17. Faith
CHAPTER 17
Faith
I pulled out my cell phone and hit the speed dial. Mom answered on the second ring.
“Faith, darling. Let me guess. You just found out about the little visit I’ve planned for next month.”
“Mom! You’ve got to cancel. How could you? Nobody here knows you’re my mother. Why can’t we just keep it that way?”
“Sweetie, are you embarrassed by me?”
Usually, Mom waited a few more minutes into the conversation before she played that card. “You know I’m not embarrassed. It’s just that once people find out I’m your daughter they get all weird around me.”
“Religion isn’t weird, honey.”
“Yeah, but they get all preachy and want to hold hands and pray and stuff.”
“It would probably do you some good to hold hands and pray with some of your students and colleagues. Maybe we should hold an informal prayer rally while I’m there. Clem’s trying to branch out with his ministry and reach a younger crowd. He’s launching a new program against the media: movies, books, television. The things they’re promoting now, they’re absolutely immoral.”
“What kind of program?” My heart stalled. That’s just what I needed—Clem taking on the publishing industry. I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up my writing gig for much longer, not if I wanted to keep my worlds from colliding. But I’d hoped to pay off more of my loans before I had to call it quits.
“He’s talking about going into syndication. Reaching a broader audience and targeting America’s youth. I think your idea of a prayer rally is a great way to get started. We could even kick off at Tempest. That’s a great idea, Faith, I?—”
“Mom, no! No prayer rally. No kick-off on campus. Please! Just having you speak here is going to be bad enough.”
“She is clothed with strength and dignity—” Mom began.
“And she laughs without fear of the future,” I finished. “I know, Mom, Proverbs 31. You’ve been quoting that to me since I was a little girl.”
“Oh, Faith. I miss you. When an opportunity came up to see my baby, how could I say no?”
“I miss you too, Mom.” I twisted a few strands of hair around my finger. “It’ll be good to see you. I’m just not ready for everyone to make the connection yet. Marrying Clem was your choice, not mine. I never wanted to be thrown into the spotlight.”
“I know, dear. It will all work out. I’ll treat you to dinner after my lecture. How does that sound?”
“Sure. Sounds like fun.”
“I’ll have my assistant set it up and call you with the details.”
“Sounds good. Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, honey. Bye.”
I hung up first. I didn’t begrudge my mother a second chance at happiness. How was she to know it would come in the form of Reverend Clement Kepner? Mom and Dad split up when I was five years old. I couldn’t remember much about my father. Mom said he was the love of her life. He left one day, and according to her, he never looked back.
I used to make up stories about him when I was little. He was a photographer for National Geographic and was being held captive by an indigenous tribe in the Amazon. Or he was an award-winning journalist trapped behind enemy lines while reporting on a civil war in Africa. One day he’d ring my doorbell and tell me the thought of a reunion with me was the sole reason he’d been able to survive. I gave up my fantasies when I was about twelve.
When I was sixteen, Mom met Clem. She’d started going to a new church and was always inviting me to go with her. Clem had lost his wife to breast cancer a few years before and they gravitated toward each other like magnets. By the time I left for college, Mom was installed as the new Mrs. Clement Kepner, first lady of the Freebird Evangelical Christian Worship Center.
That was the main reason I’d chosen a college in the Midwest for my undergrad degree. Clem’s life revolved around the church. Not only was he a pastor, he was a bona fide local Christian celebrity and the story of how he and the single mother had found a new chance at love propelled them both into a new stratosphere of fame.
Mom’s writing career had taken off several years before that, but when she took the new last name Kepner, the shit hit the fan and she hit all the bestseller lists. Her inspirational romance novels and women’s devotionals flew off the shelves. Mom was an international Christian superstar, and I was an unwilling bystander. I was happy for her, of course. But I didn’t want any part of her new world, especially since I’d found a way to finance my education writing borderline erotica.
Mom would really flip if she knew about my secret part-time job. I’d fled a thousand miles away where I thought I’d be safe from the reach of Reverend and Mrs. Kepner. Evidently, it hadn’t been far enough. Clem’s celebrity was fairly localized, and he wasn’t very well known outside of California. Mom, on the other hand, had hit a niche market when she started writing Christian inspirational romance novels and with thirty-five published romances and a handful of non-fiction books under her belt, she was the one I worried about.
Once my classmates found out who my mother was, I might as well throw in the towel. They’d never be able to look at me the same. It wasn’t their fault. Mom’s golden aura eclipsed my efforts at normalcy.
A few of my friends in the undergrad program in Illinois made the connection. Before, it had been all about football games, sunbathing on the quad, and checking out the guy’s sand volleyball league. After, it was all about students trying to engage me in a Bible-quoting contest, apologizing for dropping a swear word, and invitations from complete strangers to join them at worship.
I shook my head, dislodging the memories and depositing my brain right smack dab into the present. With the immediate threat of exposure held at bay, I pushed away from the high-top table and picked up my bag, my eye on joining the line at the coffee bar. An afternoon jolt of caffeine would keep me going all night. As I whipped around, I smacked into something, sending my phone and bag skidding across the high gloss wooden floor.
“Oh my gosh! I’m sorry!”
I looked down onto a head full of thick, dark hair. Whoever he was gathered my items and shoved them back into my bag. I rubbed my arm where he’d bumped me, then squatted down and picked up my phone. We stood up at the same time and I cracked the top of my head on his very hard chin.
I grabbed my forehead and looked up. “You!”
A sheepish grin spread across Dante’s face. “Sorry. It was an accident.” He handed me the bag.
“What is it with you?” I asked, slinging the bag over my shoulder.
“Just luck that I keep running into you, I guess.” He noticed a few more of my items under the table next to us and bent down to retrieve them. “You don’t want to lose these.” He handed me a lipstick and my case of birth control pills.
My face could have blistered from the heat flooding my cheeks. I snatched my pills and lipstick out of his hands and shoved them in my bag.
“Relax, it’s not like I’ve never seen lipstick before.” His smile proved he knew exactly what the little round case contained.
I gulped for air in an effort to steady my thundering heart and shaky hands. “I’ve got to get to a class.”
“Yeah, I’ve got to get to my real job. I haven’t seen you around lately.”
“No, I’ve been tied up with stuff.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Oh yeah? Get many ideas from that BDSM book?”
I swatted at his biceps. “Is that all you can think about?”
He grabbed my hand mid-strike and looked down into my eyes. I swallowed the nervous lump rising in my throat and met his gaze. My heart increased its tempo and my knees knocked together.
“It’s notallI can think about. I do have some experience rock climbing though and am pretty good at a French bowline. You want to get together later?” He turned my wrist over in his hand.
I pictured him securing my wrist to a bedpost with a piece of climbing rope. I took in a deep breath and yanked my arm away. “I can’t. I have to figure out where I can go to get my monthly volunteer hours covered.” As a Christian university with a commitment to social service, Tempest required students and staff to put in a minimum number of volunteer hours each month.
“You’re running out of time, aren’t you?”
“It’s fine. I should be able to find somewhere in town to serve Thanksgiving dinner.”
“Uh, no you won’t. Those slots have been filled for months. But I know somewhere that would gladly take the help if you don’t mind a bit of a drive.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Check with the Hinkley Senior Center. It’s about an hour and a half away. I know they’d be grateful for the help.”
“If I can’t find someplace closer, I’ll look into it.”
Dante shrugged. “Yeah, I’ll be there. Think about it.”
Think about it? I’d been doing nothingbutthink about him since our encounter in the elevator last week. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. The only part of me not suffering from Dante withdrawal was my imagination. My fingers couldn’t type fast enough to keep up with the mental images playing through my mind. I’d sent some samples to Steph, who couldn’t wait to get her hands on the whole thing.
Dante shifted his backpack on his shoulder and turned to go. “If you change your mind about later, you know how to find me.”
I watched him walk away. Having had the opportunity to see him with his pants around his ankles, I could better appreciate the way his jeans hinted at the toned muscles underneath.
Ready to brave the cold on the quad on my way to my next class, I shoved my hands into my coat pockets. My right fist bumped against something. I pulled out a wad of paper and ripped off my gloves to smooth out the creases. As my eyes scanned the typewritten words, a wave of nausea swept over me, and the taste of sour bile rose in my throat.
There on the paper in front of me was the title page of the first draft of my most recent book, Carnal Knowledge by Chastity Austen. The words jumped off the paper and pierced my heart, sending sharp pains radiating throughout my chest. I staggered backward and dropped the page. This couldn’t be happening. How did someone get something in my pocket without me noticing? As I bent down to retrieve it, I noticed a handwritten line on the back.
I know who you really are, and I know what you’ve been up to.
That was it. I flipped the paper over and even lifted it to my nose to see if it had any kind of distinct smell. The only one who’d seen my manuscript was Steph. I’d never even printed it. I crumpled the page and shoved it back into my pocket. Where would this have come from?
Someone knew my secret. My worst nightmare was coming true.