All the Little Lights(82)

Once in my room, I peeled off my clothes, listening to the pipes rattle and whistle before the water sprayed through the showerhead.

Freshly scrubbed and shampooed, I stood in my robe in front of the mirror, wiping away the hundreds of tiny water droplets with my palm. The girl in the mirror was different than the one who’d stood in front of the mirror with Elliott just a few days before. The dark circles had returned, and my eyes were sad and tired. Even knowing how it would end, I still looked forward to seeing him at school every day. It was the only thing I looked forward to, and I was going to let him go for reasons I didn’t completely understand.

My comb slid through my wet hair. I wondered what my dad would think about how long my hair had grown, if he’d have approved of Elliott, and how different my life would be if Dad had lived. The music box on my dresser began to play one chime at a time, and I walked into my bedroom, gazing at the pink cube. It was closed and I hadn’t wound it in days, but since the day after Dad’s funeral, I’d pretended the misfiring of the pin drum that created the slow, haunting tune was Dad’s way of talking to me.

I carried the music box to my window, winding the tiny gold crank and then opening the lid, watching my misshapen ballerina twirl to the comforting tune.

I sat on the small bench seat beneath the window, already feeling the cold air seeping through the cracks. The Fentons’ maple tree on the far side of their lot was obscuring a full view of the night sky, but I could still see hundreds of twinkling stars between the branches.

The streetlamps had been neglected and were slowly going out one at a time, but the millions of stars above would always be there: mysterious, silent witnesses, just like the guests of the Juniper.

A handful of gravel rocks bounced off the glass, and I looked two stories down to see Elliott standing in the dark.

I pushed up the window with a smile, winter breathing in my face. “I didn’t think you were coming.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because practice has been over for hours?”

He looked ashamed. “Sorry, I got tied up. I thought . . . I think I should come up again,” he called up as quietly as he could. “That I should stay.”

“Elliott . . . ,” I sighed. One night was a risk. Two was making a decision.

Icy wind blew Elliott’s hair forward. After just one night of having him in my room, I was desperate to be surrounded by that hair, his arms, and the safety I felt just being close to him. Another gust blew in through the window, and I wrapped my robe tighter around me. “It’s freezing. You should go home.”

“Just a second,” he said, backing up a few steps before taking a running start and climbing and jumping up to the roof beneath my window.

I stopped him before he climbed in, pressing my hand against his shoulder. “We’re going to get caught.”

“That’s why I’m here, right? In case someone comes into your room without permission?”

“I don’t want you to be here if that happens, Elliott. It will make it even harder to explain.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

“This is a mess,” I said with a sigh. “My life is a mess.”

“Well, now your mess is my mess.”

I touched his cheek, and he leaned against it, creating a twinge in my chest. “I know you’re just trying to help, but if I cared about you at all, I wouldn’t let you get involved. Maybe”—my stomach felt sick before I even said the words—“Elliott, I think it’s time we . . . we should break up. You’re leaving anyway, and I want to keep you far away from all this.”

He frowned. “Damn it, Catherine, don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. You’re coming with me, remember? And besides, I do the protecting around here.”

“I thought I was the warrior?”

“How about you take a break for a while?”

I heaved out a frustrated sigh. “Elliott, you have no idea what you’re saying. You don’t even know what you’re dealing with.”

“Is this about the fight?” he asked.

“No.”

“Okay. Okay, then maybe,” he began, choosing his words carefully. I could tell he was angry that I’d even said the words break up, just as agitated as the first time we went to lunch with Sam and Madison. “Okay, all right? I get it. If no one is hurting you, I won’t say anything. I’m just worried about you. Not knowing what’s going on is making it worse.”

The wind blew, and I hugged my middle.

“All right, this is ridiculous,” he said, climbing in.

Elliott closed the window and walked across the room, sitting on my bed. It creaked under his weight. He gazed at me, patting the space next to him with a sweet smile.

I glanced at the door, trying to keep my voice down. “I appreciate that you worry about me, but as you can see, I’m fine. Now please . . .”

Muffled voices filtered down the hall, and we froze. I recognized Duke and Mama, and then Willow, but Elliott frowned, seeming confused. “Is that . . . ?”

I covered my eyes with my hands, feeling hot tears threaten to fall. “Elliott, you have to leave.”

“Sorry. I won’t talk in question marks.”

“I’m serious. This is serious. I’m trying to protect you.”