me. That's progress."
Stacy chimed in "Don't expect any more than that. It took us years before we could touch him much."
"Oh, well, I'm not looking to be that neighborly," he joked. "A handshake is plenty enough for me."
As they headed home, the ladies were digging through the boxes, commenting on what clothes were cute or not. Jessica held up some pants saying "Oh, I hope I don't get that big!" Taylor was thumbing through some books they were given on midwifery and childbirth with complete fascination. Mike just wanted out of the truck.
Three days later, Mike and Taylor were sitting on his tailgate, waiting on Bishop Christensen to arrive. They were huddled up tightly together to stay warm as snow started to lightly fall.
"He needs to hurry up," Mike said. "I know we were a little early, but he's late."
"Mike, can we talk?" Taylor asked.
"What's on your mind?" he inquired.
"I just... um... I don't know. I used to imagine growing up, meeting a good man, getting married and having kids. All that good stuff,” she stumbled through saying.
“Um, okay,” Mike slowly said, wondering where she was taking this.
“ Well, now, I just can't imagine ever leaving our mountain. Especially since the crash and everything collapsing. I guess, well, I don't know. I just wonder... Oh, there he is.”
Taylor stopped abruptly, seeing the Bishop coming around the corner, and Mike felt relieved, since he had no clue at all what to say to her.
Mike was thrilled to see the Bishop had what he needed for the Suburban. Four new Goodyear MTRs, 10-ply, with Kevlar, 33x12.5 R16 on all brand new wheels. "Perfect!" Mike exclaimed. "Why don't you back up tailgate to tailgate and we'll get them moved over." Mike tossed a CD in the Bishop's front seat. "You know what to do with that."
"Sure thing. Here, this is for you," he replied as he handed him a laptop and a folded up piece of paper. "That's some information from the radio man I trust the most. He said you'd know what to do with it. He loved your idea of spreading around a single recording for a coordinated play and thinks he can arrange it to hit most of the big cities out west at the same time."
Mike nodded. "As long as there's not a traceable link to my identity or location, it sounds good to me." He patted the hood of the Bishop's truck. "Let's get these tires moved. It's cold. What do I owe for them?"
This time the Bishop decided it was his turn to answer with silence, but Mike wasn't accepting it. "What do I owe!" he demanded.
"Tom, you're good. He wanted cigarettes, since the government banned them a few months ago. Obviously I wouldn't have any, but one of the men who picks up the animals with me is a smoker and had stocked up. He figured the tires were for you since I was being kind of evasive, so he promised him five cartons."
"I've got tons of cigarettes at the house. None of us smoke. I just bought them for bartering. I'll bring a dozen cartons with me next time."
"That's not -"
"Shut up! Look, they're for bartering. You can pay the guy back, hang on to them until there's another need, or trade them for something else useful. I don't care. We've got a few hundred cartons stored up, and no need for them."
Bishop Christensen knew better than to argue about it, so he just nodded.
"Go home and get warm," Mike told him. "Thank you for the help here."
"Anything for you, Thomas!"
He was almost dreading the conversation he knew was coming as he and Taylor started heading back home.
“Alright, so anyways,” she picked up where she left off, “I guess I just feel confused now abut my future. Does that make sense?”
“ Um, yeah, I guess.”
“ Well, like, I love what we have. Not only cuddling every now and then, but everything. Working together as a family on everything we do. I love farming. I love where we live. I love our weird family life.”
“ Well, then what's the problem?” Mike asked, feeling like it was a stupid question before he even
Stacy chimed in "Don't expect any more than that. It took us years before we could touch him much."
"Oh, well, I'm not looking to be that neighborly," he joked. "A handshake is plenty enough for me."
As they headed home, the ladies were digging through the boxes, commenting on what clothes were cute or not. Jessica held up some pants saying "Oh, I hope I don't get that big!" Taylor was thumbing through some books they were given on midwifery and childbirth with complete fascination. Mike just wanted out of the truck.
Three days later, Mike and Taylor were sitting on his tailgate, waiting on Bishop Christensen to arrive. They were huddled up tightly together to stay warm as snow started to lightly fall.
"He needs to hurry up," Mike said. "I know we were a little early, but he's late."
"Mike, can we talk?" Taylor asked.
"What's on your mind?" he inquired.
"I just... um... I don't know. I used to imagine growing up, meeting a good man, getting married and having kids. All that good stuff,” she stumbled through saying.
“Um, okay,” Mike slowly said, wondering where she was taking this.
“ Well, now, I just can't imagine ever leaving our mountain. Especially since the crash and everything collapsing. I guess, well, I don't know. I just wonder... Oh, there he is.”
Taylor stopped abruptly, seeing the Bishop coming around the corner, and Mike felt relieved, since he had no clue at all what to say to her.
Mike was thrilled to see the Bishop had what he needed for the Suburban. Four new Goodyear MTRs, 10-ply, with Kevlar, 33x12.5 R16 on all brand new wheels. "Perfect!" Mike exclaimed. "Why don't you back up tailgate to tailgate and we'll get them moved over." Mike tossed a CD in the Bishop's front seat. "You know what to do with that."
"Sure thing. Here, this is for you," he replied as he handed him a laptop and a folded up piece of paper. "That's some information from the radio man I trust the most. He said you'd know what to do with it. He loved your idea of spreading around a single recording for a coordinated play and thinks he can arrange it to hit most of the big cities out west at the same time."
Mike nodded. "As long as there's not a traceable link to my identity or location, it sounds good to me." He patted the hood of the Bishop's truck. "Let's get these tires moved. It's cold. What do I owe for them?"
This time the Bishop decided it was his turn to answer with silence, but Mike wasn't accepting it. "What do I owe!" he demanded.
"Tom, you're good. He wanted cigarettes, since the government banned them a few months ago. Obviously I wouldn't have any, but one of the men who picks up the animals with me is a smoker and had stocked up. He figured the tires were for you since I was being kind of evasive, so he promised him five cartons."
"I've got tons of cigarettes at the house. None of us smoke. I just bought them for bartering. I'll bring a dozen cartons with me next time."
"That's not -"
"Shut up! Look, they're for bartering. You can pay the guy back, hang on to them until there's another need, or trade them for something else useful. I don't care. We've got a few hundred cartons stored up, and no need for them."
Bishop Christensen knew better than to argue about it, so he just nodded.
"Go home and get warm," Mike told him. "Thank you for the help here."
"Anything for you, Thomas!"
He was almost dreading the conversation he knew was coming as he and Taylor started heading back home.
“Alright, so anyways,” she picked up where she left off, “I guess I just feel confused now abut my future. Does that make sense?”
“ Um, yeah, I guess.”
“ Well, like, I love what we have. Not only cuddling every now and then, but everything. Working together as a family on everything we do. I love farming. I love where we live. I love our weird family life.”
“ Well, then what's the problem?” Mike asked, feeling like it was a stupid question before he even
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