The Truth About Mallory Bain by Clare Hexom Page A

invited. He cancelled our Christmas and spent the day with my replacement, her kids, even her extended family on her father’s side. Strangers. His absence drove Caleb to inconsolable tears.
    We baked lemon bars and played with his new toys, one of which was Edgar. On Christmas afternoon, Caleb, Edgar, and I went for a long walk. I decided right then and there he needed to hear about Ben Holland. I told him mostly because he cried for Daddy the entire time he opened presents. He needed to know his real daddy didn’t want him to cry. Besides, his nighttime terrors about Chad kept worsening.
    A motorcycle thundered toward the house and jolted me from my reflections. I presumed it was the same bike we’d heard before. I looked out the window, to see if the bike stopped out front again. I hoped the rider was not a thief casing the property. Instead I saw the bike’s red taillight at the corner. Seconds later, the rumbling roar diminished in the distance.
    My heart pounded. That rumbling made me miss Ben more. I turned and faced Caleb’s bed. His Mickey Mouse clock ticked softly beside the framed picture of Ben and me.
    The bike had continued on without stopping, though I still didn’t know why he had stopped before. I supposed he worked evenings and was returning home, but it pleased me to know I might hear that roaring sound often.
    Letting my mind meander to memories of Ben had comforted me during my trouble with Chad. Ben became my fantasy retreat whenever Chad fought with me—whenever he stormed out of the house seeking pleasure only a cheater like him could understand. Those nights, abandoned and alone, I closed my eyes and imagined Ben holding me and kissing me and reassuring me life would get better. Fleeing to that safe zone, the secret place inside my head always restored my calm.
    But rekindling those memories resurrected a very dead Ben. Dwelling on him tricked me into believing he was less dead than he was. Such reverie is a dangerous game, teetering on the edge of mental collapse. But I liked my dreams, so I indulged them.
    I padded back to my room and hopped into bed. No sooner did I pick up my book than another breeze wafted over me. This timethe breeze lasted longer, blew an even icier cold. It tickled the wispy curls on each side of my face. I dropped the book in my lap and scanned the walls near the ceiling for a source of the cold air. An open register in the hallway must have caused the breeze. I trotted over to my bedroom door and shut it tight, reached for my phone and texted Rick to check for drafts the next time he stopped by.
    A short while later, my novel engaged me to the point I fell asleep, until a grunting noise from beyond the bathroom awakened me. The LED on my clock read 2:00 a.m. I pushed off my covers and stumbled out of bed. Caleb knelt at his window, Edgar on the floor beside him.
    â€œHey there. What are you doing?” I stooped down to his level.
    â€œTrying to open the window.” He pushed up and grunted again. “It’s st . . . uck.”
    â€œIt’s locked. And it’s supposed to stay locked.” I helped him stand. Giving a second thought to the T-Rex, I picked up Edgar, scooped Caleb into my arms, and carried them both back to bed.
    â€œA man’s knocking on my window, Mom. He’s gotta come in.”
    â€œWe’re on the second floor of a big house. No one is knocking on your window. There must be a tree close to the house. I’ll have Grandma call the landscaper to trim back the branches.” I stopped and looked at him over my shoulder. “I hope the knocking didn’t frighten you.”
    â€œIt kinda did,” he said with a quick shrug. “Mom. Tell the man why he can’t come in.”
    â€œThere is no one out there.”
    â€œIs so. You gotta say the land guy’s gonna cut the branch.”
    I stepped over to the window to appease him. I unlocked and raised the window, hoping a