The doorman buzzed them. The order had arrived in less than twenty minutes. The order was ninety-seven dollars.
“Sorry, babe.” He pulled out a credit card from his wallet, but the deliveryman wasn’t authorized to take them.
“You want to take back something, mister?” the deliveryman asked. “Up to you.”
Casey knew she’d ordered too much. She could’ve easily given back two of the cheaper entrées. Unu had said he had cash.
The deliveryman said, “You can call the restaurant and they take number, okay?”
Casey stared at the two bags of food. It was so much, but she wanted all of it—the beef, chicken, seafood combination, the tofu.
“Okay.” Casey marched to the phone, dialed the restaurant, and gave her credit card number over the phone. She’d been making such great progress paying it down in the past ten months or so and being disciplined with her spending. The woman from the restaurant asked to speak to the deliveryman. After he got off the phone, he put down the bags on the floor near the door and prepared to leave. Casey handed him ten bucks from her wallet for a tip.
“Thank you, missus,” he said, and left.
Casey was not a big eater. Most of the food would get put in the fridge or thrown away. Unu went to clear the dining table where they ate normally, but Casey picked up both bags and took them to the coffee table instead.
“Do you want dishes?” he asked, and she said no. She pulled out a pair of disposable chopsticks from the shopping bag and snapped its legs apart.
They ate watching the game.
13 PASSPORT
HER JOY WAS SONG.
When Leah Han was eight years old, her quiet mother died of tuberculosis. A year later, Leah received an overwhelmed stepmother prone to stomachaches. As a teenager, she found herself at the tail end of the shuffle of six older brothers and an impoverished minister father. At night, she made dinner for seven men and her infirm stepmother and spent Saturdays standing over a cold washbasin with waist-high heaps of laundry piled up beside her. For Leah, the church was her childhood embrace and God the Father her only comfort. Throughout her life, when she sang hymns, Leah felt the ecstatic communion of music with her Father, and when she sang a solo, the heavens seemed to open up and she felt the light of His praise showering softly upon her. It was at church where Leah felt most happy, almost girlish, and through sacred music, life prickled inside her, insisting on a divine love within her disappointed heart.
On Palm Sunday, as with each Sunday morning, two hours before services began, the sixty-member choir of the Woodside Pilgrim Church gathered to rehearse in the basement practice room—its floors laid with mismatched squares of red and black linoleum. But that morning, Mr. Jun, the seventy-eight-year-old choir director, took his place behind the lectern and took a few more minutes than usual to compose his thoughts. Next to him stood Dr. Charles Hong. To the choir’s dismay, the younger man had come to church wearing blue jeans and a crewneck sweater. To his credit, he wore a brown tweed jacket that was well cut, but it was not new. His clear skin gave him the look of a healthy middle-aged man who neither ate nor drank in excess.
“Brothers and sisters in Christ, this is Dr. Charles Moon-su Hong. He is your new director,” Mr. Jun said, his voice faltering and sad.
A murmur rose from the choir, then just as quickly, a hush fell as Dr. Jun continued to speak.
“As you know, I have had some health weaknesses.” Mr. Jun coughed for effect. Everyone knew about his prostate cancer treatments. He’d been talking about retirement for the past five years but was never able to find an adequate replacement. “And though it is sudden”—Mr. Jun paused again meaningfully—“I have decided to move to California after Easter to live with my son. I will get better medical attention there.” He smiled only when he said the words my son. Mr. Jun’s son was an anesthesiologist in Los Angeles and the bright light of Mr. Jun’s life.
“But enough about my poor health. There will be time enough for that later . .” The aging tenor with the resilient vanity of half a dozen men of greater accomplishments coughed again. He tried to sound more uplifting.
“Dr. Hong is the brilliant son of my genius mentor and friend, Dr. Joo-Jin Hong, of Seoul University’s Conservatory of Music. Dr. Hong is a graduate of Juilliard, where he received his doctorate in music.” Mr. Jun articulated the name of the school with reverence. “He is an accomplished pianist and organist, as well as a gifted voice teacher. He is also a composer and is currently writing a song cycle commissioned by the world-famous Lysander Quartet. Dr. Hong has a special love of choral music, which has led him to us.” Mr. Jun smiled. “What a tremendous blessing it is to have him work with us. I hope that you, my brothers and sisters in Christ, will love him and care for him as much as you have cared for me.” Mr. Jun, greatly influenced by the letters of St. Paul, often tried to speak like him.