“Oh,” Malcolm said, with a long, significant nod of his head. “I’ve heard about you. You’re the Lones’ adopted daughter, is that right?”
She hated to be called that. It made it sound like Mr. Lone owned her. She nodded.
“Well, I see Mr. Lone every day at work. I imagine I could speak to him on your behalf, if you like.”
For some reason, the notion frightened her. “I don’t . . . I don’t know if he’ll listen.”
Malcolm smiled, a warm, confident smile, and despite herself, Livia felt reassured. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” he said. “Mr. Lone is the boss, true, but you’d be surprised how few people have my skills—just the skills he needs in that big ammunition plant of his, as it happens. Why, he had a headhunter looking for someone like me for nearly a year. I think he’ll be amenable. On two conditions.”
Livia was suddenly afraid again. “Yes?”
“One, you have to promise your grades won’t suffer. I have a feeling that will be Mr. Lone’s first objection, and I’ll need to be able to assure him.”
Livia didn’t hesitate. “I promise.”
“Second, however often it turns out to be, when you’re on the mat, you’re nowhere else. This is no strip-mall dojo. Sean and I train hard. It’s a real commitment. And if we’re going to train together, I need you to commit to it, too. There’s no shame if that sounds like too much for you. But my time is valuable. So decide now. Don’t disappoint me later.”
Again, Livia didn’t hesitate. “I won’t disappoint you. I promise.”
Malcolm nodded. “You know what? I have a feeling you won’t.” He opened the garage door. “Well, are you ready? I guess we can roll around for just the one day before we get Mr. Lone’s permission for something longer term.”
They went out to the garage. Livia had never seen anything like it. There were no cars inside. Instead, the floor was covered with a cushioned mat. At the periphery were various devices—leather-covered bags hung by chains from the ceiling; a thick wooden pole with sticks like arms and legs branching out from it; pulleys and weights and climbing ropes. Malcolm took a white uniform from a wall peg and handed it to Livia. “This one’s clean,” he said. “One of Sean’s. It should fit you fine.”
Livia hefted it. It was soft and surprisingly heavy. “What is it?”
“That’s a jiu-jitsu gi. Sometimes we train without one, but a gi’s the right way to start. There’s a bathroom just inside. Why don’t you change in there, Sean and I will get changed out here, and we’ll get started. Sound good?”
Livia nodded, then raced off to the bathroom, ecstatic. Just before she closed the door, she heard Malcolm whisper, “Damn, son!” And Sean, his tone exasperated, whisper back, “Dad!”
She wasn’t sure what it meant, but for some reason it made her smile.
28—THEN
That first day, Malcolm taught Livia the fundamental jiu-jitsu positions: mount, where you straddle your opponent’s chest; guard, where you fight from your back and entangle your opponent with your legs; and hooks-in, where you get your legs around your opponent from behind. Everything about it clicked for her. Jiu-jitsu was like a language her body had always known how to speak—she had only needed to hear it.
She was terrified Mr. Lone wouldn’t allow her to train. So when he came to her room the next night and asked what it was about “this jiu-jitsu thing,” she was ready. She closed the textbook she was studying and sat up on her bed. Then, with planned nonchalance, she said, “The new kid, Sean, likes it. And I don’t have any other friends.”
She’d been at the school for over a semester now, and given Mr. Lone’s concern with appearances, she knew he’d be worried people might find it strange that his adopted daughter had no friends—even if he himself would prefer it that way.
“Yes, his father told me. But it’s about fighting, yes?”
This was the part that really worried her—that Mr. Lone would object to her training with Sean and Malcolm because he wouldn’t want her to learn how to fight. But seeing the way he was looking at her now, she realized that despite his question, he didn’t take the notion seriously. He towered over her. He would never be able to imagine the nervous little girl before him might find a way to protect herself.
Let alone hurt someone else in the process.
“I guess,” she said. “But mostly I just want to have a friend.”
There was a long pause. Livia tried not to let her anxiety show on her face. She didn’t know what she would do if he said no. She couldn’t imagine it.
Finally, he said, “All right. Sean’s father was quite persuasive about the health benefits. And he wants his son to have a friend as much as I want you to.”