“Or at least three years.” Bailey gave her mom a nervous smile. “I’m sorry about that. I never was very good with math.”
“But the point is …” another tear slid onto her cheek, “I thought those stages would last forever. I mean, I knew better.” She laughed again, fighting what seemed like an endless well of missing. “Everyone told me, ‘Hold onto every minute … it won’t be like this forever,’ and I would smile and nod and think, ‘she’ll never sleep through the night.’” She reached for Bailey’s hand. “And now … just like that you’re all grown up and leaving.”
“I remember feeling like high school was a lifetime away.”
“Exactly …” Her mom stepped back and dabbed at her eyes once more. “I guess it’s just … being in your room and seeing it all cleaned.” She glanced at Bailey’s bedroom again. “Reminds me that we don’t have much time left.”
Something about her mother’s words struck a nerve, and Bailey could feel her expression change. She didn’t have long at all, and what about Cody? He didn’t even know she was moving. She and her mom walked back into her room and they sat on the sofa near her window, turned in, facing each other. Her mom still had hold of her hand. Bailey pushed thoughts of Cody from her mind. “That was nice of Brandon … flying out to help me.”
“It was.” Her mom seemed grateful for the distraction, anything but talking about how soon Bailey would be gone. “Has he called?”
“He texts me every day. But no … we haven’t talked.”
Her mom was quiet for a long moment. “He’s very nice, Bailey.” Her mom sniffed, a thoughtfulness in her tone. “So much different from when we first met him. I don’t know …”
Bailey smiled, but she understood what her mom meant. “He won’t let up, that’s for sure. The way he talks about us … his feelings for me. It used to be more like he was teasing. But now …” She shrugged slowly. “Now I have to really think about the two of us … whether it could ever work.”
“You don’t have to, honey.”
“No, I didn’t mean it like that. I mean … I love being with him, and I can see it, the two of us … it’s complicated, I guess.”
Her mom watched her, waiting for a long time before she spoke. “Why do I have the feeling you weren’t thinking about Brandon when you first switched subjects?”
“Hmmm … yes.” She smiled and released her mom’s hand. Leaning the other direction she reached for the framed picture of Cody and her. “I see this every day, and I can’t believe he hasn’t contacted me.” She set the picture back down. “You said there wasn’t much time left … and I thought how crazy it is … Cody doesn’t even know I’m moving.”
The hesitation that followed made it feel like her mom knew more than she had said. “Dad talked to Ryan Taylor an hour ago … I guess he found out Cody’s the new varsity coach at Lyle High. That’s one of the reasons I came up here.”
“What?” This was the first news they’d heard about him since January. Bailey’s mind raced. “Where’s Lyle?”
“It’s a small school northeast of Indianapolis toward the Ohio border.”
“That far?” Bailey felt her eyes widen. She returned the photograph to the end table. “So that’s like what, three hours from here?”
“Your dad and I looked it up on the map. It’s more like two hours … maybe a little less.”
Bailey didn’t want to acknowledge the hurt in her heart, but there was no getting around it. “He’s coaching in another city? And he didn’t call?”
“He did try stopping by …” Her mom winced, as if she hated to bring up Cody’s recent attempt to reach out to her.
Like a hundred times before, Bailey could see his eyes again, looking at her in his rearview mirror as he pulled away. “You’re right. He did … maybe because he’s basically changed everything about his life in the last four months.”
“Coach Taylor said the position came about quickly. And Cody’s still living in Indianapolis, taking classes at night and commuting to the school every day. He teaches PE too.”
Bailey’s mind raced and she felt dizzy, so much that she wondered if she might fall off the couch. They had known everything about Cody for years. Now … to think he’d moved on to a fulltime career and a head-coaching job without telling them … it was one more bit of proof, right? “He really doesn’t want anything to do with us.” She lifted her eyes to her mom’s. “I mean, how else can we read that?”
This time her mom had no answer. She looked down for a few seconds and shook her head. “Your dad and I just got through saying the same thing.” Her tone found a level of hope again. “We did decide that we’ll invite him for dinner sometime. After you’re gone.”
Bailey wanted to ask why they would wait until then, but she understood. The feelings she and Cody had shared not so long ago complicated the relationship between him and her family. “I wish you and I could go see him … so I could tell him goodbye.”
“Bailey …” She didn’t need to say anything. Her expression — though kind — said it all.
“I know,” she breathed in, trying to put him out of her mind, “like a dying man in the desert.” She smiled, but that didn’t stop the fresh pain these new details brought. Why would he start a new life out there and not text her … not call her parents? Did he really think stopping by her house one time was all the attempt he needed to make? She stood and picked up a list off the end of her bed. “Want to run errands with me?” The ache in her heart wasn’t going away any time soon, but she needed to get things done.
“Target?”
“Yes, and I still need to stop by Walgreens for those prints.” She had picked out a bunch of pictures from her family’s photo library, and she and her mom had ordered prints online. Some of them would go on Bailey’s wall in her new room, and the rest would go in an album.
She guessed the photos would become the favorite part of her new living space.
“Sounds good.” Her mom stood and headed toward the door. “Meet downstairs in five?”
“Perfect.” Bailey waited until she was gone before returning to the picture of Cody and her. How could she leave Indianapolis without talking to him? Without at least telling him that she was moving and letting him know how she felt — that she didn’t want him running off the other day and that he should’ve called. Or at least texted. Suddenly, without giving the matter any real thought, she picked up her phone, found his number, and dialed it. Her heart pounded as she dropped to the end of her bed and waited.
One ring … two …
She could do this, right? He had been a part of her life since she was a freshman in high school. Telling him she was moving was the least she could do.
Three rings … four. His voice came on the line telling her to leave a message, and for a few seconds she let him talk, let the recording play out. The sound of his voice felt that good against the rough edges of her heart. But at the last second she didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to bridge the span of time with a simple voicemail. She hung up, and a plan began to form in her mind.
She and her mom could make their couple stops and still have time to drive to Indianapolis. Maybe even to Lyle. The boys were staying late at school, and Dad could pick them up later. Besides, she and her mom would enjoy the adventure, right? One of their last before Bailey moved. They could use the GPS to find Lyle High, and surprise him … show up at his practice so he would know how much they cared. Forget the dying man in the desert business. Cody had been her friend before any other feelings complicated matters. Bailey smiled at the idea, and just like that her heart felt lighter than it had all week. She was going to see Cody! She grinned as she ran down the stairs.
Now she only had to convince her mother.
Twenty-three
DARK 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, telli
ng 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 Ch
eyenne, 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.