Standing Strong

by Theresa Linden

  Jarret never answered right away. His eyes narrowed and his gaze shifted to Papa. “Yeah.”

  “You get it done?”

  Jarret shrugged. “What do you think I’ve been doing all day?”

  Papa often twitched at the rude replies, but then he’d bite his tongue and take a breath.

  Sometimes a hint of remorse had colored Jarret’s expression and he’d given Papa a bit more information, telling him about one assignment or another. Papa had nodded and looked satisfied.

  Keefe strolled past the kitchen, inhaling a savory chicken aroma and glimpsing Nanny hunched over the little kitchen table. He’d avoided asking on Wednesday because Papa had taken Roland for a doctor visit, a final x-ray to make sure he’d healed right. Roland had been begging to get the cast off and trying to get Papa to insist. He’d even threatened to do it himself. He’d seen a video online and thought he could figure it out. Fortunately, the doctor said it could come off Friday, so Roland agreed to let him handle it.

  As Keefe neared the front hallway, he squinted at the light streaming through the window beside the front door. Then movement came from the little sitting room off the foyer. And mumbling.

  Keefe peeked his head into the room.

  Dressed in cut-off sweatpants and a long-sleeved gray t-shirt and resting his weight on his good leg, Roland stood facing the antique oval floor mirror in the corner. He lifted his head from the index cards in his hands and glimpsed Keefe through the mirror. Then he tipped his head with a shy look and turned around, pivoting on his good leg.

  “Hey, Roland, what’s up?” Keefe said.

  “Speech class.” Roland lifted the cards. “I don’t think I can do it.”

  Keefe laughed. “Sure you can. Keep practicing.” Keefe guessed that Roland had been practicing all week. He’d heard him mumbling in his bedroom almost every night.

  He left Roland to his business and headed down the front hallway, his eyes locking onto the half-open door of Papa’s office.

  Voices came from Papa’s study, one feminine and the other Papa’s rough voice, their words becoming clear as Keefe drew near.

  Not wanting to walk in on a conversation, Keefe slowed his pace. The quality of the woman’s voice told him it came through the speaker phone, and it sounded like Miss Anna Meadows.

  Keefe had met her a few months ago on one of Papa’s digs in Mississippi. He’d known Papa liked her. Did they talk often?

  “Sorry, I can’t, Anna. I told you about my teaching job.”

  She laughed. “It’s online, Ignatius, and you know we’ve got Internet. We might dig up bones and stone tools, but we don’t work with them.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Don’t ‘yeah’ me. You know I could use your help. What’s your real reason for not wanting to see me?”

  Papa groaned. “Now don’t start that. You know I’d give anything to see you. I was just fixin’ to stay holed up at the home front for a spell.”

  Keefe stopped near the doorway, not wanting Papa to see him yet. Papa’s switch to cowboy talk meant he was getting agitated.

  “And why’s that? It’s not in your blood to stay ‘holed up at the home front.’ ” Her tone held an edge.

  “Con sarn it, Anna.” A chair squeaked and Papa’s boots thudded to the floor. He’d probably had them propped up on the desk. “You know the reason why. Don’t make me talk about it again, least not on the phone. You want to talk about it, why don’t you light a shuck and get on over here.” His voice softened. “Take a break from your work. I’d like to see you.”

  “Are you inviting me over?” Her voice softened too.

  “Sure, if you want. We’ve got the room.”

  “Is this for a day or a few days?”

  “Long as you like.”

  “Hmm. I’ll check my schedule and let you know. I gotta run, cowboy.”

  “All right then. Talk to you soon.”

  A pause and then she said, “I miss you.”

  A longer pause before Papa’s reply. “Miss you too, Anna.” His voice hitched when he spoke her name.

  Keefe found himself backing up and his senses heightening. If he stepped into his study now, Papa might know he’d heard all that.

  Glad he wasn’t wearing shoes, he turned and retraced his steps down the hallway. Back toward his bedroom. Something sat funny inside him. First Papa had given up his freelance work and travel. And he’d taken an online teaching job. Now he wouldn’t even go visit Miss Meadows. Keefe had never heard Papa raise his voice to a woman, much less Miss Meadows. Something was wrong.

  As he mounted the steps, music came on in Jarret’s room and traveled through the closed bedroom door, some emotional, contemporary song that Jarret liked to play over and over. Getting expelled the first day of school had probably put him in a mood.

  Keefe stopped at his door. Should he talk to Jarret about Papa? Maybe he should get Roland too, and the three of them could talk about it. Keefe didn’t want to jump to conclusions. But his mind kept pointing him to one answer.

  CHAPTER 19

  Feeling fly and ready for the weekend, Jarret dumped frozen onion rings onto a cookie sheet and slid the sheet into the warm oven. He added an extra minute to the time since the oven hadn’t warmed up all the way. Then he reached for the box of pizza pockets and his mouth watered. He couldn’t wait to eat them. After all, he’d skipped lunch.

  He’d been finishing up the last bit of schoolwork the teachers had given him for the week, and he hadn’t wanted to stop. He felt good getting it all done on his own, without being told, and without cheating.

  In fact, he’d never felt more in control of himself than he did now. He’d decided to stick to the routine he’d adopted last school year: wake up early to work out on his weight set in the basement, shower, eat, and school. While he had wished he were back at school, he liked the option of doing schoolwork at the dining room table, out on the front porch, on the couch in the living room, or stretched out on his bed. Besides, he’d probably needed the time to get over what C.W. had done, so he wouldn’t try confronting him again.

  Or maybe he’d just needed the week to himself, at home while everyone else went to school. Not that he was exactly alone. He and Papa crossed paths often throughout the day, usually on their way to get something from the kitchen. It was weird having him home so much. And Nanny always seemed to be everywhere at once, cleaning and cooking and mumbling to herself throughout the house.

  And he’d been texting Chantelle since the first day of his suspension. She’d sent the first message, saying she’d missed him. He’d debated how to reply, but then Papa’s little talk had lifted a weight. Despite Jarret’s mess up, Papa hadn’t lost all respect for him. Wanting to share his good mood, Jarret had yanked out his phone and messaged Chantelle. Text me whenever you want.

  She could interpret that any way she wanted, but it didn’t commit him.

  They’d sent each other messages ten times a day after that. Stupid little messages mostly. He’d ask, “What class are you in now?” and “Who’s the teacher?” And he’d tell her what he was up to or “Can’t text, working out.” And things like that.

  Her messages mostly consisted of questions and complaining. “What are you having for lunch?” “How long do you work out?” “This class is sooo boring.” And she’d told him a bit about life as a cheerleader.

  He’d intentionally avoided asking what she was doing after school or what she was wearing. He didn’t want her sending any pictures that he’d have to go to confession over. Nanny shuffled from the dining room and toward the kitchen island, her eyes on the pocket notebook in her hand. “I made extra of everything last night so you boys and your father could just heat things up for dinner tonight.” Dressed to go out—a flowered skirt and twenty-year-old pink top—she smoothed her gray curls absentmindedly as she stared at whatever list she’d made.

  “No thanks. I can’t eat meatloaf two nights in a row.” Besides, he was hungry now. Jarret arranged the frozen
pizza pockets on a cookie sheet. Then he scanned the box for the oven temperature. Good, same temperature as the onion rings. “So where are you going all dressed up?”

  “Hmm? Oh, we’re meeting friends for dinner at a fancy restaurant, then going to their house for a night of cards.” She pulled out a barstool and sat down.

  He slid the cookie sheet into the oven on the shelf above the onion rings and came around the island to her. “So what’s the fancy restaurant?” Attempting to tease her, Jarret leaned into her space and gave her a crooked grin, one arm on the countertop. Her idea of a fancy restaurant and his were likely polar opposites.

  She glanced up from her list. “We’re going to a steakhouse.”

  “Mmm. Fancy.” He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. Knowing the gesture would leave her flummoxed, he took off toward the hallway. He’d spent years being nasty and not appreciating her, even resenting her after Mama died, so poor Nanny never knew how to take his recent attempts at kindness. He stopped at the doorway and glanced back.

  She sat on the barstool, one hand to her chest, eyes blinking rapidly as she looked at him.

  “Have fun tonight,” he said, emotion creeping up.

  “Thank you... dear. But I... What is that I smell?” She peered at the oven. “I wish you would stop bringing TV dinners into the house.”

  “I’m not making TV dinners. I’m making pizza pockets and onion rings.” He grinned, knowing it would still offend her. She made everything from scratch. Who cared that she served gravy and three carbs with every meal?

  “Those things are terrible for you. Don’t you know all the preservatives and strange ingredients they put in them? Didn’t you hear me say we have leftovers?”

  Jarret gave her a smile and waved a brow. “Thanks, but I’m not in the mood for meatloaf.” He stepped into the hallway, turning away from her and toward the great room. “I exercise and eat healthy every day. Today, I’m eating junk food.”

  Two steps down the hallway, sensing his twin brother, Jarret stopped and turned around.

  Keefe strolled from the foyer toward him, a stack of textbooks at his side and a package, letters, and junk mail in his hand.

  “You’re home.” Glad to see him, Jarret stuffed his thumbs into the back pockets of his jeans and waited for Keefe to reach him.

  “So how’s your last day of home school?” With the mail in one hand, Keefe awkwardly shifted the stack of books from his hip to Jarret.

  Not expecting them, Jarret almost dropped the thick World Lit book. “Working at home’s easy. I’m sure I get done way ahead of you.” Then he glanced at the stack of books he now held at his side. “It’s Friday. You got homework?”

  Keefe nodded as he tucked junk mail and bills under his arm, separating them from the package: a thick orange envelope. “I haven’t been getting much done in class.” Keefe used to get almost everything done before the class ended.

  “Why not?”

  “Distracted.” He ripped open the package and reached inside. “Good, they’re here.” He lifted a brown scapular out and dangled it in front of Jarret. It was a heavy-duty scapular with folds still in the cords from the way it had been packed. “This is for you.” He lifted it, as if to slip it over Jarret’s head.

  “Thanks.” Jarret jerked back and stuck out a hand. “I think I’ll look into it a bit more before I start wearing it.”

  “Oh.” Hurt flickered in his twin’s brown eyes.

  “I just wanna understand what it’s about. Don’t want to just go through the motions.” Jarret stuffed the scapular into a front pocket of his jeans. Honestly, he just didn’t see the point. No matter what Keefe said, the devotion seemed childish and a bit superstitious.

  Keefe nodded, a look of acceptance replacing the fleeting stab of hurt. He reached back into the bag. “Roland home yet? I’ve got one for him too. For everyone: Nanny, Mr. Digby, Papa.”

  “Nah, Roland’s not home yet.” Papa had picked Roland up early and taken him to get the cast off. Jarret looked forward to feeling a bit of closure today, since he felt responsible for Roland’s broken leg. “Hungry? I’m making onion rings and six pizza pockets. You can have one if you want.” Ready to drop Keefe’s books, he took the mail from under Keefe’s arm and shoved the books toward him.

  “You’re making six, and I can only have one?” Keefe stuffed the package under his arm and took the books.

  Jarret grinned. “Count yourself lucky. I don’t feel like sharing.” His phone rang while he handed off the books, World Lit almost falling.

  Jarret yanked out his phone. A quick glance showed the call came from Papa. “Hey, Papa, what’s up? Did Roland get his—”

  “Keefe home?” Papa spoke over Jarret’s second question.

  “Yeah, he’s right here.” Jarret lifted his gaze to Keefe, who looked curious and stepped forward to listen.

  “Good. Stay put. We’re on our way home to pick you both up for dinner. Roland’s got his cast off and we’re going to celebrate.”

  “We’re eating out?” Jarret asked, mildly shocked. While they always ate out when on assignments with Papa, they rarely did otherwise. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d gone out in their hometown.

  “Wait, no.” Roland’s troubled voice came over the phone. “I need a shower first.”

  “You don’t need a shower,” Papa said.

  “Yes, I do. My leg feels gross.”

  “It’s not gonna kill you to go to dinner first. You can take a long hot bath before bed.”

  “I don’t take baths.”

  Papa’s voice came over the phone louder. “See ya in five.” Then he ended the call.

  Jarret slid his phone into his back pocket and cut a sad glance toward the kitchen.

  “Did he say we’re going out?” Keefe asked, though he’d stood near enough to hear.

  Jarret nodded. “What about my pizza pockets?”

  Keefe shrugged. “Turn the oven off and finish them later tonight.”

  Heart set on the junk food, Jarret sighed.

  JARRET SLUMPED BACK in the bench seat and folded his arms across his chest. He’d glimpsed the Digbys at a table by the window as the hostess had led them to their booth. All the way here, he had protested the restaurant choice, a Western steak house. Keefe hadn’t cared. And Roland wanted what Papa wanted. Of course. Jarret tried to dismiss the thoughts about Roland being Papa’s pet, but he couldn’t keep from tossing a sour look in Roland’s direction.

  Running a hand through his hair and looking out of sorts, Roland sat next to Papa, who sat across from Jarret. Keefe sat beside Jarret and across from Roland. He’d piled a mound of peanuts onto his plate, but he hadn’t shelled any of them. He sat with arms folded on the table, leaning toward Roland and looking interested in every detail of the cast removal that Roland shared.

  “Still itches like mad.” Roland turned his eyes to Papa with an accusing glare. “Wish I could’ve showered.”

  Papa either didn’t hear or pretended not too. He sat hunched over the table, relaxing with his ice cold beer. He and about six others in the dimly-lit restaurant, one woman and the rest men, wore cowboy hats. Papa would’ve won for the most authentic, most weathered. The rest were all hat and no cattle, as Papa liked to say about anyone pretending to be something they weren’t.

  Papa lifted his steely-blue eyes to Jarret, the hint of a smile coming to his face. “Got your schoolwork done?”

  Jarret gave him a cold look. Wasn’t this supposed to be a celebration dinner? “Yeah. I do. Ready to go back to school.” He added the last line with less attitude, giving Papa the benefit of the doubt. He probably couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  Papa shifted his attention to Roland. “Now that your cast is off, you ready to get back in the saddle?”

  Roland nodded enthusiastically. “I miss riding.”

  “Maybe we can all ride together, the four of us.” Papa cracked a shell and tossed the peanut into his mouth. “Take the trails on our property or
take the horses out to the Badlands.”

  “That’s over an hour away.” Stomach growling, Jarret straightened and grabbed a handful of peanuts from the tin bucket on the table. He liked the idea of riding out in the prairies, maybe coming across bison or bighorn sheep. But Papa had never seemed interested in anything like this before. What gives?

  “So we get a horse trailer.” Papa tossed more peanuts into his mouth.

  “Sounds fun.” Keefe bumped Jarret’s leg with his own.

  Shoving a handful of peanuts into his mouth, Jarret glanced to see what Keefe wanted.

  Anyone else would’ve read contentment on Keefe’s face, but Jarret recognized trouble in his eyes. Something bothered him. Something about what Papa said. Papa had been acting strange lately. Keefe had brought it up before, but now Jarret was seeing it for himself.

  “Yeah that sounds great,” Roland said. “Let me get back to riding first, see how my leg feels. Think we can go there this fall?”

  Papa nodded. “Something else I was thinking for the fall... The Brandts sponsor that camping event every year.”

  Jarret stopped chewing, all senses alert now. Keefe seemed to freeze too.

  “Why don’t we all go this year?” Papa took a swig of beer.

  “Uh...” Keefe jerked forward and back. “I, um, I can’t.”

  Jarret exhaled, relieved that Keefe had spoken first. He didn’t have a good excuse to offer yet. He needed a few seconds to come up with something.

  “Why’s that?” Head down so that his Stetson almost covered his eyes, Papa twisted his beer mug.

  “I, uh, have somewhere I need to be.” Keefe took a breath and seemed to hold it. He must not have told Papa about that Franciscan retreat yet.

  Jarret shifted his gaze to Keefe in warning. Now was not the time to bring it up. They could enjoy a family meal out together and hash out their business at home another time.

  Keefe acknowledged Jarret’s warning with the slightest nod. And he breathed again. “It’s a bad weekend for me, that’s all.”

  “Me too,” Jarret said. “I can’t go camping.” He caught Roland’s glance. Roland probably guessed why. The place reminded Jarret of the mistake he’d made with Zoe, and he didn’t want to think about that for an entire weekend. Besides, what if Chantelle went too? Or he met some other cute girl? Would he make the same mistake twice? Girls made him crazy, especially one on one, made him say and do things he maybe shouldn’t.