Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)(7)

Silas shifts in his seat. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen him sit still for very long. “You’ve got a big commitment to take on, Kennedy.”

Jonah leans forward, arching his eyebrow toward Silas. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Silas faces Jonah, “she’s gotta kind of get her act together, don’t you think? She can’t keep working downtown and skate by without doing volunteer work now that people know who she is.”

I clear my throat and wave. “I’m over here. And, why can’t I work downtown? At the university-approved coffee shop?” I arch my eyebrow as I throw that last bit in.

Silas gives an aggravated-sounding sigh. “Because. Because I guarantee you if there are kids on this campus who are questioning and who hang out with more liberal ideas like you do, they’re going to be paying attention to you and everything you do. If they have a true heart for Christ and are watching you for cues, you don’t want to be a stumbling block for them, do you?”

I clench my teeth for a brief second before releasing them and licking my lips. “If they’re looking at me before Jesus, they’ve got problems I can’t help them with, Silas. I didn’t ask to be Roland’s daughter,” I remind everyone. And myself.

“But you are,” Eden speaks up.

Jonah nods. “None of us get to choose who our parents are, but we’ve got to deal with them, don’t we?”

“People still need role models, Kennedy,” Bridgette offers softly. “And, for right now, you’re going to be just that, for a lot of people.”

I roll my eyes. “Matt says there’s a band of disenfranchised PK’s who need me.”

Jonah flashes a melancholy smile but Eden cuts in before he can open his mouth.

“And I think you need some of us, more than you did before.” Her voice is soft but intense. A dynamic she masters. More like a pastor than the wife of one, which she aspires to be.

I nod. “You’re right. I was supposed to spend some time this semester with Maggie sort of getting my act together to fit in around here. And, we haven’t done that.”

“It’s not about fitting in, necessarily. It’s about being heard. Like,” she takes a deep breath, “those girls at Planned Parenthood. You knew how to talk to them without even thinking.”

“It was terrifying,” I admit.

Eden shrugs. “Whatever. You pulled it off. Now you need to be able to do that with people around here, too. You have stuff to offer, Kennedy. I’ve heard you in prayer sometimes. You don’t say much, but what you do shows your clear heart for God. You’re a lot like your dad, you …”

She keeps talking but I can’t hear her words. I stand and lift my hand. “Not really in the mood for familial comparisons right now, Eden.”

“Sorry.” She looks down and I instantly feel bad. For a second.

“It’s fine. I’ll be back in the dorm tonight, okay? I’ve got to go talk to my mom.”



Like your dad …



Shaking the cobweb of offense from my head, I offer a weak wave to my friends. Before returning to my mom, I note that Matt and the man I’m calling his dad are still talking in the doorway with Roland. When I’d looked over before, Matt was gone, but he’s back and staring at the floor. I don’t have time to wonder where he went, but I do anyway. Really I just want to go stand next to him. He’s been my only port in this storm.

Mom meets me halfway. “Can we talk?” she whispers in a clipped tone.

“I was just coming to get you.” I know she must be reeling from my statement about being Roland’s daughter, a title I did not clear with her. But one that’s mine for the choosing, anyway. So, I gently grab her hand and lead her to a room just off the green room. It’s unlabeled but has two chairs in it, so we sit.

I’m sorry.

It’s my first instinct to say that to her. To reassure her that I’m sorry for blindsiding her, if that’s how she felt. Or that I’m sorry for it seeming like I ditched Dan, though that’s not what I did. But, I don’t say it. Instead, I situate myself in the uncomfortable silence of a Wendy Sawyer emotional standoff, and wait for her to pull the trigger.

A few seconds later, the sound. A heavy exhale as Mom’s tired, wet eyes meet mine. “Oh Kennedy,” she whispers. “What now?”

Finally, my tears come. Hard and fast like a broken levy after a raging storm. “I don’t know.” My head falls to her shoulder and we hold each other crying silently, like we always do.

We don’t bawl in front of each other. That’s far too vulnerable. Screaming matches? Sure. Silent treatment? We’ve mastered it. But loud tears? No, tears are as reverential as prayer around the Sawyer house. Private and quiet.

“I’m sorry,” I finally do say when I pull my head from her shoulder. “It’s just … Roland and I have been getting close this semester, and—“

“Which you haven’t told me anything about,” she cuts me off, sniffing.

I wipe under my eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I really am. I just … needed—”

“To do this on your own.”

“Right,” I snicker, “kind of like finishing a sentence.”