All the Little Lights(32)

“No talking?” I asked, holding my hand against my forehead to shield my eyes long enough to see his face. His eyes would tell me even if he didn’t.

“If that’s what you want. If that’s what will get you out of the sun. It’s dangerous, Catherine. You still have three miles to go.”

I thought for a moment. He was right. I had no business walking that far in triple-digit heat. And what good would I be to Mama if I was sun sick? “Not a word?” I asked.

“I swear.”

I made a face. “You don’t keep your promises.”

“I’m back, aren’t I?” When I frowned, Elliott held out his hand, waving me in. “Please, Catherine. Let me take you home.”

He pushed the gear into park and then leaned over again, his bicep tensing nicely as he reached for the handle and pushed open the passenger door.

I slid into the chocolate velour seat, closing the door and cranking up the window. I sat back, letting the cold air blow against my skin.

“Thank you,” I said, closing my eyes.

True to his word, Elliott didn’t respond as he pulled away from the curb.

I looked over at him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, his fingers fidgeting on the steering wheel. He was nervous. I wanted to tell him I wouldn’t bite, that I might still hate him for leaving and making me miss him for two years, but there were far more important things in the world to be afraid of than me.





Chapter Eight

Catherine

Baby, baby, baby,” Althea said, pulling me into her arms. She guided me to a kitchen stool, rushing to the sink and wetting a rag with cool water.

I smiled, resting my chin on the heel of my hand. Althea didn’t stay with us very often, but she fussed over me, and she couldn’t have chosen a better time to check in.

She folded the rag and pressed it against my forehead, holding it steady. “It’s so hot I can’t even wear my wig. What were you thinkin’, child?”

“That I had to get home,” I said, closing my eyes. The house was still stuffy and warm, but at least the sun wasn’t bearing down on me. “Do you think Mama would let us turn on the air conditioner?”

Althea sighed, wiped her hands on her apron, and perched her hands on her hips. “I thought it already was. Let me check.” Her skirt swished against her thick thighs as she sauntered across the room. She leaned in, squinting at the thermostat. She shook her head. “It’s set on sixty. Room temperature is eighty-nine.” She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “My, my, my. Your mama gonna have to call someone.”

“I can do it,” I said, beginning to stand.

“Baby girl, sit yourself down! The parts of you that ain’t red are stark white,” Althea said, rushing over to me.

She forced me into a chair and then rummaged through the cabinets until she found a clean glass. She filled it with ice from the freezer and then grabbed a pitcher of sweet tea. “You just sit and drink this. Your mama will be home soon, and she can call the fool who works for heating and air.”

I smiled at Althea. She was one of my favorite guests. Just thinking about dealing with Poppy and her father made me tired.

“So,” she began, leaning on her elbows, “how was school?”

“The same,” I said. “Well, almost the same. There’s a new boy at school. He gave me a ride home today.”

“Oh?” Althea said, intrigued. She had flour smeared on her face. She’d been making something again. She was the only guest who helped Mama at the Juniper, but that was because Althea couldn’t sit still. She would bake or clean while humming the same happy tune, some old church hymn I vaguely recognized. Her hair was pinned back in a low bun, with one dark strand hanging loose in the front.

She was fanning herself with a paper plate, sweat glistening on her chest and forehead.

“It’s Elliott,” I said, hoping she would recognize the name. She didn’t.

“Who’s that? I’m sorry, baby. I’ve been so wrapped up with work and my bible concordance that I’ve barely been able to pay attention.”

“I met him two summers ago. He was my friend.”

“Was your friend, or is your friend?” She raised an eyebrow. “Because you need a friend, child. You need ten friends. You spend too much time workin’. Lord knows too much for a little girl.”

“Was,” I said, picking at the granite.

“Uh-oh,” Althea said. “What happened?”

“He left and didn’t say goodbye. And he broke a promise.”

“What promise?” she asked, her tone defensive.

“To come back.”

Althea smiled and leaned closer, reaching for my hands. “My baby . . . you listen to Miss Althea. He did come back.” She stood, returning to the sink. She turned on the tap, preparing to fill the basin with water and wash the dishes that wouldn’t fit in the dishwasher. “Sounds to me like when he did, he came straight home.”

“I needed him,” I said. “He left when I needed him, and now that I don’t, he shows up. He’s too late.”

Althea swirled her fingers in the water, mixing in the dish soap. She looked up but didn’t turn around, and she spoke slow and sweet. I could hear the smile in her voice, like she was remembering a simpler time. “Maybe you still need him.”