Elliott rolled Mama’s blanket and tucked it under his arm. I picked up the lunch bags and threw them away. Elliott offered me his hand, and, without hesitation, I took it. Something about knowing he was leaving made me stop caring if things between us had changed.
As we neared Juniper Street, Elliott squeezed my hand. “Let’s drop off this blanket, and then we’ll pack my stuff.”
I nodded, smiling when he began to swing our hands a bit. The neighbor across the street was standing on her porch with her toddler on her hip. I waved at her, but she didn’t wave back.
Elliott’s pace slowed, and his expression changed, first confused and then worried. I looked toward my house, seeing a police cruiser and an ambulance, red and blue lights twirling. I let go of Elliott’s hand, running past the emergency vehicles, and tore at my gate, missing the latch while I panicked.
Elliott’s steady hands unlatched the gate, and I burst through, stopping midstep when my front door opened. A paramedic walked backward, pulling a stretcher with Dad on it. He was pale, and his eyes were closed, an oxygen mask on his face.
“What . . . what happened?” I cried.
“Excuse me,” the paramedic said, yanking open the back of the ambulance while they loaded Dad inside.
“Dad?” I called. “Daddy?”
He didn’t answer, and the ambulance doors closed in my face.
I ran to the police officer walking down the porch steps. “What happened?”
The officer looked down at me. “Are you Catherine?”
I nodded, feeling Elliott’s hands on my shoulders.
The officer’s mouth pulled to the side. “It appears your father’s had a heart attack. Your mom just happened to take a half day and found him on the floor. She’s inside. You should . . . probably try to talk to her. She hasn’t really said much since we arrived. She should consider going to the hospital. She could be in shock.”
I sprinted up the steps and into the house. “Mama?” I called. “Mama!”
She didn’t answer. I looked in the dining room, the kitchen, and then ran down the hall to the living room. Mama was sitting on the floor, staring at the rug beneath her.
I knelt in front of her. “Mama?”
She didn’t acknowledge me or even act like she’d heard me.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said, touching her knee. “He’s going to be okay. We should probably go to the hospital and meet him there.” She didn’t answer. “Mama?” I shook her gently. “Mama?”
Still nothing.
I stood, touching my palm to my forehead, and then ran outside to flag down the officer. I caught up to him just as the ambulance pulled away. He was plump and sweating buckets.
“Officer, um . . .” I looked at the silver nameplate pinned to his pocket. “Sanchez? Mama . . . my mom’s not well.”
“She’s still not speaking?”
“I think you’re right. She should go to the hospital, too.”
The officer nodded, looking sad. “I was hoping she’d answer you.” He pinched a tiny radio on his shoulder. “Four-seven-nine to dispatch.”
A woman answered, “Copy four-seven-nine, over.”
“I’ll be bringing Mrs. Calhoun and her daughter to the ER. Mrs. Calhoun may need medical assistance upon our arrival. Please advise hospital staff.”
“Copy that, four-seven-nine.”
I looked around for Elliott, but he was gone. Sanchez climbed the steps and walked straight back to the living room, where Mama remained, still staring at the floor.
“Mrs. Calhoun?” Sanchez said with a soft voice. He crouched in front of her. “It’s Officer Sanchez again. I’m going to take you and your daughter to the hospital to see your husband.”
Mama shook her head and whispered something I couldn’t understand.
“Can you stand, Mrs. Calhoun?”
After Mama ignored his question again, the officer strained to get her on her feet. I stood on the other side, steadying her. Together, Officer Sanchez and I walked Mama to his police cruiser, where I buckled her in.
As Sanchez walked around to the driver’s side, I looked once more for Elliott.
“Miss Calhoun?” Sanchez called.
I opened the passenger door and ducked inside, looking for Elliott as we pulled away.
Chapter Five
Elliott
Mama? Mama!” Catherine’s face contorted into an expression I’d never seen as she ran up the porch steps. She disappeared behind the door, leaving me to wonder if I should follow.
My instinct was to stay with her. I took a step, but a police officer pressed his hand against my chest.
“Are you family?”
“No, I’m her friend. Catherine’s friend.”
He shook his head. “You’ll have to wait outside.”
“But . . .” I pushed against his hand, but his fingers sank into my skin.
“I said wait here.” I glared up at him. He breathed out a laugh, unimpressed. “You must be Kay Youngblood’s kid.”
“So?” I spat.
“Elliott?” Mom was standing at the curb, holding her hands to her cheeks to form a makeshift megaphone. “Elliott!”
I glanced back at the house and then jogged over to the black iron fence. Even as the sun sank low in the sky, sweat dripped from my hairline, the air almost too thick to breathe.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, grabbing the sharp tops of the Calhouns’ black iron fence.
Mom’s eyes scanned the police and paramedics, and then she looked up at the house, clearly unsettled by the sight of it. “What’s going on?”
“Catherine’s dad, I think. They won’t let me go in.”
“We should go. C’mon.”
I frowned and shook my head. “I can’t leave. Something bad has happened. I have to make sure she’s okay.”
“Who?”
“Catherine,” I said, impatient. I turned to walk back to where I stood before, but Mom grabbed my sleeve.
“Elliott, come with me. Now.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re leaving.”
“What?” I asked, panicked. “But I’m not supposed to go until tomorrow.”
“Plans change!”
I yanked my arm away. “I’m not leaving! I can’t leave her now! Look what’s happening!” I used both hands to point at the ambulance.
Mom squared her body, ready to pounce. “Don’t you dare pull away from me. You’re not that big yet, Elliott Youngblood.”
I recoiled. She was right. There were few scarier things than my mom when she felt disrespected. “I’m sorry. I have to stay, Mom. It’s the right thing to do.”
She lifted her hands and let them fall to her thighs. “You barely know this girl.”
“She’s my friend, and I’m going to make sure she’s all right. What’s the big deal?”
Mom frowned. “This town is toxic, Elliott. You can’t stay. I warned you about making friends, especially with girls. I didn’t realize you’d walk face-first into Catherine Calhoun.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
“I called Leigh today to coordinate your pickup. She told me about the Calhoun girl. She told me how much time you were spending with her. You’re not staying here, Elliott. Not for her, not for your aunt Leigh, not for anyone.”
“I want to stay, Mom. I want to go to school here. I’ve made friends and—”
“I knew it!” She pointed down the street. “That is not your home, Elliott.” She was breathing hard, and I could tell she was getting ready to offer me an ultimatum, the way she always did with Dad. “If you want to come back before you’re eighteen, you’ll march your butt to your aunt and uncle’s and get to packing.”
My shoulders sagged. “If I leave her now, she won’t want me to come back,” I said, pleading in my voice.
Mom narrowed her eyes. “I knew it. That girl is more than a friend to you, isn’t she? That’s the last thing you need, to get that girl pregnant! They’ll ne
ver leave this hellhole. You’ll be stuck here forever with that little slut!”
The muscles in my jaw ticked. “She’s not like that!”
“Damn it, Elliott!” She raked her hair back with her fingers, keeping her hands on top of her head. She paced a few times and then faced me. “I know you don’t understand it now, but you’ll thank me later for keeping you away from this place.”
“I like it here!”
She pointed down the street again. “Go. Now. Or I’ll never bring you to visit again.”
“Mom, please!” I said, gesturing to the house.
“Go!” she yelled.
I sighed, peering over at the officer, who was already amused at my exchange with Mom. “Will you please tell her? Tell Catherine I had to go. Tell her I’ll come back.”
“I’ll drag you to the car, I swear to God,” Mom said through her teeth.
The officer raised an eyebrow. “You better go, kid. She means it.”
I pushed through the gate and passed my mom, trudging to Uncle John and Aunt Leigh’s. Mom struggled to keep up, her nagging lost against the flurry of thoughts in my head. I’d have Aunt Leigh take me to the hospital to meet Catherine there. Aunt Leigh could help me explain why I’d left. I felt sick. Catherine would be so hurt when she came outside and I wasn’t there.
“What happened?” Aunt Leigh said from the porch. I climbed the steps and passed her, yanking open the door and letting it slam behind me. “What did you do?”
“Me?” Mom asked, instantly on the defensive. “I’m not the one letting him run around with the Calhouns’ daughter unsupervised!”
“Kay, they’re just kids. Elliott’s a good kid, he wouldn’t—”
“Don’t you remember what boys were like at that age?” Mom yelled. “You know I don’t want him staying here, and you’re looking the other way while he’s out there doing God knows what with her! She probably wants him to stay, too. What do you think she’d do to keep him here? Remember Amber Philips?”
“Yes,” Aunt Leigh said quietly. “Her and Paul live down the street.”
“He was graduating, and Amber was a junior, worried he’d find someone else at college. How old is their baby now?”
“Coleson’s in college. Kay,” Aunt Leigh began. She’d spent years practicing how to handle Mom’s temper. “You told him he could stay until tomorrow.”
“Well, I’m here today, so he’s leaving today.”
“Kay, you’re welcome to stay here. What’s one more day going to matter? Let him say goodbye.”
She pointed at my aunt. “I know what you’re doing. He is my son, not yours!” Mom turned to me. “We’re leaving. You’re not spending another minute with that Calhoun girl. All we need is for you to get her pregnant, and then you’ll be stuck here forever.”
“Kay!” Aunt Leigh scolded.
“You know what John and I went through growing up here. The bullying, the racism, the abuse! Do you honestly want that for Elliott?”
“No, but . . .” Aunt Leigh struggled to find a rebuttal but failed.
I begged her with my eyes for help.
“See?” Mom yelled, pointing all her fingers at me. “Look at the way he’s looking at you. Like you’re going to save him. You’re not his mother, Leigh! I ask you for help, and you try to take him from me!”
“He’s happy here, Kay,” Aunt Leigh said. “Think for two seconds about what Elliott wants.”
“I am thinking of him! Just because you’re content living in this godforsaken place doesn’t mean I’m going to let my son stay here,” Mom spat. “Pack your things, Elliott.”
“Mom—”
“Pack your shit, Elliott! We’re leaving!”
“Kay, please!” Aunt Leigh said. “Just wait for John to get home. We can talk about this.”
When I didn’t move, Mom stomped downstairs.
Aunt Leigh stared at me and held up her hands. Her eyes glossed over. “I’m sorry. I can’t . . .”
“I know,” I said. “It’s okay. Don’t cry.”
Mom appeared again, my suitcase and a few bags in her hand. “Get in the car.” She herded me toward the door.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Will you make sure Catherine knows? Will you tell her what happened?”
Aunt Leigh nodded. “I’ll try. I love you, Elliott.”
The screen door slammed, and with her hand on my back, Mom guided me to her Toyota Tacoma pickup and opened the passenger door.
I stopped, trying one last time to rationalize with her. “Mom. Please. I’ll leave with you. Just let me tell her goodbye. Let me explain.”
“No. I won’t let you rot in this place.”
“Then why let me come at all?” I yelled.
“Get in the truck!” she yelled back, throwing my bags in the back.
I sat in the passenger seat and slammed the door. Mom rushed around the front and slid behind the wheel, twisting the ignition and shoving the car into reverse. We drove away, in the opposite direction of the Calhouns’ home, just as the ambulance pulled away from the curb.
The ceiling of my bedroom, every crack, every water stain, every painted-over speck of dirt and spider, was ingrained in my mind. When I wasn’t staring up, worrying about how much more Catherine hated me with every passing day, I was writing her letters, trying to explain, begging for her forgiveness, making new promises that—just like Mom had warned—might be impossible to keep. One letter for every day, and I’d just finished my seventeenth.
The muffled, angry voices of my parents filtered down the hall, going on the second hour. They were fighting about fighting and arguing over who was the most wrong.
“But he yelled at you! You’re telling me it’s okay to let him yell at you?” Dad shouted.
“I wonder where he gets it!” Mom said back.
“Oh, you’re going to throw that in my face? This is my fault? You’re the one who sent him there in the first place. Why would you send him there, Kay? Why Oak Creek if you’ve said all these years you want to keep him away?”
“Where else was I supposed to take him? It’s better than watching you sit around getting drunk all day!”
“Oh, don’t start that shit again. I swear to God, Kay . . .”
“What? Are facts getting in the way of your argument? What exactly did you expect me to do? He couldn’t stay here and watch us . . . watch you . . . I had no choice! Now he’s in love with that damn girl and wants to move there!”
At first, Dad’s response was too quiet for me to hear, but not for long. “And you ripped him out of there without letting him say goodbye. No wonder he’s so angry. I’d be pissed, too, if someone had done that to me when we started dating. Don’t you ever think about anyone but yourself, Kay? Couldn’t you consider his feelings for one damn minute?”
“I am thinking of him. You know how I was treated growing up there. You know how my brother was treated. I don’t want that for him. I don’t want him to get stuck there. And don’t act like you give two shits about what happens to him. All you care about is your stupid guitar and your next case of beer.”
“Something I love is stupid, all right, but it’s not my guitar!”
“Screw you!”
“Falling for a girl there isn’t a life sentence, Kay. They’ll probably break up or move.”
“Are you not listening?” Mom cried. “She’s a Calhoun! They don’t leave! They own that town! Leigh said Elliott’s been obsessed with that girl for years. And wouldn’t it be great for you if he moved? Then you wouldn’t have responsibilities staring you in the face every day. You could pretend you’re twenty-one and actually have a chance at becoming a country music star.”
“The Calhouns haven’t owned that town since we were in high school. God, you’re ignorant.”
“Go to hell!”
Glass broke, and my dad yelped. “Are you insane?”
It was better that I stayed in my room. It was the typical daily back-and-forth, maybe a remote control or a glass thrown a
cross the room, but venturing into the rest of the house would incite a war. A few days after I unpacked my things in Yukon, it was clear fighting with Mom would bring unwanted attention from Dad, and when he got in my face, she’d defend me and go after him. As bad as things were before, it was much, much worse now.
My room was still the safe haven it had always been, but it felt different, and I couldn’t figure out why. My blue curtains still bordered the only window, the paint-chipped side of the neighbors’ house and their rusted AC unit still the only view. Mom had cleaned a little while I was gone, the Little League and Pee Wee Football trophies dusted and facing outward, all the same width apart and organized by year. Instead of providing comfort, my familiar surroundings just reminded me that I was in a depressing prison away from Catherine and the endless fields of Oak Creek. I missed the park, the creek, and walking miles of side roads just talking and making a game of finishing our ice cream cones before the sugar and milk dripped all over our fingers.
The front door slammed shut, and I stood, peering out the curtains. Mom’s truck backed out, and Dad was driving. She was in the passenger seat, and they were still yelling at each other. Once they were out of sight, I ran from my room and burst out the front door, sprinting across the street to Dawson Foster’s house. The screen door rattled as the side of my fist pounded against it. Within seconds, Dawson opened the door, his shaggy blond hair feathered over to one side and still somehow in his brown eyes.
He frowned, looking confused. “What?”
“Can I borrow your phone?” I asked, puffing.
“I guess,” he said, stepping to the side.
I yanked open the screen door and walked inside, the AC immediately cooling my skin. Empty bags of chips were lying on the worn couch, dust glinting on every surface, the sun reflecting off the dust motes in the air. The instinct to wave them away and the realization that I would breathe them in anyway made me feel choked.
“I know. It’s hot as hell,” Dawson said. “Mom says it’s an Indian summer. What does that mean?”
I glared at him, and he swiped his phone off the side table next to the couch, holding it out to me. I took it, trying to remember Aunt Leigh’s cell phone number. I tapped out the numbers and then held the phone to my ear, praying she’d answer.
All the Little Lights Page 7