Miracle Creek(68)

“I found it where you hid it, in the shed.”

“The shed? But I gave it to…” He looked at the case, then off to the side, his eyes darting back and forth as if struggling to recall something, his face scrunched in puzzlement so total that Young wondered if he really thought he’d given it to the Kangs.

Pak shook his head. “I must’ve forgotten to give it to them, and it ended up here. So what? We had some old cigarettes in storage, and we didn’t realize it. It’s no matter.”

He sounded believable. But the gum, Febreze, apartment listings—those proved he had used the case as a hiding place last summer. No, Pak was lying, like he had in Abe’s office. She remembered the chill she’d felt, seeing how convincing he could be, insisting on the truth of what she knew to be lies. He was continuing his same tricks and expecting her to be duped.

Pak seemed to take her silence as acquiescence. He pushed the case away and said, “Good, it’s settled. We’ll throw it away and forget about it.” He held up the parking ticket. “Now, this—”

She snatched it from his hand and ripped it in two. “The ticket? The ticket is nothing. Just some money, paid and done. But this here?” She picked up the tin case and shook it, its contents rattling in clangs, then she slammed it down and opened it. “You see these cigarettes? Camels, just like the cigarette someone used to murder our patients on our property. And gum and Febreze, stuff people use to hide their smoking. All hidden in our shed. You think that’s nothing, when you spent all day swearing in court that you don’t smoke anymore? It’s not nothing. It’s evidence.” She took out the Realtor’s packet and slapped it on the table. “And what would that lawyer do with this? What would the jury say if they knew that right before the explosion, you were secretly planning to move to Seoul?”

Pak picked up the packet and stared at the cover sheet.

“I’m your wife,” she said. “How could you hide that from me?”

He flipped through the packet. His eyes darted around each page as if in an effort to process it, make sense of it.

Seeing Pak’s vacant look of uncertainty, Young felt her anger dissolve into worry. The doctors had warned that more symptoms might surface later. Had his injuries spread to his brain, and he’d forgotten about the listings? “Yuh-bo,” she said, “what’s wrong? Tell me.”

Pak looked at Young’s face, then her hand, appearing as if he’d forgotten she was there. He frowned, then blew out his breath in a long sigh. “I’m sorry. It was just such a stupid pipe dream. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“Tell me what?” she said. A new wave of nausea cramped her stomach. She thought it’d be a relief to hear the truth, to know this wasn’t all in her head, but now that he was actually confessing, looking contrite, she wished she could go back to a few seconds ago when her concerns were unconfirmed, her anger unjustified.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “The cigarettes, I kept. I knew I had to quit, and I did, I never smoked, but I liked holding them. Whenever I got worried about anything, it helped, just … the feel, smelling them. And the smell’s so strong even without smoking them, so I got the freshener and gum. I didn’t want you to know because … because it seemed so stupid. So weak.”

He locked his eyes, scrunched in pain and need, onto hers.

“And the apartments?” she said.

“That…” He scrubbed his face. “That wasn’t for me. It’s just … the business was going so well, and I thought maybe we could help my brother move to Seoul. You know how much he wants that.” He shook his head. “Anyway, you saw the prices. I told him we couldn’t, and that was that. I meant to throw it away, but I forgot all about it after the explosion.” He sighed again. “I should’ve told you, but I wanted to find out the prices first. And once I did, there was nothing to tell you about.”

“But the Realtor said you were moving back to Korea.”

“Well, of course I told her that. If I said this was background research, what incentive would she have for helping me?”

“So you’re saying you never planned to move us back to Korea?”

“Why would I do that? We’ve worked so hard to be here. Even now, I still want to stay and make it work. Don’t you?” His face was slightly skewed to his left, his eyes wide and wondering like a puppy staring up at his master, and she felt guilty for questioning his motives.

“What about Creekside Plaza?” she said. “I know you didn’t go to Walgreens for powder. I remember—we used cornstarch.”

He put his hand on hers. “I thought about telling you, but I wanted to protect you. I didn’t want you to have to tell more lies for me.” He looked down and traced the green veins on her hand with his finger. “I got balloons, from Party Central. I wanted to get rid of the protesters. I thought if I could cause a power outage and blame them, the police would take them away.”

The room seemed to tilt. She’d guessed this, suspected it from the moment she saw the balloons in the picture, but it shocked her to hear his confirmation. It was strange—here was her husband, admitting to concealing a crime from her, but instead of drawing her away, it made her feel better than she had all day. The fact was, he didn’t have to confess this. She had no proof, just suspicions, and he could’ve easily made up a story, and yet, he chose honesty. It made her hopeful that maybe, just maybe, everything else he’d told her tonight was the truth.