I gripped the handle of the car door, opening it - now stable - and hopped down from the truck. Austin strided around the car, informing me that he was going to see if mom was substantial before shuffling up the front stairs and entering the house.
I heard the car door slam from behind me. Harry stood adjacently, peering at me quizzically. I refused to meet his eyes, staring at the front door. I didn't want to render the situation.
"Ella," Harry said, venturing my attention. I ignored his endeavor. "Ella," he repeated, his tone harsh. I undertook avoiding the conversation by beginning to walk up the stairs. A firm hand clasped my forearm.
I looked to him, struggling to break free of his hold. "Harry, let me go, please."
"Not until you tell what just happened," he demanded, gradually drawing my body into his. I lightly collided with his stomach, my head adjoining his chest. I gaped up at him through my eyelashes, noticing his emerald orbs glittering with anticipation and confusion.
"Everyone has secrets, Harry," I said softly. "Some are better kept to the people they belong to."
His eyebrows knitted together in modest frustration and disorientation. "What does that - "
I heard the opening of the front door behind me. "El, you can - " Our vision quickly went to Austin, seeing him shake his head. "'Good friends,' my ass," he mumbled. "Listen, mom's okay, so if you can keep your hands off each other long enough to say hi..." He disappeared back into the house.
Harry released me, granting me freedom. I paused at the top of the steps, turning to regard him.
"You can come in, y'know," I chuckled. He scuffed up the stairs, following me.
I passed through the living room, glimpsing at things to see if anything had been changed. The egg white walls were the same fainted, dim shade, the paint continuing to peel off. The large, brick fireplace and mantel were still prevalent, burnt logs and withered ashes behind the wire screen that no one ever decided to renew. It was the only feature of the living room that appeared to be somewhat state-of-the-art. The small coffee table prevailed in the center, the grotesque red and brown rug underneath it. I remember telling mom how much I hated that thing. The two tan-colored, ancient, raggedy couches on either side of the room remained where they were along with the hunter's green lazy boy in the corner. I commemorated the person that constantly sat in that chair, and how the chair suddenly became vacant.
I peeked my head into the kitchen. The bright yellow walls caught my eye. Every item was refurbished, nothing venerable.
"Hm," I huffed, expecting the kitchen that caused the house to fill with the aroma of cinnamon and Lysol to endure.
I heard Harry muddle around in the living room. I glanced at him, watching him examine and fiddle with things, resembling a child in a toy store. He got a hold of the framed picture that was on the coffee table, intrigued by the photograph. It was a picture of my brother, my mom, my dad, and me.
I rushed towards him, practically ripping it out of his hands. "How 'bout we put that back," I half pleaded, half suggested. I placed the frame back on the edge of the table, facing it downwards so he wasn't able to see it.
"Is that your father?" he questioned.
"Gee, you have a bunch of questions today, don't you?" I chuckled nervously, averting his inquiry.
"Well, you seem to have a lot of things you're not telling me, so of course I'm going to have questions," he stated.
"I promise I'll tell you everything you want to know. When the time is right."
