Something of a Kind

chapter 6 | NOAH

“Should we be worried about Luke and Owen?” Aly asked for the third time.

When they got to the parking lot the guys were nowhere in sight, but neither were the ATVs, Luke’s mom’s jeep, or Owen’s sedan – nicknamed ‘Junker’. Noah laughed it off.

Young and Hunt mocked the elders and the culture with their chest puffed out and their chins in the air, but the moment they got spooked the legends were their first conclusion. He knew they took it as seriously as their parents and ancestors did. Or, if not so religiously, they were certainly skittish enough to freak at the concept.

Noah had never found Lee or any of his comrades particularly convincing. He was much less inclined to join in with their hysterics.

I’m kind of pissed they scared her, though.

Noah had tried to reassure Aly, but he knew it bothered her. When his friends had something in their head deep enough to believe it themselves, their panic switch was so dramatic it became persuasive.

“Aly, I’m more than sure they’re fine. They get hyped up over the legends around here. The funny thing is, most of the stories don't even belong to this area. They drift from town to town.”

“It’s a beautiful culture,” she finally said. An endearing appreciation took the worry from her voice.

She stared at the trees, only glancing at him when they spoke. As he drove her home, he found himself slowing down the closer they got. He wasn’t ready to say goodnight. He was too conscious of her place by his side, of her smooth hand in his palm. Hyperaware of the blood moving through his fingers, he couldn’t help but notice whenever she twitched, or trembled.

As Noah forced himself to watch the road, he scanned for animals in the thick brush. Gaze locked twelve minutes ahead and behind the vehicle, he kept one hand atten o’clock on the wheel.

Aly, in her untouchable silence, was a screaming blind spot after nearly spinning out of control on the trails. Owen had him paranoid he’d get the poor girl killed. He had paid too much attention to her knees pressing against his sides and the palms flat against his ribs. With her fingers clutching his chest, he wondered if she felt the wild beats below his sternum.

As the headlights lit up the sign labeling Thorne Avenue, he shoved away the thought of circling the block or pretending to run the turn. Hesitantly letting go of her to cross over the corner, he was unable to gather the courage to replace his hand. After a moment, she tucked her hands beneath her knees, crossing her ankles as they approached her drive.

He needed to know when he’d see her again. “The culture, huh?” he murmured, stealing a peek at her. She shifted in her seat to face him, a smile on her face. “You know those tracks I was talking to you about, and the paintings? If you’re up for it, maybe tomorrow I could drive you up there. I’ll ask around and get more info on the legends.” Unable to hide his grin, Noah playfully added, “Unless you’re scared, of course.”

"Of course not. Sounds perfect," Aly agreed, sounding pleased.

After unbuckling, she elbowed out of his coat, a loan he offered after watching her shiver while he fastened the ATV to the trailer.

She folded it in half and slid it over the dash, whispering thanks for the afternoon, the ride, and the jacket.

He wanted to say something besides ‘you’re welcome’ – anything to keep her in the truck, to continue the conversation, to apologize for his friends, for making her sad about her mom, for getting her scared of the woods. Something to get inside her head and figure out what it was that made it work.

Someone so quiet has to be screaming inside.

“I’ll wait until you’re inside,” he promised, feeling pathetic.

Aly thanked him again, smiling as she gently waved goodbye and slipped onto the path winding towards the tiny porch. As she approached, a light stirred, flooding the yard. She waited by the door, knocking and ringing the bell. He grew anxious, afraid he pulled into the wrong place.

She moved in yesterday. Would she even notice? Oh, hell.

They waited a few moments more. She stood on the tips of her toes, peering into the tiny window above the peep hole. It remained dark. She turned and covered her eyes, peering into the darkness. He flashed the headlights and her frame shook with a breath of relief. Aly raised her arms questioningly, shrugging in spite of her nervous expression. Unsure whether or not she could see him, he beckoned her back to the truck. After a moment she spirited towards him, opening the door and leaning in to speak.

“He’s not home yet,” she sighed, glancing back at the empty house. “He never gave me a key.”

“We’ll go get a drink or something. There’s a little shop on my way back.”

“Are you sure? I could just call my dad and wait on the steps.”

“Yeah, I am. You seem surprised,” he laughed.

“I just… You knew exactly what to do. I’m kind of… totally frazzled,” she confessed, following his motion for her to sit down.

Noah twisted the stereo up as he backed onto the street, pulling up the hill to turn around. When he could risk a glance, he watched her fingers tapped to the music. Most people heard the drums. She felt the bass.

It’s kind of perfect.

The parking lot to the Seaside Minimart was deserted, lights flickering over the pumps like cracked spotlights. He parked away from the dumpsters, unconcerned with the walk towards the building. Ashland was in the middle-of-nowhere, and even the gas station was too far of a commute for the local drunks to roam. Aside from the occasional bear sighting, there wasn’t much danger in the shadows.

Aly sat on the curb. He assumed she was texting the doctor. With a wave of permission, Noah braved the too-bright florescent to burn through the last of his dwindling paycheck on coffee. She nodded happily when he told her the contents, unaware he remembered her request for cream and sweetener from that morning. For whatever reason, it didn’t bother him letting her think he’d made a lucky guess.

“So what’s your plan, Aly Glass?” Noah asked, taking a seat beside her.

While he was inside, she had migrated from the edge of the sidewalk to a space against the concrete wall. His elbows balanced loosely on his knees, while she seemed to curl around the steam released from the cup’s lid.

“Are we good for tomorrow?” she replied through her hair, staring at the sky.

He felt her take a deep breath as he pulled a lock behind her ear, exposing her hidden face. She glanced through her eyelashes, waiting for an answer. He bit his lip, staring at hers.

“Of course. That’s not what I meant though,” he continued, swallowing a searing mouthful of hazelnut. It was too strong, too hot, and too many grounds had passed through the filter. It burned his tongue. He didn’t care.

“You mean for this week? For this summer?” Aly asked, her curiosity compelling her to speak up. Her volume increased to almost normal as she spoke.

“I don’t know. For life, I guess,” he shrugged. “You’re a junior, right?”

“I will be. You?”

“Senior. Where are you going to school next year?”

“That all depends,” she answered slowly, leaning back as though the question exhausted her.

He raised an eyebrow.

She glanced at him, realizing he expected more. “It depends on whether or not I’m strong enough for Ashland. If I can handle my father for the summer, then I’ll probably enroll at the local high school. If I break, I run home, beg my aunt for help and the court for mercy.”

He was quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

She’s forced to be here? What can I say to that?

“The court’s making you stay in town?”

“Yeah, Greg’s definitely not my first choice,” she sighed. “It’s not that my dad and I fight a lot, but it’s like living with a stranger. I keep thinking maybe he’s a changeling or a wizard or something. I’m literally expecting an owl to crash through my bedroom window with an apology letter, explaining he’s really been with Albus Dumbledore the whole time.”

“No way,” Noah smirked, nudging her elbow. “Your dad’s definitely a closet death eater.”

She laughed, sounding uncertain whether it was hilarious or ironic or both. “Of course! That explains everything. He’s awful because he’s secretly working for Voldemort.”

“You -KnowWho,” Noah teased, thankful Harry Potter was one of the few pieces of childhood that hadn’t been distorted by his parents’ troubles. Sobering at the thought of her leaving, Noah continued, “So, where would you go if you went back to New York?”

“I don’t really know. I mean, I’ve been staying with my aunt and uncle, sharing a room with my cousin. They’re family, and I love them, but it’s not like I can stay. Not when I have another legal guardian. I always felt like I was intruding in their home. Or at least making it hard for them to move on. I thought it would be better with Greg, but with him, I’m not just intruding. I’m an entire invasion. We’re each an outsider in each other’s world. He prefers his isolation.”

“Part of you wanted to come to Ashland, though.” He noted, with one finger pulling away from the cup to point at nothing. “It doesn’t have to be a bad thing. The researchers all hole up in their satellite office unless they’re out on their expeditions, sectioning off half the trails and stuff. I can’t imagine they’re home all that often.”

“He’s not,” Aly agreed. “Why do you guys keep calling him that? It makes sense, since he’s a biologist that he would be. It just strikes me as bizarre.”

“That’s what the townies call t he group of scientists he works with. They call themselves all sorts of things. I guess they work with a B.F.R.O. type deal, but they claim they’re not an actual part of them. I guess it’s a private industry thing. They don’t stick around much, so I’m not sure how much of it is true.”

“The B.F.R.O.” She spoke as if repeating it would bring recognition, but he didn’t see it clear in her confused expression.

“The Big Foot Research Organizationor something like that.” Chuckling, he added, “Some of them call themselves ‘Squatchers’. It’s kind of funny. They’re pretty serious.”

She gave him a funny look, like he was revealing a third arm or claiming he actually saw the things. “I think you’ve got my father confused with someone else.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I don’t. You said he’s a field biologist. What do you think he studies up here in the middle of nowhere?”

She paused, her eyebrows knitted together in thought. “You know, I honestly have no idea. I really don’t think my dad has anything to do with it.”

He shrugged, a palm raised in surrender. “Maybe not. It’s just what I heard.”

Aly nodded, approving his explanation. As she gave it more thought, she relaxed, her brow smoothing. “Today was fun.”

“It was,” he concurred.

Smiling at his smile, she met his eyes.

Aly was simple and somehow complicated. He couldn’t name her favorite color or her favorite band, but he knew her cousins and her doubts and that she loved her mother and she didn’t know the man her father was any more than he did. He met her this morning, and it already felt like months.

“What do you like to do, Aly?”

“In general?” she inquired, biting her lip.

He nodded.

“I paint a lot. Lately I’ve been drawing. You?”

He smirked. “I like music, but I dowork.”

“Guitar?” She guessed, one eye closed in a feigned wince.

“Yeah,” he said, brow raised in surprise. “How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.” She sipped her coffee with an expression of euphoria. Setting the cup down, she took his free hand in both of hers. He shuddered as her fingers explored his. “Plus your hands. They’re shaped like a pianist, but your fingertips are callused from the strings. Oh, and the jacket. Leather’s pretty inflexible for the sleeveless drummer type.”

“Wow. You’re a living, breathing Sherlock Holmes. Has anyone ever told you that, ‘with great power comes great responsibility’?”

She wrapped her arms around her stomach as she laughed. The blissful sound filled the air with delight. It was contagious. He joined her, ignoring the nagging thoughts that it looked asinine when it was his joke.

As she caught her breath, wiping her tired eyes, she added, “Isn’t that from Spiderman?”

“Maybe. I think Holmes could have used it too, though. I’ll be Watson.” He teased, poking her ribs. She flinched and recoiled back to his side, careful not to spill her beverage. The abruptness of her reflexes was softened by the happy noises she made, something between a giggle, a squeal, and a threat. When Aly settled back in place, she was closer than before. As they breathed the same air, he felt his heartbeat in his ears.

Aly was too close.

Don’t move.

She was right there, their sides pressed against one another. One of her fists clutched the fabric of his shirt, her knuckles resting against his chest. Her free hand was interlocked with his, tan and porcelain, hot and cold. He hadn’t noticed.

How could I not notice?

She smelled like lavender and vanilla. He knew he smelled like coffee.

She was too close.

Then she started saying goodbye. The doctor was a blaring his horn, just a few yards away. He hung halfway out the driver’s window, looking irritable and confused.

“Thanks for everything. I appreciate you waiting with me.”

A scarlet flush clouded her pale cheeks. He held onto her hand as she stood, unable to register her departure. She squeezed his fingers before pulling away, waving as she disappeared by the passenger’s side of her father’s SUV. Greg rolled up the tinted window, blocking her smile from view.

Alyson Glass was too close.

She was so close. Nothing wrong at all.





~

When Noah pulled into Yazzie’s, he knew there would be trouble if Lee hadn’t already crashed. He had briefly planned to compose an apology or an argument, and to pull over to call Luke or Owen, whichever would prove a stronger alibi. It didn’t happen. Even halfway to the front doors, he didn’t feel concerned that he was totally unprepared.

His thoughts were jumbled, his hands slightly shaking. He ran the entire day in his head like a script he had to memorize, like maybe something would suddenly make sense.

Noah startled at the hand on his shoulder. He turned around reflexively, expecting a slap or a glare. Meeting dazed eyes, he recognized the dark lines amplifying a partially toothless beam.

“So, who's the girl?”

Noah blanched, blinking until he placed Tony Gabriel’s lived-in face.

“You saw her already?” he asked, unable to mask his confusion.

“Yeah, yes, yep. I saw her. Beautiful girl. Doctor's daughter, yes?”

“She says he's not a doctor. Her name's Alyson.”

“Why didn't you bring her to meet the family, aye?”

“Because they're mental?” he answered cautiously, quirking an eyebrow.

“Be careful with her, boy,” Tony warned. “Her daddy's a nut case. Weirdest white man I ever did meet. He”

“Don't be racist,” Noah groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Tony”

“Hey now, none of that,” Tony defended, hands raised. “All I'm saying is, we don't know everyone we trust. That’s all. You've only known ‘er how long?”

“Okay, Friar Lawrence,” Noah sighed. “Man, I’m exhausted. Can we do this later?”

“Who? What now?”

“Romeo and Juliet. Shakespeare.” Noah winced before the words left his mouth.

“Now, that's just disturbing. Talkin’ like girls. Cut that out, boy. You’s a man now,” Tony scolded, shaking with laughter. He smacked Noah upside the head playfully, round hoots popping from his lips.

His long hair slapped at his shoulders, falling away from his face as he rocked with hacking chuckles. Noah wrinkled his nose as the odor of bargain booze permeated the air, the overwhelming stink like cheap cologne.

“Man, you're lit. Go home, you old drunk.”

“Be nice to an old man, now!” he howled, shaking his head and wiping tears from his bloodshot eyes. The worn sleeves of his denim button-up were rolled to his elbows. The shirt was a similar wash to his rugged, paint-covered jeans, looking like the pairings of a suit.

“Barely sixty and wearing the Texas tuxedo,” Noah smirked, summoning the energy to clap Tony's boney shoulder.

“Finest in town.” He tugged the faded collar. “Ready for the coffin when it takes me.”

“Oh, don't talk like that, man.”

“A bare-assed babe, milady’s sour bastard!” He crooned.

“Sweet suicide, never alone, when I deserve to die.” Noah half - sang, halfsnickered. He raised an invisible glass to Tony’s old lyric. It was a shock to most that the steely dropout harbored a tortured poet alongside the chained up old hag. Tony played every instrument known to man, and collected most from his travels. He had a song for every woman and more than a few drunken verses were shared with the world.

“My, my, honey child.” Tony yowled, his voice carrying into a belly laugh. His hands covered his skinny ribs as they popped through the fabric, into view. As he moved, he stumbled. Catching himself, he managed a stiff twirl, running in a slanted circle, arms outstretched like the wingspan of a bird. “A thousand cities, the lower forty-eight, two babies too many, hot in the veins. Busted jugular, Oh, my, Dee. Sweet, sweet suicide, all for me, alone, alone, I deserve…I deserve.”

“Go home, Coot. I have no idea what you’ve been drinking. I'm headed out, alright? I'll see you soon.”

“Gotta call the girlfriend.” He teased, stumbling backwards. Noah sighed, closing the distance to the diner.

At least he’s still on the sidewalk.

In the silence of the night, he could hear waves crashing on the other side of the building. The boards of the porch ramp seemed too loud, even the tiles in the dark restaurant squeaking. Moving through the kitchen, he entered the foyer connecting his home, a lamp lit beside Mary-Agnes.

She seemed invested in a yellowing paperback until he entered. It dropped in a heap on the floor as she covered her thin lips with a finger, shushing him as her thumb jerked towards the couch. Lee released a whooping snore, nearly on queue.

“Sarah told me everything,” she w hispered proudly, rocking thoughtfully in her creaking chair. “I think it’s very nice you were trying to get Doctor Greg’s daughter to make friends. That girl's so lonely. Did you know her mama passed?”

“I did.” Noah knew better than to question his sister’s judgment on restricted information. He wasn’t overly concerned with keeping Mary-Agnes current and informed.

Did she really think it was that big of a deal? She confessed an altered story before I was even caught.

“And the Glass-man. He's no ray of sunshine. Ice cold, that one. Nosey too.”

“I don't think she likes him much, either,” he agreed, unwilling to argue. Mary-Agnes was a strong woman, hardened by years of poverty and individual oppression. Still, every year lines curled into her chubby face was another of concern. His mother was too old for mothering, and she seemed increasingly fragile.

“That's horrible,” she chastised. Pursing her lips, her wrinkled cheeks puffed with air. Her eyes darted out the window as her face flooded with recollection. “The pictures outside, Tony's paintings, the stains are bad.”

“I think it's mostly salt,” he said, making gradual steps towards the stairs.

Wait for a pause and run for it.

“Salt and dirt. You're gonna spray 'em right?” she asked, stuttering over each r while her n’s slides together with prolonged syllables.

Is she seriously falling asleep?

“I can power wash the foundations.” Noah murmured, planning to forget. He knew she wouldn't remember the request in the morning, anyway. If she repeated it in sobriety, he'd dig in the shed for a hose.

He waited for a response that didn’t come. As he dropped a foot on the first stair, she muttered quietly, “You’re a good boy, No-no.”

“Thanks Mom,” he whispered, disappearing as soundlessly as possible.

He wasn’t so sure.