Matters of Faith by Kristy Kiernan Read Free Book Online Page A

motion of acquiescence I saw Cal for the first time in years.
    New.

MARSHALL
    Dinner. He could scream with the cheesy conversation. His dad, practically preening in front of Ada. It was disgusting. And his mom. He’d had no idea she could be so . . . prissy. She kept putting her hand on her throat like she was trying to close a collar up.
    Meghan was a huge pain in the ass. He’d wanted to blast over the Gulf, listen to Ada scream with excitement, then slow it down and wend through the back canals and tributaries on the edge of the Everglades, drift through the mangroves alone with her. He’d already pictured it, could feel the thick air, feel the vibration of the quiet motor as it pushed them through, the muffled flap of wood stork wings and the quickening of the water as an alligator slid beneath the surface.
    Unless something was fighting against becoming dinner, it was a languid world. He wanted to see Ada languid, wanted to see her body slow down as the humidity infused it, wanted to see if her hair softened out of its spikes and if her angles, beloved though they were, turned to curves.
    None of that would happen with Meghan there. Instead the day would turn bright and happy, filled with the giggling laughter of his sister looking for a mentor of femininity. Meghan could never understand, much less learn, the solemnity of the river that ran through Ada, the serenity of faith only present in someone who knew .
    This was what had been missing for him. There were gulfs between belief, faith, and certain knowledge. He’d stood on the banks of faith and belief, but never knew . Ada was on the other side. She so assuredly knew that she could afford to be nearly frivolous with her faith, careless with her belief, like trust-fund babies could toss cash around, as if they didn’t care about it. But, in fact, it was the very fabric of their cells, their souls. Without it they would be dismantled, they would disintegrate, dissolve.
    He wanted to feel that. He wanted to eat that knowledge whole and feel it spread out from his center to nourish his soul. That was what God was. That wholeness. He couldn’t wait to meet Ada’s family, the community. Couldn’t wait to see them all, as one being, working toward the same goal of sustained enlightenment.
    He could meet them soon, she’d said. But she wanted to meet his family first, and now they were proving themselves as surface and prosaic as he’d feared they would. They didn’t understand how much he’d evolved over the past year, and now there was so damn little common ground. But then perhaps that’s what Ada was trying to do with Meghan. He closed his eyes and let their conversation flow around him, praying the way she’d taught him, allowing himself to become still and allow the chaos around him to resolve itself without feeling the need to manipulate it.
    It took so little time. In a matter of moments he felt able to re-enter the discussion, now centering around the one modern art class Ada had taken last semester. He listened to Ada and his mother circle around each other, his mother patiently explaining why Ada was wrong about something, some artist.
    â€œI think you probably mean Graham,” his mother said.
    â€œNo, but that’s a common misconception,” Ada replied. He nearly choked on a slice of strawberry.
    â€œReally?” His mother’s voice was low and pleasant, but Marshall heard the patient condescension in it. Ada didn’t know, didn’t realize.
    â€œSmith’s influence was really Xceron, but because they were both named John and both had been employed by Hilla, Hilla...” Ada faded off for a minute, searching for whatever name eluded her. Marshall thought his mother would rush to fill in the blank, to prove that she was the more knowledgeable after all, but when he looked at her he could tell that she didn’t know the name either. He, Meghan, and their father watched the