All the Little Lights

by Jamie McGuire

  I shook my head. “I’m just trying to make up for my mistake before. I want you to be happy here.” Duke wouldn’t be able to go anywhere but the Juniper even if someone did let him check in. With his demeanor and his sneaking around, no one would let him stay longer than a night if at all, and I was certain he couldn’t afford anywhere else anyway. Besides, I worried for Poppy if he did.

  Duke sat up. “Happy, huh?”

  I nodded. The oven beeped, and I opened the door, sliding in the casserole. I faced Duke, his round eyes bulging from the anger that always seemed to boil inside of him. “Can I? Get you anything else?”

  One of his eyes twitched, but he said nothing.

  I offered a forced smile and then made my way to the front door, my feet moving faster with each step. By the time I pushed through to the porch, I ran straight into Elliott.

  “Whoa! Hey,” he said with a smile. It quickly faded when he saw the look on my face. “Are you all right?”

  I glanced behind me. “What are you doing here?”

  He smirked. “I was in the neighborhood.”

  I pushed him out the door. “We should go. C’mon.”

  “Where?” he asked, glancing at Duke behind me. He was standing next to the bottom of the stairs, watching us from under his brows.

  “Anywhere. Please, let’s just go.”

  “Okay,” Elliott said, taking my hand. He led me down the steps, down the uneven sidewalk, and out the gate, letting it crash behind us. We walked toward the park, and the farther we got from my house, the less panicked I felt.

  Elliott didn’t ask me any questions while we walked, which I appreciated even more than his hand still encompassing mine. It was impossible to hate him, no matter how much I tried. Once we reached the curb that bordered the clearing surrounded by birch and maple trees, I tugged on Elliott’s hand, choosing the far bench. It was next to a smelly trash can but had the better shade.

  I relaxed against the back of the bench, willing my heartbeat to slow. My hands were shaking. Duke didn’t come around often, but when he did, it was terrifying.

  “Catherine, are you okay?” Elliott finally asked after several minutes of silence. “You looked scared.”

  “I’m okay,” I said. “You just startled me.”

  “Then what was that all about?”

  “I forgot to stock the rooms with towels last night. One of the guests was upset.”

  Elliott wasn’t convinced. “Are you that afraid of getting in trouble?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Elliott sighed. “You don’t have to tell me unless someone is hurting you. Is someone? Hurting you?”

  “No.”

  He was deciding if he should believe me or not, and then he nodded. “I saw you at school today. I called your name. You didn’t answer.”

  “When?” I asked.

  “At lunch. You’d just gotten up to throw away your tray. I tried to catch up with you, but you rounded the corner and disappeared.”

  “Oh.”

  “What do you mean, ‘oh’?”

  “I ducked into the bathroom. Presley and the clones were headed in my direction.”

  “So you hid?”

  “It’s better than the alternative.”

  “Which is?”

  “Engaging.” I glanced down at his watch. “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven.”

  The sun was already setting. “Shouldn’t you be at football practice?”

  He looked down at himself, and I realized what a sweaty, dirty mess he was, still in a football T-shirt and navy-blue practice shorts. “I came straight over. I dunno. I had a bad feeling, and as soon as I walked onto the porch, you came barreling into me. Now we’re sitting here like nothing happened. I’m worried about you.”

  “Why?”

  He lifted his eyebrows. “I already told you. You look scared, and I know you’re not telling me everything.”

  I leaned to the side, scratched my chin with my shoulder, and then looked away. “You know, maybe not everything is your business.”

  “I didn’t say it was, but I can still worry about you.”

  “I didn’t ask you to worry about me.” I closed my eyes. “I don’t want you to worry about me. You can’t help anyway. Your life is messed up enough for both of us.”

  “Stop.”

  I turned to face him, surprised at the lack of hurt on his face. “Stop what?”

  “Trying to piss me off. It’s not going to work.”

  I opened my mouth to speak but hesitated. He was right. Pushing people away was what I had done since Dad died, but now that Elliott was back, the thought of him leaving again made my chest ache. “I’m . . . sorry.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  I pointed behind me. “I should probably head home. I have something in the oven.”

  “Just . . . let me have a few more minutes. Please?”

  I glanced down the street toward the Juniper.

  “Catherine . . .”

  “I’m really okay. Some days are just harder than others.”

  Elliott reached for my hand, sliding his fingers between mine. “I have bad days, too, Catherine. But I don’t run out of my house because I’m afraid of what’s inside.”

  I didn’t have an answer, so I let go of his hand and left him alone in the park.

  Chapter Ten

  Elliott

  Knock that shit off, Youngblood!” Coach Peckham said, pulling me up from the grass.

  I stood, nodding.

  He grabbed my face mask. “I know you’re famous for sneaks, but I don’t need you injured by your own team before the first damn game.”

  “Sorry, Coach,” I said.

  It was my second head-on collision of the day. I was already in trouble for being late to practice. Coach ran me half to death in the heat, but it was exactly what I needed to burn off the anger boiling inside of me. It was easier to run the ball than try to remember plays when Catherine was dominating my thoughts, so I just took the ball and ran straight for the end zone.

  We stood around listening to the coaches before we were released from practice. The managers ran onto the field, handing out bottles of water. When they released us, it didn’t take long for my teammates to gather around me, slapping my ass, shoulders, and the back of my head. They were whooping and hollering as we entered the locker room, excited for the upcoming season now that they had a 5A quarterback on the team.

  “Not that we’re not happy about it, but why did you say you moved here your senior year?” Connor Daniels asked. He was a fellow senior, loved to talk about what girl he was banging and how much he’d drunk the weekend before. He reminded me of a lot of the guys I played with in Yukon, as if sex and drinking were the only things to do or worth talking about. Or maybe he was trying to overcompensate for something. Either way, he annoyed me.

  “Are you military or something?” Scotty Neal asked. I’d beat him out of the quarterback spot, and even though he tried to pretend to be pissed off, I could tell he was relieved.

  “For a girl,” I said, proud.

  My teammates laughed.

  “Shut the hell up, Youngblood, you’re full of shit,” Connor said. When I didn’t waver, his eyes grew wide. “Wait. You’re serious? Which one?”

  “Catherine Calhoun,” I said.

  Scotty wrinkled his nose. “Catherine? What the fuck, dude?”

  “She is kinda hot,” Connor said. I glowered at him, and he backed away. “It was a compliment.”

  “We live in the same neighborhood. I’ve been visiting here in the summers since I was a kid.”

  “Damn,” Scotty said. “You know she’s crazy, right?”

  “She’s not crazy,” I said, my tone final. “She’s just . . . been through a lot.”

  “Someone should warn you,” Scotty said. “Their whole family is bad news. I mean, generations of bad. They poisoned the whole town, then they went bankrupt. The dad died, and the mom is a freakin’ weirdo. Catherine .
. . you could get a scholarship, maybe even go pro. You should steer clear of her.”

  “Say that again,” I said, taking a step toward him.

  Scotty leaned back. “Okay, man. I’m just trying to warn ya.”

  The rest of the team followed him and Connor to the showers, and I grabbed my bag, threw the strap over my head, and headed out of the locker room, still steaming.

  Someone grabbed my arm as I rounded the corner, and I yanked my arm away.

  “Hey, whoa,” Coach Peckham said. “Good practice today, Elliott.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  “I heard what Scotty said in there. He’s not wrong. That family . . . you just need to be careful, okay?”

  I frowned at him. We were the same height, making it easy to meet his gaze, letting him know no one was going to change my mind about Catherine. “You don’t know her like I do.”

  “You said you’re neighbors?”

  I realized my shoulders were tense, and I let them relax. Because of my size, I had to pay more attention to my body language. I’d gotten in too many fights the past two years because it looked like I was threatening someone, and the last thing I needed was for my coach to think I was trying to intimidate him. “She lives down the street from me.”

  He nodded, thinking about that for a moment.

  “Hi,” a woman’s voice said from the shadows. Mrs. Mason stepped out, looking embarrassed. “You’re not going to believe this. I locked my keys and my phone in my car.”

  Coach Peckham smiled, his demeanor instantly changing. “Actually, I can.”

  She giggled like a cheerleader with a crush, and I readjusted the strap of my duffel bag.

  “Elliott?” Mrs. Mason said, touching my arm with a gentle grip. “Were you talking about Catherine?”

  I nodded.

  Mrs. Mason smiled. “She’s a kind person. I’m glad you see that.”

  “Becca,” Coach scolded.

  Mrs. Mason frowned up at him. “She’s finally found a friend, and you’re worried about your team?”

  “I’ve always been her friend,” I said. Mrs. Mason looked at me, confused. “I’ve been visiting my aunt in the summers. We’ve been friends for a while.”

  “Oh,” she said, her eyes bright. “That’s so great. Small towns like ours . . . people get put in a box, and it’s hard to get out. But don’t listen to anyone. I’ve gotten to know her better after her father’s death. I think Catherine’s lovely.”

  I offered a small smile before heading to my car. “She is.”

  “Youngblood,” Coach Peckham called after me. “Don’t be late again, or I’ll run you until you puke.”

  “Yessir,” I yelled back.

  Just as I reached the Chrysler, my cell phone rang a warning. That was my dad’s ringtone, so I let it go until I was settled in my seat.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey. How’s things? Is the football team there worth a damn?”

  “It will be.”

  “I need you to do something for me,” he said, emotionless.

  I rolled my eyes, knowing he couldn’t see me.

  “Elliott?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You, uh . . . you still mowing lawns?”

  “I was. Starting to slow down—why?” I didn’t have to ask. I already knew what he was going to say.

  “I was thinking about coming down to see your first game, but gas is way up. If you could spot me the gas money . . .”

  “I don’t have any,” I lied.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, annoyed. “I know you have money saved up from three summers ago.”

  “The Chrysler broke down. I had to pay to fix it.”

  “You couldn’t do it yourself?”

  I clenched my teeth. “I don’t have any money, Dad.”

  He sighed. “Guess I won’t be making it to your first game.”

  I’ll survive somehow. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Damn it, Elliott! That’s just lazy! What was wrong with your car?”

  “Something I couldn’t fix,” I deadpanned.

  “You gettin’ smart with me?”

  “No, sir,” I said, staring at bugs clamoring in the beam of the field lights.

  “Because I’ll come up there, you little shit. I’ll come up and whip your ass.”

  I thought you needed gas money. You could’ve caught a ride with Mom if you really wanted to watch me play. Guess you’ll have to get a job instead of owing your teenage son money. “Yessir.”

  He sighed. “Well, don’t screw up. Your mom hated that town, and there’s a reason why. They might love you now, but you screw up, and that’s all over, you hear me? They’ll make you miserable, because they don’t give two shits about a redskin kid. They only like that you’re making them look good.”

  “Yessir.”

  “All right. Talk to you later.”

  I hung up and gripped my steering wheel, breathing in through my nose and out my mouth, trying to let my hatred simmer instead of boil oil. After a few minutes and some meditation Aunt Leigh had taught me, it began to subside. I could hear her calm voice in my head. He can’t touch you, Elliott. You are in control of your emotions. You’re in control of your reaction. You can, at any time, change the way you feel.

  My hands stopped shaking, and my grip relaxed. Once my heart slowed, I reached forward for the ignition and twisted the key.

  I drove my junk car straight to the Calhoun mansion, parking across the street between streetlamps. All the lights inside were dark except for a bedroom upstairs. I waited, hoping she’d somehow see my car and come outside, wishing I could talk to her one more time before I went home. She had forgiven me faster than I thought—or at least she was beginning to. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was going to have to work a lot harder for her to let me in, literally and figuratively. Whatever she was keeping from me was scaring her, and she’d been left alone to fend for herself too long. I wanted to protect her, but I wasn’t sure from what.

  Just as I reached for the key, a figure stood in front of the only lit window. It was Catherine, looking down the street toward my aunt’s house, holding something in her hands. She looked sad, and I was desperate to change that.

  My cell phone buzzed, displaying a text from Aunt Leigh.

  You should be home by now.

  On my way, I typed.

  You don’t get to run all over town without permission. You’re not eighteen just yet.

  I was just trying to calm down before I got home. Dad called.

  Oh? What did he want?

  I smirked. She knew him so well. My lawn money.

  It took a moment for the three dots to signal she’d begun typing again. Uncle John will make sure that doesn’t happen again. Come home. We’ll talk.

  It’s okay. I feel better.

  Come home.

  I put the gearshift into drive and pulled away from the curb, heading home. I could see Catherine in the rearview mirror, still standing at her window. I was wondering if she was dreaming about freedom or glad the glass was separating her from the hateful world outside.

  Chapter Eleven

  Catherine

  A wooden floor panel creaked just outside my door. When the recognition hit, my eyes popped open, and I blinked until they adjusted to the darkness. A shadow blocked the hallway light from shining beneath my door, and I waited, wondering who would be standing quietly outside my room in the middle of the night.

  The knob turned, and the latch clicked. The door opened slowly. I lay motionless while footsteps approached my bed, the shadow looming above me growing larger.

  “Dear God, Catherine. You look like crap.”

  “I was sleeping,” I grumbled. I sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and rubbed the blurriness from my eyes. I didn’t need to see to know my cousin, Imogen, had arrived sometime in the night. She couldn’t wait until morning to insult me. “How are you?” I said, staring at my bare feet. I wasn’t in the mood to c
hat, but Imogen would simply annoy me until I paid her attention. They didn’t come often, her and Uncle Toad, but they always came in October.

  She heaved a dramatic sigh as all tweens did and let her hands fall to her thighs with a slap. “I hate it here. I can’t wait to leave.”

  “Already?” I asked.

  “It’s so hot.”

  “You should have been here a few weeks ago. It’s cooled off since then.”

  “Not everything is about you, Catherine—God!” Imogen said, twisting her dark hair around her finger. “Your mom said when she checked us in that you were in a mood.”

  I tried not to snap back. Tolerating Imogen took great patience, and her late-night pop-ins made it difficult. My only cousin always dropped in with Uncle Toad, and I knew when they visited that I would either have to put up with Imogen’s incessant complaining and insults or clean up after her father because he was too lazy to move but somehow made huge messes everywhere he went.

  Poppy was younger by several years but somehow more mature than Imogen and far more pleasant. It was a toss-up whether I’d rather deal with Poppy and her father, Duke, or Imogen and Uncle Toad.

  My cousin rolled the quilted fabric of my blanket between her fingers, wrinkling her nose. “This place has really turned into a dump.”

  “How do you like your room?” I asked. “Would you like me to walk you there?”

  “No,” she said, tapping her toes on the floor.

  “Please don’t . . . don’t do that,” I said, reaching for her foot as if I could stop her.

  Imogen shot me a look and then rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

  I stood, padding across the floor and down the hall, signaling for Imogen to follow. The sound of her heavy feet against the wood echoed through the old house, and I wondered how she didn’t wake the entire neighborhood.

  “Here,” I said, keeping my voice low. I turned the corner, choosing the room next to Duke’s, which I knew was clean and ready.

  Imogen walked past me, frowning in disapproval. “Is this the only one?”

  “Yes,” I lied. We had several rooms open, but I hoped with Imogen sleeping so close to the stairs that led up to Mama’s room, she’d stay at her end of the hall.