Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,35

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