Something of a Kind

chapter 8 | NOAH

Noah had elected to take the long way back to town. Under the assumption the tunnels would take longer, he hadn’t factored in the light debris dropping from the ceiling when his foot caught in a pothole. His arm still throbbed from slamming into a shifty beam. It was a relief to leave– the place had felt eerie since Charlie Reeves nearly lost his hand to a bear that had been scoping out the manmade cave.

He and Rona Carr were running around drunk in the dark, but still.

The end of the road led out into the main row of houses, which connected with his street in a fork. Uncharacteristically barren of patrons, they were permitted inside to purchase coffee from the bar. It was hooked in the corner of the street, trees filling in the area around it. The rest of the road was blank – its buildings shifted with the seasons, built up or down with tarps and tents in the rainy seasons, the portables dragged to the edge of the curb in the winter.

When Noah was young, they would clear it in the early summer for a flea market. He couldn’t put a date on when it stopped, but like everything else, the lack of money circulating crushed it. People working in shacks moved throughout the lawns, struggling to support meager income. Locals went into a frenzy right before July, the concept of travelers feeding a starving income – and often families – too much to bear.

Upon seeing Noah and Aly, a few people made a point of staring, others wedging behind their makeshift displays.

“Boy!” Nathaniel hollered, the old man a long time partner with the Locklear businesses, Lee particularly. The two bickered incessantly despite being nearly a decade apart in age. The senior produce a lot of the foods for the town, working directly with the fisheries and what remained of novelty shops. He often filled Yazzie’s To-Go freezer, which had become a surprising flood of revenue for his parents. Noah couldn’t tell if there was a debt to be settled or a complaint to pass on to the elder.

Aly nodded as Noah glanced at her. He assumed it meant she wouldn’t be offended if he mingled.

Recalling the last time he had spoken with the man, Noah shuddered. Though aloof but friendly, Nathaniel was clearly suffering from dementia. His memory was quick as a whip most days, but the guy got nasty fast. Noah had greeted the man, “Hey, Nate! What’s up?” It launched lectures skewing from the inappropriateness of nicknames to bad parenting to people’s fading respect for each other.

Words carefully chosen, he made sure to reach the hearing range of increasing deafness before speaking. “Hello. What can I do for you?”

The man raised his brow, bottom lip dropping. Blinking, he held out his hand to Aly. “Good and fine. The little one, your sister there, what’s ‘er name? Ah, never-mind, ‘ere. You give to ‘er, will you?”

Noah frowned, staring at the handmade dream catcher he placed in Aly’s hands. The navy twine was tightly wrapped around a faux- velvet ring, black and white beading leading to feathers from the beach. “Did Sarah pay for this?”

“My grandson likes ‘er. His gran promised little Kenny she’d make itup for ‘er. The wife does what she wants.” He shrugged, quavering with the effort.

Noah grinned, eyes crinkling with amusement. “Kennedy likes Sarah?”

The boy had been part-time help for years. A year older than his sister, Kennedy never complained about absent paychecks and usually poured them into his own family, filling in the brief shifts Noah took off. The kid was gangly, taller than Owen but a third the mass, with crazy hair Sarah insisted modeled some kid from One Direction.

With his eyes rolling over Aly as though he was noticing her for the first time, Nathaniel made a garbling sound, something akin to a muffled cackle. She beamed politely as he nodded towards her, his stare retracting to draw his mouth to his arm in order to stifle a coughingfit. He muttered, “Aye, you ain’t got no room to talk, boy. Your sister, she’s better off.”

Noah stiffened.

These people are such bigmouths.

“Kennedy’s a good person,” Noah snapped, as if the man wasn’t insulting Aly like she wasn’t standing right there. “If he plays his cards right, they’ll both be just fine.”

“Peculiar fella, your papa is,” Nathaniel continued, sliding a shelf into place. He glanced at Aly, scrutiny traveling along her silhouette. “You ain’t so strange. City folk, no doubt, but…”

“Thanks,” she murmured, fingering a feather of the dream catcher.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nathaniel muttered, waving to announce his departure. He moved slowly, with a hunch and a limp, his stout frame seeming more lean with strain. He kept a dazed smile on his blank face, a blinding contrast to the terrain of wrinkles and shadows.

If only the rest of him wasn’t so hostile.

“We’re all strange.” Noah’s hand gently cupped her elbow. He steered her away from Nathaniel’s quaking back, towards a shack in the next lot. With a nod he greeted his mother’s friend, frail old man with a harsh face and heavy burden. Osh shuttered with each breath, his hands quivering as he rearranged the goods on the front trays.

Without a word, Noah traded a five dollar bill for a waxen paper bag. Pinching the corner, he shook the contents into his palm.

The leather necklace was artfully wrapped around a riversmoothed stone painted in unnatural blues as an abstract killer whale. He peeled the tag from the end and closed it in her pale hand. With her lips parted in surprise, she turned it over between her fingers, a soft blush on her cheeks. Aly smiled, forcing her gaze from the piece. She attempted to give it back, shuffling Sarah’s gift into another hand. He waved off her protests.

With his coffee cooled enough to avoid burns, he took a sip, explaining, “No, no, no. It supports the community. We struggle here, starving artists and all. It’s nice to acknowledge a craft. Osh’s wife actually makes these herself.”

He pointed to the yard behind the stand as they passed, gazing wistfully. The man continued to work, carrying colorful trays to the display. A wiry woman in a floral windbreaker bunched up to her elbows sat cross-legged on a blanket over the lawn. Assorted piles of beads, yarns, and stones piled over feathers like paperweights formed a circle around her. She moved efficiently, though wincing with arthritis as she kneaded her materials.

“She told me about the snakes. When I was a kid, I got so excited for their displays. I was always alone when I came down here though, so I was waiting until my parents started paying me. Eventually she just tucked one in my coat pocket and told me to scram before her husband got back.” He laughed, tracing the ink of his wrist.

“It is pretty awesome,” she agreed, eyes lingering on his neck. “Where is it now?”

“It was made for children, so I eventually outgrew it. Sarah wears it looped around her wrist.” Noah looked down at Aly, the present already clasped around her neck. Distracted, half his foot landed on the edge of the road. Catching his feet, he pretended he hadn’t nearly fallen over himself.

This girl even messes up my walking.

It occurred to him that he hadn’t stopped talking since they left the tunnel, rattling off every other memory that slipped into his brain. Swallowing, he rolled his shoulders, asking, “I’m not totally overwhelming you, am I?”

She laughed. “Of course not. I love seeing the town. In two days, I feel like I’ve lived here half of my life.” She quickly added, “Which is a good thing.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

“I’ve been all over the place. I was actually terrified I’d spend the rest of my existence locked in an ice fishing shack, or a cabin in the middle of a glacier while my father documented the natural scavengers of the north or something. Instead, I get to hang out with you.”

Why does it feel so good that she sounds so happy?

“It hasn’t been the worst weekend for me either,” he grinned. “Too bad we’re stuck in Ashland.”

“It’s better than some frozen mountain range. Ashland is more like how I pictured a little coastal town in Oregon.”

“We’re not all snowmen and Eskimos,” he agreed.

“And man-children,” she teased. “Just a bunch of drunken artists with half-baked lives.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” she murmured, staring at the sky. “It’s unique. It’s wonderful, actually.”

“Really?” He quirked a brow, surprised. “The people or the culture? Because if it’s the former, you really ought to be tested for brain injury.”

“It’s a sense of identity. Something to ground you, to be proud of

– even when it’s not all glamour. People are gritty, life is hard. There’s something beautiful in the fall. ” Aly turned to meet his eyes. She seemed eager to read his expression, to know he appreciated what he had. “I’m this indistinct… list, mostly guesses and selfappointed infatuations, kind of zigzagging all over Europe.”

“I thought you were Italian.”

“My cousins are – Francesca and Giovanni, because my aunt, Lauren, married my uncle, Vincent, who’s from Italy. But me… I’m all over. My mom thoughtshe might be French, but that’s about all we know.”

“I can see that,” he smiled, observing the petite fingers laced between his own. “I think sometimes we can be just as artificial as the wanderers, though.”

“Ever read Tolkien?” she inquired, quoting, “’Not all wanderers are lost’?”

“Not much. I’m more of an Orwell-Palahniuk type of guy, though,” Noah countered.

Her lips parted, what Noah had grown to recognize as the Alyson-equivalent of a jaw drop. He might be slightly offended if he hadn’t been pleased with himself for surprising her. He raised an eyebrow, curious to her response. “Advanced English at the Regional.”

“And thatmade my day,” she announced, a smile gradually spreading across her face. “See? If I didn’t know better I’d think the boy with the leather jacket was bad news.”

“I’m not wearing it today,” Noah offered.

“It’s there to compliment the guitar,” she decided, her voice playful.

“Better than the apron?” He mimed the hook of his head, although he always folded it around his waist.

“Definitely,” Aly affirmed. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re quite possibly the best waiter I’ve ever seen.”

“Of course I am,” he laughed. “It’s my job.”

Aly smiled. “It doesn’t suit you.”

Tell me about it.

“Well,” he teased, “That I might take the wrong way.”

“All I mean is, you’re too good for this town.”

“Nah. I’m a productof this town,” Noah smirked.

She winced, slapping a hand across her forehead. “Wow. That sounded terrible, didn’t it?”

“I knew what you meant,” he grinned, nudging her elbow with his own. “Though I have to say the face-palm made my entire day.”

“Who knew?” A giggle slipped from her lips. “There are face- palms in Alaska.”

“Where there’s internet, there’s a way.”

“You’re talking to the girl who spammed her own profile so she didn’t have to see lists of condolences.” Chewing on her own words, she grimaced, adding, “Sorry. I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

He laughed, unbothered. “What? Being Aly?”

She looked away, hiding her smile. “I guess so.”

“So, what about the girl in the boots– bad news?”

“That depends on who’s asking.” Her gaze dropped up and down, taking in his height. “I think you can handle it.”

“Really,” he stated, as though he considered the word on his lips, mulling it over.

“Sure, a strapping young man such as yourself. You’re brimming with angst and defiance– or so I’m convinced.” Her voice shifted into a British accent, holding despite the wavering of amusement. “I’m sure you’ve done terrible things.”

So much better than Luke or Owen’s – maybe they can ask for lessons.

“Have a degree to go with that theory?”

“My father does,” she giggled. “Seriously, what’s the worst?”

He considered her question, grimacing at the memory. His hand subconsciously probed his side as though the skin was still tender with blacks and blues. He said, “I’ve been drunk exactly once. Worst night of my life. I woke up the next morning and I was still drunk, and spent the entire day sick as a dog. My father kicked me so hard I tasted my ribs.”

“Oh my God,” she blurted, eyes wide. “I hope that’s a one-time deal.”

“Drinking sure as hell is, at least for me.”

“I meant your dad,” she corrected, frowning in concern. “I thought teens were supposed to be experimenting and all that. I think my mother was disappointedwhen I didn’t go through that phase.”

“That doesn’t alarm you?”

“It’s not like she wanted me to jump for drugs or try to pull off any wild parties – which, between our budget and neighbors on each side of the condo would not have worked at all.”

“I thought your dad was super rich or whatever.”

“I never saw him growing up. He didn’t help financially until my mom was terminal.”

He sympathized, “That sucks.”

“I wasn’t a priority,” Aly shrugged. “I had my mom, which was way better. I literally spent my entire life trying to please her. Like I said, she was kind of disappointed I never really screwed up. I don’t know if it’s because she got kicked out when she went to college or if it’s because she was pregnant so young. I think it’s the books.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The books made her do it?”

“No, no. I mean… She had all these parenting books and magazines – filled with sticky notes and dog-eared pages. I guess most of the Your Troubled Child & You types proved irrelevant. When she worked late I used to sit in her closet and flip through them, trying to imagine what she was using to shape me. I think she was bummed she never got to use them.”

“And that doesn’t alarm you either?”

“It wasn’t a closet -closet. That’s where the bookshelf was – with an ottoman and a light.” She groaned, frustrated with her own inability unable to relieve the amused expression on his face. “I swear it’s not as weird as it sounds.”

“Sure. Because most kids read their parent’s parenting books in a closet.”

“Yes, because most kids get beaten when they drink,” she retorted.

He raised his palms in surrender. “I was kicking myself anyway.” Noah sighed, rubbing his neck.

She frowned, her face ridden with concern. “It seems harsh.” He shrugged. “So does ditching your kid at a diner.”





~

Following the road home, they moved up his back driveway. It consisted of dark concrete ridden with crumbled sections, fishing and jerky shacks off by the tool shed.

“Shortcut,” Noah explained, holding the back entrance with his foot. It wasn’t heavy, spray painted wood panels on an offset hinge.

Aly mimed a curtsy and breached the foyer, waiting as he took the front to lead her through. Gripping the screen’s handle, he swallowed, bracing himself to reveal his less-than-extravagant home.

Please let everyone be wearing pants.

Passing the back hall, they made their way through the tiny living room. A tan, fauxleather loveseat and Lee’s mustard, carpet- textured recliner were positioned around a small, wood-boxed television. The furniture was situated amongst floor lamps that probablydated back to the 70’s, or at least belonged there. Floral flesh-colored wall paper plastered the space, peeling with age and yellowed with cigarette smoke.

How they managed to kick that habit in the midst of all their problems is beyond me. Even that was too expensive.

Mary-Agnes lay on disheveled couch cushions, half pulled from the frame. Curled into a ball as much as her weight and gout permitted, she twisted on her side to stare at the ceiling, a mug slack in her hand. Lee stood over her, scratching his neck and mumbling unintelligibly.

What the hell are they doing?

The man’s face flushed as he realized he had company. Alyson stood at Noah’s side, analyzing his expression with concern. He straightened his shoulders, forcing his dropped jaw shut. “Is everything alright?” Noah asked, hesitant.

He didn’t make small talk with his parents, especially with his father. They rarely spoke beyond organizing chores and work, or defending drunken fits and making excuses for missing paychecks. This scene wasn’t right, though. It didn’t look like Lee had hurt Mary-Agnes, but this was something he only saw when venturing out of his room in early morning hours. They shouldn’t even be at the house. Lee belonged at the deck, or the fishery. Mary-Agnes belonged at the cash register or in the kitchen.

Something’s not right.

“Why? How could you bring strangers into my house?” Mary - Agnes mumbled, sounding like she had been crying or was about to. Everything about her screamed wooziness, a flagrant sign she was unstable in every sense.

I don’t want to be around when this goes down.

“Shortcut,” he muttered, tugging Aly’s wrist as they moved past them.

I don’t even want to know.

He felt like he could wake up one day and the house would be empty, Yazzie’s falling apart. The docks would have fallen into the ocean. Life would be gone, red skies and ruins. He wasn’t sure he’d care– being alone, for once, belonging to nothing and no one.

Noah didn’t know what he wanted from his parents, to be seen and accepted or invisible and released. He didn’t want whatever was waiting in the room at his back.

Cutting through the attachment from the house to Yazzie’s, the sudden hollers of an argument passed through the walls. He couldn’t tell who was speaking, or which side it was on. Confused, he exchanged a look with Aly.

Entering the diner, he sprinted through the white hall into the eating section. As she tried to keep up, Aly knocked over the heavy frames filled with pictures of the various grand re-openings over the years. He waved her off when she tried to retrieve it, wordlessly insisting she shouldn’t worry about it.

The front of the diner was in chaos, patrons raising their hands, some already walking out. With the bang of industrial pans hitting the floor, Sarah screamed, a following wail resonating through the wall. Kennedy’s voice rang back, too muffled to make out the words. The whirr of the water pipes shuttered in the wall, the room empty and silent enough for the noise to carry.

Noah ran for the doors, pushing himself up and over the counter in the same way he had yelled at his brothers for doing a thousand times. He slammed through, a stumbling mass of people following at his back.

The first thing he saw was blood – a lot, everywhere. It took a moment to realize the thick liquid was actually maroon sauce, either a marinade or a soup base, sprayed across the burgundy tiles. It steamed, splashed across the floor, running down the walls, splattered on the legs of tables. The huge pan still rolled on its side, a red-handed culprit.

Kennedy had Sarah bent over a dishwashing sink, forcing both of her hands beneath a running faucet. She sobbed in his arms, her face buried in his chest, twisted away from the water, unable to look at the burns. As Noah jumped around the mess, he placed each foot wherever the stuff wasn’t with as much care as panic allowed, rushing to their side.

He couldn’t tell what was skin and what was sauce, though wherever the water was running clear was swollen with white patches or angry reds with noticeable welts. His own scars stung just looking at it.

“Oh no,” his mother said, her voice high and confused, “Oh dear, oh no!”

I thought she was half-dead in the living room. When did they get here?

He prayed it wasn’t as bad as his had been. The memory rushe d into his head – eight years old, racing through the kitchen screaming, John fast at his back, face flushed. His brother had grabbed the handle of the pan from the fryer, whipping it forward, splattering boiling oil. His jacket had protected his back, but his neck bubbled. For the first twenty minutes his body was in shock. By the time he was treated at the clinic, the pain returned with a vengeance in the nerves that hadn’t been burned through. The next few months were agony.

The scar still covered the flesh of his neck, concealed by shaggy hair and a hoodie, slightly dipping between the shoulder blades. It was the only time he had ever seen his father angry with one of the golden boys, a fault in the flawless prodigal sons.

She’s already screaming – that’s a good sign. No nerves fried.

He shivered, his hands uselessly outstretched, trembling. He realized his mouth was moving, demanding details and screaming at his parents. Mary-Agnes shrunk back, Lee leaning against the door, half-dazed and half-stewing. Aly was frozen, her eyes locked on Sarah, seeming oblivious to his shaking breakdown.

“M -momma was drinking. She just left me. I- I just t-tried to take over” Her voice cracked, her head shaking fiercely. She tried pulling her hands back, crying thatit hurt, it was cold, he’s hurting her. When he didn’t budge, she bit down on her lip, eyes squeezing shut.

“Your mom walked out. I told her we could close, Sarah refused.

She said she could take care of the kitchen because she knew most of the menu. Erma was going to come back from break, we thought Mary-Agnes would come back. She ran to get a plate she forgot and bumped the edge of it, I don’t know, with her arm swinging or something. Usually the handles are turned in, she had it to the edge, I don’t-” Kennedy spoke fast, his panic launching him into the role of auctioneer rather than credible witness.

Noah ran his hands through his hair, unable to think. His head pounded, anger and frustration building until his chest as though he could physically explode. On the verge of a scream in the chaos, he stumbled back, arms crossed over his head.

Aly shoved past him. The wide handle of a red tool box slid down her forearm, awkwardly slamming against her shoulders as she tied her long hair behind her head. Dropping it on the table, a white cross dragged the recognition that it was a first aid – an old kit kept beneath the register after the irregular health inspector dropped in through a town scouring.

She pulled Kennedy off Sarah, taking his place so his sister couldn’t recoil. Catching the boy’s eye, Aly said, “I need you to clean that stuff up before someone else gets hurt. Can you do that?” He blinked, looking between the floor and Sarah before nodding quickly. Aly’s smiled reassured. “And Kennedy? You did a really good job – probably saving a lot of her skin. Your surprise from your grandfather is sitting on one of the tables. You should deliver it yourself. Oh, and please don’t slip.”

Kennedy mumbled, for a second looking at her the same way Noah did. He disappeared, stepping around what remained of bored bystanders. Noah heard his father yell for everyone to leave the restaurant, ignoring questions for plates and bills.

Mary-Agnes stood muttering to herself in the corner, eyes wide in shock. He realized he mirrored her, although silent, frozen and shaking, unsure what words had spilled from his mouth. Looking at the horror across his mother’s face, he closed his dropped jaw. They tasted like profanity.

“Noah? I need you to call 911 – or whatever it is you guys have here. A housecall doctor or an ambulance.” She said carefully, squinting to examine Sarah’s forearms, guiding her wrists to each side beneath the stream. Sarah had fallen silent, releasing occasional whimpers.

“Nana did,” Mary -Agnes yelled suddenly, her chubby face too wet to tell where tears, droll, and snot began. She was a patchycheeked mess. He couldn’t even look at her, the anger clenching against the compassion he would normally shower on his mother. “I called, babies, Nana called.”

“Who did you call, Mama?” Sarah whispered, her eyes glowering beneath tears.

“Mr. Jacob. I call Mr. Jacob and he say, ‘It’s okay, I come to Yazzie’s,’” she slighted, her words slamming together.

Aly looked doubtful, her brow knitted as she looked to Noah for reassurance that it wasn’t a drunk fit. He nodded, replaying her distinct recall of the volunteer paramedic in his head. His mother was like a child when she was drunk – too much coincidence made a lie unlikely and accurate details were short-term memory.

“Alright – I’d rather have a professional look at it, but I think we can do a temporary bandage,” Aly announced, catching Noah’s gaze. “Give me a hand? Grab the first aid?”

As he retrieved the box from the opposite counter, Aly dragged the chopping stool into the light. By the elbows, Aly eased Sarah down. Noah pulled another to her side, sitting. Lee returned through the doors, Mary-Agnes at his back as they stumbled around Kennedy, streaking the remaining sauce with their feet.

“Listen here. This can’t happen. You can’t be your running mouths or nothing,” Lee demanded, his droopy eyes wide with rage. “This was real dumb.”

“This,” Noah yelled, “is your fault.”

“You’d better watch your ungrateful mouth,” he sneered. His gaze suddenly fixated on Aly, unable to look at the wounds she tended.

“You are a horrible father!” Noah shouted. He closed in on Lee, chest inflated, neck arched, emphasizing his height– he felt like his brother, but it suited the anger, every year of it. Voice low, he warned “You need to leave, right now.”

His only daughter– and he’s pissed that she was ‘stupid enough’ to get hurt.

Lee cleared his throat, staring at Alyson. Backing down for the first time in Noah’s life, Lee grumbled, “We’ll address this later. As a family.”

“What family?” Noah muttered, waving him good riddance, too confused to hold the anger or mull over the small victory. He sat, accepting Sarah’s hands from Aly so she could fish for aloe.

“It wasn’t nobody’s fault,” Mary -Agnes mumbled incessantly. “We all have our accidents. Little baby ones. I didn’t do nothing wrong. I just… step outside. You understand me. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

“Bury the sins elsewhere, okay?” he snapped, pointing for his mother to leave. Ignoring her crumbling face, he turned back to his sister, muttering, “Justice wouldn’t justify.”

The doors smacked together, swinging as she wobbled out weeping, words carelessly slurring from her lips. When the wails were out of ear-range, Sarah turned to Noah, offering her swollen hands.

“You can’t make excuses when you hurt people. It’s not supposed to be that easy,” Sarah whispered, her voice wavering with the onslaught of tears.

She sounds so young.

“It’s not fair,” he agreed, clamping down on his anger. Gently turning her hand in his, he promised, “I know it hurts like hell, but you’re going to be okay. I’ll bet it looks worse than it is.”

“If we weren’t the only damn eat -out place in this God-forsaken Podunk town it would have gone under,” she mumbled. “We’d be starving or in social services or something. You know in cities when this happens, that’s where you go? A foster home until your grown, then the government pays for you to go to college because your parents can’t.”

“I don’t think it’s quite so glamorous, Sar,” Noah sighed, slathering another lather of aloe as her burn heated the last. “Don’t believe everything you read on the internet.”

“I’m so tired.” Her voice ended in a hiss as the skin made contact with Noah’s best makeshift attempt at wet gauze. She swallowed audibly, shifting her gaze to Aly. “How’d you know what to do?”

Noah glanced towards her, his curiosity growing. “That was kind of amazing. You were the only one who didn’t freak out.” “Most burn accidents happen in the kitchen,” Aly replied.

Sarah waited, exchanging a glance with Noah as if it could clarify. Finally, she prompted, “And?”

“My mother was a chef and a klutz.” Aly forced a smile. “It’s just something I had to know.”





~

“Aly, I am so sorry. I can’t believe that just happened,” Noah said earnestly, rubbing his neck.

“It’s not a big deal. I mean it is, but not with me. Well, not that I don’t…” she sighed. “I’m very sorry you had to deal with that, but I want you to know you don’t have to worry about it being a problem with me.”

He shook his head. “Seriously, tha nk you. I think you helped everybody calm down, especially Sarah and Kennedy. Getting everyone to focus like that…”

“I’m only good with people when they’re acting weirder than me,” she mused. “Not a big deal, at all, like I said.”

“That’s everyone in Ashland. I think you’re all set.” He laughed. “Scared off yet?”

“Hardly.” Staring at her hands, she added, “I’m sorry you have to deal with that. It’s not right.”

He shrugged, jogging ahead of her to grab the door. “Don’t be. It’s not forever. When I graduate, I’ll be able to get my sister and I out of here. I can’t even think about that part yet though.”

“I know what you mean. I don’t have to live with my dad if I’m not a minor. At the end of this school year, I’m eighteen. Then I’ll figure things out.”

So what happens when the year ends?

He nodded, silent for a moment.

“So… if you’re not going to go home and pack your bags for the next flight,” Noah teased. “Are you as ready to crash as I am?”

“Yeah, definitely. It’s nice to go home by myself, totally f ree from Greg.” Aly sighed, almost wistful. “When he’s not there, it’s like I can actually call it that. It’s… comforting.”

She followed him out the door as she spoke. He sat down beneath the window, free from the eyes behind the wall. She frowned, looking between her car and the space at his side. Grinning, he grabbed her sleeve, pulling her down beside him. She laughed, crashing into his embrace. Sobered, she swallowed, scrutinizing his expression.

As she slid her arms around his neck, Noah shuddered. Aly hesitated. Holding still, he waited for her to relax in his arms. She smelled like lavender, with vanilla.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confessed.

“Me neither,” she whispered.

Noah bit his lip, staring at hers.

Her fingertips brushed his jaw, warm palms loosely resting against his cheeks. He could taste her breath, like sweet mint. Her eyes, wide and blue, met his, letting him decide. He moved his hands to her waist, pulling her close. Taking a breath, he pressed his lips to hers. In his arms, Aly shivered.

The doors at her back flew open. She slammed her hands into his chest, pushing herself away. Lee stood beside them, paisley shirt unbuttoned over his beer belly, his hair greased into a low pony tail. Half-hunched, his fists curled into is hips as he stumbled back and forth, swiveling as he looked to and fro.

Having broken apart, they weren’t seen by his father. When he spotted them, Lee peered down from behind his glasses. They had slid to the tip of his nose, his sleeves rolled halfway up is forearm. An upper lip curled in a sneer, revealing yellowed teeth and gums blackened with tobacco.

He looks like a half-cocked librarian cowboy.

Jerking his head at Aly, chin wiggling, Lee snapped, “Get.”

Noah gripped her hand as Aly stood up. Squeezing it, she pulled away, forcing a polite smile. Offering a tiny wave, she nodded towards Lee. Noah’s jaw set, eyes narrowing to a glare at his father. Before he could say a word, she gave him a warning look, slightly shaking her head.

Does she smell the booze too?

Hating himself for not having words, he realized he had been too stunned to speak. As Noah blinked to clear the haze, Lee cleared his throat, launching a series of coughs. Noah ignored him. He jumped to his feet, watching as she pulled out her keys.

Swaying to Greg’s car, Aly paused, spinning around to face them. Cocking her head to one side, she cracked a smile. Chin up, she called, “And Noah?”

“Yeah?” “I’m really glad your sister’s okay.”





~

“Get out of here.” Noah glanced out the window to see the man running; ducking as though it would cover him from the pouring rain. “My sister’s fine. Ole Jakers here has her covered.”

Noah forced a smile, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Kennedy looked across the table to Sarah, as if seeking permission. A dimple sprouted with her half-smile, followed by a quick nod. As he dragged himself out of the booth, he hung his head, as sullen as ever.

“Tomorrow?” he clarified. Sarah winked, jerking her chin towards the door. He put his hands up, his hair falling over his face with a nod. “Alright, I’m going, I’m going.”

Kennedy traded positions with Jacob, a shorter guy slightly packing on weight with age. With curly brown hair and a goatee, his windbreaker and mud-soaked jeans made him look more like a lost hiker than one of the only people in town with medical knowledge. He always talked a little off, an unidentifiable accent from somewhere on the east coast masked with a soft-spoken clarity. He had a puppydog kind of presence, like he’d lay down to take a bullet for a group of misunderstood kittens, but a resilience that made it seem like he already had.

“I’ll be gentle,” Jacob promised, already pulling apart the bandages. “It’s not too bad. It will hurt the least if I do it really fast, like a BandAid. I don’t want to make you suffer through it gradually. Think you can handle it? I thought so. You’re being really brave.”

Sarah gasped through her teeth, visibly holding back tears. Stringy beads lapsed between the burn and the bandage. It looked like saliva. Noah hoped it was the aloe.

“I know it hurts. We can make that go away. This stuff smells funny, but it only stings for a second. It’ll clean it out and keep it that way, and numb the pain a bit. It should help the healing process along, too. You, Miss Sarah, are a trooper.” As he spoke, he distracted her as he cleaned the gauze from where it started to fuse in, asking about school starting in the fall and summer plans, how the day was and what happened. “There you go – all set. I’m going to talk to your dad about getting some of this for the next few weeks. There’s a salve you use every three hours, and a wet bandage that you should change every morning, just like I did it. When it drives you crazy, you can take two Tylenol.”

Jacob stood up, disappearing through the kitchen doors where Lee’s head bobbed. It was barely a moment before he returned, flattening a crumpled script. He approached Noah with a concerned frown. “It appears your father isn’t interested in investing in medication.”

Noah blinked. “You’re serious? He refused the prescription because he doesn’t want to pay for it?”

I can’t even imagine how much they spend on alcohol and chewing tobacco in a week.

Jacob sighed, scratching his head. “So it seems. I don’t know if you can convince him, but it’s really in her best interest.”

Noah set his jaw, glaring at the kitchen doors. “I have no power over that man, at all, whatsoever.”

Jacob furrowed his brow. "I'm taking the wife to Anchorage this weekend. In the big stores, there's a generic brand that's over the counter."

Noah chewed his cheek, mulling over the silent offer.

“How much?” he asked finally.

Jacob hesitated, face twisting in sympathy. “Thirty-five on the low end.”

Noah stifled a groan, all business. “I can cover twenty now. I get paid again on the twentyfifth.”

Jacob reached into his bag, shoving a handful of samples into Noah’s arms.

“That’s on me. For the big can, I can cover the rest.” Jacob insisted, “You’re a good kid, Noah. Your sister's lucky to have you.”

Noah dumped them on a table, sliding a duct-tape wallet from his back pocket. Pulling out the last of his paycheck, he forked over the bills.

“It's family,” he shrugged. “You know how it is.”

“Something tells me 'family' is limited to you and Baby Bear.”

“Most days,” Noah laughed. “Does that make me Goldilocks?”

“You might need to borrow Lee’s mullet.”

Noah tried to maintain a straight face, but the image of the outrageous mane acting as a backwoods understudy for the golden tresses of the childhood tale was too much. An eruption of laughter exploded from his chest, resounding in his throat.

Ridiculous suits him. What else do you call a father who can’t even take care of his kids without four-letter-words?

Jacob patted Noah’s back and wiped tears from his own eyes, still shaking with chuckles as he left the diner.

“I’ll pay you back,” Sarah swore.

He shook his head, unable to rouse the unspoken ‘hell no’. She nodded, refusing his refusal.

“Put it away for school,” he said, attempting an encouraging smile.

Reminded of her dream means of ditching Ashland, Sarah burst into tears. Drawing her knees to her chest, she slid back in the booth, bandaged arms uselessly at her side. He climbed in the low seat back-to-back with hers, pushing to the very end.

“Hey – it’ll be okay. I swear,” he promised. Sarah whimpered, shaking her head, rubbing her face with her sleeve. “Alright, Sar, let it out.”

“I’m so angry,” she blurted, voice agonized, face twisted. “I’m angry at the situation, angry at our parents. I hate this place so much I feel like I’m going to die if it doesn’t kill me first.”

“This is not forever, though. You’ve got to know that. We’re going to get out of here.”

“No,” Sarah muttered bitterly, “You are.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You’re going to leave the moment you’re out of school and you’re going to have beautiful babies and move across the world and I’ll be stuck in this hell of a town forever.”

“Sarah, I’m not going anywhere without you. We are family. We’re in this together,” he insisted, fist clenched. “I would never do that to you.”

“What about Alyson? She’s freaking perfect. What if she wants you to go away to college? To run away like Aunt Maria?” She reasoned, looking aggrieved, as if it had already been decided.

“Then I’d send her packing,” he joked. “Seriously, Sarah, Aly doesn’t change anything.”

Not yet.

“You’re going to get all wrapped up in her,” she mumbled, burying her face.

“What if I want to?” Noah sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Sarah, it doesn’t matter who I know or what I’m doing. We will get out of here– just not today.”

Sarah raised her face, pieces of hair sticking to her damp cheeks. His stomach dropped. Noah couldn’t tell if she was glaring or just broken, but her expression struck him, pain flooding his chest. Her lower lip trembled, another wave of tears filling her big eyes. Voice cracking, she pleaded, “I don’t want to be here.”

He hated feeling this way – seeing his baby sister shattered, wordlessly begging for an escape. But he was a cellmate in her prison, his chains twice as tight because of her. Orange suits and plastic spoons were just as bad as aprons and silverware, concrete walls and shackles no different the poverty behind Yazzie’s open door. They weren’t patrons – the diner was a one way ticket until graduation papers said otherwise. There was a year until there were options, best scenario including Sarah’s immediate recruitment in the great escape, the three-hundred and sixty-five day waiting room hopefully filled with the incredible curveball of Alyson Glass.

For now, they’d have to duck their heads and scrub the damned tables.