The Prodigal's Return. Anna DeStefano
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She stuffed her daughter into the heavy coat Georgia’s mild climate made necessary only in the very dead of winter, and ushered her out the front door. January wind blasted their faces. Just the ticket to keep Jenn’s mind off the young boy she’d planned to spend the rest of her life with, here in this beautiful, historic town that—without him in it—might never feel like home again.
Her parents and their disapproval weren’t the only reasons she’d stayed away. And her dad’s estrangement from Nathan Cain wasn’t the only regret that had kept her from facing the Cain house and Nathan’s misery.
There was too much of Neal still here. So much more than should still be able to touch her. Emotional ties to an idealistic past she’d thought she’d put behind her. Did he know about her? Did he even know about his own father?
Stop it!
She helped her daughter into the car. The beautiful child whose creation had been Jenn’s rock-bottom. The child who had also been the reason she’d finally taken a stab at living, rather than praying for an end.
She started the car’s cold engine. Neal was gone, and she was here, trying to carve out a new beginning. To live the life she had now, rather than wallowing in the past she couldn’t undo. Isn’t that what she’d just finished telling her father she wanted? Why she was headed for the Cain place later today?
Memories or no memories, she had a job to do. She couldn’t turn her back on Neal’s father any more than she had on her own.
Better than anyone in Rivermist, she understood the pain still ripping at Nathan Cain. Pain she was more than a little responsible for. A responsibility that she wouldn’t ignore a single day longer just because she couldn’t handle remembering the boy her heart would never let go of completely, no matter how many miles and years separated them now.
CHAPTER FOUR
“JENN, YOU’VE HAD BOYFRIENDS, right?” Traci Carpenter asked over the plate of fries she and Jenn were devouring. At seventeen, Traci probably saw Jenn’s twenty-four years as so far over the hill, boyfriends would be a distant memory.
“It’s been a while.” So much for putting Neal Cain out of her mind. “But I think I remember boys.”
The church’s youth activity that weekend was a trip to Freddy’s, Jenn’s favorite place to eat in Rivermist. She was the leader of this sprawling band of youth and energy, so she got to pick where they met. Freddy’s had a laser jukebox, cheap junk food and plenty of booths for the teenagers to commandeer. The perfect way to kill a few hours before a handful of the kids had to dress for that afternoon’s varsity basketball games.
She’d volunteered to revamp the church’s floundering Saturday activities after it had become clear there was no chaperoned place Rivermist’s teens would be caught dead hanging out in. The church leaders, fresh out of creative ideas, had agreed to let Jenn give it a try—as a lay leader only, they’d tripped all over themselves to point out.
Now under her leadership, the kids were opening up to the idea of being part of a crowd that had something more constructive to do than cruising or partying the weekend away. And the satisfaction of working with them had Jenn hooked in a way she should have seen coming.
Traci Carpenter had been shadowing Jenn for a couple of Saturdays now. Always there, always angling to sit closer. Always the last one hanging around when things wrapped up. The signals weren’t that tough to read. The girl had something to say, something to talk about. She just hadn’t worked up the nerve before now.
“So, how long did it take before your boyfriends…” The teen twisted the straw in her milk shake. At Traci’s insistence, she and Jenn were sitting several booths away from the rest of the kids. “I mean, once you’d gone together for six months or so…”
“Haven’t you and Brett Hamilton been dating for a lot longer than six months?” Jenn swiped a fry through the ketchup, using her best girlfriend voice. At least she was pretty sure that’s how girlfriends gossiping about boys sounded.
“This isn’t about me and Brett.” Crimson flooded Traci’s cheeks.
“Of course not.”
“I have this friend,” Traci whispered. “And she’s seeing this older guy. You know, older. More sophisticated.”
The fry halfway to Jenn’s mouth stalled. “And…your friend and this sophisticated guy are doing what, exactly?”
“Well, you know….” The girl’s nonchalance clashed with the way she nervously kicked the table leg between them. Blond and blue-eyed, she was wearing a high-fashion ensemble no doubt bought on one of her mother’s shopping excursions to Atlanta. “What do you think they’re doing?”
Jenn popped the fry into her mouth. Kept her expression free of anything but casual interest. The label of church leader fit her social-worker training like a sweater shrunk once too often in the dryer. But giving teenagers a back door into discovering what they believed was right up her alley.
This conversation, if nothing else today, she could handle like a pro.
Another look across the restaurant, and Traci leaned closer. “So, some of the girls and I were wondering. If my friend needed some advice, or maybe something like birth control, or…whatever…could she come to you?”
Jenn silently processed the complications and conflicts this conversation was headed for. Information, she reminded herself. Never make a decision without all the information you can get your hands on.
She cleared her throat. “Can your friend talk with her parents?”
“Not about stuff like this. Her parents are stuck in the dark ages. They’d never let her see this guy if they knew how old he is.”
“How much older are we talking?”
“He’s in college.” The plate of fries was the only thing Traci would look at now. “Well, he was.”
“He graduated?”
“Not…not exactly. He dropped out.”
Of course they were talking about Traci and not a friend, and her “older guy” was probably in his early twenties at most. But it still sounded as if she’d set herself up for some huge disappointments if Mr. Wonderful didn’t pan out. And something already had the girl worried. Teens didn’t just up and talk to adults about stuff like sex and protection. Jenn never had when she’d been in Traci’s shoes, not until it was too late.
“I’m not sure how much I can help your friend, since I don’t know her,” she reasoned out loud. “But I do know what I’d tell you or any of my girls if I learned you were getting into a relationship like the one you’re describing.”
Defensiveness crept across Traci’s expression. “If you’re going to tell me that good girls wait and that I’m…that my friend’s going to hell if she doesn’t, don’t bother. I’ve heard it all before.”
“No, I’d be the last person to preach that to you.”
Qualifying what it meant to be good was one of the most overused weapons adults wielded. Guilt and recrimination didn’t get the job done. That kind of moral certainty pushed kids away, instead of teaching them to honor themselves and the responsibility that goes along with making their own decisions.
When she’d been Traci’s age, hadn’t she gone out of her way to do the exact opposite of her parents’ by-the-book vision for her life? Culminating in getting herself pregnant in an alcohol-induced haze with a boy she couldn’t even remember.
Honesty. Information. Trust.
That’s what Traci needed from someone. And it looked as if Jenn had just been volunteered.
“I’d ask a good friend like you to be very careful.” She weighed each word before she said it. “Teenage boys, even older guys, don’t always