Jesus Freaks: The Prodigal (Jesus Freaks #2)(8)

She chuckles halfheartedly.

“But,” I continue, “Roland showed me that picture you sent him when I turned five, and the note, and I just thought—”

“What?” Mom’s tears cease as she pulls her head back.

I huff. “Seriously, though. Let me finish.”

She shakes her head. “Kennedy, I’ve never sent Roland a single piece of mail in my life. What picture are you talking about?”

My mind races in a “life flashing before your eyes” sort of way. Polaroid-like images of my conversation that day with Roland whip through my head, along with the images I created for myself. One of him on the floor swimming in Bourbon and self-pity, and another where he’s clutching the picture of me in the sundress. Literally hanging on to it for dear life.

“Kennedy,” Mom snaps. “What damn picture?”

“Shh,” I instinctively reply to her borderline curse. I’m sure enough time has gone by that she’s forgotten about it, or she was fantastically intoxicated when she slapped the stamp on the envelope and addressed it to the future pastor.

“Stop it,” I hiss. “You know the one, you don’t have to pretend you don’t. The one from my fifth birthday. The sundress with the flowers. The yellow one.”

Mom brings her hand to her mouth and I think I’ve finally gotten through. Briefly her eyes close, and I assume she’s done so to remember the moment she sealed the envelope and tucked it in the box at the post office, unable to retrieve it once the heavy metal door slammed shut.

“Kennedy,” she whispers when her eyes open, “I’ve never sent Roland mail. Ever. Was it just a picture?”

I shrug. “I guess. With a little note.”

“That said …”

“I just thought you’d like to know. That’s what the note said.” I stand, moving toward the door, needing an answer.

Mom meets me at the door, her hand over mine as it rests on the handle. “We’ll figure this out later,” she says in a rare moment of composure. “Don’t bring it up now. We’ve got all kinds of other… shit … going on out there.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, my attention refocused, “like what the … what is Matt’s dad doing here? That is his dad, right? And, how do you know him?”

She smiles, opening the door. “See what I mean? All kinds of shit.”

“Your mouth.” I roll my eyes.

She rolls hers back.

“I’m serious,” I insist. “Please.”

Mom’s face falls slightly. “Sorry,” she whispers.

“Hope you took time off from work,” I mumble as we exit the side room. She playfully pinches my elbow as we reenter the increasingly awkward atmosphere of the green room.

Jonah stands, followed by the rest of my friends. “We gotta head back to campus and get some studying done. See you around soon, right?”

Instinctively, my eyes flash to Mom, Roland, and then Jahara. “Yes,” I lift my chin and answer. “I’ll be in class tomorrow.”

Jahara steps forward. “Excuse me,” she interrupts as politely as possible, “but you’ve got the Today show tomorrow morning. The eight-AM slot.”

“Cool,” I reply with a thousand pound block muscling its way through my throat. “I have class at nine so I’ll be fine.”

I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Please let me be fine.

She clears her throat. “They also want to talk about doing a longer interview that they can air during an evening slot.”

“We can schedule that for Thanksgiving break, then. I need to study and get through the next week. And, if they want me in New York for that, it’s not a far drive from my house.”

Jahara starts to reply, but I cut her off. “If they want the in-depth interview, Jahara, they’ll take it when I can give it. We aren’t the ones asking them for this exposé. They’ll do it when I’m ready.”

Eden and Bridgette’s eyes widen and Silas and Jonah shift uncomfortably as their hands search for their pockets. It occurs to me that they’ve likely rarely spoken to an adult the way I just spoke to Jahara. During Parents’ Weekend I heard little more than “Yes Sir” or “Yes Ma’am” as Jonah addressed his own parents.

“Sorry,” I soften my tone toward Roland’s assistant. “Sorry,” I repeat with a deep breath, shaking my head. “Just … during Thanksgiving break, please.”

Jonah approaches me with eyes so full of compassion I think I might break apart. When he places his hand on my shoulder, I think I do break. Just a little. “Hang in there. This is just a thing.”

I huff with a grin. “Just a thing.” I nod and hug Bridgette and Eden before they exit the room.

Silas hangs back for a second and my breath catches when he leans forward to whisper in my ear. “It’s like you’ve come home. That’s how they’re all going to see it. Keep your wits about you in that interview tomorrow.”

The goose bumps on my neck remain long after he and the rest of my friends disappear down the hallway. I don’t need any further explanation. He’s right. All of the people my dad calls “church” think I’ve come back. What I do question, though, is Silas’ use of the word “they.” Isn’t he part of them? Perhaps he was just using pronouns for the sake of conversational ease, but I make a note in the back of my head to tease apart his semantics when I have a moment to myself. Whenever that will be.