by Clare Hexom
“I can’t imagine what they do with the information.”
“Store it to use against their friends later.”
“Then they’re different from when we were friends in college.”
“That’s them—different. She’s harder to read. As if she’s always thinking something shocking.” He rubbed his forehead. “Scheming.”
“As in setting us up scheming.”
My comment brought out his handsome smile I’d seen before dinner. “Which was after all a brilliant scheme.”
I rested my hand against his shoulder. “I should call it a night and check on Caleb.”
“I’ll call tomorrow. Dinner and a movie Saturday?”
“Plans with my sister-in-law and Ronnie.”
“Friday, then?”
“Friday is good.”
He pulled me close for a tender kiss, and caressed my cheek with his fingertips. “I know. Snail’s pace.” He turned and jogged down the steps. When he reached his car, he waited until I was inside the house with the door closed behind me and I waved from the window.
I flicked off the downstairs lights before padding off to my bed. Mom had tucked Caleb, Edgar, and Monster into Caleb’s bed for the night. Instead of the silhouetted man or Ben, I dreamed of Lance Garner.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
Our Friday evening date went more smoothly. Neither of us mentioned either Fowler. Dinner was cold beer and pub burgers. He seemed to enjoy the movie, which was more romantic than comedy.
Mom planned another fun evening for Caleb and his cousins on Saturday, and she also included Gavin. She believed rooting himself in family and friends gave him a greater sense of belonging and made Minneapolis more like home.
My brother cared for Liam and Sam had to complete the finishing touches on a house before Monday’s closing. The evening was ours—Ronnie, Natalie, and me.
The damp afternoon segued into a wetter evening, creating a glistening glow from the streetlamps lining the glossy black streets. Seemingly overnight, the city had transformed into a stunning impressionist masterpiece bursting with vibrant crimsons, ambers, and yellows amid the constant evergreens. I was living in the north again, where subzero temps and snow to my knees were a few weeks away.
I’d forgotten how to dress for late September in Minnesota during those years spent in warmer Tennessee. My teeth chattered while we waited for a cab. The brisk wind blew through my too-thin dress pants and satin-lined jacket. I cupped my hands to my mouth, hoping my breath would warm my fingers.
After the play, we stopped for a nightcap at Ronnie and Sam’s favorite watering hole. We hurried through the doorway into the warm and dry, and paused a moment to soak in the sights and sounds. People were enjoying themselves everywhere we looked. Buoyed spirits reminded me of our college days, when evenings out were uninterrupted fun, not tainted with bittersweet memories of friends disappeared and dead.
Flat screens mounted high on the walls brightened the rooms with the floodlit fields of the World Series playoffs. Purple, gold, and white-uniformed football players charged men in green and yellow—a rerun of Sunday’s game. Two screens, at either end of the long room to our right, displayed soccer.
The char-grilled aroma of juicy burgers and sizzling, sweet onions made my mouth water. I searched among the packs of people gathered in the rooms, right and left of the entrance, for a vacated place to sit.
Ronnie spotted an empty booth against the far wall and led the way amid the din of voices, clinking glassware, and servers carrying large round trays loaded with mounded plates of food. As we moved through the crowd, I searched men’s faces, hoping to spot one of the Jacks. We passed man after man, but none was either of our pair.
I slid into the booth first. Ronnie sat beside me and Natalie scooched in across from us. Beside our booth was a red brick wall covered with timeworn photographs of old Minneapolis and memorabilia of decades long gone. Ronnie leaned on her elbow and looked the wall over while Natalie and I scanned our menus.
After the server left with our orders, our conversation centered around me.
“Mallory had two dates this week with the same guy,” Ronnie said to Natalie.”
“You did not.”
“I did. The Fowlers introduced us last weekend.” My smile widened and I added, “His name is Lance Garner. We’ve had dinner twice. Three times, counting last Saturday at the Fowlers.”
“Then you met him the night you landed in the hospital,” said Natalie.
“When her food was poisoned,” said Ronnie.
“Spoiled. Maybe the takeout I ate earlier in the day. Anyway, I warned him, I’m moving slowly.”
I caught them exchanging looks.
Ronnie spoke up. “You texted me after he brought you roses. You called him hot.”
“Roses are a huge sell,” Natalie said with a coy grin.
“Three dozen,” said Ronnie.
“Two.”
Ronnie waved her hand at me. “Two, three, schmee. You will experience unlimited bliss having a hunky body snuggle you all night long.”
I nearly spat out my drink. “Not after one week.”
“Listen to her, Natalie,” said Ronnie handing me a napkin. “Three evenings in a week.”
Natalie wrinkled her brow. “If he’s disgusting, he’s not worth her time.”
I sipped my drink. “People do need chemistry.”
“Oh, yes. People do.” Ronnie shifted the napkin in her lap. “Hot says a lot.”
“I felt a few tingles. But I am growing accustomed to waking up with a stuffed furry Monster staring in my face. Besides. Ben gave him to me. I can’t dump such a cute guy.”
They thought I didn’t notice, but I saw Natalie look across the table at Ronnie again. “Joking aside, Mallory, don’t you miss— you know?”
“Now there’s a turn-off coming from my brother’s wife. No, I don’t miss you know because I haven’t had time to think about much other than Chad’s behavior and Caleb’s wellbeing. Nobody will ever love my son like I do or as much as Ben and I would have loved him together. I will be fine.”
Ronnie patted my arm. “Not indulging memories the way you do. You hold tight to those tingles, girl. They will lead you to a happy place, and the true meaning of being fine will come screaming back at ya.”
I watched her with furrowed brow, amazed at how she casually sipped her draught after giving such advice. She set her pilsner down on the cardboard coaster as though it contained nectar of the gods.
I stared at Ronnie, though she focused her gaze downward as if she knew I was staring. “Happy places aren’t all they’re cracked up to be,” I said. “I almost ruined Caleb’s life and mine, too, trying to replace Ben with Chad.”
“Chad was a freak mistake.” Ronnie waved her hand again. “Better men than him are alive and well all around you.”
“I’m giving Lance a chance,” I said.”
Ronnie jumped in again. “And he’ll probably never disappoint you in the sack or otherwise. He’ll take to Caleb. You’ll see.”
“Of course,” said Natalie, “he’s a great kid.”
“Caleb likes him for now, and he is a great kid, but when he’s fourteen with angst and attitude, who knows. Even nice guys like Lance dislike facing a teenage smartass.”
“What happens when fourteen-year-old Caleb becomes too smartass for you to handle because he’s bigger than you?” asked Natalie.
“I’ll call Uncle Rick.”
She nodded with a smirk, knowing I’d already thought about raising a teenager.
I became even more insistent. “I won’t let my son get hurt again because of my decisions. We’ll manage.”
“How was Chad with Caleb?” asked Ronnie.
“He never hit him, but Chad has a mean mouth. Too strict with unreasonable rules. He smashed a few toys when he lost his temper.”
“You never said,” said Natalie. “Did he hurt you?”
I turned my head and stared a large black-an
d-white of the Foshay Tower circa 1940 displayed on the wall beside me.
Ronnie patted my arm. “We don’t need to spoil our evening.”
“Mom does not need to know.” I turned and faced Natalie. “This is why, maybe later on, after he’s grown, I will seriously think about bringing a man into my life again. For now, this shop is closed. Ben’s memory will keep me warm this winter.”
“Back to memories.” Natalie took a long sip from her glass. “Memories aren’t the same. The physical isn’t there with a ghost.”
“She is right, Mallory,” said Ronnie. “Let go of the past. Keep your memories but live in the present.”
“The past is comfy.”
“Life gets lonely there,” said Ronnie. “You get lonely, you get crabby.”
“When am I crabby?”
Ronnie looked at me with eyebrows raised. “Now.”
I closed my eyes and turned back a moment to the Foshay Tower. “Not long after Chad distanced himself with less talking, less intimacy, I used to imagine meeting someone committed, kind, and open-minded to a ready-made family. One day, I realized I was imagining Ben.”
“Which is good,” said Ronnie. “He set the standard for what a great guy means to you.”
“So much so, that lately I’ve been imagining he visits my dreams. At least, I hope he’s Ben.”
“At least he’s not Chad,” said Natalie. “Lance is better suited for you, since he . . .”
I shook my head. “These dreams are different. They tell me I’m reacting to stress in a scary way. Rick told you about the armoire.”
Ronnie bit into an onion ring. “What about an armoire?” Her face grew serious.
“She swore she heard one moving across a bedroom floor a couple of weeks ago,” Natalie chimed in.
“I actually did,” I added firmly.
Natalie pressed her opinion. “Or, like Rick says, you heard a different noise. Mom and Nora moved the armoire for cleaning and forgot to move it back.” She paused. “Or, your mother forgot about calling Rick to come over to move it back. She puts off chores all the time, like switching out those draperies in the den.”
Shaking my head, I argued, “Ronnie slept in that room the night before. Please say the armoire was against the wall.”
“I would have asked about a piece of furniture in the middle of the room.”
“Caleb heard it move, too.”
Natalie smirked and flapped her hand. “You heard a sound similar to the sound of an armoire moving across a hardwood floor. Caleb will agree with whatever you say.”
“My sister-in-law, the armchair psychologist.” I took a strong gulp from my glass and held it ready for another.
Ronnie leaned toward me, a wide grin spreading across her face. “Tell me what ghost Ben does in these dreams of yours.” She bumped her shoulder into mine.
I swatted her hand away from my knee and chuckled. “Get away! I’m serious!”
“Do tell.” Ronnie raised her pilsner for a toast. Natalie clinked her glass against Ronnie’s.
“He carries a rolled newspaper under his arm. The other night he tried handing me a paperback. The title was too blurry to read.”
“A newspaper,” Ronnie’s eyes narrowed. “Ben was a physical therapist. You would think a rolled-up newspaper or a paperback would be somebody else.”
“There is no specific connection to Ben, and I’m guessing this spirit is taller and lankier than Ben was.”
“He might be visiting you for different reasons,” said Ronnie.
“Like what?” I asked.
She shrugged.
“You are serious about a ghost,” said Natalie.
“Yes. And having that big house dark at night gives me the chills. My environmentally conscious mother gets upset that my carbon footprint alone is wasting the world’s entire supply of natural resources whenever I leave a few lights on.”
I shared what Judith had said about the ghosts she’d seen in the house or sensed around the property. Her opinions did not surprise Natalie and Ronnie had forgotten how peculiar my aunt could be.
“She planted the idea of ghosts in your head,” said Natalie. “And now you’re seeing them all over the place.”
“Except Caleb and I both heard whisperings before we saw Judith at Mom’s. I heard whispering in Memphis. I also get the feeling I’m not alone or someone is watching me. So does Caleb.” Ronnie grew quiet, listening to us gossip about our aunt and talk about my experiences since August.
Thinking what more to say, I tapped my finger against my glass. “Aunt Judith claims he has a message, a warning, even, that someone wants us dead. She insists he is demanding justice.”
Ronnie stared at me for a long moment. “You nearly died last Saturday.”
“Do not go there. You can’t blame Dana for what happened to me. It was the takeout.”
“Fine, but he does have a message,” said Ronnie.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I hear whispers, too. They started back in Boston. Hearing voices is a scary thing, which is why I haven’t said much about my encounters before tonight.”
“Who is doing all this whispering?” asked Natalie.
“That’s just it,” said Ronnie. “Other than Ben Holland and a few ancient relatives, I don’t know anyone dead. If there was someone she and I both knew who died and is visiting us from the grave, we should be concerned.”
“Maybe Ben is talking to both of us,” I said.
Ronnie stared at me. “Did he tell you to move back to Minneapolis? Because that’s exactly what he told me to do. His urging was compelling, I had no choice but to pack up and leave a betterpaying job in Boston. Although, I am content with where I am at now. I met Sam. But the voice told me I had to be here.”
“He told me to ‘Cradle Caleb in the loving embrace of my family.’”
The similarities in our experiences were uncanny. We needed to process all we had shared. We dropped the matter for the night. Minutes later, Natalie called for the checks. The three of us said little during the taxi ride back to Mom’s. Sam picked up Ronnie and Natalie stayed the night in Rick’s old room.
Natalie left with the twins early the next morning without saying goodbye. I had no idea her beliefs in the afterlife, other than her regard for Aunt Judith, and she’d mentioned something about not wanting to miss Sunday church services. Perhaps Ronnie and I scared her off with talk about whisperings and ghosts.
Ronnie phoned mid-morning. Sam planned on working until after supper to wrap up the work he’d left unfinished Saturday night. She wanted to spend the afternoon with us and we both wanted to know more about each other’s spirit encounters.
Sunlight penetrated the fluffy gray and white clouds after the night rain. The day renewed Caleb’s enthusiasm for riding his bike to the park to play with the soccer ball. Within the hour, Ronnie’s yellow Mustang pulled up the driveway.
“I bet I kick farther!” Caleb challenged Ronnie.
“You’re on big time!” she cheered. “Is he any good?”
“He’s six. What do you think?”
She rolled one shoulder and smirked. “I haven’t played soccer against a six-year-old since we were six.”
“He kicks good, but I’m confident you’re better.” I lazily pulled on my jacket and zipped it halfway. “Does Sam have kids?”
“No. He was married once before, too, but they never had kids, either. He wants a couple before he’s too old to enjoy them. Our clocks are ticking, though.”
“Mine, too. I never wanted Caleb to be an only child.” I noticed my son tying his school shoes. “Rain boots, Caleb.”
“Sneakers, Mom. Can’t play soccer in rain boots.”
“Play shoes, then. And he’s not fourteen yet,” I muttered to Ronnie.
She gave her clogs a downcast glance. “Do you wear an eight?”
“Seven. Check my closet. I might have a stretched-out pair that will fit you.”
She sped up the stairs, leaving
me alone with Caleb.
“Mom, how come Ronnie wants me to call her Ronnie and Aunty Dana wants me to call her Aunty?”
“It’s Dana’s way.”
“Are you Aunty Mallory?”
I glanced through the dining room and into the kitchen, where Aunt Judith had long ago called the space near the dining room doorway the death place. An image of Aunty Liz keeling over in front of a scared little Judith came to mind.
“I’m not ‘aunty’ to anybody. Aunt Mallory to your cousins.”
He pulled his purple cap onto his head.
Ronnie bounded down the stairs wearing a scuffed and smudged pair of white running shoes.
“I’ll bet you tried on every pair.” I glanced at my watch.
“Smarty. Come on. Let’s do this.”
We jogged behind Caleb and his bike all the way to the park, me toting the soccer ball under my arm. We approached the place near the dead animal hedge.
“Hey! Not here!” I waved him on. “Go farther in!”
Caleb shook his head and jumped off his bike. “There’s more room here!”
I shook my head and waved him on again. “See, this is why he needs my undivided attention,” I told Ronnie.
“See, this is why you need Lance. Let the guys play soccer while you go shopping, read a book, bake cookies, whatever you do. Have lunch with me. I’m surprised he’s not here today. I need to meet him.”
“He’s being godfather at his nephew’s christening.” I dropped the ball and gave it a swift kick toward Caleb. “Do your whisperings ever tell you to commit a crime?”
“Like mass murder?”
I grimaced at her bluntness.
“No. Do they you?” she asked.
“Hardly. In fact, the day of my divorce, the prompting I acted on proved to be the best advice I’ve ever been given, besides the ‘let her have him’ bit.”
The ball rolled toward Ronnie and she kicked it back to Caleb. “He never whispers when I’m with Sam. I never mind the whisperings—not anymore.”
“Neither do I, especially when it’s quiet and I’m washing dishes or sorting laundry. I can almost hear him clearly then. His voice was clear enough when he told me to get out of Dana’s house the night of their party.”
