“Not good for Jiyong-shi,” Daesung muttered out his frustration, shaking his head. “She says, ‘clean this up, change the bed, now leave’. Everything is not good for Jiyong-shi.”

“Daesung-ie, will you stop carrying on?” Skyler plucked a snow pea out of the salad he was making and munched on it.

“You don’t have to expound on Ye-seul-shi’s personality flaws to me. She must be a descendant of Kim Jong-un.”

Daesung’s eyes widened before he started laughing hysterically.

“Seriously Daesung-ie, it wasn’t intended as a joke. I’m dead serious.”

Sky had known the instant she opened the door to Ye-seul-shi that her arrival meant bad news for all of them. Maybe she was being unfair in her judgment, but she didn’t think so. The woman had been under the roof for only a few hours and had already caused discord.

After Daesung had carried the wet sheets downstairs and Skyler had waited long enough for Jiyong and Ye-seul-shi to have a tender reunion, she knocked on his bedroom door. It was Ye-seul who called out, “Come in.”

For the first time since Skyler’s arrival, Jiyong’s room resembled a sickroom. The shutters on the windows had been drawn together and closed, blocking out the scenery and all but the most tenacious slits of sunlight. Instead of the rock music that he and Sky preferred to have blaring, chamber music was weakly wafting from the stereo speakers. The funky poster she had brought for him on her shopping expedition and placed on the wall opposite his bed had been taken down. The atmosphere was funereal.

“I’d better get a Seeing Eye dog if I’m ging to find my patient in all this gloom,” she quipped as she made her way towards the bed.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Having reached the side of his bed, she saw that Jiyong was reclining against his pillow with an ice bag sitting on his forehead.

“Jiyong-ie is not feeling well,” Ye-seul materialized out of the shadows like a phantom.

“That’s to be expected. He got stinking drunk last night. He’s got a hangover which a Bloody Mary and several aspirin would fix right up.”

“I don’t believe he should be given any medication until we’ve checked with his physicians.”

“Medication! I’m talking about three measly aspirin!”

“Sky, please,” Jiyong groaned. “Lower your voice to a shrill at least.”

She leaned over him. “Would you kindly tell me what’s going on down here? It’s time for your session and you’re playing a deathbed scene right out of some third-rate Shakespeare’s play.”

Jiyong had the audacity to cover his face with his hands and closed his fingers around his head.

“Oh God, my head is coming off.”

“Too bad, Dragon. It’s time for your exercises.”

Ye-seul wedged herself between Skyler and the bed. “Surely you don’t expect a man in pain to go through therapy.”

“For your information, Han Ye-whatever, most of my patients are in pain. I help relieve their pain. At least in the long run I do. Now would you please excuse my patient and me. We’ve got work to do.”

“Obviously you’ve had limited experience in your chosen field and are overzealous in carrying out your responsibilities.”

Skyler gritted her teeth.

“I’m a professional who has had vast experience, both with patients and with getting around their meddlesome friends and relatives and lovers who might mean well, but who don’t know what the hell they’re talking about when it comes to physical therapy.”

“You boast of being a professional but your attire and conduct might make one wonder, wouldn’t it?”

“And one might find oneself getting packed off to the nearest motel if one doesn’t haul one’s elegant out of my way. Jiyong,” Skyler snapped, “tell her to get lost until after your session.”

Wearily he removed the ice bag from his forehead. He gazed back and forth between the women but his eyes finally settled on Skyler.
 

“I really don’t feel well, Sky. Couldn’t we skip it until after lunch?”

Blood surged through her veins in proportion to her mounting anger. She gave him a look of undiluted contempt, ignoring Ye-seul’s smug expression and stormed out, rattling every pane of glass in the house when she slammed the door behind her. Unknowingly, Jiyong’s let out a sliver of a smile upon her departure.

Skyler, now sitting in the kitchen waiting for noontime to roll around, she still shook with rage every time she replayed the scene in her head. Poor Daesung had to repeat what he’d said several times before he roused her.

“I’m sorry, what did you say Daesung-ie?”

“Lunch is ready, Sky-shi.”

“Good. I’ll go call them.”

“That won’t be necessary, Skyler-shi,” Ye-seul said from the doorway. I’ve come down for a tray. Yong-ie prefers to eat in his room.”

“Well, what Yong-ie prefers and what Yong-ie is going to do are two different things,” Skyler said tightly as she came to her feet and faced the other woman.

“He’s been eating his meals downstairs for weeks. He hasn’t had a tray taken to him sine he learned to get in his wheelchair. He needs the exercise. He needs to be up and moving about on his own. And dammit, he’s not going to lie up there and let you spoon-feed him lunch and sympathy.”

“Not that I’m questioning your expertise,”

“Like hell you’re not!”

“About Yong-ie seems completely done it. I intend to call Dr. TOP this afternoon and ask him what he thinks Yong-ie needs. Daesung, why aren’t you preparing that tray?”

“Er, Skyler says no.”

“Oh, fix that stupid tray,” Skyler said angrily and marched past Ye-seul out of the room.