Tempo Of Love. Kianna Alexander

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СКАЧАТЬ There was a photo of Ken along with a quote about how much he enjoyed running at Freedom Park. Nona made a mental note of those tidbits as well as the name and email of the writer of the article. Obviously that person had had some success with interviewing Ken and had even managed to get a photo out of him.

      In a separate window, she shot off a quick email to the writer, hoping to garner some tips on how to get Ken to open up. The running article was fairly recent, having been published in the past six months. That gave her hope that the writer would remember her interactions with Ken and be able to offer some insight. At this point, Nona would take whatever help she could get.

      Next she performed a search of Ken’s name in conjunction with Hiro Yamada. The way Ken had bristled at the mention of Hiro’s name let her know there was definitely a close association between them. Hiro had served as county commissioner during the late ’70s and early ’80s, so she checked the image search results to see what the former official had looked like during his tenure. When she placed the image of Hiro in the ’70s next to the photo of Ken from the fitness magazine, the resemblance immediately became apparent. Nona smiled.

      I’d bet my press pass that Hiro and Ken are father and son. There wasn’t any other logical conclusion. Ken was basically the identical twin of a young Hiro. That would also explain why Ken had become so agitated when she brought up Hiro’s name. Ken had been particularly unwilling to talk about his upbringing. What better way to get to the root of someone’s childhood experiences than to bring up their parent?

      Going a bit deeper into the image results, she came across a family portrait. It had been taken for the Observer as part of a profile on Hiro during the time he occupied the commissioner’s seat. It showed a young Hiro with his arms around a demurely dressed young woman, who in turn cradled a baby.

      The caption read: Commissioner Yamada with his wife and son. Nona knew the baby was probably Ken. But while her dash through the internet had revealed a few things to her, it also left her with so many more questions. Why had Ken tried to hide the fact that Hiro was his father? And why had he been so reluctant to talk about his childhood? The family photo seemed to show two loving parents doting over their precious infant. But she’d been around long enough to know that looks could be deceiving.

      Sheba began whimpering from her spot on the couch, a telltale sign of the pup’s restlessness. She nudged Nona’s thigh, further communicating her need to go outside.

      “All right. Let’s go run, girl.” She shut down the computer, slid it into a blue laptop sleeve and set it on the coffee table. Grabbing the leash, her house keys and her phone, she tucked them into the fanny pack she wore when she ran.

      Just as she started to zip the pack, her phone buzzed. Checking it, she saw that the writer from the fitness magazine had replied to her message. Thankful that the reporter had gotten back to her so quickly, she clicked the leash buckle to Sheba’s collar, then opened the email.

      Good morning.

      Just saw your message. Yes, I remember Mr. Yamada. He’s a hard nut to crack. The best way to get him to talk is to run with him. That’s what I had to do. It seems to relax him and gets him to open up. You mentioned he’s very evasive, and he was initially the same way with me. Even if you’re not a runner, if you don’t get out on the trail with him, expect more of the same.

      Best of luck,

      M. Hargrove

      Smiling, Nona tucked the phone away. Now she had what she needed to get Ken to tell his story. Luckily, she happened to be a frequent runner and was in very good shape. Since she and Ken were close in height, she was sure she could keep up with him on the trail.

      As she headed out the door with Sheba, she started planning how to make this run with Ken happen.

      * * *

      The interior of the kendo room at Satori Martial Arts was filled with the sounds of shouting, feet stamping and wood striking wood. The noises echoed in Ken’s ears, partly because he was making some of them as he and Marco moved around the wooden floor, sparring. Their bare feet made a shushing sound as they slid over the floor’s surface, then a boom as they stomped in time with the thrusts of their bamboo swords.

      Their bodies were encased in traditional practice clothes. The outfit worn frequently by students and those who sparred casually consisted of loose-fitting white jackets and trousers. Because they were friends and didn’t spar for competition, they generally didn’t wear the full kendo armor.

      When the match ended, and both men bowed to each other, Marco groaned. “You know, I’m tired of coming here to spar with you and getting beat every time.”

      Ken shrugged as the two of them left the sparring floor. “I told you to practice more often. How do you expect to improve without practice?”

      They entered the locker room, where Marco shrugged out of his sweaty shirt. “I don’t have time. And now that I’m married, I have even less time.”

      With a shake of his head, Ken stuffed his own damp clothes into his gym bag. “It’s about commitment. You’re not committed.”

      “You should be committed. My loyalty is to Joi.” Marco pulled a towel and his shower caddy from his locker and started moving toward the showers. “It’s strange that everything that excites you involves wooden sticks. You work with a pencil, play drums for the band and then come here and swing a bamboo sword for kicks.”

      “What can I say? I’m a steady guy.” Ken chuckled and punched Marco in the shoulder as he walked by.

      After the men had showered and changed, they moved to the snack bar. Seated at a small table with two protein shakes, they continued their conversation.

      “Are you ever going to get serious about kendo?”

      “No.” Marco didn’t hesitate with his answer. “To be honest, I don’t know how I let you talk me into coming here in the first place. We both know I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

      Ken laughed. “Based on how much you suck at this, I’d have to agree.”

      Taking a drink of his shake, Marco frowned. “You know what? I’m not coming back here. When I was single and had free time to kill, that was one thing. But now that I’m married, I see no reason to leave my beautiful wife just to come here and be insulted by the likes of you.”

      Ken shook his head. “Do you even know what kendo means? What it’s all about?”

      “I don’t, but I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”

      “Yeah, I will. Kendo means ‘the way of the sword.’ It has its basis in the time-honored tradition of Japanese swordsmanship. It builds character, increases physical strength and...”

      “Blah, blah, blah.” Marco rolled his eyes. “You know what else builds my character and increases my physical strength? Being home with my wife.”

      Ken could see he was losing this battle. “I get it, Marco. I won’t be upset if you decide not to come back to the dojo.”

      “Good, because I’m not,” he said as he finished up his smoothie. “What’s going on with you and the newspaper reporter, by the way? Told her your life story yet?”

      “Actually I haven’t told her much of anything.” He leaned back in his chair, remembering how irritated СКАЧАТЬ