Page 5 of Last Call

“If I can,” Angela replied.

“I don’t know what Barb plans to tell the girls or when she plans to tell them anything about the way Liv died. I think you should talk to her. I have a feeling Emily and Summer would like a chance to know their aunt.”

“I doubt Barb would be agreeable to that.”

“I don’t,” Fallon said. “She wanted to come with me to talk to you. She needs to be close to the kids right now. And she needs time to find her footing.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” Fallon asked. “I’m on solid ground. Don’t misunderstand me; I’m struggling to understand Liv. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand what she’s done. I loved her once, Angela. That was a long time ago. She wasn’t the same person I fell in love with when she died. But I’m not the same person either. You’re a part of her,” Fallon said, fighting to swallow a lump in her throat. “The kids are a part of her. You need each other.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“I know you don’t believe me. It’s true. Think about it.”

“Fallon, I didn’t know Liv was thinking about…”

“Suicide?”

“I should have guessed. I should have seen it sooner,” Angela said.

“I think Liv let people see what she wanted them to see. I understand how you feel. I wasn’t exactly warm when I saw her last. I was cordial. That’s cold.Cordial.I wish I could say I would give anything to hug her. I would.” Fallon took a deep breath. “I would. But if she walked in here right now? I don’t know if I could.”

Angela nodded. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“What was she like when you met her?”

A smile etched the corners of Fallon’s lips. “Staggering.”

“You mean she was beautiful.”

“No. I mean, she was staggering.” Fallon chuckled. “Literally.”

December 2003

Returning to Whiskey Springs seemed like the right move for Fallon. While she had no regrets about her career in New York, she never fell in love with city life. Now, with her father gone and Dean living over 500 miles away in Washington, DC, concern for her mother filled her thoughts. Ida was self-sufficient, but the loss of Fallon’s father had visibly affected her. It had been a shock to everyone, perhaps most of all to Fallon. She hadn’t spent much time with her parents in recent years, and communication with Dean was infrequent. Life was busy until something forced it to a halt. Fallon was determined not to let more time slip away.

On the day they laid James Foster to rest, Fallon chose the scenic route home from the funeral. She needed time to reflect on her father. Her car rolled past a familiar trailhead, where her father had led her through tangled paths lined with towering pines, and leaves crunched beneath her feet. She drove by the pond where he patiently taught her how to thread a wiggling worm onto a hook, recalling his hands gently guiding hers as she cast out a line. As she approached the Middle Ground—the old pub that had been her father’s haunt since before she could remember—Fallon felt a pang of nostalgia mixed with dismay. Once a lively hub of laughter, the building now stood neglected. Large strips of paint curled away from the weathered wood like pages of an old book. Moss crept across the sagging roof. The front door, which had been a bright, welcoming blue, now hung in a faded, gloomy gray that mirrored her somber mood. The place looked more like a decrepit set from a horror movie thanthe spot where she used to sip Shirley Temples and ginger ale, her feet dangling from a barstool as her father chatted with friends. She stopped in front of the old pub, pulled a napkin from the glove box, jotted down the number on the for-sale sign, and slipped it into her coat pocket.

She’d forgotten about ituntil she pulled her coat from the closet to take to the cleaners. She stared at the number, spinning the napkin in her hand, picturing her father holding court at the bar. She still couldn’t say what prompted her to make the call. An hour later, she’d made an offer on the pub and the adjoining property. When she called her mother to say she’d be moving home to revitalize the bar, Ida asked her if she’d been drinking. Fallon laughed. She rarely indulged in more than a glass of wine or a beer. That probably didn’t bode well for her plan. She assured her mother she was committed, to which Ida replied, “You should becommitted.” Maybe so.

Fallon didn’t make career or financial decisions on impulse. At least, she hadn’t until now. Her impulsive choice came with realities she hadn’t considered. Besides the fact that Fallon knew absolutely nothing about managing people or marketing, and even less about the restaurant business, she also didn’t have a place to live. Whiskey Springs wasn’t full of temporary housing options. That meant she’d need to move back home—literally. She adored her mother, and Fallon could tell Ida was happy for the company. Three months of sleeping in her childhood bedroom left Fallon anxious for some alone time—or some time alone in the company of an attractive woman. Whiskey Springs wasn’t exactly a hotbed for lesbian bars or singlewomen,for that matter. She was grateful when Deam called to say he’d be headed home a week before Thanksgiving. One of his friends was giving a lecture at the University of Vermont, and he planned to spend a couple of nights in Burlington. It surprised Fallon when he invited her to join him. A couple of nightsin a hotel, away from her mother’s lectures about making big decisions after a loss, felt like heaven.

Fallon found it a bitodd when she thought about it; she didn’t know many of Dean’s friends. She had met a few at his wedding, but he seldom mentioned anyone from work. Olivia Nolan was a notable exception. She came into Dean’s life after he married Beth. Fallon didn’t know much about Olivia except that her brother seemed to idolize her. That was unusual. Fallon adored her brother, but Dean’s ego typically stopped him from putting others on a pedestal. His enthusiastic praise and admiration for Olivia caught Fallon’s attention. She was curious to see if this woman lived up to the hype. Fallon casually walked into the hotel bar, scanning the small room for Dean.

A voice spoke from behind her. “You must be Fallon.”

Fallon turned on her heel.

“Yep. You’re definitely related to Dean,” the woman said, slurring her words slightly. “Liv,” she introduced herself.

Fallon’s brow shot up. So this was the famous Olivia Nolan. Fallon caught her arm when Olivia’s stance wavered.

“I hope my brother is still on his feet,” Fallon teased.

“I’m on my feet,” Olivia replied.

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