Something of a Kind - By Miranda Wheeler Page 0,78
work and for three weeks. Brief explanations and apologies were offered, along with a mutual covenant of, “Let’s not talk about it.”
He didn’t mention Lee’s possibly made -up revelation, especially when puzzle pieces infuriatingly pressed together in the few moments before he passed out the night before, dead until dawn. Sarah left her runaway attempt at a forced shrug and, “a momentary breakdown that will not be repeated or again attempted.” He knew they’d both end up prying the wounds open later.
He’d managed a half -in-half-out shower with an awkward shave. Dressed in a uniform button-up, half ripped and makeshift muscleshirt and shorts, the morning started with an edge of bad coffee batch and more confusion than when he’d fallen asleep. It wasn’t until he realized he would barely be able to pull his acoustic from the case that it occurred to him he wouldn’t be playing anytime soon. With the testiness of the old ladder, the widow’s walk would be an off-limits retreat for a while.
Sitting at the booth with his head in his free hand, Noah wondered how he managed to get out of bed, or why he bothered. Feeling part handicapped and part inhuman, all he really wanted at the moment was to drive to Aly’s.
Although the thought had slammed through his head for the fourth or fifth time, it still felt like a perfectly timed movie scene when Greg Glass’s SUV pulled into the spot beside his window. She shuffled to fill her arms with the random possessions she carried. Glancing up, she dropped some in her lap to smile and wave. He laughed as she scrambled to re-gather, eventually collecting herself and sliding out the door with her usual grace.
Parting the heavy doors with an encouraging smile, he made out the shapes of filled wrappers and beverages in her collection. Following his gaze, Aly explained, “So, I know this is a diner, best- breakfast-intown establishment and all… but I was thinking we should do breakfast.”
He laughed, straightening. “On the docks?”
“Perfection,” Aly grinned. “I’d ask for a hand, but it seems you’re already one short.”
He stood, ducking behind the counter to grab a paper bag and a cardboard holder. She dropped the sandwiches in, wedging what smelled like liquid divinity in a cup into each hole. Managing to balance in a one-elbow cradle, she edged her purse on one shoulder. After getting the door, he offered an arm and inquired, “Walk with me?”
“Always,” she promised.
As they made their way to the docks, he debated whether to bring up the issues wracking his brain senseless. Sitting on the very end of the pier, they sat, and she offered a mass of sandwiches, confessing, “I had no idea what to grab. I didn’t sleep last night and ended up driving until I found this little drivethrough place.”
He nodded, picking randomly. Following a silence as she sipped her coffee, his brow knitted. As thoughts tumbled through his head, Lee’s empty threats and Mary-Agnes refusing to meet his gaze earlier, he blurted, “Aly, when your mom died… how did you… how did you deal with something like that?”
She froze, taken aback. After a moment, her shoulders relaxed. Her words careful, she explained, “I don’t think you can really deal with something like that. You just take it one day at a time. I was really angry and really confused for a while. I eventually loosened up, and leaned really hard on my family. I tried not to think about it, like reading and watching lame movies until I kind of had to address it. When I needed to handle it on my own, I tried to find things that I was passionate about and poured all my… well, my everything into it. That painting was one of a hundred drafts. Painted, sketched… Then I realized I couldn’t let it carve out the inside of me forever, and no matter how much it hurt, I needed to focus on the life ahead of me, rearranging plans, preparing myself to live with Greg. I needed to function, so I woke up in pieces. I don’t know. I knew for a long time that she was dying though, before it happened. Maybe that changes things. Maybe it’s different for everybody.”
He absorbed her words, hoping they could clarify, illuminate the alleys so he didn’t have to guide himself by touching the walls anymore. The stars weren’t aligning, no pieces falling into place. Whatever he was looking for didn’t click.
Is Lee crazy? Is the liquor