Leaving (12 page)

“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.

C
ODY REALIZED TWO THINGS AS HE WALKED TOWARD CHEY
enne. 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 treatment. 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.”

He didn’t know how to respond, so he said nothing. He wasn’t sure if Cheyenne was comparing him to Art or to guys she had known in school over the years. But one thing was sure about the man she’d lost to war: he had a kind heart. Cody was honored that Cheyenne would think him the same as Art.

They reached her room and stepped inside. Sure enough, an older man sat in the chair beside Kassie’s bed, and there — with wires running into her from a number of places — was little Kassie. She sucked her thumb, her sweet eyes turned toward the man who had to be her grandpa. Cheyenne took hold of Cody’s hand and led him into the room. She stopped to use hand sanitizer, and Cody did the same thing.

In a flash, Cody tried to process the way he was feeling. Overwhelmed with sorrow for the darling girl in the hospital bed, and conflicted by the feelings stirring within him at the touch of Cheyenne’s hand against his. She was only trying to make Kassie
comfortable, he realized that. But still he had to catch his breath over the conflicting emotions hitting him.

Cheyenne kept her voice low, appropriate for a hospital setting — especially at night. “Ivan,” she led Cody to the spot beside the older man. “This is my friend, Cody.” She released his hand. “He wanted to visit Kassie tonight, too.” She smiled at the little girl. “Is that okay, sweetie?”

Kassie gestured with her hands in a way that Cody was pretty sure meant he could stay. Then she turned pretty eyes toward him and smiled, smiled so big and bright that Cody understood what Cheyenne meant when she said that Kassie spoke with her smile. No question, the girl’s heart could be seen in the way her whole being lit up.

“Hi, Kassie,” Cody came up alongside her bed. He wanted to touch her hand, show her some sign that he cared. But he wasn’t sure of the situation with germs. So instead he returned her smile. Then he walked to the other side of the bed and the man stood so they could shake hands.

“Ivan Garman,” the man said. He had eyes that spoke of the painful journey he and his family had walked — much of it in this hospital room, if Cody had to guess. “Thank you for stopping in.” He looked at his granddaughter. “She’s my little angel. Visits my wife Charmaine and me as often as she can.” He nodded, a catch in his voice. “She’s getting better. Right, baby?”

Kassie nodded at her grandpa and slid her thumb back in her mouth.

“Where’s everyone else?”

Ivan settled back in his chair. “Charmaine and the family are in the cafeteria — having coffee and dessert.” He smiled, and some of the weariness faded. “You should’ve seen Kassie and her brother. They unhooked her and she and that boy tore around the room with that push toy Kassie loves.” He nodded to the corner of the room where the toy now stood. His eyes found his
granddaughter again. “I never heard you laugh so hard in all my life, Kassie girl.”

She giggled and again her thumb came out. This time her smile stayed, and she moved her hands in a way that Cheyenne seemed to understand.

“Is it sign language?” Cody returned to his place on the other side of the bed, and so did Cheyenne. They took the two open chairs on that side and Cody watched while Kassie continued using her hands — this time to talk to her grandpa.

“Not really.” Cheyenne shook her head. “But I’ve learned what she wants — and generally she figures out how to convey her needs.” Cheyenne put her hand on the bedrail. “You want a story, right baby girl?”

Again Kassie nodded big, and Grandpa Ivan chuckled. “That girl has your number, for sure.”

Cheyenne didn’t have a book, so Cody wasn’t sure how she was going to meet Kassie’s request. But before he could offer to find one from the front desk or a hospital library somewhere, Cheyenne began telling a different sort of story. One she seemed to make up as she went along.

“Once upon a time,” Cheyenne slid to the edge of her chair, her eyes focused on Kassie, “there was a beautiful fairy girl, and her name was Kassie.”

Kassie clapped her hands and rolled slightly onto her side so she could see Cheyenne better. She gestured in a way that made it clear she wanted more. Again Grandpa Ivan chuckled. “She loves this.”

“One day, Kassie was playing near the frog pond when the very biggest frog in all the land came hopping over and sat beside her …”

The story went on for ten minutes, and involved not only frogs but a small deer, a royal queen, and a handsome prince. In the end, through many plot twists and turns, the fairy girl Kassie
was swept away on a white horse by the handsome prince and rescued. “And the handsome prince took Kassie back to her parents where she was safe and where she grew up healthy and strong … the most beautiful girl in all the land.”