Ally tied on her apron, stuck her order pad in her pocket, added her two favorite pens, and pulled her hair up into an efficient bun. The sigh that had been a daily companion for the last four years, two months and three days didn't tag along. Lighter somehow, she shoved open the swinging doors to the kitchen and stepped out into the maelstrom. It was like being hit by a massive wall of sounds all echoing off one another, and as always, Ally was surprised at how much she enjoyed it.

"Hey pretty lady," an old man said with a toothy grin.

"Hey yourself, Mr. Gainer." Ally leaned into the hug the man offered. "Does Mrs. Gainer know you're down here making eyes at me?"

He laughed and Ally heard the rattle in his chest. "Well, since you're here, let me get you a pint on me."

"Ah, now there's a woman who knows how to treat a man." Mr. Gainer kissed her cheek and Ally put in an order for his favorite Samuel Adams lager.

Ally put in orders, took food to hungry families, held a baby who was overtired from the misery of teething, and laughed until her sides hurt. "I'm out for the night, George," she called, ignoring the way her feet were begging to be rid of the demon shoes she was wearing.

"See you tomorrow, Allycat. Be sure to have Sam walk you out."

"Will do."

Sam, the muscle-y bouncer, stood up when she approached. "You look ready to drop."

"Nah," Ally smiled. "This is how I always look. Don't you like it?"

Sam grinned. "Girl, go home, open a good bottle of wine and sleep until your shift tomorrow."

"Wish I could, but mothering duty calls."

"Let them sleep until your shift tomorrow too."

Ally laughed. "My fondest dream."

Two hours later, Ally finally had her last child tucked into bed. She didn't open a bottle of wine, but she did take a hot shower and crawl into bed. Then she pulled the extra pillow close and breathed in the familiar scent of her husband's deoderant. The tears that had flooded his pillow in the beginning trickled out now. "I miss you Davey."

Ally's shift felt like she was being sucked into a vortex. It was slow, deliberate and unavoidable. The tips were good though, so she couldn't complain. "Hey pretty lady," a burly man at the bar said. "Buy you a drink?"

"I don't drink," Ally said flatly.

"Can I cop a soda for you? It's hot as a witch's tit in here."

That had Ally grinning. "Sure, Red Pop, Cary."

"You got it," the bartender said, adding it to the man's tab.

"Alright everyone!" Ally called. "Buster here is right. It's hot as a witch's tit in here and my buddy Cary's got ice cold drinks just begging to be consumed. So, we're gonna play a little trivia. You get the answers right and some lucky sap will buy you a round."

"I'll drink to that," the burly man laughed. "And I'll go first on the buy in."

"Alright, first question." Ally rattled off three quick questions that all got answered with relative ease and had Cary pulling at both taps to meet the orders.

"Well, those were obviously too easy," Ally sighed. "So, my next question is 'How many children do I have?'"

Ally grinned as the men contemplated the figure she wore now with birthing babies. "Three!" a man in the back called out.

"Close!" Ally laughed. "But not right."

"Seven," a man said near the door. When Ally turned his way, she openly gaped as her heart lurched in her chest. The man grinned and walked closer, his gait so familiar that Ally had to clench her hand on the tray she was still holding so it didn't slip from her hand. "It is seven, isn't it?"

"Yes, but how...how are you here? You...you died and damn it, how do you look like you're barely twenty-five?"

"I did it, babe," the man smiled wide. "I went back and it is the wildest ride and highest high you'll ever know." Ally looked at the young man and held up her hand.

"You wait here." Ally turned toward the patrons in the bar. "Thank you all for playing. My friend here is correct. I am a mother of seven. He scores a round from Bull."

The man spoke up. "Put a round for everyone on a tab for me, won't you, Cary?"

"Sure thing," the bartender said, his eyes locked on Ally, sensing something off.