“Channing needs us for moral support,” my grandfather said as we merged onto the highway. It was approximately a two-hour trip to East End this time of day.
“She also needs us to cook and do laundry,” I replied.
His face creased into all kinds of wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, and he gave a laugh that burst first as a big breath before the sound emerged.
“Channing will be all right,” he said.
“She’s always all right,” I replied. “She gets to be in East End! The beach, the seafood. Who wouldn’t want to be there? It’s us I’m worried about.”
He laughed again. “Summer always makes me think of that town.”
“Glad she got this job. The last one she had was five months ago.” I signaled to move into the passing lane. East End had been Harabeoji’s home for ten years, so he knew the people there, the old ones anyway. His friend Mr. Yun had recommended Channing for this babysitting position because he’d heard from Harabeoji that my cousin needed work.
“You mean more than a year. I helped her sell some of her things to pay off credit cards. She was evicted from her apartment before she started this East End job,” he said.
My foot pressed down on the accelerator. “Typical Channing to keep that information from me. Thought she still had her apartment,” I said. “Is there anything else she didn’t tell me? Is she trying to get back together with what’s-his-name in Fall River?”
Harabeoji put his hand out toward the dashboard, which made me realize I was accelerating. I apologized and slowed the car down to the speed limit.
“No, no, she didn’t want to worry you. She doesn’t lie. She leaves things out sometimes, you know that,” he said.
I tried to remember when we’d talked about her apartment. Harabeoji was right. Channing had never told me she wasn’t evicted.
“It’s going to be all right,” he continued. “She’ll get back on her feet. She needs a reason for being.”
I wondered how they’d managed in his apartment with my uncle in a one-bedroom that they shared. Channing must have slept on the couch in the small living room with the kitchenette.
“It’s never been this bad before,” I said now, tapping the steering wheel with my fingers. This job in East End was more important than ever. She had to finish it to get paid so she could go back to Boston and get her own place.
My grandfather took out a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and began wiping the console between us. Then he carefully folded the square cloth and put it into his left pocket. The right side had at least one more clean one in it. The left was for the ones he’d already used.
“The two of you are very different. Love has always been part of Channing’s way of looking at life,” Harabeoji said.
I told him about the man Channing had mentioned and added, “It’s a stretch. He sounds like a menace, but maybe it’s bad manners. Just ring the doorbell. Then again maybe this Kent Cho is the one she’s been searching for. If I remember correctly, Chunhyang doesn’t like Mongryong at first in that Korean folktale Channing loves so much. It’s an enemies-to-lovers story.”
Harabeoji cleared his throat, then he said, “That’s not quite right. Not enemy. They didn’t know each other. That name, Kent Cho, I’ve heard of him. He’s a good man, helps the Korean community, works for the mayor.”
My grandfather’s words reassured me. I eased my grip on the steering wheel. “Yes, that’s the guy. Channing said something about the mayor. A steady job and being a good person aren’t at the top of Channing’s list for the man of her dreams,” I said.
“Can’t change the way you feel,” he replied. “She has good instincts, like you. You both do. You have to trust them.”
“Eomma says Channing and I aren’t like our family from Namwon.We’re too blunt. But you’re from Namwon and you’re direct. My parents never say what they mean—I guess they’re like people from Namwon then.” I looked in my rearview and returned to the driving lane.
“You’re more like your mother than you think. You don’t like conflict, Dahee,” he said. “You never have. You go out of your way to avoid it. That’s not direct. Channing just says what she wants.”
“See? But Channing is more from Namwon than I am. Both her parents were from there. My mom is not.”
Harabeoji laughed. Then he reached into his right jacket pocket and handed me a ginger candy. It was my favorite. I unwrapped it and popped it into my mouth.
We drove in easy silence for a while until he spoke again. “I brought some Korean squash for the Yuns and should bring something more,” he said. He told me he planned to stay with his friends in East End in their house while I was with Channing and the children she was babysitting.
“Your squash are the best gift,” I replied, but I knew he believed it wasn’t enough, and it was a good excuse for me to get clam cakes. Plus, we knew Channing didn’t cook, so picking up some food would serve multiple purposes.
The first clam cake stand we headed toward had closed. The second place, too. A bad omen I refused to acknowledge about the changes in the region.
I patted my grandfather’s hand as we stopped at a fruit stand, comforting myself as much as him. There would be time to get clam cakes, just not today. Nothing could bring down my mood. I told him the Yuns would be glad to have fresh peaches.
When we opened the car doors, the sound of seagulls, wind, and surf flooded our ears. We climbed out into the salty smell of the ocean and humid air. The Atlantic was pungent and thick with sea life. It had been a while since I’d been this close to it, and I had forgotten how the ocean could wrap the land with its briny arms.
