The Truth About Mallory Bain

by Clare Hexom

“I believe you. Working close to home is best until he’s older.” She scooted her chair nearer to the table. “You would think with everything people do to their teeth nowadays, hygienists would be in greater demand.”

  “Apparently not this week.”

  “I’m going out later on.” Mom beamed. “I’m going out with Carl.”

  “Carl.” My eyes brightened.

  Mom hummed. “Carl Kowalski. We’re going to wander through the Sculpture Garden and have a bite of supper at his place. He’s sort of a friend I’ve been running around with since last winter.”

  My smile widened. “Explain to me what a sort of a friend is. Either he is or he’s not.”

  Mom blushed. “He is a friend. A very good friend.”

  “Very good? He sounds hot.” I grinned.

  “Mallory!”

  Her feigning naïveté struck me funny, a mother of four and grandmother of eight.

  “Then tell me what ‘running around’ means, because Caleb runs around all the time, and I doubt you and Carl play super-heroes swinging imaginary swords. That’s his newest interest these last couple weeks.”

  Her blush deepened. “You are awfully curious for a daughter.”

  My grin turned impish. “No doubt he treats my mother well.”

  “Rest assured. He’ll be here at four. And no prying.”

  “I’m good. Caleb may. He’s more curious than I am. I texted Rick and thanked him for painting Caleb’s room and rehanging the tire swing. He promised to stop over soon.”

  “He’s a good son.”

  “I suppose tonight will be a late night.”

  “It might be.” She smiled demurely. “You know. If Carl puts on a good movie.”

  “Go. Have fun. Watch movies,” I chuckled. “I was about to drive over to Caleb’s school. He wants to see his classroom and meet his teacher, providing you trust me with your car.”

  “Not if you’re tired.”

  “I’m okay. He was nagging me before breakfast to let him start today already. I said Monday. We need to go shopping afterward, if that’s all right.”

  “Be home in time to meet Carl.”

  When Caleb and I arrived at his new school, the principal personally buzzed us into the building. After getting acquainted with her and the school nurse, she introduced us to Caleb’s teacher, Mrs. Wolfe, “with an ‘e.’” He met two new friends, one of whom happened to be Gavin King. No surprise there. Besides being next-door neighbors, Mom and Carolyn King had been good friends for years. Gavin’s parents surely told him beforehand to be on the lookout for a new boy named Caleb Powers.

  We arrived home behind a silver van pulling into Mom’s driveway. The driver eased left and parked in front of the end garage door, giving me room to park Mom’s car in front of the one closest to the house.

  “You must be Mallory,” the man said, walking over to my opened door. His eyes twinkled.

  “I am. Nice to meet you, Carl.”

  Caleb unhooked his seatbelt and jumped out of the car. “Hi.”

  Tall and stocky, the silver-haired man stooped down to face my son.

  “Hi there. I’m Carl Kowalski. You must be Caleb.”

  “Caleb Anthony Powers.” He straightened his back and stuck out his chin. “My Uncle Tony was a war hero. He died before I was born.”

  Carl shook Caleb’s hand and stood upright. “Your grandma told me about Tony. A fine man. An honor you carry on his name.”

  Carl followed us up the steps to the side door.

  “My mom said you are Grandma’s best friend,” said Caleb.

  Carl winked at me while he tapped on the storm door and pulled it open. “Your grandma has several best friends. I like to consider myself one of them.” His rounded middle shook when he chuckled.

  Caleb darted through the kitchen and down the short hallway, past the pantry to where Mom had left the plastic tubs storing his toys.

  I kicked off my shoes and sat at the breakfast bar. “How did you two meet?”

  “Bunco. The community center hosts groups Wednesday evenings fall to spring. I normally go there, but my buddy Chuck talked me into playing at his church. They needed a fourth at their Tuesday game.” Carl grabbed a glass from the cupboard and poured himself some water from the fridge, showing me that he knew his way around Mom’s kitchen.

  “Your mother plays at Chuck’s table with a jumpy little woman. Ginny Hughes.”

  “I know her.”

  “Small world. Our dads built tractors after the war for Minneapolis Moline down on Lake Street.” Carl chuckled. “Now here we are. Ginny and me playing Bunco, and Diane and me ‘best friends.’” He took a long drink of water and grinned like a Cheshire cat.

  My mom had a boyfriend. A spreading blush warmed my cheeks and ears, down my neck. No doubt he figured I guessed their relationship well exceeded friendship. She would never stop loving Daddy, and Carl looked likeable enough.

  Having friends filled a void. Before meeting Carl, I detected loneliness in her voice whenever I phoned. There is a monotony to living alone. Each day blends into the next, same as the day before. Although daylight is shorter, the days feel longer during winter, when Minnesota’s weather turns blustery and glacially cold. Holing up indoors is better than chancing a bone-breaking slip on the ice.

  Mom didn’t even have a pet for companionship. Unlike Judith, who cares for a menagerie of cats and dogs, one or two of which she parades at shows, Mom bans animals from the house. My father longed for a dog when he was alive.

  Love of dogs was another point of agreement between Judith and my dad.

  Mom strolled into the kitchen full of smiles. Her eyes danced like those of a bashful teen greeting her first boyfriend for their first date. Carl beamed likewise. He gave her a sideways hug and modest kiss on the cheek.

  They said their goodbyes and without hesitation reminded me, “Don’t bother waiting up.” They scurried outside, and seconds later, I heard a mechanical purr as Carl’s van rolled down the driveway.

  I loaded the few dishes piled in the sink into the dishwasher before helping Caleb herd his dinosaurs into the bathtub with him. I read his requested “umpteen-zillion” bedtime stories.

  After he fell asleep, I retreated to my own bed with the thick novel I’d bought during summer but put off reading. After reading the dustcover to gain a sense of the plot and the characters I’d soon meet, I nestled deeper into the stack of comfy pillows, hoping to be captivated for an hour or more.

  Well into chapter four, a cool breeze caressed my face. I glanced around but saw nothing peculiar. I no sooner returned to my reading when a gentle wind blew over me and lifted my hair off my shoulders.

  The room filled with terrible coldness. Shivers shook the book in my hands. I tossed it aside and jumped out of bed expecting to find an open window. Closed and locked tight. I passed through the bathroom to check on Caleb. He’d thrown off his covers, the way he often does, and laid curled up like a lump of blue cotton.

  Both of his windows were closed and locked, too, but Edgar the T-Rex, looking forlorn and lonely, lay on the floor beneath the window across from Caleb’s bed. I picked him up and laid him beside my son. When I stepped back, Caleb sputtered. In the glow of the nightlight, I saw an innocent peacefulness on his sweet Ben-like face. His contentment gave me reason to smile and be at peace.

  He was safe here.

  Chad had moved out days before Christmas and spent the holidays visiting his family. We weren’t invited. He cancelled our Christmas and spent the day with my replacement, her kids, even her extended family on her father’s side. Strangers. His absence drove Caleb to inconsolable tears.

  We baked lemon bars and played with his new toys, one of which was Edgar. On Christmas afternoon, Caleb, Edgar, and I went for a long walk. I decided right then and there he needed to hear about Ben Holland. I told him mostly because he cried for Daddy the entire time he opened presents. He needed to know his real daddy didn’t want him to cry. Besides, his nighttime terrors a
bout Chad kept worsening.

  A motorcycle thundered toward the house and jolted me from my reflections. I presumed it was the same bike we’d heard before. I looked out the window, to see if the bike stopped out front again. I hoped the rider was not a thief casing the property. Instead I saw the bike’s red taillight at the corner. Seconds later, the rumbling roar diminished in the distance.

  My heart pounded. That rumbling made me miss Ben more. I turned and faced Caleb’s bed. His Mickey Mouse clock ticked softly beside the framed picture of Ben and me.

  The bike had continued on without stopping, though I still didn’t know why he had stopped before. I supposed he worked evenings and was returning home, but it pleased me to know I might hear that roaring sound often.

  Letting my mind meander to memories of Ben had comforted me during my trouble with Chad. Ben became my fantasy retreat whenever Chad fought with me—whenever he stormed out of the house seeking pleasure only a cheater like him could understand. Those nights, abandoned and alone, I closed my eyes and imagined Ben holding me and kissing me and reassuring me life would get better. Fleeing to that safe zone, the secret place inside my head always restored my calm.

  But rekindling those memories resurrected a very dead Ben. Dwelling on him tricked me into believing he was less dead than he was. Such reverie is a dangerous game, teetering on the edge of mental collapse. But I liked my dreams, so I indulged them.

  I padded back to my room and hopped into bed. No sooner did I pick up my book than another breeze wafted over me. This time the breeze lasted longer, blew an even icier cold. It tickled the wispy curls on each side of my face. I dropped the book in my lap and scanned the walls near the ceiling for a source of the cold air. An open register in the hallway must have caused the breeze. I trotted over to my bedroom door and shut it tight, reached for my phone and texted Rick to check for drafts the next time he stopped by.

  A short while later, my novel engaged me to the point I fell asleep, until a grunting noise from beyond the bathroom awakened me. The LED on my clock read 2:00 a.m. I pushed off my covers and stumbled out of bed. Caleb knelt at his window, Edgar on the floor beside him.

  “Hey there. What are you doing?” I stooped down to his level.

  “Trying to open the window.” He pushed up and grunted again. “It’s st . . . uck.”

  “It’s locked. And it’s supposed to stay locked.” I helped him stand. Giving a second thought to the T-Rex, I picked up Edgar, scooped Caleb into my arms, and carried them both back to bed.

  “A man’s knocking on my window, Mom. He’s gotta come in.”

  “We’re on the second floor of a big house. No one is knocking on your window. There must be a tree close to the house. I’ll have Grandma call the landscaper to trim back the branches.” I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder. “I hope the knocking didn’t frighten you.”

  “It kinda did,” he said with a quick shrug. “Mom. Tell the man why he can’t come in.”

  “There is no one out there.”

  “Is so. You gotta say the land guy’s gonna cut the branch.”

  I stepped over to the window to appease him. I unlocked and raised the window, hoping a burglar’s ladder wasn’t leaning against the house. Nothing was near the window. No branches, no trees. Satisfied nothing was out there, I lowered and secured the storm and inside windows.

  My son was safe. Our bizarre dreams were because we’d gone through many changes. Mom’s house was our third home in less than a year. Major life changes can affect dreams, which is why I supposed the man at the window might have been a faceless Chad appearing in Caleb’s dream.

  I rechecked my own window before crawling back into bed. I set the book on the nightstand and fell asleep soon after but did not sleep well. I tossed and turned, aware my shoulder ached but too asleep to awaken for a pain killer.

  Hours into the night there was a knock at my door. Too paralyzed to move, I watched the door swing open. The silhouetted man stood in my doorway again. The brightness shone behind him and spotlighted the rolled newspaper prominently tucked beneath his arm. Again, he spoke in a gush of burble. I sensed he was prompting me to study the wall sconce mounted in the hallway behind him.

  He might have been saying, “See the light fixture relative to the top of my head.”

  Tall.

  I gauged the breadth of his shoulders inside the doorframe.

  Broad.

  Although my body remained immobile and I knew I was dreaming, my head nodded acknowledgement. The man turned into the hallway and the door closed. I searched the darkness, hoping for his return. I awoke the next morning with a burning curiosity to know his identity and purpose of his visits. I hoped Ben’s spirit had come back.

  CHAPTER

  SEVEN

  I traipsed around outside while Mom fixed breakfast. I searched the house’s perimeter for signs of attempted break-ins, all the while bucking the gusting wind and soaking my clothes in the morning downpour.

  A variety of evergreens grow beside the house from beneath landscape rock. Their tallest tops peak a good distance from the bottom edge of the upstairs window ledges. Shorter shrubs grow too low to the ground to knock against even the downstairs glass. Tall columnar arborvitae flank the corners but grow far away from any window. As I had seen last night, no branches touched the house to support Caleb’s claim he heard knocking.

  It was petty of me to keep blaming Chad for every strange thing we experienced or imagined we had experienced, but he was fair game. Though my nightly visitor was tall like Chad, his shoulders were broader. Chad rarely read anything not work-related, nor did he ever carry a newspaper rolled under his arm. Neither had Ben.

  I was determined to believe that Judith was mistaken about a spirit’s presence. Maybe imagined vaporous images, lurking in the shadows of the trees, gave her the drama she craved. Stress caused by Chad was the obvious cause of Caleb’s window knocking and my dreams. We needed calm, not excitement.

  After breakfast, Mom and I took Caleb to the mall to buy winter socks and long underwear for sledding. She reminded me snow might fall sooner than we figured.

  I had no social life, though Dana had promised to fix that situation soon, which gave Mom reason to push me into dipping into my emergency fund to buy a few new clothes and pair of heels besides a new bag, all of which cost more than I had cared to spend. My self-confidence needed the boost but I refused to let her pay. Since she suggested manicures, she covered the bill.

  Later that Saturday afternoon, Caleb played downstairs in the family room. He worked hard artfully stacking his blocks to show Ronnie how his “invincible dinosaurs” toppled buildings.

  “It’s almost suppertime,” I leaned over the banister and called down to him.

  Mom carried the stool over to the island sink for him to stand on while he washed his hands. She set the liquid soap by the knife rack because he’d drained the jar the day before making a “tubble of bubbles” for Edgar’s bath.

  I lifted the stack of salad plates from the counter and took them into the dining room. After setting the plates around the table, I removed cloth napkins from one of the china cabinet’s drawers and set them atop the plates.

  Mom busied herself with the steaming pots on the stove, lifting lids and stirring. She raised the spoon, letting the sauce drip into the pot.

  “You must be eager to see Ronnie again.” Mom slipped off her apron and neatly folded it into a square.

  “I am. And I’m excited about Caleb getting to know my friends.” I hugged her. “Thanks for putting on this dinner. You’re a good mom.”

  “You’re welcome, babygirl. I imagine it’s been a long time since you’ve seen her.”

  “Two years. We managed a short visit before she rushed off to a wedding in Alexandria. A nice coincidence we happened to be in Minneapolis at the same time.”

  Mom stopped beside the island, gripping the handles of a kettle of steaming pasta. She waited until Caleb finished drying his hands and jump
ed off the stool. He then jumped out of the kitchen singing about monkeys.

  “A nice coincidence you girls moved back to Minneapolis when you did. Seems fate keeps bringing you girls home again.”

  I stopped drizzling dressing over the salad and stared at her. “Define fate without including Aunt Judith’s beliefs about death.” Mom chuckled. “Never crossed my mind. You can’t ever know . . .” I heard her murmuring as she bent over the oven to remove the loaves of garlic bread. “. . . oh, what truths lay in the seemingly impossible.” When she stood up, she gave me an innocent look as she placed the loaves on the cutting board. “Ronnie’s cast came off two weeks ago. I told you she fell off a ladder washing windows.”

  “And you sent flowers and a card from all of us.”

  “Good thing Dana was there.”

  “Dana.”

  Mom hesitated. “She was on her way out when she saw Ronnie fall. They’ve been visiting back and forth since Ronnie bought the house.”

  “Funny how she never said.” I stood in front of the fridge, leaving the door wide open. “Mom. With her arm broken, somebody had to work her garden. She brought over squash.”

  “And tomatoes. Sam Garcia. He’s her new friend.”

  I walked over to where she stood. “You said ‘new’ with a tone of sensuality, you know.”

  She grinned puckishly. “Honestly, Mallory. How indelicate.”

  I pulled open the knife drawer to give her a hand with the bread. “Prudish words and phrases like ‘new’ and ‘sort of a friend’ must be your polite way of saying you and Carl are getting it on.”

  “Mallory Anne!” Her mouth fell open. She stuttered her answer. “We enjoy each other’s company. We laugh and share good times. ‘Getting it on.’ Our friendship is what it is, Mallory, and you’ve said quite enough.”

  I started laughing. “Sam and Ronnie must be sort of friends too.”

  She finished rinsing a bell pepper. “Oh, probably. They seem to get along well.” She laid a paper towel on the cutting board and removed a paring knife from the rack. “She showed me pictures from a trip they took to Madeline Island together.”