All the Little Lights(99)

“Where are we going?” I asked.

Mrs. Mason sighed. “You’re going to receive and complete your work in my office until this settles down.”





Chapter Thirty

Catherine

Rain pelted the Chrysler’s windshield and dripped down without interference from the wipers. Elliott had been quiet all evening, after school, at the grocery store, and sitting in his idling car in front of the Juniper.

“Can I come in?” he asked finally, water still dripping from his nose. He stared at his steering wheel, waiting for my answer.

I touched his cheek. “Yeah. We need to get you dried off.”

“I’ll carry the bags to the porch, then I’ll meet you upstairs.”

I nodded.

When I carried the last bag to the kitchen, I stopped, noticing Mama was sitting on the couch, watching a dark television screen.

“I picked up groceries,” I said, peeling off my coat and hanging it with the others. “Want to help me put them away?” She didn’t answer. “How was your day?”

One item after another, I filled the pantry and then the refrigerator. My wet clothes were stuck to my skin, and my teeth began to chatter as I put the empty plastic bags in the recycling bin. I removed my boots, dropping them off in the foyer before walking into the living room.

“Mama?”

She didn’t move.

I walked around, seeing her pale face and red-rimmed eyes focused on the floor. “What are you doing?” I asked, kneeling in front of her. I combed her tangled hair from her face with my fingers, a sick feeling stirring in my stomach. She’d been that low once or twice before, but her behavior was becoming increasingly unsettling.

“Everyone dies,” she whispered, her eyes glossing over.

“Are you missing Dad?” I asked.

Her eyes flicked up to glare at me, and then she turned away, a tear falling down her cheek.

“Okay. Let’s get you to bed.” I stood, helping her up with a grunt. I took her upstairs, down the hall, and then up the short, second set of stairs to her master suite. She sat on the bed, the same sad expression on her face. I unbuttoned her blouse, removed her bra, and found her favorite nightgown, tugging it over her head.

“Here,” I said, pulling back the covers. When she lay back, I helped her out of her shoes and jeans, covering her with the sheet and blanket as she turned her back to me.

Her skin felt cold and clammy when I pressed my lips to her cheek, but she remained still. I patted her hands, noticing dirt packed under her fingernails.

“Mama, what have you been doing?”

She pulled her hand away.

“Okay. We can talk about it tomorrow. I love you.”

I closed her door and tried to keep my footsteps light as I descended the stairs and walked down the hall to my bedroom. I passed my door and turned the dial on the thermostat, sighing when the vents kicked on. Mama hadn’t even asked why I was wet and shivering.

“It’s me,” I whispered as I slipped in through the small opening the dresser behind my door allowed. I expected to see Elliott in my bedroom, but he wasn’t there. Instead, he was standing in my bathroom, dripping wet and shivering. He only wore his wet jeans, with one of my towels wrapped around his bare shoulders.

“What are you doing?” I asked, joining him in the bathroom.

His lips were a bluish tint, his teeth chattering. “Can’t get warm,” he said.

The shower curtain rings scraped against the pole, and I twisted the knob. I peeled off my coat and stepped into the tub, pulling Elliott with me.

We stood together under the warm stream, the uncontrollable trembling of our bodies slowing to a tolerable level. I reached for the knob again and again, adjusting the temperature, warming the water as it did the same for us.

Elliott looked down at me, finally able to notice something other than the cold. Water dripped from the tip of his nose and chin as he stared, seeing that my sweater and jeans were drenched. He reached down to the bottom hem of my top and tugged up, leaving me in a thin, pink tank top. He leaned down, cupping my cheeks before touching his lips to mine.

I reached down to unbutton my jeans, but they didn’t slide off as normal, sticking to my skin every inch of the way. I kicked them to the back of the tub. Elliott’s fingers felt different on my skin, his fingertips sank in deeper, his breath faster, his mouth hungrier. He wrapped his arms around my middle and pulled me closer, and just as his mouth left mine to taste my neck, his kisses slowed, his touch returning to normal.

He reached back to turn off the shower and then for two towels, handing one to me and then drying his face with the other.

“What?” I asked.

“You should probably . . .” He gestured to my bedroom, seeming embarrassed.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he said quickly, desperate to save me from the same humiliation he felt. “I’m not . . . prepared.”

“Oh.” I blinked, waiting for the realization to hit. When it did, my eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Sorry. I didn’t realize that was an option.”

I tried not to smile but failed. I couldn’t blame him. I hadn’t given him any clues that it was. “I’ll just . . .” I pointed to my dresser, closing the bathroom door behind me. I covered my mouth, stifling a giggle before opening a drawer.