Jung Yun - Shelter

“Have you been waiting long?” Kyung asks.

“No,” the reverend says. “He signed his discharge papers a few minutes ago. I’ve just been telling him about the arrangement we discussed last night.”

Jin looks up, his expression curious. Kyung tries his best to smile. The reverend does too, although their conversation the night before was hardly cordial. The reverend called to tell him that Mae and Jin would be his guests at the parsonage after their release. Kyung said absolutely not. They belonged at home with him, with family. He was startled by the speed and force with which he responded, the lack of hesitation, but he meant what he said. He no longer trusted his parents’ care to anyone but himself.

“Your house is too small,” Jin says.

“We have the guest room all ready for you.”

“Guest room,” he mutters.

Kyung expected this reaction. In many ways, he deserves it. Brick by brick, he’s built a wall around his life, trying to preserve his family and home as his alone. He helps out his parents when asked and visits when invited, but not too often, and never as much as he should. It’s the most he’s willing to do, the absolute minimum he can get away with and still be considered a son.

“If you don’t have enough space, it really wouldn’t be any trouble for Jin and Mae to stay with us.”

Kyung ignores the reverend. They’ve settled this already. “Ethan and Gillian are in the car waiting.” He mentions Ethan first, aware that time with his grandson motivates Jin in a way that other things don’t.

“All right, then. Let’s go.” Jin gets up stiffly and shuffles toward the exit. Empty wheelchairs line both sides of the corridor, but Jin doesn’t ask for help, and Kyung knows better than to offer.

Outside, a meter maid is walking away from his car, shaking her head at the audacity of his parking job, angled into a lane clearly marked for ambulances. Gillian lifts and lowers her shoulders as if to say she tried. Kyung pockets the ticket as he opens the passenger door. Something about the height or angle of the seat makes Jin flinch and cover his ribs with his free hand. Suddenly, Kyung sees his father curled up on the kitchen floor — knees up, head down — while Dell kicks him in the chest. He closes his eyes, trying to turn the image into something different, something blank.

Through the open window, Jin and the reverend say their good-byes.

“You can call me anytime, day or night,” the reverend says.

“I will.”

“And I’ll see you on Sunday?”

Jin pauses. “Mae’s being released later this week. We’ll have to see how she’s feeling.”

There’s something not quite honest about his answer. The reverend seems to understand this, but he lets it go with a smile and a wave. Kyung drives off and watches him in the rearview mirror until he disappears with a curve in the road. He wishes he could remember the name of the cartoon character he reminds him of, the one in the children’s magazine he used to read in grade school. There were two of them, actually — twin brothers, he thinks — one who was polite and well behaved, and the other, who wasn’t. Kyung always feels like the bad twin whenever he sees Reverend Sung around his parents, doting on them as a good son should. It’s silly to resent someone for having a relationship that he never wanted, that he actively sought not to have. Still, he dislikes the way the reverend kept offering the parsonage to his parents as if Kyung weren’t able to care for them. Unable and unwilling aren’t the same thing.

Ethan leans forward, clutching the back of Jin’s headrest. “I’m sorry you crashed your car, Grandpa.”

This is how they’ve chosen to explain it to him. Grandma and Grandpa had an accident.

Jin seems confused for a moment. Then he looks at Ethan carefully. “You’re so big now. You’ve gotten so big.”

“My birthday was in April.”

“I know. Have you been riding your bike?”

“What bike?”

Kyung refused to show Ethan the box that his parents had left on the front steps, wrapped in thick blue ribbon with a matching satin bow. He just covered it with a tarp and dragged it to the basement, where no one has touched it since. Gillian looked up the make and model online, and learned it was a six-hundred-dollar Italian tricycle, popular with the children of celebrities. She was excited about it until she noticed the look on Kyung’s face, and then the obvious became obvious to her. They couldn’t allow his parents to give Ethan a gift like that, not when their own gift consisted of a plastic tool belt and a puzzle.

“What bike?” Ethan repeats.

“Oh, never mind,” Jin says, looking down at his lap. “I thought you had one.”

The car settles into an uncomfortable, unnatural state of quiet. Minutes pass, and no one says a word, not even Ethan, who seems to understand that something isn’t right. Kyung mentally cycles through a list of topics to fill the dead air — work, school, the weather — but it all seems too meaningless. He wishes he’d left Gillian and Ethan at home so he could say what’s really on his mind: He’s sorry for assuming the worst about his father. In the bank, when Jin had a chance to run, he didn’t. He returned to the house, knowing he’d probably be beaten again, then killed. Kyung can’t imagine doing this. He worries that he would have saved himself, that his instincts would have taken over, blurring the distinction between wrong and right. It pains him to know that his father was the better man in that moment, that perhaps he’s been a better man all along.

“Pull into that lot over there,” Jin says.

“What’s the matter? Are you sick?”

“No. I need some clothes. Mine are at the other house.”

“You want to buy them here?”

“Yes, here is fine.”

He turns into the parking lot of a strip mall anchored in the middle by a giant Walmart. Kyung wonders if he should offer to drive somewhere else, somewhere more to his father’s tastes, but Jin is already getting out of the car, wincing as he stretches his leg to meet the pavement. By the time Kyung jumps out and runs to the passenger side to help, Jin and Ethan are already walking toward the entrance. Kyung and Gillian follow as the doors slide open and an elderly greeter croaks an unfortunate hello.

“It’s kind of cute, isn’t it?” Gillian asks, pointing at the two of them holding hands. “Ethan seems to like spending time with him.”

Kyung nods, but he’s disoriented by the strangeness of it all. This isn’t the kind of place he ever imagined visiting with his father. He considers Walmart a dirty little secret, a store he frequents more often than he’d like. It’s cheap and depressing and sad, but cheap trumps everything these days. Kyung is no longer bothered by the poor people wandering through the aisles, the train wrecks from the Flats with their faded tattoos and unhappy, juice- and ketchup-stained children. He’s more disturbed by the people who look like him — clean and well kempt, dressed in clothes that clearly weren’t purchased here. He wonders if they shop at Walmart because they’re cheap, or because they’re struggling to make ends meet. He hates the fact that he and Gillian fall into the second category. Despite all appearances, they have more in common with the poor people than with the rich ones.

In the clothing section, Jin picks out two pairs of gray sweatpants, two short-sleeved shirts, a package of underwear, and a package of socks. He places these items in a little blue basket that Ethan carries for him. The clothes are so different from what he usually wears, but Kyung assumes these choices are about comfort, not style. It occurs to him that he’ll have to help Jin change. With the sling, it won’t be easy to do by himself. On their way to the checkout line, Gillian suggests picking up toiletries. A toothbrush, a razor, some deodorant and soap. The basket becomes too heavy for Ethan to carry, so Gillian takes it under her arm, plucking things from the shelves as Jin points to them. Jin buys more than he probably needs, but Kyung understands why. His parents’ house is a crime scene. Eventually, the police will take the tape off the doors and allow them to return, but it doesn’t mean they’ll want to. He’s discussed this with Gillian, who doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by the possibility that his parents will be living with them for a while. She’s remarkable sometimes. She never balks at doing the right thing when it comes to family, hers or his. If the situation had been reversed and it was Connie who needed their help, he doesn’t think he’d give in so easily. The thought of this makes him feel grateful, but guilty, so he squeezes her hand.