Dying Echo A Grim Reaper Mystery - By Judy Clemens Page 0,57
bread.
“This can’t possibly be from the gas station.”
She laughed. “Not a chance. But grocery store delis, now, they are a wonderful thing. Do you want to eat here, or should we take it outside?”
“Definitely outside. I think I’m suffering from cooped-up-ness. And yes, that is an actual medical term.”
They sat on the back steps and ate, only inches from each other. Casey was aware of the heat of Eric’s leg, even though they weren’t touching, and the brush of his arm against her sleeve. She ordered herself to remain where she was, and to act like a grown up about it.
“So, how was the dojo?” Eric said.
“Dojang. Dojo is Japanese.”
“And dojang is…”
“Korean. I study hapkido, which is a Korean martial art. If I studied aikido or judo, or if I wanted to be a ninja—” she grinned “—I’d go to a dojo.”
They ate quietly for another minute.
“So, how was the dojang?” Eric said.
Casey stirred her soup. “Humbling.”
“Forgotten how to do things?”
“Apparently.”
“You look in shape.”
“I am. Physically. It’s the mental part the master seems to be worried about.”
Eric nodded. “I can see that. But did you tell him you were committed to being nicer now? Maybe that would help.”
Casey sipped her soup. “Didn’t get around to that. Guess I should have, since he’s convinced I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“About what? Ricky?”
“Life.”
“Ah.”
Casey tossed a bread crumb to a squirrel, who took it and scampered away, like Casey was going to change her mind and try to steal it back. “You would get along with him well.”
“How come?”
“You both think I’m hard to be around.”
“Maybe he and I should get together and talk. Except I’d be afraid of him.”
“Why?”
“Isn’t he the one who taught you to…do what you did?”
“In Ohio? You mean, kill people?” Eric had been there. He’d seen her fight, had seen the man die.
Eric looked deeply into his soup. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”
“Of course it is.” She gazed up into the trees, where the rusty leaves let patches of sunlight through in moving patterns. “I wish you hadn’t seen that. I wish it hadn’t happened. But it did, and we probably ought to talk about it sometime.”
“I don’t need to. It’s over. I told the police it was self-defense because I really believed it was.”
“You were right. It definitely was. I never…I didn’t want to kill anyone. Ever.”
“Then why the hapkido? Isn’t that basically training you to…well, kill people? Or at least fight them?”
“No, it’s a defensive art, not an offensive one. And seriously, how many people—Americans, especially—do you see going around using it in bars or whatever? And I don’t mean in the movies. It’s more an art form—or an exercise. It’s great for getting in shape, and for your frame of mind.”
“Then why not just do aerobics? That’s exercise. That should release the seratonin—isn’t that what’s supposed to be released?—and make you a mentally healthy person.”
Casey shuddered. A week earlier she had been the aerobics instructor at an exclusive club, and the seratonin definitely hadn’t been flowing there. “Hapkido isn’t just an exercise. It’s a way of life. A way of looking at things. Awareness. The ability to see the whole of something and not just a small part. Stability. Self-assurance.”
“You have all those things?”
“I used to. That’s why today was so humbling. As soon as I stepped on the mat I felt focused, but the moment I was off and it became about life I lost it all.” She shook her head. “I’ve failed my master and hapkido as a whole. Or hapkido has failed me.”
“Maybe not. Maybe you would be a complete loss if you hadn’t had your training. Maybe hapkido really did save you, after all. Did your teacher tell you to stay away?”
Casey remembered Master Custer’s back as he left her on the roof. “No. But he didn’t encourage me to return anytime soon, either.”
Eric put his empty dishes aside and stretched out his legs. “Looks like you’re stuck with just me, then.”
“Yeah, looks like it.” Casey stabbed some lettuce with her fork and took a bite because she felt like she might laugh just a little. Or maybe cry.
Eric’s phone rang in his pocket and he took it out, looking at the screen. “Texas area code. Hello?” He listened for several seconds, then said, “And how long ago was this?” He made a motion like he needed a pencil. Casey hopped up and ran into the kitchen, returning with paper and pen. He scribbled madly, saying, “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Okay. And