The Prodigal's Return. Anna DeStefano
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speak, swallowed, then cleared his throat. “Amanda Grace, I know how much you want to talk with Grandma—”
“I wish I’d met her before she left for heaven.” Mandy’s head dropped. “Mommy says she would have liked me.”
“Of course she would have. And I’m sure she wishes she’d met you, too.” He waited for Mandy to look up. Then his grandfatherly understanding rearranged itself into the earnest gaze of Reverend Joshua Gardner, champion of finding spiritual meaning from any and every situation. “But as much as we want to talk to the loved ones we’ve lost, we need to remember what our prayers are supposed to be for.”
“But—”
“Our talking time with God shouldn’t be about Grandma,” he said with a gentle firmness that had won countless souls.
Jenn couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
He produced a smile she was certain he didn’t feel, then tried to give Mandy another hug. Her stiff little body refused to melt into him this time.
“Grandma’s happy in heaven,” he said. “God’s taking excellent care of her, so we can stop worrying.”
“But Mommy said God talks to Grandma for me.” Mandy pulled away, planting her hands on her little girl hips. “She said—”
“Sweetie.” Jenn turned her by the shoulders. “Go find your shoes and put them on. Mommy needs to be on time for her Teens in Action meeting.”
Dragging her feet, shooting her grandfather an exasperated, why-won’t-you-ever-listen look, the deflated child walked from the room, her letter trailing from her hand.
Olivia Gardner’s funeral had been Jenn’s first visit back to Rivermist after she left as a pregnant runaway—and it had only been a day-trip at that. She had found a way to mourn the loss of her mother, as well as the years they hadn’t had together. But she would send singing telegrams heavenward if that’s what it took to give her child as much of the grandmother she’d never known as she could.
She waited until Mandy was out of earshot, then she rounded on her father.
“Lay off, Dad.”
“I was only—”
“You were turning something special to Mandy into a potshot at my parenting choices.”
“That’s not fair.” His gaze didn’t quite meet hers.
“Neither is telling a six-year-old she can’t write letters to her dead grandmother.”
“The letters are fine, but—”
“But nothing.” There always had to be a but. “If you have a problem with what I’m teaching Mandy, take it up with me.”
“I’ve accepted that your ideas about religion and spirituality are more liberal than mine now.” The way he said liberal had visions of defrocked televangelists swimming through Jenn’s mind. “But I won’t apologize for believing differently in my own home.”
“I never asked you to apologize.” She made herself stand a bit taller, when a younger Jenn would have sunk into a nearby chair and pretended not to care. He was right. She was wrong. Dangerously familiar territory. “But when I moved home, you agreed to let me make my own decisions about raising my daughter. And so far, you’ve done a lousy job of it. You have to stop interfering. Stop the passive-aggressive criticizing every time you don’t agree with my decisions.”
“So, just like when you turned up pregnant at seventeen, I’m supposed to happily accept how you choose to live your life?”
“No. I never expected you to be happy about it.” The cleansing breath she took froze in lungs that weren’t the least bit interested. “Happy went out the window when you demanded I put my unborn baby up for adoption.”
His shock echoed in the silence separating them. They never talked about that final argument. Ever.
“There was more to it than that,” he said, “and you know it.”
“The sentiment’s the same, however you look at it. You didn’t approve of me then, and you don’t approve of me now.”
He pushed up from the table, announcing the end of their conversation by heading slowly into the den. He was steadier on his feet every day, but he still looked so very tired.
For the first time Jenn followed, pursuing instead of backing down. She hadn’t been ready for this conversation at seventeen. But at twenty-four, she was a pro at managing the past without falling back into it. Rebuilding instead of destroying. Healing.
“I know I messed up before I got pregnant with Mandy.” She closed her eyes at the memory of the drugs, the parties, the mindless need to escape. “And I know my running away hurt you and Mom terribly. But I did what I had to do.” She’d worked two and three jobs to pay for child care while she put herself through night school. Earned scholarships—whatever it took. “And whether or not you condone how I’ve accomplished it, I created a good life for me and my daughter. I’ve done everything I can to make up for my mistakes.”
“Yes, by working in that women’s health center in North Carolina, where they dispense free condoms and birth control pills and perform abortions for teenagers without parental consent.” It was a sanctimonious speech. He looked as if he were having as hard a time swallowing it as she was. “You’re enabling other young women to make the same easy mistakes you did, or worse.”
“Easy?” People who saw women making the kinds of life-changing, life-or-death decisions Jenn had as “getting off easy,” needed to work a month in a free clinic and then get back to her. “A women’s health center is the only reason I survived after I ran away. I was sick and alone, and Mandy came two months premature. We both would have died without that center. Trust me, nothing about the experience was easy.”
He glanced at his shifting feet. “Your mother and I never meant for you to be at risk. We always wanted you to be here, to be safe. We did what we thought was best.”
“Well, your way wasn’t best. Not for me.” Her raised hand stopped his next sentence. “But none of that matters anymore. I’m happy to help you get back on your feet. And I’d love for Mandy to grow up in Rivermist. But we can’t stay if you won’t stop interfering with the decisions I make for her. And, whether you approve or not, I can’t not do what I think is right for Nathan Cain.”
“Even if I know where the mistakes you’re making are leading you?” Uncertainty weighted each word with the kind of doubt that was so out of character it gave her hope.
“You have to let me make my own way, Dad.” Her fingers itched with a child’s urge to hug his neck. “My own mistakes.”
Give me a chance.
Just one more chance.
“I’m not sure how to do that.”
A familiar sadness speared her heart. When it came to choosing between trust and responsibility, trust had come in second with her and her father since that night of the homecoming dance, when the sheriff called to say that she and Neal were at the police station.
“Mommy?” Mandy called from the foyer.
Jenn sighed and grabbed her purse off her parents’ paisley-printed couch.
“Don’t worry, I’m dropping Mandy off at her friend Ashley’s on my way to the Teens in Action meeting.” She led a group of local kids who attended her father’s church, a role in his church he’d never fully supported. “I’ll stop by Nathan’s before I pick her up, and we’ll be home around two. I want us to stay here with you, Dad.” It surprised her even as she said it just how much. “And I’m willing to meet you halfway. The rest is up to you.”
Forcing her legs to move, she fought not to take back the closest thing to an ultimatum she’d ever given her father.
“Let’s