Longing

  The words were quieter than any she’d ever heard, but they were spoken and she had to believe this was a direct answer.

  Do not fear … remember, perfect love drives out fear.

  God was reminding her not to look down, not to base her decisions on worldly wisdom. She felt peace settle over her heart and she breathed in.

  You’re right, God. One day at a time. I can’t leave Brandon for something that might happen, for something he might do. After all, that’s what Cody did. Walked away over what-ifs and fears.

  The answer came in a Scripture she had loved since she was little:

  I am with you, daughter. You are never alone. Do not worry about tomorrow …

  She didn’t need to worry because today had enough trouble of its own. She thought about the Hairspray production, and the Bible study she still led with several of her castmates … the rumors that the show was doomed, Brandon’s contract, or the fact that the two of them had to work harder all the time to stay out of the tabloids, to find even a few hours alone each week. Yes, each day had enough trouble of its own. Worrying about tomorrow was pointless.

  She crossed the room and sat at the desk opposite her bed. Her laptop was open and she was still signed on to Facebook. Which meant she hadn’t been on the computer since she’d returned to New York. Not since her talk with Cody.

  With a few clicks she checked posts her Bloomington friends had left in the last week, liking their comments and commenting back to several of them. One comment was from Katy Hart Matthews — her long-ago drama teacher. Katy was married to the Baxter family’s oldest son — Dayne Matthews — one of the most famous actors to ever grace the big screen. Her comment was sweet and timely. “Hey girl, when are you going to make a visit to LA? We have a guestroom waiting for you whenever you’re out this way next!”

  Bailey smiled and liked the post. She thought about the uncertainty of the Hairspray show, as beneath it she wrote, “It could be sooner than you think! Keep the room open for me … miss you and love you!”

  Most nights when she checked Facebook, she didn’t think about going to Cody’s page. He usually updated it every day or so, but most of the time his words gave very little window to his heart. It was why she hadn’t felt closure before their conversation. Nothing he ever said in person or on Facebook gave her any idea what he was feeling.

  But tonight she couldn’t stop herself. She typed his name in the search window and in seconds his Facebook profile appeared on the screen. For a long time she only looked at it, stared at his photo. It was an older picture, one from a month ago moments after a big win. Cody was hoisted on the shoulders of his team, all of them gritty with mud and grass and sweat, their smiles brighter than the Friday night lights. Cody Coleman was definitely changing lives at Lyle High. She looked closer, into his eyes. He didn’t look miserable, right? Didn’t look like he was thinking about her. He’d gotten by without her just fine.

  Especially with Cheyenne around.

  The other night, Cody seemed ready to deny falling for her, as if he and Cheyenne never had anything serious between them. He’d stopped himself, of course. But whatever their relationship, Bailey couldn’t see it lasting. He wasn’t in love with the former fiancée of his Army buddy Art. Bailey checked his status update and the posts on his wall. There were dozens of comments after Friday’s game — parents and Lyle townspeople congratulating him. But after Monday the posts quieted down. Other than a few comments from students or reporters looking to interview him, his wall hadn’t been very active in the last few days.

  So what did that mean? Had he really bared his heart that night and then blithely gone back to Cheyenne to continue things with her? Bailey pressed her teeth together and tried not to be frustrated. She had no right wondering about him. She loved Brandon — that was the truth. Cody belonged to her past.

  As she clicked back to her own profile page, her phone buzzed. A quick glance and she felt her face light up. The text was from her mom: You still up?

  Bailey’s fingers flew across her phone’s keyboard. Yes … hi, Mom. What’s happening?

  Nothing … her reply came immediately, as if there weren’t a thousand miles between them. Just finished writing an article and I wondered if you were awake. Wanna Skype?

  The idea sounded wonderful. Her mom was just the person she wanted to talk to, and Skype would make it feel like they were together in the same room. She responded in all capital letters: ABSOLUTELY!!!

  A few seconds later the sound of an incoming call came through Skype. Bailey clicked the Video Chat option and—just like that — her mom appeared on the screen, grinning at her. “I love this.”

  “I know … it’s the best thing ever.” Bailey was careful to keep the sound turned low, careful to talk in a hushed voice. “The Kellers are asleep.”

  “It feels like forever since you were here.”

  “Like Friday was a month ago.” Bailey propped her elbow on the desk and leaned the side of her head against her hand. “Brandon’s here.”

  “Right now?” Her mom’s eyes sparkled as she pretended to be shocked. “I hope not.”

  “Not here.” Bailey laughed. “He went home half an hour ago.”

  “You’re serious?” She looked surprised. “So he was there till midnight.”

  “Every day this week.” She loved the honest relationship she had with her mom. She would tell her the truth always, even if what she had to say wasn’t exactly what her mom wanted to hear. She laughed louder this time. “Don’t worry … the Kellers have been here.”

  “With you?” her mom raised an eyebrow.

  Bailey laughed. “Most of the time.”

  “Most?” Now her expression became wide-eyed. Then as if she knew better than to make the matter too lighthearted, her smile faded except in her eyes — where it firmly remained. “I know you, honey. You’re being careful … I’m sure.”

  “We are.” She leaned back in the desk chair, her eyes never leaving her mom’s. She had nothing to hide. “We kiss sometimes, mostly goodbye when he leaves. But he’s the first to remember when it’s time to go. He won’t cross those lines, Mom. He cares too much.”

  “Good.” She didn’t look overly relieved. Their relationship had always been this open, and so the news that Brandon respected her came as no real surprise. “Just realize that being together more often makes it easier to let the lines blur.”

  “Yeah, I felt that tonight. How easy it would be to kiss longer or hang out alone more.” She tilted her head. “I feel comfortable around him.”

  Her mom smiled. “I’m glad. And I’m glad you’re both being careful … mindful. No one’s beyond that sort of temptation if the situation allows it.”

  Bailey agreed, and she told her mom about Brandon’s contract, how he was being urged to sign a major deal and to allow for the possibility that the studio might want him to play darker roles, parts that would curb his good-boy Christian image.

  “I’m glad he can talk to you.” Her mom didn’t look worried. “Have you prayed for him?”

  “About the contract? Yes … God keeps telling me not to worry about tomorrow.”

  “Hmm. So true.” Her mom’s smile relaxed the fine lines around her eyes. “Today has enough worries of its own.”

  Bailey wished for a moment she could climb through the screen and be right across from her, the two of them sitting on the living room couch talking. New York was so far away from Bloomington. But this was better than a phone call or a text conversation. “Did I tell you he took me to the prom?”

  “I follow him on Twitter … so I saw your picture. How did that work out?”

  Bailey was glad for the chance to relive the magic of that night. She told her mom about the coats and the sparkling cider, the playlist of songs. “We danced on the roof and it was like … I don’t know, like a scene from a movie, I guess.”

  “Very appropriate.” Her mom smiled. “I like him, honey. He really cares about you.”

  “He does.
” Bailey still had the feeling her mom cared more for Cody. Which was frustrating but understandable, since he’d been a part of their family.

  “Have you heard from Cody?”

  Bailey grinned and gave a light shake of her head. “Am I that easy to read? Brandon was doing that all night — knowing exactly what I was thinking.”

  “For people who know you, yes. You’re pretty easy to read.” A sense of pride shone in her mom’s eyes. “But only because you’re so honest, Bailey. You are guileless, and so what you think and feel shows up pretty much immediately in your eyes.”

  “Thanks … I think.” Bailey laughed. “Anyway, to answer your question, no. I haven’t heard from him.”

  “Which shouldn’t surprise you, I guess. You told him you were in love with Brandon.”

  “I did.” She nodded, checking her heart at the same time. “I am.”

  She and her mom talked a little longer about the past week, how the boys were doing in school, and the way her dad’s team, the Colts, were excited about making the playoffs.

  “If they keep winning, you’ll have to come home again and catch a game.”

  “I will.” She yawned, and after a few minutes they wrapped up their conversation.

  Her mom ended the Skype session by going back to the things Bailey had started with. “Listen to the Lord, honey. Don’t worry about tomorrow. God will make it all clear.” Her smile reached across the internet lines and warmed Bailey’s heart. “He always does.”

  When they hung up, Bailey brushed her teeth and climbed beneath the covers. In the dark, the answers seemed even clearer. She pictured Brandon and felt herself smile as sleep came over her. Because the picture was this:

  Brandon and her, dancing under the stars on a New York rooftop, at the best prom a girl could ever wish for.

  Nine

  THE DIAGNOSIS FILLED THE ROOM LIKE A BLACK CLOUD, REACHing into every corner, sucking the oxygen from the four walls and dimming the sunlight streaming through the window. Cody wanted to run from the place, find some solitary spot on the trail around Lake Monroe, and cry out to God. How could this happen? Why would He allow Cheyenne to go through yet another trial? And how was he supposed to breathe while the news suffocated him minute by minute?

  Cheyenne’s tumor was cancerous. The diagnosis was a part of them all now.

  He sat beside her in the hospital room, her hand in his. She was awake, staring at the ceiling, weighed down by the same reality that pressed in on him. He leaned against the railing of her bed and watched her, studied the way her eyes looked flat since she’d received the news.

  “Chey?” He spoke softly, his voice filled with the question he wanted to ask every few minutes. “You okay?”

  “Hmm?” She turned to him. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, even though it clearly stopped short of reaching her heart. “Yes, Cody. I’m fine.”

  She wasn’t fine. They all knew that much. “How’s the headache?”

  “Better.” A calm resonated from her, one that could only come from the faith still rooted deep within her. “Whatever they’re giving me,” she looked at the IV pole on the other side of her bed, “it’s working.”

  “Good.” Cody shifted, not wanting to let go of her hand, but desperate to be anywhere but here. Anywhere but seated beside the beautiful girl fighting for her life. “Do you need anything?”

  “No.” Her eyes found his again, and her look was pointed. “You should go … get some rest. Take a walk.” She hesitated. “You don’t have to be here.”

  “I know that.” They’d been over this. “I want to be here.”

  Tara was at work, where she struggled to get through a day without breaking down. Cody wasn’t surprised. Tara hadn’t come to terms with the situation. She wanted answers and a cure. Losing Cheyenne after losing her son, Art? The possibility wasn’t something she could even remotely believe. Not yet, anyway.

  But sooner than later, Cheyenne’s diagnosis would catch up with them. The tumor was rooted at the site of Cheyenne’s brain injury, but from there it had cast out tentacles, finger-like tumors that over the last month or so had silently taken a sickening hold on her brain stem.

  Surgery was scheduled for tomorrow, but Dr. Juarez had been honest: “We won’t be able to get the whole tumor.” The news came last night. “We’ll take what we can, and we’ll follow up with large doses of chemotherapy and radiation. There is no cure, so our treatment at best buys us a little time.”

  She went on to explain that sometimes with a tumor like this, the fingers of the mass were nonresponsive to any treatment. “Six months to a year — that’s the best I can give you.” She hesitated. “For some people it goes much more quickly.”

  Six months to a year? Possibly faster? The reality played over in Cody’s mind again and again, making him long for something to say, some way to change the conversation or lighten the mood. But there was nothing. The diagnosis said it all.

  “I keep thinking about what the doctor said.” Cody sighed, and the sound gave a clear picture of his tortured heart. “She said six months to a year was the most she could give us.”

  “Yes.” Again Cheyenne was calm. She looked at Cody again. “That’s if the treatment goes well.”

  “Yeah, but she can’t make that determination. I mean … I don’t like how she said it, you know? How that was all she could give.” He sat a little straighter, the fight still breathing inside him. “But God is greater than the doctors or the evidence or the research, right? The question isn’t how much time the doctor can give you, Chey … it’s how much time God will give you.”

  She didn’t respond, didn’t add so much as a nod of her head. Instead she looked off toward the window and after a long time she drew a shaky breath. “Do you think I’ll see Art first? When I get to heaven?”

  The question ripped at Cody’s soul. Art had been Cheyenne’s fiancé, but the guy had been Cody’s best friend during their days in Iraq. A big black guy with massive muscles and a smile that could cut through the desert sand. Art had loved Cheyenne with every breath. Getting home to her, marrying her was the single thing that drove him to fight hard, to keep his head low during every battle.

  Tears stung Cody’s eyes. “I … I’d like to think so.” He couldn’t stand this, couldn’t handle sitting here and watching her give up. “But that doesn’t mean you need to go now.” He tightened the hold he had on her hand. “You have to fight this, Chey. You’re too young … you have too much to offer to leave us now.”

  Cheyenne nodded slowly and turned her eyes to him again. “Thank you, Cody.” She looked at him for a long time. “Tell me about your talk with Bailey Flanigan … that night, when Tara brought me here.”

  They’d managed to stay away from that conversation. Cheyenne was in and out of consciousness for the first few days while the doctor tried to regulate her pain medication. Then there’d been the biopsy and the test results. Discussion about Bailey had been the least of their concerns. But here … in this moment … the fact that Cheyenne wanted to talk about it told him the issue had been on her mind.

  “It went well.” Details weren’t important. The fewer the better, Cody figured. Cheyenne was fighting for her life. She didn’t need to know exactly what was said between him and Bailey that night. “We both needed closure … about how things ended between us.”

  Cheyenne smiled, and though she was weak from the medication, she released his hand and brought her fingers to the upper part of his arm. “That night … I saw for myself.”

  A sick feeling filled Cody’s gut. “That night?”

  “At the game.” Her smile warmed, and it was clear that her words were not anchored in jealousy, but rather she seemed to feel an understanding, a sense of peace. “I watched you … how you looked for her. When … when your eyes met it was like you were the only two people in the stadium.” She ran her fingers down his arm in a show of deep friendship rather than anything romantic. Then she took hold of his hand again. “You still
love her.”

  “Cheyenne, that’s ridiculous.”

  “Cody.” She shook her head. Her brown eyes radiated a calm that defied logic. “It’s okay. God has a plan. He’s letting me find my way back to Art … and one day, He’ll let you find your way back to a love like that.”

  “That’s — “

  “Please … don’t argue.” Her smile grew sad. “I’m right.” She waited, searching his eyes. “You love me … I know that. But not like you love her.”

  With everything in him Cody wanted to disagree with her, to tell her she was crazy for thinking such a thing. He wanted to remind her that his heart beat for her alone. But he couldn’t lie. If things had gone differently this week, by now he might’ve had this conversation with her — rather than her having it with him.

  He hung his head and felt fresh tears again. He didn’t want to cry, didn’t want to give her even the slightest sign that she was right. But he couldn’t stop himself. As he looked up, he blinked away the wetness that blurred his view of her. “I do love you, Chey … I’m not going anywhere.” He gritted his teeth, summoning his determination like never before. “We’re going to pray and believe and you’re going to fight this cancer. You’re a fighter, Chey.” He felt a single tear slide down his left cheek. “Look at the battles you’ve already survived.”

  “Yes.” She nodded and her eyes welled up too. “But don’t you see, Cody? No one … no one on earth will ever love me like Art Collins loved me. And now,” she smiled despite the tears that fell onto her cheeks. “Now God’s going to let us spend eternity together. Working for Him … worshiping Him. How could I argue with that plan?”

  Again he wanted to fight with her, correct her, and tell her that she was wrong about this, that God would never intend for her to be gone from this earth so soon when she had so much to give. But he couldn’t argue with one point: how much Art had loved her. And that in heaven, at least the two of them would be together forever.

  The way they had missed out on here.

  He hung his head once more, too overwhelmed to speak. The sadness of the situation — the whole situation — was almost more than he could bear. Tomorrow Cheyenne would have brain surgery so they could remove a part of the vicious tumor. He still didn’t understand how a person could develop cancer at the site of an injury without the two being connected. But Dr. Juarez was right — Cody had googled Cheyenne’s type of cancer. Science had yet to prove a connection. “For now we have to consider it a coincidence.” She had given them a skeptical look. “But it’s a coincidence we see a little too often.” It didn’t really matter.