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Jarret
Jarret pulled up the circular driveway to drop Roland and Keefe at the front door of their house. As Roland and Keefe got out, the front door opened and Nanny stepped outside. She said something to them. They both nodded.
Jarret threw the car into drive. Movement in his peripheral vision made him look. He shouldn’t have. He should’ve just stepped on it.
Nanny charged down the steps of the porch waving both hands and saying something Jarret couldn’t make out. Judging by her urgency, he wasn’t gonna like whatever she had to tell him.
He lowered his window. “Yeah?”
She came over with the frown she used whenever she tried to boss him. The stern face never looked natural on her. “Your father wants to see the three of you this evening. He said you’re not to go off after school.”
“What for?” He didn’t really want the answer. It had to be about Zoe. Papa must’ve seen her.
“Well, I don’t know, dear.” She patted her short gray curls and gave him a sweet smile, an expression more natural to her. “Come inside and let me get you a snack. I made lingonberry muffins.” That was Nanny’s way. She liked to serve, clean, and cook. She hated having to tell anyone what to do, though Papa made her do it all the time.
Jarret parked his car and went inside. Papa wanted to see the three of them, so maybe he hadn’t seen Zoe. If he had seen her, why would he want to talk to the other two? He wouldn’t. He would just want to talk to Jarret, right? Papa didn’t know.
~ ~ ~
NO MATTER HOW HARD Jarret tried to assure himself that Papa didn’t know, he couldn’t relax so he invited his brothers to a game of pool.
“I can’t remember the last time the three of us played pool.” Keefe leaned against the wall, resting his hands on a cue stick.
“Two summers ago.” Roland sat on the arm of the couch. He held Jarret’s cigarette and smoke trailed up past his pale face. He would remember. He’d lost every game. It was the end-of-summer competitions that had become a family tradition, but which they had to skip last year because of Papa’s work.
Jarret leaned over the pool table for an awkward shot and scratched. “Shoot.” Straightening up, he snatched his cigarette from Roland.
“Papa’s got maps and blueprints out on the map table already.” Keefe edged around the pool table, eyeing the balls.
Jarret sat on the desk in the corner of the room and took a long drag off the cigarette. “Oh yeah? What of?”
“I don’t know. I just passed by his office. I didn’t get a good look.” Keefe lined up a shot.
“Why not?”
“Do you just go in Papa’s office without permission?”
“That’s a dumb question.” Jarret smirked. Keefe knew he did.
Keefe made his shot and grinned. “Do you think Papa saw Zoe?”
Jarret’s stomach flipped. “I don’t really care. What’s he gonna do about it? What’s done is done. He can’t make me stop seeing her.”
“Why can’t he?” Roland handed the chalk to Keefe.
“I’m sixteen. I have my own car. I can do what I want.” He said it more to convince himself than them. Papa would surely do something if he knew. What was it he’d said in the last family meeting? If he found out Jarret wasn’t respecting his girlfriend, he’d tan his hide.
Keefe aimed for a striped ball but sunk the solid next to it. Only a few balls remained on the table, most of them striped. The glance he gave Jarret as he stepped out of the way showed he knew he was about to go down.
“Hold this.” Jarret passed Roland his cigarette then stepped up to finish the game. “Corner pocket.” The ball shot straight in. “Side pocket.” He was lined up perfectly. Couldn’t miss. “Eight ball.” He tapped the edge of the table to indicate a corner pocket. As he lined up his shot, Papa’s boots sounded in the family room.
Roland jumped from the arm of the couch and bolted for the desk drawer where Jarret kept a hidden ashtray. Keefe froze with wide eyes.
Jarret scratched the eight ball and sunk the cue ball. He cursed aloud as Papa stepped into the room.
“Boys.” Papa glanced about as if he saw a swarm of gnats. “I’m glad you’re all here.” He went directly to the wall rack and reached for a stick. “Why don’t you rack ‘em up?” He tossed Jarret the triangle rack.
Roland helped fish balls from the pockets.
“You wanted to talk to us?” Keefe said.
Jarret shot him a glare. Couldn’t he wait? Couldn’t he let Papa get to it on his own?
“That’s right.” Papa chalked his stick. “I’ll make the break.”
Jarret racked the balls and stepped back.
When Papa made the break, balls typically went everywhere and one or two always went in. This time he sunk two solids. With a tug of his cowboy hat, he straightened but kept his eyes on the table. “I’ll be leaving on another trip in a matter of days.”
Jarret held his breath. Keefe and Roland looked like they held theirs, too.
“It’ll be another long trip, and one of you needs to go with me.”
Okay. Cool. He’s asking for a volunteer. Jarret exhaled louder than he would’ve liked. “You can count me out. I’m not going anywhere.” He grinned at Papa. “I got school work to catch up on.”
Papa sunk a ball in the corner pocket and reached for the chalk. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” His voice squeaked, making him sound uncertain. He hated coming across weak. “You’re the one who decided we should go to public school. Then you took us out of town, made us miss school for how many days? So uh . . .”
Jarret glanced at Keefe then Roland. He did a double take. Smoke seeped from the drawer in the corner of the room. Roland must not have put the cigarette out all the way. Idiot. Was everyone trying to get him into trouble?
He strolled casually to the drawer while he spoke. “I mean, you’re sending us to school now, and we don’t have the tutor, so why do you keep taking us out?” He reached into the drawer and snuffed out the cigarette, throwing Roland a wicked glare.
Roland shrugged.
“You want to take someone on your trip,” Jarret said, loud and with confidence, “take Roland. He always wants to go.”
Papa had taken another shot while Jarret ranted, and now he stepped back and leaned against the wall. “Your turn.”
“What!” He couldn’t believe it. It wasn’t fair. Papa knew. He must’ve. This was his way of punishing Jarret. Every other parent would have a heart-to-heart talk or ground a kid. Not Papa. No. He took them away. He thought taking them on trips would fix things. “Mississippi was enough for me. I don’t like going places, not in our country anyway. I’ve been everywhere I want to be. You wanna take me overseas? I’ll go overseas. Is that where you’re going? Huh?”
Papa nodded toward the table. “Your turn.”
Jarret’s heart raced. He looked at the table. “Oh.” Papa must’ve scratched. He breathed and stepped up to find a shot. Was he stripes or solids? Fewer solids lay out, so he must’ve been stripes.
“We’re going to California. Northern California.”
“We?” he squeaked. He couldn’t have sounded more desperate, and he hated himself for it. He looked to Keefe for help.
Keefe stared at the table. Didn’t he care? Why didn’t he say something? Why didn’t he offer to go?
“Take your shot,” Papa said.
Jarret leaned over and lined up. He missed. He knew he’d miss. Biting back a bad word, he straightened and turned away from Papa.
A ball cracked. Papa probably sunk another one. “Don’t worry, Jarret. You’ll be back in time.”
Jarret glared over his shoulder. “In time for what?”
Papa squinted at him. “You know what.”