10. Chapter 10
About fifteen minutes later, Eunjae climbed out of the Hans” bright red Camaro feeling half exhilarated and half seasick. Despite becoming roughly 5% less hostile since the colored contacts reveal in the kitchen, Denny had still banned Eunjae from riding with his sister. He’d practically buckled him into the seat behind Mrs. Han before hopping into Jiyeon’s car himself.
The short trip swept by in a blur. Mrs. Han, while a careful driver, was also very well acquainted with her gas pedal. As for Mr. Han, he spent the ride assuring Eunjae that he was welcome in their home for as long as he needed, and that they would all work together to see about dispelling his amnesia. Why, anything could trigger the return of those missing memories. And until Eunjae remembered who he was, he would of course be safe with them. “No one will find you,” Mr. Han bellowed. “They’ll have to go through me first.”
“That’s right!” said Mrs. Han. “Joey worked security, you know. Retired now. Best in the business!”
Mr. Han twisted in his seat, eyes narrowed. “You got enemies, Ryan Kim?”
Eunjae thought about it. Solemnly he replied, “Yes.”
“Ha! I knew it. Well, don’t worry. You’re in good hands.”
“At least he remembers that much, yeah? Not like that boy in I Loved You. Better to know the bad guys might come after you, then you can be prepared. Set traps. That kind of thing.”
You couldn’t set a trap if your life depended on it, whispered the voice of Invisible Jaehwan. I’d better be the first one you call. Eunjae shivered involuntarily.
When he wasn’t listing examples of drama plots involving amnesia, Mr. Han was reminding his wife that going five or ten miles above the posted speed limit was perfectly acceptable. Mrs. Han would nod and agree, already going around fifteen miles over and beaming all the while. Within this woman’s petite frame burned the soul of a Formula One racer. Eunjae oscillated between dizziness and admiration. That had to be a superpower, being able to take every corner like it was a hairpin turn. It was better when he stopped trying to read the signs that kept blasting past his window at warp speed. Thrilling, even.
Upon arrival, Mr. and Mrs. Han led the way to a small, two-story apartment complex. Eunjae followed them on wobbly legs. The whole building was painted in shades of forest green — the wooden stairs, the railings, all the siding and trim. Trees extended their branches over the sidewalk and reached for the second floor balconies, burgeoning with flowers. Everywhere he looked, there was something growing, blooming, bursting with life: crowded window boxes, herbs frothing out of jars, a row of tomato plants in tin coffee cans. Someone’s bougainvillea scattered drifts of papery fuchsia blossoms across a parking lot the size of a postage stamp.
There was a light in all the windows but one. He heard wind chimes stirring in the soft breeze, at least two different sets of them judging by the timbre and pitch. A sign beneath the largest of the flowering trees read Ivy Lane Apartments.
Eunjae felt for the disposable camera in the bag slung across his chest. It was much too dark to take a decent picture, so he had to make do with memorizing as much of the scene as possible. Something to save for later, to warm himself when the world felt cold.
Mrs. Han backtracked for the sole purpose of resting a guiding hand on Eunjae’s back, moving him along as if he might get lost again between the car and their front door.
“Home!” she announced. “Come, come. Yeonnie parks on the street. You can wait for her inside.”