“Chrissy.” The man brought his face close to hers. His tone softened considerably. “You’re okay, Chrissy … we’re getting help for you.”
Bailey thought Chrissy’s complexion looked worse — blue around her lips even. “Have you felt for her pulse?” Panic coursed through her. What if this was more serious than the stage manager thought? Bailey had missed the chance to pray for her earlier, so she wasn’t going to miss this one. Not caring about the other cast members still gathered around she closed her eyes and put her hand on Chrissy’s shoulder. “Lord … be with our friend. Help her, Father. Touch her with Your healing hand, and let her feel Your presence. Please, God …”
“Bailey …” The stage manager sounded slightly more tolerant. “You need to get out of the way. The paramedics are here.”
She opened her eyes and saw two men walk on stage carrying a stretcher. Did the people in the lobby buying popcorn know how serious things were for the blonde dancer? She stepped back, silently praying, still asking God to spare Chrissy … to allow more time so Bailey could do what she should’ve already done: start a Bible study … invite Chrissy … offer to pray with her.
Please God … I need more time …
The paramedics raced through an initial check, talking quietly and urgently between themselves. Bailey couldn’t hear everything they said, but certain words stood out … phrases that terrified her. Irregular heartbeat … shallow breathing. When they lifted her onto the stretcher, the face of the one in front was lined with concern. “Be ready to start CPR in the ambulance.”
CPR? Bailey felt dizzy, terrified at what was happening. This was much more serious than the stage manager thought. Suddenly she remembered the pills, the bottle Chrissy had put back in her purse. “Hold on!” She ran after the paramedics. “She took pills. Before the show.”
They were rushing her to the ambulance, making it hard for Bailey to keep up. By then a police officer backstage was talking to a few of the cast members, writing down notes. “Tell him,” one of the paramedics shouted. And with that they hurried out the side stage door with Chrissy motionless on the stretcher.
This couldn’t be happening … Bailey’s heart thudded hard inside her as she ran back to the girls’ dressing room and searched under the table. Most of them didn’t lock up their things, so it took only a few seconds to find Chrissy’s purse. The bottle of pills was still there near the top, and Bailey grabbed it, running it back to the green room where the police officer was still taking notes. “Here.” She handed the pills to the man, breathless. “She took these. Several of them … right before the show.”
He glanced at the label, and then he hurried from the room. Before he left he looked back over his shoulder and spoke straight to Bailey. “Thank you … for saying something.” With that he was gone.
Bailey stood alone at the center of the room, the rest of the cast looking at her, ogling her with glances of disdain. She couldn’t tell if they were angry because she’d betrayed Chrissy’s secret … or if they were afraid because maybe she knew secrets about them. Secrets she might tell the police officer if he came back around. Or maybe they were disgusted with her because she hadn’t said something sooner — the way she was disgusted with herself.
Whatever it was, she didn’t have time to think it through. Before anyone could say a word, the stage manager appeared and clapped his hands. “Hurry people … places … let’s pick up at the top of the number.”
And like that, they were herded back on stage, smiles ready, waiting for the music to begin. Bailey felt horrified. She wanted to run outside and grab a cab to the hospital — whatever hospital they were taking Chrissy to. What if she wasn’t okay? What if they couldn’t get her heartbeat right? She might need someone beside her, someone to help her through. Bailey concentrated, trying to remember the steps to the dance, the words to the song.
The music began and the warm announcer’s voice assured them the issue with the cast had been dealt with. Everything was fine. With that, the curtain lifted, and Bailey scanned the audience. Men and women, children … all were back in their seats, fresh candy and drinks in their hands. As if it were an everyday occurrence to see a dancer collapse midshow at a Broadway performance.
Bailey couldn’t remember a moment of the show after that. She slipped into a sort of autopilot, the whole time praying for Chrissy. Not until the show was over did a handful of the cast share the fact that, yes, they were frightened for Chrissy.
“She’s been taking those pills for almost a year.” Stefano’s tone was grave. “Who wants to come with me to the hospital?”
“I will.” Gerald was quick to jump in. He grabbed his backpack and swung it onto his shoulder. “She didn’t look good. Her color.”
Bailey ran a few steps toward the dressing room. “I’ll come too.” She grabbed her bag while Stefano and Gerald rounded up another dancer. “I have the hospital address.” Gerald handed it to the driver. “Hurry, please.”
They rode in silence, and when they arrived at the hospital Bailey noticed the looks they got as they rushed into the emergency room. Only then did she remember they were still in costume and full makeup. Stefano explained to the man at the front desk that they were friends of Chrissy’s, the dancer who had been brought in an hour earlier.
Bailey tried to read the man’s expression, and she was almost sure she saw a shadow fall across his eyes. “Does she have family here … anyone related to her?”
Again Bailey realized how little she’d invested in her friend. She had noticed the girl’s thin body, the way she seemed to struggle with anorexia — yet she had never asked about Chrissy’s home life. Was she from New York? Did she have parents or siblings? Bailey had no idea, and as she looked at the other dancers with her she saw that they shared the same blank look.
Gerald answered for all of them. “I’m not sure.”
“Very well.” The man at the front desk pursed his lips.
“We can call our director.” Stefano nodded at the others, his tone panicked. “Someone should know.”
The man nodded. “I’d appreciate that.” He stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll … let you know if I hear anything about your friend.”
They sat back down and Bailey did what she should’ve done earlier that day. She looked at the dancers in the small circle around her and held out her hands. “Let’s pray … she needs us.”
The three cast members looked at each other and then at Bailey, and with a sort of confused reluctance, they did as she said. They linked hands, and let Bailey lead them in prayer. Every word felt forced and stilted, because while she prayed she couldn’t get past the fact that it was too late. She’d had her chance with Chrissy and she’d missed it. “Please God … we want more time with Chrissy … help her, we ask You.”
Bailey had no idea how long they sat there. After half an hour several other castmates joined them, and eventually the stage manager arrived. He had Chrissy’s file and he gave the man at the front desk the information he wanted. Her family was from Montana. There was only one phone number listed in her emergency contacts, and no one was answering.
But in the end, the details didn’t matter. A doctor came into the waiting room and asked if he could talk to anyone who was there for Chrissy Stonelake. Bailey realized then that she hadn’t even known her friend’s last name. In her worry about fitting in and trying to blend with her cast, and because of her own hurt feelings from the way she felt she was being treated, she hadn’t even cared enough to ask that single crucial detail: Chrissy’s last name.
The doctor’s look was stonelike, and as they followed him into a small room, Bailey already knew. She knew with everything in her. When they were all in the small waiting room, the doctor shut the door and for what felt like a long moment, he looked at them, at each of them. Then he sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry … we weren’t able to save her.”
“What?” Stefano screamed the word. He grabbed at the doctor’s white coat. “That’s
crazy. She fainted … she’s going to be fine!”
The stage manager put his arm around Stefano and drew him away from the doctor. Around the room several of the cast started to cry, hands to their faces, the shock hitting them full force. Bailey felt sick to her stomach. She turned toward the wall and let her head rest against the cool plaster. This wasn’t happening … it couldn’t be happening. She’d missed her chance with Chrissy. More than that she’d prayed with her castmates, and Chrissy had still died.
Bailey wasn’t sure how she stayed on her feet, how she kept from running into the bathroom and throwing up. Chrissy was dead? This couldn’t be real … it was a nightmare. That had to be it. The doctor was saying something about the pills … the white pills … and Bailey tried to focus, tried to understand him. Because Chrissy wasn’t the only one taking the pills. Bailey had seen other girls popping them. Or something similar to them. She turned around, still leaning on the wall, and clutched her stomach, her eyes on the doctor.
“We see this with dancers once in a while.” He pressed his lips together, his expression grave. “Chrissy was taking an amphetamine, an upper. A diet pill, basically. From the tests we ran, she didn’t have proper nutrients for her heart to function — not in quite a while. We aren’t sure how many pills she took, but without food in her stomach they created a deadly effect.”
“So … was it … heatstroke?” The stage manager looked worried. Bailey hated the possibility, but there was no way around it. The man was clearly trying to determine if the theater company was at fault.
“This wasn’t caused by heat.” The doctor looked grim again. “The stimulants caused her heart to go into an arrhythmia, a rhythm too fast to move the blood through her body. Someone else might’ve handled it, but Chrissy’s anorexia complicated things. In effect, when the heart is pumping that fast it’s only fluttering. She died of heart failure.”
Around her several of the girls were softly crying … Gerald and Stefano too. A couple of the guys folded their arms and stared at the floor. The doctor apologized again. “Take a few minutes. We don’t need this room for a while.” When he left, a few of the girls wailed their grief out loud, shouting that it wasn’t possible, that she couldn’t be dead.
But she was, and the reality shook Bailey like nothing in her life ever had. God had prompted her to talk in more depth to Chrissy, to pray with her, and now it was too late. She had let Chrissy down … let God down. Her troubled friend, the one so defeated by the fight of life was no more. The tears began to fall for Bailey, and slowly she dropped to the floor, pulling her knees to her face. She sat there weeping. Why, God? Why didn’t You give Chrissy a second chance? Is it all my fault? Because I didn’t pray with her? Bailey shook with grief, furious with herself and desperate to have Chrissy back. But that wasn’t going to happen. Chrissy was gone, the girl whose heart had shouted for help every time Bailey saw her.
The truth was as painful as the loss of Chrissy. Bailey had cared more about fitting in than speaking truth to a girl who desperately needed it. God, I’ve failed You … I failed Chrissy. What am I supposed to do now? She had failed at the biggest God assignment of her life, and now Bailey could only let her tears fall, let the sobs overtake her. Chrissy was gone … there would be no second chance, no time to pray for her or invite her to a Bible study. Bailey cried as she had never cried before. For a girl who had tried to take on the rigors of Broadway and failed. A girl who had starved for love — the sort of love Bailey could’ve told her about. The only love that could ever truly satisfy: God’s love. But Bailey hadn’t prayed with her or told her about the Bible or asked her the deeper questions. Her heart felt like it lay in a million pieces on the floor, because Chrissy was gone. And on top of all the ways she hadn’t told Chrissy about God’s love, she had missed something else too.
She hadn’t even remembered the girl’s last name.
Seventeen
BUTLER UNIVERSITY WAS SITUATED ON ONE OF THE MOST SCENIC campuses in all of central Indiana. But more than that, it was outside Indianapolis far enough that it felt isolated among the cornfields and sweeping panoramas. Cody took in the view as the bus pulled into the school’s parking lot. This week would be about football, yes. But if God had His way, it would be about a lot more than that.
“Okay, men … let’s wake up.” Cody stood and his voice boomed all the way to the back of the bus. They’d left Lyle an hour ago at seven in the morning, and most of the guys had fallen asleep. But registration was in thirty minutes. “Come on … let’s go … welcome to football camp. Wake up, men … hustle!” His assistants, Coach Schroeder and Coach Braswell, helped round up the guys, and together they gathered gear and plodded their way across the parking lot.
This early in the morning the heat hadn’t set in, but already the day promised to be sweltering. Cody had plenty of powdered sports drink, and three five-gallon containers which they would keep full for the guys. He didn’t want his guys dealing with dehydration. “This way.” He took the lead. He’d been here a week ago to scout out the campus. He knew the layout of the university, where their dorms were, and the path from the dorms to the field — where registration would take place.
As the guys climbed the stairs to the dorms, they seemed to wake up a little more. Only a few of them were seniors, old enough to remember the coaching era of John Brown, back when the players still believed in themselves. That was the last time the Lyle Buckaroos had been to football camp. Cody felt sorry for Coach Oliver, because the man had missed this experience.
“Man, look at this.” Marcos Brown walked with a few players just ahead of Cody. “This place is sick … I didn’t know college was this nice.”
The comment was poignant. If something didn’t change for Marcos, his grades were so bad outside football camp he wouldn’t set foot on a college campus. We can’t have that, he told himself. God … give me more than the X’s and O’s this week. Please, Father …
I have all this figured out, my son … I know what you need before you ask it.
Cody felt himself relax under the certainty of the response. God knew what he needed before he asked for it … that was the point of the Bible verse he and DeMetri had read this morning before they headed out to Lyle.
“Alright,” Cody read from a clipboard as they reached the second-floor dorms. “Room assignments are set, so don’t look to switch and don’t complain.” He had to be stern, had to get them focused. “Listen for your name, take your gear, meet up, and find your dorm room.”
The guys had come a long way since Cody took over, but they still weren’t a team. It was something Cody had noticed yesterday at the barbecue. After the dunk tank excitement had died down, the guys hung in cliques of twos and threes. Cody thought it strange, because these kids had grown up together. Probably since kindergarten. But then, no one had ever required that they be a team.
Until this week.
When everyone was situated, Cody led the guys down to the field where they would check in. He met up with the coach from the college at registration. “Lyle High School, checking in, sir.”
“Lyle.” The man looked up, a twinkle in his eye. He gave a shake of his head. “So you’re the brave kid who took over for Oliver.”
Cody wasn’t offended. “Yes, sir.” He reached out and shook the man’s hand. “Cody Coleman.”
“Brave.” The man chuckled and marked something down on the list in front of him. “People have all but forgotten about Lyle.”
“Yes, sir.” Cody felt a rustling of anger stir inside his heart. These were his players the man was talking about. “That was the old Lyle.”
Cody’s tone must’ve gotten the man’s attention. He looked up, squinting at Cody against the bright morning sun. “Okay, then.” He nodded to a man who was probably his assistant. “Coach here has a welcome packet for each of your players.”
And with that the camp experience began in earnest. Inside the packet each guy received a T-shirt and a folder, to track progress made over
the week. Sixteen teams were registered for camp, and half an hour later the college coaches in charge gathered them at the fifty-yard line.
“This will be one of the toughest weeks of your life.” The head coach, Liam Henry, was a veteran, a stocky man with a big growly voice and a reputation for winning football games. “You’ll have mandatory group training sessions, and time with your teams.” He explained where the various fields were located. During their appointed sessions, each team would have access to half a field.
The camp was organized. Cody loved that. It left him time to think about his players, what they needed to gain this week to be successful. If they were going to leave here a team, the work ahead was daunting.
Coach Henry wrapped up his talk and allowed five minutes for water and dressing out. The Lyle team wore matching T-shirts, navy and white, the Buckaroo colors.
“Come on, guys … get a drink. Let’s be first on the field.” Cody stayed with them, encouraging them. He looked for signs that they cared about each other, and again he didn’t see any. Still, they managed to be third on the field after the break. Better than last, Cody told himself.
Stretches came first. Coach Henry walked the lines of players shouting truth at them. “Being limber and warmed up is crucial. No one ever took football seriously if they didn’t know about stretching.” He had them pair up and work together, helping each other stretch their hamstrings and back muscles.
Stretching led to footwork, monotonous movements that caused Cody to watch his players closely. Were they on board with Coach Henry’s aggressive approach? Were they listening? The coach was going on, telling them about the daily competition. “Every day we’ll award points.” He stared them down. “The team with the most points wins first place for that day.”
The glare of the sun made it hard to see, but Cody squinted at his guys. A few looked down, as if they weren’t even here. Arnie Hurley whispered to Joel Butler, a lanky wide receiver from the junior class. Joel’s parents were in the middle of a messy divorce. Other than DeMetri and a few others, Cody’s team treated this opening session like a morning biology class.