The Pastor's Son

by Rebecca Joanne

  She sipped her wine mindlessly. “My brother.”

  Now it was time for my eyebrows to raise. “Phillip?”

  She sighed. “It’s not what you think. He’s not a terrible person. But, after our mother died? The family fell apart. It was all I could do to keep us together. Dad couldn't string two words together, for obvious reasons. And Phillip simply shut down. He stopped going to his afterschool job. He almost flunked out of high school. I was doing the cleaning, the cooking, and holding up my own studies because the two men around me couldn't function.”

  “Doesn’t sound very fair to you.”

  “I tried not to look at it that way, but it was hard. Phillip had friends coming over left and right to try and coax him out of his room. And I grew jealous of him because I was so busy doing so many things that I lost a lot of my friends in the process.”

  “Have mercy.”

  She set her glass down. “Then, Dad died. And if I thought Phillip’s grief was bad with Mom, it was ten times worse with him. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't organize anything. He couldn't place any of those phone calls. For the second time in my life, I was charged with cleaning, cooking, and holding up everyone else’s life except my own.”

  “So, you came up here to get away from it?”

  “Actually, no.”

  Her sorrowful gaze held my own, and my heart hurt for her.

  “I came up here to grieve,” she said.

  The second she wiped at her eyes, I stood from my seat. I walked over to her side and pulled out her chair, quickly pulling her into my arms. I felt her wrap around me, holding me close. And as my arms blanketed her back, I felt the wetness of her tears dripping against my shoulder.

  “I’m here. It’s okay, Kendall. I’ve gotcha.”

  She sniffled. “I came up here to grieve, and I never stopped grieving, Adam. I never stopped hurting. I never stopped crying. I just kept shoving things away because that’s all I knew how to do.”

  “And no one can blame you for that. It’s not your fault.”

  “It’s why I always offer to help. Because I get it. I get what it’s like to do all of this alone and still feel buried.”

  I rubbed her back. “Shhh, sh sh sh. Take some breaths for me, beautiful.”

  “I miss them so much, Adam.”

  I blinked away my tears. “I miss my parents, too.”

  I swayed her side to side as her trembling body pressed fervently into my own. It was the only thing I could think of to do. I remembered back to the times my mother used to rock me in that massive leather recliner my father bought for her. She’d hold me close and stroke my hair and sing a hushed song in my ear. It used to bring me such comfort in times of stress when I was a child.

  I hoped to provide that same comfort for Kendall.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s--oh, man. Your shirt.”

  I snickered. “It’s fine. Really. I’m serious.”

  She looked up at me. “I can wash it tonight.”

  I peeked down at her. “Or, you can sit with me on the couch, and we can talk some more.”

  I took her hands in mine and slowly led her to the couch. Tugging her softly. Hoping she followed as I guided her into the living room. The food could wait. The drinks could wait. Everything in the cabin she felt she had to do could wait. All I wanted was to sit with her and listen.

  Because it sounded like she needed someone to listen to her.

  “You know the thing that gets me the most?” she asked as we sat down.

  “What’s that?”

  She sighed. “Dad died of the same cancer Mom had.”

  I paused. “You’re kidding?”

  She shook her head. “You can’t even make that up. The same brain tumor in the same location. I noticed the symptoms immediately once I saw them surfacing in Dad. It was like reliving the same nightmare, only with a different cast.”

  “I can’t even imagine.”

  She looked up at me. “How’d your mother die?”

  I felt my back straighten. “We don’t have to talk about that right now.”

  She turned to face me. “It’s good to talk, though. It’s good to get this out. Just like I need to talk, I think you do, too.”

  “I’ll talk when you’re done.”

  She took my hand. “Adam.”

  “Yes?”

  “How did she die?”

  I puffed out my cheeks. “A stroke. Well, a series of strokes. Then, one final stroke.”

  “I can’t imagine what kind of toll that took on you and your father.”

  “I’m sure you can, given your circumstances.”

  “It’s different, though.”

  I shrugged. “Not really.”

  She eyed me carefully. “Adam?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why are you shutting down on me?”

  “I’m not. I’m listening to you.”

  She pulled her hand away. “Adam, I want to listen to you, too.”

  “Let someone be there for you, Kendall. Let me be here for you.”

  “Then, let me be there for you, too. We can do this. Together.”

  I shook my head. “Never mind.”

  “What?”

  I leaned against the couch. “Don’t worry about it.”

  She scooted closer to me. “What just happened? In your head?”

  “Nothing happened, Kendall.”

  “Then, why are you acting like this?”

  “Like what? A grieving son looking for a distraction?”

  She paused. “Is that all this is? A distraction?”

  I closed my eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Then, how did you mean it?”

  I pushed myself up from the couch. “Look, I only wanted to hear your story. Get to know you. I didn’t expect it to turn into some sort of bleeding-heart convention.”

  “I didn’t mean to upset you if that’s what’s happening. I thought it might be--.”

  “You haven't upset me.”

  “Your voice tells me otherwise.”

  I walked over to the table. “Here. Do you want me to bring your dinner to you? You can eat on the couch.”

  “Are you not going to eat?”

  “Not hungry anymore.”

  “Then, I’m not hungry, either.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Kendall, you need to eat.”

  “So do you. So, if you don’t eat, I don’t eat.”

  I ran my hands through my hair. “I’m going to go take a shower.”

  “Why won’t you let me help you?”

  “Because I don’t need any help in the shower.”

  I heard her stand from the couch, so I turned around.

  “Because help isn’t what I need right now, Kendall. That’s why.”

  “Why do you think that, though? Because you have everything under control? Trust me, I’ve convinced myself of that. You never have things as under control as you feel you do.”

  I nodded. “Well, I’ll certainly take that into consideration.”

  “Can you at least tell me what I’ve done to upset you? Because I thought we were having a great conversation. You know, relating and stuff.”

  “I have to shower. That’s what happened.”

  “Adam, wait.”

  “I’m tired, and I need some sleep.”

  “Adam!”

  I whipped around. “What, Kendall? What is it you want from me!?”

  I watched her jump, and I instantly regretted my tone of voice.

  “Never mind. Don’t worry about it.”

  I sighed. “I’m sorry. I--.”

  She waved me off. “Enjoy your shower. I’ll put all of this up.”

  “Kendall, I didn’t mean--.”

  “Can you just go? Please?”

  The filter inside my brain completely gave out. “I would if the weather would let me.”

  Pain washed over her face. “Whatever. Have a good night.”

  I watched her gather dishes and lug uneat
en food over to the kitchen counter. And while everything inside me wanted to go help her, I forced myself to go against my gut. I turned and walked down the hallway, heading straight for my room. I was hoping that some space and some more time to digest things helped the forced living situation we had been thrust into.

  But, no matter how hard I scrubbed my body, and no matter how tightly I closed my eyes, I couldn't forget her face.

  That startled look she had after I yelled at her.

  I wrapped a towel around myself and made my way back to the bedroom. I closed the door and stood there, listening as Kendall backtracked to her bedroom. Her door closed softly, and I wanted with all of my soul to go over there and take her back into my arms.

  But I wasn’t sure if that was the right move.

  I didn’t know what was right and what was wrong any longer.

  I sighed. “You’re an idiot, Adam.”

  And as if the heavens opened up to agree with me, a bombastic, thunderous sound ricocheted through the sky. It made me jump as Kendall squealed, and it rumbled across the valley beneath us. I ripped my towel off and quickly stumbled into some clothes. Another boom of thunder tore through the sky, crashing and shaking the foundation of the cabin. The wind kicked up. Branches broke, and trees bent to the formidable storm as I rushed back out into the living room. I strode for the window, watching as gray clouds hovered against the tops of the trees around us.

  And as another boom sounded directly above us, the windows rattled.

  Right then, the entire cabin lost power.

  Great. Just great.

  Chapter Ten: Kendall

  I sat next to the fire with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I heard something drip-drying in the sink, and the sound was about to drive me bonkers. Between Adam pacing, asking me questions I didn’t have answers to, and generally attempting to apologize. I didn’t know how much more I could take.

  It hurt to see him tiptoe around me. It made me want to tiptoe around him, in fear of what might happen if I didn’t. My gaze scaled the wall until they hit the window, and the snow pouring down outside pulled me to my feet.

  The last cell was supposed to be last night.

  Like the weatherman predicted, two more cells tore through last week, burying us in over three feet of snow. It should’ve all been gone by that point. It shouldn't be snowing.

  “Why in the world is it snowing?” I whispered.

  I shook my head. As snow flurries whipped around outside, creating miniature tornadoes that danced in my front yard, I heard the soft patter of muted footsteps behind me. I closed my eyes. I braced myself for his voice. It hurt to listen to him. To listen to how apprehensive his words sounded since our fight.

  We aren’t getting out of here in another week.

  The footsteps stopped, but I didn’t hear his voice. I turned around, expecting to see him behind me. Or, at the very least, in the same room as me. But, there was no one. Only the cold, hard, dark stare of loneliness looked back at me.

  I felt my heart drop to my toes.

  Part of me wondered what the impromptu storm meant for Adam’s father’s funeral. Then again, it wasn’t my issue to stress over any longer. Not that it had been in the first place. But it wasn’t anymore. He said so himself. All he wanted was a distraction. Something to take his mind off things in between having to deal with reality. I got that. I understood it. After all, I moved up an entire mountain to get away from the grief he didn’t want to acknowledge.

  It didn’t make the admission hurt any less, though.

  Besides, I’d spent the entirety of my life worrying over people who didn’t care to ask how I felt. People who didn’t care to give back what I put into them. I spent my time worrying about people who didn’t care how I was getting along. Who didn’t care how I was dealing with things. Who didn’t care that I no longer had a life, or friends, or people to talk to.

  “Learn your lesson and save your energy,” I murmured to myself.

  Adam’s voice came from the darkness. “Learn what lesson?”

  I screamed so hard my voice went hoarse. I heard the scurrying of feet approaching me closer as my legs fell numb. I felt myself plummeting to the floor. Falling to the cold, unforgiving hardwood the cabin possessed. Until something wrapped around me that prevented me from contacting.

  A ‘something’ that brought me comfort in my struggling state.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you saw me,” Adam said.

  My body began shivering. “Fire, please.”

  “Yes, yes. Of course.”

  He walked me over to the fire and sat me down in front of it. With my body still trembling, even as the heat washed over me, I felt Adam sit beside me. He curled his knees into his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. I resisted the urge to look over at him, for fear I might spew everything that was on my mind.

  And that was the last thing anyone needed.

  Adam sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  I nodded, but I didn’t say anything. I was much too afraid to loosen my lips.

  “I said so many things in frustration that I never should have. I hope you know that you’re not simply a distraction to me. Or to anyone, for that matter. But, when I’m feeling overwhelmed? It’s nice to get out of my head and into someone else’s.”

  I nodded slowly. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “That’s the problem, though. I am worried about it.”

  He scooted closer to me, and my body leapt into action. From numb to done, I pressed myself onto my feet. I tied the blanket around my shoulders and strode into the kitchen, determined to find a way to occupy myself. Winters had been worse up there, and I had handled them just fine.

  There was no reason on the planet why I couldn't handle something like that with Adam.

  Hopefully.

  I grabbed a dishrag and started drying the dishes in the sink. One by one, I piled them beside me. Readying them to be put away. I heard Adam shifting. I heard his soft footfalls behind me. And as his shadow darkened the kitchen, even more, I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

  “Need any help?” he asked.

  I snickered. “You’ve done enough.”

  He sighed. “I guess I deserved that.”

  I closed my eyes. “No, you didn’t.”

  I turned around, still clutching the dish in my hand.

  “You don’t deserve any of this, Adam. What you’re going through. The pain you’re experiencing. No one does, but especially you. Losing a parent? The pain that comes with it? It’s unbearable, at best. And I know how it feels to think you're alone in all of this.”

  “I never should have said the things I did, though.”

  I shook my head. “Maybe not. But, in that moment? They were genuine. And no one can ask anything else of anyone else except that they are honest and genuine to themselves.”

  He smiled softly. “You’re an incredible woman, you know that?”

  “I’m a woman who’s had a lot of time to think. And, eventually, it’s time that you’ll take to think. But, if you ever want a shoulder, you know where to find one. That’s all I was trying to do in the first place, anyway. Offer you a shoulder, should you need it.”

  I sighed. “That shoulder still available?

  The shock must’ve registered on his face because he started chuckling. And the sound made me smile. Nevertheless, I held my arm out. Ushering for him to sit down at the kitchen table.

  “Want some coffee?” I asked.

  “Can you make coffee right now?”

  “The generator is powering the essentials. The fridge, the water heater, the stove, and one outlet in every room. So, yes. Right now, I can make coffee.”

  “In that case, I’d love an entire pot.”

  I put everything together and turned it on before I went and sat down. I took a seat next to Adam as he threaded his hands together on top of the table. He stared at them, twiddling with his thumbs, like my father used to always do whenever he was nervous
.

  “Don’t be worried. I’m not here to judge you,” I said.

  He chuckled breathlessly. “Old habits die hard.”

  “Why do habits always have to die? I’ve never understood that.”

  “Bad ones probably should.”

  I shrugged. “Nothing bad with twiddling your thumbs, though.”

  “You make a good point, Dell.”

  I paused. “Dell?”

  He blinked. “You don’t like it?”

  “Actually? I don’t hate it.”

  “Is that… good?”

  I giggled. “Yes. For me? That’s very good.”

  “Oh, well. Then, good.”

  I placed my hand over both of his. “What’s on your mind, Adam?”

  He swallowed hard. “I thought watching Mom die of all those strokes was hard.”

  I nodded. “Watching my father die of cancer was pretty rough.”

  “But, not seeing it coming? Just walking outside and seeing my father face-down in the driveway? I think I would have much preferred to watch his slow progression.”

  “I wouldn't be too sure about that. I watched it with both of my parents, and after a while, I simply prayed that their misery would end.”

  “The grass is always greener. Or something like that.”

  I stroked my thumb against his skin. “You know, we kind of have this mountain in common.”

  He looked up at me. “How so?”

  “Well, my grief chased me up here. And judging by how we first met, your grief did the same.”

  “That’s an interesting way to look at things.”

  “How would you look at things?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know a lot right now. Is that bad?”

  “No, Adam. It’s not. You’re not going to know a lot of things until you take time to sift through it all. And everyone has their own pace at which they do these kinds of things.”

  “How long did it take you?”

  I sighed. “I guess I’ll let you know once I’m done.”

  He scoffed. “Great. That’s great.”

  I squeezed his hands. “I know it isn’t ideal. Especially right now. Because right now? I bet your father is the first thing you think about in the mornings and the last thing you think about going to sleep. Right?”

  “Right.”

  “And it feels like it’s going to be like that forever, right?”