The Truth About Mallory Bain (16 page)

My brother was right. My mind was sorting things out about Chad, compartmentalizing the moments from our first kiss in his uncle's apple orchard, to his helping toddler Caleb pet the barnyard lamb at the Tennessee State Fair, to nearly getting my arm fractured under the weight of his boot during the vicious fight he started after I asked if he'd like to spend a Saturday with Caleb. I never asked again.

My self-respect and confidence grew stronger each time I locked away a negative memory. My distractions lessened each time I moved forward. Putting the past seven years into perspective became easier each day. My departed Ben, however, was in my thoughts constantly, and he remained free to roam them whenever he pleased.

M
om planned a “welcome home” party for the following Sunday. I balked at the idea because it wasn't like we returned from an extended trip abroad or miraculously recovered from some dreaded disease. I divorced my husband, lost friends, and was close to broke. Mom took us in. Not exactly a celebration worthy to invite dozens of people in to eat a truckload of food.

Regardless of my opinion, Pam Egger and Ginny Hughes showed up early Thursday morning, along with my aunt, to lend a hand with the baking. Elaine Engstrom bowed out due to her prior commitment to the craft fair, where she hoped to sell hats and other creations.

Mom insisted on serving baked goods made from scratch, but arranged a caterer for the buffet. Being one of the two guests of honor barred me from the kitchen, already a hubbub of activity by ten thirty when I returned home from dropping Caleb off at school. I had also made a quick stop at the cleaners to pick up my new winter coat. When I pushed open the kitchen door, the house smelled of baking bliss.

Ginny was leaning over the apron front sink, up to her elbows in sudsy water. Pam had assumed a military stance behind the island, where she held a wooden spoon upright in one hand while tapping the spinning mixing bowl with the other, blinking each time she tapped the bowl.

A smear of chocolate muddied Judith's left cheek. Her hair clip had slipped. But scooping and dropping spoonfuls of chocolate-chunked dough onto a cookie sheet kept her from noticing
either bit of untidiness. After she filled a cookie sheet, Mom snatched it up and slid it into the oven.

I set my bag on a counter chair and pulled out the next one to sit while I watched the women working with the precision of four robots.

“You ladies have this bakery business well under control.” No one commented. “Care if I brew a pot of tea?”

Mom turned and faced me, standing straight and tall to her full height of five-three. “Tea sounds good. How about making enough for all of us, please.”

“Thank you, Mallory,” said Pam. “Everybody stop. 'Tis teatime, girls.”

I filled the kettle at the island sink. “We need a hiding place from Caleb for all these treats.”

Judith spoke over my shoulder. “I'm setting aside a plate for him to munch on 'til Sunday.”

“Thank you. He'll like that.”

Judith's kindness softened my disposition. I felt more inclined to confide in her, although it worried me to think her views on communing with the dead might be legit. If a spirit actually dwelt in the Bain house or on the property, it could be harmful. I knew nothing about actual ghosts, but I also needed to feel comfortable enough with Judith to ask.

I hoped for less contention between us after my move back to Minneapolis. We could make progress toward forming a better familial bond—if only one step at a time. Her remembering Caleb's love of cookies gave me proof she cared. Then the other shoe fell.

She leaned close. “Surely you will keep him from over-indulging on sweets that might ruin his teeth or upset his little tummy.”

And two steps back.

Rather than lashing back with a smart retort for mentioning sugar relative to dental hygiene, I simply asked, “Herbal tea or regular?”

I kept to myself after that, sipping my tea at the table in the eating area across the room and half listening to the other women chatter.

“Mind if I join you?”

I saw gray and my stomach knotted. “Not at all.” I forced a smile and closed the cookbook I'd been skimming through.

“I brought macaroons to go with our tea. Ginny baked them.” She set the plate in front of me and sat down on the chair to my left.

Mom and her friends took their break on the rattan stools at the breakfast bar. I nodded in their direction. “Are her friends your friends?”

Judith snickered. “Ginny sometimes. They were the older girls when I was a kid. None of my friends ever wore pearly white lipstick or ironed their hair.” Judith chuckled into her cup.

She shared fond memories of when she was a curious girl of eleven scrutinizing her older sister during the mid-1960s. I studied her sallowed face—happy for a change while sharing those memories. Stripes of silver streaked her brown hair. Cracking lines and narrow furrows creased the vanishing softness of her face, telltale aftereffects of suffering, no doubt. Her wrinkles were not Mom's laugh lines.

Chatting was good. In all my life, we seldom shared much laughter that I remember. I hoped her lightheartedness wouldn't be short lived with gibes flying any second. I tried finding compassion for Judith, thanks to my sister-in-law's “tough luck” remark.

“Are you still working?” I asked.

“'Til they throw me out. Diane said you applied at the Benson Clinic.”

“Looks promising. If they hire me, I hope they eventually offer more hours.”

“Your hands are quite full right now.”

I narrowed my eyes and tipped my head inquisitively.

“Unfinished business.” Her brow raised. Her hooded eyes widened. “You must confront the presence, Mallory Anne.”

“And here we go.” I slipped my last bite of macaroon into my mouth. A full mouth kept me from making comments I'd later regret.

Judith craned forward and whispered. “People like us are sensitive.”

I swallowed hard. “People like us.”

“Yes. People with the gift—extraordinary empathy which makes us able to communicate with the dead.”

“I never do that.” My tone turned disrespectful. “Are you certain you can?”

“Hone your skills, Mallory Anne. Allow yourself to feel the presence and listen for its message. I saw your face the last time I visited. Out there on the veranda.” She paused for a sip of tea. “You knew.”

Her words disturbed me. She was suggesting that she knew me better than I knew myself. I grabbed another macaroon and stared at the wall in front of me. My reaction was proof she had snared my complete attention.

Judith gave me a sly smile. “The spirit's message must be vital. Like I told you, its essence has dwelled at this house for seven years. Patiently waiting your return, I imagine.”

“I doubt it.”

“This spirit does not haunt.”

Seven years struck a dissonant chord again, equal to Mom's remarks about butterfly sightings. Spiritualism was not me. Yet Grandma Bain, my father, and Ben died seven years ago. Tony a decade.

I tossed the uneaten macaroon back onto the plate. “The spirit can give
you
the message.”

“I am not the one it seeks. You are.”

I blew out a long breath. “Mom never senses spirits.”

“She might if she paid attention. Diane ignores those residing in this house because she is afraid. Not all spirits frighten. There are those who peacefully coexist with the living. Acknowledging
spirits suggests insanity, according to Diane. And there lies her fear. My sister is a proud woman.”

“You might consider she has a valid point.”

“I know better. I've seen a spirit in this kitchen many times. She searches for the sewing basket she left on the table the day she died.”

“This is a relative.”

“An aunt. A kind woman who passed away many years ago. She isn't the only presence here.”

“Great. That means this old house really is haunted.” I sipped my tea. “Tell me, then, who the ghost is who wants to give me a message.”

“I can't, but it wanders in and out of the house. My aunt does not.” Judith stared at me for an uncomfortable moment. “I am certain the presence interested in you is male. The energy can be stronger than other spirits I've encountered.”

Strong enough to move an armoire but can't speak clearly.

Her revelations impacted me to the extent we finished our tea in silence. She finally scooted her chair away from the table and rejoined the others. Afterward, I noticed she seldom took her eyes off of me all the while she and Pam mixed cranberry nut bread batter.

While the women baked at home, I waited outside Caleb's school for the bell to ring. The Benson clinic called. They offered me the part-time job. I texted Ronnie and Dana with the news.

Caleb rushed out the double doors. It thrilled me to see him fitting in with the other children, laughing and shouting to one another as they boarded yellow buses or hopped into cars.

I watched him in the rearview mirror when the dinosaur backpack landed with a thud against the backseat. He buckled his seatbelt but his face went pouty as he tugged to get the seatbelt across his chest to secure him in the booster seat he disliked.

“I missed you,” I said.

“Uh-huh. I missed you.”

“Did you remember to give your teacher your numbers paper?”

“Yeah. She wasn't mad at Grandma for putting it in my color book.”

I grinned to myself. “There's a relief. I'd hate to have Grandma in trouble with your teacher.”

“Gavin ate my peach.”

“Why?”

“I gave it to him.”

“Then you only had a sandwich and carrots.”

“I ate his apple. He hates green ones. Olivia gave me her peanut butter. I told Gavin peanut butter makes green apples good. But he said, ‘You eat it.' So I did.”

“That was nice of Olivia to share her peanut butter.”

“She didn't know what to do with it. Her mom forgot the celery. I think she likes me.”

I chuckled. “I'm glad you're making friends.”

I glanced in the mirror again. His eyes sparkled like Ben's whenever he smiled, making me wish Ben were around to experience his son's life. He should be going to soccer games and school concerts with us. He should be greeting Caleb, all smiles and happy at the end of his day. I knew in my heart Ben would have been the kind of dad who would put Caleb's drawings on the refrigerator door before his jacket was off.

Chad complained about “trash tacked up on the fridge.” He pulled off Caleb's pre-school artwork, the one time I dared display it. He wadded it into a tight ball before tossing it into the wastebasket. That's when I created a scrapbook.

“Grandma is planning a party for us on Sunday.”

“Can Gavin come?”

“He's already invited, as are his parents and grandparents. Gavin's dad and Uncle Rick used to be good friends.”

“When they were little like me?”

“Yep, and older.”

I turned onto Hennepin Avenue heading toward the uptown shopping district. Along the way, I noticed an “Opening Soon” sign on a new restaurant. I made a mental note to try it out.

“Grandma, Aunt Judith, and two of Grandma's friends, Ginny and Pam, have been baking all day. We're bringing supper home for everybody. We can eat early and play a game or read books before bed.”

“TV.”

“One hour. School tomorrow.”

“Fridays are easy days, Mom.”

“Still one hour.”

We later walked up the steps to the side door of the house. “Is Carl coming to our party?” he asked.

“He is. Aunt Judith saved a plate of cookies for you.”

“They should bake every day.” He pushed hard against the sticking door until it opened.

A pitcher of margaritas sat on the breakfast bar. Bobby Sherman's “Easy Come Easy Go” blared from the radio-CD player in the corner beside the toaster. Pam and Ginny were swinging dish-towels and singing along with Bobby. Judith was stowing away baked goods in plastic zipper bags while she rocked her hips and shoulders to the music.

“What are they doing?” asked Caleb.

“Looks like a clean-up party.”

Mom smiled wide and waved at us after I shut the door behind us. Her eyes twinkled and her cheeks flushed. Pam twirled Ginny and both waved. Judith skipped across the room to us. She handed Caleb a peanut butter cookie and jauntily danced him around the room. I set the bags of takeout on the table and watched.

The sudden blare of a television brought everyone to a halt.

Caleb looked up at me. “Mom!”

The lights in the kitchen flashed—off then on—off then on. Pam went to click off the music but the player stopped on its own.

I touched Caleb's shoulder. “It's all right.” I stepped into the dining room and met an unseen wall of ice. My legs weakened. I slowly stepped back into the kitchen, all the time staring into the empty dining room.