The Wright Way

Chapter 30 - The Wright Way

As the doorbell sounds inside the cottage, Joshua steps back, and we wait, looking at the door. The six glazed panels on the top half of it gleam dully in the late afternoon light, allowing no view of what's inside. Like the rest of what I saw of the two-story house, the door shows signs of wear, if not neglect. There are stains and scratches that haven't been painted over for years. Some of the original paint has chipped off, uncovering the yellow oak underneath.

"What kind of relatives are they?" I whisper to Joshua.

When he had said we would meet his family, I had assumed he'd meant his parents; yet the name on the mailbox at the beginning of the lane leading to the house was Harris, not Hill.

Before he can answer, the sound of shuffling feet comes from behind the door, along with a muffled metallic sound accompanying each step. I glance at Joshua questioningly, but he keeps his eyes on the door.

It opens slowly, and an elderly man peers at us through the mosquito net. His long wrinkled face and loose jowls make him resemble a hound dog. Leaning on a walking frame, he looks first at me, then at Joshua. For a long moment they watch each other in silence, the only sound being the chuckling of chickens behind us in the front yard.

"Joshua," the man says slowly.

The left side of his face droops a little as he speaks, and the speech itself is not very clear, as if he had something in his mouth. Looks like the results of a stroke to me, and a relatively recent one.

"Hi, Dad," Joshua says. "May we come in?"

There's a pause and then the man reaches out and pushes the mosquito net door open.

He steps back, dragging the walker behind him. He seems unsteady for a moment, and I reach out to help, but he shakes his head, and I stop. He steadies himself, clutching the walker hard with his bony fingers.

Once the entrance is clear, Joshua walks confidently past the man. I step in after him and close the door, uncomfortable with entering the house without having been properly introduced to the owner. Joshua, already continuing down the corridor, apparently has no intention of fixing that.

"Mr. Harris?" I say, outstretching my hand, then withdraw it quickly as I realize that a handshake could inconvenience someone who can barely stand. "I'm Ethan, Joshua's friend."

The man turns away and shuffles along the corridor, leaning on his walker. I'm left with no other choice but to follow him, adjusting my speed to his crawling pace. Along the corridor, pictures and rifles hang on the wooden walls. We pass an entryway to a large, dark living room, with all its blinds down, and then continue. The corridor leads into a small, sunlit kitchen where Joshua is already sitting by the table, munching on a pack of chips. My stomach gurgles and my mouth waters at the smell of food and at the sight of the half empty glass on the table in front of him.

"Help yourself," he says through his mouthful. "You can drink from the tap, the water is clean here."

The man with the walker stops in the middle of the kitchen and observes Joshua who continues eating without giving him a second glance. I stand in the doorway completely confused by this family dynamics.

"I'm sorry we burst in on you like this," I try, and the man's slow gaze shifts to me. "We have been in the area and Joshua said we should visit you. If that's an inconvenience, we'll leave."

The man remains silent. Had he not said Joshua's name before, I would've by now assumed he was numb. Now, I can only assume he's pissed off by our intrusion. He's not offering me to sit down, so I remain in the doorway, feeling lost and a little envious of Joshua who continues eating and drinking.