“Come on, honey, that’s it. I’m here. I have water for you. Are you thirsty, Chey? Can you take a drink?”
She worked her eyelids again, and Cody had the feeling that in all her life she had never exerted such effort. With everything in her she clearly wanted to open her eyes, to look at them and give them what they all wanted. One last time to connect. Finally, when watching her effort was enough to make him sick to his stomach, Cheyenne actually did it. She opened her eyes just enough to see him.
“Cheyenne!” Tara was on her feet. The room was dimly lit, but now she turned the bedside lamp up a notch. So Chey could see them clearly. “Sweetheart, you’re awake!”
“Mmm.” Chey squinted, trying to focus. She looked from Cody to Tara and back again. Barely, she parted her lips and suddenly Cody remembered why he was standing at her bedside and what was in his hands.
“The water.” He brought the cup to her, holding the straw to her lips with his other hand. “Here, sweetie … you can drink now. Take a drink, Chey.”
She nodded, at least he thought she did. It could’ve been her body suffering another little seizure, the mini-strokes the hospice nurse had said would be normal at this stage. Either way, she pursed her lips around the straw and sucked back some of the water. Not much. Not enough to make a difference. But it was progress, a sign that life still screamed to be heard despite the losing battle at hand.
Cody didn’t realize it until then, but he was crying — tears streaming down his face as he held the water to her lips. “Chey.” He forced himself to stay strong, to keep his feelings from getting the upper hand. “We’re here. We’ve been here the whole time.”
She stared at him, straight at him. Nothing else about her looked even remotely like the girl she’d been just two months ago. Her hair was gone, her cheeks sunken, and her limbs little more than skin and bones. But her eyes … her eyes were absolutely familiar. Cody held onto them as long as he could, refusing even to blink for fear of missing a moment.
Tara stood beside him, and now she put her hand over Cheyenne’s. “It’s good to see you awake, sweet girl. We’ve been praying for you.”
With a slow shift, Chey turned her eyes to Tara. In what could only be described as a miracle, the corners of her mouth lifted and her eyes danced with what life remained. “I know.” Her voice was barely audible, hoarse and weak. But she had talked. The connection filled the room with electric hope.
“Could you hear us … when your eyes were closed?” Cody needed to know.
She turned her eyes to him and nodded. Again, the movement was barely perceptible. But it was there. “I … hear you, Cody. Every … word.”
It was her — the way she would talk, her determination to speak his name, and make sure he understood her. She was here and she was lucid and she understood him. The knowledge gave him the strength he needed, the ability to stay here beside her until she drew her last breath. His principal had given him a sub all this week and the next if he needed it. And now he knew the one thing he had hoped might be true: She could hear him.
“Chey … are you in pain?” Tara brought her face close to Cody’s, probably so Chey wouldn’t have to work so hard to shift her attention between the two of them. “Are you afraid?”
“I’m … not afraid.” She smiled with her eyes, and her breathing sounded more labored than before. As if every effort took its toll on her. “I’m … going to see Jesus.” Even cancer couldn’t keep her eyes from dancing. “And I’m … gonna see Art.”
Tara began crying, quiet sobs shook her as she nodded and she brought her free hand to her face. “I’m sorry, honey … I’m just, I’m so happy for you. You’ll be fine in a little while.”
Again Cody could feel the tears on his cheeks. How surreal it was that in a very short time Cheyenne would be walking the streets of heaven, catching up with Art and basking in the presence of Jesus. He let Tara do the talking, since he was pretty sure he couldn’t say a word if he wanted to.
“Chey, will you do me a favor?” Tara was still crying, unable to stop the sobs, unwilling to let them stop her from saying what was on her heart.
“Yes, Mama.” She managed to slide her hand over Tara’s, bringing comfort to the older woman, thinking about others even in her final moments. “Tell me.”
“Can you … when you see Art,” her voice cracked. “Can you please … tell him how much I miss him. Tell him … I’m counting the days. Till we can be together.”
Chey smiled again, her eyes dry and full of light. “I’ll tell him.”
“Okay.” Tara reached for a tissue from the nearby table. “I’m sorry, baby girl. I’m not good at this.” She shook her head as she blew her nose. “I don’t know how I’ll do it … with both of you gone.”
“You’ll … have Cody.” Cheyenne smiled at Cody, the hint of a smile, but it was her smile nonetheless. “Take care … of her.”
“I will.” Cody had thought about it before, but only in a subconscious sort of way. The idea that after Cheyenne was gone Tara would be alone. She’d have her job and her home and her routine, but the people who had mattered most to her would be gone. All except for him. No matter where life took him, Tara would remain. He would include her for holidays and stop by on certain Sunday nights. Cody put his arm around Tara’s shoulders and kept his eyes on Cheyenne. “She won’t be alone. Don’t worry.”
Again she nodded, but this time her eyes flickered and her eyelids seemed to lose the fight for a few seconds. When she fought to open them again, Cody knew she wouldn’t be awake more than a few heartbeats longer. “Love you … Cody … Mama.”
“I love you, sweet girl.” Tara leaned over the bed and kissed Cheyenne’s head, framing her face with both hands. “We’re staying right here. As long as you keep fighting.”
As she drew back, Cody took his turn. “Chey.” He put his hand alongside her bony face. “You know how I feel. I love you.” He didn’t bother hiding his tears. As long as he could talk, he barely noticed them. “You tell Art …” He swallowed, searching for his voice. “Tell him it’s not the same without him.”
She nodded, just barely, and gradually her eyes closed. Her breathing slowed, and her hand went limp again. Suddenly Cody had the strongest sense that this was her last time, the last time they would connect with her this way. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stay here looking at her, watching her slip away. He stepped back from the bed. “I … I’m going out back. I need air.”
Tara didn’t blame him, didn’t ask him to stay. They each had to handle losing Cheyenne in their own way. She nodded at him, as if to say she understood. The moments they’d just been given were a gift. If he needed time to savor what they’d shared in the last few minutes, so be it.
Cody couldn’t leave her room fast enough. Like by getting out of there he could find a place where she was still vibrantly alive, still laughing and teasing him and telling him exactly how she felt — even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. But as he walked through the house he was reminded that every place, every seat and room and doorway, was empty of her presence, because she’d never fill them again. He stepped out into the cold and sat in the nearest frozen patio chair.
Dear God … I don’t understand … I can’t do this.
Cody hung his face.
My son … you can do all things through me … I give you strength and grace, exactly as much as you need.
Really? He covered his face. Are You sure … is that You, God?
This time there was no answer, but he was seized with an overwhelming urge, a thought he hadn’t had once since Cheyenne began this battle. As soon as it came over him it made complete sense. It was something he should’ve done sooner, but he hadn’t had time to think about it, to act on the thought until now. The feeling was this: He needed to call Jim Flanigan, the man who had been more of a dad than anyone in Cody’s life. He needed to talk to the man as badly as he needed to leave the room where death was winning.
Without hesitating, despite
the tears still streaming down his face, he pulled his cell phone from the back pocket of his jeans, found his list of favorite numbers and there — where it would always be — was the Flanigans’ home number. He tapped it lightly, held the phone to his ear while it began to ring, and waited. The whole time he had just one thought.
Why hadn’t he done this sooner?
Twenty-Two
BAILEY HAD BEEN HOME FOR TEN DAYS, AND EVERYTHING ABOUT the trip had been more than she had expected. She’d been to two of the boys’ basketball games and had coffee dates with her mom nearly every morning, the two of them sitting at the kitchen counter and catching up on all the little details of her life in New York, details there hadn’t been time to share over Skype or on one of her trips home before this.
She and Brandon had connected every night — usually on Skype, but once with just a phone call. “Have I told you lately that I miss you?” he’d said last night. “Two days feels like two years without you.”
Bailey had smiled, wishing she could hold his hands, touch his face through the phone lines. Before shooting his movie in New York, they would go weeks without seeing each other and think it was normal. Now, she felt the same way he did. That the time apart seemed like forever.
It was strange, really. Because Bailey had been home long enough to think about Cody, to contact him if she wanted to, but she had no interest. Her mom had even asked about it the other day, whether she’d heard from him. “No.” She wondered when her mom would finally accept the reality of Cody’s disinterest. “I never hear from him.” And Bailey still felt a slight frustration at the reality.
“Of course, he knows you have Brandon.” This reminder came often from her mom, as if once more she were still pulling for Bailey and Cody somehow.
“Yes, but, Mom …” Bailey had kept the moment lighter than a conversation like this would’ve felt a year ago. “Remember what you told me? I’ll know it’s the right guy because he’ll pursue me like a dying man in the desert pursues water.”
“Yes.” Jenny had nodded, her eyes thoughtful. “I did say that.”
“I’m not married, after all.” Bailey had held up her left hand then and pictured the seaweed ring that’d been there on New Year’s Eve. “I have no ring on my finger.”
“Not yet, anyway.” Her mom’s smile was genuine, proof that she really did like Brandon. Even though they’d all known Cody so much longer. “So you’re saying he could at least call.”
“At least!” Bailey had uttered a frustrated laugh. “He could text or write or stop by the house. I mean come on, he could call, right?” She’d raised her hands and then let them fall by her side again. “I mean, Mom, let’s be real. This is how Cody’s always been.”
“Not always.” Her mother still cared about him, clearly. “You were the first person he came to see when he came back from Iraq.”
“That was like a million years ago.”
“I know, but he cared about you. I believe he still cares.”
“Right.” Bailey had chuckled. The truth hurt less than before. “He’s just not that thirsty.”
The subject of Cody hadn’t come up since then. There were too many other things to talk about. The reality of her move to Los Angeles, and whether she could handle life in the limelight — the chase of the paparazzi. The way it was so different from the life she’d been raised with. Some nights she and her mom stayed up until well after midnight talking about the what ifs. Like what if Brandon took a movie that paired him up with someone edgier, the sort of actress the studio wanted for him.
“Girls in Hollywood can be pretty forward.” Her mom wasn’t trying to discourage her from loving Brandon. Bailey understood. She only wanted her to be realistic.
“I’m not worried about Brandon falling for someone else. It’s more the movies, the sorts of films he might have to make. The scenes they might have him do.” Bailey felt sick even talking about that. “If I worry at all, I worry about that.”
Now it was Wednesday, late afternoon, and Bailey was sorting through the clothes that still remained in her closet. She hadn’t taken many summer clothes when she went to New York. Katy had already promised to take her to some of the best stores along Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica. But she didn’t want to overlook the clothes in her closet.
Her brothers were at basketball practice, still at school, so the house remained quiet. But she wanted to show her mom an outfit she’d found in her top dresser drawer. She slid into the shorts and top and jogged downstairs. “Mom! You around?”
“She’s in her office.” Her dad’s voice came from the kitchen. “On deadline for a magazine article.”
Bailey reached the bottom of the stairs, which put her across from the kitchen. Her dad was standing at the stove stirring a pan of what looked like ground beef. He raised his wooden spoon in her direction and grinned. “I’m making dinner tonight. Be prepared for a treat.”
She giggled and raised her eyebrows. “You know it.” Her dad loved cooking dinner, but he was a little too creative. Always added a few too many spices or an unusual ingredient like artichoke hearts or cayenne pepper or horseradish. They had at least a dozen funny stories of the nights when their dad made dinner, and tonight’s dinner would probably join the list.
“So …” She did a quick twirl. “What do you think? Too high school? Can I still pull it off?”
“Too high school?” Her dad blinked, wide-eyed. “You’re still in high school, right? Or was that last year?”
“Daddy!” She laughed and gave him a tender look. He was always doing that, seeing her the way she’d been as a much younger girl, finding nostalgia in their everyday moments together. She was about to cross the kitchen and hug him, the way she’d done more often this last week at home. But before she could head his way, the phone rang. “I’ll get it.” She nodded to the pan on the stove. “You’re a little busy.”
“Are you kidding?” The contents of the pan sizzled louder in response. He made a face and adjusted the burner. “Really, sweetheart. This is a breeze.”
“Yeah. I can see that.” She hurried over to the far kitchen counter and picked up the phone on the third ring. “Hello?”
At first the caller on the other end was quiet, all except a muffled sort of sound. Almost like the connection was bad. “Hello?”
Again there was no response, just the subtle noises. Whoever it was, the call wasn’t clear enough to stay on the line. She was about to hang up, when she heard a voice. “Bailey?”
She held her hand over her other ear. The kitchen was silent except for the sizzling meat, but even so, the caller was almost impossible to hear. “Yes? Who is this?”
“I’m sorry,” he coughed. His voice was a mix of tortured sorrow and maybe a little anger. He was crying. That much was obvious. It was the reason she could barely understand him. She was about to ask again who it was when he cleared his throat. “This is Cody. I … I need to talk to your dad. Is he there?”
Bailey felt her heart hit the floor. “Uh … hold on.” She could tell her mom she was over Cody and laugh at his lack of effort where she was concerned. But when he called crying on the other end of a phone line her heart reminded her. She still had feelings for him. Still cared about whatever had upset him this badly. She walked the phone to her dad and swapped a look with him. Silently she mouthed the words: “It’s Cody … he’s crying.” She hesitated, not wanting to hand the phone over so quickly. “Cody … is … is everything okay?”
“No.” He was still crying, still fighting for the strength to talk. “I’m sorry, Bailey … I need your dad. Please …”
His tone caught her by surprise. Whatever had happened, it must’ve been bad. Maybe something with his mom … or maybe he’d started drinking again. Some situation so bad he could only talk to her dad. “Okay. Here he is.” She shrugged as she handed the phone over. Again she whispered, “He’s really upset.”
Her dad’s teasing from earlier disappeared instantly. He handed the wooden sp
oon to her, took the phone, and stepped aside. “Cody. Hey, what’s going on?”
Bailey watched her dad through the entire conversation. His face grew more alarmed in the first few seconds of the call. “Oh, Cody, why didn’t you tell us sooner? Man, I’m so sorry. That’s awful.”
Her mind raced, trying to imagine what could’ve happened. The call didn’t last long before her dad took it into the next room. After that, all Bailey could hear was the hushed tones of her dad talking, maybe even praying with Cody. Fifteen minutes later he returned to the kitchen, his face several shades paler.
“Dad, what is it?” She set the spoon on the counter beside the stove and turned the burner off. The dinner could wait. “What happened to him?”
“Not to him.” He gripped the counter and hung his head for a moment before looking at Bailey again. “It’s his girlfriend … Cheyenne.” Her dad didn’t hesitate, didn’t make her wonder any longer than necessary. “Bailey, she’s dying. She has brain cancer. It could be any time.”
Bailey felt like her dad was talking about someone else. She blinked and shook her head. “She had a car accident a year ago … she’s much better now.” Bailey crossed her arms and leaned her hip into the counter. Her mind raced in time with her heart. “We saw her at the football game. She was fine.”
“No … remember? She went home early. With a headache.”
The realization caused a faint feeling to come over her. Her dad was right. That’s exactly what had happened. It was the reason Cody could come talk to her after the game. Because Cheyenne had gone home sick. “So she must’ve … he probably found out …”
“About that same time. He said she was put in the hospital that night. They got word sometime in the few days after.”
Bailey couldn’t get her arms around the emotions crashing in on her. Why hadn’t Cody told her when they saw each other in New York City? Or at least called her dad sooner? Here all this time … all this time she had written him off, believing he didn’t care, that he couldn’t be bothered to call or text. She had assumed he’d dealt with his lack of feelings for Cheyenne and broken up with her by now. But instead … instead he’d been walking with her through a terminal illness. “Dad …” She took a few steps and fell into his arms. “How could this happen? She’s been through so much.”