All the Little Lights(40)

Mrs. Mason frowned up at him. “She’s finally found a friend, and you’re worried about your team?”

“I’ve always been her friend,” I said. Mrs. Mason looked at me, confused. “I’ve been visiting my aunt in the summers. We’ve been friends for a while.”

“Oh,” she said, her eyes bright. “That’s so great. Small towns like ours . . . people get put in a box, and it’s hard to get out. But don’t listen to anyone. I’ve gotten to know her better after her father’s death. I think Catherine’s lovely.”

I offered a small smile before heading to my car. “She is.”

“Youngblood,” Coach Peckham called after me. “Don’t be late again, or I’ll run you until you puke.”

“Yessir,” I yelled back.

Just as I reached the Chrysler, my cell phone rang a warning. That was my dad’s ringtone, so I let it go until I was settled in my seat.

“Hello?”

“Hey. How’s things? Is the football team there worth a damn?”

“It will be.”

“I need you to do something for me,” he said, emotionless.

I rolled my eyes, knowing he couldn’t see me.

“Elliott?”

“Yeah.”

“You, uh . . . you still mowing lawns?”

“I was. Starting to slow down—why?” I didn’t have to ask. I already knew what he was going to say.

“I was thinking about coming down to see your first game, but gas is way up. If you could spot me the gas money . . .”

“I don’t have any,” I lied.

“What do you mean?” he asked, annoyed. “I know you have money saved up from three summers ago.”

“The Chrysler broke down. I had to pay to fix it.”

“You couldn’t do it yourself?”

I clenched my teeth. “I don’t have any money, Dad.”

He sighed. “Guess I won’t be making it to your first game.”

I’ll survive somehow. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Damn it, Elliott! That’s just lazy! What was wrong with your car?”

“Something I couldn’t fix,” I deadpanned.

“You gettin’ smart with me?”

“No, sir,” I said, staring at bugs clamoring in the beam of the field lights.

“Because I’ll come up there, you little shit. I’ll come up and whip your ass.”

I thought you needed gas money. You could’ve caught a ride with Mom if you really wanted to watch me play. Guess you’ll have to get a job instead of owing your teenage son money. “Yessir.”

He sighed. “Well, don’t screw up. Your mom hated that town, and there’s a reason why. They might love you now, but you screw up, and that’s all over, you hear me? They’ll make you miserable, because they don’t give two shits about a redskin kid. They only like that you’re making them look good.”

“Yessir.”

“All right. Talk to you later.”

I hung up and gripped my steering wheel, breathing in through my nose and out my mouth, trying to let my hatred simmer instead of boil oil. After a few minutes and some meditation Aunt Leigh had taught me, it began to subside. I could hear her calm voice in my head. He can’t touch you, Elliott. You are in control of your emotions. You’re in control of your reaction. You can, at any time, change the way you feel.

My hands stopped shaking, and my grip relaxed. Once my heart slowed, I reached forward for the ignition and twisted the key.

I drove my junk car straight to the Calhoun mansion, parking across the street between streetlamps. All the lights inside were dark except for a bedroom upstairs. I waited, hoping she’d somehow see my car and come outside, wishing I could talk to her one more time before I went home. She had forgiven me faster than I thought—or at least she was beginning to. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was going to have to work a lot harder for her to let me in, literally and figuratively. Whatever she was keeping from me was scaring her, and she’d been left alone to fend for herself too long. I wanted to protect her, but I wasn’t sure from what.

Just as I reached for the key, a figure stood in front of the only lit window. It was Catherine, looking down the street toward my aunt’s house, holding something in her hands. She looked sad, and I was desperate to change that.

My cell phone buzzed, displaying a text from Aunt Leigh.

You should be home by now.

On my way, I typed.

You don’t get to run all over town without permission. You’re not eighteen just yet.

I was just trying to calm down before I got home. Dad called.

Oh? What did he want?

I smirked. She knew him so well. My lawn money.

It took a moment for the three dots to signal she’d begun typing again. Uncle John will make sure that doesn’t happen again. Come home. We’ll talk.

It’s okay. I feel better.

Come home.

I put the gearshift into drive and pulled away from the curb, heading home. I could see Catherine in the rearview mirror, still standing at her window. I was wondering if she was dreaming about freedom or glad the glass was separating her from the hateful world outside.