All the Little Lights
Page 68

I shook my head. “It’s like they forgot to blame him until the candles came out.”
“Poor Elliott,” Madison said. “His teammates just stood there and let it happen when he won that game for them. He won for the whole town. I just feel so awful for him.”
Her pity made my heart sink. Elliott didn’t deserve any of this. He was just having the best moment of his life, and in an instant, it changed. In Yukon, he was a star. They grieved when he left. Now because of me, he was stuck in a place where most people thought he was guilty of murder, and worse, they thought he was getting away with it.
“Me too.”
“I feel bad for you, too, Catherine. He’s not the only one taking heat for this. And I know you didn’t do it. I just wish they’d find her or find who did it.” Madison parked in the Juniper’s driveway.
Madison hugged me, and I thanked her for the ride, following the black iron fence that protected the neighborhood from the Juniper to the gate. The 4Runner backed out into the street and headed back toward the school.
I pushed through and made my way into the house, pausing for a moment in the foyer to listen for a few seconds before climbing the stairs to the second floor. The hinges of my bedroom door whined when I opened it, and I leaned back against the old wood, looking up. Tears threatened to fill my eyes, but I blinked them back.
The music box on my dresser plinked out a few notes, and I walked over to it, opening the lid and greeting the ballerina inside. I twisted the crank and listened to the sweet song, letting the anger and fear melt away. Elliott would be here soon, away from the angry mob, away from the flickering candles, and one day he would be away from Oak Creek, safe from the accusing eyes of everyone we knew.
Rocks tapped against my window, and I lowered the music box, walking over and lifting the window.
Elliott climbed in, with a black-and-gray duffel bag hanging from a long strap across his chest. He stood and pulled his hoodie off, his hair pulled back into a low braid, his cheeks still flushed from the game.
“I went to Aunt Leigh’s to pick up a few things and then came straight here. Is it okay if I take a shower?” he asked, keeping his voice low.
“Yeah, of course,” I whispered, pointing across the room.
He nodded once, offering a nervous smile before taking his duffel into the bathroom and closing the door. A few seconds later, the pipes began to whine. I looked up, wondering who could hear.
The music box still played, the dancer twirling. Elliott didn’t mention it, and I wondered how upset he was about the game. A part of me worried that at some point, he’d stop believing that loving me was worth it.
Less than ten minutes later, Elliott opened the door wearing a fresh T-shirt and red basketball shorts, holding something small in his hands. He padded to my bed in his bare feet and leaned over, tying leather strands to the head of my bed, letting the small hoop with a woven web inside hang over my pillow.
“It’s a dream catcher. My mom made this one for me when I was little. I thought you could use it.” He slid under the covers, shivering. “Is it always this cold in here?”
I stared at the beautiful shapes inside the circle, unable to look away. “Mama’s been keeping the thermostat lower to help with bills. She turns it up when we have new guests. You’ve had that since you were little?”
“New guests?”
“Other than our regulars.”
Elliott watched me for a moment and then lifted the covers, patting the space next to him. “Since I was a baby. It was in my crib.”
I tightened my robe. “Maybe we should, um . . .” I walked over to the foot of the bed, gripping the iron rails.
Elliott hopped up, moved my dresser against the door, and then helped me move my full-size bed against it. The panic that overwhelmed me with every sound was crippling. I’d stop and have to summon every bit of courage within me to continue.
Once we finished, I waited for a door to creak, a board to complain, anything that would signal movement outside my bedroom door. Nothing.
“Okay?” he asked.
I crawled under the covers next to Elliott. The sheets were cold for less than a minute, reacting to Elliott’s body heat. Having him here was like adding an electric blanket, and I kicked off my fuzzy socks, wondering if my fleece pants and long-sleeved thermal shirt would get too hot in the middle of the night.
I lay on my stomach, holding my pillow and facing Elliott. He reached over, gently pulling my chin until my lips were against his. We’d kissed dozens of times before, but this time his hand slid down my thigh and he hooked my knee at his hip. I melted against him, a warm sensation forming in my chest and spreading to the rest of my body.
“Elliott,” I whispered, pulling away, “thank you for doing this. But—”
“I know why I’m here,” he said, tucking his hands under the pillow. “Sorry, you can sleep. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise.”
“You can’t promise that. Just like tonight. Bad things happen whether we want them to or not.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“How? How can you not? What they did was awful.”
“You’ve spent two years fending for yourself inside the Juniper and at school. I can handle a few more months of school.” He hesitated. “Catherine . . . what was it like? After your dad died?”
I sighed. “Lonely. Minka and Owen tried to come over a lot at first, but I’d just turn them away. Eventually I stopped answering the door, and they stopped trying. They got angry. That made it a little easier. It was hard to ignore them when they were sad.”
“Why did you stop letting them in?”
“I couldn’t let anyone in.”
“I know I’m not supposed to ask why—”
“Then please don’t.”
Elliott smiled. He reached over, sliding his fingers between mine.
“Elliott?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever think not loving me would be easier?”
“Never. Not once.” He settled back against the headboard and pulled me against him, resting his chin on top of my head. “That’s something I can promise.”
“Catherine!” Poppy called from downstairs.
“Coming!” I yelled, pulling a brush through my hair a few times before hurrying down the steps. Monday mornings were always hectic, but especially when Poppy was at the Juniper.
I smiled when I saw her sitting in the kitchen alone. She looked unhappy, and it didn’t take long to see why.
“No breakfast this morning?” I asked, looking around. Other than a tray with remnants of a ham sandwich and grape stems, there were no eggs, no sausage, not even toast.
Poppy shook her head, her curls frizzy and tangled. “I’m hungry.”
I frowned. It was the first time Mama had missed breakfast since we’d opened.
“How did you sleep?” I asked, already knowing the answer. The thin skin beneath Poppy’s eyes was purple.
“There were noises.”
“What kind of noises?” I pulled out a pan from the cabinet beneath the stove and then opened the refrigerator. “No bacon. No eggs . . .” I frowned. Mama hadn’t been shopping, either. “What about a bagel?”
Poppy nodded.
“Butter or cream cheese?”
She shrugged.
“We have strawberry cream cheese,” I said, taking it out of the bottom drawer. “I bet you’ll like that.”