The Truth About Mallory Bain (11 page)

A motorcycle thundered toward the house and jolted me from my reflections. I presumed it was the same bike we'd heard before. I looked out the window, to see if the bike stopped out front again. I hoped the rider was not a thief casing the property. Instead I saw the bike's red taillight at the corner. Seconds later, the rumbling roar diminished in the distance.

My heart pounded. That rumbling made me miss Ben more. I turned and faced Caleb's bed. His Mickey Mouse clock ticked softly beside the framed picture of Ben and me.

The bike had continued on without stopping, though I still didn't know why he had stopped before. I supposed he worked evenings and was returning home, but it pleased me to know I might hear that roaring sound often.

Letting my mind meander to memories of Ben had comforted me during my trouble with Chad. Ben became my fantasy retreat whenever Chad fought with me—whenever he stormed out of the house seeking pleasure only a cheater like him could understand. Those nights, abandoned and alone, I closed my eyes and imagined Ben holding me and kissing me and reassuring me life would get better. Fleeing to that safe zone, the secret place inside my head always restored my calm.

But rekindling those memories resurrected a very dead Ben. Dwelling on him tricked me into believing he was less dead than he was. Such reverie is a dangerous game, teetering on the edge of mental collapse. But I liked my dreams, so I indulged them.

I padded back to my room and hopped into bed. No sooner did I pick up my book than another breeze wafted over me. This time
the breeze lasted longer, blew an even icier cold. It tickled the wispy curls on each side of my face. I dropped the book in my lap and scanned the walls near the ceiling for a source of the cold air. An open register in the hallway must have caused the breeze. I trotted over to my bedroom door and shut it tight, reached for my phone and texted Rick to check for drafts the next time he stopped by.

A short while later, my novel engaged me to the point I fell asleep, until a grunting noise from beyond the bathroom awakened me. The LED on my clock read 2:00 a.m. I pushed off my covers and stumbled out of bed. Caleb knelt at his window, Edgar on the floor beside him.

“Hey there. What are you doing?” I stooped down to his level.

“Trying to open the window.” He pushed up and grunted again. “It's st . . . uck.”

“It's locked. And it's supposed to stay locked.” I helped him stand. Giving a second thought to the T-Rex, I picked up Edgar, scooped Caleb into my arms, and carried them both back to bed.

“A man's knocking on my window, Mom. He's gotta come in.”

“We're on the second floor of a big house. No one is knocking on your window. There must be a tree close to the house. I'll have Grandma call the landscaper to trim back the branches.” I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder. “I hope the knocking didn't frighten you.”

“It kinda did,” he said with a quick shrug. “Mom. Tell the man why he can't come in.”

“There is no one out there.”

“Is so. You gotta say the land guy's gonna cut the branch.”

I stepped over to the window to appease him. I unlocked and raised the window, hoping a burglar's ladder wasn't leaning against the house. Nothing was near the window. No branches, no trees. Satisfied nothing was out there, I lowered and secured the storm and inside windows.

My son was safe. Our bizarre dreams were because we'd gone through many changes. Mom's house was our third home in less
than a year. Major life changes can affect dreams, which is why I supposed the man at the window might have been a faceless Chad appearing in Caleb's dream.

I rechecked my own window before crawling back into bed. I set the book on the nightstand and fell asleep soon after but did not sleep well. I tossed and turned, aware my shoulder ached but too asleep to awaken for a pain killer.

Hours into the night there was a knock at my door. Too paralyzed to move, I watched the door swing open. The silhouetted man stood in my doorway again. The brightness shone behind him and spotlighted the rolled newspaper prominently tucked beneath his arm. Again, he spoke in a gush of burble. I sensed he was prompting me to study the wall sconce mounted in the hallway behind him.

He might have been saying, “See the light fixture relative to the top of my head.”

Tall.

I gauged the breadth of his shoulders inside the doorframe.

Broad.

Although my body remained immobile and I knew I was dreaming, my head nodded acknowledgement. The man turned into the hallway and the door closed. I searched the darkness, hoping for his return. I awoke the next morning with a burning curiosity to know his identity and purpose of his visits. I hoped Ben's spirit had come back.

I
traipsed around outside while Mom fixed breakfast. I searched the house's perimeter for signs of attempted break-ins, all the while bucking the gusting wind and soaking my clothes in the morning downpour.

A variety of evergreens grow beside the house from beneath landscape rock. Their tallest tops peak a good distance from the bottom edge of the upstairs window ledges. Shorter shrubs grow too low to the ground to knock against even the downstairs glass. Tall columnar arborvitae flank the corners but grow far away from any window. As I had seen last night, no branches touched the house to support Caleb's claim he heard knocking.

It was petty of me to keep blaming Chad for every strange thing we experienced or imagined we had experienced, but he was fair game. Though my nightly visitor was tall like Chad, his shoulders were broader. Chad rarely read anything not work-related, nor did he ever carry a newspaper rolled under his arm. Neither had Ben.

I was determined to believe that Judith was mistaken about a spirit's presence. Maybe imagined vaporous images, lurking in the shadows of the trees, gave her the drama she craved. Stress caused by Chad was the obvious cause of Caleb's window knocking and my dreams. We needed calm, not excitement.

After breakfast, Mom and I took Caleb to the mall to buy winter socks and long underwear for sledding. She reminded me snow might fall sooner than we figured.

I had no social life, though Dana had promised to fix that situation soon, which gave Mom reason to push me into dipping into
my emergency fund to buy a few new clothes and pair of heels besides a new bag, all of which cost more than I had cared to spend. My self-confidence needed the boost but I refused to let her pay. Since she suggested manicures, she covered the bill.

Later that Saturday afternoon, Caleb played downstairs in the family room. He worked hard artfully stacking his blocks to show Ronnie how his “invincible dinosaurs” toppled buildings.

“It's almost suppertime,” I leaned over the banister and called down to him.

Mom carried the stool over to the island sink for him to stand on while he washed his hands. She set the liquid soap by the knife rack because he'd drained the jar the day before making a “tubble of bubbles” for Edgar's bath.

I lifted the stack of salad plates from the counter and took them into the dining room. After setting the plates around the table, I removed cloth napkins from one of the china cabinet's drawers and set them atop the plates.

Mom busied herself with the steaming pots on the stove, lifting lids and stirring. She raised the spoon, letting the sauce drip into the pot.

“You must be eager to see Ronnie again.” Mom slipped off her apron and neatly folded it into a square.

“I am. And I'm excited about Caleb getting to know my friends.” I hugged her. “Thanks for putting on this dinner. You're a good mom.”

“You're welcome, babygirl. I imagine it's been a long time since you've seen her.”

“Two years. We managed a short visit before she rushed off to a wedding in Alexandria. A nice coincidence we happened to be in Minneapolis at the same time.”

Mom stopped beside the island, gripping the handles of a kettle of steaming pasta. She waited until Caleb finished drying his hands and jumped off the stool. He then jumped out of the kitchen singing about monkeys.

“A nice coincidence you girls moved back to Minneapolis when you did. Seems fate keeps bringing you girls home again.”

I stopped drizzling dressing over the salad and stared at her. “Define fate without including Aunt Judith's beliefs about death.” Mom chuckled. “Never crossed my mind. You can't ever know . . .” I heard her murmuring as she bent over the oven to remove the loaves of garlic bread. “. . . oh, what truths lay in the seemingly impossible.” When she stood up, she gave me an innocent look as she placed the loaves on the cutting board. “Ronnie's cast came off two weeks ago. I told you she fell off a ladder washing windows.”

“And you sent flowers and a card from all of us.”

“Good thing Dana was there.”

“Dana.”

Mom hesitated. “She was on her way out when she saw Ronnie fall. They've been visiting back and forth since Ronnie bought the house.”

“Funny how she never said.” I stood in front of the fridge, leaving the door wide open. “Mom. With her arm broken, somebody had to work her garden. She brought over squash.”

“And tomatoes. Sam Garcia. He's her new friend.”

I walked over to where she stood. “You said ‘new' with a tone of sensuality, you know.”

She grinned puckishly. “Honestly, Mallory. How indelicate.”

I pulled open the knife drawer to give her a hand with the bread. “Prudish words and phrases like ‘new' and ‘sort of a friend' must be your polite way of saying you and Carl are getting it on.”

“Mallory Anne!” Her mouth fell open. She stuttered her answer. “We enjoy each other's company. We laugh and share good times. ‘Getting it on.' Our friendship is what it is, Mallory, and you've said quite enough.”

I started laughing. “Sam and Ronnie must be sort of friends too.”

She finished rinsing a bell pepper. “Oh, probably. They seem to get along well.” She laid a paper towel on the cutting board and removed a paring knife from the rack. “She showed me pictures from a trip they took to Madeline Island together.”

I guffawed. “Like you and Dad never went places together in the seventies.” I gave her a wicked grin I knew would annoy her.

Her frustration with me only prolonged my laughter. I turned my attention back to the drawer and carefully pushed aside Grandma's sharp carving knife, which was hiding the jagged-tooth bread knife I needed to slice the garlic bread.

“Don't blame me, Mom. You set yourself up for teasing.”

I pictured my grandfather holding that carving knife over a golden Christmas turkey. A familiar object, an insignificant carving knife added to my contentment. Like Caleb, I, too, felt cradled in the loving embrace of my family, surrounded by well-known objects which had been in my family home all my life.

Those images vanished. The knife plunged into human flesh, blood spattered the walls. Chills rippled up my spine. My breathing quickened. I stared speechless at the cupboard door, unable to clear my mind of those horrific images.

“He lives elsewhere,” she was saying.

My head turned. “Who lives elsewhere?”

“You haven't heard a word I've said. These little distractions you keep having worry me, especially when you get behind the wheel of a car.”

Gruesome images worried me far more than imagining whispers or transparent figures. I needed to hang onto sanity. More importantly, I needed to keep those imaginings to myself. “I'm sorry, Mom. Please, tell me who lives ‘elsewhere.'”

“Sam Garcia.”

She gestured to Caleb. He had bounced back into the kitchen acting like a monkey. She gave me a knowing look. Even at six, my son understood what “living elsewhere” meant. Chad's wrongs had nothing to do with Ronnie and Sam, but Caleb might blurt out an awkward question if she ever brought him with her.

“He's a contractor and works like a dog, according to Ronnie,” Mom went on to say. “He usually comes along whenever she stops by, but ends up falling asleep on the veranda while we visit. Says the calm out there relaxes him.”

The doorbell chimed and the three of us answered the door together. Ronnie looked much the same. When she saw me, her dark eyes brightened with her smile.

“Come in!” I closed the door behind her and took the jacket slung over her arm.

“It's been ages.” She wiped away streaming tears.

Happy tears rolled down my face, too. “And I'm sorry for not staying in touch. I have missed you so much.”

“I've missed you, too. I drove here in less than fifteen minutes, which is a lot closer than Memphis.”

“Or Boston,” I hung her jacket in the guest closet.

Caleb hid bashfully behind Mom. “You remember this guy.” I waved him forward.

He thrust out his hand.

“I do.” Ronnie gently shook his small hand. “I'll bet you're six already and in first grade.”

Caleb beamed. “I go on Monday. My teacher gave me papers to do, but I already know lotsa stuff.”

“I'm sure.” Ronnie beamed.

We strolled into the dining room behind my mother and Caleb.

“I'll finish getting supper on the table,” said Mom. “Pick a chair and make yourself at home. I hope you're famished.”

“I am famished and dinner smells delicious. Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Bain. But please, let me help.”

“Heavens no. You and Mallory visit.”

Dinner talk was catch-up time, both of us filling in the blanks of our years apart. We refrained from mentioning Chad or Ben in front of Caleb, although Ronnie shared a Disney overview of her pitiful time with Ashton. Mom later offered to tuck Caleb in early with a movie, which gave Ronnie and me more time to visit.

We lounged on the veranda, gabbing away like no time had passed, except our topics centered on the mundane, work and common interests. With both of us nearly thirty, our conversation carried nostalgia.