But deep down he knew she didn’t need him — and that had triggered his decision to run, which in turn led to his nightmares and flashbacks. Because without Bailey he had been without purpose.
He felt the urge to reach for Cheyenne’s hand, but he held back. DeMetri had asked about her, whether they were dating … and Cody had told him no. It wouldn’t set a very good example if he held her hand now — when they were supposed to be only friends.
The picnic was set up at the fairgrounds — since the football field wouldn’t have been large enough for so many people. Cody guessed just about every retired guy in a ten-mile radius showed up to flip burgers and hand out hot dogs. He wasn’t good at estimating the number of people in a crowd, but it felt like Ms. Baker was right — the whole town had shown up. Not only that, but they’d each brought a friend.
An hour after the picnic’s official start time — just before dinner was served — the Lyle mayor took his place on a makeshift podium and asked everyone to move to one side of the field. “It’s now my pleasure to introduce to you this year’s Lyle High football team!”
The entire crowd broke into loud applause and cheers, a show of support that amazed Cody and continued through the introduction of every boy on the team. When Cody’s name was announced, the crowd grew louder still. The mayor also welcomed two teachers — Mr. Schroeder and Mr. Braswell, both of whom would assist the Buckaroos this year.
When the team was lined up, facing the crowd, the mayor asked for another round of applause. Cody blinked, not quite believing the response. How had God been so good to bring him here and allow him to take over a team with so much love and support? He had a feeling that they could win one game this year and the town would be thrilled. Ready to welcome them back at the barbecue next summer.
“These boys leave tomorrow morning for camp,” the mayor told them, his voice rich with hope. The sun beat down on them, and sweat beaded up on the man’s bald head. He didn’t seem to mind. “So now I’d like everyone to bow their heads and join me in a prayer for our team. That they’ll find something special while they’re at camp.” He paused. “Something that’s been missing for a few years.”
That was as close as the mayor came to talking about the dismal winless seasons Lyle had recently suffered. Cody watched, mesmerized as the entire crowd quieted. Men and boys removed their baseball and cowboy hats, and everywhere he looked, families and small groups held hands as they bowed their heads. When the mayor was satisfied that the picnic crowd was ready, he began, his voice booming across the fairgrounds.
“Dear Lord, we bring to You our Lyle High football team, and we ask that You bless their efforts while they’re at camp.” His voice rang with unabashed sincerity. “This team is capable of much … and our town believes in them. Now, Father, we ask Your blessing not only on their time at camp, but on their season … May they dedicate every game to You out of gratitude for how You’ve blessed us all. And may Lyle’s season be so successful that people everywhere would know about us, and how at least here You still reign in small-town America.” The mayor’s prayer was as simple as it was profound. It was met with a roaring applause that was greater than anything yet that afternoon.
Cody felt a shiver of awe run down his spine. Did they know what they had here in Lyle? How out of the ordinary it was that a small-town mayor might rally his people to pray for the football team? The mayor was going on, talking about the upcoming season and how he hoped to see the stands packed for every game.
He caught himself gazing down the line at his team, the ragtag group of guys who hadn’t believed in themselves whatsoever until a few months ago. Yes, they struggled with grades and girls, and the sort of partying that had nearly destroyed Cody when he was that age. But one by one, Cody was meeting with the guys, talking to them, and confronting them with evidence and alternatives. For many of them he’d issued ultimatums: Quit partying … quit climbing through windows at girlfriends’ houses … get the grades up. Otherwise they would lose their place on the roster. And the guys were responding better than he’d imagined.
Dear God,… I’m not worthy of the challenge ahead, he prayed silently. But with You … with You all things are possible. So let us play for You this year … like the mayor said. And let everyone, everywhere know that where Your name is called upon, Your people can win battles they never should’ve won. Thank You, Father …
I am with you, son. You will do great things this year in My strength … watch and see …
Thank You, Father … if that’s You … thank You. Despite the muggy heat of the late afternoon, a chill ran through Cody again. He liked to think in moments like this that the voice he had heard in his heart was really that of the Lord. But it seemed hard to believe that he might take the Buckaroos from two winless seasons to anything truly noteworthy in his first year as head coach. A few wins, yes. A better attitude, of course. But great things? He tried to believe the possibility.
All around him people were crossing the field, coming up to him and the team. “Coach, … we’re pulling for you.” And, “This is your year, Coach.” Cody shook more hands than he could count and held the same conversation over and over again. The townspeople wishing him well, and Cody thanking them for their support.
Cody must’ve held a hundred conversations like that before he saw Cheyenne walking his way. She used her cane, but she walked faster than she had last week. Their eyes met over the crowd, and she smiled, as if to say she was proud of him. When she reached him, she waited nearby until every townsperson had welcomed him, and when they had returned to their picnic blankets and lawn chairs, she walked up and gave him a quick hug. “Wow … I didn’t know you were famous.”
“Faith, family, and football.” Cody slid his hands in his pockets and chuckled. “That’s Lyle — the town and the school.”
“I love it.” Cheyenne walked beside him as they returned to their chairs — set up near the barbecue tent and close to the players. “I didn’t think there were still places like this.”
“Me either.” He breathed in deeply through his nose, imagining the challenge ahead. “I hope they’re this supportive if we don’t win a game.”
“I get the feeling it’s not about winning for these folks.”
“Oh, they care.” He chuckled, remembering what a few dads had told him. How the town had its hopes on Cody. “They think I can rebuild what they once had.”
Her eyes told him she had no doubts. “Maybe you can.”
“We’ll see.” They stood in line for burgers and then found seats. When the meal was over the guys gathered round and talked him into playing catch on the adjacent field. Cheyenne watched and after an hour, when Cody’s T-shirt was damp with sweat, Cheyenne called him over.
“Time for the dunk tank.” Cheyenne took his hand. She whispered close to his ear. “The mayor put me up to it. Bribed me with one of his wife’s homemade cupcakes.”
Cody laughed. “Oh, really.” He noticed the rest of the football team falling in around them.
“Come on, everyone,” his quarterback Arnie Hurley shouted above the sound of the crowd, waving at the people to follow them. “Coach is getting in the dunk tank!”
It took a few minutes, but most of the picnic goers moved to the place where volunteers had set up carnival games and a classic dunk tank. Once again the mayor took the microphone. “Just so you know, we asked Miss Betty from the Chamber of Commerce to toss all the extra ice in the dunk tank water!”
A cheer came from the crowd, and the players hooted and hollered. “Yeah … you’re going down, Coach!”
Cody laughed and gave Cheyenne an exaggerated look of helplessness. Then he turned to the crowd and shook his head — playing with them. “No dunk tank,” he shouted. “I hate cold water.”
That started a chant from his players. “Dunk tank … dunk tank … dunk tank …”
Finally when Cody had gotten them appropriately worked up, he waved them off. “Fine … you got me!” He threw both arms in
the air in mock surrender and walked to the tank. The mayor met him there and helped unlatch the top chamber.
“You’re a good sport.” The mayor’s eyes were kind, his words this time for Cody alone. “Breath of fresh air for this town. A real answer to prayer.”
“Thanks.” Cody hesitated long enough to look at the man’s eyes. He wanted the mayor to know how much his words meant. “I’m glad I’m here. I love these kids.”
“The feeling’s mutual.” The mayor laughed. “I haven’t seen this much excitement in Lyle for a long time.”
“Well …” Cody grinned and looked at the ice water below him. “I guess that means there’ll be a long line of people trying to dunk me.”
“Yes.” The mayor raised his brow. “I don’t think it’ll take long.”
A few of the players went first, and the mayor took the mic again. “Rise to the challenge, men,” he shouted. “Back up ten yards. Take the high road.”
But not one of them hit the target hard enough to knock Cody into the water. It was Cheyenne’s turn, and the mayor moved her up to the line where most people would throw from. She set her cane down as the team gathered around, cheering her on.
With the softball in her hand, she looked at the crowd, clearly enjoying the moment. Then she reared back and threw the ball dead on target. Cody caught a quick breath as he plunged into the ice-cold water. His laughter came so hard and fast he barely noticed the shock to his system. In a hurry he scrambled back to the trapdoor and down the ladder, where he made a grandiose bow for the cheering crowd. He caught Cheyenne’s full-faced grin, the way her eyes held his, and he wondered if his racing heart was because of the ice water … or because of his feelings for the girl across the field.
Long after the picnic was over, after he had taken Cheyenne home and brought DeMetri back to the apartment so they could finish packing for camp, Cody replayed the day in his mind. Every wonderful detail about it. The way the town supported him and the team, the look in Cheyenne’s eyes … and the quiet words of support from the mayor.
You’re a breath of fresh air for this town. A real answer to prayer. Cody felt the man’s approval to his core. Like his counselor had told him a week ago, the position at Lyle was better for him than any therapy. Whereas Bailey no longer needed him, as coach at Lyle High, Cody had a purpose. The kids needed him and Cheyenne needed him. And somewhere in his brain those single truths caused his time in Iraq to be worthwhile. Which meant he didn’t need to think about the past or dwell on it or relive it. Very simply those days had led him to this.
Where maybe God had planned for him to be all along.
Sixteen
HER PERFORMANCE WASN’T HALFWAY FINISHED, BUT BAILEY wondered how she could feel so miserable dancing on Broadway. She hoped no one in the audience could tell what she was thinking while she danced and sang and smiled her heart out alongside her castmates. They were almost finished with “Welcome to the Sixties,” but all Bailey could think about was Francesca, and how somewhere in the dark recesses of the theater, the woman was watching her, judging her, evaluating whether she would stay another week.
Before she went on stage, Bailey sought out the director and explained that she had signed up for private dance instruction. The idea of training had come to her on the flight back from Indiana. Something she could do to show she was serious about “Four mornings a week I’ll work on my technique.”
Francesca said nothing, just looked at Bailey like she was weighing the worth of the effort she was making. When the space between them remained silent, Bailey forged ahead. She’d come up with the plan on the flight home from Indiana. And she also wanted to let Francesca know her concerns about Chrissy.
“I think she’s anorexic.” Bailey didn’t hint around, though she’d kept her tone quiet. “She says she’s getting help, but … I wanted someone else to talk to her. Just in case.”
Francesca’s response was the reason Bailey usually kept her distance from the woman outside rehearsals. She lowered her chin and raised her eyebrows. “About the dance instruction … it’s about time.” She barely paused. “About Chrissy … like I already asked you … mind your own business. Don’t judge the cast.”
The conversation played again in Bailey’s mind as they finished the number. Chrissy was dancing beside her, and she seemed to work harder than usual. She was thinner than she’d been a few weeks ago — but only Bailey seemed worried. Before they stepped on stage earlier that night, Bailey caught Chrissy taking a small fistful of white pills.
“Why do you do that?” Bailey tried to keep her tone kind, not accusing. “I mean … aren’t you afraid of what they might do?”
“They give me energy.” Chrissy smiled in a way that was more condescending than kind. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Of course I would.” Bailey hated that her friend thought she didn’t struggle. “I’m not as good as you. Which means I have to work harder.” She kept her voice to a whisper since they were in the wings, ready to perform. “Of course I get tired.”
“Not like I do.” Chrissy’s expression told her the conversation was over. “It’s a hard business for most of us.” Her smile held a sadness that she had never quite talked about. “My resume doesn’t have a movie credit with Brandon Paul.”
“Chrissy …” Bailey felt like crying. “Can we get past that? Really?”
Her friend’s eyes held an apology for the first time Bailey could remember. “I’m sorry.” She released a shaky breath. “It’s not your fault. You’ve lived a charmed life, Bailey. That’s not how it is for me. It’s a fight, that’s all. Life. All of life.”
Bailey had thought about giving Chrissy a Bible verse, something from Philippians or James or Ephesians that might help her hold onto the reality that with Christ there was peace and hope, that the battle of life didn’t have to be fought alone. But as soon as she opened her mouth, she changed her mind. She took a step closer. “Is there … anything I can do?”
Even as Bailey asked the question she could feel the Lord prompting her: Daughter, take her hands … pray with her. If you don’t pray with Chrissy, who will?
But again she pushed the thought away. She couldn’t talk about God too much to Chrissy, couldn’t host a Bible study with the cast, or any such thing. Not yet. Otherwise they would only push her away. Then they’d never be open to hearing about Jesus.
The music played loud and fast. It was the most difficult part of the song, the section Francesca rehearsed often. The beat was intense, the words of the song rapid fire. Only dancers in great shape could dance like this and still belt the words. Push through, she told herself. Sharper movements … a bigger smile. Francesca was watching. God,… let me shine for You. I can only do this in Your strength …
The audience was fairly full, better than usual for a Friday night — especially in the last few months. The music rose a notch: “So let go, let go of the past now … say hello to this red carpet life … welcome to the sixties.” Bailey sang for all she was worth. The stage was hot from the heat of the dancers and the sweltering humidity that had fallen over the city that day. As the song played on, Bailey caught another glance at Chrissy. She looked less able to keep up, and at one point she nearly stumbled.
Bailey tried to stay in character, but her eyes darted to the wings. Did the stage manager know something was wrong with one of the dancers? She looked back at Chrissy, and saw that her face was pale … gray even. Bailey danced closer and — her smile intact — she whispered, “Are you okay?”
But before Chrissy could answer, her knees buckled and she collapsed.
“Chrissy!” Bailey dropped to the floor beside her friend. Then she yelled to the wings. “Hurry! Someone help!”
For a few seconds the music played on as the orchestra realized what had happened. Then very quickly the theater fell quiet and a gasp came from the audience. Bailey was still crouched at Chrissy’s side and now the others gathered around, sweaty and breathing hard from the performance. Bailey loo
ked at Chrissy, and then at the stagehand running in from the wings. “Call 9 – 1 – 1!” Bailey barely finished her sentence when the velvet curtain came crashing down, creating privacy for her and the rest of the cast as they circled the fallen dancer.
“Chrissy, can you hear me?” She took her friend’s hand, but the girl was nonresponsive. She looked closely and it seemed that Chrissy was breathing. Her chest still rose with every breath, but she looked very sick. “She needs paramedics!” Bailey stood, searching the wings once more for someone who might do something. “Hurry … I’m not sure she’s breathing!”
The stage manager ran onto the stage, a cell phone in his hand. He ordered the cast to quiet down, and he gave Bailey a stern look. “Never … never talk about 9 – 1 – 1 when we have a full house!” He knelt down next to Chrissy and as he did, another production assistant ran out with what looked like a cold washcloth. The stage manager pressed the cloth to Chrissy’s head and motioned to the rest of the cast. “Take five … drink some water and get back out on stage. The show will go on.”
“Is she breathing?” One of the other dancers looked as worried as Bailey.
“Of course she’s breathing.” The stage manager waved his hand around angrily. “It’s heat exhaustion. Nothing more.” He waved the cast back. “Everything’s fine.”
Even as he said the words, a booming voice assured the audience that they were experiencing a cast issue, but that everything was okay. “Please, ladies and gentlemen, use this brief intermission to visit our lobby or the restrooms. The show will resume in ten minutes.”
Ten minutes? Bailey could hardly believe what was happening around her. Chrissy was still motionless on the stage floor, but most of the cast followed the manager’s direction and disappeared into the wings for water.