Free The Truth About Mallory Bain by Clare Hexom Page A

expanse of the yard. I relaxed a moment in a chair across from hers and waited for Ben. I fixed upon her face. Expressionless and vacant graybrown eyes revealed twenty years of outrage over existing as a barren widow. I tried feeling compassion again, however, my heart recoiled against it.
    â€œI hear your Grandma Bain is quite ill,” she said.
    â€œI think she’s dying.”
    Judith sniffled. “I’m sorry.”
    The sound of the bike’s engine popping and rumbling low and steady heightened as it rolled up the driveway and stopped outside the middle garage door. Ben’s bike was the part of him neither Aunt Judith nor my father cared for. The one point they agreed on, actually. Aside from that dangerous bike, they both did like him a lot.
    â€œYour steak sauce is here.” Judith rose and walked over to the table. “I’ll put this hotdish in the fridge for your folks and Rick to eat when they get back.”
    â€œDad and Mom know about this evening, by the way.”
    She rolled her eyes at me and picked up the casserole to go back into the house.
    Ben bounded up the stone steps all smiles. Strange as it seemed, he had once told me how he liked Judith the best of all my relatives because he thought I was her favorite.
    His eyes sparkled when he thrust the plastic grocery bag at me. “Mrs. Johnston, it’s great to see you again.” He ran his fingers through his golden hair before he extended his hand to my aunt.
    She smiled and gently shook his hand. “Haven’t bought a car yet, I see.”
    Ben looked to me for direction. I peered into the grocery bag instead of bailing him out. When the weather was nice, we rode his bike. When the weather was bad, we drove my car, Aileen’s hand-me-down. Simple set-up for us really, but not one we ever mentioned to Judith.
    â€œWhat’s in the dish?” he asked, avoiding further conversation about his motorcycle.
    My family dynamics were no secret to him. Judith has always spoken without filters. Many of her opinions hold snippets of doctrine from various religions or from what she’s read or heard on the news and TV talk shows. She blends all that information with superstition, then proposes strange concepts on life and death she believes are true.
    Ben lifted the glass lid to view the contents topped with buttery crumbs. Insatiably hungry, he was drooling when he invited her to supper.
    â€œI’ll get another plate. Can I grab you a beer?” He ignored my scowl.
    Judith tagged along after him. I followed, grumbling to myself how they’d pushed me into an awkward situation, having my aunt butt in on our plans.
    Easygoing Jack would get along fine. Dana had met her a few times, but called her a joke. Judith is blood. Dana is not. And although I criticize, my friend needed to keep disparaging remarks to herself. It seemed at times though Dana disliked my aunt for no particular reason. But perhaps Judith had called her kooky to her face. Granted, I wasn’t always paying attention.
    My aunt settled herself out on the veranda with the cold bottle of ale Ben coaxed her into trying. She visited with him while he worked at the grill.
    Jack and Dana arrived at a quarter past four. Jack headed outside and Dana helped me in the kitchen. She showed up wearing a sleeveless, white dress—mid-thigh hem, bare back, and a neckline scooped low enough to cool off more than I cared to have Ben see. She sliced the rest of the tomatoes and managed to keep her dress spotless.
    During dinner, Aunt Judith leaned back in her chair and listened closely to Jack’s views on foreign affairs. He believed he had a nose for investigative journalism. A tentative move overseas was in the works. He promised to keep us informed of any changes in his life, but made no mention of trouble.
    Judith straightened in her chair. “I imagine your family is quite proud of you, Jack. I certainly would be if I were your