All the Little Lights
Page 42

The already dim glow from the overhead lights didn’t quite make it to where the tanks stood, so I pressed the button on the flashlight with my thumb, pointing it into the corner and then gliding it along the wall.
I leaned down, shining my light at the base of the first tank. The pilot lights were on. The thermostats were turned all the way down. “What the . . . ?”
Something creaked behind me, and I froze, waiting for another noise. Nothing. I turned the dial on the first tank and then the next.
Gravel softly scratched the concrete floor.
“Who’s there?” I asked, shining my flashlight.
I jumped and yelped, covering my mouth. Mama slowly turned to face me, standing on her bare feet, looking pale and angry. Her fingers pinched and twisted the same section of her thin cotton nightgown over and over.
“What are you doing down here?” I asked.
The anger on her face melted away, and she peered around the basement, seeming confused. “I was looking for something.”
“Were you trying to fix the tanks?” I asked. I bent down, shining the flashlight on the controls, rotating the rest of the dials. “Mama,” I said, peering up at her, “did you do this?”
She just stared at me, looking lost.
“Did you do that to the thermostat upstairs, too? We have a guest. Why would you . . .”
She touched her chest. “Me? I didn’t do this. Someone is trying to sabotage us. Someone wants the Juniper to close down.”
The pilot lights were brighter, one after another igniting the flames beneath, causing a low humming to come from the tanks. I stood, exasperated. “Who, Mama? Who would care enough about our failing bed and breakfast to sabotage it?”
“It’s not about the bed and breakfast. Don’t you see? It’s what we’re trying to do here! We’re being watched, Catherine. I think . . . I think it’s . . .”
“Who?”
“I think it’s your father.”
My face metamorphosed from annoyance to rage. “Don’t say that.”
“I’ve suspected for months.”
“Mama, it’s not him.”
“He’s been sneaking in here, changing things, scaring our guests away. He never wanted this bed and breakfast. He doesn’t like our guests. He doesn’t want them around you.”
“Mama . . .”
“He left us, Catherine. He left us, and now he’s trying to ruin us!”
“Mama, stop! He didn’t leave us. He’s dead!”
Mama’s wet eyes met mine. It took her a long time to speak, and when she did, her voice was broken. “You’re so cruel, Catherine.” She turned and climbed the steps, shutting the door behind her.
Chapter Seventeen
Catherine
Each class was a blur. The teachers spoke, and I pretended to listen, but my head was swarming with worry and foggy from sleep deprivation. Mr. Heitmeyer would not be back to the Juniper, and part of me hoped no one else would come.
The clouds outside were low and gray. I stared outside, watching school buses and cars pass, their tires sloshing through the rivers that were lining the streets. The forecast called for freezing rain by noon, and everyone was out trying to buy bread and milk and fill their gas tanks as if one loaf of bread and one tank of gas was the difference between life and death.
The last ten minutes before lunch, I sat with my chin in my hand, blinking to keep my heavy eyes from staying closed. Each minute felt like an hour, and by the time the bell rang, I felt too tired to move.
“Catherine?” Mrs. Faust said, her carrot-colored hair sticking up in places like she’d taken a nap between classes and forgotten to comb it.
The other students had already packed up and left for lunch. I was still struggling with getting my things together.
“Come up here, Catherine. I want to chat.”
I did as she asked, waiting while she finished filing a small stack of papers.
“You’re quieter than usual. You look exhausted. Everything okay at home? I know you’ve been helping your mom.”
“The hot water went out early this morning. I’ll get caught back up on sleep tonight.”
Mrs. Faust frowned. “Have you spoken to Mrs. Mason lately?”
I nodded.
Mrs. Faust studied me with the familiar stare I experienced when someone was trying to figure out if I was covering for Mama. “All right. Have a good lunch. See you tomorrow.”
I offered her a smile and then dragged myself to locker 347, where Elliott was waiting. This time, he wasn’t waiting alone. He was standing with Sam Soap, one of the receivers on the football team, and his girlfriend, Madison. They had the same hair color, and her blonde locks hung nearly to her waist. Both looked unsure about standing next to my locker.
“How are you feeling?” Elliott asked, hugging me to his side.
“Still tired.”
“I asked Sam and Maddy to lunch. Hope that’s all right.”
The couple watched me, expecting an answer and hopeful for the right one. Sam was the great-grandson of James and Edna Soap, the original power couple of Oak Creek. James Soap started in oil but branched out, his fingers in everything from convenience stores to laundromats. Sam’s family was wealthy, but Sam wasn’t the outgoing type. He had all the makings of a popular kid: a big house, brand-name clothes, and athleticism. He was a cocaptain on the football team, and he’d asked Madison to be his girlfriend in the fifth grade. Sam was in line to be valedictorian, but his hobbies included Madison Saylor and not much else.
Madison was known for being quiet, except for the occasional outburst. The previous year she was sent to the office for hurling shocking insults at Scotty Neal for mouthing off to Sam. Madison’s dad was a deacon at the Oak Creek Christian Church, her mother the piano player. Her parents kept her home, out of harm’s way, sure not to let anything bad happen to her, or anything happen to her at all.
“Is it?” Elliott asked. “Okay?”
“Yeah, I mean . . . yeah.” I stumbled over the words, wondering what he was up to.
Elliott took my hand, and we walked down the hall, following Sam and Madison. Sam pushed the double doors open for his girlfriend. Their movements seemed to be in unison, their expressions communicating to each other without saying anything at all.
Instead of taking Elliott’s Chrysler, we walked toward Madison’s black Toyota 4Runner.
“We’re not taking your car?” I asked, immediately feeling uncomfortable.
“Maddy offered to drive,” Elliott said.
“You wanna sit in front with me?” Madison asked with a smile.
A sudden, irrational worry that I’d be stranded somewhere away from school popped into my thoughts. Elliott would never let that happen, though. Even if it did, he wouldn’t let me walk back alone, but I was exhausted and incapable of taming my anxiety.
I said, “I forgot. I was just going to eat here.”
“I’ve got it, Catherine. Don’t worry,” Elliott said.
“It’s not about the money,” I said.
“Then what is it?” Elliott asked.
I peeked over at Sam and Madison. Sam was opening his door, already getting into the back seat. Madison was still standing next to the driver’s-side door, patience and kindness in her eyes.
“I . . .” I was stalling, trying to decide if the embarrassment of running away would be worse than the anxiety.
Elliott looked to Madison. “Give us a sec.”