“It’s called dissociative amnesia. Our brain sometimes blocks things out, often as a protective mechanism after a traumatic event. I was ten when we left my dad for the last time. Usually his abuse came at night, when he’d come home drunk and start with my mom, so I was already in bed. I had this little pink clock radio with rhinestones on my nightstand. If I heard screaming start, I’d bring it under the covers with me and put the music on next to my ear.” I paused a moment. “That last time, he was perfectly sober, and I wasn’t in my room. It happened here at my grandmother’s. We’d come to stay for a few days, and he wasn’t happy about it. So one afternoon, he waited until my grandmother went out and then snuck inside. I don’t remember all the details, but apparently my dad made my sister and me sit on the couch and watch while he beat Mom up pretty badly. It was an extra punishment for her because she’d left without ironing his shirts.”
“Jesus Christ.”
I shook my head. “It was pouring that night. After, my sister locked herself in the bedroom, and I ran to the treehouse. But when I got to the top rung of the ladder and was trying to climb in, the ladder fell away from the tree, and I wound up dangling from the edge of the treehouse floor. I was crying hard and the rain was pelting down, and my fingers were slipping. The boy across the street, Cooper, saved me by putting the ladder back. Do you remember him from your visits?”
Merrick shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Well, at least I think it was Cooper who helped me. I didn’t stop to look once I got back on the ladder. Years later, I asked him about it, and he said he didn’t remember. But I prefer to think it was Cooper who saved me, rather than that I unknowingly accepted help from my father—who could have come out of the house. Anyway, I remember that treehouse and that little rhinestone clock so clearly, but I can’t remember a lot of other things about my childhood. That treehouse made me feel so safe. My grandfather built it for me for my fifth birthday. He died the following summer.”
Merrick frowned. “I’m sorry you went through all of that.”
I shrugged. “It made me stronger in a lot of ways. Not being able to remember got me interested in how the brain works, which eventually led me to study psychology and become a therapist. And that treehouse I loved so much is where I got the idea for my Airbnbs. I know my grandparents would be thrilled at what I did with their property, and all of the profits are donated to an Atlanta DV shelter—the one Kitty founded.”
“God, you must think I’m such a dick.” Merrick rubbed the back of his neck. “I basically made fun of your rentals when you told me about them during the interview, and all the profits go to my grandmother’s charity.”
“Nah. I know renting treehouses and a glamping site sounds a little odd. I didn’t think you were a dick for that.” I grinned. “There were so many other reasons to think you were a dick. You know, like you telling me you were hiring me because I was the least-competent candidate.” I paused and smiled. “Sorry. We had a deal that I wouldn’t bring that up anymore.”
Merrick hung his head. “I really am an ass.”
“At least you own it.”
“You know, I ridiculed your upbeat personality when we first met because we’re so different, and I didn’t understand it. But maybe I can learn something from you.”
I cupped my ear and leaned to Merrick. “What was that? I didn’t hear you. I think it might have been another compliment. Can you repeat it?”
Merrick lifted his glass of wine. “If you tell Will I just said that, I’ll deny every word.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
“I don’t think I ever actually apologized for the way I treated you at first. So I’m sorry.”
I smiled. “Thank you. But you can’t appreciate the beauty in someone without seeing the ugly. You just got your ugly out of the way to make it easier to appreciate the good parts.”
His eyes swept over me. “I’m not sure that’s always true. I haven’t seen any ugly side of you.”
Oh wow. That made my belly feel all mushy. You know what goes good with mush? Wine—lots of it. So I drank half mine down.
A few minutes later, we’d both emptied our glasses, and Merrick yawned.
“What time zone are you on right now?” I asked.
“I have no damn idea.”
“Welp, on that note, I think it’s time for me to let you get some sleep. Are you sure you don’t want the bed? I really don’t mind the couch at all.”
“I’m good. But thank you.”
I went and grabbed a blanket and pillow from the guest room and returned to set them down on the couch. When I got to the doorway, I stopped and looked back over my shoulder. “Thanks again for, you know, saving my ass.”
Merrick’s eyes dropped to my butt, and his lips formed a dirty grin. “Anytime you need to drop your drawers and bend over a knee bare assed, I’m your man. Let’s just say, it wasn’t miserable for me.”
I winked. “I might’ve enjoyed it a little myself.”