blinds covering the windows . Cadell ’ s dinette set sat in one corner of the room , a recliner in the opposite corner , facing a small television atop a bookcase , the shelves overflowing with magazines . A hollow-bodied guitar leaned against an amplifier . It was hard to imagine his big fingers fitting the strings .
Cadell led her to the back bedroom . A punching bag hung from a metal girder that was bolted through the sheetrock to the ceiling joists . A speed bag hung nearer the only window , the glass of which had been replaced by a sheet of painted plywood . None of the equipment was new . Around the edges of the room lay a fighter ’ s paraphernalia , tape , gloves , and towels . Neda could smell the cold sweat of recent workouts . Now he bent his body into a fighting stance and threw a few punches at the bag . Neda read the discomfort in his body when he jabbed , the worry on his face . He straightened and stepped into the bag to stop it swinging . “ I truly am working on getting myself ready ,” he said .
“ My father , he put this in for you , yes ?”
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“ It was all worked out between us .” “ Why , Lonnie ?” “ You heard why for yourself . People , they take advantage .”
When Cadell looked her in the eye , Neda swore she saw the past flying toward them , on a crash course with their futures . He wiped at something invisible on his knuckles . “ If maybe I can get myself ready , you ’ ll stay there at your house . We can keep on being neighborly .”
“ That ’ s impossible , Lonnie .”
“ I figured ,” he said , and set his feet before the speed bag as if he meant to land one last punch .