Chapter Twenty-Nine
Catherine
Madison held on to my arm, waiting for the Mudcats to break from time-out. We were down to the last few seconds of the fourth quarter of the championship game, on the twenty-yard line. The bleachers were packed, and we were tied with the Kingfisher Yellowjackets, 35–35. Coach Peckham was in a deep conversation with Elliott, whose eyes were focused on his coach’s every word.
Once they clapped and jogged out onto the field, the crowd erupted.
“They’re not going for the field goal!” Mrs. Mason said, covering her mouth.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Madison squeezed my arm, watching Sam bang Elliott’s shoulder pad with the side of his fist. “It means they have four seconds to make this play, or we go into overtime and Kingfisher has the ball.”
I looked up at the scouts in the press box. Some were on the phone, some writing notes. Elliott stood behind Sam, made a call, and then Sam hiked him the ball. The receivers spread out, and Elliott took his time, despite the screams and pressure from the stands.
“Oh my God! Get open!” Madison yelled at the receivers.
Elliott took off, carrying the ball toward the end zone, and Madison and Mrs. Mason began jumping up and down on each side of me. Elliott jumped over one Yellowjacket, then a second, and seeing he was unable to enter the end zone on the right, spun around and leaped, landing with the ball just inside the line. The referees lifted their hands in the air, and the team and fans detonated.
Madison and Mrs. Mason were screaming in my ear one second, and the next, we were running down the steps, jumping over the railing, and running onto the field with the team. Everyone was smiling and bouncing and screaming. It was a sea of happiness, and I was in the middle, trying to make my way to Elliott. He was a head above the crowd, searching faces. I lifted my hand, shooting my fingers into the air.
He saw them and tried parting the sea to get to me.
“Catherine!” he yelled.
I did my best to push through, but Elliott got to me first, lifting me off my feet with one arm to plant a kiss on my mouth.
“You did it!” I said, excited. “If they don’t give you a scholarship now, they’re crazy!”
He stared at me for a moment.
“What?” I asked, laughing.
“I’ve just never seen you so happy. It’s kind of amazing.”
I pressed my lips together, trying not to grin like an idiot. “I love you.”
He laughed once and then squeezed me tight, burying his face in my neck. I pressed my cheek against his wet hair and kissed his forehead. The crowd was still celebrating, keeping the local police force’s hands full as they tried to keep control. The other side of the stadium was quickly scattering, and Kingfisher’s buses were already started and warming up.
“Youngblood!” Coach Peckham called.
Elliott winked at me. “Meet you at my car.” He kissed me on the cheek one last time before setting me down and pushing through the crowd to reach the rest of the team in the center of the field.
I bounced around like a pinball until I was pushed to the outer edge of the mob. Parents and students were passing out white candles with white cardboard wax catchers. The students settled down as the candles spread.
Mrs. Brubaker froze in front of me, a white candle in her hand. “It’s . . . um . . . it’s a vigil for Presley.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the candle.
Mrs. Brubaker attempted a smile, the corners of her mouth trembling. When she failed, she started handing out candles to other students.
“You are disgusting,” Tatum said, standing a few feet away in her cheer uniform. “How can you hold that candle knowing what you know?”
“What do I know?” I asked.
“Where she is!” Tatum shouted.
The people around us turned toward the noise.
“Yeah,” Brie said. “Where is she, Catherine? What did you and Elliott do to her?”
“You can’t be serious,” I snapped.
“Come on,” Madison said, hooking her arm in mine. “You don’t have to take this.”
“Get out!” Brie shouted, pointing toward the parking lot. “Elliott did something to Presley! He’s not a hero. He’s a murderer!”
“Brie,” Tatum said, trying to shush her, “it’s not Elliott’s fault. It was her.” She took a step toward me, her eyes glossing over. “It was you.”
One of the dads held Tatum back. “Okay, girls. What’s going on here?”
Brie pointed to me. “Catherine hated Presley.” She pointed to Elliott. “And he got rid of Presley for her.”
“Is this true?” a mom asked.
“No,” I insisted, feeling dozens of eyes on me.
Murmuring spread throughout the crowd, and the cheering died down.
Tatum’s mom held her to her side. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Why not?” Madison asked. “She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“They need to leave!” someone shouted. “Get them out!”
“Get out!”
“Leave!”
“Stop congratulating him! He did something to her! To Presley Brubaker!”
“Murderer!”
“Oh my God,” Madison said.
Students were shoving Elliott, and he was shoving back.
“Leave him alone!” I cried.
“Let’s go, Catherine. Catherine,” Madison said, pulling me. I could see the fear in her eyes.
The parents began to boo Elliott, too. Uncle John pushed through the crowd, and once he reached Elliott, he held up his hands, trying to defuse the situation. But soon he was pushing back dads and yelling in their faces when they got too close. Elliott stood behind him but was still getting pushed from every direction.
“Stop!” Leigh cried from the edge of the crowd. “Stop it!”
Kay was yelling at another mom and then shoved her down.
The lights shined down on the mob, spotlighting the sudden change. Those still in the stands stopped to stare at the chaos on the field. It wasn’t a war. Wars had sides. This was emotional retaliation.
Elliott looked for me, motioning for me to go to the gate while he was still getting screamed at and shoved. Madison pulled on me, and I watched Elliott over my shoulder as she dragged me away. The police grabbed Elliott and pushed him and his uncle John through the crowd, shielding them from the spit and wadded rosters. Even the police were having to yell and make threats to get through. All it took was a few reminders about Presley, and in seconds, Elliott went from being a small-town hero to the unwanted villain.
We followed the police and Elliott, stopping only when we reached the stadium gate.
“I wouldn’t come back in,” one of the officers said. “That’s a big crowd, and emotions are high.”
Elliott frowned but nodded.
Kay and Leigh rushed over to where we stood with John. Kay hugged Elliott, and John hugged Leigh to his side.
“Are you okay?” Kay asked, hugging her son.
“Yeah,” Elliott said, noticing that the collar of his jersey was ripped. “They just started attacking me.”
“Come on,” Leigh said. “We should go.”
“I’m going to take Catherine home first,” Elliott said.
“I can take her,” Madison offered.
Elliott looked to me, worry in his eyes.
“I’m okay. Go ahead. I’ll see you later,” I said, pushing up on the balls of my feet to kiss the corner of his mouth.
Leigh and Kay walked with Elliott, ushering him to his car. He kept his eyes on me, not looking forward until Kay said something to him.
Madison looked back at the crowd. The stadium lights dimmed, and hundreds of tiny glowing lights were visible. The students and parents began singing a hymn, and Madison tugged on my coat.
“I feel bad for saying this, but it’s creepy that they just tried to attack Elliott and are now singing ‘Amazing Grace.’”
> “It is a little creepy. They were ready to tear him apart, and now they’re calm, standing there like pod people.”
“Let’s go.”
“You sure you don’t want to wait for Sam?” I asked.
“I’ll text him. We’ll meet up later.”
I walked with her to her 4Runner, the brand-new headlights erasing the evidence of what Presley and the clones had done. Madison pulled out of the parking lot and drove toward the Juniper.
“This town has gone nuts,” she said, her eyes wide. “Seconds before, they were cheering for him. I’m glad the cops got him out of there. It could have been a lot worse.”
I shook my head. “It’s like they forgot to blame him until the candles came out.”
“Poor Elliott,” Madison said. “His teammates just stood there and let it happen when he won that game for them. He won for the whole town. I just feel so awful for him.”
Her pity made my heart sink. Elliott didn’t deserve any of this. He was just having the best moment of his life, and in an instant, it changed. In Yukon, he was a star. They grieved when he left. Now because of me, he was stuck in a place where most people thought he was guilty of murder, and worse, they thought he was getting away with it.
“Me too.”
“I feel bad for you, too, Catherine. He’s not the only one taking heat for this. And I know you didn’t do it. I just wish they’d find her or find who did it.” Madison parked in the Juniper’s driveway.
Madison hugged me, and I thanked her for the ride, following the black iron fence that protected the neighborhood from the Juniper to the gate. The 4Runner backed out into the street and headed back toward the school.
I pushed through and made my way into the house, pausing for a moment in the foyer to listen for a few seconds before climbing the stairs to the second floor. The hinges of my bedroom door whined when I opened it, and I leaned back against the old wood, looking up. Tears threatened to fill my eyes, but I blinked them back.
The music box on my dresser plinked out a few notes, and I walked over to it, opening the lid and greeting the ballerina inside. I twisted the crank and listened to the sweet song, letting the anger and fear melt away. Elliott would be here soon, away from the angry mob, away from the flickering candles, and one day he would be away from Oak Creek, safe from the accusing eyes of everyone we knew.
Rocks tapped against my window, and I lowered the music box, walking over and lifting the window.
Elliott climbed in, with a black-and-gray duffel bag hanging from a long strap across his chest. He stood and pulled his hoodie off, his hair pulled back into a low braid, his cheeks still flushed from the game.
“I went to Aunt Leigh’s to pick up a few things and then came straight here. Is it okay if I take a shower?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“Yeah, of course,” I whispered, pointing across the room.
He nodded once, offering a nervous smile before taking his duffel into the bathroom and closing the door. A few seconds later, the pipes began to whine. I looked up, wondering who could hear.
The music box still played, the dancer twirling. Elliott didn’t mention it, and I wondered how upset he was about the game. A part of me worried that at some point, he’d stop believing that loving me was worth it.
Less than ten minutes later, Elliott opened the door wearing a fresh T-shirt and red basketball shorts, holding something small in his hands. He padded to my bed in his bare feet and leaned over, tying leather strands to the head of my bed, letting the small hoop with a woven web inside hang over my pillow.
“It’s a dream catcher. My mom made this one for me when I was little. I thought you could use it.” He slid under the covers, shivering. “Is it always this cold in here?”
I stared at the beautiful shapes inside the circle, unable to look away. “Mama’s been keeping the thermostat lower to help with bills. She turns it up when we have new guests. You’ve had that since you were little?”
“New guests?”
“Other than our regulars.”
Elliott watched me for a moment and then lifted the covers, patting the space next to him. “Since I was a baby. It was in my crib.”
I tightened my robe. “Maybe we should, um . . .” I walked over to the foot of the bed, gripping the iron rails.
Elliott hopped up, moved my dresser against the door, and then helped me move my full-size bed against it. The panic that overwhelmed me with every sound was crippling. I’d stop and have to summon every bit of courage within me to continue.
Once we finished, I waited for a door to creak, a board to complain, anything that would signal movement outside my bedroom door. Nothing.
“Okay?” he asked.
I crawled under the covers next to Elliott. The sheets were cold for less than a minute, reacting to Elliott’s body heat. Having him here was like adding an electric blanket, and I kicked off my fuzzy socks, wondering if my fleece pants and long-sleeved thermal shirt would get too hot in the middle of the night.
I lay on my stomach, holding my pillow and facing Elliott. He reached over, gently pulling my chin until my lips were against his. We’d kissed dozens of times before, but this time his hand slid down my thigh and he hooked my knee at his hip. I melted against him, a warm sensation forming in my chest and spreading to the rest of my body.
“Elliott,” I whispered, pulling away, “thank you for doing this. But—”
“I know why I’m here,” he said, tucking his hands under the pillow. “Sorry, you can sleep. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that. Just like tonight. Bad things happen whether we want them to or not.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“How? How can you not? What they did was awful.”
“You’ve spent two years fending for yourself inside the Juniper and at school. I can handle a few more months of school.” He hesitated. “Catherine . . . what was it like? After your dad died?”
I sighed. “Lonely. Minka and Owen tried to come over a lot at first, but I’d just turn them away. Eventually I stopped answering the door, and they stopped trying. They got angry. That made it a little easier. It was hard to ignore them when they were sad.”
“Why did you stop letting them in?”
“I couldn’t let anyone in.”
“I know I’m not supposed to ask why—”
“Then please don’t.”
Elliott smiled. He reached over, sliding his fingers between mine.
“Elliott?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever think not loving me would be easier?”
“Never. Not once.” He settled back against the headboard and pulled me against him, resting his chin on top of my head. “That’s something I can promise.”
“Catherine!” Poppy called from downstairs.
“Coming!” I yelled, pulling a brush through my hair a few times before hurrying down the steps. Monday mornings were always hectic, but especially when Poppy was at the Juniper.
I smiled when I saw her sitting in the kitchen alone. She looked unhappy, and it didn’t take long to see why.
“No breakfast this morning?” I asked, looking around. Other than a tray with remnants of a ham sandwich and grape stems, there were no eggs, no sausage, not even toast.
Poppy shook her head, her curls frizzy and tangled. “I’m hungry.”
I frowned. It was the first time Mama had missed breakfast since we’d opened.
“How did you sleep?” I asked, already knowing the answer. The thin skin beneath Poppy’s eyes was purple.
“There were noises.”
“What kind of noises?” I pulled out a pan from the cabinet beneath the stove and then opened the refrigerator. “No bacon. No eggs . . .” I frowned. Mama hadn’t been shopping, either. “What about a bagel?”
Poppy nodded.
“Butter or cream cheese?”
She shrugged.
“We have strawberry cr
eam cheese,” I said, taking it out of the bottom drawer. “I bet you’ll like that.”
I left her alone in the kitchen to search the pantry. The shelves were nearly bare except for a box of Cheerios, instant rice, some sauces, a few cans of vegetables, and, yes! Bagels!
I returned to the kitchen with the bag of bagels in hand, but my celebration was short-lived. The grocery list I’d made was still stuck to the refrigerator with a magnet. I was going to have to go shopping after school, and I wasn’t sure how much money we had in the bank account.
Poppy was huddled on the stool, her knees to her chest.
The cream cheese opened with a pop, and once the bagels sprang up, I handed the first one to Poppy. She was humming to herself—the same song my music box played.
She inspected it for a few seconds before stuffing it in her mouth. The cream cheese melted around her lips, leaving a pink, sticky residue. I turned to toast my bagel. “Is it just you and your dad? Will he want breakfast?” I asked.
She shook her head. “He’s gone.”
I added cream cheese to my bagel and took a bite, watching Poppy annihilate hers in record time. “Did you eat dinner last night?”
“I think so.”
“What noises?”
“Huh?” she asked, her mouth full.
“You said you didn’t sleep because of noises. I didn’t hear anything.”
“It was beneath,” she said.
I finished my food, and the drawer next to the sink squeaked when I pulled it open to retrieve a dishrag. I held it under the faucet, then wiped the mess from Poppy’s face. She let me do it as she’d done dozens of times before.
“Beneath what? Your bed?”
She grimaced, twisting at her nightgown.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ll double-check your bed tonight.”
She nodded again, leaning her head against my chest. I hugged her to me and then popped into the hall to rummage through the chest for coloring books and crayons.
“Look, Poppy,” I said, holding up the book and small box.
“You just missed her,” Althea said, cleaning up the breakfast dishes. “That girl is a world-class sneak.”
The straps of my bag dug into my shoulders when I slid my arms through. “Good morning.”
“Morning, baby. Is Elliott picking you up today?”
All the Little Lights Page 28