The Truth About Mallory Bain

by Clare Hexom

  “How nice.”

  “I’ll bet you and Erik see many of our old friends.”

  “Not much.” She fussed with her dress again.

  Curiosity pressed me to know specifics. “Who?”

  She furrowed her brow. “Nobody really.”

  Her reticence stopped me from pressing. I excused myself, at least for a few minutes. My first impression made me rethink our friendship, though by the time I reached the restroom, I blew off my doubts. Dana was fine. The problem was me. I had diminished self-esteem thanks to Chad. But our meeting was too awkward to continue without reprieve from the prickly air between us. And I had no clue why that would be.

  I gazed at my eyes in the mirror. Dark circles were slowly surfacing from under my foundation.

  “No doubt that jewelry is genuine,” I unthinkingly spoke aloud.

  “Pettiness is unbecoming, Mallory.”

  “Excuse me?”

  I scanned the room from its reflection in the mirror. I was alone. I pushed open both stall doors. Empty. I stood back, staring at the black toilet seats. I truly was alone, yet a man had spoken, spoken my name in a ladies’ restroom. I leaned against the sink and folded my arms against my chest. The visions, the auditory hallucinations, good or bad, had to stop.

  I splashed cold water over my face and rubbed my eyes. I was spent. Dana probably considered me a fool. I reminded myself how in a week, I’d divorced my husband of seven years, made moving arrangements, speed-packed our stuff, and tied up loose ends before driving over eight hundred miles in a day. Too much for anybody.

  It had been unrealistic agreeing to coffee and expecting myself to carry on a normal conversation. I dragged a comb through my hair and flew out of the restroom. What I needed was more sleep, not caffeine.

  Dana looked up from her phone. Her eyes were empty and cold.

  I must have surprised her or the caller had upset her.

  “Erik,” she finally said.

  “I hope you said ‘hi’ for me.”

  I noticed her hand not holding the phone. My heart sank as I watched those fingers pull into a white knuckled fist.

  Dana smiled sweetly. “Naturally.” She resumed our conversation as though nothing had perturbed her.

  I was more at ease when our conversation grew more fluid and relaxed. She mentioned her stint in real estate before the market spiraled, which might have accounted for her clothes had she done well. We engaged in the customary small talk—current interests, kids, cooking, although I sensed she generally avoided the kitchen. In no time, we’d gabbed away a solid three hours when exhaustion won out. My eyes fell heavy and my constant yawning bordered on rudeness.

  “Dana. I’m sorry. I have to go home. Driving all day yesterday did me in.”

  Her eyes widened again. I saw concern. Her kind expression told me I was home among my friends despite my off-the-rack clothes, dark circles, and untidy nails.

  “I’ll drive you. Erik will come for your car.”

  “He can’t do that. He’s miles away and Mom’s house is only a couple miles from here.” The strap broke when I grabbed my bag and started digging for my keys. “Let’s get together again soon.” My face warmed as I set my bag on my bent knee and tied the broken strap to the metal ring. “Erik, too. Let’s plan a playdate for Caleb and Emma.”

  “When you’re rested, text me a few dates and I’ll check when we’re free.”

  At some time during our visit, a downpour started, as Aunt Judith had predicted—or made a lucky guess. Regardless, it turned out to be a storm with gusting wind blowing the rain sideways. I’d forgotten how Minnesota’s weather can bring a northern bite even in late summer, compared to the constant high heat and humidity we’d left behind in Tennessee. The brisk chill perked me up until the car’s heater warmed and my drowsiness returned. I started thinking how I, too, needed a heavier winter coat after I outfitted Caleb.

  The streets were slick and blackened. The newly painted white lines popped against the shiny asphalt, making my eyes cross, pulling me deep into thought—a coat—handbag—the car swerved.

  I rammed the brake to the floorboard. The car fishtailed into a slide until the back end bumped over the curb and stopped hard. The left side of my body slammed against the door. My head bumped against the window. Blackness.

  A cramp seized my neck and left shoulder enough to awaken me sometime later. I made a slow, full body turn against the pain, and looked out the back passenger window—a towering brown lamppost was pressed against my car. I laid my hand over my eyes to stop the swirling.

  A woman’s muffled voice shouted through the windshield, “Are you badly hurt?” She tapped on the window beside me. “Are you all right?”

  I swallowed hard and lowered the window. “I think so.”

  “I should call 911.”

  “No, please. I’m all right. Thank you, though.”

  I tried rolling my shoulder but sharp pain shot into my neck. I unhooked my seatbelt and started explaining to her how exhausted I was from my trip the day before when I realized I owed this stranger, nice as she was, no explanation whatsoever. I shut off the engine and excused myself to pick up my bag, chucked upside down on the floor beneath the dash. My cell lay buried in the clutter.

  Mom was already leaving the house before my call ended. “And don’t you drive!”

  I left the window cracked an inch. The cold rain drizzling into the car and onto my head felt good, letting me lay my head against the headrest with eyes closed.

  In no time at all, a white Ford Explorer pulled up slowly and parked ahead of my car. The passenger door flew open the instant the vehicle stopped. Mom jumped out. A familiar-looking woman exited the driver’s side and opened the back door.

  Caleb ran to my car. “Mommy!”

  I reached over my midsection with my right hand to push open the door. I held onto the door tightly and eased myself out onto the street. He hugged me tight. “No tears, buddy, I’m fine.”

  “You look better than expected,” said Mom.

  “A sore shoulder.” I caressed Caleb’s head to soothe him. “You didn’t drive.”

  “Pam dropped in before you called. She offered.” Mom glowered at me. “You drove hundreds of miles yesterday and now this.”

  “I’m embarrassed. I fell asleep. I took that curve back there way too fast. I know better, but my first instinct was to hit the brake. Stupid.”

  “You scared me to death.”

  I rubbed my aching shoulder. “The caffeine should have kept me awake a week. But I am so groggy.”

  The glower deepened. Mom shook her head at me without offering any explanation for her obvious disapproval.

  Pam had been talking to the woman who had stopped to help. After the woman left, Mom’s friend reached for my hand. “You might not remember. I’m Pam Egger. We live down the street from your mom. Gray house by the corner.”

  I smiled friendly-like against the pain. “Yes, I do remember.” Not exactly certain whether or not I actually did. “Thank you for rescuing me.”

  “Diane had no idea if you were hurt. We’re glad you’re not dead.”

  I cuddled Caleb close, hoping he missed that remark.

  Pam stepped around to the other side the car. “Oh, yeah. You definitely need body work, kiddo.”

  “I have no idea where to go,” said Mom.

  “A fella my husband fly fishes with owns a couple of shops. If his guys fix wrecks as good as he fishes, you’re in luck. He mostly works out of the shop in Richfield.”

  My head spun; I stumbled backward. Mom dropped her purse to grab onto me. “Get the number for us, Pam. Look at you, Mallory. You can hardly stand. What’s gotten into you?”

  Her question sounded suspicious. “A car accident. What are you thinking?”

  She threw open the back door and lifted out Caleb’s booster. “I’m driving you home.”

  “It’s not that far.”

  “No. Too many accidents happen close to home. You cannot drive.�
��

  “Fine.”

  “I’ll drop you off, then we’ll get your car scheduled in at the body shop. Pam can bring us home later. You better sleep this off. And when we get home, you’re seeing a doctor.”

  “I don’t need a doctor. I do need sleep.” I teetered against my car. “Maybe an icepack.”

  Mom mumbled as she walked me to the Explorer, “I thought Rick was the only one of you kids with a lead foot.”

  “We need to get out of this rain.”

  She opened the car door for me. “You need a long night’s sleep. Clear your head of whatever made you this way.”

  Once tucked in my cozy bed, I realized my need for sleep felt markedly different from exhaustion. I attached that impression to Chad’s remarks about protection before I fell into a deep slumber.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  In my dream, it was seven years before. I was strolling from one room to another in Chad’s off-campus duplex apartment. I was searching for Ben. Each room I passed through was crowded with groups of college kids standing around drinking, laughing, partying hard Friday night before cramming all weekend for finals.

  Chad had thrown one last kegger for all of his friends and their friends before moving home to Tennessee. Maroon 5 boomed from speakers in the background. People milled about, spilled onto the rickety back porch overlooking the backyard hosting even more clusters of people.

  I stopped in the kitchen to refill my cup with ginger ale and turned my face away from the sweet, skunky smoke drifting through the wide-open window that separated me from Ben’s roommate, Brian Hayes.

  I overheard snippets of conversation when I walked back into the living room—an animated Missy Fowler, Erik’s cousin, asking a group of girls, “Have you read New Moon yet?” Erik betting the Twins will beat the Tigers over the weekend. Car talk, “Cut my hair for summer or not” talk. Familiar banter had replaced the contemplative topics we had often debated during those academic years at the University of Minnesota. Years when everybody in our group thought we knew and understood each other well. Too well at times, I suppose.

  The front door opened wide, framing the yellow bug light behind it. Erik Fowler, with his coppery hair, stepped into the frame pulling on his denim jacket. He glanced back over his shoulder, and I saw a visual connection between Dana and him. He then slipped out the door and out of sight. I was curious as to why he left early when he always was first to arrive and last to leave. My watch read ten fifteen. I’d found it more curious that Dana had bothered to look at him in the first place.

  I ran into Ben engaged in a spirited football debate with two of his friends. He gave me a sideways hug but made no attempt to leave them.

  Jack Harwood sat alone across the living room, not smothered by his usual entourage of followers. His bewildered expression prompted me to squeeze through the crowd to sit beside him. He’d been out of sorts a few days before the party and I wanted to know why.

  I asked him outright what was up with the wallflower act, hanging out all by himself on the sidelines—unsociable and aloof. He answered with a snarky comment about wishing he could read everybody’s minds.

  “Give me five minutes and I’ll glean more than I need to know.” He slapped the cushion beneath him. “They don’t give a shit anyway.”

  “If you say so,” I said.

  A deep sigh instead of a clarifying response.

  “Jack. What’s bothering you?”

  “Might be nothing. Or. Might be ugly.”

  “Has to be ugly to make you miserable.” I held my cup against my mouth and sucked in a floating chunk of ice to crunch on.

  “Oh, hell. Give any one of them a few beers and they might admit to something worth telling.” He tipped his head toward mine. “Ignore me. I’m being cynical tonight. I’m drunk.”

  “You’ve never been a cynic before. Drunk, yes. Cynic, no.”

  He sputtered a small laugh. “I’m sorting through stuff.”

  “Stuff.”

  He stared straight ahead.

  Pressing for answers was pointless. Changing the subject felt less intrusive. He’d talk when he was ready. “I think they’ve changed. More sure of themselves, you know. Cocky.”

  He nodded assent but said nothing informative.

  “Erik took off already. Go figure.” I breathed out, “Humph. “Chad’s been watching the clock.” I gently squeezed his wrist lying beside me. “Remember last winter how we used to party ’til dawn?”

  “Good times. We aren’t carefree anymore. Can’t be when starting a career. Too much at stake. Big responsibility.” He didn’t wait for my comment. “Everybody’s got an itch they can’t scratch until they move on. Let it go, Mallory. Change is an inevitable fact of life.” He gestured at Chad, drinking alone at a table across the room. “Check out Powers if you’re looking for a challenge. Figure out what’s plaguing him these days.”

  Chad had been cheerful enough when Ben and I arrived. Now he downed tequila shots with beer backups, his expression deadpan.

  “I’m sure you have a hunch,” I said and turned back to Jack.

  “I might. I’ll tell you when I find out more.”

  “Better hurry. He’s abandoning us. A lot of our friends are.”

  He chuckled despite his frown. Crossed one long, lanky leg over the other. “Yes. They are. Make new friends, Mallory. I may leave, too. We can’t ever look back. It’s sad to watch but our group is collapsing right before our eyes.”

  I smiled and clung to his arm, feigning anxiety, which had always made him laugh. “Oh, please, Jack. Please make it stop.”

  He nudged his elbow against me and chuckled again.

  I repositioned myself sideways, one leg up and one down, and watched him with devoted interest.

  “I am not the all-powerful Jack Harwood you think I am, sweetheart, but thank you for thinking so these past three years. We will settle into our new lives and our careers. A few of us will remain friends. A few won’t, nor will we ever want them as friends for a myriad of reasons.”

  “An entire myriad, huh?”

  His frown deepened. He made a tsking noise as he leaned back against Chad’s futon with arms folded behind his head. “Focus on your possibilities. Forget the losers.” He nodded toward Chad.

  I gave Chad a quick glance. Even a week before, Jack never would have called him a loser.

  “Maybe he’s in trouble.”

  “He ought to be except he’s such a rich, pathetic ass he won’t be.” Jack turned his focus on Dana. “Our futures can be whatever we choose. Picture the beautiful future you and Ben are creating.”

  “He’s all I think about anymore. I can’t imagine life without him.”

  “Precisely. All of us can expect a spectacular future. Consider where I’m headed.”

  “Sans Dana, I’m thinking.”

  He drew in a slow sip from his cup and shot me a devilish side-glance, that scoundrelly kind of look he wore whenever he felt playful. “Perhaps.” He tipped his head and clinked his plastic cup against mine, which was nearly drained of ginger ale. One corner of his mouth stretched into a mysterious smile.

  “What’s up with Chad, then?” I asked.

  “I’ll say when I’m not shitfaced. It’d be good for you to know.”

  I remained sitting beside Jack Harwood. Ben’s astute older friend. A good-looking man, usually enthusiastic about life. A critical thinker. In the few short years I’d known him, his educated opinion on any subject impressed me, the youngest in our group. I’d be worse than sad if he told us goodbye, too.

  “People will hurt you, Mallory, but only when you let them.”

  Not clear why or when he’d formed that opinion, I disagreed. “In some cases that isn’t true.” My head filled with examples supporting my opinion. Still, I chose silence because I knew he had more on his mind.

  He said nothing for a long while, however. Contemplating my response, or so I presumed. Rather than expanding his point per usual, he focused w
ith knitted brow and penetrating eyes on a cluster of friends that included his then-girlfriend Dana Norris. He wrinkled his nose, and I sensed he disapproved of her “less is more” choice of clothing.

  Ronnie Moore was there, too. She had been my friend the longest. Lissome bronze arms folded gently against her chest. One delicate finger slid a lock of silken black hair off her shoulder. Her head bent toward the plastic cup secured within her hands. She glanced up. Her eyes moved between Dana and Ben. Just once her head turned and she gazed across the room. She was looking at Chad.

  Jack Grant, whom we often called Grant to avoid confusion because we had a pair of Jacks in our group, stood between Ronnie and Dana. He habitually pushed up his glasses and shifted from one foot to the other whenever he started to speak. He averted his look from Ben once he noticed Jack and me watching.

  I was certain Harwood had not intended his strange advice entirely for me. Yet, not one of those people in that group of friends he was critically observing would ever hurt him or me.

  Although Harwood was not as openly miserable as Chad was that evening, he was troubled. Clearly anyone who knew him well could tell. I believed he had been hurt, yet despite the cause, he remained silent, too reticent to ask our help. Ben and I were his closest friends. We’d always be there for Jack whenever he needed us.

  The morning after the party, Ben insisted we invite Jack and Dana for dinner. I suggested inviting others but Ben disagreed. He pointed out that Jack was more likely to open up with only the four of us.

  No matter, because Grant declined. He had offered to drive Ronnie back to Madison after her short visit home by bus the middle of the week. Chad griped about his goddamn hangover and all the packing left to do. His refusal relieved Ben. Erik Fowler, on the other hand, surprised us when he never called back.

  Ordinarily everyone enjoyed visiting my parents’ home. People seldom decline an invitation. The veranda and backyard are perfect for outdoor parties. During my call to Mom, who was in Duluth for the weekend, she agreed a cookout might give Jack a more relaxed environment for airing his troubles.

  Since I had woken up ill, Ben coaxed me into a morning walk along Lake of the Isles. The lake is a peaceful body of water tucked beneath the backdrop of the Minneapolis skyline rising in the near distance of the Kenwood neighborhood. The lake’s shoreline is peppered with lofty, timeworn trees, and luxuriant homes built a century ago circle its perimeter. We returned refreshed, pleased at how the brightly shining, late-morning sun boded a pleasant afternoon.