All the Little Lights
Page 77
I took another bite, trying to digest her words as I did my food. “It’s hard to relax. My mind is still going through lists of things that need to be done before the morning.”
“Also normal. Be patient with yourself. Be patient with the process.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the Christmas tree glistening in the living room. “That’s pretty.”
“Did you have a tree at home?”
I shook my head. “Not since Dad died. He use to do all that. Put up the tree and the lights. They never really looked right on the Juniper anyway. But I like to look out my window at the neighbors’.”
Mrs. Mason checked her watch. “Well, you’re in for a treat.” She whispered a countdown and then pointed to the ceiling. The lights outside flashed on, and two blobs in the front yard began to inflate. Seconds later, a huge, glowing snowman and Santa Claus were standing upright on the lawn, swaying in the wind.
“Wow,” I said flatly.
Mrs. Mason clapped and giggled. “I know, right? Completely ridiculous.”
The corner of my mouth turned up. “It’s pretty great.”
The doorbell chimed again, and Mrs. Mason struggled to keep a smile on her face. “Stay here.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Catherine
In her sweatshirt, gray lounge pants, and bare feet, Mrs. Mason slowly approached the door, peering out before twisting the bolt lock and pulling on the knob. “Hi.”
“Hey,” Elliott said, entering when Mrs. Mason stepped aside.
He took off his coat as Mrs. Mason locked the door.
He held up a piece of paper, different from the letter he’d received from Mrs. Mason rescinding his suspension. “I wanted you to be the first to know. I got the official news today.”
I stood, and Elliott wrapped his arms around me while Mrs. Mason put his coat in the closet. “What is it?” I looked down. It was an envelope from Baylor. “You got in?” I asked, excited.
“Not officially. They’ve offered a full athletic scholarship,” he said, not even half as excited as he should’ve been. “They’ll need a verbal commitment if I decide to go.”
“What do you mean if you decide to go?” I asked.
“To where?” Mrs. Mason asked.
“You’re going! It’s Baylor!” I exclaimed, hugging Elliott. When I pulled back, he only offered a small smile.
“What did you do?” he asked, guilt weighing down his features.
I pressed my cheek against his T-shirt, breathing him in. He smelled like his aunt’s house: savory from her cooking, and clean: bath soap and laundry detergent.
“Catherine,” he said, holding me at arm’s length.
“Catherine made a deal to keep what happened with Owen off your record. You’re lucky Dr. Augustine wasn’t there today,” Mrs. Mason said.
“So I’m not suspended?” he asked.
“Did you read the letter?” Mrs. Mason asked, raising an eyebrow. “In-house suspension, my office, and anger management sessions. That’s the deal.”
“In return for what?” He looked to me.
“Telling her about the Juniper. About how Mama’s sick, how I have no supervision, and that I’ve been taking care of myself. Hopefully it won’t mess with your scholarship.”
Elliott watched me for a while and then looked to Mrs. Mason.
“Your counseling will begin next week and will continue through break. Hungry?” she asked.
Elliott noticed the pizza. “Always,” he said, sitting down.
Mrs. Mason popped back into the kitchen to get a third plate and set it in front of Elliott.
“Sorry for just showing up,” Elliott said between bites. “I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”
“Understandable,” Mrs. Mason said, sitting across from us. “And considerate. But no apology needed. I actually feel better having you here. I’d forgotten how comforting it is having a man in the house.”
“Happy to help,” Elliott said.
“We also have an alarm system,” she said to me. “I’ll get you the code later.”
“We?” I asked.
Mrs. Mason smiled. “You and me. You live here now.”
I smiled. She was trying so hard to make me feel comfortable. “The alarm must be new.”
“We got it after . . .” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing.
The memories from that night replayed in my mind so vividly that I had to shake the humiliation and fear away. I closed my eyes and nodded, trying to forget for the thousandth time.
“After what?” Elliott asked.
“After the Masons came home to find my mother in their house.”
“What?” Elliott said.
“It was after the first time I reported her to DHS, about six months after Mr. Calhoun passed,” Mrs. Mason said.
“So . . . was she just walking around or what?” Elliott asked.
Mrs. Mason paled. “She was hiding under our bed.”
“Your . . . bed?” Elliott asked, looking to me for confirmation.
I nodded, sinking down in my seat.
“That’s kind of crazy,” Elliott said.
“She wasn’t going to hurt us. She was just confused,” Mrs. Mason said.
“She was lying on her side in a ball, whimpering. Don’t defend her,” I said. “Please don’t.”
“Did she get arrested?” Elliott asked.
“They didn’t press charges,” I said.
“And I’m still not sure if you’ve forgiven me,” Mrs. Mason said.
“I don’t blame you. I don’t blame anyone.”
“Well?” Mrs. Mason asked, looking at Elliott. “Are you going to tell us?”
“What?” Elliott’s eyes danced between me and our counselor.
“What Owen said to you.”
Elliott shifted in his seat. “I figured he had told you already.”
“No,” Mrs. Mason said matter-of-factly. “Owen spent the afternoon in the emergency room.”
“Oh. How . . . how is he?”
“From what I understand, the swelling has gone down a bit. His right orbital bone is fractured. You’re lucky your aunt and uncle visited the hospital and talked his parents out of pressing charges, despite Detective Thompson pressuring them to.”
“He’s the lucky one.” Elliott sniffed. “I pulled most of my punches.”
Mrs. Mason arched an eyebrow.
“What did he say to you, Elliott?” I asked. “For you to beat him like that?” I needed there to be a reason. A good one. I needed to hear him say that he’d been provoked, and everything around us wasn’t breaking him, too. Elliott was my anchor to normal, and without that, I was afraid I’d blow away to the same place Mama had lived since Dad died.
He looked away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It kind of does,” Mrs. Mason said. She planted her foot on her chair, her knee between her chest and the edge of the table. It was planned, like everything else she did, to make her seem more approachable.
“He said . . .” He took a deep breath, and then the words spewed from his mouth. “He called me a gut-eater, and then he said Catherine was a whore, and probably pregnant with my papoose.”
Mrs. Mason’s mouth hung open.
Elliott tried to look me in the eyes but failed. “Sorry.”
“You’re sorry? After what he called you?” I opened my mouth to say more but couldn’t. I covered my eyes with my hand instead. “Elliott.” My bottom lip trembled. It wasn’t fair that he was a target at all, but for someone to say something that disgusting because it seemed like the easiest way to hurt him—Elliott, the kindest person I knew—it made me feel sick to my stomach.
“Also normal. Be patient with yourself. Be patient with the process.”
I glanced over my shoulder at the Christmas tree glistening in the living room. “That’s pretty.”
“Did you have a tree at home?”
I shook my head. “Not since Dad died. He use to do all that. Put up the tree and the lights. They never really looked right on the Juniper anyway. But I like to look out my window at the neighbors’.”
Mrs. Mason checked her watch. “Well, you’re in for a treat.” She whispered a countdown and then pointed to the ceiling. The lights outside flashed on, and two blobs in the front yard began to inflate. Seconds later, a huge, glowing snowman and Santa Claus were standing upright on the lawn, swaying in the wind.
“Wow,” I said flatly.
Mrs. Mason clapped and giggled. “I know, right? Completely ridiculous.”
The corner of my mouth turned up. “It’s pretty great.”
The doorbell chimed again, and Mrs. Mason struggled to keep a smile on her face. “Stay here.”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Catherine
In her sweatshirt, gray lounge pants, and bare feet, Mrs. Mason slowly approached the door, peering out before twisting the bolt lock and pulling on the knob. “Hi.”
“Hey,” Elliott said, entering when Mrs. Mason stepped aside.
He took off his coat as Mrs. Mason locked the door.
He held up a piece of paper, different from the letter he’d received from Mrs. Mason rescinding his suspension. “I wanted you to be the first to know. I got the official news today.”
I stood, and Elliott wrapped his arms around me while Mrs. Mason put his coat in the closet. “What is it?” I looked down. It was an envelope from Baylor. “You got in?” I asked, excited.
“Not officially. They’ve offered a full athletic scholarship,” he said, not even half as excited as he should’ve been. “They’ll need a verbal commitment if I decide to go.”
“What do you mean if you decide to go?” I asked.
“To where?” Mrs. Mason asked.
“You’re going! It’s Baylor!” I exclaimed, hugging Elliott. When I pulled back, he only offered a small smile.
“What did you do?” he asked, guilt weighing down his features.
I pressed my cheek against his T-shirt, breathing him in. He smelled like his aunt’s house: savory from her cooking, and clean: bath soap and laundry detergent.
“Catherine,” he said, holding me at arm’s length.
“Catherine made a deal to keep what happened with Owen off your record. You’re lucky Dr. Augustine wasn’t there today,” Mrs. Mason said.
“So I’m not suspended?” he asked.
“Did you read the letter?” Mrs. Mason asked, raising an eyebrow. “In-house suspension, my office, and anger management sessions. That’s the deal.”
“In return for what?” He looked to me.
“Telling her about the Juniper. About how Mama’s sick, how I have no supervision, and that I’ve been taking care of myself. Hopefully it won’t mess with your scholarship.”
Elliott watched me for a while and then looked to Mrs. Mason.
“Your counseling will begin next week and will continue through break. Hungry?” she asked.
Elliott noticed the pizza. “Always,” he said, sitting down.
Mrs. Mason popped back into the kitchen to get a third plate and set it in front of Elliott.
“Sorry for just showing up,” Elliott said between bites. “I just wanted to make sure she was okay.”
“Understandable,” Mrs. Mason said, sitting across from us. “And considerate. But no apology needed. I actually feel better having you here. I’d forgotten how comforting it is having a man in the house.”
“Happy to help,” Elliott said.
“We also have an alarm system,” she said to me. “I’ll get you the code later.”
“We?” I asked.
Mrs. Mason smiled. “You and me. You live here now.”
I smiled. She was trying so hard to make me feel comfortable. “The alarm must be new.”
“We got it after . . .” She trailed off, her cheeks flushing.
The memories from that night replayed in my mind so vividly that I had to shake the humiliation and fear away. I closed my eyes and nodded, trying to forget for the thousandth time.
“After what?” Elliott asked.
“After the Masons came home to find my mother in their house.”
“What?” Elliott said.
“It was after the first time I reported her to DHS, about six months after Mr. Calhoun passed,” Mrs. Mason said.
“So . . . was she just walking around or what?” Elliott asked.
Mrs. Mason paled. “She was hiding under our bed.”
“Your . . . bed?” Elliott asked, looking to me for confirmation.
I nodded, sinking down in my seat.
“That’s kind of crazy,” Elliott said.
“She wasn’t going to hurt us. She was just confused,” Mrs. Mason said.
“She was lying on her side in a ball, whimpering. Don’t defend her,” I said. “Please don’t.”
“Did she get arrested?” Elliott asked.
“They didn’t press charges,” I said.
“And I’m still not sure if you’ve forgiven me,” Mrs. Mason said.
“I don’t blame you. I don’t blame anyone.”
“Well?” Mrs. Mason asked, looking at Elliott. “Are you going to tell us?”
“What?” Elliott’s eyes danced between me and our counselor.
“What Owen said to you.”
Elliott shifted in his seat. “I figured he had told you already.”
“No,” Mrs. Mason said matter-of-factly. “Owen spent the afternoon in the emergency room.”
“Oh. How . . . how is he?”
“From what I understand, the swelling has gone down a bit. His right orbital bone is fractured. You’re lucky your aunt and uncle visited the hospital and talked his parents out of pressing charges, despite Detective Thompson pressuring them to.”
“He’s the lucky one.” Elliott sniffed. “I pulled most of my punches.”
Mrs. Mason arched an eyebrow.
“What did he say to you, Elliott?” I asked. “For you to beat him like that?” I needed there to be a reason. A good one. I needed to hear him say that he’d been provoked, and everything around us wasn’t breaking him, too. Elliott was my anchor to normal, and without that, I was afraid I’d blow away to the same place Mama had lived since Dad died.
He looked away. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It kind of does,” Mrs. Mason said. She planted her foot on her chair, her knee between her chest and the edge of the table. It was planned, like everything else she did, to make her seem more approachable.
“He said . . .” He took a deep breath, and then the words spewed from his mouth. “He called me a gut-eater, and then he said Catherine was a whore, and probably pregnant with my papoose.”
Mrs. Mason’s mouth hung open.
Elliott tried to look me in the eyes but failed. “Sorry.”
“You’re sorry? After what he called you?” I opened my mouth to say more but couldn’t. I covered my eyes with my hand instead. “Elliott.” My bottom lip trembled. It wasn’t fair that he was a target at all, but for someone to say something that disgusting because it seemed like the easiest way to hurt him—Elliott, the kindest person I knew—it made me feel sick to my stomach.
