I finally pushed open the door to the dark studio. I turned on the lights, turning up the heat slightly so that it was warmer but not too hot for class. When children and parents filtered in a few minutes before ten, I picked an older student to run the warm-up and stretches so my mind could wander.
What could I do to increase interest other than using a contract and incentives—summer camp or after school programs? Did I want the responsibility of hiring someone to conduct those for me? Did I want my business to grow in that way, or did I want to keep it small and family-like?
Before Caroline got sick, I’d planned to go into business with my brother, Nolan, but those plans derailed with numerous doctor’s appointments and treatments. Then I was overcome with grief. Maybe, it was time to talk to him about it. If I expanded the construction business, we’d have the ability to take on more projects, including more charity projects.
I shook off my thoughts so I could ease into teaching. Toward the end of class, I knelt on the mat and held a paddle up as the students ran full-speed toward me, executed a front roll, and landed lightly on their feet in front of me in fighting stance. I yelled out the name of the kick and braced myself for the impact on the paddle in my hand. With each thud and “Aye!” the vibration of the impact pierced down my wrist, into my arm and through my body, grounding me.
This is what I’d lived for—kids learning and perfecting each new skill. The confidence in a girl’s eyes when she landed it with such force, my hand flew back a few inches. The pride in a boy’s eyes when he executed a reverse spin kick for the first time. Maybe I wouldn’t have what everyone else desired, a wife or a family, but I had this.
The bell above the door tinkled when I pounded my paddle on the mat three times in succession, the signal for the students to clean up and line-up to wait for more instruction. The kids responded with a series of claps and yelled, “Yes, sir,” in a practiced ritual, I took pride in.
While the students rushed around to fold up mats and hang up the paddles, I turned to see who’d arrived. Hadley Winters stood, elbows on the half-wall between the waiting area and the studio, watching me with interest. Her eyes met mine and she smiled wide, my heart rate picking up, despite the talk I had with myself that I wasn’t ready to feel anything for a woman. I wasn’t ready for the anticipation shooting down my spine, the pounding of blood in my ears, the slickness of my palms. I wasn’t ready.
“Are you here to drop off the estimate?” I stood and turned so that only the half-wall separated us.
“Yes, and to try out a class.”
My eyes traveled over her the top half of her body I could see over the wall, which she’d clothed in a shiny work-out top that looked silky, and black leggings which clung to her body like a second skin. “Let me finish this class and then we can talk.”
I thumped my paddle on the wall to get their attention.
Hadley jumped in surprise. The students stood on the line of tape on the floor.
“Yes, sir,” they yelled, their eyes straight ahead, their backs straight.
I wondered what Hadley thought of the studio. I split them into groups, allowing an older student to take half of the class and I took the other half. I knelt on the floor as I called each child up to perform a self-defense move based on their belt color. The children’s classes were mixed in ages and abilities, since I’d noticed parents liked dropping off all their kids in one class versus having to attend two or three different classes based on the children’s ages.
I tried to ignore Hadley and focused on the next move, directed each child, praising and correcting when necessary. When everyone had a chance to participate, I lined them up and we went over a few kicks and punches. When it was time for class to end, I broke them off and they ran to their parents.
I followed the kids out to the waiting area. The chatter was loud as they greeted their parents. I waited to talk to any parents or kids who had questions. After everyone trickled out, I turned my attention to Hadley.
She’d shifted her hip resting against the wall as she nodded toward the work-out area. “This is impressive. The kids listen to you. You’re a great teacher.”
Pride flowed through my body at her words. “When I got back into karate a few years ago, I did it for a workout, but the Dojo made me teach. I discovered I was good at it. The kids liked me, and I enjoyed it.”
Hadley tilted her head as if she were listening to each word I said, like what I said was important.
“That’s what made you want to open a studio?”
“Yes.” Between the studio and the handicapped accessible renovations I took on, it allowed me to channel my grief positively.
“I saw a sign on your bulletin board about your charity, Morrison Construction Rebuilds.”
I followed her finger to the bulletin board. “Yeah, that’s something I started after—” I almost said after my wife died, but I stopped myself. “About four years ago. There are small adaptations, like installing a ramp or a chair lift for a senior citizen. I do those for whoever asks. But there are also more complex, full-home renovations for disabled individuals. Right now, I’m only able to take
