All the Little Lights(113)

“It’s not a life.”

“It’s not her fault.”

Mrs. Mason sighed. “It bothers me that you’ve given up. Your whole life is ahead of you. Being born shouldn’t be a prison sentence.”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“Are you happy there? Is that a life you would choose?”

“Of course not, but . . . does anyone choose? Is this what you chose?”

Mrs. Mason nearly spit out her orange juice.

“You know . . . you know his wife left him because he was sleeping with Emily Stoddard, right?”

Mrs. Mason wiped the orange specks from her chin. “I’d heard.”

“She graduated two years ago. She would never admit it to her parents or the administration, but she told all her friends.”

“Milo said as much.”

I sat back in my chair with a smirk on my face. “You didn’t believe him. Just like you don’t believe me now.”

“Actually, I was pretty sure Brad was sleeping with Presley before she disappeared.”

“You . . . what?”

“I saw texts from her on his phone. Pretty graphic texts. I stopped seeing him after that.”

My eyes grew wide. “You don’t think that’s something you should’ve mentioned to the police?”

“I . . .”

“They’ve been looking at Elliott and me, and you’ve had reason to believe the football coach was having an inappropriate relationship with a missing student?”

“He . . .”

“Why wouldn’t you report it?” I said, my voice louder than I’d meant for it to be.

“Catherine . . .”

“Elliott could be arrested any minute if Owen’s parents press charges, and you—”

“Catherine, I did. I did tell the police. Brad was interviewed and polygraphed. He has an alibi. He was here until morning.”

“What? But you said—”

“That I stopped seeing him after I saw the texts. And I did. He was here trying to get me back, and when he realized it wasn’t going to work, he pleaded with me not to go to Dr. Augustine. He’d been drinking. I let him pass out on my couch. It was pathetic.”

I covered my face with my hands. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

“Hey.” Her hand touched my arm, and I looked up at her. She was reaching across the table, smiling. “It’s okay. This is a horrible, emotional, stressful situation.” She sat upright at the sound of knocking on the door and then stood, walking over and peering out.

“You’re up early,” she said, opening the door.

Mr. Mason entered, holding the handles of a large paper sack. “Are Noah and Simone coming over to open presents tonight?”

“They do every year.”

He held up the sack. “I brought a few more.”

“Milo, you . . . didn’t have to do that,” Mrs. Mason said.

Mr. Mason looked hurt. “They’re my nephew and niece, too.”

“I know. I just meant that . . .” She sighed. “I don’t know what I meant.”

He carried the sack to the Christmas tree and knelt beside it, unloading the presents. They weren’t wrapped nearly as elegantly as the others, and he’d used twice as much tape, but by the expression on his wife’s face, he’d won major points. “I brought a few for Catherine, too.”

“Oh, Milo,” Mrs. Mason said, holding her hand to her chest.

He took care to bring the purple present forward, keeping it front and center, and then stood, his gaze meeting Mrs. Mason’s.

“Do you have any plans?” she asked.

“I . . .” He reached for her, but she pulled away. As soon as it happened, she seemed to regret it, but it was too late. Mr. Mason’s eyes darkened. “Probably not a good idea. Don’t want to confuse the kids.”

“I don’t want you to be alone,” she said, fidgeting.

He peered over his shoulder but didn’t speak. Instead, he yanked the door open and walked through it.

Mrs. Mason stood motionless, looking down at the purple present, and then sat on her haunches, covering her mouth and nose with both hands. Her eyes glossed over, and then she wiped away her tears as they fell. “I’m so sorry you had to see that, Catherine.”

“Why? It was beautiful.”

“Pain is beautiful?” she asked, straightening the present.

“Pain . . . love. Can’t really have one without the other.”

She breathed out a silent laugh. “You always surprise me.”

“Who does the purple present belong to?” I asked.

“Oh, that’s . . . that’s Violet’s. She’s our daughter. Milo’s and mine. She was a Christmas baby.”

“You had a baby?” I asked, stunned. “I don’t remember you being pregnant.”

“I was barely seven months along when Violet was born. She lived only a few hours. She would have been five this year.”

“So before I was in high school.”

“Correct,” Mrs. Mason said, standing. “Christmas is hard for Milo. He’s never gotten over it.”

“But you did?” I asked, watching her walk back to the table.