All the Little Lights by Jamie McGuire

  "Plans change!"

  I yanked my arm away. "I'm not leaving! I can't leave her now! Look what's happening!" I used both hands to point at the ambulance.

  Mom squared her body, ready to pounce. "Don't you dare pull away from me. You're not that big yet, Elliott Youngblood."

  I recoiled. She was right. There were few scarier things than my mom when she felt disrespected. "I'm sorry. I have to stay, Mom. It's the right thing to do."

  She lifted her hands and let them fall to her thighs. "You barely know this girl."

  "She's my friend, and I'm going to make sure she's all right. What's the big deal?"

  Mom frowned. "This town is toxic, Elliott. You can't stay. I warned you about making friends, especially with girls. I didn't realize you'd walk face-first into Catherine Calhoun."

  "What? What are you talking about?"

  "I called Leigh today to coordinate your pickup. She told me about the Calhoun girl. She told me how much time you were spending with her. You're not staying here, Elliott. Not for her, not for your aunt Leigh, not for anyone."

  "I want to stay, Mom. I want to go to school here. I've made friends and--"

  "I knew it!" She pointed down the street. "That is not your home, Elliott." She was breathing hard, and I could tell she was getting ready to offer me an ultimatum, the way she always did with Dad. "If you want to come back before you're eighteen, you'll march your butt to your aunt and uncle's and get to packing."

  My shoulders sagged. "If I leave her now, she won't want me to come back," I said, pleading in my voice.

  Mom narrowed her eyes. "I knew it. That girl is more than a friend to you, isn't she? That's the last thing you need, to get that girl pregnant! They'll never leave this hellhole. You'll be stuck here forever with that little slut!"

  The muscles in my jaw ticked. "She's not like that!"

  "Damn it, Elliott!" She raked her hair back with her fingers, keeping her hands on top of her head. She paced a few times and then faced me. "I know you don't understand it now, but you'll thank me later for keeping you away from this place."

  "I like it here!"

  She pointed down the street again. "Go. Now. Or I'll never bring you to visit again."

  "Mom, please!" I said, gesturing to the house.

  "Go!" she yelled.

  I sighed, peering over at the officer, who was already amused at my exchange with Mom. "Will you please tell her? Tell Catherine I had to go. Tell her I'll come back."

  "I'll drag you to the car, I swear to God," Mom said through her teeth.

  The officer raised an eyebrow. "You better go, kid. She means it."

  I pushed through the gate and passed my mom, trudging to Uncle John and Aunt Leigh's. Mom struggled to keep up, her nagging lost against the flurry of thoughts in my head. I'd have Aunt Leigh take me to the hospital to meet Catherine there. Aunt Leigh could help me explain why I'd left. I felt sick. Catherine would be so hurt when she came outside and I wasn't there.

  "What happened?" Aunt Leigh said from the porch. I climbed the steps and passed her, yanking open the door and letting it slam behind me. "What did you do?"

  "Me?" Mom asked, instantly on the defensive. "I'm not the one letting him run around with the Calhouns' daughter unsupervised!"

  "Kay, they're just kids. Elliott's a good kid, he wouldn't--"

  "Don't you remember what boys were like at that age?" Mom yelled. "You know I don't want him staying here, and you're looking the other way while he's out there doing God knows what with her! She probably wants him to stay, too. What do you think she'd do to keep him here? Remember Amber Philips?"

  "Yes," Aunt Leigh said quietly. "Her and Paul live down the street."

  "He was graduating, and Amber was a junior, worried he'd find someone else at college. How old is their baby now?"

  "Coleson's in college. Kay," Aunt Leigh began. She'd spent years practicing how to handle Mom's temper. "You told him he could stay until tomorrow."

  "Well, I'm here today, so he's leaving today."

  "Kay, you're welcome to stay here. What's one more day going to matter? Let him say goodbye."

  She pointed at my aunt. "I know what you're doing. He is my son, not yours!" Mom turned to me. "We're leaving. You're not spending another minute with that Calhoun girl. All we need is for you to get her pregnant, and then you'll be stuck here forever."

  "Kay!" Aunt Leigh scolded.

  "You know what John and I went through growing up here. The bullying, the racism, the abuse! Do you honestly want that for Elliott?"

  "No, but . . ." Aunt Leigh struggled to find a rebuttal but failed.

  I begged her with my eyes for help.

  "See?" Mom yelled, pointing all her fingers at me. "Look at the way he's looking at you. Like you're going to save him. You're not his mother, Leigh! I ask you for help, and you try to take him from me!"

  "He's happy here, Kay," Aunt Leigh said. "Think for two seconds about what Elliott wants."

  "I am thinking of him! Just because you're content living in this godforsaken place doesn't mean I'm going to let my son stay here," Mom spat. "Pack your things, Elliott."

  "Mom--"

  "Pack your shit, Elliott! We're leaving!"

  "Kay, please!" Aunt Leigh said. "Just wait for John to get home. We can talk about this."

  When I didn't move, Mom stomped downstairs.

  Aunt Leigh stared at me and held up her hands. Her eyes glossed over. "I'm sorry. I can't . . ."

  "I know," I said. "It's okay. Don't cry."

  Mom appeared again, my suitcase and a few bags in her hand. "Get in the car." She herded me toward the door.

  I glanced over my shoulder. "Will you make sure Catherine knows? Will you tell her what happened?"

  Aunt Leigh nodded. "I'll try. I love you, Elliott."

  The screen door slammed, and with her hand on my back, Mom guided me to her Toyota Tacoma pickup and opened the passenger door.

  I stopped, trying one last time to rationalize with her. "Mom. Please. I'll leave with you. Just let me tell her goodbye. Let me explain."

  "No. I won't let you rot in this place."

  "Then why let me come at all?" I yelled.

  "Get in the truck!" she yelled back, throwing my bags in the back.

  I sat in the passenger seat and slammed the door. Mom rushed around the front and slid behind the wheel, twisting the ignition and shoving the car into reverse. We drove away, in the opposite direction of the Calhouns' home, just as the ambulance pulled away from the curb.

  The ceiling of my bedroom, every crack, every water stain, every painted-over speck of dirt and spider, was ingrained in my mind. When I wasn't staring up, worrying about how much more Catherine hated me with every passing day, I was writing her letters, trying to explain, begging for her forgiveness, making new promises that--just like Mom had warned--might be impossible to keep. One letter for every day, and I'd just finished my seventeenth.

  The muffled, angry voices of my parents filtered down the hall, going on the second hour. They were fighting about fighting and arguing over who was the most wrong.

  "But he yelled at you! You're telling me it's okay to let him yell at you?" Dad shouted.

  "I wonder where he gets it!" Mom said back.

  "Oh, you're going to throw that in my face? This is my fault? You're the one who sent him there in the first place. Why would you send him there, Kay? Why Oak Creek if you've said all these years you want to keep him away?"

  "Where else was I supposed to take him? It's better than watching you sit around getting drunk all day!"

  "Oh, don't start that shit again. I swear to God, Kay . . ."

  "What? Are facts getting in the way of your argument? What exactly did you expect me to do? He couldn't stay here and watch us . . . watch you . . . I had no choice! Now he's in love with that damn girl and wants to move there!"

  At first, Dad's response was too quiet for me to hear, but not for long. "And you ripped him out of there without letting him sa
y goodbye. No wonder he's so angry. I'd be pissed, too, if someone had done that to me when we started dating. Don't you ever think about anyone but yourself, Kay? Couldn't you consider his feelings for one damn minute?"

  "I am thinking of him. You know how I was treated growing up there. You know how my brother was treated. I don't want that for him. I don't want him to get stuck there. And don't act like you give two shits about what happens to him. All you care about is your stupid guitar and your next case of beer."

  "Something I love is stupid, all right, but it's not my guitar!"

  "Screw you!"

  "Falling for a girl there isn't a life sentence, Kay. They'll probably break up or move."

  "Are you not listening?" Mom cried. "She's a Calhoun! They don't leave! They own that town! Leigh said Elliott's been obsessed with that girl for years. And wouldn't it be great for you if he moved? Then you wouldn't have responsibilities staring you in the face every day. You could pretend you're twenty-one and actually have a chance at becoming a country music star."

  "The Calhouns haven't owned that town since we were in high school. God, you're ignorant."

  "Go to hell!"

  Glass broke, and my dad yelped. "Are you insane?"

  It was better that I stayed in my room. It was the typical daily back-and-forth, maybe a remote control or a glass thrown across the room, but venturing into the rest of the house would incite a war. A few days after I unpacked my things in Yukon, it was clear fighting with Mom would bring unwanted attention from Dad, and when he got in my face, she'd defend me and go after him. As bad as things were before, it was much, much worse now.

  My room was still the safe haven it had always been, but it felt different, and I couldn't figure out why. My blue curtains still bordered the only window, the paint-chipped side of the neighbors' house and their rusted AC unit still the only view. Mom had cleaned a little while I was gone, the Little League and Pee Wee Football trophies dusted and facing outward, all the same width apart and organized by year. Instead of providing comfort, my familiar surroundings just reminded me that I was in a depressing prison away from Catherine and the endless fields of Oak Creek. I missed the park, the creek, and walking miles of side roads just talking and making a game of finishing our ice cream cones before the sugar and milk dripped all over our fingers.

  The front door slammed shut, and I stood, peering out the curtains. Mom's truck backed out, and Dad was driving. She was in the passenger seat, and they were still yelling at each other. Once they were out of sight, I ran from my room and burst out the front door, sprinting across the street to Dawson Foster's house. The screen door rattled as the side of my fist pounded against it. Within seconds, Dawson opened the door, his shaggy blond hair feathered over to one side and still somehow in his brown eyes.

  He frowned, looking confused. "What?"

  "Can I borrow your phone?" I asked, puffing.

  "I guess," he said, stepping to the side.

  I yanked open the screen door and walked inside, the AC immediately cooling my skin. Empty bags of chips were lying on the worn couch, dust glinting on every surface, the sun reflecting off the dust motes in the air. The instinct to wave them away and the realization that I would breathe them in anyway made me feel choked.

  "I know. It's hot as hell," Dawson said. "Mom says it's an Indian summer. What does that mean?"

  I glared at him, and he swiped his phone off the side table next to the couch, holding it out to me. I took it, trying to remember Aunt Leigh's cell phone number. I tapped out the numbers and then held the phone to my ear, praying she'd answer.

  "Hello?" Aunt Leigh said, already sounding suspicious.

  "Aunt Leigh?"

  "Elliott? Are you all settled in? How's things?"

  "Not good. I've been grounded pretty much since I got back."

  She sighed. "When does football practice start?"

  "How's Mr. Calhoun?" I asked.

  "I'm sorry?"

  "Catherine's dad. Is he okay?"

  She got quiet. "I'm sorry, Elliott. The funeral was last week."

  "Funeral." I closed my eyes, feeling a heaviness in my chest. Then the anger began to boil.

  "Elliott?"

  "I'm here," I said through my teeth. "Can you . . . can you go to the Calhouns'? Explain to Catherine why I left?"

  "They're not seeing anyone, Elliott. I've tried. I brought a casserole and a batch of brownies. They're not answering the door."

  "Is she okay? Is there any way you can check?" I asked, rubbing the back of my neck.

  Dawson was watching me pace, equal concern and curiosity in his eyes.

  "I haven't seen her, Elliott. I don't think anyone has seen either of them since the burial. The town sure is talking. Mavis was very strange at the funeral, and they've been cooped up in that house since."

  "I've gotta get back there."

  "Isn't football about to start?"

  "Can you come get me?"

  "Elliott," Aunt Leigh said, remorse weighing down my name. "You know I can't. Even if I tried, she wouldn't allow me to. It's just not a good idea. I'm sorry."

  I nodded, unable to form a reply.

  "Bye, kiddo. I love you."

  "Love you, too," I whispered, tossing the phone to Dawson.

  "What the heck?" he asked. "Someone died?"

  "Thanks for letting me use your phone, Dawson. I have to get back before my parents get home." I jogged outside, the heat blasting my face. I was sweating by the time I reached my porch, closing the door behind me with just a few minutes to spare before the truck pulled back into the driveway. I retreated into my room, slamming the door behind me.

  Her dad was dead. Catherine's dad had died, and I'd just disappeared. As worried as I was before, panic was making me want to crawl out of my skin. Not only was she going to hate me, no one had seen her or her mom.

  "Look who's alive," Mom said as I burst through my door and crossed the living room, passed the kitchen, stomped down the hall, and out the garage door. Dad's weights were out there, and I wasn't allowed to leave the house. The only way to blow off steam was to lift until my muscles shook from exhaustion. "Hey," she said from the doorway. She leaned against the doorjamb, watching me work. "Everything okay?"

  "No," I said, grunting.

  "What's going on?"

  "Nothing," I snapped, already feeling my muscles burn.

  Mom watched me finish a set and then another, the wrinkles between her brows deepening. She crossed her arms, surrounded by bicycle tires and shelves holding various crap.

  "Elliott?"

  I focused on the sound of my breath, trying to make Catherine understand through sheer will that I was trying.

  "Elliott!"

  "What?" I yelled, dropping the weight in my hand. Mom jumped at the noise and then stepped down into the garage. "What is going on with you?"

  "Where's Dad?"

  "I dropped him off at Greg's. Why?"

  "Is he coming back?"

  She tucked her chin, confused by my question. "Of course."

  "Don't act like y'all haven't been at it all day. Again."

  She sighed. "I'm sorry. We'll try to keep it down next time."

  "What's the point?" I said, huffing.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. "There's something else."

  "Nope."

  "Elliott," she warned.

  "Catherine's dad died."

  She frowned. "How do you know that?"

  "I just know."

  "Did you talk to your aunt Leigh? How? I have your phone." When I didn't answer, she pointed at the ground. "Are you sneaking around behind my back?"

  "It's not like you give me much of a choice."

  "I could say the same to you."

  I rolled my eyes, and her jaw ticked. She hated that. "You drag me back to keep me locked up in my room to listen to you and Dad yell at each other all day? Is that your master plan to make me wanna stay here?"

  "I know things are hard right now--"

 
"Things suck right now. I hate it here."

  "You've barely been back two weeks."

  "I want to go home!"

  Mom's face flashed red. "This is your home! You're staying here!"

  "Why won't you just let me explain to Catherine why I left? Why won't you let me find out if she's okay?"

  "Why can't you just forget about that girl?"

  "I care about her! She's my friend, and she's hurting!"

  Mom covered her eyes and then let her hand fall, turning for the door. She stopped, peering at me from over her shoulder. "You can't save everyone."

  I looked at her from under my brows, keeping my anger on a tight leash. "I just want to save her."

  She walked away, and I bent over to pick up my weight, holding it over my head, lowering it behind me, and pulling it back up slow, repeating the motion until my arms shook. I didn't want to be like my dad, swinging my fists every time something or someone set me off. It was so natural to want to attack that it scared me sometimes. Keeping my anger reined in took constant practice, especially now that I had to figure out a way to get to Catherine. I had to keep my head. I had to figure out a plan without letting my emotions get in the way.

  I dropped to my knees, the weights hitting the floor a second time, my fingers still curved tightly around the grips, chest heaving as my lungs begged for air, arms trembling, knuckles grazing the cement floor. Tears burned my eyes, making the anger that much harder to conquer. Keeping emotion out of the plan to find my way back to the girl I loved was going to be as impossible as getting back to Oak Creek.

  Chapter Six

  Catherine

  Rusted hinges on the outer gate creaked to announce my return from school. I was less than two weeks into my senior year, and already my bones ached and my brain felt full. I slugged my backpack across the dirt and the broken, uneven sidewalk that led to the front porch. I passed the broken-down Buick that was supposed to be mine on my sixteenth birthday, stumbling to my knees when the tip of my shoe clipped a piece of concrete.

  Falling is easy. The hard part is getting back up.

  I brushed off my skinned knees, covering my face when a gust of hot wind blew stinging sand against my legs and into my eyes. The sign above creaked, and I looked up, watching it swing back and forth. To outsiders, this place was JUNIPER BED AND BREAKFAST, but unfortunately for me, it was home.

  I stood up, brushing at the dirt that was turning to mud against the bloody scrapes on the heels of my hands and knees. There was no point in crying. No one would hear me.