The Truth About Mallory Bain Read Online Free

away.
    Caleb bolted upright and shouted, “Don’t go!” His eyes wide, his body rigid.
    I dropped the window and secured the lock before sitting back down beside him. I wrapped the bedsheet and comforter around his small body and snuggled him close to me.
    â€œI won’t ever leave you. Why did you think so?”
    He frowned. “I don’t know. I just said it.”
    Separation anxiety again. He was only six. Nearly nine months and still fragile from when we lived with Chad.
    â€œWas that my dad’s bike?”
    I winced with heartache but stroked his small back to calm him. “It sounded like his bike used to.”
    â€œI miss him.”
    He never knew Ben. He missed having a good dad.
    â€œI miss him too, baby.”
    Caleb showing Ben-like sweetness stirred up my old heartache again. The one Ben’s death brought. I hoped the dim light from the dinosaur lamp on the dresser hid my pathetic attempt at feigning happiness.
    Ben Holland’s bike was most likely rusting away in some distant Manitoba junkyard. He was killed seven years ago last May, after all. Since then, the sound of motorcycles evoked bittersweet memories for me. Memories of our time together, and the terrible memory of my family arriving home from an unplanned trip to learn a fatal accident had taken Ben away from me and his unborn child I carried inside me.
    Nearly a decade gone by. We needed to leave sadness in the past. Make our fresh start. Meet new friends. Have a life without tears or being afraid to be at home with Chad Powers, during those years when he was my husband.
    I leaned my head back against the headboard and waited for Caleb to fall asleep. I listened closely in case the guy on the motorcycle returned. My heavy eyelids closed. Tired and exhausted from driving since before dawn, I’d made the straight shot, an eight-hundred-fifty-mile trip from Tennessee to Minnesota. Risky.
    Dana had argued how taking Caleb out of school was reckless. He’d already started first grade in Bartlett. Maybe my decision was risky and reckless. But I had felt compelled to leave. Since hisMinneapolis school started after Labor Day, he’d only miss the first few days, days of material he already learned in Tennessee.
    I rarely act on whims. Whenever I do, my decision is significant—for good or for bad. Dana’s persuasiveness almost convinced me to stay put. Maybe she was right. The people we’d met after Chad and I split were good people. They might have become lasting friends, but my family lived in Minnesota. Minneapolis was our real home.
    I gave Caleb’s wrist a gentle tug to pull his thumb out of his mouth. He held on tight and sputtered. I waited, listening to plips of rain tapping the windows. I rose after an unbearable coldness penetrated me with a chilling sensation, as if being locked inside a walk-in freezer.
    I eased onto the floor, careful not to awaken my son. Both windows were secure, free of drafts. I tiptoed around the familiar room, which had once been pink and decorated in the girly-girl style of my older sister. I checked for vents letting in the cold air. None were found. Satisfied Caleb would stay warm, I clicked on the light above our bathroom sink for a nightlight, and when I left his bedroom, I thought nothing of leaving the door wide open.

    An herbal aroma and whiff of lemon beckoned me into the kitchen. Brickwork, black wrought iron, and rich red oak cabinets created the familiar coziness I’d missed for years. Copper pans and wicker baskets hanging above the center island, burnished bronze lantern lights, a stone floor of rich red-browns and deep grays. A warm castle room, where maidens sip tea and share dreams about lovers returning to their waiting arms.
    Mom glanced over her shoulder and caught me watching, daydreaming.
    â€œMy gosh, Mallory, you’re wide awake. You are a more unstoppable woman than I am.”
    â€œI learned from the