All the Little Lights

by Jamie McGuire

  “I’ll get some ice.”

  “No, it’s fine. Don’t leave.”

  I chuckled. “I’ll be right back.” I slipped outside and down the stairs, opening the freezer and reaching inside for a cold pack. I wrapped it in a dish towel and hurried back upstairs, realizing it was second nature now for me to listen for any movement. There was only silence. Even the water heater downstairs was quiet.

  When I returned to the bedroom, Elliott helped me to replace the dresser and bed against the door.

  “I could come in sometime when your mom is gone and install a bolt lock.”

  I shook my head. “She’d know then. And she would freak out if I altered the house.”

  “She has to understand her teenage daughter getting a lock on her bedroom door. Especially if the guests are coming in.”

  “She won’t.” I touched the dark line on his lip, split from where Cruz had hit him. “I’m so sorry, Elliott. If you had stayed away, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

  “Think about it. Why do they think you had a reason to hurt Presley? Because she was horrible to you. You’ll never convince me any of this is your fault. They could jump me a dozen times, and it still wouldn’t be your fault. That’s their choice. Their hate. Their fear. You don’t make them do anything.”

  “You think they’ll try to jump you again?”

  He sighed, irritated. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

  “Yes. Because you’re right. It’s getting worse. Maybe you should do your work in Mrs. Mason’s office, too,” I said.

  “That’s not a bad idea. I miss seeing you in the hall and in Mr. Mason’s class.”

  “Tell me about it. I’ve been back there for a month. It’s almost Christmas break, with no end in sight.”

  “Mrs. Mason is worried about you. I am, too.”

  “Let’s worry about you for a while.”

  We both paused when a floorboard creaked down the hall.

  “Who’s here?” Elliott whispered.

  “Willow was here when I got home from school. That’s probably her.”

  “Who’s Willow?”

  I sighed. “She’s nineteen. Wears a lot of black eyeliner. That’s how you can pick her out of a crowd. She’s . . . sad.”

  “Where is she from?”

  “I don’t talk to her as much as I do the others. Most of the time she’s too depressed. Mama says she’s a runaway. From her accent, I think Chicago.”

  “What about the rest? You said the Juniper has regulars.”

  “Um . . .” It felt strange to discuss the guests with anyone. “There’s Duke and his daughter, Poppy. He says he’s an oil guy from Texas, but he mostly just yells. He’s angry . . . scary angry, and Poppy’s like this little mouse who scampers around the Juniper.”

  “That’s awful. Why does she travel with him?”

  “He comes here for work. Poppy doesn’t have a mother.”

  “Poor kid.”

  I squirmed.

  “Who else?”

  “When Althea stays, she helps me cook and clean, and she always gives great advice. She’s the one who told me to forgive you.”

  “Smart lady,” Elliott said with a smile.

  “Then my uncle Toad and cousin Imogen come sometimes, but not as often as the others. After last time, Mama told Uncle Toad he couldn’t come back for a while.”

  “Uncle Toad?”

  I shrugged. “If he looks like a toad and sounds like a toad . . .”

  “Is he your mom’s brother or dad’s brother? Or someone’s sister’s husband?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, looking up at the ceiling in thought. “I’ve never asked.”

  Elliott chuckled. “That’s weird.”

  “It’s all weird, trust me.”

  The room was dark, and the Juniper was quiet except for Willow’s occasional pacing and the cars driving down our street. The dresser was against the door and the bed against the dresser, so I barely worried about guests wandering into my room at night anymore. I leaned down to gently kiss Elliott’s swollen lip.

  “Is that okay?” I asked.

  “It’s always okay.”

  I lay down on Elliott’s chest, listening to his heartbeat. It sped up for a few seconds before finally settling down. He hugged me to him, his voice low and soothing.

  “Christmas break, then Christmas, then New Year’s, then the last semester of high school. You turn eighteen in just over a month.”

  I blinked. “Wow. It doesn’t seem possible.”

  “Still plan on staying here?”

  I thought about his question. Eighteen had felt like it would never come. Now that it was here and I felt so safe and warm in Elliott’s arms, my resolve was wavering.

  “Hesitation is good,” he said.

  I pinched his side, and he let out an almost silent yelp. His fingers found the ticklish spot on my ribs, and I squealed. I covered my mouth, my eyes wide.

  We chuckled until the doorknob turned.

  “Catherine?” Willow said.

  I froze, feeling fear burrow a hole in my chest and spread through my veins. It took every bit of courage I could muster to speak.

  “I’m in bed, Willow. What do you need?” I asked.

  The door rattled again. “What’s in front of the door?”

  “My dresser?”

  She pushed at the door again. “Why?”

  “Because I don’t have a lock, and the guests think they can just walk in.”

  “Let me in!” she whined.

  It took me a few seconds to gain the courage, but the alternative was worse. “No. I’m in bed. Go away.”

  “Catherine!”

  “I said go away!”

  The doorknob released, and Willow’s footsteps sounded farther away as she made her way back down the hall.

  I let my head fall against Elliott’s chest, finally exhaling like I’d been underwater. “That was too close.”

  He hugged me to him, the warmth of his arms helping my heart rate return to normal. “She’s definitely from the Chicago area.”

  I leaned back against Elliott’s chest, keeping my gaze on the door.

  “Are you going to stare at it until morning?” he asked.

  “Elliott, if she comes in . . .”

  He waited for me to finish a truth that wouldn’t come. “Say it. Tell me.”

  I frowned, everything inside me screaming not to say the words. “They’re going to try to keep me here. Mama. The guests.”

  “Why?”

  “More questions,” I said, already miles outside of comfort.

  “Catherine,” he prompted, “what is going on here? What are they doing?”

  I bit on my bottom lip and then moved into a new position. “The new guests . . . they don’t leave. Sometimes I find their suitcases in the basement, their toiletries still in their rooms. We don’t have guests other than the regulars very often, but . . .”

  Elliott was quiet for a long time. “How long has this been happening?”

  “Not long after we opened.”

  “What happens to them? The new guests.”

  I shrugged, feeling tears sting my eyes.

  Elliott hugged me to his chest. He was quiet for a long time. “Has anyone come looking?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe it’s something else. Maybe the regulars are just stealing from them.”

  “Maybe.”

  “You’ve never seen anyone leave?”

  “Not anyone who’s come alone.”

  He sighed, holding me close. Eventually, my eyes felt heavy, and no matter how hard I tried to watch for shadows in the light that slipped under the door, blackness surrounded me, and I tumbled backward into the dark.

  When my eyes opened again, Elliott was gone. The winter birds were chirping in the bright sun, and the wind was silent for a change. I dressed for school, and just as I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, I heard plates clattering in the kitchen, and the fire alarm began t
o bleat. I scrambled downstairs, stopping when I saw the chaos in the kitchen. Mama was struggling to put a breakfast together, the smell of burned bacon mixing with the smoke in the air.

  I opened the kitchen window, grabbing a place mat and using it to fan the smoke away. After a few seconds, the alarm silenced.

  “Goodness, I’ve probably woken the entire house,” she said.

  “You okay?” I asked.

  “I . . .” She looked around, sniffing at the sight of a broken egg on the floor.

  I bent down to scoop the yolk and shell into my hands, standing to fling them into the sink. Mama was a seasoned cook and baker, and it didn’t take long to figure out what had happened.

  “Is Duke here?” I asked. But before she could answer, I saw the Chrysler parked outside at the curb. “Oh! I have to go!” I called back.

  Elliott stepped out, standing next to his car, but his smile wasn’t as bright, his eyes weren’t as animated as I walked toward him.

  When I sat in the passenger seat, he held my hand, but the ride to school was quiet. We both knew that day would be worse than the day before. Each day that passed without news of Presley, the more hostile the school became for us.

  Elliott parked and sighed. I squeezed his hand. “Three more days until Christmas break.”

  “I’m going to get suspended. I can feel it.”

  “Let me ask her about you doing your work in her office, too, okay?”

  He shook his head, trying to hide his anxiety with a smile. “Nah. I want to see you more, but I won’t hide.”

  “It’s not fair that I’m protected in there, and you’re a sitting duck. And you wouldn’t be hiding. You’d be avoiding a fight.”

  “It’s not in my blood to avoid a fight.”

  We walked hand in hand into the high school. He kept me a bit behind him—just enough for him to take the brunt of a hard shoulder from his teammates and other students in the hall. The smiles and high fives were gone, replaced by accusing stares and fear.

  Elliott kept his eyes forward, his jaw ticking after every shove. He could have put his fist into the faces of every one of them, knocking out teeth or breaking noses, but he quietly repeated his mantra, counting down to Christmas break.

  He stayed with me while I opened my locker. After I had Spanish, physics, and world history textbooks stacked in my hands, Elliott walked me to the office and kissed my cheek before trying to make it to his locker and then class before the bell. I wondered if he would get stopped on the way.

  “Good morning, Catherine,” Mrs. Mason said. She was already typing away when I stepped inside her office. She noticed my silence and looked up. “Uh-oh. Is everything okay?”

  I chewed on the inside of my lip, wanting so badly to tell her about Elliott, but he would hate feeling he was hiding in her office all day.

  “It was a hectic morning. Breakfast burned. We had to start over.”

  “Were you distracted?”

  “It wasn’t me. It was Mama. She’s . . . sad again.” Spending almost four weeks in a small office with Mrs. Mason made it impossible to avoid conversation. After the first week, she was beginning to get suspicious, so I’d tell her just enough to keep her happy.

  “Did something happen, or . . . ?”

  “You know. She just gets this way sometimes. It’s getting worse the closer I get to graduation.”

  “Have you applied to any colleges yet? You still have time.”

  I shook my head, instantly dismissing the idea.

  “You could easily get a scholarship, Catherine. I could help you.”

  “We’ve talked about this. You know I can’t leave her.”

  “Why? Lots of kids go to college when their parents are business owners. You could come back with your knowledge and do something amazing with the Juniper. What about hotel management?”

  I chuckled.

  Mrs. Mason smiled. “Is that funny?”

  “It’s just not possible.”

  “Catherine, are you telling me you can’t go to college because your mom can’t take care of herself while you’re gone? Does that mean you’re taking care of her?”

  “Some days more than others.”

  “Catherine,” Mrs. Mason said, clasping her hands behind her nameplate. She leaned over, her eyes sad and desperate. “Please. Please let me help you. What is going on over there?”

  I frowned, then turned my back to her, opening my Spanish workbook.

  She sighed, and then a steady stream of clicking on her keyboard filled the silence of the small space.

  My number two pencil scratched against the notebook paper, adding a new rhythm to Mrs. Mason’s tapping. Sitting in silence with her had become comfortable—safe, even. There was nothing to do here but schoolwork. I could just be.

  Just before lunch, the blinds in Mrs. Mason’s office rattled. After some yelling and commotion, Mrs. Mason peeked out and then yanked on the cord.

  Coach Peckham stood just inside the office door, holding Elliott’s arm with one hand and the arm of another student I didn’t recognize because both of his eyes were nearly swollen shut.

  Mrs. Mason ran out, and I followed her.

  “This one,” Coach Peckham said, pushing the boy forward, “started it. This one,” he said, shoving Elliott forward, “finished it.”

  “Who is that?” Mrs. Rosalsky asked, scurrying in with an ice pack. She helped the boy to sit, holding two cold squares against his eyes.

  “Not one of mine . . . for once,” Coach Peckham said. “Owen Roe.”

  I covered my mouth.

  Mrs. Rosalsky looked up. “I’m calling the nurse. I’m pretty sure his nose is broken.”

  Mrs. Mason lowered her chin. “Dr. Augustine and Vice Principal Sharp are in an administration meeting. Elliott, follow me to Dr. Augustine’s office, please. Catherine, back to your desk.”

  I nodded, catching the shame on Elliott’s face as he walked by with not a scratch on him. His left hand was swollen, and I wondered how many times those knuckles had made contact with Owen’s face before someone stopped him, how much pent-up rage was behind the same punches that put holes in doors.

  I walked over to Owen, sitting next to him and helping him hold the ice pack to his left eye.

  “Hey,” I said.

  “Catherine?”

  “It’s me,” I said, pulling my hand away when he jerked back.

  “I’m just trying to help,” I said.

  “Even though your boyfriend blinded me?”

  “You’re not blind. The swelling will go down.” I hesitated, unsure if I wanted to know. “What happened?”

  He leaned away. “Like you care.”

  “I do. I do care. I know we’ve . . . I know I’ve been distant.”

  “Distant? More like nonexistent. What did we do to you, Catherine?”

  “Nothing. You didn’t do anything.”

  He turned his chin toward me, unable to see my expression. “You don’t just leave two people in the dust—people you’ve been friends with for most of your life—for nothing.”

  I sighed. “My dad died.”

  “We know. We tried to be there for you.”

  “That’s not what I needed.”

  “Then why not tell us? Why make Minka feel like she was worthless and make me feel like I was garbage you could just throw away? I get you were hurting. So tell us you need space.”

  I nodded, looking down. “You’re right. That’s what I should have done.”

  “You slammed the door in our faces. More than once.”

  “I was awful to you, and you were just trying to be my friend. But I wasn’t myself. I’m still not . . . the girl you knew. And things are far worse now than they were then.”

  “What do you mean?” he asked. The hurt and anger in his voice melted away.

  I stood. “You still need to stay away from me. It’s still not safe.”

  He sat back, the sullen expression returning. “But Madison and Sam are invincible against that, I
guess?”

  “Maddy and Sam don’t want to come in,” I whispered.

  “What do you mean? Something’s happening in your house?”

  Two paramedics walked in, one short and soft around the middle, the other tall and lanky. They introduced themselves to Owen, and I stepped back.

  “Catherine?” Mrs. Rosalsky said, looking toward the counselor’s open door.

  I knew what she wanted, so I returned to Mrs. Mason’s office to study alone. The bell to release first hour rang, and then again to initiate second. Elliott was still in the principal’s office, and the rest of the administration were carrying on like normal.

  Half an hour later, Elliott emerged from Dr. Augustine’s office. He kept his gaze locked on the floor, an apology barely audible when he passed.

  “Hey,” I said, reaching out to him with a comforting smile, but he ignored me, storming out the door. Two school security guards followed him, and I turned to Mrs. Mason. “You suspended him?”

  “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, pulling me into her office and closing the door. “He sent a student to the hospital. He didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

  “What happened?” I demanded.

  “You know I can’t discuss it with you.”

  “He’ll just tell me after school.”

  Mrs. Mason fell into her chair. “Are you sure about that?” I frowned. She sighed, sitting up. “Owen said something Elliott didn’t like. Elliott punched him. A lot.”

  “He wouldn’t do that unprovoked.”

  “Really? Because I heard about his fight with Cruz Miller at the bonfire party.” She busied herself with organizing papers on her desk, clearly rattled.

  “Do you have any idea what he’s gone through the past month? Ever since we were dragged in here and questioned about Presley, everyone thinks we did something to her.”

  “Well, it wasn’t self-defense today.” Mrs. Mason stopped fussing with her papers and sighed, looking up at me with sincerity in her eyes. “When he didn’t stop, he became the aggressor. Don’t worry. You’re safe here.”

  “But he’s been out there.”

  She mulled over my words. “You think I should have brought him in, too? Surely no one is stupid enough to bother Elliott. He’s nearly the size of an NFL player.”

  “It’s a good thing he is. It’s like plowing through a football field coming down C Hall from the parking lot every morning, at lunch, and after school.”