The Truth About Mallory Bain

by Clare Hexom

  Mom argued whether or not I was fit to drive all the way to Plymouth for lunch with Dana. I think she conceded because the roads were dry, not because she completely believed me when I said I hadn’t taken sedatives.

  Dana greeted me with her customary hug outside the restaurant entrance. Her habit of hugging baffled me owing to the fact she never before engaged in gushy shows of affection.

  She spoke over her menu. “I wish I had more of an appetite. I hope your health has returned.”

  “Pretty much.”

  She looked over the top of her menu again. “Any more test results in?”

  “Still waiting.”

  “Erik said Lance called you.”

  “He has.”

  She smiled coyly. “Nice of him to help out the other evening.”

  “You just won’t stop pushing,” I chuckled.

  “Probably not.”

  She flicked an insignificant strand of hair away from her eye. “How do you like work?”

  “The staff is professional, friendly. The décor needs redoing.”

  “Any attractive and eligible dentists?” She smirked and winked.

  “One man at a time, Dana.”

  Every conversation since I returned to Minneapolis was loaded with pestering, rambling on about how I needed to be doing this and needed to be doing that. I fidgeted with my tableware until she shoved the metal stand holding the salt, pepper, and sugar packets out of my reach. With hands clasped together in front of me on the table, I sent her a resolute glare.

  “Caleb keeps me plenty busy.”

  She straightened her napkin rolled tableware. “Why don’t you tell me what happened with Chad.”

  The server appeared at our booth.

  Dana frowned at her menu while I ordered. “Nothing really appeals to me,” she said. “Bring me the half Caesar, dressing on the side, and a cup of French onion soup. Coffee. Black.” She snapped the menu closed and shoved it at the server without looking up.

  I hoped my smile showed appreciation for the server’s courtesy, contradicting Dana’s sharp tone.

  “About Chad.” Her eyes turned cold and penetrating.

  Chills tingled my spine. She looked determined to get the specific answers she wanted. I had no idea what triggered her question. This was none of her business. No suitable response that skirted the issue jumped into my head until a soft whisper in my ear.

  “Keep it simple.”

  “Incompatible pretty much covers it.”

  “I assumed you were good friends, especially when he took the first flight out of Memphis to comfort you after Ben died.”

  “He eventually got me smiling again.”

  “See, he cared.”

  “At first.”

  I felt prompted to keep private the details of my years in Tennessee. I took note that she wasn’t the first person to mention Chad rushing to Minneapolis after Ben died. Natalie pointed it out the Sunday we had pizza at their house. I’d never given his motives any thought. He acted out of concern. Now his comfort and concern were not sitting well at all.

  Our server set our plates on the table. “Anything else, ladies?”

  Dana flicked her hand. “That’ll be all.”

  I wish I’d added a kinder word than my subdued “no, thank you.” Her interruption gave me the chance to deflect the conversation.

  “I am glad you and Erik are hanging in there.”

  Dana twitched her shoulder and looked away.

  “You are happy. Right?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Of course we’re happy. Our marriage has a firmer foundation than yours did.”

  Ouch.

  I asked the next question because she could have asked me, given the circumstances, my having loved Ben before I ended up with Chad. “Maybe you would have been happier married to Jack Harwood.”

  She stared broodingly at her plate, poking her fork into a chunk of lettuce as if spearing a killer whale. Before answering and with a shaking hand, she carved the chunk into pieces.

  She squared her shoulders and looked at me without blinking. “You know, Mallory, I haven’t thought about Jack in years, yet you keep bringing him up. Over and over again.”

  My body tensed. An inner strength surfaced, compelling me to defend my curiosity because the Fowlers were the only people who had heard from him after he left Minneapolis. I realized that my need to find him increased each day, which in and of itself seemed strange, but finding him was becoming my obsession, and possibly Ronnie’s, too.

  I kept at her. “You are curious about me and I am curious about him.”

  She wrung her hands. “What for?”

  “He—was—my—friend.”

  She let out a “humph.” “Rest assured, Mallory, your precious Jack Harwood is fine, wherever he is. And yes, I am happier with Erik.”

  We ate in silence and might have finished in silence except I took responsibility for our ill will.

  “Your daughter is a treasure,” I said.

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you ever want to give her a brother or sister?”

  Dana sat erect. “Another child.” She fell into a cold silence— looked across the array of empty tables in search of a better response, I suppose. Had she spoken bluntly, her answer might have been, “I am not all that happy with Erik.”

  “It must be difficult for Caleb to be away from Chad,” she said instead of answering.

  Play with the truth.

  “He does miss his dad,” I misled her without an iota of regret.

  Young friendships did not necessarily evolve into good friends later in life. Neither Ronnie nor Rick liked the Fowlers. Dana’s wisecrack about clinging to Ben had become a stewpot of anger simmering in the back of my mind. She hated my questions about Jack, which made me doubt if she was truly my friend. I’d use lunch as another getting reacquainted time.

  She reached across the table and clasped my fingers. “However Chad wronged you, he is wicked for doing so. Erik and I do appreciate you, Mallory.”

  I pushed my plate aside. They were settled, together despite their peculiar relationship. They had been my friends for nearly a decade. Continuing our friendship ought to be my focus rather than fault-finding. Rick never would, but Ronnie might soon come around. In the meantime, I chose to remain friends but also remain cautious.

  My first morning back at the clinic was booked solid. No wiggle room for eventualities. My client after lunch was a grandmotherly lady with exceptionally clean teeth and healthy gums before she walked through the door. I rechecked her x-rays on the computer.

  “Doctor Benson will stop in, and then we’re finished.”

  A dental assistant, Carrie peeked into my treatment room. “May I interrupt a sec?”

  “Excuse me, Mrs. Soto.”

  She pointed to the TV and smiled.

  “You have a visitor.” Carrie tugged at my sleeve to follow her down the hallway.

  “Carrie?”

  “He brought flowers.”

  My mood brightened. “He?”

  I left her standing in the treatment room hallway nodding and smiling. The waiting room window framed Lance Garner cradling what had to be more than a dozen plump, pink and white roses, interspersed with baby’s breath.

  “Ohmygosh! Lance!”

  Happiness filled his face when he saw me. I opened the door and he presented the bouquet.

  “You look well.”

  “I am.”

  “Dropping by was probably a bad idea, but I had to detour off Lyndale for construction. I saw a flower shop and I said to myself: The lady needs flowers.”

  “Stopping by is fine.” I raised the roses to my face and breathed in. “So beautiful. Thank you.”

  “Being boss usually makes my lunches about business. Bringing you a get well bouquet is more rewarding, even if I am a few days late.”

  The receptionist smiled at us, as did Carrie lurking around the corner.

  Lance noticed, too, and steered me aside. H
is lips brushed my ear when he whispered, “This is short notice. And only if you’re feeling up to it. Maybe you might have dinner with me this evening?”

  I hesitated. “Dinner sounds great.”

  His eyes danced and his smile widened, telling me I’d given him what he’d wished for.

  “So. Any food likes or dislikes?” he asked.

  “Nothing spicy yet.”

  “No problem, no spicy. Give me a time.”

  “Sixish. I’d like to visit with my son awhile after school. He’s in first grade, and with school and my work, we always risk becoming passing ships.”

  “What a good mom. Reservations at six and I’ll pick you up around five fifteen. I will need your address.”

  The receptionist slid a pad of sticky notes onto the upper ledge of her desk. I jotted down my address. His smile remained strong even as he opened the door to leave.

  Caleb had no qualms about my having dinner with a new friend, as Mom called him. She had no reservations, having met him at the hospital. Her Jane Austenlike “gallant and endearing” came across as if she’d already pegged him as a suitable candidate for husband.

  Caleb lazed on his tummy across my bed with legs bent behind him, ankles crossed. He bounced his small motorcycle on the bed in front of him.

  “He went to the hospital to make sure she was all right,” Mom said as she sat down beside Caleb.

  “Did he save her?”

  “He did.”

  I slid the hangers aside one by one in search of the perfect dress. “Lance is not a superhero, no matter what Grandma tells you.”

  “She’s smitten,” said Mom.

  “What’s that?”

  “She likes him.”

  “There is nothing wrong with my hearing. I think I’ll save my new green dress for another time and wear this blue one I wore to the party.”

  “A scarf will dress it up nicely.”

  “Except,” I yanked open a dresser drawer and pawed through its contents, “I have none that matches.”

  “I might.” Mom scurried to her room.

  When I finally descended the stairs, Mom smiled approval at the finished product. Caleb gave me a firm thumb’s up. I stepped off the last step and the doorbell chimed.

  Caleb dashed into the foyer. He laid his ear against the door. “Are you that Lance guy?”

  Lance was laughing the other side of the door. “I am that Lance guy.”

  “Caleb, let him in.” I helped open the heavy door.

  Lance stepped past me into the foyer. He smelled like heaven.

  “Can’t open the door to strangers,” I said. My heart warmed at the site of him despite having seen him a few hours earlier.

  “Good policy.” He extended his hand to my son.

  “This is Caleb.”

  Lance stooped down and shook his hand. “Good to meet you, sir.” He rose and greeted my mother, “Mrs. Bain. Hello again.”

  Mom welcomed him into the living room.

  “You are lovelier than gorgeous,” he whispered to me.

  My gaze traveled up and down. Gallant and endearing plus elegant, I mused. His no doubt tailor-made gray suit and burgundy tie complemented his black hair and drew out the pewter in his eyes.

  I answered with a smile. “Better than in scrubs.”

  His eyes melted into mine. “You’re beautiful regardless.”

  My heart raced. I felt delirious, verging on swoony.

  Lance looked to Caleb and then my mom. “We’re heading over to St. Paul.” He turned back to me. “I hope you’ll like the restaurant I chose.”

  And I did. The ambience wowed me the second I walked through the door. Romantic tables for two circled the perimeter, tables covered with delicate fabric flowing downward to a finger’s length from the floor. Larger tables filled the center. The subtle lighting and soft music added to the charm.

  More than one woman turned to stare. Each feasting of eyes enhanced my own awareness of Lance. My knees weakened and my body nearly wilted when his arm rested against the small of my back. He gently guided me to our table. I breathed in deeply. How I’d forgotten a man’s touch, that tingling rush, and the longing for more. I emptied my head before I lost all composure and buckled against him like a complete fool.

  Lance ordered champagne. We both ordered walleye. Our conversation progressed from small talk to more bio fact-finding and details about our interests.

  “I did make it to the altar once,” he chuckled. “An embarrassing moment in my life.”

  His captivating smile inspired mine. “Embarrassing or funny?”

  “Embarrassing then, funny now. My bride decided she preferred my oldest brother. He was supposed to be my best man, not hers. Forty-five minutes late. You can understand how we imagined the worst. When I broke down on the altar steps because she hadn’t shown either, her cousin told me about the affair.”

  “And you saw no clues.”

  “In hindsight, but I trusted way too much.”

  “I do, too. I’m gullible. My brother, Rick, and my friend Ronnie often remind me how I look for the good in people to a fault.”

  “I certainly trusted him and her. He said they realized their love a few days before the wedding. They couldn’t end it.”

  “How awful for you. They said nothing.”

  “Not a word. She later told me I deserved the party.” He chuckled. “A commiseration party decked out with fairy lights and flowers and a towering white cake. Not to mention a long dinner table with two conspicuously empty chairs behind it.”

  “Lance. How sad.”

  “They married. Arranging the seating around Mom’s holiday table takes imagination.”

  “You don’t seem bitter.”

  Lance smirked. “Less with each passing year. My fist meeting his jaw allowed me to acquiesce the situation more easily.”

  “And I considered my life unusual, marrying a friend of my deceased fiancé.”

  He waited a moment before commenting, “You can’t say ‘dead.’”

  “‘Dead’ stabs. ‘Deceased’ only pinches.” Honesty was only fair. He deserved no less. Ben was the love of my life.

  “You and that friend of his found common ground.”

  “Your bride did likewise when she chose your brother.”

  In a burst of irresistible laughter, he added, “Mallory, you are delightful.”

  “You too.”

  “This has been fun. I hope you let me get to know you better.” He caressed my folded hands and lifted them to his lips for a gentle kiss.

  I hesitated a moment. “Only if you can accept me moving at a snail’s pace. I’m rusty at this dating business.”

  “There’s no pressure.” He set my hands back down on the table. “Say, are you interested in checking out this little place I know of on Grand Avenue for dessert?”

  “Dessert.” I dipped my head and laughed softly, considering the confession I was about to make to one of Erik’s friends. “That chocolate dish Dana served put me off dessert for a long time.”

  His smile became a frown.

  “Except a better-tasting one might help me not associate all dessert with that horrible bitterness.”

  Cheerfulness drained from his face. His jaw clenched and twitched. He reached inside his suitcoat and removed his billfold. “Excuse me a moment.”

  My heart sank. I slid sideways off my chair and stood by the table. “I should visit the ladies room. Meet you by the door.”

  “Meet you by the door.” His tone sounded dejected.

  During our drive, he was too quiet. Deep in thought, which put me more ill at ease. My attempts to regain our happier moments were met with half-smiles and clipped responses. He passed on dessert in spite of the raves he’d given the place. Apparently dessert no longer mattered. His dark mood destroyed my appetite anyway, and I felt certain he despised me for insulting his friends.

  He escorted me up the sidewalk and waited to see me inside.

  Convinced I’d never see h
im again, I faced him beneath the porch light. “Thank you for dinner and this amazing evening.”

  His engaging smile resurfaced. “You’re welcome.” He leaned close. “Thank you for a perfect evening.” He fingered a lock of hair away from my cheek.

  I paused with key in hand. “Lance, what’s wrong?”

  He sighed and looked over the top of my head. He picked up my hands and held them together in his. “I’ve hesitated saying anything since that night at the hospital when you first told me about your bitter dessert.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Well, you did. I have no facts to support my theory, only hunches, so here goes. I’m not exactly sure yet why this disturbs me, but Mallory, that dessert was not bitter. I think it made you sick.”

  “Some of the desserts. She said she substituted unsweetened baking chocolate. Those servings would taste bitter.”

  “Baking chocolate. Mallory, who would substitute with it?”

  “Nobody,” I shrugged my left shoulder. “I can’t say without seeing the recipe. You’re right. I’d stop what I was doing and make a quick trip to the store for the chocolate I needed, especially when the dessert was for guests.”

  “Exactly. The dessert was sweet. Travis called his rich. Rachel said, ‘sweet and delicious.’”

  I went out on a limb. “Are you suggesting Dana’s dessert made me that violently sick?”

  “The thought crossed my mind. I can’t let it go. I think the dessert you described was tainted on purpose.”

  “How? Worse yet, why?”

  He shook his head and said nothing.

  “Lance. I’ve known the Fowlers for years. They would never serve bad food. They are good, clean people. I’m surprised at you.”

  He hesitated. He reminded me of Ronnie holding onto her “something left unsaid” secret, and then doling out the details bit by bit.

  He squared his shoulders. “You should know up front, Mallory, the Fowlers are not my closest friends.”

  “No problem here. My friendship with them, well, at least with Dana, has cooled. I made a mess of it over lunch yesterday. Her prying makes it difficult to carry on a normal conversation. The private details of my life are none of her business.”

  He chuckled softly. “She brings out defensiveness in everybody. I lie to Erik all the time. He pries worse than she does.”