Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,69
out, running to his mother’s side, Sam yanked him to the ground by the shoulder.
The sight, especially as a kid watching from his yard, was frightening. Noah had run into the street, asking his friend if he wanted to come inside until the fighting was over or stay the night. Sam hauled Luke into the car, pinned against the steering wheel, slamming the door shut at the boy’s feet. When he stalked back, he slapped Noah across the face, spewing profanity and making threats over what he called ‘his damned property’. Already sprinting to break it up, Lee decked Sam Young so hard he rolled under his car after hitting the cement, as though he slipped on ice.
After consoling Vega and senselessly sending her home to reconcile her marriage to an oppressor she believed needed for a home and a paycheck, Lee did something Noah never saw again: he asked his wife if she loved him. She offered a ‘yes-I-do-and-howcould-you-doubtit’ reply. Afterwards, Lee took Mary-Agnes in his arms, burrowing into her chubby sides with the embrace, gave her a loud kiss, and helped her toddle to the hallway, disappearing in the bathroom.
Luke did end up staying the night. In old blankets and lump cot pads dragged from the closet, they slept in front of the television – a rare luxury. The boys didn’t talk about it until the next morning, when playing on the widow’s walk in secret.
“Someday one of us is going to kill him,” Luke said, rolling a miniature skateboard over the ledge. Noah didn’t say a word, knowing he’d find the model in the bushes later. “Then he’ll wish he let us go.”
Noah’s eyes widened. “You or me?”
“No, stupid – me or Mom.”
It was no surprise the woman was a hunter, between being too poor to feed her son by traditional means and being an eternal victim with pent-up aggression. What was surprising is why she stayed in the few safe opportunities to leave– like a fishing trip, or his annual boy’s nights out of town.
That and the fact that she operates every big-game rifle legal in the state of Alaska.
Aly slowed, observing the chaos with unanimous confusion. With the focus obviously centered on Yazzie’s, it wasn’t like someone had dropped dead in the other shops. The chances were that it could be anybody, lung collapsing over breakfast, heart attack in a booth, tripping over a forgotten wet floor sign.
But it’s not anybody’s family. It’s mine.
The tape around the road’s bars grabbed his attention as they passed, a multi-purpose tow truck dragging an all too familiar panel van from Yazzie’s side-yard. Something dropped in his stomach, his anxiety arresting. He winced as muscles involuntarily tensed, and blurted, “Aly, pull over. Please.”
“Your arm -” she began, before sneaking a glance at his expression. Swallowing, she nodded slowly, pulling into the grocer’s driveway.
He unbuckled as carefully as panic allowed, awkwardly climbing from the cab. She met him at the back to support the other side of his limp as he crossed the road.
Sarah sat in a chair as the volunteer worked over her, surprisingly not Jacob. A pale cloud of foam covered her neck, her hand gripping the plastic arms as stiches were woven over a seeping skull wound. Suddenly within earshot, little details slammed through his shock. He moved through the small crowd, leaving Aly to blink at the scene, unable to form words.
“They’re saying she packed a bag and booked it.”
“No, seriously, the kid was running away.”
“– was running away…”
“…just ran off.”
“… guess she got lost on the road.”
“Anthony was drivin’ her home, I suppose.” “…bringing her back… drunk and swerving…”
“…couldn’t believe the noise! I came runnin’ and there they were, smoking and all sorts…”
The commentaries went on. Though overwhelming, he realized they were coming from the same two or three loudmouths, the rest staring, the sight shock and awe. Muffled whispers about whiplash and braces explained the white mass around his sister’s head. A free hand gripping his arm, he approached Tony’s chair in a near-limp, seething.
He spat, “My sister’s in a neck brace, you asshole.”
“Language,” Tony warned, his voice irritated. “I was trying to help her. She was five miles out of town, walking towards nothin’ for thirty. It’s real’ good we were close to home. Didn’t curb ‘til I got to Lee’s.”
“Nothing about this is good, Tony.” He released his shoulder to raise a hand in frustration.
“It’s all how you look at it.”
“I’m looking at the fact that my sister could have died!” Noah