Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)

by Andrea Randall

  As soon as the drummer clicks away the final beat, I rise to my feet and jump one step down to the stage, filing behind the associate pastors and Wendy.

  “You’re Matt Wells,” she addresses me over her shoulder. Her eyebrow is arched and there’s a tiny grin on her face.

  A soft laugh precedes my response. She just quasi-introduced herself to me the way Kennedy did for the first time a few weeks ago. Not a question. A solid statement indicating she knows more about me than I may have given her credit for.

  “Yes ma’am,” I nod and make brief eye contact with her before she turns her attention back in front of her as we move behind the heavy black curtains and backstage.

  “Keep going straight to the green room,” Roland’s assistant, Jahara, instructs us.

  “Green room?” I mumble over my shoulder, knowing Kennedy’s roommates are behind me. I know New Life is a combination church and TV studio, but … a green room?

  “Guess so,” Bridgette’s shaky whisper gives away her nerves. She always seems nervous.

  I keep my eyes forward, trying to catch a glimpse of Kennedy. She’s been walking at the front of the group, her head down and her steps quick. As we round a corner, she lifts her eyes and waves first to her mom, then leans her head a little to the side and seems to catch my gaze. I offer her a smile and a nod. I’d love to talk to her alone, but I’m assuming our special privileges regarding time together during the aftermath of the Joy storm are on their last legs. Unless I’m invited to family dinners at the Abbot residence, my one-on-one time with Kennedy is on indefinite pause.

  The group finally slows as Kennedy, followed by the rest of us, files into what I’m to assume is the green room. Though, in true New Life style, this is no ordinary green room. Not that I’ve ever seen one in person before, but I’ve heard they’re generally like doctors’ waiting rooms. Not a lavish conference room with food and drink set up, and not to mention the couches and chairs scattered around the room.

  “Please, everyone, take a seat.” Roland speaks up while we all stand around awkwardly.

  The following game of musical chairs is even more uncomfortable. Kennedy moves to her mom and they hug for a long time. The knot in the center of my chest pulls my eyes away and I focus on the task of finding a seat. Eden and Jonah sit next to each other on a couch, and Silas sits next to them. Bridgette places herself in the chair across from them and they engage in what I’m sure they mean to seem as casual conversation, but their eyes flickering toward me every few seconds gives me a hint of the subject of their conversation. Taking a deep breath, I run my hand over my head and move toward the food table. I’ll stand.

  “Matt.” A soft hand on my shoulder fills me with warmth.

  “K. Sawyer,” I turn around and offer her a playful smile.

  She bites her lip, which looks bare without its ring -- even though I’ve only seen her wearing it once—and gives a tiny shrug. “So?” Her eyes lift and meet mine with a shocking amount of nerves.

  I touch her upper arm for a second, before realizing all the eyes on me, and then shove that hand in my pocket. “You did good.” I smile and bite my lip, too.

  She scrunches her nose like she smells something rotten and rises to her tiptoes, whispering in my ear. “Why are you being weird?”

  I tilt my lips toward her ear. “This is all kind of weird, don’t you think? What are we doing here?”

  “Oh!” She giggles nervously. “Right.”

  With a deep pink overtaking her cheeks, Kennedy turns to the rest of the room, addressing them with a bold confidence returning to her voice

  “Thank you guys for coming back here with us. Roland and I just wanted to have a chance to touch base with everyone once the service ended, and we knew the crowd might be a bit much today. So, we’re going to hang back here and have some lunch. If you need or want to leave at any point, feel free.”

  A quick movement catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. Whipping my head toward a far exit of the room, I can’t believe what I see. Who I see.

  My father, former pastor Joseph Wells. Buck Wells if you knew him before his ministering days. I still don’t know how Kennedy’s mom knew that was his nickname, but we’ve all been kind of busy since that revelation, so I’ve let it go for the time being.

  He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms in front of his chest. I don’t know what possessed him to show up. He didn’t bother to grace me with his presence when my mom came up for Parent’s Weekend. The back of my neck breaks into a sweat.

  “Excuse me,” I mumble to Kennedy and whoever might be in earshot, and I walk toward his towering shadow. I’d say his presence, rather than shadow, but he hasn’t been present for quite some time. My breath quickens the closer I get to him, and my hands ball into fists inside my pockets.

  “Matthew,” he clears his throat but speaks while barely moving his lips, his jaw set tight.

  I draw a deep breath through my nose, exhaling my response. Careful that no one else hears me. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cough Syrup

  Matt.

  The back of my throat burns as the curse flies out of my mouth toward my father. His eyes close in one long blink, as he seems to let the words wash over him while he takes a deep breath. His rigid jaw flexes before he speaks.

  Under normal circumstances, words like this would have granted me an open-palmed slap across the face. I’m sure of it, though I’ve never had the gall until this very moment. A moment when I know there’s nothing he can do or say.

  “Matthew,” his voice is raspier than usual, even in his whisper, “ I know you’re hurt, but that’s no excuse to forget the kind of man you are. Or where you are. I suggest you start that over again.”

  I swallow hard, my hands, now at my sides fighting to bunch into fists. “Yes, sir.” I clear my throat. “What are you doing here?”

  He tilts his chin toward the room. “Seems you’ve gotten yourself into something here.”

  I shrug. “Kennedy’s a friend, Dad.”

  “Girlfriend by the sound of things.” His tongue moves slowly over his lips as his eyes roam the room. I can tell by how they widen that they’ve settled on Kennedy.

  I swallow hard and roll my eyes. “You above most people in this room know that we shouldn’t take rumors at face value.”

  Screw him, I’m an adult.

  “There’s so much you don’t know, Matthew.” He lowers his head, and for a second I see my dad. The real him. The one I know is buried deep in there somewhere.

  “And just as much that you won’t tell me. Why didn’t you come to Parents’ Weekend?”

  “Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to come … here.” He gestures behind him to where the sanctuary is located. “I’ve got a lot I’m working through, Son. You know that.”

  “Yeah,” I snap. “We all know that.”

  For a brief moment I’m thrown back into the living hell of the last year of my life. One that started with me fighting my dad because I didn’t want to come here, and ended with me fighting to be able to. His burnout began by affecting his work and family life. But now? Now it’s traveled so deep into his soul that his eyes are barely recognizable anymore. While a huge part of my heart wants to feel compassion for him, and knows I should, the moral trauma he’s put our family through—and is still putting us through—is too much for me to extend the hand I know he needs.

  God’s gonna have to reach all the way down for this one.

  “Perhaps we should continue this in the hallway.” Dad backs one foot out of the room, extending his hand.

  I shake my head. “I have nothing to continue with you right now. I’m here supporting my friend. Shouldn’t you be supporting yours?” His ability to support me is clearly zero, so I gesture to Roland. “I know you didn’t come all this way to ask me about some girl.”

  Some girl?

  I crane my neck to look for Kennedy, who is hardly some gi
rl. She’s staring openly at my dad and me, but turns around as soon as she sees I’ve spotted her. She leans in to whisper something to her mom and then walks over to her friends. Well my friends too, I guess, though I haven’t really laid any claim in that department yet. Friends just ask questions and make assumptions.

  Kind of like you’re doing right now?

  I squeeze my eyes shut. Opening them, I find Roland just a few feet from me, extending his hand to my dad with a genuine Roland-trademarked smile.

  “Buck,” he says with a hint of question in his voice, “it’s good to see you, friend.”

  Hm. I’ve never actually heard Roland call my dad Buck before. I knew that was his nickname in college, but hadn’t heard anyone other than high school friends of his refer to him in that way until Kennedy’s mom used that name a few days ago on the phone.

  “Roland.” Dad gives Roland the firmest handshake I’ve seen him muster up in a while.

  “Excuse me,” I mutter, feeling for my cell phone in my pocket. “I’ll be right back.”

  I show myself into the hallway and duck into the first men’s bathroom I see before tapping my parents’ home number.

  “Hello?” Mom answers in her best pastor’s wife voice. She may not live in that emotional country anymore, but she still carries the accent.

  “Mama, what’s he doing here?” After spending the last couple of days talking a lot with Kennedy, I can actually hear how thick my accent is when my mom’s on the other end of the line. It’s always been thicker when I’m angry. “I’m sorry if I sounded rude,” I quickly correct my tone while silently cursing myself. She’s going through enough.

  “Darlin’, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. He left in the middle of the night and I didn’t know until I woke up this mornin’. Was he at the service? I couldn’t see him on TV.”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see him till we were in the green room after. He’s talking with Pastor Roland now.” It sounds weird to put his title before his name, but my mom’s always been strict regarding formalities.

  “Just bite your tongue, Son.” When she says son it calms my forced breathing. Regardless of how I feel about my dad calling me that, or talking with me at all, Mom’s got nothing to do with this.

  “I will,” I concede.

  “Promise?” Her voice is bright and hopeful, but it’s shaking a bit.

  I sigh. “I promise I’ll try. I won’t make a scene, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “I know you won’t, darlin’. Call me tonight, okay?”

  “Did he at least leave a note this time?” I ask of Dad’s moonlight departure from home.

  The bottomless pause before she speaks brings back memories of the last time. Memories that were already edging their way to the forefront of my mind.

  “Yes,” she whispers. “He did. No go on and get back to whatever you’re doing. Talk to you later.”

  “I love you,” I force myself to say. I do love her, but saying it doesn’t always come easy.

  “I love you.”

  With a deep breath, I bow my head after ending the call.

  “Please,” I whisper. “I know we haven’t really been on speaking terms lately, but, please just do whatever you’re going to do here. Grace, I guess? Something.”

  Exiting the room, I shake my head. Nearly every prayer of mine in the last year has gone unanswered. Or the answer has been “no.” All except for one. And as I situate myself in the doorway with Roland and my dad once again, I watch that prayer in her blue dress and yellow sweater engaging in an intense conversation with Silas. Though, I don’t know that any conversation with Silas could be anything but intense. That boy needs a vacation

  “Everything okay, Son?” Dad puts his arm around my shoulders and I have to force my body to stay in place, rather than recoil the way it wants to.

  Grace.

  I close my eyes for a moment. I prayed for it, but didn’t ask to be given grace to give. I’d like some. Maybe my prayer line is broken. God’s just not understanding what I need and I’m growing more frustrated by the day.

  “Everything’s good. Mom just called to check in,” I lied. He knows it’s a lie and Roland probably does, too, but we all just nod.

  I chance a quick look to Roland and find him eyeing me sympathetically. I look to the floor, where I wish I could keep my eyes for the entirety of this conversation. However long it lasts.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Glad You Came

  Kennedy.

  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 remin
d 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.”