“I don’t know. Caitlyn, sit down.”
Caitlyn sat on the carpet, near Roland’s feet.
Roland’s face turned pink as a salmon. He shot Peter another desperate glance, but it was too late.
“I hadn’t meant to tell them what you told me. I wanted them to stop saying mean and stupid things. That’s all. I just—”
“You-you should get up,” Roland said in a quiet voice.
She obeyed and stood staring down at him. “Will you ever forgive me?” She spoke with too much emotion. “I feel just awful about what I did. I want to be your friend again. I want to earn your trust back.”
With a pouty expression, he peered up at her. “Why? Why do you want to be my friend?”
“I just do. I like talking with you.”
He averted his gaze, but she continued staring, probably waiting for an answer that he probably wouldn’t give.
“Why don’t you sit down, Caitlyn. On the couch,” Peter said. “Let him think about it.”
Caitlyn shuffled to the couch and flopped down.
At that moment, the gray-haired woman bounced into the room with a pitcher and tall glasses on a tray. “It’s so nice of you kids to stop by.” The woman set the tray on the coffee table and picked up a glass. “I can’t remember the last time Roland had friends over. You’d think he was—” She looked at Roland and her face froze. “Is that a pack of cigarettes in your hand? Is that cigarette smoke I smell?”
Roland gulped and glanced at the pack in his hand. “Uh, it’s not mine.”
The woman set the glass down, stomped over to Roland, and flipped her hand out. “I’ll have to take that. Your father won’t be pleased to learn—”
“Hey!” Peter jumped up. “Actually, those are mine. We were tossing them back and forth. Roland doesn’t smoke. Are you kidding? He never does anything wrong.”
The woman twisted her pursed lips to the side. “That’s nice of you to want to protect him, but I found another pack, nearly empty, in his room.”
Roland fired a seething glare in the direction of the poolroom.
“Your father will want to speak with you when he gets here. So, don’t go running off. He should probably be here any—”
The sound of a door opening and boots clomping down a hall came from somewhere beyond the unexplored side of the long room. The twins darted from the poolroom. Roland jumped up.
“That must be your father,” the woman said. “Oh, I have so many things to do.” She hurried back the way she came.
“We should go,” Caitlyn whispered to Peter and stood.
Two men came in through a hallway off the far side of the room, the twins—dragging luggage—behind them. The taller man had tan, leathery skin and wore boots and a cowboy hat. His gaze clicked to Roland, and he smiled.
Roland practically ran to him and gave him a hug, only coming up to the man’s chest. The man mussed Roland’s hair and mumbled something to him. Roland shrugged.
“I’ll take care of these,” the skinnier man said, reaching for the luggage. He left the room at a quick pace, leaving the three West boys and the cowboy huddled together.
Peter rounded the couch, Caitlyn following like his shadow. He cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the little group. “Hey, Roland, we’re gonna get going.”
“Okay. Well, this is my father.” And to the cowboy he said, “This is Peter and Caitlyn, my . . .” His gazed drifted to Caitlyn. “. . . friends from school.”
Mr. West gave Peter a strange look. His eyes, while more blue than gray, held the same mysterious, piercing quality as Roland’s. The rest of his features resembled Roland, too, with the exception of his tan skin.
He stepped forward and extended a hand to Caitlyn then to Peter. “How’re your parents doing?”
“My parents?” Peter said, trying to match Mr. West’s firm grip as they shook hands. “You know them?”
He smiled. “Sure. But it’s been awhile.”
Roland did a double-take of Peter.
Peter shrugged. “Uh, they’re fine.”
Chapter 38
Jarret and Roland pulled out chairs across from each other at the dinner table, at exactly the same time. Maintaining eye-contact, they slid into their seats, one on either side of Papa. Jarret gave Roland a slow nod.
Roland set his jaw. Let the battle begin. He hadn’t done anything wrong and Papa would figure it out. He hadn’t made it a habit to tell on Jarret, but Papa should know, especially this time. Jarret’s manipulation and scheming had reached a new low.
“Everything looks delicious, Nanny.” Papa settled back in the chair, clutching a mug of coffee with both hands.
Nanny had brought to the table a plate of ham decorated with cloves and pineapple, a bowl of steamed baby potatoes, and a basket of fresh-baked dinner rolls.
“You make me feel like I’m returning from a long trip. It’s only been a few days. You know I’m more than happy with something simple.”
“Oh no, Mr. West.” Nanny set a dish of broccoli spears and a sauceboat in front of Keefe. “When you return from your trips, we all eat together, and we celebrate. Tomorrow we can eat something simple.”
“Maybe some soup,” Mr. Digby said and chuckled. He shifted in his chair at the far end of the table. He probably couldn’t wait for tomorrow’s simpler dinner, which Nanny would let him eat at the kitchen table. He never seemed comfortable eating in the dining room.
Once Nanny took her seat, Papa said grace and the serving dishes got passed around. “So, what’d you boys do while I was away?”
Jarret and Roland’s gazes connected. Neither of them spoke.
“The usual,” Keefe said. As he handed the dish of broccoli to Jarret, Jarret must’ve communicated something in their telepathic-twin way, because then Keefe gave a little nod and said, “. . . for the most part, anyway, and I speak for myself.” He dropped his head and shoved a broccoli spear into his mouth.
He speaks for himself. What an ironic thing for him to say. He never spoke for himself. He spoke for Jarret.
“So,” Papa said, “what’s the usual, Keefe?”
Keefe stopped chewing and glanced at Papa through wide eyes, looking like he hadn’t studied for that question. “I-I finished a painting.”
Papa nodded. “What of?”
“It’s a still life. I put a few things together on Jarret’s dresser: a stack of CDs, a few books, Jarret’s cactus, a rock, his desk lamp, a key.”
“That sounds interesting,” Papa said. “I’d like to—”
“A key?” The question flew from Roland’s mouth. “What’s the key go to?”
“Is that any of your business?” Jarret said.
Papa traded Roland the basket of rolls for the potatoes. “What about you, Roland?”
“Uh, actually I . . .” Roland tugged the collar of his shirt away from his roasting neck. He could smell his own sweat.
He glanced at Nanny. She must’ve told him all about it.
Nanny kept her eyes on her plate as she worked her ham over with a knife.
“Roland?” Papa said.
“Don’t you already know?”
Jarret grinned and gave Roland a nod. He must’ve admired the direct approach.
Papa blinked a few times. “Well, I thought you’d want to tell me yourself.”
“Yeah, I do.” Unsure of how to begin, Roland shoved a baby potato into his mouth to buy time.
“Roland, honestly, you’re overdue for some rebellion. You’re fourteen, going to public school for the first time . . . It’s probably hard making friends. I wish I would’ve made more social opportunities for you when you boys were younger. I guess I forget how important it is to have at least one good friend. I should’ve stayed connected with the Brandts. I’m sure Peter’s a good kid.”
“I’m not rebelling.”
“I know, I know.” Papa shook his head at his plate. “You’re just trying to fit in.”
Jarret dropped his fork. “If your friends m
ake you smoke, are they really your friends?” His eyes held a look of deep concern. “Do they drink? Do drugs?”
Roland sat there, gaping, for a full two seconds before getting the words out. “They . . . they don’t do drugs. I don’t smoke.”
Keefe jabbed Jarret with his elbow.
Jarret put his hands up, palms out, and leaned back in the chair. “Sorry. Okay. You don’t smoke.”
Roland faced Papa. “I’m not trying to fit in. It’s not the way it seems.”
Papa sipped his coffee and stared.
Where should he start?
“So uh . . .” Jarret grinned but then straightened his face when Papa looked. “. . . you want to explain why you didn’t come home two nights in a row? You really had us worried. Nanny was going to call the police.”
“Ha!” Roland threw his fork onto the table. The nerve. As if he worried over anyone but himself. “You want me to explain? Want me to explain why I didn’t come home? Why don’t you tell him? It’s not like you don’t know.”
“Keep your voice down, Roland.” Papa took a bite of ham and chewed, his gaze shifting from Roland to Jarret.
“How would I know?” Jarret’s tone began cocky but softened to where he almost sounded kind. “I wasn’t even home when you left. Was I?”
“I- I don’t know where you were.”
“Keefe and I were riding all day.”
Keefe sighed and dropped his head.
Jarret went on. “And then we cleaned the stables. You were alone in the house when you decided to take off. Weren’t you? What, were you lonely?” Deceit twinkled in the depths of his eyes.
Roland shook his head. “It was totally your fault.”
“My fault?”
“If that’s true, Jarret,” Papa said, “that’ll be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.”
“Uh . . .” Jarret made a quick headshake. “What does that mean?”
“That means, on account of your past behavior, I’ve been thinking maybe I ought to separate you and Keefe for the school year.”
“Separate?” the twins said simultaneously, locking eyes.
“What do you mean by that?” Jarret frowned.
“I’ll explain later, if need be. Nanny told me what a comfort and help you’ve been while I was away. If that’s really the case, I don’t suppose you have anything to worry about.”
“Oh, yes,” Nanny said. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without Jarret’s help and advice. Why, he even brought me tea and helped with meals.”
“It was almost like he and Roland switched roles,” Mr. Digby said, cleaning his plate with a dinner roll.
Nanny lowered her brows. “How true.”
“Anyway,” Papa said, “I am glad you and Peter have become friends. And the girl—What’s her name?—she seems nice. Kind of pretty, huh? Why didn’t you invite them to dinner? It’s not like we don’t have room.” He made a gesture, indicating the empty chairs at their extra-long table.
Roland stared at the butter dish, half-expecting to see the butter melt from the heat radiating from his body.
Papa stabbed the butter, cut off a chunk, and dragged the knife over a roll. “In a way, I think some good has come from this. That aside, we need to have a talk. Some things are simply unacceptable. So, after dinner, I want you to help Nanny clean up. Then stop by my study before bed.”
A beacon of hope shone. If Roland could talk to Papa alone, he could explain himself. Papa would understand. Roland cleared his throat. “Okay,” he said. “That’d be good. Because there is something we need to talk about.”
Jarret raised a brow and grinned.
ROLAND RESTED ON HIS made bed, gazing at the picture of Mama. Her honey-colored eyes and gentle smile sent a river of peace through his soul. She loved him. Even now, though separated through death, her love touched his heart like sunlight glistening on waves. And for the moment, he felt less alone.
Wanting to light the candle by her picture, he slid open the nightstand drawer and reached inside. He kept the lighter in the front, but his fingers brushed the bottom of the drawer. He yanked the drawer open farther, finding everything in its proper place—notebooks, pens, photographs, and even Peter’s old notebook—but no lighter.
Roland sighed. Nanny had probably confiscated it. She must’ve thought he used it for smoking.
With Peter’s book in hand, he closed the drawer. Papa would be waiting for him. Maybe he could defend himself and show Papa the old notebook at the same time.
Before venturing into the hall, he cracked open his bedroom door and listened for sounds of Jarret. Hearing nothing, he left his room.
When Papa learned what Jarret had done while he was away, he would separate the twins for sure. Papa hated the way Jarret tried to manipulate everyone. What did he mean separate them? Maybe he would send Jarret somewhere. Papa had friends in other states.
Roland descended the dark steps and shuffled in his socks down the long hallway.
With Jarret out of the way, maybe he and Keefe could do things together. He would lose a menace and gain a brother. Would Papa really do it? He should do it. He should’ve done it a long time ago.
Turning down the front hall, Roland set his sight on the door to Papa’s study.
The hair on his neck bristled. He was about to glance over his shoulder when Jarret’s smooth voice sounded in his ear. “Where you going?”
Roland stopped.
Jarret slithered around him, coming face to face and blocking his way. He wore sweatpants, a muscle shirt, and a cocky grin.
“You know where I’m going. Get out of my way.” Roland tried to side-step, but Jarret mimicked his moves.
“No, no. You’re not going where you think you’re going.” He tilted his chin and leaned closer, making Roland want to shrink back. “I need to speak with Papa, and it’s urgent.” His eyes sparkled with the joy he seemed to get whenever doing something devious.
“Papa wanted to talk with me, not you.” Roland tried squeezing between him and the wall.
Jarret stepped backwards, toward the study. “Sorry, Roland. Come back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?”
“I’m going to be in there awhile. Me and Papa need to have a long talk.”
Chapter 39
The gossip squad stood a mere fifteen feet away. Six girls with dark eye make-up, tight tops, and low-riding jeans huddled near the front door of the school. For no apparent reason— unless it was to see why Roland waited outside the principal’s office. They threw occasional glances his way, whispering and giggling. The bell for homeroom would ring soon, then they’d scatter like mice.
Ring, bell!
When Roland had gone to homeroom without a note from home explaining his absence, Miss Quinn sent him to the office. The busy, tired-looking woman in the office sent him across the hall to the principal’s office. The principal’s secretary had Roland wait with two other kids in the hallway. Five minutes ago, the first one got called in.
Roland sighed. How long would this take?
“Hey,” someone called.
Roland turned to see Jarret strutting up to him, the last person he wanted to see while waiting to catch trouble from the principal.
Jarret drew near and leaned a shoulder against the wall Roland leaned on. “What’re you doing?” He sounded strangely sincere, and he looked friendly, as if he were talking to Keefe rather than Roland.
“Waiting to get my detention for skipping school.”
“Oh, yeah.” He averted his gaze.
“Where’s Keefe?” It was a rare treat to see them apart.
“Homeroom. Bell’s gonna ring.” He scooted closer and lowered his voice. “Hey, uh, when you talk to Papa later about . . . Well, I don’t want you to tell on me.”
“Gee. You don’t?” Roland smirked. “No threat with that request? You’re just nicely asking me?”
Anger flashed in his eyes but then faded. “Yeah, I’m asking you. I, uh, I can’t go to private school or to
live with the Zamorano’s in Arizona.”
“What?”
“When I talked to Papa last night . . .” He grimaced. “. . . that’s what he said he was gonna do to me, unless I’ve changed my wicked ways.” His grimace turned into a self-contented grin as if he felt proud about his past deceitful accomplishments. “You understand what I’m saying?”
“Maybe the change would be good for you.” Roland meant it.
Jarret pushed off the wall and stepped closer, eyes narrowed and back to his old self. “It won’t be good for me. And it won’t be good for you. If I get sentenced, you . . .” He took a deep breath, and the expression in his eyes softened. “I don’t want to be separated from Keefe. He’s sort of like my conscience, see? I-I need him.”
Roland’s mind filled with random and wild ideas of what Jarret would be like without Keefe, if Keefe really was his conscience. He shuddered.
Jarret tapped his chin with his fist and winked. “Don’t tell on me, all right?”
“You can’t always get what you want, Jarret.” Roland hated that he just said the lyrics to a Rolling Stones song.
“But if you try sometimes . . .” He cocked a brow, turned away, and swaggered down the hall, humming.
“Roland West.” The principal’s secretary motioned him over.
Roland braced himself to receive his first detention. Of course, the principal would have to call home. Papa and Nanny had no idea about him skipping school, yet. He’d have to explain what happened. What if all of this messed up his trip to Italy? No. Papa would see. Roland would make sure Papa understood what really happened.
Chapter 40
Peter’s eyes bulged and his jaw dropped at Caitlyn’s news. “What do you mean he’s not our history teacher anymore? I thought the oxymoron was a permanent sub.”
They stood by his open locker. Kids flew by them down the hall. Someone called his name, but he didn’t bother to look.
“Well, he’s not here. That’s all I know. And there’s some skinny man in a striped shirt and glasses who says he’s our new history sub now.” Caitlyn readjusted the books in her arm, and her purse fell to the floor. She stooped for it.
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