Page 64 of Enemy Daddy Next Door

I nod. “Yeah. I guess so.”

Jordan pauses. “You’ve lived in that house your whole life, Amy. Isn’t it possible that you’re reacting to something else?”

I shrug. “I don’t know, I mean…the whole house ends up being a trigger sometimes. Making me think about my mom.”

“That makes a lot of sense. You’ve made a lot of new memories there, but your earliest ones there were with her, after all.”

I frown. “Sucks.”

Jordan chuckles. “Yeah. It does suck. Spaces are…powerful. Now you’ve got a lot of Hunter attached to things. The neighborhood, the gate…”

I conjure an image of the gate in my mind. Stare hard at it. The first memory that comes to mind…it should be Hunter’s former fling tripping into the yard or me sneaking through to make love to him just the other night.

There’s an untouched memory coming through. Someone walking through the gate hurriedly from our yard into Hunter’s.

Focus, Amy.

“I…” I close my eyes to concentrate harder. “I think…”

The person walking through the gate comes more into focus. A man. Trying to tuck in his shirt as he goes. Turning his head over his shoulder with a fleeting, nervous glance.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

My eyes pop open and my jaw drops. “Malcolm.”

Jordan’s forehead screws together, “Malcolm? You mean, your dad’s friend who your mom had an affair with and then…”

“Yes! Yes, that Malcolm.” Malcolm, Grant, and Dad were all college friends. For years, Malcolm and my mother had an affair behind my father’s back until it finally came to light. The second it did, Mom left with Malcolm and filed the divorce papers. They’re married now.

A hideous couple.

“What about Malcolm?”

“I remember…seeing him go through the gate. When I was younger. I don’t even think I knew what I was seeing.” There was one summer all my sisters were in camps while I stayed home with Mom. I was learning to read and spent most of the time sitting at my desk going through picture books. Research now, I guess.

Malcolm would visit Mom quite a bit while Dad was at work. Didn’t think anything of it then. In fact, I’ve blocked it out of my memory.

One afternoon, I remember seeing Malcolm hurriedly rushing through the gate in the back. I had no idea why, obviously. I was so little I didn’t know the terrible things people can do to each other. Not a minute later, I heard the front door open and Dad’s voice echo through the house, “Guess who’s home early?!”

Maybe I forgot about it because deep down I knew. Maybe I forgot about it because right when Dad got home, I rushed down to greet him and then he took Mom and me out for ice cream, just the three of us (a rare treat as the youngest of five).

Maybe I forgot about it because Mom acted like nothing had happened.

She has always been a very good liar.

“Oh, Amy…”

I’ve been so lost in thought I’ve forgotten myself.

“You think it was…”

“It had to have been. Right?”

Jordan’s eyes harden on me and then she nods. “It would make sense, regardless, that you would attach that memory to the trauma of your mom leaving.”

I grip the couch cushion beneath me.

“No wonder seeing that woman walk through the gate brought up so much feeling in you.”

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