Page 77 of Enemies Off Camera
I fold the note and keep it, then place Jaxon’s coat back on the seat exactly how I found it.
My feet barely touch the ground as I lead Trey—my brother, seven years younger—into my house.
FIFTY-FIVE
Ioffered Trey coffee, tea, water—or even a glass of wine if he needed it for whatever this is we’re about to do—but he declined everything.
Now he’s made himself small on my sofa. He must be twenty-four, maybe twenty-five. He’s nervous, that much is clear.
“Okay,” I say, settling into the armchair across from him. “What are you doing here?”
I want to ask how he even knows where I live, but I don’t want to sound rude. After all, he’s my brother.
“You didn’t answer our calls because… well, you have us blocked.”
He says it like the words are scraping his throat on the way out.
I don’t move. Because he’s right. And up until this moment, I’ve never felt even an ounce of guilt about it. But seeing him here—wearing a surprisingly stylish jacket that pairs well with his black chinos—makes me feel… strange. Maybe even regretful. I don’t know.
Suddenly, he scoots to the edge of the sofa.
“Listen… I’ve always wanted to say this to you. I believe people are shades of gray. No one’s just one thing all the time. But my mother… she was the exception. She was one thing, most of the time—actually, all of the time.”
He pauses, watching me. Reading me. If he could hear my thoughts, he’d hear silence.
I’m confused. I expected him to defend her, to paint her as misunderstood. But that’s not what this is.
“I can count on one hand the number of times my mother didn’t act like a narcissist,” he says quietly. “Did you know she almost drowned me in the tub when I was a baby?”
He’s watching me closely now—like he’s waited years to say this, and even longer to hear my response.
I shake my head slowly. “No. I didn’t know that. I knew you were gone a lot during your first few years. I’d ask, ‘Where’s the baby?’ and Theo would say you were at your grandmother’s house. I thought…”
I close my eyes as a wave of old, buried sadness floods me. I can’t believe I’m about to say this.
“I thought she didn’t want the baby around me… because I would enjoy it too much.” My voice trembles, which annoys me. I don’t want to sound weak.
Trey stares. And I stare back.
It’s wild how much we resemble each other. We both favor Theo more than our mothers. Though I see traces of my mother in me, I see none of Stacy in Trey.
“If you had stuck around—though I completely understand why you left—I think you’d know… our experience with her was different. But not better. Just… different. You know?”
I lean back, stunned. “Wait—she tried to drown you?” Because that revelation has just sunk in deep enough.
His jaw tightens. “Yeah. She said she had postpartum depression. Maybe she did. Maybe she had it her whole life.”
He rubs his eyes. “I don’t mean to speak ill of her. She was my mother. I had to love her. But… she was?—”
“Abusive,” I say.
“Abusive,” he echoes.
The room suddenly feels too small, like the air’s been sucked out of it.
“We hated it,” he says. “Me, Linda, Bloom… we all hated it. The way she treated you. I want you to know that. Not everything my mother did was deliberate—she couldn’t help herself. She needed help, but she never got it. And it took Dad a long time to realize that.”
I sigh, feeling heavy all over—mostly inside.
