All the Little Lights(2)

She sat next to the mound of dirt, picking at the grass, just being sad. I wanted to watch her through my viewfinder and capture that moment, but she would hear my camera click, and I would look like a huge creeper, so I remained still and let her grieve.

She sniffled. “Thank you for protecting me.”

I frowned, wondering what Goober had protected her from and if she needed protection still. She was about my age and prettier than any girl who went to my school. I wondered what happened to her dog, and how long she’d lived in the massive house that loomed over the backyard and cast a shadow across the street onto the other houses when the sun moved into the western sky. It bothered me not knowing if she was sitting on the ground because she felt safer with her dead dog than she did inside.

The sun dropped out of sight and night settled in, the crickets chirping, the wind hissing through the oak’s leaves. My stomach was beginning to gurgle and growl. Aunt Leigh was going to rip me a new one when I got home for missing dinner, but the girl was still sitting next to her friend, and I’d decided over an hour before that I wasn’t going to disturb her.

The back door opened, a warm yellow light brightening the backyard. “Catherine?” Mavis called. “It’s time to come in now, honey. Your dinner’s getting cold. You can come back out in the morning.”

Catherine obeyed, standing and walking toward the house, stopping for a moment to look back at the grave once more before going in. When the door closed, I tried to guess what she might be looking for—maybe she was reminding herself it was real and Goober was gone, or maybe she was saying one last goodbye.

I slowly climbed down, sure to jump and land on the outside of the fence, giving the fresh grave plenty of space. The sound of my shoes crunching against the rocks in the alley stirred a few neighborhood dogs, but I completed the return trek in the dark without any problems—until I got home.

Aunt Leigh was standing at the door, her arms crossed. She looked worried at first, but when her eyes found me, instant anger flickered in her eyes. She was in her robe, reminding me of just how late I was. A single gray streak of hair sprouted from her temple, weaving in and out of the thick brown sections of her side braid.

“I’m sorry?” I offered.

“You missed dinner,” she said, opening the screen door. I walked inside, and she followed me. “Your plate’s in the microwave. Eat, then you can tell me where you’ve been.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, making a beeline past her. I passed the wooden, oval dining table to reach the kitchen, opening the microwave to see a foil-covered plate. My mouth instantly watered.

“Take that o—” Aunt Leigh began, but I had already ripped it off, shut the door, and pressed the two on the number pad.

I watched the plate turn in a circle under the glow of a warm yellow light. The steak began to sizzle, and the gravy on the mashed potatoes bubbled.

“Not yet,” Aunt Leigh snapped when I reached for the microwave handle.

My stomach gurgled.

“If you’re so hungry, why did you wait so long to get home?”

“I was stuck in a tree,” I said, reaching in the second the microwave beeped.

“Stuck in a tree?” Aunt Leigh handed me a fork as I passed and followed me to the table.

I shoveled the first bite in and hummed, taking two more before Aunt Leigh could ask another question. My mom was a good cook, too, but the older I got, the more starved I felt. No matter how many times I ate during the day or how much I ate at a time, I never felt full. I couldn’t get food—any food—in my stomach fast enough.

Aunt Leigh made a face as I hunched over my plate to create a shorter trip from the plate to my mouth.

“You’re gonna have to explain that,” Aunt Leigh said. When I didn’t stop, she leaned over to place her hand on my wrist. “Elliott, don’t make me ask again.”

I tried to chew quickly and swallow, nodding in compliance. “The huge house down the street has an oak tree. I climbed it.”

“So?”

“So while I was up there waiting for a good shot with my camera, the people came out.”

“The Calhouns? Did they see you?”

I shook my head, sneaking another quick bite.

“You know that’s Uncle John’s boss, right?”

I stopped chewing. “No.”

Aunt Leigh sat back. “Of all the trees to pick.”

“They seemed nice . . . and sad.”

“Why?” At least for the moment, she forgot about being mad.

“They were burying something in the backyard. I think their dog died.”

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Aunt Leigh said, trying to muster up sympathy. She didn’t have children or dogs, and she seemed okay with that. She scratched her head, suddenly nervous. “Your mom called today.”

I nodded, taking another bite. She let me finish, waiting patiently for me to remember to use a napkin.

“What did she want?”

“Sounds like her and your dad are working things out. She sounds happy.”

I looked away, clenching my teeth. “She always is at first.” I turned to her. “Has her eye even healed?”

“Elliott . . .”

I stood, picking up my plate and fork, taking them to the sink.

“Did you tell him?” Uncle John said, scratching his round belly. He was standing in the hall, wearing the navy-blue pajama set Aunt Leigh had bought him last Christmas. She nodded. He looked to me, acknowledging the disgust on my face. “Yep. We don’t like it, either.”