Three-Point Play (7 page)

He took two steps toward the front door. “Uh, Dad,” he began, “Beth calls
me
‘homeboy' sometimes. She says it to Chop, too. Maybe she doesn't mean anything by it. Maybe it's just a word.”

Cody saw his dad straighten his stance a bit. “Perhaps,” he mumbled. “But there was more to it than that, Cody. You should have seen the way she was smiling at him.”

I can't believe I'm gonna say what I'm about to say
, Cody marveled to himself.
Either I'm finally maturing a little bit—or I'm completely crazy.

He cleared his throat. “Dad—Beth kinda smiles at everybody. I think she's just a friendly person. I've seen her smile at waiters and concession workers and ticket tearers at the movies and stuff. But she doesn't smile at them the way she smiles at you.”

Cody saw genuine surprise flicker in his father's eyes. He wondered how long it had been since he'd seen that particular emotion. “Really, Cody? You're not saying this just to make me feel better?”

“It's true, Dad. Really.” He drew in a long, deep breath. “Anyway, I think I'm gonna go back to my room now. I have some reading to do for school. And I need to start reviewing some basketball stuff Coach Clayton gave me. Got to start thinking hoops now that football season is finally over.”

Cody turned and slowly climbed the stairs. He heard his dad pick up the phone. “Beth,” he said, “please don't hang up. I need to apologize.”

Cody entered his room and flung himself on his bed. “Well, God,” he whispered, “I think I did okay at being a peacemaker. Just like the plaque says. But I have to say, I don't see how I'm gonna be
blessed
by any of this.”

The next morning was Thursday, the day Cody and Pork Chop planned to start basketball practice. Coach Clayton had been understanding about two of his key players being needed on the football team. But now that the Eagle gridders' play-off run was over, he was eager to shore up his squad. And Cody and Pork Chop had been key to the Grant hoopsters coming within an eyelash of the district championship as eighth graders.

Coach Clayton had tracked down Cody and Chop in the lunch room on the Monday following the loss to Claxton Hills, plopping down across from them.

“Hello, men,” he had said, folding his long legs under the table. “I'm sorry the season's over, but you guys had a fine year. You should be proud of yourselves.”

“I guess so,” Chop replied, without looking up.

“It's hard to believe the season is really over,” Cody added, trying to inject at least a little life into his voice.

Coach Clayton nodded. “So, how you guys feelin'? A bit sore, I would imagine.”

“You would imagine correctly,” Chop said, his voice still sullen.

“I don't take the kind of beating Chop does,” Cody offered, “but I am banged up. Even my bruises have bruises!”

“Well,” the coach said, extricating himself from the table and standing, “I know you might need to take two or three days off, but we're hurtin', fellas. Mr. Alston is running with the varsity. He'll probably be the second guy off the bench for them. And Terrance Dylan will start for the JV team. So—”

“How about Thursday, Coach?” Cody suggested. “That'll give us a few days to recoup. Get over the loss to Claxton. Heal up, you know?”

“I guess I can live with that, fellas. But if you start getting your legs under you before that, you know your way to the gym.”

Pork Chop reported to practice on Tuesday, without telling Cody. So when Cody showed up Thursday morning, he was surprised to see his friend already in his practice jersey working with Coach Clayton on rebounding position.

“What's up, Chop?” he said, jogging toward them. “You camp out here last night? I can't remember the last time you beat me to practice—in any sport.”

Cody saw Coach Clayton exchange glances with Chop, then jog toward Gannon, shouting, “Aw, for the love of David Thompson, Gannon! Can't you
try
to get some elevation on your jumper?”

“Dawg,” Chop said, his voice just above a whisper, “I decided to start practicing a couple days ago.”

The news almost caused Cody to step backward. “Uh, thanks for telling me. I woulda started with you, you know.”

“Sorry. But I kinda decided I might as well get used to it, you know?”

Cody picked up a basketball that had rolled to a stop near his feet. He fired a hard chest pass to Chop. “Get used to what?” he asked accusingly.

Chop returned the pass, so softly that Cody had to stoop to catch it, near his ankles. “Don't front, Cody,” he said sadly. “You know what I'm talking about. It's almost for sure that Dad's gonna sell the farm. He's getting older. Money's getting tighter. And with Doug up at college, the work load is puttin' a big hurt on both of us. You understand, right?”

Cody turned away, afraid that if he looked at Chop's pained face for one more second, he'd start to cry. “There are about a thousand things I don't understand right now, Chop,” he said as he trudged away. “I'll just add this to the list.”

Friday after practice, Cody accepted a ride home from Pork Chop and his dad. As Cody slid out of the Porters' pickup, Chop held out his fist. “Get good rest tonight, dawg. You wanna be sharp for the wedding tomorrow. Don't want to see you fainting and doin' a face plant into the front pew.” The words were vintage Pork Chop, but there was no genuine humor behind them. It was as if his friend were reading them for the first time from a script.

Cody smacked his knuckles against his friend's. “Yeah, you too. Don't want you falling asleep during the ceremony.”

“Just think, Code, we don't have enough practices to play this weekend, but next weekend we'll be suiting up and playing hoops again. After playing varsity football, frosh hoops will be too easy. I bet we run the table—go undefeated!”

Mr. Porter chuckled. “You best focus on the business at hand: your
first
game of the season, next week. You're talkin' about chickens that ain't hatched yet. Now, quit your jawin' and let young Mr. Martin get inside. He's got a rehearsal dinner to get to.”

Cody was standing in front of the refrigerator weighing his pre-dinner snack options when he heard the doorbell. Somehow, he knew it would be Beth.

“Hi,” he said, summoning all the cheer he could muster and injecting it into his voice. “Come on in. Dad's not home yet. Probably still at work.”

“Actually,” she said, stepping across the threshold and into the living room, “he's already over at the church. I'm your ride tonight. Because, Cody, I want to talk to you. I'm not interrupting you, am I?”

“Nah,” Cody said, taking a seat at the far end of the living room couch. Beth sat down at the other end, rotating her torso so that she faced him.

“I've been meaning to call you, but I thought a personal visit was more appropriate,” she began.

Cody felt his heart accelerating.
I wonder what this is about
, he thought.
I mean, the wedding is back on, but maybe something's changed.

Beth's voice was quiet, more subdued than usual. “Cody,” she continued, “Luke—uh, I mean, your dad, told me how you sort of stood up for me over the whole alleged flirtation thing.”

“Yeah?” Cody said, hoping Beth wouldn't note the suspicion in his voice.

“Well, I just want to thank you. Look, I know that you are not exactly thrilled about my marrying your dad tomorrow. So I know it took a lot of courage and integrity to do what you did. I mean, that could have been the thing that killed our plans—or at least put them on hold for a while. I'm not sure how you found it in yourself to defend me, but I'm so thankful you did. I'm blown away, in fact. I should have thanked you sooner, but—”

Cody got the sense that Beth was struggling to hold back tears. “I really can't take credit for what I did,” he explained. “It was a God thing. He showed me what I needed to do. My part was just to obey.”

Beth nodded. “I'm thankful you did. It means a lot. Look, I'm not going to give you a big speech or anything, because I'm sure you have so much on your mind and heart already. But I'll just say this: All I'm asking for is a chance. I care about you. We'll find a way to make this work. Okay?”

“Okay,” Cody whispered.

“You know, I love you.”

The words froze in Cody's brain.
Some people say I love you just like tossing you a ball during a game of catch,
he thought.
They expect you to toss the words right back. Like a reflex or something. It's not fair. If you don't say it back, it's like taking somebody else's ball and walking home with it.

He felt the scrutiny of Beth's gaze on him. “Uh—” he began.

She smiled reassuringly. “You don't have to say anything back, homeboy. I don't want you to say it until you mean it. But I hope that day will come sometime.”

Cody nodded.

“And you don't have to call me Mom or anything like that. You call me whatever you want—well, within reason anyway.”

Cody forced a laugh. “Well, you always call me homeboy, maybe you should be homegirl.”

“You think your dad will go for that? He might think it's kinda informal.”

Cody laughed, not forcing it this time. “Dad could stand to be a lot more informal.”

“Amen to that,” Beth said, standing. “You start getting your game face on, okay? Best man—that's a heavy responsibility, homeboy.”

“Thanks, Beth—I mean,
homegirl!”

Cody finally decided on two Pop-Tarts as a snack. Then he was able to squeeze in almost a whole quarter of the Lakers and the Pistons while Beth dressed for the rehearsal dinner.

After returning home from the dinner, Cody would have sprinted up the stairs to his room had he not feared leaving much of said dinner on the stairs. “I never shoulda had that second steak,” he groaned. “What was I thinking?”

He changed out of his pants and into his baggiest sweats, then eased himself onto his bed. He checked the phone messages. Pastor Taylor, Pork Chop, Blake, Doug Porter, and Robyn had all left words of encouragement for him. He deleted all but Robyn's, which said, “Cody, you are so awesome. I'm proud of you. Who would have thought you'd make it into the thick of varsity football play-offs as a frosh? And I know you're gonna have a rockin' basketball season too. And as for tomorrow, all I can say is that you're being very mature about everything—even though I know you must feel so torn up inside. Anyway, just know I'll be thinking of you tomorrow. God bless.”

Cody opened his blinds so that he could see the bluish glow of a three-quarter moon. “Dear God,” he prayed, “I've never had so much uncertainty in my life. My family life is about to change forever. My best friend might move away. I'm in wa-aa-ay over my head trying to transition from football to basketball. I'm so tired. So sore. And, Robyn, that's another mystery. Are we getting to be more than friends? And is that a good thing or a bad thing? It's like, there's nothing I can be sure of; nothing I can hang onto. Except you. In this mixed up life of mine, thanks for always being there for me. Amen.”