“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?”
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.”