The Truth About Mallory Bain (10 page)

Dana backed her car down the driveway. She made a U-turn in the street farther down, pulled her car up behind Chad's trailer, and left the engine running.

I glanced back at the house and saw Harwood standing inside the front doorway with his arms folded against his chest. Ben and Grant remained on the lawn when I walked up the driveway to the veranda behind the house.

A while later, I saw the two of them outside the garage. Grant was lifting his backpack laying in the driveway beside his bike. He jogged past me and up the stone stairs to the veranda, where he started unpacking his books on the umbrella covered table. I walked over to the garage, where Ben straddled his Harley. Goodbyes still weren't easy even after nearly three years.

He clasped my fingers and pulled me close. “I'll pick you up after work.”

“We'll be finished studying by then and Mom and Dad will be home.” After a long kiss, he fired up the bike's engine and left.

Jack Grant's parents, the reverend and his wife, moved to Iowa the following weekend to take over for a pastor who had died.
Grant left, too, without sharing details with any of us. I was aggravated thinking how honesty meant little to shallow people, even him. Both Ben and I were too trusting to question white lies people tell to spare others hurt or to keep personal matters deeply buried.

Word spread quickly that Harwood had cleaned out his apartment. Our pair of Jacks gone for good. Less than three weeks after that weekend, I learned Ben was dead.

I
awoke woozy the morning after slamming into the lamppost, but not too woozy to recall the Sunday morning in my dream had been the last time I saw Jack Harwood. The urge to find him started to grow.

My sinuses cleared by lunchtime, meaning sickness hadn't caused my drowsiness like I hoped. I swallowed two ibuprofen and set aside laptop time to find a job while lounging on the chaise in the backyard.

Mom returned from a morning with friends and slipped into the house without showing me the contents of the bags she carried. Not curious enough to leave the comfort of my patio chair, I shifted the ice pack behind my shoulder and continued scanning the listings of hygienist openings. I reminded myself that my well-earned sleep had not been dream free.

My nighttime visitor made another appearance, which played out much like the first, with him stressing the significance of the rolled newspaper he carried beneath his arm. The repetition of the dream sequence peaked my curiosity, because his identity remained unknown. His message was again too indiscernible to my living ears, but again, I felt compelled to learn more.

I glanced up occasionally to watch Caleb load dinosaurs onto his trucks parked under the tire swing, which he said was now an alien spaceship planning to zap the dinosaurs into extinction but let the mammals live. Other than the attacking outer-space men, not one thing around him or elsewhere in the yard threatened either of us. Judith's warning became meaningless imaginings of a lonely woman with too much time and nothing important to do.

At least now Caleb could play without fear of unintentionally disturbing Chad, who once crushed a cherished toy beyond recognition beneath his stomping foot while Caleb watched.

My child, Ben's child, was left picking up the broken pieces. He suffered the sadness of losing a treasured toy because Daddy got mad. Furthermore, he suffered because Mommy had made a hasty decision before he was born and had difficulty letting go of a man who no longer cared.

The French doors clicked open. Mom stepped out onto the veranda. She carried a tray holding three beverages and a mounded plate of cookies. She'd changed into a cottony green dress, and atop her head sat a raffia hat with a green-and-white polka-dot ribbon encircling the hat's crown above the brim.

“You look like a country lady headed for the fair,” I called out to her.

“Thank you. I went to the state fair last week. Not in this dress, though.” She descended the veranda's stone steps one at a time with a wide smile on her face. “How's the shoulder?”

“Achy. Better. I feel hungover, though. You bought something.”

“I did.” She set the tray down on the white, wrought-iron table beside me. “A new hat. Like it?”

“Love it.”

“Elaine Engstrom. I know you remember her.”

I nodded.

“She made it. Looks professionally created by a milliner, I think.”

“Nicer.”

“Please tell me you aren't really hungover.”

“We went to a coffee shop. I was exhausted.”

“Do not take this wrong.” She hesitated. “You looked doped up yesterday.”

She handed me a glass of iced tea.

“You don't mean that.”

“Forget it.”

“I can't.”

“All right. Let's say for argument's sake, babygirl, if you looked doped up, you need more rest.”

“Fine. I'll go to bed early tonight.”

She blew out a breath. “Any promising positions on that computer?”

“Six.” I closed the laptop and grabbed an oatmeal raisin cookie. “Two in Northeast, one in Shoreview, and the other two are farther than I care to drive in winter.”

She waved Caleb over to us. “I wish you'd find work near home.”

“There is one place less than three miles,” I added. “The Benson Clinic. They offer two days one week and three the next. But I need more hours.”

“Send off your résumé anyway.” She turned over Caleb's hands. “Look at these.”

“I know, wash them.”

Mom nodded assent.

“It's just a cookie,” he argued.

“Cookies go in the mouth. Dirty hands can't hold food.”

He glared, expecting me to cave.

“Washing hands beats taking medicine 'cause germs made you sick.”

We watched until he reached the veranda stairs. He paused to watch a butterfly flit from mum to mum.

Mom turned back to me. “They'll give you more hours once you show them you're excellent at what you do.”

“You've always been my greatest supporter, aside from the dope remark.”

“I'm concerned because I love you.”

“I did not take drugs.”

“I believe you. Working close to home is best until he's older.” She scooted her chair nearer to the table. “You would think with everything people do to their teeth nowadays, hygienists would be in greater demand.”

“Apparently not this week.”

“I'm going out later on.” Mom beamed. “I'm going out with Carl.”

“Carl.” My eyes brightened.

Mom hummed. “Carl Kowalski. We're going to wander through the Sculpture Garden and have a bite of supper at his place. He's sort of a friend I've been running around with since last winter.”

My smile widened. “Explain to me what a sort of a friend is. Either he is or he's not.”

Mom blushed. “He is a friend. A very good friend.”

“Very good? He sounds hot.” I grinned.

“Mallory!”

Her feigning naïveté struck me funny, a mother of four and grandmother of eight.

“Then tell me what ‘running around' means, because Caleb runs around all the time, and I doubt you and Carl play super-heroes swinging imaginary swords. That's his newest interest these last couple weeks.”

Her blush deepened. “You are awfully curious for a daughter.”

My grin turned impish. “No doubt he treats my mother well.”

“Rest assured. He'll be here at four. And no prying.”

“I'm good. Caleb may. He's more curious than I am. I texted Rick and thanked him for painting Caleb's room and rehanging the tire swing. He promised to stop over soon.”

“He's a good son.”

“I suppose tonight will be a late night.”

“It might be.” She smiled demurely. “You know. If Carl puts on a good movie.”

“Go. Have fun. Watch movies,” I chuckled. “I was about to drive over to Caleb's school. He wants to see his classroom and meet his teacher, providing you trust me with your car.”

“Not if you're tired.”

“I'm okay. He was nagging me before breakfast to let him start today already. I said Monday. We need to go shopping afterward, if that's all right.”

“Be home in time to meet Carl.”

When Caleb and I arrived at his new school, the principal personally buzzed us into the building. After getting acquainted with her and the school nurse, she introduced us to Caleb's teacher, Mrs. Wolfe, “with an ‘e.'” He met two new friends, one of whom happened to be Gavin King. No surprise there. Besides being next-door neighbors, Mom and Carolyn King had been good friends for years. Gavin's parents surely told him beforehand to be on the lookout for a new boy named Caleb Powers.

We arrived home behind a silver van pulling into Mom's driveway. The driver eased left and parked in front of the end garage door, giving me room to park Mom's car in front of the one closest to the house.

“You must be Mallory,” the man said, walking over to my opened door. His eyes twinkled.

“I am. Nice to meet you, Carl.”

Caleb unhooked his seatbelt and jumped out of the car. “Hi.”

Tall and stocky, the silver-haired man stooped down to face my son.

“Hi there. I'm Carl Kowalski. You must be Caleb.”

“Caleb Anthony Powers.” He straightened his back and stuck out his chin. “My Uncle Tony was a war hero. He died before I was born.”

Carl shook Caleb's hand and stood upright. “Your grandma told me about Tony. A fine man. An honor you carry on his name.”

Carl followed us up the steps to the side door.

“My mom said you are Grandma's best friend,” said Caleb.

Carl winked at me while he tapped on the storm door and pulled it open. “Your grandma has several best friends. I like to consider myself one of them.” His rounded middle shook when he chuckled.

Caleb darted through the kitchen and down the short hallway, past the pantry to where Mom had left the plastic tubs storing his toys.

I kicked off my shoes and sat at the breakfast bar. “How did you two meet?”

“Bunco. The community center hosts groups Wednesday evenings fall to spring. I normally go there, but my buddy Chuck talked me into playing at his church. They needed a fourth at their Tuesday game.” Carl grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured himself some water from the fridge, showing me that he knew his way around Mom's kitchen.

“Your mother plays at Chuck's table with a jumpy little woman. Ginny Hughes.”

“I know her.”

“Small world. Our dads built tractors after the war for Minneapolis Moline down on Lake Street.” Carl chuckled. “Now here we are. Ginny and me playing Bunco, and Diane and me ‘best friends.'” He took a long drink of water and grinned like a Cheshire cat.

My mom had a boyfriend. A spreading blush warmed my cheeks and ears, down my neck. No doubt he figured I guessed their relationship well exceeded friendship. She would never stop loving Daddy, and Carl looked likeable enough.

Having friends filled a void. Before meeting Carl, I detected loneliness in her voice whenever I phoned. There is a monotony to living alone. Each day blends into the next, same as the day before. Although daylight is shorter, the days feel longer during winter, when Minnesota's weather turns blustery and glacially cold. Holing up indoors is better than chancing a bone-breaking slip on the ice.

Mom didn't even have a pet for companionship. Unlike Judith, who cares for a menagerie of cats and dogs, one or two of which she parades at shows, Mom bans animals from the house. My father longed for a dog when he was alive.

Love of dogs was another point of agreement between Judith and my dad.

Mom strolled into the kitchen full of smiles. Her eyes danced like those of a bashful teen greeting her first boyfriend for their
first date. Carl beamed likewise. He gave her a sideways hug and modest kiss on the cheek.

They said their goodbyes and without hesitation reminded me, “Don't bother waiting up.” They scurried outside, and seconds later, I heard a mechanical purr as Carl's van rolled down the driveway.

I loaded the few dishes piled in the sink into the dishwasher before helping Caleb herd his dinosaurs into the bathtub with him. I read his requested “umpteen-zillion” bedtime stories.

After he fell asleep, I retreated to my own bed with the thick novel I'd bought during summer but put off reading. After reading the dustcover to gain a sense of the plot and the characters I'd soon meet, I nestled deeper into the stack of comfy pillows, hoping to be captivated for an hour or more.

Well into chapter four, a cool breeze caressed my face. I glanced around but saw nothing peculiar. I no sooner returned to my reading when a gentle wind blew over me and lifted my hair off my shoulders.

The room filled with terrible coldness. Shivers shook the book in my hands. I tossed it aside and jumped out of bed expecting to find an open window. Closed and locked tight. I passed through the bathroom to check on Caleb. He'd thrown off his covers, the way he often does, and laid curled up like a lump of blue cotton.

Both of his windows were closed and locked, too, but Edgar the T-Rex, looking forlorn and lonely, lay on the floor beneath the window across from Caleb's bed. I picked him up and laid him beside my son. When I stepped back, Caleb sputtered. In the glow of the nightlight, I saw an innocent peacefulness on his sweet Ben-like face. His contentment gave me reason to smile and be at peace.

He was safe here.

Chad had moved out days before Christmas and spent the holidays visiting his family. We weren't invited. He cancelled our Christmas and spent the day with my replacement, her kids, even her extended family on her father's side. Strangers. His absence drove Caleb to inconsolable tears.

We baked lemon bars and played with his new toys, one of which was Edgar. On Christmas afternoon, Caleb, Edgar, and I went for a long walk. I decided right then and there he needed to hear about Ben Holland. I told him mostly because he cried for Daddy the entire time he opened presents. He needed to know his real daddy didn't want him to cry. Besides, his nighttime terrors about Chad kept worsening.