“Yes.”
“Knowing.”
“Yes.”
“Why now?”
Helen smiled sadly.
“Because I’m tired of watching both of you be stubborn when one of you is dead.”
Claire almost laughed.
Almost.
Before she could answer, Samuel Alvarez appeared.
“Claire.”
She turned.
He looked older.
Still straight-backed.
White hair.
Brown eyes.
Same calm face she remembered from childhood.
He hugged her.
She let him.
“Your mother told you?”
“Apparently everybody tells me things on their own schedule.”
Samuel smiled.
“Good. You sound like Richard.”
“That is not a compliment today.”
He laughed.
Then looked at the box.
“I don’t need it for the display.”
Claire frowned.
“Mom said—”
“I told her that.”
Helen looked offended.
Samuel continued.
“I lied.”
Claire stared.
Helen slapped his arm.
“You could have told me.”
“You would have told her.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
Claire looked between them.
“Why am I here?”
Samuel pointed toward a side room.
“Because I need help with a demonstration.”
“No.”
Helen laughed.
Claire glared.
Samuel continued.
“One of our instructors canceled.”
“No.”
“Kids’ balance drill.”
“No.”
“Ten minutes.”
“No.”
He sighed.
“You both are exhausting.”
Claire crossed her arms.
“Thirty-minute memorial. That’s the deal.”
Samuel nodded.
“Fine.”
He was lying too.
Claire knew.
She stayed anyway.
At 2:45, the main exhibition began.
Derek Voss entered to applause.
Claire heard his name and looked toward the central mat.
She had not seen him in person in fifteen years.
Television did strange things to people.
Made them look larger.
In person, Derek looked leaner than expected.
Sharper.
He wore a red-and-black competition gi with sponsor patches across the shoulders.
His black belt was new enough to hold its color.
He smiled at the crowd.
Demonstrated kicks.
Worked with students.
He was good.
Claire hated that she noticed.
Helen leaned closer.
“He came to the funeral.”
Claire looked at her.
“What?”
“He stood outside.”
Claire stared.
Helen continued.
“He didn’t come in.”
“How do you know?”
“I saw him through the chapel window.”
Claire looked toward Derek.
“Why didn’t he come in?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
“I won’t.”
Helen smiled.
“Of course not.”
Derek finished a demonstration.
Then took questions.
A boy asked about fear.
Derek gave a good answer.
A girl asked about being smaller than opponents.
Derek smiled.
“Speed and angles.”
Good answer.
Then he ruined it.
“But if you’re five-foot-nothing, maybe pick your battles.”
Crowd laughed.
Claire did not.
Samuel heard.
He looked at Claire.
She shook her head.
Do not.
He smiled.
That worried her.
Ten minutes later, Claire was carrying the wooden box toward the memorial table when a volunteer asked her to move a rack of children’s belts.
She set the box down near the central mat.
Bad decision.
Derek finished another demonstration.
Turned.
Saw Claire moving the rack.
Did not recognize her.
“Need help, princess?”
Claire looked at him.
There it was.
Same smile he used on television.
Playful.
Designed for laughter.
A few people nearby chuckled.
Claire said,
“No.”
Derek shrugged.
“Independent.”
She ignored him.
Moved the rack.
One of his training partners whispered something.
Derek laughed.
Claire heard only the last words.
“…smaller than the equipment.”
More laughter.
She kept walking.
Samuel appeared.
“Claire.”
“No.”
“I haven’t said anything.”
“You’re thinking loudly.”
Samuel smiled.
Then Derek called after her.
“Hey, princess.”
Claire stopped.
Bad decision number two.
She turned.
Derek pointed toward the wooden box.
“You leaving valuables next to the mat?”
Claire looked.
“My mistake.”
She walked back.
Derek glanced at the box.
“What’s in it?”
“None of your business.”
A few people reacted.
Derek’s smile widened.
“Okay.”
Claire lifted the box.
He noticed her wrist wrap.
Old habit.
She wore a thin support around the right wrist because of an old ligament injury.
“You train?”
Claire said,
“Sometimes.”
Derek laughed.
That was the laugh.
The one the title would remember.
“Sometimes.”
He glanced toward the demonstration mat and grinned.
“Well, if Samuel puts you in front of the crowd, try not to cry, princess.”
A few people laughed.
Claire did not.
Derek looked at his students.
“Dangerous answer.”
Claire stared.
Derek continued.
“We’ve got open rounds after the memorial. Come try one.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I came for my father.”
“Memorial?”
“Yes.”
Derek nodded toward the photograph wall being prepared.
“Who?”
Claire did not answer.
Samuel did.
“Richard Bennett.”
Derek froze.
Claire watched his face.
Recognition came slowly.
Not of her.
Of the name.
Then of the box.
Then Claire.
His eyes widened.
“Claire?”
She said nothing.
Derek stared.
“No way.”
“Way.”
He laughed once from shock.
Not mockery now.
“You’re Claire Bennett.”
“Yes.”
The room around them began noticing.
Derek looked embarrassed.
“I didn’t recognize you.”
“You’ve established that.”
“I haven’t seen you since—”
“Long time.”
He nodded.
“Yeah.”
Silence.
Then one of his students, a twenty-year-old named Evan, asked,
“Coach, you know her?”
Derek kept looking at Claire.
“Her dad was my first real coach.”
Samuel said,
“Your first good coach.”
Derek smiled faintly.
“Also true.”
Claire lifted the box.
Derek’s eyes followed.
“Is that…”
She did not answer.
Samuel said,
“Yes.”
Derek became quiet.
Then the announcer called for the memorial presentation.
The crowd moved toward the wall.
Samuel stepped onto the platform.
He spoke about Richard Bennett.
Not titles.
Not records.
People.
A teacher who trained after recovering from surgery.
A police officer Richard talked out of quitting.
A girl who became a coach.
A teenager who stopped fighting at school.
Then Samuel looked toward Derek.
“Some people in this room began with Richard.”
The crowd turned.
Derek lowered his eyes.
Samuel continued.
“And some of us are still learning what beginning means.”
Claire looked at him.
That line was deliberate.
She hated him for it.
The photograph was unveiled.
Richard smiling.
Hands on hips.
Old black belt tied badly around his waist.
Applause filled the pavilion.
Helen cried.
Claire did too.
Quietly.
Then Samuel said,
“There is one more thing.”
Claire looked at him.
No.
He continued.
“Richard believed belts were not trophies.”
No.
“They were reminders.”
Claire whispered,
“Samuel.”
He ignored her.
“He asked that his own belt never be framed.”
People listened.
“He said if it ever belonged anywhere after him, it belonged around the waist of the person who understood best why rank is not identity.”
Claire stared.
Helen looked at her.
Derek looked at the box.
Samuel said,
“Claire.”
She shook her head.