chapter Twenty-two
The dojang was housed in an old warehouse almost three miles from Casey’s place. She left the bike and Eric’s car at Ricky’s house and jogged over. She could feel the miles she’d run in the middle of the night, but it was a good burn. It had been too many days since she’d had a chance to exercise properly.
The building looked the same as it had the last time, except for a fresh coat of blue paint on the door. The parking lot was half-filled, but that would represent rides for the different businesses housed within.
Casey walked up the stairs, passing the ground floor pottery, the family counseling center on the other half of the floor, and the second-floor dance studio and dancewear boutique—along with the dance moms and girls Casey had always tried to avoid. Avoiding them was always pretty easy, as the moms kept their precious darlings far away from the martial arts thugs. Casey always thought it ironic that the children—and their mothers—would be far safer with the martial artists than just about anybody else in town, and the crazy moms chose to alienate them. It was just as well. Casey had never been sure how to respond to all the ribbons and lipstick.
The door to the dojang was open, releasing the humid workout air into the stairwell. Casey stood for a moment just outside, breathing in the smells and sounds that instantly found a home in her body. Apparently you could take the woman out of the dojang, but couldn’t take the dojang out of the woman. Wasn’t that how the saying went?
Casey went left in the hall, toward the workout room, away from the lockers. A class was in session, and she could hear someone calling out instructions. Not Master Custer. Someone younger, most likely one of the current black belts. It was what she used to do, back when she was the highest-ranking belt, other than the master.
She checked in the small room that served as the office—windowless and damp—but no one was there except the very out-dated computer, so she made her way to the open door of the workout room. An array of students stood barefooted on the mats, ranging in age from young teens to thirty-somethings, men and women. A black belt stood at the front of the classroom facing the students, who displayed every color belt, with the lower belts in the far back corner. Two other black belts worked out in the front row, one a dark-skinned woman about Casey’s age, the other a white guy younger than Casey, and the thirty-year-old at the front.
Casey’s teacher stood only a few feet from the doorway, his back to her, arms crossed as he surveyed his class. His gray hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and his posture was straight, but relaxed. His feet were bare, and his own black belt had been tied around his waist. The gold bars on the edge of the belt, indicating his rank, gleamed against the black fabric. Three on each end, showing he was a sixth-degree black belt. As always, Casey felt a little in awe just to be in his presence.
She watched from the doorway as the class finished the kata and the black belt resumed his place in the front row.
“Casey,” her teacher said without turning around. “Sword Form Number Two. Everyone else clear the mat.”
Of course he knew she was there. Of course he knew she was already warm from jogging over.
She slipped off her shoes and socks, bowed to the mat, bowed to the Korean flag, bowed to him. The black belt who had been calling orders brought her a sword and handed it over with a bow to her. She didn’t know him, but somehow he knew her. Her teacher said nothing else, just stood there with his arms crossed and his expression unreadable, his eyes the only thing moving as they followed her to her beginning position.
Casey focused on the far wall and breathed deeply, centering herself. For one moment she allowed herself to be thankful she had kept up with her training as she’d traveled, making use of hotel rooms, empty fields, deserted roads, and the occasional athletic facility. She was in shape physically. Now she just had to prove she could also perform mentally.
Casey bent her knees, held the sword straight in front of her body, and began. She stabbed, blocked, swung, kicked, circled, knelt, and did a one-handed cartwheel. It felt good. Her speed was fast and consistent, her feet were grounded, and her center held rock-steady. She thought of nothing but the movement. Nothing but the slap of her feet on the mat, the twirling of the sword in her hands, and her breath coming full and even. She finished with a complex series of swordplay, crouched in a defensive stance. After a few beats she straightened, put her feet together and the sword down, and bowed.
“Critique,” her teacher said. “You.” He pointed at a blue belt who was probably about sixteen.
The kid’s jaw shook, but he replied, “Her speed was steady, Master, and she seemed focused.”
The Master’s lips twitched. “Correct. But I meant for her to critique you. On the mat. Hapkido Third Form.”
The kid swallowed and his eyes flicked to Casey, then back to Master Custer. “Yes, Master.”
Casey bowed to her teacher and left the mat, turning to watch the young man as he went through the form. Part of her felt sorry for him for being singled out, but that was the type of thing that made a strong, confident fighter out of a spindly teenager. So Casey kept her feelings in check. When he was finished and had bowed to both her and the master, her teacher, still not looking at her, said, “Critique.”
Casey looked directly at the boy, but he kept his eyes on her belt. His clenched fists pushed against his legs. “His movements were sharp, with good form. He over-rotated on the kicks, and his center of gravity often seemed to shift forward. Focus was split between his movements and the room, but he kept his shoulders straight, and he used the space well.”
“Do you hear the critique of your better?” Master Custer said to the kid.
“Yes, Master.”
The teacher nodded. “Good work. Much improvement from last time.”
“Thank you, Master.” The boy bowed again, and strode from the mat to join the others.
Custer nodded at the female black belt. “Lead the class in cool down. When you are satisfied, class is dismissed.”
“Yes, Master.”
When she was in front and the others had lined up and begun their stretching, the master turned to Casey. “Come.”
She followed him not to the dingy office, but down the hall and up another flight of stairs, which led to the roof. They stood, facing west, toward the mountains. He didn’t speak. Casey didn’t feel like talking, either, so they stood in companionable silence for quite a while, until they heard footsteps behind them.
The oldest black belt stood there, his face reflecting his discomfort at interrupting. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Master, but there is a phone call for Ms. Maldonado.”
Custer’s eyebrows rose, but he remained facing the mountains. “I guess someone knows how to find you, after all.”
Casey excused herself and followed the black belt down the stairs to the little office. He handed her the receiver and left her alone.
“It’s me.” Eric.
“What is it?”
“We struck out.”
“What? None of them?”
“I’m sorry.”
Casey sat in the desk chair and stared at the trophies crammed on a shelf above the computer. There were others in the big room, the locker room, and on stands in the hallway that had been won by the dojang. But these were the master’s personal stash. “We can’t be done.”
“I have an idea.”
“Which is?”
“I’ll just start calling Manns in Texas and see if I find anything. Because think about it. She came here during the summer, but this might not have been the first place she ran to. She may have been on the run for years. So she wouldn’t even have—”
“—a home phone number in Texas.”
“Exactly. But we had to call around to all of these Elizabeths to make sure.”
“So you’re just going to start calling. That will take forever.”
“What else am I going to do with my time? I’ll see you later.”
“Eric…”
But he’d hung up. Casey sat there for several seconds, then stepped out of the office. The black belts were in the workout room, preparing for the next class, which was apparently for kids. One had already arrived, and was fitted out in a helmet. More were coming up the stairs. Casey escaped to the roof.
The master was standing in the same place as when she’d left. He said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” Casey finally said.
He didn’t respond.
“I should have called. I should have written. Something.”
He looked out at the mountains. “You mistake my silence for criticism. Or anger. I feel the need for neither one.”
Casey waited, and her teacher finally turned toward her and studied her face. “I feel nothing but sadness for what you have been through. Nothing but concern, and the desire to help. But I believe what you need must come from inside you.”
It was Casey’s turn to gaze at the mountains. “I don’t recognize what’s in there anymore. Who I even am. Who I’m supposed to be.”
“I know. It is a journey, and you alone are able to find your destination. Your way may twist and turn, but eventually you will find what you are looking for.”
The same thing she’d been told by a sensei in Florida only days before. These centered, disciplined, wise people were all the same.
“I’ve been trying to follow the path,” she said. “But I have no idea if I’ve made any progress. It’s all so pointless.”
“I understand,” he said. “Life has changed your course, and it’s hard to find your way.”
They were quiet again, while Casey stewed about her teacher’s idealistic philosophy. Easy to say “follow the path” when you weren’t the one trying to beat back the brush to find it.
“You say you have been following the path, and I believe you,” the master said. “But there is one thing I learned long ago that helped me find peace along my own journey.”
“Oh, did you lose your entire family in an explosion, too?”
“There are other journeys, Casey. Other ways pain forces itself into a life. Yours is not the only story. Your brother is living in a rather sordid story of his own right now.”
Casey’s face burned. “Of course. I’m sorry, Master.”
“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to hear what I say.”
He waited for Casey to tear her eyes from the mountains and fix them on his face.
“You must make this journey, and you alone can discover exactly what it is you need. But that doesn’t mean you must be alone.”
Casey heard his words, but they didn’t sink in. Not until he said it again.
“Casey, my friend. There comes a time when you need to realize that a journey is not a solitary experience. You must allow others to aid you along the way. The grief is yours, and the heartache, but it is something that only lessens when you share it.” He smiled gently. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“That I need to let someone else travel with me.” She gave a little laugh. “But who else wants to spend life on the road?”
He shook his head so subtly Casey almost missed it.
“What?”
“You’re listening to my words, Casey, but you’re not hearing what I’m saying.”
“I am. I hear you. You’re saying I need to let someone else travel with me.”
He watched her for a few more moments with his piercing blue eyes, then went down the stairs to join his class.