Standing Strong

by Theresa Linden

  Keefe watched her go, stalling while he considered how to bless his food. He prayed before every meal nowadays, usually aloud, silently at school, but always beginning with the Sign of the Cross. No one ever noticed at school. Or if they did, they never said anything to him about it. Why did he hesitate now? Why should he care what she thought? He didn’t even know her, and he’d never see her again. Was he ashamed to let his faith show? What kind of Franciscan would he make?

  Piper squirted a mound of ketchup onto her plate and offered the bottle to him.

  “Thanks.” He set it aside and took the plunge, bowing his head and lifting a hand to his forehead for the Sign of the Cross. He prayed silently, moving his lips, aware of her eyes on him, and struggling to mean the words of the prayer while his deeper prayer went, “Lord, let me not be ashamed of showing my faith in you.”

  They ate without speaking for a few minutes, the only sounds the whines of the toddler, the indistinct chatter of his parents, and the clanking of forks on china.

  Piper dropped a fry back to her plate and looked at Keefe for a few seconds.

  Thinking maybe he had ketchup somewhere, he grabbed his napkin and wiped his mouth. “What’s up?”

  Her gaze flickered from him to her plate to something behind him and back to him. “My dad’s in hospice. He’s dying.”

  Pangs of sympathy and grief stabbing him, Keefe set his burger down. “Oh sorry. That stinks.”

  “Yeah, we found out last month. We didn’t even know he was sick, and here he has cancer.”

  Before Keefe could figure out how her father could be that far along without anyone knowing, she added, “My mom and sister drove up to see him right away.” She gave a sad smile. “But I couldn’t get myself to go with them. I’m still not sure I want to see him.”

  Understanding now that her parents lived apart made Keefe even sadder.

  “All I can think of...” Eyes downcast, she slumped over her plate and lowered her voice. “...is how he left us ten years ago, left my mom alone with two teens and an eight-year-old.” She looked at him. “I was fourteen. I never understood why he left us. I hated him for it. Still hate him. I don’t even know why I decided to go today. I guess...” Her voice broke. “They said he was looking real bad, might not make it much longer.” Her voice fell to a whisper. “This is my last chance.”

  Moved by her grief, Keefe slid his hand across the table and touched the back of her hand. Uncomfortable making contact, he pulled away and struggled to think of something to say. “Sorry.”

  “When my tire went flat, I thought it was a sign. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken this trip. I wasn’t meant to see him. He’d made his choices. He chose some other woman over us. We all have to live with the consequences of our choices. Or die with them.” She lifted her gaze to his. “And then you came along, like a godsend, like a sign I should keep going. Do you think God works like that, sends other people into our path to guide us?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure He does.” It touched him that she mentioned God. Would she have done it if she hadn’t seen a glimmer of faith in him? But her question also sparked a question in him. Did God have a message for both of them in this?

  “So maybe now, I’ll get there before he—” Her brows drew together. “I feel like... I need to know why he did it. Or maybe I just need to see him one last time. I need to forgive him. For myself, I need to forgive him.”

  Keefe resisted the urge to reach for her hand again. “I’m glad I came along then,” he said, his voice low.

  Recomposing herself, she pressed her lips together, shoved a stringy lock of wet hair behind her ear, and nodded. Then she took a deep breath and picked up her hamburger. “Me too.”

  Keefe picked up his burger too, questioning whether he meant what he’d said. Was he glad he came along? If he hadn’t, surely someone else would’ve, maybe someone who had nothing better to do. He’d most likely arrive at the Franciscans over two hours late. They wouldn’t turn him away, would they? Maybe he should see this as a sign from God, finish helping Piper, and go back home. It would be a bit of relief. He’d have his answer, right?

  “So I never asked,” she said with her mouth full, “what you were out doing today, before you got tangled in my miserable web? Do you live around here?”

  Keefe chewed and took a sip of iced tea. “No, I live on the far side of South Dakota, about six hours away.”

  She dropped her hamburger, smiling. “Really? What-cha doing out here? Joyriding in your father’s truck?”

  “No, actually I’m on my way to St. Paul.”

  “That’s a long drive. Got family there?”

  “Uh, no.” He dragged a fry through ketchup, hesitating to admit his destination, partly because he didn’t want her to feel bad about him helping her. But also because he suspected she’d think he was strange for wanting to live as a consecrated brother. And besides, God knew he’d come across her today and stop to help. So God knew he’d consider it a sign. If this was His sign, then—

  A memory flashed in his mind. A dusty sunbeam illuminated the San Damiano crucifix on the wall in the new prayer corner he’d made in his room. Dazzled by the sight and filled with expectancy, Keefe knelt to pray. He bowed his head and focused on the presence of the Lord before him, beside him, around him, within him. “Please, Lord,” he had whispered, filled with peace, “guide me to my vocation. Give me a sign. Let me read it in your Word.”

  In imitation of Francis and Bernard, who had prayed for discernment this way, he opened his black leather Bible to a random page in the New Testament. He dropped his finger to the page and read aloud, “Blessed is he who takes no offense at me.”

  Keefe had jerked back as if struck. What kind of message did that have for him?

  “So...?”

  Keefe snapped from the thought, his eyes focusing on Piper, who waited for an answer. “A group of Franciscan friars live up there. They’re offering a discernment retreat.”

  She stopped chewing and only stared, then she finished chewing and took a sip of her pop. “Wow, so you want to become a priest?”

  Heat assailed him, climbing up his neck. He dropped his gaze and wiped his hands on a napkin. “I don’t know. I’m not sure. I’m going to learn more about becoming a Franciscan friar. Maybe I’m called.”

  “Wow, I’ve never met anyone who, you know.”

  He dipped his head and grabbed a fry. “Yeah, I know. Neither have I.”

  “So by ‘called’ you mean, God calling you? How would you know?”

  “I don’t know.” He smiled. “That’s why I’m going to the discernment retreat. But I’ve felt something inside, in my soul, I guess, like God calling.” Keefe sat back and sighed, his thoughts turning inward. No matter how late this unplanned excursion made him, he’d keep going. He’d never live with himself if he turned back now.

  CHAPTER 29

  Chantelle squeezed Jarret’s hand as she dragged him to the top row of the dimly lit auditorium. Movie previews flashed on the screen, the sound too low and then too loud. Overhead spotlights made the squiggly lines and shapes on the carpeted steps glow. Chantelle’s perfume and the buttery locker room odor of the auditorium confused Jarret’s senses.

  “The top row, really?” He scanned the other rows, counting fifteen people. They’d picked a movie that came out a while ago, so everyone else must’ve seen it already.

  “Are you afraid of heights?” Chantelle smiled at him over her shoulder as she sauntered to the seat in the middle of the row.

  “No, but the movie screen looks two inches tall from up here.”

  “Oh well. It’s a date. We don’t have to watch the movie.” Her hair fell over her shoulder as she pushed her seat down. Taking her seat, she smiled up at him, her expression sultry.

  Jarret’s mouth fell open while he tried to think of a reply. He shook his head, still not coming up with one. Then he just said, “Yeah, we’re here to watch the movie.” He settled himself, slouching so that his knees almost touched
the seatback in front of him and resting his forearms on the armrests. “Sure you don’t want popcorn?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m stuffed.” She rubbed her tummy, making him look.

  He redirected his gaze to the movie screen, lacing his fingers together to keep from grabbing her hand. “You hardly ate anything.” He’d taken her to the nicest restaurant in town. Not that that was saying much. It was better than the buffet. Maybe better than the steakhouse. But if he really wanted to impress a girl, he should think about driving a bit farther from home. Still, he’d spent too much money for how little she ate of her fancy salmon and wild rice dinner. He’d put a killing on his steak.

  “I wasn’t that hungry. You should’ve accepted my offer to cook for you. We could be watching a movie at my house right now.”

  When he’d gone to pick her up, she’d suggested they have dinner and watch a movie at her house since her parents were gone. Not one to make excuses, he’d simply said, “I don’t want to,” and jabbed his thumb in the direction of his Chrysler in the driveway.

  “You can cook for me some other day,” he said, eyes on the movie screen. “When your parents are home.”

  Chantelle pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing with a look of dissatisfaction. “They’ll be home later. They’re just shopping, picking up a few things for tomorrow.” She twisted in her seat, angling her body towards him. “I wish you’d change your mind about camping. We could have so much fun.”

  Loving and hating the idea, remembering the “fun” he’d had last year, he dropped his head back and stared at the black ceiling for two seconds before looking at her. “Nope. No camping for me. And no school tomorrow—teacher day or whatever—so after tonight, I’ll see you on Monday.”

  She straightened in her seat and folded her arms across her chest with an attitude. The lights dimmed and the screen went black. A second later, the movie started and Chantelle snapped from her negative mood. She scooted close to the armrest between them.

  Thinking she wanted the armrest, he slid his arm off it. Then he focused on the movie.

  She draped her arm over the armrest and rested her hand on his leg.

  A red flag went up in Jarret’s mind, but he left her hand there. It was a harmless gesture, right? But then she moved her hand. His heart hammered in his chest. He sucked in a breath, trying to keep his thoughts from going where they shouldn’t. Then he snatched her hand and decided to hold it.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught her glance, but he kept his eyes glued to the movie screen. They’d come to watch a movie. Not fool around.

  A few minutes later, once Jarret had started getting into the movie, Chantelle squeezed his hand and dragged it to her lap.

  He drew his hand back and snapped, “Man, just watch the movie.” Then he hogged both armrests, lacing his fingers together on his chest again.

  Light from the screen illuminated her amused, somewhat puzzled expression. She’d probably never had a guy reject her moves before.

  KEEFE GRIPPED THE STEERING wheel with sweaty palms and squinted at a green highway sign as he drew near. Not his exit yet. He redirected his attention to the car in front of him. He’d never braved a highway with four lanes of traffic, cars and trucks whizzing by on either side. He didn’t want to take another wrong exit. Misunderstanding his GPS, he’d done that once today and ended up on a longer route. His GPS assured him he’d still get there, though.

  Keefe glanced at the clock. 7:49. He’d spent over three hours with Piper. Didn’t seem possible. It had taken forever for the auto shop mechanic to call. He and Piper had finished their lunch, ordered dessert, and were working on coffee. Then Keefe had taken Piper and the repaired tire back to her Toyota, and he’d installed it quickly. She’d wanted his address so she could repay him some day—he’d paid for lunch and the tire—but he wouldn’t give it to her. He’d used Papa’s charge card. Papa wouldn’t care. And if he did, Keefe would pay him back.

  Then they’d said goodbye. She kissed him on the cheek and said, “Good luck.”

  “I hope you get to your father in time. I’ll pray for you both,” he had said, walking a few steps backwards to his truck.

  Her mouth had trembled and curved into a smile. She nodded and climbed into her little blue Toyota.

  Headlights glared in the rearview mirror, blinding Keefe and breaking him from his thoughts. He turned the mirror a bit until only black showed. The sun had gone down about an hour ago. He should’ve arrived at the Franciscans’ place in daylight. Now all the new surroundings had an ominous, hostile quality. Everything felt like a negative sign. The Bible verse, running into Piper, the fact that he’d be almost four hours late... Keefe bit his lip and glanced at the next glowing green highway sign.

  Before he could make out the words, his cellphone rang.

  Keefe glanced at it. He’d propped it in the cup holder that didn’t hold his water bottle. Should he pick it up while trying to navigate through this? It rang a few times before he gave in and answered.

  “Hey, Keefe, it’s Roland.”

  “Roland, what’s up?” His anxiety level jumped up a notch. Roland would never have called without good reason. He would assume that Keefe was on retreat right now and wouldn’t want to bother him. Before Roland could respond, wild ideas raced through Keefe’s mind. Something bad had happened at home. If Keefe had turned around earlier, he’d be home in time to help. He’d asked God for a sign but hadn’t listened when he’d received it. And now others would suffer.

  CHAPTER 30

  Halfway through the movie, Chantelle shifted in her seat, seeming uncomfortable. Then she turned to Jarret. “Mind if I put this up?” She tugged on the armrest.

  He slid his elbow off it.

  With a sweet smile, she swung the armrest up and scooted toward him. Then she dragged his hand over her shoulders and leaned her head on his chest. The scent of her shampoo tickled his nose. Did he like the smell? He inhaled again and decided that he liked the musky herbal scent. It seemed familiar and struck him somewhere deep inside.

  He hadn’t meant for her to realize that he’d checked out her hair, but she turned to him with her dark sultry eyes on his mouth.

  He opened his mouth to ask her to back away, but he never got the chance to speak. Her lips found his before he could get out the first syllable. Overwhelmed with the thrill of it, he kissed her back the way he used to kiss Zoe, in a way he shouldn’t be kissing any girl he hadn’t married first. He’d been fearing this moment ever since he wrote his number on her arm. He’d known it would come to this. He was too weak to resist.

  He needed to act. He needed to...

  Flailing about for inner strength, Jarret pulled away and sucked in a breath.

  She smothered him with another kiss, drawing him back to her web.

  He needed to stop this. But her uninhibited actions rendered him powerless.

  The movie quieted, the screen throwing off more light that seeped in through his closed eyelids. Then a sound came from his chest pocket, and his eyes snapped open. Despite all the reminders, he’d forgotten to shut his cellphone off.

  Fumbling for his phone, he pulled away from her.

  Her gaze went to his phone as she drew back.

  Jarret silenced the phone and checked the caller id. Keefe? He should’ve been at the Franciscans by now. Had something gone wrong? Maybe he’d gotten lost or needed information.

  “I’ll be back.” He kissed Chantelle’s head, then glimpsed her irritated expression—brows drawn together and a sulky mouth.

  Relief and cool air greeted him as he descended the steps and slipped around the corner. He lengthened his stride, anxious to get out of the auditorium and into the hallway. “Lord, thank you, thank you, thank you,” he whispered as he pushed open the door. He’d been headed down a bad road with no brake pedal.

  Jarret stopped beside a cardboard display for a spy movie and called Keefe.

  Keefe answered on the second ring. “Hey, Jarret.”

 
“Hey, you okay? Reach your destination?”

  “Huh? Almost there. But I’m calling for Roland. He needs your help.”

  “Roland?” Jarret pressed the phone to his ear, worry flickering through him. “Why didn’t he call me?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he thought I’d need to convince you.”

  Since returning from Arizona, Jarret had helped Roland with everything he could. Why would he be uncomfortable asking? Unless...

  “Peter’s stranded an hour away.”

  “No.” Jarret had figured it out a split-second before Keefe said the loathsome kid’s name. No way was he helping that kid with anything, unless— “Is Roland with him?”

  “No, Roland’s on his way over to Peter’s house, riding his bike. Apparently, Peter has a new battery at home. That’s all he needs.”

  Relief washed through him, knowing that Roland didn’t really need him. It was just Peter. And Heaven itself couldn’t get him to go out of his way for Peter. Jarret cringed at the thought. Heaven should be a sufficient motivator for anything. But Heaven wasn’t asking this of him. Roland was. He would help Roland in anything else but not this.

  “I gotta go.” Jarret peered at the theater door. “My date’s waiting on me.”

  “Date? You’re out with Chantelle? Where at?” Worry tinged Keefe’s tone.

  “We’re seeing a movie. But I don’t think it’s gonna work out between us.”

  Keefe exhaled into the phone. “Yeah, good. She’s not your type.”

  Jarret smiled, loving Keefe even more. “What is my type?”

  “I don’t know. But it’s not her. She’s too ... um... I don’t know. Not your type.”

  “Yeah, I’m starting to see that.”

  Silence followed. Was Keefe amazed at the changes in Jarret? Jarret was also amazed, but he was intensely aware that he was one slip from reverting back to his old self. He had to end this date before something happened that he’d regret. The failure would prove he wasn’t cut out for this fight between good and evil. Sin was in his blood. Thanks to Adam, that was true. A drop of blood appeared in his mind, falling in slow motion. Falling from what?