Standard Disclaimer: No copyrighted material used in this chapter belongs to me. This story belongs to Linda Howard/Jones with some RIB and the writers of Glee mixed in.

This is another huge chapter, sorry that it so long. Thanks for still reading and hanging in there. I used to travel through Tennessee in the Fall, and it is so beautiful on the mountains with the various shades of red, gold, and brown leaves. I wanted to get out the automobile and climb the mountains and take pictures. It was a serene experience for me. I am sure I don't give it justice with this chapter.

Chapter Ten

Cedes used to look forward to Fall in the mountains. The summers were unbearably hot and the winters were frigid, but the Fall and yes even the Spring displayed the beauty of the area. The leaves were changing—red, yellow, brown, and orange amid the evergreens—the festivals were going on and the weather was thankfully turning cool. Previously, October and early November were among the busiest times of the year, for Cedes's store and elsewhere in the area as visitors traveled to the tourists' destinations.

But it would not be her favorite season this year. There was little or no traffic on the highway, because people seldom drove, using their precious gasoline only when they had to. Usually there was no place to go, anyway: no doctor or dentist appointments to keep, no eating out or going to movies. Mostly people walked or rode bicycles, though the community patrol they'd set up—which was still evolving—mostly rode horses. Not everyone was an accomplished rider, though, and they either learned how to ride or walked. For the first couple of weeks there had been a lot of sore butts and legs.

But, people being people and Southerners being social; their community had begun gathering in their own neighborhoods in the late afternoon, and by the end of October the gatherings had become a ritual. On the nicest of days, those social events continued well into the evening. No one had planned them, they'd just happened spontaneously. It had started with a few neighbors hanging out in the road at the end of a long day, and had grown from there. In a matter of a couple of weeks, there were small get-togethers all over the county. They talked about food, power, and how early it got dark at night. The days were getting shorter, and many people had adjusted their sleep patterns to conserve batteries and candles, going to bed when it got dark and sleeping—or trying to—until the sun came up. That was going to be more and more difficult, as the nights grew longer.

They also talked about kids, movies, books, and sewing. Emma Pillsbury had even started a neighborhood library, taking books from the schools and setting up her home as the library. Having OCD, she was the perfect choice to keep books in order and record who got what and brought what back. It was a little touch of normal in an abnormal world.

There was more to survival than food and water. People needed people, a sense of community. They'd always had that here but now it was growing stronger. Last week a kid from the far end of the road had brought his guitar out and strummed a country song or two while others gathered around and listened. He was merely competent, but competent enough that listening wasn't painful. Cedes didn't exactly love country music, but she enjoyed it anyway. It seemed as if it had been years since she'd heard music, rather than a month. She had of course been singing in her home. Gospel music to inspire her, R&B when she thought about Sam, and pop when she wanted to simply dance. But to hear music being played was something new for her.

The new normal was melding with the old normal. Sunday services had started up just last week, with the nearest church making it clear that everyone was welcome. The preacher had gone to great lengths to make his sermon nondenominational. "God is God," he'd said at the beginning. "Everything else is us trying to organize things to our liking. I'm going to concentrate on the God part, and y'all can argue in the parking lot."

Most people had laughed, and simply enjoyed resuming services.

But tonight. Mike had brought out Tina's guitar. She played and sang beautifully and even had the boy, Jeff, play one of the few country songs she knew which was Dolly Parton's "Jolene." For now, with everything that had happened, with all that was still to come, the music made this moment beautiful. Cedes sighed as her mind eased. The music flowed over and through her, and thoughts of tomorrow faded away.

She was content until she saw Roz suddenly grinning. Her aunt slapped the arm of her chair, and jumped up. Weaving her way past the others, she reached the two musicians and leaned down to whisper to grinned, too, whispered a reply, and with a satisfied expression Roz positioned herself between the two guitarists.

Bree hissed, "Grandma, please don't do this!" and covered her face with her hands in the teenage horror of being embarrassed by her elders. She knew what was coming. Cedes did, too, but unlike Bree she enjoyed it whenever Roz belted out a song.

Roz was no Aretha Franklin, but she did have a pretty decent voice and not a shy bone in her body. "Respect" was one of her favorites, and she did it justice, bending over to launch into the first notes. Tina knew the song, or at least parts of it, and the kid did his best to follow along with the guitar licks but keeping it soft so Roz's voice was in the forefront. Some of the older people laughed and began joining in.

Carmen whispered to Cedes, "Your aunt is such a drama queen." She said it with a smile.

"I know." She looked again at Bree, who still had her face buried in her hands. She was mortified, though her friend was grinning and her foot was trying to keep up with the rhythm of the song.

This was community, Cedes thought as her aunt belted out an almost-Aretha-like note, people supporting people, enjoying one another's company at the end of a long day, coming together in whatever ways they could. This was so much better than each person going into their own homes to watch TV or play video games or read a book.

Maybe stories told around the campfire would come next. She could get into that—listening, of course, not as a storyteller. The thought of performing in front of other people caused her anxiety to come out. Even though she was a gifted singer, it was the reason she didn't join in with the music earlier.

Unsolicited, she thought of Sam, up on the mountain all alone except for the dog he wouldn't even name. She tried not to think about him and how she'd almost embarrassed herself, but no matter how busy she was or what she was doing, she couldn't keep her thoughts under control. She hadn't seen him since he'd come to tell her about the Carlisles, and she was pretty sure he had ghosted her. Evidently that didn't matter because she was still ambushed by thoughts and longings for "White Chocolate" she couldn't control. She hated that Roz referred to him by this new nickname, and it had stuck in her brain because she was wondering if their kisses would taste as sweet as candy.

Thinking about the man was pointless. Feeling her heart clench because he was alone was equally useless. He was more than capable of taking care of himself, and being alone was what he wanted. But what if he got hurt, or sick? He wasn't Superman, he wasn't invulnerable. What if—

Useless. She was wasting her time and energy. He'd made it very clear that he didn't need anyone. He definitely didn't need her.

"Respect" ended, but Roz didn't return to her seat. She crooked a finger at Bree and then at Cedes. They both shook their heads, Cedes even more vehemently than Bree.

"You know what I want next," Roz said devilishly. "And God knows you both know all the words."

Reluctantly Bree got up and went to stand beside Roz. Her stomach twisting in stage fright, Cedes didn't move. Bree mouthed Please! at her, and the others around them began encouraging her to get up. Within seconds, her refusal was drawing more attention than singing in public ever could. She was making a spectacle of herself by digging in her heels. Reluctantly she stood and headed toward Roz and Bree. With a shrug, Carmen heaved herself up and joined them after seeing Cedes's willingness to join the Roz Show.

How many times had she sung "Try a Little Tenderness" in Roz's living room? When she was a kid, the song had been on a vinyl album that Roz had played on a record player, before reluctantly succumbing first to a cassette tape and finally a CD. There might even have been an eight-track tape in there, somewhere. "Try a Little Tenderness" was Roz's all-time favorite song, and she was ruthless in inflicting it on anyone who came to her home.

At Roz's lead, the four of them launched into the song, singing acapella. All the younger folks—basically anyone under forty, with Bree being the exception—were unfamiliar with the song, but entertained by their version of the song.

All through the crowd, people danced along with them and seemed to enjoy their performance. It seemed that everyone had allowed the power of the music to wipe away their worries, for a while. The short song was over way too soon.

Cedes and Bree immediately returned to their seats, and so did a breathless Roz.

Carmen remained standing, and began singing a very different type of Otis Redding song "Sitting on the Dock of the Bay". Carmen had a surprisingly good voice, and her slow, easy song grabbed everyone. A hush fell over the crowd. After the raucousness of Roz's offerings, Carmen's full, warm tones wove a kind of spell that was all mixed in with the bright stars overhead and the soft night air, the crisp smell of autumn and wood fire. It was a magical moment, one Cedes knew she'd remember long after the lights came back on.

As Sam neared Cedes's neighborhood, he'd been surprised to hear the music. It wasn't loud enough to carry far, but in the still night it did carry. The dog's ears perked up, he even pranced a little, but he stayed close to Sam's side. They avoided the road and skirted backyards to get where they were headed.

From one side of Cedes's house large trees blocked his view, so Sam walked through the backyard until he could see what was going on in the middle of McKinley Road. Thanks to the dark and the distance no one saw him, but in the light of the fire he could see them well. Was that Cedes's aunt? Singing? She screeched at the top of her apparently very powerful lungs. He was about to leave, thinking he could come back another time when Cedes wasn't so busy, but when Roz motioned to Bree and Cedes and they joined her . . . Well, there was no way he could leave now. He leaned against the side of the house and prepared himself for whatever might come.

No way they could make it as a professional group, but the older lady, Cedes, and Bree probably could if they weren't so shy. Cedes was actually really good when she closed her eyes and let herself go a little. His eyes were drawn to and remained on her. She moved to the song a little. She wasn't as boisterously into it as her aunt, but the soaring notes she sang and the way her hips swayed . . . Shit, he did not need this distraction. What he had to do could wait until tomorrow. And to be honest, he didn't have to do anything at all. He shouldn't even be here.

But he didn't walk away. Even the dog, who sat at his side, seemed oddly entranced.

The song ended much too soon, and Cedes returned to her seat. He couldn't see her nearly well enough from this vantage point, but he wasn't willing to move from this safe spot to get a better view, though he was tempted. The older woman who had been singing with them remained standing to sing her own song, something slow and easy to listen to. She wasn't too bad on her own.

Music by firelight. He hadn't expected this.

When she was done with her song, someone else from the crowd took her place to sing a gospel song. Several people joined in, until it seemed everyone was singing the familiar hymn. They should've sounded terrible, but they didn't. Some were out of tune—with gruff and less-than-pleasant voices mingled with those more talented—but . . . not terrible.

Sam didn't leave, as he'd intended, but stood there in the deepest shadows of the night until the crowd began to disperse and Cedes headed his way. She spent a lot of time with her family, but she slept here, in her own house, all alone. She thought she was safe. They all did.

No one was safe. He knew that, and surely some of them had to know that by now, too. So why were they laughing and singing? This was a crisis, not a campfire party.

And yet . . . A part of him envied their innocence, their ability to come together and forget for a while. He wished he could let himself believe everything was going to be okay.

He didn't.

Cedes, flashlight in hand and pointed to the ground, had almost reached her front door when he stepped around the corner and surprised her. He really surprised her. She damn near jumped out of her skin.

"Shit!" she gasped, as she placed one hand over her heart. "Sorry, I didn't mean to cuss at you, but I'll die ten years sooner now thanks to you." She took a breath. "How long have you been standing there?"

He didn't smile, but he wanted to. "Long enough."

He knew Cedes well enough to know she had to be embarrassed. "Sorry. I know we aren't the best singers."

"You were the best up there."

She cocked her head and looked at him hard. "You should've joined us. We can always use a baritone."

"I don't sing in public."

"Come on . . ."

"No way in hell."

She laughed at that and headed for her front porch. "Come on in. What can I do for you?"

She had no idea. Well, maybe she did. The attraction that was driving him nuts wasn't one-sided, he knew it wasn't. What it was, was more than he could handle.

He had no intention of sitting next to her again, of tempting himself with impossible ideas. So why was he here, unless he liked torturing himself?

Right. He actually had a reason. He swung his backpack off his shoulder and unzipped the main compartment. "I had some extra solar lights, and I thought maybe you could use them."

She turned to face him. "Extra?"

He'd noticed that she didn't have any, and he did have more than enough, and damn it, she didn't have to look at him that way. "If you don't want them—"

"I didn't say that!" she interrupted, and then she smiled and walked back toward him.

He placed his backpack on the ground and drew out not one but two powerful garden solar lights. He knew Cedes well enough to know that if she had just one she'd give it to her aunt. This way they'd each have one. She pointed the beam of her flashlight down as he screwed the main unit into the stick. The lights would've been too long for his backpack if he hadn't taken them apart. "Stick them into the ground in the morning, to collect sunlight, then bring them in at night." He pointed out where the small on-off switch was located on the base.

She took the first one he handed her. It seemed they were both being extra cautious not to touch as the device changed hands. "This is fantastic," she said. "Will it work on cloudy days?"

"Some, though it won't be as bright. You should still get some use out of it." He assembled the other light and placed it to the side, leaning it against the house.

"I'll give one to Roz, if you don't mind. These will really come in handy."

He'd already assumed she'd do just that, and she did not disappoint him.

There was a too-long moment of nervous silence, until the dog got involved. He danced at Cedes's feet. She smiled and set her solar light aside, leaned down to give the dog a good vigorous rub behind his ears while she called him a good boy.

Lucky mutt.

He wanted those hands on him. He could be a good boy, too. Mentally he snorted at the idea. More than wanting her to touch him, he wanted to put his hands on her. That was why he'd made this ridiculous trip, to offer her a couple of solar lights. Was he looking to impress her? To make himself useful? What a load of crock. His dick had pointed him in this direction, and he had followed.

"Dog," he called gruffly, turning away and walking away from Cedes. "Let's go."

"Uh, thank you," she called in an uncertain and too-soft voice.

He muttered a gruff "You are welcome, take care," as the pup pulled up beside him, but he didn't look back.

The days slipped past and the reality of living without electricity became more routine. Cedes no longer automatically flipped a light switch when she entered a room. October was always a dry month but there had been some rain, enough that she'd collected some water in her makeshift rain collectors and was able to skip a day or two of carrying buckets of water from the creek.

She loved the solar light Sam had given her, and Roz loved hers, too. Roz loved hers because it saved her precious candles, and that was a great benefit. For Cedes, the simple gift was more personal, more . . . well, she didn't know what it was.

Cedes thought of Sam every night, when she brought the light in. Had that been his intention when he'd given it to her? Surviving was her focus all day long, but at night, when she switched on that light, her thoughts took another turn.

Roz said a gift of solar lights from White Chocolate qualified as true and romantic apocalyptic courting, but Cedes wasn't so sure. Roz was just . . . Roz.

They were all losing weight, even Bree who did not need to lose any, not necessarily because there wasn't enough food but because they were all doing more physical work and automatically eating less in order to save food for later. The occasional biscuits or pan bread that Carmen made—very occasional because flour and cornmeal were precious—were a treat rather than something they took for granted.

The valley had seen a few frosty mornings in late October, and then November brought more. The smell and smoke from fireplaces wreathed the valley almost every morning, though winter approached in fits and starts and some days were warm enough for people to go about in short sleeves. Those increasingly rare, bright days always saw people out more, moving around, getting things done.

Cedes was stingy with the stack of firewood Brett Bukowski had delivered, because she didn't want to be a burden on him. To stretch the supply she walked the woods, gathering sticks for kindling and larger pieces whenever she could find them. She carried a blue tarp with her, and loaded her find on it, dragging it behind her and sharing everything with Roz's household. Sometimes Bree joined her because getting out of the house gave her a chance to expend energy. She and her friends got together whenever they could, but everyone had chores to do now.

"I miss school," Bree confessed one afternoon as they gathered wood.

"I can see why." Cedes paused and stretched her back. They had a good load already, and her lower back was feeling the strain of bending down so much. "Wait." She stared at Bree, wondering why she hadn't thought of it before, why no one had thought of it. "If church can start back, I don't see why school can't." Hadn't that been mentioned back at the very beginning when the grid had gone down? She couldn't believe she'd forgotten!

Bree's eyes brightened. "You mean, open the elementary school?"

"No, we couldn't heat it. It'll have to be somewhere that can be heated. I wonder how many kids we'd be talking about? Not all kids would come because of the distance involved." A hundred years ago kids had routinely walked miles to school, but that was a hundred years ago. People's outlook hadn't changed sufficiently back to those times for parents not to blink an eye at pushing their kids out the door to walk a few miles in the rain or snow. If the electricity stayed off for over a year, though, those times might return.

"Fifty, maybe?"

Cedes thought that might be a good number. The elementary school had almost four times that number of students, but that included kindergarten kids and kids who weren't close enough now to attend.

"There has to be a couple of people who live here in our area with teaching experience," she said, thinking. As usual, Roz would know more about that than she did. "Regardless of that, you kids have your books, right? What you need is structure and someone to go through the material with you."

Feeding that many kids would be impossible, so everyone would have to bring their lunches. Just dividing the classes, getting volunteers to teach, and heating the area selected for school would be a big job. Logistically, the best places for having classes would be private houses, one for each group, so the firewood wouldn't be used to heat entirely separate spaces. Emergency situations required emergency adjustments. Later on they'd worry about setting up a more traditional school setting.

"Thanks," Bree said, giving her a quick hug. "I knew you'd come up with something."

They dragged the tarp-load of sticks back to Roz's house, where they unloaded and stacked half of it a few feet from the back door. They covered the stack to keep it dry, then Cedes pulled the remainder to her house and repeated the process.

The chores were so simple now. She didn't have to deal with fuel deliveries, inventory, bank statements, or taxes. She had to eat, keep clean, and keep the fire going on cool days. She walked a lot, hauling water and firewood, and going about the various neighborhoods. She'd met with the Giardis and they had gone to see the Carlisles, to teach Mary Jo which particular herbs to use to keep her blood pressure under control, and how to use them. Once a week she and Roz walked to the store to meet with Mike and the rest of the community patrol, see how things were going, if any of the volunteers needed relief or had seen something Mike didn't already know about. Herb Duncan always had a lot to say, but he was taking part, and she no longer thought he was as obnoxious as he'd first seemed. He and Roz would never be friends, but at least they no longer argued.

They were getting by. The residents were pulling together, cooperating. Even the oldest people were contributing by doing sewing jobs, making quilts, and any other way they could think of to pay the people who brought them food. The old women knew how to cook without electricity, more than heating a pan of soup on the fire. Some of them would watch younger kids while their parents did other chores. The barter system was very informal, everyone sort of made their own bargains except for what was needed for the community patrol, but it was working. So far they hadn't had any trouble, except for one guy on the other end of the town who had somehow gotten his hands on some meth and trashed his house and slapped his wife around, before shooting at the neighbor's house. The community patrol, two former military guys, had taken it on themselves to kick the guy's ass and tie him up in a barn until he settled down. Other than that there was nothing they could do, they had no jail and no one wanted to take on the care and feeding of a prisoner anyway.

Cedes had the uneasy feeling that if he made a practice of taking drugs—and God only knew where he'd gotten the meth—and slapping his wife around, he'd end up with a bullet in his head in a hunting "accident." She didn't want anyone in their small community to have to kill someone, but everyone who attended the weekly patrol meetings knew that anything was a possibility. All they could do was hope things stayed as relatively peaceful as they had been so far.

The very next morning, the mini-disaster she'd been waiting for happened. She hadn't known who, what, or when, but eventually something had to happen to someone. She just hadn't expected it to be her family.

"Cedes! Cedes!"

She was standing in the road talking to Mike. They'd been checking on the elderly couple who lived at the beginning of McKinley Road, and discussing recruiting another volunteer for patrol so Brett Bukowski could cut more firewood, not just for his own family but for others who weren't able to cut it themselves. At Bree's high, wailing cry, they both turned.

Something was wrong.

Bree sprinted down the middle of the road toward them, her ponytail whipping behind her. Cedes ran toward her, and when Bree was close enough, Cedes saw the tears on her face.

Roz. It had to be Roz. Nothing else would upset Bree so much.

"Grandma fell," Bree panted as she skidded to a stop. Each word was an effort, each breath ragged.

"Fell?" Cedes's heart skipped a beat. At Roz's age a fall could be disastrous—especially now, when there was no 9-1-1 to call, no EMTs, no hospital.

"Down the stairs." Bree bent over and took a couple of deep breaths. It wasn't the short run that doubled her over, it was the thought of losing her Gran. The kid had lost too much in her short life. She choked on a sob. "Carmen said she's broken her leg."

Cedes took off at a run, Mike beside her. As she ran she tried to control her emotions. Better a leg than a hip. Maybe it wasn't a break. Maybe it was just a bad sprain, and Carmen, who tended toward the emotional rather than the logical, had overreacted.

Please let it be a sprain. Please let it be a sprain. Not that a sprain wouldn't be bad enough, in these circumstances; some sprains could take longer to heal than a broken bone.

She ran up the steps and through the front door, with Mike right behind her and Bree coming in a close third. Her heart almost stopped at the sight of Roz lying in an awkward position at the bottom of the stairs, her eyes closed and her face pale. Carmen knelt beside her. Cedes hurried forward and as she did, Roz pressed a hand to her side and moaned. Then she said, "Shit!" That one curse word sent a wave of relief through Cedes; not only was Roz conscious, she was angry, and that was a very good thing.

Carmen looked up, surprisingly calm for someone who normally didn't handle any crisis well. "Thank heavens you're here, Mike; we'll need a doctor and some help moving her."

"What happened?" Cedes asked as she dropped down.

Roz opened her eyes and looked at Cedes. Pain was clear in her gaze, her expression, and the way she pressed her lips together. "I lost my balance at the top of the stairs. I went up to get a box of winter clothes out of the closet to air them out, because we're going to need them. It'll probably snow soon, and I want to be prepared." She wasn't quite rambling, but close. "Damn it! I'm disgusted with myself, falling like an old—" She grimaced in pain. "Damn near sixty-three and I've never broken a bone before now. Spectacular timing, wouldn't you say?"

Mike knelt on the other side of Roz and said to Bree, "She'll be okay, honey. From what I can see, if her leg's broken, it's a simple fracture. Without an X Ray I can't be positive, but I'm pretty sure."

Cedes danced on the edge of her own hysteria, but she couldn't give in. She was still dealing with what could have happened, not what actually had. She tamped down her sense of dread. Yes, it was likely Roz's leg was broken, but it wasn't a compound fracture. It was a warm enough early November day, and Roz wore capris instead of jeans or sweatpants. If her bone had been sticking out, if the skin had been broken, then she wouldn't have been able to stop the panic because she knew enough about compound fractures to know that without expert medical care they could be deadly.

"Let's get her to the couch. Mike, what do you think would be the best way to lift her? On a quilt, maybe, like a sling?"

"I don't think we'll need that," he said, slipping an arm behind Roz's shoulders and lifting her to a sitting position. Carmen hurried to spread a blanket on the couch and fetch a pillow; with Cedes and Mike on each side and Bree gripping Roz's clothes from behind, they got her to a standing position.

Once Roz was upright she put her weight on the left foot, but kept her right foot lifted. Already her lower leg was swelling and bruising some. That wasn't a good sign. Together they lurched and hobbled their way to the sofa and lowered the injured woman there as gently as they could. Later, and with more help, they'd move Roz to her bedroom, but for now this would do and make it easier for any immediate care.

Roz groaned as they positioned her on the couch. She closed her eyes again.

Mike said. "We need to immobilize and elevate the leg. I wish we had some ice. That would help with the swelling."

Might as well wish for a healing fairy; they didn't have any ice, not a single cube. They did have cold water, though, because the water they dipped from the creek was icy. "Bree, get some towels and wet them, the cold water will help. What else, Mike?"

"A splint, to keep the leg immobile. She'll have to stay off it for at least a couple of months."

Roz's eyes popped open and she tried to come up, but she didn't make it far. She winced and fell back, resting a hand over her rib cage. Were her ribs broken? That was something else to worry about. "A couple of months? Are you kidding me?" She closed her eyes. "My leg hurts like hell. Everything hurts, but the leg is the worst." She lifted a hand to the side of her head, sucking in her breath sharply. "Damn it, I hit my head, too. Is it bleeding?" She turned her head so they could all see.

"No blood," Bree said. "That's good, right?" She still sounded tearful.

Cedes turned to her cousin. Roz was settled, for now, and Bree needed reassurance, she needed her own kind of care. "Honey, your grandma is going to be fine. She's as impossible as ever, and that's definitely a good sign."

"Don't talk about me like I'm not here."

Carmen placed a hand on Cedes's arm. "I have some pain pills left over from my surgery last year." She hurried away, but when she reached the stairway she slowed her pace, taking the stairs up to her room with extra caution.

Bree dropped down and very gently rested her head on Roz's stomach. "You'd better be okay," she whispered.

Roz stroked Bree's head, and that was when Cedes saw the scrape on her forearm. It was a minor injury, but another one that needed to be tended. Roz had taken quite a fall, and if the broken leg was her only serious injury they should count themselves lucky.

"I'll definitely be okay, sweetie." The bite was gone from Roz's voice as she continued to stroke Bree's hair. "I'm just pissed that I fell."

And still not herself, if she'd use the word pissed in front of Bree.

Cedes said, "Bree, get that wet towel, and a dry one to put under her leg so we don't get the blanket wet." This time, Bree darted off to get the requested items.

Cedes focused on what needed to be done next. What could they use for a splint? She didn't even hear Mike tell Carmen to get some materials for a possible splint because her next thought was on crutches. Someone in the neighborhood would have crutches, and she was pretty sure Shannon Beiste had had one of those portable toilets when her mother had lived with her. Maybe it was still around.

All this, and more, was whirling through her head when Roz said, "You'll have to take over."

"Take over what?" Did Roz want her to move in? It would probably be a good idea, at least for a few days, so she could help Carmen and Bree take care of the patient while she was in the most pain.

"Everything," Roz said in a weak voice. "I know, I was the one elected, and you were just supposed to help, but let's face it, I'm not going to be able to make the meeting tomorrow, or the one next week."

Before Cedes could voice her instinctive protest Roz added, "My leg really does hurt like hell. I didn't want Bree to see, but I expect I'll be taking Carmen's pain pills for a while, so I won't be in my right mind." Gingerly she touched the sore spot on her head. "I don't know how bad the head injury might be, but the fall knocked me out. It's probably not smart for me to make any decisions for a while."

Instinctively Cedes began, "Someone else can—" then stopped herself, bracing for the inevitable.

"You want Herb in charge?" Roz snapped.

No. No she didn't.

"You know damn well he'll take any opportunity to bully his way into a position of power."

That was assuming there was any power involved in the position, but it was the idea of being "in charge." Yes, he would. "Just for now," Cedes finally conceded. "I expect you'll be back before you know it."

"Oh, honey, I don't think so." Roz grimaced and closed her eyes and hissed a low and angry "Shit!" right before Bree returned with the cold wet towel.

When they had stopped talking Mike had finished his examination of Roz telling her that both of the lower leg bones were broken, but the good news was they were simple fractures and the bones weren't out of place. The leg needed to be immobilized, though. He used two short pieces of plank that Tina had brought over for the splint, and Bree sacrificed several old T-shirts that he cut up and used to tie the splints in place. Roz cursed, mostly to herself, as she was moved from the couch to her bed. She usually watched her language around Bree, trying to be a good role model and all, but she was in a lot of pain and muzzling herself was something she thought of only after she'd said something she shouldn't—not that she'd said, or muttered, anything Bree hadn't heard before. The young girl just hadn't heard it from her.

Once she was settled, Cedes went outside to talk with Mike and Tina telling them that she would be temporarily in charge until Roz was better.

The pain pill Carmen had given her had already kicked in, thank the Lord, but though she was fuzzy she still had most of her faculties. After Roz heard the front door close behind Cedes, she took first Bree's hand and then Carmen's.

"I don't want you two to worry too much. This is annoying, I am in a lot of pain and will be for a while, I won't lie about that, but I'll be fine." Her mind began to swim a little, like it did when she'd had too much wine, which didn't happen often enough these days. She was kind of a lightweight in the alcohol department and she had Bree to think of, so she was extra careful when it came to booze of any kind.

"But Grandma—"

She squeezed Bree's hand and forced a smile. "I promise you, honey, I'm going to be okay."

Roz glanced at Carmen, then, and caught her friend's eye. "Here's the thing, y'all. Cedes should've been in charge of the community organization from the beginning. I'm too old, and too cranky, and let's face it, all the good ideas were hers. She just needs a little push. If I exaggerate my disability while Cedes is around, don't be concerned."

"Grandma!" Bree's mouth fell open. "You want us to lie to Cedes?"

"Not tell lies, exactly. Exaggerate," Roz said again.

"You fell down the stairs, and your first thought is to use the accident to force Cedes to do something she doesn't want to do?" Carmen asked.

"Of course not. It was my second or third thought." One thing this crisis had taught her was to make the best of a bad situation, and that's what she was doing now. "Maybe the fourth."

"Your little bird needs to be pushed out of the nest." Carmen got it. She even smiled, her eyes crinkling.

The pain pill was really kicking in now. Roz closed her eyes. The entire world spun and swam. Maybe next time she'd take half a pill. That should be plenty, and they'd last longer that way.

"Cedes is stronger than even she knows, and yes, she needs a little push." Roz realized she'd be walking a fine line for the next few weeks, pretending to be more feeble than she was without causing Cedes to worry too much. If Cedes didn't step up, as Roz was sure she would, then when the break healed she'd get back to it.

But if Cedes proved to herself and everyone else that she was capable—well. That would be the best outcome, and almost worth a broken leg.