The Truth About Mallory Bain (13 page)

Ronnie stayed the night. We parted after breakfast with promises to get together often. As her yellow Mustang backed onto the street, a surge of happiness filled my heart. Both our lives were better now that we were friends again.

Mom and Caleb were finishing their breakfast when I walked back into the kitchen. I wiped the egg smears around Caleb's mouth and kissed his cheek.

“He said you're headed to the park.” Mom laid her arm across his swinging legs and steadied them to stop.

“In a while. We're taking the soccer ball.” I tousled Caleb's hair. He grinned. “Nothing definite for later on. Maybe ride bikes.” His grin widened and he bobbed his head.

“I'm going with Carl, if you don't mind.”

“Of course we don't mind. Enjoy yourself. We'll order pizza for supper.”

I nibbled on a slice of toast, holding onto a spare, while I looked out the window above the sink. The shade trees, tire, and bench occupied their space in the yard as usual—nothing sinister in the early morning haze. I cracked open the window to let in fresh air, and a wood-burning scent surprised me.

Neighbors stoking fireplaces meant fall was around the corner. Caleb and I noticed leaves, here and there, fading from green to yellow and orange. The woodsy breeze brought hints of a winter colder than my son had ever known.

I grabbed a plate from the cupboard for my toast and a broom and dustpan from the closet to sweep up the broken glass on the veranda. I then ambled down to the white bench to finish my toast. As I soaked in the morning sunshine, I raised an edge of a smaller flagstone with the toe of my shoe and let the stone gently drop back into place. Mom had reminded me of when my father had the round patio put in, and my recent dreams reminded me of the time Jack Harwood asked why the site had no grass.

I hadn't sat long when Mom joined me. She said nothing at first, but rubbed her forehead with eyebrows drawn together.

“How is Caleb?” I asked.

“Kid shows. You would think a brick wall stands between him and the TV with one brick missing so he can watch his show.” Her voice carried an undertone of concern.

“He has his favorites.”

She went silent again—another uncomfortably long moment with her deep in thought, a reflective mood I'd seen growing up. A troubling question afflicted her and that question no doubt involved me.

“Mallory, you know how we talked about Ben the other night. I sort of mentioned his striking blue eyes.”

“You called them engaging.” I rested my elbow on the back of the bench.

“Since then, I've been working out how to have this conversation with you. There simply is no better way than to simply say
it. When I made Caleb's bed a little bit ago, I saw a picture of you and Ben on his nightstand. He has Ben's eyes.”

The conversation would have been less confrontational had I spoken up years ago. As I had told Ronnie, I suspected paternity was on Mom's mind. She had always described my eyes as earthy brown. Chad's are brown, too, but lighter than mine. My father's eyes were blue. I carried his recessive blue gene but not Ben's sparkle.

“Chad—no,
we
decided against the truth because Caleb would never know Ben. We planned on telling him when he was older.”

“That's unfair.”

“I saw no red flags that Chad would ever dream of disowning us. Raising Caleb as his son was what he wanted at the time.”

“You should have told me. I'm your mother. I'm his grandmother.”

“The more people who knew made it more likely someone might accidentally mention Ben.”

She sighed heavily.

I insulted her when I admitted that I had confided in the man she dubbed the jackass.

“Sad you and he never had other children.”

“We tried. But by the time Caleb turned two, we were snapping at each other and arguing too often to bring another child into our home. I was starting to see a future without Chad when Caleb was barely three.”

Truth was, he'd been snipped before we married. He held off telling me being a father wasn't his thing until after I caught him cheating. He let me think the fertility problem was mine. He turned a blind eye while I underwent a gamut of discomforting procedures which proved I was fertile.

“You lied to me, Mallory.”

I bolted back into the moment. “What? No. I did not lie.”

She sat straighter and leaned away from me. “You did. A lie of omission is deceit.”

I shook my head in disagreement.

“People lie for many reasons. Selfishness. Flattery. Like you, people keep secrets. At times dark secrets, sometimes white lies. Take your pick. Lies beget lies. They multiply like nasty germs. Weigh the consequences before you decide to tell another. Truth always finds a way.”

She moved past angry. Pools of tears formed in her eyes faster than she could blink them away. I wanted to cover my head and crawl into a deep, dark hole.

My eyes filled with tears, too. Tears of loathing that she called me what I loathed—a liar.

“I. Don't. Lie. Mom.”

She swayed her head back and forth while she clicked her tongue disapprovingly. “Lies are burgled goods. I've told you that ever since you were a little girl.” She patted my hand.

“I do not lie, not even about small things like an unattractive dress.”

“You don't like my dress.”

“I do. Your dress is lovely. Blue is your best color. I was only making an example about how I don't lie. Chad and I saw no reason to have Caleb grow up under the shroud of a dead father. Had Ben and I married or had Chad and I had other children, telling Caleb about his biological dad would have been a natural thing to do.”

She shook her head at me but averted my face. I had hurt her, and regrettably, the past was written in stone.

“Caleb never called me a liar when I told him about Ben.”

“You told him.”

I nodded. “He needed to know what a good man his dad was and how much Ben loved him from heaven. Chad was horrible. When I confronted him about his affair, he slapped me across the face. Caleb saw.”

She gasped.

“Imagine. Him angry with me because he'd gotten caught.”

“Says a lot about the jackass.” She sniffled.

“I always waited until Caleb was asleep before I confronted Chad. Except that night he came downstairs for a drink of milk.” I choked out the words, “My little boy kept staring at my bruises until they disappeared. He still sometimes touches my cheek where the bruises used to be.”

She wrapped her arm around my shoulder and squeezed. “You should have come home. I cannot think about what that life was like for my babygirl.”

“I'm glad I got out when I did. Other women put up with much worse.”

“You're here now, where no one will ever hurt you.”

“I took a women's self-defense course to protect myself, and karate. Shows how much I didn't trust him.”

“Smart girl. I hope he never hit Caleb.”

“No. But he said the meanest things, like calling him a brat and worse. Nobody normal ever says things like that to a kid.” Through my tears, I stared at the largest piece of lopsided flagstone beneath my feet.

She pushed a strand of hair away from her face. “So, honey, when did Caleb learn the truth?”

“Christmas day.” I snuffled and smeared the wetness from my eyes. “Like you, hearing the truth made him sad, but glad. I know now grieving for a good father is better than thinking you're related to a cruel man who breaks your toys and hits your mother.”

She pulled a small bundle of creased tissues from her pocket and handed me two. She wiped away the tear lines running down her face.

“I've been wanting to tell you for a long time. I am sorry.”

She laid her hand on mine. “I suppose you never told Ben's family, either.”

“Not yet.” I shook my head.

She touched my cheek with her finger. “Tell me that was the only time he hit you.”

“Let's not talk about him anymore. I promised Caleb a fun trip to the park.”

There were a few more lies of omission I decided were better left omitted to spare her greater heartache. After giving Mom a long hug, I left her sitting alone on the white bench mulling over all that I had shared.

Caleb chose to play in the area of the park where my college friends and I used to hang out years ago. We both needed exercise after sitting for hours in the car on Wednesday and lounging around the house ever since. The day was warming nicely. Summer was fighting back.

He gave the soccer ball a swift angle kick, unintentionally rolling it into a row of shrubs.

“Some buddy you are,” I called out. I rubbed the ache out of my shoulder. “I suppose I'm crawling under there.”

He giggled and smacked his legs. “It's your turn!”

I crawled on hands and knees half the length of the hedge. Hesitant to thrust my bare hands into the tangle of leafy branches, I gingerly pulled them apart. A breeze carried a stench so rotten, I guessed a decaying animal must have laid dead inches from my reach. I spied the ball off to my right. I snatched it up and ran back to Caleb.

While searching or a less foul-smelling place to play, I noticed a man sitting on a bench, familiar because of his red hair. I tucked the ball under my arm and latched onto Caleb's hand. As we closed the distance, the man became recognizable. He was slouched forward, slicing the bark off a thick stick.

“Erik. Erik Fowler!” I called out.

He stared long and hard at us before showing off his crooked smile.

“Mallory.” He flipped the knife closed on his thigh before leaping from the bench. “It really is you!” He wrapped his arms
around me for a long, welcoming hug. “What a surprise!” He released me and patted my back.

My heart warmed when I saw his eyes glisten. “We moved back this last week. I thought Dana told you.”

His eyes widened. “Sorry, I've been out of town.” He shoved the knife into his jeans' pocket. “This must be your son.”

“Caleb, this is Erik Fowler. Your dad and I knew him in college. He and his wife, Dana, send us Christmas cards.”

“Nice to meet you,” Erik said.

“You got a real knife.”

“Caleb.” I laid my hand on his shoulder. “Say hello.”

“Hello. I wanna see it.”

Erik chuckled. He pulled the knife from his pocket and rolled it in his hand. “My dad used this for fishing.”

Caleb touched the tip of his finger to the carved, ivory handle even though he knew the blade was tucked inside.

Erik squatted eye level with Caleb. “It's too sharp or I'd show you the blade. A knife like this can cut off your finger.”

Caleb's hands squeezed into fists. He bobbed his head and smiled agreement. He tapped his foot against the soccer ball and it rolled a short distance away.

I glanced around. “Are Emma and Dana here, too?”

Erik stood up and watched Caleb play. “No. Emma has been at my cousin Missy's all week.”

I silently questioned why Emma wasn't at the neighbor's house on Thursday, like Dana had told me. He likely had his facts mixed up being out of town. “I haven't seen Missy in years.”

“She's married. Missy Cox now. They have two little girls and a third on the way. Emma always begs to go over there.”

“I'm surprised Dana isn't with you.”

“Migraine.” Erik looked away. “Time to get out when she calls it hammer-pounding.”

“She never used to get migraines.”

Erik wrinkled his brow. “Started a few years ago.” He fretfully scratched his head. “She's been in bed since yesterday. That's why I came here. I had barely sat down when you saw me.”

“You live in Plymouth?”

He crossed his arms, shifted his stance and stared down at his feet. “We do. I've always been partial to this place and the lake. Don't mind the drive. I love the serenity here.”

Despite his fondness for serenity, and no one would dispute Lake of the Isles and the parkway is a beautiful place, but his presence here, miles from his home, struck me as peculiar. Whatever Erik did and why he did it was none of my business.

“And the lake and parks are smack-dab in the middle of the city,” I added matter-of-factly, careful not to convey any suspicion. “Emma must love playing here.”

“Haven't brought her.” His eyes remained lowered and he wrinkled his nose. “This is my thinking spot. I've squandered hours here ruminating over nothing at all.” He looked up and looked me in the eyes as if to drive home his point.

I became reticent, recalling the former Eeyore Erik Fowler and his propensity for glumness. Maybe glumness meant he did a lot of ruminating back then, too. Now those lackluster eyes showed detachment, making me consider what awful misery afflicted his life and forced him to seek serenity instead of spending a Sunday with his daughter or caring for his wife. I hoped he had become a better man than his old pal, Chad. I decided against telling him that Dana and I'd had coffee—another lie of omission staining my sullied soul. Still, I thought it strange she hadn't.