Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2) (3 page)

That’s got to be Matt’s dad in the doorway. Matt looks like him the way I look like Roland—unmistakable. Though, unlike Roland
and me
, Matt and the man in the doorway have the same hair, making them look like twins born a couple of decades apart.

I have no idea why Roland and I thought this little luncheon would be a good idea. It’s so damn awkward. Mom doesn’t know where to look, Roland doesn’t know where to stand—though he’s settled with Matt and the man in the doorway—and I don’t know what to do. Though, the alternative was to not see any of my friends until class tomorrow, and I didn’t want to do that, either.

“Give me a second,” I whisper to
Mom
, indicating that I
do
, in fact, want to talk to her alone, but need a few minutes to talk to my friends first. She nods, her eyes not fully focusing on mine even though she’s smiling.

There’s an empty chair across from the couch holding Silas, Jonah, and Eden, and next to Bridgette. I throw myself onto it like I weigh six
hundred pounds, and offer a loud sigh.

“Thanks for coming, guys. Sorry this is so weird.”

Bridgette leaves her chair and gives me a tight hug. “You were great, Kennedy.”

“For real,” Eden agrees as Bridgette sits back down. “There’s no way I could have stood up there and done what you did. In front of all those people
.
” She shakes her head rapidly. “No way.”

“It was pretty brave of you,” Jonah interjects.

“Thanks,” I mumble, running a hand over my hair and looking over at Matt. “Is that his dad?” I ask of the group.

“Must be,” Eden leans forward. “They look exactly alike, and I don’t think he has any older brothers.”

Silas claps his hands together and leans forward so his elbows are perched on his knees. “It is,” he answers with certainty, but offering nothing else. “So, now what happens for you?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I go back to my regularly scheduled life starting tomorrow?” I break into nervous laughter and most of the group follows. Silas doesn’t laugh much as it is so I didn’t really expect him to follow.

“I mean,” he continues, “what’s your plan? Are you going to, like, work with Roland here? Change your major? Move in with him?”

I huff through my nose. “I don’t see why any of those things are necessary right now.”

Silas shifts in his seat. I don’t
know
that I’ve ever seen him sit still for very long. “You’ve got a big commitment to take on, Kennedy.”

Jonah leans forward, arching his eyebrow toward Silas. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Silas faces Jonah, “she’s gotta kind of get her act together, don’t you think? She can’t keep working downtown and skate by without doing volunteer work now that people know who she is.”

I clear my throat and wave. “I’m over here. And, why can’t I work downtown? At the university-approved coffee shop?” I arch
my
eyebrow as I throw that last bit in.

Silas gives an aggravated-sounding sigh. “Because. Because I guarantee you if there are kids on this campus who are questioning and who hang out with more liberal ideas like you do, they’re going to be paying attention to you and everything you do. If they have a true heart for Christ and are watching you for cues, you don’t want to be a stumbling block for them, do you?”

I clench my teeth for a brief second before releasing them and licking my lips. “If they’re looking at me before Jesus, they’ve got problems I can’t help them with, Silas. I didn’t
ask
to be Roland’s daughter,” I remind everyone. And myself.

“But you
are
,” Eden speaks up.

Jonah nods. “None of us get to choose who our parents are, but we’ve got to deal with them, don’t we?”

“People still need role models, Kennedy,” Bridgette offers softly. “And, for right now, you’re going to be just that, for a lot of people.”

I roll my eyes. “Matt says there’s a band of disenfranchised PK’s who
need
me.”

Jonah flashes a melancholy smile but Eden cuts in before he can open his mouth.

“And I think you need some of us, more than you did before.” Her voice is soft but intense. A dynamic she masters. More like a pastor than the wife of one, which she aspires to be.

I nod. “You’re right. I was supposed to spend some time this semester with Maggie sort of getting my act together to fit in around here. And, we haven’t done that.”

“It’s not about fitting in, necessarily. It’s about being heard. Like,” she takes a deep breath, “those girls at Planned Parenthood. You knew how to talk to them without even
thinking
.”

“It was terrifying,” I admit.

Eden shrugs. “Whatever. You pulled it off. Now you need to be able to do that with people around here, too. You have stuff to offer, Kennedy. I’ve heard you in prayer sometimes. You don’t say much, but what you do shows your clear heart for God. You’re a lot like your dad, you …”

She keeps talking but I can’t hear her words. I stand and lift my hand. “Not really in the mood for familial comparisons right now, Eden.”

“Sorry.” She looks down and I instantly feel bad. For a second.

“It’s fine. I’ll be back in the dorm tonight, okay? I’ve got to go talk to my mom.”

Like your dad …

Shaking the cobweb of offense from my head, I offer a weak wave to my friends. Before returning to my mom, I note that Matt and the man I’m calling his dad are still talking in the doorway with Roland. When I’d looked over before, Matt was gone, but he’s back and staring at the floor. I don’t have time to wonder where he went, but I do anyway. Really I just want to go stand next to him. He’s been my only port in this storm.

Mom meets me halfway. “Can we talk?” she whispers in a clipped tone.

“I was just coming to get you.” I know she must be reeling from my statement about being Roland’s
daughter
, a title I did not clear with her. But one that’s mine for the choosing, anyway. So, I gently grab her hand and lead her to a room just off the green
room. It’s unlabeled but has two chairs in it, so we sit.

I’m sorry
.

It’s my first instinct to say that to her. To reassure her that I’m sorry for blindsiding her, if that’s how she felt. Or that I’m sorry for it seeming like
I
ditched Dan, though that’s not what I did. But, I don’t say it. Instead, I situate myself in the uncomfortable silence of a Wendy Sawyer emotional standoff, and wait for her to pull the trigger.

A few seconds later, the sound. A heavy exhale as Mom’s tired, wet eyes meet mine. “Oh Kennedy,” she whispers. “What now?”

Finally, my tears come. Hard and fast like a broken levy after a raging storm. “I don’t know.” My head falls to her shoulder and we hold each other crying silently, like we always do.

We don’t bawl in front of each other. That’s far to
o
vulnerable. Screaming matches? Sure. Silent treatment? We’ve mastered it. But loud tears? No, tears are as reverential as prayer around the Sawyer house. Private and quiet.

“I’m sorry,” I finally do say when I pull my head from her shoulder. “It’s just … Roland and I have been getting close this semester, and—“

“Which you haven’t told me anything about,” she cuts me off, sniffing.

I wipe under my eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I really am. I just … needed—”

“To do this on your own.”

“Right,” I snicker, “kind of like finishing a sentence.”

She chuckles halfheartedly.

“But,” I continue, “Roland showed me that picture you sent him when I turned five, and the note, and I just thought—”

“What?” Mom’s tears cease as she pulls her head back.

I huff. “Seriously, though. Let me finish.”

She shakes her head. “Kennedy, I’ve never sent Roland a single piece of mail in my life. What picture are you talking about?”

My mind races in a “life flashing before your eyes” sort of way. Polaroid-like images of my conversation that day with
R
oland whip through my head, along with the images I created for myself. One of him on the floor swimming in Bourbon and self-pity, and another where he’s clutching the picture of me in the sundress. Literally hanging on to it for dear life.

“Kennedy,” Mom snaps. “What damn picture
?”

“Shh,” I instinctively reply to her borderline curse. I’m sure enough time has gone by that she’s forgotten about it, or she was fantastically intoxicated when she slapped the stamp on the envelope
and
addressed
it
to the future pastor.

“Stop it,” I hiss. “You know the one, you don’t have to pretend you don’t. The one from my fifth birthday. The sundress with the flowers. The yellow one.”

Mom brings her hand to her mouth and I think I’ve finally gotten through. Briefly her eyes close, and I assume she’s done so to remember the moment she sealed the envelope and tucked it in the box at the post office, unable to retrieve it once the heavy metal door slammed shut.

“Kennedy,” she whispers when her eyes open, “I’ve never sent Roland mail. Ever. Was it just a picture?”

I shrug. “I guess. With a little note.”

“That said …”

“I just thought you’d like to know. That’s what the note said.” I stand, moving toward the door, needing an answer.

Mom meets me at the door, her hand over mine as it rests on the handle. “We’ll figure this out later,” she says in a rare moment of composure. “Don’t bring it up now. We’ve got all kinds of other… shit … going on out there.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, my attention refocused, “like what the …
w
hat is Matt’s dad doing here? That
is
his dad, right? And, how do
you
know him?”

She smiles, opening the door. “See what I mean? All kinds of shit.”

“Your
mouth
.” I roll my eyes.

She rolls hers back.

“I’m serious,” I insist. “
Please
.”

Mom’s face falls slightly. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“Hope you took time off from work,” I mumble as we exit the side room. She playfully pinches my elbow as we reenter the increasingly awkward atmosphere of the green
room.

Jonah stands, followed by the rest of my friends. “We gotta head back to campus and get some studying done. See you around soon, right?”

Instinctively, my eyes flash to Mom, Roland,
and
then Jahara. “Yes,” I lift my chin and answer. “I’ll be
in
class tomorrow.”

Jahara steps forward. “Excuse me,” she interrupts as politely as possible, “but you’ve got the Today show tomorrow morning. The eight-AM slot.”

“Cool,” I reply with a thousand pound block muscling its way through my throat. “I have class at nine so I’ll be fine.”

I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Please let me be fine.

She clears her throat. “They also want to talk about doing a longer interview that they can air during an evening slot.”

“We can schedule that for Thanksgiving break, then. I need to study and get through the next week. And, if they want me in New York for that, it’s not a far drive from my house.”

Jahara starts to reply, but I cut her off. “If they want the in-depth interview, Jahara, they’ll take it when I can give it. We aren’t the ones asking them for this exposé. They’ll do it when I’m ready.”

Eden and Bridgette’s eyes widen and Silas and Jonah shift uncomfortably as their hands search for their pockets. It occurs to me that they’ve likely rarely spoken to an adult the way I just spoke to Jahara. During
Parents’ Weekend
I heard little more than “Yes Sir” or “Yes Ma’am” as Jonah addressed his own parents.

“Sorry,” I soften my tone toward Roland’s assistant. “Sorry,” I repeat with a deep breath, shaking my head. “Just … during Thanksgiving break, please.”

Jonah approaches me with eyes so full of compassion I think I might break apart. When he places his hand on my shoulder, I think I do break. Just a little. “Hang in there. This is just a thing.”

I huff with a grin. “Just a thing.” I nod and hug Bridgette and Eden before the
y
exit the room.

Silas hangs back for a second and my breath catches when he leans forward to whisper in my ear. “It’s like you’ve come home. That’s how they’re all going to see it. Keep your wits about you in that interview tomorrow.”

The goose
bumps on my neck remain long after he and the rest of my friends disappear down the hallway. I don’t need any further explanation. He’s right. All of the people my dad calls “church” think I’ve
come back
. What I
do
question, though, is Silas’ use of the word “they.” Isn’t he part of
them
? Perhaps he was just using pronouns for the sake of conversational ease, but I make a note in the back of my head to tease apart his semantics when I have a moment to myself. Whenever that will be.

“If you ladies will excuse me,” Jahara says to me and Mom—who I forgot was standing right
behind
me, “I’ve got some PR work to do in my office. I’ll be over at Roland’s house at six o’clock in the morning to go over things for the Today Show. Please be ready by then, Kennedy.”

“Of course,” I answer politely, not wanting to overstep my bounds with her more than I already have.

Once Jahara moves through the doorway, Matt, Roland, and the semi-mystery man join Mom
and me
in the center of the otherwise empty room.

“Kennedy,” Matt says my name with a depressing amount of formality. I want the adults to all go away. “This is my father, Joseph Wells.”

I take the sweaty palm of the super-sized Matt and smile. “It’s nice to meet you. Your son has been incredibly kind to me.”

Wistfully, Joseph looks at his son. “He’s growing to be a good man.”

When my eyes shift to Matt, I find nothing accepting of this compliment. Another reason I’m wishing the adults away—I want to know
what
is going on between those two.

“Buck,” Mom’s voice dials up an octave as she pulls him into a hug. An affection I’ve yet to see her share with Roland. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Wendy,” he replies as if she’s a sight for sore eyes, “you too. You too.”

I look at Matt again who’s face is scrunched in the same confusion mine is.

“All right,” I interrupt, waving my hands. “What is all of this? Mom knows Buck, Buck knows dad, and Matt and I just can’t connect the dots.”

“We went to college together.” Mom waves her hand as though this is the most obvious thing in the world.

Matt and I turn toward each other again before Matt addresses his dad. “But, you told me you and Roland connected at a conference ten years ago.”

Buck shrugs. “I was helping him get off the ground, Matthew. I didn’t want to get too comfortable talking about his past when he wasn’t sure how he wanted to handle it.”

Roland’s face gr
e
ys. “Buck was on the basketball team with me, and tried to keep me away from the drugs, but …”

“They were stronger for him than God was at the time,” Buck enters.

“And,” Roland continues, “he was a good friend to your mom during that time and after I left school.”

Suddenly it’s the adults who don’t know where to look, and Matt and I are left seemingly in charge of the next move.

“Food?” I shrug, tilting my head to the side.

Matt laughs a little too hard at my non-joke, highlighting the tension he must be feeling toward his dad. “Please.”

“We’d like food,” I repeat to the three adults in front of us who each look a little lost in their own way. “And not this stuff.” I point to the untouched table of deli meats.

“If you don’t mind,” Mom says, snapping out of the past first, “I’d like if Roland and I could talk to Kennedy for a little bit alone.”

Sigh.

I know she wants to investigate “Picturegate, Part Two”, but I desperately want lunch with my friend. Time to act like the teenager I still am.

I sigh audibly this time. “Do we have to do this now?”

“Actually, I’d like to have some time with my son one-on-one, since I couldn’t make it to
Parents’ Weekend
,” Buck so unhelpfully adds.

I click my tongue and roll my eyes toward Matt. “See you in OT class tomorrow?” My resignation is swift as I’m mentally preparing for the dicey situation ahead.

Matt shrugs, giving me a half frown-half grin. “Guess so. Take it easy on the news tomorrow, okay?”

“I will.”

As Buck and Matt walk stiffly out of the room, Matt plays with his phone
,
and a second later my phone vibrates with a text. Despite myself, I smile as I swipe my phone to read it.