I’m still watching him as various faculty and some students surround him on stage. Greeting him. Congratulating him on a job well done. Maybe I should have told my roommates about him. Maybe it would have been wise to have some support this morning. No. I can’t trust any of them yet. Not in a negative way. But…not with my emotions. They’ll have questions I don’t have the answers to and I’m not prepared to be that vulnerable with strangers.
Including Roland.
A thin arm wraps around my shoulders as Eden catches my eye and moves toward me. Bridgette, the owner of the arm, speaks. “That was intense, huh?”
I nod, forcing a smile. The same kind of zeal-for-life smile Eden seems to have etched in her face at all times. “Glad I wore waterproof mascara,” I admit.
Typically I don’t wear the waterproof incarnation, because it’s a pain to wash off. This morning seemed like a good time to apply it. You know, just in case seeing the man who didn’t want me stirred up an emotion or two.
Eden closes her eyes and takes a deep, cleansing breath. Smile intact. “That was such a great way to start the year. I feel ready for whatever will come my way. Don’t you?”
From behind her, Joy speaks up. “It was good. The test will be if we can all stick to it. The devil is always lurking, playing with our emotions and disguising himself as the voice of God.” Her eyes linger on me and I have the urge to stick my tongue out at her.
I don’t like her, is my initial reaction, though I don’t have any real basis for that emotion. Except the sideways way she always looks at me.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Silas pipes up from behind Bridgette.
The crew takes a collective breath and nods, all in our own little worlds of spiritual contemplation.
“I’m optimistic,” Eden pipes in. “If we stick together and with God, we’ll be good. God is good, right? We’ll keep an eye out for each other and check in. Deal?” She eyes us all quite seriously.
“Deal,” everyone agrees. Including me. I make sure to eye Joy as I say it, forcing a smile. She offers a tight grin in return. Maybe we just rub each other the wrong way…despite having had zero conversations with each other.
My feet begin moving ahead of my mind, and I find myself exiting the aisle and heading toward the stairs.
“Where you going?” Bridgette asks.
Turning and looking over my shoulder, I say as normally as possible. “I want to thank Pastor Roland for a great sermon.”
“I want to come!” Bridgette shrieks, as if I’ve said I’m getting an autograph from a boy band member.
Joy huffs. “You’re just going to go…talk to him?”
I arch my eyebrow. “He’s just a person, right?” I question, pulling on what I know to be tenants against hero worship in this culture. “I think it would be polite to thank him for welcoming us.”
Her hardened features turn sheepish and she lowers her chin slightly. “You’re right.”
Before I know it, I have a group of four evangelical eighteen-year-olds following me down the stairs to approach Pastor Roland Abbot, lead pastor at New Life Church.
I have to repeat his title in my head to avoid calling him, “Dad.” I’ve never once called him that. Nor do I plan to. But I can rarely be trusted to have control over what flies out of my mouth.
I get that from my mother.
I’ll just go say “hi” like any other student. It’s just a normal day.
Just a normal day in Jesusville. With my televangelist birth father.
My steps quicken the closer we get to the stage. Propelled more by adrenaline than common sense, I weave through faculty, silently note Jonah in the corner of the stage talking up members of the worship band, and slow slightly before I reach Roland. It occurs to me that catching him off guard, surrounded by people who know nothing of our relationship to each other, might not be the wisest move I’ve ever made. I need to give him a second to spot me. To test his poker face before I thank him. For the sermon. On sin.
If telepathy is a real thing, it seems to have its sights set on Roland and me. At the exact moment my feet stop, a few paces back from him, his eyes shoot up at remarkable speed and lock on mine.
Keep it together. Don’t blow this.
I beg God to carry that message to him.
His focus immediately falls back to his conversation, but I notice a tightness in his smile as his Adam’s apple bobs against a hard swallow. His shoulders seem tight as he laughs, but his charisma relaxes him in the blink of an eye. A few seconds pass and he gives each member of the group a friendly handshake before they walk away.
With a long blink and a careful lift of his chin, his smile returns. Dimple and all.
I keep my smile to a grin, not wanting to stand next to him in public and have our genetics blare like neon signs in the faces of my new friends—who likely think I’m just the weird, quiet girl.
Not the weird, quiet, bastard child of their beloved hip pastor.
Bridgette nudges my side softly, leaning down to whisper, “go” in my ear like we’re in seventh grade and she’s daring me to talk to a cute boy.
“Ladies.” Roland nods to the group, avoiding direct eye contact with me it seems. “Gentlemen.”
“Pastor Roland,” I start, extending my hand. “Kennedy Sawyer. We just wanted to thank you for a great sermon.”
“Kennedy,” he says with a nod. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
His hand connects with mine, and it feels like the first time I met him. Firm, warm, and wanting more. A hug, maybe? But we’ve never hugged, and we’re not going to start now.
“It’s a great way to start off the school year—being reminded of the horrors of sin.” I give his hand a slight squeeze and watch for his reaction.
When his brain registers my words he swallows again, maintaining his signature smile while clenching his back teeth. Something in his eyes—my eyes—breaks and flashes of pain for a quick second.
“Well,” he says as he places his other hand on mine in that pastoral way, “thank God for forgiveness.”
I pull my hand away quicker than I intended, and go to stuff it in the back pocket of my jeans. Only, I’m not wearing jeans. I’m wearing a stupid floor-length skirt. Dress code. It’s black, though, and that makes me happy. Still, I’m left awkwardly setting both hands on my hips as Eden slides into position in front of Roland. My cheeks burn as I work over his words.
Stop looking at me, Joy. I see that look. I don’t know what it means, but I see it.
As Roland pleasantly interacts with each member of the group, I watch him. Easy smile. Stellar eye contact. And no hint of secrets. Though, technically, he’s never kept my existence a secret. Just now. When I’m standing three feet away. The daughter he abandoned before she was even born.
Stop it. You aren’t his daughter. He signed papers to make sure of that.
“Enjoy the start of classes tomorrow,” Roland’s voice cuts through the noise of my swirling confusion. “I look forward to seeing some of you at New Life next Sunday.”
“Ten o’clock, right?” Silas asks as he gives Roland a firm shake.
Roland nods. “You got it. There’s a service at eight-thirty am here, too.” He points to the stage.
Last year, the UC realized they were losing their Sunday morning attendance more than they’d counted on when a shiny new pastor started drawing record crowds at New Life. They adjusted their service time and strongly encourage students to attend Sunday services at the UC “to keep connected to the spiritual pulse on campus” and suggest that “for more spiritual food,” we can attend other services in town, which typically begin at ten.
After we’ve all given our thumbs-up to the charismatic pastor, Eden addresses the group. “Wanna go see if Jonah’s ready and then go grab lunch?”
We all agree, though food is the furthest thing from my mind. Eden wanders over to where the band is gathered and taps Jonah on the shoulder. She points to the group and continues her reign as cruise director
, asking him to join us.
“He’ll meet up with us,” she reports when she returns.
I purposely keep my back to the stage as we start up the stairs. Eyes forward, not looking back.
Huh. I wonder if that’s how Roland felt when he signed away his paternal rights.
We’ve never discussed the circumstances surrounding my conception or his fleeing. From what I gather, in our earliest meetings, my mom instructed Roland to not try to explain away anything, to just not talk about my birth at all. He’s stayed true to her wishes—asking only to get to know me as I am now, as an adult. Not what I was then. Whenever we would meet, we’d talk about school, sports…you know, all things you’d discuss with a long-distance relative or friend of the family.
“I’m looking forward to starting classes tomorrow,” I say in an attempt to start a conversation rather than flailing helplessly in one.
As we reach the top of the stairs and head for the exit, Bridgette asks, “What’s everyone’s first class tomorrow?”
“Old Testament,” I answer.
Though it’s a freshman class, I’m nervous. I don’t know anything about the Old Testament after Adam and Eve. Maybe some book names. Exodus? Yes, that’s definitely in the Old Testament. Romans?
Sigh.
I hope Jesus Camp isn’t a prerequisite of for this class, or I might as well not show up.
“Me, too,” Eden adds. “Jonah’s got that, too, I think.”
Of course.
Bridgette giggles. “How perfect.”
“You shush,” Eden commands as her cheeks grow red.
I put my hand on the door to escape the House of Roland, when I hear a familiar voice call up the stairs.
“Kennedy!” I turn to find Maggie, my RA, racing up the stairs after me.
“Hi. I didn’t know you were here this morning.”
She waves her hand. “RAs are required to hear the message their floor charges hear, in case you have questions or whatever. Anyway, Pastor Roland wants to see you.”
My lips part and my cheeks sting with heat. “What? Why?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know. He just asked me to catch up with you.”
“I…” I look around at my friends—for lack of a better term—and find a mix of envy, curiosity, and suspicion—brought to us by Joy—on their faces. “Okay.” I sigh and follow Maggie back toward the stage.
“I’ll save you a seat!” Bridgette shouts as I’m halfway down the stairs.
I turn back around, giving her a thumbs-up and a smile before resuming my march.
“What’s this about?” I ask Maggie.
“Don’t be nervous,” she says in a comforting tone, since I’ve already asked that question once. “He’s just a regular guy.”
“Right.” I nod and take a deep breath, reminding myself that Maggie would naturally assume I was nervous about meeting a church superstar.
By now the crowds have thinned and the stage is empty, save for the crew, who are setting up for the next service, and the band, who are still engaged in discussion with Jonah and a couple of other students. Roland is over at the stand, retrieving his iPad. He looks up and smiles at me and Maggie.
“Here she is, sir.”
Roland nods. “Thank you, Maggie. I promise to return her in one piece,” he jokes and she laughs before disappearing backstage.
Still wishing I had pockets—must look for long skirts with pockets—I cross my arms in front of me.
“So…” I shrug and remind myself to keep a smile on. There are too many eyes around; I don’t need anyone thinking I’m disrespecting an esteemed member of their faith community.
Our faith community.
Roland tilts his head to the side a fraction before licking his lips and swallowing. “I’d like to have lunch with you.”
“Naturally,” I scoff and roll my eyes.
“Kennedy.” He takes one step closer and it’s all I can do not to take one back in response.
“Careful,” I whisper. “People are around.” My eyes dart across the stage and land on Jonah, who happens to be eyeing me intensely.
I imagine that to the outside world it must look like I’m being scolded. Reprimanded for my dress or hair or some other detail I don’t have quite right just yet. I wish that were the case.
Roland tucks his iPad under his arm. “I know. Please come to my home.”
“Where’s that?” I look to my shoes for a moment—leather mary janes—needing a break from his sympathetic features.
He hesitates for a moment, as if he hasn’t understood my question. “On the New Life grounds…” he trails off as if he’s waiting for recognition from me.
He gets it. “Oh, right.” I clear my throat and look up. “I forgot that…just…right.”
I know that. I know that he lives in a rather grand estate on the New Life property built for the presiding pastor. I also know that he resides alone, having no wife or other children (that I know of) to speak of. He’s allowed to marry in this faith, and to have children and all of that, but he doesn’t. And I wonder why.
“Okay, let’s go,” I agree. How else will I find answers to the questions that led me to Carter in the first place? “Do I walk there? Does the bus go—”
Roland chuckles lightly, like I saw him do with members of the faculty earlier. “No, we’ll take my car.”
“I’ll follow you,” I answer passively as Roland walks down the stairs on the side of the stage.
I catch Jonah’s gaze again when I hit the last step. I offer a playful shrug and grin, wanting to play this whole scene off as effortlessly as possible. He seems to buy it, shrugs and grins back, and continues talking with the band. He looks passionate and happy as he gestures to sheet music.
Once in the parking lot, Roland leads me to his Prius and opens the door.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
As Roland walks to his side of the car, I buckle my seatbelt and lean my head back. Gazing out the window, I spot my friends as they talk and laugh on their way to the dining hall. I wish I were with them right now.
No I don’t. I wish I were right here, right now. Facing off with Roland without the pressure of my mother’s watchful gaze or rules.
It’s time.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Remind Me Who I Am
“This is a nice place,” I comment as I wander into Roland’s expansive kitchen.
Roland sets his keys on the island. “It’s a lot of house, that’s for sure.”
“Did the first pastor of this church have a zillion kids or something?”
“Most of them do.” Roland’s tone flattens as he opens the refrigerator. “Would you like something to drink? Water? Coke?”
“Coke.” I situate myself on the stool as Roland pours me a glass.
“Ice?”
“Please.”
Roland sets the glass down in front of me and starts to take the seat next to me. I turn and look at him, leaning back slightly.
Boundaries.
Amazingly, he understands. Without looking disappointed, he walks to the other side of the island and takes the stool across from me.
“Why don’t you?” I ask. Bubbles from my first sip tickle my chest.
“Why don’t I what?” Roland sips his cola and looks into my eyes. I wonder briefly if he sees how obscenely identical our eyes are.
“Have a bunch of kids…a wife?” I’m honest in my question. I’m genuinely curious. I never thought to ask him why before sitting in this house designed for a large family.
But why? He’s a young thirty-eight years old, in impeccable health, and, according to blogs and my two roommates, he’s cute. What gives?
Roland takes a deep breath, seeming to consider my question.
The thing about Roland is he oozes charisma. From the moment I met him, I wished my friends all knew him so they would really understand the true definition of the word. When you speak with him, he makes you feel like you’re the only person in the room. In this case
, I am the only other person in the room, but I’ve seen him interact this way in a party of one and a party of ten thousand. His eyes never move from yours. Not in a creepy way, but in a way that makes you feel like he’s really listening to you. I’m sure he can’t possibly listen to every single thing people say to him. Pray for this, thank you for that. Still, you walk away feeling like you’ve been heard.
“I suppose…” Roland starts after a lengthy silence, but trails off. “It’s not an easy life, being in a pastor’s family.”
“It’s okay,” I try to reassure him, though my tone is more sarcastic than sensitive. “I didn’t come here with any delusions about you and my mom.”
He runs a hand through his hair, something I’ve never seen him do. I assumed that was because of all the product he puts in it.
“Kennedy,” he sighs, “it’s so complicated.”
I shrug. “You don’t date? Haven’t dated? What?”
“Is this why you agreed to come here? To ask me about my love life?” He grins and shakes his head.
“No,” I reply plainly. “I came here to eat lunch, but we don’t seem to be doing that, either.”
Roland throws his head back. This time, his Adam’s apple bobs in laughter. “You’re funny.” He leaves his stool and pulls a menu from a nearby drawer. “This deli is good. And they deliver.”
“That’s the second time I’ve heard that today,” I remark as I scan over the bread selections.
“About this deli?”
I grin. “No. That I’m funny. The kid I was sitting next to in service, Jonah. He thinks I’m funny. I promise you I don’t try to be.” I do try at sarcasm, though. And, pretty much win every time.
“Jonah Cross, right?” Roland takes his seat again.
I lift my eyebrows, my eyes shooting away from the menu. “His last name is Cross? Jesu—shit—God!” I slam my hand over my mouth and lower my head to the table. “Sorry,” I grumble against the dark granite.
“Ah, yes…your language. Your mother warned me about that.”
Lifting my head, I run my hand through my hair, tucking some behind my ears. “She did?”
It’s news to me that my mother has had any conversations with Roland that I don’t know about, though I suppose I should have assumed. She was a nervous wreck all summer; of course she would’ve talked to him about me. Probably read him the riot act about keeping an eye on me in the middle of all of…this.
Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father Page 6
