Page 93 of The Last Call Home
Mal:I’ll remind you what she said this morning—if we’re making it official, we all are making it official.
Cass:Then we need to get our shit in order.Starting with figuring out who Desmond Draven’s heir is.
Mal:Are we sure there even is an heir?
Cass:Yes.We were told they were born and raised here in Birchwood Springs.That’s why the Hollow Syndicate wants this town.We’re also conveniently close to the Canadian border—and Maine’s close enough and perfect for moving cargo.
Mal:What if the heir is a spy?Fuck, we haven’t been looking into that.
Cass:We have a mole?Why didn’t I think of that?We should get Lilah into safety.More so after people think you two might be together.
Mal:Tomorrow—we’ll get her a bodyguard.Tomorrow.
Cass:Good idea.
ChapterForty
Delilah
Birchwood Springs has always knownhow to throw a big party and forget the bad things—or the gossip.At least while things are happening.Give her a few paper lanterns, some sugar-dusted pastries—maple flavor—and a lake to reflect all her glitter, and she becomes something almost magical.Like nothing bad ever happened here.Like no one ever left.
I walk slowly through the main road, the buzz of the Moon & Maple Festival draped around me like a second skin.Warm lights dangle from every surface—porches, tent poles, even the food trucks—and the whole town smells like maple glaze, fried dough, and dreams that almost made it.
Kids dart around in face paint and with foam swords, their laughter streaking the humid night.I’m not a crowd person anymore.I fake it well—smile, wave, throw a “Happy Festival” like I haven’t been thinking about heading home.
I should’ve kept The Honey Drop open past midnight like the board begged.More sales, more exposure, more townie approval.But I ran out of fucks—and pastries—around six p.m.Closed the shop.Cleaned every inch as if something inside me needed control.Now I’m out here, cup in each hand, moving through the crowd toward the first-aid tent with a vague sense of guilt for not checking in sooner.
Simone’s probably swamped.The doctor is always on festival nights.And if I know anything about her, she’s not going to ask for help.Just suffer in silence and sarcasm until someone makes her sit down.
Simone’s tent is right by the lake.Her silhouette’s outlined in the gauzy white canvas, head bent over a cooler pack and a teenager’s ankle.She’s flushed and tired and looks like she’s been stuck in there all day without a break.
Her eyes are a little too tired for someone her age.There’s a smear of something—blood?Jam?—on her scrub sleeve.She doesn’t notice me yet.She’s finishing up with a teenager who looks ready to bolt.
She moves like she’s been doing this forever.Like every taped ankle and ice pack is some kind of penance.
When she finally glances up, I raise one of the paper cups like a white flag.“Hey.”
She exhales like she’s been holding it in for the past three hours.“My savior.”
I pass her the still-warm tea latte.
“Thought you weren’t coming tonight.Too busy to save my ass.”She eyes me, then the cup, and takes a sip.Her shoulders drop.
I wave a hand like she’s the one being too much.“I closed a few hours ago and just finished cleaning up,” I shrug, brushing a curl off my face.“The town board begged me to stay open past midnight, but I had zero fucks left for the day.Brought your tea latte.I owe you pastries.We sold out.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs, lifting the cup.She takes a sip, and something in her face shifts—less strained, softer around the edges.“When I was away, this festival might’ve been the only thing I missed.”
I gape at her with mock horror.“Thank you, bitch.I feel all fuzzy and warm on the inside.”
She doesn’t laugh.Not really.
“You left before I did,” she says.Her voice is too careful, like she’s testing whether the words still sting.“So, what’s there to miss, right?”
It doesn’t come out bitter, more like a matter of fact, but she’s right.I did leave first—but she left a week later.Of course I have to ask, “Why did you leave before senior year?”I’ve been waiting for her story since I found out she was back.She keeps avoiding the town.Whenever we get together it’s at her big ass home in a secluded part of the outskirts of town.
That’s something I don’t understand, and when I mentioned it to Cass and Malerick they change the subject.If they tell me she’s an agent, too, I might flip.Though, can you be a doctor and an agent?
“Mom told me you left only a week after I did,” I press, breath catching on the edge of something sharp inside me.She has to tell me.No more half-truths or cryptic silences.
