Longing

  Pain like this.

  Chey saw him, and with everything she had she tried to smile. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” He wanted to cry, wanted to shout out loud that this wasn’t fair. That a beautiful girl shouldn’t be dealing with a disease like this. But instead he focused on the moment, how he could help. What little he could do. The nurse was about to help Chey into a waiting wheelchair, but Cody held up his hand. “Here. I’ll do it.”

  The nurse stepped back, close by in case Cody needed help. She reached for an empty blue bag and waited off to the side.

  “Here, sweetie …” He slid his hands beneath her armpits and moved her to the wheelchair. As he did he was horrified all over again, because she weighed almost nothing — like he was moving a bag of bones. “You okay?”

  “I’m … fine.” She put her head in her hands and breathed harder than before. “A little nauseated. That’s all.”

  That was hardly all. Again Cody clenched his teeth. The battle was so fierce, so relentless. He helped Chey get situated. “Can I take her across the street? To her MRI?”

  “Yes.” The nurse handed him the white-ringed blue bag. “You might need this.”

  He didn’t want to take it, didn’t want to need it, but he had no choice. Not in the way Cheyenne was feeling or the futility of his efforts or the fact that even now she couldn’t just come home and rest. None of this was the nurse’s fault. He managed a smile in her direction. “Thank you. I’ll take her now.”

  The trip across the street was interrupted twice because Chey felt dizzy moving along in the wheelchair, like she was going to throw up. But she managed to avoid being sick while they made it up to the fourth floor, and while the technician performed yet another MRI. The results would come within an hour, so another nurse put the two of them in an examination room to wait.

  Cheyenne seemed a little stronger than earlier. She asked him about his meeting with the Lyle football players. “I bet they can’t wait for next year.”

  This should’ve been when he told her about the call from Ryan Taylor, the offer waiting for him at Clear Creek High. But he couldn’t bring himself to say a word. “The guys are good … anxious for another season.”

  “I bet.” She looked off. “You’ll do great, Cody. I know it.”

  He hated this, the way she couldn’t say that, yes, she too was looking forward to another season. “They told me … to tell you hi.” A rush of emotion made it hard for him to find his voice. He cleared his throat, fighting with himself. “They … want you in the front row again. Like last year.”

  “Hmmm.” She looked at him, her eyes distant and unsure.

  Again he wanted to shout out loud, tell her to keep fighting. But there wasn’t anything realistic about the idea. This battle was far beyond her ability or his. Only God could save her life now. Without a miracle, she couldn’t look forward to much more than the next day.

  Conversation between them was limited, so Cody was grateful when — for once — the doctor didn’t take forever to find them with the results. From the moment the man stepped into the room, Cody knew the report was bad. Doctors could only hide so much. He moved to his place beside her wheelchair, ready to support her whatever came next.

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you this …” The doctor was an expert in his field, someone Tara had connected them with. If anyone might see a glimmer of hope in Cheyenne’s battle against brain cancer it was this man.

  But the words that came from him now blurred together in a series of terrible fragments, like shrapnel from a losing firefight. Not responding to treatment … more fingers from the tumor … the brainstem under attack … quality of life had to be considered.

  Cody did everything he could to focus, but he was more concerned about Cheyenne, who seemed to slump a little more in her wheelchair with each bit of information from the doctor. Even still, she was clear-minded enough to ask the question that stood like a mammoth in the middle of the room. “So … you’re saying there may not be any point … in continuing treatment?”

  “It’s a question we need to ask.” The doctor took a step closer and put his hand on her shoulder. “Cases like yours make me wish we were two decades down the road in our research. But today … I really don’t have any answers.”

  The air around Cody became hot, and he could almost feel the sand swirling between them. Bombs dropping all around, and he could see Art beside him, watch him hurled to the ground, bleeding from his head and chest. He closed his eyes and willed the images to leave him alone. This wasn’t his battle … this wasn’t Iraq. Cheyenne needed him.

  Please, God, clear my mind. Jesus, let me focus on Cheyenne.

  Immediately—as soon as he said the name Jesus — the images left and he turned his eyes to the doctor. “If she continues treatment … will it … will that buy her time at least?”

  The man pursed his lips, his expression knit together with frustration and futility. “I can’t promise that. So far she’s had almost no response to the treatment.” He angled his head, clearly hating what he was about to say. “If it were me … I’d go home and spend the rest of my days outside buildings like this one.”

  He explained that Cheyenne could go home now and let the office know what she decided. “We can arrange for hospice at your home, if you should choose that.”

  Hospice? Cody struggled again to stay in the moment. How could it be that a few months ago Cheyenne was dealing with an occasional headache and now they were talking about hospice? He thanked the doctor, and without saying a word he wheeled Cheyenne out of the room, down the elevator, and out into a freezing cold snowstorm.

  “Take me … over there.” She pointed to a spot out of the way of foot traffic around the corner. “Please, Cody …”

  He moved her wheelchair as quickly as he could, and she managed to wait until they were alone at the far end of the building before she threw up. He held her up as she heaved again and again, emptying her stomach of whatever little it held. As she dropped back down to the wheelchair, she gasped for breath. “You … you shouldn’t … have to do this.”

  “Cheyenne, don’t.” He spoke the words quietly, near the side of her face so she wouldn’t miss his tone. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “They … can get me hospice. You shouldn’t … be here. You don’t … need this.”

  “I need you … I need to be with you.” He crouched down beside her wheelchair, his arms around her thin shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere. I told you that.”

  She struggled to her feet and threw up one more time. As she did she started to sob, deep waves of hysterics coming up from her grieving soul. She wiped her mouth and turned to him, too weak to do anything but collapse in his arms. “Don’t leave me … Please, Cody … don’t leave.”

  “Shhh … it’s okay. I won’t leave.” His heart pounded. He still had no idea how he’d do this. How God expected him to walk this amazing girl to Heaven’s door. When she quieted down, when she had some form of control, he spoke the words once more. “I won’t leave.”

  Whatever happened from this point, however many days or hours Cheyenne had left on earth, one thing was sure: The words he’d told her, he meant with everything in him. He would stay and fight this battle with her, whatever that meant. Wherever they wound up.

  Because only death could make him leave her now.

  Seventeen

  BAILEY WALKED THROUGH THE DOORS OF STARBUCKS THAT Wednesday morning, and what she saw made her hesitate half a beat. Gerald was already there, sitting at their familiar table, his Bible open, lost in study.

  Who would have thought; she smiled at the picture he made alone there.

  God, You’re working on his heart. I can see that. Please … give me the words. Help me show him Your love.

  Bailey stepped into line.

  Love, my daughter … love in grace and truth.

  She was convinced she would do just that. Whatever questions Gerald still had, God would direct her to the right Bible vers
es, the right approach so that he felt loved both ways: with grace, of course, and with truth — truth that was sometimes easy to forget in today’s culture.

  Gerald’s drink was a double cappuccino with a pump of caramel. Bailey ordered that and an Americano for herself. Not as heavy as coffee, and less filling than a latte. She took the drinks to the table and Gerald looked up, surprised.

  “I lost track of time.” He slid over to make room for her. “I thought I still had fifteen minutes.”

  “I’m early.” She handed him the drink. “The others won’t be here for a little bit.”

  “Oh … good.” He seemed distracted. Like he was still thinking about whatever he’d been studying. He thanked her for the drink and turned his eyes again to the open Bible on the table.

  Bailey glanced over. From the looks of it Gerald was reading Romans 12. She sat back and allowed the comfortable silence between them. There wasn’t much she could add to whatever God was already saying to her friend. After a couple minutes, Gerald looked up. His eyes shone with layers Bailey had never seen in him before. “Ever feel like God wrote a part of the Bible just for you?”

  She smiled. “Every time I read it.” Her heart pounded for what was at stake here. “People get freaked out about the Bible … like it’s something to be used against people. A literary, spiritual hammer.” The expression on Gerald’s face told her he was tracking with her, not feeling nervous or judged. She put her fingers on the edge of his Bible. “God wants us to see this as His love letter to us. Everything we need to live a life free of the bondage of sin, all we need to experience that abundant life of faith and purpose and closeness to Him.”

  “Mmm.” Gerald closed his eyes for a moment. “Sounds wonderful.”

  “It is.” She chose her tone carefully. “It is for everyone who trusts Him.”

  Gerald nodded slowly and looked back at the Scripture. “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world.” He lifted his eyes. “The pattern of this world? The pattern of life here in New York City … on Broadway?” He laughed, but the sound was sadder than anything Bailey had heard in a long time. “That pattern is pretty set. Everyone’s popping pills and partying … sleeping with whoever … guys and guys … guys and girls … whatever.”

  Her heart ached like it hadn’t in a long time. Gerald was right. Living here — regardless of any knowledge of truth — the temptation to feel comfortable was very real. The pattern of the world. “I remember a long time ago … my mom made curtains for our TV room.” She shifted her gaze, allowing herself to go back to that time when she was fifteen and her brothers were all younger than that and life had seemed so simple, so predictable. “They hung on every window. Six windows. So it was definitely the first thing you noticed when you walked in the room.”

  Gerald winced. “Let me guess. Bright orange? Or aqua blue?”

  A ripple of laughter accompanied the memory. “Close.” She made a face in Gerald’s direction. “Orange and blue plaid. Seriously.”

  “Oooh.” Gerald shook his head. “Not good.”

  Bailey’s laughter let up, and she was back there again, standing alongside her brothers — speechless as they took in the way the curtains changed the room. “I’ll never forget it.” She paused. “My mom tilted her head one way, then the other, and finally she shrugged and said. ‘If you look at the pattern long enough, you don’t really see it.’ “

  Depth of heart was never an issue for Gerald. He was deep and kind and passionate, and instantly he saw the connection. “Wow … that’s it, right? Exactly.” He narrowed his eyes. “Look at the pattern long enough, and you don’t really see it. The pattern of the world.”

  “Yes. I think about those curtains whenever I read that verse in Romans 12. Do not conform to the pattern of this world.” She rested her forearms on the table. “Like God’s urging us to get rid of the ugly curtains. Because if we surround ourselves with the wrong patterns long enough … we won’t even see them.”

  “Scary.” Gerald breathed in slowly through his nose. He lifted his chin, as if he was mentally facing some unseen giant. Ready to take on the pattern of the world. “I like the rest too. Be transformed by the renewing of your mind.” A sad smile lifted the corners of his lips. “My grandma used to say, ‘Garbage in, garbage out.’ “

  “I think my grandma used to say the same thing.”

  Gerald’s gaze was off in the distance somewhere, focused on his personal giants — whatever they were. He blinked a few times, but his gaze didn’t shift. “I’ve been … a part of the pattern. God’s made that really clear.” When he looked at her, his eyes were damp. “I’m not sure how to change. I’ve spent my whole life believing things were okay, things that go against God.”

  “A lot of us do that.” Bailey was treading a slippery path here. “God puts His truth in our hands and then it’s up to us. Keep conforming …”

  “Or be transformed.” Gerald’s eyes shone with an understanding that hadn’t been there before. “I can’t see tomorrow. If … God will help me be attracted to girls. Or if — “ His voice cracked. The tears spilling quietly onto his cheeks. “Or if He’ll make it so He’s enough. All I need.”

  Bailey reached out and took hold of Gerald’s hands, running her thumbs along his palms, letting him talk — whatever she could do to hide the shock flooding her veins. In all her time in New York she had never dreamed of a moment like this. Her lack of faith made her feel ashamed. How crazy that she’d been willing to read the Bible with her castmates, but never imagined that reading God’s Word would really bring about this sort of life-changing response. She felt humbled by the moment, mesmerized by it. God had never been more real in all her life.

  “He is, right, Bailey?” Unshed tears filled his beautiful green eyes. “He’s enough for me, right?”

  “Yes.” Bailey didn’t realize her own tears until then. She blinked, wiping at her wet cheek with her shoulder. “He’s enough. He’ll show you the life He has for you. One day at a time, Gerald. Hour by hour.”

  Gerald nodded, relieved. He eased one of his hands from Bailey and covered his face. For a long moment, quiet sobs got the better of him. The slaying of the giants well underway, the pattern recognized. Bailey had no idea why the others weren’t there yet. They were easily five minutes late. But whatever reason, she believed completely that God was behind the delay.

  So that this divine moment might have a chance to play out.

  He wiped his face and grabbed a quick breath. Despite the very great conflict that had to be raging in his heart, Gerald seemed utterly unaware of the other people in the coffee shop. Not that they were very noticeable with the chaos of Times Square happening all around them — both inside and outside the Starbucks. But the entire street could stop and watch, and it wouldn’t have changed the moment for Gerald.

  His focus was complete. When he seemed able to talk again, he looked at her once more. Red cheeks and bloodshot eyes, his nose a little runny. “Will you pray with me? So I can have Jesus and His salvation? Please, Bailey?”

  She swallowed a few unexpected sobs, blinked back her tears and nodded. “Yes. Of course.” She looked around. The place was busy, but in their corner table the whole world seemed to exist for this moment. “Here?”

  “Yes. Here. In the middle of Times Square. Center stage.” The sound that came from him was mostly a cry. “I just know I can’t go another minute without asking Jesus to save me.”

  There was nothing she could do about the steady stream of tears on her cheeks now, and she didn’t care anyway. She put her hands on Gerald’s shoulders and bowed her head close to his. “If you agree with what I’m praying, just repeat the lines of the prayer after me, okay?”

  “Okay.” Hope filled his tone. “I’m ready.”

  Bailey had never done anything like this. Sure she’d talked to girls in college about finding faith, and she’d led Bible studies. She’d even played a part in helping Brandon Paul find faith in God. But this? The immeasurable ch
ange in Gerald’s heart? Bailey felt less than able, but even as that thought crossed her mind God breathed the truth behind it. Bailey wasn’t bringing about the change happening here at the worn wooden table in a Starbucks on Broadway. God was.

  She sniffed and found her composure. Never mind that her tears kept falling. At least she could talk. For now that’s all God asked of her. “Dear God, I come to You asking for Your mercy.”

  Gerald hesitated, and gradually it dawned on him that this was the prayer … the one he should repeat if he believed it. He jumped into action the moment the realization must’ve clicked in his mind. “Dear God, I come to You asking for mercy.”

  “I admit I’m a sinner …”

  “I admit I’m a sinner …”

  “That left to my own ways I would choose death through any number of sins over the life You freely offer.”

  “That left to my own ways …” He hesitated. Then, “I have chosen death through a number of sins over the life You freely offer.”

  Bailey understood what was happening. Gerald was choosing to edit the prayer to fit him exactly how he was feeling this moment. She felt her hands shake and she tightened her hold on her friend’s shoulders. “But now I know the truth, and I ask You to forgive me for my sins.” Bailey waited while Gerald repeated the line. “I believe Jesus died on the cross to pay the price for my sins … And I ask You to come into my heart and be my Savior for all time.” Gerald’s voice was heavy with sorrow as he repeated that line. “Right here … right now … I surrender the old me … and I ask You to make me new again. With new life in Jesus Christ.”

  Gerald put his hands over Bailey’s. “Right here … right now … I surrender the old me.” His voice gave out and another few sobs filled in where he could no longer speak. He grabbed a couple fast breaths. “I completely surrender the old me. And I ask you to make me new again. With new life in Jesus Christ.”