Fallon
Chapter seventeen
Interrupted Mornings
A storm rages outside, rain hammering against the metal roof in a rapid series of ping-ping-ping sounds. Rivulets race down the bay windows, branching in every direction. There’s something beautiful about its fury.
I love living in town. The early mornings. The people-watching. Seeing Bluestone wake from slow and sleepy into something lively before settling back into quiet at night. It’s a rhythm I’ve grown to enjoy observing.
I stretch my arms overhead, trying to loosen muscles tight from a sleepless night. My mind refused to settle. Cyrus and Billy crossing paths in a town this small feels inevitable. It’s not that I want to keep Billy to myself. It’s that he already walked away from us once.
Looks like we’ll be staying inside today, a blessing in disguise. Another day to snuggle my baby, to be carefree away from prying eyes. Today’s park trip cancellation will disappoint Billy, but honestly, a lazy day, tucked away inside, sounds perfect.
My love for this place has always hurt a little.
I’ve spent years trying to earn this town’s trust, and still, some days, I feel like I’m standing outside a window looking in. Public events are easy enough—smiling for photos, donating to fundraisers, making polite conversation—but what I crave are the ordinary things.
An invitation to a backyard cookout. Kids tearing through the grass while burgers burn on the grill. Someone hollering for me to grab a lawn chair because there’s room for me beside them. I’ve never really had that. Not fully.
My family’s reputation made sure of it long before I was old enough to understand why people looked at us differently.
Sometimes, when the loneliness settles in too deep, I think about leaving. Starting over somewhere no one knows my last name. Somewhere Billy could grow up without carrying the weight of generations before her.
But then I think of Lani. And I know I could never go. After Cyrus left, I had no one. Until the day Lani found me outside the pharmacy. I still remember the look on her face when her eyes dropped to my stomach. Shock first. Then something softer. “Are you carrying my grandbaby?” she asked quietly.
Humiliation swept through me so fast it made me cold. My worn tennis shoe scraped against the sidewalk as I struggled to answer, suddenly too aware of everything—my swollen stomach, my shaking hands, the fact I was standing there alone. Discarded. Pregnant.
And still stupid enough to love her son.
Being raised in the Bible Belt did a number on me. I couldn’t bring myself to say out loud that her son had promised me forever, then left me pregnant and alone.
My hand settled protectively over my belly as I fought back tears, painfully aware of the bare ring finger curled against the fabric of my dress.
I never actually confirmed Billy was Cyrus’s.
Lani slipped her arm through mine and gently guided me down the cracked sidewalk. “Help an old woman to her car,” she said softly.
Not that Lani was old. We walked arm in arm in heavy silence, our steps carrying us through town blocks that suddenly felt unfamiliar. For so long, I’d existed in a kind of purgatory here—seen, but never truly acknowledged.
Until her. Until someone finally looked directly at me instead of through me. No polite distance. No whispered judgment. Just warmth. Concern. Kindness, I hadn’t realized I was starving for.
I had wandered these streets surrounded by familiar faces that no longer knew what to do with me. But beside Lani, with her arm looped through mine like I still belonged somewhere, the tightness in my chest loosened for the first time in months. I could breathe again.
For weeks, the whispers dogged me. One humiliating moment after another.
What a shame.
What a waste.
The Lord will forsaken where the devil lay.
Before my pregnancy, I kept to myself and caused no trouble. But once I could no longer hide it, the town pushed me nearly to my limits. Most would have left; I couldn’t. I had to show that people are good, that families can change, that worth isn’t measured by mistakes or pockets.
Thinking of Lani that day brings a genuine smile to my face. She insisted I go to her favorite riverside restaurant and talk about my future plans, school, and support for a new mother. It had been weeks since I had a reason to smile without forcing it.
Until a city councilman’s wife passed by.
Her hand may have muddled her insult, but the label of being a whore was still heard.
Lani didn’t miss a beat. “Janie, let’s not forget your husband pays for a hooker in the next town every Tuesday while you sing hymns in the choir. Let’s not throw stones, dear.”
Almost a decade later, Janie McMan still avoids my salon. Lani has been my constant support, my anchor through single motherhood and as I built my career.
Little footsteps behind me pull me from my memories, and my smile widens.
“Good morning, baby.”
“Morning, Momma. Oh man, it’s really coming down out there, isn’t it?”
I turn, a smaller version of her father shuffling toward me in matching unicorn pajamas, pink toenails shining through. Absolutely darling.
“Sorry, kiddo. The park is a no-go. How about we build a fort to eat ice cream in instead?”
“Can we have sprinkles?”
“Of course.”
“Can we make pancakes?”
“The fluffiest pancakes ever—but you make them. I’ll supervise.”
Her radiant face makes everything all right. Cooking, baking, mixing, creating—she thrives in it. Her mini pink cow-print griddles, waffle makers, pots, and pans are her kingdom.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
We jump at a deafening knock at the door.
What in the Fuddruckers? That better be Jesus banging on my door.
Cyrus’s voice carries through the door: “Fallon—are you awake?”
My veins run cold. It’s not Jesus- it’s the Devil. Panic claws at my chest. He can’t be here—not like this. Completely uninvited.
I clutch Billy to me instinctively. “Billy, go to the kitchen and get our stuff ready for breakfast. I’ll be right there.”
Cyrus bangs again. My frustration spirals. The lock clicks. I brace myself.