All the Little Lights(41)

Chapter Eleven

Catherine

A wooden floor panel creaked just outside my door. When the recognition hit, my eyes popped open, and I blinked until they adjusted to the darkness. A shadow blocked the hallway light from shining beneath my door, and I waited, wondering who would be standing quietly outside my room in the middle of the night.

The knob turned, and the latch clicked. The door opened slowly. I lay motionless while footsteps approached my bed, the shadow looming above me growing larger.

“Dear God, Catherine. You look like crap.”

“I was sleeping,” I grumbled. I sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and rubbed the blurriness from my eyes. I didn’t need to see to know my cousin, Imogen, had arrived sometime in the night. She couldn’t wait until morning to insult me. “How are you?” I said, staring at my bare feet. I wasn’t in the mood to chat, but Imogen would simply annoy me until I paid her attention. They didn’t come often, her and Uncle Toad, but they always came in October.

She heaved a dramatic sigh as all tweens did and let her hands fall to her thighs with a slap. “I hate it here. I can’t wait to leave.”

“Already?” I asked.

“It’s so hot.”

“You should have been here a few weeks ago. It’s cooled off since then.”

“Not everything is about you, Catherine—God!” Imogen said, twisting her dark hair around her finger. “Your mom said when she checked us in that you were in a mood.”

I tried not to snap back. Tolerating Imogen took great patience, and her late-night pop-ins made it difficult. My only cousin always dropped in with Uncle Toad, and I knew when they visited that I would either have to put up with Imogen’s incessant complaining and insults or clean up after her father because he was too lazy to move but somehow made huge messes everywhere he went.

Poppy was younger by several years but somehow more mature than Imogen and far more pleasant. It was a toss-up whether I’d rather deal with Poppy and her father, Duke, or Imogen and Uncle Toad.

My cousin rolled the quilted fabric of my blanket between her fingers, wrinkling her nose. “This place has really turned into a dump.”

“How do you like your room?” I asked. “Would you like me to walk you there?”

“No,” she said, tapping her toes on the floor.

“Please don’t . . . don’t do that,” I said, reaching for her foot as if I could stop her.

Imogen shot me a look and then rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”

I stood, padding across the floor and down the hall, signaling for Imogen to follow. The sound of her heavy feet against the wood echoed through the old house, and I wondered how she didn’t wake the entire neighborhood.

“Here,” I said, keeping my voice low. I turned the corner, choosing the room next to Duke’s, which I knew was clean and ready.

Imogen walked past me, frowning in disapproval. “Is this the only one?”

“Yes,” I lied. We had several rooms open, but I hoped with Imogen sleeping so close to the stairs that led up to Mama’s room, she’d stay at her end of the hall.

Imogen folded her arms across her chest. “This whole house has turned into a dump. It use to be nice. You use to be nice. Now you’re rude. Your mom is weird. I don’t know why we even come here.”

“Me neither.” I spoke the words under my breath as I turned away. My feet dragged as I made my way back to my room. I stopped, hearing Imogen step out into the hall.

“Catherine?”

I turned to face my cousin, seeing the dark circles under her eyes. I prayed she’d fall asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

“Yes, Imogen?”

She stuck her tongue out, wrinkling her nose to make the ugliest face possible. Her tongue glistened with slobber that gathered at the corners of her mouth. I recoiled, watching the spoiled brat continue her horrid expression until she returned to her room, slamming the door behind her.

My shoulders jolted up in reaction to the noise against the quietness of the house.

After a few moments, I heard another door, then bare feet padding across the hardwood floor. “Catherine?” Mama asked, looking tired. “Everything all right?”

“Fine,” I said, returning to my room.

I’d pushed my bed until it was flush against the door. The iron feet whined against the floor, creating new scratches in the wood. It had been almost six months since the last time I’d had to keep anyone out. The Juniper was no longer my home, and not just a bed and breakfast; Mama had created a sanctuary for people who didn’t belong in the outside world, and I was trapped there with them. Even though I fantasized about freedom, I wasn’t sure my conscience would allow me to leave her. That was hard to explain to anyone . . . to Elliott, to Mrs. Mason, even to myself. Explaining only meant more questions anyway.

I scooped up my jewelry box and listened to it play its tune while I carried it back to my bed, trying to let the music lull me back to sleep.

I pressed my head into the pillow, stretching to get comfortable and reacquainted with my mattress. I heard a creak outside my door and peered down to see another shadow partially blocking the hallway light at the bottom of my door. I waited. Imogen was mouthy, but she didn’t push confrontation. She was angry. I wondered if the person outside was Uncle Toad, or worse—Duke.