“I thought you only had two kids to take care of,” I said, pointing to the ceiling as the sound of running feet continued.
She nodded. “Yeah, they make as much noise as ten kids and eat like that many, too. Speaking of which—” She looked around the kitchen. “Did you bring any food?”
Harabeoji had taken a seat at a round table and looked over at us. “My friend Mr. Yun has invited us for a barbeque,” he said.
“Great,” Channing replied, and shouted upward to the boys to come downstairs. Then she texted me and Harabeoji the code for unlocking the front door so we could come and go as we wanted during our stay.
I wondered if I was wearing appropriate clothes for a cookout. Today I had on my standard set of a black skirt that landed just above my knee and a fitted sleeveless shirt. Should I change into shorts or something more casual to match Channing’s sweatpants?
The boys came running in again. Austin jumped into Channing’s arms, and she gave him a squeeze before setting him back down on the floor. His brother tugged at the hem of Channing’s shirt, and she said, “One second, Edison.” Then she asked Austin to direct me and Harabeoji to the garage so we could all ride in one car together. As we walked away, I heard her say in a soft voice to the older child, “We can call your mom and dad again tonight when we get back, if you want, I promise. I know you miss them, I get it. It’s okay.”
Through the open door that led into the garage, I spotted a white SUV that had been backed in. Austin asked Harabeoji to hoist him up so he could press the button to open the garage door when I caught up to them. Harabeoji complied, chuckling the way he did. Austin seemed proud of himself as the gear whirred and the dampness of the garage was suddenly dispelled by the sun and air that rushed in. Channing and Edison were right behind us, and helped us transfer Harabeoji’s bags from my car.
“I have a feeling Kent will show up,” Channing said to me as she climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Mr. Cho is coming, too?” Austin whined. “Does he have to?”
“Hey, he’s your parents’ friend. I thought you liked him,” Channing replied.
“He acts different around you than with Mom and Dad,” Edison offered, sliding into the back, and Austin agreed.
“Let’s talk about the food we’re going to eat,” Channing said, and hit the gas so hard the car shot forward out of the driveway. The children whooped in glee. My stomach lurched.
Chapter 4
On the way to the Yuns’, the boys howled and snapped at each other. I was stuck with them in the back seat, which made their antics worse. Lucky for me, Harabeoji cleared his throat, a low rumble that startled the boys into silence. He looked over his shoulder and asked if they knew the Korean story of two brothers who found gold.
“Were they like us?” Austin asked, and Harabeoji said they were. My grandfather went on to say there was a land with rivers and bridges, where gold was more valuable than paper money. “What do you mean paper?” Austin asked, and Edison told him it meant cash. Austin made a sound as if he understood, but I suspected he didn’t.
Harabeoji continued, “So in this land, fish were plentiful, and these brothers were in their small fishing boat. That was their favorite way to spend the day, to fish together. They took a break as they always did, ate lunch on the shore, and decided to walk over a bridge to eat wild grapes that had ripened on a vine on the other side. The brothers were nearly across when one of them saw something shiny in the water. He jumped in and emerged with two pieces of gold of equal size; they each fit in a palm of his hand.
“The man who had found the gold gave one to his brother, and then they sat on the banks of that river and talked about what they would do with their new fortune.”
As we shuttled across town, I looked at the houses we passed. A secret I’d never told anyone, even when Channing’s father in his sober moments talked about returning to East End someday, was that I searched real estate listings online for this area on occasion. I wished I could buy a house for us all to live together in this town.
The car slowed, and Channing warned that we were almost at our destination. My grandfather cleared his throat again, softer now, and continued, “So they got back into their boat and started to make their way home.”
“What kind of boat was it?” Edison asked.
“A rowboat,” my grandfather replied. “They took turns with the oars. While one was rowing, the other brother couldn’t help but stare at the gold that lay between them. If he had two pieces, he could buy even more boats. He didn’t like the feeling that grew inside of him. Still, he came up with a plan to steal his brother’s gold when his brother slept that night and run away. Before they reached the shore, however, he became so angry with himself for having such thoughts that before his brother could stop him, he reached over, grabbed both pieces of gold, and threw them overboard. They sank deep into the rushing water. The brother who was rowing stopped and asked, ‘Why did you do that?’ The brother who had thrown the gold into the water told him about his selfish thoughts. The one rowing admitted he had thought the same, and they felt relief and pride in each other for not giving in to greed and ruining their special bond as brothers.”
“Then what happened?” Edison said when my grandfather was quiet.
“They lived happily ever after,” Austin said.
“That’s only in American stories.” Edison’s words made me think of myself when I was his age.
“They live happily ever after in Korean ones, too,” Channing corrected. I was silent. That was Channing’s version. I knew there were many endings, but the boys seemed content and the timing was perfect. We pulled into the Yuns’ driveway.
There was a flurry of activity as soon as Channing parked the car. I looked down at my feet, suddenly self-conscious. Everyone shouted hello, and a thunderous voice joined in that sounded familiar. The children jumped down and disappeared, their voices blending—“I call first, no, I call first, no, I”—and they were off, running through the yard toward something I couldn’t see.
I pushed open my own door slowly and was hit with the smell of fresh-cut grass, birdsong in the evening air, the sharp bright turquoise front door of the maroon-and-gray Victorian house. In the side yard heading straight for my grandfather was a slender man with a narrow face, hitching up his red Bermuda shorts as he walked, fast for a man with such a shock of white hair. He wore long athletic tube socks with blue stripes and matching blue Crocs.
I had no idea who he was. When my sandals touched the asphalt driveway, I had such a sudden sense of déjà vu it took my breath away, and I had to hold the car door handle for balance.
Channing stood nearby. “You okay?” she asked.
I shook off the sensation of time twisting like a bow tie and said sure, flexing my fingers. “Here we go then,” she said, and patted the side of her sweatpants with the flat of her hand. That would stick with me later. As if she knew this was the beginning.
