Read Online The Prodigal: A Ragamuffin Story by Brennan Manning, Greg Garrett - Free Book Online

ever hear from them again?
    He didn’t have many personal contacts in his phone book. Not for somebody who had been CEO of a multimillion-dollar nonprofit, pastor of a megachurch, best-selling author, and media figure.
    He didn’t have that many people he wanted to talk to, or who wanted to talk to him.
    Maybe he never had.
    On an impulse, he called Danny Pierce’s number. It was a Thursday, two days after Christmas. He didn’t figure Danny would be at work, but who knew? Maybe he’d pick up.
    He didn’t. Jack took the phone down from his ear, looked at it, frowned.
    Then he shook his head and left a message. “Danny. Jack. Wanted to see how things went on Christmas Day. I hope it was okay. Better than okay.” He paused, bit his lip. “And to tell you my dad found me. Thank you, I guess. I was in a pretty bad place. Still am. But at least—”
    That was all he had. He didn’t know what the silver lining was.
    He couldn’t finish that sentence. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
    “I’ve got to count some lumber,” he said instead. “I hope you’re okay, Danny. I know I left you in a terrible spot.” He stopped, shook his head, sighed. “Listen. Take care of yourself, man. That place will eat you alive.”
    He hung up. It wasn’t an apology. He knew that. He had witnessed enough non-apologies in his years of ministry. But the sentiment was true. All of it was true.
    He did hope Danny was okay.
    He did realize he had left him in a horrible spot.
    And that place—like any church—would eat him alive if he wasn’t careful.
    He looked down at the pile of lumber in front of him, raised his pencil and clipboard, and amused himself by estimating the total board feet. After Mary taught him how, he used to waste time out here in the summers of his high-school and college years doing calculations, something alien to his English-major mind. That thought brought a smile to his lips. He remembered sweltering summers with Darla, before she left him. And with Bill, down at the creek at day’s end with a cold beer and the radio turned up loud in his Chevy truck.
    It was the first time he had remembered being happy in Mayfield. Maybe that’s why he didn’t hear the footsteps behindhim before he heard the voice—blustery, gruff, and not particularly friendly, “Well, looky looky. I heard you were back. I just couldn’t hope to believe it.”
    Jack felt his stomach do a slow roll as he was yanked from the creek and his college years to the dusty playground behind the middle school. He knew that voice immediately, and it was connected to a long, looping left hook caroming off the side of his head. To a ring of boys in a schoolyard shouting encouragements to one or both of them. To the thud of blows landing on each side.
    That was not the only time he and Jamie Taylor had come to blows. They had never been friends, not as far back as he could remember.
    Which, for the two of them, would be kindergarten at Mayfield Elementary School.
    Jack let out his breath slowly, breathed in, and turned around slowly.
    “Sweet Baby James,” he said. “Or should I say ‘Mr. Mayor’?”
    “Either is fine,” James Taylor said, his arms crossed, a smile flickering across his face. He stood there with Randy Fields, a follower from kindergarten days onward. Randy was now Mayfield’s police chief, if a force of four people, two of them part-time, could be considered worthy of a chief. Still, he did have a uniform.
    “Nice hat,” Jack told Randy.
    James cocked his head to one side, sizing Jack up. He stared at him so long it went from being simply rude to being a challenge. Randy, too, just stood there, his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, smiling. He wasn’t the sharpest tool in theshed, but he could read a room. Randy surely shared his mayor’s joy at Jack’s cataclysmic fall.
    Jack felt the heat spread up his neck, and he was grateful his head was covered by maroon and white so nobody could see how he was flushing.
    “Can I