Kayden’s smoke screen of silence and lieshad not helped her. Kayden had gone to worship services and small group meetings before, during, and after her relapses and never once mentioned her issues with Percocet to their church friends.
He could see why it would be brutally hard for Genevieve to admit her own struggle. Once she admitted she’d been relying on painkillers to get through her days, she couldn’t continue to stand on her pedestal. If her addiction became public knowledge, some of her fans might turn on her. The media might view her secret as a scandal. Her career might take a very hard hit. So would her reputation and her reach.
Even so, he knew that silence and lies wouldn’t help Genevieve, either.
He hit play and watched the rest of the video.
Troubled, he climbed the stairs, then came to stand at his bedroom window. He rubbed his arms in an effort to get rid of the cold inside.
What was he doing? It was dumb to stare at his guesthouse.
He went back downstairs. Swept the first floor. Walked backupstairs. Showered. Stared aimlessly at his closet for long minutes, as if he’d forgotten where he kept the drawstring pants he slept in. Pulled a pair on. Tried to read. Found himself at the window again.
Gen’s invisible airwaves grew stronger every day.
Light glowed from the guesthouse windows this evening, telling him that Genevieve was still awake. Which royally frustrated him for two reasons. One, she was drinking down electricity the way a thirsty border collie drinks water. She was probably running the heater full-bore and taking an hour-long shower, too, in order to drain him of all his resources at once. Two, she didn’t seem to have the sense to know that, in order to recover, her body needed sleep.
By some terrible twist of fate,hewas one of very few people who knew that she was attempting to make it to ninety days sober. Unfortunately, he was also the least qualified to help her.
Genevieve could have crashed so many houses on so many farms. He didn’t understand why God had brought her to his. He couldn’t afford to get mixed up with another person going through treatment, relapse, addiction, treatment, relapse, addiction.
Yet he also couldn’t afford to stand aside and watch Gen pile the rare abilities God had given her into the back of her car and then drive that car off a cliff. Gen was gifted. Very.
Kayden had been gifted, too. It still made him sick to his stomach when he thought about how Kayden’s potential had been spilled like a box of puzzle pieces.
It felt as though God had given him a level of responsibility where Gen was concerned. God was doing a lot through her—all of which was at risk. Was he supposed to fight to protect her gifts? If so, how would he know when he’d crossed the line from intervening because it’s what God wanted into intervening because of his own sad history?
It wasn’t his job to keep Gen alive or to save her ministry. But whatwashis job here?
He had no idea.
He couldn’t get mixed up with Gen.
He’d couldn’t stand back from Gen.
He was at war with himself, and he didn’t know what to do.
Natasha
I can feel Genevieve trembling beside me, and she’s making a whimpering sound. I bite my lip to keep from wailing because that will only scare her more, and I’m the older sister.
“Is everybody okay?” My voice is tiny and weak.
Harsh breathing answers.
“I’m okay,” Ben finally says.
“I’m bleeding.” Genevieve motions to her arm. Blood seeps from a cut that starts under the sleeve of her T-shirt and continues most of the way to her elbow.
I swallow.
“A piece of the ceiling hit my head,” Sebastian says. “It hurts. Bad.”
“You’re both going to be all right,” I say, because that’s what they need to hear. I’m terrified, though, because I can’t do anything for them. I’m not a doctor. I’m fourteen years old.
I look to Luke. He’s the cutest, most popular boy in the middle school youth group. My friends and I all have a crush on him.
He doesn’t speak. His chin is shuddering.
