“I love a man who’s in touch with his emotions,” agrees another. “I didn’t think I would simp so badly for three men in my entire life, but here I am. I am sowhippedfor The Kings.”
“Did you share the video?”
“Of course I did. I have a heart!”
“Hey.” One nurse pats the arm of another. “Doesn’t he kind of look like Finn?”
Tucking the bill of my cap lower, I shuffle past them and take the elevator to the second floor.
The nursing home’s living quarters are plush, warm, and allow lots of light from the windows. There are four doors in total along the hallway. A nurse pushing an elderly resident in a wheelchair walks by. She does a double take when she sees me.
“Finn!”
I hold a finger above the mask.
Her eyes widen, and she mimics my stance. “Sh. Right. Sorry.”
Since no one else is around, I whip the mask off. “How is he?”
“Serene as usual. How are you, Finn?” She gives me a soft, motherly look. “How you holding up?”
“I’m fine, Denise.”
“I heard your wife was kidnapped? That’s awfully horrific.”
“Very horrific,” the old man in the wheelchair wheezes.
“Did you find her?”
“Not yet.” I don’t have the time or interest to correct Denise, so I nod politely and take off.
“Don’t lose hope, Finn. You’ll find her. I promise you. We’re all rooting for you.”
“Thanks, Denise!” I call dryly.
Pausing to knock, I wait a few seconds and open the door.
A short man in a loose-fitting shirt in a plain brown color is looking through the window, rolling two worn walnuts in his hands.
“Sensei.” I bow.
He turns to face me, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Who are you?”
Those three words used to hurt like hell.
Now, I calmly straighten and point to myself. “I’m Finn, an old student of yours.”
“Finn?” His eyes dive over my face, searching for answers that his brain can no longer retrieve. “I’m sorry. I do not remember you.”
“I was young when we met.” I slip out of my shoes before entering his space completely and pull the indoor slippers I always wear from the shoe cupboard. “It was during the afternoon, sometime after lunch. My brothers were at a concert with our dad, but he left me behind. And without my brothers, I had a target on my back.”
Sensei’s brow furrows. “Kids can be cruel.”
“I ran away from school, vowing I’d never go back.” I move to his kitchen where, as always, sensei has a pot boiling. I reach for his favorite tea from the box on the shelf above the stove. “By chance, I passed by your dojo.”
“The one on Crenshaw Street?” He rubs his thin, grey beard.
I nod as if I agree, but the truth is Sensei had already moved to a new neighborhood when we met. Rather than tell him that and confuse him more, I continue the story.
