The Truth About Mallory Bain (14 page)

Erik shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled back and forth again. “You and Chaddy moved back. Whaddya know.”

Chaddy.
Nobody except his mother had dared call him that in years. No doubt he'd sucker punch the first guy who did.

“We're divorced. Caleb and I moved back alone. We're living with Mom until we get our own place.”

“I am sorry to hear that. I always liked Chad. We shared a passion for baseball when everybody else in our group was into football or hockey.”

“You're right.”

“Yep. Now and then we talked Woody into a game of catch.”

“Woody?”

“Jack Harwood.”

“I didn't know anybody ever called him that.”

“Chaddy did. And Jack was the one who started calling your husband Chaddy. Funny you don't remember.”

I'd dwelt on Ben in those days. Apparently there was plenty I'd forgotten about those times or maybe never knew in the first place. Maybe our group wasn't as close-knit as I'd always believed.

It was strange that Erik and Chad never kept up their friendship. More surprising was the conversation we were having. Erik confused me. Dana had distinctly said she'd mentioned my moving back to him and even shared his reaction. She had him on the phone when we were having coffee.

Not wanting to dwell on my misunderstandings or my divorce or Chad, I simply said, “Stuff happens.”

Erik shuffled again. “He's staying in Memphis?”

I guffawed. “He better stay in Memphis. Tennessee is where his family and his new woman live.” I shook my head and grimaced. “Sorry. That was unnecessary.”

The soccer ball rolled against Erik's foot. He shrugged at my response and kicked the ball back to Caleb. He gave me a curious glance, then ran a few yards for another kick at the ball.

I watched the two of them race around, playing like father and son. Having this former friend of Ben's kick around a soccer ball with Caleb was like having part of Ben with us again.

Erik's bewildered expression, when I made that careless comment about Chad staying in Memphis, implied a happily married person, whether or not he needed serene places for ruminating, might think me coldhearted for poking fun at the ending of my
marriage. I had to stop making light of situations other people, except Ronnie, might consider too serious for sarcasm.

Sarcasm helped me get past those times when I was tempted to shout about my pain and cry twenty-four seven or smash a really big dish. I forced myself to take out my anger on vacuuming or scrubbing the kitchen floor.

Heart-stabbing pain stemming from loss of love, especially Ben's love, even my mixed feelings for Chad, ate at me until I either coped or cracked. I chose survival and held back my tears for the dead of night when my child slept.

It hit me that perhaps we were impinging on Erik's ruminating. I waved Caleb and Erik to stop playing and come back.

“Maybe you'd like my number,” I said to Erik. “I mean, you never know.”

“Yeah. You never know.” He reached into his jacket pocket for his phone.

“Remind Dana we should get together soon. Let's include Ronnie.”

“Old times. Reminiscing. Dana—she might enjoy that.”

His mocking chuckle surprised me. “Or not,” I said.

“I mean, yes. It's a great idea. I better not make any plans, though. She coordinates our social schedule. She tells me where we're going, when we need to be there, and if I'm lucky, what to wear.”

“I get it. Say, quick question. Do you ever hear from Jack Grant?”

“Never.”

“Ronnie and I are curious as to what happened to our Jacks.”

“Harwood lives in Europe.”

The unseen male voice spoke softly, echolike, as though struggling to be heard.

“Rehearsed. Ask again.”

Startled, I cleared my throat. “I'm sure he tells you he has big plans when you talk.”

“Used to talk, Mallory. Used to.” He lifted his wrist and checked his watch. “Forgive me. I forgot to pick up a prescription for Dana. Give us a call.”

Hearing a buzzing close to my ear, I waved the space beside my head but saw no bee or insect.

“Sure. We're headed to the other side of the park.” I gestured at the shrubs. “There seems to be a dead animal in the bushes.”

The buzzing grew louder. No bees. No other insects. Perhaps my whisperer was attempting to speak but wasn't getting through.

Erik glowered. He made no attempt to check the shrubs for us. “Good to move on, then.” He pulled out his business card from inside his jacket. “May as well have my work number, too.” He turned on his heel and jogged toward the street.

I shoved the card into the side pocket of my jacket. “We better go, buddy. We left our water bottles on the counter.”

Caleb kicked the soccer ball all the way home and memories of a younger Erik and Dana occupied my mind. Soon after starting college, about nine, ten years ago, several of us grew into a close group, which we called our core group of friends. Other friends, our fringe friends, like Missy, and my half-blitzed cousin Will or my brother Rick spent time with us now and then.

Ronnie and I met Dana after she moved here from California the summer before our junior year in high school. She wasn't much like us but she had no other friends. If Dana had not become my tennis partner, winning tournaments with me, our friendship might not have lasted.

My father disapproved—called her boy crazy. Ronnie found her moodiness annoying. Dana would turn edgy for no reason, except now as an adult I think there is a reason if you search deep enough, and the reason might be unexpected. She once shared how she'd been the center of attention as a preschooler, but when she grew older, her family constantly found fault with her.

Ronnie and I were her only outlet for fun. Mr. and Mrs. Norris allowed her out of the house providing she went with us,
which wasn't all that often. And the bubbly Dana we saw at school contrasted the brooding girl at home.

Mrs. Norris once complained to Dana in front of me, “I wish you would make me proud like Mallory and Ronnie do their parents.” Her remark was uncalled for, and I knew that even as a teenager.

We three girls met Jack Harwood and Chad when we were eighteen-year-old freshman at the u of M homecoming. Harwood and Chad were the oldest members of our group, and they were friends with Ben, who'd been friends first with Chad and later Jack Grant.

Ben's freshman year dorm room was across the hall from Grant's. They met Brian Hayes and Erik that same year. Jack Grant had lived in our neighborhood, but was a year ahead of us girls in school.

Dana tracked down Jack Harwood a week after homecoming and invited him to Amy Hannigan's Halloween party. He brought a few of his friends, including Ben, Erik, and Chad because Dana insisted the party needed men.

It took me a while to realize Gandalf from
Lord of the Rings
was Jack Grant. Ben showed up as a pirate—one out of five—more princely than larcenous with his golden hair and blue eyes. I wore the silky pink, off-the-shoulder gown of a coquettish lass. We hit it off the second we met and Ben swashbuckled me into his life.

Ronnie and I tried staying close after she switched colleges. The distance between us made spending time with Jack Harwood and Dana a natural choice for Ben and me. We never minded Erik or Missy tagging along. Chad always brought Amy, until they broke up before he moved back to Tennessee. Grant often showed up solo. I suspected we weren't his only friends. Ronnie dated a lot in those days. We were always meeting new guys from Wisconsin.

Ben used to tease her, “Your dating is like an interview process”.

It was about a week after our cookout with Jack, Dana, and Aunt Judith, and about the time when the pair of Jacks went away
that Dad's sister called from up north. Grandma Bain had taken a bad turn. Mom and I rushed to Duluth to help care for her because Dad had to stay home to meet with important clients.

Mom scurried around upstairs packing and shouting instructions to me that Sunday. I threw my clothes into my suitcase amid fits of sobbing because I'd lost my phone. Even if I'd had everyone's numbers written down, I only had time to make one quick call to Dana from our landline. Her number was memorized. In the hurry, I repeatedly muddled Ben's number and never did reach him before or after we left.

We'd had an argument the evening before over me moving in with him and Brian. Their two previous roommates had moved out and they needed at least a third to make the rent. But Brian ogled me whenever I stayed. Ben told him to stop, but the ogling continued.

Dana promised Erik would call Ben for me. I stopped midstep at the edge of our driveway. I stared at Caleb aiming the ball at the lamppost.

Dana had little time for Erik, but yet she had his number. More importantly, she had Chad's. I could not imagine what had happened over that summer to cause her to fall in love with Erik enough to marry him.

“Mom!”

I looked up and saw Caleb standing firm with his arms against his chest.

“When's pizza?”

“Suppertime. Of course. You're hungry now.”

He bobbed his head. He tried bouncing his soccer ball like a basketball, but it wasn't working well. “I want mac-roni n' cheese.”

I sent him into the dining room to clear his coloring books and crayons off the table while I fixed lunch. He'd no sooner left than he lolloped back into the kitchen wearing a twisted grin and lazily swinging his arms. He hopped around the far side of the kitchen trumpeting: “One little monkey, two little monkeys, three little monkeys, four—bonk—bonk—bonk!”

Pleased he stayed occupied, I smiled and went about setting out plates and dinnerware on the breakfast bar half listening to Caleb and half thinking about Dana. It had been kind of her to let our friends know about my grandmother. Ronnie's parents sent a flower-filled basket that Mom still keeps magazines in beside the chair where Dad eventually found my phone wedged between the cushion and the frame.

After learning about Ben's death, Dana offered me Chad's number. She thought calling him was the right thing to do. Within days, she convinced him to take me to Tennessee for the summer. I criticized her pushiness, but later I was glad. I blamed myself for not preventing Ben's accident by staying home. Chad was quick to remind me how I might have died on the back of Ben's bike, and taken unborn Caleb with us.

Chad helped me most. Ronnie lived too far away. Rick and Natalie were planning their wedding. Mom took a summer teaching position and Dad occupied himself with diversions. The two years between Tony's death and Dad's own brought him increasing absentmindedness. Grandma dying took a toll.

Dad took medical leave and found solace in gardening. He gained satisfaction visiting elderly Mr. Mumford down the street and walking the Mumfords' black lab. Creating the round patio was his last-ditch effort to return to normal, but his heart won out in the end.

I heard “Mom!” and looked up.

Caleb stood on a chair bobbing up and down a few seconds before he jumped down. He grinned impishly.

“That was funny.”

“It was pretend. I pretended a hundred jumping monkeys jumped with me!”

“What will we ever do with a hundred monkeys?”

He covered his mouth and giggled. “I think there might be only four.”

B
y mid-afternoon, after games of checkers on the veranda, I settled on the sofa with my ice pack and book while Caleb sat crosslegged in the chair next to the front window coloring one monkey drawing after another.

The house was quiet again apart from the rhythmic
tick-tock
of the beehive clock on the mantel. My eyelids weighed heavy; my shoulder ached. I propped a throw pillow behind my arm and laid my head back. I no sooner dozed off when what sounded like a dresser scraping across the floor upstairs brought me to my feet.

I looked back at Caleb. “That was a loud noise.” I ran to the staircase and called for Mom. “I thought Grandma went with Carl.”

His eyes opened wide.

“Mom!” No answer. I pictured my small mother straining herself to move furniture because she was too stubborn to ask for help.

Caleb scooted to the edge of his chair. His tablet dropped. A rainbow of pencils spilled across the floor.

“Stay here, buddy. I'll be back.” I burst into the bedroom at the top of the stairs. “Let me help you.”

I lingered dumbfounded near the doorway with my hand resting on the doorknob. No Mom, but the armoire stood between the closet and the bed. I saw no floor cleaner. No dust mop. No reason for the dresser to be pulled away from the wall.

I stumbled forward, tripping over my own feet. A car door slammed outside, otherwise all was peaceful in the neighborhood and the street below—until I heard the motorcycle. I pushed back the curtain.

The fenders and gas tank shone candy apple red. The sun glinted off the bike's headlamp and chrome when the bike roared around the corner behind Peterson's hedgerow.

The rider wore black leather, except for jeans, and the face shield on his black helmet was dark. He rode in the same direction as when we heard the bike passing the house at night. His head turned toward our house when he rode past. Something interested him enough to look at the property again. It was time for another conversation about that alarm system. Even so, seeing his bike in daylight was far more heartening than only hearing its roar late in the evening.

Before leaving the room, I pushed against the armoire. Too heavy. It was incredible how a solid piece of furniture had moved all by itself. It was incredible that a disembodied spirit could move what my body could not budge.

I left the room, focusing on the carpet runner in the hallway with my head bent. The pattern showed age. Old houses always needed repairs and refurbishing somewhere on the property.