Cobwebs swayed from the ceiling, the concrete walls were cracked and water stained, the stairs rickety and rotting. I put half my weight on the first step and waited. The last time I ventured into the basement, someone locked me inside for three hours, and it gave me waking nightmares for a month. As I descended each wobbly plank, the room grew colder, and I pulled my robe tighter around me. The hot water tanks were standing together on platforms against the far wall, just past a row of thirty or so suitcases of various shapes and sizes that were parked along the adjacent wall.
The already dim glow from the overhead lights didn't quite make it to where the tanks stood, so I pressed the button on the flashlight with my thumb, pointing it into the corner and then gliding it along the wall.
I leaned down, shining my light at the base of the first tank. The pilot lights were on. The thermostats were turned all the way down. "What the . . . ?"
Something creaked behind me, and I froze, waiting for another noise. Nothing. I turned the dial on the first tank and then the next.
Gravel softly scratched the concrete floor.
"Who's there?" I asked, shining my flashlight.
I jumped and yelped, covering my mouth. Mama slowly turned to face me, standing on her bare feet, looking pale and angry. Her fingers pinched and twisted the same section of her thin cotton nightgown over and over.
"What are you doing down here?" I asked.
The anger on her face melted away, and she peered around the basement, seeming confused. "I was looking for something."
"Were you trying to fix the tanks?" I asked. I bent down, shining the flashlight on the controls, rotating the rest of the dials. "Mama," I said, peering up at her, "did you do this?"
She just stared at me, looking lost.
"Did you do that to the thermostat upstairs, too? We have a guest. Why would you . . ."
She touched her chest. "Me? I didn't do this. Someone is trying to sabotage us. Someone wants the Juniper to close down."
The pilot lights were brighter, one after another igniting the flames beneath, causing a low humming to come from the tanks. I stood, exasperated. "Who, Mama? Who would care enough about our failing bed and breakfast to sabotage it?"
"It's not about the bed and breakfast. Don't you see? It's what we're trying to do here! We're being watched, Catherine. I think . . . I think it's . . ."
"Who?"
"I think it's your father."
My face metamorphosed from annoyance to rage. "Don't say that."
"I've suspected for months."
"Mama, it's not him."
"He's been sneaking in here, changing things, scaring our guests away. He never wanted this bed and breakfast. He doesn't like our guests. He doesn't want them around you."
"Mama . . ."
"He left us, Catherine. He left us, and now he's trying to ruin us!"
"Mama, stop! He didn't leave us. He's dead!"
Mama's wet eyes met mine. It took her a long time to speak, and when she did, her voice was broken. "You're so cruel, Catherine." She turned and climbed the steps, shutting the door behind her.
Chapter Seventeen
Catherine
Each class was a blur. The teachers spoke, and I pretended to listen, but my head was swarming with worry and foggy from sleep deprivation. Mr. Heitmeyer would not be back to the Juniper, and part of me hoped no one else would come.
The clouds outside were low and gray. I stared outside, watching school buses and cars pass, their tires sloshing through the rivers that were lining the streets. The forecast called for freezing rain by noon, and everyone was out trying to buy bread and milk and fill their gas tanks as if one loaf of bread and one tank of gas was the difference between life and death.
The last ten minutes before lunch, I sat with my chin in my hand, blinking to keep my heavy eyes from staying closed. Each minute felt like an hour, and by the time the bell rang, I felt too tired to move.
"Catherine?" Mrs. Faust said, her carrot-colored hair sticking up in places like she'd taken a nap between classes and forgotten to comb it.
The other students had already packed up and left for lunch. I was still struggling with getting my things together.
"Come up here, Catherine. I want to chat."
I did as she asked, waiting while she finished filing a small stack of papers.
"You're quieter than usual. You look exhausted. Everything okay at home? I know you've been helping your mom."
"The hot water went out early this morning. I'll get caught back up on sleep tonight."
Mrs. Faust frowned. "Have you spoken to Mrs. Mason lately?"
I nodded.
Mrs. Faust studied me with the familiar stare I experienced when someone was trying to figure out if I was covering for Mama. "All right. Have a good lunch. See you tomorrow."
I offered her a smile and then dragged myself to locker 347, where Elliott was waiting. This time, he wasn't waiting alone. He was standing with Sam Soap, one of the receivers on the football team, and his girlfriend, Madison. They had the same hair color, and her blonde locks hung nearly to her waist. Both looked unsure about standing next to my locker.
"How are you feeling?" Elliott asked, hugging me to his side.
"Still tired."
"I asked Sam and Maddy to lunch. Hope that's all right."
The couple watched me, expecting an answer and hopeful for the right one. Sam was the great-grandson of James and Edna Soap, the original power couple of Oak Creek. James Soap started in oil but branched out, his fingers in everything from convenience stores to laundromats. Sam's family was wealthy, but Sam wasn't the outgoing type. He had all the makings of a popular kid: a big house, brand-name clothes, and athleticism. He was a cocaptain on the football team, and he'd asked Madison to be his girlfriend in the fifth grade. Sam was in line to be valedictorian, but his hobbies included Madison Saylor and not much else.
Madison was known for being quiet, except for the occasional outburst. The previous year she was sent to the office for hurling shocking insults at Scotty Neal for mouthing off to Sam. Madison's dad was a deacon at the Oak Creek Christian Church, her mother the piano player. Her parents kept her home, out of harm's way, sure not to let anything bad happen to her, or anything happen to her at all.
"Is it?" Elliott asked. "Okay?"
"Yeah, I mean . . . yeah." I stumbled over the words, wondering what he was up to.
Elliott took my hand, and we walked down the hall, following Sam and Madison. Sam pushed the double doors open for his girlfriend. Their movements seemed to be in unison, their expressions communicating to each other without saying anything at all.
Instead of taking Elliott's Chrysler, we walked toward Madison's black Toyota 4Runner.
"We're not taking your car?" I asked, immediately feeling uncomfortable.
"Maddy offered to drive," Elliott said.
"You wanna sit in front with me?" Madison asked with a smile.
A sudden, irrational worry that I'd be stranded somewhere away from school popped into my thoughts. Elliott would never let that happen, though. Even if it did, he wouldn't let me walk back alone, but I was exhausted and incapable of taming my anxiety.
I said, "I forgot. I was just going to eat here."
"I've got it, Catherine. Don't worry," Elliott said.
"It's not about the money," I said.
"Then what is it?" Elliott asked.
I peeked over at Sam and Madison. Sam was opening his door, already getting into the back seat. Madison was still standing next to the driver's-side door, patience and kindness in her eyes.
"I . . ." I was stalling, trying to decide if the embarrassment of running away would be worse than the anxiety.
Elliott looked to Madison. "Give us a sec."
"Sure," she said, opening her door and then sitting behind the wheel. Her voice sounded like birdsong, childlike and sweet.
Elliott hunched over and tilted his head, trying to force his way into my line of sight. He cupped m
y shoulders.
"I told you," I whispered. "I can't. Owen and Minka wanted to come over. They were curious. When I tell Madison and Sam no, the rumors will start all over again. It's just easier to--"
"It's just lunch. We're not gonna go to your house."
"This won't end well."
"You don't know that. You deserve friends, Catherine. Maddy said she's always thought you were nice. Her parents are overbearing, so she won't even ask to come to the Juniper because she can't. Sam is on the football team, and he's really cool. He's not a 'roid freak like the rest of those idiots. That's why I picked them. C'mon. Please?"
"You picked them? What are you doing? You're shopping for friends for us now? Am I too boring to hang out with alone?"
"No. That's not it at all. I've already told you why. You deserve friends."
I sighed in resignation. Elliott's mouth stretched across his face in a wide grin, and he reached for the passenger side, pulling on the handle.
I slid in next to Madison and fastened my seat belt, hearing Elliott slam the back door behind me. My seat inched back as he used it to lean forward, and then he kissed me quickly on the cheek.
"So," Madison said, "Sonic or Braum's? Braum's or Sonic?"
"Sonic," Sam said from the back.
Madison backed out of her spot and pulled forward, driving cautiously with the parking lot traffic. Madison flipped on her blinker, and once we arrived at the stop sign, she barely paused before taking off.
"We still need to get you some driving time in," Elliott said.
"You don't have your license yet?" Madison asked, judgment absent from her voice.
I shook my head. "I was supposed to learn in my dad's Buick, but it's sort of been sitting in the yard since . . ."
"Oh right. Since he died," Sam said.
I was glad I couldn't see Elliott's face. I knew this short lunch trip was meant to be a trial run. He'd been asked to several parties and turned them down because he refused to go without me. It was a sweet gesture, but I couldn't help but feel he was missing out.
"Yeah," I said, not knowing what else to say.
"So your house," Sam began. "Is it really haunted?"
Madison covered the giggle bubbling from her mouth. She pressed on the brakes, stopping at the first of the only four stoplights in Oak Creek. "Sam! Don't be stupid!"
Sam sat forward. "We watch Paranormal Ghost Homes every Sunday night. It's kind of our thing. We think it's pretty cool if it is."
"It's not haunted," I said, seeing Presley's white Mini Cooper sitting next to us. I tried not to stare, but from the corner of my eye, I could see the excitement and activity under the convertible's top.
Madison turned and made a face. "Are they all having seizures?" she asked, rolling down my window with a push of a button.
The cold air breached the vehicle, instantly burning my skin.
"What?" Madison called.
I sat back, making it clear that I had no intention of engaging.
"Oh my God, Maddy! Does your mother know you're giving rides to hobos?" Presley asked. The clones cackled loudly.
Madison turned to glance at Elliott. I couldn't see his face, but gauging by Madison's response, he wasn't happy. "Shut your whore mouth!" she yelled. The words didn't match her high-pitched, sweet voice.
Elliott and Sam burst into laughter. My mouth fell open, just like Presley's and her friends'.
Madison pressed the button again. The passenger-side window finished its rise to the top as she began to speak. "Ugh. Ignore them. Tatum likes Elliott, so they're on a mission to make you miserable."
"Good to know that hasn't changed," I said under my breath.
"What? What do you mean?" she asked.
Elliott spoke up. "They've been giving her a hard time for years."
"Really? I didn't know that. Did you know that, Sam?" Madison asked, looking at him in the rearview mirror.
"No, but I'm not surprised. The whole football team calls them the Brubitches."
Madison frowned. "Brubitches? Oh, because Presley's last name is Brubaker--got it." She giggled. "Good one." The light turned green, and she pressed on the gas. The lights seemed to keep changing for her until we reached the northeast corner of town. Madison turned the 4Runner left toward Sonic and then whipped her car to the right, jerking the car into the first open space she found.
"Sorry for the terrible driving," she said. "We got a late start, so I wanted to make sure we snagged a spot." She rolled down her window, and once again, the air bit at my nose and cheeks.
Madison reached down to press the button on the speaker box and then turned to us. "What does everyone want?"
"Cheeseburger," Elliott said.
"Cheeseburger," Sam said.
Madison waited for me to answer, but the speaker began to squawk.
"Welcome to Sonic, may I take your order?"
"Um," Madison hummed. "Two cheeseburger meals."
"Number one or two?" the girl on the other end of the speaker asked.
"Mustard," both boys said.
"Twos," Madison said. "A Chili Cheese Coney, and . . ."
I nodded. "That sounds good. I'll go with that."
"Drinks?" Madison asked.
"Vanilla Coke," Sam said.
"Cherry vanilla limeade," Elliott said.
I nodded. "That sounds good, too."
Madison finished ordering and then rolled up her window, rubbing her hands together. She reached down and turned the heater on full blast.
I closed my eyes, basking in the heat as Elliott, Sam, and Madison chatted about their school day, who was dating whom, and the away game that weekend. Mama kept the Juniper so cold, and the school wasn't much better. The hot air coming from the vents felt like a warm blanket, and I let my body relax against the seat, happily baking in the heat.
"Catherine?" Elliott said.
My lids popped open. "What? I'm sorry."
"The game is in Yukon this weekend," Madison said with amusement. "I'm still in the process of talking my dad into finally letting me drive to one, but it will be easier to convince him if I bring a friend. You want to drive with me? Road trip!"
Mama was acting stranger than usual, and so were the guests. I was afraid being gone an entire day would put her over the edge. "I can't. I'm working."
Elliott kept quiet, and an awkward silence filled the car until Sam piped up again.
"What is it like?" Sam asked. "Living there?"
"Cold," I said, fingering the vent.
"But what about the people coming in and out? It would be weird to have strangers living in my home," Sam said.
"They um . . . they don't live there. And they're not strangers. We mostly have regulars."
"What are they like?" Madison asked.
"I'm not really supposed to . . ."
"Please?" Madison said. "We're so curious. I'm not trying to pry, but you're kind of an enigma."
"Good word, Maddy," Sam said, impressed.
Madison smirked. "I've been studying for the SAT. So Catherine? Pretty please?"
I glanced back at Elliott. He was unhappy. "You don't have to, Catherine. I told them not to grill you."
I met their gazes, one by one, feeling the blood under my face ignite. "You did what?"
Elliott's expression changed from irritation to recognition. "I just . . . I knew they were curious about you and the house and you wouldn't want to answer a bunch of questions, so I told them before lunch not to . . . you know . . . bug you about it."
The thought of Elliott having to give a disclaimer before something as simple as a car ride to a half-hour lunch was so humiliating that I wasn't sure how to respond.
"Catherine," he began.
I had to do something, to say something so I didn't look like the freak everyone thought I was. "My mom, Mavis, checks people in and keeps things in order during the day. We have Althea, who comes to visit her grandchildren. Duke, who stays while he's working in the area. Sometimes he brings his daughter,
Poppy. My uncle and cousin sometimes visit. A girl named Willow. I think she's just a year older than me. She passes through sometimes."
"But is it haunted?" Sam asked. "It's gotta be haunted. You can tell us."
"No." The Juniper was full of frightening things, but they were real.
Sam looked confused. "But . . . didn't your dad die in there?"
"Sam!" Madison snapped.
"Okay, that's enough," Elliott said.
The carhop tapped on the glass, startling Madison. She rolled down the window, taking the money Sam and Elliott handed her. We took our food, and Madison proved adept at driving and eating at the same time, but as hungry as I was before, the hot dog smothered in chili and melted cheese was no longer appetizing.
Madison looked over at me with apologetic eyes. "We're gonna have less than five minutes once we get back," Madison said. "You should eat."
"Here," Elliott said, opening his Sonic sack. "Put it in here, and we'll eat in the commons."
I dropped my Coney inside, and Elliott rolled the top of the bag down. I sipped on my drink until we got to school, pulling on the handle the second Madison put her car in park.
"Catherine," Elliott called to me, jogging to my side with his Sonic sack in one hand. He had already inhaled his meal, but I was sure he'd follow me around with my food until I ate it. "Hey," he said, tugging on my sweater until I stopped. "I'm sorry."
"That was so humiliating," I seethed. "First, you're talking people into being my friend, then you're vetting them?"
"I just want you to be happy," he said, sad.
"I've already told you. I don't want friends."
He sighed. "Yes, you do. And you should be able to go out and do normal high school stuff. You should go to parties and road trips to ball games and--"
"Maybe it's just personal preference. Not everyone has to like partying and going to ball games."
"You don't like going to my games?" he asked, surprised.
My shoulders sagged. The expression on his face made me feel ashamed. "Of course I do. I just think . . . maybe we're different."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa . . . let me stop you right there. I don't like where this is going." Elliott's expression tightened, a deep line forming between his brows. His hands were shaking, his mouth twitching.
"That's not what I meant. I don't mean that," I said, not even wanting to say the word breakup. Elliott was my best friend. The only thing I remembered about my life before he came back was feeling miserable.
His shoulders relaxed, and he exhaled. "Okay." He nodded. "Good." He took my hand and led me inside, finding a spot in the commons area.