Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2) Read online

  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 too 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 Roland 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 … what 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 they 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 greys. “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.

  Matt: We’re gonna need to talk.

  Me: I’ll say. Don’t know what’s going on with you and your dad, but keep your head on, okay?

  Matt: You too K. Sawyer.

  Still grinning like a fool, I slide my phone back into my pocket.

  “All set there?” Mom asks dryly, slinging her handbag over her shoulder.

  I roll my eyes and fight the urge to ask them what the deal is with Matt and his dad. If either of them knows, I don’t want to hear it from them.

  “Where do you want to go for lunch?” I ask, hoping Mom will say anything except what I fear she’s about to.

  “We need to go to Roland’s, I think,” she answers. “There are a few things we still need to discuss.”

  Damn.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Wake Me Up

  Kennedy.

  Roland heats up left over pizza, and Mom wastes no time getting down to business.

  “What’s the deal about this picture Kennedy tells me about, Roland?”

  I bury my face in my hands.

  Roland turns slowly from the counter. “Picture? The one from Joy?” Naturally, Roland is focused on the most recent picture scandal, given he hasn’t a clue she would be talking about anything else.

  Mom huffs impatiently. “The one you told Kennedy I sent you on her fifth birthday, when I never did such a thing.”

  Roland shoots his eyes toward me and I shrug. “She says she doesn’t know …” It’s repeat information, I understand, but it’s all I have.

  “Excuse me for a second.” Roland moves swiftly to his office and returns less than fifteen seconds later, handing an envelope to Mom. “Take a look. I was certain it was from you.”

  Of course he’d still have the picture, though I feel very naked with it being examined in front of me.

  Mom carefully pulls the picture from the envelope, pausing for a moment to smile at the image before shaking her head. “I was still far too angry at you for anything like this.”

  “I figured that’s why you included the note you did.” Roland shoulders up next to Mom as he unfolds the paper, laying it bare in front of her.

  “That’s Dan’s handwriting,” she blurts out before covering her mouth with her hand.

  “What?” I rush over to them, snatching the letter from Mom’s hand.

  Sure enough, just like Mom, I recognize the writing in a second. Dan’s handwriting scrawled across the page sends my head spinning. The words are cold, void of any feeling whatsoever. Yet, the man who apparently wrote this has been nothing but encouraging of my relationship with Roland in the years since this picture was sent.

  “What?” I reiterate. “Why … What? And you didn’t know about this, Mom?”

  “Look at me,” she demands curtly, drawing attention to her ruby-hued cheeks. “Does this look like the face of someone in the know?”

  I drag both hands through my hair. “No. No!” My heart races as I take a few steps back.

  “Kennedy,” Roland says slowly. “What’s going on?”

  No. No. No.

  I point to Mom and then back to Roland. “She was supposed to be the one who sent it. Her moment of grace, or whatever, that completely changed your life around without her ever knowing it. That, that moment was the one …”

  “Honey,” Mom enters. “What?”

  I take a long look at Roland before sharing a very personal piece of his story. Because now it’s part of mine.

  “He’d been drunk for years,” I start with the nitty-gritty. “In and out of his parents’ house and all of that. Then one day when he was at the bottom of the whiskey barrel that picture,” I point for effect, “came in the mail. It was the first time he’d ever seen me.” My voice tightens and tears sting my eyes.

  “He saw me. He saw him in me,” I whisper, backing toward the door. I’ve been cooped up in this life for several days too long. “It saved him, Mom. And I thought that you’d done that. I thought for a moment you wanted him to be in my life somehow. That for just a brief moment in your life you had wanted to give him a second chance.”

  Mom’s eyes light with fire. She walks toward me, ignoring Roland, it seems. “He’s the one who didn’t want one chance, Kennedy. Never mind a second chance. He didn’t want you!” She snaps, her eyes widening as she seems to instantly regret the words.

  “But he did!” I snap. “He called you when I was eight. I remember it like it was yesterday. He got the picture and he wanted me and you wouldn’t let him in.”

  Roland walks toward the both of us, exhaling with a puff of his cheeks. “Okay, let’s just all take a seat, okay? I’m sure we can talk through this without screaming at each
other.”

  “Roland,” Mom lowers her voice significantly, “I’m sorry for what I said just now. But you have to understand how hard this is for me.”

  He nods, tilting his head to the side. “I do, Wendy. I do.”

  “Of course he does,” I spit out. “Because he was the one refused access to my life for almost fifteen years.”

  “Kennedy,” Roland’s clipped tone catches my breath. I’ve never heard anything but congeniality from his lips. “That’s enough. Come and sit. Let’s talk about all of this.”

  I shake my head. “I need a break. I’m going downtown.”

  Roland starts to speak, but I hold up my hand.

  “And, no, I don’t care about the rules. Write the demerits yourself if you must, but I need a damn minute.”

  With that, I swing the door open. Roland calls after me once my feet hit the stairs, but in a softer voice, I hear Mom sigh.

  “Just let her go, Roland. Sometimes you have to let her go.”

  ***

  “All that just happened?” Asher leans back in his desk chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

  I shrug. “I don’t do anything half-a—” I cut myself off with a growl, leaning my forehead on his desk.

  I basically ran the two miles downtown to the back parking lot of Word, where I banged on the door until Asher answered. I knew he would be in his office; he always does inventory on Sundays. I had half the story of this morning’s post-service drama out of my mouth before we even sat down.

  “Thanks for coming, by the way,” I mumble with my head still down, my mouth half an inch from the top of his desk.

  “Why’d you ask me to come? I mean, thanks, but why did you want me there?”

  “Because you’re normal. I needed normal.” I lift my head and lean back, finding Asher studying me curiously as he usually does. “Why do you look at me like that?”

  He grins. “I find you fascinating.”

  “Yeah, I’m a treasure,” I deadpan. “Can I please assume that you’ve used the magic of the Internet to fill yourself in on the last few days of my life?”