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Caitlyn
Wind whistled through Caitlyn’s bedroom window. A single snowflake swirled past twiggy branches under a gray sky.
Warm in her terrycloth bathrobe and vintage flannel nightgown, Caitlyn sighed.
She never much cared for dreadful South Dakota winters and often dreamed of living in one of the warmers states when she grew up, but the way South Dakotans celebrated the winter holidays made it bearable. She especially loved Christmas and all the preparations that went into it. She and Mom had already planned the menu for their family Christmas dinner and the treats they’d eat throughout the season. She and her sisters had decorated the house, David helping with the Christmas tree.
Every year she painted a few miniature pictures to give as gifts to friends and relatives. This year, she hadn’t completed nearly as many as she’d hoped to by this time.
A miniature canvas sat balanced on her knee. She dipped a tiny paintbrush into a bit of pale blue acrylic paint to add the final touches to her painting of the Wests’ castle-like house. She mostly painted South Dakota scenes: farms, bison in big fields, the buttes of the Badlands, Sioux on horseback . . . Sometimes she made historical paintings, like the one of the Alamo. She never ran out of ideas.
Keefe would receive the painting of his house. She dropped the paintbrush into a jar of water and examined her work. Sun gleamed on a dusting of snow on evergreens, turrets, and battlements. A light shone from one window. The others remained dark to create a lonely mood. She added a horse and rider in the distance, deciding it was Keefe.
When she began the painting in October, she’d had Roland in mind. She’d wanted to give it to him as a gift between friends. She’d never imagined she’d be closer to his brother by the time Christmas rolled around. She missed the friendship they had developed over the camping trip. He stayed shy of her now. Maybe he felt obligated to avoid her since Keefe was sort-of courting her.
Caitlyn stood to stretch her legs and propped the painting on the back of her cluttered dresser. Keefe would like it. He’d like it because she made it. He was so sweet, appreciating the little things. She was blessed to have him for a boyfriend.
Courtship had not turned out the way she’d expected, even after monthly meetings on the subject. She’d had a more romantic notion in mind. Keefe rarely held her hand. He never kissed her. And they only saw each other with the Fire Starters. Their relationship felt more like friendship. She enjoyed it, though. She liked when he drew near and spoke low as if sharing a secret. He did that often. It reminded her of the way he and Jarret used to talk in the school halls, before they stopped talking to each other.
She shouldn’t complain. She would rather have their relationship move too slowly than too quickly. She felt safe with him.
Too bad Jarret wasn’t more like him. Zoe had lost her joy. Would Jarret stay by her throughout her pregnancy, especially since he had wanted her to . . .
Caitlyn’s mind wouldn’t complete the thought. It wasn’t something she could understand. She loved life. She loved babies.
She carried the paintbrushes and dirty paint water to the bathroom and turned on the water. Priscilla’s and Stacey’s voices came from their bedroom. The baby was quiet, probably still napping. Something banged in the living room, probably David.
A stream of bubbly white water brought blue, green, and brown paint from deep inside the brushes, washing them clean.
Did Keefe know about Jarret and Zoe or about her pregnancy? Caitlyn had almost mentioned it a few times. Someone ought to tell their father. But she couldn’t get herself to bring it up after Roland’s angry reaction at the Halloween party. Maybe he was right. It was none of her business.
She dried the clean paintbrushes on a towel and shuffled back to her bedroom.
Keefe’s experience in Italy, his encounter with Jesus, had sure changed him. The way he stood up to Jarret at her birthday party . . . As close as he and Jarret had always been, it had to have been difficult. But that’s when it mattered. “When doing the right thing is a challenge, and a person does it anyway, that’s when it means something,” Mom always said. “That’s when your character is proven.”
Caitlyn dropped the art supplies into her old toolbox and shoved the box between the dresser and the wall. Then she sat on the bed and gazed out the window at the gray sky.
She wanted to possess that kind of character, to know that life-changing love. She wanted to love Jesus more than herself so that she would do the right thing, especially in the hard times. Her sheltered life gave few challenges. Though the one time she was measured, she’d failed. She shouldn’t have agreed to the party at Zoe’s house knowing that her parents wouldn’t be home.
Caitlyn stretched out on the bed, her body relaxing.
In a way, Keefe had become her role model. Now that she thought about it, maybe Keefe already knew about Jarret and Zoe. Maybe Keefe already discussed it with Jarret. He would never share another’s private business, so he wouldn’t have told her about it.
Even if he had talked to Jarret, Zoe still seemed miserable, her smiles not reaching her eyes and her walk lacking its usual model-like quality. With Christmas on the way, it was totally unlike her. If only Caitlyn could cheer her up. She had tried inviting her to the parish Christmas festival. “We have teen bands all weekend long,” Caitlyn had told her. “And I’m going to be Mary in the live Nativity.”
Caitlyn sat bolt upright, her gaze snapping to the digital clock on her dresser. “Mary! That’s this afternoon.” She had less than an hour to get ready for her shift. Stripping off her robe, she dashed to the closet to find something warm to wear.
Zoe’s rejection echoed in her head. “I can’t go. I have an appointment.” It was an excuse. Zoe had never even asked the time of Caitlyn’s shift.
Caitlyn should call and try one more time to convince her to go. Zoe would have fun. She loved watching live bands.
After putting on a corduroy dress, a turtleneck sweater, and thick stockings, she headed for the phone in the kitchen.
Mrs. McGowan answered, sounding rushed and out of breath.
“Hi, Mrs. McGowan. This is Caitlyn. Can I talk to Zoe?”
“Caitlyn? Zoe left already. She’s on her way to your house. I’m not sure when she left.” She paused. “I’m surprised she’s not there yet.”
“Oh. Don’t worry. Maybe she stopped at the playground along the way. Sometimes we like to sit on the swings. I’ll go find her. Thanks.” As Caitlyn hung up the phone, she shuddered. A dread feeling passed through her.
Caitlyn stuffed her feet into her boots, shrugged into her coat, and shouted, “Mom, I’ll be back in a minute,” as she yanked the front door open.
The cold air smacked her face, and her breath made clouds before her as she sprinted down the sidewalk. Gray clouds hung over the empty street and sidewalk. Maybe Zoe climbed the hill between their neighborhoods.
Alternating between jogging and walking, Caitlyn neared the top of the hill. More empty streets and sidewalks lay before her. Not a soul on the playground.
Caitlyn jogged, heading for Zoe’s house. As she neared the edge of the last treed lot that blocked the view of Zoe’s house, she stopped. She peeked around tree trunks and glimpsed Zoe’s house.
Okay, where was Zoe? She must’ve lied so her mother wouldn’t know where she went. Maybe she met Jarret somewhere. Her parents didn’t like him, right?
“I have an appointment,” Zoe had said. Could that be true? Could she have an appointment she didn’t want her mother to know about?
For the past two weeks, ever since Thanksgiving at the Brandts’, she hadn’t been herself. Their conversations never went deep anymore, and Caitlyn often got the feeling Zoe wanted to avoid her altogether. Maybe Jarret had talked her into doing something she hadn’t wanted to do. Maybe Jarret had talked her into—
Mind reeling, she bolted home and stopped on the front porch to catch her breath. Her coat trapped her body heat and sweat, overheating her, so she ripped it off before she flung open the door.
“Mom.” Caitlyn stepped inside. “Did anyone call me?”
“Not that I know of.” Mom moved from the refrigerator to the counter, stepping over David, who lay stretched out on the floor. “Why don’t you help me get lunch together?”
Caitlyn dashed to the kitchen phone and called Zoe’s cell. It rang once then a recorded voice said, “Your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message . . .”
Caitlyn slammed the phone down. Zoe shut off her phone?
“Peanut butter jelly,” David said, pulling himself up with Mom’s legs. “Peeenut butter jelleeee.”
Mom stood over four pieces of bread, dealing out slices of chicken roll, dipping a butter knife in mayonnaise, ripping up lettuce leaves . . .
“I’ll make his sandwich.” Caitlyn grabbed the loaf of bread. Zoe could be with Jarret, but why would she shut her phone off? She didn’t usually do that.
She pulled the jar of peanut butter from the cupboard and opened a drawer for a butter knife. Maybe Zoe’s troubled mood stemmed from a decision to . . . to have the abortion. Today? Now?
The knife slipped from her hand and clanked to the floor.
“Be careful,” Mom said. “David’s on the floor.”
“Mom, I have to go.” Caitlyn snatched up the knife and tossed it into the sink. Keefe and Roland were supposed to be at the church. Maybe one of them would know more, or one of them could ask Jarret.
“Where are you going?” Mom sounded annoyed. “I want you to help me get—”
“I have to go up to the church. Remember? I’m supposed to be Mary.” She grabbed her coat and stuffed her feet back into her boots. Mom wouldn’t be able to drive her right now, so she’d have to walk.
“That’s not for half an hour. It’ll take less than five minutes for me to get you to the church.”
“I’ll walk.” Caitlyn flew out the door before Mom could object and bolted down the sidewalk, pulling her coat on as she ran.
Zoe had an appointment to get an abortion. Every step increased her certainty. She ran faster, her open coat flapping behind her.
If Zoe took the time to think it through, she wouldn’t want to do this. She would regret it, and her depression would deepen. Caitlyn had learned that many women who’ve had abortions get suicidal. She had to find a way to stop her.
Caitlyn regulated her breathing to keep up her pace, inhaling through her mouth with every other step. Her eyes watered from the cold. Her heart pounded.
If Zoe recently left for the appointment, it might not be too late. Caitlyn could talk to Keefe. If he didn’t know the type of relationship Jarret and Zoe had, she’d have to tell him. He and Jarret were once close, he had said. Keefe had kept Jarret out of trouble before. Maybe he could say or do something now.
Lungs burning and sides aching, Caitlyn slowed.
Cars lined the streets near the church. Families walked down the sidewalks. Keefe had volunteered to set things up and help for a few hours. He wanted to be there when Caitlyn stood in as Mary in the live Nativity. Roland and Peter had taken the shift before hers, so they should be standing out in the cold right now.
Reaching the church grounds, Caitlyn weaved around groups of chatting parishioners then stepped inside the community hall. A band of five teenage boys stood in the far corner, the leader talking into a microphone to a group of about thirty people. Snack and beverage tables lined one wall, children’s games another. Dominic, Greg, and Doug from the Fire Starters stood near a partially set up fabric dartboard game.
She ran to them.
“Have you seen Keefe?” She looked at Dominic since she knew him best.
He straightened and tossed his shiny black bangs from his eyes. “No, chica. I think he went to get something, but he will be back.” He turned to Greg and Doug as if for confirmation.
“Yeah.” Greg glanced at his watch. “He should be back soon. He’s gonna help get the next team out to the Nativity.”
Doug gave one of his silly smiles. “He’ll be back. He’s got to escort his Mary to the stable. He wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He pointed to a nearby folding chair. “Wait with us. Maybe you can tell us what we’re doing wrong with this dartboard.”
Caitlyn couldn’t wait. Zoe couldn’t wait. She tore through the side door, heading for the live Nativity. And Roland.