A middle-aged woman led me to the living room of Dean Choi’s home. She invited us over for dinner, and I didn’t have the heart to turn her down even though Luther was acting oddly quiet that time. Thankfully, we had resolved whatever was bothering him before this dinner.
Seated on the low sofa as the woman left to call for Dean Choi, I gazed at the cream wall where hang a collection of porcelain plates designed with a blue image of a Siberian tiger. Though, what got my full attention was a four-panel screen divider beautifully painted with a cherry blossom tree.
“I thought Luther will come with you,” Dean Choi’s booming voice directed my attention to her.
Seeing her in an oversized knit cardigan over a loose pair of pants and not in her usual knee-length skirt and blazers felt like I wa
