The Truth About Mallory Bain

by Clare Hexom

  But night was the best time to regain those hours lost on pit stops and I took full advantage of the speed limit on the long stretches of empty interstate.

  Yet the moment I pressed down on the gas pedal, a man’s voice shouted, “Mallory! Don’t!”

  My eyes snapped open. When had I closed them? I was too tired to remember. I lowered the window halfway and gulped in the cool air.

  No more than two miles ahead, a jackknifed big rig blocked my lane. An ambulance pulled out in front of us and sped down the freeway, lights flashing, sirens blaring.

  I slowed the car to a stop until a patrolman waved me on. I coasted into the left lane, past the line of orange cones and flares. An abandoned wreck sat dead on the shoulder a short distance in front of the semi, its trunk crunched up to the driver’s seat. A pickup angled backward in front of the totaled car, one headlight shining upward into the blackened sky. Two men stood beside its hay-filled bed sitting inches from the ditch. Although seen in a glance, one of them reminded me of Ben and an old heartache resurfaced.

  The sound of Caleb’s voice startled me. “There’s lights flashing, Mom.”

  “It’s a bad accident.”

  “Like my dad’s was?”

  I’d never given the scene of Ben’s death much thought. I hadn’t been there. Losing him was painful enough.

  “I don’t know, Caleb. But we’re safe.”

  “My backpack fell on the floor.”

  “Leave it. You aren’t undoing your seatbelt, are you?”

  He paused. “No.” He yawned noisily.

  An hour or so later, we pulled into Mom’s driveway. I parked a few feet away from the side door of the house to make unloading our suitcases easier after I settled Caleb into bed.

  I rested my forehead against the steering wheel, relishing the pleasure of a non-moving car. Our trip was finally over. But that man’s voice had come out of nowhere, spoken clear as a bell. He prevented me from falling into a deep sleep. Pressing pedal to the metal, I would have crashed head-on into the back of that semi and added a fourth vehicle to the pile-up. Wherever his mysterious voice came from, he had saved our lives. There had been a familiarity to its timbre, but not enough to be identifiable. I laughed off the idea I’d heard the voice of an angel and faulted my childhood years of catechism for that fleeting notion.

  I peered into the rearview mirror. “We’re here, buddy. We’re at Grandma’s.”

  Snoring.

  I exited the car and tapped on his window before pulling open his door. I scrunched down on the narrow strip of seat beside him and rubbed his shoulder.

  “Hey. Time to wake up.” He stirred but kept his eyes closed. “I’ll help you.”

  I slipped my hand though one of the straps on his backpack, now laying on the seat beside him, and lodged it in the crook of my arm ahead of my bulky purse. When I lifted Caleb out of the car, he laid his face against my shoulder. I rested my cheek against his sweet-smelling hair.

  Family enters the Bain house through the side door, except on holidays or special occasions, when everyone is greeted around front. I pressed the lighted doorbell twice and we waited. Cradling Caleb in my arms, with my bent knee pushing up on his sagging bottom, I knocked on the metal storm door, held it open against my hip, and tried turning the knob of the inside door. Locked. I pounded harder and passed the time humming “The Wheels on the Bus.” I hitched him higher to hold him more securely in my arms and pushed my thumb against the bell again.

  He wiggled in my arms. “Somebody’s talking.”

  I closed my ears to the rustling aspens and listened to the sound directly behind us. Low talking—hollow murmurings of a man standing close enough to finger the back of my hair. I twisted around with a scream rising in my throat, and noticed nothing peculiar apart from a strong fresh scent, a soapy masculine smell unlike the sweetness of my child’s hair.

  My heart pounded while I skimmed the gray faces of the closed garage doors and my blue sedan. No sign of anyone lurking out there, and not behind us on the concrete steps leading up to the porch where we stood. I looked across the driveway to the ornamental trees and saw nothing beyond the ordinary.

  “You’re getting heavy.” I set Caleb down in front of me. “Angels do not smell like soap,” I muttered.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” I pressed the bell again. “Where on earth is Grandma?”

  Stress was the trigger in the courtroom. This time, fatigue. I brushed off the coincidence that we both mistook the wind whisking through the leaves for a man whispering close enough to grab us. I rang the bell, pushing harder and faster, as if pressing harder and faster would bring Mom to the door. Moments later, she peeked out from behind the curtain. The lock turned and the door swung back with a scrape.

  “I’m sorry. I fell asleep,” she said.

  “Not a problem. I know we’re late.” I pushed the door closed and gave the deadbolt a sharp turn before hugging her amidst a gush of tears. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “And I’ve missed you both.” She stooped to hug Caleb. “Look at this child, getting taller by the day.” She stood up and cupped my face in her hands. “You’re distraught, babygirl.”

  I patted her arm reassuringly. “My mind was playing tricks on me in the dark. It’s nothing. I’m just tired.”

  I nudged Caleb through the formal dining room into the spacious living room.

  Mom lifted his backpack from my arm. “I’m glad you made it here safe and sound. What a haul in one day instead of two.”

  I jumped in, “Two days with him strapped in his booster would have been too much. Right, buddy?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I should tuck him in, though. It’s late and he’s still tired.”

  “No, I’m not!”

  “Are you hungry?” asked Mom.

  He shook his head.

  “Upstairs, then. We can visit tomorrow,” said Mom.

  She followed us, pacing herself to keep up. We paused in the hallway outside my former room.

  “Put him in Aileen’s room,” Mom suggested. “He’ll be closer to you there. Rick came over and set up his bed after supper. He spent all last weekend painting the room light brown to complement those dinosaurs we keep hearing about.”

  “He’s the best brother. I’ll call tomorrow and thank him.”

  After tucking Caleb in his bed, with brand new dinosaur sheets and matching comforter, I stretched the kink out of my lower back.

  “Mom. Thank you for all this. He is going to love this room.”

  “We had fun putting it together for him.” She tugged on my sleeve. “Settle him in and show him how to find your room. I’ll go down and brew a pot of relaxing tea for us.”

  “I won’t be long.”

  “It’s supposed to get chilly tonight.” She patted the folded blanket at the foot of the bed. “Maybe more rain. It’s been an awfully wet summer—barely used the sprinklers this year.” She hugged Caleb one more time and kissed his cheek before leaving.

  “How about this. Dinosaur sheets and your own bed. Real nice of Grandma and Uncle Rick to set this up for you.” I went about tucking him in again. “There’s a door on the other side of your dresser.”

  “I kinda see it.”

  “We share a bathroom. There’s another door inside the bathroom. It opens into my room.”

  “Uh-huh.” He stretched upright and looked around the room. “Where are my toys?”

  “Downstairs. We’ll unpack tomorrow. We should get out your warmer clothes for fall and see what fits.”

  “Do I got school tomorrow?”

  “Have not got. School can wait a day or two.”

  “Will you take me or Grandma?”

  “I thought you wanted to ride the school bus.”

  Caleb shook his head fast. He squeezed his folded arms against his chest and shivered. “It scares me.”

  “The bus or the big kids?”

  He shrugged. “I’m just scared.”

&nbs
p; “Grandma and I can take turns. A new school is exciting.”

  He shrugged again, eyes downcast. “Nobody knows me.”

  “They will, sweetie. They will be your best friends.”

  I picked up the book laying on the nightstand. New and all about dinosaurs. Mom must have run out and bought it, along with the linens, after she found out we were moving home. I sat down beside Caleb on the bed and read aloud until minutes later, a motorcycle rumbled in front of the house.

  I laid the book in my lap, stared straight ahead. “Shh—listen.”

  Caleb’s bluest of blue eyes smiled up at me as he rested a finger against his lips and whispered “Shh, Mom.” He understood I was remembering his dad.

  The engine revved loud enough to wake the dead. My heart fluttered. The idling meant the heavy bike had stopped. I ran to the window with the same exhilaration I’d first felt at eighteen and living here at home.

  The night was too dark to see much more than the silhouette of the rider. I presumed it was a man, based on the build of his body and the size of his bike. He wore dark clothes and straddled his motorcycle parked at the end of Mom’s driveway. The bike color looked orange, maybe red under the yellow glow of the streetlamp.

  I lingered there at the window, lost in reverie, unintentionally ignoring my son still lying in his bed behind me. No doubt he wondered what was going on outside. I was curious about why the man had chosen to stop. From where I stood, he appeared to be looking up the driveway toward the garages. I raised the window and was about to shout out, just to let him know he’d been seen watching the property. He revved the engine and sped away.

  Caleb bolted upright and shouted, “Don’t go!” His eyes wide, his body rigid.

  I dropped the window and secured the lock before sitting back down beside him. I wrapped the bedsheet and comforter around his small body and snuggled him close to me.

  “I won’t ever leave you. Why did you think so?”

  He frowned. “I don’t know. I just said it.”

  Separation anxiety again. He was only six. Nearly nine months and still fragile from when we lived with Chad.

  “Was that my dad’s bike?”

  I winced with heartache but stroked his small back to calm him. “It sounded like his bike used to.”

  “I miss him.”

  He never knew Ben. He missed having a good dad.

  “I miss him too, baby.”

  Caleb showing Ben-like sweetness stirred up my old heartache again. The one Ben’s death brought. I hoped the dim light from the dinosaur lamp on the dresser hid my pathetic attempt at feigning happiness.

  Ben Holland’s bike was most likely rusting away in some distant Manitoba junkyard. He was killed seven years ago last May, after all. Since then, the sound of motorcycles evoked bittersweet memories for me. Memories of our time together, and the terrible memory of my family arriving home from an unplanned trip to learn a fatal accident had taken Ben away from me and his unborn child I carried inside me.

  Nearly a decade gone by. We needed to leave sadness in the past. Make our fresh start. Meet new friends. Have a life without tears or being afraid to be at home with Chad Powers, during those years when he was my husband.

  I leaned my head back against the headboard and waited for Caleb to fall asleep. I listened closely in case the guy on the motorcycle returned. My heavy eyelids closed. Tired and exhausted from driving since before dawn, I’d made the straight shot, an eight-hundred-fifty-mile trip from Tennessee to Minnesota. Risky.

  Dana had argued how taking Caleb out of school was reckless. He’d already started first grade in Bartlett. Maybe my decision was risky and reckless. But I had felt compelled to leave. Since his Minneapolis school started after Labor Day, he’d only miss the first few days, days of material he already learned in Tennessee.

  I rarely act on whims. Whenever I do, my decision is significant—for good or for bad. Dana’s persuasiveness almost convinced me to stay put. Maybe she was right. The people we’d met after Chad and I split were good people. They might have become lasting friends, but my family lived in Minnesota. Minneapolis was our real home.

  I gave Caleb’s wrist a gentle tug to pull his thumb out of his mouth. He held on tight and sputtered. I waited, listening to plips of rain tapping the windows. I rose after an unbearable coldness penetrated me with a chilling sensation, as if being locked inside a walk-in freezer.

  I eased onto the floor, careful not to awaken my son. Both windows were secure, free of drafts. I tiptoed around the familiar room, which had once been pink and decorated in the girly-girl style of my older sister. I checked for vents letting in the cold air. None were found. Satisfied Caleb would stay warm, I clicked on the light above our bathroom sink for a nightlight, and when I left his bedroom, I thought nothing of leaving the door wide open.

  An herbal aroma and whiff of lemon beckoned me into the kitchen. Brickwork, black wrought iron, and rich red oak cabinets created the familiar coziness I’d missed for years. Copper pans and wicker baskets hanging above the center island, burnished bronze lantern lights, a stone floor of rich red-browns and deep grays. A warm castle room, where maidens sip tea and share dreams about lovers returning to their waiting arms.

  Mom glanced over her shoulder and caught me watching, daydreaming.

  “My gosh, Mallory, you’re wide awake. You are a more unstoppable woman than I am.”

  “I learned from the best.”

  “You need a bedtime snack more filling than a salad or sweets. Hope you like the sandwich I’m making.”

  Truth be told, I had skipped the salad at the diner to save the five dollars.

  I nodded at our suitcases by the kitchen door. “Thanks for grabbing those. They’re too heavy for you.”

  “The big ones and the dress bags were. I dragged them in one at a time. You can haul them upstairs yourself whenever you’re ready.”

  Mom swished back and forth in her pink, terry scuffs. She wore her signature mid-length dress—beige, a delicate crinkled cotton. Her brown hair, loosely twisted up beneath a silver-plated hair clip, revealed threads of gray, ordinarily hidden when she let down her hair, I supposed.

  She set the plate in front of me on the breakfast bar—ham and cheese with all the fixings. I picked up a dill pickle slice bordering the bread and chomped down as I scooted onto one of the four rattan stools. She chose the stool beside me and poured our tea into mugs.

  My mother sitting beside me gave me tremendous comfort. I’d almost forgotten. This vintage home, where my parents raised my three siblings and me, offered protection besides comfort. Assuming we had ever needed protection, we certainly no longer needed Chad now that we were living here.

  I bit into my sandwich and spoke with my mouth full, letting a sloppy tomato slice fall back onto my plate. “This is delicious.”

  She patted my knee to let me know she guessed I hadn’t eaten much since yesterday. Mom was polite enough not to say so, and sipped her tea.

  “Tell me about the trip.” She set down her mug and listened intently. I wasn’t used to having such undivided attention.

  “We stopped more often than I would have had I driven alone. Kids get antsy fast.”

  “Short attention span.”

  “You know it. Before lunch and after lunch, he talked me into stopping in different small towns, where we drove around until we found a park for him to play. The exercise did him good, but put us behind.”

  She stirred more sugar into her mug and handed me another napkin from the holder in front of her. “He must have thought of the trip as an adventure.”

  I sipped my tea. “Seeing the movers load our stuff onto the truck really got him going, except he wanted his new bike in the trunk. He refused to let strangers take it.”

  “Speaking of your car, I put it in the garage.”

  “Thank you.” I hesitated, not sure if she’d be alarmed. “Mom, did you notice a motorcycle stop at the end of your driveway?”

  “I did. I suppose the
noise woke Caleb.”

  “No. It was odd that the man stopped. Do you know him?”

  She shook her head.

  “Has he stopped before?”

  “Not that I ever noticed. I’ll bet you’re missing Ben again since you’re back home.”

  “A little.” I stayed focused on the man at the end of the driveway. “Him stopping concerns me, Mom. He was looking up at the garages. Probably when you were out there all alone moving my car.”

  “I was fine. I come and go all the time at night. I never get scared.”

  “You should pay more attention.”

  She focused on her tea. I ate my sandwich. I tabled my concerns for another time.

  “Your movers showed up around three. Such a small truck. I had them unload the rest of your things in Daddy’s workroom downstairs.” She paused thoughtfully. “There wasn’t much furniture, Mallory.”

  “What you see is what you get. What we didn’t want or need sold in May at a garage sale. We split the cash.”

  Cash for emergencies and our fresh start. We also had less to transport, although enough to arrange for a mover, which I managed to contract on short notice thanks to the son of one of my neighbors.

  After our house sold, I rented an apartment month to month because its location was close to the dental clinic where I worked as a hygienist. The apartment was plain. It left us wanting the amenities of our home—the backyard that once housed Caleb’s playset, fully loaded with swings, a slide, a glider, and a fort on top with a three-color flag. The cramped apartment with sterile white walls took some getting used to.

  We watched a TV from the 1990s that one of Chad’s aunts found stored in her garage. We sat on beanbags and took our meals at a card table and chairs in the dining area off the galley kitchen. I slept nicely on an air mattress from Walmart until the divorce. No way did I want our bedroom set, especially the bed Chad had defiled. I’d have a normal bed again while living at Mom’s.

  “I hope Chad stopped by this morning like he promised.”

  I slid my hand into the side pocket of my pants for my phone. “Sent a text instead. ‘Nice you’re moving home to your mother and nice you’re getting far away from Memphis and me. Best of luck. Have a nice life. I know you’ll finally get the great one you deserved.’”