Jesus Freaks: Sins of the Father

“Matt,” I gasp, shaking my head. “That’s not true.”

“Yeah? Do you know that for sure?” he challenges, taking on a snide tone.

I lift my chin. “What I do know is that if God can relentlessly chase me and tackle me to the ground, He can do the same to you. People who are being followed rarely know it until it’s too late.”

“Too late?”

“Yeah.” I snicker and look down. “Too late. To change your mind. Change directions. God isn’t bullshit, Matt,” I say, making my way for the door to the living room, uncomfortable that these words are coming out of my mouth. But He’s not bullshit. “Don’t stop being my friend over that, please. I’m still trying to figure myself out in all of…this. But one thing I do know is I can’t pretend to know more than the creator of the universe. Does that make me someone who sees through the bullshit? Or someone who buys it?”

Matt’s gaze falls to the floor, where he seems to be piecing together an imaginary puzzle. Looking up, just as confused, he shakes his head. “I don’t know anymore.”

“Well, my guess is we’ll have lots of time to figure that out. But, for now, I’ve got to get back to Roland and the shitstorm that is our shared DNA.”

Matt’s features remain soft as he follows me through the door. We cross into the living room, and Matt leans in to me. I can feel his lips against my ear.

“Clean up your mouth before you open it again, K. Sawyer.”

I hear the grin in his voice, and am grateful that, for now at least, he remains on my side.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR


You Won't Relent


You know that feeling you have when you wake up on Christmas morning? The anticipation from the night before shoots you out of bed and racing downstairs. Everything seems to be in Technicolor—a picture perfect representation of your own life. As you get older, you know that none of this is actually happening, but you still hold on to those moments of perfect. The peaceful elation of something you’ve waited for all year.

Waking up this morning was the exact opposite of that.

With much reluctance on my part, and his, Matt went back to the dorms before we all fell asleep. Jahara insisted that we didn’t want any more problems with the media than we were already guaranteed, so the boyfriend needed to go. Matt and I half-heartedly fought the boyfriend angle, but Jahara was adamant that it didn’t matter. Matt was the one who rescued me from the throes of students and whisked me away to my birth father’s house. As far as anyone would be concerned for a long while—he was my boyfriend.

Even if he wasn’t.

Matt texted me when he got back to his dorm and said his floormates were eerily quiet. He suspected there was some sort of gag order placed on all of them in regards to asking questions. I thanked him for everything and was then forced to deal with the awkward question of where I’d sleep.

I’m not one of those people who gets too stressed out to sleep. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Stress exhausts me. I could barely keep my eyes open long enough to take my shoes off in the guest room Roland led me to before passing out into a deep sleep. I knew somewhere in my subconscious that my mom would be arriving in a few hours, but that was hardly enough to keep me awake. It likely made me fall asleep faster.

When I peeled my eyes open this morning, everything was quiet. For a few seconds, I got to pretend that everything yesterday was a dream. That I could go to work tonight and enjoy a temporary lengthened leash from the constraints of CU or grab lunch with my friends in an effort to brush up on my evangelical dialect and study, pray, sleep, repeat. Yes, for a few blissful seconds this morning I got to be Kennedy Sawyer: weird, unsaved girl from Connecticut.

When the tired yet businesslike sounds of Wendy Sawyer’s voice flowed from the kitchen to the first floor guest room where I’d been sleeping, it all came crashing down.

I’m Kennedy Sawyer. Weird, unsaved daughter of televangelist Roland Abbot.

It’s weird, hearing Mom and Roland talk in the kitchen. I’ve never woken up in the same house as Roland, let alone Roland and Mom. I don’t know what I’m listening for, but within a few seconds it becomes clear that they are strictly business, discussing press releases, how the rest of the semester would proceed, and the like.

“Morning.” I yawn to keep up the appearance that I just woke up and wasn’t at the door eavesdropping.

Mom nearly drops her coffee mug on the counter when she sets it down in a hurry before sweeping me into a hug. “How are you holding up, baby?”

“Good,” I mumble into her shoulder. I haven’t been shot, but she’s treating me as such.

Well, according to Matt I have been shot. Out of some sort of social cannon. “What are you guys talking about?”

Mom fixes me a cup of coffee, with Roland seeming to watch carefully, and sets it in front of me. I mumble a tired thank you as she fills me in on what she and Roland have been discussing.