X (Kinsey Millhone 24)

The place looked cluttered despite the fact that the furnishings were sparse. Sealed U-Haul boxes were still lined up along the walls. A big rag rug sat in the middle of the room, one of those soiled flat braided ovals you sometimes see abandoned at the curb. I’d always heard that for those in wheelchairs, carpeting and stairs were frustrating obstacles, best avoided where possible. I crossed to the kitchen and peered in.

Joseph had his back to me. It was the first time I understood how heavy he was. He’d pulled his wheelchair close to the sink, where he was washing dishes by hand. The faucet gushed noisily. Henry would have flinched to see water run at that rate, but Joseph seemed oblivious. A small plastic wash bin had been placed in the sink and it was piled high with dirty pots and pans on top of glasses and plates. The counters and sink were at an appropriate height for most adults, but at a level that created difficulties for him since his chair was uncomfortably low. He looked like a little kid seated at a dinner table. He could barely see what he was doing, and in the process of moving dishes from the rinse water to the rack, he’d trailed water on the floor and across his lap.

“Why don’t you let me do that?” I said.

“I can manage.”

I moved to the sink and turned the water off. “I’ll just take a quick turn as long as I’m here,” I said. “You go watch the movie. The good part’s coming up.”

“Well. You sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. It won’t take me long.”

He rolled himself away from the sink and did a three-point turn. Over his shoulder, he said, “That too loud for you?”

“A bit.”

He wheeled himself toward the door to the living room. The frame was narrow and the wooden threshold between the two rooms was another impediment. I crossed, took the wheelchair handles, and gave him a sufficient push to bump him over it. I waited to see what he’d do about the rag rug and noted that he rolled right over it.

He’d left the remote control on a small table near the end of the couch. He picked it up and aimed it at the set. He pushed the volume button repeatedly to no effect. He banged the remote against his palm without persuading it to work. “Batteries is wearing down,” he said irritably.

“You have fresh ones?”

“Maybe in the bedroom. Edna would know. You can turn the volume down at the set if you want.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine,” I replied.

I returned to the sink and stared at the daunting accumulation of cookware. I decided I’d start from scratch. I removed pots and pans from the hillock and set them to one side so I could get to the plates and cutlery at the bottom of the heap. Through the kitchen window, I could see the back deck, which extended along the width of the house. Edna had managed to scrape and sand chipped white paint from a short stretch of wooden handrail. I was guessing she wouldn’t finish the job unless Henry and I pitched in. I would have vowed not to participate, but I knew she’d con Henry into helping and I’d end up volunteering my services on his behalf.

I tilted the plastic bin and emptied the soapy water, which by now had been reduced to a cold murky lake. I far preferred washing dishes to chitchatting with the old man. With the sound from the television set still blaring, I had no trouble following the action, right down to chairs scraping the saloon floor as the villain leaped to his feet, his six-shooter drawn.

China and glasses didn’t take long, but I realized I’d have to dry them to make room for the cookware. The only dish towel in sight was damp. I tried a few drawers randomly and finally crossed to the doorway to ask Joseph where the clean linens were kept.

His wheelchair was empty and there was no sign of him. I peered to my left, where I could see the transverse hallway that led to the bedrooms and the adjoining bath. Where had the man gone? I padded across the living room and checked the hall in both directions. Joseph was in the bedroom to my right, standing in front of the chest of drawers while he struggled with the seal on a package of double-A batteries. He picked at the wrapping and finally nipped a tiny hole in the cellophane. He extracted two batteries and tossed the package back in the drawer.

I retreated in haste, and by the time he returned to the living room, I’d completed the four giant steps to the kitchen. I picked up the damp towel and swiped at a plate, trying to decide what to make of it. Neither he nor Edna had ever actually said he was completely disabled, but that was the impression I’d been given. I’d assumed he wasn’t ambulatory, but this wasn’t the case. I tucked the information away, thinking it was good he wasn’t quite as helpless as I’d imagined. Also thinking I’d keep the discovery to myself.