“I know Brutus said your footwork was okay,” Abby had said to me after our fourth workout, “and for the most part, he’s right. But you could—how do I say this?—unclench a little.”

“‘Unclench’?”

“Yeah,” she said, uncharacteristically embarrassed. “You know. Unclench.”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Then, of course, there had been the Skype calls with Tatina, which always put a little more testosterone pep in my step.

“You look fantastic!” she’d said during one. “And you’re feeling healed? Body, mind and spirit?”

“Body, yes. Got a ways to go with mind and spirit,” I admitted.

On such a bright and hopeful day, I’d decided to take lunch at Schmear’s Deli.

I’d invited Jimmy along so that I could offer my sincere apologies to him over good food.

“How’d things go in Windsor with Carlos?” I said as we slid into the third booth, across from the end of the lunch counter.

“Good,” Jimmy said. “He ain’t making a lot of money. Yet. But his clientele’s expanding, and people seem to like him and his work. I only took half what he was gonna pay me. Didn’t seem right to take it all what with him and his family.”

“Generosity will be the death of you, Jimmy.”

He flashed a big, bright grin and said, “Look who’s talkin’.”

I felt the warm prickle of embarrassment fan out over my cheeks. Good to know I could at least feel something besides anger these days, even if it was simple modesty.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were over at Detroit Martial Arts Academy?” I said. The lunch crowd was clearing out; it was time for all the kids wearing Kenneth Cole and Donna Karan suits or expensive preshredded jeans and imported plaid shirts to buzz back to their hives to make semibig decisions. I had sucked lungs full of sand and shot Afghan people in the head in order to make the world safe for them to get degrees in marketing communication and international finance, so you’ll pardon my rather acerbic assessment of these wastes of space.

“You been busy with other stuff, boss,” Jimmy said. “Plus, I wanted to make this decision on my own. No sense botherin’ you all the time.”

“You’ve never been a bother to me, Jimmy.”

“Mr. Jefferies—Brutus—he introduced me to Sifu Yang over at the academy,” Jimmy said. “Mr. Yang, he’s—I mean dang! He’s, like, in his seventies, and I wouldn’t bet against him in a fight! But you know what’s really cool?”

“What’s that, Jimmy?” I said, feeling a genuine familial warmth for the kid.