Chương 2
“Everybody back,” she said. “Please. Give them space.”
Nobody did.
A retired Marine near the front lowered his phone first. His wife followed. A few others seemed embarrassed and put theirs away, but most of the devices remained lifted because people had already understood that they were holding something no one else would possess in quite the same way.
Different angles.
Different sound.
Different truths.
Derek sat up.
“She threw me.”
Celia stared at him.
“You hit her.”
“It was a combat demo.”
“No.”
Derek looked around as if expecting someone important to agree with him.
A man wearing a silver donor badge shook his head.
Derek pointed at Maya. “She knew what this was.”
Maya touched the inside of her lower lip with her tongue. The bleeding was minor. That almost annoyed her more than if it had been serious.
She looked toward Celia.
“Is there somewhere quieter?”
The question changed the crowd more effectively than any order.
People started murmuring.
Not because Maya sounded shaken.
Because she did not.
Celia nodded quickly. “Yes. The operations tent. Behind the stage.”
Richard stepped forward.
“I’ll come.”
Maya looked at him.
“No.”
One word.
Richard stopped.
Derek heard it and gave a disbelieving little laugh.
“Seriously?”
Maya did not answer.
Two members of the private security staff finally arrived, both looking unhappy that they had not been closer. One moved between Derek and the crowd. The other spoke quietly to Celia.
There were off-duty police officers assigned to traffic and event security near the parking entrance. Someone had already called them toward the tent.
Derek got to his feet.
His black gi had picked up bits of pale grass along one shoulder.
“This is insane,” he said. “It was a demonstration.”
Richard’s jaw tightened.
“Stop talking.”
“Oh, now you want me to stop talking?”
“I said stop.”
The son looked at the father, and something older than the slap moved between them.
Maya saw it.
She also saw Richard’s immediate regret.
Not regret for correcting Derek.
Regret that he had done it in public.
That interested her.
Celia guided Maya off the mat toward the back of the tent. The crowd parted. Some people murmured her name. One man told her she had handled herself well. A woman reached out as though to touch her arm, then seemed to think better of it.
Maya kept walking.
Behind the stage, the noise changed. The microphone system made everything outside sound slightly hollow. Tent fabric snapped softly in a passing breeze. Someone in catering dropped a tray. Birds went on making ordinary afternoon noises from the trees beyond the parking field.
Celia opened the flap of a smaller white operations tent.
Inside were three folding tables, cardboard boxes of lanyards, a printer that had jammed twice that morning, and a plastic cooler full of bottled water.
Maya sat in a folding chair.
Celia found a first-aid kit.
“I am so sorry.”
Maya looked up at her.
“You didn’t slap me.”
“No. But I put him on that mat.”
“You scheduled a demonstration.”
“I scheduled a controlled demonstration.”
Maya accepted a cold pack wrapped in a paper towel.
Her hand shook once when she lifted it.
Barely.
She hated that Celia noticed.
“I’m fine.”
“I know.”
“That sounded like you don’t believe me.”
“It sounded like I’ve been around soldiers who say they’re fine.”
Maya almost smiled.
Almost.
Instead, she placed the cold pack against her cheek.
Outside, the crowd noise swelled and softened in waves.
Celia sat on the edge of the table.
“The officers are coming over.”
Maya nodded.
“You can decide what you want to do.”
“That isn’t entirely how that works.”
Celia looked at her.
Maya shrugged one shoulder. “There are witnesses. Video. They’ll decide what they have to document. I can decide whether I cooperate.”
“And will you?”
Maya looked down at the water cooler.
A strip of blue tape on the lid said ICE ONLY in black marker.
She read it twice.
“Yes.”
Celia let out a breath.
“Okay.”
Maya looked at her.
“Did you know he was going to do that?”
Celia’s face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
Maya moved the cold pack away from her cheek.
“What?”
“He asked to make the demonstration more competitive.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“And?”
“I told him no.”
“Did he ask for striking?”
“No. He said he wanted what he called real resistance. I said the rules were already set.”
“Did Richard know?”
Celia did not answer immediately.
That was an answer too.
“He knew Derek was pushing,” she said.
Maya put the cold pack back against her face.
“Not what I asked.”
Celia looked toward the tent flap.
“Yes. Richard knew.”
Outside, Derek’s voice rose above the murmurs for a moment.
Maya could not make out the words.
Celia said, “Richard wanted him in the program.”
There it was.
The first piece that made the afternoon feel less random.
Maya had agreed to attend the Liberty Bridge Veterans Foundation benefit because her battalion’s public affairs officer had asked twice and because the foundation funded emergency housing grants for military families. She had refused the first invitation to speak onstage. She had refused the second invitation to sit on a panel called Courage After Service, pointing out that she was still serving and that the title sounded like somebody had named it after a coffee mug.
Celia had laughed.
That had been the beginning of their email exchange.
The grappling demonstration came later.
Ten minutes. Controlled movement. No speeches.
Maya had finally agreed.
She had never asked who the civilian partner would be.
That now seemed stupid.
One of the officers entered the tent with a small notebook in his hand. His name was Ellis. He introduced himself without the theatrical solemnity Maya had expected.
“Would you rather have medical take a look before we talk?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
He glanced at the side of her face.
“Okay.”
The second officer remained outside.
Ellis asked what happened.
May you like
Maya told him.
Not what Derek meant.
