“But we can be victimized by the sins of others,” Kennedy states softly.
A thick heaviness settles over the table. We’re at an impasse. A circular reasoning in which God gives free will, knows the desires of our hearts, and interjects sometimes, and not others. A God who let Satan fall, let Eve bite that apple; let Roland walk away from Kennedy, let … just let.
“Sovereignty.” Jonah sounds defeated, leaning forward and picking up his pencil in an effort to get back to the task at hand.
Eden puts a hand on Jonah’s shoulder, and forces half a smile. “All things work together for good—”
“No,” I snap through gritted teeth. “Don’t hit me with Romans eight-twenty-eight, Eden. Is that all we have? Seriously? All we have to stand on when our world crumbles around us is that it’ll all work out okay? Even if we are slaughtered in the process?” I shove my textbook and papers into my backpack and push my chair back, standing quickly.
“Matt,” Kennedy whispers, putting her hand over my wrist.
I shake it off. “It’s not good enough. If his eternal love comes at the price of a living hell on earth, I don’t want it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
House on a Hill
Kennedy.
Staring in the violent wake of Matt’s departure, Silas is the first to speak.
“I’ll go after him.”
“No.” I stand and try to gracefully collect my belongings without sounding rude. “I’ll go. I brought it all up. Sorry for derailing the study session.” Pushing my chair in, I offer a soft smile.
“Not your fault,” Jonah assures. “It’s good to have these discussions.”
Matt’s got a long stride, one that seems to lengthen when he’s angry, or in a hurry, so I exit the library as quickly as possible without causing a scene. Standing at the top of the cold, stone stairs, I survey the quad and spot him instantly. Head down, shoulders hunched. Bouncing down the stairs, I don’t pretend that I can catch up to him by sheer will. I start running, avoiding calling out his name because I don’t want to draw attention to us, or him. My breathing is ragged when I’m within a yard of him. As if he’d played this out in his mind, his pace slows, but his head stays down.
“Go back and study,” he huffs.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I huff back, from being out of breath, rather than angry. After a few seconds of silence, I nudge him further into the conversation. “If you want to call me your friend, you’re going to have to start behaving like a friend.”
Bingo.
On a dime, he stops, facing me with a furrowed brow. “Excuse me?” His attempt at insolence is comical.
Backing up a step, I square off to face him. “I know it’s only been a few months that we’ve known each other, but this is college—it’s a time warp. So, a few months is like years when you have constant contact with someone. And, still, I don’t know what makes you tick. Or, more pressingly, what makes you so damn angry.” I whisper damn just in case gossipy ears are lingering around.
He opens his mouth to start speaking, but I stop him, holding up my hand.
“You’re so moody. You say you’re not good enough but you walk around here with an attitude that suggests you really think the contrary, which honestly, is totally a sign of insecurity. But, what is going on? What is in here?” I jab an index finger against his chest. “And what, for the love of you know who is up with you and your dad?”
From around the corner, Roland’s voice calls out to us. “Hey you two!” he says with a smile, though his tone seems a little urgent.
“Oh … hey!” I’m taken slightly off guard, honestly. Since Thanksgiving, Roland hasn’t been on campus much. He’s had a ton of outreach work, and has had a few of his pastor friends from across the country filling in for sermons. Staring at his hopeful face, I’m feeling guilty that I haven’t been the best about responding to his texts.
“Getting ready for finals?” Roland asks, casually sliding his hands into his pockets.
I sigh. “We were just studying for our OT final, but got off on a weird tangent about free will, sovereignty, and Satan’s creation. … Did I miss anything, Matt?” I eye him with a grin, trying to lighten up the atmosphere around us.
“‘Bout sums it up.” He chuckles and looks slightly ashamed. Like, maybe he’s regretting storming out—which is kind of his M.O. He told me once that Romans scripture irritates him but, of course, hasn’t told me why.
Roland’s eyes go wide. “I see why you’ve fled to fresh air.”
“I didn’t realize you’d be back on campus before Winter Break,” I state plainly. I hate that I always freeze up a little around him. And I fidget. I freeze and fidget at the same time. It must be quite a sight. Matt’s staring at my hands, like a silent call to my nervous habit, so I interlace my fingers and hold them down in front of me.