Shelter(67)

A warm sensation spreads below him, lasting only a few seconds before it turns cold and damp. Kyung covers himself, not so much ashamed of what he did, but confused that he didn’t notice it before.

“You pathetic, worthless—”

Jin is about to kick him, but Connie quickly blocks his path. The shuffling of their feet raises a cloud of dust in Kyung’s face that invades his eyes and mouth. He gets on all fours, trying to cough out the dirt and grit.

“Take it easy now. Leave him be. It wasn’t entirely his fault.”

Jin shakes free. “You heard what he said last night. The only reason she got in that car was to get away from him. She had no business driving—she barely knew how.”

“She knew what she was doing,” Connie says.

“What does that mean?”

“The officers will come talk to you when they’re done.”

“Talk to me about what?”

Connie offers his hand to Kyung, getting him on his feet. He tries to avoid looking at the wet spot on his pants, or the puddle of piss he left on the road.

“Nothing,” Connie says. “You just have to be prepared, is all.”

Jin marches in front of him, pushing his face directly beneath his. “What are you saying? What did they tell you?”

“They’ll come over and explain in a second.”

“No. I want you to explain it to me now.”

Connie takes a step backward. “I’m sorry, Jin.” He hesitates, scanning the crowd for the officers, both of whom are guiding the tow truck as it backs out into traffic. “They don’t think it was an accident.”

“Of course it was an accident. She didn’t know how to drive.”

“But the road”—Connie points at the asphalt, drawing a straight line from where they’re standing to the tree in front of the house—“there aren’t any skid marks. That means she didn’t hit the brakes.”

“Maybe she got confused about the pedals.”

“Some of the neighbors said she sped up on purpose. Right before the tree, they heard her gun it.”

Jin doesn’t blink as he examines the unmarked stretch of asphalt, slowly tracing the car’s path from the road to the lawn to the tree. “She was confused, that’s all. She thought the gas was the brake.” He studies it again, as if to convince himself that what he said was true. Then he turns to Connie, stabbing his finger at him. “We’re Christian—do you understand what that means? She wouldn’t have done this to herself on purpose; she can’t. It’s not allowed.”

Connie looks pained, as if he regrets opening his mouth, but now he has to finish what he started. “She left a note, Jin. It was on the floor, next to her seat. I’m sorry, I should have let them tell you.”

The tow truck drives off, dragging the carcass of the Jeep behind it. Kyung follows the swirling lights until they disappear into the distance. The lanes open up from one to two and traffic begins to move again, filling the air with a dense cloud of exhaust. Behind him, Jin is still arguing with Connie, but their voices fade out, replaced by a memory of something his mother said not long ago. It never made sense to him as completely as it does now. You have to have a plan. Kyung repeats these words to himself as he looks at his shadow stretched diagonally across the pavement. The longer he studies the rough black surface, the more clearly he sees it, the moment of impact. Marina’s face has sunk into itself—eyes closed, mouth open, screaming. But his mother is staring right at it, at the death she knows is coming, and for once, she’s not afraid.

*

The note she left behind isn’t a note at all. It’s an inventory, the same one she was compiling for the insurance company. The handwritten list is twenty-eight pages long, documenting every item she ever bought for the houses in Marlboro and Orleans. Kyung spends the first two days after the accident sitting on the beach, studying the list through a haze of Valium. On the far right, Mae had added a column indicating who should receive what upon her death. Molly’s name is there, beside a bowl described as Regency, glass, 8 inches wide, living room. He also recognizes the names of her decorator and several women from church. Gillian is nothing more than a footnote at the end, one that makes it entirely clear how Mae felt about her. Anything my friends don’t want can go to my daughter-in-law.

The inventory seems like proof of the obvious. Mae was planning to end her life long before they arrived in Orleans. That’s why she wanted to learn how to drive, why she was willing to go to the Cape, why she chose to bring Marina with them. She had a plan all along. Knowing this should provide some thin sliver of comfort, but Kyung is crippled with doubt, unsure if the things he said hastened the plan’s timeline or confirmed the need for it to exist. As the haze begins to lift and he sees the signs he missed, Kyung considers walking into the ocean, walking and walking until the water’s pressure crushes the guilt building up inside him. He doesn’t know how else to make it go away.

Gillian and his father refuse to speak to him. Not on the ride home to Marlboro, not in the days after they return. Kyung is relegated to the guest room of his own house, sleeping in the same bed his mother occupied only a few nights before. Vivi comes by daily to help with the funeral arrangements, having recently planned services for her father. He listens in on their conversations, sitting at the top of the staircase as they select flowers and music and menu items for the reception. Not once does anyone mention Kyung or ask for his opinion. His only notice of the funeral date is the sudden appearance of his suit on the bathroom door, wrapped in dry-cleaning plastic with a note skewered through the hanger: Be dressed at ten.