The Wright Way

Chapter 39 - The Wright Way

The two-story house looks neat on the outside, but the creaking stairs and the chipped paint on the panels hint at its real age. Faint smell of wood reminds me of the cabins on the farms, like the one my parents lived in.

In front of us, Lagana reaches the second-floor landing and turns, waiting for us.

"This way." He continues along the short corridor with two open doors. Following him, I glance into each room, one with pink and the other with blue wallpaper decorated with stickers, pictures, posters and other teenage paraphernalia.

"The kids have moved out years ago," says Lagana, turning to us, pushing his hand deeper into the pockets of his robe. It's his day off and he can wear what he wants in his own home but it's still strange to see him dressed in anything other than his uniform. "They won't visit until Thanksgiving. In short, you can stay for as long as you need."

"We won't need that long," I say, "but...thank you." I hope those two words pack enough of my gratitude. He's letting two people in who are not only under criminal investigation and come with a police car parked in front of his lawn day and night, but might also bring to him the attention of the Wrights' followers. Many of them were arrested after the siege at the farm had ended with the news of Uncle's death, and hundreds have been receiving counseling and help, but who knows how many fanatics slipped through the net and are now looking for the person who has brought it all crashing down—namely, me.

"Don't mention it." He looks away as his wife - a chubby, round-faced woman - appears out of the blue room with a pile of linens in her hands.

"I changed the sheets," she tells us. "Put some clean clothes on your beds. You can shower if you want—or you can just change and go to bed." She glances at Joshua who doesn't look like he has energy to shower.

He's been holding on throughout the interrogations, but the non-stop pressure has had its toll. He fell asleep first in the armchair in my apartment while I was talking to the police, then once again at the station, while awaiting questioning. They eventually put him in a cell to let him catch some rest, but a couple of hours of sleep he managed to grab clearly weren't enough, as his blank gaze and the dark circles under his eyes testify. Hardened by my long shifts at the fire station, I'm hanging on better, but even I am nearing my breaking point.

"Thank you, Mrs. Lagana," I say. "Sorry for the trouble."

"Just call me Rhea." She comes over and pats me briefly on the shoulder. "It's a pleasure to have you here. I wish we could do more, after everything you've been through. You're very brave boys." I chuckle, unsure when was the last time anyone called me that. "Pick yourself a room."

"You pick," I tell Joshua.

"The pink one." He nods at the nearest door. "To save an argument."

"Make yourself at home." Lagana takes some of the old sheets from his wife and heads for the stairs. "If you need anything, we'll be downstairs."

"Thank you very much," I say again.

"As I said, don't mention it," he says, not looking back. Rhea gives us another supportive smile and follows him.

I turn around to find that Joshua has already disappeared into the pink room. I peek inside and find him checking the clothes laid out on the bed. I leave him to this occupation and move on, entering the blue room.

I have never met Lagana's son, but his life's passion is instantly apparent. There are models of planes hanging from the ceiling, and pictures of planes, and even a few books. I wouldn't be surprised if he's studying now to become a pilot or something like that. The lamp under the ceiling—unsurprisingly plane shaped—is on, and I click it off. There is enough afternoon light slipping in through the half-closed blinds to make the interior visible.

I change into the white T-shirt and a pair of comfy shorts I find on the bed. My head feels empty from tiredness and shock, yet there's a surprising clearness to it, too, as if it's been emptied of all the old thoughts and doubts and is ready to be filled with new things.

The flowery sheets look inviting, and I run my hand on the pillow, enjoying its soft texture against my palm. Rhea was right, going to bed is the best course of action for us right now. I only need to check that Joshua is doing fine.

I returned to the pink room. The light has been switched off, and the interior is as shadowy as in my room. The clothes still lie on the bed, and as I looked to my left I find Joshua in front of the open wardrobe door, going through the items on the shelf. He has undressed already, his jeans and shirt thrown carelessly to the floor by his feet. His skin looks less pale in the shadows than it did in the brightly lit kitchen where I found him just hours ago with Uncle pointing a gun at his head. Apparently, the clothes Rhea had left for him didn't fit.

"Not your style?" I ask, stepping in.

He pauses, then continues to rummage through the items on the shelf, not looking at me.

"Short sleeves," he throws over his shoulder. "I'm looking for something..." He stops rummaging and lowers his hands, looking ahead of him, as if finally running out of fuel. "It's all summer clothes," he says, his voice expressionless, sounding as if this new problem was one too many to handle.

"Because it's summer." I come over and slide my hands around his waist, hugging him, suddenly overwhelmed by the need to feel him. "It's warm. Enjoy it."

"I need...long sleeves." He doesn't try to move out of my embrace, but I can sense his muscles tense against my chest.

"No, you don't."

"Don't look at me."

"I'm not looking at you." He's shorter so my lips are next to his ear as I whisper, "I'm hugging you."

He chuckles and relaxes a bit, leaning back into me.

"I need to get dressed," he says.

It doesn't feel like he really means it, though, more like he's trying to stick to an old routine that has no meaning anymore.

"You sound like a broken toy," I say. "Stop this. There's nothing wrong with your body. There's no need to cover it all the time. Also, I've seen you in your underwear and the sky didn't collapse."

He hums, his fingers running over mine, clasped against his belly. "What if they come in and see you doing this?"

"Doing what?" I unclasp my fingers and pull him gently towards the bed. "Tucking you in?" I brush the clothes off the bed and raise the thin blanket invitingly.

He gives me a questioning look, then shrugs and slips under the blanket which I, as promised, immediately tuck in around him.

"Oh," he says, following me with his eyes. "That's sweet. I thought you had something else in mind."

"I want you to rest." I lean over him, peck him on the lips and move away before he can express his surprise at my action, or notice mine. "Sweet dreams, Joshua."