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Keefe
Winding tea-colored streams and fresh-scented pine trees covered the gently rolling terrain of the 500,000-acre De Soto National Forest, but the West family had come for the mud.
Muddy and weary, Keefe slumped back in a camp chair and cracked open a pop. He took a deep breath and relaxed.
The late afternoon sun lit up clusters of needles on the tall and stately longleaf pine behind the excavation area. Days upon days of spring rain had made the site muddy and miserable to work, despite the tarps that hung over each of the dozen three-by-four-foot holes. A few members of the excavation team wandered between sites and team leaders, others dug with trowels and sifted dirt with mesh screens. They’d found animal bones, pottery shards, and a few points already.
On the opposite side of the site, Roland carried a . . .
Keefe did a double take. Uh oh . . . a bucket of water toward Jarret? Roland must’ve had revenge on his mind.
Papa may have noticed the tension between the three of them ever since the trip to Italy. This family trip may’ve been his way of forcing them together, hoping they would all reconcile. Papa seemed to think taking one or the other of them on a trip would help with this or that problem. Maybe he was right. Keefe had definitely changed from his visit to Italy.
But this trip seemed to have made things worse.
Roland set the bucket behind Jarret, next to an excavated hole, and walked off. Jarret was too busy flirting with a cute blonde to notice.
From day one in De Soto, Jarret and Roland had been at each other, bickering and pulling pranks. Earlier today, Roland said something to Jarret about a secret. Then Jarret shoved Roland into the mud pile where everyone dumped the excavated dirt. Papa had come around before Roland could retaliate.
But Papa wasn’t around now.
Keefe looked again.
Roland pushed two buckets of . . . mud? . . . on a wobbly cart.
Then it all happened at once. Someone shouted, “Look out!” Jarret turned toward the voice. Roland let the cart go, and it barreled into Jarret.
Keefe slapped his forehead. Jarret hadn’t seen it coming.
The buckets of mud, the bucket of water, and Jarret all disappeared into the hole.
Roland stood at a distance watching, the hint of a smile on his face. If he were wise, he’d run. Any minute now, Jarret would—
Jarret clawed his way out of the hole and darted for Roland. Roland neared the mud pile. Jarret lunged . . .
Keefe scooted to the edge of his chair, spilling pop onto his shoe. Then he laughed, watching his brothers wrestle in the mud.
A twinge of jealousy stabbed him. He’d always known Jarret’s secrets, always been the one to try to convince Jarret to do the right thing. Where had Roland gotten the courage? He would’ve never confronted Jarret before. He had rarely ever defended himself against Jarret in a fight. Maybe the secret was that important.
“West boys!” Papa’s voice thundered, and all heads turned. “You’d better cut dirt on over here.”
Papa and Miss Anna Meadows, both in cargo pants and multi-pocketed vests, walked together into the excavation area. They stopped a good distance away and watched while Roland and Jarret, both muddy from head to toe, sulked up to them.
Miss Anna Meadows, a head shorter than Papa but tall for a woman, stood with her hands on her hips and a stern look in her eyes. Like Papa with his cowboy hat, she always wore a white sunhat with a wide brim. Thirtysomething, with sandy blonde hair worn in a ponytail, and a make-up free face, she was pretty.
Keefe got up from the camp chair and headed over to them.
Miss Meadows always made him nervous. He avoided speaking around her unless he had something intelligent to say. Her gaze penetrated right through a person. And it sometimes seemed like she could read minds. He’d seen her softer side a few times, too. It showed when she ate meals with Papa or in the evenings. She had a nice laugh and a comfortable way.
“What’s all the fuss about?” Papa’s eyes went to Jarret.
“We fell.” Avoiding eye contact with Papa, Jarret gave Roland a sideways glance.
Roland rolled his eyes.
“Looks like I got me a couple of chuckleheads frolicking in the mud,” Papa said between gritted teeth. Then he ranted about work ethics, being an example, and wasting time, all in cowboy-speak. “Scoot off to the motor coach and get yourselves cleaned up before I set about you with my belt.”
Jarret only glared, but Keefe and Roland said, “Yes, sir.” The three of them headed down the trail that led to the campers and tents.
Once out of hearing distance, Jarret said, “Papa’s just trying to look smooth for his lady friend. If not for her, we wouldn’t even be in this mud hole.” He shoved Roland as he said mud hole.
“No, he’s not,” Keefe said. “You two have been at each other since we got here.” He glanced at each of them but turned away to keep from laughing at their muddy faces. “I wish I knew what your fight was about.”
“I bet you do.” Jarret smirked.
Keefe ignored him. “You’ve really got some courage, Roland. What’s come over you?”
Roland exhaled, shook his head, and rolled eyes.
“Yeah. Courage. If you want to call it that.” Jarret walked backwards, facing Roland. “Wait and see what I’m gonna do to you later.”
Jarret was the only unchanged one of the three of them. What would it take to get him to grow up?
They neared the motor home. Papa had been very particular when he selected one to rent, and it had seemed roomy enough at first. But with the three of them and Papa, it didn’t take long for them to feel cramped. Papa got the bedroom. They had to sleep on the two sofa beds, Roland and Keefe sharing one. But they all stored their clothes in Papa’s closet, since there was nowhere else to store them.
“Get me some clothes.” Jarret kicked off his muddy boots and flung open the door to the motor home. He climbed in first and went straight for the bathroom. “I’m taking a shower.” The bathroom door clicked shut. The shower blasted.
Roland stood motionless facing the bathroom door. He gave Keefe a wary glance. “Was he talking to me? Does he expect me to get his clothes?”
“I guess so,” Keefe said. “He doesn’t boss me anymore, since we aren’t really talking. But I’ll get them. I know what he’ll want to wear and, besides, Papa won’t like to see your muddy footprints in his room.”
Keefe grabbed a pair of Jarret’s faded designer jeans, clean underwear, and a dark green hoodie. Then he joined Roland in the kitchen, taking a seat at the dinette, a booth for four. “So he shares things with you now, huh?” Wanting to look outside, he pushed the curtain open but it slid back.
Roland stood in the middle of the kitchen, hands in the front pockets of his jeans, probably trying to avoid spreading more mud. “Not really. I don’t guess he talks to me any more than you.”
“So, what’s the secret? What doesn’t he want Papa to know?”
Roland shrugged, gazing at the bathroom door. “Nothing I can talk about.”
“Why not? He used to tell me everything. Sometimes I can help him sort things out, do the right thing.”
“It’s too late for that. Some things happened while you were gone, and Jarret needs to . . . to cowboy up.” They both grinned at his choice of words.
“So, you’re trying to get him to tell on himself. Will it change anything? I mean, is it something really bad?”
Roland nodded. “It’s really big.”
The shower shut off and something bumped in the bathroom.
Keefe twisted around to reach the drawer in the kitchen cabinet where he kept his notebook. He had something he wanted to finish but never found the time.
Roland smiled. “Are you doing school work, now?”
“No. I’m writing Caitlyn.”
“Why don’t you just e-mail her? Papa gets online. I think the connection’s at Miss Meadow’s trailer, since that’s their office.” He paused. “Do you think they like each other?”
Keefe chuckled. “Papa and Miss Meadows? I don’t know. Seems like it. But I don’t want to send an e-mail. I’d rather write. It’s more personal that way. Don’t you think?” He started to reread what he had written.
The bathroom door flew open and Jarret came out in a towel. He sat across from Keefe at the dinette and grabbed his clean clothes.
Roland stepped into the bathroom but shouted before closing the door, “You left all your muddy clothes on the floor.”
“So take care of it.” Jarret stuck a foot through the leg hole of his underwear. “Put mine with yours. You can wash them together.”
Keefe wanted to tell Caitlyn about the De Soto Forest and the feel he got when taking walks, so he worked with a sentence in his mind.
“When are you going to write my English composition?” Jarret pulled the hoodie on over his head and stood to zip his jeans. “What’s yours about?”
“I’m not doing school work for you.”
Jarret tossed his towel at the closed bathroom door and slid farther into the booth. “Why not?”
“You know it’s wrong. I’m not doing it anymore.”
Jarret grinned and leaned forward on his folded arms. “Aw, come on. I’ll totally forgive you for everything. I see you’re letting your hair grow back. You got a good couple inches on you.”
Keefe’s hand shot up, and he stroked the back of his hair. He had been meaning to see a barber but never got around to it. He hadn’t meant to grow it out. Whereas Jarret felt his strength came from leaving it long, Keefe’s came from keeping it short. It reminded him of the promise. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to—”
“Things can go back to the way they were between us.” Jarret used the low, soothing voice that he used when trying to manipulate someone. “You’ll know all my secrets before everyone else. I’ll know all yours. What kind of secrets are you keeping lately?”
“No, Jarret.” Keefe leaned back and dropped his pen. “I don’t want things the way they were. You’re my brother and I love you, but I can’t do everything you want me to do. I have to do what I think is right, and if that means—”
“Goody two shoes.” Jarret sneered. Then he snatched Keefe’s notebook and spun it around so he could read it.
“Hey.” Keefe tried to grab it.
Jarret jumped up and blocked Keefe with his body. “Dear Caitlyn,” he read in a soft, mocking tone. “It’s only been a week, but I miss you sooo much . . .”
“Give it back.” Keefe cornered Jarret by the driver’s seat and yanked the notebook away. He stuffed it under his arm and returned to the dinette.
“That ain’t no report. You’re writing a love letter. You’ve been apart for a few days and you miss her already?”
“Sure I miss her. Don’t you miss Zoe? Why don’t you write Zoe?”
Jarret leaned against the kitchen counter, a smirk on his face. “If I have something to say to Zoe, I’ll call. I ain’t writing no love letter. I think you’re just trying to make sure she don’t cheat on you while you’re away.”
Keefe huffed. “I’m not worried about that. I have complete trust in her.”
“You trust her, huh? Your girlfriend goes over another guy’s house to study Algebra, granted it is only Peter, but I’ve seen them come out of his bedroom, just the two of them. That doesn’t bother you? And you know Roland’s still hot for her.”
“I respect and trust her. Don’t you trust Zoe?”
Jarret chuckled. He peeked into Papa’s bedroom at the back of the motor home then sat across from Keefe at the dinette. He grinned. “Zoe’s seven months pregnant, or haven’t you noticed? What’s she gonna do?”
Keefe shook his head to clear his mind. Did Jarret say— “Zoe’s . . . pregnant?” He could hardly get himself to say the word. “Seven months? I, uh . . . I hadn’t noticed.”
“She hides it well. It’s cold out, so big sweaters don’t draw attention.”
“But seven months?”
Jarret shrugged. “Yeah, I think, or just about.”
“You got her pregnant? I didn’t even know you were—”
“Come on. You can’t be that naïve. Roland even knows.” His gaze shifted. “. . . but maybe someone told him.”
“It’s just that . . . Well, I used to know you so well. I could read your every mood on your face, in your attitude. I didn’t know you were . . . that close.”
“Get over it.” He pulled back the window curtain over the dinette, but it slid closed again.
“So, that’s why you don’t trust her. If you can’t use self-control together, why would you trust each other apart?”
Jarret called Keefe a bad name as the bathroom door flung open. “I don’t have to trust her. Who’s gonna want her?”
“You told him?” Roland said to Jarret before darting into Papa’s bedroom. He slid the closet door open and spoke with his head in the closet. “You’re talking to Keefe again? Maybe Keefe can convince you. You need to talk to Papa. He’s going to find out anyway.”
“You need to butt out.” Jarret’s jaw twitched. “If I find out that you . . .” He jabbed a finger at the bedroom though Roland had closed the door. “. . . say a word about it to Papa, or if you keeping bugging me about this, I’ll make your life a daily hell.” He stood and shouted at the door. “No, I know. I’ll go after Caitlyn. I can make any girl like me. Give me a couple of months and she’ll be—”
The bedroom door flew open and Roland came out in jeans and a black sweatshirt. “You’re wacked.” He squeezed past Jarret and slid into the booth. “She’d never fall for a guy like you. And besides, how’s that going to get back at me? She’s Keefe’s girlfriend, not mine.”
Jarret leaned his palms on the table. “We all know you’re still hot for her.”
Roland blushed and tried to open the curtain, but it slid back. “You don’t know anything.”
“Is that true, Roland?” Curiosity rather than jealousy moved Keefe to ask. “I’ve always felt I sort of stepped in on you.”
“No. I told you I don’t want a girlfriend. I’m not ready to date. I’m fourteen.”
“You’ll be fifteen soon.”
“So? Who wants the pressure of that? I like being friends.”
Jarret leaned back against the counter, stretched his arms along the countertop, and laughed.
“It’s not like dating with her,” Keefe said to Roland. “It’s more like courtship. We’re always around family or we’re with a group, so you don’t have to wonder what a girl expects you to do.” He liked getting to know Caitlyn this way, working together on projects and hanging out with kids who shared their faith. No pressures. He had enough on his mind.
When he prayed, lately, and even at times when he least expected it, the Lord moved his soul in a dramatic way. God wanted something of him. He felt it with every cell of his being. Maybe he ought to stop seeing Caitlyn until he figured out what God wanted. No. He didn’t want to stop seeing her. She helped him focus, the way she listened to him, the things she brought to his attention.
“Courtship.” Jarret threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh. “You guys are killing me. What’s the point of it? Where’s the fun? You really want to spend all your time around her family? Ew. Romantic.”
“Your romance has gotten you in enough trouble,” Keefe said. “Zoe’s not your wife, but she’s having your baby.”
“La de da.” Jarret paced to the front of the motor home. “You’re never alone with your girlfriend. Have you even kissed her?”
“Roland’s right. Papa should know. Are you afraid of what he’ll do to you?”
Jarret twisted one of the front seats around and sat in it. “I’m not afraid of anything. It’s just not his business.”
“You’re wrong,” Keefe said. “You really need to tell Papa.”
“Who needs to tell Papa what?”
Keefe jumped.
The door was half-open when Papa spoke, and now he swung it the rest of the way and stepped inside.
Jarret spun the front seat around to face the windshield. “Nobody needs to tell you nothing.”
Keefe stood. “Get some clean shoes,” he said to Roland. “Let’s take a walk.”
Papa leaned against the counter, eyeing Jarret.
Jarret spun the chair back around, chuckling and glaring at Keefe. “Smooooth.” He watched them leave, mouthing a bad name just before the door closed.