Shelter(83)

“I hope you know—I wasn’t suggesting that the painters didn’t like your mother. It was just the opposite, really. They didn’t want to disappoint her because they respected her so much.”

He understands that Elinor is gently trying to improve his memory of Mae, to convince him that she deserved more credit than he was ever willing to give. But the thought of grown men being terrified of her isn’t funny. And although he’s impressed by her work, he’s also saddened by it. The apartment was clearly designed as a refuge, a place for Mae to stay during the week and be the person she wanted to be, a person he didn’t know or pay any attention to. He imagines her walking upstairs after a long day’s work, opening a bottle of wine, playing a record, and reading one of her books or magazines. She was planning a life for herself here, a small and quiet life, and Kyung wishes she’d had the chance to live it. He thinks she would have been happy for once.

“Did I say something to upset you?” Elinor asks.

“No, I think the drive just caught up with me.”

“Well, let me get out of your way, then.” She walks to the door and turns to say good-bye. “You’re sure I haven’t upset you?”

“No, not at all. It’s nice to be here, to see what she could do.”

“All right, then. You get a good night’s sleep. You look like you need it.”

Kyung crawls into bed as soon as Elinor closes the door. It’s a luxurious combination—the clean silky sheets, soft down pillows, and firm king-sized mattress. It’s a far better setup than he’s used to, better than a five-star hotel, he suspects. He turns over onto his back and notices the painting attached to the ceiling, directly over his head. There’s a woman sitting on the grass, staring at some hills in the distance. The style of it doesn’t quite fit with anything else in the apartment, but it’s peaceful, the mix of blues and greens and grays, the content expression on the woman’s face. He can see why Mae chose it as the last thing she wanted to look at before closing her eyes.

His own eyes begin to blink, heavy and sore, so he sits up, not wanting to fall asleep before calling Gillian. Being in the apartment inspires him, energizing him in a way that California didn’t. If a person like Mae could finally change her life, he has no excuse not to do something about his own. The cell phone in his pocket is dead, so he reaches over and picks up the cordless on the nightstand. The line rings much longer than it usually does. He realizes he’s not entirely sure what time it is, other than night.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s me.”

“What number are you calling from?” Gillian sounds irritated to hear from him.

“I’m staying at a place in Connecticut. It doesn’t matter.… Anyway, would it be okay if I stopped by in the morning? I didn’t get a chance to talk to Ethan before I left.”

She pauses much longer than she should. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“Why? Is he sick?”

“No.”

“Is he upset I’m not there?”

“No, he’s fine with it.”

Kyung’s hurt, but not surprised by this, which Gillian seems to understand.

“I didn’t mean it like that. He just thinks you’re off somewhere for work. I haven’t really explained everything yet.”

“Would it be all right if I came by, then? I think there are certain things he should probably hear from me.”

He can almost picture her right now, cradling the phone under her ear and biting her lower lip.

“If you’re worried about what I’m going to say to him, you’re welcome to join us. I figure we’re going to have to work out some sort of—accommodation, right? Maybe it’d be nice for Ethan to hear what’s going on from both of us.”

It bothers him to think that Gillian might not trust him to be alone with their son, but his invitation is sincere. He wouldn’t mind if she was there. She deserved to see him try for a change.

“So…?”

“Kyung, it’s really not the best time.…”

Again with the long pause, he thinks. She’s not making this easy for him, but he reminds himself that people don’t switch on and off like machines. He’s given her no reason to respond differently.

“Well, how about in the afternoon, then? Would that be better than the morning? Maybe we can take Ethan to the park for a while. He likes it there—”

“No, Kyung. Stop talking about the park. It’s not that. It’s … They asked me not to tell you yet.”

“Who asked you? Tell me what?”

She covers the receiver with her hand, but he can still hear her moving around in the kitchen. There’s a clank of something that sounds like a pot, and then the hollow thud of a cabinet door. “Shit,” he thinks she says.

“Hello?” he calls out. “Are you there, Gillian? Tell me what?”

She clears her throat as she uncovers the phone. “I think you have a right to know, Kyung. They found him today.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“That man—Perry? Nat Perry? The police brought him in a few hours ago. He’s at the station in Marlboro.”





NINE

He doesn’t stop to think who “they” are until a few hours later. They asked her not to tell him yet. But when he pulls up in front of the station, he knows immediately. The three of them are waiting outside the main entrance. He sees Connie first, and then the huge outline of Tim. The third man is the detective from the funeral. Smiley, Smalley—he can’t remember and doesn’t care. Kyung walks toward them, not certain how to get past a barricade of men who clearly want to keep him out. He’s no match for any of them, not on a good day and definitely not now.