That sentence cost him three therapy sessions to understand.
Calvin stayed in Columbus four days.
The first night was painful.
The second less so.
By the third, Naomi found him kneeling beneath a kitchen cabinet repairing a hinge.
“You have a replacement hip.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you on my floor?”
“This hinge is offensive.”
She laughed.
The sound surprised both of them.
That night they talked about Andre.
Not his death.
Andre.
His terrible singing.
The motorcycle.
His obsession with hot sauce.
The stray dog he smuggled into North River.
For years, Naomi had remembered her brother mainly as the man who died.
Grief had stolen the man who lived.
Calvin helped give some of him back.
Before flying home, he stood beside Naomi’s car.
“Are we okay?”
She thought.
“No.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
“But we might be.”
Calvin smiled.
“I’ll take might.”
Naomi hugged him.
Nine years did not disappear.
They simply stopped increasing.
Three weeks later, Naomi took Lila back to Granite City.
Lila wanted to continue.
Naomi almost refused.
Then realized Logan had already taken enough authority over the place.
Erin greeted them.
Lila trained.
Struggled.
Got frustrated.
Paused.
Returned.
After class, she smiled.
“I like this.”
Naomi nodded.
“Then keep going.”
Lila asked the obvious question.
“Will you?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“My knees have unionized.”
Three weeks later, Naomi arrived carrying a gi.
Nobody announced anything.
She tied a brown belt around her waist for the first time in thirteen years.
Some students recognized her.
Nobody turned it into an event.
Naomi trained.
Her timing survived.
Her lungs filed formal complaints.
After twenty minutes Erin looked at her.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I liked you before.”
Naomi returned the next week.
Then the next.
She did not train to become twenty-nine again.
That woman was gone.
This was something else.
Logan returned during Naomi’s fifth week.
Gray sweatshirt.
Plain bag.
No entourage.
He trained quietly with an older brown belt.
After class, he approached Naomi and stopped several feet away.
“Can I talk to you?”
“Yes.”
The small question mattered.
He noticed that she noticed.
“I’m sorry.”
“We did this already.”
“I know.”
He looked toward the mats.
“This is different.”
Naomi waited.
“I kept asking myself why your no bothered me.”
“And?”
“I thought confidence meant nobody gets to make me feel small.”
She listened.
“So anytime I felt embarrassed, I tried to make the other person smaller first.”
Logan laughed bitterly.
“I’ve been doing it forever.”
“Why?”
“That was therapy session number four.”
Naomi smiled slightly.
“Worth it?”
“Annoyingly.”