Mr. and Mrs. Mason looked at Tatum, their mouths open.
"Tatum, did you threaten Catherine with this knife?" Mrs. Mason asked.
Tatum's eyes danced between the Masons, and then she settled on Anna Sue, seeming to refocus. "We'll do whatever we have to do to get our friend back."
Mrs. Mason looked to me, fear in her eyes. She cleared her throat. "Mr. Mason, please take Anna Sue and Tatum to Dr. Augustine. And call the police. Catherine Calhoun was just threatened with a dangerous weapon on school property."
Mr. Mason grabbed Tatum's arm and then Anna Sue's, pulling her to stand.
"Wait," Tatum said, struggling. "She attacked us! She attacked us!"
"After you threatened her with a knife," Mr. Mason said, his deep voice echoing down the hallway. "C'mon. Let's go."
I turned the dial of my locker, yanked, and for the first time, the latch released on the first try. I pulled out a thin pad and a tampon, slipping them both into the inside pocket of my coat.
"Oh. That's why you came to your locker in the middle of class," Mrs. Mason said. She cupped my cheeks in her hands, then brushed my hair. "Are you all right?"
I nodded, still feeling tears cooling on my cheeks.
She hugged me to her, holding me tight. I realized I was still shaking, my cheek against her chest. "You're not safe out here anymore."
"I didn't do anything to Presley. Neither did Elliott. I swear to you we didn't."
"I know. Come on," she said, pulling me by the hand.
"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.
I slipped one leg and then the other into a dry pair of panties and then pulled the first nightgown I touched out of the drawer and over my head.
Elliott tapped on the door. "Can you grab my shirt and shorts from my bag?"
"Yes," I said, turning toward his duffel bag in the corner. A black T-shirt and a pair of gray cotton shorts were folded on top. I snatched them, rushing over to the bathroom door. It cracked open, and Elliott's hand appeared, palm up.
Once the clothes were in his hand, the door closed again.
I sat on the bed, brushing my hair to the sweet chime of my music box, waiting for Elliott to appear. Finally, he stepped out, still sheepish.
"Don't be embarrassed," I said. "I'm not."
"It's just that . . . Aunt Leigh brought this up after the first night I stayed here. I assured her that wasn't a possibility anytime soon. Now I wish I had listened to her."
"Now that's embarrassing."
Elliott chuckled, sitting next to me and trying his best to pull the hair tie from his wet bun.
"Here, let me help," I said, smiling as he relaxed back against me. It took me a solid minute, but I finally worked all his hair from the black band and started to unravel it. I began at the ends, holding them as I gently brushed through his
hair. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as the sound of the dark strands passing through the teeth of my brush became a steady rhythm.
"No one's brushed my hair since I was little," he said.
"It's relaxing. You should let me do it more often."
"You can do it as much as you'd like."
When I could start at the roots and pull the brush through to the ends, Elliott took the hair band from me and pulled it up again.
"You're like that guy in the Bible," I said. "The strong one with the strong hair."
Elliott lifted an eyebrow. "You've read the Bible? I thought you said you didn't believe in God."
"I use to."
"What changed your mind?" he asked.
"Do you? Believe in God?"
"I believe in a connection, to the earth, the stars, to every living thing, my family, my ancestors."
"Me?"
He seemed surprised. "You're family."
I leaned down, barely touching my lips to a dark red split in his lip. He winced.
"I'll get some ice."
"No, it's fine. Don't leave."
I chuckled. "I'll be right back." I slipped outside and down the stairs, opening the freezer and reaching inside for a cold pack. I wrapped it in a dish towel and hurried back upstairs, realizing it was second nature now for me to listen for any movement. There was only silence. Even the water heater downstairs was quiet.
When I returned to the bedroom, Elliott helped me to replace the dresser and bed against the door.
"I could come in sometime when your mom is gone and install a bolt lock."
I shook my head. "She'd know then. And she would freak out if I altered the house."
"She has to understand her teenage daughter getting a lock on her bedroom door. Especially if the guests are coming in."
"She won't." I touched the dark line on his lip, split from where Cruz had hit him. "I'm so sorry, Elliott. If you had stayed away, you wouldn't be in this situation right now."
"Think about it. Why do they think you had a reason to hurt Presley? Because she was horrible to you. You'll never convince me any of this is your fault. They could jump me a dozen times, and it still wouldn't be your fault. That's their choice. Their hate. Their fear. You don't make them do anything."
"You think they'll try to jump you again?"
He sighed, irritated. "I don't know. Does it matter?"
"Yes. Because you're right. It's getting worse. Maybe you should do your work in Mrs. Mason's office, too," I said.
"That's not a bad idea. I miss seeing you in the hall and in Mr. Mason's class."
"Tell me about it. I've been back there for a month. It's almost Christmas break, with no end in sight."
"Mrs. Mason is worried about you. I am, too."
"Let's worry about you for a while."
We both paused when a floorboard creaked down the hall.
"Who's here?" Elliott whispered.
"Willow was here when I got home from school. That's probably her."
"Who's Willow?"
I sighed. "She's nineteen. Wears a lot of black eyeliner. That's how you can pick her out of a crowd. She's . . . sad."
"Where is she from?"
"I don't talk to her as much as I do the others. Most of the time she's too depressed. Mama says she's a runaway. From her accent, I think Chicago."
"What about the rest? You said the Juniper has regulars."
"Um . . ." It felt strange to discuss the guests with anyone. "There's Duke and his daughter, Poppy. He says he's an oil guy from Texas, but he mostly just yells. He's angry . . . scary angry, and Poppy's like this little mouse who scampers around the Juniper."
"That's awful. Why does she travel with him?"
"He comes here for work. Poppy doesn't have a mother."
"Poor kid."
I squirmed.
"Who else?"
"When Althea stays, she helps me cook and clean, and she always gives great advice. She's the one who told me to forgive you."
"Smart lady," Elliott said with a smile.
"Then my uncle Toad and cousin Imogen come sometimes, but not as often as the others. After last time, Mama told Uncle Toad he couldn't come back for a while."
"Uncle Toad?"
I shrugged. "If he looks like a toad and sounds like a toad . . ."
"Is he your mom's brother or dad's brother? Or someone's sister's husband?"
"I don't know," I said, looking up at the ceiling in thought. "I've never asked."
Elliott chuckled. "That's weird."
"It's all weird, trust me."
The room was dark, and the Juniper was quiet except for Willow's occasional pacing and the cars driving down our street. The dresser was against the door and the bed against the dresser, so I barely worried about guests wandering into my room at night anymore. I leaned down to gently kiss Elliott's swollen lip.
"Is that okay?" I asked.
"It's always okay."
I lay down on Elliott's chest, listening to his heartbeat. It sped up for a few seconds before finally settling down. He hugged me to him, his voice low and soothing.
"Christmas break, then Christmas, then New Year's, then the last semester of high school. You turn eighteen in just over a month."
I blinked. "Wow. It doesn't seem possible."
"Still plan on staying here?"
I thought about his question. Eighteen had felt like it would never come. Now that it was here and I felt so safe and warm in Elliott's arms, my resolve was wavering.
"Hesitation is good," he said.
I pinched his side, and he let out an almost silent yelp. His fingers found the ticklish spot on my ribs, and I squealed. I covered my mouth, my eyes wide.
We chuckled until the doorknob turned.
"Catherine?" Willow said.
I froze, feeling fear burrow a hole in my chest and spread through my veins. It took every bit of courage I could muster to speak.
"I'm in bed, Willow. What do you need?" I asked.
The door rattled again. "What's in front of the door?"
"My dresser?"
She pushed at the door again. "Why?"
"Because I don't have a lock, and the guests think they can just walk in."
"Let me in!" she whined.
It took me a few seconds to gain the courage, but the alternative was worse. "No. I'm in bed. Go away."
"Catherine!"
"I said go away!"
The doorknob released, and Willow's footsteps sounded farther away as she made her way back down the hall.
I let my head fall against Elliott's chest, finally exhaling like I'd been underwater. "That was too close."
He hugged me to him, the warmth of his arms helping my heart rate return to normal. "She's definitely from the Chicago area."
I leaned back against Elliott's chest, keeping my gaze on the door.
"Are you going to stare at it until morning?" he asked.
"Elliott, if she comes in . . ."
He waited for me to finish a truth that wouldn't come. "Say it. Tell me."
I frowned, everything inside me screaming not to say the words. "They're going to try to keep me here. Mama. The guests."
"Why?"
"More questions," I said, already miles outside of comfort.
"Catherine," he prompted, "what is going on here? What are they doing?"
I bit on my bottom lip and then moved into a new position. "The new guests . . . they don't leave. Sometimes I find their suitcases in the basement, their toiletries still in their rooms. We don't have guests other than the regulars very often, but . . ."
Elliott was quiet for a long time. "How long has this been happening?"
"Not long after we opened."
"What happens to them? The new guests."
I shrugged, feeling tears sting my eyes.
Elliott hugged me to his chest. He was quiet for a long time. "Has anyone come looking?"
"No."
"Maybe it's something else.
Maybe the regulars are just stealing from them."
"Maybe."
"You've never seen anyone leave?"
"Not anyone who's come alone."
He sighed, holding me close. Eventually, my eyes felt heavy, and no matter how hard I tried to watch for shadows in the light that slipped under the door, blackness surrounded me, and I tumbled backward into the dark.
When my eyes opened again, Elliott was gone. The winter birds were chirping in the bright sun, and the wind was silent for a change. I dressed for school, and just as I pulled my hair back into a ponytail, I heard plates clattering in the kitchen, and the fire alarm began to bleat. I scrambled downstairs, stopping when I saw the chaos in the kitchen. Mama was struggling to put a breakfast together, the smell of burned bacon mixing with the smoke in the air.
I opened the kitchen window, grabbing a place mat and using it to fan the smoke away. After a few seconds, the alarm silenced.
"Goodness, I've probably woken the entire house," she said.
"You okay?" I asked.
"I . . ." She looked around, sniffing at the sight of a broken egg on the floor.
I bent down to scoop the yolk and shell into my hands, standing to fling them into the sink. Mama was a seasoned cook and baker, and it didn't take long to figure out what had happened.
"Is Duke here?" I asked. But before she could answer, I saw the Chrysler parked outside at the curb. "Oh! I have to go!" I called back.
Elliott stepped out, standing next to his car, but his smile wasn't as bright, his eyes weren't as animated as I walked toward him.
When I sat in the passenger seat, he held my hand, but the ride to school was quiet. We both knew that day would be worse than the day before. Each day that passed without news of Presley, the more hostile the school became for us.
Elliott parked and sighed. I squeezed his hand. "Three more days until Christmas break."
"I'm going to get suspended. I can feel it."
"Let me ask her about you doing your work in her office, too, okay?"
He shook his head, trying to hide his anxiety with a smile. "Nah. I want to see you more, but I won't hide."
"It's not fair that I'm protected in there, and you're a sitting duck. And you wouldn't be hiding. You'd be avoiding a fight."
"It's not in my blood to avoid a fight."
We walked hand in hand into the high school. He kept me a bit behind him--just enough for him to take the brunt of a hard shoulder from his teammates and other students in the hall. The smiles and high fives were gone, replaced by accusing stares and fear.
Elliott kept his eyes forward, his jaw ticking after every shove. He could have put his fist into the faces of every one of them, knocking out teeth or breaking noses, but he quietly repeated his mantra, counting down to Christmas break.