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Motion flickers on one of my screens, our own security cameras, as Pan slams the back door and jumps on his bike, gravel spitting as he pulls out.

But for the first time, I wonder if I might not be alone in that.

CHAPTER 18

TINK

It’s a beautiful day for a ride: pure blue skies, cotton-ball clouds, the sea-and-sunshine air. I feel exhilarated, weightless, even through the heaviness of my jacket and helmet. Like I’m flying.

As long as I don’t think too much about last night, or this morning, I’m almost carefree.

I park outside of Tigerlily Kickboxing and Fitness, my ride the only bike among electric cars and midsize SUVs, and slip in through the front door, where a few clusters of other adults—parents, I guess—are waiting for dismissal. It’s bright inside, with all the window walls, and on the center of the gym, a gaggle of girls, all around Wendy’s age, are circled up around Zuzu on the mat, ponytails and braids askew and frizzed, sweaty faces intent on their teacher.

“Discretion is the better part of valor!” Zuzu says, her voice ringing out against the concrete walls. “What do we say?” She cups her hand around her ear and waits for the refrain, which comes raucous and loud in dozens of bright little voices.

“Do no harm, take no crap!”

“That’s right!” Zuzu beams, and claps twice. “Dismissed. Thank you, ladies!”

I spot Wendy then, on the edge of the ring, her face flushed and beaming.

“Tink!” Seeing me, she sprints over. “Um, is it okay if I stay for some more dummy practice? Just, like, five minutes. Coach said we could.”

“Yessss.” Wendy pumps a fist, sending one of her braids spinning and coming undone. “Crap,” she mutters, noticing the loose ends. She glances up at me. “Do you have a hair tie?”

I give her a look. “What do you think?”

“Here.” Zuzu appears behind her, arm extended. “Take your pick. Always keep spares,” she says to me as Wendy happily pulls off one of the elastics stacked over Zuzu’s wrist.

“Thanks, Coach.” Wendy winds it deftly around the end of her braid, then jogs back off.

“Coach?” I say to Zuzu, smiling.

“I demand they respect my authority,” Zuzu says, grinning. She wipes her forehead and swigs from a shaker bottle of something chalky and brown, then gives me an up-and-down. “New look, eh?”

I glance down at myself. The jacket and jeans are the same, but the tank top’s new. Black. Plain. As is the actual bra underneath it. Nothing fancy, not for today, but they are women’s clothes, at least.

“Oh, yeah,” I say. “Makeover. Treasure and the girls insisted. But I also didn’t really put up much of a fight,” I add. “It’s kinda nice to be a girl again, you know?”

“Amen to that,” Zuzu says, flicking a braid over her shoulder. She’s got on a full face of makeup, I can’t help but notice, complete with contour and what look like false lashes. And all in pretty good shape considering she’s been teaching for hours.

“How was class?” I ask as Zuzu takes another gulp.

“Good, good. She’s ferocious, your Wendy. Lots of energy. Not always so coordinated, but we can work on this.” Zuzu smiles, then draws her brows together. “Make sure she eats, eh?” She points two fingers from her eyes to Wendy. “I sense growth spurt coming on. No diets.”

“Totally,” I agree. “Promise. And that’s great,” I add, and I mean it. Until Zuzu mentioned this class, I don’t think I realized how desperately Wendy needed something to do in her life.

I let another moment or two pass, then suck it up and ask. “So I have a question for you,” I say. “Do you…have a minute to talk?”

Zuzu swallows, nodding. “Sure, sure.” She slaps a hand on my shoulder. “Step into my office.”

I follow her across the floor to a corner bump-out with what appears to be a two-way mirror and a wooden door that reads ZUSANNA ELEZI—OWNER, COACH, HBIC. Inside, the walls are pale purple, and every surface is cluttered—desk, chairs, metal shelving—with papers, tiny potted plants, and what looks like every rose-gold stationery accessory that HomeGoods has to offer.

“So.” Zuzu kicks the door closed after me. “What’s going on? Pan need his ass kicked again?”

I think of Pan that morning, scowling on the couch. Storming off in a little hissy fit for…for whatever reason.

I shake my head. “Nah. He’s off having some tantrum. Don’t even know where he is.”