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Tuesday after school, Jarret sat back on his bed, writing in his journal. Mid-sentence, an image appeared in his mind and he glanced up. Long blond hair, aqua blue eyes, and a pretty face. Clothes that drew attention to her figure. Chantelle.
Once Monday had rolled around, she’d found him at school between classes three times. And four today, never seeming uncomfortable around him. In fact, she seemed to understand him. And not judge.
Where did he want their friendship to go? Was he ready for more?
Taking a long breath, he leaned his head on pillows behind him and gazed at the ceiling fan. He’d changed since Zoe. He knew now where to draw the line. And he wanted to stay on the right road. Why shouldn’t they see each other? He’d need to make sure their relationship stayed more like friendship than lovers. They’d need to avoid hanging out alone.
With the journal and pen in hand, Jarret scooted off the bed and shuffled to his open bedroom window. He gazed down at the sprawling front yard and the trees behind it, admiring the shades of green created by the late afternoon sunlight. A strong breeze blew, bringing fresh air into his room and making leaves shimmer and show their silvery undersides. They wouldn’t turn gold and orange for a couple of weeks yet, though the melancholy mood of autumn had already found his spirit.
He hated letting go of summer, but this one would stand out in his mind forever... because of the night in the canyon. Soon all the trees would let go of their leaves. After a long cold winter of barren branches and frozen ground, spring would bring the green leaves and grass back.
He never wanted back the things he’d let go—his cold heart, total selfishness, and lack of faith—though it still caused a bit of sorrow to leave his old ways behind.
Jarret returned to his bed and sank into the mound of pillows he’d arranged a few minutes earlier, when he’d first sat down to write in his journal. Father Carston had wanted him to write something every day, but he’d only made a few pathetic entries in the past two-and-a-half weeks. Which reminded him...
He should’ve rescheduled his appointment with Father. Father had wanted to see him once a week. Jarret had thought about at least calling last Saturday. All day long. But he couldn’t get himself to do it. Then at Mass Sunday morning, he felt like Father kept looking at him during the homily. Jarret had avoided making eye contact with Father and even skipped out through a side door at the end of Mass.
Maybe he’d schedule for this upcoming Saturday. He should at least make a few more attempts at writing in his journal before then.
Jarret wrote the first thoughts that came to mind:
Finally went back to school after a week of suspension. Got some pretty wild looks from kids and a lot more space in the halls. Everyone probably thinks I’ve got a short fuse, or that I’m a time bomb, and now they’re more afraid of me than ever. Maybe they’ll know not to mess with my brothers.
Jarret winced, replaying a single moment from his altercation with C.W., the moment his fist landed on his face. He hated how he’d made the choice to do it, and then lost control of himself.
His phone buzzed, vibrating on the nightstand.
Setting the journal aside, Jarret twisted to reach it. He glanced at the text as he lay back.
If she knew you, she wouldn’t like you.
Jarret sat upright. Anger teased him and subsided. Who kept sending him nasty messages? Besides C.W. and Peter, who had a reason to hate him enough to keep bothering him? Maybe he’d offended one of his other friends without realizing it. Or a past friend.
Zoe? His heart lurched.
No, not her. She’d broken it off. He’d stayed by her, hadn’t wanted to break up, but he accepted it without any hostility. She had no reason to hate him.
Did Chantelle know about Zoe? She had a younger brother who also went to River Run High, Tyrone. Did he know? No one had secrets at River Run High. If she hadn’t heard about his relationship with Zoe, how she’d been pregnant with his baby, she would soon. Maybe she wouldn’t like him. Maybe she’d want nothing to do with him, thinking he’d want more from her than he really did. He’d have to convince her that he didn’t, that he wasn’t like that anymore. Would she believe him?
If she didn’t, she might tell her friends everything he said about it. He’d lose his image for sure.
He sighed. Oh well. His conscience wasn’t going to let him stay the same. The next girl he got that close to would be wearing his ring on her finger. A wedding ring. But he wasn’t in any hurry for that.
A knock on the bedroom door snapped him from his thoughts: Papa’s knock.
Jarret scrambled off the bed and slid the journal between the mattress and the box spring. “Yeah, what?”
The door creaked open and Papa stepped into the room in hat and boots, holding a book or something at his side. “You sittin’ in here twiddling your thumbs?”
Jarret straightened up, brushing the bedspread in place. “Ain’t got nothing better to do.”
“Keefe and Roland went off with that church group again, right?” Papa squinted. “What do they call themselves?”
“Yeah, the Fire Starters. Don’t ask me why they’re called that.” Keefe had tried explaining it to him. The little group had seen their prayers answered in dramatic ways and wanted to devote themselves to fulfilling Jesus’ desire: I came to cast fire upon the earth; and would that it were already kindled!
“That’s right. Second night in a row with that group, huh?” He adjusted his hat, replacing it on his wavy graying hair, the book still hanging at his side.
No, wait... Jarret’s temperature spiked. Not a book. Two video games. “Yeah, I think they had their opening meeting last night. And they’re helping clean up vandalism at some girl’s house tonight.”
“Sounds like a mighty nice thing to do. Why aren’t you out there?”
“Eh, don’t feel like it.” Jarret’s leg bounced, anxiety building.
Papa peered out the window, a distant look in tired eyes surrounded by crow’s feet. “I reckon I spent too many years doing my own thing. Working with others, for others—now, that builds something lasting. Makes a difference when we help each other out.”
“Is that why you took that teaching job?” Jarret immediately regretted his words. He didn’t want Papa saying more than he wanted to, or more than Jarret wanted to hear.
“In a roundabout way, I s’pose.”
“Hoping to make a difference in your students’ lives?”
Papa shrugged. “That’s not necessarily my goal, but you never know.”
Not sure he could handle the answer, Jarret decided not to ask his true goal. Something bothered Papa lately, and he was bound to spill it sooner or later. Given the choice, he’d rather hear it with Keefe and Roland at his side.
Papa added nothing more, but he didn’t seem inclined to leave Jarret’s bedroom either. He simply stared out the window. Working himself up to confronting Jarret about the video games? Or maybe he wanted Jarret to bring it up first. Or did he have something else to say?
Tired of waiting for the bomb to drop and irritated at how his pulse had kicked up, Jarret made an obvious glance at the video games. “Whatcha got there?”
Papa lifted a brow, as if not sure what Jarret referred to, then he glowered and swung the games out in front. “This horse crap yours?”
Jarret shook his head, a bit relieved to have it out in the open. Indifferent as to whether or not Papa believed him, he said, “Nah, my friends brought them over. I stuffed them behind a couch cushion so they’d play something else. That where you found them?”
“Yeah. I’m sure they’ll be wanting them back.” Papa placed them on Jarret’s dresser, no longer appearing to care. “Feel like going for a ride?”
“Uh...” Jarret squirmed, uncomfortable that Papa had more to talk to him about. “Car or horse?”
Papa grinned. “Either one.”
~ ~ ~
TEN MINUTES LATER, they rode side by side under a thick canopy of trees, taking the trail that wrapped around to the back of the property.
Jarret rode Desert, his creamy buckskin Quarter Horse, and Papa his bay Pure Spanish Horse. Papa’s horse, a bit shorter than Jarret’s, had a more compact body that gave her a tougher look. And Papa always looked tough on a horse, him with his rugged old Stetson, the same brown as the bay, and his solid cowboy build. He sat tall and relaxed, his gaze fixed ahead of him, one hand holding the reins and the other resting on his thigh. What made the old man tick?
He shot a glance to Jarret. “Something on your mind?”
Feeling stupid for staring, Jarret shook his head, turned face forward, and spit out a quick, “No. Something on yours?”
“Yup.”
Jarret looked again but didn’t want to ask.
Papa didn’t make him wait. “So you don’t want to join that youth group. What do you want to do?”
“Uh, I don’t know. Why do I have to do something?”
“You’re a senior now. What about after graduation?”
“Uh... college I guess.”
“Which one?”
“I dunno. Maybe one in Arizona.” He hadn’t given it any thought. But if he was gonna go out of state, Arizona would be nice. He’d probably try to make his way back to the canyon.
“Northern Arizona U has a good Archeology program.”
“Yeah? I’ll have to check it out.” Worried he’d just committed himself, Jarret threw a furtive glance at Papa. What was his deal, anyway?
Papa smiled. “Let’s do that. We can check it out together when we get home.”
Before Jarret could think of an excuse to get out of it, Papa did something even more unpredictable. Jarret’s mouth fell open, and he could only stare in shock.
“H’ya!” Papa leaned forward and signaled for his horse to pick up speed. The bay took off from a trot and galloped down the trail.
Desert whinnied and lifted his head, watching the Spanish race away.
“All right, let’s give chase. Maybe I can figure out my batty old man.” Jarret signaled his horse with a click of his tongue. Then he leaned forward to keep his balance as Desert kicked it into gear. Gripping the reins and moving with the horse’s rhythmic flow, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d let Desert go so fast. He liked it.
Papa galloped toward the cornfield that butted up against their property, elbows out, gripping the reins, and moving with his horse as if glued to the saddle, not looking inclined to slow the bay.
Jarret urged Desert to go faster, squeezing the horse with his thighs and letting his body absorb the movement of the horse. Gaining on Papa.
Walls of six-foot-high corn stalks rose up on either side of them. The rich, sweet green smell of the cornfield and the breeze from the speed gave Jarret a sense of excitement that battled against his worry over Papa. Papa rode half a field ahead of him.
Shaping Desert’s movement, directing his energy, Jarret closed the distance. He let the worry slip away and enjoyed the ride, half hoping Papa would turn down the next row so they could keep going.
Nearing the end of the cornfield, one hand to his Stetson, Papa slowed his horse and wheeled her around. He walked the horse a few paces toward Jarret, a look of pure exhilaration on his face.
Jarret leaned back and used his thighs to slow Desert, a smile sneaking onto his face despite the fact that Papa had either lost his mind or had something big troubling him.
“Well, that was fun,” Papa said. “Wanna go again?”