And then Harabeoji said, “I thought I’d stopped him from doing anything, I had no idea he’d actually hurt her.”
Mrs. Yun picked up her plate and walked to the sink. Mr. Yun said, “You kept anything worse from happening. Look, it’s a kiss; that’s not assault.”
I got to my feet. I wanted to scream at him,Would you stand for that? Having someone grab you and thrust their mouth against yours?
Harabeoji cleared his throat and patted my hand. I bit my lip and sat back down.
“It’s definitely assault,” Paul said to his grandfather. “He grabbed her, wouldn’t let her leave. That’s not borderline. What are you talking about?”
I said to Mrs. Yun, in case she was as clueless as her husband. “It’s not a kiss by any definition of the word.”
“Okay, let’s focus,” Ames said. “Listen, Dahee. It’s good your grandfather walked in on them. But Kent has a witness, too. After we left the party, Buzz Harper—” She looked from me to Harabeoji. “He’s the chief of police who was at the party that night. Kent showed Buzz his watch collection and noticed one of them missing. He reported it that night.”
“He’s not a witness. He didn’t see Channing take the watch,” I said.
Harabeoji coughed into his handkerchief.
“Did you hear what I said? The chief of police is backing Kent’s story,” Ames said.
“That’s why the police arrested her?” I asked.
She nodded. “They were already on their way to Jutting Rock to question her when she called them about the missing kid.”
“How did they know she was there?” I asked. “Why do they believe Kent?” I didn’t know how to handle this news and sat numbly there for several minutes.
“I’ll look through Channing’s bags and see if a watch dropped in there accidentally,” Harabeoji said. Clearly, he couldn’t accept it either.
Mr. Yun agreed it was possible and added, “It’s a misunderstanding, an accident.”
My head felt like it was going to explode from the absurdity of the situation. I couldn’t believe Kent would lie with such impunity and that the head of police would protect him. This man must not know Kent’s capabilities. What was Kent’s motive? He’d already attacked her. What was the point of accusing her of stealing? The depths that Kent would go made no sense to me. I watched the white ceiling fan in the Yuns’ kitchen go round and round. And then I remembered Channing’s words the night the police came to Sandpiper Lane. She’d said this town had its own rules. And then I understood: Kent meant to punish Channing for rejecting him.
I ran upstairs to get my car keys. The fastest route to my car was through the front door and out to the driveway. There was a wooden banister alongside three steps, and I nearly fell, forgetting those steps were there as I ran out, so I grabbed it to keep from landing flat on my face. A splinter sliced into the palm of my hand, but I didn’t care. I kept going. In my head, I kept repeatingChanning’s in jail. It was a scene out of the “Tale of Chunhyang.” Kent was going to keep her there. I wouldn’t accept it. My mouth was still open, unable literally to swallow this truth.
My hand throbbed from the splinter. I got behind the wheel and reversed faster than I intended down the driveway. Slow down, I told myself, but I had to move, run, this was a nightmare, a terrible, terrible dream. I had to wake up.
“This is not the story,” I said aloud.
Chapter 28
I drove down Middle Street. With stores and restaurants closed, the sidewalks were empty on Sunday as usual. The concrete block of the police station showed no signs of life inside either. There were no lights on, but it was the middle of the day, why would there be? Parking lots were empty, just as Harabeoji and Paul had seen the day before. I couldn’t bear the thought of Channing inside that cold place behind bars by herself. Since she hadn’t called, I was sure she was being unlawfully detained. To keep myself from breaking down, I kept driving. It was unfair that it was such a beautiful day. It usually was after a storm, I knew this, which was even more difficult to stomach. I found myself driving back to the beach where we’d all been together last. The parking lot that had been empty the day before was packed with cars.
Despair flooded over me like the tide coming in, higher and higher with each pull in and out to sea. Relentless. I heard the seagulls in the distance. I hated it. All of it: East End, beaches, the ocean.
I was looking for a clean tissue in my bag to wipe my tears when I saw the notebook Mrs. Ahn had handed me. It was a plain marble-patterned composition college-ruled journal, with a hard cardboard cover and stitched-in sheets, swollen with pieces of folded paper stashed between pages. I wondered how Mrs. Ahn knew it belonged to Channing. Her name wasn’t in sight. I opened it to see if she’d made a mistake. Channingwas all about her computers and gadgets, or she was on her phone using the Notes app. I had never seen her handwrite anything before.
A flash of white fell to the floor on the passenger side. I set the notebook down and leaned over to retrieve it. It was an unsealed white envelope with the return address of the Leeward Resort logo. Inside were two pages of Leeward stationery:
Channing, are you awake? Are you looking out your window at the same night sky? I took a walk on the beach. It’s so dark. You know, I love the ocean. I love everything now. Everything is different since we met. I see, hear, smell, feel everything better—everything is sharper, in focus. I know you made fun of me for it. The sky is beautiful. More beautiful. Everything is more beautiful. You’re beautiful.
I saw a man and a woman in the elevator tonight get off on my floor and walk together to their room, and I wished that was us. They weren’t even holding hands, but I knew they were together. Seeing them made me miss you even more.
Though I envied that couple because they got to be together, I felt sorry for every man who isn’t me. They can’t be with you. They don’t know what it’s like to listen to your voice.
I should sleep, but I can’t sleep. All I do is think of you. That’s why I’m outside now, sitting on a rock to write to you on a notepad from the hotel. Old-school analog. Who does this anymore? You said you did, so here I am. I want to do everything you do. If you write in a diary, I will, too. I’m serious—I never felt like writing a love note before, but now I do. I want to write thousands of love notes and poems and write a million songs. This is what everyone means when they say they’re in love. I had no idea before. I used to hate poems, and I was terrible at metaphors. My teachers said I didn’t try hard enough, but now I know it was because I didn’t havea reason. Since English isn’t my first language, I could never get the metaphors right. Ha ha, I was terrible at metaphors in Korean, too. But now I know what they mean, and I want to try. I miss you so much and it’s only been hours. Tomorrow, I get to see Channing! Did you hear me shout just now to you over there on Sandpiper Lane?
Okay, if I don’t sleep, I won’t be able to drive to you tomorrow, so I’m going to go back inside. This is what it is be sick with love. I’m completely silly for you.
Yours forever,
