Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)(23)

All in all, the interview went better than I expected. Easy questions, easy answers. Greg Mauer promised viewers, however, that they would get to go “in depth” with Roland and me in the coming weeks. No doubt that will cause viewers to get all hot under the collar with speculation of how our father/daughter relationship is developing, or how my beliefs are or are not changing.

Roland finishes his goodbyes and thank-yous to the crew while I duck into the bathroom and scrub off the six tons of TV make-up that’s weighing down my face. Before facing Mom and Roland, I reach for my phone to find out what all the vibrating was about during the interview.

Mollie.

All the tension in my chest releases as I chuckle through her play-by-play texts.



Good hair day. Praise the Lord. That’s what we’re supposed to say, right?





Nice lips.





You think Greg Mauer’s an ass, don’t you? That eyebrow arch says it all.





Oh, we’re holding hands now?





But, the coup de grace—her final text—confirms my fears.





Oh … no … apparently we’re NOT holding hands. Call me.



Taking a few more minutes to myself in the confines of the bathroom, I do just that.

“Hey superstar!” she answers after the first ring.

“Did my hand-holding faux pas look like I was dissing Roland or God?” I ask breathlessly.

“Oh …” she responds, sounding startled. “I hadn’t even thought of the God thing …”

“But now that I mention it?”

Mollie clicks her tongue. “I don’t know. I’m not them. I’m not you. Are you over-thinking this? It legitimately didn’t occur to me that it would be the God thing. Which would be worse for you?”

I pause for a moment. “I don’t even know.”

“Well,” she sighs animatedly, “one way or another you’re screwed with someone, huh?”

A laugh bursts from deep in my belly and I place my hand on the back of my neck, assessing myself in the mirror. “Most definitely.”

“Any word from Dan?”

“No,” I huff, opening the bathroom door and working my way to the kitchen. The kitchen has food. And coffee. Both are required if I’m to show up to class in twenty minutes.

She sighs again. “Keep me posted there, okay?”

“Will do.” Mom spots me and points to the coffee maker. I nod. “I’ll call you later.”

“Text me during class,” Mollie challenges. “I want to know what your post-interview life is like.”

I chuckle. “You’re mental, you know that?”

“I do. Oh! Before you go, consider spending a week with me at Yale.”

“How—” I start, but she cuts me off.

“Your winter break is a week longer than mine. You can come hang out with me for a while before heading back into Caanan.”

My mouth drops at Mollie’s Old Testament reference. The land promised to Abraham and his children by God. I just got that question right on a quiz. I think, honestly, it was put there for me. Beginner Bible stuff.

“I’ll think about it. I want to,” I’m quick to add, “but I need to check the rules. I’ve just gotta be super careful right now.” Suddenly, I’m missing Matt, and our private talks.

Back to the sort-of real world now, lady.

“We’ll think of something,” Mollie promises before hanging up.

“Who was that?” Mom asks, handing me a steaming cup of pumpkin coffee.

“Mollie.”

She exhales for a few seconds. “Oh.”

“No word yet from Dan?”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, well, yes, he did call me just before you went on the air. Promised we’d have a long talk as soon as he gets home at the end of the week.” Her cynicism is thick, but I don’t have the time or desire to probe. It’s their marriage.

“What’s your plan now?” I ask, leaning against the island. “I mean, I’ve got to get back to class and work and … life.”

Mom rounds the island and places her hands on my shoulders. “You did an excellent job, Kennedy.”

Here I thought our emotional circumnavigation would take us clear around the interview.

“Thanks. I mean it.” Setting my mug down, I wrap my arms around her shoulders. “Thank you for dropping everything for me this week.”

“I’d do anything for you,” she whispers, tears clearly cutting off her speech.

“You always do,” I reply, talking about far more than the past several years. “My entire life.”

We breathe deeply at the same time and each take one step back, chuckling at our mirrored movements.

“I need to get home,” she finally says. “But I want to make sure you’re okay.”

I look around. “I am. If I feel like I’m not, I can come here,” I say, gesturing to Roland’s space. “And if that doesn’t work, I promise I’ll come home.”

Her eyes wet again at my words. “Promise?”

“Promise,” I assure.

Roland reappears from the hallway by his study. It’s clear there’s a bathroom down that hall somewhere, given he looks like his normal non-made-up self, but I realize I haven’t had much of a tour of this place beyond the main areas.