Boundless Love

By John Migacz

All Lance Corporal Amy Kravits planned to do at the end of her deployment was dance,
whirling her body in liquid motion that pirouetted her heart into a magical domain.
An IED on a dusty road in Afghanistan ended that plan with the loss of both her legs.
In coaching Amy to use her adaptive equipment, Hunter James is taught a lesson in strength and willpower by this damaged marine.
Can they both learn that legs aren’t required to dance through life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Migacz
• Release date: Jul 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370084975

Book preview

Chapter 1

Kandahar Province, Afghanistan

What is the freakin’ hold up now? Marine Lance Corporal Amy Kravits pounded her fist on the M35’s steering wheel. Can you see anything out your side?

Tara turned her head. Yeah. Sand. Sand and rocks.

Very observant, Private. I see those in my sleep. Now stick your head out and look ahead, said Amy.

Private Tara Cunningham rolled down her window, stuck her head out, and peered around the truck in front of her. Looks like a buffalo is clearing another IED. She settled back in her seat and took a drink from a water bottle.

Christ, Tara. Roll up that window. You’re letting the heat in. Amy turned up the fan another notch.

Sorry. Tara put down her bottle. Gunny said it’s gonna be a hundred-fifteen in the shade today.

Amy grinned. Then let’s be sure to stay out of the shade. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel to the old Motown tune in her head. Do you think Gunny figured in the wind chill factor?

Private Tara grinned and glanced down the road. We’re moving out.

‘Bout time. Amy shifted into first gear and, maintaining her interval, followed the truck in front.

Why we on this shitty back road anyway? said Tara. We’d be there if we took the highway.

The Lance Corporal Underground says the brass got a tip that the highway is mined, said Amy.

Tara blew out a breath. A tip from the Taliban put us on this shit road? Then this is the road that’s really mined.

Amy shifted into second gear. The top brass knows what they’re doing.

With raised eyebrows, Tara stared at her. Really?

No. Amy laughed. Not a freakin’ chance.

Amy snorted at her own joke. Tara had been in country only a few weeks and was probably six inches taller from the many times Amy had pulled her leg. Tara needed to learn as much as she could before Amy left. With almost six months in, Amy was due for retrograde back to the states soon.

Five weeks, three days, and a wakeup, then all this sand is yours, said Amy.

Thanks loads. Tara turned toward Amy. What’s the first thing you’re gonna do on leave?

Amy gave it a quick thought. Binge watch the TV shows she’d missed, see all the latest Matt Damon movies, dress in something other than BDU’s, but mostly, put on that short red dress with matching Jimmy Choo spiked heels and dance the night away.

She didn’t know which would be first, but sleeping late and having no one tell her what to do ranked right up there with dancing.

Dunno, she said, and gave her usual answer. My choices are eat, drink, and get laid. She smiled at Tara. Not necessarily in that order.

Of course, said Tara. What about after you’ve puked, sobered up, and walked bowlegged? she said. Going home?

Amy knew that was the last place she’d go. There was just no home to go to anymore.

I guess I’ll drop in on my sister and her kids in Hartford. We sold my mom’s house after she died last year, so there’s no going back there.

It’s funny, said Tara. Home is what I couldn’t wait to get away from, and now, can’t wait to get back to.

That depends on-

A flash of light and an instant of sound erupted. Amy felt herself flying into the air. She never felt the slam of her return to earth. Stunned, she stared down at the shattered windshield. Why was she facing the cab’s roof? Dazed, she glanced at Tara. Her head was leaning against the cracked side window and blood oozed from her ears and nose. Smoke drifted up from the floorboards.

Tara, Amy grabbed Tara’s shirt. We have to get out. She tugged the door handle but it didn’t move. Come on, Tara. We gotta get out! Her legs wouldn’t move.

Her door opened with a groan and a babble of faraway-sounding voices hit her ears.

Hands grabbed her jacket and yanked. Suddenly, the sun shone brightly in her face and she smelled the dirt she laid upon.

Christ, get tourniquets on those legs. Now.

She wondered who they were talking about as the sunlight faded, the edges of her vision going gray.

The sun was blocked out by the shadow of someone leaning over her. Hang in there, Corporal.

More words sounded, but from a long distance away. She tried to respond but couldn’t grasp the words that floated through her mind.

Then there was only black.

Chapter 2

Newington, CT – 22 Months later

Amy rolled into the VA Clinic a half hour before her appointment. Sometimes, with luck, she’d be taken early. She didn’t want to miss too much work time at Morecraft Transcribing because the work was backing up.

There was only one person in the waiting room. An old ‘Nam vet, a double above the knee amputee like herself, blanket thrown across his lap. She knew he was a ‘Nam vet from the worn black hat he wore with a Vietnam Veteran patch embroidered across the front. Amy was surprised he could hold his head up straight due to the dozens of pins adorning his chapeau. With his lean appearance, grey beard and ponytail, the word grizzled popped into her mind. He wore buck sergeant stripes on an old, open army fatigue shirt over a black T-shirt that stated One-Ninety-Eighth, Brave and Bold.

She inclined her head and sent him a one word morning.

He stared at her a moment, then said, Good morning, beautiful. He glanced down at her above the knee stumps and smiled. Wanna dance?

Resentment burned through Amy and her tongue unleashed. Which are you? Stupid, or an asshole?

I’m not just an asshole. The old vet straightened in his wheelchair and lifted his chin. I’m king of the assholes.

Amy snorted. It was hard to stay mad at this man. There was something about his easy attitude that countermanded anger.

And as king of the assholes I can say with clear certitude… He glanced at her missing legs, then leaned toward her and looked deep into her eyes. You don’t need legs to dance.

Pffft, she uttered, but his comment overrode her bitter shield and slipped into her heart. She rolled closer. At least you won’t step on your partner’s toes.

Ha. That’s the spirit, little lady. His eyes narrowed as he looked down at her lap. Did I just see your stump move? He looked up. So you’re not paralytic?

Amy raised her right stump an inch, then let it fall. Nope, I can move the right stump a little. She rubbed a hand over her left stump. This lazy sumbitch’s malingering.

So there’s hope that you won’t be bound to that chair forever, he said.

Yeah. She grunted. The piece of shrapnel that’s close to my spine can’t be removed yet, so the docs say. When it moves out a bit more they’ll take it out it. My right leg came back about a year ago so… She looked down at her lap and yelled, So get a move on, you slow ass left leg.

The old man chuckled. Then here’s hoping that chair will be history soon.

It’s something I’m looking forward to, she said.

I’ve been in this chair almost fifty years, and I still wake up some days and don’t remember that I can’t stand. He rolled closer to Amy and held out a hand. Name’s Jack. Jack Quantrell. One-Ninety-Eighth Light Infantry Brigade.

Amy Kravits, Second Marine Division, she said, then gestured to his T-shirt. The Brave and Bold One-Ninety-Eighth?

More like the frightened and meek, he said and laughed. You work?

Yeah, she said. Transcribing typist.

Like it?

No, she said. But it keeps me on my toes.

Jack threw his head back and laughed. You’re a pistol, Amy Kravits of the Second Marine Division.

A high caliber pistol, she said, and he laughed again.

She tilted her head and studied this older man. He interested her. Maybe it was his bright attitude, or wheelchair camaraderie, or never having a father around in her own life, she didn’t know. It didn’t matter. Meeting someone she connected with was rare, and needed to be nurtured. Nurtured? Where did that thought come from? Christ, she was turning into a wuss.

You work? she asked.

When I need to, he said. I have a little company I started a long time ago. Now, I’m thinking about retiring.

Cool.

Maybe. But I’m thinking that if I retire, I’ll never get a day off.

Pffft. Amy blew out a breath. Your majesty, you are indeed king of the assholes.

He grinned, started to roll past her, then stopped. Still have bladder control?

Taken aback, it took her a second to nod.

Luck on you then, little lady. If they call my name, tell ‘em where I am. I have to change my bag. Thanks.

Amy watched him roll to the men’s room and thought about how her injuries could have been worse. She wondered how someone could live with that, yet there was Jack, happy just being alive. Her blind friend Samantha showed the same fortitude and had the same attitude about life.

It was a lesson she needed to learn, but the longer she sat in her chair, the more desperate became the need.

Chapter 3

Amy parked her van in front of Morecraft Transcribing and sighed. Without Samantha working with her, the place just wasn’t as much fun as it used to be.

She didn’t begrudge Samantha working full time with her new husband Quint, but Amy did miss her banter and companionship. The two Valley Girl replacements Mike Morecraft hired to replace Samantha were a constant trial.

Brittany and Courtney’s work ethic didn’t come close to Amy’s Marine-established pride in doing a job well. They weren’t concerned with completing the work for Mike and helping grow his business - they were more concerned with shopping, partying and boys.

Amy wouldn’t call the Valley Girls’ male friends men. The ones she’d met were just as unfocused and self-centered as the Valley Girls.

The worst was the unspoken way they treated her like a dying old grandmother. Their pity and fake empathy rubbed Amy the wrong way. Even when they spoke to her, their voices were soft and their words slow, like she was brain damaged.

Only three years older at twenty-four than the Valley Girls, Amy felt a decade older. What those two needed was a few weeks at Parris Island and a DI with a bad attitude. She smiled at her redundancy — all DI’s had bad attitudes.

Today her own negative attitude stemmed from the doctors confirming what she already knew. There had been no improvement in her paralysis since the last appointment. The shrapnel that lay against her spine hadn’t budged. She could move her right leg a little more, but the left remained immobile. She stared down at the offending stump and muttered slacker.

At least she’d made a new friend this morning. Jack Quantrell. A man fifty years in a wheelchair.

Fifty years.

She prayed to God that wouldn’t be her fate.

Amy opened the door to Morecraft Transcribing and rolled in, her gaze landing on the Valley Girls at one of the four desks in the large gray-tiled office space.

Brittany was leaning over Courtney’s shoulder and studying the computer screen.

Omygod, said Courtney. You’re right. He’s dreamy.

Right? I told you, said Courtney. They both looked up at Amy’s entrance and Brittany scurried to her desk.

Good morning, ladies, said Amy, instead of screaming Get to work you worthless pieces of fluff!

Amy wasn’t their supervisor, boss, or nanny, yet they treated her like she was. She wondered if it was because she’d been at Morecraft longer, or her work ethic shamed them - if shame was possible from such self-centered people.

Amy rolled to her desk, powered up her machines and started her boring job.

At noon she took off her headset and punched the F10 button to send her work to the printer. She tried not to look at the Valley Girls, but her mind had her glancing at them anyway. They were both sitting at their desks and staring at the screens - but not typing. Facebook? Twitter? Amy closed her eyes and shook her head.

Some people might say it was a generational thing, but she was in that same generation and she wasn’t a douchtard. She believed it was more of a parenting thing. When the parents still made their twenty-year-old kids’ beds, the brats never learned responsibility. Trying to coast through life will eventually get your ass kicked.

Amy rummaged in the side pouch of her wheelchair and lifted her phone to call for lunch. The screen told her she’d missed a text from Samantha. Amy’s mental fatigue faded as she read the message.

Quint and Jason in NYC meeting

Wanna do dinner?

I’m buying

Amy texted back:

Of course you’re buying

Milano’s.

I’ll pick u up after work

Amy hadn’t seen Samantha for a week and thoughts of dinner with her sightless friend erased some of the gloom around Amy’s heart. Enough to get her through the rest of the day, anyway.

Chapter 4

Amy pulled her van up to Samantha’s apartment and honked the horn. It was the same apartment building that Samantha and her best friend Cali had lived in, but now Samantha and Quint had an apartment on the first floor all to themselves.

It wasn’t a coincidence that Samantha lived only two floors down from Cali. Samantha said it was just luck, but after Cali’s mental breakdown a year ago, she knew Samantha wanted to stay close.

Amy watched as Samantha exited the apartment and walked toward her van, all without using her red tipped white cane. Her head was tilted as she listened for the motor sound for guidance. She was off by a couple degrees, so Amy rolled down the passenger window and yelled, If you’re as blind as a bat, what are bats as blind as?

Samantha changed direction, felt for the door handle and got into the van. Hi, Amy. She buckled her seat belt. You’re not blonde are you?

Amy ran her hand through her short, black, spiked hair. Nope. Why?

Darn, said Samantha. I had a bevy of blonde jokes to hit you with if you were. She shook her head. Oh, well. I tried to come up with some legless jokes, but I’m stumped.

Amy threw back her head and roared. Ah, Sam, it’s good to see you.

Samantha patted Amy’s shoulder. It’s good to see you, too, she said.

Got me again, said Amy, and pulled into traffic.

Amy bit into her cannoli. … And these two fluff heads don’t do half the work you did in half the day. We’re falling halfway behind.

Amy hated that Samantha had left Morecraft Transcribing, but it was a dead end job, even for a blind person. Amy wondered if she could find something better as well.

Samantha sipped her wine. If I understand your halves, all I can say is poor Mike.

Yeah. He should fire those two waste of airheads and hire a cadre of typing grandmothers. She looked down at her cannoli. This needs coffee. She looked up. You want?

Might as well, said Samantha. I’m not getting much sleep. Quint’s gone until Friday, and I miss him being next to me in bed.

Ha, said Amy. You don’t get much sleep when he’s in bed with you either. She smiled as she watched her friend’s face flare fuchsia, and waved the waitress over.

Samantha’s husband, Quint Griffin, was a good man, and Amy liked him. Samantha had gotten lucky when they found each other and married. The computer game creator brought out Samantha’s musical talent, and that allowed them to work together. Very successfully together, as the awards they’d garnered demonstrated.

Quint was a sensitive guy even though an Afghanistan vet like herself. The care he took with Samantha displayed just what kind of man he was. Humph, she thought. Maybe that’s where she’d picked up that nurturing crap. She’d have to go back to calling him a douchtard.

What are Quint and Jason doing in the Big Apple? said Amy.

Pitching their idea for a new game. Quint hates the current direction in gaming that forces you down a narrow path doing essentially the same repetitive things. Their idea is a fantasy game that is wide open for exploration.

With you doing the music.

Oh, yes, said Samantha. I already have some ideas I’m playing with using discordant notes and Gregorian Chant.

Yeah… Gregorian Chant, said Amy. I think they played at our high school prom. She poured sugar into her coffee, and cream and sugar into Samantha’s. Your coffee’s at your ten. Give it a stir. How’s Cali?

Samantha finished off her wine. She’s doing well. Still seeing Dr. Landam once a month. I think she’s finally letting go of the past. She reached for her coffee. What she went through is something she’ll never forget, but I’m hoping she can put it aside and move ahead. She slid her cup in front of her and stirred. Anyway, Cali has other problems to distract her at the moment.

Man trouble?

Samantha shook her head. No. That’s gotten in her way in the past, so she’s done with men for awhile. She’s still living the celibate lifestyle.

That’s a little hard to take in after her revolving man policy, said Amy, but I can understand her wanting to get away from her past. What’s her major malfunction now?

Work. Samantha sipped her coffee. After the success at the XPO show and Sony’s interest, she has more work coming in than she can handle.

Amy’s brows furrowed. I thought she hired someone to do her office work.

Samantha put her coffee down and nodded. She did, but to use your very descriptive adjective, he was a douchtard. She tapped her finger on her lips. Or would that be a noun?

A douchtard by any other name still sucks. What was the problem?

It seems that he was trying to use Cahallan Marketing as a stepping stone to start his own business, as well as ripping off her accounts.

I hope Cali ripped his head off.

Mr… I think his name might have been Dale, but I don't remember if that’s his first or last name so I’ll just refer to him as Mr. Douchtard. Anyway, he didn’t understand Cali’s huge network of friends in the business. She put the word out and I think his job now is asking people if they want fries with that.

That’s what I like about Cali. No prisoners.

You should take no prisoners yourself. Tell Mike to fire those two Valley Girls and hire someone responsible. Maybe you could be his office manager.

Amy ate the last of her cannoli, then leaned back. Nah. I’ve got to find someplace that’s more challenging, and better pay wouldn’t hurt.

Are you having money problems? asked Samantha. I could-

Don’t even go there, said Amy, her voice hard. If you could see my face right now you’d be crapping in your pants.

Then I guess I’m really lucky to be blind, said Samantha. What’s going on?

Ahhh… Sorry, Sam. Amy sighed and plunked her elbows on the table. The nice old man I’ve been renting very cheaply from has had a stroke.

Oh, no!

Yeah. And his power-of-attorney douchtard nephew has taken over the building. His plans are to gut the place and turn it into expensive condos.

Samantha’s hand reached out and Amy held it. What are you going to do?

Don’t know. But don’t worry. I always land on my feet.

Samantha chuckled. Only you could find leg humor in this. She sat back and tapped her finger on the table. We have some options. How long do you have before moving?

He’s using my security deposit as the last month’s payment, so about five weeks, said Amy. What options? Re-enlisting is out.

God, Amy. Don’t even say that.

Samantha paused in thought and Amy watched her friend’s nimble mind sort through the options. Though blind, Amy knew Samantha saw things more clearly than most.

We do have an extra bedroom, said Samantha.

That’s not an option. Hearing you and Quint moan all night would be too distracting. Amy sat back and watched Samantha’s face turn red again.

Yep, said Amy. There’s that crimson color in your face. You know you blush different shades depending on what you’re embarrassed about?

Stop it, Amy. I do not.

How would you know? You’re blind.

Not that blind, said Samantha. She tapped her finger on the table again. Jason and Quint’s loft is out as well. With their newly growing business, it’s been turned into a fully functioning office.

Don’t worry about me, said Amy. I won’t be the first vet to sleep in their van.

Samantha sat forward. I have one other possibility but I have to check it out before mentioning it. I’ll get back to you on that.

Thanks. Amy tossed her napkin on the table. The night is still young. Wanna hit the hot spots and dance the night away?

Or, said Samantha, we could go to my place, watch a video, cook up popcorn and open a bottle of wine. But this time when describing things to me, use the actor’s screen names. When you call every person in the film a douchtard, asshole, or dirt bag, I get confused.

Then let’s watch the Terminator. The original. You know the plot and there’s only three people in it that matter. Arnold, Reese, and Sarah. I promise to use their names correctly.

Sounds good.

Amy rolled away from the table and presented the back of her chair to Samantha. Grab on and let’s roll.

On the way out, when Anthony, the owner, thanked them for coming, Amy mimicked Arnold’s voice and said, I’ll be back.

Chapter 5

Amy awoke, her heart pounding in her chest. The nightmare