“I know it’s hard. Especially with the holidays, but I promise it’s better this way.”
The doorbell chimed, and Mrs. Mason raised her eyebrows. “We’re popular today.” She opened the door and then walked away smiling. “Your turn.”
Elliott walked in, and he slipped his camera strap over his head, holding out the other hand. I hugged him tight, melting into his arms as he wrapped them around me. He was wearing his black football hoodie, the cotton worn and soft against my cheek.
“What’s that?” Mrs. Mason asked, pointing to his camera.
“A hobby,” Elliott said.
“It’s more than a hobby. He’s pretty amazing,” I said. “You should have him show you some of his stuff.”
“I’d love to see it,” Mrs. Mason said.
“Really?” Elliott looked down at me, surprised.
I touched his chest with both hands. “Really.”
“How long have you been doing that?” Mrs. Mason asked, watching him put his things on the table.
“Since I was a kid. Catherine was my first muse. My only muse.”
Mrs. Mason busied herself with the breakfast dishes, waving me away when I offered to help.
“Why don’t you give him the tour?” Mrs. Mason asked.
I led him by the hand to the purple bedroom, wrinkling my nose when the door blew the smells of the Juniper into my face. “Ugh. Why didn’t you tell me I smelled like that?” I asked, gathering my clothes from the closet and drawers and putting them in a woven basket near the door.
“Smelled like what? What are you doing?”
“Laundry.” I picked up the handles and walked down the hall. There was a door next to the guest powder room that I guessed was the utility room, and I was right. I set the basket down and searched the cabinets for detergent.
“Everything all right?” Mrs. Mason asked from the hallway.
“She’s looking for laundry soap, I think,” Elliott said.
“Oh.” She squeezed past Elliott and opened the cabinet above the washer. “It’s a pod. They’re front-loading machines, so you just pop the pod into the drum with the clothes and close the door. Set it to regular for everything but delicates, and you’re good to go. That’s what I do anyway. The dryer sheets are in the cabinet above the dryer.”
“Makes sense,” I said, piling my jeans and dark clothing in the washer. I closed the door and did as Mrs. Mason instructed. The water began to pour into the turning drum, and the clothes began to roll. “Easy enough.”
Mrs. Mason looked down at the basket. “Are those all clean?”
“I thought so,” I said. “They smell like the Juniper.”
“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t notice. Let me know if you need anything while I’m out.”
Elliott waited until the front door closed before he spoke again. He shoved his hands into his jeans pocket. “Want some help?”
“Almost finished.” I stood, breathing hard, placing my hands on my hips and blowing a stray hair from my face.
He smiled. “You’re beautiful.”
I pressed my lips into a hard line, trying not to look as flattered as I felt. “You’re silly.”
“Aunt Leigh wants to know if you’ll come over for lunch.”
“Oh. Mrs. Mason has plans for us, I think.”
“Okay,” he said, unable to hide his disappointment.
“Her sister’s family is coming . . . I’m sure she won’t miss me.”
“Really?” He looked up.
“Want to see the room?”
“Your room?”
I grabbed his hand, feeling his large fingers between mine. “Not technically.”
We walked down the hall, and I pushed open the door. It was so much lighter than my bedroom door at the Juniper. Everything in the Masons’ house was lighter.
“Wow. Nice,” Elliott said, snapping a few pictures of me before sitting on the bed. He bounced a few times and then pushed down on the mattress. “How’d you sleep last night?” He pointed his camera around the room, taking pictures of things that seemed mundane to me but that he would somehow make interesting and beautiful.
“Okay.”
One side of his mouth turned up. “I was hoping you’d say that. It would really suck if you slept better without me.”
“Well, I don’t,” I said, sitting next to him. I rubbed my hands together.
“You cold?” he asked. Elliott pulled his hoodie over his head. His T-shirt came up a bit with it, exposing the bronze skin beneath.
The sweater swallowed me, but he stared at me like he looked at his favorite photographs. He lifted the camera, and I looked down, letting my hair fall in front of my face. He swept back the tawny curtain with one hand.
“Please?”
It took me a long time to answer. “Wait until I stop blushing.”
“I can edit that. But I’ll wait.”
As the heat began to subside from my face, I nodded, tensing when Elliott lifted the camera to his eye and turned the focus. After the first few clicks, it became easier, and I began to look into the lens as if I were looking at my boyfriend.
He stood, shooting me from different angles and sometimes taking shots of random items in the room. He bent over and stood close to my music box, snapping a picture, and then turned and captured me watching him with a smile on my face.
“Wow,” he said, peering into the display. “That’s the one.” He walked over to me, turning the camera.
“When did you get a digital camera?”
“It’s a graduation present from my mom. She’ll be back tonight.”
“Oh,” I said.
He sat next to me, chuckling. “She’s not that bad.”
“It’s just that I’m pretty sure she hates me. And now that you’re in all this trouble . . .”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Does she know that?”
“I’m sure Aunt Leigh has explained more than once.” The washing machine buzzed, and Elliott popped up. “I’ll get it.”
He disappeared for just a few minutes. “Darks drying. Lights in the wash.”
“You’re very nice,” I said.
He winked at me. “I finally get to hang out with you at home. I want to make sure you invite me back.”
My lips parted as I realized that what he said was true, and I covered my mouth.
He gently pulled my hand away and leaned down to kiss me, pressing the soft, plush lips I’d grown to love against mine.
Something about the way Elliott held me made me want him to hold me tighter, so I dug my fingers into his back. He reacted, cupping my face. He was tall and, yes, the size of an NFL football player, but his large hands were gentle. Elliott couldn’t have hurt Presley with them.
His tongue slipped inside my mouth, caressing mine, wet and warm. I hummed in satisfaction, lying on my back and bringing him with me.
His hands and the way his mouth moved were different. His pelvis settled between my thighs, and he moved against me, his jeans feeling rough and somehow erotic against my skin.
Elliott jerked as he kicked off his shoes, and then he reached over his head, pulling off his T-shirt. The skin of his back was soft and smooth, and I couldn’t help but run my hands from his shoulders to the two dimples at the small of his back.
His hand moved beneath the hoodie he let me borrow, touching my bare skin just above my hip, his thumb dipping just past the elastic band of my panties.
We kissed so much and for so long that my lips began to feel raw, but still, Elliott waited for me to let him know where I wanted to go and how far.
His jeans rubbed against me again as he touched his forehead to mine. “I have . . . you know,” he said, seeming out of breath.
The thought of condoms led me to realize he was talking about safe sex, pulling me out of the moment. I leaned away from him, looking down at his lips. “Oh.”
“That’s not why I came over, though. I’ve had it since the last we . . . you said we should have
, and we should. So I got some. Just in case. But we don’t have to.”
It was painful to watch him stumble over the words, his mouth clumsy when seconds before his hands had been so sure.
I touched my index finger to his lips, leaning up to kiss him. His shoulders sagged. He already knew what I was going to say.
“Thank you for doing that. But not yet.”
He nodded, sitting up. “That’s fine. I don’t want you to feel rushed.”
“Good,” I said, pulling down the hoodie. “Because it can’t happen here.”
He kissed my forehead. “I’ll wait on the couch while you get dressed. Lunch is in an hour.” He padded across the room.
I stood. “I saw Mrs. Mason put the remote in the drawer of the end table,” I said before he closed the door.
“Thanks, babe.”
I crossed my arms over my middle, hugging myself and grinning from ear to ear. He’d never called me that before, and I didn’t know I was the kind of girl who would like that—actually, I was definitely not the kind of girl who would enjoy such things. But the sound of Elliott so casually loving me filled my entire body with an indescribable joy. I was giddy. Those two simple words made me feel euphoric.
I froze. All my clothes were in the laundry room. “Crap,” I hissed, reaching for the door.
Elliott knocked. “Catherine? Your clothes are dry.” He slipped a clothes basket into the small opening he’d made. “You can still wear my hoodie. It looks good on you.”
“Thanks, babe,” I said, feeling brave enough to try it out since he had. I took the basket, and he left an arm in, reaching for me. I took his hand, and he pulled my hand through the small opening and kissed it.
“I love you, Catherine Calhoun. No matter what happens, know that.”
His words felt like a sunrise, a sunset, a beautiful dream, waking from a nightmare. It was every wonderful moment balled into one. “I love you, too.”
“I know. That’s how I know everything is going to be all right.”
“I’ll get dressed, leave Mrs. Mason a note, and then we can go,” I said through the door. I slipped his hoodie on over my shirt that now smelled like Mrs. Mason’s bright house instead of the dark, dank Juniper.
“I’ll be here when you’re ready.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Catherine
Leigh carved into the chicken enchilada casserole, making twelve perfect squares. She sat next to John, puffing out a tired sigh.
“It looks amazing,” I said.
She smiled at me from across the table.
Elliott leaned over a votive centerpiece holding a white candle, fake snow, and a few pine cones to scoop out a square for me. He placed the layers of tortilla, sauce, shredded chicken, and avocado on my plate, and then proceeded to do the same for his aunt, uncle, and his mom to his right.
“If you like it,” Elliott said, sitting after he scooped two pieces for himself, “remind me to get the recipe from Aunt Leigh before we move.”
“We?” Kay asked, raising an eyebrow.
“College or traveling,” Elliott said, shoveling a large piece into his mouth. He sat back and hummed as he chewed.
Leigh smiled. “Elliott, something came for you today.”
“College or traveling,” Kay deadpanned. She looked to me, and I froze midbite. “So which is it?”
“I’m . . . not going anywhere. I have to help Mama run the Juniper.”
Elliott wiped his mouth with his napkin, craning his neck at me. He laughed once, nervous. “Catherine, I thought we’d decided.”
“No,” I said simply, taking a bite.
“You’re really staying here?” he asked.
I widened my eyes to signal that I didn’t want to discuss it in present company, but Elliott showed no signs of backing off.
“C’mon. You don’t wanna stay here. Tell me I’m wrong,” he said.
“I told you. I don’t have a choice.”
His eyebrows pulled together, unimpressed with my answer. “Yes, you do.”
He watched me, and I scanned the table, shrinking under everyone’s stare.
I cringed. “I can’t leave her.”
Kay smirked, happily popping casserole into her mouth.
“Elliott,” Leigh said, stopping her nephew before he said anything else. “Just wait a second. Something came for you today. I want you to see it before this conversation gets much further.” She stood, turning for the living room, and returned within seconds, an envelope in her hand. She held it in front of Elliott, and he took it from her, reading the front.
“It’s from Baylor,” he said.
“Open it,” Kay said, turning to face her son. It was the first time I’d seen her smile.
Elliott’s capable, large fingers turned clumsy as he tore open the seal. He removed the paper and unfolded it.
“Mr. Youngblood,” he read aloud. His eyes glanced from left to right and then back again, bouncing over the paragraphs. He closed the paper and placed it next to his napkin.
“What?” Kay said. “What does it say?”
“It’s about the scholarship. They want a verbal commitment in seven days.”
“That’s kind of early, isn’t it?” Leigh asked.
“I’m not sure,” Elliott said.
“They’re doing it earlier and earlier,” John said. “This is good news. Baylor is your first choice, right?”
Elliott turned to me. “Catherine—”
“Don’t look at her,” Kay said. “This is your education. Your decision. You said Baylor was your first choice.”
“Mom,” Elliott warned. His confidence around his mother had grown. He wasn’t afraid to hurt her anymore. She was no longer the only woman in his life, and I could see the recognition of that on Kay’s face.
He didn’t take his eyes off me.
“Verbal commitments aren’t a guarantee,” John said.
Kay’s fork scraped against her plate. “You act as if you can’t come back to visit her. You’re coming back to visit, aren’t you?”
“It’s not about that,” Elliott snapped. He still watched me, waiting for an answer.
“Is this about me coming with you?” I asked, my voice small.
“I can’t leave you here alone.”
Kay’s fork clanged against her plate at the same time that her palm slapped the table. “I knew it. My God, son, she’s not helpless.”
“Kay,” John chided.
Elliott’s mother pointed at me. “You’re not going to keep him from going to college and rob him of this opportunity.”
I was taken aback by her sudden vitriol. Kay had never pretended to like me, but she’d also never been so directly hostile.
“He should go. I want him to go.”
Kay nodded once, settling back into her chair. “Then maybe he can get out of the mess you’ve put him in.”
“Mom, enough!” Elliott growled.
Leigh snarled, disgusted. “This was supposed to be a celebratory moment. You can’t think about someone else for two seconds. Not even your own son.”
Kay’s eyes widened. “This is my fault? I wanted him to move back to Yukon with me. If he’d been there, he wouldn’t be under investigation right now, would he?”
“He didn’t want to live in Yukon, Kay!”
“Maybe he would have if you had been on my side! He stayed here, just like you wanted, and now look! He could go to prison! I told you this town was trouble!”
“You’re really going to blame me? For giving him a home? For taking care of him when you wouldn’t get out of bed?”
“How dare you! I was depressed! I couldn’t help it!” Kay wailed.
“He might as well be mine, Kay. That’s how much I love him!”
“He’s not yours!” Kay said, standing. She pressed her palms against the table. “He’s my son! Not yours!”
Elliott stood and calmly walked to the kitchen. A drawer squeaked when he pulled it open, and then he returned, holding a long,
rectangular box. We watched him unroll the foil and tear a piece off. He covered my plate, and then he did the same for his. He stacked them, holding them in his hand along with our forks, and then waited for me.
“Elliott,” Leigh pleaded. “I’m so sorry.”
“We’ll eat downstairs.” He gestured for me to follow, and I did, hearing Kay snipe at Leigh again as we reached the stairs. Elliott shut the door behind us, and then we walked down the stairs and to his bed, sitting on it with our plates. Elliott’s fork scraped the ceramic, and he filled his mouth with casserole, staring at the floor. Leigh’s and Kay’s muffled arguing filtered down the stairs. The sound gave me a strange sense of familiarity.
“You’re smiling,” Elliott said.
“Oh.” I swallowed the bite of food in my mouth before I spoke again. “It just reminded me of when my parents would fight. I haven’t heard that in a long time.”
He listened for a bit, and then the corners of his mouth turned up. “It does sound a little like the first night we talked.”
I nodded, taking another bite. Even as Leigh’s and Kay’s voices went up an octave and the fighting escalated, the air in the basement felt lighter. I pretended it was my parents: all shouting and no listening.
Black-and-white photos of me, Elliott and me, a swing at Beatle Park, and the field we use to explore when we first met hung from a string that began in the corner of his room and stopped at a faded green hutch pushed against the center of the back wall. More photos of me and us were in frames at his bedside and taped to the wall in collages.
“Lots of me and not much else.”
He shrugged. “They say you photograph what you love the most.”
I picked up his camera, pointed it at him, and snapped a picture. He beamed.
“Do you miss your dad?” I asked, looking through the photos on the digital display.
“He calls once in a while. Probably when he can’t stand feeling like a no-good piece of crap another day. Do you? Miss yours?”
“Every second,” I said, sighing. I stared at the floor. “And I meant what I said. I want you to go to Baylor.”
“I meant what I said about not leaving you here alone.”
“I’m not alone.”
“You know what I mean.”
I put his camera back on the table. “You realize I was alone at the Juniper for two years before you showed up again.”
All the Little Lights Page 34