“So why don’t you?”
“Really? You’ve ridden in my car, smelled the fresh air. You really telling me that you don’t know?” He turned the challenge back on Roland.
Roland rolled his eyes and shook his head, then he stepped back.
Jarret moved closer, locking eyes with him. “Then Papa wanted to know what I’ve been up to and what I plan to do with my life.”
“So what’d you tell him?” Keefe asked, mostly to get Jarret to back away from Roland.
Redirecting his attention to Keefe, Jarret’s expression showed an uncharacteristic look of uncertainty. “I told him college, just to have an answer, maybe Arizona. He said Northern Arizona U has a good Archeology program, as if I’d said I was interested in that. Then later he wanted to look it up on my laptop.” Jarret shifted uncomfortably and dropped his gaze to the flowery landscaping near the boulder.
“Together?”
“Yeah, together, side by side, looking it up on my laptop.”
“You got things on there you don’t want him to see?” Keefe said, not sure he should’ve asked in front of Roland.
Jarret opened his mouth, his gaze sliding to Roland and back to Keefe. “That’s what he said when I protested.” He gave a crooked smile, stooped, and picked a purple bloom from among a group of purple, yellow, and orange Chrysanthemums. Roland gave him a disapproving glare. “But no... I ain’t got nothing bad on there anymore. I’m reformed.”
Keefe took a breath and released it, relieved at his answer. “It’s my fault Papa asked you that anyway.”
“You?”
“Probably. I finally told him what I wanted to do with my life, that I want to join the Franciscans.”
Roland smiled. “You did?”
“Yeah.” Keefe smiled back, appreciating that Roland seemed truly pleased. “What about you? What’re your plans?”
Roland shrugged, clamming up again. “I’m only in tenth grade. I have plenty of time to figure that out.”
“Still, you should have an idea.”
“I do have an idea.”
“Well, what is it?”
Roland shrugged.
“Come on. I told you.” He didn’t understand Roland’s secretiveness. Why couldn’t he share his dreams and goals with his brothers?
“Wow, you’re a couple of babies.” Then Jarret whined, “‘You tell me ‘cuz I told you.’” And he shook his head, glaring at his brothers. “We got something serious to talk about here.”
Jarret paced back and forth, twirling the flower between his fingers. “I didn’t even tell you the thing that really has me worried.” He stood with his back to them. Then he spun to Keefe. “You tell Roland what you overheard first.”
“Okay...” Keefe stared at Roland, wondering what the things he’d heard meant in the long run. “I heard Papa turn down an assignment, said he wasn’t planning on going anywhere for a long while. Like years. Another day, I overheard him talking to Miss Meadows. She wanted his help for something, I think. But he said no. He said she could visit if she wanted, but he was staying put.”
Roland blinked a few times, probably processing it or comparing it to things only he knew.
“What about you?” Jarret studied Roland’s non-verbal response. “You must’ve noticed things.”
“Yeah, I don’t know.” Roland shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “He’s just around all the time now, which I like. But you’re right, that’s not him. And when did he start smoking cigarettes?”
Jarret threw a glance, looking guilty. “That could be my fault. I’m not really worried about that.”
“So what has got you worried?” Keefe asked.
Staring into the purple flower, Jarret hesitated. “After he came to talk to me, he wanted to go horseback riding. So we headed toward the back of the property, and Papa went all Buffalo Bill on me, took off galloping straight back through the neighbor’s cornfield.”
Not knowing what to say, Keefe stared.
Jarret continued. “Papa’s weird behavior, adding it all up, I keep coming up with the same answer.”
“Which is?” Keefe said, though he’d guessed Jarret’s conclusion already.
“Papa’s dying.”
Roland’s eyes watered and he turned away.
Keefe grabbed Jarret’s arm. “We don’t know that. It could be any number of things. Has he even been to a doctor? I think we’d know. Maybe he’s having a midlife crisis or something.” His suggestion didn’t seem likely, given Papa’s behavior, but he wanted some other possibility out there.
“Did you look at those bills you brought in the other day?” Jarret said. “Some of those were doctor bills.”
“Probably for Roland,” Keefe said.
“How’s your leg without the cast anyway?” Jarret said to Roland.
“Good.” Roland’s sulky look returned, his gray eyes glistening in the light that filtered through the leaves.
“Good.” Jarret continued to stare at him.
“So how are we going to find out?” Keefe said, still holding onto hope.
“I dunno. We could wait until he’s out or distracted. Or maybe one of us could go horseback riding with him, and then we could dig around in his office.”
Keefe huffed, annoyed at the suggestion. “Not a good idea.”
“Why?” Jarret said.
“Why don’t we just talk to him?” Roland said.
“Okay, you can talk to him,” Jarret snapped.
“Me?” Something in his shocked and pouty expression made him look five years younger.
“Why don’t we all talk to him?” Keefe said. “Let’s do it on the weekend. Saturday morning. Family meeting.”
“Deal.” Jarret took off, striding toward the little girl he’d scared from the boulder. She sat curled up beside her mother on a bench, probably waiting for them to leave so she could play on the boulder again.
“What’s he up to?” Roland said to Keefe.
Jarret handed the purple flower to the girl and mumbled something to her. Then he headed for the parking lot.
Keefe smiled, proud of Jarret. He turned his attention to Roland as they strolled side by side to the car. “So what club did you join?”
“I don’t want to say.”
Keefe would’ve pried but other thoughts tangled in his mind. If Papa were dying, would he tell them?
CHAPTER 23
A debate going on his mind, Jarret strutted down the hallway toward his World Literature class. Should he or shouldn’t he ask Chantelle out? Since he’d come back to school, they found each other in the halls three times a day, ate lunch together, and sat next to each other in World Literature. She’d been there for him. She was the first person who reached out to him when he got suspended from school. Second person, actually. Keefe was always the first.
A blur of dull blond hair and a familiar goofy laugh caught Jarret’s attention. Peter Brandt.
All other thoughts receding, he slowed and glanced in the direction of the laugh, down a side hall. He glimpsed Peter standing with Roland, Phoebe, and Caitlyn outside a classroom, but then a kid coming down the hall blocked his view. The kid, a junior on the football team—Chantelle’s brother Tyrone?—shifted his gaze to Jarret as he strode past, a hard look in his eyes. Then Brandt was back in Jarret’s view.
Jarret’s jaw clenched, and he came to a standstill. Lucky for Peter, Jarret hadn’t seen him in the halls since school started, well, not since he’d come back from his week of suspension. If they stood closer now, like in the same hallway and not twenty feet apart, this would be a bad day for Peter. But Jarret wouldn’t go out of his way for payback. He had more self-control than that. Right? Right.
Jarret took a breath and walked on, proud of his accomplishment, his glimmer of self-control. He crossed paths with C.W. at least once a day, not counting the Spanish class they shared. They gave each other ugly looks as they passed but that was it. C.W.’s bruised nose reminded Jarret of his failure, but he’d never le
t on that he felt the slightest bit of remorse. Yesterday Jarret had gotten a strange sensation inside, making him think he owed C.W. an apology. Did he? Could he even get himself to apologize?
Jarret steeled his mind, discarding the stray and unreasonable thought. C.W. owed Roland an apology. And anyway, as much as C.W. bothered him, Peter irked him more, mostly because of what he’d done to Jarret’s car. How was he ever gonna get over that?
Reality slammed Jarret hard and he stopped paying attention to his surroundings for a moment, his mind sifting through potential scenarios. If he took Chantelle on a date, they’d go in his Chrysler 300.
“What’s that horrible smell?” she’d demand, her face crinkling up. What would she think it was? A dead animal? Maybe she’d attribute it to him and say nothing. She’d think he stank. She’d tell her friends.
The possibilities gnawed at him, making his free hand curl into a fist. Jarret would have to explain the odor. He’d have to talk about Peter, and then he’d just want to rip Peter’s head off even more than he did now.
Snapping back to the present, Jarret swerved around a group of kids that he noticed at the last minute. His mind drifted back to Chantelle. So was he going to do it? Was he really going to ask her out and get into another relationship with a girl? Was he ready? What was the worst that could happen?
He shuddered. He knew the worst that could happen. He’d be unable to control his impulses. He’d use her. She’d get pregnant. Maybe she wouldn’t even tell him. And if she didn’t want the baby... maybe she’d...
He tensed, determined. No way in hell was he going to let that happen. No way in hell? What did that saying mean anyway? If he treated her the way he’d treated Zoe, he’d be choosing sin, he’d be cruising down the wide and easy road that led to hell. Father Carston once said that more souls went to hell for “sins of the flesh” than for any other reason.
Jarret turned down the next hall, glimpsed Chantelle, and smiled inside.
Dressed in a flowing pastel pink shirt and dark jeans with jewels down one leg, Chantelle stood in their spot along the lockers outside the World Literature classroom. She wore her hair the same way every day, loose blond curls falling around her shoulders.
Her eyes lit up, and she smiled as he drew near.
“Hey.” He stopped and stood squarely in front of her, instead of leaning against the lockers like he usually did.
She narrowed her eyes, giving him a playful, suspicious look. “What’s up with you?”
Not ready to ask her yet, he shook his head but couldn’t suppress the sly grin that showed he was up to something.
“Did you write your essay?” She tilted her chin in a flirtatious way.
“Of course. We got the assignment last week.” Having little else to do, he’d thrown himself into schoolwork, reading chapters, taking quizzes the teachers emailed him, and writing essays. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. He actually looked forward to finding out his grades. He hadn’t cared last year.
“Oh, rip, that’s right.” Kyle came up behind Jarret, fumbling through a folder. He looked up, the whites of his eyes showing all around his hazel irises. His freckled face turned a strange shade of pink that didn’t jibe with his coppery orange hair. “Essay... I wonder if I can write something real quick.” He shuffled past Jarret and into the classroom.
Jarret and Chantelle laughed.
“You finish yours?” Jarret decided to use it as a lead up to asking her out. Butterflies started in his chest. Was he ready for this? There was that wall again too, standing between him and the question. But the question was working its way out, pushing through the wall, and he doubted he could stop it. Why shouldn’t he be ready? He knew where to draw the line now, knew how to respect a girl. And himself. He was not going to let things happen that shouldn’t. He could handle this.
She brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. “Of course. I finished it in study hall and printed it off in the library.”
“Good. And you don’t have cheerleader practice, so you’re free tonight.”
She lowered her books and wiggled her shoulders playfully, leaning towards him. “Free for what?”
Her closeness made his pulse race. He clenched his jaw to keep from trying to kiss her right there in the hallway. He wasn’t going to kiss her on their date either... if she’d even go out with him. Of course she’d say yes. He just needed to ask her. What was he waiting for?
He tried to take a deep breath without it being obvious. “Let’s do something. Get burgers or pizza. Whatever you want.” Why had he suggested burgers or pizza? Maybe it seemed more casual. Less serious.
“Sure.” She batted her eyes and gave him a sweet smile. “Is this a date?”
He smiled back, liking how she looked at him. “Do you want it to be?”
“Hmm...” She drew back and tapped her chin. “I’ll have to think about it.”
A hint of indignation threatened his mood, a dent to his ego. Even though he knew she meant it as a joke, he still replied with, “Don’t take too long, or I’ll ask someone else.”
She opened her mouth as if pretending to be shocked and smacked his arm.
He smiled, pleased with her reaction.
“Actually...” Casting playfulness aside, she bit her lip and her brows crept together. “I’m going for ice cream with the other cheerleaders tonight.”
He blinked a few times. Speechless. It had to happen sooner or later, a girl telling him no.
“But I’d...” She batted her eyelashes again, her expression sweetening. “I’d love it if you came too, if you drove me.”
“Oh.” Would he be the only guy? Him out with a bunch of cheerleaders. He couldn’t help but grin, thinking about it.
“Maybe you can take me home after school and we can go up there together. Everyone’s meeting at four.”
He hesitated. Her house? That could mean trouble. “No, I gotta take my brothers home. I’ll pick you up at ten to four.”
JARRET SCOOTED INTO the library as the bell rang, earning a scowl from the librarian at the reference desk. He smiled at her anyways. Then he scanned tables of about a dozen kids until he saw his short-haired, glasses-wearing lookalike. Pen in one hand, Keefe sat hunched over an open notebook, alone at the table nearest to the bookshelves.
Still floating like a helium balloon about seeing Chantelle tonight, he dropped into the chair opposite Keefe and slid his books onto the table.
Keefe glanced up and gave Jarret the once-over, probably evaluating his mood.
“So I did it.” Jarret grinned. He hadn’t told Keefe that he’d planned to ask Chantelle out, but he still didn’t feel the need to explain. Keefe always had him figured out. Of course, he might’ve put two and two together this morning when Jarret had changed his shirt twice and spent extra time slicking up in the bathroom.
Keefe grinned back. “What’d she say?”
Jarret turned a palm up and huffed. “What do you think?”
Keefe dropped his pen and gave Jarret a fist bump, but his eyes showed a hint of reservation. Staring at Jarret, he picked up and played with his pen. “So you really like her, huh?”
A bit of helium seeped from Jarret’s mood, reality taking its place. Was Keefe worried about where this would lead?
Jarret shrugged. “It won’t get serious.”
Keefe’s look showed something else now, the slightest nod, a flicker of respect. No one else would pick up on it. No one but Jarret.
Jarret had to shift his gaze before his eyes watered. Keefe believed in him.
Once Keefe had turned back to his studies, Jarret looked at him again. A brown cord peeked out through the v-neck of his shirt. The scapular? Did he wear it every day? Maybe it reminded him, like his haircut did, of the person he wanted to be or the promises he’d made to God.
Keefe had truly changed. Jarret winced, thinking how Keefe had followed and obeyed him for years, most likely ignoring his own conscience. But he’d always leaned toward goodness. So he
’d always tried reasoning with Jarret. And he’d swayed him often but not all the time. Now Keefe followed no man. He followed his conscience and God. Keefe would still try reasoning with him, Jarret knew, but he must’ve sensed that he didn’t need to now.
“Hey.” An idea popping into his head, Jarret tapped Keefe’s notebook with his pen. “Wanna come with me?”
Keefe took a second to reply. “On your date?”
“Yeah. It’s not really a date. She’s meeting the other cheerleaders for ice cream. We’re all just hanging out.”
Another second and a crooked grin. “You and all the cheerleaders?”
Jarret shrugged, totally liking the sound of that. “And you. And I don’t know who else. Maybe some of their boyfriends.”
“I don’t know.” His grin faded. “You know where my heart is.”
“Yeah, I know. And I’m not trying to change that. I just thought...” He didn’t know how to finish his sentence. What did he think? He needed a babysitter? A chaperone?
A sound from a nearby bookshelf caught Jarret’s attention.
A bulky kid with short sandy hair and bad posture slid a book off the shelf and cracked it open. His oversized jeans had the imprint of a cellphone on the back pocket. He turned a page, then his eyes swiveled to Jarret.
Jarret recognized him even though they’d never met. Chantelle’s brother, Tyrone, a junior on the football team.
Tyrone pointed at Jarret and then gestured for him to come over with a jerk of his hand, an insistent, demanding motion.
A smirk slithered onto Jarret’s face, recognizing the attitude, but he pushed his chair back and sauntered over. Bookshelves hid them from everyone but Keefe.
“What’s up, Tyrone?” Jarret asked in a low voice.
“So you know I’m Chantelle’s brother?” Tyrone stood a hair taller than Jarret but the tilt of his big chin exaggerated the difference. Still, he was a much bigger dude than Jarret, more meat than muscle maybe. But the squint of his hazel eyes showed he was ticked off.
Jarret raised his brows and nodded.
“So you’re going out with my sister?” While heavy with disapproval, his tone held a note of vulnerability. His sister was older than he was. Jarret was older too. What could he do about it?
Standing Strong Page 16
