The Truth About Mallory Bain

by Clare Hexom

  My father disapproved—called her boy crazy. Ronnie found her moodiness annoying. Dana would turn edgy for no reason, except now as an adult I think there is a reason if you search deep enough, and the reason might be unexpected. She once shared how she’d been the center of attention as a preschooler, but when she grew older, her family constantly found fault with her.

  Ronnie and I were her only outlet for fun. Mr. and Mrs. Norris allowed her out of the house providing she went with us, which wasn’t all that often. And the bubbly Dana we saw at school contrasted the brooding girl at home.

  Mrs. Norris once complained to Dana in front of me, “I wish you would make me proud like Mallory and Ronnie do their parents.” Her remark was uncalled for, and I knew that even as a teenager.

  We three girls met Jack Harwood and Chad when we were eighteen-year-old freshman at the u of M homecoming. Harwood and Chad were the oldest members of our group, and they were friends with Ben, who’d been friends first with Chad and later Jack Grant.

  Ben’s freshman year dorm room was across the hall from Grant’s. They met Brian Hayes and Erik that same year. Jack Grant had lived in our neighborhood, but was a year ahead of us girls in school.

  Dana tracked down Jack Harwood a week after homecoming and invited him to Amy Hannigan’s Halloween party. He brought a few of his friends, including Ben, Erik, and Chad because Dana insisted the party needed men.

  It took me a while to realize Gandalf from Lord of the Rings was Jack Grant. Ben showed up as a pirate—one out of five—more princely than larcenous with his golden hair and blue eyes. I wore the silky pink, off-the-shoulder gown of a coquettish lass. We hit it off the second we met and Ben swashbuckled me into his life.

  Ronnie and I tried staying close after she switched colleges. The distance between us made spending time with Jack Harwood and Dana a natural choice for Ben and me. We never minded Erik or Missy tagging along. Chad always brought Amy, until they broke up before he moved back to Tennessee. Grant often showed up solo. I suspected we weren’t his only friends. Ronnie dated a lot in those days. We were always meeting new guys from Wisconsin.

  Ben used to tease her, “Your dating is like an interview process”.

  It was about a week after our cookout with Jack, Dana, and Aunt Judith, and about the time when the pair of Jacks went away that Dad’s sister called from up north. Grandma Bain had taken a bad turn. Mom and I rushed to Duluth to help care for her because Dad had to stay home to meet with important clients.

  Mom scurried around upstairs packing and shouting instructions to me that Sunday. I threw my clothes into my suitcase amid fits of sobbing because I’d lost my phone. Even if I’d had everyone’s numbers written down, I only had time to make one quick call to Dana from our landline. Her number was memorized. In the hurry, I repeatedly muddled Ben’s number and never did reach him before or after we left.

  We’d had an argument the evening before over me moving in with him and Brian. Their two previous roommates had moved out and they needed at least a third to make the rent. But Brian ogled me whenever I stayed. Ben told him to stop, but the ogling continued.

  Dana promised Erik would call Ben for me. I stopped midstep at the edge of our driveway. I stared at Caleb aiming the ball at the lamppost.

  Dana had little time for Erik, but yet she had his number. More importantly, she had Chad’s. I could not imagine what had happened over that summer to cause her to fall in love with Erik enough to marry him.

  “Mom!”

  I looked up and saw Caleb standing firm with his arms against his chest.

  “When’s pizza?”

  “Suppertime. Of course. You’re hungry now.”

  He bobbed his head. He tried bouncing his soccer ball like a basketball, but it wasn’t working well. “I want mac-roni n’ cheese.”

  I sent him into the dining room to clear his coloring books and crayons off the table while I fixed lunch. He’d no sooner left than he lolloped back into the kitchen wearing a twisted grin and lazily swinging his arms. He hopped around the far side of the kitchen trumpeting: “One little monkey, two little monkeys, three little monkeys, four—bonk—bonk—bonk!”

  Pleased he stayed occupied, I smiled and went about setting out plates and dinnerware on the breakfast bar half listening to Caleb and half thinking about Dana. It had been kind of her to let our friends know about my grandmother. Ronnie’s parents sent a flower-filled basket that Mom still keeps magazines in beside the chair where Dad eventually found my phone wedged between the cushion and the frame.

  After learning about Ben’s death, Dana offered me Chad’s number. She thought calling him was the right thing to do. Within days, she convinced him to take me to Tennessee for the summer. I criticized her pushiness, but later I was glad. I blamed myself for not preventing Ben’s accident by staying home. Chad was quick to remind me how I might have died on the back of Ben’s bike, and taken unborn Caleb with us.

  Chad helped me most. Ronnie lived too far away. Rick and Natalie were planning their wedding. Mom took a summer teaching position and Dad occupied himself with diversions. The two years between Tony’s death and Dad’s own brought him increasing absentmindedness. Grandma dying took a toll.

  Dad took medical leave and found solace in gardening. He gained satisfaction visiting elderly Mr. Mumford down the street and walking the Mumfords’ black lab. Creating the round patio was his last-ditch effort to return to normal, but his heart won out in the end.

  I heard “Mom!” and looked up.

  Caleb stood on a chair bobbing up and down a few seconds before he jumped down. He grinned impishly.

  “That was funny.”

  “It was pretend. I pretended a hundred jumping monkeys jumped with me!”

  “What will we ever do with a hundred monkeys?”

  He covered his mouth and giggled. “I think there might be only four.”

  CHAPTER

  NINE

  By mid-afternoon, after games of checkers on the veranda, I settled on the sofa with my ice pack and book while Caleb sat crosslegged in the chair next to the front window coloring one monkey drawing after another.

  The house was quiet again apart from the rhythmic tick-tock of the beehive clock on the mantel. My eyelids weighed heavy; my shoulder ached. I propped a throw pillow behind my arm and laid my head back. I no sooner dozed off when what sounded like a dresser scraping across the floor upstairs brought me to my feet.

  I looked back at Caleb. “That was a loud noise.” I ran to the staircase and called for Mom. “I thought Grandma went with Carl.”

  His eyes opened wide.

  “Mom!” No answer. I pictured my small mother straining herself to move furniture because she was too stubborn to ask for help.

  Caleb scooted to the edge of his chair. His tablet dropped. A rainbow of pencils spilled across the floor.

  “Stay here, buddy. I’ll be back.” I burst into the bedroom at the top of the stairs. “Let me help you.”

  I lingered dumbfounded near the doorway with my hand resting on the doorknob. No Mom, but the armoire stood between the closet and the bed. I saw no floor cleaner. No dust mop. No reason for the dresser to be pulled away from the wall.

  I stumbled forward, tripping over my own feet. A car door slammed outside, otherwise all was peaceful in the neighborhood and the street below—until I heard the motorcycle. I pushed back the curtain.

  The fenders and gas tank shone candy apple red. The sun glinted off the bike’s headlamp and chrome when the bike roared around the corner behind Peterson’s hedgerow.

  The rider wore black leather, except for jeans, and the face shield on his black helmet was dark. He rode in the same direction as when we heard the bike passing the house at night. His head turned toward our house when he rode past. Something interested him enough to look at the property again. It was time for another conversation about that alarm system. Even so, seeing his bike in daylight was far more heartening than only hearing its roar late in the evening.
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  Before leaving the room, I pushed against the armoire. Too heavy. It was incredible how a solid piece of furniture had moved all by itself. It was incredible that a disembodied spirit could move what my body could not budge.

  I left the room, focusing on the carpet runner in the hallway with my head bent. The pattern showed age. Old houses always needed repairs and refurbishing somewhere on the property.

  The house isn’t worth keeping if it’s haunted.

  I bumped into something solid and jumped back, screaming.

  “Hold on! Mallory! Stop!” My brother held his hands up to his ears.

  In the corner of my eye, I saw Caleb duck into the open doorway behind us.

  Rick cupped his hands on my shoulders. “Shh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I took in gulps of air.

  “Mallory! Get a grip.”

  I pulled back. “Richard Bain!”

  “You’re kinda overdoin’ it, don’t ya think?”

  I swiped my fist against his arm. “What are you doing here?”

  “Checking for drafts. You texted me.”

  “Right. I’m sorry I screamed at you. I was spooked because of the noise.”

  “What noise?”

  “The armoire in the guest room moved.” I pivoted on my heel and returned to the bedroom.

  Rick followed. “Say what?”

  “You heard me. Nobody pushed it. Now it’s sitting in the middle of the floor.”

  Rick followed me into the bedroom. His mouth dropped. “This is strange.”

  I brushed past him and stood beside the armoire, the top of which was an inch higher than the top of my head. I gave it a hefty hip bump. “Won’t budge. It’s good to see you again, by the way.”

  “Back at you. That’s what I’m saying, you goofy goose. A piece of furniture that size needs people power.” Rick joined me beside the armoire. He removed the larger drawers and set them on the bed. Together we pushed the armoire back against the wall.

  “Here’s what I think happened.” He slid one of the drawers back into place. “This thing has been sitting here in the middle of the room waiting for Mom to get me to move it back. Can’t explain how or when—not important—but you heard a different noise. Coincidence.”

  “Smart aleck.” I shook my head vigorously. “Ronnie slept in here last night. She would have said something.”

  He squinted at me. “Mom and Ronnie moved it.”

  “And left it in the middle of the room for no reason.”

  “Ask them. I will argue to my death that you heard a different noise. Go with it. You look tired. You’re not sleeping.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “Yes. No. But I know what I heard.”

  “How is Ronnie, anyway?”

  “Good. Real good. Ohmygosh! Caleb!” I ran out of the room. “Caleb!”

  We found him sitting on his heels in the middle of Mom’s bed picking at a bit of pillow fringe. He looked up saucer-eyed.

  I scooted onto the bed beside him. “You’re okay.”

  He nodded assent.

  “Uncle Rick scared me by accident. Nothing bad happened.” I pulled him close to me and cuddled him in my arms.

  “He recognized me when I came in,” said Rick, waving his hand toward the door.

  Caleb watched my brother’s hands. I presumed he was remembering the times Chad struck me then sent me scurrying him into the bathroom behind the locked door. He no doubt remembered Chad pounding and kicking on that locked door, too.

  Rick folded his arms against his chest as he walked toward the bed. “You two certainly are skittish.”

  I blinked back my tears and sniffled. “My screaming scared him.” I hugged Caleb again. “I’m sorry, baby.”

  Rick sat down the other side of Caleb. “First of all, this young man is no baby, but it was silly how your mom screamed like she’d seen a monster.”

  Caleb let out a small giggle.

  “But hey, I’m no monster. In fact, people think I’m a pretty nice guy.” Rick tousled Caleb’s hair. “Does she scream a lot?”

  I shook my head fast over Caleb’s head, hoping Rick would catch on his question was not good. “He’ll be fine.”

  Caleb threw his arms around my neck. “I’ll draw pictures of you screaming at Uncle Rick.”

  “Draw me silly.” I crossed my eyes and twisted my mouth.

  “I can.” Caleb bounded down the stairs.

  “Do you scream a lot?” asked Rick.

  “Not since Chad.”

  His expression told me he understood.

  “Do not—ever—tell Mom.”

  “If he shows up here, everybody will know, including the cops.”

  “He won’t. Where is the draft?”

  “Haven’t started looking yet.”

  I led him out of Mom’s room and down the hall to mine. He followed with his head bent back, facing the ceiling. I stopped and watched him. I noticed his height and breadth relative to the hallway, the doorway, and the sconces on the wall.

  “You look about five-ten, five-eleven.”

  Rick choked out a laugh. “What do you want to know for?”

  “Rick!”

  “Five-eleven and a half. Make it easy and say six-foot. Tell me why you want to know.”

  I gave him a sketchy version of my dreams while he checked the windows, air vents, and registers in my room.

  “So this dream dude is taller than me.”

  “And thinner.”

  Rick guffawed. “You calling me fat?”

  I chuckled at him. “No! I’m describing the dream dude so I can figure out who he is. Was. I need to figure out if I ever knew a tall guy who died.”

  “Don’t know who’d be a tall ghost in the family.”

  “Me either.”

  “Strange how you dream about a guy and you think ghost.”

  “It’s weird. I know.”

  “Sounds like Judith’s kind of weirdness. She’s into death. Ask her.”

  “I might if the dreams don’t stop. Ben was five-ten. You and he have, had in his case, similar builds. My dream guy is thinner and taller.”

  “You must have known at least one thin tall guy.”

  “Sure, but I don’t know who’s dead. Seems odd they’d hang around here. I don’t remember how tall Tony was.”

  “Five-ten or less. Shorter than his little brother. But good to know you think Ben was fat. You probably think Tony was, too.”

  “Quit it! You guys are not fat.” I paused. “Were,” I added, remembering Ben and Tony. “Where is the draft coming from?”

  Rick rubbed his forehead. “Nowhere.”

  “It blew enough to move my hair. I was freezing.”

  “Mom opened the front door, there was a temperature change, the AC kicked on and a cold breeze drifted up the staircase.”

  “She wasn’t home.”

  “Don’t know what happened, then. Keep your door closed.”

  “I’ll keep doing that. You’re still nice for stopping over.”

  “No big deal. All I have left to do at home is add salt to the water softener. Say, what are you guys doing tonight?”

  “Ordering pizza. Our mother is dining with Carl.”

  Rick snickered salaciously. “I’m here to tell you, I have serious suspicions about dining with Carl.”

  “Ahh! Stop! My head does not want to go there.”

  “I’m texting Natalie. I’m bringing you and Caleb home for supper.”

  “Don’t.” I reached for his arm. “Wives hate drop-in company.”

  “She loves my family. Caleb can hang out with Chris and Tuck, and Liam will have a blast toddling around after the big guys.”

  “It’s short notice. Please, do not mess with her.” I grabbed his hand.

  He spun away from me. “Go on!” He chortled and slid his thumbs over the keypad.

  “Liam must be two now.”

  “Twenty months. Christopher and Tucker are five.” He paused. “She’s dying to see y
ou. She’ll order pizzas and make salad. I’m texting Mom to let her know, so you can’t back out now.”

  Less than two hours later our three older boys were playing Chutes and Ladders on the rug, while we visited and took turns amusing Liam to keep him away from the game board.

  Natalie handed me a Coke refill. “It’s good you and Caleb came home. No more moving away again.”

  “I think we’re here for good. But we can’t make it a late night this visit.”

  She dropped down beside me on the sofa. “Stay the night.”

  “Caleb has school tomorrow.”

  “Another time,” said Rick. He sat in the recliner across from us. “Chris and Tucker love sleepovers, and Liam loves whatever the twins love. Right, scamper?” Rick rolled his giggling, huskyvoiced toddler onto his lap.

  “I’d welcome a good night’s sleep, though. I’ve been dreaming too much lately. Mom says I’ve been distracted and daydreaming.”

  “Your mind is sorting things out,” said Rick.

  “True. But I’m beginning to think Mom’s house is haunted, and I think a guy on a motorcycle might be watching the house to rob us.”

  My brother and Natalie raised their brows. I wished I hadn’t blurted out such a ludicrous observation.

  “I’ll check out alarm systems tomorrow. You do know the place is haunted when Aunt Judith visits,” said Rick. “Don’t tell me that old witch been scaring you with her ghost stories.”

  Natalie sat straighter. “Witch. Shame on you.”

  “She has, actually,” I said.

  “Nobody takes her seriously,” said Rick.

  “Don’t you start badmouthing her again,” said Natalie.

  Rick laughed mockingly.

  Natalie gave me a serious stare. “Judith is an after-effect of tough luck. She had two second-trimester miscarriages, her third baby was stillborn, and her husband died a short time later from cancer.”

  “I did not know about the babies.” I looked at my brother.

  He gazed at the ceiling and wrinkled his face. “Somewhere along the line, somebody might have mentioned a baby, which when you think about it, she’s had one heck of life.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “She’s lonely. No surprise she collects animals. Her fascination with death is way out there, though.”