An Aria for Nick (Christian Romantic Suspense) (Song of Suspense) Read online

  His father lay stretched out in the recliner, snoring in an alcohol induced sleep, a nearly empty bottle of cheap whisky in the crook of his arm. Nick sneered at him, and not for the first time the thought crossed his mind that the old man would never wake up if he happened to set the trailer on fire. Knowing that the Army didn't take convicted felons either, whether or not they had a high school diploma, kept him from acting on the notion.

  Nick snagged his father's pack of cigarettes off the table beside the chair, then went outside, quietly closing the door behind him. He started the long walk to school. Nick cut through the back lots and pitted driveways until he left the trailer park and entered the bordering neighborhood. This neighborhood had streetlights and fences and the houses weren't propped up on bricks and jacks. Without a backward glance, Nick tossed the cigarettes in the general direction of a storm drain and started whistling a jaunty tune.

  "Hey, kid!" A deep voice bellowed. Nick froze and glanced back. He saw the man — the soldier — who occupied the little ranch number with the garage that faced the storm drain. "I don't smoke. Neither should you."

  Nick realized that the pack of cigarettes had landed in the soldier's yard. The soldier wore fatigue pants bloused into the tops of his combat boots. He also wore a brightly colored yellow T-shirt that was emblazoned with a black Ranger tab and a black baseball cap with a red scroll on the front. So, he was cadre at one of the schools on the fort, Nick surmised. He had apparently been doing pushups or something in his dimly lit garage.

  "Hey, man. Sorry," Nick offered lamely. "I got it." He walked over to pick up the discarded pack and the soldier strolled down to size him up.

  As Nick reached for the cigarettes the soldier's hand flew out and grabbed his wrist. In a moment, he had the arm turned upright and Nick winced at the uncomfortable contact with his bruised flesh. The soldier then took his left hand and tapped Nick's chin, making the boy look up, bringing his face up into the light. He watched the soldier's eyes slit. "Thought so."

  Realizing that the soldier had just assessed all of Nick's visible injuries, Nick felt his cheeks heat in shame. "It's nothin', man."

  The soldier's thumb pressed harder on the bruise on Nick's wrist and Nick hissed in sudden pain. The soldier said, "Doesn't look like nothing to me. You limp by this house about every other day. I see black eyes and hunched shoulders. Care to explain, kid?"

  Nick jerked his arm out of the soldier's grasp and took a step back. The soldier followed him, keeping eye contact. Nick said, "I said it's nothing. I got it. I don't even know you, man."

  The soldier cocked his head, then nodded once, sharply. "Don't remember me, then?" He stuck his hand back out, this time extended in an offered handshake. "Staff Sergeant Ahearne, Thomas E. And your name, son?"

  Nick stared at the hand the soldier offered in friendship. He slowly extended his own and shook the older man's hand. "Nick." The man did not release his grip but he did cock an eyebrow. "Nick Williams."

  Still holding Nick's hand in his gloved grip, the soldier nodded and said, "You have a strong grip, Nick Williams. So I doubt you're accident prone. That means you either applied all those bruises to yourself for some insane reason — or else you have a serious bully problem." The soldier stared significantly at the pack of cheap cigarettes. "Either way, I want to help. You willing to give it a shot?"

  This soldier was an Airborne Ranger, one of the U. S. Military's elite special forces infantry shock troops. He represented everything Nick aspired to become one day. He had no business even talking to Nick, much less offering him something for nothing.

  As the soldier released his hand, Nick felt something in the center of his chest that he hadn't felt in a very long time. It felt sharp and achy, like a saddle burr, an uncomfortable and unfamiliar feeling. In later years he would recognize this feeling as the birth of hope.

  "What's in it for you?" Nick challenged.

  The soldier smiled an ironic grin. "Well, Nick Williams, that is a very fair question but I am afraid that at this point in time you just wouldn't understand the answer. Not that I think you're dumb. You just don't have all the facts. Let's just say I would be paying off a debt there is no other way I can settle. I can't have some kid limping around in front of my house all bruised up and littering up my neighborhood, can I?"

  Nick shrugged, and then to his very deep surprise, heard himself blurt out, "How can you help me? I don't want any cops involved. If he goes to jail, I got nowhere to go except maybe foster care. I don't want anything to get between me and a solid enlistment after I graduate."

  The soldier's eyes darkened and his expression hardened a little with his unintentional confirmation of the abuse Nick endured at home. "Why don't you come inside, Nick." It wasn't a question. "We'll discuss it over breakfast. Getting some decent food into your body is going to be key in the weeks ahead. I'll introduce you to my wife before she heads over to the hospital for her shift. Maybe she can take a look at you."

  He started walking toward his garage. After a few heartbeats, Nick followed. When he caught up, the soldier gave Nick a friendly slap on the shoulder. It made Nick jump as if startled, like a spooked stallion. The soldier nodded again. "PTSD," he observed clinically.

  "You're going to be fine, Nick. I think there are some things we can do that will fix your situation and make it just as right as the mail in short order. Tell me something, ever see a movie called The Karate Kid?"

  The morning Tom had invited Nick to join them at their breakfast table, Patricia Ahearne, Tom's wife, had set a plate of pancakes in front of him. The stack towered in front of him, covered in butter and real maple syrup. She quickly added fresh squeezed orange juice and strips of turkey bacon, a cup of yogurt, and an ice cold tall glass of whole milk.

  Nick stared at the feast before him and bit the inside of his lip to keep from shedding a tear. He made no move to reach for his silverware, as if waiting for permission, or unsure that all this food was his to take. Patricia said, "We already blessed the meal, lad. Go ahead and eat."

  Patricia was a Physician's Assistant who pulled shifts at the Martin Army Community Hospital on Fort Benning. In the next room, Nick heard a little argument between her and her husband. She was saying words like "social services" and he was saying things like "just give me a month, then we'll do it your way."

  Over the course of the next month, Nick ate better breakfasts and dinners than he ever had before in his entire life. She fed him things he had never even heard of before; corned beef and cabbage and savory stews made with lamb and lentils for dinner; fresh fruit, lean meats, and whole grains with whole milk and juice for breakfast. As Patricia nourished his body and treated his injuries, Nick felt himself growing stronger. His mind cleared of cobwebs and shadows. In fact, he began to see things much more clearly.

  Though he refused to acknowledge it, the hope that had clawed its way into his heart in the Ahearne's front yard that first morning began to grow and blossom as the days passed.

  In the afternoons and evenings, Thomas Ahearne instructed Nick in something called close quarter grappling. In addition to holding a few belts in various martial arts, the Staff Sergeant was a U. S. Army Combatives Master Instructor and Nick became his star pupil. Under the dedicated instruction of Staff Sergeant Thomas Ahearne, Nick learned to ignore inconsequential pain inflicted on his own body and how to leverage his speed and size to bring pain that could not be ignored to his opponent.

  ¯¯¯¯

  ARIA felt a trickle of sweat go down her back between her shoulder blades. Eight minutes into the piece, her arms felt fatigued and she wondered if she might run out of energy. Hot, unbelievably bright lights beat down on her as she sat at the grand piano on center stage at Atlanta's Symphony Hall and played the third movement of Prokofiev's 8th Sonata, the most complicated piano piece she'd ever played. The music made her think of an ant bed all stirred up while ants scurried to and fro putting it all back together. It was a busy, crazy, hard piece to play, and that was exactl
y why she chose it.

  This recital had filled the Atlanta Symphony with over 1,700 people, dressed to the nines in formal attire, watching a concert put on by all of Georgia's most gifted high school musicians. Here, they vied for scholarships from the top music schools in the country. Here, they made their mark as graduating seniors about to enter the adult music world.

  Aria was a favorite among the colleges. A brilliant performance tonight would allow her the opportunity to pick any school she wished. She knew where she wanted to go. It was her prayer, as she reached the end of the piece, that a representative from Eastman was in attendance and would be impressed by her choice of music and her skill at playing it.

  As she added a flourish to the end and stood to face the audience, her first thought was that her arms felt like rubber and her stomach muscles ached at her core. Her next thought was one of absolute surprise and amazement as all 1,700 people in the audience surged to their feet in ovation. They clapped and yelled, some even whistled. The whistle made her feel certain that at least one of her brothers had managed to make her recital.

  Breathing hard and heavy, she put a hand over her heart and curtsied, bending at the waist. As she straightened, she caught sight of the stage manager in the wings motioning for her to walk toward him. Gracefully, as gracefully as she could in three inch black heels and the long black gown, she crossed the stage and made her way into the wings.

  Even back there, they applauded. Other kids her age, all vying for those scholarships, applauded her and her skill.

  "Amazing!" Dr. Bridgett West proclaimed, striding straight up to her. Dr. West, a petite woman with straight black hair cut to her chin and big brown eyes that always looked too big for her face, had instructed her in piano for three years on the recommendation of her tutor from Washington state. Dr. West realized the prodigy she had on her hands within the first week. She encouraged Aria's parents not to let their daughter hold anything back, and worked Aria with a drive that sometimes made the teenager hate the older woman. "I have never heard you play so well. Beautiful job, Aria."

  Aria dabbed at the sweat that dripped from her temple and smiled. "I messed up a chord at the Coda."

  "I honestly didn't hear it, and you know I'd tell you if I did." She gripped Aria's upper arms, the most physical contact she'd ever given her student. "I am incredibly proud of you."

  Nearly a hug and some really heavy praise? At that moment, Aria knew she'd done a good job. "Thank you," she said, smiling. "I mean it. Thank you for everything."

  "Let's go find your parents. I have a feeling you're going to be getting a lot of phone calls tonight and tomorrow morning."

  Giddy, excited, Aria grinned and spun in a circle, tottering a bit in her ridiculously high heels. "I'm so happy this is over." She put her hands to her cheeks, and felt the heat. "Do you think I could get some water?"

  An hour later, Aria milled through the crowd in the reception area above the lobby. She had left her parents and her brother Henry talking to the director of the school of music for the University of Georgia and made her way to the glass balcony. Down below, on a platform in the lobby, a string quartet from a local high school provided chamber music ambiance while over a thousand people rubbed elbows. Aria smiled as she took a sip from the water glass in her hand and knew, without a doubt, that this was what she wanted in her life. This feeling of euphoria after an amazing performance, concert halls, symphony halls, people dressed in tuxedos and pearls. She loved this.

  As she scanned the crowd below, something caught her eye — the flash of perfectly polished brass on a military uniform reflecting the light. Curious, she turned her head until she saw it again, then felt her heart start beating a little faster. Nick?

  She rushed toward the staircase and flew down it to the lobby. She'd seen him by the doors. He hadn't left, had he?

  She rushed to the entrance and saw him again, in his Army JROTC uniform, hat under his arm, hand on the push bar to exit.

  "Nick!" She watched him pause before he turned to look at her. His entire stance tensed as if deciding whether to flee or attack. She nearly skidded to a halt in front of him, quietly cursing the three inch heels. Even in them, though, the top of her head barely reached his chin. "I can't believe you came!"

  Nick looked her up and down, from the toe of her shiny black heels to the top of the blonde hair she had pulled back off of her face with a black ribbon. Around her neck, a strand of pearls gleamed in the light. He'd bet money they were real.

  He didn't tell her that from the moment he met her, he'd attended every public concert and recital she'd ever given, including the one at her church. When she'd cornered him at the locker yesterday and nervously handed him a ticket to that night's performance, he'd almost let it slip that he'd seen her play a dozen times already. For some reason, he didn't want to tell her that. Instead, he borrowed a friend's old Volkswagen Bug and limped it from Columbus to Atlanta on borrowed gas money.

  "Suarez," he said, calling her by her last name, his voice flat and absent of any emotion, "you did amazing."

  He watched her cheeks flush with color. "Thanks." She gestured at him. "Why the uniform?"

  Maybe he wanted to shock her. Maybe he just wanted to see what her reaction would be. Maybe he had never lied to her and he wanted to keep that record intact. "It's the only suit I own."

  Whatever his motives, her response surprised him. "It's perfect. My dad wore his dress uniform, too." She leaned forward and whispered. "I think he wanted to sway the more patriotic minded college scouts."

  "Any college that doesn't pick you is stupid and not worth your time."

  She opened her mouth as if to say something, but closed it again. Then she spoke. "Thank you," she said. "I really appreciate that."

  It felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He did not belong here, with these people, talking to this amazingly beautiful and unbelievably talented girl. He put his hand on the push bar to open the door. "I need to get going, Suarez."

  "Nick, wait!" She put her hand over his. Suddenly, every nerve ending in his body, every brain cell in his head, every molecule of his being, was focused on that one hand on top of his. A two hundred pound man could no longer stop him from moving his arm, but her feather light touch stopped him dead in his tracks. He froze, not even looking back at her as she spoke. "Please stay. Come upstairs with me. I want to introduce you to my parents. I talk about you all the time."

  He looked up through the throng of people in their expensive suits and sequined gowns, wearing earrings and watches that could buy ten of the trailers he lived in and the lot besides. Then he finally looked back down at her. "I don't think so," he said quietly. "Not tonight." He turned his hand so that their palms touched and closed his hand so that it completely engulfed hers. She was so small.

  "I'll see you Monday," he said, looking into her brown eyes. Not understanding where the motion came from, but recognizing how right it felt, he brought her hand up to his lips and brushed a kiss over the back of it, maintaining eye contact the entire time. He recognized her surprised look as her eyes widened and her chest stopped rising and falling. To break some of the tension, he winked and released her hand. "Only a few weeks of school left."

  She didn't say a word as he left the building.

  ¯¯¯¯

  CHAPTER 3

  ARIA closed her eyes against the bright Georgia sun, feeling it bake into her skin. She was lying in the middle of the track field, half-asleep. What a wonderful feeling, she thought, knowing she didn't have to do anything she didn't want to for the next three months.

  She smiled and stretched, when suddenly, a shadow fell across her. She opened her eyes, startled. Nervous energy slowly replaced the fear when she realized that Nick Williams stood over her. She sat up slowly, brushing the grass out of her hair as she did. She shielded her eyes and looked up at him. "Hey, Nick."

  "Suarez." Nick acknowledged, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "Saw you laying out here motionless. Got w
orried something had happened to you."

  "I'm just getting into the summer relaxation mode," she said with a smile. She patted the ground next to her, inviting him to sit.

  Nick hesitated, but finally sat next to her on the soft grass, the sun beating down on them. "Why are you out here? School's out now, remember?"

  "Carol had to come get some stuff from the band room. I drove her." Aria picked a stem of grass and twirled it in her fingers.

  "Big plans this summer?" he asked.

  Aria smiled and leaned back on her elbows. "Nothing at all. I'm sleeping until noon every morning, then I'm going to put on a bathing suit, go down to the pool at the NCO Club, and sleep in the sun every afternoon."

  "Sounds boring," Nick mumbled.

  Aria laughed. "I worked my fingers off for the last ten years to get that scholarship to Eastman. For the first time since I sat down at a piano, I'm taking a break. I plan to relax and catch up on all the sleep I missed for last week's finals before I have to go back to school in the fall." She had graduated third in her class of two hundred. "What about you? What are you doing this summer?"

  "Basic training here at the Fort," Nick simply said.

  "You aren't going to take the summer off?"

  He looked like he wanted to say a lot more than, "Why? I got no money and nothing to keep me here."

  Aria shrugged, a little sad that there wouldn't be an opportunity to see him over the summer. She heard a sharp whistle and looked up. Carol waved at her from the school building before she walked toward Aria's car. "I have to go. Two of my brothers come in town today for tonight's graduation, and I'm supposed to pick one of them up from the airport."