It struck me that I was sitting next to and getting kissed by the high school's senior quarterback across the table from his family.
Elliott wiped his mouth with a napkin.
"At least he still has manners," Kay deadpanned. "The Neal boy said there was a party tonight for the seniors. Are you going?"
Elliott frowned. "No, Mom. I told you that."
"I just . . ." She only hesitated for a moment. "I don't want you missing out on anything because--"
"Mom," Elliott snapped, too loud.
Leigh raised an eyebrow, and Elliott lowered his head a bit. "We're not going."
"Well," John said, "what are you gonna do then?"
"I don't know," Elliott said, turning toward me. "Maybe watch a movie?"
"Elliott, go. I have to get home anyway to make sure everything is ready for breakfast in the morning."
"Is that B and B still going?" Kay asked. "Didn't look like it was."
"It is," Elliott said. "Catherine works her tail off."
"Oh?" Kay prompted.
"I help my mom with the laundry and food prep and general cleaning and supplies," I said.
Kay chuckled. "What on earth do people do in Oak Creek when they stay at a B and B? I can't imagine we get many tourists."
"People staying for work, mostly," I said, feeling more uncomfortable with each question. I didn't like lying, but discussing the Juniper meant anything but the truth. I tried to turn it toward something that was less deceitful. "One of our guests stays when she visits her family."
"That's awfully strange. Why doesn't she stay with her family?" John asked.
"They don't have the room," I said simply.
"So here in town? Which family?" Leigh asked.
I took a bite and covered my mouth while I chewed, buying time while I thought of an answer. "I'm not . . . I'm not allowed to discuss our guests' information."
"Good girl," John said.
"Okay," Elliott said. "Let her eat. You have plenty of time to grill her later."
I shot Elliott an appreciative grin and then forked a small section of cheesy mac casserole onto my plate. I took a bite and hummed.
Elliott gently nudged me. "Good, huh?"
"It's amazing. I should get the recipe."
"You cook?" Kay asked.
"Mom," Elliott warned.
"Fine," Kay said, tending to the food on her plate.
John leaned back, resting his hand on his round belly. "I'm proud of you, Elliott. You played a damn good game."
"Thank you," Elliott said. He didn't look up from his plate, instead shoveling food into his mouth as fast as he could. After his second plate of food, he finally slowed his pace.
"You should have seen Coach Peckham when you couldn't find an open receiver and ran the ball yourself for a touchdown. I thought he was going to tear up," I said.
John and Elliott chuckled.
"I wish your father had been here," Kay grumbled.
"Kay," John scolded.
"I gave him a week's notice," Kay said, letting her fork clang against her empty plate.
"Mom," Elliott said, annoyed.
Kay shrugged. "I guess I'm not allowed to point anything out about David."
"No, Mom, he's an abusive, selfish jerk, but we don't have to talk about it," Elliott said. He glanced at me for half a second and then glared at his mom. "I had to listen to it my whole life. You're getting a divorce. I don't live with you anymore. Enough."
Kay sat quietly for a moment and then stood.
"Mom, I'm sorry," Elliott said, watching her walk into the next room. A door down the hall slammed.
Elliott closed his eyes. "Damn it," he hissed. "I'm sorry," he said, briefly turning his head in my direction.
I felt caught between sympathy for Elliott and relief that other families had problems, too, but it didn't matter how I felt. Not when Elliott looked so miserable. "Please don't be sorry."
Leigh tapped the table in front of his plate. Elliott opened his eyes, and she turned her hand, palm up. Elliott took it, and she squeezed.
"It's okay," Leigh said.
Elliott's jaw twitched. "She's hurting. I shouldn't have said that."
"Who's the adult in this situation?" Leigh said.
Elliott sighed and then nodded. "I should get Catherine home."
Elliott and I helped Leigh and John clear the table. John rinsed the dirty dishes while Leigh and I loaded the dishwasher. Elliott wiped down the table and swept the kitchen and dining room floors. It was finished in less than ten minutes, and I smiled as John and Leigh hugged and kissed each other.
"I've got to answer some emails, honey; then I'll be up for bed and we can watch that movie you've been wanting to get on demand."
"Really?" Leigh said, excited.
John nodded and kissed her one last time before nodding to me. "Nice to meet you, Catherine. Hope we see you around more often."
"You will," Elliott said.
John and Leigh were exactly what marriage should look like. Helping each other, affection, and understanding. They were on the same side, like Elliott and me. I smiled at him as he helped me put on my jacket and again when he held the front door open for me. I stopped on the porch, waiting for him to slide on his letterman jacket before taking my hand.
"Ready?" he asked.
We walked together in the dark toward the Juniper. Dead leaves somersaulted down the street, their brittle edges hissing against the asphalt as they moved together in herds with the chilly wind.
"So? What did you think?" he asked, his tone laced with hesitation.
"Tonight was fun."
"Which part?"
"Um," I began, "watching you play. Sitting with Leigh and Kay. Eating dinner with your family. Watching you inhale your mom's and Leigh's cooking. Now this."
He held up our clasped hands. "This is my favorite, and winning, and making that touchdown, and when you held up your hand."
"You mean this?" I said, making the I love you sign with my fingers.
"Yeah. My mom use to do it before my Pee Wee games. Then Aunt Leigh did. I don't know, though. With you, it's different." He paused, thinking about his next words. "Did you mean it?"
"Are you asking if I love you?" I asked.
He shrugged, looking vulnerable.
We stopped at my gate, and Elliott opened it, closing it again after I stepped through. I rested my arms on top of the iron, smiling. He leaned over to peck my lips.
"How do you know?" I asked.
He thought about my question only for a few moments. "Catherine, every time I'm close to you, I'm aware of every breath you take. When we're not, everything reminds me of you. I know because nothing else matters."
I thought about his words, then turned to look at the Juniper. I had responsibilities, but were they more important than Elliott? Could I walk away from them if he needed me to? Mama needed me. I didn't think I could.
Elliott saw the worry in my eyes. "You don't have to say it. You don't have to say anything."
I slowly held up my hand, extending my index and pinky fingers and thumb. Elliott smiled, did the same, and then cupped my cheeks, kissing my cheek. His lips were soft, but they blazed against my cold skin.
"Good night," he whispered. He watched me step over the uneven pieces of sidewalk and then climb the steps to my porch. Just as I put my hand on the knob, the door flew open.
A woman stood in the dark doorway, clothed all in black.
"Willow?" I said.
"Where have you been? Your mama's been waiting for you for hours."
I turned to look at Elliott. He was frowning in confusion but then waved.
I waved back, pushing my way through the door and then pulling Willow inside so I could close it.
She yanked her arm away. "What are you doing?"
"He can't see you," I hissed.
"Who?" she asked.
"Elliott!"
"Oh." She crossed her arms. "Is he your boyfriend?"
I frown
ed at her as I pulled off my jacket, hanging it on a hook by the door. Almost everyone else's coats were on it, too: Mama's chocolate-brown fuzzy coat, Althea's maroon wrap coat, Duke's trench coat, Poppy's pink duffel coat, Willow's black leather jacket, and Tess's dirty white quilted parka with a matted fur-lined hood.
"Is your room satisfactory?" I asked.
"I guess." She sniffed. "Is that your boyfriend?" Willow was shifting her weight from one leg to the other. She could never sit still, was always a ball of nervous energy. She didn't stay at the Juniper very often, just spending the night on her way somewhere . . . anywhere. Mama called her a vagrant. Experiencing firsthand Willow's mood swings from bouncy to debilitating depression, I called her other things.
When I didn't answer, Willow's eyes widened. "Wow, okay. I guess I'll go back to my room."
"Good night," I said, heading toward the kitchen. I used a rag to wipe down the leftover crumbs, grease, and pasta sauce drippings from dinner. A low hum and swishing sounds came from the dishwashers, and I was thankful that Mama had at least done that. I had a worksheet to complete, a paper to write, and an early Saturday morning running the kitchen. The rest of the day would hopefully be spent with Elliott.
"Hey," a small voice said from across the kitchen island.
I glanced up for a moment before concentrating on a stubborn drop of sauce. "Hey."
"Are you mad at me? I know it's been a while since I've been over, but my parents are acting crazy again, and you've been . . . busy."
"No, Tess. Of course not. You're right. I've been busy, but I should make time for friends. I'm sorry." I opened the cabinet under the sink and searched for the kitchen spray. I spritzed the counter, wiping with the cloth in my hand.
A loud bump sounded on the ceiling, and Tess and I both looked up slowly.
"What was that?" Tess asked, still staring at the ceiling.
The house was silent again, but we waited for a few more moments. "I don't know. Lots of coats by the door. We're full."
"I saw Poppy when I got here. She's probably running around up there."
I put away the kitchen spray. "Let's find out, shall we?"
"What do you mean?" Tess asked. When I passed her, she scrambled to follow. "That's a bad idea. You don't know who's up there."
I jingled the keys as I walked up the stairs. "But I can find out."
Only one door was closed in the upstairs hallway. I chose the corresponding key and turned it in the doorknob, pushing it open. A man was standing in a button-down shirt, boxers, tall socks, and nothing else.
"Holy shit!" he yelled, covering himself.
"Oh my God! Oh! I'm so sorry!"
"Who are you?" he cried.
"I'm . . . I'm Mavis's daughter. I heard a loud noise. I didn't realize you'd checked in. I'm so sorry, sir. Very sorry. It won't happen again."
"Close the door! What kind of place is this?"
I slammed the door and closed my eyes as I heard the man rush over to turn the lock.
Tess wasn't happy. "I told you," she said, peeking from the top of the stairs.
I covered my eyes, trying to gather my thoughts, and then shook my head, rushing for the stairs. "I can't believe I did that." I looked through the log, seeing William Heitmeyer written down in Mama's handwriting. I looked up, wondering if I should offer him a full refund and suggest the Super 8.
"It was an honest mistake," Tess assured me.
"I didn't even check the book. I just assumed the noise upstairs was something weird, because weird is the norm around here."
"Don't say that. He'll come back."
"They never come back." I peeked back at her. "Don't go up there. Stay away from his room."
She held up her hands. "What? Have I ever done anything to make you think I would? Why would you even say that to me?"
I narrowed my eyes at her. "Just don't."
"Maybe this house is getting inside of your head, not that there's enough room in there. Seems like someone is monopolizing your thoughts."
I tried not to smile. "You mean Elliott?"
"I mean Elliott," Tess said, sitting on a barstool next to the island. She rested her chin in her hands. "What's he like? I've seen him around. He's sort of cute."
"Sort of?"
"He's a giant."
"He's not a giant. He's just . . . tall and covered in muscles, and he makes me feel safe."
"Safe," Tess repeated.
"Tonight at the football game, he ran the ball for the winning touchdown. It was like a movie, Tess. His team rushed the field--the whole crowd did--and they lifted him in their arms. When they finally put him down, he looked for me in the crowd."
I placed a rack of clean silverware and a stack of flat cloth napkins on the counter and began to roll them for the following morning.
Looking sleepy and content, Tess watched me work, waiting for me to tell the rest of the story.
"And he"--I covered my mouth, trying to hide the ridiculous grin on my face--"pointed at me and held up his hand like this," I said, making the I love you sign.
"So he loves you?" Tess said, her eyes wide.
I shrugged. "He says he does."
"And how do you feel?"
"I think . . . I love him, too. I wouldn't know, though."
"He graduates in May, Catherine."
"So do I," I said, smiling while rolling the last napkin.
"What are you saying? That you're leaving? You can't leave. You promised you'd stay."
"I . . ." haven't thought that far ahead. "No one said anything about leaving."
"Does he want to stay?"
"I don't know. I haven't asked. Don't start worrying about something you have no control over."
She stood, tears threatening to fall. "You're my only friend. If he loves you and you love him, too, you're gonna leave. You're gonna leave us. What are we supposed to do?"
"I'm not going anywhere. Calm down," I said, worrying the commotion would wake Duke.
"Do you want to leave?" Tess asked.
I looked up at her, meeting her tearful gaze. In the few seconds before I spoke, I thought about lying, but Dad had always told me to be honest, even if it was hard--even if it hurt.
"I've always wanted to leave. Since I was little. Oak Creek isn't home."
Tess pressed her trembling lips together and then stormed out, slamming the front door behind her. I closed my eyes, waiting for the guest upstairs to pitch a fit about the intrusion and now the noise.
The kitchen was clean, so I made my way upstairs, closing my bedroom door behind me. I breathed on my hands and rubbed them together, deciding to retrieve the thick blanket from the closet. The once-white quilted down comforter was folded on a shelf above my clothes. I jumped to reach it, pulling it down and spreading it over my full-size bed.
The small white tiles on my bathroom floor felt like ice on my bare feet, and the water from the shower was freezing when I first turned the knob. Another icy Oklahoma winter was ahead, and I grumbled, remembering that just a few weeks ago, the sun would broil anyone not cowering in the shade.
The hot water took several minutes to reach the pipes in my upstairs bathroom, the old metal shaking and whining as the water changed temperature. I often wondered if the noise would wake anyone, but it never did.
Tess's anger lingered in my mind, but I refused to feel guilty. I stepped under the warm water, fantasizing of summer air tangling my hair as Elliott and I drove in a convertible down to the gulf or maybe even the West Coast. Wherever we were, all I could see was highway and palm trees. He reached for my hand, sliding his fingers between mine. We were driving toward a place where summer never died, and when it became too hot, the ocean would provide a reprieve.
My fingers massaged shampoo into my hair as I envisioned our road trip, but the longer we drove, the darker the sky became, and the colder the wind. Elliott drove us down the California freeway, but he wasn't smiling. We both shivered, realizing we were suddenly the last vehicle on the road. I turne
d to see that the houses on each side of us were all the same--the Juniper. We passed it again and again, and no matter how hard Elliott pressed on the gas, there it was. Night surrounded us, and the streetlamps extinguished one by one. Elliott seemed confused as the car sputtered and finally came to a rest in the middle of a barren two-lane overpass that seemed to loom over Los Angeles.
All the front doors of all the Junipers opened, and there stood Mama, something black smeared all over her face.
I sat up in bed, my eyes wide as they adjusted to the darkness. Wrapped in my robe, I tried to remember finishing my shower and lying down, but couldn't. It was unsettling, losing time.
I slipped on my house shoes and padded across my room to the door, peering out into the hallway. The Juniper was quiet except for the occasional creaking of the walls from the settling foundation.
The wood floor felt freezing under my feet, so I checked the thermostat. Fifty degrees! Oh no. No, no, no. Please don't be broken.
I turned the dial and waited, sighing when the heat kicked on, and the air began to blow through the vents. "Thank God," I said.
The downstairs landline began to ring, and I rushed down the steps to the desk in the foyer. "Front desk."
"Hi, this is Bill in room six. I have no hot water. It's freezing. I leave to get on the road in an hour. What the hell kind of place are you running? I knew I should have stayed at the Super 8."
"I'm so sorry about the heat. It was turned down somehow, but it's on now. It will be comfortable soon."
"What about the hot water?"
"I'm . . . I'm not sure. I'll look into it. I'm so sorry. Breakfast will be ready by the time you're downstairs."
"I won't have time for breakfast!" he yelled, slamming down the phone.
I set the receiver in the base, deflated.
"Was that Mr. Heitmeyer?" Willow asked, leaning against the doorframe.
"Uh . . . yes."
"Did he just scream at you?"
"No." I shook my head. "No, he's just a loud talker."
She nodded once and then headed to the staircase. I ran after her.
"Willow? Checkout time is in an hour. Mama said you were checking out today?"
"She did?"
"She did."
She nodded and, instead of going up the stairs, walked back toward the drawing room. I waited until she was out of sight and then walked down the hall to the basement door. The tart smell of mildew slipped around the inch-thick cracks of the door. I turned to the table in the hall and took a flashlight from a drawer. The metal of the hinges scraped when I pulled the door open, quietly telling me to turn around and walk away.