Page 93 of Last Call
Pete laughed. “Nope. That’s one hood I don’t need to open,” he said, taking one last sip from his beer. “I should go. I want to call Andi on the way home.”
“Thanks. Pete?”
“Yeah?”
“I hope Dora is okay.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
June 15th
Fallon always calculated the start of summer by the end of school and the beginning of fall by the day she returned to school. That hadn’t changed since she started kindergarten. She tried to remember a summer that began with as much activity as this one. Two weeks. That’s all it had been since school ended. Two weeks. She’d been to three of Evan’s baseball games, a dance recital, and now she was setting up a baby shower. The following week would be Owen’s birthday party. Then came Riley’s, Emily’s, and Summer’s birthdays. “We need to start a town-wide social calendar,” she mumbled, placing another chair in the yard. “And a Target.”
“What are you mumbling about?” Ida asked.
“Nothing. Just thinking I need somewhere closer to shop for all these parties.”
“Mm-hm. You keep adding kids. You keep spending money.”
Fallon chuckled. “You’re here early.”
“I stopped to bring Dick some banana bread and a casserole.”
“How is Dora?”
Ida sighed. “The same. He’s running back and forth to the rehab facility.”
“Is she talking?” Fallon asked.
Ida shook her head.
Fallon wasn’t sure what to think about the revelations regarding Dora Bath. She was surprised at how much pain Dora’s stroke had caused for so many people she loved. It probably shouldn’t have surprised her. Riley always said there was a lot of history among everyone in Whiskey Springs. She had reflected on the stories her mother, Andi, and Pete shared. Did she keep secrets? No. Fallon didn’t really hide things about her past. She also wasn’t eager to revisit some of her memories, much less share them. She’d told herself it was because no one could change what had already happened, and she needed to move forward. It was true. There were no time machines to right old wrongs or stop injuries, illnesses, or losses before they happened. Hindsight, as people liked to say, was always 20/20. Except it wasn’t. Time allowed you to change your perspective, or maybe it just colored your vision. Memory was a peculiar thing. It became clouded by emotion—by shame, guilt, and regret—as well as by a tendency to romanticize what had passed. Some people looked back with more empathy, while others viewed it with harsher judgment.
Dora’s story could be anyone’s. What did Riley always say when she was editing a book? “Truth is stranger than fiction.”
“Fallon?”
“Sorry,” Fallon said. “I’m sorry about Dora, Mom.”
“Thank you. You know, she and Pat planned my first baby shower,” Ida offered.
Pat was Andi’s mother. She had been Ida’s closest friend—more like a sister. Except for her father’s death, Fallon had never seen her mother as heartbroken as she was the day Pat Sherman died. It was like she’d lost a piece of herself. She imagined that Dora’s stroke brought back a flood of memories and a reminder that time was getting shorter by the day, a reality no one liked to admit.
“Enjoy the chaos of baby showers and birthdays,” Ida said. “They’re a lot more fun than funerals.”
“Mom.”
“What?” Ida asked. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not depressed. I’m aware. Don’t grumble over shopping or running around to parties, sports games, dances, and school concerts. Trust me.”
“Hey,” Riley greeted the pair. “It looks nice out here, Fallon.”
“Mm. Andi doesn’t know how to throw a party without inviting the entire town.”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Ida said.
Fallon lifted a brow.
“Not everyone who is coming lives in town,” Ida deadpanned. She grinned and went to find Andi.
