Read Online Shelter by Jung Yun - Free Book Online Page A

papers, three radio channels, seven police cruisers.
    â€œKyung…,” Gillian says quietly. “I don’t think we should be here right now.”
    He looks in his rearview mirror. There’s another van right behind him. “I can’t back up.”
    â€œSo keep going. Just get us out of here.”
    Kyung realizes that most of the people on the sidewalk aren’t neighbors at all. They’re reporters and cameramen. The slower he drives, the longer they look at him, their expressions curious, as if he’s the quote or story they’ve been waiting for.
    â€œThis isn’t right,” he says.
    The front door to his parents’ house has a strip of yellow hazard tape stretched across it on the diagonal. The driveway is blocked off with orange and white police barricades.
    â€œIs Grandpa here?”
    â€œNo, honey. Grandpa’s not here. We’re going to see Grandpa now.” Gillian puts her hand on Kyung’s leg. “Can we just go to my dad’s now?”
    â€œAren’t there supposed to be privacy laws for rape victims?”
    â€œPlease don’t say that word. Not in the car.”
    â€œBut how did they get this address?”
    â€œKyung, I don’t know. Just keep going.”
    On the corner, his parents’ next-door neighbors are talking to a reporter on camera. The elderly Steiners stand stoop-shouldered and frail, slight as scarecrows from a distance. Mr. Steiner has his arm wrapped around his wife. Both of them keep shaking their heads.
    â€œGo faster,” Gillian says. “Now . ”
    He takes the long way back to where they started and hits traffic downtown. Three different churches are all letting out at the same time. Kyung rolls down his window as the parishioners cross the street, oblivious to the line of cars stuck at the intersection. The women are wearing summery dresses, some with hats and jewelry. All of the men are in suits. The children look like the adults who brought them, neat and shined up and glad to see the sun. Kyung taps his horn meekly. The sound is loud enough to turn people’s heads, but not long enough to make them walk any faster.
    â€œNow you’re in a hurry?” Gillian asks.
    â€œI just want to get there.”
    â€œWell, that’s a first.”
    Connie and Tim live in the Flats, a neighborhood near the river that was developed in the ’50s. The lots are small, divided and subdivided into narrow rectangles, built up with sad little ranches and Capes. After Tim’s divorce, he moved in with Connie to save money for a place of his own. That was nearly ten years ago. No one ever talks about it—how the arrangement was supposed to be temporary, but now has the look and feel of something permanent. The two-bedroom bungalow they share is too small for them both. Everything is big inside. Big furniture, big appliances, big men squeezing around each other in the narrow spaces in between.
    As they step into the house, Kyung can’t help but notice the television set—a seventy-inch monster connected to every possible electronic device. In front of it are two overstuffed reclining chairs with a cup holder in each armrest. This is where they usually find Connie and Tim spending their off-hours, watching baseball or the History Channel, but strangely, the screen is black now, and the chairs are empty. Another first.
    â€œAnyone home?” Gillian calls out.
    The toilet in the bathroom flushes, and Connie appears, struggling with the zipper on his pants. “Oh, I didn’t hear you come in.”
    Ethan runs straight for him, hugging his thick leg.
    â€œYou’re like a boa constrictor, aren’t you?”
    â€œWhat’s that?”
    â€œIt’s a snake.” Connie picks him up, pinning his arms to his sides. “It’s one of those snakes that squeezes the air out of you. Like this, see?”
    Ethan lets out a squeal, and the look on his face—a pure,