All the Little Lights

by Jamie McGuire

  “Elliott,” Leigh said, as disappointed as she was surprised, “what happened in there?”

  Elliott looked ashamed. “I tried. I tried everything. But they wouldn’t let up. One officer kept putting his finger in my face. After an hour, I backhanded it away.”

  “Oh, for the love of . . .” She saw Elliott’s expression and touched his shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

  “Why are you letting a cop put his finger in Elliott’s face?” John asked Kent.

  Kent sighed. “I told him to stop.”

  “You riding with me or Aunt Leigh?” John asked.

  “I drove his car here,” I said.

  “You did?” Elliott asked, surprised.

  “He shouldn’t be driving. Not after the night he’s had,” John said.

  Elliott gestured to the sedan. “We’ll fit better in Aunt Leigh’s car.”

  John nodded, seeming shocked Elliott didn’t put up a fight. “See you at home.”

  Elliott opened my door, and I slid into Leigh’s back seat. The leather was cold against my jeans, but it subsided when Elliott sat beside me and pulled me close.

  Leigh slammed the door and twisted the ignition. A small dream catcher hung from her key ring, the light glinting off the metal as it dangled just above her knee.

  “I’ll drop Catherine off.”

  “No,” Elliott blurted out. “I need to talk to her first.”

  “So the house, then?” Leigh asked, exasperated.

  “Yes, please,” he said.

  I knew how he felt. There was so much to say, but I didn’t feel comfortable discussing any of it in the back seat of Leigh’s car.

  Elliott held me close, tense and still shaking from his time at the police station. I couldn’t imagine what he’d been through, the things they’d asked and accused him of.

  Leigh slowed as she turned into the drive, waiting for the automatic garage door to roll up enough for her to pull in.

  “Don’t leave the house,” Leigh warned as we walked inside.

  “I have to walk her home,” Elliott said, stopping just inside the threshold.

  Leigh closed the door and locked it, pointing at her nephew’s chest. She was half his size but intimidating. “You listen to me, Elliott Youngblood. I’m either taking her home or she’s staying here, but you are not to leave this house. Do you understand me?”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong, Aunt Leigh.”

  She sighed. “I know. I’m just trying to keep you safe. Your mom should be here in a couple of hours.”

  Elliott nodded, watching Leigh disappear down the hall, and then took my hand, leading me to his bedroom in the basement.

  The old springs in Elliott’s bed squeaked when I sat on the edge, wrapping my arms around my middle. Elliott draped a blanket around my shoulders, and it was then I realized I was the one shaking.

  He knelt in front of me, gazing up at me with his warm, russet eyes. “It wasn’t me.”

  “I know,” I said simply.

  “They . . . they had me answering the same questions over and over, in ways that had me so confused that at one point I was afraid I’d gone crazy and wasn’t remembering right. But I know I didn’t see Presley. I wasn’t anywhere near her house. It wasn’t me.”

  He was saying the words more to himself than to me.

  “Where did you go?” I asked. “After you left practice?”

  He stood and shrugged. “I walked around, trying to think of what to do about leaving. I can’t not be with you, Catherine. I can’t leave you at that house alone. You refuse to leave, so I was trying to think of a solution. You keep saying you’re not good for me, that you’re trying to protect me. You even tried to break up with me once. I was trying to clear my head and think of some way to talk you out of it.”

  “You’re a person of interest in a disappearance, Elliott. This is the last thing—”

  “It’s the only thing!” he said, working to rein in his temper. He took a deep breath, walked away a few steps, and then returned. “I was sitting in that white room with white floors and white furniture, feeling like I was suffocating. I was thirsty, hungry, and afraid. I just kept thinking of all the little lights on our street and what it felt like to walk down it holding your hand, in and out of the darkness. Nothing they could say could change that. Nothing anyone can do can take that away from us. Except you. And you love me, I know you do. I just can’t figure out why you won’t let me in.”

  “I’ve told you.”

  “Not enough!” He dropped to his knees, grabbing mine. “Trust me, Catherine. I swear I won’t make you regret it.”

  I stared at him, watching the worry and desperation swarm in his eyes. I turned toward the stairs.

  “Does what’s going on in there have to do with Presley?” he asked.

  My mouth fell open, and I pushed his hands off my knees. “You think I have something to do with this?”

  “No,” he said, holding his hands up. “I would never think that, Catherine, c’mon.”

  I stood. “But you still asked.” I let the blanket fall to the ground and headed for the stairs.

  “Catherine, don’t leave. Catherine!” he called.

  When my foot touched the first step, a loud crash sounded behind me, and I whipped around. Elliott had punched his new bathroom door. His fist went straight through the flimsy, hollow wood, and then he reared back again.

  As his fist landed another blow, I ran up the stairs, yanking the door open to see Leigh standing on the other side, eyes wide. She passed me, rushing down to stop Elliott from trashing his room.

  I pushed out the front door. Winter blasted me in the face, and my lungs felt on fire with every icy breath. One of the last lit streetlights highlighted a snowflake as it danced in front of me on its way to the ground. I stopped, glancing up to see large flakes falling around me, clinging to my hair and settling on my shoulders. I closed my eyes, feeling the frozen pieces kiss my face. Snow had a way of silencing the world, enticing me to stay submerged in it. The thin layer of snow sticking to the ground crunched under my feet as I took my first step toward the Juniper, away from the person who was my island away from the dangerous things that lived outside my bedroom door. Nothing was safe anymore. Maybe nothing ever was.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Catherine

  Mrs. Mason twisted her number two pencil between her fingers, waiting for me to speak. She’d remarked on the dark circles under my eyes.

  I sat in the scratchy chair in front of her desk, swallowed by my puffy coat and scarf. Mrs. Mason had the same concerned expression she wore the day she’d called DHS on Mama.

  “Things aren’t great,” I said simply.

  She leaned forward. “You went to the police station last night. How did that go?”

  “It went.”

  A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “Is Elliott okay?”

  I sank further into the seat. It would be so easy to expose the Juniper, but to do that I’d have to betray Mama. Althea was right. They couldn’t continue as they had without me. But should they? I gazed up at Mrs. Mason from under my lashes.

  “He’s okay,” I said simply. “They were pretty hard on him.”

  Mrs. Mason sighed. “I was worried about that. What do you think?”

  “Do I think he has something to do with Presley’s disappearance? No.”

  “He likes you. A lot. You don’t think he’d be angry about the way she treated you? I heard she was pretty awful. Why didn’t you tell me, Catherine? Of all the hours we spent in here together, you couldn’t tell me Presley Brubaker was bullying you?”

  “Elliott wouldn’t hurt Presley. She’s done all kinds of things to me since I’ve met him, and he’s no more than mouthed off to her a few times. He’s been in scuffles with other guys, but he’d never hurt a girl. Never.”

  “I believe you,” Mrs. Mason said. “Is there anything you’re not telling me?” When I didn’t respond, she clasped her hands together. “
Catherine, I can see you’re tired. You’re stressed. You’re pulling away. Let me help you.”

  I rubbed the heaviness from my eyes. The clock said eight forty-five. The day was going to drag on, especially knowing Elliott would want to talk. Maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he was tired of failing to climb over all the walls I’d built. I hadn’t seen him since leaving his house the night before.

  “Catherine—”

  “You can’t help me,” I said, standing. “First hour is already over. I should go.”

  “Detective Thompson wants me to report to him. I can’t tell him what we talked about, of course, but he wants me to email him an assessment of your emotional state.”

  I frowned. “He . . . what?”

  “Once you leave, I have to email him. They plan to bring you in for questioning.”

  “We haven’t done anything! Not liking Presley isn’t a crime! Why don’t they concentrate on finding her instead of us?” I yelled.

  Mrs. Mason sat back in her chair. “Well, that’s the most honesty I’ve seen from you. That’s incredibly brave. Honesty requires vulnerability. How did that feel?”

  I paused, feeling more manipulated than anything else. “Send Thompson whatever you want. I’m leaving.”

  I pulled the strap of my backpack over my shoulder and yanked on the door. Mrs. Rosalsky and Dr. Augustine watched me storm out, as did the handful of student aides.

  A yellow note was taped to my locker with the word CONFESS written in block letters. I ripped it off, wadded it up, and threw it to the ground, returning my attention to my locker. I yanked up on the handle, but the door wouldn’t open. I tried my combination again and again, feeling dozens of eyes on the back of my head. I tried once more and yanked again. Nothing. Hot tears welled in my eyes.

  An arm appeared over my right shoulder, turned the dial, and then yanked, hard. The latch released, and I grabbed Elliott’s arm with both hands, feeling my breath catch in my throat.

  He pressed his right cheek against my left, his skin feeling like sunshine on mine. He smelled like soap and serenity, his voice warming me like a soft blanket. “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head. He was important. I should protect him the way he did me, but I wasn’t strong enough to let go. Elliott was anchoring me to everything normal I had left in the world.

  Elliott let go of my locker and wrapped his arm across my collarbones, holding on to my shoulder, his cheek still against mine.

  “I’m so sorry about last night, Catherine. I swore I’d never do that again. You’re the last person I’d want to see that. I was tired and raw, and . . . I lost it. I would never, ever lay a hand on you. Just doors, apparently. And trees . . . and Cruz Miller. Aunt Leigh says I need a punching bag in my room. I . . .”

  I turned, burying my face into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. His warm lips pressed against my hair, and then he pressed his cheek against the same spot.

  “I’m so sorry,” he repeated.

  I shook my head, feeling tears run down my nose. I couldn’t speak, feeling more vulnerable in that hour than I had in three years.

  “How was it at home?”

  The hall cleared, and the bell rang, but we remained.

  “I’m just . . .” Tears overflowed onto my cheeks. “I’m very tired.”

  Elliott’s eyes danced while the wheels in his head turned. “I’m staying tonight.”

  “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  He pressed his forehead against mine. “Do you know what it would do to me if something happened to you? I’d cut off my throwing hand to keep you safe.”

  I held him tighter. “So we’ll keep each other safe.”

  The engine of Madison’s mother’s Nissan hummed quietly as it idled in front of the Juniper. Madison picked at the steering wheel, recounting her minutes with Detective Thompson.

  “Once my dad came in,” she said, narrowing her eyes, “he changed his tune, but oh, was he sure I knew something. Yes, I think she bashed out my headlights. That doesn’t mean I’d kidnap her or kill her or do whatever happened to her. Thompson was . . .”

  “Relentless,” I said, staring down Juniper Street. The wind was blowing the branches of the bare trees, making me shiver.

  “Yes, that. He said he might call us to the station. Me, you, even Sam. But he is obsessed with Elliott. Do you think . . . do you think it’s because he’s Cherokee?”

  “His aunt Leigh seems to think so. I’m sure she’s right.”

  Madison growled. “He’s the best of us! Elliott is a great guy. Everyone loves him! Even Scotty Neal, and Elliott took his quarterback position on the football team.”

  “They don’t love him now,” I said. We’d been getting harassed with anonymous notes all day. “Rumors are spreading. They think because we were questioned, we did it. Whatever it is.”

  “Some people think Presley’s dead.”

  “Do you think she’s dead?” I asked.

  Madison grew quiet. “I don’t know. I hope not. I hope she’s okay. I really do.”

  “Me too.”

  “If she was taken, it wasn’t us, but it was someone. He’s still out there. That freaks me out. Maybe that’s why everyone is so hell-bent on blaming us. If they know it’s us, then they feel safer somehow.”

  “I guess,” I said. “Thanks for the ride home.”

  “You’re welcome. Are you going to the game this weekend? It’s going to be weird cheering and having fun with Presley still missing. Some people are saying they’re going to hold a vigil before the game.”

  “I don’t know. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate. I don’t want to leave Elliott alone, though.”

  “We’ll go together.”

  I nodded and pulled on the handle, stepping out of the Nissan, the dead grass crunching beneath my shoes as I walked from the curb to the sidewalk. The ground was dusted with billions of tiny specks of Oklahoma snow, much of what wasn’t blown away settling into the cracks of the concrete. I stopped at the black iron gate, gazing up at the Juniper.

  Madison’s chipper goodbye was a jarring contrast, startling me for half a second before I waved.

  The Nissan pulled away, and I reached for the gate’s handle, pressing down and hearing the familiar whine of the hinges as it opened and then again when the springs pulled it shut. I wished for Althea or Poppy or even Willow to be on the other side of the door. Anyone but Duke or Mama.

  “Baby, baby, baby.”

  I sighed and smiled. “Althea.”

  “Give me that coat and come in here for some hot cocoa. It’ll warm you right up. Did you walk home?”

  “No,” I said, hanging my coat on a vacant hook by the door.

  I carried my backpack to the island and set it next to a stool before climbing up. Althea set a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of me, complete with a handful of marshmallows. She wiped her hands on her apron and leaned on the counter, resting her chin in her hand.

  “Althea, why do you stay here? Why don’t you stay with your daughter?”

  Althea stood, busying herself with the dishes in the sink. “Well, it’s that man of hers. He says the house is too small. It’s just a dinky two bedroom, you see, but I’ve offered to sleep on the couch. I use to when the babies were tiny.”

  She began cleaning more vigorously. She was uncomfortable, and I looked up, wondering if Duke was around. The guests seemed on edge when he was close. Or maybe he was close because they were on edge.

  “How’s the cocoa?” Althea asked.

  “Good,” I said, making a show of taking a sip.

  “How’s school?”

  “Today was long. I didn’t sleep well last night, and Mrs. Mason called me in first thing.”

  “Oh? Was she asking questions again?”

  “There’s a girl at school who’s missing. She was asking about her.”

  “Oh? Who?”

  “Presley Brubaker.”

  “Oh. Her. You said she’s gone missing?”
<
br />   I nodded, warming my hands on the mug. “No one saw anything. There’s a detective in town who thinks because I didn’t get along with her that maybe I had something to do with it.”

  “And what does Mrs. Mason say?”

  “She asked me a lot of questions today. The detective asked her to send him some kind of report.”

  Althea curled her lip, seeming disgusted. “She’s the one who called the DHS on your mama before, ain’t she?”

  “She was just worried.”

  “Is she worried now?” Althea asked.

  “Probably. She’s worried about Elliott. I am, too.”

  “Lord knows you are. I’m glad you forgave him. You’re happier when you’re getting along. Forgiveness is good. It heals the soul.”

  “I pushed him away for a while. Just like I did Minka and Owen.” I paused. “I thought it would be safer for him if I did.”

  She puffed out a laugh. “Minka and Owen? Been a long time since you’ve talked about those two. They weren’t good for you.”

  “But you think Elliott is?”

  “I like to see you smile, and when you talk about that boy, your whole face lights up.”

  “Althea . . . Mama was outside the other night. She was in her nightgown. Do you know why?”

  She shook her head. “Your mama’s been strange lately. I just sit back and watch.”

  I nodded, taking another sip. “So do you talk to Mama? Has she told you why she’s been so . . . different?”

  “I spoke to her at the meeting.”

  “The meeting about me.”

  She nodded.

  “You wouldn’t let anyone hurt me, right, Althea?”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  “Not even Mama?”

  Althea stopped cleaning. “Your mama would never hurt you. She wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, either. She’s proven it over and over. Don’t you disrespect her to me. Never.” She fled the room as if she’d been called. She rushed up the stairs, and a door slamming echoed through the Juniper.

  I covered my eyes with my hand. I’d just offended my only ally.