AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Outside of running a diner, Mr. Taylor also repairs old homes and sells them for a profit.” Mr. Blackbourne slowed his car as we approached. “Although he’s been hanging on to this one for a while. Luke and Mr. Taylor have moved in, but North still lives in one of the trailers. I think he prefers the privacy.”
There was a large, four car garage in the back. One of the garage doors had been rolled open. Parts were strewn out into the gravel drive in front of it. The Jeep sat outside the garage, the hood up, the inside gutted. The truck was inside the open garage. I couldn’t see North.
Mr. Blackbourne parked by the house. “I should let you go alone. If I come with you, he probably wouldn’t understand. He might think I’m making you say you’re sorry so he’ll get back to work.”
“That’s not what you’re doing?” I asked, the quip escaping my lips before I could stop myself. “Sorry, I didn’t mean ...”
“You’re not sorry,” he said. There was a twitch at the corner of his mouth like the smile was going to return but he stopped himself. “But no, I’m not. Just remember, we’re a family. Family first.”
I nodded. I hoped North remembered that.
“I’ll be inside with Luke. We’ll be watching. If you need to escape, head to the house.”
“I’ll try not to.”
This time the millimeter smile stayed. “I wouldn’t expect any less from you.”
I stood outside of the car, facing off the garage. I hesitated. I didn’t see North and I wasn’t sure about approaching him when he was angry. I tried to tell myself I’d say I’m sorry, but would it help?
A gentle hand found my shoulder. I turned to find Mr. Blackbourne’s lean, smooth fingers touching me, showing support. He said nothing to me, only nodded. He released me, walking off.
I’m here.
Mr. Blackbourne knew what I needed.
I stepped quietly around the parts strewn out into the gravel. The parts, while I wasn’t familiar with car parts in general, didn’t just look removed, they appeared dented. Did he throw them out of the garage?
A hammering of metal against metal sounded, snapping my attention to the truck. I finally found North on his back underneath the front section of the truck. His legs protruded out from underneath. Brown sawdust was still ingrained into the material of his black jeans.
A tall bottle of whiskey sat next to his legs, a quarter of the liquid drained. He drinks? I thought he hated drinking.
North started hammering the underside of his truck again, so I stopped trying to tiptoe. The garage was bigger than I thought from the outside. There was a minivan, a large cargo van and an older model sedan in the back that I hadn’t seen him drive yet, all black. The SUV was missing.
I scooted close to where North’s legs were hanging out. I thought of calling his name, but when he didn’t stop hammering at his truck, I grew frustrated. I could have cut a foot off, he wasn’t paying attention. So much for being an ever vigilant Academy guy.
I snapped up the bottle of whiskey, examining the black label. My parents didn’t drink. I only recognized the Johnnie Walker label because I’d once seen it in a movie. I sniffed the top, inhaling the strength of the alcohol inside. Pungent. I wasn’t sure why people even started drinking.
North stopped hammering. A grease covered hand appeared, reaching blindly for the bottle that wasn’t where it was supposed to be.
I put the bottle to my lips. I wanted to know what he was doing to himself. I let the liquid fill my mouth, and swallowed half of it before feeling the burning. I pushed the bottle away, standing there with a mouthful of the rest of it, wanting to spit it out or maybe even spit it back inside the bottle.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” North thundered at me. He was out from under the truck on the ground and looking up with his mouth open as if in disbelief I was standing there. He dropped whatever part he was holding, to the concrete floor of the garage with a clatter. “Why the hell are you drinking that? Spit it out.”
I straightened, looked him square in the eye and forced myself to swallow the rest I had in my mouth. I cringed after the burn. North was right the first time. What was I doing?
His eyes widened at me. He scrambled to stand up, lunging after me. “Give me that bottle.”
I pulled back, holding it behind me and out of reach. “You were drinking it.”
“No. You don’t get to drink.” He stood in front of me, fists clenched. His dark hair was nearly sticking up on his head. Shadows hovered under his eyes. I wasn’t sure he slept at all.
“If you do it, I do it.”
“No, you don’t,” he glared at me, taking a step forward and holding out a hand. “Give me the bottle, Sang.”
“No.” I stepped back, holding it back behind myself and turning to block him. “I’ll stop when you do.”
“I’m not drinking it right now.”
“You were,” I said.
He grunted. “I thought you didn’t want to talk anymore.”
“So you start drinking?” I moved the bottle from my back to look at the liquid sloshing around. “It doesn’t even taste good.”
He leapt forward, snatching the bottle from me. He reeled his hand back, turning toward the open garage door and launched it out among the many parts I imagine he’d also thrown out in a similar manner. The bottle shattered amid the gravel. He turned back to me. “You don’t get to fucking drink.”
“We were at that party and you didn’t drink. You said the others were stupid for drinking.”
“I said they became stupid and did stupid things together, like shoving us in a closet together.”
The smile on my lips betrayed me. “As I recall, that particular part wasn’t too bad.”
His eyes widened. He mumbled. He shoved his fingers through his mess of dark hair. “What do you want, Sang?”
The question confused me. “I’m ready to talk again,” I said, going with what Mr. Blackbourne had told me about. “I couldn’t finish before but now I can.”
“What the fuck does that mean? God damn, I don’t understand you sometimes.”
“What don’t you understand?” I asked, quieting and genuinely curious.
His mouth opened, his lips parting wide. “I ... you ... you’re ...” He grunted. “I need you to tell me what’s going on around you. You can’t keep it to yourself.”
“I do tell you.”
“You need to trust me,
Sang.”
“I do trust you.”
“No,” he barked. He pointed a fist at me. “No. Not believing I won’t hurt you isn’t the same as trusting me. It was a god damn emergency signal. What part of emergency did you think was acceptable to not tell us?”
“It could have meant they were just lost and needed help finding their way back. We didn’t know at the time. It could have been anything.”
“It meant he was waist deep in shit and you fell in after him. And when we finally pull your ass out and bring you back to life, you’re telling me you think you’re stupid.”
“No, I said you thought I was too stupid and helpless to be useful.”
“Well it is stupid not to tell us what’s going on, especially important things.”
“How am I supposed to know, North?” I said, feeling my voice rise an octave higher and the strain at the last word. I waved a hand in the air. “How am I supposed to know every little thing to tell you?”
He held his hands up, palms up. “Tell me everything, Sang. I’ll tell you what’s not important. I won’t care if it isn’t important. Just start talking.”
"I do talk to you. I tell you about the dreams.”
His voice rose. "It’s also all the stuff you don’t tell me. You can't even tell me to come over when you want me to."
My mouth moved, unsure how to respond.
"Admit it. You hesitated. You hesitate every time. Even when I tell you I can come for you."
I wanted to ask him which time, but it was every time, wasn't it? When I had a dream, he asked if he should come over and I said no. "I didn't want you to come when it was so early."
"I don't give a fuck what time it is, Baby," he said. "I don't care if you're bored or scared or making dinner. Call me. Tell me when Luke is being too annoying. Tell me when Rocky's staring at you in the hallway—"
“You’d have to follow me around all day if I have to tell you all of that.”
“Don’t make me start!”
I grunted, a low sound at first, that rose in my throat. “North!” I called. “You ... I ...” I wanted to yell some more, but my voice wasn’t going to let me. I couldn’t compete to yell at him at the level he was. When I tried, my throat felt like it was closing in. I coughed.
