Shelter(40)

“Who cares about the food? The point is, that man”—he’s too frustrated to say the reverend’s name out loud—“that man didn’t even tell me they were planning this. He should have asked first.”

Gillian just shrugs. She doesn’t understand the way these people are—all smiles and politeness one minute, then vicious and judgmental the next. He’s known this about them ever since they entered his parents’ lives, felt it in their stares and questions and awkward attempts at conversation. They think he’s a lesser person because he refuses to believe as they do. And Gillian—lapsed Catholic that she is—she matters even less, but she can’t see through their act.

“Where’s Ethan?”

“He’s with your father in the living room.”

“Doing what?”

“I think he’s just playing—”

He leaves her midsentence, sidestepping past the women to rescue Ethan, certain that he’s trapped by a gaggle of old ladies who keep asking if he accepts Christ as his savior. Kyung’s first memory of them is exactly this. A crowd of pinched faces and perfumed hands, all pestering him about things he didn’t understand, words he didn’t even know. He’s not about to let a stranger click her tongue at Ethan and tell him that hell is for bad children who don’t believe.

The living room has been repurposed into a makeshift receiving area, with a long line that extends deep into the hallway. Jin is sitting in an armchair with Ethan on his knee, while Mae is sitting in the chair beside him. The small sofa and love seat are occupied by the very elderly, so the rest have taken to the floor, sitting compactly on their heels or with their legs tucked off to the side. His parents look like a king and queen, surrounded by their court, while a line of visitors slowly moves past to pay their respects. Jin greets them all with the same handshake and hello, but Mae does her best to make conversation, accepting their hugs and kisses with gratitude. Kyung wishes he could hear what people are saying to her and what she’s saying so pleasantly in response, but it’s too hard to make out anything above the din. Occasionally, someone passes through the line and pats Ethan on the head, but no one seems the least bit interested in him, and he only seems interested in his puzzle.

The reverend wades into the middle of the room and claps his hands in the air. “Attention, please. The ladies tell me they’re almost ready, so it’s time to give thanks.”

Everyone reaches for the two people sitting nearest them. Ethan looks around; he seems confused by the sight of so many strangers holding hands. Kyung doesn’t want him subjected to this, but one step forward, and he sees something that forces him to stop. At first, his parents take each other’s hands like everyone else, but as soon as the congregation lowers their heads in prayer, Mae lets go with a violent flick of her wrist. She blames him, he thinks. That’s why they’ve barely spoken ten words to each other since she came home, why she won’t let him sleep in the same room with her. Kyung almost feels sorry for his father. Nat and Dell Perry were twice his size and half his age. There was nothing Jin could have done to prevent what happened to her. He assumes Mae will understand this eventually, but he doesn’t want to rush her to that conclusion. She needs to get there on her own.

After the prayer, the reverend’s wife, Molly, walks into the room and asks everyone to form a line for dinner. The crowd surges toward the buffet as she presents two full plates to Jin and Mae and bows deeply from the waist. Kyung looks for Gillian, who’s nowhere to be found. This is why he always has to remind her how to behave around his parents. She says she knows what to do, and can recite the list as proof, but deference doesn’t come naturally to her. Molly removes two napkins from the pocket of her skirt and spreads them across Mae’s and Jin’s laps. Then she bows again and backs away.

Kyung always feels nervous when he runs into Molly, whom he’s known since junior high. She went by Mi Young back then, and he remembers her as not terribly pretty or smart, but loud and destructive and loose. Among certain types of boys, this latter quality seemed to make up for most of her failings. By the time they started high school, she’d earned an unfortunate nickname for herself. “The Car Wash.” Whenever fifth period approached, Kyung could overhear boys clad in letterman jackets discuss the impending lunch hour: “So who’s going through the Car Wash today?” During their senior year, Molly’s parents caught her in bed with a boy and shipped her off to a private Christian college after graduation. Through friends of friends, Kyung heard that she tried to run away on more than one occasion, so it surprised him when she returned home four years later, born-again and perfect wife material for a young reverend. All of this happened so long ago, but Kyung can’t help comparing the awkward, trampy-looking girl he remembers with the plain but pretty woman she is now.

“Hello, Kyung.” Molly takes both of his hands in hers. “How are you?”

He wonders if she noticed him staring, although it wouldn’t be the first time if she did. Molly, he assumes, is well aware that he admires her, and some part of her secretly enjoys it.

“All right, I guess.”

“I hope you don’t mind that I organized this.”

“You?”

“Yes, my husband said it might be too soon, but I thought your wife—I thought she might enjoy a night off from cooking.”