All the Little Lights(106)

“When? W—what am I going to do? I’ll be alone. What am I going to do?” Mama said, tears spilling over her cheeks.

After a quick knock, the screen door swung open, and the man smoothed his jacket and straightened his tie. Elliott was standing behind them, unsure and worried.

“Mrs. Calhoun, I’m Stephanie Barnes,” the woman said. She was in her midtwenties, the same build as Mama, but shorter. She seemed nervous. “I’m here with Steven Fry from the Oklahoma Department of Human Services and Officer Culpepper from the Oak Creek Police Department. We’ve come to transfer Catherine to a safe environment until we can get some further information on what she’s shared with her counselor at school today.”

“Where are you taking her?” Mama pleaded, holding my coat with both fists. The panic and fear in her voice were heartbreaking.

The police officer stepped between us. “Mrs. Calhoun, we have a court order. You’re going to need to step back and let Mr. Fry and Miss Barnes do their jobs.”

“Mama, do as he says,” I said, letting them pull me away from her. “Be sure to eat. There’s bread, peanut butter, and jelly for Poppy.”

“Catherine!” Mama called, staying behind with the officer and Miss Barnes.

“Hey! Wait!” Elliott said, pushing his way through the front door. Mr. Fry pulled me with him off the porch and over the uneven sidewalk.

Mr. Fry paused at the gate and held out his arm to keep Elliott away, but I pressed it down.

“It’s okay,” I said. “He’s a friend.”

“Where are you going?” Elliott said, panicked. “Are you leaving Oak Creek?”

“To Mrs. Mason’s. I’m going to stay with her for a while.”

“Really?” he asked, relieved. “Is that . . . is that okay?”

I shrugged one shoulder. “It was necessary.”

He wrinkled his nose. “Catherine, you didn’t do all this for . . .” He looked down at the envelope in his hand.

“Yes,” I said. “And I’d do it again.”

Mr. Fry gestured for me to follow him to the van, and I did, looking over my shoulder once.

Elliott jogged over, stopping just short of the gate. “Can I come see you?”

“Yes,” I said, climbing into the back seat.

“You said Mrs. Mason’s house?” he asked.

I nodded.

Mr. Fry closed the door and rounded the front to the driver’s side. He slid behind the wheel and met my gaze in the rearview mirror. “Everything’s going to be okay, Catherine.”

Miss Barnes passed Elliott as she pushed through the gate. She opened the passenger door and sat in the seat, buckling her seat belt.

She turned to face me with a warm smile. “You have everything?” she asked.

I nodded. “Is Mama okay?”

“She’s going to stay with Officer Culpepper until she calms down. Buckle up, please, Catherine.”

I waved to Elliott, watching him get smaller as we drove down Juniper Street to the other side of town.

I wondered if I would ever feel like I hadn’t just betrayed my family, if it would be enough to know that my absence would mean the end of the Juniper and the darkness inside. I worried Mama would stop being sad and hate me, but I worried more that Althea and Poppy would feel I’d turned my back on them. More than anyone, I wanted them to understand my choice.

Mr. Fry parked the van in the driveway of Mrs. Mason’s charming Craftsman-style home. The wraparound porch reminded me a bit of the Juniper, but that was the only similarity. The warmth from inside radiated from its large windows, even on a frigid winter’s day. The outside was welcoming, with muted green shingle siding and white trim, greenery and multicolored lights climbing the porch beams, and a Christmas wreath hanging from the door.

The shallow pitch of the gable roof made it seem less looming than the Juniper and more like a cozy home.

Mrs. Mason stepped out from under her porch light, wrapped in a sweater and wearing a smile that didn’t hide her nerves or relief.

Miss Barnes walked with me to the porch, carrying one bag.

“Hey,” Mrs. Mason said, touching my cheek. She stepped to the side, allowing Miss Barnes and me to enter.

I used the toe of each boot to pull off the other, leaving them on the hardwood floor and stepping onto the plush, beige carpet of her living room in my socks. Mrs. Mason took my coat, hanging it in the front closet before escorting us through a wide entrance that led into the living room.

An artificial Christmas tree stretched to the nine-foot ceiling, leaving only a few centimeters above the glass-angel topper’s head. The branches were adorned with red and green ornaments, some homemade. White lights glistened behind the synthetic needles, and a red-and-green skirt covered the tree stand, two dozen or so presents already under the tree.

“Have a seat,” Mrs. Mason said, gesturing to her couch. It was a taupe microfiber sectional, with floral and solid teal throw pillows—so immaculate, I hesitated.

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Mrs. Mason said, sitting in a leather rocking recliner. “I have a niece and nephew covered in ice cream who climb all over it every Sunday. That’s why I went with the microfiber.”

Miss Barnes sat, so I sat next to her.

“How did it go?” Mrs. Mason asked, peeling off her sweater.