Chapter 7
Landon
Ihad no desire whatsoever to spend my leave volunteering at a preschool, but I also didn’t think I had a choice. Mom’s heart was set on the matter, and I was dealing with enough guilt about being gone so long that I would have agreed to anything shy of singing Christmas carols to make her happy.
I’d always drawn the line at singing carols, and that wasn’t going to change any time soon.
Mom had been talking about the school all weekend, making it out like it was the answer to every problem that plagued humanity. Then, when she’d come right out and asked Mercy for a volunteer packet, I knew I was done for.
It didn’t matter that I had no experience with children, I’d volunteer for Mom.
But then Mercy threw a monkey wrench into the whole scheme.
“Do you even like children, Landon?”
Mercy’s question had thrown me off. What kind of a monster didn’t like kids? They were basically little humans who needed help and care, and I’d never thought about their struggles or issues. I had enough of my own shit to deal with.
But here was Mercy, two years younger than me with her shit together and refusing my help unless my motives were righteous. Did she treat all potential volunteers this way? If so, it was a miracle she had any help at all. Still, there was something so beautiful and pure about the way she talked about the school. I’d been right about her; she was like a campfire, blazing and bright. I finally understood why Mom had gotten caught up in Mercy’s fire for the preschool—why she was excited and happy about her job—and I had to admit that I felt a bit salty at being excluded.
“Why are you so passionate about what you do?” I asked Mercy while walking her back to her apartment after dinner.
I was holding the pan she’d brought her cobbler over in. It was empty, because we’d eaten the whole damn thing. Hell, I would have licked it clean if I’d thought I could get away with it. It was every bit as good as my mother’s, and the fact that Mercy had baked it made her even more of an enigma in my mind.
She gave me the side-eye but kept walking. “Aren’t you passionate about your job?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I guess. I like to save people. I like to know that they’re going to live and return to their families because I did my job, but I don’t talk about it like you do.” In fact, I’d never heard anyone talk about their job like Mercy did. Not only had she drunk the Kool-Aid, but she’d swallowed the cup it came in. It was clear to see that she was all in. No wonder she’d made director at such a young age.
Mercy stopped walking and turned to face me. It was cold out, but not raining. She was wearing her trench coat again but had left the blue umbrella at home. We stood under a street light, and with her long blonde hair and her pale skin, she looked almost ethereal as she folded her arms and stared me down. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Of course I want to know. Why would I ask if I didn’t?”
She blew out a breath. “Everyone asks questions they don’t really want the answers to. It’s human nature. We’re curious, but often regret that curiosity when it makes the conversation awkward.”
For someone who was usually so blunt, she was sure hesitating now. “I think I can handle an awkward conversation.”
She watched me for a moment more before continuing. “Fine. My mom was raped as a child.”
It was a startling way to begin the conversation, and I knew she was after a reaction, but I refused to give her one. “And?”
“And this is the part where you get uncomfortable and make up some excuse, so you can leave,” she said.
I leveled a stare at her. “I’ve been a combat medic for seven years and have had four tours in a goddamn desert. Uncomfortable is basically my permanent address. I’m sorry about your mom. What happened?”
Mercy seemed to consider me for a moment before she went on with her tale. “It was one of my grandmother’s boyfriends. The women in my family aren’t exactly good at relationships, and they tend to trust the wrong men.”
Her wording caught my attention. “They? Are you intentionally excluding yourself?”
“I don’t have time for any relationship nonsense. Besides, guys tend to run away screaming when you tell them you have sixty kids. Anyway, Mom didn’t have anyone she could turn to, nobody feeding positivity into her life or encouraging her to pursue her dreams. My grandmother was a horrible person and used to fill her mind with all sorts of messed up advice, like, ‘Marry for money, love will come later’ or ‘You can love a rich man just as easily as you can love a poor man’.”
“Thatisfucked up.” I glanced across the street at Mercy’s humble apartment building. It was obvious she didn’t come from money. “I take it your mom didn’t heed your grandmother’s advice.”
“I think she tried, and that’s how she ended up with my dad. He looked great on paper as long as you didn’t consider his history. He had a promising career in the Air Force, programming satellites at Moffett Airfield. He’s brilliant, but he has no common sense, which turned out to be pretty damn expensive. Alimony and child support for his four previous wives and children made quite the dent in his paychecks.”
“Four? Holy shit. Please tell me your siblings all have luxury car names.” I couldn’t resist bringing that up. In fact, I’d been waiting for an opening all night.
She cracked a smile, shaking her head. “So stupid. Beth told you about me and Bentley, I take it.” At my nod she continued. “Yep, all car names. Aston, Royce, Porsche, and Nova.”
I laughed. “That’s horrible, Mercedes.”
