C.J. Carmichael - The Dad Next Door

They’d been here for over a week. Why was it taking so long to get settled?

Maybe the task was overwhelming. Despite all the previous owners, not much had changed since the McLaughlins had lived here. The house desperately needed paint and new flooring. Allison hoped Gavin was serious about letting her help. Whether she was paid or not, it didn’t matter to her. She’d love to get her hands on this place.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Gavin was back. He noticed her scrutiny and shrugged apologetically. “It’s a mess, I know. I just can’t seem to motivate myself to deal with it.”

“Moving is always tough. It must be even harder when you have a young child.” And if you were depressed over the loss of another child.

She wanted to go back to what they’d been talking about earlier. The twins’ mother. Why had she left? Was she in touch, at all?

“That’s a good excuse. But I could be making better use of my time.”

“Well, if you were serious about letting me help you, I’d be glad to do it. I’ve always loved this house. I had a…” She paused. “A friend who used to live here.”

“Really? Who was your friend?” It was too dark to see Gavin’s face clearly. But he definitely sounded interested.

“Her name was Marianne McLaughlin.”

Gavin went still and silent. Had she said something wrong?

“You and Marianne McLaughlin were friends?” he finally asked, slowly, as if it were some unbelievable thing.

“Sometimes it felt more like enemies, but yes. We were in the same grade. Anyway, the point is, I know this house. Marianne had the run of the place when she was growing up, and we spent a lot of time here.”

She laughed, but Gavin didn’t join in.

“I’d been meaning to ask if you happened to know her.”

“Why—do you know Marianne, too?” Her good mood evaporated. Suddenly she felt a chill, as if a ghost had just brushed past her. She had a flashback to her childhood, to the feeling she’d get whenever Marianne took something of hers. It had happened a lot.

“Yeah. I knew Marianne, all right.” Gavin went to the kitchen and opened the high cupboard above the sink. Pulling out a bottle of scotch, he poured himself a glass, then looked at her inquiringly.

She shook her head no.

He downed his drink in one swallow, then looked at her again. “Marianne is the mother of my twins.”

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