“Dude, it’s been like two days.”
“What’s your point? Love has no timeline.”
“I’m not having this conversation. Go get your questions answered and then I’ll get you’re a drink on the house.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Landon went back to his office to find something to occupy his time while his friends interrogated Kerry. While he was killing time, Landon reached into the back of the filing cabinet next to his desk and pulled out the large manila folder that contained his past.
He hadn’t sifted through the papers in two years and he didn’t know what possessed him to do it now, but some sort of subconscious demand compelled him.
Opening the file, he looked at his mug shot, taken at the age of seventeen. Instead of flipping the page, he brought the image closer. He always thought that he looked like a typical angry, cocky teen, but as he focused in at the eyes, Landon could see the weariness and the strength hidden behind the attitude.
Minutes passed as he stared at the untrustworthy kid that lost ten years of his life because of technicalities.
A knock sounded and Landon looked up to see Kerry’s head peering inside.
“The guys said they’d be back in an hour or so. They wanted to go ahead and check the cameras around the parking lot.”
“Thanks. Come here.”
Landon was surprised at the sense of calm he felt as she took the seat across from him. Her eyes dipped down to the paper in his hands as her curiosity grew.
“Recognize that kid?” he asked as he held out the paper for her to grab.
She scanned the image and then he knew when she realized it was him because her already large eyes grew double in size.
“Is this you?”
Leaning back in his chair, Landon closed his eyes and thought back to a time he wished he could erase completely.
“Let me tell you a story.”
***
Kerry slowly lowered the image of a young Landon and watched the man she knew that she was falling head over heels for, settle into his leather chair. He closed his eyes and relaxed his body as he tilted his head back.
She assumed he had wanted to talk about his past last night in bed, but she didn’t want to force him, and then she fell asleep listening to him talk about his brother.
“Let me tell you a story,” he had said and Kerry waited patiently for him to continue.
“I grew up in a small town in Ireland. A little blip on a map. It was the town my mother grew up in and everyone knew everyone. You couldn’t miss a day at school without everyone knowing.
>
“I don’t remember a lot, but I think we had a fairly happy family. That was until my mother died of ovarian cancer when my brother and I were about five. My father changed after that. He had never raised his fist to us before, but then suddenly, we were getting smacked around for the littlest of things. Not tying the trash bag a certain way. Having the volume on the television at an odd number. Running the water in the sink too long while washing dishes. You name it and my father would find a reason to get mad about it.
“We’d go to school with bruises and broken limbs, but no one would intervene. And the one-time Oliver called the police because I was knocked unconscious my father wormed his way out of the charges and then made Oliver pay. My brother had to miss school for a month. He still has a slight limp from where his leg didn’t heal correctly.”
Kerry felt the urge to speak up and comfort him and his childhood, but she could see that he was lost in the past, and that knowledge burned a hole in her stomach. She didn’t want him to relieve the horrors he had gone through, and somehow she knew that the story was about to get worse.
“When I was ten, my father got a job in the US working at a plant in Georgia. It devastated my brother and me to leave the only place that reminded us of our mother.
“He was working so much that the abuse eased for a few years. Oliver and I felt like we could be kids and enjoy things the way kids do. Except we let our guard down too soon.
“My father was fired for drinking on the job and then the abuse came back tenfold. There was no escape from him that summer and at fifteen, Oliver and I had to go find local jobs to help pay the bills. We begged to move back to Ireland, but our father refused. We came up with a plan to move back to Ireland after we graduated high school. Oliver had stayed in touch with my mother’s family and they were eager to have us home despite my father keeping them away from us after my mother’s death.
“We had a plan, you know, and that was what kept us going through high school. We could mask the bruises and broken bones with sports and lies. We knew from the past that the police in town wasn’t going to do anything. Our father was able to convince them nothing was happening every time. He really should have been a lawyer with the way he could convince everyone of his lies.”