Author's Note: A huge thank you goes out to Skyrose who betaed this chapter for me.
This chapter became exceedingly long (60+ pages), so I have divided it into more manageable reading sections, hence this being chapter 9B.
When we last left our characters, Jake met with Hawkins, who had a plan...Heather struggled to deal with the aftermath of New Bern and her feelings of intense guilt...Jake shared some of his past with Heather, and the two continued to feel drawn to one another as they worked on repairs.
Chapter Nine, Part B: "Pretenses"
Some time later, Jake and Heather found themselves on Main Street. The bustle of activity gave the place the appearance of normalcy, and Heather found herself relaxing. A number of businesses had reopened, and it looked as though several new businesses were in the preparation stages for opening soon.
"So what do you think are our chances that someone has heating elements for a hot water heater?" Heather asked walking next to Jake.
"Let's see. Post-apocalypse appliance parts. Can't say there's a huge demand." Jake stuck his hands in his pockets. "You know, back in the day, a lot of people would've just bought a new hot water heater."
Heather tilted her head, a look of mock warning crossing her features. "Don't let Marvin hear you say that," she insisted.
"Marvin? Don't tell me you've named it," Jake chuckled. First Charlotte, now Marvin. He shook his head slightly at what she had called him earlier: Super Jake. Heather and her names. Jake had a few names for her, but it was just as well to keep them to himself.
Heather clasped her small hands together, squeezing her fingers. "Well, repair work is a very intimate experience, and I wouldn't want Marvin to think I've totally given up on him. Besides, the era of the throwaway society is so over."
What Heather said was true. Once they were cut off from the rest of the country, they lived or died by their own resourcefulness. It was only in the last few weeks that supplies began to trickle in from beyond Jericho's borders—just not the supplies they desperately needed. "Mr. Steele's Appliance Mart is open again," Jake commented, "though I don't know if he'll be much service."
"Why do you say that?" Heather asked.
"Jennings and Rall helped a number of businesses to reopen. Appliance Mart. American Clothing. Murthy's Gas Station. In doing so, these businesses had to agree to certain terms, terms that mostly involve holding the customer in a stranglehold."
Heather's eyes traveled the length of the street. "Hmmm. I notice none of the gun shops are open again. There used to be, what, two on Main Street?"
"Yeah. Don't count on seeing those reopen any time soon, at least, not sanctioned by the Cheyenne government."
"Where do people get what they need?" Heather asked.
But Jake did not answer her. He held out his arm, stopping her in her tracks, and his body was suddenly very rigid. "Stay here," he commanded as he began to walk quickly with purpose.
As Jake watched a man he didn't recognize start to reach into the jacket he wore, Jake had a bad feeling. In his youth, he'd not listened to his gut, and it had gotten him in trouble more than once. In the last five years, he'd become far more adept at trusting his instincts. And something about the way the man carried himself just wasn't right.
Not again. Jake could see the man drawing a weapon, could hear him calling to Tony Schubert who stood only a few yards away with his wife and young son. Jake took off running, caught the gunman by surprise, and tackled him to the ground. The man's pistol fell a foot away. He struggled to reach it, but Jake had him pinned, his forearm to the man's throat.
Soldiers quickly surrounded the two struggling men. One retrieved the pistol while the others pulled Jake off the stranger and took the perpetrator into custody.
Tony Schubert's son—what was his name? Donald?—buried his head in his mother's skirt. Jake felt for the child. It was a different world now. He wished the child hadn't seen it, but the knowledge of how much worse the situation could have been assuaged some of Jake's guilt.
He dusted himself off, turned, and saw Heather approaching in a jog. "Jake! Are you all right?" Jake was taken aback when she threw her arms around him and felt her tremble. "If something had happened to you, I--"
Jake wrapped his arms around Heather and held her for a moment. She felt so small in his arms, and he could feel the pounding of her heart. "Ssshhhh. I'm fine, Heather," he whispered in her ear.
Heather pulled back slightly, trying to compose herself, but he noticed that her chest rose and fell rapidly, the rush of adrenaline mingled with fear still affecting her. Jake rested his forehead against hers. "I'm fine," he repeated quietly, still seeing the concern in her eyes. "I promise."
"That man. I don't remember his name, but I—I think I recognized him," Heather said as she let go of Jake and turned to watch the soldiers take the man into town hall.
"From New Bern," Jake stated.
"Yeah," Heather replied. She wondered how he knew and was about to ask but never got the chance.
"Jake, I can't thank you enough," Tony Schubert said extending his hand to Jake, who, in turn, shook it. Tony was a business systems analyst, or had been before the bombs and EMP. Now he worked at the salt mine, and he was one of the Rangers Jake had trained late last fall.
"I'm just glad I was here. Do you know that man?"
"No," Tony said shaking his head.
"Well, he seemed to know you," Jake responded. He turned back to Heather. "I need to see this through. Will you be okay without me?"
Heather nodded. "Go."
"Have you got a key to the house?" he asked as began backing away.
"Sure do," Jake heard Heather reply, though he could have sworn he heard her add under her breath, "Super Jake."
Tony turned to his wife and son. He knelt down and took the little boy in his arms. "Daddy's fine, Donnie. Don't cry." Tony looked up at his wife. "I need to go with Jake, see what this is all about. Will you be okay, Marnie?"
Tony stood, and Marnie Schubert took their son from her husband's arms. "We'll be fine. Just be safe, Tony."
He placed a tender kiss on her lips before heading toward town hall himself.
Marnie looked at Heather, whose eyes followed Jake as he hurried down Main Street. "It's never easy, is it?"
Heather's eyes met Marnie Schubert's. Heather knew Marnie mostly in passing; from time to time, Marnie would substitute at the elementary school, and they'd meet in the hallway or on the playground. Sometimes they would see each other around town. "What do you mean?" she asked.
Marnie smoothed her son's honey colored hair and cast her eyes on him. He looked so much like his father; the thought that they had come so close to losing Tony sent chills down her spine. "Seeing the men we love in harm's way. If Jake hadn't come along when he did, I can't even begin to think what would have happened. "
The men we love…
Heather felt flushed. "No, Mrs. Schubert, I think you have the wrong idea about Jake and me. We're not, we're not a couple," Heather stammered.
Marnie Schubert shrugged. "I could have sworn."
Moments later, in what had once been the sheriff's office, Major Edward Beck folded his arms over his broad chest as he circled the man brought in for questioning. "What happened out there?" The man, in turn, looked at Beck petulantly and uttered nothing. "You don't have anything to say for yourself?"
Jake Green and Tony Schubert exchanged glances, impatience evident on both men's features. This was taking too long. Weren't there enough eyewitnesses to settle this matter definitively? "I have plenty to say," Jake asserted. "This man," he said pointing to the stranger, "attempted to murder Tony Schubert in cold blood. I heard him call Tony's name, saw him pull the gun from his jacket, and take aim. That's when I tackled him."
"Do you know this man?" Beck asked Tony.
Tony shook his head, his bespectacled gray eyes filled with bewilderment. To think that someone wanted to kill him. "No. We've never even spoken before."
"Heather thinks he's from New Bern," Jake added.
"Heather Lisinski?" Beck asked. "She recognized him?" Their interview had been cut short, but Beck suspected that Heather still had much valuable information that she could impart, and he was determined to get it. Soon. Despite—or perhaps because of—the role of saboteur she'd taken on in New Bern, Beck believed that there was something inherently decent about the young woman. He also sensed that she carried with her a lifetime's worth of regrets about her time spent there.
Beck knew something about regret. But he pushed aside the stray thought, compartmentalizing it just as he would a weapons inventory file.
The New Bern man sat listening to the conversation among the other men and futilely pulled at the plastic cord ties that bound his wrists together. A flicker of recognition darted across his features at the mention of Heather Lisinski. She had become the stuff of legend in New Bern, a hometown girl sent to infiltrate and destroy New Bern on behalf of Jericho. But wasn't she supposed to be dead? He imagined Phil Constantino would be interested in knowing she was still alive and kicking.
Jake nodded. "It makes sense. He wouldn't be the first from New Bern to come here and seek vengeance."
Beck's words were measured, patient, the same overbearing patience that made Jake's blood boil. "Goes both ways, doesn't it, Jake? I've held a few men from Jericho in New Bern for the same reason." Beck turned back to the detainee, choosing not to see the look of hostility on Jake's face. "You know Heather Lisinski?"
The man said nothing, though he breathed heavily, seething. The whites of his eyes contrasted with the filth of his dirt-smudged face. This man's demeanor reminded Beck of his first encounter with Jake Green four weeks earlier at the Richmond farm. Beck's men had brought Jake in to sit across from Phil Constantino to discuss the terms of the ceasefire between New Bern and Jericho. Jake's first reaction had been to physically attack the leader of New Bern. Now this man who sat bound in the wood chair looked as though he wanted nothing more than to tear apart anyone in his path.
Jake voiced his disapproval. "I thought the point of having the military here was to prevent things like this from happening."
Beck's eyes narrowed. He considered himself a patient man, but his patience was wearing thin. He wanted to help Jericho. Truly he did, but some of the townspeople, Jake Green in particular, were hell bent on making his job all the more difficult. "Unless you're willing to show me all the back ways to get in to Jericho, I can't guarantee anything. He knows what you know, and he's not talking."
Jake looked away from Beck. Living in a military occupation in Kansas—and all the complications it brought—wasn't exactly what he'd envisioned for himself. Yes, the New Bern people were using the back roads, but so were people from Jericho, people like Hawkins. Beck was right; Jake could put an end to the chances of similar scenarios recurring, but at what price? Did he really want this new government's military knowing everything? Hell no.
"What are you going to do once the military moves out, Jake?" Beck asked as a subordinate handed him a box consisting of the detained New Bern man's belongings. Beck briefly riffled through it and saw a Swiss army knife, a wrinkled photograph, and a wallet. He opened the wallet and pulled out an expired driver's license with the man's photograph. Jack Yeargan.
"Is the military moving on?" Jake asked twisting his neck to see the license. The briefest tinge of hope arose within him.
"When our mission is complete."
"Well, if your mission is complete, shouldn't this be a moot point? It'll be our problem, not yours."
"You have a police force of two, no sheriff, and no way of defending yourself."
Jake glared at Beck, unappreciative of the fact that the major was divulging this information in front of the New Bern man. Though the thought did then occur to him that the man was probably all too aware of the conditions in Jericho.
"We were doing just fine," Tony Schubert contributed.
Beck glanced in Tony's direction. It was clear the man owed loyalty to Jake and was trying to honor that loyalty, but enough was enough. "With all due respect, you were getting your clocks cleaned. You were outgunned and outmanned. These retaliatory missions aren't going to end overnight, but they will end. On both sides."
Another pronouncement from Edward Beck. Jake fought the urge to roll his eyes. Just because Major Beck declared it was to be so didn't mean that it actually was. What had been settled between their towns? Absolutely nothing. Phil Constantino was still in New Bern, surrounded by his minions, albeit under house arrest. Who knew what influence he still wielded?
Jake's harsh gaze fell upon the man from New Bern who listened to the conversation but contributed nothing. "Are you one of Constantino's men, Yeargan? Is that why Heather recognized you?" Moving quickly, Jake grabbed the collar of the man's shirt, pulling him slightly off his seat.
And nearly as swiftly, Edward Beck pulled Jake away from Yeargan. Jake looked angrily at the shorter man, and Beck lifted his forefinger, pointing at Jake, his tolerance sorely tested. "Back off."
Jack Yeargan's face contorted , hatred and grief mingling on his features, as he finally spoke. "This man," he spat out as he lifted his bound hands and pointing at Tony Schubert, "killed my brother four weeks ago."
The blood drained from Tony's face. He was computer expert, not a soldier, but the other man's words sank in. Four weeks ago, their towns had fought against one another, both struggling to survive, whatever the outcome may be. He'd never thought himself to be a fighter, never had any aspirations to be, but fate had intervened, and Tony had been willing to do whatever it took to defend his town and keep his family safe. It was entirely possible that he had killed this man's brother.
Tony leaned against a nearby desk, his legs feeling wobbly under him. "I—I don't know what to say."
Jack Yeargan's eyes narrowed. "There is nothing you can say that I want to hear. What I do want is to see your blood spill, just like you spilled Tom's."
Beck intervened, looking at the New Bern man, though his words could be equally applied to Jake's situation, as well. "There were losses on both sides. That's what happens in battle. You choose your fight, and you live with the consequences." There was nothing glorious about it; perhaps at one point in his youth, Beck might've considered war to be, but he'd seen too much in his seventeen year career to ever feel that cavalier, that foolish, again.
Beck motioned to two soldiers. "Take him to the holding cell until I decide what to do with him."
"Yes, Sir!" the soldiers replied in unison before flanking either side of the detainee, forcing him to stand, and then walking him out of the room.
Jake turned to Tony and felt for the man. He wasn't a murderer. Six months ago, the man had never even held a gun. Jake was the one who had taught him to shoot. "You okay?"
Schubert nodded, hesitantly at first then with more assurance. "Yeah. That was…surreal."
"Why don't you go find Marnie? She's got to be wondering about you. I'll handle things from here," Jake offered.
Tony nodded numbly. How was he ever going to tell his wife the reason Jack Yeargan wanted him dead?
Beck watched the interaction between the two men. The respect Tony Schubert had for Jake Green was evident. Jake had leadership skills, Beck noted, and had displayed those skills on more than one occasion. "Tony, watch your back," he said as Schubert slowly left the room. "Jake, stick around. We need to talk."
Jake bristled slightly at Beck's brusque commands. He didn't like being addressed as though he were one of the major's underlings. His brows furrowed as he met the major's gaze.
Major Beck didn't beat around the bush. "Gray Anderson and I spoke yesterday."
"What do you want? An award or something?"
Beck ignored Jake's verbal jab. "Your name came up."
This caught Jake's attention. "Why?"
"I want your assurance of discretion."
"You and Gray Anderson were talking about me, and you're concerned about my discretion?" Jake retorted as he crossed his arms.
"Fair enough," Beck replied. "I told you earlier Jericho would have a military presence until our mission is accomplished."
"And I nearly offered to help you pack your bags." Tone it down. This might be your chance to get an in with Beck the way Hawkins wanted.
"I need your help, Jake. I have reason to believe that a terrorist is at large either in or near Jericho."
Jake's heart pounded. How close was Beck to putting together the pieces of Hawkins's involvement with the attacks? Keep your cool, Green. Get Beck to talk. Find out what he knows. "What does this have to do with me?"
"You know better than anyone else what goes on around here. People come to you. Tell you things."
"And you think someone came up to me and admitted to being a terrorist? Why would a terrorist come here, of all places?"
"Why not? Jericho has working farms, a salt mine, a safe water supply, and isn't in a fallout zone. It seems to me that Jericho would be a very ideal place for someone to set down roots."
Jake threw Beck his best 'unconvinced' look. "What does this has to do with the conversation you had with Gray Anderson?"
"Mayor Anderson mentioned someone to me, a Robert Hawkins. Do you know him?"
"Sure I do. Jericho's a small town. But Hawkins and his family left shortly after the war."
"Have you heard from him?"
"No."
"Any idea where he went?"
"Before he left, he mentioned something about his wife Darcy having relatives in Texas."
"And you think that's where they went?"
"I have no reason to think otherwise. Why the questions about Robert Hawkins?"
"Mayor Anderson told me that Mr. Hawkins was an FBI agent and that you and Jimmy Taylor investigated him for possible ties to terrorism. You and I both know the terrorists apprehended in New York City were carrying phony FBI badges."
Jake sucked in a breath. Did Gray Anderson ever stop talking long enough to let his brain catch up with his mouth? "Yeah. We investigated. I believe Hawkins is the real deal."
"And you know this because—"
"Call it a gut feeling. That, and the fact that his FBI badge was heavy." Beck raised a brow. "Let's just say I've had occasion to get up close and personal with the FBI before."
"So an FBI agent just happens to show right before the attacks crippled our country? Damn strange coincidence, don't you think?"
"Life is stranger than fiction. If ever there was any doubt, the last six months should've erased it."
"So you don't think Robert Hawkins had anything to do with the attacks?"
Jake shook his head. "I don't see a connection. Though if you know something I don't, shouldn't you be on your way to Texas about now?"
Beck began to speak, then thought better of it. "What you did out there today on Main Street was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid."
Jake cleared his throat. "That sounds like something my father would've said."
"I've heard a considerable amount about your father."
Jake frowned. "From Gray?" Jake could only imagine what Gray would have to say.
"No. From others. Jimmy Taylor, for one. I've been told he cared for this town a great deal."
"You've been told right."
"And I see that same quality in his sons. You don't have to like the fact I'm here, Jake. I don't like the fact I'm here. But I'm not going away, not until my job is done. I'm asking for your help. You handled yourself well out there today—and from all accounts, this isn't the first time you've proven yourself under pressure."
"You're asking for my help?"
"I am. This town needs a sheriff."
Jake nearly snorted. "Me? A sheriff? The extent of my experience with law enforcement has been on the other side of the law."
"I'm well aware of that. I am also aware that the people here respect you in a way that they do not respect me. It would be better for all involved if someone from Jericho could take on more of the law enforcement responsibilities. It would be the first step in diminishing the military presence here."
"I need to think about this," Jake replied calmly, though on the inside his mind was racing. This was the in that Hawkins had wanted him to find, and it was falling perfectly into his lap. Nevertheless, being too eager might arouse the major's suspicions.
"I understand. Just don't take too long."
Some time later, Heather found herself at the appliance store in search of replacements for the heating elements. Much to her chagrin, she quickly discovered that free trade was not alive and well. The store operated on what Mr. Steele, the proprietor, explained as the Buffalo Credit system. While the new federal government in Cheyenne was working toward printing and distributing new monies, a credit system based on vouchers from the Allied States Federal Reserve care of Jennings and Rall was being implemented.
"Are you sure I can't trade something for these, Mr. Steele? I don't have much, but I could offer my repair services periodically."
The mustached man with the salt-and-pepper hair shook his head mournfully. "I wish I could help you, Heather. The condition of my store getting back on its feet was that I wouldn't barter. Cheyenne wants my cooperation with this new money system they're working out. They feel that bartering undermines it."
"Isn't there something I can do?" Heather pleaded.
"You can do what a lot of other people are doing. Go to Jennings and Rall. They can get you set up with the Buffalo Credit." Mr. Steele could see her hesitation. "Or," he added, with his voice lowered, "you might try Dale Turner over at Gracie Leigh's. I don't know how he does it, but he comes up with all kinds of obscure things. Who knows? He may have your heating elements."
Heather nodded. "Thanks. I'll try that."
She left and headed straight for Gracie Leigh's. As she approached the store, she could see that it wasn't quite what she remembered. No longer did the outer windows feature advertisements for Duncan Hines cake mix or Aunt Jemina syrup. Rather, posters hung advertising ammunition, firewood, and grain.
As she entered, she noted two security guards who stood near the entrance. These are Dale's guards, she realized. My how times have changed.
Though she never had Dale Turner as a student, Jericho Elementary, Jericho Middle, and Jericho High were housed on the same campus. Heather made it a point to learn the names of every child she could, particularly those who seemed isolated on the playground. Dale had been about twelve or thirteen when Heather began teaching at the elementary school, but the curly haired boy pulled at Heather's heartstrings. He was smaller than the other kids his age, he didn't have a father in his life, and he had always seemed out of place. The other kids seemed to sense his vulnerability and preyed on that.
Heather remembered a conversation she once had with her father.
"Be nice to everyone, Heather," Matthew Lisinski told his twelve year old daughter as he pulled his reverend's collar from his shirt.
"I know, Dad, because God wants us to treat others with kindness. Rule Number 8: Treat others the way you want to be treated."
"That—and someday, that person you're mean to might become your boss." His blue eyes twinkled, and Heather laughed.
Heather couldn't help but wonder how many young people in town were wishing they had treated Dale with more respect.
As Heather surveyed the store, she noticed a slew of miscellaneous items. A few cans of soda were in the refrigerated case. Only a few aisles over, she saw antifreeze and car batteries.
"Ms. Lisinski?"
Heather turned and saw Dale Turner. He looked older than she remembered, but she could still see remnants of the little boy she befriended years ago. "Dale!"
Dale hugged her lightly. "I'd heard you were back."
"Word travels fast. I just got back yesterday."
"Skylar is going to be floored," he commented. "Did you just stop in to say hi, or were you looking for something in particular?"
"A little bit of both," Heather replied. "I'm trying to repair a hot water heater, and I need some heating elements. You don't happen to have any, do you?"
He shook his head. "I've got a couple for an electric oven, but that's it."
"They work on the same principle, but they won't be the right size."
"Have you tried over at the Appliance Mart?" Dale asked.
Heather nodded ruefully. "Two words: Buffalo Credit."
"Enough said. Give me a few days, and I'll see what I can come up with. I can't promise anything, though."
"Thanks for trying," Heather replied.
Dale paused. "You might try the junk yard. Maybe there's something out there you can use that isn't picked over."
Heather smiled. "One man's trash is another man's treasure. I hadn't thought of that. Thanks, Dale."
Walking was becoming a way of life for Heather. She found herself enjoying the fresh spring air and the familiar sights. She decided to heed Dale's advice and walk to the junk yard, which was about a mile outside of town.
On her way, she found herself passing Jericho Elementary. Unable to resist, she ducked into the building. Walking through the hallways felt surreal. Children's art work hung on the walls, even after all the time that had passed. During the week of the bombs, they had been celebrating Dr. Seuss Week. The teachers and children had decorated their doors with Dr. Seuss themed drawings and cut-outs. She noticed the Green Eggs and Ham on Mrs. Thompson's door and a half-taped Cat in the Hat on Mrs. Leimer's door. Heather's classroom door theme had been The Butter Battle Book. The irony was not lost on Heather as she remembered that Dr. Seuss wrote that children's book as an allegory for nuclear war.
Heather felt a lump in her throat as she approached her own classroom. She never imagined she'd be back. She stood trying to gather her wits about her. Finally, she grabbed the door knob and turned it.
Walking inside, she saw her room was just as she'd left it. Twenty little desks were situated in the room, along with bean bags in the reading corner. One of the bulletin boards featured photographs of her students' heads on Dr. Seuss characters' bodies. She studied each of their smiling faces and prayed a silent prayer that wherever they were, they were still smiling.
Heather walked to her desk and settled in her chair. She'd spent little time there during the day, largely because she adhered to the adage that "a teacher on her feet is worth two teachers in her seat," but this desk and chair was where she'd spent many an hour brainstorming lesson plans, grading papers, and writing grant proposals for the scores of field trips and extra materials she wanted for her students.
Heather opened the desk drawer and found a tube of Chapstick, a stick of antiperspirant, a pack of gum, and a powder compact. Little treasures. She wondered what else she could dig up. She walked
to the closet and nearly squealed with delight when she saw bags of clothes. Some were what she would term rather ratty—older clothes she brought to school when her students did artwork involving paint. Still, she did happen upon an attractive azure colored sleeveless turtleneck shell and matching sweater, a black woolen pencil skirt, and black high-heeled shoes. She vaguely remembered having worn those to school for Renaissance Day, but she'd changed into the Renaissance costume that Haley Simmons's mother made for the occasion and had gone home in costume instead.
Heather held the high heeled shoes up by their straps. She never had been much of a shoe fiend, but seeing them gave Heather a small thrill. Not that she was certain when she'd have the opportunity to wear such a thing as high-heeled shoes again, there was just something about actually owning a pair. Her shoes, not someone else's.
She gathered the bags, along with the few items from her desk. She knew she could spend hours in the classroom, lost in memories. Perhaps she would do that on another day. For now, though, something else was more pressing.
Heather headed out of Jericho Elementary and was crossing the grounds when she heard someone calling her name.
Emily.
Heather stopped. She wasn't sure what their conversation would entail, but she owed her friend that much.
"Hey."
"Hi!" Emily awkwardly hugged Heather. "I was over here going through my materials and thought I saw you through my window." She was slightly out of breath. "I rushed out here as fast as I could."
"About last night—" Heather nervously bit her bottom lip.
Emily groaned, interrupting her friend. "God, Heather, I'm sorry. If I could take back that whole stupid conversation, I would. I didn't mean to get you caught in the middle of what's going on with Jake and me."
"What is going on with you and Jake?" Heather asked.
"Same thing that's been going on most of our lives," Emily replied. "Can you sit down for a few minutes? Get caught up?"
Heather thought of the hot water heater elements, but pushed that thought aside. Sitting down with a friend she'd not seen in the last four months was more important. "Sure. Playground benches?"
"Sounds like a plan," Emily agreed.
The two walked to the playground, but its familiar appearance seemed wrong to Heather. Mostly, she figured, it was because there were no children on the equipment and an eerie quiet met them instead. Heather's eyes focused on the merry-go-round that remained empty. An absurd thought occurred to her. Before the bombs, her principal had been considering removing that particular piece of playground equipment. Too dangerous, she'd commented. Strange how a merry-go-round quickly became the least of their worries for the children.
"Did you sleep okay last night?" Emily asked. "First night back, and you didn't even get to stay in your own bed."
Heather frowned. Emily's tone was sympathetic but made her feel uneasy nonetheless. After the spectacle at Bailey's the night before and Emily offering Jake to trade Kenchy for her, the issue of the living arrangements was still touchy. That, and the fact that her own bed didn't even exist anymore added to her disquiet. "It was fine. Gail has me in Eric's old room."
Emily chuckled to herself lightly. "Oh, God! Those walls were always so paper thin. When Jake and I were in high school, he'd sneak me into his room. I became quite good at climbing the trellis in the backyard."
Heather was fairly certain the trellis had since been removed, as she had not noticed it when she'd looked at the backyard, but she said nothing.
Emily continued with a waggle of her eyebrows, "Eric would get so mad because he'd hear us in there and couldn't sleep. He'd knock on the wall and threaten to tell their parents that I was with Jake. Johnston and Gail were progressive parents in many ways, but that was not one of the ways."
Heather said nothing. Why was Emily telling her this? They'd spent a great deal of time together, but their friendship never extended to discussing what went on in the bedroom when Emily was dating Roger. Frankly, Heather wasn't comfortable with it. Some things were just private. But Emily talking about Jake, even if it was years ago, set Heather on edge.
"Heather?" Emily asked, shaking her from her thoughts.
Heather looked at Emily and managed a small, almost pained smile. "I'm sorry. I was off in my own little world."
"I guess I was, too," Emily replied, a smile playing upon her lips as she could almost see the past before her eyes. "Those were really happy times when life was deliciously uncomplicated. So you're back now, and it's been awhile."
"True. So how have you been?" Heather asked eager to steer the conversation away from herself.
"That was going to be my question for you!" Emily scolded gently. "But, since you asked…" She made a face as she answered. "Well, I fought in a war, have been told by Jennings and Rall that the way I
teach history is wrong, my father is still a delinquent bastard—no big surprise there—and I've been having major cravings for ice cream with none in sight."
"What flavor?" Heather deadpanned.
Emily looked at her friend in disbelief and then burst into a fit of giggles. Only Heather could listen to a list consisting of gloom and doom pronouncements and focus on the ice cream. "I've missed you Heather."
Heather squeezed her friend's hand. "I've missed you, too, Em." She paused, thinking of the cumbersome list of life events her friend had just shared. "I'm sorry things haven't gotten better with your dad."
Emily shrugged, pushing the image of Jonah Prowse from her mind. "I'm used to it. I should've learned my lesson by now anyway. If you don't expect much, you won't get hurt." That wasn't entirely true, Emily conceded to herself, but to acknowledge that her father's actions hurt her would be to give him power over her life, and that wasn't something she would willingly do again. "You don't know how lucky you are to have had a normal family."
Heather wasn't entirely sure she believed in 'normal.' Most people would have considered her upbringing to be somewhat atypical in that from her early teen years, it was just her dad, her, and, oh, about three hundred parishioners. Living in the small house adjacent to the church building where her father preached lent itself to little privacy, as members of the congregation called upon Matthew Lisinski for guidance and support at all hours of the day or night. With that said, Heather never doubted how incredibly fortunate she had been to be born into a supportive family.
Heather took a deep breath, a worried look crossing her fair features. "So can I ask you something without you thinking I'm strange?"
Emily shook her head. "Fat chance. I already think you're strange."
"Must be why you missed me."
"What did you want to know?" Emily asked getting back to Heather's original query.
Heather bit her lip, suddenly wondering if she should ask and if she truly wanted an answer. She thought about prefacing her question with levity in the form of 'I've been dying to ask someone,' but decided against it considering the real losses Jericho had sustained, including the loss of Jake and Eric's father. "Did I—did I have a funeral?" Her blue eyes were wide with curiosity, albeit morbid curiosity.
"No body to bury," Emily pointed out. "Truthfully, the time between when we heard you were 'dead' and when the fighting with New Bern started wasn't very long." Emily's eyes surveyed her friend. Heather looked the same, minus the weight loss. Then again, most everyone had lost some weight. Yet there was something about Heather that was different; only Emily couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.
"So what did happen to you, Heather? When I asked you last night, you gave me a really lame response about touring northern Kansas and southern Nebraska."
Heather felt foolish. This was the very subject she wanted to avoid, but she'd incited it with her pointless question about whether she'd had a funeral. "I went to New Bern, worked in a factory, tried to blow up the factory, was arrested, escaped, was found by the military, and finally returned to Jericho." There. She'd told her story—and in one breath, at that. That should be enough. Right?
"Okay. Now don't go overboard with the details or anything…"
Heather exhaled loudly. "I'm sorry, Em. I just—" she broke off, uncertain of where she was going with her statement. "I guess there are just some things that are better left unsaid."
Emily nodded knowingly. She could appreciate Heather's stance, even if she wished her friend were being more forthcoming. Emily had to acknowledge that she expected a few questions to come her way that she didn't particularly want to field either. "So what do you have here?" Emily's eyes fell upon the bags sitting at Heather's feet.
"Treasures," Heather replied with a small smile. She pulled a paint splattered FHSU Tigers t-shirt from one of the bags. "Who'd have thought, right?"
"That one's seen better days," Emily remarked, noticing the paint under the tiger's nose gave the impression of a rather peculiar mustache.
"Well, at least it's not charred! I guess I can't be too picky, but I did find something mildly worthwhile," Heather replied as she pulled out her high heeled shoes.
Emily chuckled. "I remember when you bought those! I take credit! It was a dare from me, remember? You wanted to get those little black shoes with the buckles."
Heather joined Emily in laughing. "And you wanted me to live a little."
"The ones you picked made you look like a Puritan," Emily replied, her voice full of disapproval.
Heather held up the strappy shoes by the crook of her forefinger. "These are, by the way, completely unsuited for teaching third graders. I learned that the hard way."
"But they look good," Emily pointed out. "Maybe you can wear them next time you see that young lieutenant."
Heather pulled back in surprise. "You know about that?"
"Come on, Heather. I was there." True enough, but Heather hadn't thought Emily was paying her much attention once she left Jake and Emily to hash out their differences. Emily continued, "Everybody knows. Have you been gone so long that you've forgotten how Jericho works?"
Heather felt her face grow warm. She wasn't sure why it bothered her that people were discussing her life. Better they grasp onto the dance she had with Hamilton than the dance she had with Jake. If Emily had heard any talk about that, she'd certainly not let on. Emily had nothing in the world to worry about, Heather knew, but gossip had a way of distorting events, much as seen through a carnival's hall of mirrors.
"So what's this about you getting your materials together and Jennings and Rall trying to tell you how to teach?" Heather asked changing the topic. "Does this mean school is reopening soon?"
Emily exhaled loudly, her teasing about Heather and the soldier briefly forgotten. "That's the big question, isn't it? I think it's going to take some type of mandate to get the kids back in school, to be honest with you. Gray's not really been on top of that, though. Maybe once growing and harvesting is over and the kids have too much time on their hands…But going back to your question about Jennings and Rall, they've sent over new teaching materials, including textbooks, which completely rewrite the history of the twentieth century and the years leading up to the attacks. Essentially, they've retooled textbooks to discuss the fall of the United States, that it was weakness and corruption that led to the attacks."
Heather's brows furrowed. "How did they get the textbooks written and printed so quickly?"
Emily's jaw clenched. "Another good question. You know this from serving on textbook committees, same as I do. It takes years to research and write textbooks. Revisions from one edition to the next take months and months. It's almost as if someone had this textbook ready and waiting."
Emily's words weighed on Heather, who shifted in her seat and crossed her legs. Heather was suddenly feeling uncomfortable as disconcerting theories began to invade her mind. What if….? No. No. Surely not. She tried to push them aside. "So what are you going to do?"
Emily shook her head vehemently, her blonde curls cascading over her shoulders. "I won't teach it, Heather. Of course, if we can't get the kids to school, it'll be a moot point anyway."
"A lot has changed around here," Heather said softly. "A man from New Bern nearly gunned down Tony Schubert on Main Street earlier today. Six months ago, something like that would never have happened." Her thoughts drifted to the military presence. From what she'd gathered, the soldiers had been positioned at checkpoints along the roads leading into Jericho. How had this man managed to make his way past them? What did this say about the safety of their town?
Emily sighed. "Wouldn't be the first time. The war ended, not because anything was actually settled, but because the military showed up and got into a pissing match with us. Their guns were bigger, and they would've taken us out if we didn't stand down. Same for New Bern."
"What do you make of Major Beck?" Heather asked thinking of the no-nonsense man she'd met the day before. She remembered the confidence in which he moved, his perfect posture, the strength in his dark eyes, and the aura of professionalism he exuded.
"The jury's still out," Emily replied. "I know his men respect him, and I'm pretty sure it's about more than the insignia on his uniform. Jake—well, Jake's not so convinced. He doesn't think Beck is doing enough to get to the bottom of what went on between us and New Bern…"
Heather looked up at the sky and pursed her lips so tightly they turned white. She would have to do it. She would have to tell everything, if for no other reason than to insure that Phil Constantino never saw the light of day again.
"…But I think Jake will only be satisfied once there's either a bullet between Constantino's eyes or a noose around his neck."
Heather swallowed hard. If she could do this for Jake and Eric, it would be worth it, whatever the consequences she would face. "I wasn't here when—when the war broke out, when Mayor Green was killed, but I heard he died before the last battle. How did Jake and Eric go on?"
"They had no choice," Emily replied simply. "It was us or them, Heather. Jake funneled his anger and grief into that battle. Eric…" Emily paused, not really sure what to say about Jake's brother. They'd known each other practically their entire lives, but she wasn't really sure how Johnston's death had affected him. To Emily, he was Eric, business as usual.
Heather looked at Emily expectantly, hoping to hear some information that would put her mind at ease about her friend. When she and Eric had been imprisoned together in New Bern, they'd discussed their families at length. The closeness they shared with their fathers had been one of the things she and Eric had in common. Eric had told her, more than once, how important his father was to him, how Johnston Green was the type of man Eric aspired to be. Heather wondered about the wisdom of Eric building his own existence upon that of his father's expectations and wishes, but to Eric, it was natural.
Emily's explanation went back to Jake, leaving the issue of Eric untouched. "But Jake took it really hard, I guess because there were so many years when they weren't on speaking terms. Jake had so many regrets. The one good thing to come from all of this is it made us realize how much time we had wasted."
Heather tilted her head. "So you and Jake have only been back together for a month?" This tidbit of information was fascinating to Heather, perhaps more fascinating than it should have been. She had assumed Jake and Emily had been together much longer, that perhaps it was their reunion that prompted Roger to leave town. But it had only been a month? Four measly weeks? So what was it that drew them back together? Comfort? Familiarity? Grief?
Emily's eyes narrowed somewhat as she heard the disbelief in her friend's tone. "It wasn't just about grief, us getting back together."
Heather's face colored somewhat. It was as though Emily had read her thoughts.
"It's more than that," Emily continued insistently as her blue eyes sought Heather's. Her tone softened, "I wouldn't want to hurt you for anything in the world, but Jake is the man that I'm going to marry, Heather."
Heather tried to pull together a coherent sentence in response, even if only a polite platitude, but she was caught up in a whirlwind of emotions and thoughts. She looked at the merry-go-round, and felt she must have been on it, for her head was spinning and the world going by too quickly. Jake and Emily were getting married?
Get yourself together, Heather. You will not say anything to discourage your friend. She deserves happiness and your well wishes. Jake deserves happiness. He's lost so much; he needs your support in this, not your doubts.
But the ache that filled Heather's very soul made the words impossible to form.
Heather nervously picked at the skin on the side of her thumb. "I'm just really lost here, Em," she began, her thoughts finding voice. "Nothing is the same! What happened here? Where is Roger?" In the time Heather had known Emily, her friend had been completely absorbed in the incredibly devoted and handsome, if not mildly stuffy, investment banker. Roger Hammond had returned to Jericho after literally walking hundreds of miles and seeing unspeakable things. He emerged as a leader among the refugees, a man changed by his experiences, but whose compassion and courage had grown. When she'd left for New Bern, she thought for certain that she'd be coming back for a wedding between Roger and Emily, not between Jake and Emily. New Bern. Always New Bern. "How did things escalate between Jericho and New Bern? Why aren't there kids on this playground? They should be in school! And you never even mentioned Jake to me before he came back to town, and now suddenly…"
Emily shook her head. "There's nothing sudden about it." Her words sounded sharper than she intended. Steadying herself through the long breath she took, Emily added, "I want to tell you everything. I do. I just—I don't want you to hate me, to think I'm a bad person."
"Em, I could never think you're a bad person," Heather replied. "I just—I just want to understand."
"When you and I met, Jake had been gone for a year, and that had been the hardest year of my life. I didn't talk about him because it was too hard, Heather. He—he was everything to me, my whole existence was wrapped around his. I know that isn't politically correct and I'm sure somewhere in there, I've taken a step back for the women's lib movement, but he was my everything. My identity was so tied to him. My past was tied to him, and I thought my future was, as well. And then he was gone."
"You two had a bad break up?"
Emily coughed slightly. "Bad? There isn't even a word. There's a lot about Jake you don't know, Heather."
Heather frowned. Emily had tried to warn her before that Jake was dangerous, that there was more to him than met the eye, but at the time, she'd glibly brushed aside Emily's admonition. Now that her friend was opening up, Heather was hungry for the information, good or bad, that would help her to better understand Jake Green.
"Jake worked for my father," Emily began, watching Heather's blue eyes widen. Heather had known that there was a connection between Jake and Jonah Prowse, but she'd assumed their only connection had been Emily. "He graduated from school, came back to Jericho for the summer, and my dear old dad offered him a job." Her tone became bitter. "I was grateful at the time. It meant it would keep him close to me. And the summer job extended into fall and then into winter and then into summer again. Jake and I lived together in a small house on Fascination Street, and I think it was the best time in my life. He was wild and reckless, but so was I.
"And then one day, Jonah wanted Jake to go as backup for a job my brother was doing. Just to keep Chris safe. That's all Jonah was asking. When Jake realized the job was a robbery, he bailed on Chris, and my brother was shot to death all because Jake didn't have his back."
Tears spilled down Emily's cheeks. "And then he bailed on me. He couldn't take the aftermath, but I was left picking up the pieces. I hated him for letting Chris die. I hated him for leaving me when I needed him most. But most of all, I hated myself for still loving him."
Emily closed her eyes and remembered throwing Jake's clothes from the second story bedroom window of their house, his t-shirts and jeans littering the yard. He had tried to reason with her and had been met instead with Emily hurling anything and everything at him that she could get her hands on. Emily recalled how the corner of a book she'd thrown caught him above his eyebrow and made him bleed. She had been so furious, so out of her mind, she had taken delight in making him feel the tiniest semblance of the pain she felt at the time. She recalled beating her fists against his chest, shouting at the top of her lungs when he'd told her of his involvement in Chris's death, how she wished him dead instead of her baby brother. She demanded that he leave, over and over, she demanded it of him. Yet when he did leave, she hadn't expected it.
Heather found her own eyes welling with tears, sorrow for Emily's loss and immense sadness for Jake, as well. This incident separated him from everyone he knew and loved. Yet Heather simply could not reconcile the Jake that Emily described with the Jake she knew. Jake Green was one of the most fearless people she'd ever met. For him to just turn tail and run didn't make any sense. "I just can't believe Jake would run out on you like that, Em. It doesn't sound like him."
Emily opened her eyes and looked her friend over, partly feeling sorry for her friend for being so blindly naïve and partly feeling sorry for herself that she didn't have that same blind faith in people anymore. "You don't know Jake, or at least, the Jake he used to be."
Emily's words hit Heather like a ton of bricks. What did she know of Jake? Only that he made her heart alternately race and fill with laughter, only that he had to be the bravest man—often to a fault—that she'd ever met, only that despite what Emily had said, she trusted him completely. "Then why…?"
"I had time, Heather. I had time to sort through my life, to settle down. I had time to put things in perspective. You really helped me. I guess you didn't know that, but you did." Emily remembered how tentative they'd both been at the new teacher orientation.
"And you showed the new girl the ropes around Jericho. I would've been incredibly alone if not for you."
"Roger helped me, too," Emily said, her expression softening. "He was the complete opposite of Jake. Very smooth around the edges, successful, and sure of what he wanted. And he wanted me. With all my faults, with all my demons, he wanted me. He promised me he'd never leave, and I believed him."
"Where is he, Emily?"
"He left," she replied simply. "He chose the refugees over me, and he left."
Heather's brows furrowed. What Emily was saying didn't make sense. "When I asked Jake if you and Roger had gotten married, he told me that Roger had to leave. He didn't make it sound like a choice."
The playground around Emily melted, and she was once again in town hall with Roger and Gray, the two men arguing over the refugees. And then there was the gun shot. Roger looked at her in shock and panic as Gray crumpled to the floor. Emily knew at that moment everything had changed.
"We all have choices, Heather."
"And Jake?"
"I chose to forgive him for what happened with Chris, for leaving. When I did, it was like coming home again, and I was swept away by those old feelings."
Heather wondered if Jake knew how much Emily was staking on their relationship. It made her uncomfortable, just as she felt troubled that Emily could transfer her feelings from Roger back to Jake so quickly.
She needed to get away and needed time to sort through the onslaught of information Emily had given her. "Look, I still have to get over to the junk yard."
"Looking for clothes there?" Emily teased.
Heather's grip around her bag tightened and the muscles in her body went rigid. "Ha, ha," her voice decidedly lacking in good humor as she uttered her words. "Actually, I'm looking for heating coils for a hot water heater. I already tried the Appliance Mart and Dale. No luck yet."
"You've been in town only a day and you're already fixing things?"
"What can I say? There are things that need to be fixed. Mr. Steele offered to let me use Buffalo Credits, but I am not really sure about those. I'd really prefer not to owe the new government anything. Hence my trip to the junk yard."
Emily raised a brow. "Good luck with that."
Heather rose to leave. "Well, I'll see you around, Emily."
"See you, Heather," Emily replied. Heather had walked a few yards when Emily called out to her. "Hey, are we okay?"
Were they? Heather felt drained emotionally and physically; their conversation had taken its toll. She'd gotten more insight into Emily and Jake's relationship than she wanted, quite frankly. And all their conversation had done was raise more questions in Heather's mind, none of which made her comfortable.
"Are we?" Emily repeated.
"Yeah."
But as Heather turned and continued on her way, she felt like a liar.
to be continued...