“It’s the least I can do, Kyung. I’m sure it can’t be easy for you right now, but trust me. Work can wait. You won’t regret the time that you spend with your family, later on.”
Behind him, Kyung hears the metal scrape of a chair against the floor. He turns to find the cafeteria nearly twice as full as it was before. On the other side of the room, Marcy is standing in the cashier’s line. He’d prefer to avoid running into anyone else from his department today, and Craig has all but ordered him to leave. Leave and do what, though? He doesn’t think the time he’s been spending with his family has helped them in any way.
“What would you do if you were me?” he asks.
“If I were in your situation?” Craig stares at his breakfast; he seems terrified to imagine the possibility. “I guess I’d just try to be there for everyone.”
“Yes, but beyond just being there.”
“I don’t know. I mean, what your family’s been through—the only word that can really describe it is ‘evil.’ Just the worst kind of human evil. I’m not sure there’s anything you can do about that other than love each other and trust that things will eventually go back to the way they were.” He pauses. “I’m sorry, Kyung. Maybe I misunderstood your question? I don’t think I’m answering it the way you want me to.”
“No, no. That’s fine.” He pushes his chair back from the table. “I was curious, that’s all. I should probably get going now.”
Craig has hardly touched his breakfast, but he moves his tray off to the side. “You’ll make decent time if you head to the Cape now. Reverse traffic.” He stands up and shakes Kyung’s hand, resting his other on Kyung’s shoulder. “You’ll get in touch if you need anything? Anything at all? You just have to let me know.”
From another man’s mouth, the offer might sound hollow and perfunctory, but Craig isn’t the type to say less than what he means.
“Thank you.”
As he feels Craig’s grip loosen, he squeezes harder, realizing that the answer was right there in front of him the entire time. The twins turned out well, not because of anything that Craig or his wife did but because of the kind of people they are. Good, decent people who always put the needs of their children ahead of their own. It was never more complicated than love, one generation raising a better version of the next.
“I never really had a chance, did I?”
Craig squints at him. “A chance at what?”
“Nothing,” he says. “I was just thinking out loud.”
*
He can count the number of times he let his anger get away from him. What he lost track of years ago is how often he had to walk himself back from that cliff. Control is the only thing that separates his anger from his father’s; he’s known this for years. But as he stares at the red Buick parked in his driveway again, his insides blister with rage, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it, nothing he wants to do anymore. Kyung slams his palm against the horn and leaves it there, drawing neighbors out of their homes as the seconds multiply into minutes. They stare at him, confused and startled by the unbroken sound, wondering why he won’t make it stop. He throws his head back, hitting it against the headrest until everything around him becomes a blur. In the corner of his eye, there’s a flash of pink, and then a loud click as the door flings open and a hand reaches over to grab his.
“What are you doing?” a woman shouts.
His eyes slowly focus on Molly, not the reverend as he assumed.
“Why are you here?” he shouts back.
“I, I came to pick up yesterday’s containers. And I brought you more food.”
“I don’t need it.” He gets out of his car and walks toward the house, ignoring the neighbors still gathered outside. “Everyone’s gone.”
“Gone where?”
He hears Molly’s voice trailing after him. Don’t follow me, he thinks. Don’t.
“Well, where did they all go?”
The key to the side door sticks. He shakes it harder than he should, not caring if the thin glass window crashes to the ground.
“Here, here. Let me.” She takes the key from him and unlocks the door.
Kyung brushes past her, through the hall and into the kitchen, which still smells like bacon. The sink is filled with dirty dishes smeared with egg yolks and bluish streaks of jam. Perched on top is an oily frying pan, slick with grease. He doesn’t know whether Gillian forgot to clean up her mess or if she was just in a hurry to leave. Both explanations are equally plausible. Neither does anything to improve his mood.
“So where did everyone go?” she repeats.
“Could you please just leave me alone?”
“But there’s no one here to help you.”
He can’t explain the relief he felt as he watched his family pile into Connie’s car and drive away. It was like a gift, especially his mother’s last-minute decision to take Marina along with them. The house was quiet for once, quiet until now.
“Help me do what? What exactly do you think I need help with?”