All the Little Lights(65)

“You’re not leaving,” she said finally. “We discussed it.”

“Who discussed it?”

“The guests and me. The other night. We agreed.”

“You agreed? Mama,” I pleaded, “what are you talking about? The guests don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to decide.”

“You’re staying.”

“The game is just ninety minutes away,” I begged.

“After graduation, I need you here. You can’t go.”

Everything I wanted to say caught in my throat behind years of pent-up frustration and loneliness. She knew what I’d been through, how miserable I was in the Juniper, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t, because the alternative was to sink with the ship. My shoulders sagged. Part of me hoped she would release me and tell me to go. “I’m not going after graduation, Mama. I’ve already decided.”

Mama turned, wringing her apron in her hands with tears in her eyes. “You have?”

I nodded, and Mama walked the few steps to wrap me in her arms, her shoulders shaking with each sob. “Thank you, Catherine. I told them you wouldn’t leave us. I knew it.”

I let her go. “Told who?”

“You know . . . the guests. Except for that Bill fellow. I don’t think he’ll be back,” she said, almost to herself. “Althea is the only one who thinks it’s a good idea that you go.”

“Bill?”

She waved me away. “Oh, Mr. Heitmeyer. He was fit to be tied when he left. He’s the sort who needs a cold shower. I don’t know what the fuss was about.” She cupped my shoulders. “Catherine, you keep this place running. You keep us together. If it weren’t for you, we couldn’t keep going the way we are.”

I frowned, letting her words simmer. “I’m taking Friday night off.”

Mama nodded her head. “Okay. That’s fair. You just . . . you promised not to leave.”

“I know what I said.”

I left her to go upstairs, picking up my backpack along the way. A flash of black caught my eye, and I passed my bedroom and the guest rooms to peer around the corner. A four-wheeled carry-on was standing with the handle fully extended next to the stairway that led to Mama’s room. I checked the luggage tag, praying I wasn’t right.

WILLIAM HEITMEYER





674 OLEANDER BOULEVARD


WILKES-BARRE, PENNSYLVANIA

18769

My breath caught, and I backed away from the roller bag. There were two rows of suitcases in the basement, all with different names. Mr. Heitmeyer’s would be added to the pile of things left behind—that’s what Mama called them. My head began to spin, and my chest felt tight. People didn’t just leave things behind. I didn’t believe that anymore. Not since Elliott came back.

“Catherine?” Althea said.

I jumped, then touched my hand to my chest. “Oh. Althea. Do you, um . . . do you know about this?” I asked, gesturing to the bag.

Althea scanned the bag and then smiled at me. “No. Want me to ask your mama when I see her?”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll ask her. Thanks.” I made my way to my room.

“Everything okay, sugar?”

“All good. Let me know if you need anything,” I called back.

“You do the same,” she said.

I could hear the uncertainty in her voice, and I was sure to her my behavior seemed odd, but it was best not to drag Althea into any suspicious activity. Althea was the only solid ground I had within the walls of the Juniper, and I didn’t want her to be involved in whatever that suitcase meant.

The four books inside my bag hit my bed with a thud, and I sat down next to it. After five minutes, Poppy still hadn’t come in for the story. I was glad; I had too much to do before the game. The night meeting when the guests were in one room, talking in frightened, panicked voices, was about me, and it was disturbing to know I was the reason for it. I wondered if it was the first one and if there would be more.

With all of them so invested in preventing my departure, I had to wonder what they had planned for me.

I cracked my book open, fishing a pen out of the front zipper pocket of my bag. Mrs. Faust wanted a five-hundred-word literary analysis of Grendel. That wouldn’t be so difficult if I didn’t also have the paper on muscle atrophy, two worksheets for Mr. Mason, and geometry homework. The good news was that none of it was due until Monday. I was too exhausted to concentrate, so the new plan was to take a nap before diving into Grendel’s supernatural powers and how his bitterness for the Danes led to his demise.

Someone knocked on my door, and I blinked, my head feeling almost too heavy to move.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“It’s me,” Mama said.

I sat up. “The suitcase in the hallway . . .”

“There are some girls for you at the door.”

“Girls?” I asked, putting emphasis on the plural.

“Yes, girls. Now don’t be rude and keep them waiting.”

“Are they inside?”

“No, silly. On the porch swing.”

My curiosity helped me leave my bed and make my way downstairs to the porch. It shouldn’t have surprised me that Presley and her clones were there as Mama had said.