All the Little Lights(129)

“Time,” the guard said.

“Do you have to leave?” Mama asked.

“Elliott starts football practice soon. We need to get on the road, get settled in.”

She snarled at him.

“Be nice, Mama.”

Elliott stood. “I’ll take care of her, Mavis.”

I’d seen her leave, but Elliott wasn’t used to the signs of her flipping personalities yet. Mama wasn’t there.

“Carla,” I called, standing.

Duke glared up at me, his nostrils flaring.

Carla attended to Mama while we walked out. I’d gotten accustomed to not saying goodbye. Duke usually appeared when our visits were over. I’d hoped Althea would come to say goodbye, but Duke was the only one strong enough to push through the medication.

Elliott seemed antsy as we gathered our things from a locker and then went through processing at the exit. He pushed open the double doors, squinting one eye in the sunshine, reminding me of the day we met, except he was holding my hand instead of punching a tree. Our shoes crunched over the gravel as we walked to the Chrysler, and Elliott opened the passenger door with a smile.

The trunk and back seat were full of boxes—mostly Elliott’s. I had most of my clothes and my music box from the Masons’, but everything else had burned in the fire. The photos Elliott had taken of me and Dad were the only ones I had left, and they were packed in one of the four boxes that held everything I owned.

The Chrysler had been baking in the summer sun while we were visiting Mama, and the first thing Elliott did after he twisted the ignition was turn the AC on high. Within a minute, icy air blasted through the vents, and Elliott rested his head back, sighing in relief. The velour seats were soft against my bare legs, tanned from spending time in the Youngbloods’ pool, but still not as rich as Elliott’s skin. I reached over, running my fingers over his arm.

“What?” he asked.

“We’re going,” I said. “And without the governor your parents installed when you were grounded from driving back to Oak Creek, it won’t take us a week to get there.”

Elliott slid his fingers between mine. “We are. We’ll be there by dinnertime.” He gestured to the floorboard in front of me. “Reach under the seat. I brought you some reading material.”

I smiled, wondering what he was up to. I felt between my legs, touching a shoebox. “What’s this?” I asked, placing the box in my lap and opening the lid. A stack of envelopes addressed to Elliott’s aunt Leigh were stamped and sealed. “Letters to your aunt?”

“Open the one on top. They’re in order.”

The envelope was thick, and I tore it open, pulling out four pages of notebook paper, the fringe still dangling from the inside edge. The handwriting was Elliott’s. My name was at the top, dated the day my dad died, and it began with an apology.

“Elliott,” I said quietly, “are these . . . ?”

“The letters I wrote you while I was gone. Every day at first, then two or three a week until the night before I came back.”

I looked at him, feeling tears well up in my eyes. “Elliott.”

“I thought you’d had them this whole time,” he said.

“Your aunt never gave them to me.”

“That’s because she never had them. My mom never mailed them. She gave them to me last night. Going-away present in addition to an hour-long apology.”

I looked down at the scribbles filling the page. “I bet that went over well.”

“I was pretty pissed. But at least she gave them to me. Now you’ll know.”

“Know what?” I asked.

“That I tried to keep my promise.”

I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile. Elliott backed out of the parking spot and drove through the lot, slowing to a stop before pulling out onto the road. He took a sip of his watered-down soda. “Read them out loud, please. It’s sort of like rereading a journal.”

I nodded, starting at the top of the first letter.

July 30

Dear Catherine,

I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to go. My mom said I couldn’t come back if I didn’t leave with her when I did. I shouldn’t have. I’m so mad that I fell for it. SO MAD. I’m mad at her, and myself, and the whole thing. I have no idea what happened or if you’re okay, and it’s killing me. Please be okay. Please forgive me.

I know when you’re not worrying about your dad, you’re busy hating me. I should be there with you and for you. It’s killing me. You’re somewhere thinking I abandoned you. You have no idea where I went, and you’re wondering why I didn’t say goodbye. You’re the last person I’d want to hurt, and I’m almost three hours away without any way to contact you. I feel helpless. Please don’t hate me.

My parents fought from the time we got back home until I pretended to go to bed. Mom is just afraid I’ll want to stay in Oak Creek if I get too close to you. She’s not exactly wrong. I do want to stay there. I did plan on asking Aunt Leigh and Uncle John if I could stay, because the thought of packing and leaving you behind made me feel sick to my stomach. Now I’m here. It all happened so fast, and you probably hate me.

If you do, though, I’ll just keep trying until you don’t. I’ll explain as many times as you’ll let me. You can hate me for a while. I’ll understand. But I’ll keep trying. As long as it takes. I’ll say sorry as many times as I have to until you believe it. You can be mean and say mean things. You probably will, and I’ll let it slide because I know when you understand, everything will be okay. Right? Please let it be okay.