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

by Bridgeman, Hallee

  He got up and took a long, hot shower, enjoying the luxury of his cousin's massaging shower head as always. He no longer longed for a hut on a beach and endless tall glasses of icy lemonade but he very much craved his Bible and a quiet place. He and God still had to have a talk. It would be a long talk. He was reading his Soldier's Bible when Marcus returned to the apartment.

  "Hey, Cuz. I was hoping you were back. You hungry?"

  Nick nodded. "The last thing I ate was some halal thing in Dubai."

  "At the airport?"

  "Yeah. The food court was closed."

  Marcus nodded. "That stinks. I'm gonna' make you an omelet."

  To his surprise, Nick heard his stomach growl. Marcus barked a laugh. "And some waffles and corned beef hash, too, I guess."

  They didn't really talk until Marcus sat across from him and they started eating. Instead of shoveling his food in, Nick actually savored every bite. "I could get used to a famous White House chef making breakfast for me."

  Marcus looked up, surprised. "How'd you hear about that?"

  Nick raised his eyebrow. "Try to remember where I work."

  Marcus grinned. "It was just a cake. But I got to ride in Air Force One. That was, oh, you know, fantastic and amazing."

  "I'm really proud of you, man. And just to be clear, any cake you've ever made was never 'just' a cake." Marcus made pastry into art, pure and simple.

  Humbled, Marcus asked, "You like your omelet?"

  "It's amazing." It was.

  Marcus nodded. "I tried something different this time. I'm part of some televised cooking competition for breakfasts next month. This is what me and the chefs at the Viscolli came up with for the eggs."

  "I'd vote for you." They made small talk and Marcus told Nick all about making cakes for the Presidential party at Camp David as well as on Air Force One. He also briefed him about events that had taken place at the children's camp for which he volunteered each year. The camp was especially designed for children who had lost parents in combat.

  Nick filled his mouth with fresh squeezed orange juice and sighed with contentment. "This was really good. Thank you."

  "You want any more? I can make more waffles."

  Nick shook his head. "No thanks. It was perfect. I'm stuffed."

  Marcus sat back. "I heard from my father that your dad knows you're alive."

  Nick nodded. "Guess so. But I thought your dad was estranged from the rest of the family."

  "Apparently, the two brothers have been tentatively talking for about six months now. I'm not sure who contacted whom, but I heard about it last week." He leaned forward again. "They gonna' take back your life insurance then? Seeing as how you aren't dead and all."

  Nick felt his eyes widen. "Oh, man. I hope not."

  "Well, if they do, you should make me your beneficiary for at least half next time. I've just been sitting here adding up all the breakfast and hot water and laundry service you've helped yourself to over the last ten years."

  He saw his cousin's eyes twinkle and Nick grinned. "Marcus, it would be impossible to repay you for your hospitality over the years. I really mean that." In that very moment, Nick started to think about how he might repay his cousin.

  "Start by doing the dishes. I'm taking a shower assuming you didn't use all my hot water — again."

  By the time Marcus got out of the shower, Nick had cleaned the dishes and relocated to the living room. His packed bag sat on the floor in front of the couch and Nick had his long legs stretched out with his feet propped up on the bag like an ottoman. Using the morning sun for light, he quietly read from the book of Psalms.

  "What's next for you? More windmills to tilt? Back in the saddle?" Marcus asked.

  Nick shook his head. "Actually, I've been praying a lot and … I think it might be time to return to the land of the living and hang up my spurs."

  Marcus' eyes widened. Without a hint of teasing in his voice he asked, "No kidding?"

  "Not even a little bit."

  "Well, don't get me wrong or anything, Nicholas, but I just don't know if I could feel safe at night knowing you weren't out there somewhere defending liberty on the frontiers of freedom. What will you do with yourself?"

  Nick closed his Soldier's Bible and tossed it on top of his bag. "I have some ideas."

  "No more international travel to destinations unknown? No more months long trips to 'Europe' you can't tell me much about even though you have Saudi Riyals and Yemini Dinars stuffed in your pockets? No more risking your life and getting shot and stabbed and burned? No more guns and knives and kung fu for you? No kidding?"

  Nick sat up straight. "Here's the thing. I used to really love parts of my job. I used to really, really love parts of it. And the people I work with. I still love most of them. They're an amazing group of individuals. But the fact is I have always hated other parts of my job. Lately, there's way more I hate. I'm tired, Marcus. I've been tired for a while." He looked out at the New York City skyline as the morning sun painted the buildings gold. "My soul is tired."

  "How you planning to pay the bills? You aren't even thirty yet are you?"

  Nick grinned. "I've got some savings tucked away. I've been making a salary for ten years that I haven't touched on any real level."

  Marcus snorted. "When that runs out, then what? You got a job offer?"

  Nick shook his head. "Not exactly."

  "The Viscolli's looking for a sous chef. You want to be my sous chef? You have mad knife skills."

  Nick grinned, "It's tempting, but I have something else in mind if it works out. If it doesn't I'll be sure to let you know."

  Marcus tilted his head. "There's a girl, isn't there?"

  Nick let out a long sigh. "There's always been a girl. I just don't know if I'm the right boy for that girl."

  "Hogwash."

  Nick raised an eyebrow. "Hogwash?"

  "You heard me."

  "You of all people know where I came from."

  "Past tense, Cuz. Came from. Where are you going? Where will you be? Your childhood isn't an issue here." Marcus held up a finger to forestall Nick from objecting. "It simply is not. Look at my dad. He pulled himself out of the same trailer park you grew up in. Look at all he's accomplished and all the doors he's opened for me and my sister."

  Nick contemplated that. "You're right. I've never even thought of it that way."

  "I know I'm right." Marcus smiled.

  "How's your love life, Marcus?"

  "Oh, you have to go there, do you? That hurts, man. It does." He laughed then innocently inquired, "What's her name?"

  Nick didn't know what kind of look he gave his cousin or what exactly Marcus saw in his eyes, but Marcus relented with his hands raised in a calming gesture. "Okay, man. Forget I asked."

  "No. It's okay. I'm just not used to sharing. Aria. Her name is Aria."

  "You going to go see that girl, now? Aria?"

  Nick shook his head.

  "See, I always knew you were stupid. All this time," Marcus nodded. "I could probably get the President to order you to go see her. I could use cupcakes as a bribe. Oh, I have the First Lady's ear, let me tell you."

  "I might have a slightly bigger bargaining chip with POTUS than a cupcake." Nick hinted, thinking of the nuclear device he had recently helped to secure and that the President of the United States had already personally signed his commendation.

  "Maybe so," Marcus agreed affably. "But not with the First Lady. She loved my icing, Cuz."

  "I think I may need to do something first. But," Nick hesitated then went for broke, "I have a favor to ask."

  "Anything, man. What's up?"

  "Pray with me. I need someone to pray with me right now."

  Marcus clapped. "You got it, Cuz. Let's do this!"

  ¯¯¯¯

  Chapter 34

  NICK stood in the yard and stared at the little cottage. The sweltering summer sun beat down on the back of his neck while he breathed in the humid air, sending him back to his childh
ood, bringing with it a flood of unwanted memories. After they had prayed together, Marcus had convinced him that coming here was the best idea. So Nick caught the next flight. Now here he stood, wondering why he had listened to his cousin. In his heart, he wanted to walk up the steps and knock on the door, but uncertainty paralyzed him, so he stood and stared.

  What was he doing here? What did he hope to accomplish?

  As he contemplated leaving — making as if he'd never come in the first place — he heard his father call his name from behind him. "Nick?" He turned and saw his father walking up the path from the garage. As soon as Raymond realized it really was him, he ran the last few yards. "Nick!"

  "Raymond," he greeted coolly, stepping back when Raymond drew closer and reached out as if to hug him. Instead, Nick stiffly held his right hand out and offered a hand shake.

  "I wasn't expecting you," Raymond said, gesturing to the cottage. "Please … please come in this time." He looked around. "Is Aria with you?"

  "No," Nick answered, following his father into the cool air conditioned interior of Raymond's home. "She's with her parents."

  Out of long habit, Nick mentally cleared the room for possible threats as he stepped inside. The main room was simple, a couch and recliner behind a low coffee table faced a small flat screened television. A cut out bar with a Formica countertop separated the living room from the small kitchen, which had a narrow refrigerator and a two-burner stove.

  Four photographs hung on the wall. The largest had a little plaque that said, "Ribbon Cutting with James & Melody Montgomery," and depicted a man in a suit that likely cost the equivalent of Nick's monthly salary and a woman wearing the most outrageous pair of boots Nick had ever seen and a matching cowboy hat. Together with Raymond, they held a gigantic pair of golden scissors to cut the ribbon opening this facility. The woman looked really familiar to Nick, like maybe some kind of celebrity. Three smaller pictures below the larger one depicted Raymond with different groups of boys wearing different colored T-shirts emblazoned with a year, all with enormous smiles on their faces. They looked so … happy.

  "I don't ever have any kids in here," Raymond said, "so unless one of the Suarez's comes by, I don't ever really have any company. The Montgomerys usually pop in some time after Christmas to see if the boys liked their presents. I'm not really set up for company but I might have some water."

  "Water would be great," Nick uttered, his eyes on the pictures of the boys with their arms around his father.

  "Take a seat," Raymond offered, gesturing toward the couch.

  As Nick sat, he saw that the coffee table was a type of shadow box filled with coins. Nick knew military coins signifying units, but he didn't recognize these until he looked closer and realized they were Alcoholics Anonymous coins.

  "I just got my 10-year coin in May," Raymond conveyed as he came into the room. He tapped the top of the table over a coin with a large X in the middle of it. "That one."

  "Congratulations." Nick's mouth felt dry so he took a drink of water out of the bottle Raymond handed him. "Quite an achievement."

  Raymond sat in the recliner and nodded, but his face was heavy. "I didn't achieve anything, son. All the credit for that goes to a higher power. Besides, it was about twenty years too late and came at great cost." He cleared his throat. "I'll never be able to make up for it."

  There was a long pause before Nick replied. "No. No you can't."

  He started to get up to go, but Raymond spoke again. "I fell in love with your mother when we were in high school. I drank then, ever since I was 14, but she asked me not to drink and I quit. I was her act of rebellion. Stick it to her rich daddy and marry the grease monkey. The reality of life with a poor Georgia boy wasn't as glamorous as she thought." He took a drink of his own water. "When she left, I lost it and I never could seem to ever get it back again."

  Nick felt his jaw clench as he thought of his mother and the scars she placed on his heart. "I was five."

  A tear slipped down Raymond's cheek and he swiped at it, looking annoyed. "Yes. And I was a horrifying man. If I had the power to change that time, I would."

  "You don't know what you did to me."

  Raymond raised an eyebrow. "You don't think I know? I know all too well. My father and his brother used to pass me between the two of them, using me as a drunken punching bag. Why do you think I started drinking so young? I ain't saying I'm right. I'm just saying I know."

  He leaned forward and ran his hand over the table. "I been trying to make it up to you. I help these boys, and some of them have been through things even you wouldn't believe — I'm talking the worst of the worst. They survived but they're completely broken. They come here and learn how to heal and how to live, and I work with them and love them unconditionally so I can make up for the way I never loved you proper."

  "Raymond —"

  Raymond held up a hand. "God saved me. He came to me in the form of Jose and John Suarez and He saved me. I can't go back and change time, and I can't allow myself to be destroyed by the past. All I can do is serve God with all of my heart, love Him, and help these boys. So that's what I do."

  He put his hand to his heart. "I don't expect you to forgive me or love me. But I pray that you will someday, for your own soul's sake. Not for me. God knows I don't deserve your love or your forgiveness. But know this. Know that I do love you, son, and I'm proud of you."

  Nick stared into the face that looked so much like his own. He could see the pain of deep regret in those ice blue eyes, and he could see the sincerity and the love. "You pray for me?"

  Raymond hurried to Nick's side. "I pray for you every day, Nick, ever since I found out you were alive. Not one single day goes by. I pray that you'll have a closer walk with our Savior. I pray for your safety in this life. I pray that you'll let yourself be loved. You deserve it. I pray that you'll find your wife and I even pray for her, even though maybe I haven't met her yet, and maybe I never will. I want you to be just as happy in this life as you can, son. I pray you'll find joy. But mostly I pray that you will step up to God's purpose for you and be strong enough to take it on when it comes. I pray that you'll be a much better man than I ever was."

  Nick had extensive training in interrogation techniques. He could tell within a few seconds when someone was lying. In everything Raymond had just said, he had spoken only the truth. Nick tried to reconcile this gentle man, this Raymond, with the brutal man he remembered and could not manage it. He finally asked, "Why?"

  Raymond's eyebrows knitted. "Because you're my son and I love you."

  Words spilled out of Nick. It was as if he had been holding his breath for hours and had no choice but to release this sentence that burst from his lungs in an explosion of sound. "I don't love you, Raymond."

  Calmly, his father nodded. "How could you?"

  How could he? The truth is that Nick never wanted to see this man again. When he walked off the football field of his high school graduation ceremony and got into the car with his Army Recruiter all those years ago, he intentionally left his old life behind. For years he didn't care if his father was even still living. All he had ever offered in his heart for the man he had lived with until he left high school was rejection and denial. Raymond knew that and despite that, or perhaps because of that, all he offered Nick today was his unconditional love.

  Maybe that's how God felt all those years of Nick's childhood. Whenever God would speak to Nick through the words of others like Aria and Carol — and Ahearne and his wife — and Nick rejected God. No matter what Nick did, God never stopped loving him. Was Nick in a position to reject even that love?

  Why was he holding onto the past? Nick suddenly realized that he was nursing his resentment and unforgiveness like an old wound he never wanted to heal. It was as if he kept part of his soul broken and bound up in a cast, as if Nick was walking around on spiritual and emotional crutches.

  He suddenly remembered the story of the blind man at the well of Bethesda from the fifth chapter of the bo
ok of John. The man had so much faith that he had cast off the cloak that informed the world he was blind and sought the Savior; the equivalent of a modern blind man tossing away his red and white striped cane. The blind man knew he wouldn't need the cloak once he met the Savior so he simply left it behind. Did Nick have that kind of faith?

  He suddenly realized that he didn't want to forgive his father. He needed to forgive him. He needed to forgive his father and just let go of their dark past. Mostly, he needed to stop being afraid of himself: afraid of the man he might become and just become the man he ought to be.

  If Raymond could be a foster father to so many hurting kids, certainly Nick could be a loving father to children of his own and a loving husband to the woman who loved him. He cleared his throat. "I'd like to stay here for a couple of days, if you don't mind. I think maybe we have some catching up to do."

  He paused then asked, almost in a whisper, "Is that okay, Dad?"

  "Nothin' could make me happier, son."

  ¯¯¯¯

  Aria sat at her piano, reading glasses perched on her nose, pencil clenched between her teeth, staff paper spread out all around her while she fine tuned the soundtrack for a really intense action scene in Adam's new movie. She keyed a few notes, wrote them down, erased half of them, keyed a few more, and continued on as she had for several hours.

  Music in a movie was just as important an element as the set. Good music could make a mediocre movie, and bad music could break a great one. She wanted to take a great movie and make it fantastic.

  She'd read the scene and had watched the digital sequence designed by the CGI team so many times that she could see the action in her head. While she played, the action ran through her mind, the timing of it, the perfect choreography. Finally, she was satisfied with the end result.

  Starting over all the way back from the beginning, she played the whole thing, feeling goose bumps at the perfection of the piece.

  Giddy, grinning from ear to ear, she slid down from the bench. Adam was going to love this. Maybe she'd take a weekend and fly down so she could play it for him in person.