Discretion Read Free

but rarely talked about what they’d experienced themselves.
    Anna knew she shouldn’t have been surprised. She rarely talked about the darkness in her own childhood. She hadn’t planned to tonight, either. But after everyone else had shared their most private experiences, it felt cowardly to hedge when it was her turn. “My father used to beat up my mom,” Anna said. “It’s probably the reason I became a prosecutor.”
    Grace patted her back, and the other women murmured support. Anna looked at the circle of sympathetic faces. The exercise had been cathartic for everyone.
    Eva herself didn’t share anything. Anna wondered whether the instructor had some trauma of her own that had led her to become a women’s self-defense guru.
    Eva stood up and started the first lesson. Anna expected to punch some foam pillows, but they spent the next hour learning about verbal deescalation—the art of defusing tense interactions with words. They practiced talking their way out of difficult situations with dates, coworkers, and strangers. It was less of a workout than Anna had expected, but a good idea. Many attacks started with verbal parrying.
    “Okay, ladies!” Eva called. “I’m going to teach you one series of moves tonight. You know the most common injury from a bar fight? Broken fingers, from punching with a closed fist. Hit with the heel of your palm, and you won’t hurt yourself—and you won’t hold back because you’re scared of hurting yourself.”
    She showed them how to strike an attacker’s nose with the heel of a hand. The key was twisting from the torso, creating torque power from the core. Then she showed them how to grab an attacker by his shoulder, pull him close, and deliver a debilitating groin kick.
    “It seems counterintuitive,” Eva said, “but you have to go through your attacker. Don’t run away until he’s disabled. Pull him tight to your chest, so he can’t get away when you kick his groin. He’ll bend over in pain, and you follow up with a knee to his head.”
    Eva had them practice on each other. Anna buddied up with Grace. To practice the groin kick, Grace pressed Anna against her, so they were chest to chest and hip to hip.
    “You should’ve at least bought me a drink first,” Anna whispered.
    They cracked up.
    “I’ll buy you a drink tonight.” Grace loosened her grip on Anna’s shoulders. “A bunch of us are going to Rosa Mexicano after this.”
    Anna shook her head with regret. The women from their section always had a great time swapping war stories over pomegranate margaritas. Sex-offense work was tough, and raucous happy hours were cheaper than therapy.
    “I can’t,” Anna said. “I promised to pick up dinner on the way home tonight.”
    “He’s got you on a tight leash, huh?” Grace was the only person who knew Anna had a boyfriend.
    “No.” Anna bristled. “We just have plans.”
    But there was a kernel of truth in Grace’s statement. The last time Anna came home at midnight with margaritas on her breath, her boyfriend had not been happy. He didn’t like her to go out drinking when he had to be home with his daughter. Anna didn’t want to mess up this relationship, so she hadn’t gone out in a while.
    Anna softened her tone. “Have a margarita for me.”
    “That’s what you said last time everyone went out,” Grace chided gently. “And the time before that.”
    Anna was surprised that her absence had been noted. She didn’t want to be one of those women who disappeared when she got a new boyfriend.
    Eva came over and eyed them disapprovingly. Anna and Grace were holding each other like two sixth-graders at a dance, hands on each other’s shoulders, standing an arm’s length apart.
    “What are you waiting for?” Eva asked Grace. “If this were an attack, your assailant would’ve dragged you to an alley by now.”
    “Right.” Grace pulled Anna against her again and performed a mock groin kick.
    Anna bent over in pretend agony just as a musical