“Are you fucking her, too?” Casey asked him, wide-eyed, pouting her lips.
Kyung-ah coughed, then turned around. She’d never suspected that he might be involved with Leah’s daughter. The girl must have been twenty-six or -seven at most. It had dawned on her long ago that he might have girlfriends. They had never discussed such things. After all, she had a husband and children. That morning when she had showered, she had bent over and stared at the faint bumps behind her thighs in her closet mirror. She had worried about meeting him in the mornings, though it was the best time for her to get away （no one would miss her then, because her sister could open the store for her）， mainly because she feared the unflattering lighting of daytime. But their screwing had been so great that she’d figured it wasn’t important that she had some crow’s-feet, a little fat behind her thighs.
Her mother’s friend covered her chest with her left arm, her body rigid at the top of the stairs.
“Ahjumma,” Casey cried out. Her voice sounded almost cheerful. “Where are you going?”
“Uh-muh. . .” Kyung-ah’s left leg wouldn’t budge. This girl could ruin her life.
“No, don’t go,” Casey said. The amusement hadn’t left her expression, but her tone grew far more serious. “You should know something. He fucked my mother. Probably raped her, then he moved right on to you. Who knows who else he did in that choir.” Casey tidied the pile of sheet music on top of the dusty piano.
“What?” Kyung-ah exclaimed. She had misunderstood. “Was that your baby?” The blood from Leah’s miscarriage had covered her shoes. Kyung-ah had had to throw them out.
“You know, I wondered about that, too. My mother thinks it might have been. She thinks she should die because this son of a bitch date-raped her.”
“I didn’t. . . I didn’t do that.”
Casey stared hard at him. His mouth quivered almost unnoticeably. He was afraid. No matter what, she would hold this gaze. Her father had taught her this—to not look away—the intensity was worse than the pain that would surely come.
“Did she say I raped her?”
“No, worse. She thinks it’s all her fault. But you know what? She did tell me what happened, motherfucker.” Casey had lowered her voice, then laughed coldly, because that’s what he was. “Did you hear her say no? Did you ever hear her say no to you in that fucking car?” She wanted to shake him. “Did you hear the word no?”
His memory was perfect: Leah had hesitated; she’d said no, had asked him to please. That was the word she kept using—please. But she had responded to his kissing. And when he went inside her, she had been ready for him. Their connection had been beautiful and passionate. He would never have called it rape. And neither did she. They had made love; they had felt passion for each other.
“Did she say no?”
Charles nodded once. He had slept with married women before. He was an artist, and he possessed his own morality—a higher standard from that of the rest of the world. If any of the husbands had ever asked him if he was screwing their wives, Charles wouldn’t have denied it. But none of them ever did. Leah had hesitated and pushed him back a little, but she had come willingly to the backseat of the car with him—there had been no force, and he had accepted her pliant body like a sacrifice, a gift expressing her love, and he had reciprocated with his true desire. He would have taken her into his life. She could have left her husband, and he would have never abandoned her. All Kyung-ah wanted was a good, steady lay. This suited them both. Had he taken advantage of Leah? He had never thought of it that way. He had loved her. He cared for her still. It was out of respect that he was keeping his distance.
“So she said no, but you did it anyway. God in heaven, you are such a shit. She thinks that she deserves nothing short of death because of you.” She paused to breathe.
“This is what I want: You will quit that job. Go do whatever the hell you want, but you better never enter that church again. You will not take the choir away from her. And you stay away. Don’t test me, Charles.” Her arms stiffened against her body. If he’d come near her, she would have hit him.
Kyung-ah watched Casey silently from the stairs. Had the girl been in the third or fourth grade the first time she’d met Leah? The older daughter had always been so tall and flat-chested, with those long feet. Like Olive Oyl.
Casey faced her then, her chin lifting a little. “And I hope you know what you’re getting into.”