Title: The Story
Rating: PG
Warnings: Very (very) mild swearing, nudity (lol)
Characters/Pairings: Hank/Sam, Sheridan/Julian/Antonio, Gwen-Ivy-Crane daughters-Eve-Russell girls-Charity, Noah/Theresa, Beth-Evan-Grace-Luis
Word Count: 5,785
Summary (for chapter): Her memories of this place were vague, far-away, like something of a half-forgotten dream.

Chapter 2

It's Been Awhile

On Hank Bennett's third day back in town, he walked out of his bathroom, naked as the day he was born, toweling his hair dry, and came face to face with his big brother for the first time in over a year. Suffice it to say, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a throat cleared and a familiar voice spoke with just a little too much humor for Hank's liking.

"Nice to see you again, Little Brother." Sam Bennett's eyes were vivid and blue and twinkling with suppressed laughter.

Deciding to hell with dignity (big brother had seen it all before), Hank calmly continued to tousle his hair and padded over to the closet where he'd only just arranged what little clothing he'd brought with him this trip home the night before. "Getting a little rusty aren't you, Sam? Took you three days this time." Pulling a plain white cotton tee over his head, Hank paid little attention to his brother as he finished dressing, only turning to face him again when his brown eyes couldn't locate his shoes. Finding them at the foot of the bed where he'd toed them off the night before, conveniently at his brother's feet, he regarded Sam's now guarded expression and sighed more heavily than he'd meant to.

"I thought I'd give you a chance to come to me first."

Hank closed his eyes, uncomfortable with the judgment lacing such a simple collection of words. When he opened his eyes again, he forced a grim, apologetic smile in Sam's direction. I'm sorry seemed to be called for, but the phrase lodged in his uncooperative throat, and he could only shrug. "I left you a pretty damn big clue, checking into Grace's inn." When Sam didn't answer, Hank tried a different tactic, asking a question he genuinely wanted the answer to, "Where is my sister-in-law, by the way? Haven't seen her around." This time he was able to read the emotion in those blue eyes easily: worry.

"Grace isn't feeling well," Sam answered, bending at the waist to snag Hank's shoes in hand before rising from the mattress. "I had to threaten her with calling Eve, but I was finally able to convince her to take a few days rest for herself."

"Stubborn woman," Hank said admiringly. Her apparent willingness to try any recipe out aside, the woman his brother had chosen to love, honor, and cherish for the rest of his days on earth inspired authentic affection in him. He took the shoes from Sam's offered hand, claiming the vacated seat from the foot of the bed as his own. Looking up at Sam a moment later, he rest his hands upon his knees, his brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. "If it wasn't Grace, who ratted me out?"

Sam's lips quirked. "Beth."

Hank couldn't help but smile himself and mutter under his breath, "Why am I not surprised?"

"She's a good friend doing what good friends do."

"She's one of the best," Hank readily agreed. "For what it's worth," he said, when they had left his small room behind with its antiques and fading flowered wallpaper and stood in the shading protection of the inn's wraparound porch side by side, "I was going to call. Today, as a matter of fact."

"Today?" Sam lifted a skeptical brow.

"Today," Hank insisted. "To see if you wanted to grab some breakfast." Glancing down at the watch on his wrist, he winced. "Well, lunch now. But I'm sure you're busy so I'll just get going." He let his eyes linger meaningfully on the distinctively marked Harmony patrol car blocking his own rusted rental before he started down the steps. He stifled a groan when Sam's arm shot out.

"Not so fast."

Feeling oddly like a mischievous school boy awaiting punishment from his stern but loving dad, Hank waited for the other shoe to drop, having known from the moment Sam had seen him in his birthday suit glory that he wasn't going to get off so easy as a hi, where have you been, see you around.

Hands on his hips, Sam didn't do anything to immediately alleviate his kid brother's anxiety. On the contrary, he rather enjoyed watching him squirm. After what he had put his family through, no word or sight of him for months on end, it was the least he deserved. Still, he was his little brother, and he was home for the first time in many long months. Softening enough to smile, Sam extended an invitation. "I was thinking—if Grace feels up to it—you could meet us at The Shack for a little dinner, tell us what you've been up to this past year."

"Voluntarily or through interrogation?" Hank quipped. Before Sam could accuse him of going too far with his joke, he hurried to accept, with a wink, of course, "Who am I to turn down a free meal?"

Sam responded by rolling his eyes and clearing the steps, two at a time, to his car. "Seven sound okay to you?"

"Seven sounds great," Hank tossed back. "Sure I can stay out of trouble that long?"

Taking in his affable grin and the devilish twinkle in his eyes, Sam shook his head, taking a seat behind the wheel. Still the same old Hank. "Why don't you bring Beth and Evan? I'm sure Grace won't mind."

Not a bad idea, Sammy. Not a bad idea, Hank thought to himself, waving at his brother as he carefully backed out into the street. With that in mind, he pulled out his cell phone and dialed a number that no matter where his life took him he remembered by heart. Evan answered, in a voice too grown up to belong to the little boy he recalled cradling just hours after his birth. Taking a deep breath, Hank spoke, "Hey, kidlet. Put your mom on the phone."

"Maria said I'd find you out here."

Arms wrapped protectively around her middle, Sheridan Crane turned to face her brother, the supportive beam of the gazebo at her back. Despite a mighty effort, the smile on her face was wan, and she knew from the look on Julian's face that he could see right through it, straight to her misgivings. Turning back around, she surveyed the landscape that stretched in every direction she turned, the acres that made up what had been her home for the first ten years of her life, and looked for some familiarity, finding little. "It's so different than I remember," she finally whispered, resting her chin on her shoulder as she regarded her brother again, now shoulder to shoulder with her.

"It's been a long time," Julian responded, in a voice just as quiet. He lay his hand on the railing, awkwardly enfolding the smaller one that joined it mere seconds later in his own. "Things look like a lot different to a child. Bigger."

"Scarier," Sheridan murmured, dropping her head to study their hands. She didn't know why she had said that; her memories of this place were vague, far-away, like something of a half-forgotten dream. Hazy sensations, fleeting feelings were all she retained. She felt the magnitude of her brother's stare but ignored it, swallowing her emotions down when he began to speak again.

"You have nothing to fear here, Sheridan. Surely you know that."

Shoring up her resolve, Sheridan rewarded him with a smile, lovely and full of the love her brother had never been comfortable accepting from her. "I know."

Noting the bruised shadows under her troubled blue eyes, Julian had to wonder about her truthfulness, but he made a vow to himself not to let her have any reason to worry that he himself could prevent. "Yesterday was such a surprise. I didn't think you were coming until the wedding."

"I hope it was a good surprise." This time, Sheridan's eyes positively danced, and she squeezed his hand reassuringly in hers when Julian seemed at a loss for words. "It was Gwen's idea. Think of me as an early wedding present for Ethan."

"Thank God you didn't show up wearing a ridiculously large red bow," Julian shuddered, carefully disengaging their hands.

From lowered lashes, Sheridan laughed quietly at her brother's reaction. This was more like it, more like the brother she knew. She felt herself relax somewhat, the tension melting away from her shoulders until she felt brave enough to ask a question that had been plaguing her, ever since she and Ethan had passed the lonesome foreman's house on their way home the previous evening. "What happened to Pilar? What became of her children?"

"Oh, they're still around."

Whirling around at the sound of a new voice, Sheridan's mouth dropped open at her own obtuseness when faced again with the man from the airstrip. With the sunglasses gone and the smirk in place, the nagging feeling of familiarity she'd felt around him yesterday began to coalesce into coherency. The syllables felt foreign in her mouth, but as the puzzle pieces began to fall into place, she had to try them on for size. "Antonio? Is that really you?"

Antonio simply smiled while Julian did the honors of reintroducing them. The pretty little girl that he'd taken great delight in teasing had grown into a beautiful woman since the last time he'd seen her, on a dark and stormy night fifteen years ago.

"Mr. Lopez-Fitzgerald is still a trusted employee of mine."

"And your mother?" Sheridan questioned, taking a step closer, almost forgetting Julian's presence. "She's still…"

"Mama's still got her hands full," Antonio rushed to assure her, intuitively guessing at her unspoken worries. "Theresa's just graduated, got her head in the clouds, wanting to be a hotshot fashion designer. Miguel and Paloma are in high school."

Sheridan's blue eyes brightened. "So the baby…it was a girl?"

Antonio nodded, smiling wistfully at the thought of the little sister he didn't know as well as he should. That baby was almost grown. His eyes connected with Julian's briefly, and he read in the other man's expression the longing for the years lost to them. His gaze was drawn helplessly back to Sheridan's with the tentative touch of her hand on his forearm.

"And your other brother?"

Luis, Antonio thought, warring emotions for his brother competing for the upper hand—love, resentment, pride, anger, regret too painful to speak of. Fate had wrought a wicked hand, pitting them on opposite sides in many battles during their lives, but the bond of blood remained. Yet, Antonio struggled to voice an answer for her. It was Julian who satisfied Sheridan's curiosity, reminding them both of his presence with a droll and timely remark.

"Luis Lopez-Fitzgerald serves as one of Harmony's finest." When Sheridan's eyes widened, he added a rejoinder, "Don't believe me? I've got your nephew's parking ticket on my desk to prove it."

Fox was Ethan's opposite in almost every way, sometimes amusingly so, and while Sheridan didn't approve of his more blatant acts against authority, she believed him to be generally harmless, if not a bit of a challenge. Her lips pursed with the effort of holding back laughter but the attempt was futile when she noticed the reluctant humor in Antonio's own dark gaze. "Something tells me Luis is going to have his hands full this summer."

"I sincerely hope not," Julian groused.

The significant look exchanged between the two men went unnoticed by Sheridan.

"I should get going," Julian announced, "make sure my son doesn't successfully deplete his trust fund by noon, and leave you two to your reminiscing."

The pair watched him leave, and when only they remained, Sheridan regarded Antonio with a winsome smile. "He's right you know." She continued when Antonio merely raised a brow in response. "We have a lot to catch up on."

Harmony was a small town. It wasn't New York, and it certainly wasn't Paris; a fact Ivy Crane was made all the more aware of as she played the part of gracious hostess to her future daughter-in-law, giving her the grand tour as it were. They had already stopped at the quaint little coffee shop (she readily admitted all Crane women were less bitchy with a little caffeine coursing through their veins), admired the rustic charm of the town's sole inn, and looked at each other with varying degrees of horror and amusement when they happened upon an establishment appropriately named The Shack—those were the highlights of the tour thus far—when morbid curiosity (what else could it have been, really?) had prompted Pretty to suggest window shopping. How window shopping had evolved into actual shopping Ivy couldn't begin to explain. Neither could she rationalize whatever had possessed her to set foot in her current location, a consignment shop of all places!

"Excuse me. Is there anything in particular you were looking for?"

Barely managing to disguise her distaste, Ivy looked up, searching for the owner of the saccharine voice and finding her in the form of a slender blond teen wearing a pleasant smile. She suppressed a grimace at the child's peasant blouse and long, dreadfully out of fashion skirt (it accounted for so much) and started to answer, but Gwen beat her to the punch.

"We're just having a look around."

"Well, if you need anything, just let me know," the girl answered sweetly, clasping her hands. "I'm Charity."

"I'm Gwen," Gwen introduced herself, smiling her thanks. "We'll be sure to call on you if we need anything."

"Well," Ivy expelled a breath when the girl had gone, leaving them alone. "You handled that much better than I would have, I'm afraid." Giving their surroundings another quick, cursory glance, she offered Gwen an apologetic smile. "I know this isn't quite what you're accustomed to. Harmony is abysmally small. Are you certain you and Ethan want to have your wedding here?"

A smile lifted the corners of Gwen's mouth, and she thoughtfully but truthfully answered Ivy's question, "I admit I had my misgivings at first. But Ethan likes to think of this wedding as a homecoming of sorts, a way to bring the family together again, and I wouldn't take that away from him for the world." Ivy's sudden embrace initially catching her off-guard, Gwen gradually relaxed, hugging the older woman back.

"Thank you," Ivy murmured, "for caring so much about my son."

"I'm the lucky one," Gwen protested when Ivy released her. "Your son is such a kind man, a great friend, and I love him very much."

"Oh please," Fancy joined them, groaning and fitting her arms across her middle, "as if my brother is God's gift to women." Looking at Ivy beseechingly, Fancy whined, "Mother, I can't take much more of this insufferable place."

Ivy's response was barely audible but just as impassioned. "Neither can I, Darling." More loudly, she instructed, "Find your sister. Tell her we're leaving." To Gwen, she smiled, "This town's only saving grace is The Seascape. I thought we might enjoy a bit of lunch before we leave."

"The Seascape?" Gwen asked curiously. "But…"

"We're miles from any ocean," Ivy answered her unasked question. "It's just one of the many oddities of Harmony, Darling. It's been told that the founders of this town were transplanted from New England, though why they didn't just return home instead of trying to make this place into something it could never be, it's hard to fathom."

Fancy returned with Pretty in tow, the latter clutching a bag in her hands.

"Pretty, you can't possibly be serious," Ivy chastised. "You have enough bags, designer bags, without buying one at a second-hand shop," she hissed.

"Don't be such a snob, Mother," Pretty pouted. "It's brand-new, made by a local Harmony designer."

Ivy looked at the bag with new eyes but was only minimally impressed. The cutesy, funky design was too juvenile for her tastes. "Pretty, I don't think…" She was interrupted by Charity's return, along with a woman Ivy had successfully avoided for much of her marriage to Julian, Eve Russell, and two young girls she could only assume were the good doctor's daughters.

"Those bags are selling really well," Charity stated. "You're holding the last one."

"May I see?" Gwen held out her hand. Inspecting it, she found a small labeled stitched to the inside, one that read, "Fate Creations, by TLF." She handed the bag back to Pretty. "I think it's adorable."

"Who's TLF?" Fancy queried. And why do those initials strike such a strong chord of familiarity, she wondered to herself. Where could she have possibly heard of Fate Creations?

"TLF is Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald, my best friend," the older girl answered softly, appearing uncomfortable with having everyone's undivided attention focused on her.

"Lopez-Fitzgerald," Pretty repeated the name, her brow furrowing in confusion as she looked from the girl to her own mother and back again. "Where have I heard that name before?"

"Pretty," Ivy murmured lowly.

Eve Russell finally broke her silence, addressing Ivy directly. "I think it's best they hear it from you."

Ivy blanched, and it didn't escape Gwen's notice how Fancy stepped protectively close to her younger sister when Pretty repeated her question, adding an additional entreaty.

"Hear what, Mother?"

Taking a deep breath, Ivy told the girls, "The Lopez-Fitzgeralds, Theresa's parents, worked for the Cranes for many years."

"I don't understand," Pretty shook her head slowly, her brown eyes growing troubled as they gazed upon her mother's pale face then down to her fingers, clenched white-knuckled around her purse strap. "They used to work for us. Now they don't. It happens all the time." Turning to face Fancy and Gwen, she tried to joke, "If they only knew how many nannies we went through, right Fancy? Mother, it isn't a big deal." She smiled encouragingly at her mother, but her mother wouldn't meet her eyes. "Mother?"

Withdrawing her wallet, Ivy presented Pretty with a credit card and instructed, "Go pay for the purse."

"But…" Pretty glared at her older sister when Fancy none-too-gently pushed her forward. The two girls followed Charity to the back of the store to take care of their purchase.

"Whitney, Simone," Eve prompted her daughters to follow their example, leaving her alone with Ivy and Gwen, "I'll be right there."

Gwen cleared her throat awkwardly. "I think I'll step out, get some air."

"Absolutely, Darling," Ivy's reassuring smile was forced. "We won't be long." Only when she was sure they were alone did she drop all false pretenses, regarding Eve with eyes as cool and flinty as steel. "I would think you, of all people, would want to leave the past well enough alone." Her words produced a pleasing flinch.

Noticing her daughters lingering nearby uncertainly, Eve couldn't muster a response; she merely stared at Ivy with tortured eyes as the other woman turned to go, heels clicking behind her until she paused, issuing a warning.

"Just a reminder…if you ever try something like this again," Ivy avowed, "you're in this, just as deep as I am."

The first step to winning Fancy back is getting a job. You want to meet her family? Get a job like a responsible adult.

Pulling at the constricting tie around his neck, Noah cursed his little sister and her so-called wisdom, wondering not for the first time, why he was even following her advice. She didn't have a boyfriend. She had one year of high school left, a fact which she'd gleefully reminded him of several times in the past two days, and she'd never even dated a guy seriously. Reese Durkee didn't count—that relationship was completely one-sided. And Miguel—well, as far as Noah could tell, Miguel was totally blind to the fact that his good pal Kay was actually a girl. All of which begged the question: why was he listening to her again? Tugging at his tie one more time, he shifted miserably in the uncomfortable plastic chair he'd been seated in for the last half hour (you'd think a swanky, upscale place like The Seascape could afford better) and leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes.

"Noah? Noah Bennett? Is that really you?"

Noah smiled without opening his eyes. He'd know that voice and that infectious excitement anywhere. It could only be one person. "Please don't tell me you're the competition." He cracked one silver blue eye open, grinning as she came fully into his field of vision, barely over five feet tall with a mega-wattage smile. "You're way prettier than me. I might as well quit while I'm ahead."

Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald giggled, sliding into the seat opposite him, with her purse and resume in hand. "Paloma told me you were home."

"Let me guess," Noah began, knowing exactly how Paloma had come across the information. Between the two of them, his sisters run a regular grapevine in Harmony. "Jess told her."

"That's what sisters are for," Theresa said by way of answer. "Besides, she saw you at the Book Café."

"Yeah," Noah agreed with a wry smile. Settling more comfortably in his chair (at least to the extent he was able to), he queried, "What gives? I thought you'd be on the first plane out of here to New York once you graduated. That was the plan, wasn't it?"

"There's a little thing called money. You might have heard of it," Theresa's large brown eyes twinkled at him. "I don't have a lot of it."

"In case you haven't figured it out, I don't either," Noah told her, admiring her good humor about the situation. "Else I wouldn't be here."

"This is my third interview today," Theresa expelled a weary sigh, combing her fingers through her mane of mahogany hair. "The seventh in the last two days. I always thought it'd be easy, but it isn't. At this rate, I'm never going to make enough money to cover my room, forget extras like food."

Noah felt guilty then. His parents weren't rich, hardly. But they made a comfortable living, more than adequate to take care of him and his sisters. He'd never wanted for anything. Hell, even college had been simple thus far for him, paid for with scholarship money. Any jobs he'd taken had been to have a little extra spending money, not to have enough money to simply survive and achieve his dreams. "But you did get a scholarship?"

"Tuition only," Theresa squeezed her fingers together. "And that plane to New York? Will probably be a bus."

"I don't much like flying anyway," Noah shrugged. "Buses aren't that bad, took one home this time. Just don't sit in the back," he advised, thankful when his subtle warning wrangled another smile from her. He looked at her uneasily when she continued to smile at him, the sparkle in those luminous eyes returning ten-fold. Groaning, he scrubbed a hand over his face. "What else did my busybody little sister tell Paloma?"

"Nothing," Theresa hedged. Then quickly, under her breath, "Only that you had a girlfriend." Practically giddy, she scooted forward in her chair, her voice almost a whisper, "I knew those earrings weren't for your mother."

"Had being the operative word," Noah sighed, reminded anew of Fancy and the knot that had been in his belly since their argument not even a week ago. "She doesn't want anything to do with me right now."

"Oh, Noah," Theresa's bright eyes dimmed, and she placed a consoling hand on top of his own, resting on his knee. "I'm so sorry. What happened?"

Shaking his head slightly, still in disbelief, Noah spilled his guts to her, without really knowing why. Maybe it was her kind words, her gentle touch, knowing she wouldn't use anything he said against him, or maybe he just needed another woman's perspective beside that of his kid sister. "Tell me if I'm wrong here. I thought most girls took it as a good sign if the guy they were with asked to meet the family."

Theresa nodded, "If they're really into the guy."

"She was," Noah said. "At least I thought she was."

"She has to be," Theresa encouraged him. "You're…Noah."

Noah grinned. "And that's a good thing?"

"That's a very good thing," Theresa promised him. On the chair beside her, a muffled song started to play, and digging through her cluttered purse to locate her phone, she felt the need to defend her choice in ring-tone when Noah started chuckling softly, "Sometimes I need the inspiration."

"I didn't say anything," Noah fought to keep a straight face, finally quieting down when Theresa found her phone, answering it and growing more excited with each passing second until the call was over and she had disconnected. "I take it you just won the lottery," Noah guessed.

"Close," Theresa beamed at him. "I got a job. One of the girls at The Shack just quit, leaving them even more short-handed than before. I start tonight."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Noah asked. "Get going or you'll be late." He stood up, helping her gather her things, and cupped her elbow in his hand when she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "I know people usually say break a leg in this situation, but as I remember it, you weren't exactly Ms. Graceful in school," he teased as she pulled back, "so whatever you do, don't do that."

Theresa rolled her eyes at him but stood on tiptoe to kiss his other cheek, whispering into his ear. "She'll come around."

"Theresa?" Noah called, just before she was out of earshot.

Theresa looked at him expectantly, knowing something was up by the smirk that painted his lips and the wicked twinkle in his eyes.

"Don't stop believing."

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Beth fretted, fingering the tiny coffee stain bordering the hem of her shirt and the right pocket of her jeans. "My clothes are stained, I'm not positive but I think my make-up's completely gone now, and my hair is an absolute mess. Forget Ev's."

"Mom," Evan protested when his mother tried to tame his unruly hair. The stubborn black strands refused to cooperate, and the result left the child looking like he had just crawled out of bed, rumpled practice clothes and all. The only thing missing was the baseball glove, but his mom had managed to win that victory, promising Evan she'd take him to the carnival expected to be in town at the end of the month.

"C'mere," Beth beckoned, running a finger underneath the collar of her son's Nike tee-shirt. "You have a ring of dirt around your neck. I thought you said you washed up. Hank," she accused. "You said he washed up."

Hank winced at her expression. "Practice ran a little bit late so we only had time to wash the important bits, like the hands and face."

Beth stopped in her tracks, giving him a look that could kill.

"Relax," Hank poured on the charm. "You look as pretty as ever." When that softened her up, he couldn't resist adding, "It's not like the lighting in The Shack is the best or anything."

"And just like that," Beth remarked dryly, "the brownie points are gone."

"You really should think before you talk, Uncle Hank," Evan told him helpfully.

"Wise guy," Hank tugged playfully at the boy's earlobe, causing him to giggle and squirm away from him, folding into his mother's side for a brief moment, before he remembered his age (nine year olds acted much more mature) and pulled away, straightening and walking tall. "Everybody ready?" he asked, when they found themselves in front of the restaurant with two minutes to spare.

Beth smirked at him, raising a brow in challenge and finally prompting him, "Be a gentleman, Hank. Open the door."

Hank was a gentleman, opening the door and pulling out Beth's seat when they found themselves at the table with Sam and Grace and someone totally unexpected: Luis. "Luis, Buddy," Hank pulled the other man into a brotherly hug, "long time no see." Glancing down at his older brother, he said, "You still manage to surprise me sometimes, Sammy." Leaning down to kiss Grace's cool cheek, his brown eyes softened with unspoken affection before he whispered, softly so only Grace could hear, "Good to see you're feeling better."

"Sit down, Little Brother," Sam ordered good-naturedly, "and quit hitting on my wife."

Hank did as requested, eyes flitting to Beth when he noticed Evan had virtually glued himself to Luis's side. When Beth smiled at him, Hank relaxed enough to tease his brother, "One of these days, Sammy, Grace is going to wise up and leave you for me."

Grace laughed softly, twin spots of color appearing on her fair skin just above her cheeks when Hank winked at her.

The jokes continued, and gradually, everyone, including Luis, loosened up. At least until their waitress appeared to ask their orders, shadowed by none other than Theresa.

Theresa offered them a brief, nervous smile, then she launched into a practiced, rote speech about the evening's specials. Her hands shook slightly, but by the time she'd spoken to Evan and taken down his order, she'd calmed down considerably, enough to offer them a bonafide Theresa Lopez-Fitzgerald smile. "I'll be right back with your drinks."

"I didn't know Theresa was working here," Grace remarked.

"Neither did I," Luis replied.

Beside Luis, Evan toyed with his linen napkin, unrolling it and making his silverware clatter across the table. When his fork hit the floor and the boy's dark head disappeared momentarily beneath the table, Beth lightly scolded him.

"Evan."

"Sorry," Evan mumbled, looking contrite for about two seconds before he was at it again, making Hank and the rest of the adults, save for Luis, smile.

It seemed his good buddy Luis was preoccupied, Hank decided. He knew how involved Luis had always been (and still was currently by the looks of it) in his younger brother's and sisters' lives, and he knew how difficult it was for him to let go, allowing them to make decisions independently without his input. By way of reassuring his friend, Hank pointed out one of the finer points of being employed at The Shack. "It sure beats The Chicken Hut," he grinned, referencing the fast food mecca for poultry lovers in Harmony, the first establishment to cut him an official check back when he was a teen. What little had been left after taxes had been spent on the gas to take Beth on a disastrous non-date to the drive-in theater the next town over. She and Luis had been on a break—his family had always been able to count on Luis—and Hank could think of no one else he more wanted to treat or impress. Instead, what ensued that night was a comedy of errors neither would soon forget, a lesson of a lifetime learned—thou shalt not make a move on thy best friend's girl. Hank's grin widened when Beth giggled into her napkin. "Chicken just hasn't been the same since." Sam and Grace, and even Luis to an extent, looked amused, but none of them really got the private joke, and Hank abandoned the thread for another one. "Bigger tippers here."

"Tip her for the job she does," Luis warned, "not for who she is."

Hank knew his friend's integrity dictated his beliefs, but sometimes he couldn't help feeling he was a little too hard-nosed, a little too unforgiving. He was rescued from opening his big mouth to say the wrong thing by his brother, of all people.

"I'm sure she'll do fine." Sam smiled at Theresa when she returned with their tray of drinks, carefully setting his iced tea in front of him. One by one, she handed out the beverages and the accompanying straws and left to see about their food. "I just hope the same goes for Noah."

"He got the job at The Seascape," Grace explained.

"I hope they're paying him enough," Luis remarked, taking a healthy drag from his glass. "I wouldn't want to spend my summer catering to those spoiled rich types."

Hank knew Luis's beef wasn't with those spoiled rich types as he called them, at least not in general. No, Hank had a pretty good idea what the bug up his friend's ass was, and he winced when Grace unwittingly stirred the pot with her next comment.

"Eve told me she run into Ivy Crane and her daughters in town today." Though she was addressing Beth, Luis quickly interjected, his words more of a discontented growl than anything.

"They're back, all right—the whole lot of them, and already up to no good."

Beth had told Hank all about Luis's own encounter with one of the newly returned Cranes, and frankly, Hank thought Luis's anger was disproportionate to the so-called crime. But Luis carried with him more than a decade of doubt and distrust where the Crane family was concerned, some of it, Hank had to admit, well-justified. He wanted to issue a well-meaning Chill out but didn't want to step on Luis's toes. Thankfully, Sam took the matter out of his hands again.

"Do your job, Luis. Nothing more, nothing less." Sam recalled the splashy write-up in this morning's Harmony Herald about the nuptials planned for the end of the summer between Ethan Crane and his fiancée Gwen Hotchkiss and hoped to appease Luis's edginess by telling him, "The wedding's at the end of the summer. That's less than two months away. We just have to find some way to coexist peacefully in the meantime." Feeling Grace's blue gaze on him, Sam knew his attitude came as a surprise to her, but to his way of thinking, the past was firmly rooted in the past. Grace was his present and his future; Ivy Crane being back in Harmony for little more than two months wasn't going to change that.

Their food arrived, and the pervasive tension that had plagued Luis, and Sam to a smaller extent, seemed to evaporate in the face of Evan's hearty exclamation of joy and the gusto with which he attacked his meal (as only a growing little boy can). The child reluctantly paused long enough for Sam to utter a quick passage of thanks, and the conversation turned to lighter things, and the scowls and furrows of worry morphed into smiles.

Sitting back, watching his family and his friends, Hank sent up a quick prayer himself and hoped that the Big Guy was listening, because only one thing was certain to him: it was gonna be a helluva summer.

So...questions, comments, kudos, flames?

LOL!

Nix that last one. I'd prefer my criticism to be constructive, thank you very much.

I hope you don't let the length of the chapters intimidate/frighten you from giving this story a chance. I think there's something in it for everyone (imo).

Anyway, feedback is much loved and adored (and actually sought on this fic, since these are pretty much the longest chapters I've attempted-and besides Whisper, it's going to be pretty much the most involved plot I've attempted as well).

As always, thanks for reading!