Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(20)

“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.