Viktoriya
Evenings in Tahlequah carried a certain kind of stillness.
The kind woven together by rustling oak leaves, distant chirp of cicadas, and the occasional groan of an old pick up truck rolling down a country road.
The air smelled of warm dirt and cedar after a long day beneath the Oklahoma sun, and the sky stretched endlessly overhead in bruises of orange and violet as the day slowly gave itself away.
From the front yard, my house looked like any other family home tucked into the quiet-- a porch light glowing amber, trimmed grass swaying softly beneath the breeze, the faint flicker of television light visible through the wide glass window.
Inside, warmth lived in the little things.
The scattered peanut shells. The half-forgotten blanket draped over the couch. The soft weight of a four-year old curled in my lap.
She smiled as tiny fingers greedily reached for another handful of fried peanuts from the tray balanced beside us.
"Baby, you're going to eat them all before I get any."
My daughter, she only giggled, cheeks puffed full as she chewed, unconcerned with fairness.
The television murmured in front of us, casting cool flashes of light across the room. Through the glass window beyond it, I could still see the front yard bathed in dusk.
My fingers found my wedding ring without thought, twisting the gold band around and around as my attention drifted towards the news.
A sharply dressed reporter stood in front of a luxury hotel, police lights flashing behind her.
"Authorities confirmed earlier this evening that another high-ranking federal official was found dead in his hotel suite-"
My gaze lingered on the screen.
Then dropped to my little girl in my arms.
Brown curls spilled everywhere, wild and soft, impossible to tame. I smiled, gently smoothing the fluffy hair back behind her ears.
For a moment, I let myself stay there.
Just a mother on a couch.
Just a quiet evening.
Then the reporter's voice continued.
"..making this the fourth unexplained death connected to federal leadership this month."
My hand stilled against my ring, then the front door opened.
I looked up.
My husband stepped inside, broad shoulders filling the doorway for a moment before he entered fully. His brown hair was pulled into a low ponytail, slightly undone from the day, and in one hand rested a small black briefcase.
Our eyes met, just for a second.
A quiet glance, familiar, unreadable.
Then he walked past.
The sudden emptiness in my lap came without warning.
"Daddyyy!" Our daughter's shrill excitement echoed through the house as little feet slapped against hardwood.
I let out a quiet sigh, pushing myself up from the couch as I gathered the tray and scattered shells. The television continued talking behind me-- I clicked it off without a second thought.
By the time I entered the kitchen, my husband was crouched near the counter, our daughter tucked securely in his arms. He looked up at the same moment our little girl did.
The resemblance always caught me of guard.
same brown eyes.
same brown hair.
Same softness hidden inside stubborn features.
"You want me to get her ready for bed?" He asked, shifting the child higher on his arm.
I smiled softly and nodded.
"Thank you." I leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek as I passed by.
I moved toward the sink, turning the faucet handle until warm water rushed over the steel basin.
The ordinary sounds of home returned.
Running water. The muffled rustle of my daughter laughing somewhere down the hall. Floorboards shifting between my husband's weight.
I reached for the tray, rinsing away salt and peanut dust, when something made the hairs on the back of my neck lift.
A feeling.
Like the kind that arrived before logic did.
I slowly, looked up.
The kitchen window framed the backyard in darkness, the faint porch light stretching only so far before the world dissolved into shadow beyond the fence line.
And there, a man stood in the distance just beyond our property, still as a post, hands tucked into the pockets of a dark puffer jacket.
Watching.
Not walking.
Not moving.
Watching.
Even from this distance, I could make out enough--older, maybe late fifties, early sixties. Tan skin weathered by time. A baseball cap pulled low over his face.
Something about the way he stood made my stomach tighten.
Not curious.
Not lost.
Intentional.
I froze, one hand still beneath the running water.
The man didn't move.
Neither did I.
"Hey, where'd you put her tow-"
I gasped, whipping around.
My husband stood in the kitchen entrance with our daughter's pajamas thrown over one shoulder, his sentence dying as his expression changed.
His eyes moved over my rigid posture.
"You alright?" He queried.
I stared at him, pulse pounding in my throat, then immediately turned back toward the window.
Nothing.
The space beyond the fence was empty.
No figure. No movement. No man.
My husband was beside me in seconds, looking out into the darkness himself.
Nothing there.
He turned back to me, something sharper settling behind his expression now.
"What did you see?"
My mouth opened. Then closed.
I looked back toward the yard, suddenly unsure If speaking it aloud would make it real.
He gave me only a beat before turning toward the back door.
"Noa--no." My hand shot out, fingers wrapping around his arm. "It's nothing. The man was probably just passing by."
He stopped, slowly turned toward me. "A man?" His voice had gone quieter. "What'd he look like?"
"Older," I said, swallowing. "Tan skin. Baseball cap. Jeans. Puffer jacket."
Noa held my gaze. "What was he doing?"
"H-he was probably just walking by and looked over for a second." Even to my own ears, it sounded weak.
Noa searched my face for a long moment. Too long.
Like he didn't believe a word I said.
I wouldn't believe me either.
Then, without saying anything, he gently pulled away and walked past me.
"Towel?" he asked from over his shoulder, his tone strangely normal again.
I blinked. "In the laundry."
But I didn't move.
Didn't turn back.
I remained standing at the sink, staring at the back door.
I wondered how long it would take for him to finally come to bed. I kept hearing his footsteps throughout the house.
The creak of floorboards. The soft thud of boots. His shadow slipping past the crack beneath the bedroom door.
I knew he'd gone back outside at least once. Probably to the porch.
Probably scanning the yard, the road, the darkness beyond the fence line for a man who was long gone.
Still, he checked.
That was who Noa was.
The bedroom door opened.
I looked up from the bed just as he stepped inside, immediately pulling his tank top over his head. He moved toward the dresser, his broad sculpted back facing me while his fingers rummaged through the neatly folded clothes.
The room stayed quiet.
Too quiet.
"Another high official was found dead," I said, finally breaking the silence. My fingers drifted absently through my blonde hair.
"Did you hear about it?"
Noa said nothing, just kept searching through the drawer.
I dipped my head low. "He was military," I added. "Apparently from where you served. I'm pretty sure two others who died were too.. so weird."
Still nothing.
Not even a glance.
I cleared my throat and reached for the book resting on my nightstand, pretending sudden interest in the cover.
Then I felt the mattress dip beside me.
"Baby," his voice was low. Steady.
"You need to be honest with me."
I looked over. "I am." My brows pulled together. "What do you mean?"
"All that hesitation earlier says otherwise."
For a moment, I just stared at him.
"Is this about the man?" I sighed.
He nodded once.
"Honey..." I shifted closer. "I told you the truth. You startled me, that's all." I rested my hand on his shoulder.
His jaw flexed. Then finally, he looked over at me.
The tension softened.
He leaned in, pressing his lips gently against mine.
"Okay," he murmured against my mouth. "I'm sorry. I just worry."
That was Noa's problem. He worried too much.
Maybe it came with the rank he once held.
Maybe it came from whatever he'd seen during his years in the military.
Even after leaving service, parts of it followed him home.
The nightmares had been the worst.
The shouting.
The sudden violent jolts awake.
Words barked in military slang through clenched teeth while he slept beside me.
That first month after discharge had been horrible..
I genuinely hadn't known how to help him.
But he'd gotten better.
A lot better..
A small smile touched my lips. "Yeah," I whispered, brushing my thumb along his cheek. "I know. Thank you."
...Or at least, that's what I told myself.
But even then, he kept looking at me. Studying me.
Then he kissed my palm and laid back.
I placed my book back on the nightstand and slid beneath the covers beside him, pressing myself against his back.
Spooning him.
Stealing the warmth from his skin.
His body was always warm.
Solid.
Safe.
And for awhile, listening to his breathing even out in the dark..
..I believed we were.
An idea of Noa & Viktoriya aesthetic:
