I walked away from him, holding the straps of my backpack.
"You don't hate me," he called.
I trudged to the corner, fighting my conflicting emotions and Althea's words in my ear. I was behind on laundry, and even if Mama had done it while I was gone, she'd be upset with me. Elliott was distracting me, and creating any more stress for Mama was something I couldn't afford. When she was unhappy, everyone was unhappy, and that made for a very tense household.
I stepped off the curb to cross the street, and then I was on my back, gasping for air. Elliott was hovering over me, his eyes wide.
"Oh God. Catherine, are you okay? I'm sorry."
Once my breath returned, I pushed at him. He pulled me to a sitting position while fighting my swinging arms. "What . . . are you . . . doing?" I yelled, fighting him.
He pointed to the road. "You almost walked in front of a car!" he said, trying to subdue my wrists.
I breathed hard, looking out to the road. Besides the high schoolers leaving the parking lot, other vehicles were driving into town from the highway, going faster than they should.
I blinked, looking around, trying to gain the courage to apologize. "Thank you," I said. "I was preoccupied."
"Please let me take you home," he begged.
I nodded, shook up from almost becoming a pancake. I wondered what would happen to Mama and the Juniper if something happened to me. I had to be more careful.
Elliott's motor could still be heard a block away, and it made me angry that my heart was crying out the farther he drove. I didn't want to miss him. I didn't want to want him. Elliott being nice made it that much harder to hate him. My bag hit the dining chair with a smack, and I stood at the sink, filling a cup with cold water.
The sweat that had evaporated in Elliott's air-conditioned Chrysler was still on my skin, and new beads began to form from standing in the thick, stale air of the Juniper. I set the cup down to splash my face once and then used a dish towel to dry. The thinning fabric was soft against my skin, and I held it against my eyes, enjoying the dark until I heard a stool leg scrape across the floor.
"Who was that? He's super tan," Tess said in her no-nonsense tone.
"That," I said, getting another cup of water, "was Elliott."
"The boy who left?"
I sighed, setting the cups on the island. "Yes, and he can stay gone. That's one more complication I don't need."
"For sure. Tell him you love him and start naming your future babies. Seriously. He'll run."
I laughed once, set one cup in front of Tess and the other in front of me. I gulped, and Tess watched me, disgusted. "Why don't you turn on the AC? There's an idea."
"If you see Mama before I do, feel free to ask."
"So who was he?"
"None of your business."
Tess put down her cup. "I'm out. It's got to be ninety degrees in here, and you're cranky. Oh, and you have a guest. He was checking in just before you got home."
I watched Tess leave, calling after her, "Who?"
A few moments later, Duke yelled from upstairs. "Damn it all to hell!" I heard something crash, and I rushed to stand at the last step. A door slammed, and then footsteps began walking down the hall, slow and steady, the wood creaking under Duke's weight.
He peered down at me, wearing a stained white button-down with a loosened gray tie. His belly hung over the belt that held up his gray slacks, and he took a step down the stairs while hanging on to the banister.
"No towels. How many times have I told you that I need fresh towels? I shower every day! I need a damn towel every day! How hard is that?"
I swallowed, watching him descend the steps slowly. Althea had said the day before that she'd finish the laundry so I could talk to Elliott. Out of my routine, I'd forgotten to stock the rooms.
"I'm sorry, Duke. I'll get those for you now."
"It's too late! I had to stand in my bathroom and drip-dry. Now I'm late. I'm sick and tired of needing something every time I check in to this shithole! Towels are a basic accommodation. Basic! How do you not understand that?"
"I'll get the towels," I said, stepping toward the laundry.
Duke descended the last two steps quickly and grabbed my arm, his thick fingers sinking into my flesh. "If it happens again . . ." He pulled me closer. He was short, at almost eye level with me, which didn't make the crazy look on his sweaty face any less intimidating. He stared at me, his nostrils flaring while he breathed heavily through his nose. "You just make sure it doesn't."
"You'll have to let me go first, Duke," I said, balling my hand into a fist.
He looked down at my hand and then turned me loose, shoving me away. I walked to the laundry, seeing the towels Althea had folded perfectly on top of the dryer. I took five thickly stacked white towels to Duke's regular room, knocking first. He didn't answer, so I cracked the door open.
"Hello?" I asked, hoping for Poppy, or Mama, or anyone but Duke.
I stepped across the empty bedroom, noting Duke's still-made bed and the open, empty suitcase on the stand next to the dresser. Hanging in the closet were all-too-familiar suits, allowing the always-present dull ache for my dad to grow into full-blown grief. I always missed him, but it didn't hurt until it did, and then realization and sadness crashed over me in waves. I had gotten better about crying on the inside. Shedding tears didn't change anything anyway.
The bathroom was clean, the shower curtain closed. I bent down in front of the wooden shelf in the corner, placing the folded, fluffy white towels there.
The rings on the shower curtain clicked behind me, and I stood, closing my eyes, waiting for whoever was standing there to make their presence known. When nothing happened, I turned around, noticing that the air conditioner had kicked on. The air blew through the vent, making the shower curtain gently wave.
I breathed out, relieved, and then quickly left the room, taking the rest of the towels into Mama's room, saving just one for me. The rest of the rooms were vacant, but I looked for dirty laundry anyway and then carried a nearly empty basket back downstairs, starting a small load in the washer.
As water began to fill the deep basin, I silently cursed myself. It was stupid to leave my chores to someone else. I knew better, but ignoring my responsibilities for Elliott was exactly what had to be avoided. Keeping secrets meant not drawing attention to the Juniper, and Duke getting angry enough to stay somewhere else for the night would draw attention. I could just imagine him taking his ratty, olive-green suitcase to the Holiday Inn in the next town over, causing a scene at the desk while he tried to check in with an ID that didn't match his name. We had to keep him happy, otherwise the very worst would happen, and I wasn't even sure what that was except for knowing they would take Mama and me away from each other. Maybe for good.
I spent the next hour cleaning, and just as I finished a noodle casserole, I heard the door open and close. I wasn't sure if it was Duke or Mama, so I waited for the sound of footsteps on the stairs.
I tensed. Duke was already back. "Are there any damn towels?" he yelled as he neared the top floor. "Every time I step outside in this godforsaken town, I'm drenched in sweat."
"There are fresh towels in your room," I called.
He stomped down the stairs, and I stiffened. "Did you just yell at me, little girl?"
"No, I called to you like you did to me."
He narrowed his eyes and then wrinkled his nose, sniffing. He leaned over to look at the casserole dish behind me. "What's that?"
"Noodle casserole. Mama's recipe."
"I've had that before."
I had to think back to remember when the last time was that we'd had it and when he was here. It was possible. "It'll be ready in an hour." I turned the dial to 250 degrees.
"It better be. The service around here is worse than having to waste away in this crap town."
"If there's anything else you need, please let me know."
He stomped over to me, leaning in just inches from my face. I looked at
the floor.
"You tryna get rid of me, girl?" His teeth ground against one another, and he breathed through his nose again. The sound reminded me of a wild animal getting ready to charge.
I shook my head. "I'm just trying to make up for my mistake before. I want you to be happy here." Duke wouldn't be able to go anywhere but the Juniper even if someone did let him check in. With his demeanor and his sneaking around, no one would let him stay longer than a night if at all, and I was certain he couldn't afford anywhere else anyway. Besides, I worried for Poppy if he did.
Duke sat up. "Happy, huh?"
I nodded. The oven beeped, and I opened the door, sliding in the casserole. I faced Duke, his round eyes bulging from the anger that always seemed to boil inside of him. "Can I? Get you anything else?"
One of his eyes twitched, but he said nothing.
I offered a forced smile and then made my way to the front door, my feet moving faster with each step. By the time I pushed through to the porch, I ran straight into Elliott.
"Whoa! Hey," he said with a smile. It quickly faded when he saw the look on my face. "Are you all right?"
I glanced behind me. "What are you doing here?"
He smirked. "I was in the neighborhood."
I pushed him out the door. "We should go. C'mon."
"Where?" he asked, glancing at Duke behind me. He was standing next to the bottom of the stairs, watching us from under his brows.
"Anywhere. Please, let's just go."
"Okay," Elliott said, taking my hand. He led me down the steps, down the uneven sidewalk, and out the gate, letting it crash behind us. We walked toward the park, and the farther we got from my house, the less panicked I felt.
Elliott didn't ask me any questions while we walked, which I appreciated even more than his hand still encompassing mine. It was impossible to hate him, no matter how much I tried. Once we reached the curb that bordered the clearing surrounded by birch and maple trees, I tugged on Elliott's hand, choosing the far bench. It was next to a smelly trash can but had the better shade.
I relaxed against the back of the bench, willing my heartbeat to slow. My hands were shaking. Duke didn't come around often, but when he did, it was terrifying.
"Catherine, are you okay?" Elliott finally asked after several minutes of silence. "You looked scared."
"I'm okay," I said. "You just startled me."
"Then what was that all about?"
"I forgot to stock the rooms with towels last night. One of the guests was upset."
Elliott wasn't convinced. "Are you that afraid of getting in trouble?"
I didn't answer.
Elliott sighed. "You don't have to tell me unless someone is hurting you. Is someone? Hurting you?"
"No."
He was deciding if he should believe me or not, and then he nodded. "I saw you at school today. I called your name. You didn't answer."
"When?" I asked.
"At lunch. You'd just gotten up to throw away your tray. I tried to catch up with you, but you rounded the corner and disappeared."
"Oh."
"What do you mean, 'oh'?"
"I ducked into the bathroom. Presley and the clones were headed in my direction."
"So you hid?"
"It's better than the alternative."
"Which is?"
"Engaging." I glanced down at his watch. "What time is it?"
"Almost seven."
The sun was already setting. "Shouldn't you be at football practice?"
He looked down at himself, and I realized what a sweaty, dirty mess he was, still in a football T-shirt and navy-blue practice shorts. "I came straight over. I dunno. I had a bad feeling, and as soon as I walked onto the porch, you came barreling into me. Now we're sitting here like nothing happened. I'm worried about you."
"Why?"
He lifted his eyebrows. "I already told you. You look scared, and I know you're not telling me everything."
I leaned to the side, scratched my chin with my shoulder, and then looked away. "You know, maybe not everything is your business."
"I didn't say it was, but I can still worry about you."
"I didn't ask you to worry about me." I closed my eyes. "I don't want you to worry about me. You can't help anyway. Your life is messed up enough for both of us."
"Stop."
I turned to face him, surprised at the lack of hurt on his face. "Stop what?"
"Trying to piss me off. It's not going to work."
I opened my mouth to speak but hesitated. He was right. Pushing people away was what I had done since Dad died, but now that Elliott was back, the thought of him leaving again made my chest ache. "I'm . . . sorry."
"You're forgiven."
I pointed behind me. "I should probably head home. I have something in the oven."
"Just . . . let me have a few more minutes. Please?"
I glanced down the street toward the Juniper.
"Catherine . . ."
"I'm really okay. Some days are just harder than others."
Elliott reached for my hand, sliding his fingers between mine. "I have bad days, too, Catherine. But I don't run out of my house because I'm afraid of what's inside."
I didn't have an answer, so I let go of his hand and left him alone in the park.
Chapter Ten
Elliott
Knock that shit off, Youngblood!" Coach Peckham said, pulling me up from the grass.
I stood, nodding.
He grabbed my face mask. "I know you're famous for sneaks, but I don't need you injured by your own team before the first damn game."
"Sorry, Coach," I said.
It was my second head-on collision of the day. I was already in trouble for being late to practice. Coach ran me half to death in the heat, but it was exactly what I needed to burn off the anger boiling inside of me. It was easier to run the ball than try to remember plays when Catherine was dominating my thoughts, so I just took the ball and ran straight for the end zone.
We stood around listening to the coaches before we were released from practice. The managers ran onto the field, handing out bottles of water. When they released us, it didn't take long for my teammates to gather around me, slapping my ass, shoulders, and the back of my head. They were whooping and hollering as we entered the locker room, excited for the upcoming season now that they had a 5A quarterback on the team.
"Not that we're not happy about it, but why did you say you moved here your senior year?" Connor Daniels asked. He was a fellow senior, loved to talk about what girl he was banging and how much he'd drunk the weekend before. He reminded me of a lot of the guys I played with in Yukon, as if sex and drinking were the only things to do or worth talking about. Or maybe he was trying to overcompensate for something. Either way, he annoyed me.
"Are you military or something?" Scotty Neal asked. I'd beat him out of the quarterback spot, and even though he tried to pretend to be pissed off, I could tell he was relieved.
"For a girl," I said, proud.
My teammates laughed.
"Shut the hell up, Youngblood, you're full of shit," Connor said. When I didn't waver, his eyes grew wide. "Wait. You're serious? Which one?"
"Catherine Calhoun," I said.
Scotty wrinkled his nose. "Catherine? What the fuck, dude?"
"She is kinda hot," Connor said. I glowered at him, and he backed away. "It was a compliment."
"We live in the same neighborhood. I've been visiting here in the summers since I was a kid."
"Damn," Scotty said. "You know she's crazy, right?"
"She's not crazy," I said, my tone final. "She's just . . . been through a lot."
"Someone should warn you," Scotty said. "Their whole family is bad news. I mean, generations of bad. They poisoned the whole town, then they went bankrupt. The dad died, and the mom is a freakin' weirdo. Catherine . . . you could get a scholarship, maybe even go pro. You should steer clear of her."
"Say that again," I said, taking a step toward him.
<
br /> Scotty leaned back. "Okay, man. I'm just trying to warn ya."
The rest of the team followed him and Connor to the showers, and I grabbed my bag, threw the strap over my head, and headed out of the locker room, still steaming.
Someone grabbed my arm as I rounded the corner, and I yanked my arm away.
"Hey, whoa," Coach Peckham said. "Good practice today, Elliott."
"Thanks, Coach."
"I heard what Scotty said in there. He's not wrong. That family . . . you just need to be careful, okay?"
I frowned at him. We were the same height, making it easy to meet his gaze, letting him know no one was going to change my mind about Catherine. "You don't know her like I do."
"You said you're neighbors?"
I realized my shoulders were tense, and I let them relax. Because of my size, I had to pay more attention to my body language. I'd gotten in too many fights the past two years because it looked like I was threatening someone, and the last thing I needed was for my coach to think I was trying to intimidate him. "She lives down the street from me."
He nodded, thinking about that for a moment.
"Hi," a woman's voice said from the shadows. Mrs. Mason stepped out, looking embarrassed. "You're not going to believe this. I locked my keys and my phone in my car."
Coach Peckham smiled, his demeanor instantly changing. "Actually, I can."
She giggled like a cheerleader with a crush, and I readjusted the strap of my duffel bag.
"Elliott?" Mrs. Mason said, touching my arm with a gentle grip. "Were you talking about Catherine?"
I nodded.
Mrs. Mason smiled. "She's a kind person. I'm glad you see that."
"Becca," Coach scolded.
Mrs. Mason frowned up at him. "She's finally found a friend, and you're worried about your team?"
"I've always been her friend," I said. Mrs. Mason looked at me, confused. "I've been visiting my aunt in the summers. We've been friends for a while."
"Oh," she said, her eyes bright. "That's so great. Small towns like ours . . . people get put in a box, and it's hard to get out. But don't listen to anyone. I've gotten to know her better after her father's death. I think Catherine's lovely."
I offered a small smile before heading to my car. "She is."
"Youngblood," Coach Peckham called after me. "Don't be late again, or I'll run you until you puke."
"Yessir," I yelled back.
Just as I reached the Chrysler, my cell phone rang a warning. That was my dad's ringtone, so I let it go until I was settled in my seat.