Leaving

  Cody slid closer, his heart racing faster than before. “Is … she sicker?”

  Cheyenne lowered her hand and looked at him.

  She didn’t have to say anything, because Cody knew … he knew that look because it was the same look he’d seen in the eyes of a soldier delivering the worst news a mother could ever hear. “Chey, … tell me.” He took her hand in his, soothing his thumb over her soft skin. “What happened?”

  Again she looked at him, her eyes marked by fear and doubt and sorrow deeper than the ocean. “She died, Cody … They couldn’t save her.”

  He took her in his arms, wishing he could do anything to take away her pain. “I’m sorry … Chey, I’m so sorry.”

  “I thought …” two sobs shook her slight body, “God could hear us … when we prayed.”

  Cody closed his eyes and held her tighter than before. Wasn’t that the question he’d asked himself over and over again? If God could hear them, why had he been captured in Iraq, and how come he’d lost so much during his time at war? If God answered the prayers of His people, how could Cody’s mother be back in prison, and why would some homicidal drug dealer make death threats that would finally push Cody forever away from the only girl he’d ever loved? If God answered prayer … then why didn’t Cheyenne’s fiancé Art make it back home?

  “Why, Cody … how come God let this happen?” She might as well have said why did God let it happen again. Because that was her tone.

  Cody could do nothing but hold her and run his hand across her back, soothing her pain and letting her know he was here, he cared. There were simply no easy answers, and that was fine. Like Pastor Mark from Bloomington once said, “If we could figure out God’s plan, then He wouldn’t be God.” But right now that wasn’t what Cheyenne needed to hear. She didn’t need answers … she needed a friend.

  For a long time they stayed that way: Cody holding her and Cheyenne sobbing her heart out, devastated at the loss of little Kassie. After a while Cody found a box of tissues and handed them to her. This time he sat on the sofa again, but much closer than before. When her nose and cheeks were dry, she sat back, emotionally drained. “She was doing so well.”

  “Did you go there … by the hospital?”

  She shook her head. “No … I told her grandpa I’d come by his house later today.” She exhaled long and slow, as if she hadn’t done so since she started crying. “I mean really, Cody … why would God need that little girl now? Her family loves her so much. Don’t you think they need her more than God does?”

  Cody searched her eyes, her heart. “Like you and Art?”

  Another layer of tears appeared in her eyes, and she blinked, her chin trembling. “Yes … like me and Art.” She took another tissue from the box and pressed it to her eyes. “I … took down his things. Put them in a box.” She shook her head, and a flash of anger mixed in with the sadness in her expression. “But it didn’t help, Cody … I still know that he should be here … with me.”

  “He should.” Again Cody had no answers. “I tried, Chey … I would’ve saved him if I could have.” This was a conversation he never thought he’d have with her. But from the first time he met her, a part of him wanted to say this. Just so she’d know. “Art was one of the guys from my division. One of the guys sent in to rescue us.”

  She nodded, and he wondered if maybe she already knew these details. “He was a hero. They told me that.”

  “He was … no regard for his own safety.” Cody closed his eyes and he could see the first burst of daylight, the first few seconds after he’d been released from captivity, when he had no choice but to run through a hail of bullets toward freedom. He blinked and found Cheyenne’s eyes again. “I saw him lying there, Chey … He and the others set us free. And Art … he was the first to rush the compound where we were being held. His death … it was a distraction that allowed the others to free us. He was absolutely a hero.”

  Tears fell onto her cheeks and she bit her lip, as if she were bracing herself against the pain of the terrible truth. “Do you … remember him? How he was at war?”

  “Of course.” Cody took her hand again. “Art was bigger than life … always smiling, always laughing. No problem too big to handle.” Cody’s smile couldn’t take full form under the weight of his own heartache. “He was Tara’s son.”

  “So you think about him?” For some reason this seemed to lighten Cheyenne’s burden, help her find a point of focus again.

  “I think about him … about the last time I saw him.” Cody studied her face, her eyes. He hadn’t told this to anyone but the counselor. “I think about the way it felt to be crammed in a prison cell, and how I watched men die on either side of me as we were set free.” Cody shivered a little. “I have flashbacks, Chey. I saw a counselor about it this morning.”

  She leaned closer, shock written into her eyes and face. “Cody, … why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s my problem.” He appreciated her kindness, but he would never have told her about this until now. He stared at nothing in particular. “I guess … it’s like a weakness. I should be stronger. Nothing about the past should be haunting me now.”

  For a while she only looked at him, and the care and concern in her eyes was so great Cody wondered why he’d waited so long to talk to her. Of course she understood. She was engaged to a soldier, after all. “Everything about war haunts the people who’ve been there.” Her half smile was proof she was going to be okay. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that, Cody?”

  “I guess. But it’s been a while now. Close to three years.” He gritted his teeth and shook his head, frustrated. His eyes met hers again. “The counselor said a lot of times it’s not the flashbacks that are the problem. They’re a sign that something else is wrong.” He hesitated. He hadn’t told her about Bailey. There had been no reason before today, but now … if he was going to be any sort of longtime friend, Cheyenne needed to know. “He asked me about my motivation, what kept me alive when I was in captivity, what kept me fighting to come home again.”

  Cheyenne’s smile warmed her eyes this time. “I was Art’s motivation.” She angled her head and looked off. “The Army insisted I get counseling when he was killed, and that’s what we determined after ten sessions. I was Art’s motivation. He was fighting and surviving and living each day as carefully as he could so that he’d get home for me.” Her smile let up. “Having perfect motivation doesn’t guarantee a perfect ending. One of the first rules I learned at counseling.”

  “No … it doesn’t.”

  Slowly a curiosity seemed to come over Cheyenne, and with it a knowing. That if she followed this thought line the answers might not be what she wanted to hear. “You’re thinking about it … so tell me.” Her voice softened. “What was your motivation, Cody?”

  For a long time he wasn’t sure he would answer her. At least not specifically. It was enough to explain that friends and family were what drove him to find a way back home — whatever the cost. But he liked Cheyenne … he did. And he couldn’t have a friendship with her, let alone whatever the future might hold, unless starting here he could be honest.

  She was still waiting, searching his face, trying to see past the walls he so easily kept in place. He sighed and the sound added to the weight of the subject. “Her name is Bailey Flanigan. She’s a few years younger than me … lives with her family in Bloomington.”

  Cody watched the walls go up in Cheyenne’s eyes. He was sorry … she’d been through enough today without this hurting her too. But they’d never actually established that they had a thing for each other. Anyway, he couldn’t turn back now, and her expression told him she didn’t want him to stop at this point in the story. “Bailey.” She said the name, watching Cody for his reaction. Nothing about Cheyenne’s tone or expression said that she was angry or jealous or frustrated. Rather, there was a knowing, as if this was the missing piece she hadn’t quite understood about him. “Do you … still see her?”

  “No.” He moved to th
e edge of the sofa and folded his hands. How could he explain Bailey in a single conversation? “It’s complicated. She … we parted ways in January.”

  “January?” She must’ve figured out that they’d met before that. “I guess … I didn’t know you had a girlfriend back then?”

  A sad laugh rattled Cody’s hurting heart. “She was never my girlfriend. Back in high school, I lived with her family. We became close … like best friends.”

  “Meaning,” her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, “you didn’t mean to, but you fell in love with her.”

  Cody managed the hint of a smile. “Something like that.”

  Again they shared a quiet moment between them, this one more tense than before. Because Cheyenne was clearly surprised by the revelation of Bailey … surprised and maybe a little hurt. Which could only mean the obvious: She was starting to have feelings for Cody, the same way he was starting to have feelings for her. She sat up straighter, more composed than before. “So … what did the counselor suggest?”

  “I guess just that maybe I need to figure out what’s happening with her … with the source of my motivation.”

  “With Bailey.” Her tone wasn’t accusatory and it wasn’t a question. Again Chey seemed to erect walls that hadn’t been there before. Cody turned, facing her. “I was on my way to see her when you got here.”

  This time Cheyenne looked awkward, startled even. She checked her watch and then stood, her smile polite. “I’m sorry, Cody. I didn’t mean to change your plans. I just … I live down the block and … I called Tara. She though it’d be okay.” She shook her head. “I should’ve called.”

  He stood and put his hands on her shoulders. “No, Chey, don’t be sorry.” He willed her to see that she was wrong. That he was grateful she’d come. “I want to be that kind of friend for you … where you can come by anytime and talk about anything.”

  Cheyenne opened her mouth like she might say something, refute him in some way, but then he took half a step closer to her and pulled her into a hug, the sort of embrace the two of them had never shared together.

  “I never … should’ve listened to Tara.” She was crying again, Cody could feel her body trembling against his. “She told me God saved you … for me.” She leaned back and met his eyes again. “Isn’t that crazy?” She dabbed at her eyes with one hand, and kept hold of him with the other. “Here you are in love with someone else.”

  The realization of what she’d just said hit him with a force that made him hold tighter to her for fear that his trembling legs would give out. Did she really mean what it seemed like she meant? That she had listened to Tara and now she had feelings that strong for him? Did she believe Tara was right … that God had spared him so that Art’s fiancé wouldn’t be alone in life? “Tara said that?” His voice was low and shaky. “About us?”

  “Yes.” She sniffed and shook her head quickly. “I didn’t want to believe it for the longest time.” Her face was so pretty—even with tear stains on her cheeks. Faith and love emanated from everything she said and did.

  Cody was suddenly very aware of himself, his feelings, the way his body felt pressed against hers. Without meaning to, he brought his hand up and cradled the back of her head. Was this what he’d been fighting with Cheyenne all this time, feelings for a girl as rare as April snow? She wasn’t Bailey. But she was genuine and loving, and in some ways she was as broken as he was. “Chey, what are you saying?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t … It doesn’t matter.” She started to push away, but he held her gently and almost immediately she gave up the fight. Then with her face inches from his she looked in his eyes, searching for answers. “I can’t let myself fall for you, Cody Coleman … because you have her.”

  He could kiss her. And in that single instant, kissing her was the one thing he was certain he wanted to do. She was so close he could feel her breath against his face, smell her perfume as it filled his senses. Yes, he could kiss her and maybe … finally … he could get Bailey Flanigan out of his system. Cheyenne understood war better than Bailey ever would, so what if Tara was right? What if God had spared him for the purpose of finding love and a lifetime with Cheyenne?

  She seemed to know what he was thinking, because she didn’t say anything, but she stayed in his arms, their faces closer than before … still closer. Cody brought his other hand up, so that he held her face in his hands and the feelings from a few seconds ago doubled. He could kiss her and give in to the aching loneliness that had consumed him for so long, and maybe here … now, he would find something with Cheyenne that would be real and lasting. Something better than what he’d felt for …

  Bailey.

  Her name hit him like cold water, and he stepped back just enough to find his composure again. “Chey, …” He allowed two breaths … three. “I care about you. And maybe …” He saw that the walls around her heart were down again. “Maybe Tara is right. Maybe we’re supposed to be together and we’re only just now figuring that out.” He was still shaking with the desire that had come so quickly over him. But as quickly as it had come, his longing for Cheyenne had been replaced with a certainty about Bailey. He ran his hand softly along Cheyenne’s face and he backed up another step. “But … I have to figure things out first.”

  No bitterness hid in her smile. Just an openhearted understanding wrapped in a thin veil of hurt. “You mean … you need to go find her. Your Bailey.”

  “Yes.” He hugged her again, but the intensity from a minute ago was gone. “I’m sorry about Kassie … I really am.” He paused, not sure what else to say. “Please tell her grandfather I’ll pray for his family.”

  “I will.” This time Cheyenne stepped back. She picked her purse up off the floor and slid it over her shoulder. “Thanks, Cody. For listening.” They walked to his door together, and she turned to him one last time. “I’d like to be your friend … no matter what happens with her.”

  “Yes.” He touched the side of her face once more. “I’d like that, too.” He was grateful for her attitude, glad she didn’t say that because of Bailey, she was never going to talk to him again.

  As she left, as she drove away, Cody felt himself relax. He had dodged a big mistake there, and he could only thank God for watching out for him. If he would’ve kissed Cheyenne here … now, when there was no relationship between them … how could he look Bailey in the eyes and tell her how much he missed her? Tell her that he still cared and try to explain the reason he’d sent her away last January? No, if he kissed Cheyenne now he wouldn’t be headed to Bloomington today. He’d be struggling to stop and knowing that if this was how he could act after three months away from Bailey, then he must never involve her heart in his life again.

  But he hadn’t kissed her.

  And leaning against his door frame he looked up at the cloudy sky and thanked God. Thanked Him for sparing both of them the confusion that would come after kissing … and the way they could never go back to the pure friendship they’d had before. You’re with me, God … I can feel Your presence … thank You, Father.

  It didn’t occur to him until he was in his truck and already on the highway headed west that the truth was something slightly different. Yes, God had spared him from making a hasty decision, and maybe hurting himself and Cheyenne in the process. But Cody was still confused — no question about that. His confusion baffled him and frightened him and made him doubt everything he had ever known to be true about himself and his feelings for Bailey Flanigan. Because even as he drove to find her, even as he imagined what he’d say and how she’d respond … even as he worked to keep his nerves calm when every mile brought him closer to her … even then only one scent filled his clothing and his senses.

  Cinnamon and vanilla.

  Twenty

  BAILEY REACHED TO THE BACK OF HER LOWER DESK DRAWER, amazed at the junk she’d managed to cram inside it. This Saturday she had set aside the whole morning and most of the afternoon to go through her things, figure out what needed to be tos
sed or given away, and what needed to make the trip with her to New York. Her dad was at practice with the Colts and her mom was getting the boys started with their homework, and then she’d be up to help.

  She was playing Taylor Swift for the occasion … especially the song that spoke most to her right now. A song called “Never Grow Up.” The idea that someday soon she’d be in a different state, a new city … a new home without her family nearby was sometimes more than Bailey could take. She could give in to tears at any time if she thought about all she was going to miss.

  But right now she didn’t have time to cry. She only had a week before she moved, and her room was a disaster. Not only that, but she still had no housing lined up. The uncertainties were enough to make her stay awake at night, and sometimes Bailey would lie in bed staring at the ceiling, tossing from one side to the other wondering if she were crazy to take the job.

  Mornings were better. A breeze drifted through her open window. She would be fine. God would work out the housing, because He had opened this door, after all. If she needed to stay in a hotel at first, her parents had said she could do that. They’d help with the costs until Bailey was making a paycheck.

  Dear Lord … how am I supposed to go through all this?

  She blew at a wisp of her hair and doubled her efforts to clean her room. All around her were stacks of her belongings. Clothing she’d give away to the church’s Closet Essentials ministry, and old shoes that had long since seen their last day. One box held books she’d collected over the years and another held devotions and notebooks full of her thoughts on love and various Bible verses. She still wasn’t sure exactly what she was taking to New York City. She’d been on the phone with one of Hairspray’s assistant producers, and he’d assured her he was looking for housing. But until he found something, she wasn’t even sure how much space she’d have.