The Truth About Mallory Bain by Clare Hexom Read Free Book Online

disliked your marrying Chad because she wanted better for you.”
    I guffawed. “Right. Remain single because Ben died.”
    â€œShe warned you Chad would never make a good husband. You snapped at her, Mallory.” Mother frowned. “She loves you. One day you will appreciate how much.”
    Time could never undo the animosity between Judith and me. Mother didn’t understand. I gazed across the yard, watching my aunt rise from the white bench. She strolled back to the swing. Her sour face told me she’d caught the scowl I’d sent her.
    Mom spoke barely loud enough for me to hear. “I admit Judith is eccentric. She loves her animals but her heart is with Steven. She’s tired of waiting to join him.”
    â€œShe’s suicidal.”
    â€œOf course not. But when life imploded, she embraced death.” Mom paused and shrugged. “She misses him terribly. And no, she definitely is not suicidal. She misses Steven’s love.”
    â€œShe needs a hobby.”
    â€œShe has hobbies. Learn a lesson from her grief. We know how much you loved Ben. Careful how you regard him thirty years from now.”
    â€œYou women are morbid. You’re saying she talks to Uncle Steven?”
    â€œEither she does or imagines she does. Assuming there is validity to her beliefs, it can’t hurt if you contact Ben. Say goodbye instead of ending up like her, grieving all your life over love cut short.”
    â€œMom. I don’t care—”
    â€œOh, apparently you do. You make quite a fuss over Judith. I’m guessing you think perhaps she’s stumbled onto the truth about the spirit world and you’re embarrassed to admit it.” Mom gathered plates and tableware. She went into the house, leaving me to sit by myself.
    My feelings for my aunt were more pragmatic. I thought about her as my father had. Those two bickered like badgers.
    During Thanksgiving dinner, the year Ben died, Judith took everyone by surprise when she remarked, “Old houses in old neighborhoods bury a multitude of sins.”
    We waited for her to cite examples supporting her claim but she studied the green beans on her plate instead. She pushed them one by one away from the heaping mound of stuffing plopped smack-dab in the center, like Kilimanjaro towering above the Tanzanian plains.
    Not every guest that Thanksgiving seven years ago had been family. My friends barely knew her. Mom’s friend Ginny Hughes politely tagged Judith “unconventional.”
    In their early twenties at the time, Dana and Erik’s shocked expressions worried me. I’d already lost too many friends. I feared losing them, too, because I was related to a strange, little woman who made odd remarks.
    I picked up my laptop and paused near the stone steps to watch Caleb a moment before going in to shower. I felt drawn to skim the recessed places beneath where the tallest trees grew in the farthest reaches of the backyard. I gasped when Judith appeared out of nowhere and stood two steps down.
    â€œWhy, first thing this morning a skein of honking Canadian geese flew over my house in perfect V formation,” she remarked nonchalantly. “And now, the katydids are buzzing and the crickets are chirping. You hear them, Mallory Anne.” She paused and smiled. “Listen. You can hear more. What you sense makes you nervous. You hear buried voices, don’t you?”
    Nothing was amiss except for the unsettling expression on her face. This was clearly a manifestation of insanity.
    The unseen man’s voice whispered again in my ear,
“Judith Johnston is the least of your worries.”
    â€œA presence resides close by, over there near the pines. I’ve sensed its presence for years, a few months past seven, to be precise. Listen with your mind. You will know when the presence draws near. It yearns for your attention, Mallory Anne. It brings you a warning.”
    She slipped around me, and after she