Page 60 of Show Off

I know he’s fishing, and I’m too tired to hold my cards to my chest. “It’s new,” I say carefully. “It’s not really anything yet.”

“Hmm.” He carries the tray of snacks to the living room, and I follow behind with both glasses and the bottle tucked under one arm. As soon as we sit, he faces me. “I understand you want to share your father’s secret on television.”

My jaw clenches around the shrimp cracker I’ve just shoved in my mouth. “That’s correct.”

He chews in silence for a bit. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Why?”

Swirling his wine, he looks in the glass like the answer might be floating there. “Let sleeping dogs lie, Dal.”

A snort slips out before I can stop it. “You’re the one who came here. Who flew all this way just to tell us.”

“You had a right to know,” he insists. “To understand you weren’t to blame.”

“And you don’t think the public has a right to the full story?” When he starts to argue, I hold out a hand. “In one form or another, Ji-Hoon and I have been on television since we were babies. The public knew us before we could walk. Since Ji-Hooncouldstill walk.”

“I know that, joka.” The sharpness in his voice jars me so much that I almost miss his next words. “Do you think I don’t know that?” He lets out a long, ragged breath. “Some information is meant to stay private. For families to keep to themselves.”

Another snort lurches out of me. “You should have thought of that before you turned Ji-Hoon’s recovery into a televised circus.”

When he flinches, I know I’ve struck a nerve. In all these years, I’ve never said those words to him. Maybe I should have.

After a long pause, he sighs. “You’re right that I could have handled things better. I’d just lost my brother. I’d lost my—” His voice squeezes tight like his air’s been cut off. “I’d lost my business partner. My best friend since we were born.”

My heart balls up like a fist as my hands do the same. I’m torn between feeling sorry for him and…well, feeling sorry forme. For my brother, who got the lousiest deal of all. “Ji-Hoon and I lost our parents,” I point out. “We both lost much more than that. We understand pain.”

He winces and looks away. “I did my best,” he says softly. “Did I make the right choices? Perhaps not. But I tried to find comfort where I could for you boys.” His lips press together in a thin, pale line. “For myself.”

The pain in his eyes lets my anger leak slowly from my limbs. I owe Korain something more than my anger. “You tried,” I murmur. “We were all just doing the best we could.”

“Yes.” He looks down at the chip in his hand. “That’s right.”

I let those words linger, wondering where we go from here. It feels like we’re at an impasse. “Are you familiar with the Christopher Reeve Foundation?”

My uncle blinks, digesting the subject change. “A charity for individuals living with paralysis?”

“Yes.” I’m not surprised he knows. “Founded in honor of the man who played Superman in the eighties films. He was paralyzed in a horseback riding accident.” I set down my wineglass as Mouse ambles over and nudges my hand to pet her. “Care to guess how many donations have been made in Ji-Hoon’s name sinceFresh Start at Juniper Ridgestarted airing on television?”

My Uncle looks up at the ceiling. I’m not sure if he’s thinking or using gravity to hold back tears. “Many, I presume?”

“Many.” There’s the understatement of the year. “More than a quarter of a million dollars since the show was first broadcast.”

Korain hides his surprise, but I still see it. “And you believe sharing your father’s ailment could help raise awareness for Parkinson’s.”

“Yes.” That didn’t dawn on me until an hour ago, but it’s crossed my mind. “Just one of many potential benefits of being truthful.”

He considers that, then glances away. “Did it occur to you that your father had reasons for keeping his secret?”

“Don’t most people?”

Korain doesn’t answer right away. “You understand privacy, joka.”

His meaning hits me right in the chest. “You mean when Cherri and I split up?” I sure as hell didn’t get much privacy then. “I’m pissed that she used me, but?—”

“Not Cherri,” he says softly. “Your brother. He told me what happened the last time he had an infection.”

I stare at my uncle, ready to argue. To tell him that’s different.

---