The Pastor's Son

by Rebecca Joanne

  “Right.”

  “Was it that way with your mother?”

  He paused. “No.”

  I scooted closer to him. “Then, it won’t be like that with your father.”

  “I do still think about her, though. Maybe more than I should.”

  “Of course, you think about her. I think about my parents all the time. But, eventually, your father won’t be the first thing you think about when you wake up. He’ll be the second thing. Then, one magical day, he’ll be the third. And as time goes on, only things and smells and places will trigger memories of them. You will heal, despite how you feel right now.”

  He opened his hands, and mine fell into his palms. I resisted the urge to pull back as he played around with my fingers. Caressing them and pressing down against my nails. Sliding his fingers to and fro, as if he were discovering me for the first time. His touch sent electricity ricocheting up my arm. My heart started beating faster as his fingers softly brushed the insides of my own.

  And I felt a twinge of regret when he pulled his hands back.

  “You know, death is what brought me back to Rankin. Burying my mother brought me home, and taking care of my father is what made me stay. And now, I don’t even know what to do.”

  I cocked my head. “Have you made a list?”

  He furrowed his brow. “A what?”

  “A list? Of all the things you have to do?”

  His finger tapped his head. “Got that list right up here.”

  “What are the top two things on your list up there, then?”

  He jammed his tongue inside his cheek. “Figure out what to do with the church as well as my father’s house. I mean, with the house, it’s sorting through things and figuring out whether I want to keep it or sell it. That’s all. But, the church? The building my father built and fed and raised all by himself? I know people are expecting me to take my father’s place in the pulpit. You know, assume responsibility for it. Because I’m his son.”

  “And you went to seminary.”

  “Yes, that too. But I don’t know if I can do that. If I can live up to the shoes he left there last Sunday.”

  “Adam, look at me.”

  His eyes found mine, and I smiled.

  “You don’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations but your own.”

  He barked with laughter. “Yeah. Mine, and God’s.”

  “You can believe what you want. But, don’t think you have to do something just to appease some invisible force.”

  “You don’t believe in God?”

  “With all due respect, if what you’re wanting is a shoulder to lean on, it’s best not to turn the spotlight back onto that person. Especially with such a sensitive subject.”

  “Sensitive, in general? Or sensitive to you?”

  I sighed. “Adam.”

  “Dell, this is how I work. This is how I process. This is my coping mechanism. I enjoy getting to know people. Sitting with them and talking with them. Helping them, like they help me. You do me a great deal of good. And I just want to know more about you. All I’m doing is walking through the doors you present. If that bothers you? Then, stop presenting the doors.”

  I nibbled on my lower lip. “Okay. I’ll dance this out with you.”

  He grinned. “Wonderful. So, I take it you don’t believe in God.”

  “It’s not that I don’t believe. I have my beliefs. I know where I stand with Him and the world. I simply don’t care to fraternize with a society that always seems to get it completely wrong.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “You mean, all of these wars that are justified with God at the beginning? The Crusades ring a bell? We have our own modern-day crusades right here, too. With judgmental, close-minded Christians that use the purity and perfection of Jesus to justify their abuse, their hatred, and their insecurities.”

  “I take it the last time you stepped into a church, it wasn’t a very good welcome.”

  I sighed. “Adam, the last time I stepped into a church, I watched a woman with bruises on her face cry and praise God as she clung to her husband at the altar because he was ‘repenting for his sins.’ And for her, that was enough.”

  He shook his head. “That isn’t repentance. Repentance without change is nothing more than a fool’s gospel.”

  “Well, it’s not something I want to be surrounded with.”

  “It’s hard, Dell, to be a Christian without a support system.”

  I shrugged. “Nothing hard about it if I’m up here away from all the heretical teachings in the first place.”

  “Have you thought about trying another church? Or, was that the only one you were ever in?”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Are you attempting to have an educational conversation with me about the belief structures and teachings of Christianity? Or, are you trying to convince me to go back to church once the snow melts?”

  He shrugged. “Why can’t I do both?”

  I leaned back, pulling away from him. “Listen close, because I’m only going to say this once. The last thing I need up here is some stranger I’ve let into my home--out of the goodness of my heart--to try and attempt to take advantage of that.”

  “I’m not taking advantage of anything. Merely trying to have a conversation.”

  “You’re trying to make me feel guilty with all of this religious nonsense.”

  “Religious nonsense you claim to have a belief structure in.”

  I stood up. “You know as well as I do that half the people on this planet don’t even interpret the Bible correctly. I’d bet my life on the fact that over half the people who claim to be Christians haven’t even opened the Bible to read it for themselves!”

  Adam stood to meet me. “I’d take you up on that bet, too. I know they haven’t. Which is why being the leader of a church is so vastly important.”

  “Well, good for you. I’m glad you believe that. So, when you can get off this mountain and figure out where you’re supposed to be, don’t do your church wrong the way, so many other pastors do their churches wrong. Because I’ve come across many pastors using the ignorance of their own congregation to push their personal agendas.”

  “Is that what you think I’m doing here?”

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Pushing my agenda. Is that what you think I’m doing? Because I can promise you, on my soul, that’s not what I’m doing.”

  I blinked back tears. “Well, it better not be. Because I’ll throw your butt out into the snow in a heartbeat if you think that being cooped up here with me is some sort of excuse for you to save the sinner on the mountain.”

  I felt tears streaking my face as Adam took a step toward me. His hands came up to me, cupping my cheeks. My eyes widened as he gazed into them. His luminescent blue orbs were the only bright spot in the darkened existence we had lived in for the past four days. I swallowed hard as my tears found their death against his thumbs. My breath shuddered as he brushed against my skin, wiping away the oceanic trails that threatened to drip down my neck.

  “I don’t think grief is what you struggle with anymore, Dell,” he said softly.

  I sniffled. “And what is it you think I struggle with?”

  His head cocked. “Letting go is your struggle.”

  My voice broke. “You don’t e-even know me.”

  “Maybe not. I’d like to, but that’s not my call. But, from the interactions I’ve had with you over the past week or so? They aren’t the actions of someone still grieving.”

  I braced myself for the words I knew were coming as they fell from his pillowy lips.

  “They’re the actions of someone who hasn’t ventured into their grief yet.”

  Chapter Eleven: Adam

  Sinner on the mountain.

  Those words kept running through my head. The weight of sorrow in her voice as she spat those words haunted me all night. I laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling. Listening to them rush through my head. And as I heaved a heavy sigh, I threw th
e covers off my body.

  “I need a drink,” I murmured.

  I made my way into the kitchen and opened the fridge. I went to reach for a bottle of water but diverted to the back of the shelf instead. I grabbed a small bottle of wine and screwed the top off. I searched around for a glass before settling on a coffee mug still sitting in the sink. I rinsed it out and dried it off. I emptied the wine into it before turning toward the couch.

  When I saw Kendall peeking over the back of it, I paused.

  “You’re still out here,” I said.

  She nodded. “Can’t sleep?”

  “No. You?”

  “Nah. Not without a lack of trying, though.”

  I paused. “If you want me to go--.”

  “No,” she said quickly.

  I sipped my drink. “Okay, then.”

  She stood from the couch. “Are you hungry?”

  I shook my head. “Just thirsty.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  “Of course not. Not at all.”

  I watched her jagged movements as she made her way to the refrigerator. She walked cockeyed as if she had a weight sitting only on one of her shoulders. I studied her intently as I leaned against the kitchen counter. A fire cracked and popped in the fireplace as the wind howled against the window behind me. The foundation of the cabin creaked. The wooden walls groaned. And as Kendall cracked open her small bottle of wine, she put it right to her lips.

  She chugged until the entire thing was drained.

  I chuckled. “Guess someone was thirstier than me.”

  She sighed with relief. “Too bad I don’t have any hard liquor.”

  She tossed the empty bottle into the sink behind me before turning her back to me.

  “Kendall?”

  She paused. “Hmm?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She paused. “You know, you apologize way too much.”

  “I guess I have a lot to be sorry for.”

  She shook her head. “You really don’t.”

  I watched her turn around as her attention fell to me.

  “When you’re honest, and truthful, and opening yourself up to someone--or even trying to help them--you don’t ever have to apologize for something like that.”

  “I still feel like I should, though. I hurt you.”

  “And? People get hurt all the time. Sometimes, Adam, an explanation is better than an apology. Work on that.”

  I licked my lips. “An explanation.”

  She made her way to the couch. “Yep.”

  I walked over to the kitchen island. “Will an explanation help this situation?”

  She flopped against the cushions. “Can’t hurt, I guess.”

  I collected my thoughts. “My father always said I was a terrible public speaker, and he didn’t know why I wanted to go into ministry. Because, of course, that requires standing and talking in front of people multiple times a week.”

  She didn’t respond when I paused, so I kept talking.

  “But, what my father never gave me a chance to explain is that I pick up on a lot of cues most people don’t even know they’re giving off. Little things, like ticks. And the tones of their voice. And the way their body reacts to things I say.”

  She sighed. “You about to tell me you know everything about me based on how I react?”

  I snickered. “Not everything. But, enough.”

  “Enlighten me, then.”

  I walked over to the couch. “All right. I can do that. Mind if I sit?”

  She raised her legs. “Be my guest.”

  I sat down, and she settled her legs back into my lap.

  “I think it wasn’t just your parent’s death that pushed you up this mountain. In fact, I know it isn’t. I’m almost certain that people’s botched ideas of religion and what it means to be a Christian pushed you up here as well. Which means, at least at some point in time, you were done very wrong by someone claiming to be a follower of Christ.”

  She licked her lips, but again, stayed silent.

  “And I think what frustrates you the most is that you know they only wanted to bring good into your life. They did what they could to bring you comfort, and wound up hurting you. But, you don’t feel you can be upset with them because they had good intentions.”

  She closed her eyes. And when she swallowed hard, I knew I was on the right track.

  “I’ve seen it so many times with church congregations. And believe me, I’ve been part of many. I’ve watched people shake their salt shakers a bit too much when trying to be the salt of the earth. And all it brings is death and desolation instead of the thirst for a life they’re trying to create within someone.”

  Kendall sniffled, and the sound broke my heart.

  “I’m sorry you’ve had such terrible interactions with the church. It was never my intention to add to that pain, or that sorrow, or that anger you keep locked up inside. I only wanted to show you that, deep down, the thing that holds you back is the talent you have for hanging onto your anger.”

  She snickered. “So, it’s my fault.”

  I shook my head. “Not for the hurt people have caused you.”

  She sat up. “Only for the hurt I cause myself now.”

  “Anger is a dangerous thing, Dell. We think it’s productive until it holds us hostage while we waste away. I spent a great deal of time being upset with my father for not supporting my want to go to seminary. In some respects, I’m still chained by that anger. And because of my anger, I’ve let it guide my actions. I’ve let it implant little seeds of doubt into my mind. Am I really cut out for the pulpit? Am I really cut out to be a pastor? Am I really cut out to guide people in the ways I wish the church was guided?”

  She paused. “Are you asking me? Or, are those rhetorical?”

  I grinned. “The point I’m trying to make is this: you're not responsible for how people have hurt you. That’s on them. But, you are responsible for how you react to them. And what you cling to, after the fact.”

  I watched her chew on the inside of her cheek, but she didn’t say anything. So, I decided to pick a new topic. Something fresh and filled with a conversation we hadn’t ventured into yet.

  “What’s your favorite Bible story?” I asked.

  She blinked. “What?”

  “Your favorite Bible story. Do you have one?”

  “Seriously? That’s what you want to talk about right now?”

  I shrugged. “Why not?”

  She pulled her legs away from my lap. “All right. I’ll bite. But, it’s not a story that’s well-known in the Bible.”

  “Even better. Try me.”

  “Can I ask you one thing, though?”

  “You can ask me anything.”

  “Why this question?”

  “I mean, why not?”

  She shrugged. “You just… seemed eager to ask the question. I didn’t know if there was a reason behind that or not.”

  I smiled. “I can tell a lot about someone by what they designate as their favorite Bible study.”

  “Ah, trying to read me like a book again.”

  “If that’s how you want to view it, sure.”

  She cocked her head. “The story of Hagar.”

  I blinked. “Come again?”

  “The story of Hagar. Don’t tell me you don’t know it. That isn’t going to bode well for your seminary schooling if you don’t know about her.”

  “Oh, I’m very familiar with Hagar and her entire story. I’ve just never come across someone else who is. I mean, other than other pastors.”

  “Never come across a heathen who knows the story?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re far from a heathen, Dell.”

  “How do you know that?”

  I shrugged. “I just do.”

  “Well, we can agree to disagree.”

  “Which is fine. But, I know I’m right.”

  She shook her head. “You’re relentless sometimes, you know that?”

  “Only with t
hings I’m passionate about.”

  She grinned. “Did you just admit to being passionate about me?”

  “And if I did?”

  She blushed. “Well, you certainly know how to give a girl whiplash.”

  “You do that every time you walk into a room. Because I can’t help other than whip my head around to look at you.”

  Her eyes widened before laughter fell from her lips. Her head fell back as the sound filled the space around us, pulling a smile across my cheeks. She held her stomach as she leaned against the cushions of the couch. She curled her legs up to her chest and laughed until she wheezed, and it caused me to laugh with her.

  The sound was music to my ears.

  No, no. Not my ears.

  Her laughter is music to my soul.

  Dell wiped at her cheeks. “I don’t know if that was the best pick-up line I’ve ever heard or the worst.”

  I snorted. “Then, my job here is done.”

  She squealed. “Did you snort!?”

  I could barely talk. “It happens sometimes.”

  We laughed together, and I felt all of the tension between us melt away. She slipped her feet back to me, tucking them beneath my thigh. They were cold, and it made me shiver. But, I didn’t dare move.

  She was reaching back out for me. And I didn’t want to betray that by moving away. Or shifting. Or doing anything that might spook her.

  I drew in an even breath. “Can I ask why that’s your favorite story?”

  Dell calmed the last of her giggles. “I don't mind, no.”

  “So, why is it your favorite story, then?”

  She leaned against the arm of the couch. “It’s simple. Out of all the promises God makes in the Bible to His people, the promise He makes to Hagar is unarguably the strongest.”

  My brow furrowed. “Why do you believe that is?”

  “It’s not a belief. It's a fact. She was nothing to Abraham and Sarah. She had no possessions. No identity. No property. Even the ground on her back wasn’t hers. She was nothing but a slave, and Abraham’s eventual concubine after Sarah pitched her little fit about not having children.”

  It was my turn to stay quiet and listen as she spoke.

  “After Hagar got pregnant by Abraham, exactly what Sarah asked her to do, Sarah cast her out. Sarah became nothing but jealous, and the abuse she endured forced Hagar to flee to the woods. And during those days? Fleeing to the woods? That meant certain death. That meant Hagar saw losing her own life as a better relief than any other option she might have had. Which was none at the time. Back then, women didn’t have the resources we have today. Women didn’t have the shelters and government subsidy systems in place to help them out when fleeing abusive situations like that. So, Hagar--pregnant with Abraham’s child--ran towards her death instead of away from it.”