The Prodigal: A Ragamuffin Story Read Online Free PDF

home mostly in silence. By the time Jack sobered up enough to absorb the explanation of how Tom found him, he was also sober enough to wonder if he’d made a good choice returning.
    It was his only choice. That was true enough.
    But what was he going to do next?
    Tom told him that he had been asking the church for weeks about Jack’s whereabouts. At last, Danny Pierce called him. He had tracked Jack back to Isla Mujeres by the trail of credit card charges.
    “Of course,” Jack had said, nodding. “They will know you by your trail of credit charged.”
    In the end, nothing was magical about Tom arriving on his doorstep, although the thought of his father, who was neither young nor wealthy, traveling to another country to bring him home was humbling.
    So humbling that they had danced around the hard truththroughout the trip and he hadn’t known what to say late last night when they arrived home. The closest they’d come to acknowledging it was when his father saw him up to his old room.
    “It’s not much, I know,” Tom said. “But maybe the familiar is good just now.”
    “It’s fine,” Jack said. He set his suitcase down on the bed and unzipped it. It was, he realized now, filled mostly with shorts and T-shirts. “Too bad I wasn’t on the lam in an arctic climate.”
    “Some of your old jackets are still in the closet downstairs,” his father said. “And I’ll bet you have some sweaters up in your closet.”
    “I’m sure they are both warm and stylish,” Jack said.
    Appropriate clothing was the least of his problems, and both of them knew that.
    They stood for a while saying nothing.
    “Well,” Jack said, turning to see his father with his hand on the doorknob. “It was really good of you to come and get me. Thank you.”
    His father raised a hand, waved off the thanks. They looked at each other.
    Whatever needed to be said was not forthcoming. Not at that moment, anyway.
    “Good night, son,” Tom said, turning to go. “Tomorrow maybe things will look better.”
    “I doubt it.”
    That caused Tom to pause for a moment at the bedroom door. “You know, Jack,” his father said, “whatever you’ve done, it can be forgiven.”
    “No,” Jack said. “I don’t think so.”
    “Well,” his father said with that old gruffness in his voice again, “you’re the pastor. But I hope to God you’re wrong.” And he closed the door and left Jack with his own thoughts.
    Jack tossed for hours before finally falling asleep.
    This morning would be just as awkward, he was sure. What could they possibly talk about? His childhood? The sermon he’d preached at his mother’s funeral? Before yesterday, he hadn’t spoken to his father in years, and they shared so few good memories to fall back on.
    Sometime today or tomorrow, he imagined he would have to see his sister Mary. They’d exchanged nothing but innocuous Christmas cards since he left home. He also imagined that sooner or later he would start encountering people who knew his past and recent history. He couldn’t remain in this place forever.
    When he agreed to come home with his father, he stepped across that threshold of deciding whether or not to live, but living wasn’t going to be easy. He needed money, first of all, and he needed to get his family and church back. He needed to show the world he was still good, that this mistake wasn’t the measure of who he was, and the sooner he got started, the better.
    “Jack,” his father called from the bottom of the stairs. “Breakfast.”
    “I’m up,” he called back—feeling fifteen again. “I’ll be right there.”
    He threw on his lone pair of jeans and a ripped University of Texas sweatshirt he found in the closet, padded downstairs, and found his father seated at the kitchen table. Beside him waited a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.
    “Hot breakfast,” Jack said, and against his will he smiled. Hismom had always insisted they eat a hot breakfast when it was cold