Something of a Kind

chapter 14 | NOAH

Noah preferred his family interactions limited to checking in on his sister, avoiding his brothers, and appeasing his mother with as much marginal distance as possible. Mary-Agnes had problems, but she rarely hurt anyone unless Andrew or John crossed her. Her issues were more sad than terrifying. She was sweet at heart, even dazed and self-loathing, her actions expressed in trying to make Isaac cheerful and Mark laugh. Behind the issues, she was a mother

– his, theirs, and messed up – but still a mother. It was his father that he wanted no closer than arm’s length.

Noah wanted to spend the night like he spent any other. There were chores, then scavenging for dinner when the kitchen emptied, and a late-night shower. After, he would lay in bed with blaring headphones trying to decipher the world of Alyson Glass or sit on the widow’s walk and play guitar until someone complained or he couldn’t see the hand before his face.

He never fought for the television. He never asked for anything. He was out of their business and he was out of theirs. The silent covenant had been working just fine. By zipping his lip, making sure everything was secure, and begrudgingly avoiding Tony under Lee’s repeated demands, he remained off his father’s radar – and so did Aly.

Over his shoulder, Noah watched his footing. On and off drizzling had made traveling across the sloping cement a dicey task in general – but the dark made it an easy fall. Backing down the driveway, he dragged the massive trashcans with him. Shakes of adrenaline were only beginning to fade. He was still trying to calm down after the fight.

Luke and Owen had snitched like a pair of rats. The second they walked in Hunt’s door, Rolland dragged everything out of them. How he spent his days with Alyson Glass, sharing the hush-hush legends from the sacred no-one-cares middle-of-nowhere and blowing his paycheck on gas so he could pick her up like a convict they'd made him. How he had admitted, yes, the researcher’s daughter was his girlfriend, and yes, he did take her into the woods and intentionally provoke the beast of the woods.

It was in the open, sprayed across the table. His actions, his desires, his recklessness– it was all warped around the girl in the boots, the something he’d desperately protected from the elder’s claws. His association was distorted into a perversion. Skeletons burst from the closet, femurs and phalanges thrown in his father’s face. Everything he had done was dropped into the worst possible light, using visceral words that stroked Lee’s ego while dramatizing Noah into a family-shaming liar.

Noah never understood how Owen’s father could make them belly-up so fast. Besides a taut face and nasty bark, the guy was weak. Skinny and long-haired with the constant odor of marijuana and liquor, he catered to his wife’s prescription consumption as though it wasn’t killing her – like she didn’t drag so-called-mutualfriend men home when he was working late on the roads or passed out somewhere, like she didn’t beat on Owen, who in following Rolland’s footsteps refused to run or defend himself against the woman in spite of being as big as a Viking-Gladiator-Pirate.

Rolland was just like Lee – an addict with self-gratifying tunnelvision. Their so-called accomplishments of disciplining their offspring, working in misery, and participating in morbid spouseenabling wiped their sins clean, revering them to all of Ashland – justification by association, never questioned.

It was sickening, the cycle. John, Andrew, Isaac, and maybe even Mark… they would all become Lees, just like Lee and had become Grandfather Yazzie. Noah knew he never would, just like he knew he could never let Sarah become Aunt Maria – or worse, MaryAgnes. At least Maria had fought to break free. He didn’t know if the poison was in the alcohol, the gene-pool, or just Ashland. Noah felt it when Lee spat in his face. It radiated from the man as he threw Noah into a booth, screaming and shaking with accusations. His father’s words shredded the walls he brought up around him. He almost lost it on the spot.

His father said Noah’s greatest disgrace is that he denied nothing, shameless. Lee was right. Noah refused to feel that it was wrong, refused to say so, refused to appease a man who he had no respect for. After landing a fist in his stomach, his father stumbled – gripping the sides of a table to catch himself. Afterwards, he pointed to the door, demanding Noah get out of sight until after everyone was sleeping. Punishment would follow in the morning.

When the bastard was sober enough to think.

Noah felt the anger rising again, flooding his lungs, welling in his chest. He stopped, wiping his hands on his jeans and lifting his shirt. It was as contused as Aly’s leg, swollen and dark. The sight was a reminder of the throbbing nausea that followed the fist, knocking the wind out of him.

He wondered why he had stifled the urge to grab the old man’s wrist and kick him to the ground. At first, he was sure it’d make it worse. His brothers would come after him or Lee would be too drunk to retreat. It was something else that stopped him, though.

Noah hated getting violent, feeling like he could see himself as Lee, dominating and brutal. Still, sometimes he felt it in every nerve, the rage overwhelming. He wanted to let go. For a second, he imagined himself beating the man to oblivion – a luxury he couldn't afford. Realizing he was getting himself worked up again, he shook himself, taking a deep breath of night.

I'm not like them. I won't be that guy.

Grinding his teeth, he grabbed the trashcans, circling the house to the parking lot. As he reached the curb, an awful sound made him jump. The whimper was heartbreaking. Almost sure he had imagined it, he turned slowly, wiping his hands against each other to free the residue left on the bin’s lid from the rains.

He frowned, confused and concerned. Aly stood in front of him; bad leg bent slightly, her arms were crossed. She trembled, her eyes filled with tears. From the audible quiver in her breath, he knew she was trying to stay calm.

She said softly, “Tell me it’s not true.”

His first thought that it was over. She had found something – something she couldn’t understand was scaring her away. Part of him knew it would happen. He’d prayed the thought was a reflex, just him trying to stop himself from getting hurt – like he was protecting himself, trying not to get hopes up– the subconscious failsafe for the abuser’s son. The universe was righting itself, starting with his secrets aired out for Lee, following with the end of the best summer of his life.

Girls like that don’t happen to poor kids with drunkard parents.

“Wait…” he blinked, internalizing his panic attack. “What?”

“Were you messing with me?” she whispered, voice cracking. She swallowed, eyelids fluttering as though the tears would go away. Instead, they spilled. “Today, yesterday, Friday – the campfire, the tunnels, the rock, the trails… It was all a joke. You guys were screwing with me?”

His brow knitted, hands waving uselessly. He didn’t know what to say, or where this was coming from. Confusion racked his brain. Unable to think, he shook his head, blurting, “What? Aly, no. Why-”

Staring at her feet, shecontinued, “Why is your brother in trouble for distorting an investigation?”

Did they seriously ruin this too?

“Aly, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Noah insisted, searching her eyes for some clue as to what was going on.

She looked like he had tried to hit her with a bat, like someone had personally reached into her chest and ripped her heart out with a roaring laugh. He got the feeling that she was as bewildered as he was, and neither really understood what the other was saying. They both had walls up and no one was breaking through. He wanted to hold her, to make the problem disappear, to return to laughter and kisses. He wanted to kill whoever had hurt her and dared to put doubts in her head. Before he could construct the right words, irrelevant ones were running from his mouth. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly my brothers.”

“How would I know?” she demanded, ferocity missing from her voice. He felt her gravitating towards him, moving ahead and back again, swaying as though she could fall over a cliff– the side undecided. Stepping forward, he prepared to catch her.

“Aly, I would never do that to you.”

“You…” she covered her face, shaking her head.

She didn’t need to ask.

“I promise,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her close.

She buried her face in his chest, crying. Part of him tried to stay confused, insisting he didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t true, though

– he knew pain. He practically inhaled it, sending it rushing through his bloodstream. He’d seen Sarah practically shatter, curled into fetal position in the corner of her bedroom floor or wedged under her bed. He’d seen grown men cry, from townie drunks to his best friends when they were so black and blue they looked like they belonged to a space alien nationality. Mary-Agnes did it daily, more avid with the sport than local hunters trying to feed their families. If that didn’t prepare him, Aly already had. She’d seen him the night Sarah was burned. It included all sorts of his worst. He felt like she was a piece of him, like they already knew each other better than he knew the kids he’d grown up with. He didn’t care if she cried or screamed or hit him harder than his father. He wanted her to be better. He would let the world end if it made her okay.

“They didn’t believe me.” She confessed, curling into his arms. He rested his chin on her head. Even sobbing, she was gentle and perfect, like lavender with vanilla. Noah felt her tremble.

Noah kissed her forehead. “It’s okay. If it’s not, it’s going to be.”

Aly shook her head, pulling away. Wiping at her cheeks, she offered apologies, swearing she never acted like that, that she was stronger. Sprinting after her as she walked away, he grabbed her arm and encouraged her to face him. He didn’t care that they were in the middle of the street, or that the nearest neighbors were probably looking through the windows if they were sober enough to notice.

Aly was all that mattered.

As he took her face in his hands, her fingers curled around his wrists. Brushing his thumbs below her eyes, Noah murmured, “Everyone cries, Aly. You’re already strong.”

She bit her lip, nodding as another wave of tears brimmed. They were silent for a moment. Hesitating, she continued, voice wavering, “My dad said he’d make me regret it if I ruined his job, that you were messing with my head. Noah, he forgot my mom was dead. When he remembered, he acted like… like it was funny. He just kept screaming.”

He felt something snap, and struggled to stifle it. His temper was writhing to surface, the rage eating at his roughest edges. Jaw set, he swore, “I’ll go down there right now. I’ll tell him everything. If he doesn’t believe you-” She looked up at him, her blue eyes filled with hurt. Noah growled, “Or I can just kill him. Actually, I prefer that plan.”

She laughed through the tears, burying her face. Against his chest, Aly murmured, “Can I ask a favor?”

“Name it,” he said, completely serious.

“Help me,” she begged, finding his gaze. “We could prove it.”

He imagined his father’s response if he knew he’d gone into the woods again, nonetheless with Aly to run after the already disrespected wood beast.

Wincing, he began, “Aly-”

“I have this really amazing motion camera. My mom bought it for me when I took a photography elective. It’d be perfect... Please Noah?” Aly pleaded, her hands knotted in his shirt. Analyzing his doubtful expression, her chilled fingers brushed his jaw, her palms rising to rest against his cheeks. He shuddered, leaning close. She mouthed, “Help me.”

“Anything,” he breathed.

“You promise?”

Her words smashed through his head, followed by the infuriating echo of Greg’s threats. He never thought he’d call Alyson Glass desperate, but it certainly wasn’t for him. Aly needed this, to prove to her jerk-too-jerky that he was the nothing he’d labeled her as, that she was everything he wasn’t. It was no different than the evils of Lee, but Aly would never have to choose between using her fists or running. He could offer her what she offered him– a piece of happiness, like liberation from a father’s chains. Looking her in the eye, Noah knew he had to do this for her.

She could ask me to rip the moon from the sky and capture the sun thieves, and I’d die trying.

He swore, “I do.”





~

They had quarreled whether it was best to leave that night, though it became banter fast. Aly had been adamant that they get it over with. Noah argued that it was dangerous, but the fact that nighttime was terrible for photographs and she might have to face Greg if she went home to retrieve the camera were the end of it. He walked her to the main part of the diner, leaving her in a booth to grab a bottle of water from the kitchen.

The diner was dark except for the backlights. Someone had shut the front row off while he was outside, most likely hoping to conserve the wires from the brunt of the flickering. While he debated whether she’d be comfortable in the booths or to sneak her into his room, his best guess was that it would be a lot more difficult to explain a platonic pass-out if his parents decided to give a damn enough to check in. Despite feeling completely guilty, her exhaustion made her more than comfortable where she was, nearly asleep when he peaked through the round windows. He intended to stay downstairs, at her side.

Noah had positive, or at least neutral, memories of Yazzie’s before they had reopened. He and Sarah built blanket forts and played hide-and-seek beneath rundown tables. They would beg Mary-Agnes to permit mini-picnics, or to play Restaurant with borrowed pots and old aprons, even sneaking in to do homework at the counter. Most fondly, he remembered sleepovers with Luke, Owen, and Martin Lewis, back when their trio was a quartet – when Luke was the kindergarten giant and everyone called Owen 'Shorty' and 'Munchkin'.

The booths were better than mattresses when they were kids, back in the days were they traded dinosaur view-master cards and tried using purple gas station glow sticks to tell scary stories instead of flashlights. In those days, his classmates fought for his attention because he decided whether or not they could sled down the hill in the backyard on rusty pans.

Back then, a drunken Mary-Agnes meant Mommy was tired and an intoxicated Lee meant Daddy’s grumpy from a long day at work.

Noah set his jaw, moving to her side. Yazzie’s didn’t have to have ghosts and skeletons, not without giggles and glow sticks. The booths were a rainbow of faux-suede reds and blues long before they were upholstered with gray and wipe-away plastic. Both had ripped with age, but at least the former didn’t have sharp corners and jagged edges along the tears. In Noah’s opinion, it was a lot better to fray.

Grabbing the nicest blankets from the foyer’s closet – thin fleeces still wrapped in ribbon and plastic, the family’s two-year-old Christmas gift from MaryAgnes’s resented well-off cousin from Anchorage, Noah returned to Aly’s side after pulling them from a scissors hack-job on the wrap.

Draping colorful stripes across her shoulders, Noah prepared to explain the situation – and the elected arrangement for the night. Aly didn’t comment, instead grabbing his hand and pulling him down at her side.

As he stretched out an arm, she shifted sideways in the seat, pulling her legs up and resting her head on his knees. Subconsciously playing with a lock of her hair, he wondered how a long weekend managed to change his entire life. Noah didn’t know when they had transitioned from wondering if he could touch her hand to taking her into his arms on impulse. It felt natural, like it was ridiculous to question. He just looked at her, impressed and baffled. He found himself trying to etch every detail into his brain. Aly fought her smile, a dimple quirking. “What?”

He shrugged. “Nothing.”

She rolled her eyes, her expression playful. “Seriously… why are you looking at me like that?”

Perplexed, he professed, “You’re just… something, Aly Glass.”

“…of a kind.” She laughed. “Hmm. Have the squirrels been talking behind my back again?”

“You know they sing your praises,” he teased. Aly smiled, eyes fluttering to a close. His fingertips trailed her skin, tracing a shamrock-shaped birthmark on her wrist, moving to brush across her cheek. “I can put in a good word, if you like.”

Amused, she prompted, “Like?”

Noah shook his head, as though it would clear.

Maybe it is clear, finally.

“I don’t know,” Noah murmured. “Something of a kind.”