The Truth About Mallory Bain (19 page)

“Kids his age have bad dreams.”

“He's adjusting to a new home, new school.” I kept the hauntings to myself, although each time we met I felt tempted, no,
prompted
to tell her.

She stopped mid-step and held my arm for me to wait. “Here's an idea. We invite Natalie on our girl's night.”

“We can do that.”

Later in the afternoon, Rick and I walked Brent and Christine out to the sidewalk before they left for home. Gavin and Caleb chased each other around the front yard. During my son's first week at school, the boys became fast friends, sharing their mutual love of dinosaurs. Gavin having an English bulldog named Sadie was another sell for Caleb.

Brent gestured to the black van pulling up behind the line of cars parked on the street. “More company.”

We turned and looked across the lawn to the curb bordering his parents' property. They excused themselves and collected Gavin for their walk home.

Rick and I strolled toward the van but Caleb lagged behind. The man behind the steering wheel waved and the passenger stared straight ahead. As we closed the distance, the driver's door opened.

Erik Fowler stood up outside the van, tall enough to see over the door. He grimaced when he saw us. “Mallory, Rick! Good to see you again.” He managed a feeble smile.

He slid open the back door and a delicate girl with long and curly, strawberry-blonde hair hopped out. Erik scooped her into his arms and deposited her on the lawn verge beside the curb.

Dana lingered in the van with her phone glued to her ear. Keeping the driver's door opened wide, Erik leaned in and spoke with her.

I stooped down and called the little girl over to us. She ran to me without hesitation. “You must be Emma. I'm Mallory and this is my brother, Rick.”

“Hi Emma,” said Rick.

She looked up at him with a clumsy smile spreading across her face.

“We've known your mommy and daddy for a long time,” I told her.

Her smile improved and she bobbed her head.

Caleb was picking at the bark of the silver maple in the front yard. I called out and waved for him to join us.

“This is my son, Caleb. He's six.” I wrapped my arm around him and pulled him into our small circle.

Both children stared at each other in silence, shyly waiting for us grownups to give them direction as to what they should do or say. Dana hadn't left the van yet, her phone still pressed against her ear. Erik was talking at her.

Coaxing. Pleading?

The mist segued into drizzle. I grew impatient to get the children indoors. I reasoned the call must be important rather than yielding to the idea she was being downright rude.

“I've had enough,” said Rick. He started jogging back to the house and whistled. “Caleb! Come on!”

He ran to catch up.

Erik shut the driver's door and joined us on the lawn.

“Dana is just finishing a call.” He took Emma's hand.

She pulled back and stomped her feet. “No!”

“It's raining, Emma. Come with Daddy.”

“No!” She latched onto my sweater.

“Go on, Erik. Meet up with Rick in the house. I'll bring her.”

The van's passenger door swung open. A black stiletto ankle boot dropped onto the curb and Dana exited the van. She snapped
open a black umbrella, then tiptoed across the soggy lawn to where we stood. She enfolded her free arm around me. Words spilled out in a melodious twitter.

“Mallory honey, you're dressed very smart today. All recovered from your fender-bender with the lamppost?”

Emma watched her mother from behind my leg.

“I am. Any more headaches?”

She tilted her head and stared down at Emma, her expression bland. “Not today.” She peered at me with an uncomfortable hint of disapproval. “Let's go inside before this weather ruins your hair more than it already has.”

She snatched Emma's dangling hand as though she were gripping the scruff of an unruly pup. She yanked the child to hurry along up the sidewalk, the steps, and onto the front porch. It was a “keep up the pace, kid, or I'll smack you” kind of a yank. She listed to the right when she paused to close her umbrella.

Tipsy.

I subtly smoothed the back of my hair and blindly primped the sides.

Imagine her showing up plastered to a gathering for family and friends.

Unlike my cousin, Dana masked her telltale breath well. I amused myself thinking she should share her oral hygiene secrets with him.

Across the living room Erik leaned back on a folding chair beside Will, one leg crossed over the other. He already held a glass tumbler half filled with a coppery liquid and a couple of ice cubes. Will paid him little mind, continuing to flirt with Elaine's daughter. Erik smiled and listened.

Emma spotted her father without delay. She tugged until she pulled loose from Dana and didn't stop running until she scrambled onto her father's lap.

Mom as good as skipped across the living room from where she'd been standing near the staircase visiting with a small group of friends.

“Dana Norris!”

“Dana Fowler, Mrs. Bain.” She greeted Mom with a hug.

“Old habits die hard. You haven't changed a bit. Pretty as ever.”

“Thank you, and thank you for inviting us.”

“You and Erik are two of Mallory's dearest friends. You mean the world to her.”

“How sweet.” Dana's smile widened. “I can't wait to meet Caleb.”

“Caleb?” Mom's smile slipped into a frown. I noticed but let it go. “Well, he's downstairs with the other children.”

“There's plenty of time to meet him. Enjoy the buffet first,” I said.

“Please do, and Mallory dear, offer Dana a beverage, and if you don't mind, take a minute to slice a few cucumbers and mushrooms. I have the caterer busy downstairs.” Mom looked at Dana again and quieted. She wrinkled her forehead, making me presume she, too, detected that whiff of piney gin.

Dana followed me into the kitchen while sipping her goblet of merlot. I went about depositing the cucumbers on paper towels and spilling the mushrooms into a colander. She slid onto one of the rattan stools at the breakfast bar and watched me between sips of wine. I noticed the tip of a reddened scratch on her neck that she undoubtedly meant to hide under the turtleneck.

Dana laughed quietly, but nervously tugged at her collar. “Fascinating how cucumbers and mushrooms are the ones needing replenishing.”

“Mushrooms are good, except Caleb hates them.” I selected a knife from the block on the counter. “I think a salad is incomplete without them.”

I glimpsed Judith studying us from across the kitchen. She stood in the death place near the dining room doorway. When our eyes met, she shot me a guarded look before retreating into the dining room. Moments later, the kitchen door scraped closed.

“Excuse me a minute, Dana.”

She lifted a mushroom slice to her lips. “Take your time.”

I dashed into the living room to watch out the front window. Judith slipped inside her car, which was parked on the street. Seconds later, she missed hitting the red motorcycle as it emerged from behind the Petersons' hedgerow. I craned my neck for a better look. The rider swerved but recovered. He rolled the bike onto our driveway apron and paused. He flipped up his face shield and looked up the driveway toward the garage.

It was impossible to tell whether or not he was as good-looking as Pam had said. I thought to run out the front door and down to the curb to thank him for stopping on Thursday. Without question, his gesture deserved a moment of my time as well as my appreciation for his concerns about a fire. I thought he'd seen me when I threw open the front door, yet he dropped his face shield, circled his bike back onto the street, and roared away. I returned to Dana frustrated over the missed opportunity.

“My aunt had to leave.”

“Is she all right?”

“Of course,” I lied. More importantly at the moment, I wanted to meet the man on the bike. “Ronnie will be surprised to see you again.” I wasn't exactly lying about that.

We brought the sliced vegetables to the buffet table, and Dana selected a sampling of food for herself and refilled her glass. She left feeding Emma to her husband.

Her mouth turned upward at the corner. “It seems Erik's business card fell out of your pocket and your mom found it.”

I slid the cucumbers onto the serving platter. “I'm glad she did. Having your family here is a nice surprise. He must have told you we bumped into each other.”

Dana raised her well-shaped brow, implying he hadn't. “He did.”

“He had a good time kicking around the soccer ball with Caleb.”

She sniffled a small laugh.

The obscure voice whispered in my ear,
“Pay attention. Question her.”

“Sounds like the downstairs crowd is having the most fun,” I blurted out, hoping my whisperer would leave.

“Stairs off the kitchen and a hallway to a den and some other rooms.”

“You remember.”

“I once spent a lot of time here.”

We made our way down the steps.

“Erik mentioned Jack Harwood ended up living in Europe,” I said.

“And elsewhere. Traveling, sniffing out a good story. You know Jack, forever researching the books on world politics he wanted to write.”

I failed to recall he wanted to write such books. News, yes. Articles, yes. She had dated him, so she would know him better.

“Glad he's alive and well.”

She frowned and her eyes opened wide. “As far as we know.” I heard tension in her voice. She paused. “I hope you haven't heard differently.”

I paused, too, searching her eyes and face for clues to her changed demeanor. “No, nothing. Nobody has, not even the Internet.”

She snapped out her words. “You've searched online?”

I nodded, turning my head away from her glaring eyes.

Dana smoothed her hair, and with a slight cough she said authoritatively, “Except, I am telling you—he is fine.”

Her clipped remark stunned me again. “Good. I want to reunite with my former friends if I can.”

My online searches for him had uncovered nothing. Neither had Ronnie's. Unless Jack was using a penname all these years— doubtful, given his personality. Whenever he wrote when we knew him back then, he wanted the world to know. But instinct told me not to share these facts and opinions.

“The thing about dear old Jack is,” she cleared her throat and peered at me, “he was one of those pseudo-intellectuals. An infuriating man. Had the nerve to pry into my personal writings to Erik. I am certain you never saw that side of him.”

She wrote to Erik in college. Corresponding did add insight as to why they married. A secret love. Poetry, perhaps. How romantic for Erik, especially that they eventually married. He had worshiped the ground she walked on.

“Interesting. I did not know that particular side of him.” Hoping to rekindle her pleasant mood, I let the matter drop.

How unbelievable Jack had been intrusive. He must have felt he had a right to invade her privacy, being her boyfriend and probably as jealous of Erik as Ben had been of Chad. I was tempted to laugh out loud at the idea that Jack Harwood was ever jealous of Erik Fowler. I obviously hadn't known either man after all. From outside the doorway to the family room, I spied Ronnie and Natalie sitting on the brown leather sofa across the room. They were surrounded by a few women from the neighborhood, including Ronnie's mother.

I steered Dana toward the game room across the way. A small group of onlookers focused on the men around the pool table. Ed King and Ronnie's dad stood at one end of the table, and Rick was chalking his cue behind Sam, who was leaning over the table, sizing up an orange ball.

Caleb, Tucker, and Pam's young granddaughters played Crazy Eights at a round table in the corner. Christopher snapped Legos together for Liam, who was squatting on the floor beside him.

“Caleb, I want you to meet my friend,” I said, resting my arm across the back of his shoulders. “This is Dana.”

He glanced up. “Hi.”

“None of this ‘hi' business, punkin. Aunty Dana wants a great big hug!” She gave him such a squeezing hug, he squirmed until she let go. “He is such a darling, Mallory. How cute!”

“Yep. He certainly is a cute one.” I tousled his hair and smiled a “thank you for being a good sport and letting the lady call you punkin and cute” kind of smile.

“You and Chad are blessed he's not a troublemaker. Those children are terrible burdens.”

I never regarded children as burdens. I had no idea how to respond. I told myself to forget it—blame the booze.

Ronnie's good humor died the second we entered the room. I saw outrage and fought the urge to shout, “You need to tell me what is wrong. Something she said or something she did.”

I managed my calm and graciously introduced Dana to Natalie and the other women. Ronnie and her mother sat tightlipped, expressionless.

Natalie occupied Dana with small talk, and I took Ronnie aside.

“Talk to me.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Nobody mentioned she'd be here.”

“Mom invited them.”

Ronnie snuffled. “We should get going. Monday tomorrow. Big day for Sam—deadline looming. You understand.” She gave a few farewell remarks to Mom's friends and said goodbye to Natalie.

Mrs. Moore stood, too. She touched my hand. “Thank you for inviting us. We are awfully glad you and Caleb came home.”

I hardly had a chance to respond when she whisked herself off to the game room to collect her husband.

“Too bad you're leaving already,” Dana said to Ronnie. “I wish you would stay and visit.”

Ronnie started walking toward the doorway. “Not a chance. Sam!”

I tolerated Ronnie's rudeness toward Dana because deep down I trusted her. She was closer to me than my own sister. I kept quiet and accompanied them up the stairs.