Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2) (5 page)

“That didn’t take long,” Kennedy mumbles as we exit Word and immediately cross the street.

“What, the girl?” I tilt my head toward the coffee shop. She nods and I shrug.

There is definitely some awkward tension between the two of us, and the crappy part is it isn’t even
about
her. I’m too angry to verbalize that, and I’m resting on my assumption that she doesn’t have a weak stomach in the self-esteem department and, therefore, isn’t internalizing my silence. I keep my head down and she follows my lead as we work our way through the retail district.

“Do you always walk with your head down?” she asks, almost cautiously.

As if on script, I reply, “It’s kind of a habit they drill into us in high school.”

Kenned
y
zips her denim coat as a cool breeze tears down the sidewalk. “They? Us?”

I wave my hand in the air. “Yeah, sorry. Us as in guys an
d
they as in everyone in our whole life who wants to teach us to remain sexually pure.” My voice is tense with leftover venom from my conversation with my father

“Okaaay,” she draws out quietly. “Here,” she says louder. “Let’s turn up here. There’s a trail.”

I grin, lifting my head. “That’s where I was going.”

“Good.” She skips ahead of me, running across the street to the head of the trail.

I get the first good look at her I’ve had since leaving New Life this morning. She’s still in the same clothes, but something looks different. She’s smiling as she waits for me to catch up, but there’s kind of a grey look in her eyes that isn’t normally there. Her eye color is grey, I’m not blind, but it’s different. A grey emotion, maybe. Typically she’s on—eyes pointing in all directions at one time, focusing like a detective on a mission. Right now, though, her eyes are somewhere else.

Following her into the trailhead, I sit next to her on a long flat boulder. It’s amazing how only a few yards of thick trees can block out most of the noise of the shopping district that sits just on the other side. The only noise
s
here are birds and people walking or running the several mile
s of
trail that winds around the outskirts of Asheville, allowing for stops at CU and New Life along the way.

“Are you doing okay?” I finally manage a polite sentence.

“Are
you
okay?
”
She crosses her legs and leans back on her hands, facing me with a grin. The sadness is still evident in her eyes, but her smile is challenging it.

I shrug. “I don’t really want to talk about my dad right now, if that’s okay with you.”

Kennedy pulls her feet up onto the rock and her knees into her chest
.
“I don’t either.”

“Easier for me than you, I’d say.”

She chuckles. “My stepdad’s the one who sent that picture to Roland. The one when I was five.”

My eyes bulge. “
What
?”

“The plot thickens,” she draws out with an eye roll.

“Are you okay?” I repeat with more intention.

She shrugs and runs a hand through her hair. “I don’t know. I mean, before I knew about the picture I didn’t have any scenarios in my head. But, once Roland told me that story, I crafted all of this backstory about my mom longing to have him in my life, or feeling eternally bitter about it … I don’t know. It wasn’t true. Now I need a new backstory.”

“We all need a new backstory,” I mumble. Not soft enough, apparently.

Kennedy leans forward, and for a minute I’m nervous she’s going to push me on the issues with my dad. “What would yours be? If you could craft your history at this very minute, what would it be?”

I chuckle. “And it would still have to land me up here at CU?”

She nods. “Just the backstory. The present is fixed.”

Puffing out my cheeks while I exhale, I consider the question. What kind of life could I make up for myself that would still have me come to CU? My real one had me going here, then not going here, then … here I am.

“Come on,” Kennedy encourages with a soft elbow to my ribs. “I’m giving you a chance to change your history!”

I sigh once more. “I guess I’d give my dad a break and my mom a spine. You know, in case giving my dad a break didn’t pan out.”

Her eyes widen for a fraction of a second. “Would you still be a Christian?”

“I’d have to be to end up here, wouldn’t I?”

With a grin, she bites her lip and looks into the distance. “I don’t know …
n
o, I don’t think so. New question. Backstory aside, would you renounce your faith right now if you could?”

I pull my head back. Grateful she’s not probing my backstory change, Kennedy’s new question still offends me. “What do you mean if I could? I could walk away from Christianity anytime I wanted to.”

Sort of. Maybe.

“Do you want to?” she challenges.

I grin. “What’s with you?”

“Look,” she sighs. “I don’t know what’s going on between you and your dad, but I do know he’s a burnt out pastor who caused you and your family a lot of pain. Wouldn’t you want to walk away from that if you could?”

“Not wanting to be a PK, and not wanting to be a Christian are two different things.” I force myself to say the logical words, even if I don’t believe them most of the time. The two are so entwined in my life, and in those around me, I don’t know if they really
are
two different things.

Then it hits me. Despite my encouraging her to embrace her new identity as a PK, I somehow forgot through this conversation that she is just that. “What about you?” I question.

“I don’t think I have enough information on this whole PK thing to make a proper assessment.”

I tilt my chin toward her. “Based on what you know, then.”

She lets out a sharp laugh that startles a group of birds in a nearby bush. As they disappear into another tree, Kennedy looks at me. “Based on what very,
very
little I know, I’d say it’s amazing that any of you are still Christian. It reminds me of my Catholic friends back home.”

“How so?” I don’t know a lot about Catholicism, but I
do
know it has nothing to do with preacher’s kids.

“The rules. Being under the thumb of your family, church, or God. Rules, rules, and more rules. Ways to pray, who to pray to, a freaking rosary so you don’t forget how long you’ve been praying, or something—I don’t actually know what a rosary is for.” She shakes her head and closes her eyes, seeming to refocus herself. “Anyway. It seems to me that you—and the Catholics—feel like you’re being watched all the time. By others and by a punishing God.”

I have to give her credit, for the weight of the things I’ve heard Kennedy say, she manages to do it in the least offensive or caustic way possible. I’d love it if she could grow up to be like Roland in profession and passion, but now isn’t the time to dump that on her. There will likely
never
be a good time to tell the beautiful Episcopalian girl that she
could become as influential as her father.

“I don’t know about all of that regarding your Catholic friends, but you’re pretty spot on with the PK
’
s. Though, I should mention I don’t really feel like God is a punishing God. In fact, from what I’ve read, Jesus spends most of the New Testament talking about love and forgiveness. That comes from God and we’re supposed to share with each other.” I eye her cautiously out of the corner of my eye. Despite my assertion that God is love, I’ve got my doubts based on personal experience.

Anger and doubt don’t have to be the same thing.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to discern the voice in my head. It’s been hard to tell lately if it’s the voice of God or the ingrained, trained voice of my upbringing. The ability to call on quotes or scriptures that help Christians get through the crap in their lives. There’s been lots of radio static lately, though, so I’m going to take this as His voice. And I’ll challenge him on it later.

Kennedy nods approvingly. “That’s what Episcopalians talk about the most, you know. The love that God has for us, and the amazing things that can happen from that. I’d say maybe we’re not so different after all, but, that’d be a stretch.”

I laugh and rock my head side to side. “I think everyone probably has it wrong.”

“Yeah? You’re probably right. Although, I have to admit—parentage aside—I like what Roland says. A lot.”

“I do, too,” I admit. “He seems to have his act together because he’s actually reading Jesus’ words. Not how those words fit into some political agenda.”

This isn’t really the conversation I planned on having with Kennedy right now, if at all, but here we are. Steeped in theology.

“I kind of wish he’d talk about some of those things sometimes, though, don’t you? Like, I don’t know, maybe if he doesn’t change people’s minds he could at least get them to think a little clearer about the issue
s
.” Kennedy unfolds her legs and plants her feet on the ground, lifting herself up. When she stretches her arms overhead, looking up, the bottom of her shirt rides right to the waist of her skirt.

I clear my throat. “Like what issues?” Standing, I follow behind her as she makes her way further down the trail.

She shrugs. “Gay marriage?”

“You mean homosexuality,” I challenge. “That’s the root issue.”

“Whatever.” She waves her hand in the air but stops her feet on a dime.

Turning around, I find her standing with her hands on her hips. “What?” I ask.

Her eyes are cautious, but fierce. “Where do you stand on homosexuality?”

I swallow hard. “I don’t stand on it at all. I’m straight.”

My attempt at humor falls flat on her as her lips tighten. “Matt.”

Letting out a nervous chuckle, I shove my hands in my pockets. “I’m a football player raised in a pastor’s family from Georgia, Kennedy … I …”

“I didn’t ask you what everyone around you thinks. I asked what
you
think. Apart from how you’ve been raised.”

Taking two steps toward her, I tilt my head in challenge. “That’s not fair. You don’t have an opinion other than the one you were raised with, do you?”

She opens her mouth, then closes it for a few seconds before opening it again. “That isn’t the same thing. My opinion doesn’t oppress people.”

I huff through my nose. “Which is how you see it.”

“So you’re against homosexuality,” she states dismissively, passing me as she walks down the trail further.

“I didn’t say that,” I call after her, quickening my pace to catch up. “Hey,” I tug lightly at her upper arm when I reach her, stopping us and forcing her to turn to me. “I didn’t say that. All I said was neither of us can be sure which opinions are ours, or from our upbringing. Maybe we’d both learn something if your—if Roland preached on those topics, huh?” I try to be careful not to call Roland her dad unless she does, but sometimes it slips out.

She shrugs, avoiding eye contact.

“Hey,” I say again, relishing the feeling of her arm—covered as it may be—against my skin. “What are you so afraid of here?”

“What are you so afraid of here?” Matt’s gaze is strong as he looks down on me.

At me, maybe. I hate that I always assume the worst.

My eyes fall to his hand, which sits on my arm. He drops it, and I immediately curse myself for silently calling attention to it.

What am I so afraid of?

Everything.

“Everything,” I admit. “I’m afraid that your political opinions will make me want to not be friends with you anymore. I’m afraid that mine will make you think the same way about me. And, if I’m being totally honest and practical? One of us is right. That’s it. And everything changes for the wrong one. This issue is about as black and white as it gets and there are hundreds more like it.”

Matt runs a hand over the top of his head a few times before bringing it down over his face, where he leaves it over his mouth. Thinking, it seems. I wait in the uncomfortable silence, thankful that he’s both still here having this conversation with me
and
he hasn’t turned vile.

“Okay,” he says in an exhale after several seconds. “New rule.”

“Yay,” I say sarcastically. “I love rules. What is it with you people and rules?” I chuckle nervously shifting on my feet.

He shakes his head and reaches out, playfully pinching my arm before he allows us to continue o
u
r hike through the woods. “Let’s just … not talk about the political stuff, okay? We’ve got a lot of heavy stuff going on with our families and this
school
. Let’s just be friends for a while before we beat each
other
over the head with politics,
‘
kay
?”

“Crap,” I blurt out with a giggle.

“What?” He laughs, looking at me like I’m a weirdo.

“You meant to say crap a few times in there, didn’t you? You said
stuff
twice in a row. At least one of those was supposed to be
crap
, right? You can say crap with me, Matt.”

He throws his head back and laughs. “No, I can’t.”

“Why?” I bite my lip and look down, my hormones creating soft heat in my cheeks. I dig my hands into my dress pockets just to be on the safe side.

“Because I respect you. And words. I know how powerful words are and I don’t want you to think I take either thing—you or the words—for granted.”

I let this sound out of my mouth that’s somewhere between a growl and a sigh.

“What?” Matt asks, grinning ear to ear.

“Even for a jock you’re, like, this storybook kind of guy.”

“Is that a good thing?” He lowers his head, looking at the ground, but keeps walking forward.

“We’ll see,” I tease. “There are all kinds of books out there. And all kinds of guys in them.”

Matt chuckles. “Yeah, and the Bible is full of shady characters.”

“Oh!” I remove my hand from its protective casing in my pocket and smack Matt’s shoulder. “Speaking of shady characters, did you know Asher is a Christian
?
Like the
you
kind of Christian?”

I don’t think Asher is shady, per se, but for the context of the conversation, that description fits him fine.

“A
like me
Christian?” Matt pokes fun at my breathy high-pitched voice. “Yeah, I know,” he answers when his husky tone returns.

“He says passively …” I goa
d
, throwing us into third person
.

“What?” He shrugs. “He helps run this prison ministry a couple of towns over. Roland helped him get it off the ground last year.”

“How in God’s—how do you know this?” It’s dangerously easy for me to let my guard down around Matt. I need to remember the rules and the etiquette. Not just CU’s rules, but, like Matt said, words are power and suddenly I
don’t
want Matt to think I’m casual about my use of God’s name.

“My dad and Roland are friends, and around the time I found out you were coming to CU, they were also talking about the prison ministry. I asked them both if I could work at it when I got here, but they said I’d have to wait until I was older, more mature, and the program was more solid.”

“Why wouldn’t Asher tell me that? He was all evasive during our conversation earlier. Couldn’t he have just told me he was a super-Christian?” I joke.

Matt laughs, and I’m continuously grateful my lame attempts at humor are finding an audience here at CU. “I haven’t talked much about you with him, but Asher’s the kind of guy that likes to challenge people’s perceptions. Like he’ll sit back and wait for you to have everything figured out then—
Bam!
He shows up with how it really is.”

I sigh. “Kind of seems like a lot to go through to make someone feel like a jerk for their assumptions.”

“Eh,” Matt shrugs, “it’s kind of a part of his whole ministry. He doesn’t have to do much work to get people to assume. He doesn’t lead them to believe things that aren’t true. He just is constantly challenging people to be better. Think better.”

While I’m at first annoyed that I couldn’t see straight through Asher, it forces me to examine my perceptions further, and start thinking about how I want people to view me. Of course, I can’t control what people think, but I can control how I present it. What they do with it after that is between them and God—and how they grew up, I suppose. It seems that
’
s
what Roland does, too. He says more in the space between his words, sometimes, than he does in the actual sentences.

“Oh,
sh
hhhooo
oot
,” I hiss, really drawing out the second word to prevent myself from falling into using the swear.

Matt lifts his head. “Wh—uh-oh.”

With our feet stopped, our eyes are fixed on the same thing—my mom and Roland walking at breakneck speed down the trail. Right toward us.

“Kennedy! Are you crazy?” Mom shouts.

Before I can respond, Roland holds his hand out as if to tell her to calm herself. Despite the sour look on her face, discernible the closer she gets, she obliges.

“Great,” Matt rumbles, taking a deep breath. “I think our time as fugitives from the CU guidelines has just come to a swift end.”

Judging by the stern look on Roland’s face, I’d say Matt is spot on. Luckily, we don’t have to wait long for confirmation.

“Kennedy,” Mom starts again. “You cannot just storm off like that and not tell us where you’re going and not answer your phone.” She’s breathless from however long she and Roland have been tailing me.

“Actually, Mom, that’s exactly what storming off
is
.”

“Watch your tone with your mother,” Roland cautions sternly. Not a full-on disciplinarian tone, but one that sinks my stomach, and my self-righteousness, in a heartbeat.

Noticeably, Matt stiffens at my side. He stands even straighter
;
though I didn’t realize that was possible, and his shoulders seem to involuntarily pull back as he lifts his chin.

Interesting.

“Sorry,” I answer, eyeing both adults.

Mom
opens her mouth to speak, but Roland gently cuts her off. “Look, we know that everything has been up in the air over the last few days, and rules have been bent and overlooked to accommodate all of us while the dust settles. But, that ends now. We’re all accountable to the rules and not taking advantage of the courtesies offered to us.” His eyes move between me and Matt.

“I’m sorry, sir. Ma’am.” Matt’s southern accent seems thicker as he formally addresses my parents with a polite nod.

Immediately I’m beating myself up for Matt having this face-off with Roland. Sure, it was his idea to take this walk, but if he hadn’t gotten himself mixed up with me, he’d probably be studying in his room or the library right now. Just like everyone else.

“Sorry,” I whisper to Matt.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers back while we’re in front of our two-person firing squad.

Mom speaks up, taking a deep breath before she does. I’m thankful Roland kept her quiet for so long. She tends to be a bit excitable unless she has a minute to collect herself. “Kennedy, you’re going to come back with me to Roland’s where we’ll gather your stuff and take you back to your dorm. Roland is going to walk with Matt back to campus.”

Roland nods, “I’m willing to cover for you two right now, but this is the last time. I can’t—won’t—do it anymore, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Matt and I answer at the same time.

I’ve never called anyone
sir
in my life, and Matt seems to sense this, judging by his sly grin.

“Matt, we’ll go grab a coffee and have a chat before heading back.” Roland straightens his shoulders and a curtain of calm falls over his face. He’s once again regained his composure, putting an arm around Matt’s shoulders and turning him around to exit the trail from where we’d entered.

“Thanks for the talk,” I call after Matt, wanting everyone around us to know that that’s all we were doing—in case there was any question.

Matt grins over his shoulder. “Any time, K. Sawyer.”

Mom loops her arm through mine and tugs me back in the direction we’re to walk. Back to the New Life Palace. Roland’s house.

***

Mom and I were silent the entire walk to Roland’s house. Not a record-breaking silence as far as the Sawyer women are concerned, but uncomfortable nonetheless. The only words she spoke when we crossed the threshold into Roland’s house were instructions to collect my things and meet her at the car.

There were a smattering of reporters and curious passers-by lingering around the iron gates, but I was so consumed by the vacuum of my day that I didn’t notice them until we drove toward campus in Mom’s Prius.

“Kind of funny that you an
d
Roland have the same car, huh?” I’ve not mentioned this to Roland, but he wouldn’t likely find the same dark humor in it that Mom is sure to.

She runs her tongue across the front of her teeth. “I drive it because I care about the environment. He drives it because New Life wants everyone to think
they
care about the environment.”

“How incredibly judgmental of you.” I’ve grown tired of her incessant slamming of everything in my new life.
Huh, my new life at New Life. Clever.
Though, I realize most of it is how she’s always been, but being away from it for long stretches has given me a fledgling sensitivity.

“And,” I throw in, “I’m not sure how anyone who ships a car from Japan can be
that
concerned with the environment. They don’t even make these in the US.”

“Whatever, Kennedy,” she snaps. “Don’t get that attitude with me.”

“Oh? I thought that’s what you valued most about me
;
my ability to think and speak for myself.”

She sighs loudly and I notice her eyes cloud with tears. “Just give it a rest for a minute.”

Then, it hits me. The note. For thirteen years she’s had no idea that her beloved husband made contact with the man that wanted nothing to do with her or their daughter. While it was just a picture Dan had sent to Roland, it was such a personal piece of my mom’s story, I’m sure she’s feeling betrayed.

I reach for her hand when she puts the car in park in front of my dorm. “Have you talked to Dan?”

She shakes her head, looking down. “I’ve left plenty of crazed messages
,
so as soon as he’s in from the
ice
he’ll be sure to call me right away.”

Dan’s latest business trip is to NHL training camps, as hockey season
is
underway. As part of
his
professional outreach, he travels nearly year-round to various collegiate and professional sports training camps to train their medical staff on what to do in the event of an emergency during the game, practice, or whatever. Further, he works with the athletes to teach them how to better protect themselves. His trips the rest of the year are usually only a couple of days at a time, but training camp ones are a solid two-weeks long and he’s busy from sun up to sun down.

“What did he say to you when you two talked last night? What did you say for that matter?” she asks, resting her head back against her seat.

It was a miracle I was able to reach him yesterday before announcing myself as Roland’s daughter at this morning’s service. I have far less trouble getting a
hold of him than Mom does, but he also likely knows if I’m calling him, it’s not just to chat. We’ve never had a chat-like relationship.

I mimic Mom’s position—head back and eyes up. “I just told him I felt like it was really important for me to take this step. That I truly didn’t think Roland posed an emotional threat to me, but that I needed to fully wear this identity for a while.”

“And he said …”

“That he understood.” I swallow hard and lean forward, unbuckling my seatbelt. “He said that I was a grown woman and he respected my decision. Where are you staying tonight?” I ask, opening the door and pointing to the back so she’ll pop the trunk.

She gets out and leans against the car while I fetch my small bag from the back. “Hotel down the street. It would be too weird to stay at Roland’s with
out
you here.”

“It had to be even with me there, no?”

She shrugs and shakes her head at the same time. “This has all been very weird. I honestly didn’t think much about it for the last day and a half. We were so focused on getting you through this in one piece.”

Holding out my arms I do a slow spin. “Mission accomplished,” I say with a smile.

“We’ll see after the Today Show tomorrow, huh?” She pulls me into a tight hug and whispers, “I love you, sweet girl,” before ho
ld
ing me out at arms length.

“I love you, too, Mom. See you at the butt-crack of dawn tomorrow?”

She laughs and pinches my chin between her thumb and forefinger. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“Because of you,” I reassure before slinging my bag over my shoulder and walking into a normalcy I crave—my dorm.

That I would ever call
anything
in this place normal never crossed my mind at the beginning of September. Still, ascending the quiet stairs, a peace fills me that I’ve been missing for the past few days. Looks like I really
can
do this.

Turning the doorknob to my room, I pause for a brief second to think over Matt’s words to me.
Let’s just be friends for a while before we beat each other over the head with politics.
Certainly my roommates have things going on in their own lives that I don’t even know. They’re closer to each other than they are to me, and that is no doubt in part because I’ve been too busy observing them from a clinical perspective. They’re people with families, hearts, and homes. And, I need to focus on treating them that way if I want to have a friendship worth anything while I’m here.

There will be plenty of time for politics later.