Solid Ground: a Wounded Love novel

by Megan Green

  I lean back in my chair, my neck resting on the metal edge as I tilt my head back and stare at the stars. My eyes immediately seek out the Big Dipper. I’ve always had a vague interest in astronomy, and I’ve attributed that to the first time I laid eyes on an asterism.

  We’d learned about several constellations in school that day, and our homework for the night was to go home and try to spot the most visible part of Ursa Major—the Big Dipper. I dragged my dad outside with me, spreading out a blanket on the grass in the backyard and lying down at his side.

  I spotted it almost immediately, my little hand flinging out to point it out to my father.

  “Hey, Dad, can you see that? That’s the Big Dipper. Some people get it confused with Ursa Major, but really the Big Dipper is just a small part of it. Ursa Major is much bigger. The rest of the stars are just harder to see from Earth.”

  My dad clucked his tongue as if impressed. “You’re sure smart for a third grader,” he said, softly nudging me with his shoulder.

  I beamed, pride welling up in my chest at the fact that I was able to show off to my father. My dad knew everything there was to know about the world, as far as my little eight-year-old mind was concerned. So, being able to tell him something he might not have known before made me feel like I was on top of the world.

  I leaned back beside my dad, my head coming to rest next to his on the small pillow he’d brought out with us.

  “What else do you know about the Big Dipper?” he asked after a few moments.

  My eyes had been beginning to drift shut, the soft chirps of the crickets lulling me to sleep. But his voice roused me. I quickly sat up straight, spouting off everything I could remember about the Big Dipper and several other constellations we’d learned about that day.

  By the time I was done, I could faintly make out the outline of my father’s smile in the dim light of the stars. He didn’t remark on my spiel. He simply chuckled under his breath and fell silent, his eyes closing. After a few moments, his breathing evened out. Thinking he was asleep, I laid back beside him, enjoying the crisp fall evening under the stars with my dad.

  “Did you know the Big Dipper was once called the Drinking Gourd?” His voice was soft in the still evening, as if he didn’t want to disturb the evening slumber of the nearby woodland creatures.

  Following his lead, I slowly rolled to face him, letting him know I was listening but not wanting to speak and disrupt this peaceful night either.

  “You remember when your mama and I taught you about the slaves? That awful time in American history when one man thought he could legally own another just because of the color of his skin?”

  I nodded in the darkness before realizing he couldn’t see me. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath.

  “Well, while they were still struggling for their freedom and things were just about as bad as they could be, a group of slaves started what was called the Underground Railroad. But nobody could risk speaking of it. Even just talking about trying to gain their freedom would result in harsh punishment and even death. So, they made up a song, called ‘Follow the Drinking Gourd.’ Its lyrics helped other slaves know that all they needed to do was follow those stars north to freedom. Slaves would sing it out in the cotton fields while working their hands to the bones, holding on to a tiny shred of hope that, someday, they’d be able to follow the drinking gourd and find their way to safety. Those stars and those brave people saved a lot of lives that eventually went on to help abolish that terrible practice.”

  I laid back as he quieted, my eyes once again seeking out the group of stars. A complete sense of awe overcame me at the thought that, even from millions of miles away, those flaming balls of gas were able to lead people on their path to freedom.

  Even at my young age of eight, I was able to recognize the significance of that. Until that point in my life, I’d always thought I was invincible. I’d never even considered the fact that there might be something bigger out there in the universe. Something more. But, that night, learning that those same stars I was gazing at had helped save the lives of people who’d lived hundreds of years before me, I realized how wrong I was. It opened my eyes to a different universe.

  And, since then, studying the stars has always been a sort of hobby of mine. Those long nights in Iraq, when I felt so alone and like I might never make it home again, I only had to look to the sky to know I’d never be lost. All I had to do was follow the stars, and I’d be able to find my way back.

  I smile at the memory of my father, vowing to stop by his house tomorrow after work. I moved out here to be closer to him after his injury, but I’m suddenly struck by how little time I’ve spent with him these past few weeks. I’ve been so wrapped up in my house and learning as much as I could about Nichole that I let myself forget. Even the few times he’s been out to the house, I’ve been short with him. Too wrapped up in whatever I was currently working on to take a few minutes to talk to my old man.

  First thing in the morning, I’ll call and invite him over for dinner. We can have leftover lasagna.

  The last thought brings my reflection back to tonight, my eyes falling to the three place settings around the patio table. I didn’t want to order out again, so I called up Emma, asking for suggestions. I took her advice and went to this website called Pinterest. Three hours later, I found nineteen different recipes for lasagna as well as forty-two new home improvement projects I wanted to try and thirty-seven hilarious dog memes I sent to Emma. Pinterest was the fucking devil.

  But, shortly after that, my house smelled amazing, as I’d made what I thought was a damn good lasagna. I couldn’t wait to show off my cooking expertise to Nichole and Cade. They were sure to be impressed.

  Only they never showed.

  My shoulders slump in the chair as I recall jumping from my seat at every car that came up the road and racing to the front door, certain that it would be them. After two hours, I gave up hope.

  I’d been stood up.

  Disappointment fills me at the thought that I don’t get to see Nichole tonight. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t even more disappointed that I didn’t get to hang out with Cade. I’d had such a blast while teaching him how to play soccer a few weeks ago. I couldn’t wait for him to come over and play again.

  Christ, I sound like a fucking five-year-old, sad that my best friend couldn’t come out and play. I reach forward and grab my beer, taking a huge swig before belching as loudly as I can. There, man card reinstated.

  But damn it if I don’t like that little kid. He is fun, and I could tell he liked spending time with me just as much as I did with him. And, if the things I’d found out about his home life were true, the poor kid could use a positive role model in his life. Lord knows, his father doesn’t give it to him.

  Chugging back the rest of my beer, I head into the kitchen and begin wrapping the lasagna, so it’ll keep until tomorrow night. As I clean up the disaster I made earlier this evening, I’m unable to keep my thoughts from returning to Nichole and Cade and the things I was able to find out about their lives.

  The bastard Nichole married has been making her life a living hell these past twelve years. It was hard trying to find someone trustworthy who’d actually be willing to talk to me about him. Turns out, James Reynolds is just as much of a dickwad as Troy made him out to be. Nobody would tell me much, but the picture was painted clearly enough. He’s a wife-beating douche bag who likes to throw around his so-called power in order to get people to bend to his will. Thus far, nobody has ever had the guts to stand up to him, for fear of what he could do to them.

  The prick is about to meet his match.

  Regardless of whether or not Nichole and I go anywhere, I sure as hell won’t let this asshole get away with treating her the way he has been. And, if I find out he’s so much as touched a hair on Cade’s head, the fucker will end up dead. As it is, he is lucky he is still breathing. Every time I think back on finding Nichole in a crumpled heap on her kitchen f
loor, I start feeling stabby. Fucker had better hope he’s not within a knife’s reach whenever I’m around. I can’t guarantee what might or might not happen.

  Luckily, from the little I was able to find out, it doesn’t seem as if he’s ever hurt the boy. He prefers his targets to be a little less young and a little more female. Fucking coward.

  My thoughts turn back to the other night. The night of Nichole’s and my date. Against my better judgment, I kissed her. I hadn’t meant to. In fact, before I’d left my house that evening, I’d told myself I wouldn’t do it. I wouldn’t even let the situation arise to where I could do it. But that had gone right out the window when I saw her walk in. She’d looked so beautiful that I knew there was no way I’d be able to stop myself from kissing her if the opportunity presented itself.

  And present itself, it did.

  The next morning, I woke up with a smile and renewed vigor. I got out of bed at the crack of dawn and headed straight for the local doughnut shop, so I could be at Moretti’s before Cade woke up for breakfast. I waited outside Moretti’s for an hour, but it was worth it when I saw Nichole stumble down the stairs, her hair and her oversized pajamas still rumpled from sleep. She looked so damn adorable, so much like the Nichole I remembered from all those years ago that I wasn’t able to hold back the smile that broke out across my face.

  She seemed a bit reserved that morning, but after I asked her and Cade to dinner again, any worries that I’d messed this up by moving too fast dissipated. She seemed enthused at the idea of Cade being able to enjoy himself. And maybe it was my pride talking, but I thought she was at least a little excited at the prospect of spending more time with me herself.

  But then, tonight, she didn’t show. It surprised me.

  Nichole isn’t the type to just blow someone off without even a phone call. She has always been courteous and conscientious of other people’s time. So, for her not to show up without a peep is incredibly odd.

  The thought hits me that she doesn’t have a cell phone. Plus, even though my number is listed, it’s not like I gave it to her. If something came up, she wouldn’t exactly have an easy way of contacting me.

  And, as thoughtful as my Nichole is, she’s also always had a habit of overthinking things. In the hours since I left her, her analytical brain has probably been running on overdrive, and that reservation I observed on Saturday morning has probably multiplied tenfold.

  She was the girl in high school who would study for weeks for an exam, yet the night before, she would make herself sick from thinking about all the things she couldn’t possibly be expected to remember. I thought it was cute at the time—her need to scrutinize everything half to death. Hell, I thought everything about her was cute.

  But, now, when the stakes are higher and the consequences greater, I can’t let her do that. I can’t let her cut this off before we’ve even had a chance to restart it.

  New itinerary for tomorrow:

  1. Call Dad.

  2. Go to work.

  3. Convince Nichole to get out of her own way and just let this thing take the road it wants to take.

  4. Reheat my awesome lasagna and blow Dad away with my amazing cuisine.

  I fucking hate July. It’s only the first, but it’s already hotter than hell outside.

  By the time lunch rolls around and I’m able to stop by Moretti’s, I’m ready to chug an entire Olympic swimming pool. At this point, I wouldn’t even care if Michael Phelps’s sweaty ballsack had been in it. As long as I got some fucking fluid in my body.

  I push open the front door to the restaurant, instantly being hit with a mixture of air-conditioning and heat from the industrial oven just on the other side of the wall. I look around for Nichole, hoping I can quickly convince her that we need to talk so that I can get the hell out of this sauna and back into my air-conditioned cruiser.

  I had to park three blocks down the street, all the spots in front of Moretti’s already occupied. And, in just that short walk, I feel like I’ve sweat about seventeen million gallons. Spending all day in the hot sun isn’t as appealing as it was in North Carolina. Sitting in a hot car just doesn’t have the same allure as playing with a litter of puppies.

  Mario walks out of the kitchen, carrying two plates of food. I’m surprised to see him. Not that he doesn’t often come out and visit with his customers. He does, probably more often than he needs to. But, usually, he leaves the serving to his waitress, who has been Nichole these last few weeks.

  Mario stops short when he sees me. I’m not sure what Nichole has told him about our current relationship, but it’s obvious he knows I’m here for her. He knew me way back when, having always been a sort of second father figure all of Nichole’s life. And it’s not like I’ve been a stranger around here lately. Mario is a smart guy. I’m sure he knows something is up.

  Mario gestures for me to follow him back into the kitchen. Once the door swings closed behind me, I cut to the chase. “Where is she?” I ask, suddenly worried that maybe she fled. Maybe she took Cade and ran as far away from here as she could. I can’t say that I’d blame her, not with the situation she’s currently facing. But I don’t want her to have left without saying good-bye.

  Mario’s face falls, and I feel my heart sink right along with it.

  Fuck, she really is gone.

  “Do you know where she went?” I whisper, my voice gravelly against the lump in my throat.

  I didn’t realize how much I hadn’t wanted that to be true until it hit me that it was. Nichole left without a second thought. It shouldn’t hurt. But it fucking does.

  Mario’s brows pull together, giving him an air of confusion. I lean forward, not wanting to risk someone else in the kitchen overhearing. Even though I’m hurt she left without saying a word, I’d never do something that would cause Nichole an ounce of pain. And someone telling that asshole of a husband of hers that they heard Mario and me talking about her would certainly be a source of agony.

  “Did she tell you where she was going? Leave a note by chance? She wouldn’t leave without at least telling you. I know she wouldn’t. Don’t worry, Mario. You can tell me. I’m not going to hurt her.”

  Mario’s eyes fill with sadness as he shakes his head. “No, no. You misunderstand. She didn’t leave. But, caro ragazzo, she is hurt. My precious topolino. I found her covered in blood, lying right there on the kitchen floor,” he says, pointing to a spot over my shoulder.

  I follow his finger, seeing an area of the floor that’s been scrubbed cleaner than the rest.

  Instantly, I’m on high alert, my eyes darting around the room as if she might magically appear the harder I look. “Where is she?” I demand.

  Mario starts to shake his head as he stands.

  I grab him by the shoulders, gently jostling him as I plead, “Please, Mario, tell me where she is.”

  His eyes close for a moment, and my mind races as I try to come up with another plea for him because I know he’s going to turn me down.

  “She says she doesn’t want to see anyone. But she needs you. Even if she doesn’t know, I know. I know she needs a friend. And you, caro ragazzo, can be her friend.”

  I nod vigorously. I’d agree to be a goddamn lion tamer right now if it meant he’d tell me where she was. So, despite the fact that the last few minutes have made it painfully obvious that being Nichole’s friend will never be enough, I’d agree to just about anything to get him to talk.

  He nods toward the kitchen. “Through there. There are stairs in the back. She’s at the top.”

  I take off like a shot, pounding up the stairs, before I come to a closed door. It takes everything in me to stop, to not burst through the door just so I don’t have to wait another second to make sure she’s okay. Because, if Nichole is in there, it means Cade is, too. I don’t know what happened. But I know I don’t want to scare either of them.

  I knock softly and press my ear against the door. I can faintly make out soft footsteps, so I clench and unclench my fists until the d
oor finally cracks open. Cade’s small face peers up at me through the gap, his eyes red-rimmed from obvious tears.

  I crouch down. “Hey, little dude. Where’s your mama?”

  He sniffles, swinging the door wide so that I can enter.

  There, lying on the bed, is Nichole, deep purple bruises marring her beautiful flesh.

  She tries to sit with a loud groan, as if even the slightest movement causes her great pain. When her eyes fall on mine, they’re filled with so much anguish, so much torture, that my teeth clench.

  And, suddenly, I know exactly what happened to put her in this condition.

  “I’ll fucking kill him,” I say into the silence.

  I’m on my knees beside Nichole’s bed before I’m even conscious that I moved. I reach my hand out to touch her, but I stop short, my fingers hovering mere inches over her shoulder. I don’t want to hurt her, so instead, I settle for brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. Her eyes close at my touch, her face seeming to turn into the feel of my hand. The anger inside me only burns hotter the more I see how truly injured she is.

  That’s twice now that I’ve walked into a room to find Nichole battered and bloody, thanks to the hands of that man—no, not a man. A real man would never put his hands on a woman this way. That asshole husband of hers is a monster. A fucking cowardly piece of shit who’s so insecure in himself that he feels the need to beat others into submission to make himself feel bigger.

  He might cause physical harm to only Nichole, but from what I’ve learned, he incorporates this practice into every facet of his life. He paints a pretty picture, appearing to be the ultimate family man and trustworthy businessman. But, behind the smile and handshake, the reassuring words that he’ll do whatever it takes to help someone out, he’s just lying in anticipation, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike, like the snake he truly is.

  People in this town have nothing but wonderful things to say about him. But they aren’t fooling anyone. I can see the fear in their eyes whenever they speak of him. Their eyes shift from side to side as they wonder who might be in earshot, hearing everything and reporting back to James. He’s well loved in this town. But only because everybody is afraid to feel otherwise. Nobody has the guts to stand up to him.