I pushed off my mattress and padded across the room, turning the doorknob slowly, trying not to alert anyone that I was awake. Once the door cracked open, I listened. The voices were still chattering excitedly, even Uncle Toad and Cousin Imogen. I stepped out into the hallway, the cold floor burning my bare feet. The closer I came to the room where the guests had all gathered, the clearer the voices became.
“I’m not hearin’ this,” Althea said. “I said no, and I mean no. We’re not doing that to that poor baby. She’s been through enough.”
“Oh?” Duke snapped. “And what do you plan on doing when she leaves and this place goes to hell? It’s already headin’ in that direction at a hundred miles per hour. What about us? What about Poppy?”
“We aren’t her responsibility,” Willow said.
“What do you care?” Duke asked. “You’re barely here.”
“I’m here now,” Willow said. “My vote is no.”
“My vote is no,” Althea said. “Mavis, tell them.”
“I . . . I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” Althea asked, her voice firmer than I’d heard her speak before. “How can you not know? She’s your daughter. Put an end to this madness.”
“I—” Mama began.
The door cracked open, Mama there in her robe, blocking my line of sight into the room. “What are you doing up, Catherine? Go to bed. Now.” She slammed the door in my face, and whispers filled the room on the other side.
I took a step back and then walked to my room, closing the door behind me. I stared at the light slipping in through the crack at the bottom, wondering why they were discussing me and what they were considering that Althea had so adamantly voted against. The music box chimed a few notes, spurring me into action. I pressed the dresser against the door, and then—feeling that wasn’t enough—pushed my bed against the dresser again, and sat. I stared at the door until I couldn’t keep my eyes open, begging for the sun to rise.
The second time my eyes blinked open, I wondered if the meeting down the hall had been a dream. When I dressed for the day and made my way downstairs, I wondered if I’d dreamed everything about the night before. Uncle Toad’s mess was gone. The living room, dining room, and kitchen were spotless, even as Mama cooked. The air was filled with the smells of baking biscuits and sausage grease, the meat popping in the skillet between the notes of whatever tune Mama was humming.
“Good morning,” Mama said, draining the sausage.
“Morning,” I said, cautious. It had been so long since Mama had been more like herself and in a good mood that I wasn’t sure how to react.
“Your uncle and cousin are checked out. I told him he’s not to come back for a while. What happened last night is inexcusable.”
“How long is a while?” I asked.
Mama turned to me, remorse in her eyes. “I’m sorry for the things he said to you. It won’t happen again, I promise.” I sat down in front of the plate she placed on the dining table. “Now eat. I have a few things to do yet. We’ve got several coming down for breakfast. So, so much to do, and I didn’t sleep well last night.”
She left the room.
“Baby?” Althea said, appearing from the pantry, tying apron strings behind her back. She picked up a rag and began to clean the stove top. “Did we wake you?”
“Did you clean up after Uncle Toad, or did Mama?”
“Well, you just never mind that.” She peered out the window. “Better eat up. Your boy is here.”
“Oh,” I said, shoving a sausage in my mouth and grabbing two biscuits and my jacket before hooking my arm through the straps of my bag. Elliott was already standing on the porch when I opened the door.
“Bye-bye, baby!” Althea called.
Chapter Fourteen
Elliott
I held the door open for Catherine with one hand and held wrapped huckleberry bread in the palm of the other. “Breakfast?”
“Thanks,” she said, holding up another one.
I chuckled. “We’re already sharing a brain. We’re meant to be.”
Catherine blushed, then sat in the passenger seat. I closed the door, jogging around to the other side. She was quiet, and that made me nervous. “Everything okay, I guess?”
“Yeah. Just tired,” she said, staring out the window as I pulled away from the curb.
“Didn’t you sleep well?”
“I did. I think.”
I glanced down at her arms, noticing multiple angry, red, half-moon marks on her skin from wrist to elbow. “You sure you’re okay?”
She pulled down her sleeve. “It’s nothing. A nervous tic.”
“So what were you nervous about?”
She shrugged. “Just couldn’t sleep.”
“What can I do?” I asked, feeling desperate.
She leaned back, closing her eyes. “Right now I just need a nap.”
I touched her knee. “You sleep. I’ll drive.”
She yawned. “I heard Anna Sue is having a Halloween party next week.”
“So?”
“So are you going?”
“Are you?”
Catherine’s eyes opened. Even through her exhaustion, she seemed surprised, as if she were waiting for me to admit I was joking. “No. Dressing up as someone else doesn’t interest me.”
“Not even for one night?”
She shook her head, closing her eyes again. “No, and especially not if it involves Anna Sue Gentry.”
“Looks like it’s popcorn and a scary movie marathon at my house, then?”
She smiled, her eyes still shut. “Sounds perfect to me.”
Catherine’s shoulders sagged, her body relaxed, and her breathing evened out. I tried to drive slow, taking any corners wide. Just before we reached the dirt road I’d had in mind, Catherine scooted over and hugged my arm, resting her cheek against my shoulder. I used my other hand to put the car in park and turn off the ignition, and then we sat on the side of the road while she slept. Her nose made the slightest wheezing sound, and even though my arm and my butt began to go numb, I didn’t dare move.
The sky opened up for a few minutes off and on, raining down a light mist. I played on my phone until the battery was at 1 percent, and then I slowly maneuvered to plug it into the car charger, looking down at the girl snuggled up next to me. Catherine seemed so much smaller than when we first met—more frail, more delicate, and still she was tough as nails. I’d never met anyone like her, but I knew that had something to do with the fact that I’d never loved anyone else the way I loved her, and I never would again. She was more important to me than she knew. I’d been waiting to get back to her for so long, and now that we were sitting together in the quiet, cold car, it seemed surreal. I touched her hair, just to remind myself that it was real.
My phone rang, and I scrambled to answer before it woke Catherine. “Hello?” I whispered.
“Hey,” Dad said.
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah?”
“So I promised your uncle John I wouldn’t call and ask you for anything, but Kimmy lost the apartment, and we’ve been staying with Rick, and he’s got this new girlfriend and her and Kimmy don’t get along. I haven’t been able to find a job, and things just aren’t looking real good. I know . . . I know you’ve got a birthday coming up and your aunt Leigh always gives you a couple hundred bucks. If you could ask her for it early and lend it to me, I swear I’ll get you paid back by Christmas and then some.”
I frowned. “You’re asking for my birthday money I haven’t gotten yet?”
“Didn’t you hear what I said? We’re going to be homeless in a week or two.”
I clenched my teeth. “Get a job, Dad. Does Kim or whoever have a job?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“If you’re wanting to borrow money from me, it is.”
He was quiet for a few moments. “No, she ain’t got a job. Are you going to lend it to me or not?”
“I’m not asking Aunt Leigh for money for you. S
he takes good care of me. I’m not doing that. If you want to borrow money from her, ask her yourself.”
“I tried! I already owe them five hundred.”
“And you haven’t paid them back, but you want to borrow money from me.”
He stumbled over his lies, frustrated. “I can get you all paid back next month. I just need to get on my feet, son. After everything I’ve done for you, you can’t help out your old man?”
“What have you done for me?” I said, trying to keep my voice at a whisper.
“What did you say to me?” he asked, his voice low and menacing.
“You heard me. Mom was the one paying your bills. You left her for someone who doesn’t, and now you’re borrowing money from your seventeen-year-old son. You beat the shit out of me and Mom, you left, you never worked . . . your contribution to my life ends at accomplishing something guys think about twenty-four hours a day. That doesn’t qualify you for anything, Dad, especially not a loan. Stop calling me . . . unless it’s to apologize.”
“You little motherfu—”
I hung up, letting my head fall back. I silenced my phone, and seconds later it buzzed. I pressed and held the button, swiping to turn it off completely.
Catherine hugged my arm tight.
I looked out the window, cussing my dad under my breath. My entire body was shaking, and I couldn’t make it stop.
“I didn’t know,” she said, squeezing me. “I’m so sorry.”
“Hey,” I said, smiling down at her. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it. I’m sorry I woke you.”
She looked around, noticing my new letterman jacket over her lap. She handed it back, sad. “He hurt you?”
I brushed her hair back from her face, then held my palm against her cheek. “It’s over. He can’t hurt me anymore.”
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Is there anything I can do?”
I smiled. “It’s enough that you care to even ask.”
She leaned against my hand. “Of course I do.”
The shakes slowly vanished, the anger melting away. Catherine didn’t talk about her feelings very often, and any crumb she dropped for me felt like a huge gesture.
She looked around, trying to figure out where we were. “How long have I been asleep?”
I shrugged. “A while. Twenty-Ninth Street. When you get good and woke up, we’ll switch places.”
“You know,” she said, sitting up, “we don’t have to do this today.”
I breathed out a laugh. “Yeah, we kinda do.”
“I was having the best dream,” she said.
“Yeah? Was I there?”
She shook her head, her eyes glossing over.
“Hey,” I said, squeezing her to me. “It’s okay. Talk to me.”
“My dad came home, but it was now, not before. He was really confused, and when he realized what Mama had done, he was angry. Angrier than I’d ever seen him. He told her he was leaving, and he left, but he took me with him. I packed a few things, and we left in the Buick. It was like new. Started right up. The farther we drove away from the Juniper, the safer I felt. I wish . . . maybe if we had really done that, Dad would be alive right now.”
“I can’t fix that, but I can drive you away from the Juniper. We can get in the car, and just . . . drive.”
She leaned against me, looking at the gray sky through the blurry windshield. “To where?”
“Wherever you want. Anywhere.”
“That sounds . . . free.”
“We will be,” I said. “But you’ve gotta learn to drive first. It’s not safe for you to go if you can’t take over if you need to.”
“Why would I need to?” she asked, turning to face me.
“In case something happens to me.”
She smiled. “Nothing will happen to you. You’re like . . . invincible.”
I sat a little taller, felt a little stronger, just knowing she felt that way about me. “You think?”
She nodded.
“Good, then your driving can’t kill me.”
I pulled on the lever and backed out, narrowly missing a playful swipe from Catherine. I got out, and my shoes crunched against wet gravel. It had been sprinkling on and off for hours, but still wasn’t enough to make the dirt roads muddy. I jogged around to the passenger side and opened the door, encouraging her to scoot behind the wheel.
“Okay,” I said, rubbing my hands together. “First, seat belt.” We both buckled in. “Next, mirrors. Check them all, both sides and the rearview, to make sure you can see out of them, and adjust your seat and steering wheel to where you can comfortably reach.”
“You sound like a driver’s ed instructor,” she mumbled, looking at the mirrors and fidgeting with the seat. She yelped as the seat shot forward.
I winced. “It’s touchy. Sorry. So now you should turn the key. You twist it forward. On newer cars, you don’t need to press on the gas, but for mine . . . just lightly press the gas until it catches. Don’t pump it. You’ll flood the engine. Just lightly put pressure on the pedal with your foot.”
“That’s a lot of pressure.”
“I can fix it.”
Catherine twisted the key in the ignition, and the engine instantly revved, and she sat back. “Oh, thank the flying spaghetti monster!”
I chuckled. “Now put on your left blinker because we’re pretending you’re pulling out into traffic. It’s the long stem-looking thing on the left side of the steering wheel. Down for left, up for right.” She did it, and the indicator began to blink and click. “So now you just press on the brake, pull the gearshift down to drive, and then press lightly on the gas.”
“Geez. Okay. This is nerve racking.”
“It’ll be okay,” I said, trying my best to sound reassuring.
Catherine did exactly as I said, pulling out slowly onto the road. After I reminded her to turn off the signal, she held onto the steering wheel at ten and two, gripping it for dear life as she rolled down Twenty-Ninth at fifteen miles per hour.
“You’re doing it,” I said.
“I’m doing it!” she squealed. She giggled for the first time since the summer I’d met her, and it sounded like wind chimes and a symphony and triumph all at once. She was happy, and all I wanted to do was sit back and watch her enjoy the moment.
Chapter Fifteen
Catherine
Rain pelted the rectangular windows that made up the north wall of Mr. Mason’s classroom. The students were quiet, heads down, taking a test, so the fat droplets were the only sound other than the occasional pencil lead breaking or someone using their eraser and then wiping away the crumbs.
November rain brought autumn as it did every year, finally cooling the triple-digit temperatures to tolerable highs. The dark clouds were swirling in the sky, and the gutters were overflowing, allowing a curtain of water to steadily drip onto the ground. I could hear the splattering in the dirt as mini-ditches in the soil began to form below.
I circled my last multiple-choice answer and put down my pencil, picking at my nails. Minka was usually the first to finish, and I was typically second, or third after Ava Cartwright. I glanced over, curious, and was surprised to see Ava and Minka still working. I looked over my test again, worried I’d missed something. I flipped the two stapled pages, checking over each question, out of order, the way I’d answered.
“You finished, Catherine?” Mr. Mason asked.
Ava looked up at me long enough for me to notice her aggravation and then leaned closer to her paper.
I nodded.
He waved me forward. “Bring it up, then.”
His forehead was covered in beads of sweat, the underarms of his short-sleeved button-down wet even though it was comfortably cool.
I laid my test on his desk, and he immediately started grading it.
“Are you feeling okay, Mr. Mason? You look a little pale.”
He nodded. “Yes, thanks, Catherine. Just hungry. I’ve only had a couple of protein shakes today. Have a seat, please
.”
I turned, meeting Elliott’s eyes. He was smiling at me, as he had been every time he saw me since his first football game. It was the first time he’d kissed me, the first time he’d told me he loved me, and he hadn’t missed an opportunity to do either since.
Elliott’s last few games had been out of town, but there was a home game at seven thirty against the Blackwell Maroons. Both teams were undefeated, and Elliott had been talking about it all week, as well as the scholarships he could be awarded. College, for the first time, was real to him, making his football victories mean more. A home game meant we could celebrate together, and Elliott couldn’t contain his excitement.
One by one, the other students turned in their papers. Elliott was one of the last, handing his test to Mr. Mason just as the bell rang.
I gathered my things, staying behind while Elliott did the same. We walked together to my locker, and he waited while I fought with the handle. This time, though, I opened it on my own. Elliott kissed my cheek. “Homework?”
“For once . . . no.”
“You think . . . you think you might want to go with me somewhere after the game?”
I shook my head. “I’m not comfortable at parties.”
“Not a party. It’s um . . . it’s senior night. My mom’s coming into town, and they’re cooking this big dinner after the game. All my favorites.”
“Huckleberry bread?”
“Yes.” He nodded once, seeming nervous. “And . . . I thought maybe your mom could come, too.”
I turned my head, giving him side-eye. “That’s not possible. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. But I kind of told my mom about you, and she’s really looking forward to meeting you and . . . your mom.”
I stared at him for a moment, feeling my heart thump in my chest. “You already told her she’d come, didn’t you? Elliott . . .”
“No, not that she’d come. I told her I’d ask. I also told her your mom hasn’t been feeling well.”
I closed my eyes, relieved. “Good.” I sighed. “Okay, we’ll just stick with that.”
“Catherine . . .”
“No,” I said, closing my locker.
All the Little Lights Page 15
