Bueno snorted as she trotted up alongside Desert. Desert lifted his head and turned his ears, welcoming Bueno with a soft nicker. The horses knew each other inside and out, the way Keefe and Jarret knew each other.
Could Keefe really just leave one day, head out to wherever God sent him and not look back? Keefe had always felt like Jarret needed him. Growing up, Jarret had always come up with wild ideas and never seemed to know either his own limits or Papa’s. Once he got an idea stuck in his head, he had a hard time letting it go. Over the years, Keefe had turned him away from more than a few bad ideas. But Keefe mostly had to settle with damage control.
Then the Italy trip had put some distance between them. Despite the pain that distance had caused Keefe, he wouldn’t trade that trip for anything. He’d found himself there, and he wanted to believe that God had planted the seed of his calling there. Keefe sighed. If only he knew for certain.
Jarret cast a long look at Keefe. “What’s eating ya? Gonna tell me? Or are you gonna keep stewing about it, like the dork you’ve become.” Jarret had been calling him a dork ever since he’d come home from Italy with the haircut.
Keefe snapped out of his thoughts and shot Jarret a narrow-eyed look, but he couldn’t hide his smile completely. Jarret had things on his mind too—Keefe could tell—but he was letting Keefe go first. Whatever’d happened in Arizona, Jarret had changed for the good, though he still seemed vulnerable. He’d told Keefe a bit about it, how he’d never felt anger as strong as he had then, how he’d never felt repentance as deep, how he’d never felt the Lord’s love so real and personal. And he’d struggled to share that last part, so Keefe hadn’t asked any questions. He figured Jarret would share what he needed to. The rest he’d keep as a treasure. And he should.
“You sure I’m the dork?” Keefe stalled for time, still not sure what to admit to Jarret even though he was dying to share his thoughts with someone.
“It sure ain’t me.” Jarret grinned, a challenge ever-present in his eyes.
Their horses trotted a few more yards down the well-worn, shady trail before Keefe felt ready to talk. Finding a way to ease into his concerns, he said, “Have you noticed anything strange about the way Papa’s been acting lately?”
“Strange?” Jarret rode a few paces to the sound of the hoofbeats. “Nah, he’s just home more. We ain’t used to that.”
“Right. But why do you think he’s home more?”
“No work.”
They both knew Papa’s work came in spurts. All the same, he’d always found other things to do, people to help with their work. An archaeological dig here. Mining work there. He liked to keep busy and on location.
“I heard him turn down a job today,” Keefe said.
Jarret faced him, the curl of his lip showing admiration, the look in his eyes doubt; he apparently couldn’t believe that Keefe had eavesdropped. The old Jarret always wanted to know everyone’s business. Keefe had hated spying for him and never did it without Jarret forcing him to.
“I was on my way to ask him something,” Keefe explained, “when I overheard him.”
“What’d you ask him?”
“Well, I wanted to ask him to go somewhere. The Franciscans have a retreat coming up, a discernment retreat.” There he said it. If only he’d said it to Papa, but he could count this as practice.
“So what’d he say?” A grumpy expression flitted across his face, but it vanished behind a more disinterested look.
“I didn’t end up asking him. He misunderstood me.”
Jarret stared ahead, riding loose and relaxed as if he didn’t care.
Keefe studied him, trying to read his mood. This past summer, Jarret had tried hard to turn Keefe away from the thought of joining. Did he really no longer care? Did he feel ready to give up Keefe and walk alone? Did he still need Keefe?
“How long?” Jarret finally said.
“Three days.”
“So tell Papa and go.” Jarret had never liked wishy-washy behavior. Whatever he set his mind to, he did. And he admired that in others, whether or not he agreed with what they did.
“Really? I’m just going to leave you?”
“You did before. And for a lot longer than three days.”
Catching the hurt in Jarret’s words, Keefe opened his mouth for a quick reply, but he wasn’t sure how to take him and didn’t know what to say.
Jarret smiled, letting Keefe know he could chill. “When is the thing?”
“Just after school starts.” Keefe shrugged. “I probably won’t be allowed, but I’d only have to miss one or two days.”
“Eh, Papa don’t care about school the way other parents do. He won’t mind. Just tell him and go.”
“I haven’t even told him I’m interested in the Franciscans, you know, as a vocation.”
Jarret took a breath and breathed out loudly. “Gotta tell him sooner or later.”
“Yeah. But I’m not sure about anything. So I’m going to do something stupid first. Maybe I can get some discernment on my own.”
Jarret shot him a crooked grin. “Something stupid? Count me in.”
Keefe smiled. “You wouldn’t like it. I’ll be roughing it out in the woods, praying and fasting. Besides, I have to do this alone.”
“Roughing it? Why?”
“Well, it started as a challenge but I really want to do it now.”
“Challenge from who?”
“Peter.” Keefe ignored the sour look that came to Jarret’s face at the name. “He had other reasons for the challenge, but I have my own. And I like the idea.” He’d read about Saint Francis’ forty-day fast. One lent, Francis had gone out alone to a deserted island with nothing more than two loaves of bread. God had spoken to him then, even sent an angel to mark him with the wounds of Christ. Not that Keefe wanted anything like that to happen. But maybe he’d get a definite answer to the question of his vocation. He’d find out God’s will and ask Papa with confidence to go on the retreat.
“You know I hate that kid, right? I wouldn’t do anything he suggested.”
“You can’t hate a person, Jarret. That’s wrong.”
“Hate’s a feeling. I thought feelings weren’t wrong. And it’s not like I’m doing anything with my hate. I just avoid that kid like the plague. And I sure wouldn’t do what he told me, challenge or no challenge.”
Keefe sighed. “Still. Why can’t you just dislike a few things about him and leave hate to the devil?”
“Why can’t I dislike everything about him instead?”
Keefe groaned, then threw a grin that said he knew he wouldn’t win this one.
Jarret returned the grin, his gaze shifting. “So when are you doing that, Peter’s challenge? I was thinking of having some friends over Friday, just for something to do.”
“Oh, that’s when I’m doing it. Who’re you inviting over?”
“Eh, Kyle and the gang.”
Keefe grunted, knowing that “the gang” included a few wild kids that trouble followed. “I’m sure Papa’s gonna be home.”
“Yeah?” he said in a “what are you hinting at?” tone.
Not wanting to provoke Jarret, Keefe only shrugged.
“I’m just trying to stay busy. I met this girl and I...” Jarret shook his head for a whole second, his face coloring with conflicting expressions. “Just trying to stay busy. How do you do it?”
“Do what?” Keefe smiled inside, suspecting that Jarret wanted to avoid trouble.
“Since you found God across the sea in Italy, you haven't been the same. How's that working out for you?”
“Uh, fine.”
“Don't you ever get tempted?”
“Sure. All the time.”
“So how do you...” His head bobbed from side to side. He had no idea how to talk about spiritual things. Even when he’d told Keefe about his experience in Arizona, he’d struggled to explain and had left most of it to Keefe’s imagination.
“I don't know. You just do. You try not to do every little
thing you’re tempted to do. You do the right thing. And everyone thinks you’re strange. But you do it anyways.”
Jarret sighed and squirmed a bit in the saddle.
“Keeping a journal’s a good idea.” Keefe wondered if he should’ve brought it up. Jarret had seemed uncomfortable with Keefe knowing he had one. “Then you can think about how the day went.”
“And where you messed up,” Jarret said.
“Yeah, and sometimes I figure out that God’s been trying to tell me something. Which reminds me...” Maybe he had something that could stay with Jarret, help him when Keefe couldn’t. Keefe transferred the reins to one hand, reached inside the neckline of his shirt, and grabbed the brown cord of his scapular. He yanked it off over his head. “Here, wear this.”
Rather than take it from Keefe, Jarret squinted suspiciously at it.
“It's a brown scapular. It’s something that helps me stay on track. Mama gave them to us when we were little. Remember? Made us wear them for years.” Keefe continued to hold it out, anxious for Jarret to take it.
“Yeah, I sorta remember.” He finally swung a hand out and grabbed it. “Is that why you wear it? Reminds you of Mama?”
“No, I wear it for the promises attached to it, you know, the heavenly help.”
“So it’s like a good luck charm?”
Keefe bristled. “No, it’s not at all like a good luck charm. It’s like asking the Blessed Mother to help you. Saying you belong to her.” While he’d worn it as a child, he’d learned about the scapular for himself just recently. Maybe he could explain it in words that Jarret would understand. “It’s like a weapon in the spiritual battle. Wear the scapular. Go weapons hot.”
Jarret laughed. “It's just a cord and cloth. Isn't that kid stuff?”
Having no idea how to explain it better, Keefe shrugged. “We're supposed to become like little children before God, right?”
Jarret stuffed the scapular in the pocket of his jeans. “Thanks.”
Then he said, “Who could that be?” and pulled his phone from his back pocket, its low vibrating sound becoming audible. He stared at the screen for a few seconds and tucked the phone away.
“Who was that?” Keefe said.
“Eh, girl I met at the bookstore today.”
“You met her today, and you gave her your number?”
Jarret waved his brows, but his eyes showed something less cocky. “Yeah, I don’t know why. I just did it. Kind of regret it now. I’m not ready for a girlfriend. But it doesn’t matter. She’s not ready for me.”
“What’d her message say?”
“Changed my mind. Not interested.” He sneered.
Keefe hid a smile. Apparently, she’d hurt his ego a bit, but he seemed more relieved than anything.
“I’m cool with it.”
They rode on at an easy pace with only a comment now and then, trotting down the trail that led toward the river and Forest Road. Leaves stirred in a breeze, making sunlight and shadows flicker on the dirt path. Keefe turned his thoughts inward. How could he even entertain the idea of leaving Jarret now? Jarret wanted to do the right thing, but he needed direction. He needed Keefe as a mentor, not a monk. They had one more year of high school. Would that be long enough?
Lord, give me answers. Show me the way over my forty hours in the woods.
CHAPTER 7
Papa sat at the head of the long dinner table, hunched over a plate of roast beef and scalloped potatoes. He glanced up for the fifth time, his gaze traveling over Jarret and Keefe, who sat to his right, and the Digbys on the far end of the table. He gazed for a full second at Roland’s empty chair, the one on his left. Did he have something to say? What kept him from just saying it?
Jarret reached for the serving fork for the roast beef and turned to his right to see if Keefe had noticed Papa’s pensive mood.
Staring at the huge framed hunting painting on the wall across from him, Keefe held an empty fork and chewed and chewed and chewed. What, forty-seven times? Nanny made a good roast beef, not the least bit chewy. In fact, she could probably beat any of those cooking show chefs with anything she’d made for them these past few weeks. While she kept meals simple, boring even, when Papa was off on assignments, she went all out when he ate at home. Which was every day now.
Mr. Digby mumbled something to Nanny, who mumbled something back, and they laughed. He’d always been a soup and sandwich man, but he did seem to like the menu upgrade.
Jarret slopped more roast beef and gravy onto his plate and grabbed another dinner roll, putting off the question he should’ve asked sooner.
Papa cleaned his plate and leaned back, his gaze shifting again to Roland’s empty chair. “So where’s Roland tonight?” He looked down the table at Nanny for the answer.
Jarret and Keefe exchanged glances. Papa had been home almost every night, but he still struggled to keep tabs on them.
Nanny stopped in the middle of cutting a piece of pie for her husband. “He’s at the Brandts’ house.”
Mr. Digby’s fingers twitched, then he took the knife from his wife and finished the job.
“He moving in over there or what?” Papa sounded miffed.
“He’s staying the night, remember?” Nanny cocked her head to the side. Was that a look of pity she just gave Papa? “He asked you yesterday at breakfast.”
“Oh, thought he was staying last night.”
“No, he’s staying tonight.” Nanny cut another piece of pie and slid the plate toward Keefe.
A whole thirty seconds later, Papa squinted at Nanny again. “Where was he last night?”
“At the Brandts’. But he came home in the evening. You were in your study, I believe.”
Papa nodded, his gaze sliding to Keefe now. “Did you say you were going somewhere?”
Always the polite one, Keefe swallowed his mouthful and used his napkin before answering. “Yeah, if that’s okay. I’m going camping. Primitive style.”
The squint of his father’s eyes said he remembered. “Camping. Right.”
Keefe slid two plates of pie down the table, one for Papa and one for Jarret. None for himself. Something must’ve still been eating at him. He rarely passed up dessert.
Papa took one plate, picked up his fork, and rested his forearms on the table. “Now, this isn’t that big annual camping trip, right?”
“No. Right. I’m going alone.” When Papa turned his attention to his pie, Keefe threw a worried look to Jarret, eyebrows slanted and eyes open wide. He’d told Jarret how Papa had responded to his request, all the questions he’d asked. Keefe had thought he had Papa convinced and he was allowed to go.
Jarret snuck a slight head shake back, communicating that everything would work out. They were seventeen. Papa shouldn’t really mind.
“Why are you camping all alone, anyways?” Papa said. “Why not with Jarret or one of your friends?”
“Uh...” Keefe’s face fell as if he really didn’t want to explain this to Papa, at least not yet. “Just something to do. Besides, Jarret has other plans.” Then Keefe gave Jarret another look.
Jarret’s stomach clenched. He knew the look. Keefe wanted to remind him that he too had a question for Papa. He dropped his half-eaten roll into the gravy on his plate, took a breath, and turned to Papa. “Uh, hey, you don’t care if some friends come over tonight, do you?” He hadn’t had anyone over in a long time. Papa wouldn’t have any reason to say no. But he still should’ve asked sooner.
“What friends and how many?”
“I don’t know. Four or five. Kyle, Nate, C.W. Those guys.”
“Any girls?”
An unintentional sneer flashed on Jarret’s face. Papa couldn’t trust him yet. He was probably imagining a rerun of what had happened with Zoe. Not that he blamed him. But there was no way in... Well, there was no way he would let what happened with Zoe happen again. Never. He’d learned his lesson. He had changed.
“No.” Jarret did his best to keep the irritation from his tone. “Just
dudes.”
Papa scraped the last traces of pie from his plate. “S’pose that’s fine. I don’t want them here to 4:00 a.m. though.”
“How about 3:00 a.m.?” Jarret said, joking.
Papa narrowed his eyes. Not joking. “How about midnight. That’s late enough.”
“It’s summer vacation. How about 1:00 a.m. at the latest?”
Papa held Jarret’s gaze for a few long seconds. “Fine. I’ll be in my study. No alcohol.”
A burst of indignation had Jarret huffing and lifting his hands. Sure he’d made a few mistakes in his past but—
Papa grinned.
Oh, so he’d meant it as a joke. Relieved and annoyed at the same time, Jarret shook his head and got up to take his dirty plate to the kitchen.
Keefe scraped his chair back too and reached for Nanny’s and Mr. Digby’s dirty plates.
“Hold it there, you two.”
Not liking the tone of Papa’s voice, Jarret hesitated in the doorway. He braced himself for whatever Papa wanted to say, then he turned around.
Keefe stood by his chair, dishes in hand, and eyes on Papa.
Looking uncharacteristically out of sorts, Papa twisted his mouth to one side. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “I’ve, uh, taken a teaching job.”
“What?” Jarret and Keefe said together. Papa had always told them he’d never take a teaching job. He wanted to work out in the field, wouldn’t balk at an occasional job as an adviser, might give a talk or two here or there. But he’d sooner herd cats for a living than be roped into a desk or teaching job.
“At River Run High?” Jarret could’ve kicked himself for the pathetic, whispery voice that came out of him. But he didn’t want his father working at his school. He could only imagine what that would do to his image.
Papa’s lip curled, amusement flickering in his piercing blue eyes. “No. This school’s online.”
Jarret exhaled, slumping forward unintentionally. “Well, what are you doing that for?”
Papa shrugged. “Change of pace.” He scooted his chair back and withdrew his pipe from the chest pocket of his shirt, signaling the end of the conversation. “We can talk about it later.” Puffing on his empty pipe, he left the room.
Standing Strong Page 5