Disclaimer: That '70s Show copyright The Carsey-Werner Company, LLC and Twentieth Century Fox Home Entertainment, LLC.

CHAPTER FOUR
THE SWERVING ROAD

Jackie had grown hungry for Eric's presence. Over the last two months, he made her laugh the way no one else alive could, and—perhaps, more importantly—he made her feel safe enough to laugh. In September, she invited him to her Sunday excursions in Lake Park. She preferred Rollerblading to running, and he met her every Sunday morning at seven. His arrival at her building was always without complaint. They greeted each other fondly, and sometimes she slipped in a touch to his shoulder or chest.

After a few pleasantries, they'd skate north to the park. His ease on the Rollerblades matched hers; he could skate backward and do a few tricks. They even considered entering a contest together, but she was too competitive. She'd probably break her leg by choreographing a too-difficult routine, and she wouldn't put her career at risk for a skating trophy.

Eric, however, seemed hooked on the idea. On their fifth Sunday together, he brought her a flyer. "Look," he said, "it's for beginners," as if that would convince her.

"Can't do it, Forman. You still have to go on ramps and rails, and now just isn't the time." Her cheeks flushed. Never in her life had she felt so bashful, but something about Eric brought out her humility. Maybe it was his own self-effacing manner. Her boasting usually bounced off him and smacked her ego to the ground.

"Are you blushing?" he said.

"The October wind has brought out my cheeks' natural rosy glow."

"And?"

"And what?"

He pointed to a lamppost across a rustic footbridge. "You'll tell me why you're really blushing if I beat you there."

"No!" she shouted, but he was already off. She couldn't pass him. His stupid, no-longer scrawny body got in the way, and he grabbed hold of the lamppost on the other side of the bridge. "Fine," she said, slightly out of breath, "I won the AP's Award for Best Weather Cast in Wisconsin yesterday."

"What?"

"The Associated Press. That's why I had to skip our Saturday date yesterday—and why I put on so much makeup this morning. I was up half the night taking interviews."

He clasped her shoulder, and her cheeks grew hotter. "Congratulations! That's terrific!"

"That I have deep circles under my eyes?"

"No, that you won that award. Well-deserved, too. You seem to understand the weather in ways other weather-people don't."

She arced her hand through the air. "Bigger-picture stuff. Knowing what weather patterns resulted in historically helps predict what they'll do now. Too many young meteorologists only look at the present and go by weather-theory instead taking past experience into account, too."

"So that's why Flash Wilson always predicts blizzards in April when what we usually get is a few flurries."

"Yup." She skated from the lamppost, and he skated with her down the paved street. "My career's really hot right now," she said. "I don't want to sabotage myself with a broken bone. But we can find other ways to entertain ourselves."

He grinned. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Like you can join me next Saturday night at W.B.'s house. He's throwing a celebratory dinner party for me. I didn't let him do it for my Emmy, but he insisted for this one. It'll just be family, though. I don't want my colleagues involved. So you can invite your mom and aunt—if she promises to behave herself. Fez and Michael are coming in, too."

Eric's stumbled on his Rollerblades but caught himself. "Not ... Donna?"

"You think she'd fly across the Atlantic for that? Hah. She made her choice four years ago about who her family is."

Jackie sped down the paved street. Her hair must've been shining in the autumn sun, outmatching the brilliant reds and yellows of the surrounding trees. Eric seemed to have trouble keeping up with her, but he wasn't the one she was skating from. It was Donna. Her support in the wake of Steven's death had been cursory at best. In fact, she'd been angry, as if Jackie could've stopped him from making his last, fatal choice.

"You gotta—you gotta give her a break," Eric said and shot past her "She went through a lot, too." He turned around and began to skate backward. "Make sure I don't crash into anyone."

"You won't." She'd watch out for him, but this conversation didn't please her. Letting him smash into a tree would end it, but she wasn't that selfish. "She has no loyalty, Forman," she said and directed him around a jogger. "I understand that she wanted to go to Paris for her career, but why'd she have to dump you in the process? Hasn't she heard of a phone? You could've talked to each other every day. You were taking care of your mom, for God's sake. Do you know what I'd give to hear Steven's voice again?"

Eric dug a hand into his hair, as if what she'd said pained him. "I think that was Donna's problem. Hyde's death scared the hell out of her. She didn't want to miss out on opportunities—" Jackie opened her mouth, but he put up a silencing finger. "She and Hyde were really close. He meant a lot to her, and I didn't know how much until he was gone. He related to her in a way I couldn't. It was like she lost her brother."

"You lost your brother, too, and you didn't let Donna go." She stopped skating by a red-leafed Linden tree, and he stopped with her. "She has no idea what she lost. You're an amazing guy, Eric. You support the people you care about unconditionally; you fight for them and try to make them happy. You also make some stupid mistakes..." she held onto the tree trunk for balance and reached toward him, "but you know that about yourself, too."

She laid a hand on his chest, over his heart. "You always try to do better, Forman. You used to be an annoyance to me, but now..." her face flushed again, "I feel privileged to be your friend."

He said nothing but glided his palm over her hand. The warmth seeping into her skin wasn't an unwelcome sensation.

"Funny thing," she said, mostly to fill up the silence, "or maybe it's just sad, but I never understood why Steven was friends with you."

He remained quiet, but his eyes held her gaze. They were a mix of tenderness and amusement. He'd clearly gotten used to her blunt way of communicating.

"Once he died, that changed," she continued. "It's hard to break free from first impressions. We met when we were children, y'know? You were a spindly, know-it-all, sarcastic geek."

"And you were a bossy, controlling snob," he said, and she smiled.

"I still am, but thanks to Steven, I'm also one who appreciates the true value of good people." She tapped his chest. "You're good people."

"So are you, Burkhart." He grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. Her skin tingled, and her breath hitched as he kissed the back of her fingers. "I feel privileged to be your friend, too ... although you did call our Saturday outings a date. What's that about?"

"Slip of the tongue," she said, but it hadn't been. During the course of the last month, they'd grown more physically comfortable with each other. Hugs between them occurred frequently. She snuggled against him while they watched moves on TV, and they'd developed an affectionate, teasing gesture, which she did now. She poked his cheek before trying to skate away.

He didn't let her. He still had her hand, and his fingers wove between hers. "So that means no slipping in tongue, huh?"

"Ew!" She shook him off her. "You just had to go there."

He smirked his crooked, cute smirk. "I did. I really did."

"That's no way to romance a woman." She skated in front of him then turned around to face him. They'd reversed positions from their previous run—she was the one skating backward now while he skated forward—and she wagged a finger at him. "'Let's have super hot sex, baby!' is not endearing to those with class."

"Man, Donna told you about that?"

"Oh, she told me everything about your relationship."

"Fantastic." He performed a three-sixty on his Rollerblades with more grace than she expected. "So, how does one romance Jackie Burkhart?"

"Expensive jewelry."

"Seriously."

"I am serious." She copied his three-sixty maneuver but turned it into a seven-twenty, double-spin. Fortunately, the pavement was well-maintained and smooth. Had any of her wheels hit a crag, she would've fallen and quite painfully. "To romance me, one has to know me. Know what I like and what I don't. Respect me but also be yourself. I've had fake, Forman. Not interested. But it all has to happen naturally."

She skated to his side and snaked her arm around his back. Their joint Rollerblading was wobbly at first, but they soon slid into an easy rhythm. "If I feel no pull toward a person," she said, "no physical or emotional connection, it'll never happen. No matter what he does to 'woo' me."

"I'll make sure to warn any potential dates of yours."

"Why? You want to set me up with someone?"

"No ... it was just something to say."

She laughed. He really was such a dork, but she hugged him closer as they skated. "So, how does one romance Eric Forman?"

"Be a woman."

"Seriously."

"I am serious." He patted her hip. "This may come as a shock, but I don't get a lot of action."

"Please. Single mothers love you, even the pretty ones who've lost their pregnancy weight."

He shrugged. "Dating the mothers of my students ... the thrill wears off when the class erupts in a chorus of, 'Mr. Forman and Fred's mom sitting in a tree, K.I.S.S.I.N.G.!'"

"Did that really happen?" She tried to contain her giggles but failed.

"Two years ago. I got spanked by the principal—not literally—and my class was switched to a different section of students."

"I'm sorry," she said but knew she didn't sound sorry. She was laughing too hard.

He took her hands and skated in front of her again, backward. "Yeah, that's a sweet girl."

"I'm very sweet."

"Oh, I know," he said and attempted a tricky maneuver. He pulled himself close to her, released one of her hands, and poked her cheek. Miraculously, neither of them dropped to the pavement.

"We really do skate well together," she said.

"That's what I'm saying. We're depriving the Greater Milwaukee Rollerblading Club of our incredible technique."

"They'll live." She freed herself from his grip. She needed some physical distance. His use of the word technique had sparked a feeling deep inside herself, one she didn't know how to process. The idea of touching a man with any sort of romantic intent, one who wasn't Steven, frightened her.

Especially because she wanted to.

Next Saturday night, Eric arrived at W.B.'s mansion wearing a dress shirt, blazer, and slacks. Jackie had told him the attire for the party was smart casual, and his aunt Paula clued him in on what that meant. She'd attended a lot of fancy parties in her day, and she kept her composure as W.B.'s butler ushered her, Eric, and Eric's mom into the house.

The place looked similar to what he remembered: framed jazz posters on the wall, a few gold records from appreciative music artists. The main difference he spotted was the futuristic, white sectional in the living room. Probably Angie's influence. Eric had been to W.B.'s mansion only a few times since Hyde's death, despite W.B.'s open invitation for him to visit.

The Jackson 5's Greatest Hits was playing on the stereo. Drinks and hors d'oeuvres had been served, and guests were chatting together in various corners of the sprawling living room. Kelso and Fez were laughing at some joke one had told the other, but Jackie stole Eric's focus from them.

A burgundy, off-the-shoulder dress showed off her body tastefully, and she was bouncing a three-year-old boy in her arms. A huge smile brightened her face as the boy twisted his dark fingers in her hair. She pushed his thick, natural hair off his forehead to give him a kiss.

Angie and her husband, Jeff, were standing by, watching with amusement. The boy had to be their son, Stevie, named after Hyde. Last time Eric had seen him, Stevie had just learned how to crawl. He longed to go over to where Stevie and Jackie were now dancing,but W.B. intercepted.

"Welcome, Sigurdson-Forman family," W.B. said and kissed the cheeks of Eric's mom and aunt. He turned to Eric next, offering his hand for Eric to shake. Eric took it, and W.B. pulled him into an embrace. "I'm glad to see you, Eric."

He slid his arm around Eric's shoulders and drew him to a private alcove. Kitty and Paula didn't follow. They joined the other party guests, but Eric wished they'd stuck by him. W.B. had a quiet but powerful presence, and Eric always felt somewhat intimidated by him.

"Jackie finally seems to be coming out of her grief," W.B. said. "I've noticed a remarkable change in her since you moved here, son, and I'm grateful."

Eric pressed his back against the alcove's curved wall. An incredible pressure had overtaken his chest. Something about this conversation was touching a nerve he couldn't quite identify, and his heart was beating so hard he thought it would burst.

"I consider Jackie my second daughter," W.B. continued, "and Angie sees her as a sister. She's family to us, Eric, and so are you."

"Th-thank you, sir." Eric swallowed. His mouth went dry as memories passed through his mind. W.B. had paid off Eric's school loans. His scholarship from teaching in Africa had run out, and with Red dead and his mom depressed, he couldn't afford to pay tuition. But W.B. had bailed him out, gave him enough money to feed and clothe himself and Kitty.

Initially, Eric had refused the money, but Hyde's voice came out of W.B.'s mouth: "'Forman's got a rough situation with dough, same as Jackie.'" He was reciting a section of the letter Hyde wrote him. "'Any cash you would've spent on me for birthdays and Christmases—past, present, and future—or on a fancy school or doctor's bills ... you get my point. Never asked you to give me anything, but I'm asking you now. Make sure they're okay ... please.'"

W.B. had choked up at the please, and Eric stopped objecting. Hyde had written to all his loved ones before the end, before he'd chased Edna's trouble. He mailed the letters, even Eric's, so they'd arrive a day or two after he left.

"He should have gone to you," Eric said now. "He should've trusted you enough to tell you." It was something he'd thought thousands of times, and the pressure in his chest relented as he gave the thought breath. "You should have known."

W.B. nodded sadly, "I wish I had," and clasped Eric's shoulder. "God knows, I wish I had."

The main course for dinner consisted of a baked honey-glazed ham. It was like a fancy version of bacon, and Eric dug in heartily. W.B.'s formal dining room had a rich but relaxed atmosphere, which Eric appreciated. Instead of a stodgy portrait of W.B. being the focal point, a collection of jazz sculptures drew the eye. The stylized, wavy figures stood at different points against the walls, as if they were playing the music pumping through the sound system.

The song currently playing was "Birdland" by Weather Report. Eric knew it well thanks to his days at PriceMart. The song had been part of the store's "Sunday Mix," and it was one he always liked. Hearing it now soothed him in ways he probably wasn't entirely conscious of.

Even better, Jackie was sitting next to him, close enough that her bare shoulder occasionally rubbed up against his arm. She smelled like spring flowers, too. She must have dabbed her perfume behind each ear because he was very aware of the scent—and of her voice, the shades of emotion rising and falling in it.

Aunt Paula steered the conversation to Jackie's award from the Associated Press, the reason for this party. Jackie seemed to enjoy talking about it for a while. But when Paula asked for details, like how Jackie got nominated and about the voting process, Jackie's tone became strained. Eric swiftly took control of the discussion, deflecting with, "If you think Burkhart's meteorological skills are something, you should see her Rollerblade some time."

"Oh, God," Jackie said, but she was giggling.

"'Burkhart'?" Kelso looked at Eric in confusion. "Who's Burkhart?"

Jackie glowered. "That's my last name, you idiot."

"Oh," Kelso said, "right. But why's Eric calling you that?"

"Everybody, everybody," Kitty said with excitement, "look at little Stevie! He's feeding his mommy ham!" She burst into laughter, but the quality was forced. She was doing her best to distract Kelso, to keep him from prying into Eric and Jackie's business.

It appeared to work. Kelso speared some ham on his fork and fed it to Fez. "I can do it, too, Mrs. Forman."

Kitty applauded enthusiastically, and Eric mouthed a silent, "Thank you," to her.

The next round of dinner conversation explored more benign subjects, like the Milwaukee Brewers' chances this season and Fez's regrowing eyelashes. But when the plates were cleared for dessert, Jackie said to W.B., "Eric should be a professor. He talks like one."

Eric flinched. He had no idea what had led her to that topic. Had he been zoning out? Last he remembered, thoughts about Return of the Jedi were floating through his mind. W.B.'s music had to be responsible. One of the songs reminded him of "Lapti Nek," performed inside Jabba the Hutt's palace. From there, he'd imagined Princess Leia in her metal bikini, who'd turned into Jackie.

"Eric," W.B. said, "how do you like teaching at Latham Sholes Prep? Angie went there."

Eric coughed, unclogging his tense throat. "I like it."

"But he'd like teaching college kids better," Jackie said.

"No, no..." Eric said, but no one seemed to hear him.

W.B. tented his fingers over the table. "You want to get a PhD?"

Jackie nodded. "He writes research papers for fun, W.B. For fun."

"You should think about going to Marquette, Eric," Angie said. "They have an M.A./PhD program in Mythological Studies."

Eric eyed Jackie, though his response was to Angie: "And you just happen to know this?"

"I earned my Masters in Business there," Angie said. "and I'm very observant."

"And," Eric said, "you and Jackie have been talking about me."

"And that."

"'And that!' 'And that!'" Angie's son was copying her. She had him on her lap, and amid his giggles, Eric caught a hint of Hyde's smirk. The boy looked remarkably like his uncle, same dimpled chin and mischievous eyes.

"Fine," Eric said. "I'd love to get my PhD. I just can't afford it. Teachers don't exactly make gobs of money, and the burden of having loans for the rest of my life ... not the way I want to go."

"If you apply and get in," W.B. said, "I'll—"

"No."

"—pay for it."

"You can't," Eric said. "You've done enough. More than enough."

W.B. didn't seem convinced. His tone lost a measure of its smoothness, and his gaze held Eric silent. "My son wanted only two things after he died, for you and Jackie to be happy. If becoming a Professor of Mythology will do that for you..."

"Oh, my goodness!" Eric's mom clapped her hands. "My son's going to be a doctor! Paula, we'll have a doctor in the family!"

"I'm not going to be a doctor, Mom."

"Dr. Pee-Pee!" Kelso shouted. "Dude, you gotta change your name."

"'Paging Dr. Pee-Pee...'" Fez said. "'Code Blue, Dr. Pee-Pee.' Yes, I approve."

"Dr. Pee-Pee!" Stevie giggled the name, and both Angie and Jeff tried to quiet him down.

"Great," Eric said with a sigh. "Look at what you did, Kelso. You're corrupting the kid."

Jackie nudged Eric's arm with her shoulder. "Come on, Forman. If someone was throwing money into my lap, I wouldn't treat it like it was diseased."

"I'm not doing that," Eric said. "I'm just ... I don't know."

"Steven and I—we—I didn't get to raise him," W.B. said. "Then his life was taken … so soon after we met. I only had a year with him, but in that short time, I learned just how remarkable a man he'd become." He paused for a breath. His voice was rough and shaking with pain. "Let me do this, Eric. For you ... and for him."

Angie dabbed her eyes with a napkin. "Eric, please let Daddy do this."

Eric sighed again, and his dad's voice cut through his mind: "What kind of person rejects getting what he wants? A dumbass, that's who. Take the money, Eric."

"Okay," Eric said.

Jackie looked at him with the beginnings of a smile. "Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay," he said, and her smile gave way to a grin. Her arms flung open, and she surrounded him in one of the most turbulent and best hugs of his life. "What's this all about?" he whispered.

"You deserve to be happy, you moron," she whispered back.

"Oh."

After a dessert of raspberries and chocolate tarts, Jackie took Eric's hand and led him upstairs. She brought him to her favorite part of W.B.'s house, the balcony. It extended off the sunroom, which she also liked; but at nine-thirty at night, no sun was to be had. The air outside was crisp but not bitter. It raised gooseflesh on her skin, but she elected not to wear her coat.

Eric had been brave today by accepting W.B.'s offer, and his courage had awoken hers. She closed the glass door behind them for privacy before joining him at the balcony railing. His arms were draped over it, and his gaze seemed far away. The Milwaukee River stretched out before them. Lights from the Brewers' Hill neighborhood shone in the water, creating an Impressionist painting of midnight blue, golden yellow, and white.

"Pretty, isn't it?" she said. "And this time I'm not talking about me. I know how pretty I am."

His shoulders barely shrugged in response. His hair, stirring in the autumn breeze, had more life to it than he did. This was no good. She leaned her hip against the railing and brushed her fingertips against his right arm. Her heart throbbed at the contact, a combination of fear and excitement.

He must've had a similar response because an agitated state replaced his melancholy. His breathing grew loud, and the tendons in his arms twitched. His eyes focused on her, with an intensity she'd rarely witnessed in them, and he said, "Are you still in love with Hyde?"

The question startled her, but she didn't hesitate. "Yes."

He nodded once before returning his attention to the river.

"I'll never stop loving Steven," she said. Eric deserved honesty, but he also needed to know the whole truth. "I can still feel him, you know? Like he's keeping an eye on me from ... well, wherever his spirit is." She dangled her arms over the balcony and kept her face level with his. She wanted him to see her, even if it was only in his periphery vision. "But I'm still alive—and with you, Eric, I feel alive."

He turned his face slightly toward her, but she couldn't read his expression. Was he beginning to understand?

"You make me feel good," she said, "without guilt. For so long, any bit of joy I experienced without Steven felt completely wrong ... but not with you."

Finally, his features softened, and the hint of a smile crept in. "I'm glad."

"Me, too."

"So..." The back of his right hand pressed against the back of her left. Their fingers entwined awkwardly but in a pleasing sort of way. "You think we might have a little something here?"

She squeezed his fingertips into her palm. "No."

No? Eric's frown grew heavy until his whole face collapsed. His eyes must've fallen where his mouth used to be, and his mouth was somewhere on the balcony floor by his foot. No. The word had created a vacuum inside his chest, had slowed time to an excruciating degree. Why was he still holding onto Jackie's hand like a fool?

"I think we have a lot," she said and poked his cheek. "Man, you really can be such a maroon."

Chuckles left his throat in a trickle. Then the dam broke. Laughter flooded from him, loud and out of control and sounding somewhat insane. The void inside him was filling up with a ticklish sort of glee, and it rearranged his face back to its proper composition. "Is that so?" he said and returned her poke to the cheek.

"Yes." She was grinning, and that grin became his whole world as it moved closer to him. Her lips landed on his mouth softly, briefly, but in a definite kiss. "I knew it," she said afterward. "That felt nice, really nice ... and I want more."

His lips were buzzing. He wanted to give her more, but ... "Do you think Hyde would be okay with this?" He straightened up on the railing and gestured between himself and Jackie. "With us being together ... that way?"

"If he were alive?" She straightened up, too, and her expression grew serious. "He'd kill you for even thinking about it, and I'd be on the run with him after the murder. But he's dead, and he'd want—he wants me to be happy."

"Does that mean I...?"

She placed her hand on his chest, something she'd been doing more and more lately. "You have a good heart, Eric, and..." she glanced down, and her thumb pressed into heartbeat. "I'm in love with you, too."
She glanced back up, and the sight that met her must've been a jarring one. He was nodding fervently. Inside his head, his thoughts were jumping around, whooping it up, and having a raucous party.

"If you say something stupid back to me," she said, "like you love cake, I'll kick you until your shins bleed."

He stopped nodding and quieted down his thoughts. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her closer, and combed a hand through her hair. "Kick me all you like, but I've gone over to the Dark Side. Burkhart—Jackie, I've been in love with you for a while."

"Then it's settled, despite your Star Wars talk." She cupped his cheeks and drew him in for a kiss.

Her mouth moved quickly and deeply into his, and he held onto her back for support. The emotions rippling through his body, along with his purely physical response to her, overwhelmed him into incoherence. They'd both lost so much eight years ago. But in the eight years since, they'd helped each other recover, in ways that would probably take another eight years to process.

He didn't care. With Jackie at his side, he felt invincible, and he regained his wits. The sensuality and vigor of her kiss had astounded him, but he gave it right back.

"Didn't expect that," she said once they parted. Her face was flushed, and her hand was gripping the back of his shirt.

"That's my middle name: Eric Does-the-Unexpected Forman."

He waited for her derisive cackling, the ridicule, but the laughter never came. "That's an appropriate middle name," she said and looked over at the river. "I never expected to be here with you ... not like this. But life's full of swerves we can't prepare for." Her gaze drifted back to him. "We either crash and don't get up, or we right ourselves and keep on going."

"Do you, um..." he was stroking her sides, "do you want to keep going?"

She answered by leaning in for another kiss.