17
Sunday After
The seller’s broker had recommended installing blackout shades for the master bedroom, but there’d been no time for that. The bedroom faced east, and on Sunday morning, the enormous California sun flooded the room with a glorious, incandescent light.
After the family had come home from the burial the previous evening, John had showered and gone straight to bed. Having slept deeply, he wasn’t tired, but he didn’t want to rise.
As usual, the pillow next to him lay untouched, and for a moment, he thought Helen was asleep downstairs in the living room in the rented hospital bed.
But her body was resting in a plot at Westminster. Church services were in a few hours. Before bed, he’d hung up his black suit and tie on the hook by the master bath. He wouldn’t have to dress in his Shrimp Castle uniform this morning.
Helen Hejin Cho
October 10, 1949–December 29, 2000
Beloved Wife, Mother, Sister
The funeral director had asked for an inscription, saying the headstone would take months to fabricate and install. If there was anything the family wanted to add, please let him know, he’d said. Fifty-one years old. What could he add?
There was no one he’d ever loved more than Helen, and there’d be no one else.
A week ago, she’d said to him, “You are my dearest friend. Please be well and take care of our children. If the Lord will allow it, I’ll do everything, everything I can to watch over you.”
John believed in God and Helen. He didn’t feel at peace, however.
He was angry. If he could, he would have lodged a complaint against heaven that his angel had been taken from him too soon.
What could he add to the headstone? “Stolen.” “Cheated.” “Denied.” They’d deserved many more years together.
His sole consolation was that she was out of pain. That was all.
He rose, shook out the comforter, and smoothed it over the queen-size mattress.
In the kitchen, Sonya was drinking coffee. The children were still asleep.
“Would you like breakfast? You didn’t eat yesterday.”
Sonya’s large brown eyes were still swollen. Helen’s blue apron covered her black dress with a white collar. She wore no jewelry except for a thin gold wedding band.
John poured himself a cup of coffee and sat down.
“Sister, I’m so grateful to you for having been here. For all of us. I know how much it meant to my wife. She looked up to you more than anyone else.”
Sonya shook her head and waved her hands in denial, wanting him to stop. She couldn’t cry anymore or bear to think of Helen’s goodness, which she had always wanted to protect. She swallowed and sat down at the table.
“I’ll close on Mrs. Kwon’s nail salon next week. Everything happened sooner than expected. She’ll run it for six more months and train the new manager.” She looked at John. “I need to ask you for something.”
“Anything.”
“Would you manage the nail salon? It’s a profitable business and the financials are good, but there’s a lot to do. When I first heard about Mrs. Kwon’s business, I’d imagined that Helen and I could run it together one day.”
“What? Why would you—”
He paused when Sonya looked away, not wanting to answer.
“After the closing, I need to return to Seoul, but I’ll be back.”
John shook his head. “You have to get back to your family. You’ve already given up so much for us.”
“I don’t think I can live in Seoul much longer.”
“What about your family?”
“I don’t want to live the way I do anymore. I’ll speak to my sons.”
John didn’t understand. Helen had said that Sonya wasn’t happy with her husband, but it wasn’t like her to complain.
“After the closing, I’d like you to take over and be trained by Mrs. Kwon, and I’ll return as soon as I can. I thought of asking Bo or Mido, but I thought you might like this work. Also, I can pay you more than what you make at Shrimp Castle.”
Sonya studied his face. She knew it would be difficult for him to leave Shrimp Castle, not because he enjoyed the work, but because he’d feel loyal to Nari, who had helped them from the beginning.
Being a manager at Rose Salon would be complicated, but easier than frying fish, lifting boxes, and cleaning a kitchen six days a week.
He’d oversee at least two dozen nail technicians and mind the financials.
“I thought if you became my partner, then we can split the net receipts in half. It’s a solid business with an excellent location in Buena Park, and even after taxes, I think you could make a weekly salary of $1,800.
At the end of the year, we can see how things are.
The accountant said we can do a quarterly profit sharing and a year-end bonus, but to keep the salary at a lower level. ”
John held his coffee mug with his dry brown hands.
When he worked in an office, they had been smooth and well cared for.
After almost three years at Shrimp Castle, his hands and forearms were covered in oil splatter burns.
In the first few months, he’d cut his left index finger with a cleaver, requiring stitches and a tetanus shot.
He raised his battered, scarred hands, fingers splayed out, for Sonya to see. She smiled weakly, understanding.
“I’ve never been inside a nail salon.”
“You’d never fried fish, either.”
It was hard for John to imagine working at a nail salon, where people decorated their hands and had their feet scrubbed by others.
Of course he could do the job, but he worried about what would happen to Yun’s mother, who depended on him.
Nari was a soft woman who had become nervous from the disappointments of life, and she had helped his family.
At a cost to herself, Nari had given him a generous salary in cash, but this offer he had to accept.
Sonya had never asked him for anything. More than anyone else, he was in her debt.
“Do you need time?”
“I’ll tell Yun’s mother today. She’ll need to find a replacement right away. Do you think I can have two weeks?”
At church, the Koh family sat in their usual pew, aware of Helen’s absence. Sonya was there, as well as DH, who was often away at school. After services, they went downstairs to the Patio for lunch, and many of the same people they’d seen the day before at the funeral came by to say hello.
A few mothers with college-age daughters inspected DH.
They knew he’d gone to Yale as a soccer player and was now a 1L at Columbia.
Though mournful and considerate, the mothers still could not seem to control themselves.
Already two had stopped by and asked about DH, and Sonya had diverted them, saying that her nephew had no time for girlfriends because of the demands of law school.
The women bowed to the family and smiled at DH before leaving.
DH frowned, aware that no one was asking about Bo. It would have made more sense to inquire about him since he was older.
“No thanks, man,” Bo said to his brother. “I’m fine. Not in the market. I guess this is just what happens to Ivy League lawyers.”
DH laughed and turned to his aunt. “Are our cousins getting pressure to marry?”
“Too young, and girls don’t want to get married in Korea.”
“Even to your sons?” Mido asked. “They’re so nice.”
“And good-looking,” Sonya added with a smile. The Chairman and her husband had strong opinions about whom the boys would marry. The brides had to come from established families, preferably well connected in media and government.
“I’m done,” Bo said, picking up his empty tray.
“Can I get a ride to Fortress?” Mido asked.
“Sure. I have a student in the afternoon, but I can go now.”
DH raised his hand. “And me?” He sounded plaintive, much younger than usual. It felt like the old days, when the three of them had moved as a unit.
Bo glanced at their father, still eating his bibimbap.
“You kids can go. I’ll see you at home. I need to speak with Yun’s mother.”
“How will you get home?” Bo asked.
“We’ll get a ride,” Sonya said.
On Sundays, parishioners filled the airy café across the street from Gospel Presbyterian. Along the wall, churchgoers of all ages, some still clutching programs, gathered along the banquettes upholstered in yellow and green vinyl.
In groups of three and four, teenagers from youth assembly sat as far away as they could from the clusters of grandmothers in print dresses. Retirees sat close to each other and nodded with enthusiasm while taking turns telling amusing stories.
Sonya led John and Nari to one of the empty tables in the back. Once seated, John went to buy their coffee. At church, hot drinks were free, so he’d never frequented the café before.
He was relieved that Sonya had wanted to come and talk with Nari as well. His head felt thick and muddled. He knew he wanted to work for his sister-in-law but was worried about how to tell Nari. In the past few years, he had lost some confidence in his own judgment.
Before getting fired from HRI, John had been the sort of man who believed that the world was a reasonable place. He wasn’t naive, but he could not have expected a person like Danbi to exist or an old friend like Shin to change so completely.
The server placed John’s coffee order on the counter.
“Sir? Sir?” the young woman behind the counter repeated.
“Oh.” John remembered himself and paid for the coffee, surprised by how expensive it was.
Nari had already wiped down the table with a napkin, and when John placed the tray down, she smiled gently at him.
“I should have ordered cake. I wasn’t thinking,” he said.
“I’m not hungry,” Sonya said, glancing at Nari, who liked sweets but was always watching her weight.
“No cake,” Nari said.
For a while, they spoke about the funeral, which had been well attended. John could not remember it clearly. If it hadn’t been for the funeral book and all the condolence cards, he wouldn’t have really known who’d come to pay respects. Shin had come—thankfully, alone.
“I’m buying Mrs. Kwon’s Rose Salon,” Sonya told Nari. “I’ve asked my brother-in-law to be the manager.”
Nari opened her mouth. “Oh, oh,” she murmured.
John looked at Nari with concern.
“We’re so grateful to you for everything you’ve done for our family. I don’t know how we would’ve survived,” John said. Nari was about to cry, and she covered her mouth with her hands.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“No, you did so much. My wife and I received so much of your help. I will spend the rest of my life paying back our debts to you and my sister-in-law.”
Sonya put a hand on Nari’s arm. “I apologize for this inconvenience. I’ve been asking around to find you another person for Shrimp Castle.”
“I can stay for another two weeks if you need, unless you find someone else sooner,” John said. He felt terrible. “I don’t want to burden you with another problem. If we can find someone right away, I’ll still help to train him.”
Nari stopped him. “I’ve wanted to close for some time.
After my husband left, Yun and I talked about doing something else.
If you hadn’t helped us at Castle, I would’ve been forced to sell much faster.
The promissory note is almost paid off now, and I own the business.
I have three more years on the lease. I can sell the store.
Lion’s brother told me I could get a decent price on it.
My husband needs the money. He wrote me not long ago, but I didn’t know what to do. ”
“But your store is doing well,” Sonya said. “Why would you sell it?”
“My back and knees hurt all the time. I’m too old for this. I’d prefer work where I can sit.”
John felt bad for her. He had never wanted his wife to work behind the counter, either.
Helen hadn’t complained when she was at her sickest, until it was too late.
He blamed himself for her needing to work the way she had.
If he’d made more money or knew anything about investing, then she wouldn’t have had to work so hard.
Perhaps she wouldn’t have died, he thought.
“Maybe you can work for me, then,” Sonya said. “It would be easier work than Shrimp Castle. You don’t have to do the nails. You could book appointments and deal with the schedules for the technicians.”
“I don’t know,” Nari said. “I’m not as clever as you and your sister. My English is not as—”
“I’m sure you can learn how to handle appointments. Also, my brother-in-law will be there, too.”
“He went to the best college and worked for a big company—”
“Let’s not disagree,” Sonya said, glancing at John, who looked lost. “You would be helping our family again. I’d worry less if I knew that you and my brother-in-law were managing the salon together.”
John smiled gently. He was seven months younger than Sonya but looked much older, having aged years in a matter of months.