by Judy Clemens
“Kukki-Eh Dehe Kyong Ye,” he said.
They bowed to the flag.
“Wonki-Eh Dehe Kyong Ye.”
They bowed to the Association flag.
“Kwan Jang Nim Ke Kyong Ye,” a black belt said.
They turned and bowed to the instructor.
“Yu Dahn Jah Kyong Ye,” a colored belt said.
They bowed to the black belts.
“Sooriun Guht,” Damon said.
They began.
Casey worked through the jumping jacks, push-ups, sit-ups, and squats on auto-pilot, her body taking over for her brain. She dropped, jumped, crunched, and stretched, and only when Damon instructed them to stop did she realize the other colored belts were watching her with something that resembled fear.
Damon, standing in front of the class, was not afraid. A smile tickled the side of his mouth. He sent them to do kicks by the wall, and Casey was glad to evade his eyes. Trying to put him out of her mind, she concentrated on the swing of her legs, and the force of her kicks.
After a few more strength-training exercises, Damon called for the extra mats. Casey, as the lowest belt there, helped Rosemary and the teenage boys pull the cushioning to the center of the room.
“Forward rolls,” Damon said.
They took turns at corners, rolling one after the other, until he changed instructions. They moved from front rolls to side rolls, from backward rolls to side falls. Damon stopped them. “Dives.”
He crouched down on the edge of the mat.
“Oh, lord,” Rosemary muttered. “I hate these. I always end up doing push-ups.”
This time was no exception, as her dive over Damon ended with her walloping him in the side. She moved over to the side for her consequence.
Damon peered up at Casey, from where he waited. She ran to him lightly, diving over him and rolling into a crouch without much effort.
“Another,” Damon said.
One of the black belts joined him on the floor, on the far side, and the line went through again, diving and rolling. Rosemary, after another failed attempt, joined the two on the floor.
“Now,” Damon said to Casey.
She dove and rolled.
“Another,” Damon said, adding another student to the line.
They dove.
“Another,” Damon said.
Five on the ground. Only Casey, a black belt, and one of the coloreds left to go.
The black belt dove, nicking his fellow black belt with a foot. He dropped for push-ups. The colored belt pretty much crushed the last in the line, and headed for the floor.
“Go,” Damon said.
Casey breathed in. Breathed out. Ran. Dove. Rolled into a squat.
Damon sat up, looking at Casey. “Man in the Middle.”
A black belt stepped into the center of the mat, while the rest took places around the edge. One of the other black belts went after the middle man with a kick. The middle man fended him off, taking him to his knees. Another attacked, ending up on his face. Rosemary stepped up, her fist out, and the black belt gently lowered her to the mat.
Damon nodded at Casey. She attacked from the side, a kick to the black belt’s ribs. He grabbed her leg, flipping and pinning her. She hopped up.
Each student took a turn defending against attackers. Finally, it was Casey’s turn. She stepped to the middle, arms loose at her sides, nerves tingling.
She heard the first one coming from the back, felt his arm coming around her throat. She positioned her hip under his waist, lifted, and flung him to the ground, circling around, ready for the next.
He came from the front, fist to her face. She fended off the punch, twisting his arm to take him down.
Another from the back, who ended up on his side.
From the front.
From the side.
Rosemary came at her, eyes sparkling, and Casey twisted her to the floor.
Finally, it was Damon’s turn.
He struck without warning, an open hand to her jaw. She parried his arm away, punched twice in his ribs, deflected his arm with her elbow and swung it backward, enclosing his wrist in her hand and twisting his arm. He dropped to his knees and she pulled him forward, spinning him to the ground, a knee on his shoulder, his hand twisted backward, his face in the mat.
He slapped the mat twice with his free hand.
She let go.
He stood, that same smile on his lips, and bowed slightly. Casey bowed back.
“Drink,” he said.
The others peeled off, toward the drinking fountain, but kept their attention on Casey and Damon, who stood eye to eye on the mat.
“You have studied before,” Damon said.
“Yes, sir.”
“You wear a white belt.”
“Out of respect for your dojang, sir.”
He nodded. “Where did you study?”
She hesitated. “At a reputable school, sir.”
“Yes. I see that.” He bowed again. “A drink.”
“Yes, sir.”
She hadn’t brought a water bottle, but found an old drinking fountain in the hallway.
“What was that?” Rosemary screeched in her ear.
Casey shrugged.
“You didn’t tell me you were a black belt.”
Casey stood up, wiping her mouth with her sleeve. “It’s white today.”
Rosemary guffawed. “Don’t you give me that.” She put a hand to her forehead. “You’ve had some experience, you told him. Some experience meaning you’ve taken on the likes of Bruce Lee?”
“Bruce Lee doesn’t practice true hapkido,” Casey said.
Rosemary rolled her eyes.
Casey walked back into the room and bowed to the mat before stepping on.
“Techniques,” Damon said. “Pair up. Taylor.” He spoke to a black belt. “You’re with her.” He indicated Casey.
“Yes, sir.”
Casey and her partner didn’t so much practice techniques as spar, working each other through various forms and patterns. Sweat ran in rivulets down Casey’s face as she circled, struck, and parried, and her jacket clung to her back. She could feel the moves coming back, as if they’d never left, as if she’d been keeping them at bay for just this moment.
“Enough,” Damon finally said. “Hyung.”
Casey sighed, shaking out her limbs, and lined up in the back row, where she’d begun class. All eight students began the forms, patterns of movement memorized and practiced time and again. By the fifth form only she and the black belts remained, all of them moving, striking, blocking…dancing together.
When they’d finished the patterns the rest of the belts joined them, and they repeated the bowing ceremony, bowing to the flags, to Damon, to the black belts. Casey stood, walked off the mat, and turned, bowing to it.
“I know your teacher,” Damon said quietly.
She looked up.
“Doug Custer and I studied together under Master Timmerman.”
She cleared her throat, wanting to run. It had been a mistake to come here.
“Your secret is safe,” Damon said. “Whatever it is.”
She looked at the floor, then back at his piercing eyes. “How could you tell?”
“That you have a secret?”
“That I studied with Master Custer.”
He smiled. “You spread your fingers on your palm strikes. You circle after an attack. The signs are there.”
Casey laughed under her breath. “I guess I’m not as smart as I thought I was, coming here.”
He shook his head. “He will not know I have seen you.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “If that is what you wish.”
“It is.”
He glanced at the white belt. “It doesn’t work for you. If you come back, wear your real belt.”
“Yes, sir.” She bowed, and stepped away.
“Casey.”
She turned back.
“You have a talent not many possess. You must realize that.”
“Th
ank you, sir.”
He looked at her a moment longer before dismissing her with a nod.
She escaped to the dressing room, but it was locked. She stood in the corner of the waiting area, arms crossed, looking at the floor, until the three black belts emerged. One paused, but she eased past him, into the changing room, where she closed and locked the door. She dropped to the bench and clutched her hands together between her knees, to keep them from shaking.
Damon knew who she was. If not entirely, or completely, he’d recognized her form. Her essence. When she stopped shaking enough to stand she changed quickly, left the room, and headed down the stairs and out to Rosemary’s car without a backward glance.
Rosemary soon followed, peering at Casey over the top of her car. “You…” She shook her head.
Casey looked away, the confidence of the classroom fading as she considered getting back into the car.
“So what do you think of Master Damon?” Rosemary asked.
Casey puffed out her cheeks. “He’s too smart.”
Rosemary laughed, the tinkling sound echoing from the buildings. “Smart?”
“He is.”
“Of course he is. But more than that…” She leaned over the car, lowering her voice. “He’s a dreamboat.”
Casey looked at Rosemary, at her eyes sparkling under her orange hair, and shook her head. What some women wouldn’t do for a man.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Hey, Casey.”
“Eric.”
He sat on the front porch with his mother, his fingers tapping the arms of the rocker. When Casey got to the top of the steps, he stood. “So. Are you ready to go?”
“In a minute. Let me take this upstairs.” She indicated her Dobak, which lay damp and smelly in her arms.
“Here,” Lillian said, holding out her arms. “I’ll wash it.”
Casey looked down at it. “You’re sure?” And to Eric, “I really should take a shower.”
Lillian smiled. “It’s not the first time I’ve seen sweaty clothes.”
Eric shrugged. “Or that I’ve smelled sweat.”
“Well, okay. Thanks, Lillian. I appreciate it.”
Lillian took the bundle. “Now you two go on. Don’t want to keep the pizza folks waiting.”
Eric held a hand out for Casey to precede him. She went down the steps, then turned around. “Thanks, Rosemary. That was…good, I guess.”
Rosemary smiled. “Oh, it was good for me, too.”
“Yeah.” Casey shook her head, laughing. “I guess so.”
Rosemary gave a hearty chuckle and plunked down in Eric’s rocker. “Toodleoo. Have a fun time!”
Casey shook her head and walked the rest of the way to the Camry, where Eric was waiting in the driver’s seat. Casey gritted her teeth, opened the door, and forced herself to sit.
She was traveling in way too many cars these days.
She shut the door. “I hope you’re a better driver than Rosemary.”
“Oh, much better. But then, most people are.”
Casey had to agree.
They pulled away from the curb, and Casey lifted her hand to the two women, who waved from the porch. She rested her head against the headrest, closing her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Eric said.
She kept her eyes closed. “For what?” Although she knew.
“For not telling you. You know, about my family…” His voice drifted off.
She rolled her head to the left and looked at him. “You didn’t have to tell me.”
“But—”
“What have I told you?”
He glanced at her. “You mean about yourself?”
“Yes.”
He bit his lip, thinking. Finally, his face cleared, and he smiled. “That your name is Casey Smith.”
“Right. Anything else?”
He gave a little laugh. “Not a thing.”
She turned her head back to center, looking out the windshield. “So see? Nothing to be sorry about.”
They drove quietly for several minutes. Eric really was a much better driver than Rosemary. Casey found herself drifting off.
“—and that’s what confuses me.”
Casey blinked. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Were you sleeping?”
She made a face. “I didn’t have the greatest night.”
“Yeah. I heard. But then, I guess you’re used to sleeping on the ground.” He looked at her expectantly.
“Sometimes. But their ground must be extra hard.” She didn’t need to tell him it wasn’t the ground that caused the problems. She glanced into the back seat, but Death wasn’t there. “So what were you saying?”
“That Ellen’s…death… That she wasn’t without hope. In fact, she was determined to get through it all. Had actually told me just the evening before that everyone would soon be working again.”
“At HomeMaker?”
“I’m not sure. But I thought that’s what she meant.”
“But how?”
He shrugged, his mouth forming a hard line. “She never got to tell me.”
They went around a corner and Casey pulled down the visor, the sun having momentarily blinded her. “Not a hint?”
“Just that things weren’t as bad for us as we all thought they were.”
Casey flinched. Well-meaning people—at least they thought they were well-meaning—said the same to her during those first several months. She wasn’t sure how they thought things could be any worse, but she never bothered to ask.
“So did she mean things weren’t as bad at HomeMaker itself? Or just within the town?”
“I really don’t know, except she wasn’t exactly happy about it. I mean, she was happy the town would be working, but something about it upset her.”
They rode in silence again, but this time Casey didn’t fall asleep.
“My dad never tells me anything,” Eric said.
“About work?”
“About anything. He used to.”
“Before you went away? Or before your parents got divorced?”
He flicked her a glance. “Some when I was little. But he seemed to think, later on, that HomeMaker was something I’d be interested in.”
“I thought you’d sworn never to talk to him again.”
He shrugged. “I was twelve.”
“So what he told you—did you want to hear it?”
He leaned to the side, resting his left arm on the door, driving with his right. “That’s the thing. The stuff he’d tell me…”
“Like what?”
“I’m sure you can guess. It was all about the money. It always was.”
“That’s not what Rosemary says.”
“What?”
“She says he started out funny and sweet. And something changed him.”
“Yeah. A whiff of the green stuff.”
Casey nodded. “Could’ve been that.”
“It was.” His face was still. Stony.
They were in town now, a slightly larger town than Clymer, boasting a whole row of restaurants, rather than the few Clymer had. The Pizzeria came up on their right, and Eric pulled around to the back of the building. “Want to help carry?”
“Of course.” Casey undid her seatbelt, and got out of the car.
Eric tossed his keys on the seat and popped open his trunk before rapping his knuckles on the metal back door of the building. It opened with a scrape against the gravel.
“Hey, Eric.” The woman, whose badge proclaimed her the shift manager, shoved a wedge under the door with her shoe. “We’ve got lots of pizzas for you today. A new kid came on board and can’t for the life of him remember what to put on a Veggie Special.”
“Well, thanks for hiring him,” Eric said, grinning. “Oh, this is Casey. She’s been helping out at Home Sweet Home.”
The woman put out her hand, looked at it, and brushed it against her pants, leaving a floury smear. Casey took it when she held it back out. “Good to meet you.”
> “Likewise. So, come on in.” She led them to a large refrigerator, shelved with vegetables, meats, yeast, and what looked like an entire twenty pound wheel of cheese. In the back corner was a freezer section, and when the manager opened that door, they saw three stacks of large and medium-sized pizzas, waiting for a purpose.
Eric whistled. “Wow, you aren’t kidding. Your new kid must’ve been screwing up bigtime.”
“Enough for two meals for your people, maybe.”
“At least. We might have to throw a block party.” He held out his hands. “Load me up.”
The manager placed the first stack on his arms, almost up to his chin. “You got it?”
Eric mumbled something and did a three-point turn to exit the refrigerator.
Casey stepped up for the second load.
“You’re not the same woman he came with the other week, are you?”
Casey blinked. “No.”
“Didn’t think so.” She placed a few boxes on Casey’s arms. “She told me she didn’t think they’d be taking our pizzas for much longer. That I’d have to find a new charity. You know anything about that?”
Ellen. “No. I don’t know anything.”
“Seemed pretty sure of herself. Stopped talking when Eric came back in, and winked at me. Guess she didn’t tell him.” She gave Casey the rest of the stack.
Casey took out the load, lowering it gently to the trunk of Eric’s car, on top of a clean tarp. Eric returned with the final boxes. They eyed their treasures.
“The folks always enjoy our pizza suppers,” Eric said. “This week they might have it two days in a row.”
Casey wasn’t sure those people were in a position to actually enjoy anything, but she didn’t say it.
With a wave the manager closed the back door, and Eric eased the trunk shut. “Mission accomplished. Shall we take it home?”
Home Sweet Home.
They got back into the car and Casey strapped herself in. I’m almost getting used to this again. Riding in a car.
“Smells good, even frozen,” Eric said. “Make you hungry?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“Yeah. Me, neither. I haven’t been…it’s been hard to eat this last week.”
Casey remembered those days. No appetite. Ricky and her mother begging her to eat. Dwindling down to skin and bones. When she finally realized Death wasn’t about to take her, she began to force it down. No taste, no appeal. Just sustenance.
