Miracle Creek
Page 36
“I got something.” Teresa handed Young a bag.
It held three portraits in matching wooden frames, plain but stained a deep, rich brown. Elizabeth, Henry, and Kitt, with their names and dates of birth and death inscribed on the bottom. “I thought we could put them in the lobby, under the dedication plaque,” Teresa said.
A lump formed in Young’s throat. “It is beautiful. Very appropriate.”
In front of them, the men were getting ready to take the chamber away. Watching them fasten a cable around it, she remembered last year, when other men had delivered it to this spot and untied the binding. Pak had planned to call the business “Miracle Creek Wellness Center,” but seeing the chamber, the way it resembled a miniature submarine, she’d said, “Miracle Submarine.” She’d turned to Pak and said it again. “Miracle Submarine—that’s what we should call it.” He’d smiled and said that was a good name, a better name, and she’d felt a thrill, thinking of children climbing inside and breathing in pure oxygen, their bodies healing.
The crane beeped and lifted the chamber before pivoting to place it over a truck. The arm lowered, and as the chamber’s steel met the steel of the truck bed, a booming thud sounded, and Young flinched. Looking at the barren ground, she felt an ache start from the center of her chest and radiate. All their hopes and plans, gone.
As the men secured the chamber to the truck, Young looked down at the portraits in the bag and thought of Henry’s House. The lives lost, the pain at its foundation—she and her family could never repay that. But she would see TJ every day; she’d drive him to and from Henry’s House, take care of him between therapies, and provide respite to his father and sisters, ease their lives just a little bit. She’d work alongside Teresa and help her take care of Rosa and other children like her, TJ, and Henry.
Teresa reached out and clasped her hand. She closed her eyes and felt her friend’s warm, soft hand in her left and the silky handle of the bag in her right. The truck rumbled and beeped again, and she opened her eyes. In the distance, beyond the stretch of burned, dead dirt, beyond the carcass of the submarine now slowly moving away, a patch of wildflowers in yellow and blue stood, and looking at it, she felt her despair displaced by something simultaneously heavier and lighter. Han. There was no English equivalent, no translation. It was an overwhelming sorrow and regret, a grief and yearning so deep it pervades your soul—but with a sprinkling of resilience, of hope.
She tightened her grip on Teresa’s hand and felt her squeeze back. They stood together, hand in hand, and watched Miracle Submarine fade into the distance.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A first book owes many debts, and my biggest is to my husband, Jim Draughn, who served countless roles throughout every stage of my writing process: reader, listener, editor, counselor, courtroom-scene consultant, family chef and chauffeur, and maker and bringer to my writing nook of coffee, omelets, martinis, and whatever else I needed to finish the next chapter. What would I have done without you? I wouldn’t have written this book, that’s for sure. I wouldn’t have written anything at all; it was you who first told me, years ago, that I was a writer. Thank you for making me believe it and giving me the tools and space to try.
To Susan Golomb, my superstar agent extraordinaire, thank you for picking a no-name newbie out of the slush pile, for believing in this book and being its impassioned advocate. You, along with Maja Nikolec, Mariah Stovall, Daniel Berkowitz, and Sadie Resnick at Writers House, supported and guided me every step of the way.
To Sarah Crichton, the smartest editor and publisher anyone could ask for. You got this book—the tingles I got the first time we talked!—and you knew exactly what we needed to do to bring it to the next level, and to the next, and to the next. Thank you for pushing me. And to the amazing, first-rate team at FSG, especially Na Kim, Debra Helfand, Richard Oriolo, Rebecca Caine, Kate Sanford, Benjamin Rosenstock, Peter Richardson, John McGhee, Chandra Wohleber, and Elizabeth Schraft: thank you for turning my words into a beautiful book I’ll always be proud of.
To FSG’s sales director, Spenser Lee, I’m grateful to you for so wholly embracing and championing this book. And to my publicists, Kimberly Burns and Lottchen Shivers, our work together has just begun, but I’m so lucky to be in your expert hands, guiding me through the whole process. Thank you to Veronica Ingal, Daniel Del Valle, and the entire sales, marketing, and publicity team for working so hard to bring this book to the world.
To my writing group—Beth Thompson Stafford, Fernando Manibog, Carolyn Sherman, Dennis Desmond, John Benner, and honorary long-distance member Amin Ahmad—thank you for sticking with me through multiple drafts and revisions, from nonsensical first draft to galley proofs. And for the prosecco. We can’t forget the prosecco.
To Marie Myung-Ok Lee, whose generosity knows no bounds, who introduced me to every writer, editor, and agent within her considerable sphere of friends. And to dear friends Marla Grossman, Susan Rothwell, Susan Kurtz, and Mary Beth Pfister, who were my earliest readers and biggest cheerleaders, who answered countless panicked calls and requests for help on everything from brainstorming titles to selecting author photos. You are the sisters I chose for myself, and the best friends anyone could ask for.
Many many others helped to make this book what it is today. Nicole Lee Idar, Maria Acebal, Catherine Grossman, Barbara Esstman, Sally Rainey, Rick Abraham, Mary Ann McLaurin, Carl Nichols, Faith Dornbrand, and Jonathan Kurtz provided early and honest feedback. John Gilstrap and Mark Bergin patiently answered my questions about explosions and fingerprints. (Any remaining errors are definitely mine.) Annie Philbrick, Susan Cain, Julie Lythcott-Haims, Aaron Martin, Lynda Loigman, and Courtney Sender helped me navigate the mysterious world of literary agents and publishers. And Missy Perkins, Kara Kim, and Julie Reiss plied me with wine repeatedly and often. Along with my No Pressure No Guilt book club and my Fair Weather Hiking Mamas group, you all provided much-needed support and kept me sane.
And finally, those dearest to my heart. To my parents, Anna and John Kim, my um-ma and ap-bah, thank you for sacrificing your lives in Korea to bring our family to this foreign land, all for my future. Your selflessness and love astound and inspire me. My ee-mo and ee-mo-boo, Helen and Philip Cho, who gave us a home in America—I wouldn’t be here without you, literally. And to my three boys: thank you for putting up with the chaos and craziness of my writing life, day in and day out, for giving me hugs and kisses (sometimes even voluntarily!), and for fueling my writing by taking me through the entire range of human emotion—from blinding worry and furious frustration to out-of-my-mind, can’t-stand-it love and protectiveness—on a daily, often hourly, basis. I’m proud of you, every day. I love you. You are my miracles.
And now, we come full circle, back to Jim, my first and last reader, my love, my partner in life. I know I said it already. But it bears repeating. It’s nothing without you. Thank you, love. Always.
A NOTE ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Angie Kim moved as a preteen from Seoul, South Korea, to the suburbs of Baltimore. She attended Stanford University and Harvard Law School, where she was an editor of the Harvard Law Review, then practiced as a trial lawyer at Williams & Connolly. Her stories have won the Glamour Essay Contest and the Wabash Prize in Fiction, and have appeared in numerous publications, including Vogue, The New York Times, Salon, Slate, The Southern Review, Sycamore Review, The Asian American Literary Review, and PANK. She lives in northern Virginia with her husband and three sons. You can sign up for email updates here.
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
The Incident
A Year Later: The Trial: Day One
Young Yoo
Matt Thompson
Teresa Santiago
Pak Yoo
Matt
Young
Mary Yoo
Elizabeth Ward
The Trial: Day Two
Matt
Young
Teresa
Elizabeth
Matt
Mary
Janine Cho
The Trial: Day Three
Pak
Young
Teresa
Elizabeth
Young
Matt
The Trial: Day Four
Janine
Matt
Young
Matt
Elizabeth
Matt
Teresa
Elizabeth
Matt
Elizabeth
Pak
Mary
Young
After
Young
Acknowledgments
A Note About the Author
Copyright
Sarah Crichton Books
Farrar, Straus and Giroux
175 Varick Street, New York 10014
Copyright © 2019 by Angela Suyeon Kim
All rights reserved
First edition, 2019
E-book ISBN: 978-0-374-71798-8
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