The Truth About Mallory Bain

by Clare Hexom

  “Smart ghost. Too bad he can’t tell you what made you sick.”

  “The test results I do know about were negative or fairly normal. A couple were inconclusive and one result has been delayed. That’s the test the doctor wants to discuss. I’m calling him back tomorrow.” The soccer ball rolled into my ankle and I kicked it back to Caleb again.

  “I hope you haven’t mentioned those tests to Dana, have you,” said Ronnie.

  “Not yet. I probably won’t.”

  “Best not.” Ronnie stooped to retie her shoelace. “In the first place, your medical record is none of her business.”

  “I agree.”

  “I’ve heard, ‘Find me’ repeated over and over in a clear male voice. I can be working among the stacks and out of the blue, I’ll hear, ‘Find me’. Ben has no reason to visit me, let alone ask me to find him.”

  “Your whisperer is definitely a man, too?”

  “Yes. I always hear a man’s voice, but I’m certain he’s not Ben. I can’t place where I’ve heard his voice before. I keep thinking that maybe he sounds like a celebrity or a newsman or politician I’ve heard.”

  “He sounds familiar to me, too. I agree, he doesn’t sound like Ben. Actually, I can’t remember Ben’s voice.”

  She looked at me as though she understood my frustration. “The whispers are too hard to hear.”

  “And usually garbled for me.” Caleb threw the ball at me. I caught it and held onto it.

  “We might be hearing from the same spirit.” Ronnie took the ball. “We should consult your aunt.”

  “Now there’s a fun idea.”

  She frowned. She dropped the ball and kicked it back to Caleb with such force, it rolled near the hedge. “We need her. You need her.”

  “Not happening, Ronnie. We keep that woman out of this.” I started to run toward the shrubs. Caleb ran faster. “Do not touch anything!” I shouted.

  “Touch what?” asked Ronnie.

  “It smells like a dead animal over there.”

  “Call the park board.”

  Caleb retrieved the ball and started tossing it into the air. Ronnie and I strolled over to the same park bench where Caleb and I had seen Erik Fowler. A familiar roar of a motorcycle made me turn halfway, hoping to see the red bike again.

  Ronnie swept sodden leaves from the bench before we sat down. “Lose something?”

  “No. I like hearing motorcycles.”

  “I see. You’re expecting Ben the ghost rider.”

  I shrugged. “Of course not. A motorcycle engine is a pleasant sound for me.”

  “Mallory, let him rest in peace and let Lance into your life. Please. More dates, a few laughs, hot fun with a flesh-and-blood man instead of brooding over a memory.”

  “I don’t brood.” I wrinkled my face at her. “Anyway, my dating seems to be all you ever think about.”

  “Well, lately.” She tsked. “Maybe your fantasies are holding Ben back. Maybe he’s caught in limbo because you can’t let go. He needs our help sending him into the light.”

  I looked at her quizzically. “He didn’t need us to move to Minneapolis to send him into the light. And explain to me why he needs your help, if I can’t let go.”

  Ronnie cocked her head sideways. “All right. Maybe our whisperer isn’t Ben.”

  “Caleb hears him talking, too, you know. He hears a man knocking at his bedroom window at night. He’s even tried opening the window to let him in. Now that scares me.”

  “You have second-floor bedrooms.”

  “Exactly. Scarier imagining my child falling out of a second-floor window trying to let this imaginary guy inside the house.”

  “What does the spirit tell him?”

  “‘Open the window.’”

  “I was hysterical one night when I drove down the alley and my headlights shone on a man standing in front of my garage. I backed out fast and didn’t stop until I was two blocks away.”

  “You didn’t call 911?”

  “I called Sam and he did. I panicked because the man barely looked human. He was frightening, like a translucent, decaying body. I never told Sam what I’d seen, or the police.”

  “And I won’t, either.”

  “The police checked my garage and my house. No break-in.”

  “I saw hands dripping blood down my bedroom window one night. I can be sitting in bed and ice-cold breezes blow my hair enough to lift it off my shoulders.”

  Ronnie shook her head. “I wish we had talked sooner. We need to start investigating.”

  I shivered. “Investigate an unknown mutual friend who possibly died and needs our help.”

  “Exactly. We make a list and find out who died.” She stopped talking a moment to take a pack of mints from her pocket and offered one to me. “I never sense evil.”

  “I did once.” I pictured Aunt Judith in the living room.

  “I think one of the pair is dead,” said Ronnie. “I say Harwood, because I can’t find him on the Internet. Jack Grant lived in Chicago at one time. He ran in a couple of marathons and actually came in second in one.” Ronnie’s face showed firm resolve. “I’ll track him down again and give him a call while we work on finding Harwood.”

  Caleb kicked the soccer ball against a tree’s wide trunk and let it roll back to him, all the while reciting his monkey rhyme.

  “Six stuck-up monkeys jumping on the bed.

  One got dead from a conk on the head.

  Mama told the doctor and the doctor said,

  ‘No stuck-up monkeys jumping on the bed!’”

  “Five stupid monkeys jumping on the bed.

  One got dead when—”

  I refocused. “Caleb. Enough of the monkey song.”

  He giggled at me and did a little bouncy dance.

  “Mama told the doctor and the doctor said,

  ‘That old dead monkey ain’t jumping on the bed!’”

  He quieted. Stared at me a moment, and then snatched up his soccer ball and walked over to us.

  “What’s up, buddy?” I pulled off his cap and smoothed his hair. “I want you to recite nice rhymes. Leave the words the way they are.”

  “I have to change them.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “The man inside the stinky hedge said so. He said that’s where the bad thing happened.”

  Ronnie and I glared at the hedge.

  “You can’t see him, Mom. He’s inside the hedge.”

  Ronnie strolled toward the stand of shrubbery.

  I jumped up. “Ronnie. Careful.”

  “I’m getting his bike.”

  I stooped down to Caleb’s level and cupped his shoulders. “Tell me what you heard.”

  “He said, ‘This is where a bad thing happened. This is where I died.’”

  “He died?”

  “Uh-huh. By the hedge.”

  We watched Ronnie roll the bike over to the row of shrubs and lay it on the grass. She walked up and down the length of the entire row of shrubs, at times sticking her hands among the twisting branches, pushing them aside.

  Minutes later, she walked back, wheeling the bike beside her. “I saw nothing, but I smelled something rotting, too. I’ll call the park board first thing tomorrow.”

  Caleb walked his bike across the grass to the sidewalk. He turned to face us. “I’m not lying, Mom.”

  “I know, sweetie.”

  “There really is a dead man inside the hedge.”

  “Mallory.” Ronnie held me back. “It’s time. Call Aunt Judith.”

  CHAPTER

  SIXTEEN

  The spirit revealed more that night. Perhaps my being more open-minded and accepting of his existence was starting to pay off. Before leaving, his newspaper dropped onto the bed. I stretched to retrieve it, only to have my fingertips fall short, barely brushing the edge. In the brilliant light from the hallway, I made out part of the day and date: “Sunday, Ma . . . 13, 20 . . .” Good clues but insignificant on their own. An article might provide answers, but
the paper dissipated into dust when I tried to grab hold.

  While Caleb finished dressing for school, I pulled on my scrubs and ran a brush through my hair. The dates stuck firmly in my mind. I jogged downstairs, socks in hand, and sat down on a chair in the dining room.

  Ben died May 25. A Friday. I recalled other Mays and Marches beginning with the year two thousand. Nothing memorable, ominous, or prophetic jumped out at me. A few dates had been eventful in a way, weddings or birthdays in Chad’s family but nothing in mine. High school and college graduations since then, but in June. The month of March held the least meaning.

  I counted forward from May thirteenth, twelve days to the twenty-fifth. I wanted to believe this spirit was connected to Ben. I needed to remember if anything significant happened twelve days before Ben died. We buried Grandma after he died. Mom and I drove to Duluth the Sunday before he died.

  Mom stepped into the dining room from the kitchen. “I can drive this morning.”

  I zipped up Caleb’s backpack. “I’m early for a change.” I slipped a hair binder around my ponytail and clipped the ponytail up behind my head. “You driving him always helps, and I don’t tell you enough how much I appreciate all that you do. I love you, Mom.”

  “I love you too, babygirl. You’re kind of quiet this morning.”

  “I’m all right.”

  She picked up Caleb’s plate and juice glass from the table and took them to the sink. “Carl wants to head down to Iowa to visit his brother and sister-in-law one of these weekends.”

  “Maybe see some fall color.”

  “He says they make their own cider. And we can split a bushel of apples for pies if we want. I hate leaving you and Caleb alone, though.”

  “I never mind you spending time with your friends. You and Carl go. Have a nice trip.”

  Mom grinned. “I will, then.” She set a half mug of coffee on the counter for me.

  When I brought the mug to my mouth and took a sip, I saw Caleb jumping into the kitchen through the dining room doorway. He stopped jumping and sauntered toward us carrying a rolled newspaper tucked under his arm.

  “Four little monkeys jumping on the bed.

  One fell off and whacked his head.

  Mama called the doctor and the doctor said,

  ‘Goddamn monkey jumping on the bed!’”

  “Caleb Anthony!”

  He dropped the paper and stared straight ahead.

  “You never use words like that. It’s swearing and it’s wrong.”

  He wrinkled his face, cupped his mouth, and giggled. He spun around and ran out of the room.

  “How strange,” said Mom. “He sure got your attention.” She picked up the newspaper. “It’s today’s. I’ll drop it off with Ed on our way out.” She faced me. “Mallory. Mallory! You’re daydreaming again.”

  Caleb’s behavior and his strange rhyme distracted me. His changing the words and the words he chose to substitute troubled me.

  “He certainly did get my attention. You know, I dreamt about newspapers and when he walked in—oh, well, just a dream.”

  “I hope not a bad dream. You need vitamins. Ask Dana to recommend something. She’s into supplements and natural remedies.”

  “She is. Herbs, oils, supplements, whatever nature offers, I guess.” A hunch, a germ of an abstract notion caused me to pause. However, whatever notion seemed important failed to break through. “I should check on him before I leave. He’ll look forward to you picking him up after school.”

  “Good. I’ll take him to and from today. You go on to work. And eat a healthy lunch; no fast food.”

  The bizarre incidents we kept having were getting out of hand, affecting his behavior, making him turn a good rhyme wicked. He sat at the dining room table coloring quickly, swinging his feet back and forth, matching the speed of his hand.

  I took the chair beside him. “I want you to forget about monkeys for a while. The rhyme, too.”

  “I like it.”

  “I’d like to hear other songs you know.”

  “No.”

  “Changing the words upsets me.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Maybe you change the words because Halloween is next month.”

  He growled.

  “Don’t growl. You’re not an animal.”

  “Sadie growls.”

  “Sadie is a dog. She can growl if she wants. Swearing aside, Caleb, we’ll get to that in a minute. Tell me why you rolled the newspaper under your arm.”

  “Can monkeys growl?” He hesitated. “I had to.”

  “You did not have to growl.”

  “No. The newspaper. He said do it.”

  “Who said?”

  “The man sitting on the top step.”

  “The steps going to our bedrooms?”

  Caleb bowed his head. “He said my dad will understand.”

  ‘Will’ meant future. Ben had none, and there was no way I’d ever give Chad a future with us. I rose from my chair and strolled through the living room to the bottom of the staircase. I looked up. No one was there. No one alive, no one dead. Whatever strangeness Caleb imagined, it was twisting his mind. I needed to decide whether to accuse Aunt Judith or consult her.

  As long as the warm weather continued throughout the following week, I took Caleb for bike rides whenever possible. He needed fresh air. Staying indoors gave him too much time alone to dream up bizarre words to a rhyme he needed to forget.

  My old ten-speed lay buried deep within the bowels of Mom’s garage. Retrieving it proved to be a backbreaking task the few times I did try. I gave up in frustration, leaving the chore for another day despite Caleb’s protests. Mom slipped on the ice and broke her leg three years earlier. After she healed, she bought and rode a step-through bike for exercise. Caleb teased me for looking like Grandma, but I ignored him and rode her bike anyway.

  Not that he mattered to me anymore, but the man on the red motorcycle sped past us one afternoon. When he did a doubletake, he almost jumped the curb. Fortunately, I had on one of Mom’s hats and passed for her when he saw me. I preferred resembling a grandma instead of letting a good-looking man, as Pam Egger reputed him to be, see me riding the grandma bike. I made a mental note to get into the garage and dig out my bike for a few rides around Lake of the Isles before winter.

  Lance phoned or texted at least once a day. We saw each other often, spending hours over coffee, making time for lunch, or hanging out with Caleb. I was already liking Lance Garner far more than I thought I would or should, and I was tempted to speed up my snail’s pace. I agreed to his offer to bring dinner and a movie for the two us to watch Friday night after Caleb went to bed.

  Mom visited Judith that evening. She warned me ahead of time that she’d be home by twelve because Carl was picking her up early in the morning for their trip to Iowa.

  Caleb wandered back downstairs wanting a glass of milk. I allowed him a short visit with Lance before scooting him back to bed.

  “I’m surprised you accepted Dana’s dinner invitation for tomorrow,” said Lance.

  I sat down beside him on the sofa. “She wants to make up for the disappointing dinner I had last time. She pushed, so I said yes.”

  “I detect regret.”

  “Mixed feelings, but I did say no at first. I haven’t really heard much from her lately. I thought she might be bored with me.”

  “You could never be boring.”

  “You’re sweet.”

  “I know.” He stretched out his arm over the back of the sofa. “You did a good job sticking up for them even after their dessert made you sick.” His fingers gently stroked my hair down to my shoulder. “I’m going tomorrow for your sake, you know.”

  “We don’t know the dessert made me sick.” I leaned closer. “And I’d hate to go alone. Good to know gallantry is alive and well these days.”

  “It’s a Garner thing,” he laughed.

  “Lucky me.”

  “We’re suckers for pretty women.” He touched his lips g
ently against my forehead and spoke softly, “One as lovely as you is definitely worth subjecting myself to another Fowler evening. Let’s ride together. I’ll pick you and Caleb up, if you’d like.”

  “I’d like.” I nestled closer. “Except we’re out of your way.”

  “You are more or less on my way. Two evenings in a row with me is too much, maybe.”

  I nestled closer still. “Never. Besides, Erik is cooking. What harm can come of it?”

  He wrapped his arms around me and held me close. “You are one brave woman, Mallory Bain.”

  “Dinner will be fine. I ate mushrooms that were a gastrointestinal irritant. Not fatal. Thank heavens. My mother said the mushrooms caused the bitter taste.”

  He shifted to face me. He fingered the lock of hair falling across my cheek. “We need to question which food contained the killer mushrooms.”

  “The takeout. I would call the health department if I knew for sure. Mom called the restaurant, which I asked her not to do. They promised to check into it and said no one else reported sickness.”

  “They wouldn’t admit to serving poison mushrooms.” He leaned back. “I checked with Travis. He thought everyone else from the party was fine. Neither of us knows how Ryan Collins fared, except I got the girl.” He kissed me quick and grinned.

  “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?”

  “Make a cute face. I’m a sucker for cuteness.”

  “Cuteness?” His grin widened.

  “Tell me why you suspect Dana’s food. I suppose you’ve pegged her a cold-blooded killer.”

  “She disguises her horns and pitchfork well, don’t you think?” He leaned back and paused thoughtfully.

  “You really do despise her.”

  “It’s not that I enjoy thinking badly. I have never liked her. In all honesty, Mallory, I’ve been thinking badly about both of them.”

  “Interesting.”

  “I talked myself into that party, soirée, or whatever she intended it to be. I’d worked out several excuses in my head never to see them again.”

  “Because?”

  “Oh. Odd comments here and there. And you’re right. They are pushy. Our places aren’t geographically desirable for either of us, yet Erik always finds reason for me to drive to Plymouth instead of him driving to St. Paul. Selfish. Both of them are.”