Leaving (24 page)

D
ARK CLOUDS GATHERED OVERHEAD AS CODY WALKED OUT TO
the Lyle practice field. He was running later than usual, stopped by a parent who had dropped by during his last PE class to talk. The man had been full of compliments, telling Cody that years had passed since anyone had cared about the football players at Lyle.

“You’ll have ‘em whipped into shape in no time,” the man wore a flannel and Wranglers, and he could barely talk for the wad of tobacco stuffed behind his lower lip. Cody was pretty sure the guy owned the feed store at the end of town. After just a few months already he could put a face to nearly every shop along Main Street — mostly because the Lyle men had started coming out to watch spring practice.

A buzz was in the air. Coach Oliver was gone and hope lived for the Buckaroo football program.

As Cody reached the field he did a quick count. Twenty-seven men along the outer fence — many of them with the look and limp of retirees — all out to watch today’s scrimmage. The townspeople weren’t the only ones who had taken notice of the change in the football program. Talk around school had brought another two dozen players to the spring practices. Every day the bond between them grew, and gradually Cody was learning their stories.

DeMetri lived alone with his mother in tenement housing on the outskirts of town. Last week the player confided in Cody

that sometimes his mother got in a little trouble. Cody didn’t push for specifics, but that conversation was coming. He wondered if DeMetri had any idea how closely Cody could relate to his situation.

There was Marcos Brown — a six-foot-five lineman whose highest grade was a D in music. His father was in prison, and his mother had died of the flu three years ago. Marcos lived with his cousin’s family and spent every day after school working his uncle’s farm. Homework was considered a sign of weakness.

Arnie Hurley was the team’s quarterback, a good kid with average grades. But talk was that Arnie spent most nights at his girlfriend’s house. Her bedroom window was an easy access, and her parents didn’t care what the girl did in her spare time. As long as the guy sneaking in was quarterback of the football team.

Two of the offensive line were rumored to be alcoholics — drinking so much on the weekends that more than once Cody had seen burst blood vessels in their eyes Monday at practice.

The kids weren’t all bad—just an average mix of high school boys searching for significance and scared to death about what to do after graduation. More of that in a small town, Cody had learned since he’d been here. College wasn’t a given for these kids, and sometimes they couldn’t see past Friday night.

There were a few guys who had started praying with DeMetri. LeSean Peters, Andrew King, Josh Corothers. Guys who could smell change in the air and weren’t willing to settle for defeat or mediocrity. Corothers was president of the school’s Christian club. Cody planned to learn a lot more about his players between now and summer. Already he was working out the details of taking the boys to camp. Like everyone else in town, he wanted a winning season this fall.

But more than that he wanted players who were winners at life.

He was almost to the end zone, where most of the guys were
already stretching and coming together, when two of the men approached him.

“Howdy, Coach,” the bigger of the two stepped up first and shook Cody’s hand. “If you don’t mind, me and Verne here would like a minute of your time.”

Verne nodded, polite the way Lyle prided itself on being. But his smile seemed forced.

Cody was about to explain that he couldn’t talk. Practice was already running later than he wanted, but the man didn’t wait for his answer. “Anyway, thing is our boys are the running backs. Talk is a few new boys came out this past week and they might look to take the starting positions.”

Was this really happening? When it wasn’t even May yet? Cody stopped and squinted at the men. “I don’t have a starting lineup yet, gentlemen. Let’s talk about it then.” He thanked them and walked away. As he did he heard the big guy mutter something about Cody being too young to make a lineup, let alone coach it to a winning season.

This was something he hadn’t expected — the way parents talked. Maybe he would have a big barbecue here at the school before summer. Let everyone know that he was ready for the challenge ahead, and welcome them to share their thoughts whenever they wanted. He was certainly open to suggestions. Just not manipulation.

“All right,” he yelled over the din of conversation among the townsmen on the adjacent sideline. “Bring it in. This is a big day, men.”

The scrimmage would stage his top offense against his second team defense for a series of ten plays. Then he would switch and give his best defense a shot at the second-string offense. He would’ve liked to have the top teams go against each other, but six of the guys played both ways, so that wouldn’t be possible.

“This is about plays and play-breakers, gentlemen.” He
looked at each of the guys, one at a time. “No contact. If you’re touched, you’re down.” He explained the rules of two-hand touch and then held up his clipboard. “If I call your name, you’re first team offense.” He glanced at the dads on the sidelines and looked right at the bigger guy. “This is the lineup for today only.” He turned back to the players. “Don’t gripe about where you think you should be. Let your play do the talking, men. You’re winners. All of you.”

Cody was halfway through the list, reading the names and second-guessing whether he’d found the right mix of players for each team when from two blocks down came the sound of tires screeching loud and long and then a blood-curdling, deafening crash.

“Dear God … what happened?” One of the older men cried out, and everyone stopped and turned toward the sound.

The screech of glass and twisted metal still rang in the air, and Cody felt his face go white, his knees weak. Whatever had just happened, the sound was as horrific as anything Cody had ever heard. In a rush, the townsmen hurried from the field and rushed down the street toward the sound of the crash.

Cody did a quick count of his players. They were all there, each man. But the victim might’ve been a teacher leaving school or a parent coming to watch practice or any of the other Lyle residents — all of whom were connected somehow. Cody needed to know, needed to assure the boys that everything was okay and they could carry on with practice.

“DeMetri,” his voice rose above the murmuring among the players. “Lead the guys in the first three stretching drills.” He set his clipboard down and took off at a run. “I’ll be back.”

It was crazy, really … his almost desperate need to go to the crash and see who was hurt, how the wounded might be connected to Lyle High. Cody’s heart pounded in time with his feet as he passed the older men and made it one block, then two. Cars
were stopped and already sirens were blaring through town. He tugged on his baseball cap, shading his eyes as he strained to see beyond the gathering crowd, beyond the commotion.

Only then did he catch a glimpse of something that made him stop cold. The tangled wreck had come to a stop twenty yards from the intersection. A delivery truck and … and … He couldn’t feel his hands or his feet, but he had to keep running, had to reach the scene of the accident, because the other car … the other car was as familiar to him as his name.

“No,” he whispered out loud as he ran. “Please, God … no.” He passed people pouring out of their houses and parking their cars in the middle of the road to look in on the mangled vehicles. “Please, God …”

But the closer Cody came to the scene, the more certain he became. The truck must’ve run a stop sign, because it had crashed square into the side of a yellow Volkswagen.

The same exact type Cheyenne drove.

Emergency vehicles were racing up to the intersection, and paramedics were flying from their vehicles, sprinting toward the wreck. As Cody ran up, people were lined two and three deep along the street, their hands to their mouths. Two guys from the hardware store across the street were pulling on the door of the yellow VW. “Over here,” one of them shouted. “We can’t reach her.”

Her.

Cody stopped running, and everything around him went into a horrifying slow motion. The man had said
her,
which could only mean …
Not Cheyenne, please, Lord …
if it was her, then she was coming to watch his scrimmage. She hadn’t called, but then she usually didn’t. Just showed up, proud of him and ready to support him.

He had to move, had to make his way to her car door, but as he did the scene changed and he wasn’t in Lyle, but in a sandstorm outside Basra and bullets were flying everywhere and beside him
… right beside him his buddy was saying, “We gotta get out of here … run for — “ and before he could finish his sentence a bullet hit the guy square in the face.

“No!” Cody screamed, but he wasn’t sure any longer if he was screaming here or in the flashback, and he was dropping to his knees next to his buddy and trying to find the pieces of his face, grabbing at sand and flesh and wanting desperately to put the guy back together, and someone was pulling on his arm, pulling him up off the ground.

Cody blinked, his breathing hard, his fists clenched, and suddenly he was looking into the eyes of a businessman, a banker maybe. A guy with a white shirt and tie. “You’re the new football coach, right? Cody Coleman?”

Fear and embarrassment collided in his mind, and he scrambled to his feet. What was he doing on the ground? The flashbacks again … he couldn’t escape them. “I … I must’ve tripped.” He dusted off his jeans and stared back at the wreck. “I think … I might … I might know the girl in that car.”

“I’m sorry.” The banker stepped back, helpless.

Cody moved into the street, closer to the mangled yellow bug. The truck had hit her passenger side, but at this point it was hard to make out any part of the car. More sirens sounded in the distance, and police and a fire truck arrived on the scene. “Get the jaws,” someone yelled. “She’s trapped. Hurry up … we’re losing her.”

Losing her …
Losing the driver of the yellow bug? Were they losing Cheyenne? Cody kept walking, fighting back the feeling of sand against his skin and the baking sweat of the sun on his back.
No,
he told himself.
I’m not in Iraq … God, please, keep me in the moment. If it’s her … God, please … don’t let her die.

“Excuse me,” a paramedic stopped him. “You’ll have to stand back. We’re bringing machinery in here.”

“But I think I—” Cody didn’t finish his sentence. He couldn’t
finish it. Because at that moment he saw what used to be the back window of the Volkswagen lying in pieces on the road. And the piece Cody couldn’t take his eyes off had a simple bumper sticker that read Indiana University Nursing Program. The same sticker Cody had stared at the other day for half an hour as he followed Cheyenne to the hospital outside Indianapolis. So there was no doubt now, the woman trapped in the car was Cheyenne.

He wanted to fight his way past the paramedics until he was at her side, because maybe they’d missed something. He’d fought his way through battles worse than this, so there might be a way to get the car door off without using the jaws of life, right? He could rip the metal apart with his bare hands if he had to. Anything to reach her, to hold her and beg her to hang on.

But people were staring at him, and the paramedic needed to get back to work. So Cody did the only thing he could do. He stepped back to the curb, moved past the gawking bystanders and the banker, and he found a quiet doorway. Then he dropped to his knees and began to pray. As he did, as he prayed believing that somehow Cheyenne would live through this nightmare, he promised God that he would do whatever he could to help her. Behind him he could hear the machine being moved in, the wretched sounds of the jaws of life as it set to work to free Cheyenne from the wreckage.

Was Tara right, Lord? Did You save me back in Iraq
so
that I’d be here now for Cheyenne?
The possibility was so real it consumed him.
Please, God … Let her live.
He cared about her more than he had allowed himself to believe. She was one of the sweetest girls he’d ever met … he knew that now. She had to live … he hadn’t had time to tell her how he felt, to let her know how much he valued her friendship.

The machines roared to life, filling the air with deafening sounds of metal on metal. “Watch her head,” someone shouted.

Please, God … Keep her alive.

As he tried not to listen to the voices shouting about CPR and blood loss and the victim’s spinal cord, he became absolutely convinced of one thing. If Cheyenne lived through this, he would be at her side when she woke up.

And every step of the way after that.

O
NE BUSY DAY HAD BLENDED INTO ANOTHER, AND
B
AILEY STILL
hadn’t made it out to Lyle High to see Cody. But all of that would change this morning. With every passing hour her determination to see him had grown. She had pulled together a shoebox full of items she’d found when she cleaned her room. Things that belonged to him … items that would remind him of his past with her. She could hardly wait to hit the road.

Her mother knew she was seeing Cody this morning, and she’d offered to go along. But today was another scrimmage for the boys at Clear Creek High, and their mom was in charge of the team’s sub sandwich lunch. Bailey planned to head out to Indianapolis as soon as possible. That way she could be back before kickoff for the late afternoon scrimmage.

It was ten o’clock and already she’d been up for three hours, gathering the items for the box, showering, and getting dressed. Now she was finally ready to head out, but she wanted to check the box first … make sure she wasn’t forgetting anything. She sat on the edge of her sofa and sorted through the contents.

There was a small stuffed Tigger — a carnival prize she’d won for Cody at the Indianapolis state fair a few summers ago. Her whole family had gone, and Cody had come with them. They’d teased each other about whether he would win something for her first or the other way around. At first neither of them won a thing, but then they sat side by side and played the squirt gun contest, each of them aiming a stream of water through the mouth of a
clown. When the balloons burst, out of all ten contestants, she and Cody tied.

He gave her a stuffed Winnie the Pooh, and she gave him the Tigger. Her prize sat on the shelf next to the picture of Cody and her. But his had somehow wound up in a box of mementos and memories she’d pushed to the back of her closet years ago. It was one of the things she’d found while cleaning her room.

The same was true for the broken pair of sunglasses at the back of one of her bookshelves. Last Fourth of July at Lake Monroe, when everything about life and love had seemed too perfect for anything to ruin it, Cody had run down the beach a stretch to catch a pass from Justin. But as he snagged the football, his sunglasses fell to the shore, and at almost the same instant Ricky landed square on them — snapping them in two.

Cody had picked up the identical pieces, laughing like crazy. “You couldn’t do that again if you tried.”

Ricky ran up, his face a mask of guilt. “Cody … I didn’t mean to … I didn’t see them until I stepped on them and—”

“It’s okay … no big deal.” Cody had given Ricky a kind pat on the back. “I bought ‘em at a gas station.” Then, still laughing, he ran the pieces over to Bailey. As he did, he took one half of the broken glasses and slipped it over his ear. He looked beyond goofy as he handed her the other half. “Here. Quick … put this on.”

Bailey had been laughing since Ricky’s ill-fated move. She took the other half and slid it over her ear. “How do I look?”

“Perfect.” Cody stood straight, mustering up his most official expression. “Now … if we ever don’t see eye-to-eye, we’ll pull these out. That should solve the problem.” They both burst into another round of giggles and chuckles, and after a few seconds, they fell to the sand in laughter, the broken glasses hanging off both their faces.

Bailey let the memory fade as she ran her fingers over the broken sunglasses. She kept the other half. Just because. The box
also held a friendship ring Bailey had given him her junior year of high school. She’d bought it at the Bible bookstore in Bloomington, and at the time she’d told him he didn’t have to wear it. “It’s more the meaning of it that counts,” she’d told him. “I’ve never had a friend like you, Cody.”

But the amazing thing was he
had
worn it. He wore it every day through half that year until somehow, somewhere along the way he must’ve left it in the kitchen or on a bathroom counter. Maybe before playing basketball with the boys. Rings could get caught on the rim — especially if a guy dunked. So maybe that was it. Either way, the ring had wound up in her room, shoved to the back of her top desk drawer and mixed in with an assortment of broken pencils and dried up markers and pens. The ring had a Bible verse engraved on the outside — the verse Cody loved most.
Philippians 4:13 — I can do all things through Christ who gives me strength.

She’d found a few of his paperbacks and a handful of old
Sports Illustrated
magazines that he’d set aside downstairs. They were in the box too. The last thing she’d done was thumb through a number of her journal entries. Most of them were private, and they would remain so. But once in a while she’d used her journal to write Cody a letter, some musings about whether they would ever be more than friends, or some private bit of encouragement for him.

If she was going to find him and tell him goodbye before she moved to New York, then she wanted him to remember everything about her. Not just the past year, or the way he had felt compelled to run when his mother was put back in prison. But all of it … the bond they’d shared as far back as her early high school days. So she’d copied a handful of entries, folded the pages, and laid them on top.

It was all there — everything she wanted to give him. She placed the lid on the box, and checked her look in the mirror
once more. She wore a pale blue turtleneck and new jeans. Her long hair fell in curls alongside her face and down her back. No big deal, she told herself. She should look nice, right? It was her last full day in Bloomington.

The house was empty as she took the box to her car and set out for Indianapolis. Her first stop was the prison … because she wanted to tell Cody’s mom goodbye, and because she had no idea how to find him, otherwise. Bailey focused on the highway ahead, glad the roads were empty this morning. The week had been crazy enough without having to fight city traffic today.

She stared at the road ahead of her and thought about how much her life had changed since January. The part in
Hairspray,
her move to New York City, and of course her deepening friendship with Brandon Paul. Every day she felt her doubts about dating Brandon erode a little more. Life was too short to worry about paparazzi and magazine covers and Hollywood starlets. Brandon was worth a little inconvenience — especially after he’d taken the trip to Indiana to help her pack.

His charm left her dizzy at times, and there were long moments when she’d catch herself thinking about him, wishing for the next time when they might be together. Already Brandon had plans to fly to New York and take her to dinner. Sometime in the next two weeks, as long as his schedule of retakes allowed it. “And we’re going to do that love story together someday … I’ll make sure of it.” He had told her that yesterday when he called.

“We’ll see …” she had laughed lightly at the idea. From what she heard, it could be years before Brandon’s agent would let him make that movie.

“Bailey,” Brandon’s voice softened, and even across the phone lines she felt the impact of her name on his lips. “I’m not talking about a movie. I’m talking about us.”

Bailey tightened her grip on the wheel. Clouds gathered in the distance and she hoped it wouldn’t rain. Her dad planned to
barbecue tonight, and all of them wanted to eat outside on the back patio. Bailey’s last dinner at home.

She pulled into the prison parking lot just as her phone vibrated. Once her car was parked, she glanced at the message window and saw it was a text from Brandon. She smiled, and a part of her heart warmed at the sight of his name.

No doubt, Brandon’s attention was an unexpected blessing in this season of her life. Without him, she would’ve thought about Cody every day … wondering about him, staying angry at him. Instead, she no longer allowed herself to believe Cody would come back, that he would change his mind and want her in his life again. She missed him, yes. The way she would always miss him. But Brandon had shown her something she desperately needed to know.

Cody wasn’t the only guy who could turn her head.

Bailey locked the car and crossed the prison parking lot. A pang of guilt hit her, because the last time she was here she had promised herself she’d visit Cassie Coleman every weekend. Or at least once a month. Instead she hadn’t been back since that day in January. The last time she’d seen Cody.

She walked up the stairs and through the front doors where it took thirty minutes while the guards notified Cody’s mother that she had a visitor. Finally Bailey was led through a familiar series of hallways and doors to a room where Cody’s mother sat waiting for her at a round table. She smiled through teary eyes as Bailey walked up, and for a brief moment she stood, and they shared a hug — an awkward moment since Mrs. Coleman wore handcuffs.

They both sat down, and for a few seconds Cody’s mom stared at her hands, chained in front of her. “I’ve … I’ve been praying for you, Bailey.” She lifted her eyes, and the familiar shame was still there. “Every day I’ve prayed.”

“Thank you.” Bailey had never been close to the woman,
mostly because they’d only been together in person a handful of times. “I’m sorry it’s been so long …”

“That’s okay.” She was quick to dismiss the idea that Bailey should’ve been by sooner. “Bloomington’s a long way from here.”

New York was farther …
Bailey took a deep breath and explained why she was here, how she was moving away, but she had a box of Cody’s things and she wanted to see him today. If that was possible. “We haven’t talked.” Bailey felt the same sadness in her heart. She still couldn’t believe Cody had let this much time pass.

“He told me … he came by one afternoon.” She raised her eyes to Bailey’s. “You … you have someone else now, is that right?”

She was talking about Brandon Paul … Bailey smiled, not sure what to say about him. “I have a friend, yes. He was over when Cody came by last time.” She thought about dismissing Brandon, telling Cody’s mother that he meant nothing to her. But that was no longer true, so she left it at that. “What about Cody … is he seeing anyone?”

It was the question she had dreaded, but she needed to know the truth, needed the complete picture if she was going to find him later today. Mrs. Coleman sighed and fidgeted for a long while before she looked up again. “Yes … Cody has a friend.”

The words hit like so many rocks, pelting her soul and making her wonder if this wasn’t some kind of nightmare. Cody loved only her, right? So how could he have moved on so quickly? But as soon as the question filled her mind, an obvious train of thoughts followed. She had Brandon Paul, a friend who had replaced the everydayness of Cody. So how could she be upset? She nodded … ignoring the sting of tears in her eyes. “Are … are they serious?”

“I’m not sure, really …” Mrs. Coleman looked nervous. “The girl … she was in a terrible car accident a few days ago. Cody’s with her right now—at the hospital in town.” Another long sigh from Cody’s mother. “She was on her way to surprise him this
past Wednesday … to watch his football team. But she was hit by a truck before … before she reached the school.”

On Wednesday? The accident happened then? That was the day Bailey had wanted her mom to drive with her out to his school, only their errands had taken too long and they hadn’t gone. But if they had … they might’ve been there when this … Bailey dismissed the thoughts. “How badly is she hurt?”

“Bad.” Cody’s mother shook her head, her eyes dark with concern. “She hasn’t woken up, but … they used that machine to get her out of the car and now,” she shrugged, her eyes welling up again. “Her brain … her back … they’re not sure how bad it is.”

Bailey had no idea what to do with the information. Cody had found someone else, and now she was severely injured. Even at this moment he was sitting at her bedside. “Do you think he’d mind … if I stopped by?”

A look of deep apology came over Mrs. Coleman, and she slid her cuffed hands across the table toward Bailey. “He has always loved you, Bailey.”

She covered the woman’s fingers with her own. “I’ve always loved him.”

“Then go to him.” She sniffed, struggling to keep her composure. “Take him whatever it is that belongs to him, and tell him goodbye. He would want that … I’m sure.”

They talked for a few more minutes — about the Bible study Cody’s mom was doing with a group of fellow inmates, and about how God continued to speak to her. “I actually enjoy being here.” Her smile was weak, but sincere. “Because for the first time, God truly has my attention.”

Their visit drew to an end and Bailey hugged her once more. She wrote down the name of the hospital where the girl was a patient, and before she left she asked Mrs. Coleman just one more question. “What’s the girl’s name? I’ll probably need that.”

“Cheyenne.” Mrs. Coleman’s eyes held Bailey’s, as if she didn’t
want Bailey to walk out of their lives now or any time in the future. “Her name is Cheyenne.”

As soon as Bailey heard the name, she felt her knees give way ever so slightly. Cheyenne? The former fiancée of Cody’s buddy, Art Collins? That’s who he was seeing now? She stuffed her questions in the basement of her heart, thanked Cody’s mom again, and walked back to her car. Along the way she remembered how Cody had sworn he wasn’t interested in her. She’d been invited to a dinner thrown by Art’s mom in Indianapolis. And once Cody had accidentally sent Bailey a text he’d intended for Cheyenne. But he had promised her he didn’t see her as anything more than a friend — the grieving former love of one of his closest friends from Iraq.

Either way, she could hardly be mad. The girl was fighting for her life by the sounds of it. Bailey would simply go to the hospital, bring the box up to the girl’s room, and ask for a few minutes with Cody in the hallway. Then she’d do once and for all what she should have done last January.

She’d end things with Cody Coleman for good.