Page 57 of The Way Back Home

I put the truck in gear and pull out, turning hard onto the main road.

The back roads out of Haemok are dark and winding, no streetlights once you pass the last row of houses. The headlights carve through the black, catching the edges of ditches and low stone walls, scrub pines whipping past. I keep my foot pressed down on the gas, the speedometer creeping higher than I’ve ever taken this truck, Mrs. Nam’s old engine rattling in protest.

The road dips and curves and I grip the wheel tighter, my knuckles white, my jaw set. Beside me I can hear Nuri’s breathing shallowly with thin hurt sounds, and Ryowoon’s voice.

“You’re alright,” he’s saying, barely above a murmur. I glance sideways and see him bent over her, one hand cradling her head, the other stroking down the length of her back, avoiding the worst of the wounds. His face is close to hers, his forehead nearly touching her muzzle. “You’re gonna be fine, Nuri. You hear me? You’re tough, you’re the toughest girl I know.”

Nuri whines, a thin warble that trails off.

“I know,” Ryowoon whispers. “I know it hurts. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

I stare at the road and drive faster.

The vet clinic in Yeonsan is a small, single-story building with a painted sign out front that I almost miss in the dark. I pull the truck up onto the sidewalk, not caring, and kill the engine. The windows are dark.

“Shit,” I mutter, staring at the locked front door.

Ryowoon doesn’t panic. He adjusts Nuri in his arms, gets out of the truck slowly, and walks up to the door. He studies the lock for a few seconds, then looks at me.

“You got a pen? Or a bobby pin? Anything thin and metal.”

I dig through the glove compartment with shaking hands, find a bent paperclip mixed in with receipts and napkins. I hold it up.

“That’ll work. Come here.”

I walk over and Ryowoon shifts Nuri to one arm, takes the paperclip from me with the other, and bends it with his teeth. Then he hands it back and nods at the lock.

“Straighten it halfway, hook the end. Slide it in beneath the keyhole and push up while you turn. You feel the pins, wiggle them until they click.”

I stare at him. “You want me to do it?”

“I’m holding her.”

“Ryowoon, I don’t know how to pick a lock.”

“I just told you how. Seyeon, we don’t have all night.”

My hands shake when I crouch down in front of the lock. I slide the bent paperclip in the way he described, feeling for the pins, and it takes me four tries, my fingers slipping, Ryowoon coaching me in a strained low voice above my head, before I hear the click and the door swings open.

I don’t hesitate. I push through into the dark clinic, fumbling along the wall for a light switch. They stutter on overhead, bathing the room in cold blue-white light. Exam tables, cabinets full of supplies, the faint smell of antiseptic. I scan the room and spot a stack of clean towels on a shelf by the far wall.

“Here,” I say, grabbing an armful and spreading them out on the floor, layering them into a flat padded surface.

Ryowoon lowers Nuri onto the towels, going slow, supporting her head as he sets her down. She barely reacts, just a faint twitch of her tail, her eyes half-closed and glassy. The light shows me what I couldn’t see in the dark. Cuts along her side where the glass broke skin, the mottled patches where the bruising is already spreading beneath her fur, the way her ribs move unevenly when she breathes.

I find a notepad and a pen on the front desk and start writing. My hand trembles as I form the words, sloppy and rushed.

We’re sorry for breaking in. We found this dog badly hurt and had nowhere else to bring her. We don’t have money to pay for her treatment but please take care of her. Her name is Nuri. She’s a good dog. Please help her.

I leave it on the counter where they’ll see it in the morning, then stop.

I go back and add one more line.

She likes to be scratched behind her left ear.

I set the pen down and turn back.

Ryowoon is on his knees beside Nuri. His hand moves over her fur in long, gentle strokes, tracing the shape of her head, down her neck, along her spine. He’s talking to her again, so quietly I have to stand still and hold my breath to hear.