Page 45 of The Bodyguard Affair
“What about…karate?”
This makes her crack a smile and nod. She watches in amazement as I pull out two burgers, one plain with multiple toppings in individual containers to the side. “I didn’t know what toppings you liked, so I got them all just in case.”
“Oh, I like them all,” she assures me, piling them on top of her patty and bun. “Sorry. I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast this morning.”
“No judgment here,” I assure her. “So you mentioned you were going to do somekarateon your days off?”
She nods, her eyes lighting up at the mere mention. “Sure did. Made a lot of progress. My moves are still pretty rusty, though.”
“I’d guess karate is something you have to practice, or you’ll lose the muscle memory.”
“Totally. And the last time I did karate, I was doing it for me and my small number of…students,” she says, using “students” as a stand-in for “readers.” “Suddenly, I’m a black belt. I have thousands and thousands of students. My classes are sold out everywhere.”
I’m tempted to stand and hug her, but her enthusiasm doesn’t match. She looks entirely guilt ridden. “That’s fucking amazing, Andi.”
“I always dreamed of this happening. But now that it has, itfeels a bit…wrong. Like a fluke I didn’t deserve. People aren’t taking my classes because they like them and think I’m talented. They’re there for the gossip.”
“Most people aren’t going to dedicate almost six hours of their life doing karate if they aren’t enjoying it. It doesn’t matter how they found your class. It’s that they like it and keep coming back for more, even if they don’t want to admit it.”
“Even if my classes are good, what if my next class doesn’t live up to expectations? What if people think I’m a one-hit wonder?”
“They won’t,” I say confidently. “You have a lot of…enthusiastic students in my mom’s…karate club. And they think it’s badass. They’re even taking more of your classes.” It’s true. The other day, Mom mentioned how excited the ladies were about the book and how some of them had ordered the other two A. A. Zed books.
“Really? They like them?” she asks, hopeful.
“Yes, really. They’d be devastated if you didn’t keep doing karate. And so would I.”
She considers this. “Hopefully I’ll be able to finish this one in the next few months. My goal is by end of fall, though it’ll have to be piecemeal. I don’t get a lot of time off.”
“You don’t get time off, or you don’t ask for it?”
“Both,” she admits, finishing her burger. “I’ve only asked for a few days off here and there. I think that’s why Gretchen likes me. Because I basically dedicate myself to her. I know that probably sounds sad, but I don’t know any different. I’ve worked since I was fourteen. Between juggling school and a part-time job, I’ve never really had a lot of free time.”
I relate to that. Sacrificing your life for work. “What was your first job?”
“Unofficially, I babysat and stocked shelves at a corner store down the street. When I was legally old enough for a job, I worked at Tim Hortons pretty much every night and weekend after school,” she recounts.
I lift a hand in a high five. “Hey, Tim Hortons was my first job, too, aside from cutting lawns and shoveling driveways. Hated it. I had this boss who insisted on being called Rage.”
She snorts. “Rage?”
“His real name was Kevin, but he’d get pissed if you called him that. He’d spend the whole shift double-fisting Timbits and throwing them at us if we weren’t working hard enough. Eventually he got fired for refusing to wear a hairnet. And his hair was shoulder-length.”
“Ew. Good to know we both paid our dues.”
“Why did you work so much as a kid?” I ask.
“We went through some hard times, and I never wanted to end up in a similar situation. It was important to me to make my own money.”
My brow flicks up. “Hard times?”
Her expression clouds. “My dad lost his job when I was around eight after hurting his back. One thing led to another and we ended up getting evicted from our house. We actually lived in our car for a couple weeks before my parents could get into social housing.”
I work down a swallow, imagining how hard that must have been. “Shit, Andi. I’m so sorry. That’s really rough.”
“Honestly, at the time, Amanda and I had no idea what wasreally going on. We were so young. My mom told us we were going on a camping adventure, and we thought it was fun, living in our car. We had school during the day and my parents would take us to the rec center to shower in the evenings. Amanda and I were just excited we could swim in the huge pool.”
I think back to the night we met, how she bought food for Ted and took care of his dog like it was nothing. I knew that kind of generosity stemmed from somewhere meaningful. “When did you finally realize the truth?”
