“Oh, they’re all doing great.”
The Tunneys have twin girls—one now at Wesleyan, the other at Brown. Kyung met them years ago when they came to the office to borrow Craig’s car. Even as high school students, they struck him as exceptionally poised and polite. They shook hands and spoke with confidence and seemed to regard their father as a friend. If Craig had one bad habit, it was the way he wandered the halls, talking about his daughters’ accomplishments with anyone willing to listen. Whenever Kyung found himself on the receiving end of these conversations, he wondered what Craig and his wife had done to ensure that their children turned out so well. There were times when he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t figure out how to phrase the question. It felt like something he already should have known.
“Lydia’s interning at the Federal Reserve in D.C. this summer, and Elizabeth is in Panama building ecohousing with a nonprofit.”
“Panama,” he repeats thoughtfully, for no other reason except to buy time. “Does she speak Spanish?”
“A couple of semesters’ worth. But she’s quick with languages. We sent her off to France a few summers ago, and she came back jabbering away like she was fluent.” Craig stops suddenly, as if he realizes what Kyung is trying to do. “But enough about the girls. Is there anything I can help you with, Kyung? Do you want to talk about taking a leave of absence next semester?”
The thought of a leave never occurred to him.
“It would have to be unpaid, unfortunately. A situation like this—it doesn’t really fit the university’s requirements for paid medical leave. But I’d be happy to arrange it if you’d like some more time at home.”
The idea floats past him like a balloon. Bright and buoyant for a moment, then gone with a prick of a pin. He couldn’t afford to take a leave even if he wanted to.
“Actually, I’m looking forward to teaching again. It’ll be good for me, I think.”
He pulls his muffin apart to avoid looking Craig in the eye. It crumbles into a pile of dry, dusty pieces that he pinches into his mouth. It alarms him that he can’t remember what classes he’s supposed to teach in the fall—Anatomy, Physiology, Cell Biology? Every semester just feels like a variation of the one that came before.
“Well, I’m here,” Craig says.
“Sorry?”
“I’m here if you need anything. Even if you change your mind and we have to make some last-minute adjustments, it’ll be fine. You just have to tell me what’s on your mind.”
Lately, Kyung has been thinking about Nat Perry, wondering where he is, what his life is like. He imagines him in some barren northern stretch of Canada, trying to reinvent himself. That’s what Kyung would do if he suddenly found himself on the run. Pick a place where no one would ever look for him. Start over. Do everything differently. The idea of California still tugs at him from time to time. During his senior year in college, he applied to the medical school at Irvine, which his advisors warned was a stretch. None of them knew what to say when he was accepted but chose not to go. Kyung couldn’t tell them why he needed to stay in Marlboro, the things that might happen if he went away. He convinced himself there would always be other opportunities to leave. At twenty-two, he didn’t have the foresight to understand how one decision could affect so many others. Now that he’s older and everything has settled into a just-tolerable state of atrophy, the options he once had—options that his young students still have—feel like they’ve passed him by.
“Are your parents back home, or are they staying with you?”
“With me and Gillian. Actually, they all left for the Cape today. It was getting a little crowded at home.”
“And you’re still here? Because of work?”
He’s about to nod until he notices Craig shaking his head.
“Give me your keys,” he says, holding out his hand.
Kyung removes the ring from his pocket and sets it on the table. He knows what Craig is about to do before he does it.
“There.” He slides off the oversized key to Kyung’s office and slips it into his bag. “I don’t want to see you here for the rest of the summer. There’s nothing that can’t wait for you until August.”
Kyung has a spare key at home, not that it really matters. He doesn’t want to be here either. He eats another pinch of muffin, washing down the stale crumbs with the last of his coffee. He can feel Craig watching him, waiting for a thank-you, perhaps—and on some level, he knows he deserves it. This is his idea of being kind.
“Thank you.”