The Truth About Mallory Bain (18 page)

BOOK: The Truth About Mallory Bain
8.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

Mom tossed the sandwich back onto the plate. “Don't you dare give me ultimatums. This is my home.” With a roll of her shoulders, she added, “Besides, you have no place to go unless you run back to Chad.”

“You're talking stupid.”

“Mallory!”

I tossed my head back. “Where we'd go is not the point of discussion here.”

Mom closed her eyes and smiled pacifyingly. “It's time we faced the truth—Judith has a gift.”

“The woman terrified Caleb and the rest of us, you included. I doubt Ginny Hughes will ever set foot in this house again.”

She uttered a few
tsk-tsks.
“Ginny's a twit. Give her two weeks until she's bored with her orchids and I'm the only person left on earth willing to browse dusty estate sales with her. She loves creating a tempest in a teapot. It's how Ginny is.”

“Aunt Judith creates tempests, too.”

“All right.” Mom patted my hand. “As far as my sister goes, perhaps she reacted strangely to an electrical malfunction.”

“We made up that excuse for Caleb's benefit. Rick found no malfunction.”

She rolled her eyes. “I will concede in part, only because I understand Judith gets a bit carried away when it comes to her spiritualism. I know we can't have her upsetting Caleb. I blame her peculiarities on Uncle Steven's untimely death, or even your greataunty Liz, for that matter.”

“Why her?”

“She keeled over dead in front of Judith when Judith was seven.”

I guffawed. “Oh, come on.”

“No, it's true. Liz was babysitting us kids, and while pinning up the hem of Judith's party dress, she clenched her throat and fell over dead. Aneurysm. Judith bawled for a week and demanded Daddy bring Lizzie back. 'Til this day, your uncle Tommy and I never discuss what happened in front of our sisters.”

“Why would you?”

“To make matters worse, Tommy teased Judith about Liz smacking the kitchen floor like a raw egg.”

“Our kitchen floor here?”

“Yes. The other side of the doorway leading into the dining room. Judith calls it the death place.” Mom paused. “Perhaps you would think better of her if I suggest she get psychological help.”

“Or a priest.”

“Now you sound like a dimwit from the dark ages. Burn my sister at the stake, why don't you?”

I glanced sideways, raising my brow. “Witchcraft and demonic possession aside, she needs help. Pam's quick thinking and my downplaying the ordeal held Caleb together, otherwise he'd be a wreck, which I am not ruling out yet.”

“Tommy is bringing his family over on Sunday. I need to tell him that what happened today is why Judith won't be here. They are expecting to see her.”

I hesitated. “She'll freak out again.”

“Tom will handle her.”

I sensed Mom was handling me to get her way. She ignored the likelihood Judith would act out on Sunday with a larger crowd to impress. I granted her this one exception despite the fiasco I expected. Strange behavior was Mom's problem and would be met with “I told you so,” for starters.

“Fair enough,” I said. “Invite her again, but Sunday is her last visit as long as we live here.”

I went upstairs with a terrible ache pounding the back of my head and neck. I hoped for a night of uninterrupted sleep. When I flicked on my bedroom light, Caleb cried out. He laid in my bed cuddled up with Monster and Edgar. I clicked off the light and fingered a pair of pajamas from the dresser drawer in the dark before heading into the bathroom.

I touched a soft towel against my chin and peered at my reflection. Too-pale skin and dark circles mirrored one of the walking dead. I considered whether or not the proximity to Judith was worse, equal to, or less detrimental to our well-being than living with Chad. I expected too much leaving Memphis. We should have stayed there and made do.

I heard whimpering from the other side of the door. A thump. I gave the door a gentle pull and Caleb toppled onto the bathroom floor, his thumb stuck in his mouth.

I knelt beside him and snuggled him in my arms. “Caleb, sweetie.”

“He's knocking on the window again. He's cold.”

“Who is cold?”

“The man.”

I caressed his head and worried how Judith influenced him even when she wasn't here.

“It's raining, Mom. There's water on the window.”

I listened to the pattering against the glass behind us.

“He sees me.”

“A person outside can't see you.”

Caleb bobbed his head. “He can.”

“Who does he look like?”

“Like a man. He keeps knocking but I can't open the window. It's locked.”

Goosebumps tingled my arms.

“Caleb, we never open a window or a door for a stranger. We've talked about strangers before.”

He balled his hands into fists.
“You never hear me!”
His voice was deep, throaty as Judith's had been.

My heart froze.

His body started shaking. His own voice returned loud and demanding. “I told you. He's cold! He's getting all wet!”

“Look here, Caleb. Nobody is opening any windows for a stranger, whether they're real or in a dream.”

“I am not dreaming!”

“I didn't say you were. Exactly.” Nor did I believe he had a nightmare. “Crawl back into bed. You'll sleep with me tonight.”

He pulled himself to his feet and rubbed his eyes. “Look out the window. Make sure he's okay.”

“After you're tucked in.”

He jumped into bed and pulled the covers up onto his chest. I stepped over to the window and lifted the curtain. Two red palms laid flat against the glass. I fell backwards to the floor. Backlight from the bathroom illuminated bright red liquid dripping down the window.

My mouth went dry. Caleb busied himself tucking in Edgar and Monster. I scooted on my hip over to the window and rested my back against the wall. Using my finger, I pushed pack the curtain's edge again. Clear rainwater rolled down.

“Mommy!”

My voice was too weak to answer.

“Did you fall?”

I shook my head, took in a deep breath. I had to file the fright fast—under the heading “Nightmares Caused by Chad Stress” or “Judith's Gruesome Mind Games.”

After taking a few moments to recover, I got up and flicked off the bathroom light. I kissed Caleb goodnight. He seemed to have already forgotten the man at the window.

Judith would understand these strange occurrences, whether imagined or real. And either she cared enough to protect us or we were tools in her conjuring. I now believed we had simply entered the eye of the storm when we left Tennessee. A greater storm was circling around us. Troublesome thoughts about killings and death rolled around my head until I fell into a restless sleep.

Two uneventful days passed, and no more nightly visitations. It seemed the entity chose not to disturb me more than he already had. Mom spoke only when necessary. She put on a calm front and donned a cheery face for Caleb's sake. I did the same for the sake of her party guests.

Judith arrived first on Sunday. She knew better than to approach Caleb without being told. He accepted without fuss my
insistence that he avoid her completely. I told him she wasn't well. No further explanation was necessary.

She surprised us with “welcome home” gifts—for me, a pair of leather gloves and a soft, gray plaid scarf with lines of burgundy and navy. She brought Caleb a book about a frisky black-and-tan puppy she claimed looked exactly like one of her dogs.

Perhaps she had paid attention to the puzzle he'd chosen to put together with Mom two weeks earlier and when I hung my new navy coat in the front closet on Thursday. I pictured her sneaking a peek at my coat before rushing off to the mall with loving intentions despite my having banned her from Mom's house. I shook off my guilt and reminded myself how much her behavior had terrified my child.

She parked herself in the overstuffed chair in the farthest corner of the living room and assumed the role of sullen observer. Her gray clothes blended into the upholstery well enough that at a glance it was nearly impossible to distinguish her from the chair. Her persistent looks, along with her pretentious smile, inferred she knew I had encountered her presence again.

Uncle Tommy unknowingly rescued me from her stares when he snapped open a folding chair beside her. From my vantage point in the dining room, I saw he engaged her well enough to divert attention from me. I turned and faced the wall of windows on the other side of the dining room table.

The other guests mingled as normal people do. Many already knew each other. And everyone enjoyed the luncheon. Apart from a few relatives, neighbors, and close family friends, there were several guests I barely knew and a few I'd just met.

A man coughed out a laugh behind me. I stopped fidgeting with the floral centerpiece and nonchalantly glanced over my shoulder. My cousin Will. He'd made no attempt to disguise his alcohol breath before he arrived. He splashed his drink when he plopped down on the sofa beside Elaine Engstrom's single daughter.

Ronnie stepped behind me from the kitchen and offered a goblet matching the one she held in her hand, half full of crimson wine. “I brought you a bit of liquid courage.”

“Thank you.” I took the stem and lifted the glass. “A pleasant reprieve.”

She shrugged. “Rick sent me. He says you've been noticeably absent from the festivities.”

“I've been socializing.”

“I see.” Her eyebrows lifted. “All by yourself at the buffet table.”

“A gathering place.”

Ronnie bent her head and whispered. “I counted seventy-seven, but I probably missed a few.”

“Amazing.” I chuckled. “Three weeks ago, I didn't know seventy-seven people, including my dental clients.”

“The boys roped the guys into a ping pong match. You ought to go down and watch.”

“I will.”

“Caleb is good.”

“As was Ben. I'm glad you're here.” I gave her a sideways hug. “Caleb would call you the bestest.”

“Ha! He already has. So you got the job. Congratulations.”

“I did. I nailed the interview.”

“Of course you did. When do you start?”

“Tomorrow morning for a few hours.”

“That's fast. I'm happy for you. So, tell me what kind of impression Sam made on you.”

“A good one. He is perfect for you and I love his accent— smooth.”

“Too bad . . .” she paused and looked away.

“You were going to say, ‘Too bad Ben isn't here.'”

“I'm sorry, Mallory. That was insensitive.”

“Don't be. I like talking about Ben. For years I kept him all to myself.

“Talking does release bottled-up emotions.” She winked and sipped her wine.

She had no idea the bottled-up emotions I stored. Since hearing the bike pass our house each day with few exceptions, the return of those romantic moods surprised me. I covered a small plate with hors d'oeuvres.

“Eating for comfort. Yet you stay thin.”

“Keeping up with a little boy helps.”

“You need to call them.” Ronnie sipped from her glass.

“Call who?”

“The Hollands. We'll drive up one Friday or Saturday. Email pictures first. Ease them into the fact they have a grandson before showing up at their front door. He looks a lot like Ben. Might be a shocker seeing him for the first time.”

“Right. Hi there, folks, here's Caleb!” I laughed easily and spontaneously with her.

“I'm getting drunk,” she chortled.

“On a Sunday afternoon at your friend's mother's house. Tell Sam to quit working long hours. You need a life. In fact,
I
need a life. Let's plan a girl's night out.”

“Sounds good.” She handed me a napkin. “I'm always game for a night out.”

My enthusiasm renewed. “Dinner. You, Dana, me.”

Her expression dulled. She picked up a bacon-wrapped artichoke from my plate and bit it in half.

“Well?”

“You know,” she said reflectively. “I've left Sam alone too long. He's sociable, but he is the new kid on the block. Join me downstairs. Your sister-in-law needs company with all those matronly friends of your mother's down there. That Elaine, though, she's a hoot. My mom and I love her already.”

Sam had been quiet until the party was in full swing but he was doing fine on his own. The jokes between him, my brother, and Ed King flew nonstop. Her using him as an excuse to change
the subject felt wrong. She had sidetracked our conversation away from Dana again and was not ready to share the reason why.

“All right, then.” I set my plate on the butler's trolley. “Downstairs it is. And I get it. No activities with Dana.”

Ronnie looked askance at me. She said nothing.

“I should check on Caleb anyway. He had a restless night.” I started walking toward the downstairs staircase. Ronnie followed.

Other books

Bound To Love by Sally Clements
The Rotten Beast by Mary E. Pearson
Waterloo by Andrew Swanston
Riders on the Storm by Ed Gorman
Sharky's Machine by William Diehl
Scalpel by Paul Carson
Around the River's Bend by Aaron McCarver
The Quilt by T. Davis Bunn