The Truth About Mallory Bain

by Clare Hexom

  “Sure. A butterfly, Mom. Look!”

  Aunt Judith put her book down. She beamed at the butterfly. I watched her animated facial expressions while she spoke with Caleb, who sat motionless and allowed the monarch to alight on his knee.

  “He thinks you’re a flower,” I chuckled and poured myself a lemonade.

  Caleb giggled. “Am not.” Laying his forefinger beside the butterfly did not startle the insect away.

  “He knows you’re not a flower,” said Judith. “He stopped by to share a secret with you.”

  I selected the chair closest to him and watched the delicate wings sway back and forth.

  Caleb tilted his head. “I wanna keep him in a box.”

  “You wouldn’t like it if he kept you in a box. Let him fly with his friends, sweetie. He’ll visit again next summer. I promise. Give him a name, then you can say hello when you see him again.”

  Caleb groaned a little when he jiggled his knee and the butterfly flitted around the flowers growing in large pots placed around the veranda.

  “I wanna call him Woody,” said Caleb.

  “Woody is a good name.”

  The butterfly flew a short distance and landed on the railing. It remained there minutes after Caleb joined us at the table. Despite my protests, he gobbled his lunch to play on the tire swing my brother had rehung with new heavy rope on the limb of the largest shade tree.

  Aunt Judith trailed along and readied herself behind the swing to give him pushes. Her gesture seemed harmless enough that I brushed off the urge to run out into the yard and give him pushes instead.

  “I’m glad Rick hung the tire far enough away from that wrought-iron bench. Caleb likes high pushes. Anybody sitting on the bench might get kicked.”

  Mom chuckled. “I guess the paint is dry now. I had it repainted yesterday. When I came home from Rick’s on Labor Day, the bench was covered with mud. The white paint was stained, as if somebody wearing filthy clothes had sat there all day and let the mud soak in.”

  “A stray cat.”

  Mom scowled. “Too big a stain for a cat.”

  “I hope you’re not thinking prowler.”

  She shrugged.

  I recalled the man on the motorcycle watching from the end of the driveway. “You need an alarm.”

  “I have good locks.”

  “Not good enough. You need an alarm system, Mom. I’m surprised you don’t already have one.”

  “I’ll think about it. Would you look at Caleb? Adjusting already, and Judith loves him so. We’re happy you’re here.”

  My aunt had been married only a few years before her husband, Steven, died. They never had children. She was a quiet person when I was little and she treated me better.

  Mom leaned forward in her chair. “You’re staring.”

  “The flagstone under the bench. It’s lopsided.”

  “Rick calls it upheaving from the freeze-thaw cycles.”

  “Have the landscaper fix it before somebody trips.”

  “They’ve tried. The stones keep lifting up.” Mom shrugged. “We step around them. I want the stone taken out and sod put down. Maybe in the spring.”

  “It is a nice place to sit.”

  “Your dad loved that patio. Remember how he put in before you left for Tennessee?”

  Remembering well, I nodded.

  “He hoped we would read out there, and sometimes I do, except the ground isn’t suitable for flagstone.”

  “Upheaving makes little sense when the flagstone on the larger patio below the veranda is level. It’s the same yard. These stones lay flat.”

  Mother stood up and peered over the veranda railing with me. “Maybe the difference is because the smaller patio is round and this one is rectangular.” She amused herself at the silly deduction, while gesturing to the butterfly, settling on the veranda railing across from her. “Woody wants to stay.”

  “He might be hurt.” I moved closer and inspected the wings. They appeared intact. I stuck out my finger to touch its front leg, but the butterfly fluttered into the yard, pausing atop the back of the white bench.

  Aunt Judith strolled over and sat down. She made it appear as though she was engaging the butterfly in conversation.

  I returned to the table and sat back down. “She’s mad, you know. Acting like that.”

  “Pshaw!” Mom gestured toward Judith. “You should hear what she says about them.” She spooned a portion of fruit into her bowl.

  I burst out laughing. “Ohmygosh, your sister is actually talking to a bug.”

  “Keep your voice down.” Mom shook her head in disagreement. “She’s keeping Caleb entertained.”

  Caleb focused on swinging, not Judith. “All right. I’m interested. Tell me what she says about butterflies.”

  Mom leaned closer, not that Judith would have heard from that distance. “She says butterfly sightings occur after a person’s passing or on the anniversary of a loved one’s death. Even a deceased person’s birthday holds significant meaning. Or the spirit wishes to impart a message.”

  “Fascinating how she believes such nonsense.”

  “It’s not nonsense to her. She’s a spiritualist, Mallory.”

  “Spirits. Dead people. It’s all coming back.” Gunpowder and Tony. Recalling what she’d once said about my oldest brother, who had been in the Army and died, I kept those thoughts to myself.

  “She’ll tell you someone’s spirit is trying to contact us.”

  “Seriously, Mom.”

  “One of us knows the spirit, babygirl. Of course, it’s not me saying so, it’s Judith.”

  I paused, compelled to contemplate the concept further. Ben died seven years ago in May and his birthday was in late October. My father died the January after Ben’s death. Dad’s birthday was also January. Tony was born in April like me and died in November. There were three of my grandparents, none connected in any way to September that I recalled. I saw no reason for any of those people to make an appearance, because they had never tried contacting me before, especially Ben.

  “Daddy called her spiritualism a bunch of hooey,” I said.

  “Hooey or not, maybe your father has dropped in to say hello to you on his way up to the Iron Range and now we’ve got ourselves a lingering butterfly.” Mom smiled reminiscently. “Judith held another séance last week.”

  “A summoning dead people séance?”

  “Of course dead people, Mallory.”

  I strangled a laugh. “Imagine who or what sort of wickedness she conjures up.”

  Mother squinted at me and frowned.

  My jaw dropped. “Please say you don’t buy into séances and ghosts now.”

  Mom glanced downward. “I do find parts of what she says happens interesting. A daily phone call from your father would be nice. See, honey, Judith and I know so many who are gone.”

  “Sad. True.” I pushed my plate away. “Who has she séanced?”

  Mom grimaced. “George Harrison, for all I know. Ask her. She loves talking about it. She might contact Ben for you.”

  “I miss him, but not enough to conjure him back from the dead. Do not, please do not call Aunt Judith over here to sell me on the wonders of spiritualism.”

  “Fine. I was going to suggest you talk with Ben. Put your mind at ease. You never said goodbye.”

  “We didn’t know we had to.” I took a slow sip of lemonade. “I think I dreamt about him last night.”

  “This is what I mean. You need closure, Mallory. Let her help.”

  “Not from someone who hates me.”

  “Hate is such a negative word and simply not true. She disliked your marrying Chad because she wanted better for you.”

  I guffawed. “Right. Remain single because Ben died.”

  “She warned you Chad would never make a good husband. You snapped at her, Mallory.” Mother frowned. “She loves you. One day you will appreciate how much.”

  Time could never undo the animosity between Judith and me. Mother didn’t underst
and. I gazed across the yard, watching my aunt rise from the white bench. She strolled back to the swing. Her sour face told me she’d caught the scowl I’d sent her.

  Mom spoke barely loud enough for me to hear. “I admit Judith is eccentric. She loves her animals but her heart is with Steven. She’s tired of waiting to join him.”

  “She’s suicidal.”

  “Of course not. But when life imploded, she embraced death.” Mom paused and shrugged. “She misses him terribly. And no, she definitely is not suicidal. She misses Steven’s love.”

  “She needs a hobby.”

  “She has hobbies. Learn a lesson from her grief. We know how much you loved Ben. Careful how you regard him thirty years from now.”

  “You women are morbid. You’re saying she talks to Uncle Steven?”

  “Either she does or imagines she does. Assuming there is validity to her beliefs, it can’t hurt if you contact Ben. Say goodbye instead of ending up like her, grieving all your life over love cut short.”

  “Mom. I don’t care—”

  “Oh, apparently you do. You make quite a fuss over Judith. I’m guessing you think perhaps she’s stumbled onto the truth about the spirit world and you’re embarrassed to admit it.” Mom gathered plates and tableware. She went into the house, leaving me to sit by myself.

  My feelings for my aunt were more pragmatic. I thought about her as my father had. Those two bickered like badgers.

  During Thanksgiving dinner, the year Ben died, Judith took everyone by surprise when she remarked, “Old houses in old neighborhoods bury a multitude of sins.”

  We waited for her to cite examples supporting her claim but she studied the green beans on her plate instead. She pushed them one by one away from the heaping mound of stuffing plopped smack-dab in the center, like Kilimanjaro towering above the Tanzanian plains.

  Not every guest that Thanksgiving seven years ago had been family. My friends barely knew her. Mom’s friend Ginny Hughes politely tagged Judith “unconventional.”

  In their early twenties at the time, Dana and Erik’s shocked expressions worried me. I’d already lost too many friends. I feared losing them, too, because I was related to a strange, little woman who made odd remarks.

  I picked up my laptop and paused near the stone steps to watch Caleb a moment before going in to shower. I felt drawn to skim the recessed places beneath where the tallest trees grew in the farthest reaches of the backyard. I gasped when Judith appeared out of nowhere and stood two steps down.

  “Why, first thing this morning a skein of honking Canadian geese flew over my house in perfect V formation,” she remarked nonchalantly. “And now, the katydids are buzzing and the crickets are chirping. You hear them, Mallory Anne.” She paused and smiled. “Listen. You can hear more. What you sense makes you nervous. You hear buried voices, don’t you?”

  Nothing was amiss except for the unsettling expression on her face. This was clearly a manifestation of insanity.

  The unseen man’s voice whispered again in my ear, “Judith Johnston is the least of your worries.”

  “A presence resides close by, over there near the pines. I’ve sensed its presence for years, a few months past seven, to be precise. Listen with your mind. You will know when the presence draws near. It yearns for your attention, Mallory Anne. It brings you a warning.”

  She slipped around me, and after she ascended the last of the stone steps, she stopped and said, “Never leave your boy unattended out here. Your child rouses the spirit’s curiosity.”

  My blood flowed cold. I rubbed away the goosebumps raising on my arms.

  The French doors closed with a sharp click. Her gray form disappeared into the house.

  I scanned the yard. Caleb stood on the tire swing, spinning round and round without a care.

  I saw no spirit with him.

  I needed to keep her away from my son.

  I never should have let her push him on the swing.

  I needed a job to afford our own place.

  “Caleb! Come on. Time to play inside.”

  He slid off the tire and ran toward me.

  When we walked into the kitchen, Judith was already lingering over a china teacup at the breakfast counter. Mom started speaking to me the instant I walked in as if I’d been there all along and engaged in their conversation.

  “We were talking about the Kings next door. You remember their son Brent.”

  I laid the dirty dishes I’d carried in on the island counter. “I need to shower.”

  “In a second, honey. Before you run off.” Mom held up her hand for me to wait. “They have a grandson Caleb’s age, and I’ll bet he’s in his class. You have him ask about a boy named Gavin King.”

  “Does he live close?”

  “Yes. Brent and his wife bought that blue-and-white Victorian around the corner.”

  “Having a friend around the corner would be convenient whether they go to school together or not,” I said.

  “Gavin is a friendly boy.” Judith lifted her head. “His mother is a judge, you know.” She sized me up and down. “Brent became an attorney.”

  “I knew that, Aunt Judith. You make it seem as if their careers are important for Caleb and Gavin to be friends.”

  “No. But perhaps an attorney might come in handy.”

  She couldn’t have known I needed an attorney to change Caleb’s surname.

  Mom picked at the ribbon wound around her straw hat, which lay on the island. She glanced back and forth between her sister and me. I know she sensed an argument brewing, but let it carry on.

  Judith squinted at me. “No need for sass.” She pressed her lips against her cup for a drawn out sip.

  Mom lifted her own cup. “I invited Ronnie for supper Saturday. I hope that was all right.”

  I ignored Judith. “Yes. I imagine she is the same.”

  Mom tipped her head. “More reserved.”

  “The library is a scholarly place,” said Judith. “Appeals to one’s intellect.”

  Mom moved over to Judith and looped her arm around her sister’s arm, appearing ready to leave me standing alone in the kitchen.

  Sounding as mysterious as Judith, Mom added, “That may very well be, or more to the point, perhaps Ronnie knows something not yet said.”

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  Punctuality never was one of Dana’s attributes. Waiting fifteen minutes or longer for her was nothing for those of us who had ever known her. I barely recognized my friend when she sashayed into the coffee café looking like a runway model and as beautiful as when I’d seen her last. I expected the years to show as those years were starting to show on me—hints of tiny crow’s feet defacing the corner of each eye. Her skin oozed vitality, her gait well-balanced and brisk.

  That dress—definitely too pricey for my budget. Her heels and leather handbag were no haute couture but seemed disproportionate to what I figured her salary to be, even combined with however much Erik presumably earned. Perhaps herbal and natural remedies were a more lucrative trend than I had imagined, or the Fowlers carried tremendous debt.

  I’d never fill her dress as well. She carried her three inches of height over mine with style. I touched my collar, feeling flatchested and plain. My blouse hung loosely. My brown slacks were too casual—bought on sale last spring. It mattered little that other customers wore clothes like mine. I pushed my hair off my shoulder and donned a cheery expression to conceal my awkwardness.

  On closer look, her hair had retained its natural blonde, or her stylist was one of the best. She reached for my hand, showing off manicured and professionally polished nails. My unpainted nails showed uneven lengths. A few broken ones needed filing. I’d been too preoccupied to let a little thing like messy cuticles bother me until now.

  “We are thrilled you’re back.” The words bubbled out of her when she greeted me with a hug.

  We selected our coffees and retreated to the overstuffed chairs in the quiet corner near the unlit fireplace. I sat acros
s from her, reminding myself to sit straighter, or at least to try not to slump.

  “I needed an afternoon out,” I told her. “Coffee with a good friend. A huge weight’s been lifted from my shoulders being home again.”

  “We can only imagine. We often talk about you and Chad. When I told Erik you were moving back, the first thing he said was how much he regretted never making that trip to Tennessee we always talked about but never found time to do. He thought he might have helped sort Chad out for you.”

  “Now there’s a daunting task. No matter now. We’re here and what’s done is done. Where is Emma today?”

  Dana glanced down and flicked at the bodice of her dress. “At a play date with a neighbor.” She lifted her eyes and stared coldly into mine. “Your mother must be enjoying the afternoon with your little boy.”

  Without an obvious reason, her widened eyes unnerved me enough to avert my gaze downward into my cup instead of looking back. I nodded. “And she kicked around a soccer ball with Caleb this morning.”

  “Erik’s parents live here. Mother returned to California after Father died.”

  “I’m sorry. You never mentioned he passed away.”

  She took a long sip of coffee and looked out the window. “Six years. Sudden. His heart.”

  “Our fathers died about the same time, then.”

  “We seldom got along.”

  As if not getting along made his passing bearable.

  I deeply missed my own father, so I paused, searching for a fitting response. None came to mind. “You and Erik could move to California to be near her.”

  “We’re too dug in here to leave.”

  “Like us, you’ll be around a long time.”

  She uttered a weak titter and rolled her eyes. “I suppose.”

  “Emma must miss your mom.”

  Dana wrinkled her nose. “Mother does her own thing. She travels, but she does send Emma gifts from the places she visits.” Dana rolled one shoulder and tittered again. “Enough of me. Tell me all about your plans.”

  “Find work. Settle Caleb in school. Mom invited Ronnie for dinner this Saturday.”