“Yeah, kinda,” Loup said. “But I think he meant it.”
“Loup.” Father Ramon shook his head. “I can’t let you throw your life away like this.”
“What life?” She shrugged. “What have I got left with Tommy gone? You made me promise to stop pretending to be Santa Olivia. The Santitos are all growing up in ways I’m not a part of.” That wasn’t entirely true, but it might as well be if Pilar was going to kiss her, then tell her to pretend it never happened. “There’s nothing I can do to help you guys that someone else doesn’t do better except dig graves. But this, this I can do. And I want to do it.”
“Of course you do,” Sister Martha said gently. “Honey, you’re upset and grieving, and yes, you have very… unusual… gifts. Give yourself time to heal. Vengeance is never the answer.”
“It’s not vengeance.” Loup struggled to find the right words. “I don’t want to kill the guy. I don’t think he meant to kill Tommy. It was a, a fluke. I just want to beat him. I want to make it happen the way it was supposed to happen.”
“He’ll have rotated out of service by the time you’re ready,” Father Ramon observed.
“Ramon!” Sister Martha exclaimed.
“Well, he will.”
“Yeah.” Loup nodded. “Coach Roberts thought of that. He said it’ll take at least three years to make me good enough if I’m right about the guy, and even then it’s a long shot. But he’s pretty sure if General Bill doesn’t die or retire before then, he can get him to bring the guy back. And if he can’t…” She shrugged again. “Maybe they’ve got others like him. I dunno. I’ll fight whoever they give me. It wouldn’t be as good, but the point is to win. To make Tommy’s dream come true. It’s what everyone wanted.”
Father Ramon eyed her.
“You cannot possibly be considering this,” Sister Martha said to him.
He ignored her. “You do know that win or lose, they’ll take you into custody?” he asked Loup. “There’s not going to be any magic ticket north for you.”
“I know. But maybe it’ll be better than spending my life digging graves, pretending to be something I’m not, and dying young.” She held Father Ramon’s gaze. “And there might be one for someone else if the general keeps his word. Maybe even two. That’s what he’s always promised, one for the winner and whoever they pick. The coach thinks it’s possible.”
“Jesus,” Sister Martha murmured.
Loup looked at her. “Sister, I’m gonna do this one way or another. I need a place to train in secret. If you’re willing to help, it’ll be a lot easier. Coach’ll donate some equipment, say it’s in Tommy’s memory. We can push Father Gabriel’s old car out of the garage and set it up in there. But it probably means that they’d figure out that you helped when it comes to the fight, so if you don’t want to, I understand.”
“Loup’s father might have been a deserter, but she was born here in Outpost, after all,” Father Ramon said. “It’s not a crime to help her. There’s no statute about harboring the illegitimate offspring of genetically altered soldiers.”
“There would be if it had occurred to them!” Sister Martha said tartly. “It’s only common sense.” She was silent a moment. No one else spoke. “They’ll know one thing for sure,” she said at length. “They’ll know we sheltered Santa Olivia.”
Her words hung in the air.
“Yes,” Father Ramon said in a wondering tone. “They will indeed.”
Sister Martha sighed.
Loup looked from one to the other. “Does that mean yes or no?”
“Maybe God does move in mysterious fucking ways.” Sister Martha rose. “I think it means yes.”
When Loup told Floyd Roberts the next day, he gave a grunt of approval. “Good. Let me make a couple of calls. I’ll have it delivered.”
“Yeah?” Loup said in surprise.
He smiled sourly. “What were you going to do, hump it across town on foot? There are folks in the army feel pretty bad about your brother’s death. Let me put ’em to work for you. Just keep your head down.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good girl.” Floyd patted her head. “I want you to start slow while I have time to think about this. We’re going to need a plan. No boxing, no fostering bad habits until I have the chance to teach you myself. You remember how I started Tommy?”
“Jumping rope,” she said.
“Right. And that I know you can do.” He hefted her right arm, felt at her muscle tone. “You want to press weights, I guess that’s okay. Don’t think we have to worry about these bones turning brittle.” He nodded at the nearest bench. “Show me your technique.”
Loup trotted over obediently. The barbell in the cradle held two hundred and twenty-five pounds. She positioned herself and did a set of fifteen reps, slow and steady, then eased the bar back into the cradle.
“Wrong!” Floyd poked her hard in the belly. “Warm up and stretch first. Always. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
He looked sideways at the barbell. “Jesus lord God. All right. It was fine otherwise. Keep it light, whatever that means for you. Don’t…” He sucked meditatively on the inside of his cheek. “Don’t try to press more than three hundred for now. You’re still a kid. Lots of sets. Wide grip, close grip. Alternate. Use a spotter. Got it?”
Loup sat up. “Yeah.”
“Conditioning,” Floyd mused. “That’s going to be a big part. You’re right; our man’s not going to work as hard because he doesn’t have to. But it’s sure as hell not going to be enough. Still, it’s a starting place.” He scratched his stubbled chin. “All right. You’ll get your gear tomorrow. Do what I told you. Treadmill. Jump rope. Bench. Nothing more. Come back in a week, and we’ll talk. Okay?”
“Okay.”
The next morning, Loup recruited Mack and T.Y. to help her clear the church’s garage and told them why. There wasn’t much in the garage except the old maroon Mercedes that had belonged to Father Gabriel, dead before any of them were born. Mack, who knew about cars even though he’d never driven one, climbed behind the wheel and put it in neutral. Loup and T.Y. pushed it out of the garage and onto the cobbled drive.
“Sweet.” Mack got out of the car and patted its chassis. “Bet this baby could go back in the day.” His hard gray gaze settled on Loup. “So you’re really gonna do it, huh? No matter what?”
“Yeah.” She nodded. “Will you help?”
T.Y. rumpled his sweat-damp hair. “Fuck yeah, we’ll help!”
The coach was as good as his word. Ten minutes later, a military supply truck pulled up outside the gates and honked its horn.
“Hey!” Sergeant Buckland leaned out of the passenger-side window. “Got a delivery here for the Little Saints of Santa Olivia! Any takers?”
His men unloaded the equipment with deft efficiency, uniformed soldiers hauling a bench press and innumerable weights and dumbbells, a motorless treadmill, a heavy bag and a speed bag and countless other pieces of flotsam and jetsam into the garage.
“Guess you boys will have fun with this, huh?” the sergeant asked Mack.
Mack smiled thinly. “Guess we will.”
“Hey.” He spotted Loup, who was trying to keep her head down, and came over to sling an arm around her shoulders. “How you doing, honey?”
She pulled away. “Okay.”
Sergeant Buckland repeated the words he’d spoken the night Tommy died, his voice soft and sincere. “I sure am awfully sorry about your brother.”
“Thanks,” Loup murmured.
“Okay.” He patted her awkwardly. “You take care, now.”
The soldiers left and the Santitos set about installing the equipment. Loup was holding the heavy bag up while Mack stood on a ladder and secured the chain around a beam when Pilar wandered into the garage.
“Hey, wow,” Pilar said to T.Y., who was arranging weights on a rack. “What’s going on?”
“Loup’s gonna train to fight the guy who killed Tommy,” he informed her.
There was a brief silence. “Are you serious?”
“Hell, yeah!”
“Okay,” Mack called down. “See if it holds.”
Loup let go of the bag. It swayed gently. The beam creaked, but it held. She turned around. “Where’d Pilar go?”
T.Y. shrugged. “Dunno. Why?”
She sighed and contemplated the equipment. “No reason, I guess.”
TWENTY-NINE
It helped.
It helped to have something to do. All the grief, all the sorrow, all the emptiness and anger—Loup channeled it into physical activity.
She skipped rope.
She lifted weights.
She ran on the treadmill until it broke and Mack had to fix it, and then she ran some more.
When a week had passed, she went back to the gym and met with Floyd Roberts. This time, his eyes weren’t bloodshot. He showed her different exercises with barbells and dumbbells and gave her a chart with a weekly regimen.
“Understand?” he asked.
Loup nodded. “Yes, sir.”
It was mindless work, but it felt good. Good to push until her muscles burned and ached with fatigue. Sets and sets of reps and reps. Loup resumed her chores around the church. Every free moment, she spent in the garage. She worked relentlessly, mindlessly, fixed on a single goal.
“You have officially become the most boring person on the planet,” T.Y. informed her.
“Read to me.”
He cracked open the yellowing pages of an old novel. “‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times; it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness… ’ Are you sure?”