The Boss Project by Vi Keeland

Merrick shook his head and dragged a hand through his hair. “That’s Kitty. Takes care of everyone else, but doesn’t prioritize herself.”

“Yeah. My grandmother was the same way.”

“Is she in two casts?”

“One hard cast and a removable boot for the sprain. She’s not happy about it. If there’s any kind of saw in the garage, we should probably hide it. I wouldn’t put it past her to try to take it off herself.”

“Good idea.”

Over his shoulder, I noticed Merrick’s briefcase sitting near the front door, but when I glanced around the room, I didn’t see any suitcase.

“Where’s your luggage?”

“It didn’t make the flight to Atlanta. The connection was too tight. Hopefully it will show up tomorrow.”

“Oh, that stinks. Well, my suitcase is in the guest room, but I’ll move it out and stay on the couch after I finish this wine. You must be tired from all the traveling.”

“You’re not sleeping on the couch. I’ll be fine right here.”

Kitty’s two-bedroom house was small, and so was her furniture. I eyed the tiny sofa. “You won’t even fit on that thing.”

“I can fall sleep anywhere.”

I looked around the room and sighed. “It feels so strange to be here and not be able to go next door. It’s the first time I’ve been down here since my grandmother’s house sold. I’d rented it for two years after I moved because I wasn’t ready to part with it yet.”

“I’m sorry. That must be hard.”

I smiled sadly. “At least I have a lot of good memories. Your grandmother used to come over and sit on my grandmother’s porch every night after dinner. When I was working on my PhD, I practically lived at the library. Sometimes I’d come home at ten or eleven, and the two of them would still be out there, laughing their asses off and often loaded on spiked sweet tea. They used to drink it out of mugs so the neighbors would think they were drinking regular tea. I’d walk Kitty home and make sure she got inside alright, and she’d twist my arm to have a goodnight shot of whiskey with her. Then I’d go back next door, and my grandmother and I would sit outside a little longer on the porch.”

Merrick smiled. “I was eight when my grandmother gave me my first taste of whiskey. I remember my mother being pissed.”

“The new owner took down the treehouse in the back. I loved that thing.”

“I remember the treehouse. I was in it a few times.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, when I was a kid and I’d come down to visit my grandmother, sometimes I’d go check it out when they were sitting around on the porch. I remember it had a lot of pink in it—pink plastic refrigerator, pink pillows, pink frilly lampshade, even though there was obviously no electricity.”

I smiled. “That was all me. I hadn’t honed my decorating skills yet.”

“Wasn’t there a poster of some boy band, too?”

“Not a boy band. Burt Reynolds.”

“Burt Reynolds? The old actor who died a while back?”

“Yep. I had a major crush on him. He was the voice of the German shepherd in All Dogs Go to Heaven. I loved that movie and his voice. I watched it over and over again. One day my mom and I were in some store, and I found an anniversary movie poster of Burt Reynolds in Smokey and the Bandit. I made her buy it for me. I thought he was so good looking.”

“Ah… So this is a pattern for you,” Merrick said.

“What do you mean?”

“Finding older men attractive. I do have three years on you, you know.” He winked.

I snort-laughed. “It’s funny how we both spent so much time here, but never ran into each other.” I shrugged. “At least I don’t think we did. To be honest, I don’t remember too much before the age of ten.”

“How come?”

“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?”