Standing Strong

by Theresa Linden

With the journal and pen in hand, Jarret scooted off the bed and shuffled to his open bedroom window. He gazed down at the sprawling front yard and the trees behind it, admiring the shades of green created by the late afternoon sunlight. A strong breeze blew, bringing fresh air into his room and making leaves shimmer and show their silvery undersides. They wouldn’t turn gold and orange for a couple of weeks yet, though the melancholy mood of autumn had already found his spirit.

  He hated letting go of summer, but this one would stand out in his mind forever... because of the night in the canyon. Soon all the trees would let go of their leaves. After a long cold winter of barren branches and frozen ground, spring would bring the green leaves and grass back.

  He never wanted back the things he’d let go—his cold heart, total selfishness, and lack of faith—though it still caused a bit of sorrow to leave his old ways behind.

  Jarret returned to his bed and sank into the mound of pillows he’d arranged a few minutes earlier, when he’d first sat down to write in his journal. Father Carston had wanted him to write something every day, but he’d only made a few pathetic entries in the past two-and-a-half weeks. Which reminded him...

  He should’ve rescheduled his appointment with Father. Father had wanted to see him once a week. Jarret had thought about at least calling last Saturday. All day long. But he couldn’t get himself to do it. Then at Mass Sunday morning, he felt like Father kept looking at him during the homily. Jarret had avoided making eye contact with Father and even skipped out through a side door at the end of Mass.

  Maybe he’d schedule for this upcoming Saturday. He should at least make a few more attempts at writing in his journal before then.

  Jarret wrote the first thoughts that came to mind:

  Finally went back to school after a week of suspension. Got some pretty wild looks from kids and a lot more space in the halls. Everyone probably thinks I’ve got a short fuse, or that I’m a time bomb, and now they’re more afraid of me than ever. Maybe they’ll know not to mess with my brothers.

  Jarret winced, replaying a single moment from his altercation with C.W., the moment his fist landed on his face. He hated how he’d made the choice to do it, and then lost control of himself.

  His phone buzzed, vibrating on the nightstand.

  Setting the journal aside, Jarret twisted to reach it. He glanced at the text as he lay back.

  If she knew you, she wouldn’t like you.

  Jarret sat upright. Anger teased him and subsided. Who kept sending him nasty messages? Besides C.W. and Peter, who had a reason to hate him enough to keep bothering him? Maybe he’d offended one of his other friends without realizing it. Or a past friend.

  Zoe? His heart lurched.

  No, not her. She’d broken it off. He’d stayed by her, hadn’t wanted to break up, but he accepted it without any hostility. She had no reason to hate him.

  Did Chantelle know about Zoe? She had a younger brother who also went to River Run High, Tyrone. Did he know? No one had secrets at River Run High. If she hadn’t heard about his relationship with Zoe, how she’d been pregnant with his baby, she would soon. Maybe she wouldn’t like him. Maybe she’d want nothing to do with him, thinking he’d want more from her than he really did. He’d have to convince her that he didn’t, that he wasn’t like that anymore. Would she believe him?

  If she didn’t, she might tell her friends everything he said about it. He’d lose his image for sure.

  He sighed. Oh well. His conscience wasn’t going to let him stay the same. The next girl he got that close to would be wearing his ring on her finger. A wedding ring. But he wasn’t in any hurry for that.

  A knock on the bedroom door snapped him from his thoughts: Papa’s knock.

  Jarret scrambled off the bed and slid the journal between the mattress and the box spring. “Yeah, what?”

  The door creaked open and Papa stepped into the room in hat and boots, holding a book or something at his side. “You sittin’ in here twiddling your thumbs?”

  Jarret straightened up, brushing the bedspread in place. “Ain’t got nothing better to do.”

  “Keefe and Roland went off with that church group again, right?” Papa squinted. “What do they call themselves?”

  “Yeah, the Fire Starters. Don’t ask me why they’re called that.” Keefe had tried explaining it to him. The little group had seen their prayers answered in dramatic ways and wanted to devote themselves to fulfilling Jesus’ desire: I came to cast fire upon the earth; and would that it were already kindled!

  “That’s right. Second night in a row with that group, huh?” He adjusted his hat, replacing it on his wavy graying hair, the book still hanging at his side.

  No, wait... Jarret’s temperature spiked. Not a book. Two video games. “Yeah, I think they had their opening meeting last night. And they’re helping clean up vandalism at some girl’s house tonight.”

  “Sounds like a mighty nice thing to do. Why aren’t you out there?”

  “Eh, don’t feel like it.” Jarret’s leg bounced, anxiety building.

  Papa peered out the window, a distant look in tired eyes surrounded by crow’s feet. “I reckon I spent too many years doing my own thing. Working with others, for others—now, that builds something lasting. Makes a difference when we help each other out.”

  “Is that why you took that teaching job?” Jarret immediately regretted his words. He didn’t want Papa saying more than he wanted to, or more than Jarret wanted to hear.

  “In a roundabout way, I s’pose.”

  “Hoping to make a difference in your students’ lives?”

  Papa shrugged. “That’s not necessarily my goal, but you never know.”

  Not sure he could handle the answer, Jarret decided not to ask his true goal. Something bothered Papa lately, and he was bound to spill it sooner or later. Given the choice, he’d rather hear it with Keefe and Roland at his side.

  Papa added nothing more, but he didn’t seem inclined to leave Jarret’s bedroom either. He simply stared out the window. Working himself up to confronting Jarret about the video games? Or maybe he wanted Jarret to bring it up first. Or did he have something else to say?

  Tired of waiting for the bomb to drop and irritated at how his pulse had kicked up, Jarret made an obvious glance at the video games. “Whatcha got there?”

  Papa lifted a brow, as if not sure what Jarret referred to, then he glowered and swung the games out in front. “This horse crap yours?”

  Jarret shook his head, a bit relieved to have it out in the open. Indifferent as to whether or not Papa believed him, he said, “Nah, my friends brought them over. I stuffed them behind a couch cushion so they’d play something else. That where you found them?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure they’ll be wanting them back.” Papa placed them on Jarret’s dresser, no longer appearing to care. “Feel like going for a ride?”

  “Uh...” Jarret squirmed, uncomfortable that Papa had more to talk to him about. “Car or horse?”

  Papa grinned. “Either one.”

  TEN MINUTES LATER, they rode side by side under a thick canopy of trees, taking the trail that wrapped around to the back of the property.

  Jarret rode Desert, his creamy buckskin Quarter Horse, and Papa his bay Pure Spanish Horse. Papa’s horse, a bit shorter than Jarret’s, had a more compact body that gave her a tougher look. And Papa always looked tough on a horse, him with his rugged old Stetson, the same brown as the bay, and his solid cowboy build. He sat tall and relaxed, his gaze fixed ahead of him, one hand holding the reins and the other resting on his thigh. What made the old man tick?

  He shot a glance to Jarret. “Something on your mind?”

  Feeling stupid for staring, Jarret shook his head, turned face forward, and spit out a quick, “No. Something on yours?”

  “Yup.”

  Jarret looked again but didn’t want to ask.

  Papa didn’t make him wait. “So you don’t want to join that youth group. What do you want to do?”


  “Uh, I don’t know. Why do I have to do something?”

  “You’re a senior now. What about after graduation?”

  “Uh... college I guess.”

  “Which one?”

  “I dunno. Maybe one in Arizona.” He hadn’t given it any thought. But if he was gonna go out of state, Arizona would be nice. He’d probably try to make his way back to the canyon.

  “Northern Arizona U has a good Archeology program.”

  “Yeah? I’ll have to check it out.” Worried he’d just committed himself, Jarret threw a furtive glance at Papa. What was his deal, anyway?

  Papa smiled. “Let’s do that. We can check it out together when we get home.”

  Before Jarret could think of an excuse to get out of it, Papa did something even more unpredictable. Jarret’s mouth fell open, and he could only stare in shock.

  “H’ya!” Papa leaned forward and signaled for his horse to pick up speed. The bay took off from a trot and galloped down the trail.

  Desert whinnied and lifted his head, watching the Spanish race away.

  “All right, let’s give chase. Maybe I can figure out my batty old man.” Jarret signaled his horse with a click of his tongue. Then he leaned forward to keep his balance as Desert kicked it into gear. Gripping the reins and moving with the horse’s rhythmic flow, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d let Desert go so fast. He liked it.

  Papa galloped toward the cornfield that butted up against their property, elbows out, gripping the reins, and moving with his horse as if glued to the saddle, not looking inclined to slow the bay.

  Jarret urged Desert to go faster, squeezing the horse with his thighs and letting his body absorb the movement of the horse. Gaining on Papa.

  Walls of six-foot-high corn stalks rose up on either side of them. The rich, sweet green smell of the cornfield and the breeze from the speed gave Jarret a sense of excitement that battled against his worry over Papa. Papa rode half a field ahead of him.

  Shaping Desert’s movement, directing his energy, Jarret closed the distance. He let the worry slip away and enjoyed the ride, half hoping Papa would turn down the next row so they could keep going.

  Nearing the end of the cornfield, one hand to his Stetson, Papa slowed his horse and wheeled her around. He walked the horse a few paces toward Jarret, a look of pure exhilaration on his face.

  Jarret leaned back and used his thighs to slow Desert, a smile sneaking onto his face despite the fact that Papa had either lost his mind or had something big troubling him.

  “Well, that was fun,” Papa said. “Wanna go again?”

  CHAPTER 22

  Joy buzzed in Keefe’s chest and made him smile as he left the office at River Run High, Wednesday afternoon, and joined the rush of students anxious to leave for the day. It was all coming together now. He had permission from Papa and the school. Why had he ever delayed in asking?

  Be not afraid. Pope Saint John Paul II had said that. The Lord had said it too. And from now on, Keefe would take it as his motto. Fear had kept him from too much in his life already, fear of hurting someone’s feelings or letting someone down, fear of getting caught when doing the wrong thing, fear of the unknown. No more.

  In exactly one week, he’d be sitting behind the wheel of Papa’s charcoal gray Ford F-150, heading for St. Paul, Minnesota. Heading for the Franciscan discernment retreat and the beginning of his vocation. More and more, he knew it. He wanted to give it all away and follow Christ in the footsteps of St. Francis. And, unless the retreat shed light on obstacles he hadn’t considered, he would come home from it knowing that he’d wear the brown cloth of the Franciscans for the rest of his life. He’d abandon his life wholly into the hands of God.

  Keefe turned down the hall that led to his and Jarret’s lockers and walked against the current. Tomorrow he’d show his permission slip to his teachers and get the assignments for the day he’d miss.

  Halfway down the hall, Jarret stood resting one hand on his open locker door, in high flirt posture, his attention on the blond girl in the frilly shirt and turquoise blue pants—which were more like tights—beside him. Chantelle. They’d been hanging out in the hallway all week long.

  Warning signals went off in Keefe, as they had all week. But why? Was he jealous of the attention Chantelle stole that Keefe would’ve gotten? Keefe might only have one more year at home, one year before he abandoned his fate to God. Was he worried that Jarret might repeat old mistakes? Jarret didn’t seem too cautious. He seemed drawn to girls that appeared to have little self-respect.

  Chantelle laughed, leaning toward Jarret, her blond hair cascading over her shoulder. Jarret’s hand shot toward her arm, but he drew it back and put it on his hip. She grabbed his arm, as if she needed support to stand.

  As he approached them, Keefe stuffed his permission slip into his pocket. He’d tell Jarret about it later.

  Always seeming to sense when Keefe drew near, Jarret glanced over his shoulder. He gave a nod in greeting, then he straightened and dashed the opposite way down the hallway. Roland had come from around a corner.

  While Roland and Jarret stood talking, Keefe went to his own locker. “Hey,” he said to Chantelle as he unlocked it.

  “Bye.” She smiled flirtatiously, tossed her hair, and sauntered away.

  Keefe sighed and grabbed his books.

  A minute later, Roland’s voice came to his ears. “But I just joined a group, and they meet right after school.” Roland and Jarret strode toward Keefe.

  Surprised by that revelation, Keefe slammed his locker shut and turned to see Roland’s expression.

  Roland peered up at Jarret, sulking.

  “You did what? What group?” Jarret sneered, looking both incredulous and disgusted. “Never mind. I’ll take you right back up here. Okay? We won’t be that long. We just need to talk.”

  Roland blinked, a worried look passing over his pale face. No matter how nicely Jarret had treated him these past few weeks, years of abuse had taken their toll. Roland tossed an uncertain glance in Keefe’s direction as he approached.

  “What’s up?” Keefe asked.

  “Good, we can go.” Jarret glanced at Keefe’s books, all businesslike. Not even a smile. “We need to talk. The three of us.”

  “About?” Roland said.

  Jarret glanced from one to the other, his look saying they should know. “Papa.”

  Roland’s features softened and concern colored it now. He must’ve noticed things too. Maybe he’d even noticed more.

  The three of them marched for the doors.

  NO ONE SPOKE AS JARRET drove them to the park across from St. Michael’s church, so Keefe allowed his mind to wander. Papa called a family meeting every now and then, when something big bothered him and he thought everyone needed to talk about it. Now Jarret had called one, well, for everyone except Papa. Keefe had found Papa’s behavior strange too, but he hadn’t worried frantically over it. Did Jarret have more to go on?

  Jarret shut off the engine and glanced at Keefe with a somber expression. He peered at Roland in the rearview mirror before cracking his door open. Jarret in the lead and Keefe walking beside Roland, they strolled toward a big granite boulder in the shadiest part of the park. Little kids liked to climb on it and teens would sit on it. As they neared, little hands appeared on the top of the boulder, then a tiny girl’s face popped up. She climbed up a bit more, no doubt wanting to sit on top of it. Her big brown eyes flicked to Jarret, Keefe, and then Roland.

  Jarret stopped on the opposite side of the boulder. He jerked his thumb to one side and said in a toneless voice, “Beat it, kid.”

  Her eyes went wide. She dropped back down and took off running.

  Roland watched her run away. “Well, that was mean, scaring that little girl away.”

  Keefe stifled his own comment, satisfied that Roland had made the point.

  A pained look crossed Jarret’s face. He stuffed his hand into his hair and jerked it back out, a lock of hair coming loose from his
ponytail. “Yeah, whoops.” Looking genuinely sorry, he peered in the direction in which the girl had run.

  “Don’t worry about it now.” Keefe was proud of Jarret even though he’d made a mistake. At least he cared after the fact. He never would’ve cared before.

  Jarret leaned his butt against the granite boulder and hung his thumbs in his belt loops. “Okay, so something’s up with Papa, and we all know it.”

  Stepping closer, Keefe nodded and folded his arms across his chest. He liked that Jarret had taken the lead, because he hadn’t decided if they should discuss it or let Papa keep it private. Maybe Papa was going through a stage. Wasn’t he too old for a mid-life crisis?

  Hands in the front pockets of his gray jeans, Roland remained at a bit of a distance. “What makes you think that?”

  “You haven’t noticed?” Jarret pushed off the boulder and strutted up to him, a bit of his old attitude showing.

  Roland shrugged and averted his gaze.

  “So you don’t think nothing about that dinner on Friday?” Jarret said. “And Papa’s bucket list?”

  “Bucket list?” Keefe stepped up to them, the three of them now in a tight circle. “He just wants to do things with us.”

  Shaking his head emphatically, Jarret looked from Roland to Keefe. “Yesterday, while you both were out with Fire Starters, he barged into my room to talk.”

  “What about?” Offended that Jarret hadn’t told him sooner, Keefe gave Jarret a shove.

  “What? You were praying or something in your room this morning, so I couldn’t talk to you.”

  “If you weren’t always with Chantelle between classes, you could’ve talked to me anytime today.”

  “Jealous?” Jarret smirked.

  Roland angled his body toward Jarret and propped his hands on his hips. “Okay, so why don’t you tell us what Papa said?”

  Jarret gave him the once-over and grinned. He always seemed to like when Roland did something the slightest bit brave, like standing up to him. “Well, Roland,” he said, emphasizing his name, “he wanted to know why I don’t belong to the Catholic youth group.”