Shelter Read Free

area and want to get acclimated for a year before they buy.”
    They do have a place to go, a place that makes sense financially, but it would wreck him to exercise the option, to explain why he had to. His parents live three miles away, just past the conservation land that separates their neighborhood from his own. As Gillian keeps pointing out, they have plenty of space, they could live there rent-free, and it’s what his parents wanted all along—to spend more time with their grandson. He just can’t imagine living any closer to them than he already does.
    â€œKyung’s parents own a six-bedroom up the hill,” Gillian says.
    â€œMarlboro Heights.” Gertie is impressed. “Well, this will be perfect, then. I’ll call my clients and schedule a showing the next time they’re in town.”
    The conversation is moving ahead without him. Kyung hasn’t even committed to the idea of renting yet, and already, Gertie and Gillian are making plans.
    â€œHow do you know these people will even want to rent our house? What if they don’t like it?”
    â€œWhat’s not to like?” Gertie stands up and walks to the kitchen window. “Second to Marlboro Heights, this is the best neighborhood in town. And look at this view. Trees as far as the eye can see.”
    Their backyard abuts twenty-six acres of pine and spruce. The locals on both sides of the conservation land refer to it as the “green wall.” It was the feature Gillian fell in love with when they first started house hunting, that sense of being surrounded. The three-bedroom colonial was at the top of their price range, but he could tell how much she wanted it, and he wanted it for her. Now their decision is ruining them. He shakes his head and glances at Gertie, who hasn’t said a word since she turned toward the window. Her eyebrows are angled sharply into a frown, and her mouth is open as if she means to speak, but can’t.
    â€œIs something wrong with the yard?” he asks.
    Slowly, she lifts her finger and taps on the glass. “I think that woman out there—I think she might be naked.”
    Kyung and Gillian gather around the window, craning to see what she does. Their backyard is empty except for the swing set and clothesline. The neighbors’ yards too—all empty. He looks out toward the overgrown field of weeds and wildflowers where their property line ends and the conservation land begins. Kyung’s eyesight isn’t what it used to be, but when he squints, he thinks he can see someone wading through the tall grass.
    â€œIs she actually naked?” he asks.
    Gillian leans in closer, fogging the glass with her breath. “Jesus, Kyung. I think that’s Mae.”
    He narrows his eyes, trying to sharpen the blur of lines and colors coming at them. The woman’s hair is black like his, but with the sun parked behind a cloud, he can’t make out her face. It’s not her, he thinks. She’s limping. Mae doesn’t have a limp.
    â€œYou two know this person?” Gertie asks.
    â€œI think it might be Kyung’s mother.”
    He continues staring as the woman approaches, holding one hand over her breasts, and the other over her privates. Neither hand can obscure what Kyung realizes is not an optical illusion, not some crude misunderstanding of distance and light. His mother is completely naked.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t understand.…” Half of him wants to tear out of the house, but the other half wants to salvage the meeting by making up excuses. “She hasn’t been well lately. She’s … forgetful, I guess you’d call it.”
    â€œMy mother had Alzheimer’s too,” Gertie says. “It’s a sad way of losing someone. Why don’t I leave you two alone now?” She collects her papers and puts them back in the folder. “When I hear from my clients, I’ll give