Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

by Andrea Randall

  Stepping back from the hug, though, my third thought is one that’s unfamiliar to me. One I haven’t dealt with much at all in my life. Less of a thought and more of a feeling. One of jealousy. I’m fighting loud voices shouting that I want the picture-perfect guy to ask my dad if he can ask me on a date.

  Which dad?

  I guess it’s best I just focus on being happy for my friend, who has way less baggage than I do.

  “That’s so amazing.” I smile, pulling back from our hug. “It’s about time!”

  “Right?!” Eden runs a hand through her hair.

  “Oh! Is your family here now? I’d love to meet them.” I turn to my parents and shoo them off with my hand, holding up one finger to tell them I’d be back in a minute. They seem happy to turn to the food stations and fill their plates.

  Eden grips my hand and leads me through the hundreds of people that have descended on Mission Hall. While I expected her family to be sitting with Jonah’s, I’m still caught off guard seeing him at the table.

  “Guys,” Eden introduces me from the head of the long rectangular table, “this is my other roommate, Kennedy.”

  Eden’s clone, who I take to be her mother, rises to her petite feet and extends her arms. “Kennedy! I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’m Lily, Eden’s mom. We’ve heard so much about you!”

  Great.

  After hugging her mother, I shake the hand of her father, Ford. Ford Vaughn. It sounds so exquisite, I’d expect him to be in a board room. He might be a businessman, but it occurs to me I don’t know what he does.

  “And,” Eden points to the young man next to her father, “this is my brother, Caleb.”

  Oh, for the love of…

  Unsurprisingly, but still startling, Caleb is impressively handsome. He has light hair, which would have curls to match Eden’s if he ever let it grow, as evidenced by the thick waves. The genetic lottery hit the Vaughn children at least twice—I don’t know what their sister, Hannah, looks like—because Caleb’s eyes are the exact shade of green I’d thought an anomaly in Eden.

  “Kennedy,” he gives a sweet smile as he extends his hand, “great to meet you.”

  “Likewise.” I manage better than usual manners while shaking his dark, tanned hand.

  Earlier in my life, I’d chalk the deep tan up to genetics or extra days at the beach. After half a semester at Carter, though, I’m assuming he’s been on a mission trip to somewhere like Africa.

  My parents spot me from across the dining hall and make their way toward us. Eden’s mom seems to notice and promptly instructs her family, and Jonah’s family, to move down so we can all sit together. So much for a quiet lunch with my parents. Just as well, really. I’m not sure where Mom’s head is at, and I don’t want to talk about Roland. I’m granted space from Roland-talk, I reason, in the company of people who know nothing about him.

  Once we’re all seated, Mom opens her mouth. “So, what do you all think of Pastor Roland?”

  If it wouldn’t look so dreadfully tacky, I’d slam my forehead on the table. Instead, I clench my teeth and flash a “how dare you” glare to her before looking at the rest of the table for their answers. I am curious, it turns out.

  “I think he’s headed to do some great things at this school,” Caleb starts. “That sermon today highlights where his head’s at. The Message, not the politics.”

  “Aren’t those the same thing sometimes?” Mom asks in a non-threatening voice. “I mean, it sure seems the Message gets pulled into politics a lot.”

  Caleb shrugs. I hold my breath. “That’s something else,” he replies respectfully. “What I’m talking about is the church as a body. Hearing about Jesus’ words while at church gives people an opportunity to go home and consider what’s been said. They can pray on it, and then apply it to their lives accordingly.”

  I know Mom wants to spar, to talk about women’s rights and gay marriage and everything she fights for on a daily basis. Thankfully, she’s sitting next to me, and I place my hand on her knee, giving it a pleading squeeze.

  “I don’t know,” a man who I assume is Jonah’s dad says, a few people down from me. “I think he might be a little too liberal for the foundations of this school. Once you let one in, more will follow.”

  Like ants?

  “Dad…” Jonah sighs and shakes his head.

  “What?” he replies, looking over to his son. “She asked an honest question, and I’m giving an honest answer.”

  “More will follow?” Jonah questions, toeing the respect line. “They’re not like ants. And, they’re not really they.”

  My mouth drops as Jonah verbalizes my thoughts.

  “Everyone has opinions that can’t fit into a single box,” Jonah continues. “Pastor Roland is one of those guys. Besides, he’s never preached on any of the issues I know those of us at this table are avoiding talking about. For now, can’t we agree that his ability to engage the student body is impressive? He’s always around campus or downtown at the coffee shop, just chatting it up with students. I believe he cares about our hearts.”

  Jonah and his dad stare at each other for a moment while the table watches. The CU student offspring among us are more riveted by the showdown than the parents are—the adults all seem to be shifting in unease.

  “Perhaps you’re right, son,” Jonah’s dad concedes. “After all,” he addresses the table with a politician-like smile, “that’s why we all do what we do, right? To praise Jesus and spread the Word?”

  “Amen,” Eden’s parents mumble.

  Mom chuckles. Dan offers an, “Absolutely.”

  Everyone returns to their meals, but I notice a dark cloud forming over Jonah’s end of the table. All I knew about his parents before this moment was that they were a pastor-family, conservative in their music tastes and displeased with the idea of a worship rock band. It’s clear to me there is a lot more going on between Jonah and his dad than musical tastes.

  Slightly satisfied that everything is, in fact, not perfect for the students at CU, I finish my meal in silence. With a growing curiosity of the man behind the mask of Jonah “I live for Jesus only” Cross.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Whom Shall I Fear?

  Although it’s Parents’ Weekend, some rules still apply. Most rules, really. While we’re allowed off-campus with our parents, we’re required to sign out with our RA, and she has to verify that we’re leaving with our parents.

  Walking to Mom’s car, I notice she has a few more bumper stickers than I recall. My throat begins to close and my heart races.

  “Mom!” I hiss as I point to the back of the car. “What…what?!”

  Keep your laws off my body.

  Jesus was a liberal.

  “Before you get on your high horse, my lovely daughter,” she says in a soft, mocking voice. “I’d like to direct your attention that way.” She points her finger three cars over.

  It’s a child. Not a choice.

  Real men love Jesus.

  I sigh and get in the car without looking at Mom or Dan, who I can hear snickering. The battle of the bumper stickers today ends in a draw.

  “Want to show us this coffee shop of yours?” Dan asks, backing slowly out of our parking spot.

  “Yes!” I perk up. “You’ll love the manager. His name is Asher and he’s big and tattooed and all of that.” I wink and then take a deep breath. “What do you think of my friends?” I ask cautiously.

  I want to mention Roland, and his speech, and the time I’ve been spending with him. But I think back to the story he shared with me of my fifth birthday and think better of it. The elephant will have to ride next to me to Word.

  “I think they’re a great group of kids,” Dan says honestly. “I couldn’t have hand-picked better friends for you.”

  Mom remains glaringly silent.

  “Mom?” I question. I’m not afraid of her response, but I’d like her to voice it.

  She shrugs, taking a deep breath at the same time. “They rea
lly do seem nice.”

  “You sound resigned,” I say, leaning my head against the window.

  “I’m just trying to figure out where it all goes wrong.”

  “Where what goes wrong?” Dan chimes in.

  “Where these kids…when do they go from those nice kids we sat with at lunch to adults who use the Bible to oppress people instead of love them?”

  The car falls silent. She’s right. I can’t say I haven’t had the same thoughts. The upbeat and fervently faithful Bridgette and Eden and the kind and thoughtful Jonah and Silas. When do they all turn into adult versions of…

  “Joy Martinez.” I finish my thought out loud.

  “What do you mean?” Mom asks, turning around to face me.

  I arch an eyebrow. “She’s not nice, Mom. She’s one of the people you warned me about. Thankfully, she’s really the only one I’ve run into, but…ugh, she’s just…not nice. At some point, either all the people in the country who are like her get into positions of power, or people like her persuade people like Eden and Jonah onto their side.” I know I sound about conspiracy-theorist, but that’s kind of what it feels like.

  Mom nods. “Hmm. Interesting. Hopefully you can find out which it is so we know at what level we need to save people.”

  I let out a laugh. “Save people. My life…”

  “What?” Dan chuckles.

  “I just find it amusing that a phrase like save people can have two completely different meanings for people in my life.” I think back to the baptism conversation with Eden and Bridgette, another thing I’ll leave off the discussion list with Mom until I have more of an opinion on the topic. I do, however, fill them in on what happened with Joy at the coffee shop the first time we were there.

  Dan shrugs. “I know it’s a bit much, but she didn’t seem like she was going to hurt the people, did she?”

  Mom stare at him with her mouth hanging wide open. “Daniel Sawyer…”

  “I’m just saying, she thinks she’s doing the right thing just like the two of you do when you protest all the things they’re for. I’m not saying I agree with it, Wendy. I’m just saying look at the situation as a whole.”

  I lean forward and poke my head between the seats. “If I may,” I say, addressing both of them. “Threatening someone with eternal damnation is kind of a dick move.”

  “Nice language,” Dan mumbles.

  I stick out my tongue. “Felt good.”

  Mom laughs and kisses the top of my forehead. “I’m glad to see you’re still the same.”

  With what eyes?

  I’m far from the same person I was when I moved my things onto campus, but so far that’s just in my thinking. And even then, it’s kind of all over the place. All I know is I no longer view institutions like CU as a threat. It seems premature, I realize, since I’m not in any upper-level classes yet, but so far I haven’t been indoctrinated with the kind of hate that has kept my mother’s lobbying career running on all cylinders.

  Yet.

  “Kennedy!”

  My parents and I walk into Word, and I’m caught off guard by the sound of my own name coming from a voice that’s out of place. Whipping around, I find my best friend from home racing toward me.

  “Mollie?!” I shriek.

  “Surprise!” She echoes my pitch as we crash into a tizzy of a hug.

  “What? What are you doing here?” Tears fill my eyes and I take a step back, examining my best friend since fourth grade.

  She squeezes my hands, her eyes pinching out a few tears as she smiles. “Your parents let me tag along!”

  Mollie is the kind of girl everyone truly needs as a best friend. Since before puberty and boys, we were making pinky promises and planning our weddings. We always got each other the best birthday presents because we were the only ones who knew each other well enough to get the thing no one else would think of. At times it made our other friends jealous, but that wasn’t intentional. She’s an only child, and my stepsister didn’t live with us, so we pieced together a sisterhood and clung to it for dear life.

  And now I feel like a massive jerk.

  Since coming to CU, my contact with Mollie has been slim. She’s been respectful of the rules and my concerns about internet chatting, etc., but really, the evasion extends to Roland. Sure, she knows my birth father has made a few cameo appearances in my life since high school, but I’ve never given her much information about him.

  Feigning “not wanting to talk about it much because he’s not that big of a deal,” I’ve managed to keep his profession a secret. It started out with me being embarrassed and ashamed at having a birth-father-turned-pastor who had shooed me out of his life before mine even began. Then it became one of those things that the longer I went without talking about it, the more I couldn’t talk about it. She knows my birth father works at CU, but that’s it. I’ve never given her his last name. I told her that was because I didn’t want her to imagine me with a different last name. That he was no more my father than the bum under the bridge by 6th Street who pushes a dirty stuffed panda bear in a stroller.

  And, being the absolute best friend she’s always been, she respected my wishes.

  “Kennedy? Hello? Where’d you go?” Mollie snaps her fingers as she bounces on her manicured toes.

  I shake my head to pull my attention back to her. “You cut your hair!” I reach for her once shoulder-length golden hair and find a pixie cut that truly makes her a Tinkerbell understudy. “And bleached it?”

  She nods and poses with her hands on her tiny hips. “You like?”

  “I love.” We hug again and I suddenly remember I walked in with my parents. Turning to them, I playfully smack Dan on the arm. “Sneak!”

  “Hey!” He rubs his arm to make me feel strong. “She wanted to surprise you.”

  “We’ll leave you girls to chat,” Mom says, linking her arm through Dan’s. “We’re going to look at the shops down the street and you can show us around here when we come back, k?”

  I nod and give them each a kiss on the cheek before sending them on their way.

  After getting my latte from Chelsea, who already talked up Mollie during the time she was waiting for me, my best friend and I settle into the corner booth that I “normally” sit in with Roland. It’s only been a couple of times, but it seems to work for both of us. Workspace for him, privacy for me.

  “So, how’s Yale?” I ask as we settle in.

  Everyone—our teachers included—assumed that we’d end up at Yale or some other high-level institution together, what with me being the valedictorian and her the salutatorian, plus our friendship. Mollie was confused and seemingly heartbroken when I told her I’d be going to Carter. However, when I explained (in slim detail) that my birth father worked there and I needed to do this, she, of course, was supportive.

  Mollie leans her head back and growls to the ceiling. “Everyone is so fucking stuck up.”

  Internally, I wince at the f-word. My reaction annoys me, of course, but it’s been months since I’ve heard the word anywhere except my own thoughts. And even then, I push it down out of fear that it’ll fly out of my mouth.

  “I’m serious,” she continues, looking cynically amused. “Congradu-fucking-lations that you were in the top ten of your class,” she says to her imaginary Yale peers. “Look around, we all were.”

  I laugh, realizing I’ve never once said to anyone at Carter that I was number one in my class. No one has asked and I haven’t felt the need to share it. It hasn’t come up, and I know that has to be CU specific, because I have a lot of friends at competitive universities who’ve shared the same annoyance Mollie is presenting now.

  Mollie grins and sips her espresso. “So,” she shrugs, “you? How is…this?”

  I suck in my bottom lip and look down for a moment, trying to come to terms with the words I’ll say next, and the looks they will likely put on my best friend’s face.

  “I have to tell you something,” I start while spinning the cardboard sleev
e around my cup. “A lot of somethings, actually…”

  Mollie leans forward and folds her arms on the table. “You’re going to become a nun?”

  I laugh, hard, but nervously, not having the time to explain that the kids who go here don’t generally become nuns. Just because I now hold that information doesn’t mean I have to spew it. It takes lots of context, and church history, and things I don’t actually have enough information on yet.

  Taking a cleansing breath, I maintain eye contact with Mollie as I tell her everything about Roland. Well, everything that I know about him. Including his profession, last name, and the fact that this is all still a secret to my CU friends. Of course I include stories about all of them, too. My friends. Their language and behavior and beliefs are things I’ve shared with her in snippet form here and there, but once I’m on a roll I can’t stop. I don’t leave out my uneasiness about Joy or my love for Maggie, my RA. I spill every tiny detail into my declaration of I’m a Crappy Friend. I don’t know what is gossip or boarders on gossip, but it feels like the world’s longest exhale to tell Mollie every single thought and feeling I’ve had since stepping on campus.

  And I do it all without swearing, even though I really, really want to.

  I hold my breath at the end of my spiel, thankful that Mollie has remained stone-faced the entire time, save for a few eye-widening moments, but who can blame her? When she senses I’m through, she blinks rapidly, as if a bright light has just been blasted on her face.

  “Your dad is the hot preacher guy?” is the first thing she says.

  “Mollie!” I yelp. “Shh! And ew! Do you hate me, though?” I twist my face to brace for the emotional impact.

  Mollie reaches across the table and grabs my arm. “This explains so much, Kennedy. Your parents were oddly quiet on the ride down here.”

  “Ah, you were riding next to the giant elephant that is Roland.” I smirk, thinking of my ride to the coffee shop.