Jung Yun - Shelter

“What are you doing here?” he asks, not certain who deserves the question most.

Everyone looks up. Reverend Sung opens one eye and quickly closes it. “We ask you to guide our beloved brother and sister in the days and weeks ahead. Heal their hearts and bodies and minds, dear Lord, and grace them with the absolute power of your love. In your name, we pray. Amen.”

Connie and Tim make the sign of the cross and mutter “amen,” something that Kyung has never witnessed before. The McFaddens aren’t a religious family. Their faith — ceremonial as it was — seemed to die with Gillian’s mother, who dressed everyone up for Mass and confession because that’s what families in their neighborhood did. Gillian talks about this part of her childhood like she talks about her mother, with more fondness than either probably deserves. Occasionally, she mentions the idea of going back to church like it’s a long-lost hobby, something she’d pick up again if she had more time.

“Come join us,” Reverend Sung says.

Mae turns and angles her face toward the window as Kyung approaches the bed. Now that she’s clean and dressed, she doesn’t seem as injured as his father, who has his arm in a sling and an alarming array of bruises. Still, Kyung understands the difference between them. What happened to Mae was worse. He places his hand over hers, rubbing the soft, papery skin with his thumb. Everything he wants to say escapes him, so he just stands there, dumb for words, while the others try not to watch.

“Well, I should get back to the station now,” Lentz says. “Thank you for your statement, Mrs. Cho. I’ll be in touch.”

Kyung wanted to be with Mae when she spoke to them. He assumed the police would take her statement when visiting hours started, not before.

“None of you thought to call me for this?”

Again, he isn’t sure who should answer the question, who among this odd group of men he holds most accountable. He settles on Connie. “Why are you even here? This isn’t your case.”

Connie shrugs. “I was just trying to be helpful, seeing you’re family and all.”

Kyung is tempted to ask since when. Since when have Connie and Tim ever treated him like family? “Please leave now. Both of you. I didn’t ask you to come.”

“You don’t have to talk to them like that,” Jin says. “At least they were here. They showed up early — not like you.”

The earth feels like it’s spun off its axis. His father often refers to Gillian’s family as bigots — poor working-class white people, jealous of anyone with a little money to their name. Now he’s defending them as if they’re old friends.

“I did come early. I just don’t understand why none of you told me to come earlier.” He glances at Mae, who has yet to look at him.

“Your mom was ready to talk,” Tim says, “so we let her. There wasn’t time to send you an invitation and then wait around until you got here.”

“Don’t be such a dick, Tim.” Connie’s face reddens. “Sorry, Reverend. And sorry for intruding. You folks need anything from us, just give me a call. Kyung knows how to reach me.”

They leave the room, Tim trailing behind his father and Lentz, his shoulders still sagging with reproach. The earth is now in free fall. Connie has never taken his side over Tim’s before, never bothered to apologize for anything, no matter how big or small the offense. Kyung is so stunned, he almost doesn’t notice the reverend patting him on the shoulder.

“It was nice of your father-in-law to offer to help. An event like this brings out the best in most people.”

The phrase “most people” stings Kyung’s cheeks. It feels like a reprimand, even if it wasn’t.

“I need a few minutes with my mother now.” He glances at Jin. “I’d like to talk to her in private.”

Mae grabs the sleeve of the reverend’s jacket. She shakes her head no.

“What’s wrong? Why don’t you want to talk to me?” Kyung’s voice rises, injured like a child’s. “Why won’t you even look at me?”

Reverend Sung pries loose her fingers, knitting them neatly between his. “As you can imagine — actually, as none of us could ever really imagine — this was a very traumatic experience for your mother, for both of your parents. You have to understand how upsetting it might be, talking about the details of what happened with you. These aren’t the kinds of things you’d ever want to say in front of your own child.”

Kyung looks to Mae for some confirmation of this, but sees nothing. No sadness, no anger, no pain. All of those emotions have come and gone already. What’s left is a pale shell, ready to crack with the slightest hint of pressure. It’s strange — the sight of another man holding his mother’s hand, speaking on her behalf. But the reverend’s interpretation makes sense. If someone had done this to Gillian, Kyung can’t imagine trying to explain the details to Ethan, whether he was four years old or forty.

“Your father has some things that he’d like to discuss with you. Maybe the three of us should go outside and let Mae rest?”

Jin drops his eyes to the floor. Kyung wonders what he has to say for himself, what sorry excuses he’ll come up with.

He leans over to kiss his mother’s forehead. “You’ll let me know if you need anything?”

She shrinks into her bed, stiff to his touch, and it occurs to Kyung that maybe she’s not over it, the way he spoke to her in the field. He wants to apologize for his reaction, to explain why he didn’t understand, but not in front of the reverend or Jin.

The three of them walk into the corridor, waiting for Mae’s door to float closed on its hinges. Kyung stares at the shiny bald patch on his father’s head. There’s a cut running diagonally across it, and a thick wad of gauze taped over another cut on his brow line. He’s wearing his glasses now, unaware of how crookedly they rest on his nose, which is swollen and bookended by black eyes.

“Don’t bother her about what happened,” Jin says. “She’s not right in the mind.”

“I’m not going to bother her. I just want to talk.”

“No.” Jin grabs his forearm, his grip still firm. “Never. Never talk to her about what happened. She won’t survive that. It’s better if we all let her forget.”

Kyung pulls his arm away. “How could she possibly forget? She’s going to need months — years of counseling to deal with this.”

“I’ve offered to counsel Mae, every week if she’d like,” Reverend Sung says. “For as long as she’d like.”

“No, not your kind of counseling. The kind with a doctor, a therapist. God isn’t what she needs right now.”

The reverend and his father glance at each other uncomfortably, but the truth seems obvious to Kyung.

“God didn’t help her when those men broke into the house and did what they did to her. God didn’t help you either when they were beating you up. What do you think he’s going to do now?”

“It’s only natural…,” the reverend begins.

“No,” Kyung snaps. “Nothing about this is natural. You can hold hands and pray and do whatever it is that you people do, but don’t tell me that forgetting is what’s best for her, that God is going to help her forget. She will never forget — do you understand that? She needs a doctor, a psychiatrist.” And then, because Jin looks so stricken by his outburst, he throws him a jagged bone. “You too. You need to see a psychiatrist. Again.”

An orderly passes, studying the three of them carefully. Kyung realizes he’s been talking much louder than he should. He turns around and sees everyone in the waiting room staring at him. The woman at the front desk is craning over it, frowning at the commotion.