She kept going full-bore until she was dripping in sweat and then she bent over, gasping for breath.
It was then that Nash opened the door and walked in.
When Steers saw him she straightened and backed away, looking like she had just been discovered in some compromising position.
He eyed the dummy and then her. “I had no idea you had such fighting skills.”
She quickly regained her composure and finished toweling off. Glancing at her exposed arms, she used the towel like a cape to cover them.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said. “I have no issue with your injuries. We all have them, some are just more evident than others.”
“It is not about you, it is about me,” she replied quietly.
He nodded and eyed the dummy. “I trained on one of these. For well over a year. But it seems that you have been doing this sort of thing for far longer.”
“My mother thought it useful. She herself was a master of wushu.” When Nash looked puzzled she added, “What you might call kung fu, although wushu encompasses more than simply one form of martial art.”
He picked up one of the knives. The handles were of intricate design, and the blades were both serrated and slightly curved, and perfectly balanced. “These look custom.”
“They are.”
Steers took the knife from him, picked up its twin, and placed them back into a box with cushioning inside that held precise cutouts for the weapons. She turned back to him. “How did you happen to access this floor?”
“Just followed the sounds of you killing your opponent. The pop-out door in the wall took a little sleuthing. The chair rail molding didn’t line up precisely. That was the giveaway.”
“So, you could not sleep?”
“I guess there’s a lot on my mind.”
“A cup of tea perhaps? It helps me when I have a lot on my mind.”
He followed her back upstairs to the kitchen. She boiled the water and made tea for them, letting it steep for several minutes.
Once they had their cups in hand, she led him out to the enclosed rear porch that overlooked the small backyard. The storm was still raging, and they watched the lightning strikes mar the sky, and listened to the resulting cracks of thunder as well as the sounds of rain hitting all around.
Though the storm was violent, Nash seemed to calm when starkly confronted by it. As he glanced at Steers he could tell by her features that she seemed more relaxed, too.
“When storms like this happened in Japan when I was a little girl, I would hide under my bed,” Steers finally said. “Hiroko-san would come and find me and hold me so very tight.” She paused. “Until my mother took me from her and made me run out into the storm, to show my mettle, I suppose.” She then seemed surprised that she had voiced this vulnerability, even if it had been from her youth.
“I was pretty much scared of everything when I was a kid,” confessed Nash. “Here my father was this big, tough combat soldier who all men both feared and respected. And I was his wimpy son.”
“You are no longer that little boy, Walter. And no one would call you a wimp now,” said Steers, glancing at him. “This I have seen for myself.”
“Well, maybe I’m more like my father than I thought.”
“I was very much like my father,” said Steers. “When I was young. But as I grew older I became much more like my mother.”
“Strong, tough, indomitable?”
“I think the more accurate term iscold-blooded.”
“I doubt that Hiroko-san would call you that.”
Steers shook her head. “Hiroko-san would never acknowledge who Ibecame.”
She had put on a long-sleeved shirt to cover her arms, but now she edged one of the sleeves up and stared down at her ruined flesh. Her expression was so pained that, despite everything, Nash felt compassion for her.
“You’re not your mother, Victoria.”