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

  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?”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Parachute

  Kennedy.

  “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 our 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 goad, 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, shhhhooooot,” 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 and 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 without 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 holding 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.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  We Are Young

  Kennedy.

  “Thanks for laying low with me tonight, guys.” I talk through a mouthful of deliciously greasy lo mien, facing my roommates.

  “Oh, of course,” Bridgette replies sweetly. She’s sitting cross-legged on my bed next to me, and Eden is just across from us on hers.

  “And,” Eden pipes up, “any excuse for Chinese food.”

  We all nod along, our too-full mouths highlighting our praise of one of the best Chinese take-out places in Asheville. It’s important to know where the best Chinese food is wherever you go. Has there ever been a comfort food quite so comforting?

  Scraping the cardboard bottom of my container, I set my fork down before reaching for the chicken and broccoli. “So,” I start, hesitantly. I was hoping to avoid any discussion of anything other than food this evening. And, so far, my roommates have silently played along. “What happened with Joy?”

  I meant to connect with Maggie, our RA, before my interview tomorrow, since I’ll no doubt be asked about the student who blew my world wide open. But, she’s been busy both with school and, according to my roommates, holding extra prayer sessions for our floor regarding the whole situation. Alas, I’m at a loss as to what’s become of th
e scandalmonger.

  Be nice.

  Eden and Bridgette each offer a fairly imperceptible shrug.

  “It’s not really clear,” Eden starts. “A few of us asked Maggie the first night, but she said she wasn’t at liberty to speak on it until final decisions were made.”

  “And,” Bridgette adds, “she said she would only tell us as much as we needed to know. Which is a nice way of saying it’s none of our business.”

  I clear my throat. “I mean it’s kind of all of our business, don’t you think? Shouldn’t we learn both how to handle situations or people like her, and what the repercussions might be if we decide to behave that way?”

  “I guess.” Bridgette sighs. “It’s just really sad all around.”

  Slowly, I rotate my head toward her, leaving my eyes on Eden for a few seconds before letting them follow the rest of my face. “All around?”

  Bridgette’s sad eyes meet mine. “Of course I feel awful for you and Pastor Roland. But, I also feel really bad for Joy.” Bridgette’s voice drops to a whisper. “What would make someone behave that way? So hurtfully? Something is seriously going wrong in her heart.”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Come on, Kennedy, I’m serious.” Bridgette’s eyes well with tears, and I look back to Eden with wide eyes of my own, imploring her to join us on the bed. She gets it and sets her food down, sliding in on the other side of Bridgette.

  “What’s going on, Bridge?” Eden rubs on Bridgette’s back in soft circles while Bridgette stares at the floor.

  “I just …” she starts. “I just don’t know what happens to someone like that. How can they be so dialed into God and fighting for salvation worldwide, and then behave so cruelly to a fellow sister?”

  My lips curl up a bit at the thought of Bridgette including me in the “sisters in Christ” category in her head.

  “Do you want my opinion?” I ask.

  “Of course we do,” Eden says as if I’ve been accusatory. I cut her a break since I’ve not been fair to them this semester.