Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2) (8 page)

Still, I’m on television, and I’m an honest man. I have to give an honest answer.

“To tell you the truth, Greg, I want to have as little influence on her as possible. I want God to be the ultimate influencer in her life, and if she needs me to guide her along the way, I’ll be happy to do that.”

He sits forward. “But you admit you want to influence that God takes center stage in her life?”

With a calm smile, I instinctively reach out and take Kennedy’s hand. She tenses at first but relaxes, g
r
ipping my hand back. Eyeing her as I answer the interviewer, I give her hand a tight squeeze. “Yes. I absolutely want God to be the center of her life. Before her mom, her friends,
or me.
I want God to be number one. At all times.”

Kennedy’s eyes widen, and before I know it, her hand slips out of mine and joins the other one on her lap.

While the cameras are still rolling.

All I want to do is get the hell out of here and go to class.

That’s it. That’s all I want to do.

Instead I’m kicking myself for letting go of Roland’s hand before the interview was over. What I
wanted
to do was shake away from it. Brush it off like it was the lava it felt like. I tried to slyly slip out of the most physical contact Roland and I have ever had. But, instead I did it in front of the nation and right after Roland suggested God should take top billing in my life.

It may have been better if I brought a picture of Trent and I making out on the hammock behind his house—taken by Mollie—rather than suggest through my body language that I do not, in fact, want God in the center of my life.

I don’t even know how I feel there, but now the nation—including most of CU
,
from
talk around campus
—will
think
they
know how I feel.

Sigh
.

Once the cameras stop rolling, Greg Mauer—who is far less attractive in person and smells like the cologne my grandfather wears—turns to me and extends a hand.

“You’re a very brave girl, Kennedy. Thank you for the interview. We’ll be in touch about an in-depth piece when you’re home for Thanksgiving or Christmas break.”

I’m overjoyed …

“Thank you,” I flash a force
d
smile. “I look forward to hearing from you.”

About as much as I look forward to my period.

All in all
,
the interview went better than I expected. Easy questions, easy answers. Greg Mauer promised viewers, however, that
they
would get to go “in depth” with Roland
and me
in the coming weeks. No doubt that will
cause viewers
to get all hot under the collar with speculation of how our father/daughter relationship is developing, or how my beliefs are or are not changing.

Roland finishes his goodbyes and thank-yous to the crew while I duck into the bathroom and scrub off the six tons of TV make-up that’s weighing down my face. Before facing Mom and Roland, I reach
for
my phone to find out what all the vibrating was about during the interview.

Mollie.

All the tension in my chest releases as I chuckle through her play-by-play texts.

Good hair day. Praise the Lord. That’s what we’re supposed to say, right?

Nice lips.

You think Greg Mauer’s an ass, don’t you
?
That eyebrow arch says it all.

Oh, we’re holding hands now?

But, the
coup de grâce—
her final text—confirms my fears.

Oh … no … apparently we’re NOT holding hands. Call me.

Taking a few more minutes to myself in the confines of the bathroom, I do just that.

“Hey superstar!” she answers after the first ring.

“Did my hand-holding faux pas look like I was dissing Roland or God?” I ask breathlessly.

“Oh …” she responds, sounding startled. “I hadn’t even thought of the God thing …”

“But now that I mention it?”

Mollie clicks her tongue. “I don’t know. I’m not them. I’m not
you
. Are you over
-
thinking this? It legitimately didn’t occur to me that it would be the God thing. Which would be worse for you?”

I pause for a moment. “I don’t even know.”

“Well,” she sighs animatedly, “one way or another you’re screwed with someone, huh?”

A laugh bursts from deep in my belly and I place my hand on the back of my neck, assessing myself in the mirror. “Most definitely.”

“Any word from Dan?”

“No,” I huff, opening the bathroom door and working my way to the kitchen. The kitchen has food. And coffee. Both are required if I’m to show up to class in twenty minutes.

She sighs again. “Keep me posted there, okay?”

“Will do.” Mom spots me and points to the coffee maker. I nod. “I’ll call you later.”

“Text me during class,” Mollie challenges. “I want to know what your post-interview life is like.”

I chuckle. “You’re mental, you know that?”

“I do. Oh! Before you go, consider spending a week with me at Yale.”

“How—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“Your winter break is a week longer than mine. You can come hang out with me for a while before heading back into Caanan.”

My mouth drops at Mollie’s Old Testament reference. The land promised to Abraham and his children by God. I just got that question right on a quiz. I think, honestly, it was put there for me. Beginner Bible stuff.

“I’ll think about it. I want to,” I’m quick to add, “but I need to check the rules. I’ve just gotta be
super
careful right now.” Suddenly, I’m missing Matt, and our private talks.

Back to the sort-of real world now, lady.

“We’ll think of something,” Mollie promises before hanging up.

“Who was that?” Mom asks, handing me a steaming cup of pumpkin coffee.

“Mollie.”

She exhales for a few seconds. “Oh.”

“No word yet from Dan?”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, well, yes, he did call me just before you went on the air. Promised we’d have a long talk as soon as he gets home at the end of the week.” Her cynicism is thick, but I don’t have the time or desire to probe. It’s their marriage.

“What’s your plan now?” I ask, leaning against the island. “I mean, I’ve got to get back to class and work and … life.”

Mom rounds the island and places her hands on my shoulders. “You did an excellent job, Kennedy.”

Here I thought our emotional circumnavigation would take us clear around the interview.

“Thanks. I mean it.” Setting my mug down, I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “Thank you for dropping everything for me this week.”

“I’d do anything for you,” she whispers, tears clearly cutting off her speech.

“You always do,” I reply, talking about far more than the past several years. “My entire life.”

We breathe deeply at the same time and each take one step back, chuckling at our mirrored movements.

“I need to get home,” she finally says. “But I want to make sure you’re okay.”

I look around. “I am. If I feel like I’m not, I can come here,” I say, gesturing to Roland’s space. “And if that doesn’t work, I promise I’ll come home.”

Her eyes wet again at my words. “Promise?”

“Promise,” I assure.

Roland reappears from the hallway by his study. It’s clear there’s a bathroom down that hall somewhere, given he looks like his normal non-made-up self, but I realize I haven’t had much of a tour of this place beyond the main areas.

“Hey …” I start as awkwardly as I’ve ever started a conversation with him before. “I’ve … gotta get to class.”

He gives that sweet half-smile he’s always given me. Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him give it to anyone else. “Of course. Well done today, Kennedy. He was a little
--
“

“Rabid?” I comment on the no longer sexy Greg Mauer.

Roland laughs. “A little. It
could
have been worse.”

“It could have been better,” Mom interjects. “I knew he’d ask a bunch of God questions, but …”

We all fall silent for a moment.

“Okay, well, I gotta go.” I hug Mom once more. “Call me when you get home.”

“Of course I will. Call me anytime. I mean it.” Backing away from our hug, she busies herself with packing away her laptop and clearing up the coffee mugs and assorted breakfast plates.

I still need food, but it looks like that won’t happen until after my first class.

“I’ll walk you out,” Roland says, clearing his throat.

Mom’s back is still turned while she fusses with the dishes, indicating she’s through with her goodbyes. Smiling up at Roland, I offer a tiny shrug and head toward the door.

“Sorry about the hand thing,” I blurt out as he opens the door. “I didn’t mean to—”

Roland’s smile is soft and his eyes scan the distance for a moment before moving back to my face. “It’s okay,” he reassures. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” I cut him off. “This one wasn’t you. It was me. Let me own it.”

His shoulders shake as he chuckles. “Fine, just this one. Do you want me to walk you to class?” He nods toward the front lawn. “It’s still kind of busy out there,” he says of the reporters and busybod
ie
s.

Craning my neck to see more of the view, my chest tightens at the site just beyond the iron gates. “No,” I smile, “my friends are out there waiting for me.”

Giving Roland one last wave, I confidently descend the stairs. Tuning out the murmurs of the lingering nosy-pants, I focus my sights on
them.
My friends. Matt, Eden, Jonah, Bridgette, Silas, and Maggie.

“You guys …” I start, my smile widening the closer I get to them.

Eden steps forward and pulls me into a tight vanilla-scented hug. “We love you, Kennedy. You were so brave today,” she says, stepping back. “I can’t believe you went on national TV!”

My cheeks are hot with vulnerability. I knew “everyone” would see the interview, but it’s harder with people I know. “Thanks,” I finally mumble.

“We wanted to show you how much we love and support you, Kennedy.” Bridgette steps forward and gives me a hug of her own. “So, we asked Maggie if she’d walk us off campus.”

Over Maggie’s shoulder, I see the guys—each offering their own brand of smiles. In fact, I think it’s the first time I’ve seen Silas really smile at all.

“You did a really good job,” he says, offering an awkward pat on my shoulder as Bridgette moves aside.

Jonah nods in agreement, sliding his hands into his pockets. “He asked some pretty tough questions.”

Immediately my eyes shoot to Matt, and I recall our conversation from yesterday. About political beliefs and friendships.

“Yeah,” I agree, still eyeing Matt, “but I meant every word I said.”

Just love them all.

Matt maintains eye contact with me as he slides past Jonah and extends his arms, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

Pulling me into a hug, he whispers in my ear, “You’re amazing, two, three …” He chuckles, stepping back, and I laugh, too.

While it’s not an official CU guideline that members of the opposite sex can’t engage in prolonged hugs, it’s
highly encouraged
that full-contact hugs last no more than three seconds. I’ve not seen or heard of anyone walking around with a stopwatch enforcing this suggestion, but I guess the goal is to avoid gratuitous physical contact.

We wouldn’t want anyone to get pregnant.

I bite my lip to stop the thought from vocalizing.

“So,” I manage, awkwardly as my friends stand around me, “who’s up for some Old Testament?”

Maggie accompanies us to the edge of campus before she veers off to her own class. It’s then that I realize that while she
is
supportive of me, she likely joined my friends to Roland’s house to keep up with the chaperone/odd numbers of boys and girls rule. She tells me to come by her room sometime this week to prepare for my meeting with Dean Baker
on Friday
, and I simply nod. My brain is on overload.

“What are the odds everyone in our class will just ignore me?” I say, somewhat nervously when we reach the double-doors of Loveland Hall.

Everyone shrugs nearly simultaneously, causing me to sigh. “Great,” I mumble.

Matt wraps an arm around my shoulders and pulls me to his side. “Just sit in the back with me, K. Sawyer, then if they’re staring at you, it’ll be obvious and they’ll get in trouble.

I don’t want him to let go, but I know he’s about to. Before he does, I lift my chin, peering up at him with wide eyes. Matt’s staring straight back at me, and the intensity of our eye contact causes me to let out a sharp exhale. He tightens his arm around me for what I’m sure is only a second, but it feels like a thousand before he drops his arm and I’m left flailing emotionally. Wondering what it is, exactly, about this boy that I can’t seem to shake.

Matt’s idea seems to be working. We got to class just before it started, sparing me from most of the gawking that would have been done had I been the first in the room and everyone else had to file past me. Instead, we just slipped into the back row—Matt on one side of me and Eden on the other. Jonah, of course, is on her other side.

Titling my head forward slightly, I catch a glimpse of the young lovebirds holding hands. They’ll do so until the bell rings, and then it’s strictly down to business. No hanky-panky while discussing the Book of Daniel. I think Jesus said that.

Despite my personal jokes, I can’t wait to get back to being CU-normal again. I’m dying to know what, if anything, is new in the land of Jonah and Eden. It’s doubtful, though, because the heavily restricted physical contact makes for less to giggle about after date night. That’s actually kind of a lie. If there’s one not-so-obvious benefit to the lag-time in reaching second base and beyond, it’s that couples here learn things about each other. Like
about
each other.
They
’
re favorite prayers, and how they
handle
stress and anger.
Not the birthmark on the hip just inside the panty line. Not the ticklish spot on the upper, inner thigh. None of that.

Before my exile to the New Life estate last week, Eden regaled Bridgette and me with tales of deep discussions she and Jonah have been having over lunch, phone calls as they walk to class on the opposite ends of campus, and texts long after lights have been turned out for the night. While they certainly spent some time discussing Bible stuff, most of their discussions revolved around mission work they each wanted to do this year or in the coming years. Stories from their childhoods that they didn’t already know after spending years together at summer camp and issues they’re having with their families at home fill the spaces where Trent and I were busy making out and the minutes I spent slapping his hands away from my panties.

Admittedly, the bit about family issues piqued my interest, as I sensed a strong discomfort between Jonah and his dad during Parent
s
’
Weekend. I didn’t ask any follow-up questions at the time, because I was still pretending I was only “pretty good acquaintances” with my roommates, rather than the true friends I need.

It’s time for follow-up. Not just to satisfy my curiosity, but to get to
know
them. The way they know each other, in ways I only know a few people. Especially boys.

“Dreams,” the professor
’
s bellowing, melodramatic voice commands my attention. “The Bible is drenched in dreams, and their interpretations. From the Old Testament through the Book of Revelation, God makes it clear that he often seeks people out in slumber. When their conscious mind might otherwise ignore or rationalize the voice of God as something else, God sneaks in the back door sometimes. When you can’t ignore him. Not only did God give people the gift of prophetic dreams, but
he
has given others the gift of interpretation. Sometimes they go hand-in-hand, but not always. That’s why, like in the Book of Daniel here, we see someone dreaming, and someone interpreting. And of course, the consequences of both.”