Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)(78)

Ascending the steps ahead of Kennedy, I place my hand on the doorknob and cast a soft glance her way. “I know it seemed like you didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter, but I’m really happy you’re here right now.”

She nods, a tight smile appearing on her lips while her eyes widen. She’s nervous to meet this branch of her family she’s never known. Meanwhile, I’ve been trying to back my way out of having her spend so much time around people who know every ugly detail about me.

Here goes nothing.





CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN





Healing Begins


Kennedy.




“Mom? Dad?” Roland calls, opening the door slowly, as if to give one of us more time before it all becomes real.

I slept for most of the ride down here, then pretended to sleep for another half hour. I was thinking, and I didn’t want him watching me think. The last few text message exchanges with my mother left me grateful to be here, in Villa—freaking—Hills, Kentucky, more than a thousand miles away from her.

You can think better than that on your feet, Kennedy, why say you were going to Roland’s? Didn’t you think they’d eat that right up? Why you’re doing this, for the life of me, I don’t know. Maybe you really wanted to go there after all, so you created this situation to serve your interests.

Perhaps.

Of course, her final text reassured me she loved me, and didn’t really think any of those things she said. I told her it was all fine, and not to worry. We both lied, but history promises we’ll both be long over it before our tempers cross paths again. That’s the thing about quick-tempered people—they typically don’t hold a grudge. Can’t, rather, or they’d run out of allies quickly.

My throat runs dry listening to the footsteps approaching us. Maybe we should have FaceTimed before this so it wouldn’t feel so blind date-like.

“Roland?” Nora, I assume, calls. Her voice moving closer. There are heavier, slower steps behind her. A silent Tim.

In a few short seconds, a long, lean-ish woman stands in front of me. Eyes identical to Roland’s—and mine, with sandy hair giving way to frosty white. I’ve seen her picture plenty of times at Roland’s place, but in the flesh her presence is even bigger than I imagined. If charisma is genetic, he got his from her.

After she hugs Roland, she steps aside and lets Tim in for a manly handshake-hug combo that always cracks me up among men. He’s shorter than Roland and, unless Nora is wearing heels, he’s about an inch shorter than she is.

Yep, he’s shorter. She’s wearing adorable suede moccasins that look incredibly comfortable.

And, here’s the awkward silence. Fidgeting, seemingly unable to decide where to put their hands, or their eyes, Tim and Nora look at Roland, then over to me. Nora’s eyes settle into mine and make a home there, like she’s trying to figure out if I’m going to fight, flee, or stay.

I’m wondering the same thing.

Looking at her, I see the woman who raised the now-amazing man next to me. The woman who took him back into her home despite his transgressions against nearly everyone he came in contact with for the better part of a decade. I see love as I stare into Nora Abbot’s eyes. A mother’s love. I recognize her, somehow. In the eyes, for sure, but there’s more. Something so much more there that it startles me for a moment while I decide what to do with it.

Being the eighteen-year-old I am, I wave first.

“Hi,” I whisper, then clear my throat to avoid sounding like a shy toddler. “I’m Kennedy.” Stating the obvious somehow makes me feel better. Or, the exercise of stating my name serves to remind me that I’m really standing here and haven’t yet gone insane.

“I’m Nora.” Her shaky voice gives way to her glistening grey eyes. “It’s so nice to meet you, Kennedy.”

Her emphasis chokes me up, causing me to drop my bag and take the three steps toward her that now seem like too much distance, and wrap my arms around her. I’m hugging this non-stranger. She doesn’t feel foreign to me. Even as her arms freeze before she settles into the hug, it all feels right, and I’m wishing I met Nora Abbot a long time ago. Inexplicably, I feel like I already have.

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” Stepping back, I offer Tim a hug as well. He’s much more rigid in this interaction than his wife, but hugs me just the same.

“Oh look at us,” Nora says, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Standing around here like a couple of weeping willows. Let’s get you settled into your rooms, huh?”

I follow Nora up the stairs since she’s already carrying my bag. Looking back over my shoulder, I see Roland wipe the back of his hand over his eyes before following his dad into the kitchen, his arm wrapped around his shorter father.

I feel at home here in this house I’ve never been to, in a state I never thought I’d travel to. It’s Nora. I know it is. I feel the same pull toward her that I felt toward my RA, Maggie, when we first met.

Keep your eyes and ears open around this one. And your heart, while you’re at it.

“Here we are.” Nora opens a door and sets my bag on a bed neatly made with pale yellow sheets and a matching thick comforter folded at the foot of the bed. “Bathroom is at the other end of the hall. You’ll have the room to yourself for the next couple of days, and then once Julia and Geoff get here with their kids, we’ll figure everything out.”