Casey moved toward the edge of the roof. On its perimeter, there were boxes of white impatiens well tended to by the building’s gardening committee. Although it was the first week of August, she felt a mild breeze in the air. The view—its grid of unshaded windows wasn’t much different from the one in Elmhurst—was of small kitchens, dimpled glass obscuring bathrooms, L-shaped living rooms, and unmade beds in darkened chambers. It was peaceful to smoke here, leaning against the waist-high parapet. Jay used to joke that she liked roofs because that’s where she parked her Wonder Woman glass plane. Casey allowed herself another cigarette. She tried to light it, but the wind blew north; she cupped the flame of her paper match, and when she glanced up, she saw an Asian man at a window studying her.
He was thin, around her height, wearing a dark two-button suit, a white shirt, and a medium-width purple necktie. She could make out his face: rounded nose, high cheekbones, black eyes tapered sharply at the ends, and softly arched eyebrows. She stared back at him and he smiled at her; then, suddenly feeling shy, she turned to take another drag of smoke. When she looked for him again, he was gone. After the tobacco was spent, she stubbed out the light and went downstairs.
Casey told Ella she’d go to church after all.
“Are you sure?” Ella asked, not knowing what she should do now. Ted had just called her. It turned out that the night before, Jay Currie had been staffed on a deal Ted was working on, and when they were finally introduced, Ted had blurted out that he knew Casey Han. “Is she all right?” Jay had asked him anxiously. Ted had ended up telling him where she was staying. Just like that. Ella had scolded him, saying, “How could you?” But he’d replied, “At least I didn’t tell him that she works on two.” He’d laughed out loud—in her mind, she could still hear his chortle—and she’d had to resist the impulse to hang up on him. She’d never done that before, but at that moment, it had seemed more than appropriate.
Ted was now on his way to pick her up for church. Flustered, Ella put on her shoes.
“Maybe you’re tired after your first week of work. Would you prefer to go next Sunday?” Ella said.
“Nope. I’m all yours,” Casey replied. “Let’s go worship in the house of the Lord.” She laughed, then shouted, “Hallelujah!” She felt cheery all of a sudden.
Ella smiled perfunctorily, feeling guilty, as if somehow this were all her fault.
“You think Ted will buy me an expensive brunch?” Casey put her hands on her hips.
“Yes.” Ella nodded, head bobbing like a doll’s. “Anything you want.”
The doorman buzzed. Ted Kim was in the lobby.
When they got downstairs and met him, Ted kissed Ella’s stiffening cheeks and returned Casey’s surface pleasantries. They walked to church, not five blocks away, and Ella chattered about Unu to Casey. At the church entrance, Ted put his hand on Ella’s back and she moved away from his hand.
Ushers directed them upstairs to balcony seating because the main auditorium was full. The church leased a college hall for worship because it couldn’t handle the growing number of attendees. Ted was unimpressed by the shabby city college building. There were no pew hymnals or Bibles, and the service was printed on a flimsy staple-bound pamphlet. He would’ve preferred Fifth Avenue Presbyterian, which looked like a real church, but Ella was devoted to Dr. Benjamin, and even he, as a person who had hated Sunday school in Anchorage, had to admit that he paid attention to Benjamin’s intelligent sermons and on occasion found himself reflecting on them. Ted believed that church was a good idea for a well-governed society, and he didn’t trust anyone who didn’t believe in God.
Casey coming to church had surprised him. He’d pegged her as a textbook atheist—one of those know-it-alls who had the blind faith to explain the world according to scientific theories that were disproved every day yet were unable to believe in the things they weren’t smart enough to rationalize. Ted, who had no great faith in God or Jesus, could not believe in the randomness of chance, and he was arrogant enough to refuse fish or ape ancestors. If creationism sounded absurd, evolutionism insulted his intelligence, too. As much as Ted believed in hard work and self-determination, he also believed in a kind of guided order outside of man—an Adam Smith invisible hand kind of fate. But in general, he avoided discussions about religion. There was no way to win them anyway, he thought, why bother. Whichever side you fell on, you had to conclude with the statement “I believe. . .” rather than “I know.” The minister called them to say the prayer that Christ had taught them to say, and Ted heard Casey recite it from memory, and he could hear some feeling.