Page 5 of Last Call (Open Tab #5)
“I thought you said you’d answer any question,” Fallon replied.
“I just did.”
“What things ?”
“Liv worked with someone in Enosburg,” Angela explained. “He posed as a buyer for her. There’s a group of border agents who’ve been bringing girls into Canada. All I know is that Enosburg was a point of exchange.”
“For money?”
Angela sighed.
“For women?” Fallon asked. “You’ve got to be joking.”
“No. It’s been happening for years,” Angela said. “I don’t know who her contact was there. That’s the truth, Fallon. She didn’t tell me everything . She said it was safer that way for everyone. I know she drove up there to give someone cash.”
“Why did you pretend to be her?”
Angela blinked back a few tears. “It was supposed to be different. The plan was for me to take the flight to Amsterdam in her place.”
“You? Why?”
“Liv was going to head to South America,” Angela said. “People were watching her at work. She feared that Amsterdam wouldn’t provide the escape she had hoped for. I guess she decided there wasn’t any escape.”
“What happened?”
“She called me on Thanksgiving and said she changed her mind. I was relieved. I thought she had reconsidered running away. I know she didn’t want to leave the kids behind. For a minute, I thought she’d reconsidered everything. Maybe things would quiet down with some time. That was na?ve of me.”
“Sanders was right the first time. She wanted people to think she drowned in the lake,” Fallon said.
Angela’s eyes slipped shut with resignation.
“Jesus Christ. You would fly into Amsterdam as a distraction. And what? She would just disappear?”
Angela nodded. “I’m sorry, Fallon.”
“What changed?” Fallon wondered.
“I wish I knew. She was tired,” Angela offered.
“I’d never seen her as tired. I think it was too much,” she said.
“I don’t know what changed . Where could she run?
How far? Someone was bound to catch up with her.
The truth always catches up to you. I would have thought she’d know that after everything she learned about our father. ”
Fallon’s face fell into her hands. “She could’ve come to me.”
Angela smiled. “No,” she said. “She would never have gone to you.”
“Why not? Why didn’t she tell me?”
“She loved you, Fallon. I don’t think she could face you.
In the end, I’m not sure she could face herself.
It’s easier for me —I didn’t know our father.
I certainly never admired him. I resented her for years.
When she came to see me after—when she found out about Davis—I’d never seen that look on anyone’s face before.
Haunted. That’s the only way I can describe it.
It’s like she lost everything—not just who she thought he was, but who she was, too. ”
“I could’ve helped,” Fallon said.
“Maybe. I thought I was helping,” Angela said.
“I’m sure that’s what Dean thought, too—at first. Or that’s what we told ourselves.
I don’t know anymore. Maybe I wanted a part of him, our father.
Why? I don’t know. She wanted to redeem him somehow, not for her.
I don’t think that was possible. For me.
For anyone. I don’t pretend to know Liv as well as you did. ”
“I think we can safely say you knew her better than me.”
“No. I didn’t. I knew part of her.”
“A bigger part than she shared with me or her wife,” Fallon commented.
“I don’t think so. I think she was afraid for you to see it, both of you. With me? It couldn’t be a secret. I already knew about Davis.”
“It never had to be a secret,” Fallon said. “I can’t believe it. Any of it.”
Angela’s eyes dropped to the table.
“No,” Fallon corrected herself. “I believe you,” she said. “I don’t know what Liv was thinking. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand it. What about the kids? Jesus. What did she think? She wasn’t a spy. For Christ’s sake, Angela.”
“There’s nothing I can say that will make this better for any of you. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything except, I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t create this. It isn’t your fault.”
“I should have discouraged her. I didn’t want to. God help me, that’s the truth,” Angela confessed. “It was the one way…”
“She let you in,” Fallon surmised. “She wasn’t always so hard. She was stubborn.”
“I wish I knew her when we were kids. He took that from us, too. He took everything.”
Fallon’s heart ached for Angela far more than it did for Olivia.
Davis Nolan was arrogant and selfish. He didn’t deserve beautiful daughters.
From where Fallon sat, he deserved a cold jail cell without a bed.
He should’ve been sleeping on a cement floor, hard and cold, with broken pieces that dug into his ribs when he tried to lie down.
He deserved exactly what he left for everyone—wreckage.
It was easy for Fallon to grasp Olivia’s endeavor to right her father’s wrongs.
But at what cost? He ran from his past. She followed his example.
In the end, that’s what Olivia chose—to run.
Here, Angela accepted responsibility for the pain that Olivia’s decisions caused everyone.
There wasn’t any escape. That’s what Angela said.
Laughable. Olivia took the ultimate escape hatch.
She wanted to be the noble captain of her fate.
She wasn’t even willing to go down with the ship she built. It infuriated Fallon.
“I’m sorry, Angela,” Fallon said.
“You’re sorry? For what?”
“That Olivia dragged you into this nightmare of hers,” Fallon said.
“It was my choice. I wish I could do something to make things better for you, for Barb and the kids.”
“Maybe there is something.”
“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 than the 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.