Shelter(81)

“I just drove back from Pennsylvania. I was there—for work.” He feels the need to mention work, if only to assure her there’s a reason for his appearance, but the lie doesn’t sound convincing enough. “So, is this your studio?”

“Yes, this is it.”

The building is a two-story brick box with a shiny black door and a sign beside it that reads HAMEL INTERIOR DESIGN. It’s not quite the successful-looking business that Elinor made it out to be at the reception, but it’s clearly a real business—not something she’s running out of an extra bedroom in her spare time.

“May I?” He gestures at the bags in her arms, aware that it might help to act like a gentleman since he doesn’t look like one.

“Yes, thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

She hands him the bags, which are achingly heavy. All three contain thick plastic binders and fabric samples held together by metal rings. He looks at her uncertainly, his shoulders curling forward with the weight.

“They’re design folios,” she explains. “Homework for a meeting tomorrow. My car’s just over here.”

He deposits the bags in her backseat, catching a glimpse of himself in the passenger window as he shuts the door. The skin under his eyes is discolored and inflamed. It looks like he recently lost a fight.

“I didn’t expect to see you here so soon, Kyung. I thought you might need more time.” She smiles at him hesitantly. “It’s kind of late to start packing, don’t you think?”

He’s not sure how to tell her that he has no intention of packing at all.

“And you do know you’re eventually going to need a truck, right? You won’t make much of a dent taking things in that—that car.”

There’s a vaguely distasteful sound in her voice, and he thinks he understands why. The flashy yellow Mustang that looked so slick in the rental lot just looks sad and abused now, streaked with dirt and dead bugs.

“Actually, I wasn’t planning to move out today so much as move in.”

“Move in—here?”

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Elinor seems confused again. Kyung has been alone with his thoughts for too long. It takes him a few moments to realize that she needs more explanation to understand the things he decided in the car.

“You said my mother paid the rent through the end of the year, so I thought I’d make use of the place. I shouldn’t be here for more than a month or two.”

“But why? What are you going to use it for?”

Her suspiciousness doesn’t offend him; he’d distrust someone in his condition too. She probably thinks he’ll wreck the apartment and maybe even the studio beneath it.

“My wife and I, we’ve been having some problems because of all the things that happened this summer, so I need a place to stay until I find one of my own. I thought, maybe since my mother paid through December, I could just crash here.” He immediately regrets his use of the word “crash,” which he worries implies destruction. “I’d like to be close enough to see my son while I look for an apartment in Marlboro.…”

Elinor seems embarrassed for him. “I’m sorry to hear you’ve been having troubles lately. Your mother wouldn’t have wanted that for you. Of course you’re welcome to stay for a while. Actually, why don’t you come inside for a few minutes? Let me show you around.”

Kyung thinks he might pass out right there in the parking lot. He’d prefer to forgo the escorted tour, but it doesn’t feel safe to decline. Marital difficulty seems to be a topic that inspires some sympathy in Elinor, who isn’t wearing a wedding ring on her finger. He assumes she’ll lead him up the metal staircase to the apartment on the second floor, but she unlocks the door to her studio instead.

“This is where your mother would have worked,” she says, flicking on the lights.

He braces himself for the cold shock of fluorescents, but instead, the room is awash with the amber glow of oversized light bulbs. Dozens of them dangle from simple black cords across the length of the room, their thin orange filaments suspended in midair. Kyung has never been in a design studio before. He doesn’t know if they’re all supposed to look this way, or if the arrangement is unique to Elinor’s. There are four distinct areas that resemble small living rooms, each with a sofa, two armchairs, a coffee table, and stacks of binders similar to the ones he carried to her car. The color schemes are all in the same family of off-white or beige, but subtle differences set one area apart from the next—the pattern of a rug, the style of furniture, the lamps and decorations.

“This would have been Mae’s area for meeting clients.”

She sweeps her hand over the space with a flourish, seemingly happy to show it off. He tries to imagine his mother sitting there among the throw pillows, talking with people she didn’t know, selling them things they probably didn’t need.

“So … what do you think?”

Elinor leans against a sofa, which looks like the one he slept on at the beach house. He takes in his surroundings as appreciatively as he can, trying not to think about the last time he slept.

“You don’t have desks?”

“No, not anymore. Actually, most of this setup is new. It was your mother’s idea. She said she always liked sitting with me in her house, looking at things together instead of sitting across from each other at a table. It’s much more personal and relaxed this way, don’t you think? Like chatting about design with a friend instead of someone you’re doing business with.”