All the Little Lights

by Jamie McGuire

“Yes, let’s hurry before I change my mind.” I put all my books away except one and stuffed it in my bag, slinging one strap over my shoulder as I turned.

  Elliott was holding out his hand, waiting for me to take it.

  I glanced around, searching for curious eyes.

  “Don’t look at them. Look at me,” he said, still extending his hand.

  I took it, and he led me down the hall, out the double doors, and across the parking lot. We put our bags in his car and continued to the football field, my hand still in his.

  Chapter Twelve

  Catherine

  Elliott received the ball from Scotty, took a few steps back, and shot the football in a perfect spiral to Connor. Connor sailed in the air, higher than I thought a human was capable of jumping, clearing the outstretched arms of two players from the other team. He clutched the ball to his chest, falling hard to the ground.

  The referees blew their whistles, lifting their hands in the air, and the crowd jumped to their feet, cheering so loudly I had to hold my hands over my ears.

  Mrs. Mason grabbed my arms, bouncing up and down like a giddy high school student. “We won! They did it!”

  The scoreboard read 44–45, and the Mudcats, sweaty and a little beat up, stood shoulder to shoulder, their arms around each other, swaying side to side while the band played our school song.

  Mrs. Mason began singing and hooked her arm around me. The rest of the crowd was doing the same, swaying and smiling.

  “Ohhh-Seeee-Ayyytch-Ehsssssss!” the crowd sang, and then everyone broke into applause.

  The Mudcats broke formation and began jogging to the locker room, helmets in hand—all but Elliott. He was looking for someone in the stands. His teammates were encouraging him to follow them off the field, but he ignored them.

  “Is he looking for you?” Mrs. Mason asked.

  “No,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Catherine!” Elliott yelled.

  I stepped out into the stairway from the bleacher I was sitting on.

  “Catherine Calhoun!” Elliott yelled again, this time holding his free hand against the side of his mouth.

  Some people in line for the exit stairs looked up, the cheerleaders turned, and then the students in a narrow line between Elliott and me stopped cheering and chatting to look up.

  I ran down the steps, waving at him until he saw me. Coach Peckham touched Elliott’s arm and tugged, but Elliott kept his feet stationary, not moving until he recognized me in the crowd and waved back.

  I imagined those behind me were wondering what Elliott saw in me that they didn’t. But in the moment that Elliott’s gaze met mine, none of that mattered. We might as well have been sitting on the edge of Deep Creek, picking at the ground and pretending we weren’t desperate to hold hands instead of grass. And in that moment, the pain and anger I’d held on to instead disappeared.

  Elliott jogged off the field with his coach, who patted him on the backside once before they disappeared around the corner.

  The crowd was dispersing, filing down the stairways and pushing past me.

  Mrs. Mason finally made her way to me and hooked her arm around mine. “What a great game. Worth taking a night off. Elliott’s taking you home?” I nodded. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. I’m supposed to wait by his car. My backpack’s in there, so . . .”

  “Sounds like a plan. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She stopped abruptly, letting me pass her so she could turn left toward the side street that ran along the stadium. Coach Peckham met her at the corner, and they continued on together.

  I raised an eyebrow and then began navigating the maze of cars between the stadium entrance and Elliott’s car. I reached his Chrysler and leaned my backside against the rusting metal just above his front driver’s-side tire.

  My classmates returned to their cars, animated about the game and the inevitable party that would follow. The girls pretended they weren’t impressed with the boys’ ridiculous antics to get their attention. I swallowed when I saw Presley’s white Mini Cooper two cars away and then heard her shrill laughter.

  She paused, Anna Sue, Brie, Tara, and Tatum just behind her.

  “Oh my God,” she said, her hand to her chest. “Are you waiting for Elliott? Is he, like, your boyfriend?”

  “No,” I said, embarrassed a second time by the trembling in my voice. I hated the way the slightest confrontation affected me.

  “So you’re just waiting for him? Like a puppy? Oh my God!” Anna Sue said, covering her mouth with her hand.

  “We’re friends,” I said.

  “You don’t have friends,” Presley snarled.

  Elliott jogged up, still wet from his shower, and wrapped his arms around me, twirling me in a circle. I held him tight, as if letting go would let in all the hurt and darkness surrounding us.

  He leaned down and planted a kiss on my mouth, so quick I didn’t realize what had happened until it was over.

  I blinked, knowing Presley and the clones were gawking at us.

  “Let’s go celebrate!” Elliott said with a toothy grin.

  “Are you going to the party, Elliott?” Brie asked, nervously twirling her hair between her fingers.

  He glanced over at them, seeming to just notice they were there. “The bonfire? Nah. I’m taking my girl out.”

  He knew I wouldn’t argue in front of an audience, especially not Presley.

  “Oh really?” Presley snapped, finally finding her voice. She smirked at Brie before speaking again. “Kit-Cat just said you weren’t her boyfriend.”

  He lifted my hand to his lips and gave it a peck, winking at me. “Her name is Catherine, and . . . not yet. I’m having a good night, though. I think I just might talk her into it.”

  Presley rolled her eyes. “Gross. C’mon,” she said, herding her friends to her car.

  “Ready?” he asked, opening his door.

  I got behind the wheel and scooted to the middle. Elliott sat next to me, but before I could move again, he touched my knee. “Just sit here, would ya?”

  “In the middle?”

  He nodded, hope in his eyes.

  I exhaled, feeling awkward and comfortable at the same time. Elliott made me feel safe in a way I hadn’t since the day he’d left, like I wasn’t trying to survive alone.

  He backed out of the parking space and drove toward the lot’s exit, taking off like a rocket down the road to the stop sign, and then again down Main Street. Other members of the team honked at us in excess as they passed, some of their passengers hanging out the window to wave or lift their shirts or other nonsense.

  We passed Walmart, where there was a concentration of vehicles parked and high schoolers standing outside in the parking lot, yelling, dancing, and whatever else to stand out. When they recognized Elliott’s Chrysler, they yelled and honked, trying to get him to pull over.

  “You can take me home and go back,” I offered.

  He shook his head slowly. “No way.”

  “I should get home, though.”

  “No problem. We’ll go through the drive-through, and you’ll be home in ten. Deal?”

  The Chrysler worked hard to reach forty miles per hour on the street that led to Braum’s. Elliott pulled into the drive-through, ordered two cones and two cherry limeades, and then pulled forward.

  “Thank you,” I said. “I’ll pay you back.”

  “No, you won’t. My treat.”

  “Thanks for the ride home, too. And inviting me to the game. It was fun to watch.”

  “Fun to watch me?”

  “That was fun, too,” I said, my cheeks flushing.

  When we received our cones, Elliott lifted his to toast. “To the Mudcats.”

  “And their quarterback,” I said, touching my ice cream gently to his.

  Elliott beamed, most of the ice cream top disappearing in his mouth. He kept his cherry limeade between his thighs while he drove me home, using one hand to steer and the other to hold his ice cream.<
br />
  He talked about the different football plays, why they worked, why they didn’t, the trash talk, and as he pulled next to the curb in front of my house, he sighed with contentment. “I’m gonna miss football.”

  “You won’t play in college?”

  He shook his head. “Nah. I’d need a scholarship, and I’m not that good.”

  “You said you’re considered one of the best in the state.”

  He thought about that. “Yeah . . .”

  “So you’re good, Elliott. A scholarship is possible. Give yourself some credit.”

  He shrugged, blinking. “Wow. I hadn’t let myself believe it, I guess. Maybe I can go to college.”

  “You can.”

  “You think so?”

  I nodded once. “I do.”

  “Mom and Aunt Leigh want me to go. I don’t know. I’m sort of tired of school. I have things I want to do. Places I want to see.”

  “You could take a gap year to travel. That would be fun. Except my dad use to say that most people who take a gap year never end up enrolling in college. And that might mess with any scholarships.”

  He turned in his seat, his face just inches from mine. The seats were scratchy and smelled musty, mixing with Elliott’s sweat and freshly applied deodorant. He seemed nervous, making me nervous.

  “I’m good for you,” he said finally. “I know . . . I know you might not trust me yet, but—”

  “Elliott,” I blurted out. I sighed. “I lost the two people I cared about most in the same day. He died, and I was alone. With her . . . and you just left me here to drown. It’s not about trust.” I pressed my lips together. “You broke my heart. Even if we could find our way back to the way it use to be . . . that girl you knew . . . she’s gone.”

  He shook his head, his eyes glossing over. “You have to know I wouldn’t leave like that by choice. Mom threatened to never let me come back again. She saw how I felt about you. She knew there was nowhere else I’d rather be, and she was right.”

  My eyebrows pulled together. “Why? Why do you like me so much? You have all those friends—most of whom don’t like me, by the way. You don’t need me.”

  He gazed at me for several long seconds, seeming in awe. “I fell in love with you that summer, Catherine. I’ve loved you ever since.”

  It took me several seconds to respond. “I’m not that girl anymore, Elliott.”

  “Yeah, you are. I can still see her.”

  “That was a long time ago.”

  He shrugged, unapologetic. “You never get over your first love.”

  I struggled for words, finding none.

  His eyebrows pulled together, desperation in his eyes. “Will you give me another chance? Catherine . . . please,” he pleaded. “I promise I’ll never leave you like that again. I swear on my life. I’m not fifteen anymore. I make my own choices now, and I hope to God you choose to forgive me. I don’t know what I’ll do if you don’t.”

  I looked over my shoulder at the Juniper. The windows were dark. The house was sleeping. “I believe you,” I said, looking at him. Before his smile grew wider, I inserted a quick disclaimer. “But Mama’s been worse since Dad died. I have to help her run the bed and breakfast. I barely have time for myself.”

  He smiled. “I’ll take what I can get.”

  I mirrored his expression, but then it fell away. “You can’t come in, and you can’t ask questions.”

  His eyebrows furrowed. “Why?”

  “That’s a question. I like you, and I’d like to try. But I can’t talk about Mama, and you can’t come inside.”

  “Catherine,” he said, sliding his fingers between mine, “does she hurt you? Does anyone who stays there hurt you?”

  I shook my head. “No. She’s just . . . a very private person.”

  “Will you tell me? If that changes?” he asked, squeezing my hand.

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  He steadied himself and then cupped my cheeks, leaning in and closing his eyes.

  I wasn’t sure what to do, so I closed my eyes, too. His lips touched mine, soft and full. He kissed me once and pulled away, smiling before leaning in again, this time letting his mouth part. I tried to mirror what he did, both panicking and melting against him. He held me while his tongue slipped inside and touched mine, wet and warm. Once the dance inside our mouths found a rhythm, I wrapped my arms around his neck and leaned closer, begging him to hold me tighter. I would walk into the Juniper soon, and I wanted the safety I felt with Elliott to encompass me for as long as I could have it.

  Just when my lungs screamed for air, Elliott pulled away, touching his forehead to mine. “Finally,” he whispered, the word barely audible. His next words weren’t much louder. “I’ll be on the porch swing at nine. I’ll bring some huckleberry bread for breakfast.”

  “What’s that?”

  “My great-grandma’s recipe. Pretty sure it’s older than that. Aunt Leigh promised she’d make some tonight. It’s amazing. You’re gonna love it.”

  “I’ll bring the OJ.”

  Elliott leaned over to give me one more kiss on the cheek before reaching for the handle. He had to yank twice, and then it opened.

  I stepped out onto the sidewalk in front of the Juniper. It was still dark. I let out a sigh.

  “Catherine, I know you said I can’t come in. Can I at least walk you to the door?”

  “Good night.” I pushed through the gate, walked over the cracks in the sidewalk, and listened for sounds inside the house before opening the door. Crickets chirped, and—once I reached the door—Elliott’s car pulled away, but there was no movement from the Juniper.

  I twisted the knob and pushed, looking up. The door at the top of the stairway was open—my bedroom—and I tried not to let the heaviness in my chest overwhelm me. I always kept my door shut. Someone had been looking for me. With shaking hands, I set my backpack on a dining chair. The table was still covered in dirty dishes, and the sink was full, too. Broken shards of glass were next to the island. I hurried to search the cabinet beneath the sink to get Mama’s thick rubber gloves and then fetched the broom and dustpan. The glass scraped on the floor as it swept across the tile. The moonlight peeked through the dining room window, making the smaller shards sparkle even as they were mixed in with dust and hair.

  A loud burp came from the living room, and I froze. Even though I had an idea of who it was, I waited for him to make his presence known.

  “Selfish,” he slurred.

  I stood, emptied the pan into the trash, and then took off the gloves, stashing them back under the sink. In no hurry, I took careful steps out of the dining room, crossing the hall into the living room, where Uncle Toad sat in the recliner. His belly was hanging over his pants, barely hidden by a thin, stained T-shirt. He held a bottle of beer in his hand, a collection of empty ones sitting next to him. He’d already vomited once, the evidence left on the floor and splattered on the empty bottles.

  I covered my mouth, revolted by the smell.

  He burped again.

  “Oh please,” I said, running to the kitchen for a bucket. I returned, placing it on the floor next to the puddle of vomit, and pulled the towel I’d grabbed on the way from my back pocket. “Use the bucket, Uncle Toad.”

  “You just . . . think you can come and go. Selfish,” he said again, looking away, disgusted.

  I dabbed his chest, wiping away the drool and vomit from his neck and shirt. He hadn’t leaned over in time even once.

  “You should go upstairs and shower,” I said, gagging.

  Quicker than I’d ever seen him move, he lunged forward, grabbing my shirt and stopping just inches from my face. I could smell the sourness on his breath when he spoke.

  “You do your ’sponsibilities before you go tellin’ me what to do, girl.”

  “I’m . . . sorry. I should’ve come home to help Mama. Mama?” I called, trembling.

  Uncle Toad sucked bits of dinner from his teeth and then released me, falling back against the chai
r.

  I stood, taking a step back, then I dropped the rag and ran up the stairs to my room, closing the door behind me. The wood felt cold on my back, and I raised my hands to cover my eyes. A few short breaths came and went uncontrollably as my eyes welled up with tears that fell down my cheeks. When things outside were getting better, the inside was getting worse.

  My hand smelled like vomit, and I held it away, disgusted. Hurrying into the bathroom, I scrambled for the soap and scrubbed my hands until they began to feel raw, and then my face.

  A creak on the stairs froze my body in place for a moment. Once the adrenaline melted away, I clumsily yanked on the faucet knobs until the water stopped before rushing to my bed to push it against the door. The stairs creaked again, prompting me to back away and stand against the far wall, trying to stop my entire body from shaking as I stared at the door. I stood silent, waiting in the dark for Uncle Toad to pass by or try to force his way in.

  He climbed another step, and then another, until he finally reached the top. Uncle Toad waddled when he walked, carrying the four hundred pounds he bragged about weighing. He wheezed a few times, and then I heard him burp again before tromping down the hall to his room.

  I pulled my knees to my chest, closed my eyes, and fell over onto my side, not knowing if he would come back or if someone else would end up knocking on my door. I’d never wanted to see Mama so much in my life, but she didn’t want to see me. The Juniper was a mess. She was probably overwhelmed and holed up wherever she went when things were too hard.

  I wanted to call for Mama but wasn’t sure who would hear me. I fantasized that Althea would be in the kitchen in the morning, cooking and cleaning, greeting me with a smile on her face. That was the only thing that could calm me down long enough to fall asleep. That, and knowing tomorrow was Saturday—driving lessons. I had an entire day with Elliott, safe from the Juniper and everyone in it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Catherine

  At first the voices seemed like part of a dream I couldn’t remember, but as they got louder, I sat up in bed, rubbing my eyes as the voices argued in hushed anger like my parents use to do. They were all there, the guests, some panicked, some angry, some trying to regain order.