The Truth About Mallory Bain

by Clare Hexom

  “You think so.” I shook my head, awed at how much like Judith he was sounding.

  “He is right,” said Aunt Judith. “Those passed on are all around us. They’re with us all the time.”

  “Not when I’m in the shower.” Ben stopped laughing after he saw me shaking my head at his schoolboy remark.

  “I sometimes smell gunpowder,” Judith continued, her head tipped back, her eyes gazing contemplatively at the tin-tiled ceiling. “Smelling gunpowder is how I always know Tony is in the house.”

  Anticipating an in-depth speech on clairvoyance, I blew out a breath and groaned, hoping she’d take a hint and shut up.

  Jack thumped the wall behind her chair. “This old house certainly must have a ghost or two.”

  “Built in 1915,” said Judith. “My grandparents owned it first. It’s stayed in our family ever since.”

  “I’ll bet there have been plenty of sightings.” Jack gave the wall another quick thump. “Finding things out of place. Great-great uncles playing ghost poker up in the attic. Dead aunties sipping sherry from china teacups. Tell us what you’ve seen, Mallory.”

  “Jack! Stop upsetting her,” Dana scolded. “Ben agrees you’re acting like a total ass.”

  “Calm down, Dana.” Ben touched my hand. “It’s only talk.”

  She pressed the issue. “First he brings up her brother. How sad is that? And now, he’s talking about all of her dead relatives.”

  Jack closed his eyes to her when she leaned her chin on her fist and pouted. He lifted and set down Mom’s small replica bust of Gregor Mendel from the highest shelf of the bookcase in the corner. “All in good fun.”

  Thunder clapped and the lights flickered.

  Listening to them talk about Tony was far less upsetting than watching an unlikely bond form between Jack and Judith.

  Jack pivoted one-eighty. “Maybe share a few stories from when you lived here as a girl, Mrs. Johnston.”

  Her delayed response made me question what specific haunting he’d caused her to recall. “I’d hate to conjure up one of those sorry souls on a night like this.” She laughed softly. “Over the years, we’ve all speculated about the unexplained creaks and squeaks sounding in the night.”

  Jack paced the great room amid flickering lights. He returned to the mantel for a box of matches to light candles around the room before we lost power.

  Judith rose. “I will tell you this, Jack, dear.” She stepped beside him and lifted the matchbox from between his fingers. She walked over to Dana’s chair, where she struck a match over the squat, three-wicked candle centered on the end table. “I have always said this big, gorgeous house, with vines snaking over its outer walls, creates an eerie ambience during thunderstorms like the one wreaking havoc on us tonight. Scarier yet, when one is home alone on a cold and wintry night.”

  “I agree with you there, Aunt Judith,” added Ben. “Mallory won’t stay alone on a night like this.”

  I shifted with unease at his telling remark. “This house isn’t terribly scary. It’s old.”

  Judith sniffled. “This house most definitely is scary, Mallory Anne. Why, anyone might prowl from room to room and you’d never know ’til you turned up dead.”

  We awoke the following morning to Jack and Dana’s voices booming from across the hall. I checked the time on the bedside clock.

  Other friends were likely on their way. The warring factions had barely an hour or so to wrap it up.

  I leaned an ear to the wall. “We should tell them we can hear.”

  “What for?” Ben chuckled as he walked over to the chair and dropped down to put on his socks and shoes. “Let ’em have it out. Harwood always puts on a good show.”

  “He can’t know we hear them.”

  “Sure he does.”

  Jack was articulate and possessed a talent for a quick turn of phrase, knowing the right quote, literary reference, or witty remark suited to the moment. Clever words spilled off his tongue like water. A playful glint shone in his eyes whenever he expressed a creative idea or saw we finally caught on to an important point he’d been making.

  He’d gained respect from us kids out of high school, unmolded gopher freshmen. We listened even when we disagreed until he pushed us into putting forth our own points of view. Harwood was a good friend, an educator in his own right. A guy who’d not only give a sorry soul the shirt off his back, but would go out of his way to make certain the person would be all right. He watched over his younger friends like a dutiful older brother, and his kindness earned him a loyal following.

  Dana, on the other hand, worked hard at being liked. Long before Ronnie and I met her as juniors in high school, and not that she much shared, she’d been hurt. Whatever demons gnawed inside her head, her seeming standoffish every so often meant she chose caution in choosing which people to trust.

  Dana’s voice rose to a pitch that carried through the walls. “Get out of my face, Jack. You don’t care, anyway.”

  “You got that right. Nobody cares about you. Not sure why I ever bothered. But I do care about them,” Harwood snapped back. “People have names for women like you—shameless, for starters.”

  His tone turned sharp and mocking. I pictured him hissing through gritting teeth. His callous tone implied a final breakup was imminent, replete with animosity.

  Ben breathed out heavily. “Sounds like he hates her.”

  I sat at the edge of the bed. “No surprise she’s defensive. Poor, sweet Dana.”

  “Poor sweet, Dana,” Ben chuckled. He picked up my stuffed green monster laying on the floor and brushed it off. “Give him credit for knowing a thing or two more about her than you do.”

  I shrugged.

  “You know how she is. I know you do.”

  “Blame her upbringing. She deserves happiness. At least compassion during a break-up. Harwood needs to understand girls like Dana need a gentle letting-down.”

  With a widening grin, Ben squeezed the monster and tossed it to me. “Quit pitying her, Mallory.”

  “You know something.”

  Ben dismissed my need to know details with a roll of his shoulder and a quick response. “He called her a tramp at Chad’s.”

  Name-calling hurt and would have hurt my friend had she heard. I considered a few motives for Harwood dumping Dana: unsettled, shallow at times, flirtatious, and chronically late. Shortcomings aside, Dana was a decent girl, besides my teammate and partner for a guaranteed win in a doubles match.

  “She’s nothin’ but a hurt little girl beggin’ to be pleased.” An offhanded comment Chad made to me a few days before.

  Harwood and Dana had been on again, off again so many times—no point in pretending a minute longer.

  Typical of Chad, he’d also said, “Mallory, darlin’, you know there’s more hot steamin’ sex between those sheets than any kinda sweet lovin’.”

  No doubt their fire had fizzled.

  Harwood’s voice raised again. “You can’t be content with what’s within your reach. You always want what you can’t get.”

  Dana spat back, “You don’t know a damn thing!”

  “Truth is Dana, you—are—selfish. This fixation you have is a perfect example.”

  “Fixation?” I looked at Ben, tying his shoelace.

  He shrugged, picked up his other shoe, reached inside and straightened the tongue.

  “Must be lovesick Erik.” The absurdity made me laugh. “He’d die a happy man if she ever fixated on him.”

  Ben guffawed. “She’d never fall for old Eeyore.”

  He often joked about how his slow-talking, jowly-faced friend embodied Christopher Robin’s gray donkey. Two passions enlivened Erik Fowler’s downbeat life—baseball and Dana. One ranking higher depended on MLB rankings and her disposition toward him on any given day. But according to Ben, Erik had adored her for ages. He’d been too shy to tell a soul until he confided in Ben one night after too many beers.

  “Erik is a good guy. Her liking him instead of Jack doesn�
��t make her a tramp.”

  Ben snickered at me. “Finish getting dressed. I’ll start breakfast.”

  He insisted on pancakes, claiming I’d passed out because I had been skipping meals. After eating, we strolled out onto the front lawn and waited for Jack Grant, leaving Harwood and Dana sitting at the dining room table, finishing their breakfast in silence.

  I glanced left a short way down the street. Erik’s red hair glinted in the sunlight. He leaned on a plain wooden baseball bat while talking with Chad. They stood beside Chad’s silver hatchback, which was packed to the roof with his belongings. He’d parked beside a fire hydrant and his trailer blocked Ed and Carolyn King’s driveway next door.

  Chad stood lean and loose at six-one compared to five-ten, muscular Ben beside me. Ben exuded city style and self-control under his smooth layer of urbanity. In contrast, Powers hung his thumbs in the pockets of his frayed jeans and draped one leg over the other at the ankle. His relaxed posture hollered, “Come on over girl, I’m waitin’ on ya,” in a beckoning sweet and sexy, southern style that well-suited his rear end casually planted against the front fender.

  I pressed my forehead against Ben’s shoulder and tapped his arm to get him to notice his friends. All the guys had been his friends first, but during the previous two and a half years, they’d become friends of mine and the other girls in our group, too.

  Ben sent them a wide wave of his raised arm. I risked a peek. Erik smiled, waved back. Chad lifted his St. Louis Cardinals cap and smoothed down his snowy blond hair before wiggling the cap back onto his head. When he got around to waving, he added a smirking grin and a wink. Ben accused Chad of intending both gestures for me, along with the vulgar shift of his hips.

  “He keeps his car parked in that spot much longer and Ed will have him towed.”

  I gently squeezed his forearm. “Hey. Don’t be jealous.”

  “I’m surprised Eeyore showed up with him.”

  “Chad must be dropping him off. I overheard Harwood on the phone asking the person to bring another glove.” I wrapped my arm around Ben’s neck and nestled my face against his hair, which smelled fresh and salty. “He must’ve been talking to Erik.” I kissed him and glanced back at Chad.

  He’d already turned away and was walking to the driver’s door with his back toward us.

  Ben touched his lips against my forehead. “Good. He’s leaving.”

  Jack Grant coasted his mountain bike into the driveway and stopped out of sight beyond the side door of the house. He joined us moments later. He hugged me first, then fake-punched Ben in the shoulder.

  “Big day in two days,” said Grant, smiling ear to ear. “Hope you’re ready, woman.”

  He meant our statistics final. A rolling wave of nausea brought my forearm tight against my stomach. “Nobody normal is ever ready for those grade-killing rituals. You probably are, though.”

  “Hell, no!”

  I took in a deep breath and the queasiness eased. “Too bad you and Ronnie missed yesterday. Ben’s steaks were the best.”

  “Next time,” said Grant. “And Ronnie said to tell you she can’t get back ’til August.”

  I gently swatted his arm. “I hope she gave you a good reason.”

  “Some dude called Ashton.”

  Thinking about my engagement and wedding plans, I added, “I wanted her here this summer. And Chad said you’re moving away after graduation.”

  Grant looked over his shoulder at Chad’s car. His brightness dimmed. “Don’t know yet.”

  “I hope not. We’d miss you.”

  If Grant decided to go, he didn’t need me whining about his decision. Ben’s last exam mid-week meant graduation for him. He and I were moving ahead as a couple, sharing our hopes for our future, raising well-behaved and beautiful kids.

  Dana backed her car down the driveway. She made a U-turn in the street farther down, pulled her car up behind Chad’s trailer, and left the engine running.

  I glanced back at the house and saw Harwood standing inside the front doorway with his arms folded against his chest. Ben and Grant remained on the lawn when I walked up the driveway to the veranda behind the house.

  A while later, I saw the two of them outside the garage. Grant was lifting his backpack laying in the driveway beside his bike. He jogged past me and up the stone stairs to the veranda, where he started unpacking his books on the umbrella covered table. I walked over to the garage, where Ben straddled his Harley. Goodbyes still weren’t easy even after nearly three years.

  He clasped my fingers and pulled me close. “I’ll pick you up after work.”

  “We’ll be finished studying by then and Mom and Dad will be home.” After a long kiss, he fired up the bike’s engine and left.

  Jack Grant’s parents, the reverend and his wife, moved to Iowa the following weekend to take over for a pastor who had died. Grant left, too, without sharing details with any of us. I was aggravated thinking how honesty meant little to shallow people, even him. Both Ben and I were too trusting to question white lies people tell to spare others hurt or to keep personal matters deeply buried.

  Word spread quickly that Harwood had cleaned out his apartment. Our pair of Jacks gone for good. Less than three weeks after that weekend, I learned Ben was dead.

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  I awoke woozy the morning after slamming into the lamppost, but not too woozy to recall the Sunday morning in my dream had been the last time I saw Jack Harwood. The urge to find him started to grow.

  My sinuses cleared by lunchtime, meaning sickness hadn’t caused my drowsiness like I hoped. I swallowed two ibuprofen and set aside laptop time to find a job while lounging on the chaise in the backyard.

  Mom returned from a morning with friends and slipped into the house without showing me the contents of the bags she carried. Not curious enough to leave the comfort of my patio chair, I shifted the ice pack behind my shoulder and continued scanning the listings of hygienist openings. I reminded myself that my well-earned sleep had not been dream free.

  My nighttime visitor made another appearance, which played out much like the first, with him stressing the significance of the rolled newspaper he carried beneath his arm. The repetition of the dream sequence peaked my curiosity, because his identity remained unknown. His message was again too indiscernible to my living ears, but again, I felt compelled to learn more.

  I glanced up occasionally to watch Caleb load dinosaurs onto his trucks parked under the tire swing, which he said was now an alien spaceship planning to zap the dinosaurs into extinction but let the mammals live. Other than the attacking outer-space men, not one thing around him or elsewhere in the yard threatened either of us. Judith’s warning became meaningless imaginings of a lonely woman with too much time and nothing important to do.

  At least now Caleb could play without fear of unintentionally disturbing Chad, who once crushed a cherished toy beyond recognition beneath his stomping foot while Caleb watched.

  My child, Ben’s child, was left picking up the broken pieces. He suffered the sadness of losing a treasured toy because Daddy got mad. Furthermore, he suffered because Mommy had made a hasty decision before he was born and had difficulty letting go of a man who no longer cared.

  The French doors clicked open. Mom stepped out onto the veranda. She carried a tray holding three beverages and a mounded plate of cookies. She’d changed into a cottony green dress, and atop her head sat a raffia hat with a green-and-white polka-dot ribbon encircling the hat’s crown above the brim.

  “You look like a country lady headed for the fair,” I called out to her.

  “Thank you. I went to the state fair last week. Not in this dress, though.” She descended the veranda’s stone steps one at a time with a wide smile on her face. “How’s the shoulder?”

  “Achy. Better. I feel hungover, though. You bought something.”

  “I did.” She set the tray down on the white, wrought-iron table beside me. “A new hat. Like it?”

&n
bsp; “Love it.”

  “Elaine Engstrom. I know you remember her.”

  I nodded.

  “She made it. Looks professionally created by a milliner, I think.”

  “Nicer.”

  “Please tell me you aren’t really hungover.”

  “We went to a coffee shop. I was exhausted.”

  “Do not take this wrong.” She hesitated. “You looked doped up yesterday.”

  She handed me a glass of iced tea.

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Forget it.”

  “I can’t.”

  “All right. Let’s say for argument’s sake, babygirl, if you looked doped up, you need more rest.”

  “Fine. I’ll go to bed early tonight.”

  She blew out a breath. “Any promising positions on that computer?”

  “Six.” I closed the laptop and grabbed an oatmeal raisin cookie. “Two in Northeast, one in Shoreview, and the other two are farther than I care to drive in winter.”

  She waved Caleb over to us. “I wish you’d find work near home.”

  “There is one place less than three miles,” I added. “The Benson Clinic. They offer two days one week and three the next. But I need more hours.”

  “Send off your résumé anyway.” She turned over Caleb’s hands. “Look at these.”

  “I know, wash them.”

  Mom nodded assent.

  “It’s just a cookie,” he argued.

  “Cookies go in the mouth. Dirty hands can’t hold food.”

  He glared, expecting me to cave.

  “Washing hands beats taking medicine ’cause germs made you sick.”

  We watched until he reached the veranda stairs. He paused to watch a butterfly flit from mum to mum.

  Mom turned back to me. “They’ll give you more hours once you show them you’re excellent at what you do.”

  “You’ve always been my greatest supporter, aside from the dope remark.”

  “I’m concerned because I love you.”

  “I did not take drugs.”