Papa played with something in his chest pocket, something with a rectangular outline. A pack of cigarettes? Papa didn’t smoke cigarettes. He smoked a pipe. Still with his head down and seeming deep in thought, Papa lifted the pack a bit so that the green metallic wrapper peeked from his pocket.
“You smoke menthol cigarettes?” Jarret blurted out, wishing he hadn’t. His memory shoved something to the forefront of his mind. Papa had probably found Kyle’s cigarettes out on the veranda steps, right where Jarret had left them. Jarret hadn’t mentioned the cigarettes when he’d told on himself the night his friends had come over.
“I do now.” Papa grinned, his look saying a lot more than Jarret hoped he’d say aloud. Maybe Papa thought he hadn’t come entirely clean.
Jarret took a drink of his Coke. He glanced over his shoulder just as the waitress—young and slender with silky dark hair and a ton of makeup—arrived with their plates. Thank God. Maybe they wouldn’t talk more about it.
“Can I get you anything else?” she asked, glancing from face to face.
“Nope.” Papa tipped his hat. “Looks mighty fine.”
She gave him a flirtatious smile and zipped to the next table.
“Should we pray?” Keefe cast a hesitant glance at everyone, and a longer look at Papa.
Papa held a knife and fork in his hands.
Roland reddened.
Jarret dropped his fork to the table. He’d started praying before meals, with or without the family, but he’d planned on offering the prayer silently.
After a moment of everyone staring at Keefe, Papa said, “Sure, why not?” and they all bowed their heads and mumbled the Prayer Before Meals in voices so low that their guardian angels probably struggled to hear them.
They ate in silence for a few minutes until Roland started the camping conversation back up with Papa, making Jarret throw another ice cold glare at him. Roland still wanted to go, even if Jarret and Keefe couldn’t. Maybe that would satisfy Papa anyway.
“So Fire Starters have their first meeting this Monday,” Keefe said to Jarret, leaning a bit so the conversation stayed between the two of them.
“Yeah?” Jarret cut a bite-sized chunk off his steak. It didn’t satisfy him like the pizza pocket would’ve, but he liked it. They’d cooked it just right.
“You wanna come?”
Jarret shot him a look to ask if he was crazy.
“Why not?” Keefe pressed.
Jarret swallowed his bite. “You know why not,” he answered coolly. Keefe knew him better than anyone, knew the challenges he’d faced all his life, and knew he’d wanted to do things right from now on. Why would he even ask?
“Because of Peter? He’s not the only kid in the group. Just ignore him.”
Jarret shook his head and shoved a bite of baked potato into his mouth. If he wanted to stay out of trouble, he had to avoid certain people and places. Peter was one of them. And now C.W. and his friends. And he was not going camping. He glanced upward, his thoughts turning in irritation to the Lord. God, why do you make this so hard? You know I’m trying.
“So are you going to avoid Kyle and all your other friends too?”
Not getting his point, Jarret stopped chewing and glared. “Why? That doesn’t make sense.”
“Well, I assume you’re avoiding Peter to keep from making a mistake. Don’t you think your friends are bad company too?”
He shook his head, a sneer taking over. “No, they’re not. They don’t tempt me to do anything. I just won’t have them over. If I want to see them, I’ll go to their houses. Or hang out somewhere else.” His voice had risen to where Papa could’ve heard if he hadn’t been absorbed in talking to Roland about camping.
“You know they always end up doing something they shouldn’t.”
“So? I can hang with them and not do everything they do. I’m not that weak.”
Keefe’s mouth opened, closed, then he sighed.
“I’ll avoid people I want to strangle.” Jarret turned back to his plate, signaling the end of the conversation.
Papa set his fork down, took a swig of beer, and sat back, folding his arms across his wide chest. “Let’s hang fire before we make up our minds about camping, okay?” His piercing blue eyes shifted from Keefe to Jarret.
Hang fire was cowboy talk for wait awhile. Jarret shook his head, unable to come up with an intelligent answer. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. He was not going camping.
Keefe’s reaction must’ve communicated the same thing because then Papa set his jaw and his expression turned hard. “You boys are really souring my milk, you know that?”
CHAPTER 20
Dying to get out of his dress shirt and tie, Keefe slid out of Mr. Digby’s Crown Victoria. He often sat in the middle of the back seat when riding with the Digbys, so he had to wait for his brothers to exit. With Father Carston’s Sunday homily about little daily sacrifices fresh in his mind, he sat in the middle today so that Jarret and Roland could have the more comfortable window seats. He’d had a different reason in the past. Jarret used to pick on Roland, so Keefe had made himself a buffer.
As soon as Keefe closed the car door, Mr. Digby pulled away from the circular drive and pulled around to the garage. He’d gotten in the habit of dropping everyone at the front door so his wife could get going on the food, as if the extra few minutes mattered.
“Well, I’ll go get brunch started,” Nanny said as she stepped past Jarret, who held the door open for her. “Such a gentleman today.” Her slanted brows said she wasn’t sure how to take him.
“Just today? What am I on other days?” Jarret grinned and threw a glance to Keefe as he climbed the porch steps. “No, don’t answer that.” Jarret’s silky gray tie hung loose around his neck and he’d already unbuttoned the top two buttons of his royal blue shirt.
Standing off to the side, probably waiting for Keefe and Jarret to go inside first, Roland loosened his tie. Like most Sundays, he wore black on black. Today he could wear his regular dress pants, not the modified ones with the Velcro that Nanny had made to go over his cast.
“After you.” Jarret bowed and placed his hand against his chest.
“Uh. Thanks.” Roland stepped inside, still favoring his leg a bit.
“You’re in a good mood,” Keefe said to Jarret.
“Yeah. School tomorrow.” Jarret closed the door behind Keefe and untucked his shirt.
“You’re excited about school, huh?”
Jarret shrugged. “It’s boring around here when everyone else is gone.” He took a few steps and stopped, probably because Keefe didn’t walk with him. “Supposed to get hot today. I’m gonna throw some shorts on.”
“I’ll change later. I want to talk to Papa.” Keefe tilted his head in the direction of Papa’s study, one of three open rooms casting squares of sunlight on the sleepy front hallway. He’d put off doing it during Jarret’s week of expulsion, not wanting to add to Papa’s headache. But the quote of some Franciscan saint kept nagging him: “The sun never hides his light for fear of inconveniencing the owls.”
The shifting of Jarret’s brown eyes showed he knew what Keefe was thinking. He gave an encouraging nod and walked away.
Stuffing his hands in the pockets of his dress pants, Keefe turned toward his destination and his insides quivered. He would never feel ready to discuss this, but he was determined to do it now anyway.
He walked down the hall, matching the rhythm of his footfalls with the beating of his heart. What did he have to fear?
Keefe’s thoughts drifted to a story he’d read from the Little Flowers of St. Francis last night and the scene played out in his mind. Leaves rustling in a warm summer breeze. A blue sky above. A wide river rushing past, too wide to cross. Brother Bernard, in bare feet and a brown tunic, strolled along the banks of the great river, searching for a safe place to cross. He’d seen none in the past half hour, but he needed to cross in order to return home.
“God give thee peace, good brother,” came a strong but mel
odious voice.
Delighted to hear the customary greeting of his own country, Brother Bernard had turned to greet the stranger.
A traveler with staff and cloak drew near, handsome to behold and with kindness in his eyes.
“Where do you come from?” Brother Bernard asked.
“I come from the convent where Francis dwells. I wished to speak with him but could not because he was in the forest contemplating divine things, and I would not disturb him. I spoke with others there. Brother Masseo taught me the proper way to knock at the convent gate. But Brother Elias would not answer my questions, so I left. He repented afterward and wanted to speak with me, but it was too late.”
Brother Bernard marveled at his words.
“Why do you not cross the river?” the stranger asked, taking in the river with a sweeping gaze.
“Because I fear to perish in the waters. They are very deep.”
“Let us cross together.” The stranger offered a hand to Bernard. “Fear naught.”
Moved by faith, Brother Bernard placed his hand in the stranger’s and in an instant they stood on the other side of the river.
Great joy and awe tingled through him. And realization that the stranger was an angel of God.
BRINGING HIS THOUGHTS back to the moment, Keefe now stared at the open door to Papa’s study. “Let us cross together,” he whispered to his guardian angel. Courage crushed the fear and produced a strange sensation like electricity zipping through his body. Ready to reveal his deepest desires, he took a breath and stepped into the room.
Keefe stared at an empty desk. Lamps off, desk tidy...no Papa.
Disappointed, yet relieved, Keefe exhaled and stood at ease. He scratched his head. Okay, Papa had to be somewhere in the house. He wasn’t giving up that easily. He’d already put this off for too long.
A quick stroll through the house, and Keefe found Papa watching TV in the family room. He sat alone in the middle of the couch, cowboy hat on the armrest and feet propped up on the coffee table. Odd for him, he wore socks but not his boots. An old Humphrey Bogart movie, Casablanca, played on the big screen TV. Mama had loved this one. Did Papa have a reason for watching it now? He’d been acting so strangely lately. Something had to be wrong.
Keefe tried to make some noise as he approached from behind the couch, not wanting to interrupt an emotional moment or anything. He shuffled to the adjacent couch and sat in the middle of it.
Papa’s hand shot out for his Stetson but he didn’t put it on. “Hey there, Keefe. Back from Mass?”
“Yeah. I wondered if I could talk to you. But maybe now’s not a good time.” He glanced at the TV.
“Naw, you’re fine.” Papa grabbed the remote and shut the TV off. “Just watching a movie I’ve seen a dozen times.”
“Yeah, so what made you put that one on?” Keefe stalled, trying to gather his thoughts and regain his courage.
Papa uncrossed his feet and propped them on the edge of the coffee table. “I don’t know. Don’t care much for newer movies.”
The swinging doors that led to the great room moved and Roland came through. His gaze connected with Keefe’s and he opened his mouth, but then Jarret came from behind and grabbed him by the back of the shirt. Jarret turned Roland around and gave Keefe a nod, communicating that he’d make sure Keefe had privacy to talk with Papa.
Keefe smiled and dipped his head.
“So what’s up?” Papa said, paying no attention to the minor disruption.
“Um... It’s about next weekend and why I don’t want to go camping.”
“Okay. Let’s hear it.” Papa slid his cowboy hat onto his lap and messed with the rim.
“You know those Franciscan friars we were talking about?”
“Sure.”
“Well, they’re having a discernment retreat the same weekend as the Brandts’ camping trip.”
The blue of Papa’s eyes seemed to swirl and change hues. “I’m not following you.”
“I want to go. I feel like maybe...” Keefe struggled with how to say it and that verse came back to mind: Blessed is he who takes no offense at me. So he just blurted it out. “I think God’s calling me to join them.” He wanted to qualify his statement with things like he wasn’t really sure, and maybe it was just a childish dream, but he forced himself to leave it at that.
Staring at his Stetson, Papa made no reaction for two whole minutes. Then he sucked in a breath and bit his bottom lip. “You mean... you... want to join the Franciscans?”
Relief rushed through him. “Yes.”
Papa’s eyelids flickered. “Wow. That’s a commitment.”
“Yeah.”
Papa nodded slowly and then met his gaze. “So when did you decide this?”
“Well, I haven’t decided. That’s why I want to go on the retreat. But my interest started sometime last year.”
“Italy?”
“Yeah, I guess it started there.” His heart stirred. The day he’d stepped into the Romanesque Basilica in Bagno di Romagna had changed his life. Gazing at the Eucharistic miracle, overpowered by the love of Christ, he’d made a promise to always listen to God’s voice. And maybe God was calling him to life as a Franciscan.
“Italy made an impression on me too, I suppose.” Papa squinted at him. “But you won’t find me running off to a monastery. You don’t have to leave the world to live right. Maybe you’re taking those feelings too far.”
Keefe wanted to say something about Papa’s Mass attendance, but he pushed the thought back. He’d asked him in Italy if the family could start going again. And when they’d returned home Papa had made everyone go for a while, but that didn’t last long. And now everyone went but him.
“Papa, I don’t feel satisfied thinking about any other future. Only this one. I want to do what Francis did.”
“You ain’t gonna strip your clothes off and disown me, are ya?”
It took a second for Keefe to get the joke, but then he laughed.
Papa smiled. Once his smiled faded, he stared at Keefe for a long moment. “My father was a farmer in southern Arizona. His father was a cattle rancher. And you know we’ve got 49ers in our family, right? Searching for gold but not getting too lucky.”
Keefe nodded, wondering at Papa’s message in the family history lesson.
“My father wanted me to take over the farm. His untimely death and the Zamoranos taking care of me, changed things. I might’ve followed in my father’s footsteps, but my heart was always somewhere else.” Papa leaned his head back and rubbed the front of his neck up to his clean-shaven jaw. “I liked digging things up.” He smiled. “My father once told me that his father wanted him to be a cattle rancher too. To be honest, I’d always hoped one of my boys would want to follow in my footsteps as an archaeologist.” The side of his mouth curled up in a smile that conveyed a hint of sentimental sadness. “But us Wests have never quite followed our fathers’ dreams.”
Hope filling him by degrees, Keefe waited with bated breath for Papa to say more.
But Papa shut his mouth and gazed ahead, lost in thoughts maybe. A minute passed. Two minutes. Papa turned to him again. “So where is the retreat? And how long is it?”
“Minnesota, nine hours away. And I’d have to leave on a Thursday and get back late Sunday.”
“How do you plan to get there?”
“Um.” He hadn’t thought of that, but the answer was easy. “I was hoping you’d let me borrow your car or truck, whichever one you won’t be needing.”
“What about schoolwork for the two days you’ll miss?”
“It’ll just be one day. Friday’s a teachers’ day or something. No school. And I’ll see if I can do the work for Thursday in advance.”
Papa nodded, looking satisfied that Keefe had thought it all through. “S’pose that’s fine as long as the school’s okay with it.”
Relief and a fit of joy had him jumping to his feet, wanting to hug Papa but not sure if he’d welcome that.
A split second late
r, Papa stood too and opened his arms.
Smiling inside and out, Keefe fell into his father’s embrace.
A moment later, Papa pushed him back and returned to his spot on the couch. “You can take the truck. The Lexus needs tires.”
“Thanks.” Keefe stopped mid-stride, about to walk off. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you. You always said that you’d never take a teaching job. Why’d you take this one?”
Papa turned the remote over in his hands. “I didn’t say I’d never take one. Said I’d hate a teaching job.”
Not getting the difference, Keefe pressed for more. “Okay, so why’d you take it? Won’t you miss working in the field?”
“I’m not giving it up forever. Just for a time.” Papa’s look held something Keefe didn’t understand, but he couldn’t get himself to dig further.
CHAPTER 21
Tuesday after school, Jarret sat back on his bed, writing in his journal. Mid-sentence, an image appeared in his mind and he glanced up. Long blond hair, aqua blue eyes, and a pretty face. Clothes that drew attention to her figure. Chantelle.
Once Monday had rolled around, she’d found him at school between classes three times. And four today, never seeming uncomfortable around him. In fact, she seemed to understand him. And not judge.
Where did he want their friendship to go? Was he ready for more?
Taking a long breath, he leaned his head on pillows behind him and gazed at the ceiling fan. He’d changed since Zoe. He knew now where to draw the line. And he wanted to stay on the right road. Why shouldn’t they see each other? He’d need to make sure their relationship stayed more like friendship than lovers. They’d need to avoid hanging out alone.
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