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Mai-Nu did not have a shower, Benito knew. Only a big, old-fashioned bathtub with iron feet. He imagined her soaking in the tub, white soap bubbles hugging her shoulders. But the image lasted only until he wiped sweat from his own forehead. It was so warm; he could not believe anyone would immerse themselves in hot water. So he flipped a channel in his head, and suddenly there was a picture of Mai-Nu standing in two inches of lukewarm water, giving herself a sponge bath. He examined the image closely behind closed eyes. Until he heard the sound of a vehicle coming quickly to a stop on the street.

His eyes opened in time to see three Asian men invade Mai-Nu’s home. Flinging open the door and charging in, looking around like they were seeing the house for the first time. They were older than Benito but smaller, the biggest about five-foot-five, 140 pounds.

One of the men called Mai-Nu’s name.

“What do you want?” Mai-Nu shouted in reply.

She emerged from her bathroom. Her hair was dripping. The short-sleeve nightshirt she had pulled on was wet and clung to her body.

“I have come for you,” the man replied.

“Get out.”

“We will be married.”

“I said no. Now get out.”

“Mai-Nu—”

“Get out, get out!”

The man reached for her and she punched him hard enough to snap his head back.

“You,” the man said, and grabbed for her. Mai-Nu darted away, but the other two men were there. They trapped her between them and closed in on her, wrestled her writhing body into submission. Mai-Nu shouted a steady stream of what Benito guessed were Hmong curses while the first man begged her to remain still.

“It is for both our happiness,” he said as they carried Mai-Nu toward the door.

Benito was running now, out of his bedroom, out of his house and toward Mai-Nu’s front steps. He hit the first man out the door, leaping high with all his weight and momentum, catching the man with an elbow just under the chin, smashing him against the door frame, as clean a check as he had every thrown—his coach would have been proud.

The man bounced off the frame and crumbled to the sidewalk. The second man dropped Mai-Nu’s legs and swung at Benito, but he danced away easily. He was more than a half-dozen years younger than the three men, but five inches taller and thirty pounds heavier. And years of summer league had taught him how to throw a punch. But there were three of them.

“I called the cops!” Benito shouted. “The cops are on their way.”

Mai-Nu squirmed out of the third man’s grasp and struck him hard in the face.

The man seemed mystified.

“But I love you,” he said.

Mai-Nu hit him again.

The other two men turned toward Benito.

“The cops are coming,” he repeated.

One of them said something that Benito could not understand. The other said, “We must leave,” in clear English.

“Not without Mai-Nu,” the third man said.

Mai-Nu shoved him hard and he nearly fell off the steps. His companions grabbed his shoulders and spoke rapidly to him as they dragged him to the van parked directly in front of Mai-Nu’s house.

“Mai-Nu, Mai-Nu,” he chanted as they stuffed him inside. A moment later they were driving off.

Mai-Nu watched them go, her hands clenched so tightly that her fingernails dug ugly half-moons into her palms.

Benito rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

Mai-Nu spun violently toward him.

“Yes, I am okay.”

Benito was startled by her anger and took a step backward. Mai-Nu saw the hurt expression in his face and reached for him.

“Benito, Benito,” she chanted. “You were so brave.”

She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close. He could feel her exquisite skin beneath the wet nightshirt, could feel her breasts flatten against his chest.

“You are my very good friend,” Mai-Nu said as she kissed his ear and his cheek. “My very good friend.”

She released him and smiled so brightly, Benito put his hand on his heart, afraid that it had stopped beating.

“Are you all right?” Mai-Nu asked him.

Benito nodded his head.

“You are sure?”

Benito nodded again. After a moment, he found enough breath to ask, “Who were those men?”

“They are from the Kue clan.”

“You know them?”

“Yes.”

“What were they doing here? Why did they try to kidnap you?”

“It is called ‘marriage by capture.’”

“What?”

“It is a Hmong custom. If a woman spends three days in a man’s home, even if there is no physical contact between them, she must marry him as long as he can pay the bride price set by her family.”

“By your uncle.”

“It is becoming rare in America, but my uncle is desperate.”

“That’s crazy. I mean, they gotta know that you would turn them in, right? They have to know you’d have them arrested.”

Mai-Nu did not answer.

“Right?”

“I could not do that to my people. For practicing a custom that has existed for hundreds of years, no, I could not do that.”

“But you wouldn’t marry him?”

“You are very kind, Benito. And very brave. I am in your debt.”

“Mai-Nu, you wouldn’t marry him.”

“I must ask you one more favor.”

“Anything.”