While she waited for Sami, Valerie rolled up her yoga mat and slipped the strap over her shoulder. As soon as her friend finished speaking to the instructor, she joined Valerie at the door.

“You subbing for her next week?” Valerie asked, referring to the conversation Sami had just had.

“I am. That’s a little intimidating, if you want to know the truth.” She pushed the door open with her hip. “I’ve never taught solo before.”

“You’ll do fine.” They stepped out into the humid morning. Black skies made it look much earlier than it was. Valerie’s hip objected to the movement of walking and caused a dull ache to throb down her leg. “I can’t believe it’s about to storm again.”

“Especially after last night. Did you lose power?”

“It flickered, but just enough to make me wish I had a roommate. Or a dog.” Valerie laughed, even though she hadn’t slept all night. The ache in her hip and spine, and the storm that added sounds she couldn’t identify, stripped her of any hope for sleep. “I think I’m actually going to take a personal day and go home and rest. The weather is hurting my hip.”

She’d parked next to Sami, and they paused at their car doors. Valerie automatically scanned the back seat. “You sure you’re okay?” Sami asked, her eyes sliding over Valerie’s hip area as if she could see the artificial joint beneath her skin.

Despite the constant dull ache and the exhaustion creeping up the back of her neck, she nodded. “I’ll get some rest, try to come in later this afternoon. I’ve already texted anyone who needs to know.”

Sami opened her car door and raised a hand. “See you later. Enjoy the day. Hopefully, the storm will be gone by the time you get off work.”

As Valerie drove home, she glanced at the stack of journals on the seat next to her, so very thankful she’d left them in the car instead of bringing them out into the rain last night. A part of her wanted to read them, but a part of her wanted to put them in a closet and close the door. She didn’t feel ready to delve into the mind of the woman who gave birth to her. However, she’d promised Auntie Rose she’d read them, and she intended to keep her promise.

Eventually.

The ache in her hip became a shooting pain down her leg and a burn in her lower back. Despite the warm temperature outside, she turned on the seat heater to high, hoping to soothe the muscles.

After last night’s storm, Valerie wouldn’t have thought that any more water could possibly fall from the sky. Despite her feelings on the matter, she pulled into her driveway just as the first raindrop splashed onto her windshield. Leaving her yoga mat and the journals in the car, she very carefully walked to the front door. Protected under the overhang of her roof, she unlocked the door just as the clouds above let loose and dropped buckets.

She locked the door behind her and did a quick check of the house. All clear. Ignoring some inner warning about bathing during a thunderstorm, she turned on the faucet of her bathtub to the hottest temperature she could tolerate and poured a cup of mineral salts into the water.

She stripped out of her workout clothes and opened the medicine cabinet. Her hand hovered over the Ibuprofen, but her eyes stared at the prescription pain medication. Did she need to take one? It might help her relax enough to sleep the pain off. She hadn’t allowed herself that luxury in a long time. Months.

No. Over-the-counter medication would ease the ache enough so she could relax. She washed a few down with faucet water then waited for the tub to fill.

Finally, she slipped into the steaming hot bathtub, wincing a little at the temperature but knowing it would cool quickly. She eased herself into the water and lay back against her inflatable bath pillow. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and slowly let her breath out, going through some mental pain management exercises her therapist had taught her.

By the time the water cooled, the tightening in her hip had eased. She gingerly got out of the tub and dried off, then walked to her room, noticing that she had a slightly less pronounced limp than when she got home. Her surgical scar itched, as it often did even after all these years, but she knew better than to even touch it. She threw on an oversized T-shirt and a comfortable pair of shorts then grabbed her soft blanket from the foot of her bed.

In no time, she lay curled on her couch, wrapped up in the blanket, a cup of cinnamon tea steaming on the table in front of her, and some cooking show playing at low volume on the television. Instead of watching the chef french some lamb chops, she watched the steam rise from her cup and found her eyelids growing heavier with every passing wisp of steam.

Brad hesitated before raising his hand and knocking on the door. The sun shone down onto the wet pavement, and the humid air hung heavy around him. He stepped back to make sure she could see him clearly, knowing she’d look through the fisheye peephole.

After about thirty seconds with no answer, he rang the doorbell. Through the stained glass on the side of the door, he saw movement. Seconds later, Valerie opened the door.

He could tell from her heavy eyelids and disheveled hair that he’d woken her up. That realization gave him a pang of regret. “Hey,” he said gently, “sorry to disturb you. I was worried about you.”

She opened the door wider and gestured for him to come in. When he walked into the living room, he saw the pillow and blanket on the couch and the cup of tea on the table. Valerie walked past him and crawled onto the couch, grabbing the blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. She sat against the corner of the couch with her legs crisscrossed and the blanket covering her legs and waist. She hadn’t spoken yet.

He sat on the other end of the couch. Some food program played on the television, but she had the sound so low he could barely hear it. “I texted a few times and, when you didn’t answer, I just wanted to check to make sure you were okay.”

With a raised eyebrow, she said, “You could have just called instead of sending me a text message. It might have woken me less abruptly than the ringing of my doorbell.”

She reached forward and picked up her teacup. He noticed she grimaced when she took a sip. Without asking permission, he stood and took the cold cup from her then went into the kitchen. A box of cinnamon tea sat next to the electric kettle. Making sure it had water in it, he turned it on then opened cupboards until he found the teacups. Dumping the cold contents of her cup into the sink, he made them both a cup of tea, then carried the two steaming cups into the living room, setting hers on the table in front of her.

The cinnamon scent from the steam filled his nostrils. The aroma felt out of place on a warm spring day. It reminded him of fall, cooler temperatures, and football season.

“Thank you,” Valerie mumbled, reaching for her cup.

Brad loosened his tie and relaxed against the opposite arm of the couch. “You feeling better?”

“Yeah.” She took a sip of tea and swallowed before she said, “I had dinner at your parents’ last night. I left just before the storm hit, but it was already raining when I got home. I slipped getting out of the car and fell on my hip.”

Concern made him sit forward. “Are you okay? Can I take you anywhere?”

Waving a dismissive hand in his direction, she shook her head. “I landed in the grass. I don’t even think I bruised anything. I just twisted weird trying to protect my fall and hurt my back in the process.” She set her cup on the table and pulled her blanket-covered legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. “You have to understand how messed up my muscles are. I’ll always have problems and I’ll always be in some level of pain.”

Intellectually, he knew that. It didn’t stop him from wanting to fix it. “What do you do for the pain?”

She shrugged. “I ignore the prescription medication sitting in my medicine cabinet and instead do things like yoga and take baths with Epsom salts.” Absently, she rubbed at the scar on her chin. “Most of the time, I pretend it’s not there.”

As if finally waking up, she reached for her phone. When she looked at the screen, she raised an eyebrow. “Six texts, Brad? Really? Do you treat all of your architects who take a personal day this way?”

“Only the ones I happen to care about,” he murmured, then felt his cheeks heat.

“Care about, huh? Is that why you’ve ignored me for over a week?” She tossed her phone back onto the table and settled against the cushions with her tea. “I feel very cared for. Pampered, even.”

Guilt had him bite back. “You know what? I suddenly remember how you tend to wake up in a bad mood. Sorry I bothered you.”

He started to stand, but she said, “No, I’m sorry. You’re right. The doorbell scared me. Waking up that way put me on edge.”

His eyes narrowed. “Scared you? Why would the doorbell scare you?” He thought about how she triple-checked that she’d locked her door, how she checked the house when they got home from the restaurant. “Are you okay?”

He could see that her eyes welled with tears, but she blinked them back. “No, I’m not okay.” She pressed her palm between her eyes. “I’ve not been okay for five years, Brad. I’ve lived with a form of PTSD that has me terrified whenever I’m alone. Wherever I am, whenever I am. I have worked with therapists and doctors and medication and diet and exercise and I finally just accept that I am afraid. Probably because a two-hundred-pound man threw me off a balcony after years of emotional and physical abuse, and I just wasn’t strong enough to stop him.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw and he realized he clenched his teeth. He purposefully relaxed his jaw. “So, what did all the doctors and therapists figure out? Is it the knowledge of what could happen, or the knowledge of helplessness about it?”

Unexpectedly, she smiled. “I appreciate the fact that you aren’t coddling me right now.” She inhaled the aroma of her steaming tea, then said, “The conclusion is a little of both. I know what can happen and I know how helpless I am.”

“I see.” His mind whirled with solutions and possibilities. “Do you have a counselor here in Atlanta?”

“Not yet. I planned to call my therapist in Savannah and see if she had a recommendation.”

With a nod, he said, “Okay. Good.” After clearing his throat, he asked, “Will you do something with me?”

She held eye contact while she took a sip of her tea. “What?”

He leaned forward and fiddled with the handle of his teacup but did not pick it up. “Come to a concealed carry class. My mom wanted to take a concealed carry class, and I told her I’d do it with her. It might be something good for you. We’re going this Saturday morning at eight.”

After several seconds, she finally asked, “You honestly think someone as paranoid as me should carry a gun?”

“I didn’t say anything about you carrying a gun. I asked if you’d take the class with my mom.”

Valerie pursed her lips and finally nodded. “Okay. I can do that.”

Valerie sat next to Brad and Rosaline in the classroom in the back of the gun store and watched the safety video for the concealed carry class, wondering how she ended up here. A gun killed her parents. Law enforcement officers tended to shoot people who carried guns, especially people of her color. Did Brad not understand the taboo nature of such a thing?

Of course, he didn’t. He had no reason to.

Even so, she did the worksheets, listened to the lectures, watched the video, and soon found herself on the shooting range, hearing protection securely on her ears, goggles covering her eyes. She gripped Rosaline’s .38 revolver the way Philip and Buddy had taught her and fired at the target of a silhouette of a man. Good shot, center mass. The next three shots grouped closely to the first. The fifth hit slightly to the right. It surprised her how well she did because she hadn’t picked up a handgun in fifteen years.

She retrieved her target and kept her hearing protection on while watching Rosaline and Brad shoot. Brad instructed his mom then stood to the side and let her shoot at her target. When Rosaline finished, Brad wasted no time firing his shots.

Soon, she found herself signing the form that would give her the paper to prove she’d taken the class. “Take that to the courthouse, and they’ll get it processed for you,” the instructor said.

“Thanks,” she said with a tight-lipped smile. She followed Brad and Rosaline out of the building. “That was an experience,” she said.

“You did well,” Brad remarked. “Are you going to submit your application?”

“Probably not.”

“Oh, come with me,” Rosaline said. “We’ll do it together. Then I won’t feel so weird.”

“Why do you even want a permit?” Valerie asked.

“Because I don’t have one.” Rosaline winked and pulled the clip out of her hair, running her fingers through the frosted strands. “My women’s group has a shooting club. I want to join. I think it would be fun.”

That made sense. She smiled. “Okay. I’ll go with you.”

“Great! Let’s go Monday at lunch.”

“Sure.” She looked over at Brad. “Assuming I can get off work. My boss is kind of a stickler.”

“Hey,” he grinned, “my boss just spoke. I don’t argue with her.”

He opened the door of his car for his mother while simultaneously opening the back door for her. She slipped into the seat and looked at the paperwork in her lap. Would she feel safer with a gun? Or would it make everything worse?

“Thanks for bringing me today,” she said to him when he got into the driver’s seat. He met her eyes in the review mirror and winked at her before starting the car.

“Glad you got something out of it.” He backed out of the parking lot. “You’re going to the game today with your uncle, right?”

“Yeah. He’s picking me up in an hour.”

“So, no time to stop for lunch, then.”

“No.” She looked at her watch. “I figured I’d grab something at the stadium.” A stadium hot dog and some popcorn sounded so good right now. When had she last sat in Buddy’s seats and enjoyed a hot dog while watching the Braves? Ten years ago? Eleven?

They’d had plans to go to opening night together, but they both had meetings at work and couldn’t go. He ended up giving his tickets to someone with whom he worked. She’d promised him nothing would conflict with today’s game.

Her mind wandered through growing up in those same seats and all the fun she and Buddy had watching the games together. Like so many other things, they were buried memories that she suddenly allowed to spring forth. How had she not thought about it for years? How did she not realize how much she’d missed it?

Before she realized the time had passed, Brad pulled into her driveway. She pulled her keys and her phone out of her purse and waited for Brad to open her door. As she slid out of the car, Rosaline said, “Monday, right?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be ready.”

He shut her door and she looked up at him. “Thanks for suggesting this.”

With a half-smile, he asked, “Was it as bad as it used to be when we were kids?”

Valerie remembered being afraid of shooting. She always went because she refused to let the Dixon brothers one-up her, but having an orphan’s knowledge of what a bullet could do to a human body, she hated it.

Brad caught her crying behind Phillip’s truck one time. At first, she denied it, but when he pressed, she finally admitted how much she hated when it was her turn to hold the gun.

She thought back through today. “Maybe sometimes, but others, no. I didn’t enjoy the range, but I did learn some things about safety and legalities that I didn’t already know. I really enjoyed spending the day with you and your mom. Thanks.”

“I’ll walk you to your door.”

She looked around. “Brad, it’s eleven in the morning. I’m sure I can get to my door. But I appreciate the chivalry.”

As she walked past him, she squeezed his arm then waved at Rosaline.

Brad sat at the table and stared at his bowl of soup. His mother’s voice startled him. “So, what do you think? Do you think she’s going to be open to having a firearm in her house?”

Despite the impulse to shrug as a response, he simply met her eyes. “I don’t have anything to do with it. I would want one. But I’m a different person than she is with different life experiences.”

“You know she was thinking about her parents the entire class today, right?”

“Of course. She associates bullets with the killing of human parents. How could she not?”

“Yet you still took her.”

“Yeah.” He pushed his bowl away. “She told me about it when dad and Buddy took us all shooting one year. We were probably fourteen. She confessed how much she hated the annual treks out to the field for target practice and how every time the gun went off, she imagined her mother or father getting shot.”

His mom stared at him for several seconds before nodding. “Is she in a place to be able to say no if she really doesn’t want to do something, or is the passive abused woman just passively complying with your wishes to placate you?”

He took a deep breath through his nose. “Honestly, I don’t think I bring out her passive side.” He thought about how grumpy she’d been the day he showed up on her doorstep and how she had blown off his attempted chivalry when he dropped her at home. “My opinion? She doesn’t want to feel like a victim anymore. She’s desperate to just feel normal again. I think she went to the class because the idea intrigued her. Maybe she thought the class would help with that. I invited but I didn’t push.”

“No, you never push.” She picked up her empty soup bowl and stopped by his chair to kiss him on the top of his head. “Thanks for taking me. Goodnight.”

“‘Night, Mama,” he said. As she left the kitchen, Jon came in from the mudroom. “Hey.”

“Hey yourself.” He sat in the chair his mother had just vacated and grabbed a bowl from the stack next to the slow cooker. “How’d concealed carry go? Valerie didn’t mention it.”

“They both passed. They’re going together to file for permits on Monday.”

“Cool.” He ladled potato soup into the bowl and grabbed a roll out of the breadbasket then slipped his baseball cap off his head.

“How was the game?”

“Braves won in the bottom of the ninth. Good game.”

Brad looked at the mudroom door. “Dad didn’t come home with you?”

“Nah. He and Buddy went back to the hospital to visit someone from church. Buddy drove. They were dropping Valerie off on the way.” He shoveled three big bites of soup into his mouth before taking a bite of his roll.

“Who’s in the hospital?”

Jon shrugged and swallowed. “Didn’t recognize the name.”

“Well, you haven’t been recently. There are a lot of new people.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot his dad a quick text. The reply came almost immediately. “Elmer Jansen. Oh, he’s the new janitor. Looks like he had a motorcycle accident and broke his leg. Yikes.” He replied to the text and stood, lifting his arms over his head and stretching. “Want to do something tonight? Maybe we could get Ken over here for a card game or something.”

Jon shook his head. “I’m going to go up to my room and get some work done. I have a couple projects coming up for bid.” He shoveled more soup into his mouth and took another bite of roll. “Ken isn’t free, anyway. He has a dinner meeting with some charity he’s involved in.” After washing down some soup with his glass of tea he added, “The house one.”

“He must be about to do one of those houses-in-a-weekend things.” He texted Ken, letting him know about Mr. Jansen. “‘Night, brother.”

“‘Night.”

He knew his dad would have told his mother about the accident, so he didn’t bother her. Instead, he went up to his room and turned on his laptop. Jon wasn’t the only one who had work that he couldn’t ignore any longer.