Donut Days (19 page)

“My wife and I, in the meantime, are faced with the decision to either stay at a place that no longer respects our authority or to leave what we’ve worked so hard to build for decades. We have prayed and fasted and sought the Lord on where to go from here, and last night—or I guess you could call it this morning—we made a decision.”

The congregation seemed to lean forward collectively.

“Effective immediately, we will be leaving Living Word Redeemer.”

Three hundred people erupted. The ones that had heard Mr. O’Connor that day in the river and had believed his prophecy was honest and true were jubilant. I watched them pat each other on the back and smile, and I wondered what they ’d do when they found out that the whole situation had been manipulated and contrived just because Mr. O’Connor didn’t want to clean up the mess he’d made. Others in the congregation seemed horrified. They leaned together and gasped at what a tragedy it was to lose my parents as leaders. The cacophony of it all made my head and ears hurt. I bowed my head, but not in prayer—in sorrow. Because even though my parents had stood up for what we truly believed was right, it still felt like we had lost.

“Quiet, please,” my dad said, holding up his hands.

Jake inched closer to me and I leaned into him. The congregants settled down, and my dad used the break to take a sip of water.

“The board has deemed it fit to put Gary O’Connor in the position of associate pastor. They will immediately begin searching for a
man
to fill the executive pastorship.

“While this is all occurring,” he continued, after swallowing a few times, “my wife and I will still be available for counseling for those who might need it. This is a very difficult decision for us and we don’t make it lightly. Nor do we believe the road ahead will be easy for many of you who decide to stay here.

“As much as we want to think we do, none of us has all the answers. My wife and I will keep seeking, and keep learning, and try to do good along the way. We love you all and wish the will of God is done in your lives. Always and forever. Amen.”

Dad stepped down from the altar and seemed to not know which direction to go in. He didn’t take his seat, but he didn’t walk down the sanctuary aisle and exit either. I looked at Mom, who was just staring at my dad. She seemed like she’d just been in a car accident and couldn’t tell what day it was.

I let go of Jake and stood up. I grabbed Lizzie’s hand, and then Mom’s, and helped them both out of the pew. Seeing all of us standing seemed to shake Dad out of his stupor. He extended his arms toward us, and we walked into them willingly, pressing up against him.

What a sight we must have been, all of us at the front of the church, huddled together like the wild ponies I saw one time on the Discovery Channel—the ones that lived on cold, windy islands and had to spend days turned in to each other just to stay warm and stay safe from predators. But at that moment I didn’t care
how
we looked. As a family, we were stronger than we’d ever been before, and that was worth standing there and soaking in, even if it meant the whole church was watching.

After a moment, my dad gave us all a final squeeze and said, “Let’s go.”

I took Lizzie’s hand and we walked out of the sanctuary, my parents behind us. The sanctuary stayed silent, except for the creaking sound of the pews as people turned to watch us go.

Eventually, they turned around when Mr. O’Connor ascended the pulpit, cleared his throat, and said, “I have a few announcements.”

T
he bright September sunshine felt out of place as we stood in the Living Word Redeemer parking lot. It was too harsh, and I suddenly wished for overcast skies, or at least something that would match the dark churning I felt in my heart. On nice days like this, my dad had always bid the congregation good-bye on the blacktop while we stood near him. Yet today it felt like we were an island and the congregants were currents flowing past us, unsure of whether or not to brush against our sandy shores.

Nobody knew what to do anymore. It was like
everybody
was lost.

Some congregants approached us to tell my mom and dad how much they ’d miss them. Others looked like they might come toward us, but then turned away at the last moment. Some simply ignored us completely.

The Changs—staunch supporters of my parents for the past few months—walked up and bravely engaged my dad in a discussion about the future. Would we be staying in Birch Lake? Would he be starting a new church? As they spoke to him, Mom turned to me. The effect of the cruel situation was etched into her face in lines and dark circles.

“Em—” she started, but then her voice gave out and her tears suddenly poured forth like a dam had been broken.

“I’m so sorry, Em,” she said.

I bit my lip. Here, her whole world was falling apart, and yet she was apologizing to me. Again. To
me,
when I’d been so wrong about her.

“No, Mom, it’s okay.”

She shook her head and then reached out quickly to pull me close to her. My mom was hugging me again. It was weird. But good weird.

She held me for a long time, and when she finally let go, I saw Jake was standing there. I breathed a sigh of relief. I was so glad he’d stuck around.

My mom saw him standing there too, and to my surprise, she turned and hugged him as well.

Jake’s face reddened and he looked flustered.

“Thank you for coming over,” she said.

Jake nodded.

I grabbed his hand, and he did his best to smile down at me.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Actually, yeah. I am.”

Dad rejoined us as the Changs walked away. He looked at Jake, then at me, then back at Jake.

“Son,” he said to Jake, reaching out his hand.

“Sir,” said Jake, taking it.

It wasn’t the warmest moment on record, but it wasn’t awful either. I think my dad really was determined to keep an open mind.

“Emma, could I have a moment with you?” he asked.

I nodded and we walked to a far end of the parking lot. As we did so, cars pulled past us. Some people waved, others just drove on.

“So, Jake O’Connor?” he asked when we stopped walking.

“Sometimes the fruit falls really, really far from the tree.”

“Like you?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I fell very far away at all.”

“Well, then maybe you rolled.”

I smiled. “Okay. Maybe I rolled.”

“Em,” my dad said, looking off toward the trees at the other end of the lot, “I came over here to ask you something.”

Beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip. He clasped and unclasped his hands. Was he going to ask me to stop seeing Jake? Was he going to ask me to not go to college so I could stay around Birch Lake and help support the family? I clenched my jaw, suddenly fearful that everything he’d said in the pulpit had just been a show—just good filler to make the church think he wasn’t going to be defeated by what had happened.

As bravely as I could, I nodded. “Fire away.”

“I wanted to ask you . . .” he said, then stopped. He turned and faced me fully. “I don’t have anything to ask you,” he said in a low voice. “I just—I just wondered if we could stand here and pretend to be talking about something. I don’t want to have to face all those people and pretend to have any more answers.”

I looked into his eyes and was suddenly so proud that he was my dad. He looked so tired, but he was so much stronger to me this way—as a man who admitted things and faced them instead of just “praying through them” or whatever. He
had
meant what he’d said at the altar: he was done having all the answers.

“Sure, Dad,” I said. “We can just hang out here for as long as you need.”

He nodded.

I rubbed the sole of my shoe along the blacktop and he stood there silently, watching me do it. Somewhere in the distance a car door slammed. “We don’t just have to
pretend
to talk,” I said finally. “I mean, we really could talk.”

He nodded. “Sure. Is there something in particular you wanted to discuss?”

“Well, I was just wondering: why didn’t you just flat-out tell everyone this morning about the prophecy being fake and the Owosso land deal? Don’t you think the church members have a right to know the truth?”

Dad rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “They do. And I have no doubt the truth will come out about this eventually. But right now, it seems like the board really does believe the current course of action is God’s will. I have to believe there will be many meetings after this to discuss the unfortunate details and consequences of such blind faith. But as for me disclosing it—well, I just wanted this morning to be about something else.”

“About how God lets us make decisions even when they ’re the wrong ones?” I asked.

“Yes, that. And about how it’s never too late to admit you’re wrong about something, and to try and fix it.”

We were quiet for a few seconds until I said, “You know, if you and Mom need money while you figure out what to do next, I wouldn’t be mad if you guys used my college fund. I don’t want you guys to be broke.” The words had tumbled out quickly, but I didn’t regret that I’d said them.

Dad blinked a few times. “Em,” he said, and then he seemed to lose the ability to speak. Finally, after a second, he put his arms around me. I could feel him shaking, which meant he was crying again.

I held my breath, trying not to bawl myself. I really hadn’t meant to make my dad turn on the waterworks, I’d just wanted to help my family.
Really
help them. Whatever money they had set aside for my college fund—they could use it. After all, I was good at working hard and saving money. I could find a way to pay for my own school—whichever school that might be.

He pulled away from me and wiped his eyes. “Thank you, Emma,” he said, “but your mom and I would never dip into your college money. It means the world to me that you would offer it, but your mom and I will be okay. The Lord will provide.”

I threw up my hands. “What does that even
mean
?”

“It means we’ll probably have to cash in our 403b retirement fund,” he said dryly.

I couldn’t help it—I laughed, and my dad laughed too. And although I ached to know that he was hurt and upset, I was glad that he was still smiling—and that he was finally being real with me and not just blindly pushing ahead and quoting a bunch of scriptures.

“Hey, Dad,” I said, “do you and Mom have plans for the rest of this morning?”

He thought for a second. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then would you guys like to come hang out at the donut camp? Crispy Dream is officially open now.”

“The donut campout? Now?” He didn’t look convinced.

“Look, I know it sounds dumb, but I think Bear’s Harley gang and some donuts might cheer us all up a little. Plus, you’ll love this—they ’re born again. I’m not even kidding. They used to be called Death’s Screamers, but now they’re the Angelfire Witnesses.”

Dad ran his fingers through his hair, which was coffee-colored in the morning light. “That so?”

I nodded. “Seriously. Hanging out in front of the Crispy Dream can help a person get perspective. And really, you should just trust me on this one.”

Dad put his arm around me. “Okay,” he said. “I guess that sounds all right. But I want to ask you one more thing.”

“Okay.”

“Is Nat coming?”

It was such a simple question, but such a loaded one too. I didn’t say anything right away. Because if Nat came along, then we’d probably have to figure out if we could ever be friends again after fighting for so long. We’d have to figure out if we could make peace, or if we needed to just go our separate ways.

And the idea of losing Nat? Well, I’d rather not go down that path at all. Why kill off something that might just die anyway? If the relationship had to end, I’d rather have it be like Nicole Kidman passing out at the end of
Moulin Rouge
than, say, every single scene in
Kill Bill
. I shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Good. Because from what I can tell, Natalie was really trying to help you today. I know you two have had your problems, but she stood up for you at the police station the best way she knew how.”

“But Dad, she set me
up
.”

He nodded. “And then she repented. You may not have agreed with her actions, but it seems to me like she hasn’t always agreed with yours either. But up until recently, you were both willing to stand by each other. And I think that’s worth trying to save.”

I studied my hands for a second. “Hey, Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Do you think you can be friends with someone even if you disagree with them about stuff? Like important issues and whatnot?”

He cleared his throat. “Yes. I think so. I think I’d have precious few friends if I befriended only people who thought the same way as I did about everything. Sometimes the richest friendships are the ones where you find a way to stick by someone, even when you disagree with them.”

I locked my lips together and blinked against the flash of revelatory light that exploded in my brain. Everything he was saying—that’s
exactly
what Nat had tried to tell me that day after biology class. She was trying to get me to open my eyes and see that the cornerstone of a relationship isn’t about who’s right. It’s about standing by the people you care about because
they’re
what matter—not issues or politics or disagreements. I closed my eyes for a second, realizing what a jerk I’d been.

Oh, man. If Nat and I both finally understood each other—well, then maybe there was a chance we could be friends, best friends, despite whatever differences we might have. And I suddenly wanted that to be true more than anything, because otherwise, what hope was there for the world, really? Israel and Palestine, India and Pakistan, me and Nat. It was global, really. Or maybe it just felt that way right then.