Prior chapter: Vegeta's life hangs in the balance, as well as Bulma's hope. Memories make themselves known.

As the hospital's leader, Beauregard Yardley Jr. hoped to make his ex-fiancé proud. Watching from the lounge, it pained him to see Bulma so upset. He wanted Vegeta to live, because the good doctor still loved Bulma. When his twin sister Gure said Vegeta had quietly moved back to town, Beau knew he didn't have an iceberg's chance in hell to rekindle a relationship with Bulma. Gure often said her brother dodged a bullet, calling the governor "a shameless social climber" and "a user." Closer to the truth: Gure hated that Bulma accomplished everything that she was either too lazy or intimidated to attempt.

The twins' deceased mother, Blanche, was unhappy with her children's romantic interests. Brooks Rutledge, Vegeta and his brother Tarble's father, was a beloved workman on the affluent Yardleys' estate until his drug addiction became too much for everyone to handle. Cricket, the boys' mother and a churchgoing seamstress, prayed every Sunday at the altar to keep their family together. Brooks wasn't unkind to his wife and children, just depressed and unable to overcome his addiction.

Beau Yardley Sr. generously offered to put the boys through college or other schooling if they kept their grades up. Bulma and Beau Jr. left town, attending Duke University in North Carolina. The other three attended state university, with Vegeta graduating Phi Beta Kappa with honors. His classmates coveted that academic golden ticket, though he wasn't valedictorian. (Came close to it, though.) Vegeta seemed unconcerned about how much he could take from others, even as more doors opened to the country's big-name powerbrokers and movers and shakers.

He knew Bulma's post-high-school life would launch like a rocket, which pleased him. Yet Vegeta also believed that her dazzling star would dim if they stayed together. Cutting himself off was a huge mistake, he realized years later, but doubts remained. Bulma's romance with Beau, lasting through professional school and early her legal career, didn't surprise Vegeta either. Yardley, an honest and generous man, had stature and would take excellent care of her. Beau never plotted to keep Bulma and Vegeta apart. She lit up a room. Yardley was yet another moth to her flame.

Missouri was no longer Vegeta's home when Tarble broke the news about Beau's marriage proposal to Bulma. Vegeta never liked Gure, but Tarble's curious marriage was Tarble's concern. Gure couldn't ruffle her husband's feathers much, and like Vegeta, he cared little about her fortune. He merely appreciated their comfortable life. Uncharacteristically, no one in high society gossiped about Gure marrying beneath her; most were shocked that one person on Earth found her tolerable enough to wed.

With his background in chemistry, Vegeta endeavored to make enough money to start a bricks-and-mortar business, not a stodgy corporation or fancy Silicon Valley startup. He patented some products and worked at a few jobs until the right time. Bulla, his pride and joy, was born during his relationship with a free-spirited hairstylist from New Jersey. Alejandra could make him laugh on his worst days. By the time Bulla was three years old, her mother asked Vegeta to take sole custody of their child. In a note, Alejandra said, "I know you'll be the better parent, and I hope you reunite with your true love."

Eventually, Cricket sensed that her eldest might be ready to come home. Confirmation came through a high-six-figure check personally delivered to her:

Dear Mrs. Rutledge,

Your son is a frustratingly stubborn and selectively reticent man. His prideful air can make others uncomfortable, and even self-conscious, including those who might be enthusiastically inclined to help him. That said, Vegeta's mind is a powerhouse, rivaling the most successful people we've known, and my husband and I have lived a long, long time - and could drop dead at any moment.

Vegeta is also honorable, reminding us of our forebears who worked hard and respectfully helped. Please do us the honor of accepting this. Put the money into a trust – we have someone to help you - but wait at least a year before telling your son. Our sole advice is Vegeta should allow others who care to give freely. We know an aspiring entrepreneur when we meet one. Starting a business ain't cheap.

Perhaps he'll listen to his mother.

Best wishes to you all!

After laughing at the couple's take-no-prisoners humor, Cricket cried a lot that day, touched by their generosity. She wished to thank them, but their names weren't revealed. Vegeta would likely know their identities, so Cricket waited a year as instructed to tell him, after his return to Missouri with Bulla. By then, she received another letter, stating that the couple had died.

Comedy ensued when the eldest Rutledge son reappeared in Jeff City. Tarble didn't tell his wife at first, planning stealth visits as Vegeta and Bulla settled in. Beau Jr., finally giving up on his lost love, climbed the professional ladder at University Hospital. Meanwhile, Jebson County Prosecutor Bulma Brief continued to gain notoriety. Ambrose, at the time a voluble, well-connected lobbyist from Kansas City, made it his mission to guide her to the political big leagues. Bulma would have been satisfied with another term as an elected prosecutor, but "no" didn't dampen her soon-to-be adviser's motivation.

All the while, Vegeta's store came to fruition. He took pride in being an entrepreneur and wealthy enough to care for Cricket and Bulla comfortably. Failure, in this respect, didn't compute. Cricket happily managed her granddaughter's kinetic energy like a train operator, giving her hardworking son the gifts of solitude and rest. Many who knew Vegeta as a youngster – even past taunters and their judgmental, gossipy parents - welcomed their native son back home.

Cricket, who divided her time between helping at the store and doing what grandmas do, faithfully watched and read the news. One morning, she rose earlier than Vegeta to fix a heavy Sunday country breakfast. Bulla spent the night at a slumber party and wouldn't return until the afternoon.

Vegeta didn't shroud his suspicion. "What is it that you want, mama?"

Cricket's finely penciled eyebrows knitted. "Can you at least take a bite of this food I slaved over?"

Vegeta yawned, breaking a piece of bacon in half. "Done. Doesn't look like you're going to church."

Cricket impatiently tapped on her bowl of grits. "Oh just stop being difficult. I got the morning newspaper."

Vegeta never received an intact copy of any periodical if Cricket grabbed it first. Sticky notes and red ink decorated this one like a Christmas tree. This must be a beaut, he thought. His short-lived review of the front page didn't spark a response. Unhurried chomping resumed.

Cricket's eyes darted from the paper. "Well?"

"Yes, mama, I know Bulma is close to announcing her candidacy. We live in the state's capital. I run a business where the old fellas do nothing but test their knowledge of tools, chinwag about politics and play checkers and cribbage outside."

"She'll be in town a lot more during the campaign, hon."

Vegeta poured a cup of coffee, crossing his legs. "I really don't feel like doing this now, but let's get it off your agenda. Your mind is usually sharper than mine at five a.m., mama, so you should be aware that Bulma and I would cross paths if we wanted to. I've been back in Jeff City long enough."

Undeterred, Cricket abducted his scrambled eggs. "OK, Mr. Phi Beta Kappa. You took philosophy too. Take a moment and think about what you want."

"I can tell you that Eros wasn't of interest to me." Vegeta dragged a napkin over his mouth, concealing his amusement. Cricket was digging through his old books again. "Now you best give those eggs back, mama. I'm going to exercise shortly and need the protein."

Cricket hugged his shoulders. "You've taken good care of me, son. Now it's time to take the next step and do something good – something right – for yourself."

Vegeta stood, trying to jiggle her off. Instead, the tiny elderly woman held on like a starfish. Cricket's spunky grin widened as her son hoisted her properly on his back.

"You're giving me heartburn," he said, opening the kitchen's rear door. "Tell me where you want to go before I throw you over there with your chickens."

Cricket tweaked his ear. "Keep going, boy. I want to dip my feet in the creek. By the way, I had a black orchid delivered to Bulma's office, wishing her well."

Annoyed, Vegeta glanced back. "Oh for crying out loud, mama! Please don't say you signed my name on the card. I've had just about enough of your meddling. Let sleeping dogs lie."

"I signed my name. Yours is stamped all over the store's deliveries anyway. I stitched some millefleur handkerchiefs with her initials. I'm too shy to ask her dress size. Would like to make one, though."

"Shy?" Vegeta's eyebrows rose. "Now that is a bald-faced lie. You just don't want to spook her. She'd remember those wedding dresses you made."

The wind blew Cricket's kitchen apron around like an Independence Day parade flag. Vegeta removed his mother's clogs, setting her next the creek's edge. "Nature's peace can be a balm for a hard life," she told her boys on hard days, which they took to heart.

Dottie, Cricket's deceased sister and a former hospice nurse, once schooled her college-age nephew on "learning the code of old folks" and their "direct indirectness." As Vegeta deciphered his mother's thoughts, the little creek's babbling in his ears transformed into a roiling flood.

"What aren't you telling me, mama?"

"You know I don't complain much, and I love being at the store. I'm in good shape, mostly. But the pains and tiredness I've had, well, Rue Baker at the church persuaded me to see a doctor. Now it's more than one doctor, and those lunches with Rue have included appointments. There's a tumor in my upper thigh, son, near a bone."

Vegeta cradled his smiling mother. "Damn it, Cricket. Why in the hell would you mount my back like that? If you want to be a daredevil, could we at least agree on the terms first?"

Cricket's arms latched around his waist. "It's most surely this cancer called multiple myeloma, hon. The tumor near my hip must be removed soon. It's likely that no bad cells have spread yet, but you know doctors have to dig around."

"You've told Tarble, of course."

"I thought it best to inform him first."

"Because you're worried about money," Vegeta said, throwing a stick across the creek. "I'm not exactly destitute, you know. Haven't been in a while - and you have Medicare."

"And this ain't a pissing contest, boy!" Cricket chided. "You're no Oliver Twist, Vegeta, but medical costs can come out of nowhere and still break people. I've seen it happen to friends. They go into nursing homes and their savings are sucked dry."

"I would never put you in a nursing home."

"Probably not, but you'd find the most expensive one if necessary. They're still souped-up jailhouses. Folks running around, calling dignified old people 'feisty.' Ick. I'd show them what feisty looks like."

Cricket's infectious cackling laughter forced a chuckle out of Vegeta. "As I said, mama, I would never put you in one."

"Tarble says I should go to a big-time cancer center outside Missouri. Gure may dislike me, but your brother is the only man in creation willing to stomach her bullshit. She'll pay top dollar on my behalf if any issues come up, including for a nursing home."

"And what do you really want, mama?"

"More time with my family, but not to see you suffer. Who knows how difficult some treatments will be? The cancer could go into remission, and I could live well for some time, but it's incurable. I want to extend my life, Vegeta, but not die with half of my body parts removed and a bunch of tubes stuck in me. When I want everything to stop, don't interfere."

Vegeta had no argument with her request. "Nolan and Nappa can look after the store while we're away together at the hospital."

"Bulla needs to stay in town for schooling. She can visit if I'm gone longer, but I mean it, Vegeta."

"We'll cross that bridge later, mama. Bulla has a legitimate dog in this fight. You can't have more time with us if she's not around. Tutoring has been available since the days of Oliver Twist."

Despite a tough childhood and marriage, and then cancer, Cricket Rutledge's light shone. She got three enjoyable, full-of-love years with family and friends until health complications arose, killing her. Vegeta rocked his mother in his arms during her last breath. Tarble held up his devastated brother with tenderness as hospice nurses tended to Cricket's body.

Using few words, Vegeta told his family and the hospice workers that he couldn't leave the room for a while. Everyone expected that, so they let him be. Cricket's death was inevitable, but he felt like a lost child. Middle school had been the last time he cried.

As he wept in his hands, another one gently grasped his shoulder. Delicate or not, Vegeta didn't want to be touched. The physicality felt familiar, yet also foreign.

"Whoever you are, please leave me alone." His husky voice trembled but was no less commanding.

"I just came to pay my respects," a soft, sympathetic voice said. "I'll…I'll leave shortly. I'm keeping a promise to Cricket and her hospice counselor."

Vegeta cleared his throat, not facing her. "And what was that, governor?"

"To do just this, Vegeta, for as long as you allow," Bulma said as tears welled. "Your mother said you deserved a hand as strong as yours to comfort you. As kind as she's been, I couldn't refuse that to her."

Indeed, Bulma's serene reply gave succor as it often did when they were together. Dressed in a pink-pastel mariposa jacket and double-layered dress, she exuded beauty and class.

"And mama had the nerve to call me stubborn," Vegeta muttered. "So how long did you two pen-pal?"

Bulma smiled. "For a spell. Most of my staff read my mail. I had hers delivered directly to me. She sent encouraging notes any time a crabby state rep criticized me on TV. I reminded her that -"

"That you're a politician – and all grown up now."

Bulma's curved eyebrow raised. "Um, yes." He could still tease her like a pro. "In case you're wondering, she didn't say much about you. Your daughter, more so. Bulla sounds like a lovely girl."

"I wasn't wondering," Vegeta replied, wiping his face with a handkerchief. He gave up on any attempt to hide his feelings, having no reason to be ashamed. "Cricket played double agent well, and my daughter's personality is a mirror image of her grandmother's."

Vegeta's confident voice dwindled as he focused on Cricket's folded hands. She appeared peaceful, draped with colorful bedding that she designed. Bulma touched the woman's head as Vegeta's grief posture returned. Bulma kneeled, taking her shoes off to embrace him.

"It's hard to go through this, but my goodness, Cricket was so proud of you," she said, crying with him. "She was pleased with her two boys. You did your best. Almost every note she sent to me said that."

Vegeta's anguish extended beyond Cricket's passing. Oh how his mama cried some nights, thinking he and Tarble hadn't heard her. Though Vegeta never hated his father, he didn't mourn Brooks' death. He understood the allure of drugs by the time he started college – and his father's attraction to them. A week after graduation, he tried barbiturates. Each pill felt like a little piece of bliss. When a devious acquaintance later suggested heroin, Vegeta found himself between Scylla and Charybdis, the sea monsters all too ready to destroy him. He rejected the perilous offer and, later, threw out the pills.

"I'm sorry that I…I wasn't there when your father and Buzz passed," he said, feeling ashamed.

"Buzz was pissed off about life and in and out of jail, Vegeta. I loved him and his death hurt, but I had to keep distance from his messes. As for daddy, I forgave you long ago. Even though I stopped attending church, Cricket and everyone else at Chicory embraced me to plan his funeral."

"Mama called, unhappy. I said I was the last person you needed to see. I could barely get another word in. Cricket told me to get over myself and hung up. First time she ever did that to me."

"Even she had her limits with her baby boy," Bulma said, prodding a sad smile out him.

Bulma texted Ambrose, canceling all appointments, and then shut off the phone. She couldn't leave Vegeta by himself - not like this. Heartsick from the weight of his pain, her tears welled again. Vegeta's uneven breaths relaxed as she touched his neck. Bulma's lucent blue eyes, breathtaking and compassionate, gradually helped him feel less alone.

They kissed, evincing their longing for each other.

Krillin's back straightened as he pondered the old-fashioned "everyone knows each other" belief. Jefferson City and Columbia were large enough now – though still surrounded by ample woodland – to either ensure contact via technology or avoid it altogether. Vegeta and Bulma, headed toward the car, fit his hypothesis: all this time in the same location without connecting. (Him, too.) But expectations and dividing lines had changed significantly since their childhoods. In years past with fewer people, the townsfolk, farmers and those living "in the sticks" had to know each other to help during natural disasters and other big events. Out of the three, Krillin's family had the least money and lived on Jeff City's outskirts. Shyness didn't help, along with his mother's abusiveness toward him and his sister.

"Krillin Callaway."

Krillin shook Vegeta's hand with a bowed head. "Mr. Rutledge. My sincere condolences. Your mama was a good, good woman. Did some real thoughtful deeds before my sister Karen died."

"Thank you," Vegeta replied, "and people I like typically use my first name. None of us were landed gentry as children."

"Still as plain-spoken as ever, I see," Krillin said amiably. Vegeta's drollness implicitly permitted him to have a bit more fun. "Are we driving the distinguished gentleman home, Governor Brief?"

Vegeta's arms folded over his chest like a railroad-crossing barrier. "No need for that. My brother will return for me. I'm just escorting the governor since she was… thoughtful enough to pay her respects."

Unusually, Bulma didn't firmly insist or even attempt to interrupt, intriguing Krillin. Life-changing incidents stirred up strong feelings, and he saw the writing on the wall: Vegeta and Bulma never stopped loving each other. Krillin was no Shakespearean romantic, but boy oh boy, he fancied this reunion! No election would ever be as exciting. Ambrose, however, could be a problem down the road.

Krillin placed his hat over his heart. His humility was genuine, but managing Vegeta's pride required a genteel, persuasive performance. "I ain't got much to give you, sir, but please allow me this honor. I'd like to pay my respects properly too."

Krillin's lowly swamp-country-boy act entertained Bulma, but her composed expression didn't crack. Vegeta hesitantly opened the car's door, moving beside Bulma, and that was that.

Bulma fired up her phone briefly to text her friend. "Have you ever thought about going into politics, KC? Outstanding work just now."

Krillin sent a winking emoji. "We're all friends here, but I'm closing the privacy window. Also, Bulma, please - for all that is good and holy - tell Ambrose to stop texting me about you!"

Bulma covered her lips, hiding a giggle. After kicking up his feet, Vegeta opened a water bottle. He had a knack for observing without being observable.

"You are two peas in a pod, Bulma. Did you teach Krillin how to lay it on thick like that? He could go into politics."

Bulma doubled over laughing. "He's about as upright as anyone, especially while putting up with me."

"I don't doubt that," Vegeta said with a cocky smile. "How does Highway Patrol feel about him packing heat like that?"

"He hides his gun well, I think."

Vegeta snorted. "Bulma, really?"

"He's my driver and chosen, privately paid bodyguard, Vegeta. Patrollers are always around, doing their regular jobs, but Krillin has a better shot than the captain. I just didn't want a full security detail swarming around the hospice center to upset anyone."

Vegeta spied a patroller driving two cars behind them. When that one left to chase a speeder, another drove out of a copse to continue. "I hope the captain's ego isn't fragile."

Bulma opened a mirror to check her makeup. Ambrose messaged her earlier, insisting on dinner with Lieutenant Governor Josh Marley. Gratuitously single-minded and conceited, Marley was a thorn in everyone's ass, but they had to agree on some decisions to run the state. Both were elected positions, and Bulma's first candidacy split the ticket, cracking the citadel of one-party rule at the top. Marley fashioned himself as a "check" on the governor's decisions, but Thomas Jefferson he was not.

"You look fine, Bulma."

Bulma chuckled. "I can't trust your judgment! Remember when I had the flu real bad, which you gave me? I couldn't get an honest word out of you about my appearance."

"I remember exactly," Vegeta replied. "I said you looked better. No dishonesty there. You were as sick as a dog, but your body shook off that ghastly Medusa transformation well."

Bulma's mirror clamped closed. "I can't stand you, Rutledge."

"Now that, governor, is a lie," Vegeta said. "Let's get to the point. That kiss of ours threw a curve ball. I appreciate that you carried out mama's wishes to be there for me, but you know how these things work."

Bulma groaned, tapping his hand. "Yup, we could almost write a rom-com movie script. Comfort during sorrow, reunite, share memories, have good sex."

They broke into boisterous laughter.

"Not done yet!" Vegeta went on. "Part two. Great sex, have regrets, argue, and split up. The end. Damn it! That sex part sounds really appealing."

"I know, right?!" Bulma patted her chest, feeling warm. "Yessir!"

Vegeta's fists clenched. "You'll need redo that makeup, by the way."

"What's wrong?" Bulma reopened her mirror. "Did I lose an eyelash?! Shit. I will never buy from that cheap drug store again!"

"Nope," Vegeta said, scooping her into his arms. Bulma's fashion tools bounced over her high heels as they kissed passionately. "Is it soundproof back here?"

"Yup," Bulma said, unbuttoning Vegeta's shirt, "as long as Krillin keeps that partition bolted, which he will. No one can see us from outside."