At home Naomi prepared dinner early. She baked chicken with potatoes and carrots, setting aside a plate to warm later. Then Naomi called Mary Gable and asked whether she could watch Khloe for a couple of hours.
“Of course,” Mary said. “Everything all right?”
“I have something I need to deal with.”
She was quiet for a moment. “You going to that gym?”
Naomi could have been startled by her knowledge. Instead she remembered that she had watched Trent tape the flyer to his door.
“Yes.”
“I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then why?”
Naomi did not have a good answer. She gave Mary the imperfect one about ending the harassment and setting a boundary. Mary heard her out, then said, “Boundaries are supposed to make it easier for your child to sleep. Think about whether this one will.”
Naomi promised to call if anything changed.
At six-thirty Naomi helped Khloe pack her overnight bag even though she was only staying until nine. She insisted on bringing Captain Buttons, her astronomy book, and an extra pair of socks in case Mary wanted to watch a movie.
“You can’t watch a movie without socks?” Naomi asked.
“You can. But it’s better with them.”
She laughed, then looked at the small pile of belongings and felt the sharp awareness that childhood depended on adults continuing to return home from their errands.
When they left for Mary’s, she carried the bag in one hand and held Khloe’s hand in the other. Her duffel bag remained hidden behind the passenger seat.
Chapter 17: The Room With the Raised Mat
Elite Striking occupied the end unit of a suburban strip mall, between a medical supply store and a restaurant that sold takeout noodles until midnight. The sign was bright enough to be visible from the highway. Cars filled the lot when Naomi arrived shortly before eight.
She sat in the Tacoma for a moment with the engine off. Beneath the dashboard was a packet of tissues, a child’s hairbrush, and a folded receipt from the grocery store. Her daughter’s school drawing lay on the passenger seat, forgotten during their busy week. The ordinary contents of the truck seemed to belong to a different life from the place she was about to enter.
She picked up the drawing. It showed two houses separated by a stretch of green, a bicycle pointing toward home. She put it carefully in the glove compartment.
Inside, the gym was warm and loud. Music vibrated through the floor. Gloves struck pads in measured bursts. The air smelled of rubber, cleaning solution, and sweat. Naomi crossed the threshold without looking for attention and stopped at the front desk.
“Coach Barnes here?” he asked.
The young receptionist pointed across the room. “Near the cage. You want to sign in?”
“I want to speak to him before I do anything.”
Barnes approached when the receptionist called his name. He was the kind of man who had spent twenty years around athletic swagger and had learned to discount most of it. Even so, he took one look at Naomi’s faded shirt, old duffel, and silvering hair and drew the wrong conclusion.
“You the neighbor?”
“Naomi Miller.”
“Trent said you wanted some rounds.”
“Trent and I have had a problem outside the gym. He invited me here repeatedly. I want you to understand that before anyone gets hurt.”
Barnes’ expression tightened. “I told him not to bring personal business onto my mats.”
“Then maybe I shouldn’t be here.”
For a moment the simplest possible ending stood between them. Barnes could have asked Naomi to leave, told Trent to stay away from his neighbor, and made a few difficult phone calls. Naomi could have returned to Mary’s house, picked up Khloe, and spent the evening watching the movie with the singing dog.
Then laughter erupted from the center of the gym. Trent had seen him.
“No way!” the young man called. “You actually came!”
Several of his friends turned. A few phones rose. The room’s attention shifted in a wave toward Naomi, who stood near the desk with her hands loose at her sides.
Barnes sighed. “If you do this, we keep it controlled. We have rules. You both agree to stop when I say stop.”
Naomi looked toward the mat. Trent was already smiling for the cameras. He looked extraordinarily young beneath the bright lights.
“Are you able to keep it controlled?” Naomi asked.
“That’s my job,” Barnes replied.
Naomi wished she’d said something more convincing.
She signed the waiver and changed into worn training shorts behind a partition. She wrapped her hands with the familiar movements of someone remembering a language she had not spoken for a long time. Across the room, Trent’s friends watched him with amusement. They saw the simple clothes and the unhurried gestures, but they did not see the history behind them. That was how Naomi preferred it.
