“Marcy took the liberty of feeding them while you were away.”
Kyung recognizes the voice before he turns to see his department chair standing in the open doorway.
“Oh. I’ll have to thank her for doing that.”
Although he doesn’t like the idea of Craig’s secretary letting herself into his office, he’s not in a position to complain. His absence has been noted — that much is clear — and he struggles to come up with a reason for it.
“It’s early,” Kyung observes. “You’re here early, I mean.”
Craig walks in and puts his gym bag on the floor. Tucked in the outer pocket is a tennis racket. “My rec league gets together before work. I just played two sets.”
“Did you win?”
He runs his fingers through his damp hair and smiles weakly. “Yes, but not by much.”
At six feet six, Craig is all arms and legs. It’s hard to imagine him playing a sport like tennis, with a racket that extends his reach even farther, but the man is constantly in motion. He walks to work every day, swims laps in the pool during lunch, does hundred-mile bike races on the weekends. At fifty, he probably does more exercise in a week than Kyung does all year.
“It’s getting harder and harder to beat him, though.” Craig opens his bag and takes out a bottle of ibuprofen, swallowing a pair of pills dry. “Don’t tell Steve you saw me taking these. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Kyung doesn’t know which of the many Steves in their acquaintance he’s referring to, but right now he doesn’t care. He just wants a chance to think. In retrospect, he knows he should have handled things differently from the start. He should have called or e-mailed to say he was taking time off to handle something personal. Had he made an effort to do this, his reentry would be so much easier now, but after disappearing for nearly five weeks without so much as a word, he knows he doesn’t deserve easy.
“I honestly didn’t expect to see you here, Kyung.”
“Yes, well…”
He doesn’t know what he’s doing here either. He couldn’t work even if he wanted to. His family left for the Cape earlier this morning. Kyung dreaded the idea of going with them, so much so that he lied — to his parents, to Connie, even to Gillian. He said his department chair called, upset that he hadn’t spent any time in the office all summer. He said he needed to show his face at work and he’d join them on the Cape the following day. What he couldn’t say was the truth — that he didn’t want to sit in a car with all of them, trapped on a drive that might take two hours or six, depending on traffic.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around for so long. I’ve had some personal things going on?” The end of his sentence lifts into a question, as if to test whether such a vague explanation will suffice.
“Kyung, I know what happened. I’m not even sure what to say about it. It’s just … horrible. Unbelievable.”
He blinks for a second. “How?”
The only other chair in his office is covered with books, so Craig takes a seat on the edge of the desk. “You know how this place is.” He looks down at his wrist, at the pale white strip of skin where his watch should be. “Faculty are nothing more than a bunch of gossips. It doesn’t take long for news to travel from the engineering building to this one.”
“I see.”
Jin never mentioned telling anyone in his department. Kyung is surprised that he did. His father should have known how quickly the word would spread, but maybe he didn’t care. Maybe he knew there was no point trying to hide what had happened to him, that some secrets would be too hard to keep.
“So how are your parents doing? How are you?”
“We’re all right, considering.”
“Is there anything you need?”
What he needs is for Craig to leave. The area around his desk is tight enough without someone sitting on top of him like this. He turns on his monitor, hopeful that Craig will take the hint and go away.
“Thanks for asking, but I’m fine. I think I just need to — refocus.”
Craig reaches over and turns off the monitor just as the desktop pattern begins to appear. “Shouldn’t you be with your family right now? Whatever you’re working on can wait.”
Kyung blinks again, staring at the black screen. He can’t even remember what he was working on before all of this happened. “I probably have a thousand e-mails to catch up on.”
“Given the circumstances, I’m sure people will understand if they don’t hear from you for a while.”
“So everyone in the department knows?”
Craig nods. “I think so. But I haven’t made any announcements about it, if that’s what you’re asking. Obviously, I wouldn’t do that.”
As far as department chairs go, Craig is actually a good one. He’s honest and organized. He knows the names of everyone’s spouses and kids by heart. At five o’clock, he always encourages the workaholics to go home, have a life. If Gillian or his parents knew Craig better, they never would have left for the Cape without him. They would have realized that Craig Tunney doesn’t make irate phone calls demanding that his faculty do this or that.
Kyung reaches for his monitor again. “I’ve been gone too long. I can’t just leave.”
“Yes, you can. I’m telling you to. Think about it, Kyung. In five years, it’s not going to matter if you finish an article now or a month from now. But your family, the time you spend together this summer — that’s going to make a difference.”
Suddenly, the dread that Kyung felt while driving to campus, parking in front of the building, taking the elevator up to his office — all of it dissipates, replaced by an unfamiliar resolve to stay where he is. He understands what Craig is saying — agrees with it, even — but the weight of his responsibility keeps him anchored to his seat.
“What’s the matter? You don’t look well.”
“I don’t?”
“No, you’re really pale. Have you eaten?”
“Not yet. But I will, though.”
Craig taps him on the shoulder. “Come on. Get up.”
Kyung remains seated, not certain what would be worse — to refuse or to do as he’s told.
“Let’s go get some breakfast.”
“But—”
“If you come to the cafeteria and have breakfast with me, I’ll stop pestering you. I promise.”
It’s hard to be annoyed with Craig, who’s always been kind to him, perhaps even kinder than he should be. But as they walk across the quad, Kyung feels something bubbling up to the surface, prickly and hot under his skin. All he wants to do is be alone. He wishes everyone would let him.
“You didn’t miss anything while you were gone,” Craig says. He looks at Kyung sideways, as if to examine him without being noticed.
“I appreciate what you’re trying to—”
“I’m serious. You know how dead this place is during the summer. I mean, look at it.”
The steps to the Campus Center, which are usually teeming with students during the school year, are empty except for a pair of giant stone planters. Even the cafeteria is quiet enough to hear the clink of glasses and plates. Craig hands him a green plastic tray as they enter, and heads off toward the omelet line. Kyung looks around, worried that he might run into someone he knows, but the only other people in the cafeteria are wearing name tags. They look like conference attendees, not colleagues.