Learning (18 page)

“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.

H
ER 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 looked 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.

“Chrissy.” The man brought his face close to hers. His tone softened considerably. “You’re okay, Chrissy … we’re getting help for you.”

Bailey thought Chrissy’s complexion looked worse — blue around her lips even. “Have you felt for her pulse?” Panic coursed through her. What if this was more serious than the stage manager thought? Bailey had missed the chance to pray for her earlier, so she wasn’t going to miss this one. Not caring about the other cast members still gathered around she closed her eyes and put her hand on Chrissy’s shoulder. “Lord … be with our friend. Help her, Father. Touch her with Your healing hand, and let her feel Your presence. Please, God …”

“Bailey …” The stage manager sounded slightly more tolerant. “You need to get out of the way. The paramedics are here.”

She opened her eyes and saw two men walk on stage carrying a stretcher. Did the people in the lobby buying popcorn know how serious things were for the blonde dancer? She stepped back, silently praying, still asking God to spare Chrissy … to allow more time so Bailey could do what she should’ve already done: start a Bible study … invite Chrissy … offer to pray with her.

Please God … I need more time …

The paramedics raced through an initial check, talking quietly and urgently between themselves. Bailey couldn’t hear everything they said, but certain words stood out … phrases that terrified her.
Irregular heartbeat … shallow breathing.
When they lifted her onto the stretcher, the face of the one in front was lined with concern. “Be ready to start CPR in the ambulance.”

CPR? Bailey felt dizzy, terrified at what was happening. This was much more serious than the stage manager thought. Suddenly she remembered the pills, the bottle Chrissy had put back
in her purse. “Hold on!” She ran after the paramedics. “She took pills. Before the show.”

They were rushing her to the ambulance, making it hard for Bailey to keep up. By then a police officer backstage was talking to a few of the cast members, writing down notes. “Tell him,” one of the paramedics shouted. And with that they hurried out the side stage door with Chrissy motionless on the stretcher.

This couldn’t be happening … Bailey’s heart thudded hard inside her as she ran back to the girls’ dressing room and searched under the table. Most of them didn’t lock up their things, so it took only a few seconds to find Chrissy’s purse. The bottle of pills was still there near the top, and Bailey grabbed it, running it back to the green room where the police officer was still taking notes. “Here.” She handed the pills to the man, breathless. “She took these. Several of them … right before the show.”

He glanced at the label, and then he hurried from the room. Before he left he looked back over his shoulder and spoke straight to Bailey. “Thank you … for saying something.” With that he was gone.

Bailey stood alone at the center of the room, the rest of the cast looking at her, ogling her with glances of disdain. She couldn’t tell if they were angry because she’d betrayed Chrissy’s secret … or if they were afraid because maybe she knew secrets about them. Secrets she might tell the police officer if he came back around. Or maybe they were disgusted with her because she hadn’t said something sooner — the way she was disgusted with herself.

Whatever it was, she didn’t have time to think it through. Before anyone could say a word, the stage manager appeared and clapped his hands. “Hurry people … places … let’s pick up at the top of the number.”

And like that, they were herded back on stage, smiles ready, waiting for the music to begin. Bailey felt horrified. She wanted to run outside and grab a cab to the hospital — whatever hospital
they were taking Chrissy to. What if she wasn’t okay? What if they couldn’t get her heartbeat right? She might need someone beside her, someone to help her through. Bailey concentrated, trying to remember the steps to the dance, the words to the song.

The music began and the warm announcer’s voice assured them the issue with the cast had been dealt with. Everything was fine. With that, the curtain lifted, and Bailey scanned the audience. Men and women, children … all were back in their seats, fresh candy and drinks in their hands. As if it were an everyday occurrence to see a dancer collapse midshow at a Broadway performance.

Bailey couldn’t remember a moment of the show after that. She slipped into a sort of autopilot, the whole time praying for Chrissy. Not until the show was over did a handful of the cast share the fact that, yes, they were frightened for Chrissy.

“She’s been taking those pills for almost a year.” Stefano’s tone was grave. “Who wants to come with me to the hospital?”

“I will.” Gerald was quick to jump in. He grabbed his backpack and swung it onto his shoulder. “She didn’t look good. Her color.”

Bailey ran a few steps toward the dressing room. “I’ll come too.” She grabbed her bag while Stefano and Gerald rounded up another dancer. “I have the hospital address.” Gerald handed it to the driver. “Hurry, please.”

They rode in silence, and when they arrived at the hospital Bailey noticed the looks they got as they rushed into the emergency room. Only then did she remember they were still in costume and full makeup. Stefano explained to the man at the front desk that they were friends of Chrissy’s, the dancer who had been brought in an hour earlier.

Bailey tried to read the man’s expression, and she was almost sure she saw a shadow fall across his eyes. “Does she have family here … anyone related to her?”

Again Bailey realized how little she’d invested in her friend. She had noticed the girl’s thin body, the way she seemed to struggle with anorexia — yet she had never asked about Chrissy’s home life. Was she from New York? Did she have parents or siblings? Bailey had no idea, and as she looked at the other dancers with her she saw that they shared the same blank look.

Gerald answered for all of them. “I’m not sure.”

“Very well.” The man at the front desk pursed his lips.

“We can call our director.” Stefano nodded at the others, his tone panicked. “Someone should know.”

The man nodded. “I’d appreciate that.” He stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. I’ll … let you know if I hear anything about your friend.”

They sat back down and Bailey did what she should’ve done earlier that day. She looked at the dancers in the small circle around her and held out her hands. “Let’s pray … she needs us.”

The three cast members looked at each other and then at Bailey, and with a sort of confused reluctance, they did as she said. They linked hands, and let Bailey lead them in prayer. Every word felt forced and stilted, because while she prayed she couldn’t get past the fact that it was too late. She’d had her chance with Chrissy and she’d missed it. “Please God … we want more time with Chrissy … help her, we ask You.”

Bailey had no idea how long they sat there. After half an hour several other castmates joined them, and eventually the stage manager arrived. He had Chrissy’s file and he gave the man at the front desk the information he wanted. Her family was from Montana. There was only one phone number listed in her emergency contacts, and no one was answering.