Page 38 of Last Call (Open Tab #5)

Chapter Nine

Fallon lingered by the jukebox, her eyes sweeping over the pub as emotions swirled within her.

Change. It was everywhere. It stirred something within her that longed for the past. Memories flooded her mind—fleeting, intangible, but powerful.

She had kept the bar nearly identical to when it was the Middle Ground, clinging to the familiarity.

Her gaze drifted to the corner where her father used to sit.

What would he think of all these changes?

She wished she could ask him. He would have adored Riley, of that she was certain.

He likely would have told her she was “crazier than a two-dollar bill” for buying this place at all.

She never expected it to change again. It felt right, letting something new inside, yet it also felt so wrong.

Carol reassured her that moving the counter was probably the most practical decision she could make, given its wild history with coeds—or Andi.

Her friend's lighthearted ribbing momentarily soothed Fallon’s apprehension about revamping the pub as they awaited the plans for a new event space next door.

She sank into a nearby booth, torn between wanting to hold onto the past and eager to carve out something new. She surrendered to the cascade of memories, hoping to imprint them—and the pub as it was now—deep within her mind.

She smiled softly, remembering the night her life changed forever.

She’d thought her life was settled then.

It felt that way. That night started familiar, surrounded by people she’d known all her life.

Happy to be close to Andi. But not content—not fulfilled.

It required something unexpected for Fallon to find her way home.

She would always be grateful for two things: Andi’s seductive call that kept her inside the pub, and Riley’s car breaking down in the middle of a snowstorm.

“Get out of here before the snow starts accumulating,” Fallon told Carol.

“Fallon, I can close up.”

“Go home,” Fallon said. “I want to get the plow on the truck before I leave.”

“You know, you could just hire Pete. He wouldn’t charge you more than a few free beers.”

“No reason to hire anyone,” Fallon said. “Get outta’ here. Don’t plan on being here tomorrow either.”

“Oh, I’ll get here,” Carol said. “Charlie will drop me off.”

“Charlie, huh?”

“I like him,” Carol admitted.

“You don’t say?” Fallon laughed. “If you get bored at home with Charlie, feel free to come in. Don’t worry about it, though.”

“Fallon?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you think something was bothering Andi tonight?”

Fallon smiled. Pete and Dale loved to give her a hard time about the women she met—or, more accurately, took to bed. She tried to keep that discussion to a minimum when Andi was at the pub. But she didn't think that had caused Andi’s quietness. Andi missed her kids.

“I think she’s missing the boys,” Fallon said.

“Mm. Maybe a little disappointed that you’ll be busy tonight?” Carol guessed.

Fallon sighed. She had guessed that Carol was onto the affair. This was the first mention Carol had made of any suspicion.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Carol said. “I get it. No one will say anything. Besides, people see what they want to see.”

Fallon nodded. People did see what they chose to.

Fallon and Carol’s work gave them a different vantage point.

They spent hours observing people. A great bartender could read body language.

And Carol was one of the best Fallon had ever met.

Carol spent more time with Fallon than anyone.

If anyone was going to figure out the dynamic between her and Andi, it would be Carol.

“I’m just saying that I think she might be missing you too—a little.”

“Maybe,” Fallon admitted. “How long have you known?”

“A while,” Carol confessed.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

“That you’d sleep with Andi? Hell, anyone with a heartbeat would sleep with her.”

Fallon laughed. “Thanks, I think.”

“Well, they’d sleep with you, too, if you gave any of them the chance.”

Fallon shook her head. She made it a point not to get involved with people in town.

It’s not as if Whiskey Springs was exactly a lesbian smorgasbord.

New York City had been far better suited to a lesbian seeking a relationship.

Fallon would be the first to admit that.

Plus, people liked to talk. With a population of exactly nine hundred ninety-nine, Whiskey Springs was small-town America personified.

More than just keeping secrets, people’s neighbors feigned ignorance about their secrets.

Wagging tongues could cause all kinds of problems. Failed relationships and marriages dominated the conversation, making it challenging to maintain privacy.

The conversation might’ve been kept to whispering in quiet corners.

It didn’t take long for the whispering to spread from nosy neighbors to busybody church ladies, to curious shop owners, and back to the source again.

Often, the story had changed so much by that point that the perpetrator didn’t recognize it, and it all began again.

She’d come to understand that there were two kinds of gossip: curious chatter and rabid rumors.

Curious chatter was a byproduct of being human.

As her mother always said, people were naturally curious.

That didn’t make them small-minded, as some might suggest; it made them human.

Rabid rumors were the result of something sinister—an objective to smear a person’s reputation for personal gain.

Fortunately, Fallon had only encountered the latter a handful of times in Whiskey Springs.

Nonetheless, knowing that your life or relationship was the chosen topic of conversation at the pub, the market, the butcher, the hairdresser, and at church coffees was not likely to make a person feel welcome.

Whiskey Springs had neither grown by leaps and bounds nor diminished in size over the years.

Fallon thought she understood the reason why.

Many people left for college, started their careers elsewhere, met their significant other, and then moved back to the town after they were better established.

One would have thought that the dynamic would lead to rapid growth.

When relationships went awry, when older children found themselves in trouble, or when a marriage ended in divorce, some or all parties would tend to leave the town.

The move might be as simple as a few miles away or as far as across the country.

When a couple divorced, if one left for different parts, the chatter tended to move from constant rumbling to sympathetic outreach.

Small-town life, like big city living, had its ups and downs.

Understanding how the community worked had shaped much of Fallon’s perspective on pursuing relationships.

She had no intention of leaving her home, and that left her cautious when it came to romantic involvement.

There was no one in Whiskey Springs that Fallon had any desire to pursue besides Andi.

Who would she date, Daryl and Daryl? As much as she loved a pair of warm flannel pajamas, the likes of Pete and Dale were not enticing to her—wrong style, wrong interests, and most of all, wrong parts.

Andi held her interest, and not just in the bedroom.

Being with Andi was safe. The fact was, even if anyone suspected that Andi was sleeping with her, no one was likely to utter a word.

People felt for Andi. She was a kind, beautiful, outgoing woman who had lived nearly her entire life in the town.

Everyone knew about Jake Maguire’s lifestyle.

That had been humiliating for Andi. Andi had always held her head high.

She’d resisted becoming a jaded woman. People felt for her.

No one suspected Andi’s attraction to women, of that Fallon was sure.

And few people were likely to make waves for Fallon, not because of the pub or who she was, but because of her mother.

Ida Foster was no less than an icon in the town.

She’d been a school teacher turned principal turned mayor, an office she’d held until two years ago.

Fallon’s mother was born and raised in Whiskey Springs, as was her father, and four generations before him.

Ida had always been known as a compassionate, loving, God-fearing, honest woman.

When Fallon had first moved back home, a few people took issue with her efforts to resurrect the pub that stood on the edge of town.

At first, Ida had laughed it off as a handful of ladies hoping to revive prohibition.

When word traveled back to her that the plot to derail Fallon stemmed from offense over Fallon’s sexuality, the town got to view a different side of Ida Foster.

Nothing was more dangerous than a mama bear protecting her cub.

Fallon would have thought people here would’ve learned that lesson long ago.

Occasionally, people needed a reminder. No one had taken issue with Fallon since, at least, not outside of tight-knit circles around a kitchen table.

“Well, now that Charlie’s off the market, unless Daryl and Daryl undergo some metamorphosis and become Venus and Serena, I’ll pass.”

Carol laughed. “Okay, I get it—back off.”

“No, I just…”

“Don’t say anything else. Are you sure you don’t want me to close up shop? It would give you the time to pop over to Andi’s before you have to plow.”

“I’m sure,” Fallon said. She was tempted to accept. If she went to meet Andi, she’d be gone until the wee hours. There would be no chance for rest, and Fallon needed some.

Carol wrapped Fallon in a hug. “Just don’t hurt yourself.”

“I will never live that down.”

The previous winter, Fallon had nearly cut off a finger trying to hitch the plow to her truck. It was a freak accident, a slip that caused her finger to get caught. The boys had never let it go.

Carol winked. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”