All the Little Lights(100)

I slipped one leg and then the other into a dry pair of panties and then pulled the first nightgown I touched out of the drawer and over my head.

Elliott tapped on the door. “Can you grab my shirt and shorts from my bag?”

“Yes,” I said, turning toward his duffel bag in the corner. A black T-shirt and a pair of gray cotton shorts were folded on top. I snatched them, rushing over to the bathroom door. It cracked open, and Elliott’s hand appeared, palm up.

Once the clothes were in his hand, the door closed again.

I sat on the bed, brushing my hair to the sweet chime of my music box, waiting for Elliott to appear. Finally, he stepped out, still sheepish.

“Don’t be embarrassed,” I said. “I’m not.”

“It’s just that . . . Aunt Leigh brought this up after the first night I stayed here. I assured her that wasn’t a possibility anytime soon. Now I wish I had listened to her.”

“Now that’s embarrassing.”

Elliott chuckled, sitting next to me and trying his best to pull the hair tie from his wet bun.

“Here, let me help,” I said, smiling as he relaxed back against me. It took me a solid minute, but I finally worked all his hair from the black band and started to unravel it. I began at the ends, holding them as I gently brushed through his hair. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as the sound of the dark strands passing through the teeth of my brush became a steady rhythm.

“No one’s brushed my hair since I was little,” he said.

“It’s relaxing. You should let me do it more often.”

“You can do it as much as you’d like.”

When I could start at the roots and pull the brush through to the ends, Elliott took the hair band from me and pulled it up again.

“You’re like that guy in the Bible,” I said. “The strong one with the strong hair.”

Elliott lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve read the Bible? I thought you said you didn’t believe in God.”

“I use to.”

“What changed your mind?” he asked.

“Do you? Believe in God?”

“I believe in a connection, to the earth, the stars, to every living thing, my family, my ancestors.”

“Me?”

He seemed surprised. “You’re family.”

I leaned down, barely touching my lips to a dark red split in his lip. He winced.

“I’ll get some ice.”

“No, it’s fine. Don’t leave.”

I chuckled. “I’ll be right back.” I slipped outside and down the stairs, opening the freezer and reaching inside for a cold pack. I wrapped it in a dish towel and hurried back upstairs, realizing it was second nature now for me to listen for any movement. There was only silence. Even the water heater downstairs was quiet.

When I returned to the bedroom, Elliott helped me to replace the dresser and bed against the door.

“I could come in sometime when your mom is gone and install a bolt lock.”

I shook my head. “She’d know then. And she would freak out if I altered the house.”

“She has to understand her teenage daughter getting a lock on her bedroom door. Especially if the guests are coming in.”

“She won’t.” I touched the dark line on his lip, split from where Cruz had hit him. “I’m so sorry, Elliott. If you had stayed away, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now.”

“Think about it. Why do they think you had a reason to hurt Presley? Because she was horrible to you. You’ll never convince me any of this is your fault. They could jump me a dozen times, and it still wouldn’t be your fault. That’s their choice. Their hate. Their fear. You don’t make them do anything.”

“You think they’ll try to jump you again?”

He sighed, irritated. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”

“Yes. Because you’re right. It’s getting worse. Maybe you should do your work in Mrs. Mason’s office, too,” I said.

“That’s not a bad idea. I miss seeing you in the hall and in Mr. Mason’s class.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve been back there for a month. It’s almost Christmas break, with no end in sight.”

“Mrs. Mason is worried about you. I am, too.”

“Let’s worry about you for a while.”

We both paused when a floorboard creaked down the hall.

“Who’s here?” Elliott whispered.

“Willow was here when I got home from school. That’s probably her.”

“Who’s Willow?”

I sighed. “She’s nineteen. Wears a lot of black eyeliner. That’s how you can pick her out of a crowd. She’s . . . sad.”

“Where is she from?”

“I don’t talk to her as much as I do the others. Most of the time she’s too depressed. Mama says she’s a runaway. From her accent, I think Chicago.”

“What about the rest? You said the Juniper has regulars.”

“Um . . .” It felt strange to discuss the guests with anyone. “There’s Duke and his daughter, Poppy. He says he’s an oil guy from Texas, but he mostly just yells. He’s angry . . . scary angry, and Poppy’s like this little mouse who scampers around the Juniper.”