The Truth About Mallory Bain (12 page)

Ronnie laid her head back against the chair and turned to look at me. “Will you miss Memphis?”

We had known each other since kindergarten, too long to settle for a casual reply to a serious question. Her curiosity opened the door to serious matters. Whether or not I'd miss Memphis was not her concern. She wanted to know if I would miss Chad Powers.

“Nothing left for me there. Our couple friends picked sides— his. They knew him before me, anyway. I had work friends and neighbors. We'll keep in touch. But I don't dare miss Chad.”

Ronnie took a long sip of wine. “If memory serves, you two were once good friends. He used to hang on you whenever Ben wasn't around.”

“He enjoyed provoking Ben's jealousy. Now I know why.” I gently twirled the stem of my glass. “I miss the younger Chad. He once said he was as happy as a pup with two tails. Now he is a very angry man.”

“Huge difference.”

“Jekyll and Hyde.” I savored the wine's warmth. “I haven't the foggiest idea as to why he turned.”

“Sounds like Chad hates Chad.”

I sipped my wine while Ronnie rambled on, reminiscing about when and where we'd first met Chad and our other friends.

I looked out across the larger patio below the veranda to the darkest recesses of the yard beyond the round patio. My body relaxed. My mind floated.

I am safe. I will grow strong like those towering pines dominating the farthest edges of the yard.

Those edges segued into eerie shadows in the advancing twilight, a secret place for Judith's presence to reside. My eyes stopped on the white, wrought-iron bench, ornate with vines and curlicues.
The bench stood atop the round patio, a dramatic focal point in the center of the yard. Tall concrete urns flanked either side and overflowed with pink and green caladium that surrounded a tall dracaena with spikes symbolic of sharpened blades. Bloody knives and red-splattered walls invaded my thoughts again. I shivered and searched those darkened spaces for signs of that lingering presence.

The swollen harvest moon illuminated the chartreuse sweet potato vines flowing over the planters' sides. The vines swept the pink flagstone in the gentle breeze and threatened to creep along the ground, up the stone steps until it wrapped around my ankles and squeezed.

I sensed we were not alone, when in fact we were. I silently cursed Judith for planting fear inside my head when I needed escape from anxiety and tension.

“We need light!” I jumped up, snatched the lighter off the grill, and lit several of the candles placed around the veranda.

Ronnie stopped talking mid-sentence. She watched my every move.

The subdued lighting instantly transformed the sinister into tranquil. Crickets chirped and a mild breeze blew away my fears over shadows and rumors of lurking dead.

I sat down again, relieved. Without a thought, the words flowed from my mouth, “No one coerced Chad into marriage.”

“I never thought you did,” Ronnie's eyes widened with surprise. “Something out there spooked you.”

I gave her a nonchalant wave of my hand. “My aunt obsesses over ghosts.”

“And you don't believe in them.”

I didn't dare be honest, not even with her. “Probably not.”

She held back a moment. “Well, I do.”

“No doubt Ben is a ghost.”

She continued to look at me wide-eyed. “He would be. Chad understood how much you loved Ben. We all did.”

“I know.”

“Chad was happy that you loved him enough to marry him.”

“I loved his caring after Ben died. I could have loved him more without the mean streak. Honestly Ronnie, between you and me, he made me feel like a conquest.”

“What a strange thing to say.”

“He bested Ben.”

“Mallory, if that was true, Chad would have to be pretty awful.”

“He was.”

“When he dated Dana's neighbor Amy, she never mentioned feeling like a conquest.”

“And he dated her during the time Ben dated me. She dumped him. Remember?”

“I do.” Ronnie tilted her glass between her thumb and forefinger. “Chad is an idiot.” Ronnie chuckled to herself a moment. “Hannigan. Amy Hannigan!”

We clinked glasses and shared another laugh when we recalled that Amy had dumped Chad like nuclear waste, and then, without explanation, she disappeared among the populace.

Silence again. We were reluctant to discuss Ben although he seemed the natural direction for our conversation to go. Ronnie knew those memories were painful, but she didn't know that talking about him brought him back to life for the moment. She instead gave me the specs on Sam.

“Six-one. Dark hair, brown eyes. Strong build, scruffy beard. He's a born and bred Texan who prefers square-toed boots to shoes and jeans to a suit. His favorite song since he was fourteen has been “Boot, Scoot, and Boogie.” Last Sunday my mother taught him to call me
Niinimooshe.
It's Ojibwe for ‘sweetheart.'”

“How romantic. She's a sweet lady.”

Ronnie smirked. “Yes. My mother the sweet romantic lady. Watch out. Matchmaking is her second job.”

“Sam lives in Minnesota because . . . ?”

“His brother, Reed. Reed married a Minnesota girl he met working in Austin, Texas. Now he works construction with her dad.
The dad's partner retired last winter and the company needed a job foreman to let Reed assume the partner's role. He recruited Sam.”

“Tell me what Sam likes besides work.”

“Guy stuff—hunting, fishing, sports.”

“A man's man.”

Ronnie spoke through her smile. “That's my Sam.”

I missed the romantic excitement she had rediscovered. “I think you love him.”

She wrinkled her nose and grinned. “I think I might.”

“Mom said Dana stopped over the day you fell. We met for coffee on Thursday. She didn't mention anything.”

Ronnie's mood soured. “No big deal. Would have been had I broken my neck.”

“She took you to the doctor.”

“Hospital.”

“That was good.”

Ronnie looked away.

“You're not grateful.”

She remained quiet, focused on her glass.

“Something bad must have happened.”

Ronnie rolled one shoulder and dipped her head. “She lacks the compassion normal people possess.”

“Harsh words for somebody who got you medical help.”

The corner of her mouth angled upward into a smirk. “Who would've imagined the cheerleader would end up married to the nerd.”

“Harder to imagine her with Jack Harwood.”

Ronnie nodded. “Totally incompatible.”

She lifted the bottle to top off our glasses. “Erik and Dana's four-year-old, Emma, is already gorgeous like her mom. She brought her over once, when she happened to be in my neighborhood. I guess Erik spoils her.”

I tapped my fingers on the arm of the chair. “She never wanted children.”

“Why is that?”

“Her older sister was the bane of her life when they were kids.”

Ronnie shifted in her chair, her eyes widened with interest.

“Their parents naturally put the older sister in charge, except she beat Dana and invented ways to cause trouble. She would trash the house and complain to their parents that Dana made the mess.”

“You never mentioned this before.”

“Because she told me in confidence when we were seventeen and it never came up over wine before. This also stays between us.”

“Of course.”

“The parents punished Dana, even though she pleaded with them to believe her. Classic case of a lack of nurturing if you ask me. Kids need love.”

Ronnie's expression went blank. “Strange how she doesn't act like someone with an abusive or neglected childhood. Are you sure it's true?”

“Some traumas don't show, I guess.”

We sat in silence again. I leaned back in my chair.

“You and she have stayed friends then,” said Ronnie.

“Christmas cards mostly. Emails. Texts. Phone calls on birthdays. She avoids social media.”

“Interesting. I do miss Jack,” said Ronnie.

“Harwood or Grant?”

“I guess either, but I was thinking Harwood. He's been in my head lately.”

“Besides Sam?”

“Yep. I asked Dana about him the day I broke my arm. She brushed me off. I'd like to know what happened to him.”

“And not Grant?”

“Not so much. He had to leave. It was no secret he wanted to veer off in a different direction than his parents expected.”

“Harwood probably left the country.”

She hesitated a moment. “And there lies the mystery. I've never come across an article or book that he's written. I check and
I recheck. Besides, Harwood was a people person. He would be all over social networking.” Ronnie bit her lip before she added, “I wonder if either of the pair ever knew what happened to Ben.”

“We might never know. Chad asked me to look up Harwood. I haven't yet.”

“Waste of time. A dead end.”

“That's what he says. I think maybe Harwood decided he had nothing left here. Maybe Grant forgot all about us.”

“You once told me you witnessed Harwood's break up with Dana.”

“Overheard.” I shifted in my chair. “So did Ben. My morning sickness with Caleb started that weekend, too.”

“Caleb was worth morning sickness.” She paused, sipped her wine. “Oh, well. We'll likely see Jack in front of a camera one of these days. Bet you're ticked off you missed a going-away party for him.”

“Busted.” I grinned.

“We should have gone to Canada, you and me, even though we missed his funeral.”

“You know, Ronnie, I've often thought that would have been a better decision than going to Tennessee.”

“In hindsight.”

“I didn't know his family, and Chad showed up so fast. He took charge. He made me forget the Hollands.”

“I thought you met them.”

“I met a sister once. By the time I returned home from Duluth, the funeral was done. Contacting his parents felt like I was looking for a handout.”

“The Hollands raised a good son. They must be good people, Mallory. You should get to know them now that you're living closer to Canada.”

“It's still the handout issue.”

“Nonsense. Your parents were well-off—your mom still is. Houses this grand don't come cheap, girl. Sorry, Mallory, but your handout line is a lame excuse.”

“I only ever wanted Caleb to know his father's family. They don't know anything about me. Besides, Mom's money is not mine.”

“The Hollands will understand you have a career. You earn your own income quite nicely.”

“My family doesn't know Caleb is Ben's son.”

“You should have told them.”

“Hindsight again, but I'm thinking Mom suspects. She drops hints like she knows. Chad insisted Caleb would be better off if we allowed him to enjoy his childhood without mourning a dad he never knew.”

“Makes sense.”

“And it did at the time, when he promised he'd be a good dad to my son. Now he doesn't want to play daddy anymore.” I picked up my glass and took a long drink. I stared unfocused into the backyard again.

Ronnie gasped. “Hard to imagine he actually said, ‘Playing daddy.' He
has
changed.”

I nodded. “And he said it within earshot of Caleb. Then he stormed out and left me to set things straight with a bawling five-year-old.”

Caleb learned Ben was in heaven because an accident had taken his real daddy away before he was born. Telling him was the easy part. What he did not understand was why the only daddy he had known didn't like him anymore.

Serious hurts never go away. Caleb stuffed his into a cubby in the back of his mind, locked deep inside his little heart where bad hurts go. They simmer and surface one way or another—a regression to thumb-sucking was his recent expression of unresolved emotional pain.

“Mallory. Let's plan a road trip. You, me, Caleb—Winnipeg before the snow flies.”

I grimaced. “I found the Hollands' address and phone number months ago, but meeting them right now is too soon for Caleb. Maybe in spring. I want to see how he does here over winter.”

“Whenever.” Ronnie patted my hand again. “I'm here for you guys, no matter what.”

I squeezed her hand before I let her leave. I lingered a short while after she disappeared into the house. I strolled about the veranda blowing out the candles, stopped and leaned against the railing to gaze into the dark backyard one last time. The motion sensor on the side of the garage triggered the flood light. A triangular beam spread across the lawn, lighting half of the round patio. I stepped backward.

Whether from the wine or moonlight playing tricks with my vision, a transparent figure drifted from behind the white bench to the tire swing. My eyes transfixed on the figure raising its arm, its hand gripping the swing's rope.

A scream choked in my throat. My glass shattered on the stone floor and I ran into the house. When I peeked out the kitchen window above the sink, the figure was gone. But the tire swung back and forth, back and forth.

I
wanted to believe I'd seen the tire swinging in the wind, moonlight casting shadows, or a raccoon dodging the floodlight. A criminal may have been lurking in the shadows, waiting for us to settle in for the night. I wanted anything to be true rather than succumbing to Judith's belief in a ghostly presence.

I kept what I'd seen or thought I'd seen to myself again rather than admitting my aunt was right. I know my mother well. She'd fall to pieces knowing the place was haunted. She'd peek out windows and tiptoe around the house if she ever thought prowlers were staking out the property. It wouldn't be long before an elusive spirit or flesh-and-blood thieves involved my mother and my son.