Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)(29)

“Hey Asher?” I call down the back hall.

His head pops out of this office. “What’s up?”

“Can I take my break now?” I’ve got twenty minutes until my scheduled break, but I feel like my head is going to explode. Turns out the normalcy in my setting hasn’t permeated to my brain.

His steely eyes study me closely. With a tight nod, he grants me permission before returning to his office. Thankful, I toss my apron on the back counter and weave through the crowded, mismatched tables of the cafe until I’m outside, enjoying the late-November air. Not as biting as it is back home, I’m sure, which I’m thankful for as I collapse into a seat at a corner bistro table in front of Word.

Biting my lip, I sigh a long, careful sigh. My knee-jerk reaction was to bring Hershel Baker to his knees by digging for, and then slinging, dirt. Unfortunately, I’ve spent too much time on The Hill to consider that a viable option.

Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.

That petition was offered up more than fifteen times on my Facebook page in the days following the Picturegate fallout. Some students who I know—and some who I don’t—posted this quote from the New Testament as a means to support me as I ducked from the trajectory of Joy’s boulders. But, I’ve learned I can’t sit on one side of scripture. The whole thing applies to me. I can’t just take comfort in knowing Joy was wrong in her assertion of her own perfection—I’m not allowed to throw stones either. Not if I want to walk with Jesus, anyway.

And, unfortunately, that means I need to take a continuous look at my own actions. My floor mates pray for this almost nightly. To have God align their walk and their will with His. If I’m being honest with myself, that’s what I want, too.

If Dean Baker has filthy skeletons, they’ll undoubtedly escape his overstuffed closet at some point—I have to trust that. But, if I’m to have any success here, among my friends or with Roland, I need to focus on what God wants me to do. Guess I better get praying, because I have no friggen idea what God has in store for me. But, if the events of late are any indication, I better rest up for a long journey.

I stretch my neck side to side and bring my arms over my head, bending back as far as I can to get my back to crack. Satisfied when it finally does, I sit forward again and decide to head back in five minutes before my break is technically over.

That is, of course, until I spot my stepdad, Dan walking through the front door of Word.

“Dan?” I ask, loud enough for him to stop in his tracks and turn to face me.

He smiles and makes his way toward me while I stand, once again on uncertain legs.

“Hey you, I’ve missed you.” He wraps me in a warm hug that feels and smells like home.

I squeeze him back, whispering, “I’ve missed you, too.”

The last time I saw him was Parents’ Weekend, and nothing is the same as it was then. I’m not the same. I pull my phone from my back pocket as I gesture for him to sit and send a text to Asher.

Me: My stepdad showed up. Can I have a few more minutes? Like … ten?



Asher: Of course.





Me: Stop giving me special privileges.





I tease, knowing he’ll get the joke.





Asher: Stop being special.



I smile at his kind words, and before I put my phone down, it dings one more time.



Asher: JK. Do NOT stop being special.





Rolling my eyes, I silence my phone and face Dan.



“You were excellent on the Today Show,” he starts, seeming awkward and out-of-place.

“Tell me about the picture you sent Roland,” I blurt out.

Dan inhales and blows out a heavy breath through puffed cheeks. “Right to it, huh?”

“I’m little for pretenses these days,” I reply dryly. “Sorry,” I quickly add, rubbing the back of my neck. “Just … what the hell?” I whisper, just in case.

“You were right in what you said in the interview on Monday. I am a father. I was a father before I ever met your mother and knew anything of Roland. My feelings about Roland have cycled over the years. Obviously, my first thought was that he was a complete bastard. Then, I was grateful that he released your mother and you from what would certainly have been a depressing, abusive life. Then …” he pauses and tears well in my own eyes. “I felt sorry for him. Aside from my relationship with Jenny, which was always a little strained given my relationship with her mother, I felt sorry for him on two levels. One was … listen, you and your mom are two of the great loves of my life …”

“Dan,” I cut in, suffocating from the raw emotion. We don’t do deep conversations.

He puts his hand up. “Let me finish. You are. And the more I got to know you and love you, I felt bad for the man who wouldn’t ever get to know you the way I was. And I felt bad for whatever it was that was happening in his life that made him justify such a decision. Healthy people don’t walk away from their children, Kennedy. They just don’t. It’s not natural.”

“Why didn’t you just tell Mom about the picture … or ask her …” I know the answer before I’ve even completed the question.