Shelter

by Jung Yun

  “Then what did you say?”

  “I’m not sure. It was probably something like, ‘Don’t worry, little lady.’ You know, because she was small and pretty.…”

  Kyung throws himself against the window, causing Tim and Connie to jump, but the sound of his fists pounding on the glass doesn’t register on the other side. The detective and Perry continue talking as Kyung tries to push his way out of the room.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Connie asks.

  “You know exactly where I’m going.”

  “No, you aren’t.”

  “I’m going to kill him, Connie. I told him—I told him I would if he ever did this again.”

  “You’re not going to kill anyone.”

  Connie opens the door and lets him out into the hallway. Kyung bolts toward the elevator, only to be pushed aside as Connie jumps in front of him with his arms out, blocking his path. When he turns around, Tim is standing the same way, blocking the door to the stairs. He’s not sure which of the two he has a better chance with, so he takes a running start at Connie, who sends him stumbling backward with barely a shove.

  “I know you’re angry right now.”

  “You don’t know what I am.”

  “I do. I understand, Kyung. I’d feel exactly the same way if it were me. But let us handle Jin from now on. You’re not the one who has to deal with this.”

  But he is, he thinks. He always has been, and he failed at it, miserably. And just as the full force of this thought is about to crush him, another bears down with all of its weight.

  “The apartment,” he says, leaning against the wall. “That goddamn apartment.”

  “What apartment?”

  “She was going to leave him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “She had a place to live, a job lined up. She was finally going to leave and he wouldn’t let her.”

  Connie shakes his head. “Don’t assume things like that, Kyung. You can’t see what goes on behind closed doors.”

  What he wants to say, but doesn’t, is that he does see. He sees everything so clearly now. Mae turned on his father for a reason. She exiled him from the guest room, refused to touch him or speak to him for a reason. It was always his father. It all started with him.

  * * *

  They drive Kyung to a convenience store for food and a gas station for beer. They circle the park and the school and the campus. They go all the way to the town’s northernmost border and all the way back south. Up, down, left, right, over and over again, sometimes retracing the same routes they were on only minutes before. The clock on the dashboard says it’s twenty after midnight, but they continue driving with no particular destination—Connie and Kyung in the Suburban, Tim following close behind in the rental. Kyung knows why they’re doing this; he doesn’t even need to ask. The beer and the drive have a sedative effect. Occasionally, a long, smooth stretch of road almost puts him to sleep, but when he closes his eyes, the images begin to appear on the blacks of his lids. He sees Mae tearing out of her house, so frightened and desperate that she begs the Perrys to help her, and just like that, he’s awake again, unwilling to watch the things that happen next.

  Connie hasn’t spoken to him since the gas station. He sits with his arm out the open window, a can of nuclear-green energy drink in his hand. Every few minutes, he takes a sip and glances in the rearview mirror to check if Tim is still behind them. He seems worried and tired, almost as tired as Kyung is, but Connie will do this all night if he has to. Kyung alternates between studying the lock on his door and the speedometer on the dash, which hovers near thirty-five. At this point, his best chance of ditching his in-laws is to jump out of the car, but the risk of hurting himself is too high. He needs to be able-bodied when he sees his father, capable of doing harm. He chucks his empty beer can into the backseat, frustrated by how much time they’ve wasted.

  “I have to piss.”

  Connie turns onto a state road, a large artery that will eventually leave Marlboro and connect with the highway.

  “Did you hear what I said? I have to piss.”

  “I’ll stop at the next gas station.”

  They follow the road toward the old airstrip, an area that’s been under development for years. The two-mile stretch is now home to several new bars and restaurants, all vying for business with wattage. Huge neon signs flash and flicker, blinding passersby with their offerings. LADIES’ NIGHT. HALF-PRICED PITCHERS. ALL-YOU-CAN-EAT SHRIMP.

  “Why can’t we just stop at one of these places?”

  “I’m a cop, Kyung. Not an idiot.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I know you’re planning to bolt if we go somewhere crowded, and I don’t really feel like chasing you right now.”

  Kyung’s bladder is swimming with cheap lawn-mower beer. He actually does need to piss, but it never occurred to him that he could turn a basic human need into a chance to run. Connie is too many steps ahead, too practiced in the ways of desperate men. Kyung worries that he’s never going to get rid of him.

  “I’m exhausted,” he says. When this fails to elicit a response, he says it even louder. “I’m exhausted.”

  “Then go to sleep already.”

  “I can’t, not in a car. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I’ve never been able to sleep in a car.”

  “So what do you want me to do about it? Sleeping and pissing are your only options right now.”

  “But couldn’t we just go to your house for a while?” Kyung looks out his window. They’re driving farther and farther away from town. “We’re still close, and maybe if I get some rest, it’ll help me clear my head.”

  Connie considers this for a moment, rubbing his bloodshot eyes.

  “I haven’t slept in almost two days. I couldn’t even run if I wanted to. I just need a place to lie down.”

  A few minutes later, Connie swings a wide U-turn, doubling back along the same neon strip. Eventually, Kyung begins to recognize the modest housing stock that makes up the northern end of the Flats. He sinks into his seat, trying not to let on that he’s hopeful about where they’re headed. He didn’t think Connie would be willing to take him back to his place. He can’t remember if he’s ever been there without Gillian or Ethan before, but he’s relieved by the sudden change in course. Now all he has to do is outlast his in-laws.

  When they walk through the front door, Vivi is asleep on the couch with a magazine open on her chest.

  She jumps up at the sound of their footsteps, wrapping her shiny green robe over her nightgown. “It’s so late,” she says. “I was worried. Is everything all right?”

  “We’re fine.” Connie gives her a kiss on the forehead. “Why don’t you go to bed now, Vivi?”

  She looks at the three of them uncertainly. “Have you eaten?”

  Tim takes off his jacket and throws it over the arm of a chair. “You need me anymore?” he asks Connie.

  “No, it’s fine. I’ve got this.”

  “I’m going to bed, then.”

  Tim stalks off down the hall and closes his door, not bothering to answer Vivi’s question or even acknowledge her presence. He treated her the way a little boy might, sullen and rude to his father’s new girlfriend despite her attempts to be kind.

  Vivi seems slightly hurt by his reaction, but she quickly turns her attention back to Connie and Kyung. “What about you two? Are you hungry? I can heat up some leftovers.”

  “No, honey. We’re fine. Just go to bed.”

  She looks the two of them over, waiting for an explanation. When Connie doesn’t offer one, she hangs Tim’s jacket on the coatrack behind the front door, frowning as she smooths out the wrinkled sleeves. “Aren’t you coming too?” she asks.

  “No, not just yet.”

  Kyung can almost see the questions forming on Vivi’s tongue: Why did you bring him here? Why does he look like that? What’s wrong with him now? But she’s too polite to ask and slowly retreats to their room.r />
  Kyung didn’t expect to see her here either. He didn’t think things had progressed this far yet, but it’s obvious that Vivi is making her presence felt in this house. The living room is much tidier than it was the last time he visited. Homey, almost. There are pictures on the walls now—small prints of fruit and trees and fishermen, similar to the kind hanging in his dentist’s office. The magazines have been neatly arranged on the coffee table in the shape of a fan, and there are candles everywhere. Big red ones in glass jars that make the place smell like cinnamon, an improvement from the stale smell of chips and popcorn that was always here before. He wonders if Vivi’s interest in decorating has anything to do with his mother’s influence, and the thought of this is so sad, he has to shut it out.

  “Didn’t you need to use the can?” Connie asks.

  There’s a window in the bathroom, right above the tub. Kyung can see it from where he’s standing. The streetlights outside cast shadows of tree branches on the glass. It’s half the size of a normal window, but still big enough to crawl through. He looks at Connie, not certain how he could overlook something so obvious.

  “Well, what are you waiting for? Go ahead.”

  Kyung walks into the dimly lit bathroom, locking the door behind him. He turns on the fan and relieves himself, staring at the trees outside. The bathroom is on the first floor, so it worries him to see treetops instead of bushes. He wonders how many feet he’ll fall when he climbs out. Quietly, he steps into the tub and pulls on the window, but the frame won’t budge. He flips the latch in the opposite direction and tries again, but still nothing, not even an inch. On the other side of the door, he hears Connie open and close the hall closet. When he walks away, Kyung reaches up and feels around the inner edge of the frame for a stopper, kicking up the ancient layer of dust on the sash. His heart sinks when he realizes the entire window has been caulked and painted shut. He assumes Connie already thought of this—he wasn’t worried for a reason—and for a moment, Kyung doesn’t know what to do but just stand there, staring at the moon rising high and bright above the trees.

  Connie is shoving a pillow into a case when Kyung returns from the bathroom. “The sofa’s not the most comfortable thing in the world,” he says. “But these chairs recline pretty far back. I fall asleep here half the time anyways.”

  There’s an army green blanket on Tim’s chair that wasn’t there before. Kyung sits down and spreads the itchy wool across his legs, putting his feet up to appear ready for a nap. He’s disappointed when Connie throws him the pillow and sits down in the chair beside him.

  “You don’t have to stay here with me. I don’t need to be watched.”

  “Actually, I think you do.”

  They sit silently, both of them with their arms crossed, studying the black television screen in front of them. Minutes pass, and he doesn’t know how much longer he can take it—the nervous, uncomfortable energy, the sense of being trapped. His car keys are in Tim’s left pocket. He noticed their faint outline when Vivi hung up his coat. All he needs are the keys and a few seconds to get away. He wonders if he should pretend to fall asleep or ask for a glass of water from the kitchen, but he knows Connie would see right through him.

  “Should we turn on the TV?”

  “The noise won’t help you sleep.”

  “So we’re just going to sit here all night?”

  “As long as we have to.” Connie knits his fingers over his stomach.

  The silence doesn’t make Kyung tired. It simply feeds his frustration, expanding it like a balloon that can’t hold all the air being forced inside.

  Connie must sense this because he turns to him a few minutes later, his expression softer than it was before. “Hey,” he says, seemingly hesitant about what he wants to say next. “It’s going to be all right, you know. It might not feel that way right now, but trust me, it will be.”

  “How?” Kyung asks. “You were standing right there—you heard the whole thing.”

  “You just have to give yourself some time—”

  “Time for what? Time won’t change the fact that my father was hitting my mother again. That’s how all of this started, Connie. That’s why she and Marina aren’t here anymore. So what am I supposed to do? Just pretend like he’s not responsible for what happened?”

  “I’m not saying you have to pretend anything. But you can’t run off half-cocked like you did earlier. Tomorrow, I want you to call Jin and tell him to pack up his stuff and move back to his place. And then you’re going to stay as far away from him as possible, understand? Let the police handle him from now on. You have a wife and child waiting at home, a life to get back to, so take my advice and don’t go looking for trouble, Kyung. You’ve had more than your fair share lately.”

  Optimism isn’t a quality he associates with Connie. But it makes more sense to him now. Connie doesn’t know that Gillian threw him out. Part of him feels like this is her news to share, and she didn’t for a reason, but he’s also curious. Everything that Connie’s doing, everything he’s saying—would it change if he knew?

  “Gillian and I aren’t together anymore. She asked me to leave yesterday, or maybe it was the day before.” He can’t remember when it actually happened. The days, the hours—they’ve all bled together.

  “So why’d she finally do it?”

  Finally, Kyung thinks. The word says it all. For five years, Connie has been waiting, quietly wishing their marriage would end, and now he doesn’t have to hide it anymore, not that he ever hid it well.

  “What do you care? It’s not like you actually wanted us to stay together.”

  Connie considers this for a moment. “Okay, I deserved that. I’ll admit it. Maybe at first I wasn’t so happy about you two getting together, but after the kid … I rooted for you.”

  Kyung can’t think of a single time when anything like this occurred. His relationship with his in-laws had always been tepidly acknowledged, as if his connection to them were something to be tolerated or waited out.

  “When did you ever root for me, Connie? You and Tim, you never liked me, never liked me for Gillian. You probably wanted her to marry some nice white guy, someone you could sit around and watch baseball and cop shows with. And don’t even bother trying to deny it—I saw the look on your face the first time she brought me here. It was so obvious. You were like, ‘Who the hell is this Asian guy?’”

  Connie lowers his head, covering his eyes. “You think that’s why I didn’t like you for Gilly? Because you’re not white?” It almost sounds like he’s laughing, but when he looks up, his skin is furious and red. “Jesus, you’re the dumbest smart person I’ve ever met. I don’t care what color you are. You could have been black, for all it mattered. I didn’t want you dating my daughter, because of that goddamn chip on your shoulder. You think a father can’t see that kind of thing from a mile away? I knew—not even five minutes after meeting you—that nothing was ever going to make you happy. Not a nice girl on your arm, not a kid or a house or a fancy job. All the things that other people want in life, they were never going to be good enough. That’s why I didn’t want Gilly getting involved with you.”

  Connie has never spoken to Kyung in so many consecutive sentences before. Each one indicts him more harshly than the sentence that preceded it, but he can tell there’s more to come, years’ worth of more.

  “I saw how Gilly sidled up to you so fast. She probably figured, here’s a nice-looking guy, something different to bring home to Dad. He’s smart; he’ll probably make a decent living when he’s done with school. That’s good enough. And nothing I said would talk her out of it. She never thought she’d do any better than you, and you know how bad it felt to know what I passed on to her, to both my kids?”

  “What are you talking about? What did you pass on?”

  “There’s a saying for it. It was like”—Connie circles his hands, as if to grab the words he’s searching for from the air—“like low expectations or something. Gilly’s mom and me, we didn’t yell
or scream at each other, but we didn’t enjoy each other either. Eighteen years Marlene and I were married, and I don’t ever remember feeling happy with her, or excited to be around her or hear what she had to say. We were just there. And that’s exactly where I saw Gilly headed with you.”

  Kyung knows what this is all about. Connie’s newfound romance suddenly has him talking like a philosopher, like someone who thinks he knows about love. If he weren’t so tired, it might almost seem funny, but he doesn’t see the humor in it now.

  “I’m not trying to criticize,” Connie continues. “I understand a lot more about you because of everything that’s happened, and I get why you’re like this now. My dad was a son of a bitch too. It’s hard to be happy when you don’t know what it’s supposed to look like. But I’m telling you, things can change. That woman in there”—he points to his bedroom door—“that woman makes me happy. She makes me want to be a different person. Maybe if you tried to convince Gilly that you can change too—”

  “I cheated on her,” Kyung says. “I cheated and she caught me. That’s why she asked me to leave.”

  The position they’re both sitting in—backs reclined, legs stretched out—is at odds with the sudden tension in the room. Kyung realizes he made a mistake. He wanted Connie to stop babbling like some love-struck teenager, but he didn’t think about the consequences before opening his mouth. Now he’s staring at a man twice his size who looks like he’s about to beat him senseless. Kyung tips his head back and stares at the ceiling, at a small spiderweb fluttering from the vent. He listens to Connie breathing—in, out, in, out—relieved to hear that he still sounds calm. He’s not huffing and puffing like someone getting ready to throw a punch.

  “I don’t know why she didn’t tell you herself. Maybe she was just waiting for the right time or something. Anyway, I’m sorry you had to hear it from me.”

  Connie doesn’t respond. He just sits there with his hands folded over his stomach. Kyung wishes he’d say something. Despite all appearances, he’s always respected his father-in-law, always wished for a scrap of that respect in return. Over the past few weeks, Connie has been the steady one, the one who tried to help everyone else, even though he never heard a word of thanks for his efforts. Kyung feels terrible for disappointing him. Or at the very least, he feels terrible for confirming what Connie always knew.