Something Of A Kind

by Wheeler, Miranda

“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.

  CHAPTER 7 | ALYSON When her father picked her up, the only thing he had to offer Aly was a lecture on how her unpreparedness proved inconvenient. After spending several minutes shaming, complaining, and making it clear that he refused to recognize his own part in locking her out, he dropped his keys on the coffee table. Claiming he would be out of town, whereabouts need-to-know, Greg explained his organization utilized carpools and commuter lots. The SUV was at her disposal under the condition of responsible behavior. They parted ways in the stairwell.

  If he's just going to barricade himself in the basement, I'm staying upstairs. With Noah racing through her thoughts, it wasn’t long before she swore to distract herself. Overthinking was leading to over-analysis, enabling invasive doubts.

  What is he thinking, feeling? What will we be? And what was Greg’s fit all about? Her father averted the subject of Noah, but his resulting glare left her uninterested in hearing his opinion. She didn’t want to discuss anything with him.

  My life here deserves to be separate. If Greg thought Noah would be off-limits because Lee Lockwood was ‘business with an elder,’ the man would be disappointed. Rude looks were one thing, but intervention was a line she hoped he wouldn’t cross.

  If he’s unobtrusive, I’ll stay out of this insane Ashland ‘researcher’ controversy.

  Without words, her father was under her skin. Normal girls would ache beneath a smile, drag a dozen outfits from their closets, gush to their friends and mother. Aly liked him, but was it like that? Did Noah think so? How would her mother feel about it?

  She’d think I was trying to forget her, to escape in him. Oh God… am I? Alerted by the strain in her back and the hair nervously twisted around her fingers, Aly forced herself out of bed. Her exhaustion was useless against a mind that wouldn’t shut off. Still dressed in the day’s clothes and sick with unease, she wasn’t prepared to sleep.

  Aly needed to get her mind off things before it exploded. Her first instinct was to blast music and draw, but her materials were buried and Greg was probably sleeping, even if he was in the depths of the basement.

  I need to do something. Assigning a task shouldn’t be this difficult. If her window wasn’t fixed, she would’ve crawled onto the overhang above the back porch. Aunt Lauren's creaky Victorian had a set of twin balconies, one overlooking the lake, another exposed to the street. Between closing her eyes to a steady breeze and watching boats that left foam paths in their wake, she found peace there. There was an unaffected calm in the midst of the gnawing grief. Serenity offered a life after her mother. It promised a ceasefire.

  L
akes were intimate, spared from the travel of whispers in the currents. They trusted the sky, not the jigsaw of bodies. They were whole in themselves, not intended to a direct part of something bigger.

  After spending time in Ashland, it was impossible not to notice the ocean constantly in her peripheral. It was a muscle she could only turn her back to while it flexed in supremacy.

  She forgot about it only when surrounded by trees, cloaked by the forest. The roar of the tide was raw. Aly left it in the distance. She hadn’t ventured onto the sands. She saw ash everywhere, glass and slivers beneath the paper dust. Normalcy had already been swept out to sea. There was no comfort in its presence; it constantly threatened to take the ground away.

  From the Ashland house, she could hear the bay, but it wasn’t in her face, not like downtown. The window faced the backyard, embracing the sights of foliage along the edge of the property. Tall trees surrounded them, isolating the house. They went on for miles, looping around the homes in wide arcs, weaving into public trails or pressing against the edge of the coast.

  Even as she imagined their empire, fused throughout the last frontier, she couldn’t watch them forever. Invisible maps curled beneath her skin, skewed across her skull, dripping along her inner eyelids. As much as she embraced the cage around her, the anxieties sprouted within, flooding her thoughts, spreading to her chest, her sternum.

  It’s like drowning in silk, tossing it across the trees. Noah’s blinding sunshine, Greg’s black glare, the crimson fears

  – the lilac shades of absence, the umber burial, the imperfect ivory grief. A wrap of colors, stuffed in her airways. It was a plague of fear, overwhelming her nerves, swelling in her joints, burning in her lungs.

  Turn it off. She felt her aunt and uncle’s steely Victorian in her p ocket. Greg’s stare was across the room, his invasion breathing down her neck. Noah brushed her lips, his flesh in her fingertips. Her mother lay just beyond them, beyond reach, burning embers amongst the stars. All of them, standing over her shoulder, apparitions grabbing onto her throat. Bodies piled in her chest, clawing her convulsing lungs, pounding against her spine, shoving against ribs, rattling her sternum in demands of release.