Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father(80)

“Asher.” He always answers the phone this way. I can hear the buzzing sounds of Word patrons in the background. I long to be there. Invisible. Unless you need coffee, of course.

“Heeeey, Asher,” I draw out. “It’s Kennedy. So—”

He cuts me off. “Kennedy!” he whisper-yells. “Hold on.”

A few seconds later, the air on the other end is significantly quieter. “You there?” Asher asks.

“Yeah,” I reply, deflated. He so knows.

Asher laughs softly into the phone. “You should have told me, kid.”

“You know?”

“Know?! I’ve had reporters calling me all night and sniffing around down here today, just waiting for you to turn up.”

“Sorry,” I whimper slightly.

“Don’t be sorry. But, seriously. You should have told me.”

I huff. “What difference would something like this have made to you, huh?”

Asher chuckles. “Remember how I asked you to keep an eye on the CU students who might try to evangelize all the live-long night to my customers?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“It’s because I’ve seen how people behave, Kennedy. I get to watch all kinds of people all day. Your little secret has set everything on fire.”

I sigh. “I still don’t see how you knowing any of this ahead of time would have—wait. Are you saying you wouldn’t have hired me if you knew Roland was my father?”

There’s a pause one second too long for me. “Asher?”

“That’s not it, Kennedy.”

“Then what is it?” I’m feeling slightly betrayed. Of all the people this “situation” involves, I never expected betrayal from my own kind.

Asher sighs. “I can’t really explain it right now.”

“Don’t bother,” I snap. “I…My mom and Roland don’t think it would be a good idea for me to come to work today. Probably not tomorrow, either. Maybe after The Today Show interview and stuff? I can’t not work…”

“The Today Show?”

I take a minute to fill Asher in on all of our media plans. I feel like I’m on a playground merry-go-round and it’s just starting to speed up.

Asher takes a heavy breath. “Keep me posted, kid. Good luck.”

An idea has been brewing in my brain since late last night, when viewing the blogs of lost PK’s, searching for their voice.

“Asher?” I ask, feelings of betrayal falling by the wayside.

“Yeah?”

“Can you come to the ten o’clock New Life service on Sunday? Please?”

“Kenn—” His voice is laced with preemptive apology, so I cut him off.

“Please, Asher.” I plead, not wanting to give away my plan. Since it’s not fully formed, anyway.

“Fine,” he resigns. “If I can even get near the gate.”

“I’ll make it happen,” I assure him. Now that I know Jahara and have a legit “in” with the pastor, I’m confident in my ability to get anyone I want into what is likely to be the largest group of people New Life has ever hosted at once.

Hanging up with Asher, I walk back into the kitchen and find Roland and Mom working parallel to each other at the island, sending texts and typing away on the computer. Roland is on the phone, but when he sees me he tells whomever is on the other end that he has to go.

I eye both of them and lift my chin. I need to regain some shred of control in my life. “I want to go back to my dorm now.”

They share a glance with each other, and it does something awful to my insides. It’s like they’re having a silent conversation about how to grant my request. Like they’re trying to co-parent me for the first time ever. Without my permission, flashes of memories from my entire life swirl through my brain, and my stepdad, Dan, is replaced with Roland in every single one. Suddenly, I’m transported into the full life of a Preacher’s Kid, and Mom is transformed into a preacher’s wife. As if they had “done the right thing” and married when she found out she was pregnant.

That vision cements what I know I have to do on Sunday. Somehow, I have to take a stand for all the kids who didn’t have a choice. Those thrust into a life like that of a celebrity kid. They didn’t ask for it, but they have to live with it.

Am I asking for it? Am I asking to be a PK now, biology aside?

I pray to God that by Sunday morning, I’ll have an answer to that question.





Leaving Roland’s house wasn’t that overwhelming. There were a few reporters at the gate, and some flashes of cameras, but I kept looking forward and begged my face to just look bored. Pulling up to the back door of the dorm, however, seems to be another story.

There aren’t just reporters there, but people who I recognize as CU students. Some upperclassmen that are TAs for some of my classes, too.

Et tu?

“Did you text Maggie?” Mom asks. I nod in response.

Roland stayed behind at his house to deal with his New Life correspondence. It seems unlikely that either Roland or Mom will be keen on the idea of me spending the night in my own dorm, so it looks like I’ll be back at Roland’s tonight.

I’ve restricted my texts this morning to two people only. Mollie—my best friend—and Matt, who is the only one who knows exactly what’s gone on since yesterday afternoon. I simply haven’t had the energy to fill everyone in. Honestly, that’s what I’m hoping the Today interview will cover. As I’ve mentioned, stress exhausts me. This situation is liable to put me into a coma if I think about it too much. I just need to make it through Sunday service the day after tomorrow and deal with The Today Show.