Part 29 (1/2)
Noah crouched down at my side, a frantic look in his eyes.
”You better tend to him, Mama,” Bill said.
I wiped at my jaw. My hand came away wet with blood.
Noah turned around and charged at Bill, throwing himself against my brother as I had, pounding at him with his tiny, enraged, but useless fists.
Bill seemed surprised.
”Bad!” Noah shouted over and over. ”Bad! Bad! Bad!”
I got to my feet.
Sh.e.l.ly grabbed Noah, startling him. He whirled from her arms, shrinking away from her, not wanting her to touch him. Then he opened his mouth and began to wail, hugging his arms to his chest, screaming an agonized ”Aaaahhhhhhhh!” like he used to do when he was little.
It was a sudden, shocking display of fear and grief.
I gathered him to me, and he shrieked and moaned and wailed like he was dying. I sat down in a wooden rocker on the porch, took him on my lap, held him, rubbed his back.
”Hush, baby,” I said. ”Daddy's all right. Daddy's fine. Ssshhhh.”
”Hmmmmm!” he keened in the back of his throat in between frantic efforts to catch his breath.
”It's okay,” I said, running my fingers through his hair.
”Billy, what in Sam Hill is wrong with you?” Mama demanded.
”Why is Noah crying?” Eli asked.
”Boys, go back inside!” Sh.e.l.ly ordered in a tight, bewildered voice.
Noah grabbed his hair with his small fists and pulled as if he meant to yank every last bit of it out.
”Wiley, watch him!” Mama exclaimed.
”Stop it,” I said, grabbing his hands.
He threw his head forward, banging it against the bottom of my jaw. Fresh pain raced into my brain. He banged his head again, slamming it into my collarbone.
I squeezed him to my chest so he couldn't move.
”Haaaahhhhhh!” he screeched in angry frustration, trying to get away from me.
”Jesus!” Bill exclaimed.
”Go away!” Mama said to him. ”Haven't you done enough already?”
”I forgot about Papa Wiley and the Crack Baby Show Papa Wiley and the Crack Baby Show,” he said, going to his truck to get a beer.
I sang into Noah's ear very softly. He settled his ear against my throat, listening to the vibrations.
”Ooohhhhhh,” he moaned quietly. He made a noise that sounded like a braying donkey. Then he said ”hah,” which sounded like ”hand.” They were his own private noises, his way of expressing grief.
During this time, Jackson had gotten a first-aid kit from his Jeep and a wet washcloth. He stood by the rocker now, wiping at my busted lip with the cloth, frowning at me and not speaking.
”We're actually a pretty nice family,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.
”a.s.sault and battery is a nice family?” he said, the anger in his voice evident. ”I think you should call the police.”
”Oh please,” I said.
”That's how they are,” Mama said, as if this explained me and Billy and the way we behaved.
”He's mad and this is what he does when he's mad,” I said. ”And now he's going to think about it, and then we'll talk about it, and we'll figure it out, and he won't be mad anymore, and that's how we do things. So just leave it.”
”You don't have to make excuses for him,” Jackson said.
”I'm explaining, not excusing.”
Noah had settled down into a quiet sobbing against my neck.
”I think he might have loosened some of your teeth,” Jackson said, fussing over me.
”Would you leave me alone?” I demanded.
”I've never seen Noah like this,” Mama said.
”He's just scared,” I pointed out.
Jackson dabbed at my lip.
”At least you got to meet the family,” I said.
40) Not the Waltons
”WOULD YOU YOU mind explaining what the h.e.l.l that was all about?” Jackson asked on the drive home. mind explaining what the h.e.l.l that was all about?” Jackson asked on the drive home.
”We're not the Waltons,” I admitted.
”Your brother is a h.o.m.ophobic piece of c.r.a.p!”
”Among other things.”
”It's not a joke, Wiley!”