Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,22

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