So, Miss Meadows had been trying to talk to Papa out on the porch, but he’d clammed up. What could they have been talking about?
Jarret shook his head and bit into one of the pizza pockets. None of his business, right? He and his brothers would talk to Papa soon enough, sometime after Miss Meadows left.
As he chewed, his gaze shifted to a scrap of paper next to his laptop. Honoring Papa’s request to stay put, he’d rescheduled his appointment with Father Carston again. Father had given him Friday at three o’clock. Maybe he’d look up the scapular now and take his mind off Papa.
THE BROWN SCAPULAR
What is it? Two squares of brown wool attached by a cord. Words on one square. A dude kneeling before the Blessed Mother on the other. Mary appeared to Saint Simon Stock in 1251 and gave him the scapular as a sign of her favor and protection. Simon must be the kneeling dude. Still, what is it?
Not magic. Not a talisman.
Childish? Yeah, kind of.
Like a little kid carrying a baby blanket around for security? Maybe.
The Brown Scapular is a silent reminder
that the Blessed Mother is right there with you.
You’re not alone.
It’s a promise of her prayer for you.
Security in your Heavenly Mother’s love.
It’s a sacramental, a little way of showing your love for Mary and trust in her protection. Just wearing it is a prayer.
Just wearing it.
A symbol of devotion. A promise of obedience.
A sign of belonging to Mary and a pledge of her motherly protection now and in the next life.
“If you had recommended yourself to me, you would not have run into such danger,” Mary said to Blessed Alan de la Roche,
one of her devoted servants.
CHAPTER 28
Thursday morning, at last. Spirit soaring above him, Christian music blasting on the radio, Keefe cruised down the freeway in Papa’s F-150. Clouds hid the sunrise and the smell of rain pumped through the air vents, mixing with the aroma of the coffee he’d picked up before leaving town. Nothing could dampen his mood. He had a full tank of gas and his journey began now.
Keefe glanced at the brown paper bag that held the crumb-topped muffins he’d bought with his coffee. He decided to pace himself and wait until he reached the interstate before eating his breakfast. He had a nine-hour drive ahead of him.
Twenty minutes later, nearing a small town, the traffic picked up and Keefe found himself gripping the steering wheel and glancing in the rearview and side mirrors. He’d never driven far from town, and now he was headed to an entirely different state. Alone.
His heart stirred. Not alone, the Lord reminded him. They made this journey together. Relaxing a bit, Keefe’s gaze fixed on a golden sunbeam that stole through heavy clouds and fell on a lonely hill. The sunbeam accompanied him for a few more minutes, until the shifting clouds made it disappear.
The sun rose higher in the sky, at times visible through the clouds as a pale orb, at other times invisible. Traffic increased as Keefe drove through hills and twists toward Rapid City and the interstate. He decided that he preferred sitting high over the road in the full-size truck to sitting low in the Lexus. He felt more in control and aware of his surroundings.
Almost an hour into his trip, he reached the interstate that he would spend the next six hours driving on. His soul stirred again, a tingling sensation running along his arms and to his chest. This was really happening. He set out today, searching for God’s will for his life, opening himself to all possibilities, holding nothing back. The road trip itself felt like part of his discernment retreat. How far was he willing to go? What was he willing to give up?
A peaceful mood enveloped him. Cars and trucks whizzed past. Attention half on the road and half on the stirrings in his soul, Keefe drove on.
An hour later, the traffic lessoned, dwindling to a few cars and semi-trucks. Flat land stretched out to gently rolling horizons on both sides. Gray clouds hung low in the sky, threatening rain at any minute. Something foreboding about them. Too bad he wouldn’t have a clear blue sky for his trip. But maybe God had a message for him in the gloominess.
Keefe sighed, relaxing with the easy landscape. He took a hand from the steering wheel and grabbed his coffee. A degree warmer than room temperature, it comforted him as he gulped it down. He replaced the coffee cup in the cup holder and reached into a brown paper bag for one of the muffins. His gaze skimmed the other bag of snacks he’d brought and the water bottles in the passenger seat, his black canvas overnight bag on the floor. He wanted to make the nine-hour drive with as few stops as possible.
Two hours later, Christian music still played in the background, just over the hum of the engine, but he couldn’t make the song out half the time. Working on his second muffin, the darkest of the gray clouds hung above and ahead, paler skies in the rearview mirror. An empty freeway stretched out before him.
Keefe took a deep breath and sighed. His mood sank with the monotony of the drive and landscape. He hadn’t considered the extra time it would take to drive in the rain. What if he arrived late? They’d think he didn’t take this seriously. If they knew his past, the way he’d followed Jarret down so many bad roads, they wouldn’t take him seriously either. But they didn’t need to know all that, did they? He wasn’t that person anymore, so why couldn’t he shake the feeling that he wasn’t worthy of a calling?
The sense of foreboding intensified, sitting like a rock in his stomach. Keefe dropped the half-eaten muffin back into the bag, wiped crumbs from his lap, and tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
An hour later, he passed the last bit of heavy traffic he expected to encounter in South Dakota, crossed into Minnesota, and drove until he found himself alone on the road again. The rambling music grating on his nerves, he shut the radio off and lowered the windows. Warm wind blew his face and hair and created a soothing white noise. He remembered the sensation of wind whipping through his hair when he’d worn it long like Jarret did, before the haircut that signaled the promises he’d made to God and to himself.
Keefe’s thoughts turned to God. He didn’t need to worry about anything. Everything would work out according to God’s will. He could trust God’s plan for today and for his life. “Trusting you, Lord,” he whispered, not entirely feeling it. He whispered more prayers, thinking of everyone in his family, his thoughts lingering on Papa.
Papa had seemed ten years younger during the five days of Miss Meadows’ visit. But he’d seemed restless since she left. Keefe had enjoyed the visit too. Miss Meadows kept them all entertained at family dinners and around a campfire in the backyard. Keefe had even gone horseback riding with them. Like Papa, Miss Meadows had a private side and kept to herself much of the time, either in her room or strolling about outside. Papa had taken her shopping and to dinner a few times too, dressing in new button-down shirts. He’d worn a new cowboy hat for a few hours one day, but it must not have fit right. He’d worn the old one ever since.
Jarret had still wanted to figure out Papa’s deal, so when he found Miss Meadows alone in the kitchen, he brought up Papa’s online teaching job. “Maybe your old man wants to spend more time with you,” she’d said with a smile.
The answer hadn’t satisfied him in the least, but Jarret decided that he, Keefe, and Roland should wait until after this weekend, when everyone could talk to him together. Roland and Papa had gone on the annual camping trip, so maybe Roland would have a few answers before then.
Glimpsing a car on the side of the road, Keefe snapped from his thoughts. He glanced in the rearview and side mirrors. Alone on the road, he changed to the far left lane. As he drew near, he saw the problem.
An old blue Toyota with a flat tire sat on the berm. His gaze connected with the driver, a young woman in a white top and a long skirt the color of storm clouds. Her skirt flapped about her legs. She stood with her hands on her hips, staring at the flat, but she turned as he sped past. Strands of hair
ripped free from her pony tail and flew around her face. She looked at him. And he at her. A message of heart-wrenching agony passed between them, fleeting but so real it shook him to the core.
Keefe’s breath caught and his heart twisted with the sharp pain of sympathy. His thoughts jumped to his forty hours in the woods. Frozen, coughing, and gasping, blinded by the dark of night, he dragged himself from the river to the bank of failure. He would have to trudge through the woods to Peter’s house, shivering in soaking wet clothes, admit defeat and live with it.
The car shrunk in the side mirror as he drove on. Guilt had him glancing every few seconds. She was alone and needed help. Didn’t she have a cellphone? He should’ve stopped. But he hadn’t known that she’d needed help until too late. He couldn’t back up on the highway. He could easily cross the strip of grass between east and westbound roads and turn around. Any police cars on the road? How far to the next exit?
Keefe glanced at the clock. He was six hours in on a nine-hour journey. Did he have time to help her? He’d left the house with a half hour to spare. He could change a tire in half an hour. And so what if he were a little late?
A flat horizon and a scattering of trees lined both sides of the road. Not a house in sight. A green highway sign to the side of the road showed he’d reach the next exit in two miles. Two miles to the exit. Sixty miles per hour. Two minutes, plus a minute to cross over the highway and get on in the opposite direction. Then he’d have to backtrack and turn around at the exit just past her. How far away was that exit?
Keefe moaned and slammed the steering wheel, his conscience convicting him. Her look had told him everything he needed to know. She needed help. And for whatever reason, she had no one else to help her.
Ten minutes later, and still not seeing an exit after he’d gotten on the highway in the opposite direction, Keefe hit the brakes and pulled onto the grassy median. Cranking the wheel, he drove the F-150 into and out of a ditch that the grass had hidden.
He’d passed the lady and her Toyota five minutes ago. Keefe stepped on the gas pedal, driving over the speed limit until her car came into view again. He eased off the gas and slowed, then pulled up behind her.
She stood by the open trunk of her car, two cardboard boxes overflowing with junk on the ground and a jack and lug wrench in her hands. The wind still playing with her hair and skirt, she turned as he slammed the door of the truck.
“Need a hand?” He strode toward her, his limbs appreciating the stretch.
About twenty-something and a bit rough around the edges, she seemed like a girl who in normal situations could take care of herself and resented this monkey wrench thrown into her plans. Biting her lip, she looked him over, worry and distrust in her eyes. And something else. Something similar to the hopelessness Keefe had felt down by the river. “I’ve just never changed a tire before.” With a forced smile, she offered him the jack and lug wrench.
“I have.” Wanting to ease her anxiety, he smiled and pushed back all the anxious thoughts about how long this would take and making it to the retreat in time. All in God’s hands. “My father made me practice several times before he let me drive anything of his.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s his truck.”
She glanced at the truck. “My father would never have trusted me with his car. He...” Her gaze snapped back to him, her eyes distant, then she turned away and a breeze thrust her hair into her face.
“You wanna turn the flashers on and set the parking brake? I’ll get something from my truck to block a tire.” Keefe set the jack and lug wrench on the ground, his gaze sliding to the boxes. A blow dryer hung out of one, stuffed grocery bags and folded clothes filling the other. Keefe jogged back to the truck for a wheel chock.
As he returned, the Toyota’s hazards flashed and the lady got out of the driver side and slammed the door.
Keefe stuffed the wheel chock under the tire opposite of the flat. Not wanting to waste time, he jogged around the car and snatched the lug wrench. A quick glance over his shoulder told him the road was clear. He dropped onto one knee on the gravelly berm, pried off the hubcap, and loosened the lug nuts. One minute, two minutes... He could do this in less than ten.
A few feet away, she stood watching him with folded arms and hair blowing in her face. Still looking hopeless.
Loosening the last lug nut, he glanced up at her. “I forgot to say... my name’s Keefe.”
“Oh.” She unfolded and refolded her arms as if not sure whether she should offer her hand. “Piper.”
He nodded, smiling again, though his mind hadn’t stopped calculating the time. Then he dropped onto all fours to find a good place on the frame for the jack. Placing the jack, he got back up to one knee and inserted the jack handle. Another minute?
“Do you live around here?” He peered up at her as he cranked the jack handle.
“No, not really. I’m about an hour south. Just passing through on my way to see my dad. He’s...” She shut her mouth and shook her head, pain passing over her expression.
“So he lives around here?” He’d only asked to have something to say, but a part of him wished she’d called a friend or relative for help.
“Oh no.” Piper waved a hand in the air and stared across the highway. “I’ve got a while to go. I can’t believe I got a flat. But something’s always going wrong with this old beater.” She watched the flat creep up off the ground. “How long will the spare last?”
“Not sure. Forty or fifty miles? You’ll probably want to get your tire fixed as soon as you can.” Satisfied he’d gotten the tire far enough off the ground, he set the jack handle down and twisted the lug nuts the rest of the way off. “How far are you going?”
“I’ve got another hour or so up to Sleepy Eye.” They exchanged a glance and a little smile passed her lips. “Ever heard of it?”
He shook his head and dropped the last of the lug nuts in the upside-down hub cap. “Sounds boring.”
The comment seemed to have caught her off guard. One hand flew to her mouth, and she let out a loud high laugh, a good sound that made Keefe smile.
“I don’t know if it is or not. Dad moved there when I was younger.” Her tone softened. “I’ve never been there.”
No longer keeping track of the time but certain he could complete the job within ten minutes, Keefe shoved the hubcap out of the way. He gripped the tire with both hands and yanked the wheel from the lug studs. Then he followed her to the trunk and set the tire flat on the ground.
Keefe reached into the trunk and wrapped his fingers around the spare, his stomach sinking as his fingers sank into the rubber. “Uh oh. Looks like this one’s flat too.”
She stared as if not believing him, then her eyes turned hard and glassy, a mix of emotion showing on her face.
“So you don’t know anyone around here?”
“No.” She turned away and shoved one hand into her hair. “Now what?” Her voice broke.
“Do you have roadside assistance?”
Her dead expression and teary eyes answered his question. “And my phone’s dead anyways. Can’t find my charger.”
“Well, I...” Keefe threw a longing glance at his truck, his gaze skittering over the interstate highway and the formidable clouds, wishing he were on the road again. “I guess we could toss the tire in the truck, find a shop, and get it fixed.”
She dragged the back of her hand over her eyes, pushing hair off her face and probably drying tears. “You’d do that for me?”
How far could it be to the nearest shop? How long could it possibly take? He’d already used up his spare half hour. How late would it make him? The retreat started at four. So what if he got there by five? He could call and tell the friars he’d be late.
“Sure,” Keefe said, hiding all traces of disappointment and anxiety. “I need to get gas and lunch anyways.” Keefe lifted the tire to the back of the truck, squeezed his overnight bag, water bottles, and snacks behind the seats, and motioned for Piper to get in. Using his
cellphone, he found a tire and auto parts store in the nearest town, fifteen or so minutes away.
A drop of rain splattered on the windshield as Keefe eased onto the interstate. Then the sky let loose.
AN HOUR AND A HALF later, Keefe sat across from Piper in a booth in a family restaurant. The dark sky and pouring rain, visible through the slats of the window blinds, made it feel like evening, though it was only around 2:00 p.m. Keefe rubbed the goosebumps on his arm, and a shiver ran through him. Piper sat hunched with her hands stuffed in the opposite sleeves, her stringy wet hair hanging over her shoulders. They’d gotten drenched running from the truck to the auto parts store, back to the truck, and then into the restaurant. The rain had lessened some but hadn’t quit.
A family with a toddler and an older kid, maybe eight or nine, sat two tables away. The toddler’s voice carried. He wanted to stand on his chair or sit by the windows and see the rain. A half wall that split the dining area in two blocked his view.
“Do you have brothers and sisters?” Piper caught him staring.
He reached for the glass of iced tea that the waitress had brought a few minutes ago and twisted it one way and the other. “Yeah, two brothers. One’s two years younger, the other’s my twin.”
She leaned forward, as if totally enthralled, her eyes glittering in the yellow light from the low-hanging lamp above the booth. “Twins, huh?” She slipped her hands from her sleeves and played with the paper seal on the napkin-wrapped silverware in front of her. “I always wished my younger sister and I were twins. Are you two close?”
“Yeah, pretty close.” His thoughts flitted to Jarret. The rain seemed to be heading west. If Jarret went out with Chantelle tonight, they’d probably be caught in it. It would give them an excuse to stay in.
Something moved in Keefe’s peripheral vision.
The waitress, dressed in gray and black, sashayed around tables, carrying a tray with two plates and condiments. She set a burger and fries in front of each of them. “Can I get you anything else?” She glanced at their glasses, but neither one of them had touched their cold drinks.
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