Leaving

  All twenty-nine young men who had come out for spring training watched along with Cody as Coach Oliver hobbled off the field and to the locker room. Cody could almost feel the sense of relief that went up among the guys as the door shut behind the man. Cody felt a sudden sense of relief. This was what he’d been praying for, right? Not that Coach Oliver would get sick, but that he would leave or take a day off. Anything so that Cody could have time with the players, time to let them know that he was very different from the coach they were used to.

  Cody turned to the guys and studied them. Some gave off a look of angry indifference, and others of them looked frustrated. Most were discouraged … even defeated. DeMetri was among those. Cody drew a long breath. “Which of you would like to pray for Coach Oliver?” On a number of occasions Cody had been told that prayer was allowed at Lyle. No form of government could stop the local school from doing what they had always done. In this case, he had very little to lose by praying publicly. And since he couldn’t say anything nice about the coach, this was the only transition he knew.

  At first, none of the guys stepped forward. But then — as though there was a mountain on his shoulders — DeMetri raised his hand. “I’ll pray.” Some of the guys looked at him almost with disgust, like he was a traitor for lifting to their holy God a man like Dennis Oliver. But DeMetri seemed to draw his strength from Cody, from the peace and strength Cody hoped he exuded. None of the guys wore helmets or hats, so there was nothing for DeMetri to do but hang his head. “Dear God, we ask … that you be with Coach Oliver. Whatever’s going on with him, we ask that you make things right. In Christ’s name, amen.”

  A few of the guys added their voices to the amen, and then they were silent again, sizing up Cody, wondering if he was going to snap at them the same way Coach Oliver had. Cody looked at his stopwatch. “I’d say we’ve done enough sprints.” He set his clipboard down. Today’s drills were going to be his alone. “Let’s pair up.”

  For the next hour the guys went through a series of warmups and strength-training exercises, all in pairs and small groups. The drills were intended to build unity and fun among the players. By the end of the practice the guys looked like a different team. They stood straight, and the weariness in their expressions had been replaced by laughter and an easiness Cody hadn’t seen in them before. And something else — with each successive drill their effort increased until he barely recognized them. These were players he could work with, guys who could win games.

  Cody studied them. He couldn’t say they looked exactly confident, but then … that would take time.

  “Okay, men,” Cody looked each of them in the eyes. “Good work today. You should be proud of yourselves.” He motioned to them to come closer. “Let’s huddle up.”

  There was a chant Jim Flanigan liked to use with his kids when they worked out as a family in the backyard. Jim would bring the guys in close, have them put their fists high in the center, and then he’d shout out, “Whose way?”

  And in response the Flanigan boys would yell back, “His way.”

  “Whose way?”

  “His way!”

  Again, it wasn’t something often heard in public schools, but Lyle was different. Cody figured the kids needed it so badly he had no choice. It was time for drastic measures. Besides, the community was deeply faithful, and pretty much everyone at the school believed in Jesus. Cody had learned that working in the classroom, and now he could see it was true with the players, too. He saw it in the way they prayed together earlier, the way they respected Cody for asking them to pray.

  Now, as the guys gathered close, Cody put his arms around the shoulders of the guys nearest him — one of whom was DeMetri Smith. “Huddle up … that’s right, come on.” In all the days he’d been working with Coach Oliver for these spring sessions, he’d never once seen the man lead them in a group huddle like this. How could he possibly expect to have a winning team when the guys didn’t have even a hint of team unity? Cody gritted his teeth. He’d change that. If nothing else came from his time in charge today, it would be that much. They would be a team, and they would be God’s team.

  When they were as close as they could get, when the entire group formed a single nucleus, Cody let the passion ring in his voice. “Okay, listen up.” He didn’t have to ask twice. The guys had clearly never been through a practice like this. Not in two years anyway. “Whatever happens with Coach Oliver, whatever he might tell you from this day forward, we’re a team. You are all very capable, very strong young men, and you have it in you to be winners. You know why?” His voice rang with a sincerity that reminded him of Jim Flanigan, the way Jim would talk to him when he needed to be convinced of his worth. “You’re winners not because of your record, but because of whose you are. You are God’s men, and because of that this year will be different. I promise you that.”

  “Amen.” DeMetri’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was a start, a show of enthusiasm. A few other players added their voices to the mix, and then the guys quieted, allowing Cody to continue.

  “Let’s do this, let’s dedicate this season to God — no matter what happens after today.” He could only imagine the way he might be fired for doing this somewhere else. But not here. Not with the heritage of Lyle, Indiana. “Father, God, we come to you broken. Shaken from the past in a lot of ways. But we come to you, Lord … we dedicate this coming season to you.” Something in his tone was more on fire, more filled with energy for Christ than Cody had ever been before. “Every young man here is a winner, Father, they are winners because they are yours. And so we ask that you would bring about a miracle for the Lyle football team. Show us that you are here among us, Father, and make these boys believe they are winners. And God, please … let them know … I couldn’t be more proud of them. In Jesus’ name, amen.”

  This time the team let up a loud amen, almost in unison. The improvement in morale was so great Cody felt chills along his arms, and he wondered if he was the only one. “Okay, bring it in.” He raised his fist to the center of the huddle and the guys did the same thing. This was something that didn’t have to be taught, even if Coach Oliver had never led the guys in a display of team bonding like this. It was time for the chant. “I’ll ask you a question — ‘Whose way?’ and you … you all will respond, ‘His way!’” He drew a quick breath. “Whose way?”

  “His way!” Only DeMetri’s voice rose above the others.

  “Again, men. Louder.” Cody paused. “Whose way?”

  “His way!” A few more guys joined in.

  “Whose way?” Cody raised his voice — not in anger like Coach Oliver, but with an intensity that showed how much he believed in them.

  “His way!” This time most of the guys responded.

  Their fists were still in the air, but it was time to wrap it up. Cody finished with something he hoped would become a tradition. “One-two-three … Believe!” He hadn’t told the guys about that part, so none of them said it with him. But that would change.

  Cody believed that with everything in him.

  He dismissed the guys ten minutes earlier than Coach Oliver ever had, and he noticed something that had never marked the moments after a practice. As the guys walked off to the locker room they were talking, pairing up in groups of twos and threes and fours, and patting each other on the backs. They feel good about themselves, God … but what about tomorrow? He remembered that he’d prayed for a miracle. Trust You, right God? That’s what You want me to do?

  Don’t worry about tomorrow, my son … every day has enough trouble of its own.

  That’s for sure. Cody smiled as he removed his hat and wiped his brow. The response was more of a reminder, the Bible verse Cody had written in his school planner this week. It was from Matthew 6:34 and he’d needed it a number of times already. Don’t worry about tomorrow — tomorrow would worry about itself.

  He was gathering his gear bag when he spotted something in the parking lot, a flash of yellow that caught his attention. As he turned, he felt
his knees grow weak. Leaning against the fence and looking stunning was Cheyenne, her yellow Volkswagen bug parked a few feet away. She was smiling at him, he could tell that much from where he stood fifty yards away. Then, very slowly, she started clapping. And he could only surmise one very certain thing.

  In his coaching career at Lyle High School, he had won his first fan.

  Eleven

  CODY REALIZED TWO THINGS AS HE WALKED TOWARD CHEYenne. First, he was exhausted. The coaching session had taken all his mental and emotional energy—and of course it had. He had been thrown into the role of psychological paramedic, counselor, and coach all with only a minute’s notice. But with God leading, he had accomplished more in an hour than he’d seen accomplished with the players all spring.

  He walked closer, ignoring his weariness.

  The second thing was this — he missed Cheyenne. Missed her more than he might’ve wanted to admit before this moment. He must have missed her, because seeing her now was one of the brightest highlights of his day. That she would drive all the way from Indianapolis to watch him coach was more than he could’ve imagined. More than any other girl had done for him.

  Even Bailey.

  When he reached her, he set his gear bag down and hugged her. Not a lingering hug, but one that let her know how grateful he was that she had come. The fact that he needed no words until now was further proof that something was happening between them. He stepped back and smiled at her. “How long were you here?”

  She smiled. “The whole time.” Her eyes sparkled, and the admiration she had for him was certain. An admiration that hadn’t been there before today. “I wanted to watch you in action.”

  He raised his brow. “You picked the right day.”

  “I see that.” She looked at the field and then back at Cody. “That man … he’s awful. Those kids can’t be expected to tolerate that.”

  “I know.” Cody sighed. He picked up his gear bag and motioned to his car — parked not far from hers. “Can I treat you to dinner? There’s a burger joint a block down toward Main Street.” He made a funny face. “Haven’t tried any of the other local cuisine, but … I can vouch for the burgers.”

  She laughed and nodded. “One condition.”

  Again the feeling between them was comfortable, and Cody couldn’t help but be attracted to her. “If you’d drive all the way out here to watch me coach, I guess I can take a condition or two.”

  “There’s a hospital halfway between here and Indianapolis. I volunteer there once a week and there’s a little girl … Kassie Gar-man … I thought maybe, if you don’t mind, we could stop and see her.” Cheyenne grinned, and again her eyes shone with kindness and depth — like her soul was twice as old and wise as she was. “She loves visitors.”

  Cody felt his heart warm. “I’d love to. Really.” He led the way to his car, struck by the turn his evening had taken. Hadn’t Tara told him all along that Cheyenne was a wonderful girl? Cody hadn’t wanted to find out, because of Bailey. But this was friendship, and certainly he could spend a few hours with her.

  When they reached the diner, they found a table, and Cody searched Cheyenne’s eyes for a long few seconds. “So … you spend a day every week visiting sick kids?” He nodded, in awe of her kindness. “That’s very nice of you.”

  “You’re no different.” She angled her head toward the high school. “Watching you out there with those young guys. Whatever they’re paying you, it isn’t enough.”

  He chuckled. “True. The position doesn’t pay.”

  “See?” She pulled her ice water close and took a sip. “You’d spend a day with sick kids if you had time.” She wrinkled her nose, her expression one of polite disgust. “I can’t respect that other coach. The way he treats those kids.”

  “We’re praying for a miracle.”

  “He needs to be fired.” She was warming up to him, letting a sassier side of her personality shine through. “Who do I have to call?”

  They laughed, and after their burgers had been served, Cody allowed a seriousness to creep into his eyes, his tone. “So …” He set his burger down and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Did you pack up Art’s things?”

  “Not yet.” She looked down, shy again. A sad smile tugged at the corners of her lips and she lifted her eyes to him. “I can’t do it, Cody. I tried one day after class, but … I feel like I’m betraying him.” She sat up and pushed her plate away from her, her burger only half eaten. “I made a decision though.”

  “You did.” He enjoyed this, getting to know her, spending his dinner with someone other than himself or his college roommate. “Sounds important.”

  “It is.” She folded her hands, official-like. “Once I get my nursing degree … I want to move to Iraq. At least for a few years.”

  “Iraq?” He didn’t want to discourage her idea, but the Middle East still wasn’t safe. Just last week three dozen Christians were killed inside a church. Nurses would be fair game for the insurgents, even if they were there to help.

  She must’ve recognized the doubt in his eyes, because she rushed ahead. “I know what you’re thinking. I already called Tara, and she feels the same way. It’s too dangerous, too much of a risk.” Cheyenne smiled, and there wasn’t a hint of fear in her eyes. “But what better use of my education, right? I can go there and help soldiers. Help them so that more of them make it home.”

  Cody’s heart broke for her, the exotic looking angel-girl seated across from him. She and Art should be married by now, maybe welcoming the birth of a child. Instead she lived alone, struggling through her college education and a job at the Indianapolis hospital, with volunteer work at another hospital outside of town. Alone except for Art’s pictures and things — still up around her apartment. “Chey …” His voice was soft, quiet enough that he had to lean closer for her to hear him. “Going to Iraq won’t bring back Art.”

  “I know.” She nodded, as if she’d worked through this possibility already. “It’s not about Art. Not really.” She looked out the window at the dark parking lot on the other side of the glass. “It’s about the next guy, the soldier who might make it home to his fiancée if only he has the right help.”

  There was nothing Cody could say to change her mind. Besides, this wasn’t the time or place. Cheyenne had two years at least before she’d have her nursing degree. Cody might not even know her by the time she had to make a real decision about Iraq. The conversation shifted and they talked about Lyle and the way God was still honored there. “Teachers, administrators, coaches … everyone prays at Lyle.” He finished the last few french fries on his plate. “I’m not saying the kids don’t get into trouble on Friday night. I’m sure they do. But loving God is a way of life … it’s expected.”

  “Hmmm.” Cheyenne looked more relaxed again, as if it had done her good to get the details about her decision out in the open. “The way all of America used to be.”

  “Exactly.” He told her about DeMetri, and asked her to pray for him. “I worry about that boy. I don’t know anything about his background, but I have a feeling it hasn’t been pretty. I’ve never seen his parents pick him up after practice. Never heard him talk about them.”

  They chatted for another five minutes about the socioeconomic breakdown of the town. There was a computer plant not far away, so some of the kids came from affluent families. But most were the sons of farmers, rooted in families who had depended on God for the rain and sunshine and crops year after year. When dinner was over, Cody paid the bill and he followed her down the long two-lane road and onto another and finally to the highway. Thirty minutes later they pulled into the hospital parking lot.

  Cody peered at the complex of newer buildings, surprised. He didn’t know about this hospital, or why it would be out here in the middle of cornfields twenty minutes outside Indianapolis. When they had parked and were walking inside, he asked Cheyenne about it. “Land’s less expensive here,” the sadness was back in her eyes. “Most of the floors specialize in cancer treat
ment. That’s why Kassie’s here. She has leukemia.”

  Suddenly Cody wasn’t sure if he could hold up through the visit. It hadn’t occurred to him before now that the girl Cheyenne wanted to visit must be very sick. Otherwise she wouldn’t need regular visitors. They reached the elevator and took it to the fifth floor. Pediatric Oncology, the sign read as they stepped off the elevator. Cody hesitated, wanting a little more information before they headed into Kassie’s room.

  “Tell me about her … what should I know?”

  Cheyenne leaned against the hospital wall and searched Cody’s eyes. “Thank you. For caring about her.” She allowed a small smile. “Not that I’m surprised.” She took a long breath. “Let’s see … Kassie is three years old and she has acute myelogenous leukemia — AML. It’s very serious, but three months ago she had a bone marrow transplant from her brother. He was a perfect match.”

  Cody could already feel an ache starting in his chest. A three-year-old with cancer? It was the sort of thing that made him want to demand a cure — whatever it took. Children should never have to battle something as awful as cancer. He folded his arms, still listening.

  His interest must’ve warmed Cheyenne’s heart, because she didn’t seem to be in a hurry to move on. “Oh, and Kassie has a mild case of Down Syndrome. She can only communicate with her hands … and her smile.” Cheyenne’s eyes grew watery, despite the joy in her face. “She can always talk with her smile. And she loves her grandparents more than anyone in the world.”

  “Her grandparents?”

  “Especially her grandpa. He stays the night several days each week. She’s his constant companion.”

  Cody could feel tears welling in his own eyes. He sniffed and blinked a few times. “Okay … maybe I better just see her for myself.”

  She linked arms with him and led him down the hallway. “I love that you have a tender heart, Cody. Tough football player … big, bad Army guy rescues a bunch of prisoners in Iraq.” She slowed and they looked at each other for a moment. “But you care … more than most guys.”