Disclaimer: The Hey Arnold characters belong to Craig Bartlett, and him alone. That his characters have inspired such hubris in me that would see me attempt a fan fiction based on them, speaks volumes of my reverence for the man.

ICYMI: A lunch date at the Patakis remains surprisingly civil, as does a long overdue talk between Phoebe and Gerald.

Now go about doing what you came here to do!

16. The Lions' Dens (Part 2)

The tension surrounding Arnold seemed to have a palpable substance. He was seated at the Pataki residence, at the mercy of their undiluted attention. His brief: having to provide a truthful answer to Miriam that somehow would avoid a few very lurid details. Bob seemed to be fearing the worst, while Miriam was a picture of good-natured curiosity.

And Helga.

Her expression was negotiating a particularly dangerous minefield. She had to appear as interested in Arnold's tale without betraying any worry that he might mention any X-rated details of their relationship, or even hint at the relationship having reached that stage in the first place. Yes, the thought of Bob having a nuclear-grade conniption upon hearing that his granddaughter did in fact have a sex life did have a certain mean-spirited appeal, but damn that Arnold for rubbing off on her. Thanks to him, here she was now, considering the bigger picture! Any short-term comeuppance on Bob could have unfavorable long-term implications for her and Arnold.

And damn Miriam, too! Helga's grandmother was working at salvaging her marriage to Bob. The Pataki scion had come to realize the parallel between herself and her grandmother. Both were working to hold on to someone they'd come to see as near and dear to them. Granted, Miriam and Bob was all kinds of fucked up, but who was Helga to judge when her story with Arnold had an equally fucked up origin? Perhaps another result of Helga's prolonged exposure to Arnold, she had come to empathize with the elder woman in that particular endeavor of hers. Thus, she vowed that any setback between Bob and Miriam would not be a result of her childish petulance.

With that in mind and a lot at stake, Helga had no choice but to hold her tongue and trust Arnold to tell a truthful and plausible tale.

The truth.

Nothing but the truth.

Just not the whole truth.

Realizing this as well, Arnold inhaled deeply before delivering his answer. "Well, you see, Mrs. Pataki. While Helga and I were getting to know each other better—"

"Define 'getting to know each other better'!" Bob interrupted with a suspicious glower that threatened to curdle milk into yogurt.

"B, I am warning you!" Miriam stepped up once again in Arnold's defense. "Stop assuming the worst about Arnold! This isn't like what happened to Olga all those years back!" She paused briefly when she saw how taken aback he was by her assertion before continuing with: "Now please, let the young man finish his story!"

Then to Arnold: "Arnold, so sorry for that. Please, continue."

Arnold needed a beat or two to recompose himself. Still, knowing that Miriam seemed to be on his side was bolstering enough for him to resume.

"Yeah," he wavered before rediscovering his voice, "we got to know a lot about each other. Then one day, she asked about my parents."

Bob remained unmoved by the revelation. Miriam, by contrast, was clutching her chest upon having realized the gravity of that topic. Regardless of how the Pataki elders reacted, Arnold pressed on.

"My parents went missing ten years ago," he explained heavily. "And…well…I haven't spoken about it much. Only with my grandparents, really…never with anyone else."

He had to pause as he felt a lump forming in his throat that needed to be suppressed. Fortunately, Miriam was on hand to pick up any slack. "Arnold, wait! You don't have to force yourself if it's still too painful."

"No, I'm fine, Mrs. Pataki," he insisted. "I just needed a moment…"

Thus the stage was properly set. Thus could Arnold Philip Shortman begin relating a story he'd been keeping all to himself, to this motley audience. He told them – as best he could recall – of his parents and their exploits. He spoke of beings selfless almost to a fault. Two people who would readily put the needs of strangers ahead of their own. Two people who would risk life and limb to rescue perfect strangers trapped inside a broken-down funicular. Two people who would freely give of their time and strength and tragically finite resources to ensure the betterment of others.

None of these points impressed Bob. Bob Pataki's view on charity was dim enough to block out light. In his mind, people needing the pity of others had failed in the fundamental rule of being human; they had failed to take care of Number One. And while shepherding the weak through the valley of the darkness might have made for a quotable Bible verse, as far as he was concerned, it also made for a pair of saps ripe to be taken for all their worth.

He kept these thoughts to himself, knowing all too well that Miriam would occasionally be eying him with the nastiest glower to keep him in check. Doing so ensured that Arnold could share his admittedly fractured knowledge on the topic.

"Then one night when I was one year old," he eventually reached the most heartrending part of an already sad story, "they left for one last job in San Lorenzo."

He needed another beat to steady himself. The Patakis granted him that pause, even Bob, coerced as he might have been.

"One last job to help a sick tribe they had helped before. Just one more job and they'd be back and we'd be a family again…"

Another pause followed, which Miriam filled in. "And they haven't been back since, have they?" she asked as tactfully and as delicately as possible. Her question elicited a silent nod from a boy about to be overwhelmed by his story.

Surprise of all surprises, it was Bob who would pull the young Shortman out of his funk when he blurted out: "Yeah, all good and well. But what does any of that have to do with coming over here to feel up my granddaughter…and at the front door no less?"

His utterance earned him more glares from the women of the house, while Arnold took it as another obstacle to ignore as he spurred himself on. "Well, I guess…I guess…my story struck a note with Helga."

"Oh, how so, Arnold?" Miriam asked, back to being engrossed by his story while Helga kept eyeballing Bob warily.

"Like," resumed Arnold, "…like yesterday, when she visited me at my place and said she had something to give me."

And Bob would have attempted yet another derailment but for yet another preemptive scowl from his wife that stopped him cold as his mouth was beginning to flap open. And credit to Arnold, for he had decided that his story had now become too important to be threatened by Bob's shenanigans. There wasn't anything untoward in what was to follow anyway, so to hell with him and his preconceived ideas.

"She gave me this notebook that she'd put together," explained Arnold. Realizing the still volatile environment, he quickly added: "About my parents and where she thinks they might be found!"

Next to speak, Miriam. "Oh my! That seems quite…interesting."

Arnold could sense she was hiding no small amount of skepticism, which he moved to assuage. "I know, right? I mean, this is Helga we're talking about, Mrs. Pataki." He turned to smile admiringly at Helga before returning to Miriam. "I'm sure you know how talented she is, how smart she is. What she's capable of when she puts her heart into something."

This time, even Bob was rendered speechless by Arnold's words. Finally, the Shortman had seen his gap and goddamn did he take it! Bob and Miriam were thus treated to the contents of Helga's notebook. Arnold went out of his way to extol the details his lover had put into the publication.

Occasionally, Miriam would interrupt to ask a question to her granddaughter about her methods. And so, Helga was gradually pulled into the conversation to explain her side of the tale more clearly. Before long, Helga had taken over from Arnold in telling the tale, which proved no less gripping to Bob and Miriam. Arnold too would learn with the elder Patakis about the story behind the story.

xxXXXxx

Helga had borrowed her friend Phoebe's collection of library cards which granted her access to many reference resources throughout Hillwood, including the archives of two better-than-average news agencies.

The two agencies yielded sparse local and national news coverage of the Shortmans' disappearance, but the efforts of the foreign press were another story entirely. San Lorenzo's English-language press proved particularly helpful, offering as it did accounts from the authorities and from eyewitnesses of when Miles and Stella Shortman were last seen. Another surprise came from the travel section of a Sunday newspaper from South Africa, wherein San Lorenzo's virtues as a tourist destination were extolled to a readership desperate for maximum bang for its declining buck. The article devoted much space to the pristine mountain beauty and hinted at an elusive tribe occupying said mountains.

An excerpt read: 'It doesn't matter if you're a suburban Madam or a rural Boerseun, whether you use a 3-litre bakkie to tackle the potholes or rock in your Gusheshe in the kasi parking lots. By exploring San Lorenzo's glorious mountains, you could become the first to lay eyes upon a tribal local since the Spanish Conquistadors. Makes you think, doesn't it?'

At a subsequent venue, she'd lucked into a vast database of maps in which "San Lorenzo" was one of the lesser-known topics. Lesser known or not, its treatment was no less comprehensive. She had at her disposal a wide gamut of material, from standard road maps to specialist topographical maps, with even the odd aerial photograph tossed in here and there. Most useful, though, were the satellite scans on offer, ground-penetrating at that. Products of a fruitless geological survey predating the Shortmans' disappearance, they'd made it into the public domain to become a part of this venue's reference section. They revealed networks of caves that would be a spelunker's wet dream. And though Helga was no spelunker – the Wheezin' Ed misadventure had put paid to that – she inferred that there might indeed exist some significant overlap between this world's San Lorenzo and the one she remembered. Add to this the news articles, the travel piece, and the maps, and she reckoned she had the kernel of hope she'd been seeking.

xxXXXxx

That's what happened.

Understandably, it's not what Helga related to Miriam and Bob, at least not all of it.

She didn't delve into any specifics of the maps, nor the whys and hows of their usefulness. She surrendered no more detail than she deemed necessary. She heavily implied that her conclusions were derived from calculated guesswork and not from prior trans-universal experience. She hoped and prayed that her grandparents would infer as much and leave it at that.

She was lucky. They did.

Which was both good and bad.

"Why, Helga!" Miriam proclaimed in surprise and delight. "That was so amazing! Now I see why Arnold came to visit you! All this effort you put in, it's all so sweet! I mean, I already knew you liked him, but this!"

But Bob was still there, having never met a parade he didn't like raining on. Arnold and Helga had barely begun blushing after Miriam's praise when the Pataki patriarch weighed in with: "Yeah? And what's he supposed to do with that?"

His expression was cold and hard, threatening to withstand even the harshest glares and rebukes from the room. They wouldn't have the chance to display their disapproval, because he had more to say.

"So now he thinks his parents may be somewhere underground, living as part of a tribe that hasn't trusted a white person since Christopher fucking Columbus?"

"Watch your mouth, B!" warned Miriam as she spoke on behalf of an indignant Helga and a fast-saddening Arnold.

"Oh, come one, Miriam!" Bob defended himself. "You heard what I heard! The original rescue effort came back with exact bupkes! And it was supposed to be a thorough effort!"

Helga replied in Miriam's stead, more in desperation than her trademark sass. "It's not fantasy, Bob! It's fact!"

"Ha! Fact, she says!" scoffed Bob.

"Yeah, Mr. Pataki! Fact!" Arnold weighed in with defiant hopefulness. "The original rescue effort didn't think to look underground! Maybe that's why they couldn't find my parents!"

"Just think!" added Helga. "If the rescuers use that satellite technology, they'll have a better chance of finding them!"

Bob remained resolute, though. "Helga, where do you get off playing games with Arnold like this?"

His retort silenced the room long enough for Helga's ire to build until she responded much more defensively with: "I'm not playing games, Bob! I'm trying to find the truth about his family the way I just found the truth about mine! And why do you care, Mr. Family Man of the Year?"

To the surprise of those who heard it, Bob's response sounded slightly more measured than enraged. "What? You want me to admit I was a bad father figure? Will that make you feel better?"

His question proved rhetorical.

"So let me admit it! I wasn't the best father to your mother or the best grandfather to you! But Jesus Christ, Helga, not even I would think to fill your head with pipedreams like this!"

And he could sense an impending reproach from Arnold, to whom he turned to address. "See, Arnold? That's how you succeed in life! You deal in what you can deliver! You don't take wild swings in the dark, you don't just…" – air quotes – "…hope for the best!"

Miriam was also attempting an intervention, which Bob also saw coming. "Oh, come on, Miriam!" he chastised his wife. "Are you really going to sit there and pretend your time as the Beeper Queen didn't teach you anything?"

And now even Miriam was stopped in her tracks, so Bob pressed his advantage. "Did you forget how hard-assed you could get? You took no shit from anybody! You did what was necessary for the deal and the business! There's no way the Beeper Queen would support such a fairy tale!"

"But I'm a grandmother now, B, looking out for my granddaughter! " countered Miriam. "I'm not the Beeper Queen!"

"Maybe you should be!" Bob pushed back. "She listens to you in any case! Maybe she'll listen if the Beeper Queen tells her that you don't just go to whatever the hell Agency his parents worked for and say hey, I've got this new crackpot idea of where the parents might be! And if by some miracle they think you're on to something, who's going to pay for it? Trust me, they won't work for free! Someone's going to have to grease their wheels!"

For an added flourish, he turned to a fast-deflating Arnold and Helga and commented matter-of-factly but not mockingly: "And I don't see you two holding any oil cans!"

That was that for Robert Pataki the no-nonsense businessman. He'd won the argument, crushed it as far as he was concerned. So what if Helga and her boyfriend were quivering in his wake? This was a long-overdue lesson for them, that you don't always get what you want. He'd have basked longer in his triumph were it not for the smirk he saw slowly creeping across the face of his wife. That, and her eyes that were narrowing into a telling glint.

It was enough to unsettle him from his internal celebration in which he was hoisting the Stanley Cup in one hand while chugging a magnum of champagne from the other after having been awarded multiple Medals of Honor at the White House. It was enough for him to realize that any smugness on display by him might have been premature.

And so…

"Miriam?" Robert Pataki ventured cautiously. "What's going on? Why are you looking at me like that?"

A pause followed, which did little to settle Bob before Miriam spoke. "Say, Robert," she began, slowly and deliberately, "is The Beeper Emporium still as cash flush as it was in last year's results?"

Bob's eyes widened the instant he saw where this conversation was heading. "Miriam, no!" he quickly denied. "That money's for the business and not to be used willy-nilly!"

"I see…" replied Miriam, her expression unchanged. "…So if you were to tell Helpers For Humanity what Helga told us, plus have the Emporium donate a sizable amount to – what was that saying? – grease their wheels, then maybe we could actually get somewhere?"

Bob had maybe a million reasons to object, ranging from misquoting, misinterpreting and taking out of context, all the way to her being full of shit. He didn't get the first word out when Miriam cut him off. "Imagine the publicity. Local business helps reunite kid with missing parents. How's that going to look?"

She left that question hanging briefly before resuming.

"Imagine the tax deduction you could claim when you tell the IRS about your charity donation. It's all win-win, B. How about that? And you thought The Beeper Queen was going soft!"

This would have been Bob's chance to respond, but the problem was that his wife's pragmatic words and tone were at odds with her still-malicious expression: she wasn't done talking. When next she spoke, the answer became painfully clear.

"By the way, Robert…you have been on the level with your taxes, haven't you? It would be such a shame if the IRS were to start suspecting otherwise, wouldn't it?"

Robert Pataki would have called his wife's bluff if not for the critical fact that she had made it clear she wasn't bluffing and that she was willing to go full scorched earth on him. She'd gone cold turkey off the smoothies since the night of Olga's rampage, and he knew enough of what her sober self was capable of not to fuck with her any further. Silence reigned over the table before Miriam suggested they return to their meal which passed with no further major incident.

And though Helga and Arnold were not fully versed in the details and context behind the words spoken by the Pataki elders, they felt reasonably assured that Bob would end up helping them. Whether he wanted to or not.

It felt like another world. All because of one suggestion: "I don't suppose kissing would be out of the question, would it?"

Phoebe realized that she had no right to be surprised by her current situation. Gerald's touch had ignited something within her, altering some internal chemical balance into a new equilibrium. One that no longer precluded those now-fated words.

"I don't suppose kissing would be out of the question, would it?"

Gerald had required no second invitation. He didn't even do a double-take at her request. A brief pause at most before he was in her face. Then another pause, accompanied by an expression asking "You sure about this?" more eloquently than words ever could. And Phoebe, perfectly in sync with her boyfriend, had read his expression perfectly and nodded in the affirmative, her own expression a perfect paradox of resolute uncertainty.

And so to the unknown.

To be fair, this wasn't the couple's first kiss. It was, however, the first one in which they touched lips. And what a difference a different contact point made! The tingling felt more pronounced through their labial contact, almost overwhelming. Enough for them to recoil slightly away from each other. There they remained, long enough to conclude – silently, mutually, independently – that the tingling was a good thing worth experiencing once more.

Thus did the kissing resume, lingering longer and more forcibly. Then the hands came into play to hold steady cheeks that weren't considered so.

It had begun.

Phoebe felt Gerald's tongue skirt the edges of her mouth. She felt his teeth as they nibbled gently on her lips. She felt the heaviness of her breathing increasing steadily and inexorably with each passing second. Her uncertainty had ebbed significantly; though she knew not of how far Gerald wanted to go, she was only too eager to find out.

So when his tongue pressed against her teeth, she readily parted them and granted him ingress. What happened from there was now at risk of being lost in a blissful, ethereal haze. OK, maybe not the events, the broad strokes. They'd be indelibly etched in her mind. The finer details, they'd already proven to be tricky.

The bliss of what she'd later come to know as French kissing. Very vivid, but was it she or he who initiated the swirling motion of their tongues? Why couldn't she recall giving Gerald explicit permission to pull away and focus instead on kissing and nibbling on her neck and shoulder? For that matter, how did she end up exposing the neck and shoulder in the first place?

Did she guide his hands under her white shirt, or was that his initiative? Similarly, she couldn't recall whether her hands were under his shirt by his invitation or her effrontery. Even their current position: on the floor of the Mighty Pete treehouse. Did Gerald lower himself to the floor, or did Phoebe push him there to lie atop him and continue kissing him?

Details like these seemed not to matter one jot to either participant, who was more interested in being overcome by the moment. And like them, the moment cared naught for the finer details.

Here she was, experiencing Gerald in many new and different ways.

Taste.

Touch.

Sound.

Scent.

Beauty.

Here she was, her brain and its senses trapped in a state of suspended awareness that she didn't fully comprehend yet also didn't want to end. Until she wanted it to. Until she paused abruptly the instant she realized that one of her hands had slipped away and was now caressing Gerald's buttocks. A risky move, one might argue. Perhaps inevitable, but risky nonetheless. As risky, as inevitable, as Gerald's hand riding up her thigh and under her skirt, no doubt emboldened by her sense of exploration. But riskier still was the contact between her crotch and his. Not even the thick fabrics comprising her skirt and his jeans could hide the truth.

His excitement: hardening.

Hers: quivering.

The moment had escaped them and was at risk of becoming out of hand. She had to stop it, but the kissing and fondling were simply irresistible. Maybe it was all meant to be…

No! She had to stop it!

"Gerald," she attempted weakly, only to be trapped once more by the rapture. "Gerald!" she tried again, with more urgency though not much stronger than her first attempt. The headiness of making out with Gerald remained powerful, almost too powerful for a third attempt.

Almost.

"Gerald!" she broke away from kissing him with superhuman willpower and called out as harshly yet discreetly as she could. And as tempted as she was to resume the heavy petting, she was able to get to her point. "Gerald, we have to stop now!" she proclaimed with as much urgency as she could redirect to the new topic.

It worked. Gerald stopped. That alone would have been impressive, but after he stopped, he took a while to assess the situation. Phoebe watched as his expression came to mirror her own and he too realized that an already risky situation was fast becoming untenable. Thus within seconds, the young couple had extricated themselves from their ardor and were now seated side by side, staring into whatever would pass for the distance.

Many more seconds passed as breathing slowed down and heart rates stabilized. Only then did Phoebe hazard the first words. "Oh my. That seemed to escalate rather quickly."

"Yeah," replied Gerald. He turned to look at Phoebe and contritely remarked, "Sorry, Babe. I must have lost track or something and—"

"Oh no you don't, Gerald Johanssen!" Phoebe interrupted as she turned to look back at her beau. "It takes two to get into a situation such as this and I simply refuse to have you assume all the blame!"

Her words piqued Gerald's interest, causing him to ask in utmost hope, "You mean, what just happened..? You were..?"

And Phoebe would sigh in resignation at a truth that had now become inescapable. "Yes, Gerald, I engaged you in this activity as a willing participant."

"Well, right until you said no more!" reminded Gerald.

"Well, wouldn't you once you realized that we are but one step, maybe two, from being out in the open?" Phoebe retorted. She left her question hanging to allow Gerald to survey their surroundings and conclude what she had. Sure enough: "Yeah. Good point, Babe."

The young, mixed couple could only share a disheveled chuckle over their actions and the location. Gerald then ventured forth with, "I guess…I guess we'll have to find somewhere quieter, right?"

His remark earned him an initial glare from Phoebe, which gradually softened into a smile. "I'd settle for somewhere more isolated," she admitted. "It may not be enough if passersby can't hear us."

"Phoebe, does this mean..?" asked Gerald, his tone recalling a previous time he'd asked this question.

Phoebe was wise to the reference and replied in a playfully stern voice: "It means there's a possibility, Gerald Johanssen." She capped her statement off with a peck on his cheek. "Now, If you'll excuse me!" she declared as she stood up and straightened herself up as best she could. "I'll be taking my leave. I'd suggest you linger a bit longer before leaving, lest we inadvertently make our recent dalliance clear to everyone else."

Just like that, she was gone. Gerald was left to take her advice and chill down. As he did, his mind began drifting toward Hillwood. More precisely, where the fuck does one find somewhere safe yet isolated in a place like Hillwood?

"Well, that could have gone a lot worse."

They were walking hand-in-hand when Arnold spoke his words. The lunch had concluded and Miriam had sent the young couple on their way. She'd hear nothing about Arnold offering to help with clearing the table or with the dishes, citing that she and Mr. Pataki had some matters to discuss over those chores. "And Arnold, thank you so much for stopping by!"

"Yeah, I guess," agreed Helga somewhat neutrally. "You're here. You're still alive. Progress, right?"

"Hey, at least I've got your grandmother on my side, don't I?"

"OK, you can have that," Helga conceded. "Especially considering that the last time she saw us before today, your come was all over my face."

Arnold's cheeks reddened at that recollection, forcing him to change the topic. "Anyway, it was really kind of you to do all that work to help with my parents."

"It wouldn't be fair if I didn't," Helga tried downplaying her good deed. "Here I am, with a chance to get my mother back. While you're still in the dark about your parents after ten years. You wanna explain to me how that doesn't seem unfair?"

She felt Arnold squeeze her hand in his before hearing him. "You know, Helga? You've always been awesome. But this…this is way over and above."

"It's also only for those who I love," Helga replied more casually than she might have intended. She felt how Arnold stopped walking, thus signaling that the significance of her last sentence had reached him. She too stopped to look down at him. His eyes were focused on her in an expression of intense gratitude the likes of which she'd very seldom seen before. She felt his free hand reach for her shoulder, the better for him to pull her closer. She offered no resistance as his lips came into contact with hers for another loving, lasting kiss; truth be told, she'd been looking forward to something like this.

Once their lips parted, the stage was set for any amount of small talk. How Olga/Mom was doing. When the big move was finally to happen. And all related concerns.

Unfortunately, not to be.

"OH MY GOD!" the shriek cut through the couple's reverie, threatening to disrupt the very ether of human existence. Arnold and Helga turned in the direction of the noise to find Rhonda Wellington Lloyd pointing in their direction while sputtering some gibberish to Nadine who in turn was doing her everything to keep her best friend on her feet.

The biggest surprise to the blonde couple in this situation was how unsurprised they were. They exchanged indifferent looks that spoke the same sentence.

'Well, this was gonna happen sooner or later.'

And with that, another chapter comes to an end. Dearest readers, thank you for your continued support and for the wait you endured for this chapter. Life was threatening to take away the joy and escape that is my writing. It was then that I decided to stand my ground, grab Life by the collar, and yell in its face:

"Screw you, Life! I'm taking back my writing!"

And that's the status quo I foresee in the immediate future at least.

Joking aside, another reason for this delay was the scene at the Patakis. The dialogue proved quite the delicate tapestry to weave. The dialogue needed to flow, minefields negotiated, and resolutions achieved. All while respecting the characters and keeping them consistent. Hence Bob's continued stubbornness. But seriously, would you really expect one such as Bob to make a miraculous turnaround after only one, two, or even three epiphanies?

By contrast, the Phoebe/Gerald scene proved a simpler proposition. I approached it from Phoebe's perspective. How would one who believes in facts and figures process such a situation? And would her innate intelligence hinder her in such an emotional and carnal situation? And since Phoebe is our primary eyes and ears (among others...) she also influences the vocabulary.

OK, I'll admit it! Having Helga reference a South African article was an excuse to insert my country into the story, and to include some Mzansi vernacular.

Madam: The lady of the house

Boerseun: (literally) Farmboy

Bakkie: A light-duty truck

Kasi: A neighborhood in a city or area around a city occupied predominantly by black South Africans

Gusheshe: A BMW 325i from the E30 series (yeah, very specific, this one). Particularly prominent in kasi car culture.

Next, the Tidal list:

Diamond in the Dark – Chris de Burgh

Invisible Touch – Genesis

The Kiss — Kamina

Keep Looking – Sade

Drawn to the Rhythm – Sarah McLachlan

And that concludes this chapter, my wonderful readers. I hope you enjoyed it. More than that, I hope you'll be moved into posting a review. Those are always welcome; how else will I know if I've stuck the landing or not? Anyhow, until next time, take care and take nothing for granted.