Ghost Memory by Maer Wilson Page A

on
Thulu’s face. He’d never looked at me with such shock,
embarrassment and disappointment before, and it simply broke my
heart.
    The heat rushed to my face, which I
was sure was beet red, as I managed to stammer my apologies to the
man, to our instructor, Thulu and the class. I assured the man that
I would cover his medical expenses. In a fit of either inspiration
or guilt, I also offered to pay for his classes for six months. I
topped that by offering a scholarship to the dojo. I left for the
changing room before guilt prompted me to give them everything in
my trust fund. My poor dead parents would pitch a fit from beyond
if I did that. Especially after all the arrangements they’d made to
make sure I never needed to worry about money.
    Thulu came in as I stood in front
of the locker I’d been assigned, tears in my eyes. I watched him
from the corner of my eye, not quite daring to look at him, yet.
Thulu was one of the happiest, calmest people I knew, and the
thought of causing him any kind of pain was distressing.
    He gave me a long, searching look,
his expression softening. He came over, pulled me close and dropped
a kiss on the top of my head.
    “It’ll be okay, love. I’m taking
him to the clinic,” he said. He tucked a strand of my hair behind
one ear before giving me the grin I love so much.
    I managed a weak smile in return,
but my heart wasn’t in it and the tears trickled down my face. I
still remembered his expression from a few moments before. He
grabbed tissues from a nearby counter and wiped away my tears.
Looking into my eyes, he gently cupped my face in his hands and
kissed me softly on my lips and once on my forehead before
leaving.
    I watched him leave rather
forlornly, trying to not feel abandoned. I pulled my jeans and T
shirt out of the locker and stripped out of the Gi. I wadded it up
and shoved it into my backpack, wishing I had a fireplace in the
apartment, so I could burn it. I wouldn’t mind burning the memory
out of my brain, either.
    I finished getting into my street
clothes, unhappier than I’d been in a very long time. I wanted out
of there as quickly as possible, but I didn’t want to walk to the
front door through the class. I looked for a back door, but if
there was one, it didn’t have access from the changing room.
    Taking a deep breath, I went back
out to the large studio. Of course, Thulu and the man with the
broken nose were gone, which I’d expected. The others were quick to
tell me that Thulu had taken him to the nearby emergency clinic. I
didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, afraid of the accusations I’d see there.
I only nodded in the general direction of the class as I made my
way out the door.
    The shock at what I’d done faded
into the misery that stayed with me all the way home.
    The sound of a throat clearing just
outside the apartment door caught my attention. At least the old
guy hadn’t followed me inside. What was it he had said? Laugh about
it? Had he been at the dojo? I gave a heavy sigh and opened the
door. The old man stood patiently outside.
    “Come in,” I said grudgingly. Not
that a door would keep out the dead, but it seemed the right thing
to do. And he had been polite and waited for me, so it was the
least I could do. I shut the door behind him.
    He was dressed casually, in tan
slacks and a bright blue polo shirt. He had thinning white hair, a
tanned face that had seen the outdoors, and looked to be somewhere
in his seventies. He stood up straight, but that seemed more like
good posture than military training. His expression was sympathetic
and friendly, and he carried the scent of sun-warmed grass with him
as he moved into our living room.
    “Ms. Fiona Bartlett?” he enquired
pleasantly.
    I nodded. “Yes, how can I help
you?”
    I gestured to the easy chair next
to the sofa, where he sat down. Well, he floated on it actually. I
pulled a tan pillow from one end of the sofa and cradled it as I
sat down, one leg tucked under me. I looked at my