The Pastor's Son

by Rebecca Joanne

  “No. I don’t need anything. Thank you.”

  She cleared her throat. “Well, I’m about to make some food. You allergic to anything?”

  “No.”

  “Are there any foods you don’t eat?”

  I sighed. “Olives. And sardines.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry about either of those here.”

  I looked down at my feet. “My father loved them.”

  Silence fell between us before I sighed.

  “Thank you for the clothes, by the way. Where did you get them? They’re nice. They kind of remind me of--.”

  “Your father’s clothes?”

  There was something in her voice that pulled my attention over to her. A pain and a hurt I understood all too well right now. I opened my eyes and gazed into hers, watching as she diverted her stare a bit too quickly.

  “If they don’t fit, let me know,” she said.

  Then, she disappeared into the hallway.

  And with her went her oddly comforting presence.

  Chapter Four: Kendall

  My heart broke for Adam. The man was hurting. Desolate. Grieving the loss of his father. And judging by the phone calls he placed, it had been a recent development in his life. I understood that kind of pain. That kind of loss. But, I couldn't imagine going through it while being completely removed from all I knew and stuck with some crazy woman in a cabin.

  Wait, does he think I’m crazy?

  I shook my head and reached for the bacon. Breakfast for dinner was always a sound choice. Some extra crispy bacon, eggs cooked in the drippings, some hashbrowns to pile high on top of pancakes.

  Bacon always makes things better.

  I laid out the strips while my pancake batter sat off to my left, waiting to be used. Every once in awhile, I heard the pitter-patter of footsteps, but no one ever emerged. Which was fine, because that gave me time to get the food whipped up. It gave me time to set things up.

  It also gave me time to come up with a game plan.

  I wanted to give Adam something that I wished someone would’ve given me during my stages of grief. When my brother and I lost our mother, I had to step up and take care of everyone. My brother spiraled for a while, and Dad took an early retirement. His grief almost killed him. An ironic revelation, considering that he passed a few years later, from the same thing that took our mother from us.

  I’m going to give him time to rest.

  It was the one thing I wished someone would have done for me. It was the one thing I never truly got enough of after burying both of my parents. My brother, Phil, got to wallow in his grief while other people worked his grocery store for him. He got to lay in bed and cry himself to sleep until time eventually healed his broken heart. But, me? I didn’t have that luxury. I didn’t get the pleasure of tuning out and barricading myself away from the world.

  “Guess that’s why you got this cabin,” I murmured.

  “What’s that?” Adam asked.

  I peered over my shoulder. “Nothing. Just talk to my… self.”

  Bacon grease popped in the pan as my gaze trailed up and down his body. His brown hair shot off in every direction while his icy blue eyes studied me. His broad shoulders gave way to a lean build, with a tapered waist that dripped into long legs. Strong legs. Legs that currently carried the weight of the world on those broad shoulders. And the clothes. My father’s clothes.

  They fit him perfectly.

  “Kendall? Are you all right?”

  I couldn’t speak. “I--uh, y-y--you--.”

  He took a step toward me. “Kendall?”

  I quickly turned around. “Breakfast for dinner sound fine?”

  He paused. “Yeah. Sounds great. Thank you.”

  “I’m making up extras to put in your Tupperware containers for you. I’ll put them in the fridge for you to heat up for whenever you get hungry.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “Trust me, when you get up at two in the morning because your entire body hurts and you want food, you’re going to wish it was there.”

  I felt his presence behind me. “Then, thank you. I owe you a great deal.”

  I lifted my head. “You owe me nothing.”

  I stared at the window. I studied the reflection looking back at me. For a split second, I saw my father standing there, in his patterned sweater vest and his khaki slacks. His hair swept back with grease. His smile, wide and unassuming. I blinked rapidly, forcing his face to fade away from the window.

  Replaced only with Adam’s.

  I cleared my throat. “You look--.”

  His stare hooked with my own in the reflection of the window.

  “You look great, Adam. Really.”

  His hands slid down the sweater vest. “Can’t say I’ve ever worn one of these.”

  My attention fell back to the pan. “Well, they suit you.”

  “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  “No. I’ve got it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure.”

  “Here, let me just--.”

  My hand quickly wrapped around his wrist, and I froze. The electricity that sizzled up my arm left me at a loss for words. It felt like I couldn't breathe. As if my brain stopped reminding my lungs to pull in air. How was it possible for my heart to break and feel full at the same time? The dichotomy was mind-boggling.

  “I’ve got it,” I said softly.

  But, it took my hand a few more seconds to release Adam’s wrist.

  “Okay. Well, if there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I don’t want to be useless while I’m here.”

  I snickered. “Good luck. I wish I’d had the time to be useless when I lost my father.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  I shrugged. “It was years ago. Buried my mother first.”

  “Same here.”

  I sighed. “I’m sorry. I know I can get kind of blunt when I’m talking.”

  “Nothing wrong with that. More people should be like that. There’d be fewer communication issues if they did.”

  I grinned. “Mom always told me that my mouth would be the one reason I never married. I guess she didn’t bank on me moving up the mountain to get away from people, though.”

  He leaned against the kitchen counter next to me. “Is that why you’re up here? To get away from everyone?”

  I wasn't sure if I wanted to answer his question. I mean, I did. But, I also didn’t want to take the focus off what was important. Which was Adam’s healing while he was with me. My home on that mountain, it had healing powers. I was sure of it. No matter how lonely I got and no matter how hopeless things seemed, all I had to do was step out on my porch and look off toward the lake.

  The beauty of the mountain, alone, could heal all wounds.

  I’d bet my life on it.

  “I originally moved up here to get away from things, yes,” I said.

  I flipped the bacon over as Adam continued dancing his eyes along the side of my face.

  “But…?” he asked.

  I giggled breathlessly. “But, I guess it was also on the heels of me giving up on life a little bit.”

  “Giving up? Why?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I j--.”

  His hand fell against my forearm. “It’s okay. Take your time.”

  I was painfully aware of our connection. “It’s not important.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Well, it’s not important right now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because this food is more important. I have to get it cooked up and for that? I need to focus.”

  I reached for the pancake batter and moved a bit too quickly. I felt my knuckles knock against it as Adam shot up from his hunched position. I dropped my fork, feeling my elbow hit the handle of the pan. And just as I caught the bowl of pancake batter in my palms, I heard something clatter to the ground.

  Before something hot splashed up my jeans.
/>   “Holy, mother of--!”

  “Kendall! Are you all right? Did the bacon drop?”

  I hissed as hot grease penetrated my jeans and laid itself thickly against my skin.

  “Towel. Wet towel. I-I-I--.”

  Tears crested my eyes as the searing pain embedded itself into my leg. Adam took the batter from me as I pulled my jeans up, revealing the spotted red dots that were already bubbling with blisters. A tear streaked my face as I heard him scrambling behind me. I limped over to the couch and hoisted my leg onto it. I twisted myself around, trying to survey the damage.

  Then, I saw a wet towel drop down against my skin.

  “How does that feel?” Adam asked.

  I sighed. “It burns. But, I know it won’t be that way forever.”

  “Do you have any cooling ointment around?”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “What about tomatoes?”

  I paused. “What?”

  “Tomatoes. Do you have any?”

  I licked my lips. “Uh, in the bottom of the--the, uh--.”

  “Got it.”

  The pain was exponential. It clouded my mind as the television droned on in the background. It was astounding to me that we still had power. Then again, the place was built for that kind of weather. Insulated ground wiring. Reinforced power lines. An in-ground, insulated septic--.

  “Here, this should help. Hold still,” Adam said.

  The smell of tomatoes filled my nose as he slapped the slices against my skin. I hissed at the contact, but the second he started rubbing them around? The burn quickly dissipated. It shocked me, to be honest. The cool water should’ve worked. But, the tomatoes were working better, and I didn’t know why.

  “Aren’t tomatoes acidic?” I asked.

  Adam chuckled. “Something about lycopene and burns, or whatever.”

  “Sounds very professional.”

  “Mom was into all sorts of all-natural stuff. If she could cure it with things in her fridge, she would.”

  I giggled. “My mom was the exact opposite. Practically a hypochondriac. We had multiple medicine baskets in…”

  He wrapped the cool towel around the tomato slices, binding them to my leg.

  “If it’s a sensitive topic--.”

  I shook my head. “I wonder, sometimes, what would’ve happened to Mom had we listened.”

  “Listened to what?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. To everything?”

  “I’m not following.”

  “I know. I’m not making any sense. I’m sorry.”

  He helped my leg off the couch. “Well, try to make some sense. Because it sounds like I’m not the only person that needs to talk.”

  I looked up into his face. “My mother was a hypochondriac. And after a few years of constantly hearing someone wail on about imaginary symptoms and equating stomach aches to internal bleeding, you sort of start to… cast things off, for lack of better words.”

  “What happened to your mother, Kendall?”

  I looked down at my feet. “One morning she woke up complaining of not being able to focus on anything. You know, like everything was blurry. Dad thought she was tired, so he sent her back to bed. It was a constant stream of symptoms there for a while, and finally, she gave up and went to the doctor herself.”

  “I take it she was sick.”

  I sniffled. “She hated going to the doctor alone. Dad always said things like, ‘for someone who doesn’t like the doctor, you sure want to go a lot.’ Things like that. Don’t get me wrong, my parents loved one another. I mean, really loved. You know? But, everyone has their quirks. And that was my mother’s.”

  He took a step closer. “What happened to her?”

  I opened my eyes, watching the silent tears fall. “They ran some tests. Did some imaging. Drew some blood. And when the tests came back, it turns out Mom had a brain tumor.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  I rose my gaze to his chest. “She’d been walking around with it for about a year, the doctor said. And after he pulled her files together, he said because of the tumor’s placement? It explained perfectly what my mother had been dealing with on and off for the past however many years. Slowly growing. Slowly morphing. Slowly taking her out while we brushed it all away.”

  “You know that’s not your fault, right?”

  “You know, Adam, I told myself that for a long time. A very long time. And for a while, it worked. It made me feel better. It absolved me of responsibility. But, the truth is? It was our responsibility. We were a family, and families look out for one another. Instead of looking out for Mom, though, we looked the other way.”

  His hand cupped my shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

  I sniffled again. “Maybe so. Maybe it’s no one’s fault. But, I shrugged off my mother’s inane rambling about medical issues, too. I nodded my head and ‘yes ma’am’ed her just to get her to hush, too. Maybe if one of us had believed her. Or, maybe if I had simply believed her--.”

  He cupped my cheek. “You can’t put that on yourself, Kendall. A health issue like that is no one’s fault. If your mother could get herself to the doctor of her own volition--.”

  “Now it’s her fault?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

  “Then, what are you saying?”

  His hand slipped down my arm. “All I’m saying is that it isn’t your fault. It’s not your fault your mother got cancer, and it isn’t your fault she died, and it isn’t your fault that you didn’t listen. Yes, you were a family. But, if anyone had a responsibility to look after your mother’s health, it was your father.”

  I pulled away from him. “Okay, I’m done talking.”

  He stumbled over his words. “Kendall, I didn’t mean that--I just--all I’m saying is--.”

  I limped back into the kitchen. “Give me twenty minutes, and dinner will be ready. Leftovers will be in the fridge for when you get hungry.”

  Anything to get me out of that soul-sucking conversation. Anything to get me away from his fiery touch. Anything to get me away from the soothing notes of his tenor voice and the sincere look of sorrow in his eyes.

  Anything to pull me away from the nightmarish memories of my childhood.

  Chapter Five: Adam

  I sighed heavily. “You’re such an idiot, Adam.”

  With my head in my hands, I stood in the middle of the bedroom Kendall had set up for me. And man did she ever do a fantastic job of setting it up. I didn't know if she did it while I was taking a shower, or what. But, she left no inch of this place unturned. To my right was the closet, filled to the brim with her father’s clothes. They gave off the faint smell of must and tobacco, a weirdly calming scent that made my nostrils flare every time I drew in a breath. In front of me was the open bedside table, where both drawers were filled with snacks and bottled juices. The pillows on the bed looked as if they had been fluffed, and the fresh sheets gave off an alluring lavender scent that beckoned me to bed. That beckoned me to sleep. That beckoned me to rest.

  Except I couldn't stop thinking about dinner.

  How can I be that bad with words?

  The food tasted phenomenal, but Kendall didn’t even look up at me. She ate her food, disposed of her plate in the sink, and left. No words were spoken between us. No glances were exchanged. The only thing I felt was the cold wind passing me by as she made her way to her room. I slowly turned to face the open bedroom door. I craned my neck, watching as the bathroom door diagonally across the hallway came into view. And I knew beyond that was the corner of the hallway.

  Where Kendall’s bedroom sat.

  Dad would’ve known what to say.

  I swallowed the knot forming in my throat. I’d never been great with words, but my father had been profound with them. His sermons were the talk of the town for two, even three days after every service. His oration skills had been incredible. I always knew, deep down in the pit of my soul, that my father had been born to lead something mu
ch bigger. Much greater. Much grander than the small, non-denominational church in Rankin.

  “Maybe that’s why he didn’t support me,” I whispered.

  The day I announced I had gotten into seminary school was a day I’d never forget. Mom was on her last leg with her health. Dad had himself buried in the Bible more times than not. I thought it would’ve been good news to spread. Something for the family to celebrate. And for my mother? It had been.

  But, for my father? Not so much.

  A pastor who can’t talk. No wonder Dad didn’t support me.

  I walked over to the bedroom door and closed it. I relegated myself to a night of sleep, though I tossed and turned most of it. If I didn’t see my father’s scolding face, I saw his face planted in the driveway. If I didn’t hear his disappointed voice in my ear, I heard my screams as I stared down at his lifeless body. I woke up repeatedly. I got up three times to splash some water on my face. And after getting up for the fourth time before six in the morning, I stayed awake. I stayed in the room. I stayed out of Kendall’s way as much as I could as I heard the pitter-patter of her tired footsteps rummaging around at seven in the morning.

  Until the smell of breakfast penetrated my closed door.

  With a closet full of clothes, I ended up at the dresser. I plucked out a pair of sweatpants and a short-sleeved shirt, dressing myself for the day. My room had no windows, but I didn’t need a window to tell me it was still snowing outside. And as I emerged from the bedroom with silence in my movements, the first time I passed by a window confirmed what I was thinking.

  While the snow wasn’t coming down as heavily, it still piled up.

  “Morning,” Kendall said.

  The sound of her voice startled me as I gazed out the window, but I tried not to show it.

  “Good morning. How did you sleep?”

  I saw her shrug in the window’s reflection. “I slept. You?”

  “About the same.”

  I turned to face her and watched as she reached for her mug of coffee. The smell of eggs, caffeine, and sausage greeted my nostrils in full force, sending my stomach growling for nourishment. I studied Kendall’s back and shoulders. The way they seemed slumped. I took in her knotted hair and how chaotic it looked. I listened to her heavy sighs as she took one more long pull from her coffee before placing it down on the counter.