Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2) (4 page)

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 know
s
, 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.

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 to
o
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 hea
r
d 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
I
nternet to fill yourself in on the last few days of my life?”

He laughs and leans forward on his elbows. “You can. And, that’s why I find you fascinating.”

“Why? Just because you didn’t know I was Roland’s daughter? That’s not fascinating so much as a number plucked out of the genetic lottery. Luck for some, I guess.”

“Not for you?”

“Seriously? Oh,
yeah
, the last few days have been the pinnacle of good fortune.”

It feels
so
good to be sarcastic with someone who I know without a doubt will get it.

“Alright, I’ll give you that one. Still, I just wish you woulda told me.” He shakes his head, looking down.

“Why? That’s the second time you’ve said that. Is it because you would have avoided hiring me?”

Asher huffs through his nose. “Hardly, but I could have helped you.” He stares at me for a while, and I stare back, trying to read his mind.

“You would have told me to come out with it myself,” I assert.

“Don’t you agree that would have been better than this?”

I growl again. “I don’t even know. What I do know is my mom wasn’t the one who changed the course of Roland’s life, it was Dan.”

“Neither,” Asher cuts it.

“Excuse me?”

“Neither of them changed the course of Roland’s life. God did.”

I pull my head back. “Wh…What…Yeah, okay, but the catalyst—and, wait…why are
you
feeding me God talk?” I let my eyes roam his large, muscular figure decorated in tattoos to remind myself of every impression I have of him that he’s probably about to blow out of the water.

Kind of a theme in my life lately.

“I’m a Christian, too, Kennedy,” he says as if he’s bored.

“Too,” I repeat. “Too, as in,
also?
Like, like
them
?”

He grins, standing with a full stretch of his lengthy torso as he paces to the window overlooking the parking lot.

After a bottomless inhale, he speaks. “Too. Also.
Them
.”

“Well, that figures.” The past few days
have
taught me that surprises are really anything but.

Asher laughs. “What?”

“I thought I was the most liberal looking—”

“Jesus Freak?” he challenges.

I put up my hands. “Take it easy. I’m not … that.”

He shrugs. “I am.”

I tilt my head to the side, certain he’s messing with me. “Come on.”

He waves his hand. “There will be more time for that discussion later. In the meantime, you should get going, don’t you think?”

I sigh. “I guess. My phone’s been vibrating since I left Roland’s. Mind if I go out through the f
r
ont so I can get a jolt of caffeine before returning to my new reality?”

He nods in the direction of the door. “Be my guest.”

I turn for the door, stopping for a moment with my hand on the handle. “Does Chelsea know you’re one of them—us? She seems a little anti…all of it, what with the pentagram tattoo I spotted on the back of her shoulder.”

Asher arches an eyebrow and grins up at me from behind his inventory sheets. “She looks past it.”

Shaking my head, I offer nothing more before leaving his office. I’m insanely curious about his road to Freakdom, but know that conversation will be put on pause while I get my life together.

Walking through the door into the cafe, I’m met with a rush of energetic noise from the post-church crowd. Of course I’m never here on Sundays given the strict “guidelines” set by Carter University. But, in general it looks like any other busy day, with a slightly fancier dress code.

“Hey Chels.” I shimmy past her and another barista—Collin—as I move to the front of the counter. I refuse to be one of those annoying employees that swoops in on their days off and helps themselves, mucking up the flow.

“Hey sexy,” she calls brightly. “You look better than you did a couple of hours ago. Less pukey.”

“Ha! Thanks. I don’t feel less pukey.”

“Pumpkin spice latte?” She waves a 16oz cup in the air.

I nod, leaning my elbows on the counter. “Please.”

While she busies herself steaming milk, I passively look over my shoulder, but am stopped dead when I see Matt and his dad conversing in the corner. I try not to stare, but the grim looks on both of their faces only serve to pique my curiosity.

“He’s a friend of yours, right?” Chelsea brings my attention back to the counter, and my latte.

“Thanks,” I reply, taking a long sip. “Yeah he kind of rescued me from the angry mob that thought I was sleeping with Roland.”

Not kind of. Completely, totally did.

“He’s good looking. What is it with all those boys up there on The Hill?” Chelsea asks of Carter, using the local diction for the school.

I laugh, having had the same exact curiosity when I first set foot on campus. “I don’t know. It’s a miracle, I guess.”

“Cute,” she quips, heading off to deal with another customer.

And leaving me to deal with deciding to go say hi to Matt, or sneak back out the back door. When I turn around to face the whole cafe, though, it seems the choice has been made for me. Matt is standing about a foot away from me, sweat beading on his forehead.

“Hi,” I half-whisper, surprised by his towering shadow. I look over his shoulder to spot where his dad is.

“He’s gone,” Matt answers my silent question. His voice is gruff and far away.

We stand in an awkward silence the two of us haven’t encountered with each other. At least not since Picturegate, Part One.

“So …” I start, gesturing toward an open table. “Wanna sit, or …”

Matt, who’s been staring at the floor for quite some time, blinks several times in a row, seemingly coming to. “Can we take a walk?”

I shrug. “I guess. Wait. Chaperones …”

Despite the chaos of the last few days, my earlier hyper focus on the rules of Carter University ha
s
remained seared in my brain. Members of the opposite sex can’t go off campus together unless they’re in a group of odd numbers, and/or accompanied by a chaperone.

“We don’t have a chaperone if we stay here, either—”

Matt is cut off by someone to my right.

“You’re Kennedy Sawyer, aren’t you?
That pastor’s daughter?”

Whipping my head around, I find a girl I’ve seen here before, studying with her friends. I’ve gathered from their university-issued shirts and some conversations I’ve heard, that they go to UNC Asheville. It’s a liberal arts school with a very flexible curriculum.

Kind of the anti-CU.

“That’s me,” I answer honestly. No point in denying the obvious.

“That’s
so
cool. I see you here all the time. I didn’t know you were famous.” Her blonde hair is in a high ponytail and I envy the thick swath of purple eyeliner circling her brown eyes.

I chuckle. “I’m not. Roland is.”

She raises her eyebrows. “You are now. You’re all over Facebook.”

My shoulders sink
with
my exhale and I look at Matt. “Walk it is.” I turn toward the girl and offer a slight wave before following Matt out the door.