The gi bottom was fished out from under the bed, the belt had apparently disappeared, the shoe was found under a mound of clothes in the closet, and a couple of swipes of eyeliner, some lip gloss and a threat of punishment got Allison out of the bathroom.

All three children were dropped at their respective locations and when Allison was kicked out the door, still sulking, Barbara heaved a sigh of relief and drove to the dojo.

Algomo was a small town but unusual in that it successfully supported two schools of martial arts. For reasons she couldn’t define, except a desire to, at least one night a week, avoid her children for an hour or so, Brandon had been enrolled in Master Yi’s school of karate and kung-fu whereas Barb spent Thursday evening at John Hardesty’s Center for Martial Arts.

She parked the Expedition, mentally cursing its wide footprint and inordinate length, and walked in the back door of the dojo. There was a women’s locker room where she slipped out of the dress and boots and donned tight leather footgear that were something like Brook’s missing tap shoe. Then she entered the dojo.

The room was large with slightly worn wood flooring and currently empty. In forty minutes or so the next class would flood in and she’d help with it for another forty minutes or so and then go pick up the kids.

For now she was alone and she started her warm-up, working through a light tai-chi exercise, stretching out each slow muscle movement. After she was slightly warmed up she sped up her pace, adding in some gymnastics and yoga movements for limberness.

“You know,” John Hardesty said from the doorway. “It’s a good thing I’m gay or I’d be having a hard time with this.”

“You’re not gay,” Barbara said, rolling from a split to a hand-stand, legs still spread. She looked at him from between her hands and chuckled at his expression. “See?”