“I gotcha.” He pushed off the tree, grabbed her hand, and led her to the car.
Windows up to keep her hair from blowing in her face, Jarret took the quickest route to her house. The whole way, she talked about the movies she wanted to see, never seeming to notice the smell.
Jarret slowed as he neared the driveway. Drop her at the driveway or walk her to the door? He sighed and stepped on the gas, swinging the car into the driveway. He didn’t need to be scrupulous, right? He had more self-control than he gave himself credit for. He’d seen Peter in the hallway and not pummeled him, right? And he’d reacted calmly when Tyrone threatened him in the library. He had this under control.
Leaving the engine running, Jarret swung open the driver-side door. Chantelle got out at the same time. Somewhere inside, he liked the idea of opening a girl’s door for her. Did that make him a chauvinist?
She waited for him to come around the car. Then she looped her arm through his, took one step, and glanced over her shoulder at his Chrysler. “Why didn’t you shut off your car?”
“I gotta take off.” He nudged her forward, toward the porch steps. “I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”
She stopped at the foot of the porch steps, slipped her arm from his, and faced him. “I thought you could come in for a while.”
His heart skipped a beat. “Nah, I gotta run back and pick up Keefe.”
“Do you have to get him right away?”
“I—” Did he have to get him right away? Yes. Yes. Don’t even think about it.
“My parents aren’t home.”
A flurry of images assailed him, none of them good. For the second time that evening, he forced himself to say no. He smiled and gave her a look that said he appreciated the offer. What exactly was she offering? Would he face this temptation every time he took her out? How long could he resist?
He backed up a few steps, then blurted out, “See ya,” and hoofed it to his car.
She was still standing by the porch steps as he tore out of the driveway, shifted into drive, and squealed down the road.
Man, what had he gotten himself into? One invitation from her, and he found his will power crumbling apart.
Jarret raced back to the square and pulled up in front of the wide steps of St. Michael’s church. Frustrated with himself, he wrestled his phone from his back pocket and scrolled through phone numbers. He put the phone to his ear and whispered, “Don’t answer. Don’t answer.”
But on the third ring, someone picked up. “This is Father Carston.”
Head growing light, Jarret sucked in a breath and exhaled hard. “Uh, hey, Father, it’s Jarret.”
“Oh, hello, Jarret. Everything okay?”
Jarret should’ve made this call a long time ago. Father had suggested they meet every week.
“Still there?” Father said.
“Huh? Yeah, I, um, I’m calling to reschedule our appointment. I need to see you.”
“Sure, let me check my calendar.” He paused. “How does this Saturday sound, say 2:30?”
“This Saturday?” Maybe he could tell Father he was right outside. Maybe Father could see him now. Jarret took a breath. He didn’t need to rush it. He’d see Father in two days, almost a week before his date. “Sure, see ya then.”
Jarret ended the call and rested his head back, sifting through his plans to make sure that day and time would work. He’d answered without thinking about it.
A pounding on the passenger side window jerked Jarret from his thoughts and made his heart flipflop again.
“Are you going to let me in?” Keefe peeked in the closed window.
CHAPTER 26
Six days before the Franciscan retreat... Anxious to get to the prayer corner in his bedroom, Keefe strode beside Roland from the garage and through the house. Father Carston had said something to the Fire Starters tonight about praying for God’s will and Keefe had thought of little else. Father had meant for them to pray about something in particular, something about the weather and the camping trip. A storm headed this way? But Keefe had other intentions in mind and he’d spent the rest of their Friday meeting in a half-distracted state.
“I can’t believe Papa’s going camping this year. Too bad you can’t go,” Roland said as they strolled around the corner to the family room.
All the drapes hung open, even though the sun had gone down an hour ago, and lamps reflected their yellowy light on a few dark windows. The TV glowed, an old movie showing on the screen. No one around to watch it.
“Yeah, I missed going last year. And if I join the Franciscans after graduation, I’ll miss it next year too.”
“This would’ve been your last chance.” Roland gave a lingering look, then his gaze shifted to the old western on the TV. “Everything you do will be for the last time.”
“What?” Keefe gave him a funny look, a bit surprised by the sentimental tone.
Roland stopped at the swinging doors to the great room and met his gaze. “If you leave after graduation, this will be your last fall with the family.”
“Oh, right.” He loved horseback riding in the fall, colorful leaves above them, a carpet of leaves below, a campfire smell in the air. As a friar, would he ever ride a horse again? A sentimental mood now teased Keefe’s soul.
“Last Thanksgiving, last Christmas, last everything.”
“I never thought of that.” It saddened him but also stirred a sense of adventure. Doors would close. Other doors would open.
Roland lifted a hand to the swinging doors and stopped. “Could that be how Papa’s feeling about things? I mean if Jarret’s right and he’s really...” He gave a little head shake, unable to complete the sentence.
Keefe couldn’t complete it either. He didn’t want it to be true. “Maybe.”
Roland finally pushed open the doors. Papa’s voice carried from the kitchen. “...that chicken potpie you make and that one salad, uh...”
“You mean with the romaine lettuce, I believe.” Nanny’s voice. “Very well, I’ll put that down for Monday.”
As they rounded the corner, Keefe’s gaze snapped to the bright kitchen doorway, though he couldn’t see Papa and Nanny from the far end of the hallway.
Then a whispered voice snagged his attention. “Hey.”
Across from the kitchen doorway, Jarret peeked from the staircase into the hall, his head sticking around the corner. With an agitated jerk of his hand, he motioned them over.
Roland and Keefe exchanged a glance and walked to the stairs, careful to make little noise.
“What’s up?” Keefe whispered.
Jarret’s gaze flicked to the kitchen, where Papa and Nanny continued to discuss meals. “It’s conference time.” He stomped up the stairs in his bare feet.
Keefe and Roland thumped after him and followed him into Jarret’s bedroom.
Jarret closed the door behind them and paced across his room toward the drawn drapes. Roland approached Jarret’s bed, looked like he might sit down, then sank his hands into the front pockets of his jeans instead.
Keefe remained just inside the door, standing near the dresser. He glimpsed the brown scapular he’d given Jarret, his heart sinking a bit, wishing Jarret would wear it. “So, what’s the matter?”
Pacing toward him, Jarret placed his hands on his hips. Then he stopped in the middle of the room. “Did you hear Papa down there? He’s telling Nanny everything he wants her to cook.”
“So?” Keefe said.
“So have you ever known Papa to care what he eats? Nanny always asks him and he says...”
“Whatever you have a mind to make,” Jarret and Roland said together.
“So you’re thinking what?” Keefe glanced at the scapular again.
Jarret followed his gaze. “Don’t worry about the scapular. I haven’t looked it up.” Then his gaze shot to the ceiling, and he shoved a hand in his hair. “I don’t know what I’m thinking. It’s like...” A crease formed between his brows as he struggled to complete his thought.
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br /> Roland gave Keefe a look. “It’s like he wants to enjoy things he might not have for very long.”
Jarret threw a hand out in Roland’s direction. “Exactly.”
“Okay, so let’s talk to him,” Keefe said. “All of us together.”
“When?” Roland tilted his head down and peered up at them, reluctance showing in every way.
“Tomorrow.” Jarret folded his arms across his chest. “Right after breakfast.”
Roland turned pale. “Maybe before breakfast.”
“Nah, not before breakfast.” Jarret shook his head. “No one’s gonna wanna eat when we’re done talking.”
“Are we gonna want to eat before?” Roland’s stomach was probably in knots already.
Jarret shrugged. “So who’s gonna start it? What are we gonna say?”
Keefe took a breath. “I’ll start it. I’ll say we want to talk. We’ve noticed some changes in him and we’re concerned.”
“Yeah.” Jarret nodded with vigor, no doubt relieved that Keefe would do the talking.
“And what if it’s something bad?” Shoulders slumping, Roland dipped his head even more.
Keefe’s heart went out to him. Roland wouldn’t be able to handle something bad. Maybe that’s why Papa hadn’t told them. And Jarret never handled bad news in an appropriate way. How would Keefe handle it? He dropped his gaze, thinking about it. If Papa were dying, it would change all his plans. He wouldn’t go on retreat. He’d be incapable of thinking about anything else. He looked up. “Well, we’ve got to be there for him. Whatever he says.”
Roland nodded. Jarret sighed heavily and looked away.
Keefe’s heart thumped. Wait, no... The thumping came from the other side of the door: boots clomping up the stairs. Papa coming.
Keefe sucked in a breath. Jarret’s eyes went wide and his gaze shot around the room, from Roland to Keefe to the door.
“We could talk to him now,” Keefe said.
Roland froze but then his mouth fell open. “Not yet.”
Lips pressed together, Jarret shook his head. “Tomorrow.”
Papa knocked on the door. “Jarret, you got a minute?”
Keefe and Jarret exchanged glances, Keefe getting permission before opening the door, though he knew Jarret would want him to. He swung open the door.
Cowboy hat in one hand, Papa stood running the other hand through his hair. He glanced at each of them. “Good, you’re all together. I wanted to talk to you.” He glanced at Keefe who stood holding the door. Then one corner of his mouth turned up, an amused look. “May I?” He motioned for Keefe to let him in.
“Oh.” Keefe stepped back and finally breathed. Papa wanted to talk to them. Papa wanted to talk now. This was it.
Roland shuffled towards the doorway, the last traces of color draining from his face. “I’ve got homework.”
Papa stood in his way. “This’ll just take a sec.” He placed his cowboy hat on his head, adjusting it a few times. “I’d be much obliged if you boys hung around the house for the next few days. Ask me before going anywhere.”
Roland exhaled. Jarret let out a breathy chuckle. They were both probably relieved that Papa hadn’t said something earth-shattering.
Relief washed through Keefe, though a part of him had wished Papa would’ve confided in them.
“We’ll be having company tomorrow.” Papa smiled. “Nearly forgot to let you know.”
“Company? Who?” Jarret said.
“Miss Meadows. She’ll be flying in and staying for a few days. I’ll pick her up early tomorrow. I’d like you to be on your best. And like I said, try to stick around.”
They exchanged glances. Before anyone else came up with something to say, Papa tipped his hat and left them alone.
CHAPTER 27
The timer rang. Jarret’s stomach growled as he slid off the kitchen countertop and snatched an oven mitt. Yanking open the oven, a savory tomato and basil aroma teased his senses. He slid out the cookie sheet of pizza pockets, heat finding his finger through the oven mitt.
“Yeow, ow!” He spun toward the hot pad holder on the marble countertop, the cookie sheet tilting, pizza pockets sliding. As he dropped the scorching sheet, one pocket flew off and took a dive.
Not wanting his bare leg burned, Jarret let out a modified cuss word and jumped back.
The pizza pocket landed on the floor and split open, steam rising from its hot red contents.
He stared at it, irritated at his loss. Now he only had five.
Movement on the opposite side of the kitchen made him look up.
Miss Meadows strolled into the room, hands in the pockets of a long casual skirt, an olive-colored thing that gave her a rugged and relaxed look. Since arriving Saturday morning, she’d worn her sandy hair in a ponytail and either jeans or canvas pants, as well as her white sunhat.
Jarret had worked with her on an archaeological dig in Mississippi last spring, and now that hat was the first thing that came to mind whenever he thought of her. Like Papa with his cowboy hat, she always wore it or kept it nearby. Except for now.
“Something smells good.” She smiled as she strolled to the kitchen island, but something seemed off.
“Yeah, want one?” Jarret stood with one foot on either side of the pizza pocket on the floor, deciding to clean it up later. He grabbed a second plate and whisked a pocket onto it, burning his fingertips but not cussing this time. Not in front of her. Something about her made him want to be on his best behavior. And not just because she was easy on the eyes.
Since Saturday, the family had eaten dinners together and sat around a campfire almost every night. Miss Meadows had a nice laugh and she never lacked for conversation, not that she gabbed on and on or anything. She just seemed to know the right thing to say at the right time. And she seemed to understand people, almost like she could read minds.
“Sure.” She sat on a barstool as he slid the plate to her.
He grabbed a fork from a drawer in case she wanted it. “Something to drink?” He pulled two glasses from a cupboard.
“Water sounds good.”
Deciding against a Coke, Jarret brought two bottles of spring water from the refrigerator and slid one across the countertop to her. “Thought you and Papa were sitting out on the porch.” She and Papa had gone horseback riding after dinner and had settled themselves on the front porch afterward.
“We were.” She cut into the pizza pocket, giving Jarret a sharp glance. Was she trying to tell him something?
Not understanding the look, Jarret picked up his pizza pocket. A thought came to him and he set it back down. Maybe she was as concerned about Papa’s behavior as he, Keefe, and Roland. Too bad they’d had to put off talking to him, but maybe Papa had told her something.
“So, hey...” He wrestled with how to word what he wanted to say. “I, uh, I’m glad you’re here and all. It’s nice. But... we think something’s up with Papa.”
She stopped chewing and met his gaze, a look of amusement passing over her face. She finished chewing and wiped her mouth with her fingers. “What do you think’s up with him?”
“I don’t know. Don’t you think he’s acting strange?”
Sitting straighter, she laughed. “Strange?”
“Well, yeah. He’s practically glued to the house lately, taking that online teaching job, turning down his typical on-site freelance work, turning down... Well, you’re here when he... he usually goes to you, right?”
“Well, yes, but we’ve talked about me coming for a visit for a long time.”
“I don’t have a problem with it. I like that you’re here. It’s just... I’m worried something’s wrong with my old man.”
She stuffed the last bite of her hot pocket into her mouth and gazed thoughtfully at her plate while she chewed. Then she lifted her eyes to Jarret. “Maybe your old man simply wants to spend more time with you.”
Footfalls in the hallway made them both turn to the doorway; Papa’s cowboy boots clomped toward the kitchen.
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Papa wouldn’t like to see the pizza pocket on the floor. Jarret glanced at Miss Meadows. “I gotta clean something up.” He snatched two napkins from the dispenser and dropped to the floor. He tried grabbing the pizza pocket with a napkin but it slipped from his grip, making more of a mess.
“There you are.” Papa scuffed into the room.
“Yes, here I am.” An edge in Miss Meadows voice?
“Sorry about clamming up. I guess I’m just not ready to talk about that.”
With the pocket in his bare hand, Jarret froze. Talk about what?
Silence.
Miss Meadows had probably silenced Papa with a nonverbal signal, informing him of Jarret’s presence.
Jarret wiped pizza sauce from the floor and stood with the pizza pocket and dirty napkins in hand.
Papa flinched. “Whatcha doing down there?”
Jarret lifted his hands, showing Papa the mess, then turned toward the trash can. “I dropped something.” Anxious to skedaddle, he tossed the remaining three pizza pockets onto the plate with the one he hadn’t touched yet and scooted around the bar counter.
Papa snatched a pocket as Jarret passed and gave Jarret a strange look, almost a warning, but the look softened. “Thanks.”
Papa and Miss Meadows remained silent while Jarret left the kitchen.
Tempted to sneak down the hall a bit and eavesdrop, Jarret climbed the steps. What wasn’t Papa ready to talk about?
Jarret set his plate of food on the corner of the dresser and stood silently in the doorway. No voices traveled. And what if they did? Was he really gonna listen to their private conversation? With a sigh, he closed his bedroom door and grabbed his plate. His finger caught the cord of the brown scapular that he’d placed on the dresser a few days ago. He’d set it next to a picture of Mama and a rough rock of turquoise that she’d collected the year she and Papa married. Jarret dropped the scapular and took his plate to his desk.
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