Shelter by Jung Yun

us.”
    â€œAll he ever does is ask for money.”
    â€œYou know what I mean.”
    The reverend inherited the congregation of First Presbyterian from his father, who’d recently moved back to Korea after his retirement. Kyung preferred the elder Reverend Sung, a serious, bookish man who could silence any room by simply entering it. He was the only person Kyung could think to call after he’d threatened to kill Jin. When the reverend arrived at the house, he took Jin by the arm and made him kneel on the floor beside him. They stayed that way for over an hour—eyes closed, hands clasped together, praying in Korean while Mae and Kyung looked on. Jin cried the entire time, but Kyung wondered if it was all just for show, if he’d later be punished for bringing an outsider in. He stood off to the side, studying the candelabra on the mantel, the statues on the ledge, wondering which would make for a heavier weapon, which would crack open a human skull when he finally had to make good on his promise. No one was more surprised than he was when the hitting actually stopped, a change that Kyung always attributed to the elder Sung’s intervention.
    â€œHow did all those people in the waiting room find out what happened?”
    â€œI called the reverend last night.”
    â€œBut if you’re so worried about putting this behind her, then why did you tell anyone? Now everybody at your church is going to know.”
    Jin shakes his head. “There are different kinds of forgetting.”
    Kyung wonders if his father still has a concussion, if he thinks he’s making sense when he really isn’t. He looks him over, stopping when he notices a small gold crucifix that someone—the reverend, probably—pinned to his sling.
    â€œStop staring at me,” Jin says.
    â€œI’m not staring.”
    But he is. Kyung turns and scans a nearby bulletin board. The only poster he can see clearly is for a needle-exchange program. IF YOU SHARE YOUR DRUGS, DON’T SHARE YOUR BLOOD , it warns in bright gold letters. The other posters are too small or far away to read, so he watches a pair of nurses walk through the corridor, wheeling equipment that rattles and scrapes across the floor.
    â€œI’m fine, by the way. Thank you for asking.” Sarcasm doesn’t sound right coming from Jin’s mouth. When his words hit the air, they turn into acid.
    â€œI can see that already.”
    What Kyung actually sees is his father looking old for the first time in his life. Gone are the expensive clothes—the precisely ironed dress shirts and hundred-dollar ties—against the backdrop of his enormous house and office. With the fluorescent lights bearing down on him, turning his skin a bluish shade of gray, Jin appears to have aged a decade overnight. Looking at him now, no one would ever guess what he used to be capable of.
    â€œNot once,” Jin says, shaking his head.
    â€œWhat are you talking about?”
    â€œNot once did I think you’d save us.”
    â€œSave you? How could I save you when I didn’t even know what was happening?”
    â€œThat’s the point.”
    There’s a familiar thread of insult woven into all of this, but Kyung refuses to have the same argument again. He’s not a good son; he knows this already. But he’s the best possible version of the son they raised him to be. Present, but not adoring. Helpful, but not generous. Obligated and nothing more.
    â€œWhere’s your doctor? The Indian one? I want to talk to him.”
    â€œHe came by earlier this morning before his shift ended.”
    Kyung is upset with himself for arriving late and frustrated that everyone else forgot him. He lowers his voice to a sharp whisper. “The next time Mom talks to a doctor or a policeman or anyone else, I want to be here. Do you understand? I want you to call me immediately.”
    â€œSo now you actually want me to