All the Little Lights(114)

She sat across from me, looking tired. “I chose to heal. Milo felt alone in his grief, even though I’d lived there with him for four years. He replaced the sadness with resentment, and then it was over.”

“And you’re happy now?”

“I’ve loved Milo since I was a girl. He use to look at me the way Elliott looks at you. I wish we could’ve gotten through it together. But, yes. Telling him it was over was like taking off an oversize fur coat in August. I was finally free to heal, and so I did. It’s still hard to watch him hurt.”

“You still love him?”

The corners of her mouth turned up. “I’ll always love him. You never get over your first love.”

I smiled. “Elliott said that to me once.”

“You were his first love?” she asked, resting her chin on the heel of her hand.

“That’s what he said.”

“I believe it.”

I felt my cheeks flush. “He wants me to follow him to college. If we, you know, survive this year without being arrested.”

Mrs. Mason hesitated before she said her next words. “If you had to guess, what do you think happened to her? There was no sign of struggle. No break-in. Not even any fingerprints other than Presley’s.”

“I hope she ran away, and I hope she comes back.”

“Me too,” Mrs. Mason said. “Okay, I’ve got to run a few errands today. Pick up some things for Christmas Eve dinner. Do you have any preferences?”

“Me? I thought I’d go home tonight. Check on Mama.”

“Catherine, you can’t. I’m sorry.”

“I can’t check on her?”

“I can have Officer Culpepper check on her if you’d like. I just don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go home just yet. What if she won’t let you leave? It’s just not a good idea. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.”

“I know it’s hard. Especially with the holidays, but I promise it’s better this way.”

The doorbell chimed, and Mrs. Mason raised her eyebrows. “We’re popular today.” She opened the door and then walked away smiling. “Your turn.”

Elliott walked in, and he slipped his camera strap over his head, holding out the other hand. I hugged him tight, melting into his arms as he wrapped them around me. He was wearing his black football hoodie, the cotton worn and soft against my cheek.

“What’s that?” Mrs. Mason asked, pointing to his camera.

“A hobby,” Elliott said.

“It’s more than a hobby. He’s pretty amazing,” I said. “You should have him show you some of his stuff.”

“I’d love to see it,” Mrs. Mason said.

“Really?” Elliott looked down at me, surprised.

I touched his chest with both hands. “Really.”

“How long have you been doing that?” Mrs. Mason asked, watching him put his things on the table.

“Since I was a kid. Catherine was my first muse. My only muse.”

Mrs. Mason busied herself with the breakfast dishes, waving me away when I offered to help.

“Why don’t you give him the tour?” Mrs. Mason asked.

I led him by the hand to the purple bedroom, wrinkling my nose when the door blew the smells of the Juniper into my face. “Ugh. Why didn’t you tell me I smelled like that?” I asked, gathering my clothes from the closet and drawers and putting them in a woven basket near the door.

“Smelled like what? What are you doing?”

“Laundry.” I picked up the handles and walked down the hall. There was a door next to the guest powder room that I guessed was the utility room, and I was right. I set the basket down and searched the cabinets for detergent.

“Everything all right?” Mrs. Mason asked from the hallway.

“She’s looking for laundry soap, I think,” Elliott said.

“Oh.” She squeezed past Elliott and opened the cabinet above the washer. “It’s a pod. They’re front-loading machines, so you just pop the pod into the drum with the clothes and close the door. Set it to regular for everything but delicates, and you’re good to go. That’s what I do anyway. The dryer sheets are in the cabinet above the dryer.”

“Makes sense,” I said, piling my jeans and dark clothing in the washer. I closed the door and did as Mrs. Mason instructed. The water began to pour into the turning drum, and the clothes began to roll. “Easy enough.”

Mrs. Mason looked down at the basket. “Are those all clean?”

“I thought so,” I said. “They smell like the Juniper.”

“Oh,” she said. “I didn’t notice. Let me know if you need anything while I’m out.”

Elliott waited until the front door closed before he spoke again. He shoved his hands into his jeans pocket. “Want some help?”

“Almost finished.” I stood, breathing hard, placing my hands on my hips and blowing a stray hair from my face.

He smiled. “You’re beautiful.”

I pressed my lips into a hard line, trying not to look as flattered as I felt. “You’re silly.”

“Aunt Leigh wants to know if you’ll come over for lunch.”

“Oh. Mrs. Mason has plans for us, I think.”