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Roland
The cold bit Roland’s fingers as he adjusted his gold crown. He tugged his purple and black robe closed and made a sweeping gaze of the church grounds, scanning for Jarret. How had he gotten himself into this predicament?
The Fire Starters got the wise idea to make a live Nativity this year. Now three smelly sheep, a calf, a donkey, and a goat stood on piles of hay in the front lawn of Saint Michael’s church. Behind them, a heater kept Mary and Joseph warm in a makeshift stable. One shepherd had crept inappropriately close to the manger, no doubt to keep warm.
Roland and the rest of the adorers were left to freeze and consider, for their hour-long shift, whether or not they would be warmer cuddling up to one of the smelly animals. The angel had the hardest job, standing up on the platform behind the stable, the north-wind blowing her hair and turning her lips blue.
At least they still had the sunlight. The kids on the evening shifts would have it worse.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.” Peter’s cheeks had turned as orange as the puffy hat and the long robe he wore over his clothes. “It’s freezing out here. And I’ve gotta pee.” Clutching a gold box in one hand, he hugged himself with the other and bounced on his toes.
Roland took his eyes off baby-doll Jesus, the only fake part of the live Nativity, and glared at Peter, bumping him. They stood so close that they bumped by accident every few seconds. “Me? I didn’t talk you into anything. I’m not even a member of the Fire Starters. This is your fault.”
Peter had talked Roland into taking one of the shifts. Roland only wanted to listen to the bands playing in the community hall. He always wished he’d learned to play the electric guitar.
“Aren’t you a Fire Starter?” Peter squinted at him. “Your brother is.”
“Keefe? Yeah, I know. That’s because of Caitlyn.”
“Yeah. Where is she anyway?” Peter craned his neck. “Isn’t she supposed to be Mary for the next shift? Hey, you got a watch?”
“I got my cell phone.” Roland set his gift down and wiggled his hand into the oversized sleeve of his robe. He slid his hand into the back pocket of his jeans wishing he’d worn gloves. His numb fingers felt weird as they wrapped around the phone and eased it from his pocket. Then his phone slipped.
“Shoot.”
“What?” Peter turned his eyes to the people milling around. “Jarret here already?”
“No. I don’t know. I dropped my phone. Help me find it.” Roland stooped and pushed through sweet-smelling hay.
Maybe Jarret wouldn’t come for him. “Let ‘em walk,” Jarret had told Papa. Papa had replied in a voice too low to overhear, saying something that had changed Jarret’s mind. Jarret’s mood had been foul all day. Roland almost said he’d find his own way home, but then he got to thinking that they could talk. Jarret still hadn’t let Keefe back into his life, and he grew more distant and moody every day.
Peter set his gift down and joined Roland in searching through the hay. “Are you and Jarret gonna hang out here awhile? Why don’t you just let my folks take you home? You can hang out with me instead. I smell popcorn every time someone opens the doors to the community hall. I’d love to shove my hands into the popcorn machine.”
Roland jabbed his icy fingers into a mound of damp hay. The phone must’ve slid way down. “Are you helping me look? I don’t want to lose my phone.”
“Hey!” Monica Wellsford, aka Mary, whispered in a tone unbecoming of the Virgin Mary. “You guys are supposed to be looking at us. Get. Up. People are watching.”
“I dropped my cell phone.” Roland stood, glanced at the family of five that had stopped nearby, and then faced Monica. Bending down and moving his limbs had actually warmed him a bit.
Mary wouldn’t understand how cold the adorers got. She had it made, kneeling there next to the heater.
Peter stood and wacked Roland’s arm. “Chill out. Here it is.” He handed him the phone. “Are you calling Jarret?”
“No. You asked me the time.”
“Oh, yeah.” Peter bounced on his feet.
Monica-Mary grunted and gave a disgusted sigh.
Another family stopped next to the first family and pointed things out to their kids. Then a redhead pushed through the two families and bolted recklessly toward the Nativity.
Monica-Mary gasped. “Caitlyn! You’re supposed to wait for the guys to bring the curtain. You can’t just barge up here.” That was how the kids changed shifts. Two guys held up a big blanket, and the new crew traded places with the frozen crew.
Caitlyn, ignoring Monica completely, ran directly to Roland. Judging by the slant of her eyebrows, something bothered her.
Roland’s face warmed a bit, which under the circumstances he didn’t mind. “What’s up, Caitlyn? I think we’ve got five more minutes here.”
“Oh my gosh,” Peter shouted, his eyes bugging at Caitlyn. “People are watching. This is supposed to remind them of the first Nativity. I’m sure no one charged up to the stables to chat with the wise men. Can’t you wait?”
Caitlyn turned her back on Peter and grabbed Roland’s shoulder. She leaned in, her hair tickling his face, then whispered in his ear. “I have to talk to you. It’s an emergency.”
“What’s wrong?” His heart thumped like mad at her closeness.
She pressed her lips together as if unsure of how to answer. “I have to talk to you. Not here. And it can’t wait.”
Her gorgeous green eyes did something to a guy, whether or not he wanted them to, whether or not she was his brother’s girlfriend. He abandoned his post and followed her, Peter and Mary calling after him, kids commenting, and parents fumbling with excuses for why one of the three wise men had taken off. On the good side, embarrassment had caused a spike in his temperature, thawing him even before they stepped foot inside.
Christmas music blasted. People of all ages crowded around a boy band in the community room. Teens stood in groups. Little kids ran around their parents. The smell of hotdogs and buttery popcorn filled the air.
Caitlyn led Roland to an empty corner and faced him. Then she grabbed his upper arms, tugging the robe tight around his neck, and pushed his back to the wall. Worry clouded her eyes. “I think Zoe’s going to have an abortion.”
Roland pulled away and cracked his head on the wall. “What?” The music drowned out other sounds, but he’d heard her all right, and his stomach had dropped to his feet.
He hadn’t allowed himself to believe Zoe was really pregnant. When Caitlyn had said she was in trouble, she could’ve meant anything. He hadn’t wanted to jump to conclusions. And it still annoyed him that she expected him to interfere in Jarret’s business. If Jarret and Zoe had decided to do this . . . to do this . . .
He swallowed hard. An abortion?
She threw a worried glance over her shoulder. “I’m afraid she’s doing it now. I invited her here yesterday, but she said she had an appointment today. I only realized today what that probably meant.”
“Maybe you’re wrong.” He straightened and pushed away from the wall, forcing her to release his arms and step back.
“I’m not wrong.” She wrung her hands. “She’s been quiet lately. Something is bothering her, something big, but she won’t talk to me about it.”
Roland shook his head, not wanting to believe it. He scanned the crowd and caught sight of Jarret near the back of the audience. His stomach returned to its place. “Wouldn’t Jarret be with her? Wouldn’t he take her?”
Caitlyn looked in the same direction. “I don’t know. I wanted Keefe to ask Jarret, to talk to him. But I can’t find him. Someone needs to talk to Jarret.”
“Uh, not me. He doesn’t listen to me. And he’s not talking to Keefe now anyway.”
She let out a frustrated groan, grabbed his arms, and shoved him against the wall again. “We have to do something. Maybe we can save the baby. Please, go ask him.” She did that thing with her eyes again, gazing right into his soul.
He pushed off the wall, heart pounding in his throat. Could he? Should he? “I don’t know—”
“You have to.” This time she spoke with a stern voice and with eyebrows low over flaming green eyes. “This is yours to do.”
A verse from Scripture came to mind, and the Word spoke to his heart. Go and tell him his fault between you and him alone.
Roland peered inward and shuddered. Fear motivated him. He was afraid to talk to Jarret, afraid Jarret would accuse him of being judgmental and intolerant.
“Caitlyn.” Doug, one of the boys with the Fire Starters, came up. “Time for your shift. Better get into the blue.” He wiggled a finger at her dress.
Caitlyn gave Roland one last desperate glance and stormed away.
Roland watched her go then directed his gaze to Jarret.
A guitar played. Another joined in. The band began a slow, emotional song as Roland weaved through the crowd toward Jarret.
Jarret hadn’t wanted to give Roland a ride, so he was probably anxious to get out of here. What could Roland say to him? How could he ask anything without sounding judgmental?
No. Roland steeled himself. He was past that. He wasn’t judging Jarret’s eternal soul but his actions. If he cared about Jarret at all, he needed to confront him.
A mother holding a baby stood in front of Jarret, the baby peeking over her shoulder at him. Jarret’s face contorted as if he saw something horrible rather than the cute little baby before him.
Roland drew near.
Jarret remained statue-like, his eyes on the baby, his face frozen with the morbid expression.
“Hey there, Jarret.” Roland slapped his arm to get his attention.
Jarret jerked to face him, his expression unchanged. “What d’ya want?”
“Uh . . . Aren’t you giving me a ride home? Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Oh. Yeah.” The horrid expression faded though he faced the baby again. “I need to get out of here.”
Roland’s stomach turned. Why would it bother Jarret to see a baby . . . unless he had a guilty conscience? He had to ask him. No matter how Jarret would take it, he had to ask.
Jarret turned to go.
Roland grabbed his arm. “Before we go, can I talk to you?”
Jarret glanced at the hand on his arm then shook his head as he turned away. He pushed between the couple behind him, though he could’ve easily gone around them, and plowed through another group that hadn’t really stood in his way.
Roland followed. “I need to talk to you for a minute. I have something to ask you.”
Jarret headed for the door, but when a clear path opened, he veered away from it as if unaware of his surroundings. He pushed through two women and stopped dead, the disturbed and fearful appearance returning to him.
Before him on a chair by the wall, Mrs. Finn sat nursing her newborn. She glanced up.
Jarret stood gawking down at her or at the baby.
“Did you want something?” Mrs. Finn said.
Jarret’s eyelids flickered, but he didn’t answer.
“No, Mrs. Finn, he was just on his way to the . . .” Roland shoved Jarret toward the hall that led to the bathrooms. “Uh, Jarret, are you okay? You’re acting a little strange.”
Jarret offered no resistance as Roland dragged him down the hall and into the boys’ bathroom.
“How old do you think that baby is?” Jarret staggered to the first stall and pushed open the door. Metal smacked against metal.
Roland stood by the bathroom door, prepared to send away anyone who would try to enter. “Gosh. You mean the one Mrs. Finn was nursing?”
“Yeah.” Jarret pushed open the second and third stall doors, banging them.
“Don’t you think it’s rude to stare like that?”
Jarret said nothing.
Considering how to word what he had to say, Roland stepped closer to his brother. As the last stall door flung open and before Jarret had time to turn around, Roland blurted out, “I, uh, need to ask you . . . Is Zoe really pregnant?”
Jarret froze. Then he reeled around, hands reaching for Roland’s chest and fury written on his face.
Roland backed up to avoid contact but not soon enough. Jarret gripped his shirt at the chest, spun him around, and rammed him into a half-open stall door. The door gave way and Roland’s feet slid out from under him.
“Who do you think you are?” Jarret spit, glaring down his nose.
“I’m only asking because—” Roland struggled to get up, but Jarret’s boot landed on his shoulder.
“I know why you’re asking. You’re all the time following me, thinking I’m up to no good, trying to get something on me. You’re so good. I’m so bad. You’re already Papa’s pet. Isn’t that enough?” Jarret paced to the mirror.
Roland climbed to his feet. This was none of his business. Maybe he should keep quiet and leave it alone, but—
No! I am sending you out as sheep among wolves. So be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves.
Bracing himself for another hit, he said, “I know you think I judge you. And maybe I have. But that’s not what this is about. While Keefe was gone, I only followed you because I was worried about you. I’m not trying to get you in trouble.”
Jarret smirked at him through the mirror. “You trying to keep me out of it? You’re too late. Yeah, she’s pregnant. I mean . . . she was.” His mouth curled, his bottom lip trembling. He grabbed the hair on the top of his head, groaned, and flung himself against the wall. “I . . . told her—”
The bathroom door opened and some young kid stepped in.
“Hey,” Roland said to the boy, his voice like gravel. “You can’t come in here.”
“But I have to go,” the boy said, eyes wide, backing up.
“Use the girls’ room.”
The boy took off.
Roland faced Jarret again, determined to get straight to the point. “Caitlyn thinks Zoe’s having an abortion today, right now.”
Still clutching his hair, his face hidden by his arms, Jarret made no reply.
Maybe he didn’t realize the gravity of it all, but Roland knew a secret from the past that might bring it home. “I heard Mama talking once . . .” Roland came close. “The doctors said her pregnancy had complications.”
Jarret eased his hands down from his face and looked.
“She’d had a miscarriage before, so they advised her to abort . . . one of her twins.”
He stared for a moment, looking like he hadn’t understood one word. Then he groaned and turned toward the wall. “Oh God, I’m killing my baby.” He slid to the floor.
Roland’s heart stopped cold. Then anger bubbled up inside. Jarret was a coward. He couldn’t face the consequence of his actions, so he chose to kill someone else. An innocent baby.
Face buried in his hands, Jarret sobbed on the floor.
Roland stood over him, his heart like stone. He’d never seen his brother shed so much as a single tear. Had he even cried at Mama’s funeral when he was just a ten-year-old boy? Papa said Jarret’s cold attitude was his way of handling the pain. Maybe it was.
Body convulsing, Jarret groaned and wept. He seemed unaware that Roland stood over him, unconcerned that anyone might see him. What he’d done, he regretted.
Roland squatted and squeezed his shoulder. Sympathy seeped in, melting the stone in his heart. “Jarret, get up. Maybe we can stop her.”
“It’s . . . too late.”
“Maybe it’s not too late. Let’s go try.”
Jarret lifted his head, moving in slow motion, until his gaze rested on Roland. The look in his eyes showed he couldn’t believe Roland wanted to help. “I . . . don’t even know where she’s having it done. I just . . . I told her to do it.”
Roland took his brother’s arm and helped him stand. “I know how to find out. There aren’t a lot of places that do that around here, and I hear the Fire Starters go out there with signs. Come on.”
~ ~ ~
A MINUTE LATER, JARRET sat behind the wheel of his red Chrysler, speeding down the highway. Roland rode shotgun, and smiling Doug Baxter sat in the back.
“Okay, take this exit.” Doug knew the way. Roland had spotted him first when they’d left the bathroom, so he’d asked him for directions. If he’d had time to choose, he wouldn’t have asked Doug. Doug was a clown. Always cheerful, ever ready with a joke, liked to make people laugh. To his credit, though, he’d asked no questions when Roland said he needed to know how to get to the abortion clinic. The look on Jarret’s face probably said enough. Doug started giving directions but then said, “Why don’t I just ride with you? It’ll be easier.” So, the three of them set off together.
“So, who drove her?” Roland glanced warily out the rear window. He’d been praying that a cop wouldn’t stop them as Jarret pushed seventy-five on a sixty-mile-per-hour road.
“I don’t know. She didn’t want me to go with her.” Jarret’s gaze remained fixed on the road.
“Do you know what time her appointment was?”
“No.” Jarret shot him a cold glance. “Shut up and pray.”
Roland smiled inside. Another first. Jarret had never asked anyone for prayers.
Roland prayed for a miracle, that the abortionist would be converted or that his car would break down, that the power would go out in the clinic or that lightning would strike, that Zoe would change her mind or that someone would change it for her. God worked in mysterious ways. God could do all things. Please, God, save the baby!
All the while, sorrow hovered in his soul. He knew that the deed might already be done. If that were the case, Jarret and Zoe would both need God’s help and healing. They’d have a long, hard road to recovery. And pain that would never go away.
The abortion clinic sat on a busy street in a big old building with many steps out front. Across the street, a small group of people held signs and prayed, rosaries dangling from their hands.
As Jarret pulled up to the curb, he stared out the side window and muttered something under his breath.
Zoe sat on the steps in the arms of a gray-haired woman, both of them crying.
Jarret threw open his door and bounded up the steps. When he reached Zoe, he said something, gesturing wildly, then fell on his knees. Whatever she said made him slowly raise his head. The two embraced. The gray-haired woman wiped her eyes repeatedly.
“Are we too late?” Doug said, Roland almost forgetting he was there.
“I guess so.” It hurt to say it, to face it, and his eyes welled up with tears.
A long time later, the three on the steps got to their feet and headed down. Jarret and Zoe walked arm in arm, not speaking until they reached the bottom of the steps. Then Jarret hugged the gray-haired woman. She smiled, hugged Zoe, and after a few words, headed across the street towards the group with signs.
Roland opened his car door, ready to let Zoe have the front seat.
“Get in the back,” Jarret said to Roland, emotionless.
Before Jarret pulled onto the road, he and Zoe hugged each other again. He kissed the top of her head then looked over his shoulder. “The baby’s okay.”
“What?” Roland shook his head in disbelief, a tingling sensation washing over him. Relief scattered his sorrow. He took a deep breath and slumped back in the seat.
Zoe turned around, joy in her eyes. “Those people changed my mind.” She pointed at the people with signs.
The gray-haired woman had rejoined the group and stood in a huddle with the others. As Jarret drove past, they cheered, waved, and blew kisses. Jarret gave a double honk. Zoe waved. They all had a reason to rejoice. A baby was saved this day.