The Truth About Mallory Bain

by Clare Hexom

  “Then they’ve become selfish or I never noticed in college.”

  “You were maybe focused on other things.”

  Those other things which drew my attention away from my friends. Ben topped the list. Remembering Dana, the picture of a lovely girl and how Erik’s glum face brightened when he looked at her before he left Chad’s last party. They might not be the people I once knew, or my memories were flawed.

  Lance stroked my arm with his forefinger. “Tomorrow is my last night with them.”

  “I might break off gradually, but feel free to go cold turkey.”

  He lifted my chin and kissed me. His other hand gently pressed against my back. I melted into his embrace and lingered a long while.

  “He isn’t who you want.”

  I leaned back, drew in a breath.

  Lance propped his elbow on the back of the sofa. “Enough?”

  “Hardly.”

  He glanced at the staircase and nodded. “Bad idea with your munchkin upstairs, and a contradiction to the snail’s pace dictum you decreed.”

  “Nice you respect my son, and me, too.” My heart warmed at having the good fortune to meet such a sweet-natured man. “I am glad you are willing to respect my decree, even if at the moment I’m willing to ignore it and let nature rule.”

  “I promised. No pressure.” He sat back against the sofa.

  I sat back, too, and nestled close to him again. “I’ve been alone too long, even when I wasn’t.”

  “Same here. I always turn down set-ups or blind dates, but the moment I saw you, Mallory, I knew I hit the jackpot. Then when you got sick, I worried . . .” he paused.

  “You worried I might die.”

  “Yes.” His eyes met mine.

  I rested my hand against his face and we kissed again and enfolded ourselves around each other until headlights brightened the draperies.

  “Time’s up, beautiful.” He eased himself off the sofa. When I stood beside him, he pulled me close. “We might consider Sunday. The two of us at my place. I do cook occasionally.”

  “Well,” my smile fixed upon my face. “Depends on the menu.”

  He kissed me again. “I better head out before Mom barges through the door and catches me beguiling her daughter.”

  I saw him into the foyer. I clicked on the table lamp and wall sconces seconds before he left. The kitchen door scraped and pushed closed. The deadbolt turned and Mom strolled into the living room.

  “I’m sure you kids had a nice time.”

  “Great movie.” I glanced down at the end table next to the sofa. “He forgot it. Oh, well, I’ll give it to him tomorrow. We’re taking Caleb with us to the Fowlers’.”

  “Tomorrow is more of a family evening than a date like tonight was, I suppose.”

  I hopped up two stairs and stopped. “Not a date. We had takeout chicken and watched a funny movie with Caleb.”

  Mom grinned and winked. “That lamp and those lights were off when I drove up. You are not sixteen and I am not your warden, Mallory. You get a good night’s sleep, babygirl. I know you will.”

  I mumbled the rest of the way upstairs how my mother was as shameful as Ronnie and Natalie. I laid in bed thinking about Lance a long time before falling asleep. When I finally slept, my dreams were vivid and colorful, full of Lance, hospitals, Caleb, mushrooms, and back to Lance, always back to Lance.

  No less punctual than he had been before, the silhouetted man invaded my dreams through the bright light shining from the hallway beyond the bedroom door. Instead of moving close to my bed or sitting down with his newspaper and book, he remained near the doorway.

  I demanded to know who he was.

  He burbled his responses as usual. I gave him time. He then spoke with clarity. “You betray him.”

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  Caleb griped all morning about spending an evening with a little girl. He swore he’d rather eat broccoli, lick a frog’s face, even sit in the principal’s office for a gazillion hours on Christmas. After a good deal of coaxing, he agreed because he’d see Lance again. We both wanted to see Lance again.

  The instant we entered the Fowlers’ house, Dana crouched down and handed Caleb a plastic container full of cookies to take home. She had baked his favorite—chunky peanut butter and chocolate chips. She bragged how she had shopped online until she found the perfect dinosaur ribbon to wind around the container and make the fancy bow for the lid.

  My son beamed over his personal box of treats, while delicate Emma stood behind Erik clinging to his pant leg. She watched her mother dote on my child, who clutched the container as a prized possession. I might have been mistaken, but I believe I detected envy in her expression.

  “Caleb, you offer Emma a cookie or two after supper,” I said.

  He smiled and bobbed his head.

  The little girl’s face lit up.

  “No. These are for him,” said Dana. She looked down at her daughter. “She has enough.”

  Lance and I exchanged looks without saying anything further because neither did Erik. Unlike some children, possibly most, Emma calmly accepted her mother’s decision without protest. An unusual reaction for a child who’d just been denied a treat. I suspected Emma did not have enough and would have enjoyed a cookie.

  As if Erik sensed his daughter’s hurt, he proudly pointed out the placecards she had made. She put in great effort pasting a mish-mash of Halloween and animal stickers onto each card to make our evening special. We found our places around the table, and to my relief, we listened to Caleb teach Emma a fun song, not another gruesome version of his monkey verse, while we waited for Dana and Erik to serve the meal.

  Erik bashfully mentioned that he had prepared the prime rib—the entire meal, actually, including the salad. While he and Dana briefly returned to the kitchen after dishing up our meals, Lance swapped his dinner plate with mine.

  “Don’t do that.” I exclaimed in a loud whisper.

  He held his finger to his lips. “Shush.”

  “You can’t shush me.” I laughed at him and tugged on my plate to take it back again. He gently pushed my hand away.

  “Lance, stop it.”

  “I’m going to prove once and for all which one of us is right. If you are, then the Fowlers stay on our list of friends. The B-list, anyway. If I’m right, call the cops and then the ambulance.”

  “Cops and ambulances show up together. You don’t need to act this way.” I shook my head at him. “See how pleasant they are tonight?”

  “You’ve been duped. Delve beneath the surface, Mallory; you won’t find them pleasant at all. I say we grab Caleb and get the hell out of here.”

  The children played downstairs after dinner while we adults lingered around the table sipping hazelnut coffee and enjoying our sweet, not at all bitter, blueberry crisp with scoops of vanilla ice cream.

  I eased back, draping my arm across the back of Lance’s chair. “You are quite the chef, Erik.” I sipped my coffee.

  “Cooking helps me unwind.”

  “You do a lot of cooking, then.” Lance’s grin widened.

  I tapped his ankle with the toe of my shoe hoping he’d get the message to back off the teasing. Erik didn’t seem in the mood.

  In fact, he sulked after the cookie incident, barely spoke through dinner. Not at all reminiscent of the Eeyore face he used to give Ben when he joked around.

  “Meaning what, Garner?”

  “Sorry. I never knew you cooked. Fantastic meal, by the way.”

  Erik’s jaw twitched while he held his coffee cup against his lips. He stared at an empty spot in the center of the table.

  I tapped Lance’s ankle again to drive home the message not to irritate our host more. He discreetly reached under the table and gently squeezed my knee.

  Erik let out the prolonged sigh of a man fed up and finally reminded me of that forlorn donkey. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Lance, I need to cancel our plans for this coming Friday.”

 
Dana stabbed her fork into her dessert and let the handle drop onto her plate. “We’re invited to his sister’s. Again. And we are obligated.”

  Erik frowned. He shifted in his chair. “Dana honey, you make visiting my family sound like a chore. She is right, though. We can’t back out.”

  “No problem.” Lance entwined his fingers with mine under the table. “I’ll find something to do.”

  The men and Dana visited back and forth. I listened. My thoughts wandered back to Ben, him speaking with Erik much like Lance had moments ago. Instead of the give and take I heard now, Erik used to give into Ben quickly. Ben would goad him on like a big brother, try to toughen him up. Erik may have lacked self-esteem when he was twenty, but he never showed annoyance, bordering on anger, like he had shown Lance.

  “Ours is a model marriage,” Dana continued. “We never guessed such a fine husband existed inside this man back in college.”

  “I saw clues.” I had difficulty recalling one, actually, other than his adoration for her, which I suppose was a precondition for a fine husband. “His super bowl party nachos.”

  Erik’s brow raised. “You women are embarrassing me.”

  Hoping to maintain his happier mood, I asked, “Do you still play softball?”

  His dark mood returned. He scooted his chair back from the table. “Hate it.” He glared at Dana, staring down at her dessert.

  I supposed his former interest in baseball was too involved and vied for her time with him. “Sorry if I brought up a sticky subject.”

  “We never discuss baseball anymore.” He shot daggers at his wife and carried the salad bowl into the kitchen. He clanged and banged around loading the dishwasher. Lance carried in a few plates to be polite.

  I set down my coffee cup. “Now I’ve upset him. He used to love baseball.”

  “Wait for him to explain.” Dana’s stare at Erik was resolute. She left her fork sticking straight as a flagpole in the center of her dessert. But her expression softened. “We have come a long way since high school. You and me.”

  “We certainly have.” I hoped she wasn’t about to pry into my personal life again.

  His temper hung on a short fuse. She fidgeted with her clothes and poked at food as if her meal caused her troubles. She made tactless remarks. Yet neither was completely unlikeable.

  A medical condition perhaps or over-dieting caused her hands to shake. Wringing hands from nervousness caused her bruises. Long workdays and raising a fussy child made him tetchy. Everybody has one issue or another. Lance, Ronnie, and Rick were too intolerant. I reasoned with myself that the longer I socialized with the Fowlers, the causes of their quirky behaviors would soon surface and I’d learn about normal reasons that even those cynics could accept.

  I was the peacemaker, doing my best to give these people the benefit of the doubt. Yet when I nearly convinced myself they were worth knowing and befriending, one or both of them spoiled my opinion. My indecision on whether or not to remain their friend wore me down.

  Dana looked up. “Mallory, I must ask.”

  “Ask away.”

  “This is none of my business, but we are good friends.” She paused.

  Here it comes. She’s going to spoil my opinion.

  “We’ve been curious about whether Caleb is Chad’s son or Ben’s.”

  I took a slow sip from my cup. “Ben’s.”

  She stared into the kitchen again. Her focus led to Lance. He stood beside Erik at the sink, drinking his coffee. More than likely talking man talk, maybe finding out for me why Erik had given up baseball. Dana smiled and let her blueberry-covered fork drop onto the tablecloth without fussing over the stain. Her tone grew stern, as though she scolded a wayward child.

  She fired off questions and added opinions.

  I’ve heard this demeaning tone before, I thought.

  “I imagine Ben’s parents love Caleb to pieces.”

  I squirmed in my chair. No doubt she noticed. “They don’t know yet.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “I get it. Caleb is your little secret from the Hollands.”

  The derisiveness stung. My composure was fading fast. Part of me actually longed for Chad to be at my side for moral support. Once again, my first thought was to leave. I then felt inclined to toughen up.

  “Ronnie suggested I contact them. And she’s right, there really is no reason to wait.” I waited for her reaction.

  She nodded without speaking. Her frosty glare sent chills through me. I was getting a glimpse into the twisted personality others had seen.

  I took a chance and poked the bear. “A visit before the holidays will make Christmas extra special for Caleb and for Ben’s family. Since he’s gone, they deserve to know his son.”

  Dana’s disposition soured more, and then seemingly without cause, her pinched expression softened into an angelic face, and she remarked, “You do have Caleb’s best interest at heart.” A nervous laugh.

  Shrill.

  I wanted out of the conversation. “I always do.”

  “You made a wise choice divorcing Chad. Another wise choice might be to keep moving forward.”

  The voice spoke close to my ear. “Be cautious.”

  I jerked my head around, expecting Lance. He wasn’t there. “I don’t understand what you mean,” I said, unsure whether I was asking my ethereal whisperer or Dana.

  She spoke in a dulcified tone. “I mean, make a fresh start. Don’t bother the Hollands. Leave sad memories behind. Move to a new place and be happy there.”

  “A new place would need getting used to.”

  “You will. Forget Ben.” Her smile contorted. “He’s dead.”

  I had to find Caleb and tell Lance we needed to leave. I chose my words to end the conversation. “I’ve heard Colorado is beautiful.”

  “Decision made.” She beamed as though her choice was final.

  “And move away from my family.”

  “Of course.”

  The man’s voice spoke again. “Let it go. Leave.”

  She held my hand between hers. “This will be the best move you ever made.” She pursed her lips.

  I swallowed hard. “Sounds like you’re trying to get rid of us.”

  “Oh, honey, no. I say this to help you. Move before Caleb settles in school here with new friends. His school in Colorado can be his permanent one.”

  I looked through the kitchen doorway. Erik was watching us. Lance’s eyes met mine.

  Dana noticed. “He is awfully nice.”

  “He is. He already means a lot to me.”

  “I can tell. From the moment I met him, I knew Lance Garner had appeal enough to unseat Saint Ben from that godlike throne you’ve put him on all these years.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  Our children bounded up the stairs, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. They were laughing and running like a herd of elephants. Emma stopped short beside her mom, then squirmed.

  Did Dana’s fingers pinch Emma through her dress sleeve?

  Caleb rounded the corner into the dining room and I caught him around the middle. His hair was drenched with perspiration. I reached behind me for my bag and pulled out my comb.

  Emma screeched bloodcurdling screams. The gasping and sobbing little girl jumped up and down. Erik ran into the room and scooped her into his arms. He comforted her but she screamed louder and sobbed a mumble of unintelligible words into his shoulder.

  Lance walked up behind them, hand extended in an offer to help.

  Erik snapped. “Get away, Garner!”

  Lance backed up a few feet and stood near me. I, too, was curious to learn how the child went from giggling to screaming the second my back was turned.

  “This is Emma.” Dana rubbed Emma’s back, which squirmed against her mother’s touch. “She throws these awful tantrums when she gets overtired. I’m sorry you have to witness this little outburst.”

  Little was an understatement.

  Erik rushed Emma upstairs.

 
And Dana chuckled. “Ferocious fours. It was a lovely evening, Mallory, Lance. Glad you could make it.” With a hand on my son’s shoulder, Dana guided the three of us toward the front door. “We will get together again soon. Don’t forget your cookies, punkin.”

  She yanked our jackets off the hangers one-handed. Before we knew it, we were sitting in Lance’s car. When we were walking away from the house, however, I’d noticed Dana holding something behind her back. She waved to us from the sidewalk, and before she closed the door, I saw the headless body of a doll.

  “That was a bum’s rush.” Lance put the car in reverse. “Glad it’s over.”

  I turned around to Caleb sitting in the backseat. “How did Emma’s doll break?”

  His eyes opened wide. “It didn’t.”

  “Between the time Emma reached the dining room and Dana hurried us out the door, that doll lost its head.”

  Lance stared straight ahead in silence. Then he grimaced and shifted position.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Heartburn.” He flipped Vivaldi’s Andante to the backseat speakers and spoke softly. “Dana popped the head off that doll. When the kids ran through the kitchen, that doll was fine.”

  Silence.

  “I hope you don’t have heartburn because your food was bad.”

  “No. I’m stuffed.” He chuckled. “How’s your stomach?”

  “Jack Harwood!”

  Lance guffawed. “I inquire about your health and you toss out the name of another man at me. There’s a new way of dumping a guy.” “No,” I laughed. “I am not dumping you. I’m not dumping anybody,” slipped out as an afterthought. An afterthought about Ben.

  “Jack was a friend in our group years ago. And there’s this date, May thirteenth. I have been racking my brain trying to remember why it was important.”

  “That date connects to Jack Harwood how?”

  “He and Dana had an awful argument. A break-up fight.”

  “They fought on May thirteenth, when?”

  “A little over seven years ago.”

  “And you remembered now because?”

  Our friendship was too new for him to know about my messenger from the afterlife.