Twenty-Four
ASHLEY LOVED FRIDAY NIGHT FOOTBALL AT CLEAR CREEK HIGH because it gave her a diversion from the rest of the week. Every other day of the week, Landon was still restless, still not sure what his future held or if he’d find a career he loved as much as fighting fires. The pain of losing his ability to work was as great as if someone had died. And though Landon handled the heartache better than before the good news that he didn’t have polymyositis, Ashley knew he was suffering.
Which was why the whole extended Baxter family looked forward to Friday nights. Her sister Kari’s husband Ryan coached the team, and whenever they had a home game, as many of the family attended as possible. Pizza first at Ashley and Landon’s house, then a caravan to the game. Tonight Ashley’s sisters Brooke and Kari, and her brother Luke and their families had just arrived and were gathered in the family room ready to eat.
“Mommy, when do the pizza men get here?” Devin found her in the kitchen filling plastic water pitchers. He said the words pizza men with a special emphasis, like they were superheroes of some sort.
“Pizza man.” She patted his head. “Just one pizza man, Dev.” “Oh.” He looked slightly disappointed. “Okay, so when’s he get here?”
“Any minute.” She smiled at him. “You like pizza, don’t you?” “Sooo much, Mommy!” He ran off, yelling at the top of his lungs. “Mommy says any minute!”
The doorbell rang and Landon called out from the other room. “I’ll get it.”
Relief eased the cold and nervous edges of Ashley’s heart. Landon sounded happy tonight, hopeful and confident … the way he had always sounded before he started coughing. She brought the water to the other room, and everyone gathered around the dining room table.
“That’s a whole football field of pizza!” Devin held onto the back of one of the chairs and peered around it at the four large pizzas spread across the table. “I can’t wait!”
Cole put his arm around his little brother’s shoulders. “Maybe we should pray first, buddy.”
A serious look flashed on Devin’s face and he nodded big. “Yes. Maybe we should.”
Brooke’s husband, Peter, prayed … thanking God for the food and the time together, and asking that the Lord be present in all they said and did that evening. When he finished, they situated the kids at the table, and the adults carried plates of pizza out to the family room.
The conversation was easy and upbeat. Brooke talked about the crisis pregnancy center she and Ashley helped run in downtown Bloomington. Under Brooke’s direction, the center had started a Purity Pledge Program, where girls could come in and take a pledge to stay pure until they were married. In exchange for the pledge, they received a certificate, a booklet about the realities of premarital sex, and coupons from various local merchants. “Word’s definitely gotten out around the high schools.” Brooke looked comfortable next to Peter, his arm around her shoulders. “We’re busier than ever.”
They talked about Kari and Ryan, how it was to have him gone so much of the football season. “Jenny Flanigan jokes that she’s a football widow every fall,” Kari laughed lightheartedly. “I don’t mind, I guess. I love being married to a coach. Every season is a new set of players and games and possibilities for greatness.” She smiled at the others. “It keeps life exciting.”
In the other room, the kids’ voices blended together in a happy mix of laughter and teasing and pronouncements from Devin — who easily had the loudest voice of the group. Brooke noted that it was too bad Erin and Sam couldn’t make it. Their girls had the flu, so they’d stayed back for a quiet night at home. “She loves these Friday nights … I hope the girls get better soon.”
Kari’s eyes lit up. “Speaking of football, Ryan tells me he heard from Cody Coleman. He’s coaching at Lyle High near the Ohio border, remember? I think I told you all that a month ago.”
They nodded, agreeing that they knew about Cody’s position. Jenny Flanigan had talked to Ashley not long ago. She was interested in how his season was going. “How’s he doing?”
“I guess incredibly well.” Kari grinned. “His team is undefeated after three games.”
“What?” Landon raised his brow. “That team hasn’t won a game in two years.”
“Exactly.” Kari laughed. “God’s doing something amazing out there in that small town. Ryan tells me everyone’s got Cody slated as a hero. They could lose every game from here out and they would credit him with bringing life back to not only the football team — but the whole town.”
“That’s fantastic.” Peter set his empty pizza plate on the arm of the sofa. “I always liked that young man. I wish we could’ve kept him here at Clear Creek.”
A round of agreements came after that, and as the conversation lulled, Landon coughed a few times. Luke must’ve picked up on the fact. “What does your doctor say about your lungs … since the great news on the electromyography test?”
Ashley watched her husband closely. He didn’t flinch, didn’t let on that he was still suffering from the loss of his job. He clearly understood that Luke only asked because he cared. A casual smile played on Landon’s lips and he gave a slow single nod. “It’s good news … what they say now is I’ve got COPD.”
“Chronic obstructive pulmonary disease.” Brooke looked concerned. She was a pediatrician, but she was knowledgeable on all things medical. “Landon … that’s still very serious.”
“It is.” The calm in his face remained. “I’ll be working soon with an occupational therapist, learning ways to work around the disease, and how to keep my airways as open as possible.”
“There’s a lot they can do now … between medications and walking programs.” Peter tried to sound hopeful. “What’s the work situation?”
“A desk job for now.” Again Landon didn’t let on how much this subject hurt. He crossed one leg over his knee and sat back in his chair. “But I’m looking at a few other ideas.” He smiled at Ashley. “We’re praying about it. God has a plan … we know that.”
Luke had been quiet since he brought the subject up, but now he leaned over his knees and laced his hands together, his eyes on Landon, his expression grave. “I’ve done a little research. More than eighty percent of the workers from Ground Zero are experiencing decreased lung function.” He pursed his lips, as if he didn’t want to share this information. Ashley understood. She and her brother had been best friends growing up. She knew Luke. The only reason he would talk about this was because he cared about Landon.
“I’ve read that about Ground Zero.” Landon frowned and shook his head. “It’s terrible. A couple guys have already been diagnosed with polymyositis … at least one has had a lung transplant.”
“So …” Luke looked hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he should bring up everything he knew at this moment. But he continued anyway. The Baxter family had always been close enough to talk about difficult things. Even this. “Are you aware there’s a class action lawsuit filed against New York City over this subject?”
For the first time that night, Landon’s expression darkened slightly. “I hadn’t heard that.”
“There is.” Luke was a lawyer. He would know. “Hundreds of people have joined the suit or filed one of their own. To cover medical expenses and lost wages — that sort of thing.”
Again Landon nodded slowly. For a long moment his eyes glazed over and Ashley wondered if he was thinking about his time at Ground Zero, the months he’d spent on the pile of debris removing one bucket full after another, searching for his fallen friend, Jalen. Whatever he was thinking, after a few seconds he blinked and turned his attention back to Luke. The half smile was back, and Landon’s tone was kind and understanding. “Are you asking … if I’d like to sue the city of New York over what’s happened to my lungs?”
An uncomfortable silence hung in the room for a few beats, and the attention turned to Luke. He hung his head briefly and then looked at Landon again. “I’m sorry … I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about it. I just … you’re entitled to settlement money, Landon. There’s nothing wrong with joining the lawsuit at this point.” His voice held no passion, no hint at whether he had an opinion one way or another about what Landon should do. “I just want you to know your options.”
“Thank you.” Landon looked ready to move on, to change the subject to anything but his lungs and his time at Ground Zero. “That might make sense for some people. But not for me.” His smile held a finality, as if to say the subject would forever more be closed. “I went to Ground Zero by my own will. We couldn’t see through the air, so obviously there were risks.” He seemed to work hard to keep his tone even, so the conversation wouldn’t put a damper on the entire evening. “I guess I’d have to say I took the risks willingly.” He hesitated. “Whatever the risks, whatever the results … I’d do it all again.” He shook his head. “So, no … I couldn’t sue New York City.”
Ashley was so proud she could’ve jumped up and hugged him right there in front of her family. But she didn’t want to drag the moment out. So instead she simply stood and smiled at the others. “More pizza?”
Landon raised his hand. “Pepperoni … if you don’t mind.” He handed his plate to Ashley and they shared a knowing look, a single glance that told her he had maybe found new purpose in the last few minutes. That if he could truly link his lung disease and lost career as a firefighter to his time at Ground Zero, then maybe he could live with the outcome a little easier.
She took orders from Peter and Brooke, and walked to the pizza table to get the pieces. The kids were still working on their dinners, excited about the football game. Little Janessa wore a child-size Clear Creek cheer sweater and Cole had brushed eye black beneath his eyes. The way the Clear Creek High School kids did before cheering on their team.
As she filled the empty plates, Ashley thought again about how much she loved Landon, how glad she was that he could gain something from a conversation like the one they’d just had. Like Landon said, he was searching for new career paths — possibly working with the sheriff’s department, or as a teacher for other paramedics and firefighters. Nothing he was passionate about yet, but what he’d told Luke was true. He and Ashley were praying about what was next, trusting God that something would come through.
The bottom line was this: Landon didn’t want sympathy. He didn’t want to be a victim or blame someone for what had happened to him. Because Landon would’ve laid his life down to help out. It was why he could run into a burning house to save a stranger, and why he had gone to Ground Zero in the first place.
She gave Luke a quick smile as she left the room, to let him know he hadn’t done anything wrong by bringing the topic up. He was only trying to help — they all understood that. But even though there were many people who would be right in suing New York City for the damage they’d received working at Ground Zero, she was glad Landon didn’t want to be one of them. Like he said, he’d taken the risk on willingly.
Now they would all live with the outcome.
CODY GRABBED HIS GEAR BAG from the empty locker room and silently thanked God for the miracle he was bringing about for the town of Lyle. Tonight’s forty-two to twenty-four win came against Arlington High — another local powerhouse that should’ve handily beaten the Buckaroos. But this year was different. God had heard the prayers of DeMetri Smith and Marcos Brown, and the rest of their teammates. He had heard Cody’s prayers too. There was no other explanation.
Not only were the kids winning. That helped, of course. But the town had come together too. People knew about Larry Sanders’ little sister, and as a result, a fund had been set up at the bank. A local business owner put a thousand dollars in for every game Lyle won. When news got out about the man’s generosity, two other businesses agreed to do the same thing. Already the family had access to more than ten-thousand dollars to continue the child’s cancer treatment. Her face at every Friday night game was just one of the ways Cody could feel God working among them.
In addition, the local paper had done a feature story on Lyle’s success at football camp, how they’d set a record by winning the first-place trophy every day of the week. When the reporter found out why they’d won, that they were raising money for a troubled team, only to find out that the troubled team was their own — he about went through the roof.
“This is the best story I’ve ever covered,” he told Cody. The guy was in his fifties, a veteran who had spent his life covering the happenings of Lyle, Indiana. He had tears in his eyes as he took notes that day. “This will run on the front page. I guarantee it.”
The story did indeed run on the front page of that Sunday’s paper, and a week later it was picked up by the Indianapolis press. A week after that, a small story ran in USA Today, of all things. Now there was talk that Sports Illustrated might call, wanting to talk to Cody about his role as coach of the Buckaroos, and how small-town high school football could bring people together and even change lives.
One of the best parts was that every story included the team’s chant, the words they said before every game and after every halftime, the words they shouted loud after every practice.
“Whose way?”
“His way!”
“Whose way?”
“His way!!”
Cody had received emails from other high school coaches. “Are we allowed to talk about doing things God’s way at a public school?” one coach wrote to him last week. “The idea scares me to death.”
His answer was as honest as he could be. “Our constitution promises freedom of religion. Not freedom from religion. If you’re worried about leading a chant like that, see if one of your players wants to do it. They’re allowed freedom of speech.”
It was crazy, really. Cody had only set out to build up the guys on his team, to make them close and give them an experience they’d remember long after high school. But in the process word was getting out around the state of Indiana … even around the nation. A coach who loved God and his players could literally change a town for good.
The story kept getting better, and Cody could hardly take credit for what was happening. Because of the feature story, people found out about Terry Allen, and his family’s burned down house. Last weekend the team gathered at Terry’s house and half the town showed up to help rebuild the home. People donated supplies and time, and now in the middle of September the house was almost finished. Long before winter, the Allens would have a place to live again — all because of what a group of football players had done at camp.
Last week a tray of fifty individually wrapped football cookies was delivered to the Lyle High athletic office — along with a check for the Sanders’ family fund. Cody wasn’t surprised to read the card and find a note from Jim Flanigan.
We’re following your success, Cody, the wins on the field and off. We’re so very proud of you. Please know that we continue to pray for you daily. With all our love, Jim, Jenny, and the Flanigan kids.
It was all so much more than Cody ever dreamed possible. He looked around the quiet locker room. He cherished this place in the postgame hours, the time after the fans had gone off to celebrate, and when only Cheyenne and DeMetri waited for him out in his pickup. The thought of Cheyenne made him smile. The two of them talked once in a while about where the future might lead, whether this might be a forever relationship. They’d kissed a few times, but only very briefly. Cody respected Chey, and they both wanted to honor God. Cody didn’t have the roller-coaster feeling when he was with Cheyenne, but that didn’t worry him. He was older now, more mature.
The way he’d felt with Bailey wasn’t something he would feel again.
He zipped his bag, and for a minute he sat on the bench in front of the row of lockers. He breathed in deep, letting every wonderful thing about the season settle in his heart.
You’re so good, God … beyond anything I could ever ask or imagine.
I am your Father … I go before you, always.
Cody basked in the reality of the truth, the certainty of the answer. He slid off the bench and dropped to his knees, humbled and grateful before a God who could turn even a smelly locker room into holy ground. “I am yours, God … lead me … teach me … help me to keep learning.”
Cody stayed that way, on his knees before God, in the presence of the Holy Spirit. He rarely thought about his biological father. He had no connection to the guy whatsoever, and he doubted the man ever thought about Cody. There were times growing up when that fact had hurt more than a small boy could take, times when he would cry alone in his room wishing with all his heart for a dad. He had no father to play catch with or go fishing with … no man to cheer him on when he did well in grade school or for the local Pee Wee Football League.
His mom was always in and out of prison, in and out of her drug binges. When she wasn’t around, Cody would stay with a neighbor or a friend from school. But none of the situations ever provided someone who felt like a father. Not until he came to live with the Flanigans. He smiled, his head bowed. “Thank You for Jim Flanigan, Lord.” In some ways, the man would always fill that role — the father he never knew.
But in this private moment of serenity, as Cody pondered all the good God had done in his life, and in the last month … he was most grateful for the truth he’d just been reminded of. Even when he was at his loneliest as a little boy, and when he was fighting in Iraq or trying to deal with the heartache of losing Bailey, he was never without a dad.
God was his father.
Cody stood up, massaging his left knee, the one that still ached from the injury he’d suffered at war. He gathered his gear bag onto his shoulder and looked around the place. Stinky or not, he loved the smell of a locker room after a football game, loved the strong smell of rubber matting mixed with sweat and ripe football cleats. Being here, breathing it in, took him back to his days at Clear Creek High and the way Jim Flanigan had taken him in, treated him like a son.
How great are You, God … letting me be a part of something like this, something so much bigger than me. Please, Father … keep it coming. Let the miracle You’re working here be so big the world will have to see You before they can understand this.
He smiled as he headed for the door, and at the same time he turned on his cell phone. It took only a few seconds for it to come to life, and as it did Cody saw he had a voicemail message waiting for him from a 212 area code. He paused, tapped his screen a few times, and held the phone to his ear.
“Cody, this is Hans Tesselaar, reporter with Sports Illustrated. I wondered if you might have a few minutes to call me back. We’re watching your season and … well, if things continue the way they’re going, we’re thinking about doing a feature story on your team … maybe sometime at the end of November.” The man rattled off a phone number. “I hope to hear from you.”
Disbelief came over Cody. He’d heard this might happen, but he never really expected it. Sports Illustrated? He made a note to call Mr. Tesselaar back in the morning — assuming he would want to talk on a Saturday. He walked out of the locker room and headed toward his pickup. They were having a game night at Tara’s house with Cheyenne and DeMetri. As Cody made his way across the field, he could only stand firm on one very great truth. He had the best Father in the world and something else too.
All of his life had led him to this.