The Truth About Mallory Bain (3 page)

“Downstairs. We'll unpack tomorrow. We should get out your warmer clothes for fall and see what fits.”

“Do I got school tomorrow?”

“Have not got. School can wait a day or two.”

“Will you take me or Grandma?”

“I thought you wanted to ride the school bus.”

Caleb shook his head fast. He squeezed his folded arms against his chest and shivered. “It scares me.”

“The bus or the big kids?”

He shrugged. “I'm just scared.”

“Grandma and I can take turns. A new school is exciting.”

He shrugged again, eyes downcast. “Nobody knows me.”

“They will, sweetie. They will be your best friends.”

I picked up the book laying on the nightstand. New and all about dinosaurs. Mom must have run out and bought it, along with the linens, after she found out we were moving home. I sat down beside Caleb on the bed and read aloud until minutes later, a motorcycle rumbled in front of the house.

I laid the book in my lap, stared straight ahead. “
Shh
—listen.”

Caleb's bluest of blue eyes smiled up at me as he rested a finger against his lips and whispered “Shh, Mom.” He understood I was remembering his dad.

The engine revved loud enough to wake the dead. My heart fluttered. The idling meant the heavy bike had stopped. I ran to the window with the same exhilaration I'd first felt at eighteen and living here at home.

The night was too dark to see much more than the silhouette of the rider. I presumed it was a man, based on the build of his body and the size of his bike. He wore dark clothes and straddled his motorcycle parked at the end of Mom's driveway. The bike color looked orange, maybe red under the yellow glow of the streetlamp.

I lingered there at the window, lost in reverie, unintentionally ignoring my son still lying in his bed behind me. No doubt he wondered what was going on outside. I was curious about why the man had chosen to stop. From where I stood, he appeared to be looking up the driveway toward the garages. I raised the window and was about to shout out, just to let him know he'd been seen watching the property. He revved the engine and sped away.

Caleb bolted upright and shouted, “Don't go!” His eyes wide, his body rigid.

I dropped the window and secured the lock before sitting back down beside him. I wrapped the bedsheet and comforter around his small body and snuggled him close to me.

“I won't ever leave you. Why did you think so?”

He frowned. “I don't know. I just said it.”

Separation anxiety again. He was only six. Nearly nine months and still fragile from when we lived with Chad.

“Was that my dad's bike?”

I winced with heartache but stroked his small back to calm him. “It sounded like his bike used to.”

“I miss him.”

He never knew Ben. He missed having a good dad.

“I miss him too, baby.”

Caleb showing Ben-like sweetness stirred up my old heartache again. The one Ben's death brought. I hoped the dim light from the dinosaur lamp on the dresser hid my pathetic attempt at feigning happiness.

Ben Holland's bike was most likely rusting away in some distant Manitoba junkyard. He was killed seven years ago last May, after all. Since then, the sound of motorcycles evoked bittersweet memories for me. Memories of our time together, and the terrible memory of my family arriving home from an unplanned trip to learn a fatal accident had taken Ben away from me and his unborn child I carried inside me.

Nearly a decade gone by. We needed to leave sadness in the past. Make our fresh start. Meet new friends. Have a life without tears or being afraid to be at home with Chad Powers, during those years when he was my husband.

I leaned my head back against the headboard and waited for Caleb to fall asleep. I listened closely in case the guy on the motorcycle returned. My heavy eyelids closed. Tired and exhausted from driving since before dawn, I'd made the straight shot, an eight-hundred-fifty-mile trip from Tennessee to Minnesota. Risky.

Dana had argued how taking Caleb out of school was reckless. He'd already started first grade in Bartlett. Maybe my decision was risky and reckless. But I had felt compelled to leave. Since his
Minneapolis school started after Labor Day, he'd only miss the first few days, days of material he already learned in Tennessee.

I rarely act on whims. Whenever I do, my decision is significant—for good or for bad. Dana's persuasiveness almost convinced me to stay put. Maybe she was right. The people we'd met after Chad and I split were good people. They might have become lasting friends, but my family lived in Minnesota. Minneapolis was our real home.

I gave Caleb's wrist a gentle tug to pull his thumb out of his mouth. He held on tight and sputtered. I waited, listening to plips of rain tapping the windows. I rose after an unbearable coldness penetrated me with a chilling sensation, as if being locked inside a walk-in freezer.

I eased onto the floor, careful not to awaken my son. Both windows were secure, free of drafts. I tiptoed around the familiar room, which had once been pink and decorated in the girly-girl style of my older sister. I checked for vents letting in the cold air. None were found. Satisfied Caleb would stay warm, I clicked on the light above our bathroom sink for a nightlight, and when I left his bedroom, I thought nothing of leaving the door wide open.

An herbal aroma and whiff of lemon beckoned me into the kitchen. Brickwork, black wrought iron, and rich red oak cabinets created the familiar coziness I'd missed for years. Copper pans and wicker baskets hanging above the center island, burnished bronze lantern lights, a stone floor of rich red-browns and deep grays. A warm castle room, where maidens sip tea and share dreams about lovers returning to their waiting arms.

Mom glanced over her shoulder and caught me watching, daydreaming.

“My gosh, Mallory, you're wide awake. You are a more unstoppable woman than I am.”

“I learned from the best.”

“You need a bedtime snack more filling than a salad or sweets. Hope you like the sandwich I'm making.”

Truth be told, I had skipped the salad at the diner to save the five dollars.

I nodded at our suitcases by the kitchen door. “Thanks for grabbing those. They're too heavy for you.”

“The big ones and the dress bags were. I dragged them in one at a time. You can haul them upstairs yourself whenever you're ready.”

Mom swished back and forth in her pink, terry scuffs. She wore her signature mid-length dress—beige, a delicate crinkled cotton. Her brown hair, loosely twisted up beneath a silver-plated hair clip, revealed threads of gray, ordinarily hidden when she let down her hair, I supposed.

She set the plate in front of me on the breakfast bar—ham and cheese with all the fixings. I picked up a dill pickle slice bordering the bread and chomped down as I scooted onto one of the four rattan stools. She chose the stool beside me and poured our tea into mugs.

My mother sitting beside me gave me tremendous comfort. I'd almost forgotten. This vintage home, where my parents raised my three siblings and me, offered protection besides comfort. Assuming we had ever needed protection, we certainly no longer needed Chad now that we were living here.

I bit into my sandwich and spoke with my mouth full, letting a sloppy tomato slice fall back onto my plate. “This is delicious.”

She patted my knee to let me know she guessed I hadn't eaten much since yesterday. Mom was polite enough not to say so, and sipped her tea.

“Tell me about the trip.” She set down her mug and listened intently. I wasn't used to having such undivided attention.

“We stopped more often than I would have had I driven alone. Kids get antsy fast.”

“Short attention span.”

“You know it. Before lunch and after lunch, he talked me into stopping in different small towns, where we drove around until we found a park for him to play. The exercise did him good, but put us behind.”

She stirred more sugar into her mug and handed me another napkin from the holder in front of her. “He must have thought of the trip as an adventure.”

I sipped my tea. “Seeing the movers load our stuff onto the truck really got him going, except he wanted his new bike in the trunk. He refused to let strangers take it.”

“Speaking of your car, I put it in the garage.”

“Thank you.” I hesitated, not sure if she'd be alarmed. “Mom, did you notice a motorcycle stop at the end of your driveway?”

“I did. I suppose the noise woke Caleb.”

“No. It was odd that the man stopped. Do you know him?”

She shook her head.

“Has he stopped before?”

“Not that I ever noticed. I'll bet you're missing Ben again since you're back home.”

“A little.” I stayed focused on the man at the end of the driveway. “Him stopping concerns me, Mom. He was looking up at the garages. Probably when you were out there all alone moving my car.”

“I was fine. I come and go all the time at night. I never get scared.”

“You should pay more attention.”

She focused on her tea. I ate my sandwich. I tabled my concerns for another time.

“Your movers showed up around three. Such a small truck. I had them unload the rest of your things in Daddy's workroom downstairs.” She paused thoughtfully. “There wasn't much furniture, Mallory.”

“What you see is what you get. What we didn't want or need sold in May at a garage sale. We split the cash.”

Cash for emergencies and our fresh start. We also had less to transport, although enough to arrange for a mover, which I managed to contract on short notice thanks to the son of one of my neighbors.

After our house sold, I rented an apartment month to month because its location was close to the dental clinic where I worked as a hygienist. The apartment was plain. It left us wanting the amenities of our home—the backyard that once housed Caleb's playset, fully loaded with swings, a slide, a glider, and a fort on top with a three-color flag. The cramped apartment with sterile white walls took some getting used to.

We watched a TV from the 1990s that one of Chad's aunts found stored in her garage. We sat on beanbags and took our meals at a card table and chairs in the dining area off the galley kitchen. I slept nicely on an air mattress from Walmart until the divorce. No way did I want our bedroom set, especially the bed Chad had defiled. I'd have a normal bed again while living at Mom's.

“I hope Chad stopped by this morning like he promised.”

I slid my hand into the side pocket of my pants for my phone. “Sent a text instead. ‘Nice you're moving home to your mother and nice you're getting far away from Memphis and me. Best of luck. Have a nice life. I know you'll finally get the great one you deserved.'”

“Sickening, if you ask me.” Mom narrowed her eyes. “The stinking jackass.”

My brow lifted, and I smirked. “You are too kind. I call him much worse in my head.” I pressed delete before shoving the phone back into my pocket.

Mom sniffled and frowned. “I wish you hadn't married him.”

“Lesson learned. I do think he did me a big favor making it easy for me to get out of our marriage. This time, I think he cheated hoping I'd catch him.”

“He deliberately pushed you into divorce?”

“I'm sure. I'd been reluctant to leave because divorce might hurt Caleb.”

I now needed to find a delicate way to tell Mom and my family Caleb was not Chad's son. There were times when people in my family held an outmoded sense of propriety, which was odd considering my parents came from the love generation. I entered my teen years knowing full well my parents understood
other
people engaged in free love, not them or their children.

Sitting in the kitchen late at night wasn't the ideal time for discussing those serious matters. I needed sleep, not a long and tearful conversation.

Mom's tea mug clinked against her plate of untouched toast when she set it down. “At least you were smart enough not to spend a lifetime with him.”

She knew better than to offer shallow comments like “you'll find someone new.” Finding a special someone came and went years ago. Ben giving me Caleb was his greatest gift. Pity he died not knowing our little boy was on his way.

Surely my family would understand why Chad and I kept Caleb's paternity secret when we were married. No point keeping the matter secret after the divorce. Funny how I emphasized
the
divorce as though the decree was beyond our choice, a terrible arrangement killing our love. Honestly, I question how much love ever existed in our marriage. Definitely not the enduring love Ben and I once shared. Chad Powers took responsibility for a little baby whose daddy died, until he had enough.

We shared friendship at the start. Chad did his best to woo me. When friendship never evolved into a marriage with a fawning and doting wife that he assumed was part of the deal, he searched elsewhere for the kind of fawning and doting he wanted.