Something Of A Kind (22 page)

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.”

CHAPTER 15 | ALYSON
Aly wasn’t sure what time she had woken. It seemed long before
sunrise, the window at her back still covered with dew from the
night’s chill. From where she sat, sunlight would have roused her in
just a few hours.

Finding Noah’s blanket rolled under her head, she remembered
being woken by a warm hand at her back, the other tucking curls
behind her ear. He whispered something in her ear as he lifted her
head to cushion it.

It felt like the first night in Ashland without night terrors, though
she didn't recall much. They left a residue of happiness on her skin,
like pink, the texture of art, the taste of Paris on her lips. In the wake
of her dreams, she felt the sentiment of sweetness. Grasping for
wisps of the images as they faded, she found herself unable to hold
on.

Just something much brighter than Ashland.

Sitting up, Aly smoothed her hair, though the protest in her spine
suggested she hadn’t moved much. A flicker brought her attention to
the counter. An old television mounted in the corner flashed with the
news, its volume faint. The aroma of strong coffee penetrated the
odors of the diner, one steaming culprit brewing while another
resting in his hands. Clean-shaven in fresh clothes, his hair was still
wet from a shower.

Curious, she crossed the room without a sound.
Melting into his offered embrace, she waved
off his quiet
apologies for not having a more comfortable place to spend the
night. Aly shifted his jacket from where it draped across the seat to
the counter, sitting beside him.

Her eyes widened, noticing the array of creamers peeled and
drained on the plate beside his mug. A brow raised, she inquired,
“Insomnia?”

“Something like that,”
he replied, shrugging. The glow of the
television cast blue and purple light across him, the white of his shirt
looking radioactive. She watched the patterns, like breathing tattoos,
as the swirls danced across his skin. Between the wafting hazelnut
and the low thuds of Noah's knee against the counter, the moment
was the weird kind of perfect – her favorite kind, like something she
just might dare to capture on the canvas.

Guilt nudged her with the spasm of nerves. She could feel it in
her chest, in the same way longing swells. Noah didn't owe her
anything– yet she still coerced him into helping her, though he
obviously had strong feelings against it.

It was the same situation as when he dropped her off the night
before– he didn't want to, even as far as to warn against it, relaying
a
distinct bad feeling.
She
ignored it
and
got burned, her
expectations crushed.

The fact of the matter was, Aly didn't understand his hesitations.
Maybe he was bluffing about his former disbelief, perhaps he was
afraid, or worse, he would get in trouble, or was suspicious someone
else fabricated
a
hoax. She
couldn't tell. He
wasn't being
straightforward, and the gamble was a guess was as good as any.

He has family obligations– maybe I'm interfering again.

 

Biting her lip, she continued, “You know, if you’re not up for it,
we don’t have to go. I was really upset... I shouldn’t have asked.”

He shook his head. “Honestly, it's not a problem. As in, no
worries – at all. I’m good.” As though he noticed his mug for the
first time, he smiled into it, standing to refill. “Coffee?”

Aly rubbed the glaze of sleep from her eyes. “What time is it?”