The Truth About Mallory Bain (20 page)

Sam helped Ronnie with her coat at the front door, while I questioned her. “I know you. Something is bothering you.”

She glanced up at Sam.

Without conversation he responded, “I'll start the car.” His parting kiss barely touched the edge of her mouth.

We followed him outside and sat down on the front steps.

Ronnie folded her arms atop her bent knees. “I won't spend one minute with them.”

“I get that, and they do, too, by the way.”

“If I never saw them again, I'd be fine.”

My finger reflexively followed the line of mortar between the bricks beside me.

“You be her friend. I cannot. Can you live with that?”

“Of course. Except she was happy to see you.”

“Pshaw.” Ronnie rolled her eyes at me. “You're too forgiving. You forget how she threw herself at Ben. Chad, too, but Ben chose you. Chad actually also chose you, but he's neither here nor there.”

“You're bringing up a Halloween party that was out of control on so many levels?” I chuckled. “The actions of wasted college kids don't mean a darn thing anymore. Ben is dead and Chad is all hers if she wants him.”

“All hers again, you mean.” Ronnie stared straight ahead. “Sorry I told you that.”

“I don't care who Chad slept with years ago or now.” Another lie. I choked back tears hearing Dana had slept with my husband. “Sam can take care of himself.”

“Without saying. Dana isn't interested in him, Chad, or friendship.” Bitterness oozed with her words.

My voice cracked. “What then?”

She hesitated a long moment. “Herself. Whatever she thinks she wants.”

I watched Sam waiting patiently, polite enough to let us finish.

She looked me in the eyes. “My opinions about her have nothing to do with us. Believe me.”

“I do. And I respect your opinion even if I disagree.”

She rose and brushed off her slacks. “Call Ben's parents. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow. I don't understand why my calling them is important to you.”

She rested her hand against her cheek and looked away. “I don't understand why either, but I feel duty-bound to convince you to contact them.” She flipped her hand outward. “I am compelled to persuade you.”

Compelled. Duty-bound.
I stared at her through narrowed eyes.

She shook her head slowly. She took my hand. “I don't know what is happening to me.”

“Describe it, then.”

She looked down at our hands and drew in a long breath. “I think the dead influence the living.”

“There is a topic for Aunt Judith.” I hesitated. “I suppose you think the dead are influencing you.”

She swallowed hard and chuckled. “Maybe.”

It's time to share our experiences with her,
I thought.

“I will think about calling. I can't promise when. They might want to know Caleb right away, but he's not ready.”

“Ease up, Mallory.” She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “He's a resilient little boy. I've been watching him all afternoon. Happy as a clam to be living here. He's getting over Chad nicely. And I will support you any way I can.”

I stood up and we walked locked arm in arm to her car. I conceded, “All right! We will go even if Manitoba gets six feet of snow before we get there. Sam's waiting, but maybe sometime we can talk more about spirits contacting you.”

“You think it's crazy.”

“Yes. Extremely crazy for both of us. I think I've been having my own spirit contact, too. Are you ever free for lunch?”

“Often. Let's plan one day this week.”

I returned to the party thinking Mom was right about something not yet said. I presumed it had been about Dana. It seemed now that it included spirits. Her reveal sounded too similar to the
promptings I'd been receiving since August. Perhaps both of us were hearing voices from beyond the grave. Perhaps we were hearing the same spirit.

I mingled with our upstairs guests before heading back down. I was saddened that the three of us friends might not ever regain the ties we once shared unless I worked hard to clear the bad blood.

Dana and Erik stayed behind to help tidy up after the caterer packed up and the other guests left. Rick paused at the kitchen door with two folding chairs leaning against each hip.

“Erik. Lend a hand with these chairs before you take off.”

Erik's face went blank. He stared into the darkness beyond the French doors. Chairs were stacked against the wall next to the door and a few more leaned against the breakfast bar. It would take Rick several trips to the garage, fewer with help. Instead of grabbing chairs, Erik turned to Dana stooped in the doorway to the dining room.

She zipped up Emma's jacket, then ran her hand down Erik's' pant leg. “It's past her bedtime.”

He turned back to Rick. “We should get going. Sorry. Another time, perhaps.”

Rick coughed. “Another time?” His smile drained. A few minutes more did seem such a small request. Rick turned the doorknob and pulled.

I led the Fowlers to the front door. “We've got it covered. You three go on.”

As I closed the front door behind us, I heard clanging and banging amid a string of expletives and smartass cracks as my brother lugged chairs out of the house.

Dana stopped me on the front sidewalk. “Emma does need to stay on schedule, otherwise, Erik would have been happy to help.”

“No problem. We understand. It was nice seeing both of you and meeting Emma.” I hunched down and gave her a hug. The little girl gave me such a robust hug back that Dana yanked her away.

I ambled back up the steps to the house. I grabbed two more chairs to store in the garage and found Rick smoking beside his pickup in the driveway. He rolled the lit cigarette between his finger and thumb. His gaze focused on the glowing cherry end.

“Those two are a couple of snooty SOBs. He can't even donate ten more minutes to the cause.”

“They didn't have to help at all.” I stacked my chairs in the corner beside the backyard door in the garage. “Put that thing out. You'll stink up the house.”

We walked together toward the porch.

“Sam's good, and you know I've always liked Ronnie.” He flicked the cigarette onto the driveway.

“But not Dana or Erik.”

“Not one bit.” He hesitated. “A coupla crazies, if you ask me. Private conversations, standing in the shadows.”

“Maybe they were discussing finances.”

“They were picking apart the other guests. They mocked Carl for belching, which he does because of a stomach problem. Then I overheard them poking fun at Elaine's weight.”

“You only think you heard. You're passing judgement without knowing the context of their conversation.”

He shook his head. “And in what context is it okay to describe a good woman like Elaine Engstrom as a sea cow? Okay, she is overweight. And yes, she wore one of those flowy dresses that happened to be blue.”

“You're making this up.”

“I assure you it's true. Then her butting in—not letting him carry the chairs.”

I pictured Dana in bed with Chad and wanted to agree wholeheartedly with my brother. But I didn't. “Some criteria you have for liking people, Rick. A few offhanded comments taken out of context. Like you're so darn perfect, putting them down the way you do. I'm surprised you like anybody.”

He wagged his finger in my face. “They're stuck up.”

I pushed his hand down. “They've been good to me.”

He laughed sarcastically, lit a fresh cigarette. A rising cloud escaped his pursed lips.

“You should be glad I know them. When the rest of my friends took off without saying goodbye, and Chad turned into a complete jerk, I appreciated the emails and phone calls, and the Christmas cards we sent to each other. The Fowlers stayed in touch. They cared about your little sister and her kid. Cut them some slack.”

He looked away.

I turned on my heel to go back into the house. “Haul the rest of the blasted chairs yourself.”

“You don't get it!” Rick slammed his fist against his pickup. “The chairs aren't the damn problem! They're mean people, Mallory. Not worth your time. Write them off now before they hurt you and Caleb.”

I
t wasn't right. Rick's insistence that I turn my back on friends. Ronnie's disapproval of them. Granted, I disliked Chad bedding Dana. But that was before we were married. The kindnesses the Fowlers, Dana especially, had shown me those years since Ben died meant a great deal. Biting remarks insulted them and me, too, for choosing their friendship.

Caring for Caleb and settling into my new job among friendlier people, although strangers by definition, became my reprieve from Rick and Ronnie's opinions and Mom's criticism for coming down hard on Judith.

My first morning at the clinic went well, going over paperwork and getting acquainted with the staff and the treatment rooms. My actual work would start Friday, because luckily for me, they needed help and I needed the money.

Life with Mom remained strained. During our drive to Richfield to pick up my car the day after Judith's incident, she spoke only when necessary despite my attempts to clear the air of hard feelings. I missed her sweet disposition and our chatty conversations about nothing really. But she dug in her heels.

Judith's mental instability was unfortunate, and my main reason for not asking her advice. If Ronnie and I were experiencing the same spirit presence, best we keep those details between us. Judith's expertise was less than credible. She needed psychiatric help, although I considered how she might react at the mere suggestion of treatment.

She was family, deserving a modicum of loyalty and respect. The rift she'd caused in our immediate family, however, added to
my exasperation. I was torn between loyalty and enmity. Banning her from the house was final and I refused to back down, even though Sunday had gone well.

The next afternoon, I gathered the stack of papers I needed to drop off at the clinic before heading out to pick up Caleb from school. I opened the kitchen door and stepped out onto the porch with head bent as I dug through my bag for my keys. Hearing quick footsteps clapping down the concrete driveway, I looked toward the street. Erik Fowler was jogging toward his van, parked in front of the house.

“Erik! Hey, Erik, come back!”

He stopped. Paused before turning around. When he did, he stared at me with jaw clenched, his expression annoyed. I descended the steps and started toward him. He shoved his hands in his pockets and met me halfway.

“I didn't think anybody was home,” he spoke through a weak smile.

“Only me. Anything wrong?”

“Yes and no.” He hesitated. Shuffled. “I stopped to say I feel awful about not helping with the chairs. Dana. She's strict about Emma's schedule.”

“I understand. We've all got kids. You didn't need to make a special trip.”

He hesitated again but his smile improved. “No, no, I'm good. I was on my way to see a client. He has an office near Lake Calhoun so I detoured over here to see you.”

His expression suggested worry disproportionate with refusing to help with the minor chore of carrying folding chairs to the garage.

“Give my regards to Rick,” he said with a wave.

“I will. And, Erik. Take care.”

After texting Rick with Erik's message, I dropped in at the clinic before heading over to Caleb's school. Erik's visit puzzled me, and the feeling was strong. I suspected there had been a different
reason for stopping by but he backed down after seeing me. I added my concerns in my text to Rick but he never responded.

Ronnie and I met for lunch on Thursday. She joined me at a trendy restaurant in downtown Minneapolis—too trendy to be overheard discussing ghosts. After our food arrived, we discussed Erik and Dana instead.

Ronnie finished chewing a bite of salad. “If she's concerned about Emma staying on a schedule, the child should spend less time with Missy Cox.”

“Dana works long hours.”

“Nobody's kids live like Emma does. Home one day, Missy's the next two or three or whenever Dana decides to be a mom. This over here and over there business is unhealthy for anybody. Sam knows.”

I grinned. “Let him move in.”

Ronnie smirked and wrinkled her nose at me.

“You're right. Besides working long hours, Dana suffers from migraines.” I paused to eat a few bites. “Emma's schedule would upset Caleb. And Erik coming over the way he did . . . strange.” She dabbed her mouth on the napkin and leaned back. “He's up to no good.”

I guffawed. “Meaning?”

Her brow furrowed. “Nothing surprises me with those two.”

“All this distrust confuses me. You got along before.”

“Young friends do get along. People change when they get older.” She squinted and pinched her thumb and forefinger together. “All their itty-bitty idiosyncrasies aggravate the bejesus out of me like a popcorn hull stuck between my teeth.” Her tone was firm and absolute. Her analogy lost me, knowing all the dental products available to remove hulls stuck between teeth. “I have nothing in common with those insidious creatures,” she finished.