Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(21)

He nods. “Yeah, she told me to remind you not to get kicked out of school because you can’t keep your vulgar thoughts to yourself.”

I laugh, and Roland joins in. “I hate everyone,” I admit. “All the time.”

“Oh, come on.” Roland rests his forearms on the island, a smile still overtaking his mission trip-tanned skin.

I sigh and point to the sandwich I want on the menu. Roland calls in the order—we both order roast beef on white bread with lettuce, tomato, and mayonnaise. American cheese. The white kind.

“You didn’t have to do that…order the same thing as me,” I remark when he ends the call.

“I order that every Sunday, Kennedy.”

“Oh,” is the only thing I can say.

“Are you still against people knowing how we’re related?” Roland asks, looking down at his interlaced fingers.

“You were against telling me you were preaching today,” I say passively.

His head tilts to the side. “It was confidential.”

I mimic his head tilt. “You and I don’t really play by the same rules, though, do we?”

The temperature and pressure in the room changes in an instant. I’m filled with fear, anger, and uncertainty.

I lean back in the chair and cross my arms. “Anyway, why do you want people to know? So they don’t think you’ve been bullshitting them about your sinful past all these years?”

Roland looks to the ceiling for a minute before searching for my eyes. I look to his coffee maker and its blinking clock.

11:58…11:58…11:58

“Kennedy, we’ve talked about this. A lot. You know that when I discuss the sin of my past, that I’m not talking about you.”

I switch my gaze to him in an instant. “Aren’t you?”

One long blink later, Roland answers, “You’re the only good from back then, Kennedy.”

“Don’t,” I snap, sliding off the stool onto my feet. “Don’t talk to me about the goodness. You’ve never told your viewing audience that. You’ve talked about being an alcoholic and having sex before marriage. You’ve droned on and on about the regret of impregnating your college girlfriend and signing away your parental rights. But you’ve never once talked about the goodness.”

Roland rises slowly and takes two steps toward me. “Haven’t you listened at all? You were the goodness. The goodness and joy that my sin took me away from.”

My eyes fill with tears, blurring his concerned gaze. “Your sin caused me.”

Roland shakes his head and places his hands on my shoulders. “God made you, Kennedy. My sin clouded my judgment and didn’t allow me to follow through with you like I should have.”

“Stop!” I scream, stepping back. “I can’t hear about sin anymore. I’ve heard the word about nine thousand times since I set foot on campus, and I can’t hear it again.”

I make my way for the front door and Roland follows. “Where are you going? We’ve ordered lunch.”

Stopping with my hand on the doorknob, I turn to Roland. “I’ve lost my appetite. You preached for an hour about sin and regret. You gave the freshman class one hell of a cautionary tale, Roland. Pardon me if I don’t want to be the dog in your dog and pony show designed to keep everyone pure. No one knows we’re related, and no one will. Got it? I’m having a hard enough time fitting in without throwing you into the mix.”

Roland steps forward, his mouth opening as if he’s going to say something. I put my hand up.

“I didn’t get a say in whether or not you were there for me when I was a kid.” I sniff. “But I get a say now. And I say no.”

I flee into the fresh air and slam the door behind me, my eyes instantly flickering around to see if anyone saw. God forbid an angry, tearful student leaves the local church pastor’s house in a fit of fury.

Once I’m certain I’m alone, I walk quickly toward campus. It was a two-minute drive to Roland’s house, meaning I won’t have much of a walk to the dining hall. I wonder if my friends are still there. As the dining hall comes into view, my phone rings. Mom.

I clear my throat. “Hello?”

“You said you’d call me after the church service,” she says in a mock-accusing voice.

“Sorry. It’s been a bizarre couple of days.” I slow my pace to catch my breath.

“What’s wrong?”

I stop. “What do you mean?”

“Are they treating you okay?” she asks.

“Who’s they? Mom, I’m not in prison…”

She snorts and I lose my patience.

“Look,” I start, “I’m really going to need your support here, okay? I put up with your comments about this place all summer and now I’m here, and it’s hard, and I need your support. Got it?” I start to cry.

Mom’s voice turns panicky. “You’re crying.”

“I had lunch with Roland. Well…almost had lunch.”

“Shit,” she hisses. “Are you okay?”

“No!” I screech through my wail. “Why? Just…why, Mom? Why all of this?” I’m making no sense, I realize, but I know she’ll understand.

She takes a deep, loud breath. “I don’t have all the answers for you, honey.”