corn. Gardening was his mother’s passion.
Now, I wondered if it wasn’t just a way to stay away from his father.
“Wonderful. Biggest tomatoes you’ve ever seen.”
“I believe it. Sometimes I still dream of your sugar snap peas.”
“They’re in season now, you know,” she replied. “You should come over more. We can have you guys for dinner.”
“We’d love that,” I said, meaning it. Maybe without his father there, it would be comfortable. Happy.
Maybe Landon could find a way to heal.
The afternoon drifted away, and by the time my toes started hurting, Landon was leading me toward the door, his fingers intertwined with mine. Matt didn’t miss the gesture, just narrowed his eyes and watched us go.
The protectiveness in Matt that had kept me safe growing up was now pushing a wedge between us. He would forever see me as the teen girl who might let boys take advantage. He needed to realize I was an adult now, responsible for my own actions.
Before he drove me away with his attitude.
Outside, we slid into Landon’s car. He didn’t speak as we pulled away, just twisted the steering wheel and stared at the road with hooded eyes.
Finally, I said, “That was nice.”
His eyes darkened, and he took a corner too hard, the car’s wheels squealing in protest. “That wasn’t fucking nice,” He ground out, yanking his tie off and tossing it in the back seat.
“Uh, what? Your mom--”
“That was the fakest bullshit I’ve seen in a long time. All those people saying my father was a good man, that he would be missed? The world is better off without him.” The Landon of yesterday was back, stewing, grinding his teeth. “What a bunch of bullshit. Did my mom forget how many bones she broke thanks to him?”
Whoa. I knew he was an asshole, had hurt his mother. But he’d never given any specifics. He’d show up at our house in a dark mood, and Matt would get him to play video games, get him to come out of his angry shell. And then the next day he’d go back home, like everything would be okay. “He broke her bones?”
He was shaking his head now, the anger boiling. “That’s the fucking least of it. The first time I ever drove a car, I was fourteen. And it was to take her to the hospital. And today she stood in front of a crowd of people and talked about a man that didn’t exist. If he loved her, he wouldn’t have hurt her like that.”
I leaned back in the leather buck seat, watching the dashed yellow line. “Maybe denial is easier.”
“For her,” he snapped. “She wants to pretend he was someone else. But for me? If I don’t acknowledge the truth of who he was, I get to be the angry son that hurt my father.”
“I watched you today. Watched as everyone gave their condolences. People don’t see you like that.”
He twisted the steering wheel in his hands, shaking his head. “Yes they do. They think I baited him.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Yes, Taryn, I did. Because I had to.”
“What do you mean?”
“I did what I had to do.”
I studied the hard lines of his face, trying to figure out how hard to push. Trying to find the line between his anger and his hurt, so that I could walk the tightrope. I decided to stay quiet.
“My dad would attack my mother,” he said, finally. “When I was little, she’d tell me to hide in my room, or to stay out of it. But I couldn’t take it forever. Eventually I got involved. And I realized that when his attention was on me, she was okay. Maybe at first I was so little that his attention just meant words. He’d yell at me a little and I’d cry and he’d fizzle out. But at some point, shit changed. It was either I take his fists or she would.”
I still wasn’t sure what to say. There was nothing about what he was saying that was okay. No way for me to make it better, to diminish the reality of what he’d gone though.
But Landon continued on his own. “By the time I was fourteen, I was taller than him. Stronger. And I could spot his rage from a mile away. He’d criticize dinner. Talk about something that pissed him off at work. How no one treats him right. And then before you know it, he’s standing up. Coming at my mom.”
“That doesn’t mean you baited him,” I said. “That doesn’t