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Caitlyn
In addition to the black pants, shirt, and Spanish gaucho hat, Roland now wore a black mask and a cape, leading Caitlyn to believe he was either the Lone Ranger or Zorro. She hadn’t asked him yet. In fact, she hadn’t spoken to him at all since she first saw him with Mya, though she hadn’t seen him with her since. His brothers’ swordfight drew her here, to where she and Roland stood side by side in the front lawn, the closest she’d come to him so far tonight.
He acknowledged her with a glance before turning and motioning to the band. Though a good distance away, they must’ve caught his signal because they immediately strummed their electric guitars.
“Okay, okay,” Roland said to the crowd that had gathered to watch the swordfight. “Show’s over.” After motioning them away, he stooped and picked up one of the two swords his brothers had abandoned.
“Was that really just for show?” She watched the West twins disappear into the woods bordering the front lawn. “Jarret seemed so angry. I thought it was real.”
With one dressed in a flamboyant musketeer outfit, his cape flying dramatically as he fought, and the other as a medieval monk, their swords flashing under the setting sun, they had looked like performers. But the way Jarret moved, lunging and swinging with such force, gave the impression he meant business.
Roland grabbed the second sword and came over, peering at Caitlyn through his steel-gray eyes visible from behind the mask. “Yeah, you’re right. It wasn’t for show.” He tucked one of the facemasks under his arm. “They’ve been kind of, uh, distant lately. But that’s how they make up. They fight it out.”
“Oh. That’s terrible.” She hoped Jarret wasn’t like that with Zoe.
He stared again, making Caitlyn wonder what he was thinking. “Want to take a walk?” He glanced at the swords in his hands.
“Sure.”
They strolled toward the house. She felt silly for having thought he liked Mya, but she could still picture them together in her mind. “Are you the Lone Ranger?”
“What? No.” He sounded disappointed. “I don’t have a gun. I have a sword. See?” He flipped his cape back, revealing the sword at his thigh. “I’m Zorro.”
“Oh, of course.” She felt bad for guessing wrong.
He gave her the hint of a smile, which would’ve ordinarily set her heart to racing, but her thoughts remained stuck on Zoe and Jarret.
So she asked a question which, as the words came out, she wondered if she should’ve kept to herself. “Does your father know about Jarret and Zoe?”
Roland glanced, his gray eyes flashing with a look of caution. “Sure. You mean that they’re seeing each other? She’s over here all the time.”
They passed the dance floor and crossed the driveway. “No. I figured he knew that. That’s not really what I meant.”
They walked in silence for a few paces and mounted the steps to the porch before he looked at her and spoke again. “What do you mean?”
“Um . . .” Maybe she shouldn’t have brought it up. Maybe Roland had no clue. “Well, I mean, your father wouldn’t approve of the type of relationship they have, would he?”
A smile flickered on his lips, making him look annoyed. “What do you mean by that?”
They stopped in the middle of the porch.
“They’re . . . uh . . . doing things together.” She couldn’t believe she’d said it. She wished she could snatch the words out of the air before they reached his ears. If Roland hadn’t already known, she’d just made known the sin of another. And hadn’t Roland told her, not so long ago, that he wasn’t going to jump to conclusions about Jarret, that he would give him the benefit of the doubt?
His eyes flashed then blinked. He looked down. “How do you know?”
“She told me.”
He turned away and grabbed the doorknob. “I’m sure my father would have no clue about that.”
“Well, maybe you should tell him.”
With a hand still on the doorknob, he faced her. His eyes narrowed to slits and his upper lip curled. “Why should I tell him?”
Caitlyn had never seen Roland look as annoyed as he did at this moment. “You’re his brother. Don’t you care?”
He shook his head, not so much to say no, she didn’t think, but as a further expression of his annoyance. “Of course I care.” He cracked the door open. “What good is telling Papa going to do?”
It always made her smile when he let the word papa slip out, because she thought it was cute, but also because it made him blush, as if he’d never meant to say it. But she didn’t smile this time. His attitude hurt. She wished they were on the same side. But they weren’t.
“Don’t you think your father would talk to him?” She spoke softly and leaned on the doorframe to watch his face.
“What good would that do?” His jaw visibly tensed. “You think he’d stop if my father told him to?”
“I don’t know what he’d do. But your father should know. Maybe he’d keep a better eye on him.”
“You don’t know Jarret.” Opening the door further, he stepped inside and turned to face Caitlyn. “Besides, it’s none of our business.”
His words stung. She blurted out in a voice way too loud, “My best friend is in trouble. That makes it my business.”
She spun away from him, her blue cape billowing out, and she dashed away. Maybe he hadn’t known and she’d shocked him with the news. Maybe Zoe wouldn’t be pregnant much longer, if Jarret had his way.
Tears pricked Caitlyn’s eyes as she ran to the side of the house where fewer windows looked out, to the side with the beverage table where moms stood talking and laughing with their little kids.
Foolishly, she ran without lifting her ridiculously long skirt, the way they do in the movies, and her toe caught the hem. Tumbling forward, she threw her arms out and smacked her palms to the cold ground. People had seen her. She felt their glances, but she didn’t wait for anyone to approach and ask if she was okay. She jumped up, hiked her skirts high and dashed off again, this time headed for the stables.
A horse nickered, making her want to go inside and see it. Gentle animals, especially big-eyed horses and fluffy kittens, had a way of calming her. But seeing the veranda windows not far off, and not wanting Roland to see her, she darted behind the stables instead.
A trail laden with hoof prints wound behind the stables. She decided to follow it. It was peaceful, not that any birds were singing or anything. She’d probably scared off every form of wildlife with her cloddy running. But the setting sun sparkled through the leaves, the air smelled fresh and clean, and she could barely hear the music from the band. The Wests probably rode horses back here all the time. Maybe she’d learn to ride a horse someday.
Her heart winced. She picked up her pace. She’d once entertained the idea that Roland would teach her. That would never happen now. He probably thought of her as a prying, clumsy, talkative control freak. He told Peter he didn’t want a girlfriend, but maybe he just didn’t want her for a girlfriend. Maybe he did like Mya. And why not? She was sweet, bubbly, and all girl.
A thick root stretched across the path, Caitlyn noticed too late. The toe of her shoe cracked against it. She stumbled forward, lost her balance, and took a complete dive, landing hard on her hip and right palm. Pain shot through her and jarred her bones.
Why me? Instead of trying to get up, she rested her head on the hard-packed ground and let the sobs erupt. No one would hear her. She was out too far. So she sobbed and sobbed and sobbed, and it felt good.
When she finally ran out of tears, she sat and wiped her face with her skirt. The sun had disappeared from the sky, but she could still see the trail. She climbed to her feet, gathered her skirt, and walked on.
After a while, the trail branched off. It had been curving so much to the right that she decided to take the left branch. Fifteen minutes later, noticing the dwindling light, she questioned her decision. Maybe the right branch wrapped around to the back of their property, coming out by the fire pit and lawn chairs. And maybe the path she took wound on forever.
Caitlyn stopped, blew the hair from her face, and looked around. Darkness prevented her from getting her bearings, but she was never one to get her bearings in the light either. Peter liked to say she could walk the same trail for a whole year and still get lost. He was right. She was terrible at orientation.
She sighed. The trail had to come out somewhere, so she kept on in the same direction, slower this time, because she could barely see and her feet were drawn to roots and stones. Maybe the moon would come out and shed some light. Every few yards she scanned the woods, hoping to see the party lights but seeing only shadows and darkness. Until—
A moving point of light showed some distance off to the left.
“Hello!” she shouted, hoping it was someone with a flashlight, someone come to rescue her. “Hello?” she shouted again.
The jittering light grew bigger. A branch cracked.
She moved toward the light and called again.
“Caitlyn?”
Not recognizing the voice, she replied, “I’m here.” She stumbled towards him with arms outstretched to avoid walking into anything.
When he got within a few feet of her, she recognized him. It was Keefe, the monk.
“Hi. I’m glad I found you.” He sounded sincere but breathless.
“Me, too.” Her neck and face heated then chilled her. She thanked God for the darkness that would prevent him from seeing her blush.
“My lady has wandered far from camp,” he said, using a rough British accent.
She giggled. “Yes, Brother Monk. I am most grateful that you have come to my rescue.”
She wasn’t sure if her choice of words fit whatever time period they ought to be from, based on their costumes, but she liked using an accent. “How ever did you find me?” For that matter, how had anyone known she was missing? Who would’ve noticed her absence? Roland? Zoe?
“I caught sight of my fair lady when she stepped behind the stables.” He continued with the accent. “I assumed you went for a walk, but this trail is quite long. And when I didn’t notice your return . . .”
“Again, I am most grateful. These woods are quite lovely. At least so I thought by light of day.”
“You must see them one day in the early morning.” He pointed over her shoulder and his accent faded as he continued. “There’s another trail. It branches off. It leads to some cliffs.”
“Oh, well I’m glad I didn’t take that trail. Cliffs are not the place to be in the dark.” She pulled her cape tight.
He laughed. “No, they aren’t.” Using the accent, he said, “But they afford a breathtaking view. And now, would my lady care for an escort back to camp?” He stuck out his elbow, which she guessed she should take if she wanted the escort.
So she curtsied and took his arm. “I would be most grateful.”
With the flashlight aimed at the ground before them, they hiked down the trail.
Caitlyn smiled, a feeling of security enveloping her. Someone had found her! Keefe had found her. He was so different from his twin, so different from Roland, for that matter. Had he really been watching her? Maybe she upset him with her reaction to his costume. Who was Keefe? She didn’t really know him at all. She shuddered.
“My lady is cold,” he said, removing his hooded cowl.
“No, I’m fine.”
He put the cowl over her head and adjusted it, hood up, the smell of his musky cologne drifting to her nose.
Enjoying the scent, she inhaled deeply. “Thank you. And I’m sorry I messed up your costume. I made it too long, huh?”
“Too long? Oh, because I . . . No. I-I wanted to give it more of a poor friar look. You know, like Saint Francis. I guess I shouldn’t have ripped the hem like that but . . .” He turned and walked backwards a few steps, shining the light on himself and lifting one arm with his question. “Does it work?”
She giggled, nodding. “I’m just glad you like it.”
“I do. I love it.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence, finally emerging under a string of lights near the beverage table. The party was in full swing, the beverage table having turned into a popular teen hangout. The band played louder, and at least a dozen kids danced on the platform dance floor. Voices came from behind the house, too, from where the fire pit and lawn chairs had been set up. Kids stood in groups and walked in pairs.
Caitlyn pulled the cowl off over her head.
“You can hold onto it if you want,” he said.
“No, thank you. I’m not cold anymore. Besides I have a sweater on the porch.”
He took the cowl, and they stared at each other for a long moment. Then he smiled and dipped his head. “Shall I walk you to the porch?”
“No, really, I’m fine now. But thank you. I think I would’ve been wandering out there forever. I’m sorry to have been trouble.”
He smiled but before he replied, someone called her name.
“Where you been, man?” Peter shouted. “We’ve been looking for you all over.” He and Roland pushed through the crowd by the beverage table.
Roland opened his mouth but closed it when his gaze caught Keefe, who was putting his cowl on over his head.
“She was in the woods,” Keefe said to Roland, adjusting his costume.
Roland nodded but barely gave either of them a further glance.
“In the woods?” Peter smirked. “It’s pitch black out there. You know coyotes live out here, right?”
“Coyotes?” Caitlyn said. Was he serious?
“Isn’t that what you said?” Peter nudged Roland, but Roland only shrugged without looking at anyone.
“Well, I’m going to . . .” Keefe seemed at a loss for words but finally said, “. . . get something to eat.” He left, and Roland went with him.
Caitlyn stared, so confused that she wanted to go home. “Have you seen Zoe?”
“Mm, yeah. She’s yelling at Marilyn Monroe for dancing with her musketeer.” Peter laughed.