“Okay.”

I jerk around in surprise.

Jules spreads her arms and shrugs. “What? I’m yours for as long as you want to pay me.”

“Let’s go.”

We wave to the Korean grandmother, who shouts something after us. Jules mumbles that we better hope Kim Eunshil isn’t my mother because her mother won’t let her live if it’s true. I’ll figure out how to prevent this murder later. Right now, my heart’s pounding faster than Secretariat running at the derby. The market is a five-minute cab ride, but it feels like an eternity. I have the door open almost before the cabdriver pulls to a stop. Behind me Jules yells to slow up but I don’t pay her any attention. The alleyway into the market is small and there are small carts set up on either side of the road. The sound of people and the clanging of pots and the chimes of bells ring through my ears as I dodge through the crowd.

Jules catches up with a huff. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

I point to the sign on the large four-story structure in front of us. “You said she sold dishes? The sign on the second floor is in English. It says ‘housewares.’”

Jules presses her lips together. “So it does.”

Housewares is four floors up. I race up the stairs while Jules climbs more slowly, grumbling all the way. The market is a maze of shelves filled with ceramics, brass bowls, chopsticks of every enameled color, and more pots and pans in one place than I’ve ever seen before. It’s as if someone took every kitchen item from all the Targets in one state and shelved them in one space. As I round what feels like the tenth aisle, I spot Kim Eunshil spooning ramyeon into her mouth. She looks very much like the photo taken twenty-five years ago. Her face is unlined and her hair is cut in the same bob that is in the picture. She’s ageless. I touch my own face. Is it the same? Do we have the same eyes? The round eyes that make upside-down crescents when they smile?

Having arrived, I find my feet glued to the ground. Unmoving, like I’ve been stapled in place, I stare at Kim Eunshil. Jules brushes by me and takes out her phone. She bows and says something, shows the picture, and then points to me.

This time, the response isn’t like any of the others. There’s no kind word and sad smile or bright interest and piercing inspection. Instead, it’s anger. Kim Eunshil erupts with a volley of angry words. She picks up her spoon and waves it menacingly at Jules, who holds up her hands in front of her face and ducks. The angry woman turns to me and makes another threatening gesture. I’m too stunned to move. Jules speeds toward me, catching my sleeve, and drags me backward. Kim Eunshil throws the spoon at my head. When it falls harmlessly to the side, she grabs another. I start moving then.