All the Little Lights(105)

“Duke?” Imogen asked, unsettled.

“Change in pressure. It’s just the wind.”

The curtains were pulled, only allowing slivers of silver light into the dining room and kitchen. The clouds outside seemed to have moved over Oak Creek and unpacked, happy to stay for the rest of the winter. Allowed but unwelcome, just like the guests at the Juniper.

“You never said. Why are you so sad? What happened today? Your mama was telling my dad about a girl who went missing. Did you hear anything about her today?”

The thought of Uncle Toad being here made me angry. He wasn’t supposed to be allowed back. Her failure to stand her ground was just another sign Mama’s depression was getting worse. I picked at the chip in the cup in front of me.

“No.”

“No?” Imogen asked. “You haven’t heard anything about her?”

“Just that she’s still missing,” I said, taking a sip. “Imogen . . . where’s Mama?”

Imogen fidgeted. “Upstairs. Why?”

“You need to have her come down. I need to talk to her.”

Imogen snarled. “About what?”

“I want to talk to Mama. Not you. Tell her to come.”

Imogen crossed her arms, her expression set in a stubborn smirk.

“Fine,” I said, taking another sip. “I’m leaving. Today.”

“What?” Imogen said, walking around the island. “What are you talking about?”

“Elliott got suspended today. I told Mrs. Mason about the Juniper to keep it off his record.”

Imogen leaned down, looking at me from under her brows. She kept her voice low. “Told her what about the Juniper?”

I stared ahead, unable to see the fear I knew was in Imogen’s eyes. “That Mama’s sick, and I’ve been taking care of things.”

“That’s a lie,” Imogen hissed. “Aunt Mavis takes good care of you.”

“Not for a long time,” I said, picking at the mug, avoiding her eyes.

“Take that back. Take it back!” she screamed in my ear. I winced, leaning away from her.

“You need to get Mama,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “They’ll be here soon.”

“Who?” she shrieked.

“DHS.”

Imogen’s face twisted into disgust. “What’s that?”

“Department of Human Services,” I said, the words absorbing into my chest and weighing me down. I’d done what I promised I would never do.

Imogen seemed to panic and then whimpered, running upstairs, calling for Mama.

“Mavis!” she cried. “Mavis!”

Someone pounded on the door, and I scrambled to open it. Elliott was on the other side, finally wearing his coat, his breath puffing out in white clouds with every exhale. He looked surprised to see me, holding up a torn envelope and folded paper.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“What did you do?” Mama said, stomping down the stairs. She grabbed my shoulders, shaking me.

Elliott pulled me back, standing between us. “Whoa, whoa . . . wait a minute. Let’s calm down.”

“Calm down? Calm down?” Mama asked, her voice shrill.

I closed my eyes. “She hates that.”

“How could you do this to me?” Mama asked, pushing Elliott aside. “You told that . . . that bitch counselor about us, and now what? You’re going to live in some dilapidated foster home with ten other kids? With strangers? For what? For him?”

“What?” Elliott asked, turning to me. He looked betrayed, and I could see the hurt in his eyes at the realization that she knew and he didn’t. “You told Mrs. Mason?”

“I told her enough.”

“Enough for what?” Elliott asked. He held up the envelope. “For this?”

A black van slowed to a stop next to the curb in front of Elliott’s Chrysler, a police cruiser behind it, and I broke free, running upstairs.

Elliott looked at the van, down at the paper, and then at me. “You’re leaving? Where are they taking you?”

“I can’t say right now.” I grabbed two bags and my backpack, taking two steps at a time until I was at the front door. Mama grabbed my coat in her fist and held on.

“No. You’re not going.”

“Mama, you have to get better. You have to close down the Juniper—”

“No!” she yelled.

“You have to close it down, and everyone has to leave. Then I’ll come back. I’ll stay with you. But . . .” When I realized she was gawking at the van and not paying attention, I gently pulled her by the chin to face me. “Mama? I need you to listen. They’re going to ask you who you’d prefer I stay with. You need to tell them Mrs. Mason. Rebecca Mason. The school counselor. You have to say it’s okay that I stay with her.”

A woman and a man stepped out of the van and walked toward our house.

“Mama? Mrs. Mason,” I repeated, emphasizing my counselor’s name. Mrs. Mason told me DHS would need Mama to sign paperwork okaying my move to her home. Otherwise, I would go to the DHS office and wait for placement.

“No!” Mama said, trying to pull me inside while she attempted to close the door.

I met her terrified gaze. “I’ll be back.”