Empty Arms: A Novel by Erika Liodice Read Free Book Online Page A

shrugged. No guy had ever asked me that before. “I play the piano and dance. Ballet.”
    I felt ridiculous as I said it. Those were things Mom made me do. “I like going to movies and concerts,” I added, hoping I didn’t sound completely pathetic. “What do you do for fun in Eagle Pass?”
    “Lots of things. I ride horses.”
    I’d begged my parents for lessons for years, but Mom thought horseback riding, along with most of the things I wanted to do, wasn’t fit for a respectable young lady.
    “I fish. We live near the Rio Grande. The catfish are huge.”
    “Creighton and the guys like to fish.”
    He glanced over at Creighton, who was standing at the river’s edge flexing his biceps for Angela. He turned back to me unfazed. “One of my favorite things to do is go to bull fights. Have you ever been to one?”
    I shook my head. “I always thought it seemed kind of senseless.”
    “That’s because you’re looking at it wrong. Most sports are all about points; touchdowns, runs, baskets, goals. In bullfighting, there aren’t any points, no scores to keep.”
    “Then what’s the point? Where’s the satisfaction?”
    “The satisfaction comes from the triumph of a fragile, breakable human artfully outmaneuvering 1,200 pounds of brute force.”
    I shrugged, unconvinced.
    “Think of it this way. Bullfighting is very much like what you do when you play the piano or dance ballet. The matador must control his movements and maintain his rhythm. There’s an artistic flow that can move you in a way that can’t be described. The satisfaction doesn’t come from a high score but from an intuitive appreciation for what you just experienced.”
    I was fascinated by the way he spoke and moved. It made me want to know everything about him. “What else do you like to do?”
    “We play splits.”
    “Splits?”
    “It’s a knife-throwing game.”
    “I like throwing knives.”
    He chuckled. “
You’ve
thrown knives?”
    “I have.”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    I shrugged.
    He drained his beer. “Fine. Then I challenge you.”
    “You challenge me? To what?”
    “A duel.”
    “You’re challenging me to a duel?”
    He pulled his legs out of the water, jumped up, and extended his hand.
    I put my hand in his and let him pull me up. “I accept your challenge.”
    He pulled me toward him. “Follow me.”
    “Where are we going?”
    “To get my knives.”
    I followed him to a shiny black Camaro with a Texas license plate. “You have them with you?”
    “Of course,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat and reaching across the passenger seat. He opened the glove box and retrieved a black leather case. I couldn’t help but think how much Daddy would despise my new friend and his concealed weapons.
    “Come on,” he said, taking my hand and leading me into the woods. Once we were surrounded by towering oaks, he stopped and told me to pick a tree.
    I spun around, eyeing the thickness of the trunks surrounding us. “That one.” I pointed to a tall oak with a trunk that was thicker than the two of us standing side by side.
    “Nice choice.” He opened his knife case and extended a row of woven leather handles to me. “You want to go first?”
    I pulled a knife from his case and centered myself in front of the tree.
    “Do you need me to show you how to hold it?”
    I shot him a smug smile. “I think I can figure it out.”
    His smirk told me he still didn’t believe that someone like me could possibly know how to throw a knife. “When you miss, make sure to watch where it goes. I don’t want to lose any.”
    “I’ll be sure to do that.” I positioned the metal blade between my thumb and forefinger, gripping it the way Daddy had showed me years ago when Mom was at work. “Never tell your mother about this,” he’d warned as we aimed at the trees in our backyard. I drew my arm back and flung it forward, sending the knife spiraling through the air. It stuck in the center of the trunk with the