31
Saturday, day of his date with Talia, he saw something in the paper that surprised and delighted and somehow disturbed him.
It was a photograph of Kayla.
She was no longer a kid. She was full-grown. Looked good. She was wearing a police uniform. A uniform for the town’s force. She was back.
She was in a photograph with a bunch of other cops, her eyes shining out from under her cap. Her hair was tied back. She had a big gun on her hip.
She was part of a recently graduated class. She was tops in her class, in fact. Said so in the article. Said, too, she had finished most of college while in high school. Some kind of smart-kid deal. Then she finished the cop training program.
Kayla had fulfilled her dream.
She had become a cop.
He thought of how it felt when he touched her that day so long ago, and how it had felt when she had leaned over and kissed him.
Branded him with her lips.
How she had smelled. So wonderful. Two pieces of a bigger puzzle. Missing hunks of the universal pattern.
Kids, he thought.
We were kids.
By now she had most certainly found love. May even have a kid. She was piecing someone else’s puzzle.
And there is another thing.
There’s Talia.
Lovely, Talia. Goddess on earth.
I have a date with her.
Woo-hoo.
32
It couldn’t have gone any better, that date. Talia, she looked ravishing in just blue jeans, a simple shirt, and sandals. Way her body filled those clothes, it was if she were liquid that had been poured into them and solidified. She was tall, dark, lean, but not skinny like so many women these days, and she was sensual in a kind of I-would- fuck-you-to-death-then-suck-the-marrow-from-your-bones kind of way.
Harry stopped to pick her up on campus, where they agreed to meet. She looked at his car, which he had detailed. Eighty-five bucks at Downtown Auto Shine and Repair, so the Cheetos under the seat, Snickers wrappers would be gotten rid of, all the dirt on the floor mats. And when he got out, opened the door, invited her into his chariot, she asked if he kept the car because it was some kind of classic or because of sentimentality, and he said, “Oh, no, not that. It’s all I got. I’m the classic, and I’m not that sentimental.”
She laughed at that and they went to dinner. It was a good dinner at Dineros, though he ate nervously, hoping they wouldn’t surpass the money he had in his pocket, though Tad, good old Tad, had given him another twenty, just to help.
They ate and went to the movie. In the movie they held hands, and afterward, at the Java Palace, they talked and drank too much coffee.
Talia had been all over the world, shopped in some pretty fancy places, spent a lot of Daddy’s money, and yet she seemed really interested when he told her about his life, about coming from a good but poor family, about his mom, and how he was going to visit her soon, and needed to.
Not once, not even in a passing thought, did he worry about his curse.
He didn’t mention it either. Didn’t tell her. Wasn’t any reason to.
What would it matter?
He was getting it under control.
No more worries.
Things were cool.
Life was full.
33
Each day he trained with Tad, and each day was a door to something new. He felt wonderful, and he could see that Tad felt good too. As Tad rediscovered what he had known, he began to stand taller, drop pounds, and his sense of humor was sharper and he laughed a lot.
They both did.
Tad showed him not only how to move, how to concentrate—meditate, actually—but how to blend with movement, and pretty soon Tad was having him attack, and it always ended up badly for Harry, thrown hard, thrown effortlessly. Grabbing at Tad was like trying to grab the wind. And if you did luck out and grab him, it was like holding an empty sweatshirt.
When he wanted to strike you, he always found you. He didn’t do anything with his fists, just moved his hands, or his arms, maybe a leg, never in a kicking motion; just seemed to move it, and it would connect. Somewhere.
And boy, did it hurt.
And he wasn’t trying to hurt.
Finally it was Harry’s turn to try and take on Tad. Tad was going to grab him, and the thing was…thing was, he was going to move in the way Tad was teaching him, and Tad was going to fly.
Except it didn’t work that way. Tad grabbed him and Harry twisted, and Tad stood right where he was.
“Try to drop your hips; don’t think about the fact that I got you by the shirt and, if I wanted to, I could kill you. Don’t think about that. Just drop your hips and think of emptiness beneath your feet. But you…you can stand on air. It’s me that has to go into the abyss. Got it?”
“Yeah.”
Tad grabbed him. Harry sank his hips and imagined the gap beneath him. But there was a problem. He fell into the pit, pulling Tad on top of him.
They tried a dozen different scenarios, and they were all about as successful as the proverbial rubber crutch.
Harry stood up, brushed himself off.
“Not doing so good, am I?”
“No, you’re not.”
“I suck.”
“You do.”
“I’ll never get it.”
“Could be.”
“Toss me a bone, Tad. Something.”
“You fall good.”
“Thanks.”
“Welcome.”
“For goodness’ sake, Tad. Do you always have to tell it like it is?”
“You’re doing great, kid.”
“But now I don’t believe you.”
“Look. Your self-defense—it sucks. You’re not a fighter at heart. But you got to not think of this like fighting. That’s what you’re thinking. The exercises. The concentration. Stuff that’s helping you not worry so much about the sounds, or control them, whatever, that’s the same stuff. You’re trying to separate them. Look here. Reach for me, real quick. Quick as you can—”
Harry did it soon as Tad finished his sentence, thinking he’d surprise him. But Tad just raised his arm. And it
