All the Little Lights
Page 83

“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.