourself off from that.  And you're going to do it by accident if you just keep reacting." 

He nodded.  "You're right, Gail," he said gruffly.  "Usually are."

"So you know, I'm planning to be an involved grandma," she informed him.  "As much as they're willing to include me.  I want you to be there, too, 'Grandpa'," she teased.  "I always pictured us grandparenting together.  First, I make cookies with them, then you'll take them out back and push them on the tire swing, explore the treehouse.  Then, I'll call you in for lunch – that's why we made the cookies first thing—"

"Got it all worked out, I see," Johnston chuckled, "Grandma."

"Honey, you don't know the half of it," she assured.  "After lunch is naptime of course.  You'll do the honors of tucking them in, telling them a story or two."

"Jake approved stories," he offered.

"I would hope.  And after they wake up, we'll break out the coloring books – you're allowed to skip – or maybe go straight to 'Go Fish'.  As I remember it, you have some expertise at 'Go Fish', Johnston Green."

"Had to dial it back, start throwin' games when the boys were five or six, and I realized Eric'd started cheating," he reminded.

"Luckily it was a phase," Gail laughed softly.  "And a short one at that.  I still think Jake figured out how to count cards, so then Eric could never win, and he was frustrated."

"Probably so," he nodded.

"Then we feed them hot dogs and ice cream, and by the time their parents come to collect them, they're slightly overtired and somewhat over-sugared," she proclaimed, "But not so bad that we aren't asked to babysit the next time."

"A little overtired and a little over-sugared, that pretty much describes how the boys used to be when we'd get them back from Mom and Dad," Johnston chuckled.

"That's the job of a grandparent and your parents were excellent in the grandparent department, truly.  Exactly how I want to be," his wife smiled.  "Us to be."

"Your parents were wonderful grandparents too," he said.

"They were," Gail agreed.  "But it was different.  They were an hour and a half away.  Your parents were just down the road.  Your parents had horses and telescopes and a whole ranch for the boys to run around on.  Little boy paradise.  And that's okay," she insisted, "I'm glad that Jake and Eric got to at least know all of them.  That's the important thing.  And I know you don't want to miss out on all that, Johnston," she declared, exhaling softly.  "Just something to keep in mind."

"I know," he frowned, "And I will.  I – I want that, too."

"Good, I'm glad," she smiled.  They fell silent for a moment, both taking sips of their coffee, Gail finishing hers off.  "I think I'll go get ready," she decided.

"It's not gonna take you two hours to get ready, Sweetie," Johnston argued, a gentle smile creeping onto his lips.

"It was warm out there today, and I'm a little sticky, if you must know—"

"Well, you wouldn't know it from lookin' at you," he countered.  "Holy hell, you're always gorgeous to me, Nurse O'Brien."

Gail couldn't help but smile at that.  "I was Nurse Green a lot longer than I was Nurse O'Brien," she reminded.  "And I want to have time to take a shower and change clothes.  Besides, you have budget reports to review."

"I can review budget reports while you're at the restaurant," he dismissed, reaching for her hand.  "There's a game on tonight.  Budgets go better with baseball, I always say.  Anyway," he continued, squeezing her fingers, "There's somethin' I need to tell you – the point I was tryin' to make earlier."

"Okay, Johnston," she nodded, "Make your point."

"My mother needed to respect my choice of wife," he declared.  "Just as you – and I – respect our sons'.  I loved her.  I also love you.  I was in love with you then, just as I am now." 

"Thank you, Honey, for adding that last bit," she smiled, "And I'm in love with you too."

"Glad to hear it.  We both know that's not a given.  Sometimes – for some people, marriage becomes a habit, most of the time.  But that's not us.  You're the most important relationship of my life, Gail," he said quietly – and clearly.  Johnston realized he was quoting the email he'd sent to Jake a few days earlier, but that was okay.  He stood by what he'd written.   "Even when it wasn't easy, it was still worth it."

"And luckily we're both too stubborn to give up," she chuckled softly, returning his squeeze.

"True enough.  But that's what marriage is, what it's meant to be.  We both know that.  And Mom didn't get to pass judgment on our marriage," Johnston insisted.  "Or on our family, whether we'd had a honeymoon baby, or we'd had six kids, or we'd never had kids at all."

"I didn't want to come between you two," Gail returned.  "You were her only child – her only surviving child."

"You didn't come between Mom and me.  She held herself apart from us," he contended, tightening his grip on her hand for a second.  "That was her choice and her loss.  I couldn't cut her off completely—"

"I didn't ask you to," his wife sighed.  "I didn't want you to – to have to."

"I know," Johnston acknowledged with a nod.  "But I wasn't ever gonna let her talk me outta marrying you.  There's a reason I disinvited her from our wedding.  Twice."

Gail nodded.  "Well, I'm still glad you relented and included her."

"Dad pointed out to me that she'd have a harder time pretending we weren't married if she actually saw us get married," he reminded, lifting her hand so he could press a kiss to her palm.  "As far as you were concerned, my motives were pure.  I knew – or I hoped – if she let herself get to know you, she'd love you too.  My motives as far as she was concerned," he continued, snorting softly, "Were perhaps a little more strategic."

"I remember," Gail said, allowing a dry chuckle.  "We only had two days together before you went back to the Army, and you wanted to spend one of them with your parents," she complained.   

"Only the morning," her husband defended himself.  "And if I'd had my druthers, we'd have stayed exactly where we were straight on 'til Monday morning, Mrs. Green," he informed her, winking playfully. 

* * *

They had been married in the O'Briens living room at two o'clock in the afternoon on the first Friday of March nineteen sixty-seven, with both sets of parents, Gail's five siblings, and their two witnesses/attendants present.  Johnston had requested that George Richmond, a childhood friend, stand up for him, while Gail had asked her nursing school roommate, Jenny Abbot, to be her maid of honor.  EJ Green, who had actually been friendly with more than one justice of the peace, had arranged for the officiant.  Walter O'Brien had shuttered the butcher shop at eleven that morning, posting a card on the door that read: Closed Friday Afternoon for the O'Brien-Green Wedding.  Congratulations Gail and Johnston. 

The civil ceremony had been short, only twenty minutes passing between the time Walter had accompanied his daughter down the staircase and into the living room to when Johnston had kissed his new bride, and the J.P. had presented them for the first time to the small assembly as Mr. and Mrs. Green.  Peggy O'Brien had made finger sandwiches – cucumber, tomato, egg salad, and pimento cheese – and had baked a two-tier wedding cake (vanilla with lemon curd filling and buttercream frosting) which she'd served with coffee.  EJ had brought two bottles of champagne with him; the first they had opened and toasted the newlyweds with, the second had been packed up with some extra sandwiches and two slices of cake to be sent along with the young couple when they'd departed for the hotel just after five.

Somehow, George and Gail's brothers had found the time to decorate Johnston's gold toned Rambler convertible ahead of the getaway, using shoe polish to write Just Married!  March 3 1967 – Congratulations Mr. & Mrs. Green! on the remnant of a bedsheet affixed to the trunk, and tying four strings of tin cans to the bumper. Being early March, the sun had already started to set, leaving less opportunity for anyone to admire their handiwork, and Stuart had made Johnston promise not to remove anything at least until the next day.  Johnston had settled for rolling his eyes at his new brother-in-law rather than telling him that he honestly had no plans for leaving the hotel until at least Sunday. 

The Rogue River Holiday Inn had opened the previous fall and boasted a honeymoon suite.  Johnston had been surprised to learn it was available for the entire weekend when he'd called on Tuesday.  The reservation clerk had chuckled at that, informing him that there wasn't much demand for the honeymoon suite in February and March and that lately it had been the only room available most weekends.   And so, with their family and friends watching from the front porch of her family home, Johnston had escorted Gail down the walk to the car, stowing her suitcase in the backseat before kissing her – to a chorus of catcalls from George, Stuart, and Eddie – and then handing her into the Rambler.  They had departed to begin their abbreviated honeymoon.

"But I didn't want Mom to just not tell anyone in Jericho that I'd – we'd – gotten married," Johnston continued.  "Which is exactly what she would've done if we hadn't joined them for church," he reminded, kissing her hand again.  "And if it gave me the opportunity to show off my new bride in my hometown for a little while, sobeit."

Twenty-four hours into their honeymoon weekend, having availed themselves of the limited room service menu three times, the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Green had decided that it might be worth going out for dinner.  Johnston had proposed that they head to the same diner he'd taken her to on their first date, and Gail had readily agreed.  Holding hands, he'd walked her to the car, which had still been adorned for their departure the evening before.  He'd started to yank loose one of the strings of cans, and she'd reminded him of his promise to her brother. 

"I was gonna leave the banner," Johnston had said, pulling her in for a kiss. 

"You should leave the cans, too," Gail had cajoled, brushing her fingers across her husband's cheek.  "Stu might drive by tonight – I wouldn't put it past him – and it'll make him happy."  Johnston had figured out long before then that while Dennis was her favorite brother, Stuart was a close second.  She'd leaned toward him standing on tiptoe to brush her mouth across his. 

"As you wish, Mrs. Green," he'd grinned against her lips.  He'd opened the passenger door on the car and helped her in before crossing behind the vehicle and climbed into the driver's seat.  "Your mom invited us to Sunday dinner tomorrow," he'd said, cupping her chin and placing a chaste kiss on her lips.  "I think we should go."

"My mother doesn't really expect us to come to Sunday dinner when we're on our honeymoon," she had informed him, shaking her head.  "It's just tradition.  The shop's closed, and on Saturday evening, my father brings my mother the most expensive cut of meat that didn't sell, and everyone knows that we should be there.  It's the best meal of the week."

"See?" Johnston had argued, backing the car out of its parking space.  "We should be there."

"I'll be there next week," Gail had returned.  "Well, not next week," she'd corrected almost immediately, "It's my duty weekend.  But the Sunday after.  We're allowed to miss for a good reason – like work.  Or honeymoon.  We only get to have one of those," she'd reminded, frowning softly.  "And we only get two days – one day now."

"Still have two nights," he'd countered huskily, stopping the Rambler on the driveway, ready to exit the parking lot to the street.  "Forty hours," he'd added, knowing that they were both counting the hours – and the minutes – until he had to be on that bus Monday at ten, headed back to the Army and soon after Vietnam.    

He'd glanced sideways at his wife, who had been blushing prettily.  "We have so little time together, Johnston," she'd lamented quietly.  "And you're going to be gone a year – or almost.  I want us to spend every minute together until then."

"Sweetie, we're gonna," he'd assured her, finally easing the car onto the road.  "We'll just be around other people for a bit too.  Your family for a coupl'a hours tomorrow night.  At the diner, for an hour maybe—"

"Eat fast, Soldier," Gail had ordered, affecting a tone of mock sternness.  "Then we won't be gone so long."

"Yes, Ma'am," he'd agreed, flashing her a quick grin that had only grown when she'd shaken her head at him. 

His wife had already made it clear earlier in the day that she didn't consider herself a "Ma'am", telling him that both their mothers were ma'ams, but that she was much too young to be addressed as such.  Enjoying the discussion – not to mention having her in his arms, sitting in his lap – Johnston had persisted, reminding her that she was married now, and therefore properly referred to as "Ma'am".  She had countered that "Mrs. Green" and "Sweetie" were acceptable forms of address, but "Ma'am" was most definitely not. 

"Johnston," she'd sighed, fighting to keep from grinning in return.

"I'd also like to go to church tomorrow, if that's all right," he'd broached hesitantly, some thirty seconds later, after turning left onto Telegraph Avenue.

Gail hadn't been able to keep herself from smiling at that.  "It's all right," she'd declared, "But if ever there was a Sunday we could skip, our honeymoon weekend is it.  But if you really want to," she'd continued without pause, "My parents usually go to the eight AM mass, but there's also one at eleven—"

"I meant in Jericho, Sweetie," he had interrupted quietly.  "It's my hometown," he'd continued after a short pause, "And I want the people I grew up around to meet my wife, to know that I'm married, to know you."

"You think your mother is planning to keep ignoring the fact that I exist, don't you?" Gail had guessed – accurately – heaving a deep sigh.  "She's still hoping you'll come to your senses," she'd chuckled humorlessly.

"That's not gonna happen," Johnston had insisted.  "I already have my senses – or my wits.  I have my wits about me," he'd proclaimed, laughing softly.  "You know what I mean.  I love you, Gail, and we're married," he'd continued, his tone turning serious.  "I just want everyone to know that.   And I want you to know where I come from.  Besides, you never know, one day we may end up living in Jericho."

"Living there?" Gail had repeated, unable to keep her surprise from sounding in her voice.  The plain truth was, she had never even heard of the small town Johnston hailed from before he'd been her patient. 

* * *

He had teased her about this in front of his parents the first time they had come to visit him after his surgery.  "Nurse O'Brien has never heard of Jericho," he'd informed them.  "I don't think she thinks it's a real place."

"I've heard of it – the one in the Bible," she'd joked in return, "But not the one in Kansas."

EJ Green had seen the humor in this and had produced a business card that he'd presented to Gail with a flourish, proclaiming, "Nurse O'Brien, the mayor of the imaginary town of Jericho Kansas, at your service."

"Thank you, Mayor Green," she had grinned, examining the card for a moment before pocketing it.  "And now, Private Green," she'd continued, turning to face her patient, "I need to take your temperature."

* * *

Johnston had taken her to Jericho a few times – once before he'd proposed and three times since – but she hadn't ever considered this possibility, that he – they – might live there.  She had been so concentrated on getting married that she hadn't thought much beyond that.  She'd known that one day Johnston would be out of the Army of course, and they would build a life and a family together, but if she'd assumed a location, it had been Rogue River.

"My family's ranch is there," he'd argued.  "Until we have kids, I'm the last of the Green family.  Or we're the last of the Greens," he'd corrected.  "But – I'm the fifth generation to be raised on that land.  My great-great-grandfather homesteaded in Jericho – helped found the town – before the civil war. I – we – hafta at least consider it."

"Of – of course," she'd murmured.

"This is – this is like when you told me that Stu's gonna take over the butcher shop from your dad someday," he'd reminded. 

Closing her eyes for a moment, she'd nodded.  She had told him that, Gail had recalled, in a letter she'd written nearly a year before.  Before he'd left for Vietnam, she'd asked what he'd wanted her to write him about, and he'd said everything – everything she did, everything she thought, everything she learned, though he'd admitted that he wouldn't understand half of it.    So, when Stuart had confided to her his interest in becoming their father's partner in the butcher shop with an eye toward buying him out one day, she'd been thrilled for her brother, and all of that had poured out of her pen onto the page when she'd sat down to write to her fiancé later in the day. 

It made sense, too, that Johnston – her husband, she'd reminded herself – would feel that same sense of duty, that same sense of call to his family's business and legacy, that her brother felt towards theirs.  And while Stuart was the oldest son and child, Johnston was, as he'd said, the last of the Greens.  Not just the heir apparent, but the only option – at least until they had children of their own. 

"It was a great place to grow up – be a kid," he'd offered.

"I'm sure.  So is Rogue River," his wife had argued.  "And I'm not saying that we shouldn't.  I've just never thought about it."  She'd peered at him then – they were stopped at a stop sign – saying, "I've hardly been there – just a few hours, a few times."

"We should at least see if it could work."

"You want to be a rancher?  A farmer?" she'd asked, not quite able to keep her incredulity from her voice.

"Sweetie, I don't know," he'd admitted truthfully.  "But whatever I end up doin' after the Army, I want to do it with you."

That earned him a smile and a deep sigh.  "Me too.  But Johnston, I'm just not sure I'm cut out to be a farmer's wife," she'd chuckled nervously.

"We're not deciding anything right at this minute, Gail." 

Nodding, she'd inhaled deeply.  "Okay.  Only, I didn't pack anything I can wear to church," she'd told him.  "I've got my wedding dress, this pair of pants," she'd declared, gesturing down at her legs, "Plus two blouses, two sweaters.  I really wasn't expecting that we'd be going anywhere – certainly not to church," Gail had grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.  "We're on our honeymoon!"

"Could you wear your wedding—"

"Johnston!" his wife had protested.  "No!  You only wear your wedding dress to your wedding on your wedding day," she had insisted.  "And if you really want your mother to – to accept me, that would be the wrong way to go about it.  She would think I was ridiculous," Gail had scoffed. 

They hadn't bothered to talk for the rest of the short drive to the diner off of Railroad Road.  Finally, after turning off the car, Johnston had reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together.  "I'm sorry," he'd murmured.

"I'm sorry too," she'd apologized, sniffling.  "I – I just can't wear my wedding dress to church," she had complained.  "I – I – it's special to me, and I want to keep it special.  Besides I'm pretty sure that it's bad luck to just wear your wedding dress any old time.  Bridget," she'd added, naming her sixteen-year-old sister, "Would definitely say it was bad luck."

"Special to me too.  You were so beautiful in your wedding dress," Johnston had told her then, squeezing her hand.  "You're always beautiful, but you were even more beautiful in your wedding dress.  I'm just sorry that the only people who got to see it were our families, and George and Jenny, and Judge Langley."

Thank you," she'd sighed, looking up to meet his gaze and offer him a watery smile.  "And I don't care that we had the world's smallest wedding or that we had to arrange it in eight days, I'm just glad were married now."

"Yeah," he had acknowledged, "Me too."

"Also, it's very sweet of you to call me beautiful," she'd continued, "But what I really like, is when you call me 'gorgeous'.  For future reference."

"Yes, Ma'am," he'd returned, his grin widening when she'd groaned in response.  "But we don't hafta go to church.  It's our honeymoon, after all.  And – for future reference – I don't believe in bad luck.  Most people think comin' down with appendicitis is bad luck.  But for me, it was the best thing that ever happened to me, Mrs. Green.  The gorgeous Mrs. Green."

Gail had smiled at that, leaning toward him, inviting his kiss.  Her husband had been only too happy to oblige.  "We can go by Nightingale Hall after dinner," she'd offered a long moment later, pulling reluctantly away. "I will pick up a dress that even your mother can't find fault with," she'd vowed.

"So, we are goin' to church in Jericho?" Johnston had inquired.

"On our honeymoon no less," she had confirmed.  "Because you're right.  I am a Green now.  And someday we may live there."

* * *

"I always knew that's what you were up to that day," Gail smiled before clarifying, "Showing me off."  She played with his fingers a moment before admitting with a sigh, "Honestly, I was so flattered."

"Flattered?" Johnston repeated in disbelief.  "I just remember feeling like a real heel.  I'd married you – pledged myself to you – and I was abandoning you.  I didn't regret it – that's not the right word.  But I did wonder if I'd – we'd – done the right thing," he confessed.  "And at least I wanted to be sure that you knew you could go to my parents if you needed anything—"

"Johnston, we did the right thing," his wife assured him.  She cradled his hand in both of hers, caressing it gently.  "I never felt abandoned.  I was confident in your love, our love for each other.  And I knew that I could go to your dad at least.  I called on him for help before you were even back in Vietnam."

* * *

They had arrived in Jericho on Sunday morning with fifteen minutes to spare.  Johnston had parked the Rambler outside the church in a spot that had seemed calculated to garner the most attention, especially as the banner had survived the drive, even while the strings of cans, by and large, had not.  Gail had settled for smirking gently at her husband as he'd removed the last bits of the twine from his bumper, depositing them in the trunk of the car. 

A late model, four door Cadillac had pulled into the small lot, then had parked two spots to the left of their car.  An older man – Gail had judged him to be in his late forties – and his wife – younger, in her mid-thirties at most – had climbed our followed by their children, a girl – eight or nine – and a boy – no more than six.  The man had greeted Johnston with a wide smile and an arm-pumping handshake, offering a hearty "Congratulations!".  His voice full of pride, Johnston had introduced his wife to Wallace and Annette Sherman, and their children, Miranda and Anthony.

"Now I know why you wanted to keep the banner," Gail had giggled, looping her arm through her husband's.  "That takes care of telling everyone who comes to church today that you got married.  And they will all know it's you, since you're the last Green—"

"We're the last Greens," he'd interjected, "And that's just until."

She had nodded, feeling a pleasant heat in her face at his implication.  "Yes, just until."

Inside the church, he'd led her past the office and Sunday school rooms into the narthex.  An usher had handed them each a bulletin.  She'd clearly been surprised when Johnston had introduced Gail as his wife but had offered them both a smile and her best wishes.  They had entered the sanctuary, and Johnston had guided his new bride up the left side aisle to a pew in the middle of the church.

Johnston's parents had arrived a few minutes later; EJ had been delighted to see the young couple, while Betsy had pasted on a too brittle smile that might have deceived her fellow congregants, but certainly hadn't fooled her daughter-in-law.  "Abigail, m' dear!" EJ had boomed out, pulling her into a hug.  "I'm so glad you and Johnston decided to join us today."

Judge Langley had insisted on marrying them under the names listed on their marriage license – EJ had also been instrumental in its quick issuance – and Johnston had seemed to take delight in the chance to say, "I Johnston Jacob take thee, Abigail Margaret as my lawfully wedded wife."  Obviously, his father had also taken note of her given name.

"Well, I'm – we're – happy to be here…" she had trailed off, unsure of how to address her father-in-law.  Mr. Green or Mayor had no longer seemed appropriate.  "And, I prefer 'Gail' actually," she'd added, an uncertain note in her tone.

"Please, Gail, call me 'EJ'," he'd insisted, offering her a kind smile.  "You can even call me 'Dad' if you want, though I suppose your own dad might not like that.  Or perhaps that's something for you and me to grow into," he'd suggested.  "So maybe just 'EJ' after all."  

She had nodded, flashing a relieved smile of her own.  "Thank you, EJ."

"And your parents explained about your name the other night," he'd continued.  "I'm happy to honor your wishes, though I do agree with your mother: 'Abigail' is a lovely name for our lovely daughter."  He'd glanced over his shoulder, including his wife in this statement as well as the next.  "We had a fine time with them after you left.  It was good to get to know them better."  EJ had made a point of meeting Walter O'Brien just after Johnston and Gail had become engaged – and then of stopping by the butcher shop whenever he'd been in Rogue River from then on – but Gail had been absolutely certain that Betsy Green had never met her parents prior to the wedding.  "All of your family," he'd continued.  "Eddie's a card, Bridget's a firecracker.  And I'm gonna talk your dad into goin' fishing this summer, mark my words."

"He does like to fish," Gail had confirmed, "So, thank you."  She had liked EJ Green from the moment she'd met him, and he'd always been generous and sympathetic toward her.  At that moment, Gail had realized that she adored her father-in-law, and that she was grateful to him for his dogged determination to include her and her family in his.  "But it's hard for him to get away sometimes with the shop," she'd cautioned.

"Walt thought that just maybe Stu and Eddie could mind the store for a Saturday.  And there's Sunday, too," EJ had suggested.  "I've never thought skippin' the occasional service to spend time in God's creation would be held against me when I reach the pearly gates.  And I'm sure neither God nor any feelin' person would've held it against the two of you, had you skipped church this mornin'," he'd added, "'Specially with you headin' back to the Army tomorrow, Son.  I was surprised to see your car when we came in.  Happy to have you, but still surprised."

"Figured you might be," Johnston had returned, his tone teasing.  "That's why we sat here.  Didn't want you to have a hard time findin' us."

"Your husband is makin' fun of me, Gail m' dear," EJ had informed her.  "We don't have assigned seating in this church, but we might as well.  We're Presbyterian, it's the way things are," he'd declared as if that explained everything.

"He's right," Johnston had confirmed, squeezing her hand.  "Everyone knows that the Greens always sit here.  This row, or the one behind," he'd clarified, glancing back in time to see his Uncle Bob and Aunt Rosemary – his mother's brother and sister-in-law – and his three younger cousins slip into the pew. 

"It's the same in the – well, in my family's church," Gail had told EJ, deciding against mentioning her Catholic faith once she'd noted just how closely Betsy was listening to their conversation, even if she had been conspicuously not participating in it.  Her mother-in-law – having taken the opposite view of her husband – had already made her disdain for Gail known in a hundred different ways, and Gail hadn't wanted to give Betsy yet another reason to look down on her.

Johnston had made introductions then, a proud note ringing in his voice as he presented his new wife to his aunt, uncle, and cousins, seventeen-year-old Frank, fifteen-year-old Gary, and thirteen-year-old Cindy.  The Johnston family had been all smiles and hearty congratulations, and Gail had been relieved to realize that they at least had known that she and Johnston had planned to marry, even if they hadn't been invited to the wedding.    

The organist had begun to play the prelude then, signaling to the congregation that it was time to take their seats.  Gail had found it impossible to concentrate on the service, though as she'd told Johnston later in the day, she'd been glad to realize that a Presbyterian service had enough in common with a Catholic mass that she hadn't been completely lost.  During the announcements, the pastor – Reverend Thompson – had informed his flock that not only was Private Johnston Green home on leave from the Army and worshiping with them today, but that he was accompanied by his new bride.  All eyes had turned toward them then – apparently everyone knew exactly where to find the Greens in the sanctuary – and Gail, feeling momentarily shy – had pressed her face into her husband's shoulder.  Johnston had acknowledged this attention with a nod and a wave before he'd wrapped his arm around her.  He'd glanced at her then, offering her an encouraging smile which she'd returned after taking a deep breath.  Gail in turn, had looked to her left, at her husband's parents, catching her mother-in-law's eye and throwing the older woman a tentative smile that unfortunately had not been returned.

Still, forty minutes later, after the benediction, Betsy Green had surprised them all when she'd leaned over her husband, requesting, "I hope you're not planning to run off, and will stay to join us at coffee hour," she'd insisted, not quite meeting her daughter-in-law's startled gaze.

"We want to introduce you around, Gail," EJ had immediately added.  "And let us take you to lunch after," he'd said, catching first her eye, and then Johnston's.  "Maggie Henry organized the Main Street Merchants Association last fall," he'd told his son, "And they campaigned for an ordinance change.  Now the Pizza Garden is open from eleven to four on Sundays."

"The modern world comes to Jericho," Johnston had joked, reaching for Gail's hand.  "The town's blue laws have never allowed for commerce on Sundays," he'd explained to his wife.

"Well, that's changed now," EJ had announced.  "All in all, a good thing, I say."

"That remains to be seen," Betsy had sniffed. 

"We're going to Gail's parents' for supper this evening," Johnston had explained, "We should probably head back—"

"You still need to eat lunch," Betsy had protested, her eyes gliding quickly over Gail to settle on her son.  "Both of you."

Gail hadn't quite known how to respond to Johnston's mother's sudden acknowledgment of not only her existence but also – at least tacitly – their marriage.  Feeling hopeful, she'd offered, "I think if we're back in Rogue River by three or three-thirty, we should be fine." 

"If you're sure, Sweetie," Johnston had said then, stroking the back on his wife's hand with his thumb.  He'd promised her that they would only stay for the service, therefore leaving them with the entire afternoon for themselves.

"That'll give us time to change clothes before we head over to my parents'," she'd argued. 

Nodding, he'd swallowed a smile.  Johnston had proposed to Gail on a Sunday morning and had joined the O'Briens that evening – and the few Sundays since that he'd been able – for dinner.  They always ate at six, and while the family usually started to gather beforehand, they'd never been expected to arrive earlier than five-thirty.  He'd been impressed with how well she'd threaded the needle of appeasing his mother, while also ensuring that they'd have a few hours alone together later in the day.

"That's settled then," EJ had declared.  "We'll have lunch and get the two of you back on the road by one-thirty, one-forty-five at the latest."

Twenty minutes later, Gail had wanted nothing more than to escape her mother-in-law's clutches.  Betsy had taken her around the basement social hall, introducing her to friends and acquaintances.  Everyone had been very pleasant and congratulatory but had also seemed quite taken aback to hear – as Betsy had insisted on informing everyone – that she was a nursing student who would be continuing with her studies.  Johnston had tried to stick close at first, but within five minutes had found himself dismissed by his mother, who had absconded with his new bride as she'd chased down Mrs. Thompson – the pastor's wife – in order to chat about the upcoming St. Patrick's Day dinner fundraiser.  Gail would have been happy if the conversation had stayed on the dinner, but as new women had come in and out of the discussion, it had turned again and again to her status as a married student nurse.  Finally, she'd spotted a sign that had indicated the ladies' room was down a narrow hallway that ran adjacent to the church's kitchen.  "Excuse me," she'd murmured with a nod toward the plaque, before turning and hurrying toward the restroom.

Breathing a sigh of relief as the door had snicked closed behind her, Gail had initially assumed that she had been alone in the small space.  But then the toilet had been flushed in the nearer of the two stalls, and before she'd had time to consider what to do – return to the social hall? dive toward the second, farther stall? – the door had opened and she'd found herself facing Susannah Lawson.

"You're Gail," she'd said flatly, their gazes locked.  "I recognize you—"

"From the hospital," Gail had supplied, "I remember you, too."  Betsy had brought Susannah along twice on her daily visits to Johnston the week he'd been a patient at Fillmore County Hospital, recovering from the emergency removal of his appendix.  She had been nothing but friendly and cheerful, thanking Gail multiple times for taking such good care of her patient.  "It's nice to see you again, Susannah."

'Is it?' the slight cock of Susannah's head had seemed to ask, but she hadn't given voice to that thought.  "I must admit I wasn't expecting you and Johnny to be in church today," Susannah had chuckled after a few seconds' pause.  "You should be on your honeymoon, and he's going back to the Army very soon?" she'd guessed.

"Tomorrow," Gail had confirmed with a sigh.  "He has to go back tomorrow.  But he was very set on coming here this morning, so…" she'd shrugged.  "But it is a little strange, right?"

"A lot strange, actually," Susannah had laughed.  This had been a genuinely amused sound and had revealed just how forced her earlier chuckle had been. 

A wave of empathy for the other woman had rolled through Gail and she'd found herself apologizing.  "I'm sorry, I should have told him I wouldn't come."

However, Susannah had dismissed this notion with a shake of her head.  "Johnny can be very hard to argue with," she'd reminded.  "He always knows what he wants to do, and why he's doing it."

Gail had nodded.  She'd been drawn to Johnston Green from the moment she'd set eyes on him, but what had kept her interest – what had made her fall in love with him – was the way he carried himself.  He was friendly and funny, yes, but he also had a dignity that until she'd met him, Gail had assumed was a quality that came to a person later in life, and even then, was not something everyone obtained.  He'd reminded her of the authority figures in her life – priests and teachers and more recently doctors – except that he was her own age and he was accessible in a way everyone else she'd ever admired was not.  And of course, part and parcel with that dignity, that poise and self-confidence, Johnston had always known his own mind.  Once he'd reached a decision, he didn't waver.  As Susannah had said, he always knew what he was choosing to do, and why.  Johnston considered things carefully, his wife had realized long before they'd married, but once his mind was made up, he was loathe to change it.

"It seemed important to him, but still, I didn't want to embarrass you – he doesn't want to embarrass you," Gail had argued. 

For all his brashness – his single-minded determination and clear purpose – when he'd first started to pursue her, Gail had also realized – and pretty quickly at that – that Johnston had been ashamed of himself for not ending his relationship with Susannah sooner. 

* * *

"I hear you're going home tomorrow, Private Green," Gail had announced, though her chipper tone had clearly been forced.  She had hovered in the doorway to his hospital room for a few seconds before finally stepping into the room, closing the door behind her.  "You must be glad about that."

"Johnston, Gail," he'd corrected for at least the hundredth time in three days.  He'd respected her request that he not address her as 'Gail' in front of hospital staff or other people generally, but always when they had been alone, he'd insisted on first names.  She'd had her coat and purse with her, and over his week in the hospital he'd learned that this was the signal that she was off duty.  As far as he'd been concerned, that had meant this was a social call.  He'd pointed at the guest chair next to his bed.  "You can stay and visit for a bit, I hope?"

That had earned him a smile.  "For a bit," she'd agreed.  "Johnston."

"The food'll be better I s'pose," he'd allowed, grinning in return.  He'd watched her intently as she'd seated herself, continuing, "The hospital has nothin' on the Army in the chow department."  He'd gestured at his half-consumed dinner tray in order to illustrate this point.  "So, it'll be good to get some home cookin'.  But I'll miss seein' you every day."

"A week from now, you'll have forgotten all about me," she'd countered, frowning at the thought.  In her heart of hearts, Gail hadn't wanted him to forget about her, but she'd also known what would likely happen: he'd return home, his mother would invite Susannah to dinner, and Johnston Green would remember their shared history and how well she fit into his life, and while he would think fondly of the student nurse who'd cared for him after his appendectomy, he would also move on.

"Not gonna happen," Johnston had disputed immediately.  "I may be goin' home tomorrow, but I'll be back on Sunday to take you to dinner," he'd vowed.  "If you'll let me."

"I always go to dinner at my parents' on Sundays," she'd said, grateful in that moment that she hadn't actually had to say 'no'.  She'd known that she had to turn him down but hadn't been sure she'd be able to say the words.  "It's tradition."

"As I recall it, last Sunday you were workin' here at the hospital," he'd reminded, "As my nurse, in fact.  But I'd be happy to go to dinner at your parents', I'd like to meet them."

"We're all required to work one weekend a month, as part of our training," Gail had explained.  "Last weekend was just my weekend.  But all the other Sundays, I have dinner with my family.  And," she'd added, affecting the severest tone she could manage in that moment, "I will not be introducing you to my parents on our first date."

"You just said that we're gonna have a first date," Johnston had informed her, his grin widening to take over his entire face.  "That's progress I'll take."

She'd shaken her head at him.  "I will not be introducing you to my parents on our first date," she'd repeated, "Should we ever have one, Private Green."

"Well, I'm gonna make sure that we do have a first date, Gail," he'd returned, feeling the slightest bit peeved that she had gone back to using titles, even if it had just been to tease him.  And part of him had worried that she'd done it to put some distance between them.  "And then I'm gonna make sure we have a bunch more after that.  So, if we can't go out on Sunday, then how 'bout Monday?" he'd suggested a few seconds later.  "The Army, in its infinite wisdom, has granted me leave through Thanksgiving.  My sergeant said I might as well recover at home instead of in the barracks at Fort Benning.  I'm goin' to Ranger School when I get back, and I can't do that 'til I'm all healed up."

"Your recovery is proceeding as well as anyone could expect," Gail had argued, ignoring – not for the first time – his request for a date.  "I'm rather surprised they didn't send you home this afternoon."

Johnston had frowned at that.  "Trying to get rid of me?" he'd charged, working to keep his tone light. 

The truth of the matter had been, the surgeon had intended to discharge him that morning, but had withdrawn his suggestion – with a knowing smile – when Johnston had faked a coughing fit.  "I can look the other way for one more day, Private Green," the doctor had decided.  "One Army man to another.  But you'd better work up your courage and ask her out – whichever of our student nurses has caught your eye – because tomorrow, come hell or highwater, I'm sendin' you home."

"You've been a pretty good patient," Gail had sighed, smiling softly, "So no, I'm not trying to get rid of you.  I'm also not working this weekend," she'd reminded a beat later.  "Nurse Miller will be bringing you your breakfast in the morning, not me."

"Probably is a good time for me to head home then," he'd declared.  "You're the most interestin' thing about this hospital, after all," Johnston had informed her, winking.  "Which confirms that I picked the right weekend to burst my appendix," he'd joked halfheartedly. 

"As a student nurse, I am duty bound to tell you that the best time to 'pick' for your appendix to burst is never," she had informed him, her tone playful.  "But since you insisted on doing it anyway, my duty weekend isn't the worst choice you could have made, Johnston."

"Glad we're in agreement, Gail," he'd returned, grinning widely.  'Glad you're not back to callin' me Private Green again.'

She had been flirting, and she'd known it, just as she'd known that she really shouldn't flirt with him.  But it had proven to be too much to resist.  She'd wanted to know everything about him.  And she'd figured, since he'd been scheduled to be discharged in the morning, their time together – her opportunity to simply sit and talk with him – had been running short.  "When were you originally supposed to go back?" she'd inquired, unable to suppress her curiosity.  "To the Army, I mean.  When was your leave supposed to be up?"

"Today," he'd told her.  "And when Doc Peterson – that's my doctor at home – said I'd need surgery, I knew I wasn't gonna get to go t' the trainin' this time.  I was angry 'bout that.  Course, I felt pretty lousy too, doubled over in pain and everything," he'd chuckled.  "But then when I came to and saw you, Gail, it turned out I wasn't mad anymore.  Havin' an extra six weeks of leave seems like a blessin' now.  We can get to know each other better."

"Johnston," Gail had sighed, ducking her head so that he hadn't been able to confirm that the pleased grin he'd suspected she'd been wearing, had in fact, graced her lips.  "Your mother has invited Susannah over for dinner at your house tomorrow evening.  I heard – well, overheard," she'd admitted, "Her telling you that before she left today."

"Exactly," he'd agreed, "My mother invited her.  Not me.  She's not my Susannah," he'd insisted, alluding to their conversation a few days earlier.  "Not anymore."

"Does she know that?" Gail had asked, raising her head and meeting his eye, her gaze suddenly guarded.

"My mother or Susannah?" he'd grumbled in return.

"Both," she had declared, "But definitely Susannah."  Gail had taken a deep breath, inhaling through her teeth so that she'd made a soft hissing sound.  "Johnston, if you're going to ask me out—"

"If?" he'd interjected, "If?  I've asked you out every day this week."

"That is true," she'd agreed.  "But, if you're going to ask me out again, please make sure that Susannah knows that she's not your Susannah.  I don't – I won't be – be two-timed," Gail had decided.  "I would like to get to know you better.  I'd like to know you outside of this hospital," she'd added, allowing an uneasy chuckle.  "But – but don't embarrass me.  Or her.  And if you're going to end up with her in the end, just go be with her now.  Please."

'I was hopin' to end up with you,' Johnston had wanted to say, but the words had stuck in his throat.  He didn't have the right to say them, he'd understood then.  Susannah Lawson had been his friend for as long as he could remember, and they had dated for more than three years.  But Gail had been right.  They had never actually broken up, and it wouldn't be fair to either of them – Gail or Susannah – if he didn't clearly end things with Susannah before he began to see Gail. 

"I won't embarrass you," he'd promised, "Or her.  And I'll talk to Susannah this weekend."  He'd caught her gaze then, offering her a gentle smile.  "Then, maybe, we could have dinner on Monday evening?" he'd requested.

"I'm off at six on Monday.  Talk to Susannah, and then if you still want to ask me out, I'll see you Monday at six," she'd instructed, beginning to climb out of her chair.

"For dinner?" Johnston had persisted, watching her closely as she'd donned her coat.

Gail had smiled at that.  "Not quite, Johnston.  That's just to ask me out," she'd advised.  "I won't be available for dinner until at least Wednesday."

"I see," he'd acknowledged gruffly.  "Okay then.  I'll see you Monday at six."

* * *

"I'm not embarrassed," Susannah had sighed.  "Just surprised that he brought you to church today.  If I'd known, I would have stayed home," she'd admitted.  "Just to keep the old biddies from giving me all those looks."

"I'm sorry," Gail had sympathized.

"Don’t you give me that look too," Susannah had groaned, shaking her head.  "I – I was relieved when Johnny told me about you," she'd confessed a good twenty seconds later.  "After he was in the hospital.  His mother sent him to pick me up for dinner the next day, and then when he was taking me home, he got very serious and I was so afraid he was getting ready to propose—"  She'd cut herself off, sighing again.  "And that is probably a very rude thing to say to you."

"I'd told him I wouldn't go out with him unless things between the two of you were settled.  Well, over," Gail had explained.  "I don't think you're being rude.  As long as you don't think I'm rude for being glad that you didn't want my new husband – the only husband I plan to have – to propose to you."

"That's not rude," Susannah had declared.  "And I was happy for him.  Relieved for myself.  I love Johnny like a brother," she'd claimed, shrugging, "You know what I mean," when Gail's eyebrows had arched in astonishment.

"I have four brothers," Gail had informed the other woman, her skepticism apparent.

"Like a cousin, then.  Or a friend," Susannah had suggested.  "All I know is, he never felt about me the way he feels about you.  That I knew just from how he talked about you the first time he told me about you.  I was glad he wasn't proposing," she'd repeated.  "But, boy, are you hard to measure up to.  And then, on Wednesday, he took me to coffee to tell me you were getting married, and he was even worse."

Gail had nodded, chuckling softly at this complaint.  She'd suggested to Johnston that he might want to warn Susannah about their upcoming wedding, just so she didn't end up blindsided by the news.  He'd thought it was a silly idea, but when he'd met her for dinner after she'd gotten off shift two days before their wedding, he'd told her all about his "coffee date" (as she'd dubbed it) earlier that day with his former girlfriend.

"Johnny loves you," Susannah had continued.  "He's in love with you, so much.  Turns out he's kind of a sap," she'd grumbled.  "I never could have competed with that.  And I really didn't want to.  So, I'll just be happy for him – for you both."

"He wants you to be happy, too," Gail had assured her.  "So do I."

"I will be," Susannah had laughed, "I'm sure of it.  I just hafta wait until somebody comes along who, when he talks about me, sounds half as besotted as Johnny does when he talks about you," she'd teased.  "That's not asking for too much, right?"

"No, definitely not," Gail had agreed.

"And I need to stop calling him Johnny," Susannah had realized, exhaling softly.  "He really hates it.  It's just that I've known him forever, and it's what I've always called him."

"He does hate to be called that," Gail had confirmed.  She'd cringed inwardly for Johnston each and every time Susannah had used his childhood nickname.  She'd known that he didn't like it and that he'd always associated it with his sister.  'It's what Susie called him,' she'd reminded herself.

* * *

Gail had asked him to tell her all about his little sister, both on the night she'd learned the tragic history of Susan Green, and later in a letter she'd sent to him in Vietnam.  For a month after, in every letter he'd written to her, he'd included some story about his sister.   

First, he'd written about the day his parents had brought Susie home from the hospital and how EJ had sat him down and had carefully placed the ten-day old baby in his four-year-old arms, saying, "You're a big brother now, Johnny.  She'll look up to you, so, you'll need to look after her."  Johnston had told Gail her birthdate in that letter – June twentieth, nineteen fifty-one – and she'd written back immediately to let him in on the coincidence: Susie had been born one year to the day after her sister, Bridget.

The subsequent letter had covered Johnston's first week of school and how Susie had been inconsolable without her big brother home to play with her and entertain her.  His mother had told him, exasperated, how the two-year-old had plopped down by the front door and cried for "my Johnny" for two hours before she'd worn herself out, taking an impromptu nap on the hall rug. 

In the next letter, he'd told her about what had happened about a year and a half later.  In the spring, Johnston – with his father's help – had devised a hitch that had allowed him to tow his red wagon behind his bicycle.  He'd added a few empty feed bags as padding to the wagon bed and had told Susie that he'd give her a ride around the circular driveway in front of the house.  Susie had loved it.  For Johnston, this had been great fun for a few days, but had soon grown monotonous, going around and around in the same flat circle, doing all the work while his little sister had enjoyed the "princess treatment".  Then one day, having been left to their own devices by trusting parents, Johnston had decided to take Susie on a more scenic route – down the farm road toward the horse barns.  The grade had proven to be just steep enough that before they'd gained any real speed, the wagon had started to veer off to one side and Susie had been spilled out on the edge of the road where – by luck – she'd fallen on crab grass and dirt rather than the gravel.  But still she'd scraped elbows and knees and had been frightened.  Crying, Susie had run back to the house, her brother following her all the way, calling out his apology.  She had been having none of it.  "You mean, Johnny," she had yelled at him, hitting his arm.  Before he'd been able to respond, their mother had rushed out the door, scooping her daughter up and becoming a little hysterical herself.

By the time EJ had gotten home a few hours later, Johnston had been so miserable he'd practically begged his father to give him a spanking.  Unfortunately for Johnston, his father had opted to be disappointed in his son's poor choices rather than to punish him.  'I was pretty down in the dumps, everyone was.  Except for Susie,' Johnston had written to Gail some twelve years later.  'I gave her my dessert at dinner that night and all was forgiven.  But I did learn that I needed to take more care with her.  Take better care of her.  She was my baby sister after all.'

In another letter, he'd recounted an incident that had occurred a few months before her sixth birthday.  The Green Ranch had long been an active – if small – equine breeding farm, managed by EJ, even during the more than two decades he'd served as mayor of Jericho.  One Saturday, EJ, assisted by three ranch hands, had been overseeing the start of the breeding season when Johnston had asked if he could ride his new horse, Ajax, around the corral.  Susie had begged to be allowed to ride with her brother, and happy to have his children occupied outside of the barn, EJ had agreed.  About a half hour later, one of the hands, coming to collect the next mare for breeding, hadn't bothered to secure the corral gate upon entry, at the exact time Susie had managed to startle the horse. 

'I never did figure out what she did.  Maybe she kicked poor Ajax and yanked on his mane at the same time.  He was only about 3 years old and when he reared up a bit, Susie let out the kind of shriek only a little girl can manage.  He bolted, right through the open gate.  I was just trying to hold onto her and hold onto the horse.  We went more than a mile – out along Johnston Creek (the creek and I are named after my mother's family and property) all the way to Mary's Meadow.  There, he tried to tree us.  That's when a horse walks under a tree limb, trying to knock the rider off.  I just laid down over Susie, scraped my head on the branch as we passed underneath, but I kept her safe.  By the time Dad and the hand caught up with us we were fine.  She'd had a grand time and was giggling and smiling away, even said "Johnny, do it again!"' 

And then finally, Johnston had related the story of Susie's sixth birthday and her request for a tortoiseshell calico kitten, and how even though his mother had been against it, once a barn cat had given birth to five kittens, including one tortoiseshell calico, EJ had gone to work on his wife.  Johnston had written about how he'd gone to the trouble of capturing the kitten and tying a ribbon around its neck – getting scratched in the process – so he could present it to his sister at her birthday breakfast.  'She named it Dandelion,' Johnston had written, 'And Dad and I teased her that she wanted a dandy lion.  She loved that cat to death, or she would have.'

The tone of his letter had changed completely then, becoming a strict recitation of the facts.  'Her birthday was June 20th.  She got sick not even 2 weeks later – on the 1st or the 2nd, if I remember correctly.  We didn't go to the 4th of July picnic that year.  It was strep throat.  I went to Scout Camp, left on Sunday, a few days later, I think.  She went in the hospital, and my parents didn't tell me.  Everyone thought she'd be fine.  But it was rheumatic fever and she died.  I didn't know until Dad came to get me for the funeral.  Driving home I told him that I didn't think he should call me Johnny anymore.  Mom had always called me Johnston, and Dad did too from that day on.'    

* * *

"I know," Susannah had sighed, complaining, "It's just so hard to remember."

Gail had caught herself nodding – it was easier to just agree – but she hadn't been able to keep from thinking that if Susannah had known Johnston the way that she herself did, then there was no way the other woman would have continued to call him by a nickname he'd loathed for almost a decade. 

"Well, I better go back out," Susannah had decided, moving around Gail to access the single sink to wash her hands.  "I've been hiding out from the old biddies," she'd admitted.  "But it'll be worse if my mother has to come looking for me."

"I came in here to hide too," Gail had confessed, turning around so that she'd faced Susannah's back.  "Not hide," she'd amended immediately, "More like get away for a moment.  And not from Johnston."  She'd paused, letting herself think about her husband.  'My husband,' she'd reminded herself, a smile blooming on her lips.

Susannah had turned off the tap and then had pulled a couple of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall.  Rotating around, she'd groaned, rolling her eyes at Gail.  "You're as sappy as Johnny.  Sorry.  As him." 

"We are supposed to be on our honeymoon," Gail had reminded, "Even if it's just for a weekend.  And now we're supposed to go to lunch with his parents," she'd added, her smile faltering.

"You know, Betsy's bark is worse than her bite.  I swear," Susannah had assured her.

"Easy for you to say," Gail had grumbled.  "You didn't want Johnston to propose to you, but she sure did.  And now it turns out that she doesn't like that I'm in nursing school.  She just kept introducing me and then telling her friends that I'm a student nurse.  They all looked at me like I had two heads and kept reminding me that I'm married now."

"Those are the old biddies I was talking about," Susannah had returned, rolling her eyes again.  "You shouldn't worry about what they think, even Betsy.  Johnny's – Johnston," she'd corrected quickly, "He's proud that you're a nurse.  I've heard all about it, all about you," she'd chuckled, shaking her head.  "He's proud of you, period." 

"Yes," Gail had acknowledged, her smile returning.  Johnston had supported her educational aspirations their entire relationship – even before, really. 

* * *

He'd been lurking in the hospital lobby the Monday evening after he'd been discharged, approaching her immediately as she'd emerged from the stairwell along with another student nurse.  "Gail," he'd greeted warmly, though there'd been an uneasy hitch in his voice when he'd corrected himself a few seconds later after she hadn't responded immediately.  "I mean, Nurse O'Brien."

"Gail is fine, Johnston," she'd assured, offering him a tentative smile.  "You're no longer my patient, and I'm not on duty.  It's nice – it's good to see you again," she'd told him.  "I wasn't sure I would."  Before he'd been able to respond to that though, she'd introduced him to her companion.  "This is Jenny—"

"I'm her roommate," Jenny had interjected, offering her hand to Johnston, who'd grasped it with his own, shaking it politely.  "And you're her Private Green.  Everyone was so jealous that Gail had gotten a soldier who was our age when we all get patients who are our parents' and grandparents' ages."

"He's not my Private Green," Gail had hissed, elbowing her friend in the side. 

"But I am here to apply for that position – to be your Johnston, Gail," he'd announced boldly.  He'd let go of the other woman's hand – what was her name again? he'd wondered briefly – his gaze focused completely on the blushing student nurse who had quickly become the center of all his thoughts and all his dreams, sleeping and awake.  "You told me I should come."

"Well, I'm going to – to walk home with Linda and Janice," Jenny – Johnston had been sure that was her name – had proclaimed then, snagging the arm of one of two student nurses who had conveniently exited the stairwell at just that moment.  Both young women had paused to take in the scene before them with undisguised interest.  "Gail, we'll see you back at the hall," she'd promised, taking a step away.

"Save me a seat," Gail had instructed, fixing a persistent stare on her roommate.

"For dinner?" either Linda or Janice had asked, sounding very skeptical about this. 

"Yes, for dinner," Gail had grumbled.  "I'll be there five minutes after you – ten at the most."

"I'll save you a seat," Jenny had assured Gail.  "Take all the time you need.  And, Johnston," she'd added, giving him an encouraging smile, "Don't be a stranger."

Neither had said anything as the trio of young women had made their way out of the building.  Soon though, they had been alone in the lobby, with not even a volunteer on duty at the information desk.  "I like your roommate," he'd offered.

"She likes you too," Gail had told him.  "What I've told her about you, anyway," she'd clarified, allowing a nervous giggle.  "And I told her if you were here tonight, what that would mean – what I hope it means."

"That's why I'm here," he'd confirmed.  "I talked to Susannah, and we are in agreement that she is not my Susannah – not my girlfriend.  She's happy, I'm happy.  My mother's a little less happy, but I think she'll get over it.  And I'm hoping you're happy.  That I'm here.  I wasn't sure if you coming by on Saturday was a good sign or a bad sign," he'd admitted.

"I – I didn't know for sure that you'd come tonight," she'd confessed, unable to face him, looking down at her feet.  "And in case you didn't, I wanted to see you one last time.  I – I just woke up that morning, and I had to see you.  To talk to you," she'd continued, glancing up at him.  "Even if it was just for a minute."

"I want to talk to you, Gail," Johnston had declared, reaching for her hand.  "For hours – days – not minutes.  And I want to see you, every moment I can," he'd added, lacing their fingers together.  "So, will you go to dinner with me, Gail O'Brien?  Tonight, tomorrow, Wednesday?  Next week if your calendar has booked up in the meantime."   

"My calendar is the same tonight as it was on Friday," she had informed him.  "Including a test in anatomy and physiology on Wednesday morning.  I didn't do as well as I'd've liked to on the last one.   So, I'm hitting the books tonight and tomorrow.  That's all."

Johnston had grinned at this news.  "Well, I'm glad to know that I'm bein' put off for a test and not because you're goin' out on a date with someone else."

"The last date I went on was to the senior prom, Johnston," she'd sighed.  "I won't be two-timed, and I wouldn't do that to you – to anyone."

"I know," he'd murmured, squeezing her fingers.  "I wasn't trying to say—"

"I know," she'd said, repeating his words.  "I just wanted to do more than work the register in my father's shop.  Not that there'd be anything wrong with that—"

"You wanted to do more," Johnston had filled in for her, echoing, "Nothin' wrong with that, either.  I'm glad you do."

"I want to do well in nursing school.  I like taking care of people—"

"You're very good at it, too," he'd interjected quietly.  "Takin' care of people.  You took great care of me."

"Thank you," Gail had acknowledged with a smile.  "And that is my favorite part.  I even like anatomy and physiology.  It makes sense in the clinical setting, but it's hard to always get it right on a paper test."

"What was your grade on the last test?" Johnston had wanted to know.

"B plus," she'd shrugged.

He'd nodded, teasing, "I can see why you were unhappy.  I've only known you a week, and I'd expect you to get at least an A minus."

"Is that so?"

"You're smart," he'd declared.  "I like spending my time with smart people.  I want to spend time with you.  Get to know you better.  I wanna know everything about you."

She'd smiled at this, but it was a moment before she'd said anything.  "Well then, I'd love to go to dinner with you on Wednesday, Johnston.  I can't wait."

"Good!" he'd declared, squeezing her hand which he'd still held in his.  "We'll celebrate you acing your test," he'd promised.

 Gail had shaken her head.  "I don't know about that."

"But I do," Johnston had assured her.  "Now, can I give you a lift home – to the hall?"

"It's only two blocks away," she'd argued, "I can walk."

"Yeah.  But we do it my way, we get to spend five more minutes together," he'd suggested.  "Besides, this way I'll know where to pick you up on Wednesday."

* * *

"I know he's proud of me," Gail had said.  "I want him to be proud of me.  Always."

"Of course, he is," Susannah had declared.  "Besides, he's going back to the Army.  What do they want you to do while he's gone?  Just sit around at home?"

"I don't really have a home to sit around," Gail had admitted.  They had planned a wedding in eight days; there had been no opportunity to make many – any, really – plans beyond that.  "I'm still going to be living in the nurses' dorm."

"Then you really hafta stay in nursing school," Susannah had advised, earning a confirmatory nod from Gail.  She'd waited a beat before repeating, "I'm gonna go back out.  Face the old biddies.  And you should come with me."

"I should?" Gail had asked, clearly taken aback over the invitation.  "Why?"

"Because, if you and I can like each other, then maybe Betsy will realize she can like you, too," Susannah had declared. 

"I do like you, Susannah," Gail had assured her.  "I always did."   

"Yeah, yeah," the other woman had acknowledged, waving off the sentimental turn of the conversation.  "I like you, too.  Not as much as Johnny – Johnston! – likes you," she'd teased.  "But I still like you.  Now c'mon!"

Laughing softly, Gail had trailed the other woman out of the restroom.  Just before they had entered the social hall, Susannah had stopped Gail so she could thread her arm through her new friend's.  Together, the two had stepped through the door into the social hall.  Immediately, conversations had begun to halt in every corner of the room.  Susannah, though, had ignored all this, leading Gail about a third of the way across the space to join a nicely dressed couple who had been standing with Pastor Thompson.  "Mama, Daddy, Pastor," Susannah had greeted the trio breezily.  "I want you to meet Gail Green.  Johnston's wife." 

* * *

"Sweetie," Johnston repeated for the third time, finally catching his wife's eye.  "Where'd you go to?" he inquired.  "You were a million miles away."

"Sorry.  And not that far.  Just forty years back, give or take," she explained, smiling at him.  "I was thinking about our honeymoon – the first one – and the improbability of my first friend in Jericho being Susannah.  Besides you I mean."

"I have it on good authority – yours – that we were never just friends," he reminded.

"We were never 'mere friends'," his wife corrected gently.  "It's basically the same thing, but slightly more poetic."

"And we must be poetic," Johnston nodded, grinning at her.

"We must," Gail agreed, returning the smile.  "And it's also high time we have Susannah and Paul over for dinner.  It's been a year at least."

"Let's wait a coupl'a weeks," he suggested.  "Today's Heather's birthday, next week's Eric's and April's anniversary, the week after is Bridget's birthday—"

"And Susie's."

"And Susie's," Johnston agreed.  For more than thirty years they'd had a tradition of joining Bridget and her husband, Wayne, in Rogue River for Sunday dinner on whichever weekend – before or after – was closer to Bridget's actual birthday.  And Johnston too, had his own tradition of visiting his sister's grave at some point on her birthday.  Gail almost never went with him – once to help him "introduce" the boys to their aunt when they had been five months old, and then two years previously after his father had died, leaving him as the only one left to mark the day – but she always protected his schedule every June twentieth to ensure he had the time for his cemetery visit.

"That's a lot goin' on," he continued, "And I still want to get one more round of breedin' in out at the ranch.  Maybe two."

"Maybe after the fourth, then," she offered, recalling, "Their anniversary is sometime this month, too – might even be next week." 

Susannah Lawson had married Paul Tway while Gail and Johnston had been living at Fort Benning, Georgia while he'd finished out his Army enlistment.  They'd had to decline the invitation to the wedding, but they had both been happy for the couple.  And when they'd ended up in Jericho for two weeks in August between the Army and the University of Kansas, Gail had insisted that they take the newlyweds to dinner.  After their orders had been placed, Gail and Susannah had stepped away from the table to "powder their noses" and for a quick confab in the ladies' room.  Gail had asked her friend if Paul was sufficiently besotted with her, and Susannah had laughed and said, "He's at least as bad as Johnny – Johnston is with you.  Worse, maybe.  If that's even possible."

"And Lucy's birthday is coming up as well," Gail told her husband.  "I remember when we were co-chairing the athletics boosters committee, it was one of the boys' birthdays – Brian's or Tim's, probably," she guessed.  The Tways had four boys, but Paul Junior, like his sister, Lucy, had graduated high school before the two women had taken on leadership of the committee.  "Actually, it could have been Keith," she realized.  The Tways' youngest child had started Kindergarten the year Gail had recruited Susannah for the athletic boosters.

"But I remember Susannah saying something about how she'd spent the entirety of her first wedding anniversary in labor with Lucy," Gail continued.  "I'd known that she'd been born around their anniversary, but not that it was exactly three hundred sixty-six days after her parents' wedding," she explained.

Gail and Johnston had spent two weeks of the summer break between their freshman and sophomore years of college – all the time she had been able to take off from her job at Lawrence Memorial Hospital – in Jericho, this time opting to be there over the Fourth of July.  They'd attended the town's annual picnic and, early in the day, had run into the proud parents, who'd been more than eager to show off their baby, Susannah, insisting on having Gail hold her infant daughter.  She could still recall the feeling of having month-old Lucy Tway in her arms, and then how Susannah – spotting the longing look Gail had tried to hide – had whispered, "Don't look so worried.  It'll be your turn soon enough."

"So, Lucy Tway is a honeymoon baby?"

"Well, she's Lucy Franklin now," Gail reminded her husband.  "Has been for a decade at least.  Her oldest will be in Heather's class next year, if you can believe that."

"That's not possible," he chuckled, "Lucy should still be in pigtails, leading a parade of little brothers 'round the back yard." 

"Eric and Jake, too," she offered.  "Whenever we all got together.  She just took charge of all the boys."

"That she did," he agreed.  "Time sure flies."

"It does," she confirmed.  "Now Lucy's got three little girls of her own to parade around."

Johnston nodded.  He knew these things in general.  As mayor – as a politician, as much as he hated that label – it was to his advantage to keep track of his constituents, but his wife had always been the one who remembered these types of details – the small but important ones.     

"The old biddies at church wouldn't have called Lucy a honeymoon baby," Gail said.  "And since I'm now one of the old biddies, I think we should just retire the whole concept." 

"You're not an old biddy," her husband contradicted.  "And you never will be, as far as I'm concerned.  A grandma, yes.  Old biddy, no."

"Not a grandmother – not grandparents – not yet.  And I don't want to jinx it," she admitted with a self-conscious laugh.  "Which – I know – is crazy."

"Well then, what did Heather tell us all to do?" Johnston inquired rhetorically, rapping his knuckles on the table.  "Knock on wood.  That'll ward off any jinx," he teased.

"Probably will," Gail sighed, following suit.  "I hope so anyway."  They both fell silent, and Johnston even considered collecting their dishes to begin washing up, but then she started again.  "The Army notified me when you were injured.  In Vietnam.  They notified me, and then I realized that they hadn't notified your parents. It was … surprising," she decided.  "Even a bit of a shock."

"You're my wife," Johnston reminded quietly.  "That made you my next of kin.  Of course, they notified you."

"Yes, of course," she agreed.  "In my head, I knew that.  I was a nurse – I'd seen how these things worked in the hospital – in post op."  She had been a fully-fledged registered nurse by that point, having graduated her diploma program in June nineteen sixty-eight, while he hadn't been injured until that September.  "We always notify spouses in the hospital.  But usually there is other family there, and it was just such an odd thing – gave me something to concentrate on while I still hadn't known what was going on, really.  At least I knew that I had to let them know." 

He reached for her hand once more, cradling it in both of his.  "You've never told me that either."

"By the time I got to you, it was the last thing I wanted to talk about, Honey.  By then, it was unimportant," Gail insisted. "I just wanted to see you.  To hold you and kiss you, and make sure for myself that you were all right."

"And apparently get pregnant, too," her husband chuckled, before exhaling deeply.  "I dunno why that's so important to me," he confessed.  "I just don't know how I didn't know that."

"I didn't get pregnant, Johnston.  If I had, you would have known," she assured him, pulling her hand loose so she could wrap both of hers around his.   "And I didn't leave for Hawaii thinking that way.  I only wanted to get to you.  I was worried out of my mind … sick to my stomach, on tenterhooks for days – five days.  I don't think I have the words to tell you what that felt like.  And I'd talked to you, so I knew you were alive but—" 

"Sweetie—"

"I needed to see for myself that you were okay," Gail told him, catching his gaze.  Her eyes were bright, and she glared at him benignly, a signal that he correctly interpreted as 'shut up, please, and let me say my piece.'  "I needed to see you, to hold you and kiss you," she repeated, "But I thought you were going to be in the hospital, and I was going to be at the base hotel.  I had three magazines that I'd bought for myself at the airport – your dad encouraged me, said it was going to be a long flight – and I was going to read and re-read them and sit by your bedside and make sure those Army nurses took good care of my husband."

"I've no doubt, Mrs. Green.  Or should I say Nurse Green?"

"I did make sure that they knew I was both," she admitted.  "All they – the Army – had told me, all you had told me, was that you'd been injured in combat.  I didn't know what to expect.  You were unconscious for twelve hours before they even decided to evacuate you, and they didn't tell me you were injured until they had evacuated you.  I naturally assumed a head injury," she informed him, "But I didn't know what other injuries you might have.  I certainly didn't expect on my second day there for your doctor to offer to discharge you."

"I don't actually remember talkin' to you," Johnston confessed.  "But I still knew that you were comin'.  And I remember holdin' ont' that thought when everything else was still so fuzzy and outta place."

"Well, I'm glad you knew I was coming to see you at least.  Because that took some doing," she sighed, stroking her thumb over the back of his hand before finally withdrawing her own.  "I would have been rather put out if I'd shown up and you'd asked me why I came," she mock-scolded, wagging a finger at him.

"I was – I still am – grateful that I was a nurse," Gail declared finally after a long pause.  "Your doctor told me that he wouldn't normally let a patient in your condition out of the hospital," she explained.  "Certainly not that early.  But he also told me that his wedding anniversary had been two days before, and I guess that had put him in a romantic frame of mind.  He knew you'd been promoted to sergeant two weeks earlier – three by then – and that you were on your third tour.  He asked me how long we'd been married….  He put it all together," she shrugged.  "And he didn't have to, but I guess he wanted to do something nice for – well – for the nice young couple from Kansas."

"Not very Army," he observed, "But nice all the same.  And it was Hawaii.  I s'pose even an old, grizzled career Army doctor might fall under its spell."

"He was at least ten years younger than we are now," she reminded, "Fifteen, maybe."

"It was a long time ago," her husband countered.  "And sure, we're not young anymore, but we're still a couple, and at least you're still nice," he teased, "Always were.  Though not sure I ever qualified."

"You did – you do," Gail insisted.  "Even if you rather revel in being a curmudgeon."

"I don't remember anything about that doctor," he frowned.

"That's okay.  More than anything, you needed rest.  You needed time to decompress," she offered.  "And it took you a – a few days to get your sea legs back."

"Wrong branch, Sweetie," Johnston grumbled.

"I know.  But I don't actually know what it is that an infantryman has to 'get back'," Gail admitted.  "What you needed was time.  That's what Dr. Smith – Major Smith – told me.  That's what my training told me, even though I was never trained in combat medicine," she reminded.  "And the doctor figured you could take that time just as easily at the base hotel as you could in the hospital," she informed him, smiling as he caught her hand in his own, raising it to his lips so he could brush a kiss across her knuckles.  "He gave me instructions on what to monitor for and made me promise that I'd bring you to the clinic two days later."

"I don't remember all that—"

"We didn't discuss this in front of you, Johnston," she interrupted.  "It was important to let you rest.  We were – I was – trying to do my best to take care of you—"

"You did," he assured her.  "You always do."

"Honestly, three days later, you were practically fully recovered," she informed him.  "It was too fast for me.  I was afraid they'd send you back right away." 

"Prob'ly not," Johnston argued.  "Good way to get a soldier killed," he reminded, "And the Army had invested enough training in me by that point that givin' me an extra few days' of leave was in their best interests."

"Nothing morbid about that at all," she grumbled.  "But you remember the second half of that week, right?  What we did together?  The walks we took, the things we talked about?  We went to that luau, and that was your idea."

"I remember that," he confirmed, a grin twitching at his lips.  "And some other moments of note." 

Gail laughed.  "There was a reason I thought that I might get pregnant after all." 

"Yeah," he acknowledged absently, his grin faltering slightly.  "You said….  You said Dad took you to the airport.  Another thing I didn't know about."

"I'd never been to the airport before," she reminded, "No one in my family had.  I asked for your father's help – not for the first time," she sighed.  "That's not actually the interesting part.  The part you're not going to believe is that it was your mother who told him to do whatever he had to do to help me."

"That is rather unbelievable," Johnston agreed, looking more than a little stunned at this news.

"And that is a very long story that we don't have time for now," Gail declared, starting to climb to her feet.  "Because I really do need to go get ready." 

He checked his watch.  It was four twenty, and he frowned, realizing that this time he had to let her go.  "I guess so," he conceded.

"Honey, Jake was afraid that Heather would get takeout and eat alone tonight.  He actually threatened me with the idea that she'd split her birthday dinner with Baron," she chuckled.  "But April and I had already decided that we weren't going to let that happen."

Johnston nodded.  They had had this discussion almost three weeks earlier.  Gail had reminded him that Heather's birthday was coming up and had informed him of the plans she and April were making. 

"We'll have a family dinner on Sunday of course," she'd told him, "And then April and I are going to take her out on Tuesday night.  You're not invited to that," she'd added, her expression clouding over for just a second.  "We think a 'girls' night out' is better.  Heather loves you, but it might be a little much for her to celebrate her actual birthday without her husband, and her father- and brother-in-law sitting in in his stead."

"Sweetie, I think you're right.  And that's a good idea," he'd assured her.  "I'll be fine, left to my own devices for one night."

"No, you need to go," Johnston sighed.  "I do hafta share you with the kids after all."

She leaned over him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.  "That's right, you do.  And I'll be home early, Johnston.  Jake's calling her again after dinner.  She's going to want to eat and then head right home."

"But you'll tell me, right?" he requested, capturing her hand before she could move away.

"Tell you?" she repeated.

"The very long story that we don't have time for now?  You'll tell me?  I suddenly feel like I don't know an important chunk of my own history," he grumbled.

Gail nodded.  Sometimes she felt like she knew her husband better than she knew herself, and if there was one thing that would discomfit him, it was a hole in what he knew about himself – about them.  "I don't think it's as bad as all that, Honey," she argued, "But I'll tell you all about it, if you really want me to."

"I do.  And I wasn't kiddin' about tomorrow night.  Candlelight dinner.  Bottle of wine.  The whole nine yards.  And the whole story."

"The whole story, huh?  Well then, it's a date."

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

To be continued in Different Circumstances Interludes: Gail and Johnston, Part 3.  Eventually (after I finish up writing in a few other pockets of this universe).

I am continuing to write this story (both the main Different Circumstances storyline and these Interludes), and I have a pretty good outline to get me through the rest of season one and beyond.  But again, I don't know how fast that will be or if there is still any interest in this story.  If there is, and you want me to know that the best way to do so (unless you are a registered user of this site and want to leave a review) is to email me directly at: marzeedoats @ gmail dot com (please format as an email address – I am trying to avoid getting additional junk mail).  I promise I will only use this information as encouragement to write, and potentially to send you pdf copies of later chapters, if / when the site closes (would be late May 2024 at the earliest).  Contacting me directly is the best way to let me know if there is still interest in this story and you want to know (eventually) how it ends.

KUMC is the University of Kansas Medical Center (also referred to as KU Med), the main medical campus for the University of Kansas.  KUMC houses the university's schools of medicine, nursing, and health professions, with the primary health science campus in Kansas City, Kansas (the smaller of the two cities named Kansas City, the other being Kansas City, MO, to the east over the state line in Missouri).  Other campuses are located in Wichita and Salina, Kansas, and are connected with the University of Kansas Health System. 

In the Different Circumstances universe, April was an undergraduate at the University of Kansas at Lawrence (as were Johnston and Gail) and went to medical school at KUMC, both on the main campus in Kansas City, KS and on the satellite campus in Wichita.  Naturally, as April considers going to a fertility specialist, she is interested in a doctor associated with her alma mater.

The medical campus in Kansas City is approximately forty miles from the university's flagship campus in Lawrence.

(In the Different Circumstances universe, Eric is a graduate of The University of Kansas School of Law at Lawrence, having earned a J.D., and Heather is a graduate of The University of Kansas School of Education and Human Sciences at Lawrence, having earned a M.S.E. in Educational Administration.)

Lawrence Memorial Hospital is a real hospital in Lawrence, KS, though it doesn't appear to have a strong affiliation with the University of Kansas.  But I needed a place to allow Gail to continue her nursing career, so that is where I put her for the years she and Johnston lived in Lawrence.

Pecos Bill is a fictional cowboy and folk hero in stories set during American westward expansion into the Southwest of Texas, New Mexico, Southern California, and Arizona. These narratives were invented as short stories in a book by Tex O'Reilly in the early 20th century and are an example of American folklore. Pecos Bill was a late addition to the "big man" idea of characters, such as Paul Bunyan. The first known stories of Pecos Bill were published in magazines, and later gathered together as a collection in the book Saga of Pecos Bill. 

The Rats of NIMH are characters from the book Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH by Robert C. O'Brien (no relation to the Rogue River O'Briens).  Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH won the Newbery Medal in 1972.  The novel centers around a colony of escaped lab rats–the rats of NIMH–who live in a technologically sophisticated and literate society mimicking that of humans. They come to the aid of Mrs. Frisby, a widowed field mouse who seeks to protect her children and home from destruction by a farmer’s plow.

In the Different Circumstances universe, Emily Sullivan thought she might be pregnant over Thanksgiving Weekend 1990.  In Different Circumstances Part 5C, when Johnston thinks about the things for which he has been ashamed of Jake, the first thing that comes to mind for him is "the Emily Sullivan pregnancy scare".  Then, in Different Circumstances Part 6D, after Heather tells Jake that she told Emily that she's pregnant, Jake also recalls that weekend (naming it as having happened over Thanksgiving), and how as a teenager, he put all the blame on Emily.  While we haven't yet seen when Jake first tells Heather about this incident from his past (I do know exactly when and how that happens, never fear!), Heather informs Emily that she's known about it for years when Emily brings it up (along with the fact that Jake had asked her to marry him) in Bailey's while she is getting sloshed with Kenchy on the day of her planned wedding to Roger (see Different Circumstances Part 9B).  Lastly, in Different Circumstances Interludes: Long Distance Relationship, Part 4, Jake thinks about how Heather knows all the lowlights of his teenage years, including his pregnancy scare with Emily.  So, this isn't the first or last time we will hear about this, but we do now know that Gail and Johnston were both hoping that it wouldn't happen – and that it didn't.

Gail mentions a car accident that Heather was in.  You haven't missed anything – it hasn't happened yet in Different Circumstances (proper).  I will just say that the full story is coming soon, and it is important to the overall Different Circumstances story.  Patience, please!  And the good news is, you can rest assured that her life is never really in danger because Heather is alive and well in both the Interludes and the post-bombs Different Circumstances universe.  As a bonus, in this universe, she also doesn't disappear for half or more of the story. 😊

O. Henry was the pen name of American author William Sydney Porter.  He wrote mainly short stories, include the story "The Gift of the Magi" which is the story Johnston is alluding to when he says that Jake and Heather are like an O. Henry story.

When Johnston and Gail discuss what Jake might do for employment if he leaves the DEA – the ranch or the aviation company – they are alluding to the terms of EJ Green's will as set out in Different Circumstances, Part 14G.  One of the terms is that Jake has five years to decide if he would like to run the ranch or the aviation company, or they will both be sold (Eric does get a crack at them if Jake turns them down).  In this story, Johnston says that Jake "still has to state his intention", which (in Different Circumstances, Part 15D) Eric tells April (she already knew) Jake has finally done.  Gail is right – Jake went for (and always planned to take over) the ranch.

I will not make notes on everything I learned when I researched the history of nurses' training in the United States, but suffice to say, at the time Gail trained as a nurse, there were both hospital-based programs (usually 3 years in duration) that granted diplomas, as well as college/academic based programs (2 or 4 years in duration) that granted degrees.  In this universe, Gail is the first in her family to pursue any form of higher education, and as she reminds Johnston, training to be a nurse at the local hospital in her hometown was the one option she and her parents could agree on. 

Nightingale Hall is the residence hall for unmarried nurses and nursing students at Fillmore County Hospital.  Both are fictional but based in general facts.  Nightingale Hall is named, naturally, after Florence Nightingale, who was an English social reformer, statistician, and the founder of modern nursing.  Nightingale came to prominence while serving as a manager and trainer of nurses during the Crimean War, in which she organized care for wounded soldiers at Constantinople.  She significantly reduced death rates by improving hygiene and living standards.

When Gail says that she used to be able to read Dante in Italian, she was referring to the work of the Italian writer and poet Dante Alighieri.  His Divine Comedy is widely considered one of the most important poems of the Middle Ages and the greatest literary work in the Italian language.

Barstow, CA is in the middle of the Mojave Desert and is about two and a half hours from Las Vegas, NV.  In the Different Circumstances universe, you can assume that early in Jake's DEA career he spent some time in or around Barstow.  When Gail mentions Johnston and Columbus, she is referring to Columbus, GA, a city close to Fort Benning Georgia where Johnston trained as an Army Ranger.

Holiday Inn is an American chain of hotels.  The brand was founded in 1952 and is a reference to the 1942 musical movie of the same name.  The number of hotels in the chain grew quickly from 100 in 1958 to 500 in 1964 to 1,000 in 1968.  It might be a stretch, but since Rogue River is a fictional town anyway, I figured that a Holiday Inn could have gone in there in about 1966.

Wallace Sherman is first mentioned in Different Circumstances Part 12C.  He is a crony of EJ's, and his daughter will grow up to be Miranda Stevens, mother of Skylar (at least in the DC universe).   The Sherman family, including 9-year-old Miranda, are the first people the newlyweds encountered when they arrived in Jericho for church.  And the George Richmond who served as Johnston's best man is in fact the future father of Stanley and Bonnie.

Johnston's childhood horse, Ajax, was clearly named by EJ during his Shakespearean naming phase.  Ajax (also from Greek mythology) is the name of a character in Shakespeare's play, Troilus and Cressida.  He is a Grecian prince.  (The character, not the horse.)