Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)

by Andrea Randall

  Kennedy: Please tell me what’s really going on with Matt

  For once I wish this conversation was about Eden. I do feel awful about the way our relationship went, but I know Eden means it when she says she wants to stay friends, and I intend to hold up my end of that friendship until I’m ready for more. If I’m ever ready for more, and if she still wants me then.

  Me: Sorry. I can’t tell you.

  Kennedy: Why? He won’t tell me, and I know it’s not good. I can’t help him if I don’t know what’s going on.

  Casting a glance to my left, I study Kennedy’s downtrodden face. While she typically looks serious, I’ve rarely seen her sad. I sigh.

  Me: You couldn’t help him even if you knew, Kennedy. I don’t even know what’s all going on.

  Kennedy: Let’s start with his dad. From what I can piece together, he’s got a bit of a drinking problem and probably cheated on Matt’s mom at least twice?

  I clench my teeth to prevent my mouth from swinging open.

  Kennedy: I’m right aren’t I?

  Me: How?

  Are you so good at reading people? I’d like to tell her it’s a gift she clearly inherited from her dad, but she often gets a sour look on her face when people compare her to Roland. Though, given the hug I saw them in today, I bet it wouldn’t be so bad. Still, I stay on the safe side.

  Kennedy: I’ve got loads of friends with divorced parents and I watch a lot of TV.

  Me: Oh …

  I don’t know how to respond in a way that she would find appropriate. She’s only the second person in my life I’ve known with divorced parents, and network TV was forbidden in my house while growing up. Still is, though my siblings and I get around it thanks to the Internet.

  Which is what keeps getting Matt in trouble with himself.

  Kennedy: I’m half kidding. I’m just … I don’t know. Good at reading people? He’s dropped enough clues around for me to piece it together, but I don’t know why he just won’t tell me. You know what—

  I’m about to say “what” when Kennedy puts down her phone and speaks to the front of the car.

  “Roland?”

  His eyes flash to the rearview mirror for a second. “Yeah?”

  “Since we’re going to be invading the Well’s residence in the next couple of hours, I’d like to clear some pink elephants out of the way.”

  Oh God …

  “Okay,” Roland draws out.

  Kennedy clears her throat like she’s about to present a court case. Which isn’t all that far off, actually. “So I know that you and Matt’s dad—Buck or Joseph or whatever you call him now—went to UConn together and played on the basketball team.” Roland nods, and Kennedy keeps talking. “And Buck reached out to you while you were … on your downward spiral. Genuinely enough that mom likes him to this day. Which, as we all know, is a huge feat, since she doesn’t like anyone.”

  Roland and Kennedy share the chuckles of an inside joke, and I’m not the least bit upset to be an outsider. I like seeing the work God’s doing in their relationship. It’s the closest thing to a miracle I’ve seen in a long time.

  “I assume you’re approaching your point, and the roundabout way suggests I’m not likely to enjoy it?” Roland asks with a grin.

  Kennedy sticks out her tongue. “I also know from Matt that his dad had burnout and it seems like maybe he had some drinking issues in there, and … well … women.”

  “Women?” Roland clears his throat, flicking his eyes up to the mirror every couple of seconds.

  “Matt won’t tell me everything. Like my feminine virgin ears couldn’t possibly bear it, or something. But, honestly? Whatever happened is making Matt feel like he’s not good enough. I asked him to date me and he said no. He said he’s damaged and all of that stuff. And I just want to know why.”

  Holy crap. She asked him out? He said no?!

  “So what are you asking?” I butt into the conversation.

  “How about I ask a few yes or no questions. Is that okay?” Kennedy asks Roland.

  He hesitates but finally nods. “Fine.”

  “Matt’s dad has or had a drinking problem, right?”

  “Yes.” Roland nods. I sit back and prepare to watch the volley.

  “And he engaged in some sort of inappropriate relationship with someone who wasn’t his wife.”

  Another affirmative comes from Roland, who is shaking his head.

  Kennedy takes a deep breath. “And whatever that was all about contributed or was a result of his burnout. But it happened more than once, didn’t it?”

  “It did.”

  “It’s not a secret, Roland,” Kennedy assures him. “I mean, the whole congregation down there knows, don’t they?”

  He nods. “They know enough.”

  “Wait a minute,” Kennedy says almost to herself, slumping back in her seat.

  “What?” I ask, my eyes meeting Roland’s in the mirror.

  “Jesus,” she whispers.

  “Language, Kennedy,” Roland warns.

  Seeming to ignore him, Kennedy turns to me, extending an index finger in my direction. “That’s why he won’t tell me anything and why he thinks I’m too good for him. How could I be so dumb?”

  I shake my head slightly. “What?”

  “He thinks he’s going to turn out just like his dad. Man. When he spent so much time talking about his anger toward his dad, I figured he was embarrassed by the stuff, which I’m sure he is, or didn’t want me judging him because of it.”

  “That’s probably part of it.” I wipe my palms on my pants.

  Kennedy shakes her head. “He got weirder after Thanksgiving. After spending lots of time with his dad. He’s told me before how he’s gotten no answers from God about why his family had to go through everything they went through. I think …” Her eyes well with tears as she trails off.

  Roland clears his throat. “You think what?”

  Kennedy’s eyes move from me to him and back gain. “I think his perception of God’s silence is making him think God isn’t there. That he’s worthless and that his father was too and he’s destined to end up like him. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  “Perception of God’s silence?” Roland asks.

  Kennedy waves her hand. “You know he’s never really silent. Quiet, maybe, or nonverbal, but he’s always moving. Always speaking to us. But Matt’s too hurt to remember that.”

  Watching her brain work is an incredible sight, but watching her soul work? Down right breathtaking. With a simple wave of her hand, Kennedy assumes something that people spend their whole lives studying: the presence of God. Without pomp or circumstance, she says more about her beliefs than I’ve heard her say all semester.

  “I think Matt’s in trouble, Roland. But I don’t know what it is.”

  Roland nods slowly. “Well we’ll be there in a few hours and then for a couple of days. I’ll talk with his dad and see how Matt’s been behaving.” He holds up his hand. “Before you say anything, don’t worry. I won’t let on that we’ve—you’ve had this conversation.”

  “Thanks,” Kennedy says, reaching for her chips.

  “Until then,” Roland adds, “maybe we could pray for Matt and that whole situation.”

  Kennedy sighs, suddenly looking exhausted. “Can we do it Episcopal style?”

  “Huh?” I question.

  Roland chuckles. “She means silently.”

  I grin. “Gotchya.”

  A hush falls over the car, and I watch Kennedy slowly tap out a text. I quickly set my phone to “vibrate” to avoid catching Roland’s attention. A second later, it hums against my palm.

  Kennedy: I don’t want to know details right now, but how bad is he?

  I move my eyes up the smooth line of her jaw all the way to her eyes. She’s begging me for honesty here, and isn’t asking for too much. She certainly knows more than Matt’s giving her credit for and, honestly, if God’s going to be used in this situation at all, it’s going to be through her si
nce she has a self-evident faith that rivals either of ours at the moment. Maybe that’s part of the point in all of this. To have the lip-ringed rebel drag the PK back to God, kicking and screaming.

  Two PK’s, maybe.

  Kennedy: Come on Jonah. How bad is Matt?

  I hadn’t meant to take so long to reply, so I type quickly.

  Me: Really bad.

  I sneak a look away from my phone in time to catch one tear slide off Kennedy’s cheek. Seemingly ignoring it, she simply nods and takes a deep breath.

  Kennedy: Help me help him.

  I don’t text back. Instead, I set my phone next to me and lean forward, holding my head in my hands.

  Help me help her.

  Help me help him.

  Help me love my dad.

  Help him love me.

  Help me.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  The Broken Ones

  Kennedy.

  Matt looks like hell.

  Jonah, Matt, and I are granted some completely CU unapproved time in the Wells family guesthouse while the grownups have a meal in the main house. It’s a small cabin-style structure filled with used—but still fairly extravagant—white furniture with yellow accents. We begged for pizza and Chinese food, and also to be sans chaperone for the sake of being able to talk. I was hoping that Roland heard enough of my talk with Jonah to know that we’ve got issues with Matt’s behavior.

  Anyway, as I twist lo mien around my fork, I eye Matt, who is noticeably thinner from waning muscle tone, and has been lax on his facial hair maintenance. While the stubble might look cute under different circumstances, now it just highlights what I know is a surging depression. I’m from the greater NYC area—I know depression when I see it.

  “How’s your break been?” I ask of Matt, slurping an oily noodle into my mouth.

  He shrugs and gives me a grin. “Pretty good. Yours?”

  The thing is, even though he looks like he does—complete crap—he’s also full of it. He’s spent the last day putting on this pleasant show that’s both completely unlike him at all and far from how I left him just a couple of weeks ago.

  “Roland’s family is really nice. My family, I guess.”

  “Eden broke up with me,” Jonah blurts out, which I’m thankful for. Family probably isn’t the best discussion right now.

  Matt’s eyes widen as he turns to Jonah. “Dude, are you serious? Are you okay?”

  Jonah nods, looking less okay about it than he has all day. Matt looks to me and I twist my lips, nodding along with Jonah.

  “When did this happen?” Matt asks.

  Jonah stretches his arms across the back of the couch. “This morning.”

  “Why?”

  Jonah shrugs. “We’re just in different places right now.”

  Matt scrunches his eyebrows. “That’s hard for me to understand since you’re both at CU. The same place.”

  Despite myself, I chuckle. At least a shimmer of my Matt Wells remains.

  Not yours. Never was. Never will be.

  Jonah laughs too. “Just spiritually. I mean … you know all the stuff going on with my dad, man … and just … stuff.”

  “Yeah,” I snort, “Jonah’s been big on the stuff. Quite a vocabulary for someone as smart as he is.”

  Matt gives me the courtesy of a grin, but winces as he faces Jonah. “She doesn’t get that you’re struggling?”

  “No, she does,” Jonah answers. “But you know how Eden is. She would pray until her hands bled. And that works for her. But if I don’t see results …”

  “Yeah,” Matt finishes Jonah’s sentence, obviously avoiding my gaze. “I get it.”

  I clap my hands and sit forward. “Before you guys drag me down the tunnel of depression, can we talk about something else? Like, tell me what I can expect at this family conference thing that’s a whole thirty-six hours away? Will there be protestors and stuff?”

  Matt twists his lips and shrugs. “Probably, but not many. And they’ll mostly be outside. Even though anyone can go to most events like this, this one is invite-only, which cuts down on a lot of the noise inside.”

  “Yeah,” Jonah adds. “You’ll see more protesting about it on the news and Internet than you will at the event. It’s kind of a morale booster sort of thing. You know, ignite the troops for battle against the destruction of families.”

  My jaw drops and I grin. “Jonah Cross, is that sarcasm I smell?”

  He blushes and looks down, making Matt laugh. “We finally got him, Kennedy!” Matt jokes, and for a second my heart breaks. It’s like he’s early-November Matt asking me to rise up against the evil institution of CU and associated entities. Not the Matt who’s avoiding me and pushing me away.

  Jonah holds up his hands in defense, though his grin still lights up his face. “Calm down. I just mean … well doesn’t it seem a little shortsighted to do battle that way? I mean, I’m against abortion, but I don’t think holding up pictures of dead babies is the way to get people to change their minds. It’s not their minds I want to change anyway.”

  “It’s their hearts,” I cut in. He nods.

  Matt lifts his eyebrows. “Sounds like I’m sitting with a couple of future pastors.” His tone boarders on dry.

  “Yeah,” I snicker, “these tricky ovaries get in the way though, huh?” One thing I miss about the church I grew up in is the presence of female leadership. Not just on the council or in the background, but delivering the sermon. Women priests. Something seriously lacking in the evangelical world. The only ones I know of, honestly, are on TV—far from local churches.

  Jonah shakes his head. “I bet you could do it, Kennedy. You’re good at what you do.”

  “What? What do I do?”

  “You get people to listen to what you have to say without using an air horn. People pay attention to you, you know.”

  I shift my eyes back and forth between my two friends. “What people?”

  Matt nods. “All the people. Everyone. Any time you make a move, people are watching and internalizing it.”

  “You’ve all gone insane.” I click my tongue. “No one internalizes jack you-know-what about what I do. No one cares.”

  “Ha!” Jonah lets out a sharp laugh. “Everyone cares. Especially about your relationship with your dad. It’s like Silas said to you after that service where you kind of came out as Roland’s daughter. To a lot of the people at CU and in the evangelical community, it’s like you came home, and they’ve been watching how that’s going. How you treat Roland and how he treats you.”

  “Came home?” I state, more to myself than anyone else. “Where did I go?”

  “Like the prodigal son,” Matt quips sarcastically, but I shake my head.

  “I didn’t go anywhere, but—“

  “What?” Matt asks.

  “Oooh. That story. I know that story … I get why people might assign it to me, I guess but … God,” I whisper.

  “What?” Jonah adds.

  “Geoff. Roland’s brother. He was kind of a jerk to me, talking about how it was when Roland came home from college a drunken mess and … that’s it. It makes sense. He felt like the older brother in that story who’d stayed faithful to his parents while Roland took advantage of them. But because Nora and Tim are who they are, they were just happy to have Roland back safe and sound, and Geoff felt gypped.”

  “Makes sense,” Jonah mumbles.

  “He was a jerk to you?” Matt snaps. “How?”

  I wave my hand. “He just … it’s a long story and not a big deal.” I have to admit that Matt’s growly chivalry feels kind of nice. At least he still seems to kind of care.

  “Anyway,” Matt continues, “that story is kind of bullshit.”

  I know Matt has these words on his tongue a lot, but it’s rare they escape his mouth. Especially in front of Jonah. Though, since Jonah alluded to the fact that he and Matt have spent the semester talking a lot, I guess Matt’s probably dropped curse words around him, too. Jonah and I look to each
other at the mention of a CU “discouraged” word, but quickly focus back on Matt.

  I clear my throat. “Why’s that?”

  “Who wouldn’t be ticked? The good kid stands by and does his due diligence while the other one goes off, disobeys and does whatever he feels like and, in the end, they get the same reward from their father? What’s the purpose of doing good at all then if, at least at some point, you make an effort to come back?” Matt’s face has gone red, but his eyes remain hollow as he grinds his back teeth.

  He’s not talking about the story of the prodigal son from the Bible. And, he’s not just talking about him and his dad. Jonah puts a hand on Matt’s knee. I’d consider that a risky move, but Matt doesn’t react.

  “You,” I mumble, setting my plate on the coffee table. Matt huffs, looking down. “You, your dad, and God, right? That’s what this is all about. You’ve talked to me so much about doing the right thing, and being so angry with your father. You’re angry with God for his second chance while you can’t erase the pain of what happened during his first chance.”

  Jonah turns his head slightly, pressing his mouth into his upper arm and taking a breath. He looks at me and shakes his head, as if he’s asking me not to go any further. But, Matt’s still unresponsive, and if he wants to be friends with me, that’s not going to fly.

  “You know how grace works, Matt,” I say quieter, sliding to the edge of the couch I’m on, putting me closer to him.

  He produces a muffled growl. “I don’t have to agree with it. Why should he get all the glory of a comeback while I suffer the images from the newspaper of him leaving that strip club with that fucking prostitute?”

  “Come on, man,” Jonah softly encourages. Not for Matt’s use of language, I assume, but his palpable, brewing rage.

  “No.” He shakes his knee and Jonah moves his hand and Matt rises to his feet, pacing behind the couch. “No, I won’t come on. Why? Why does he get to destroy my mom’s heart and get to come through clean? Why does he get to be back on a pastoral track at a new church when he spent half of the last year in beds that weren’t his with women who belonged to everyone? Why do I get to deal with that shame when I was the good son? When I defended his reputation to our church when he first screwed up and got burnt out and needed an ally. Then,” Matt pauses and holds out his hands, “then he goes and does it again?”