Eighteen
FROM HIS PLACE IN THE DUGOUT, LANDON BLAKE COULD SEE the packed stands. Not that there were many rows in the bleachers — but what was there was full to capacity. Cole’s Yankees were undefeated, and at this point in the season with half the games already played, people from the community were coming out and cheering them on.
“Dad,” Cole was fitting his catcher’s gear on his chest, “You’re feeling good, right?”
Landon had been using his inhaler, taking the medication. But still there were moments when the dust kicked up from the infield and he’d cough a couple times. He hadn’t noticed it himself, but this afternoon was probably one of those times. Landon patted Cole on the back. “I’m fine, buddy. Just fine.”
There were two outs, and with the game tied, they were putting Cole behind the plate. He was as good pitching as he was catching, but this team was known for stealing bases.
“I love catching, by the way,” Cole grinned as he snapped the last buckle in place. He put one shin protector on and began working with the other. “Those guys won’t get past me.”
“Terminator. Right, Big C?” Avery Schmidt gave Cole a few pats on his head. “Actually we’re the terminator team. Me at short, and you at catch.”
“And me on the mound,” Thomas joined in, and then Mitchell, all of them agreeing that the combination about to take the field would inevitably stop the other team from scoring in the final three innings.
“I love the confidence,” Landon grinned. “But let’s let our game do the talking.” He was about to pull the kids together and go over the lineup, when his pager went off. He checked the message and gritted his teeth. A house fire. He was on call, so he’d have to leave now. “What is it, Dad? Is it a fire?”
“It is,” he winked at Cole. “I’ll try to be back for the last inning, okay?”
“Sure.” The worry in Cole’s eyes was something new. The boy had loved the sense of adventure that came with Landon’s job. But today he only stared at Landon, his lips parted. “Be safe.”
“Of course.” Landon gave Cole a side hug and nodded to his assistant coach, Kevin. “I’ll be back.”
Kevin was perfectly capable. The man had more coaching experience than Landon, but his work kept him away from the early games. “Go on.” Kevin grabbed the clipboard from the chain-link fence. “We’ll be waiting.”
Landon found Ashley in the stands, sitting with her sisters — Kari, Brooke, and Erin — and their families. It was one of those rare days when most of the family managed to be there. Ash’s dad and Elaine sat on the highest row, and even as Landon explained the situation to Ashley, he could feel John Baxter’s nervous eyes on him.
“Do you have your inhaler?” Ashley’s tone had a quiet panic in it. “Baby, check. You can’t go into a fire without it. The doctor told you.”
“I know.” He pulled the plastic device from his pants pocket. “I’ve got it.”
“Okay.” She knit her brow together, stood, and gave him a quick hug. “Be careful. I love you, Landon … I’ll be praying.”
“I love you too.” He smiled at her, caring for her with everything in him. “Me, too.”
With that, he ran to the waiting fire engine and drove off. His partner was already in the passenger seat — content to watch the game from the rig as long as they were on call. Now they flew into action, racing to the fire as quickly as they could. The fire was downtown, and as they pulled around the corner they saw two trucks had already responded. But even with that the dwelling was fully engulfed.
Working with precision, they parked as close as they could, donned their masks and gloves and gear, and ran to the command post out front. “We still have two people trapped inside,” the lieutenant yelled above the sound of flames and water hoses. “Three have been rescued, but we can’t find the two. It’s an older couple — husband and wife.”
Bloomington didn’t have many fires this serious — with people trapped inside a burning house. But suddenly he remembered the time a decade ago when it was a child lost in a fire like this. Landon refused to give up as he went through the house that day, and he found the boy unconscious. He buddy-breathed with him until he blacked out … and it was in the aftermath of that fire that he first realized Ashley Baxter had feelings for him.
The memory passed as quickly as it came. He couldn’t black out this time. His lungs couldn’t afford it. He hurried in, his partner at his side. Already fighting their way through the burning building were four other firefighters, the first responders. They could communicate from within their gear, but the noise around them was deafening — oppressive, same as the heat. In a burn this fully involved, Landon and his partner had just one choice: stay together. That way there would at least be one person to know where the other one was if something terrible happened — a collapsed beam, a broken floor board, a fallen wall.
Command had told them to head to the back of the house. The upstairs had been checked, same with the bedrooms on the right side. Already, the first two teams were back outside, getting oxygen and water before they might make another attempt at finding the victims. Landon peered through the bright orange wall of fire and looked for an opening, any opening. Dear Lord … they’re in here somewhere. Please … help us find them. This is why You asked me to fight fires, Father …
I am with you, my son …
Landon felt the certain calm of the truth of God. The Lord was with him. He would not fight this fire alone. Landon used his axe to sweep debris out of the way as they headed back, deeper into the burning house. Within a minute they found the woman. She was collapsed on the floor in a doorway, unmoving. Together, Landon and his partner picked her up and moved her quickly outside. No telling if she was still alive, but once they had her safely on the lawn, paramedics took over.
“You okay, Blake … you’re coughing.” The lieutenant in charge grabbed Landon’s shoulder and stared at him. “Don’t go back in if you’re coughing.”
Landon hadn’t even noticed. He lifted his mask, reached for his inhaler, and took two quick puffs. After fifteen seconds, he exhaled and nodded. “I’m fine. I’m going back in.”
The look from his lieutenant told him that at this stage in the fire, there might not be any point. But their job was to save lives, not to stop and count the cost. He’d done that the day he’d agreed to fight fires for the city of Bloomington. His partner was ready, and again the two of them positioned their headgear and masks and hurried back into the burning house. The fire was at its peak now, consuming everything in its wake. Landon ran as quickly as he could, trudging over fallen beams and pushing his way past piles of burning embers. The heat pressed in against his skin and he could barely see his own feet.
Another scan of the place, and at first it looked like maybe command was wrong … maybe the old man had gotten out earlier and in the chaos people had missed him. But just when they might’ve turned around and given up, Landon saw a leg sticking out from a doorway down the hall from where the woman was found. He signaled to his partner, but even as he did he felt something strange in his lungs … a burning or tightness that hadn’t been there before. He fought through, working so that the two of them lifted the man and carried him back through the burning house, out onto the lawn where his wife was receiving CPR.
With every step, Landon became more sure that something was seriously wrong. God … I can’t breathe … can’t … draw a breath. A sense of panic welled in him as they set the man down. He had thought often lately about what could happen, what the problem in his lungs might be. Sometimes at night when Ashley was already asleep, he considered the very strong reality that he might have a serious lung disease. A fatal lung disease. He wasn’t worried about himself. He loved God, and when he walked the bridge of death, it would be to a place called eternity. Landon was certain.
He tried to draw in one breath … one single breath. But again his lungs wouldn’t work. Wouldn’t allow even a little air into his body. In a rush, he ripped his helmet off and slowly fell to his knees, desperately trying to calm his airways, grabbing for his inhaler. But the doctor had warned him about this: an inhaler could only work if a person could draw a breath. Now, though, with the smoke and heat, Landon couldn’t suck back a single bit of the medication.
People were shouting all around him, screaming for help and running toward him. It’s okay, he told himself. Everything’s going to be okay. Now, just like at night when Ashley was sleeping, he wasn’t concerned with his own life or how come his lungs were failing him … or even if this were the end. After all, he fought fires because this was the work God wanted him to do. His last thought … the last flicker of consciousness left in his body was devoted to one single uncertainty. Not about himself, but about his wife.
What would happen to his precious Ashley?
Because if this were the end … if he never got to hold Cole and Devin and Janessa again, then he would wait for them in heaven, where they would share forever. In time they would all be okay. But what about his wife …
Ashley … Ashley, baby. God, help her … Don’t let me die, Father. Please …
It was his final cry, his final prayer. Because if he knew her at all, he knew this. After all they’d been through, if he didn’t survive this fire, he was fairly certain the news wouldn’t only devastate Ashley.
It might destroy her.
ASHLEY HADN’T MOVED FROM LANDON’S BEDSIDE since she got there, three hours ago. Since then Landon had been hooked to machines, on life support — pure oxygen being pumped into his weakened lungs. The rest of the family was in the waiting room, and at times one or two of them had come in to offer support and pray for Landon.
But for now it was just the two of them — where they began — here in a hospital room with Landon fighting for his life. She had prayed, of course … but only in short bursts. For the most part, she couldn’t move. Couldn’t stop looking at him or watching his chest rise and fall, willing him to breathe on his own, to find the strength to grab hold of life and stay here. With her.
“Landon, …” she barely recognized her voice, strained and high pitched. Filled with terror. “Stay with me, baby … stay. Please, God, let him stay.”
Some people talked about times like this, when life was on the line and a sudden rush of awareness came like a tidal wave. Things that should’ve been said, love that could’ve been expressed, memories they could’ve made. But that awareness was not part of this moment. Ashley had no regrets when it came to loving Landon Blake. Every day she gave to him all she had, the same way he gave to her. They seized every moment, made the most of every situation. They had loved like their next breath depended on it, and so that wasn’t the problem.
Ashley touched her fingers lightly to Landon’s rugged face. She was vaguely aware of tears streaming down her cheeks, but she made no attempt to stop them. No loud sobs or cries came from her, because she couldn’t focus on anything but Landon. He needed all of her, every bit of her attention. Otherwise how could she will the life back into him?
No, the problem now wasn’t all the regrets she’d have if he didn’t get up from this hospital bed, if the machines couldn’t get his lungs working and he never woke up. The problem was if he didn’t make it, she didn’t want to either. Already heaven had her mother and her infant daughter — the girl who would’ve been Janessa’s older sister. But if God took Landon too?
Ashley refused to let herself think about it. “You’re okay, baby … breathe … come on, Landon. Breathe, sweetheart.”
A sound came from behind her, but it took a minute before Ashley realized the doctor was calling her name. She turned, but only for a moment. If she looked away from Landon for too long he might not be there when she looked back. The doctor was saying something, but his voice changed and it became Landon’s.
I’ll never love anyone like I love you, Ashley … the way I’ve always loved you …
And suddenly she wasn’t sitting here at Landon’s bedside begging God to let him live. She was a young single mother, painting outside in front of her family’s home, painting and missing Landon and longing for him … And like the wind someone was touching her hair, the side of her face, and she turned and it was him. Landon. Come home from New York and Ground Zero, his mission accomplished. And he was taking her in his arms and telling her how much he loved her, promising he would never leave her again, never be apart from her …
The scene changed and she was standing by Irvel’s graveside. Irvel who had only loved Hank all the days of her life. Irvel who, for the last seven years at Sunset Hills Adult Care Home where Ashley worked, believed only that Hank was fishing. Not that he was dead, but just gone with the guys … for the afternoon. Irvel, whose love added to the picture of love Ashley’s parents had given her when she was growing up.
She was there at the cemetery again, and Irvel’s funeral had just ended, and like so many other times Landon was walking up alongside her, putting his arm around her. “Has anyone told you … you have the most beautiful hair?” It was the question Irvel always asked her, never remembering that she had already asked it. And there was Landon, knowing just what to say and how to remind her that life would go on, and that Irvel’s love and wisdom would continue to live, because it would live in her.
And there was Landon, sitting in the dugout helping Cole with his catcher’s gear and even from the bleachers, even in the middle of a screaming loud baseball game, she had heard his pager go off, and she had known … absolutely known that this was the one fire he shouldn’t respond to.
But he had responded.
And now …
“Ashley.”
The doctor. She had forgotten about the doctor. Again she turned, keeping her shoulder to Landon, her arm alongside his. “Yes?”
Her father entered the room then, and without saying a word he pulled up a chair and moved it right next to her. If only her mom were here. Because this was a time when a girl should have her mother. When all the world was falling apart and the sky was upside down and nothing made sense. This was when she needed her mom the most, right?
“Ashley.” This time her father was talking to her. “Sweetheart, Dr. Jacobs needs to talk to you. It’s about Landon’s lungs.”
Landon’s lungs? The lungs that breathed life into the only man she’d ever loved? Was she ready to hear about Landon’s lungs? She shook her head slowly and then faster.
“Ashley?”
It was the doctor again.
Ashley closed her eyes. The thing with her and Landon was, they needed each other. If he couldn’t breathe, then she couldn’t either. Because when he inhaled, she felt life. That’s how it had been since the last time she sat at his bedside after a fire nearly killed him ten years ago. She blinked her eyes open and studied his face, the peacefulness of his closed eyes. “Breathe, baby … I’m here … breathe.”
“Ashley.”
She turned and looked at her father. Something in his tone snapped her from the blur of memories and fear and shock. Complete and utter shock. She became suddenly aware of her surroundings and what was happening. The reason she was there.
“I’m sorry …” She looked at the doctor, still standing a few feet away. He was holding a manila folder. Landon’s chart, most likely. The chart with the bad news. Stay in the moment, Ashley. Listen to the man. Dear God give me the strength to listen to the man. “Doctor Jacobs, forgive me … I can’t …”
Her father put his arm around her and held her close, holding her up so she wouldn’t fall to the floor.
“Don’t apologize.” Dr. Jacobs took a step closer. “We ran additional tests on your husband when he was admitted, and I’m afraid …” his voice trailed off as he opened the manila folder.
“When I look at his records, the tests that have been done … I can only conclude that your husband does, indeed, have the lung disease we feared. All signs point to polymyositis.”
Polymyositis … polymyositis …
The word screeched at her, stripping away her composure and her strength and her heart’s ability to carry out a normal beat. “That … that’s the disease we talked about?” She looked at her dad, begging him to tell her she was wrong, that this was a different sort of a disease … an illness, maybe. Something he could take antibiotics for and be fine in a few weeks.
But her father nodded. “Yes, sweetheart. It’s that disease.”
What had the doctor said last time Landon had an appointment? That people with polymyositis wound up on oxygen fulltime, and that … that they needed a lung transplant if they were going to live? Was that it? Her mind was in that instant very clear. How could this be happening? She put her head in her hands and tried to block out the doctor’s words, willing the clock to turn back two minutes to a time when the word polymyositis had never been read from the diagnosis in Landon’s chart.
Her father rubbed her back, whispering soothing things about God’s peace … His plan … His presence …
Somewhere over the course of the next few minutes, Dr. Jacob left and Kari brought Cole and Devin into the hospital room. Janessa was in Kari’s arms, her thumb in her mouth, her eyes wide. Ashley wanted to get up and go to her children, but instead they came to her. Cole was still in his New York Yankees uniform, dirt still smudged on his cheek from the game. He put both arms around Ashley and held her, hugging her, his eyes focused on Landon.
Devin reached up and took hold of the hospital bed railing and peered through the cracks at his father. This can’t be happening. It can’t be … Ashley closed her eyes and tried to convince herself it was all a dream, a terrible nightmare. She would wake up, and they’d be in bed, and it would be Thursday morning … time for school. But when she blinked her eyes open, Devin was still looking through the bars of the bed, and Cole was still holding her, and Kari was still standing helplessly a few feet away, Janessa on her hip.
“Is Daddy going to die?” Devin was the only one willing to put their terrifying fears into words.
The response came from her father, who had positioned himself on the other side of Ashley. She leaned into him more as he spoke. “Jesus is with your dad, Devin … he’ll be just fine. It’s our job to keep praying.”
And then … in the way they’d been taught since they were born, Cole and Devin linked hands with Kari and Ashley and Ashley’s father, and they prayed for Landon, that God would breathe life into him, and that he would wake up from his coma, and that very soon he would be well enough to come home.
But even as they prayed, Ashley couldn’t help but think about the only word that screamed through her mind, the one Dr. Jacob had talked about earlier.
Polymyositis.
Because no matter what miracle God might do to get Landon through this night and out of bed and back home where he belonged, this was only the beginning. The disease that had caused Landon’s lungs to shut down was aggressive and sure … fatal in every case without a lung transplant. The very idea was nauseating to Ashley, sickening. Landon was the picture of health: tall and built and bullet-proof. Until today. The devastating reality was only just beginning to take root in her mind, and it was enough to destroy her. If not for her kids, her father, her God — who was with her — Ashley wasn’t sure how her heart would keep beating.
Landon was sick. He was fighting for his life, and beyond that he had a deadly lung disease. How was that even possible? She clung to her father, her sister, and her kids. I can’t do this, God. I can’t … please, change this. Take it away …
My grace is sufficient for you, my daughter. I will never leave you nor forsake you.
Jesus, no. Ashley sobbed out loud, right in the middle of her father’s prayer … railing against the reality, refusing it. Please, God … take it away. Fresh tears spilled onto Ashley’s cheeks and again she leaned into her father’s shoulder so she wouldn’t collapse. The reality was something she could only gape at in horror, like a grotesque monster that had stepped into the room to devour her. She closed her eyes, her breathing faster than before. Too fast. She drowned out the sound of the prayer and her children crying and the machines beeping in the spaces around them.
Instead she was back on the baseball field and the sun was shining and Cole’s team was going to win … they were definitely going to win … and Landon was coaching the boys and Devin and Janessa were beside her … her family all around. And no one had yet labeled Landon with any disease, and he was laughing with the boys, and she was thinking the same thing she always thought when she was with him.
Despite all the ways she’d messed up in life, she must’ve somehow gained God’s favor anyway.
Because Landon Blake loved her.
Nineteen
CODY HAD TO SEE HER, HAD TO GET IN HIS CAR AND GO FIND Bailey, or he wouldn’t survive the weekend. He balanced his roommate’s guitar on his knee and played the first few notes of his new favorite song, “Walk by Faith.” It had been around for awhile, but Cody didn’t care. It spoke straight to his heart and gave him a reason to look forward to tomorrow.
“I will walk by faith … even when I cannot see …”
The song was by Jeremy Camp, and Cody was learning another of his too. A song called “Give Me Jesus.” Both songs filled in the lonely spaces when he wasn’t sure he could go another day without at least talking to her, finding real closure for the empty months that were proof of how poorly he’d handled their talk in January.
Cody strummed a few notes and stared at a framed photo of Bailey and him. The two of them had gotten drenched in Lake Monroe, and on the way out, with the football tucked under Bailey’s arm, her dad had snapped the picture. It stood like a beacon of light, a reminder to Cody of all he’d walked away from, all he might never find again. Especially after what had happened this morning.
For the first time since his flashbacks started, earlier today he had gone to a Christian counselor. The guy was nice, patient with him — and kind enough to take him on a Saturday. But the man kept focusing on Cody’s mind-set when he was in captivity. What kept him alive, what gave him a reason to go on, what motivated him to plan an escape, and risk his life and the lives of the other men, so that they could fully and finally be free.
“For many people the reason might be a deep love for their country, or a competitive nature that refuses to be beaten — even in a life and death situation,” the counselor’s voice was calm, soothing. Cody felt like he was acting out a scene in a movie. “Of course for others it’s family back home, a wife … children. And many times it’s a combination.”
He went on to explain that when a soldier faces posttraumatic stress disorder, oftentimes the motivation for escape, the thing the soldier lived for during the most horrific times of his life, was now in jeopardy.
It wasn’t what Cody wanted to hear. He wanted the guy to walk him through those awful days and remind him that he was here, he had survived. Yes, he had been seriously injured, and he would bear the scars all the days of his life, but the ordeal was behind him. Somehow, if he heard that from a professional, Cody figured he could walk out of the counselor’s office whole and ready to face tomorrow. The nightmares, the flashbacks would stay behind him, and he never would have to worry about becoming Coach Oliver somewhere down the road.
But instead the man looked at him, his expression open and mildly curious. “Can you identify what that might be, Cody? The thing that motivated you to stay alive, the thing that pushed you to escape during your time as a prisoner of war?”
Could he identify his motivation? She was as close to him as his own heartbeat. “Yes, sir. I can.”
The man waited and then gave a slow, patient nod. “That’s fine. We can talk about specifics at our next session. The point is, do you feel that motivation is now in danger of no longer being a part of your life? Like maybe you risked everything to escape only to find out that the motivation is no longer valid?”
Cody stared at the man. “Do you mean is she still in my life?”
“Okay.” Another nod. “Let’s say it that way. Is she still in your life, Cody?”
He clenched his jaw, fought back a sudden freight train of anger at himself and the situation. “No.” Was that why he was here? Because he’d been a fool and let her go? “She’s … she hasn’t been in my life for several months now.”
“Hmmm.” The man’s slight smile was sympathetic, as if maybe even untrained Cody might see the connection now. “And when did your flashbacks begin?”
Cody was glad he wasn’t paying for this session. The school had set it up, and so this first appointment was free. “They began back in January.” He massaged his temples with his thumb and forefinger. “Around … the same time we said goodbye.”
“Okay, then.” The man slid to the edge of his seat. “You’ve told me about the dreams, the details. What happened back in Iraq.” He stood and held out his hand. “I think we’re getting somewhere as to the motivation. Very often people think the traumatic event is the problem, when in reality it can be a secondary trigger, something that causes us to rewrite a terrible time in our past and find that the danger or trauma no longer has meaning in our lives, because our motivation has been removed.”
“Right.” Cody shook the man’s hand. “Meaning next time we’ll talk about what happened in the last three months. Why she’s gone?”
“At least for part of the time.” The man’s eyes were warm, and he clearly had a kind heart.
But Cody was pretty sure this was his last session — for now anyway. How could he come spend an hour with this guy, when the bottom line was so obvious? He didn’t need time with a counselor, at least not at this point. He needed Bailey. He had driven back home, and for nearly an hour he had picked up his roommate’s guitar and played around with a few chords.
Never in all his life had Cody played guitar or piano … and he’d never been interested in singing. But on lonely nights here in the apartment near the Indianapolis campus of IU, there were times when Cody wanted any connection he could find to Bailey. And since she played the guitar, he figured maybe he would learn to play too. His roommate had taught him a few chords, and now he could sing a few basic praise songs.
He strummed his thumb over the strings and hummed the song again. “I will walk by faith … even when I cannot see …” The words were like his anthem. A song about the broken road of life, and how in the end he had to believe that even the brokenness was somehow preparing God’s will for his life. He checked the time on his phone. Just after ten o’clock. If he left now, he could be at Bailey’s house by eleven. She would be home helping with the chores, the way the Flanigan kids always did Saturday mornings. Unless the boys had a scrimmage. His own team had a scrimmage next Saturday. It was that time of the year.
The guitar was nice, but it wasn’t a replacement for what he needed to do. Cody set it down, stood, and stared again at the photo. Why was he putting himself through this? No, they might not be meant for each other. And yes, Bailey might’ve moved on by now. At the very least she would be upset with him. He knew her that well. But if he didn’t go to her, he would never know, never tell her how sorry he was for his silence. Never put a final goodbye to their years together.
Suddenly, with an intensity that he’d only known a couple times in his life, he grabbed his keys and wallet and headed hard toward the front door. He was about to open it, when there was the sound of a few light knocks. He stopped, and for a few seconds he was unable to breathe or move or respond. Was it her? Had Bailey figured out where he lived and found a way to come to him?
He opened the door, and almost called out her name. But standing there on his step wasn’t Bailey. It was Cheyenne. Her dark hair was ironed straight and it fell right to her shoulders. Her brown eyes held a depth and sorrow he hadn’t seen before. “Can … can I come in?”
“Of course.” Cody jumped back. His heart slammed around inside him, because how was he supposed to handle this situation? He was on his way out the door to see Bailey, and now this? “Come on … follow me.”
She stepped inside, and Cody hugged her a little longer than he intended. She smelled wonderful, like cinnamon and vanilla mixed. He closed the door behind her and led her into the living room. It was small — only a worn-out leather sofa, a beat-up chair, a coffee table, and a smallish TV. Perfect for a couple of college guys. “Here.” He pointed to the sofa. “Sit down.” He had no idea what could’ve brought her here without a phone call or a plan. Cody had never even given her his address.
He took the spot beside her, though he left room. Something about her cried out to him, made him wonder if they were building more between them than friendship. Her eyes and her expression were vulnerable and tender, and a part of Cody knew he could fall for this girl if he let himself. Even if he could be ten minutes closer to Bloomington by now.
“I’m sorry for coming without calling first. Tara gave me your address.” She put her hands on her knees and seemed to struggle for the right words. “I … got word this morning. Kassie … she spiked a fever a few days ago, and the infection … it tore through her little body.” Tears filled Cheyenne’s eyes. She covered her face with her hand and a few quiet sobs broke through.
Cody slid closer, his heart racing faster than before. “Is … she sicker?”
Cheyenne lowered her hand and looked at him.
She didn’t have to say anything, because Cody knew … he knew that look because it was the same look he’d seen in the eyes of a soldier delivering the worst news a mother could ever hear. “Chey, … tell me.” He took her hand in his, soothing his thumb over her soft skin. “What happened?”
Again she looked at him, her eyes marked by fear and doubt and sorrow deeper than the ocean. “She died, Cody … They couldn’t save her.”
He took her in his arms, wishing he could do anything to take away her pain. “I’m sorry … Chey, I’m so sorry.”
“I thought …” two sobs shook her slight body, “God could hear us … when we prayed.”
Cody closed his eyes and held her tighter than before. Wasn’t that the question he’d asked himself over and over again? If God could hear them, why had he been captured in Iraq, and how come he’d lost so much during his time at war? If God answered the prayers of His people, how could Cody’s mother be back in prison, and why would some homicidal drug dealer make death threats that would finally push Cody forever away from the only girl he’d ever loved? If God answered prayer … then why didn’t Cheyenne’s fiancé Art make it back home?
“Why, Cody … how come God let this happen?” She might as well have said why did God let it happen again. Because that was her tone.
Cody could do nothing but hold her and run his hand across her back, soothing her pain and letting her know he was here, he cared. There were simply no easy answers, and that was fine. Like Pastor Mark from Bloomington once said, “If we could figure out God’s plan, then He wouldn’t be God.” But right now that wasn’t what Cheyenne needed to hear. She didn’t need answers … she needed a friend.
For a long time they stayed that way: Cody holding her and Cheyenne sobbing her heart out, devastated at the loss of little Kassie. After a while Cody found a box of tissues and handed them to her. This time he sat on the sofa again, but much closer than before. When her nose and cheeks were dry, she sat back, emotionally drained. “She was doing so well.”
“Did you go there … by the hospital?”
She shook her head. “No … I told her grandpa I’d come by his house later today.” She exhaled long and slow, as if she hadn’t done so since she started crying. “I mean really, Cody … why would God need that little girl now? Her family loves her so much. Don’t you think they need her more than God does?”
Cody searched her eyes, her heart. “Like you and Art?”
Another layer of tears appeared in her eyes, and she blinked, her chin trembling. “Yes … like me and Art.” She took another tissue from the box and pressed it to her eyes. “I … took down his things. Put them in a box.” She shook her head, and a flash of anger mixed in with the sadness in her expression. “But it didn’t help, Cody … I still know that he should be here … with me.”
“He should.” Again Cody had no answers. “I tried, Chey … I would’ve saved him if I could have.” This was a conversation he never thought he’d have with her. But from the first time he met her, a part of him wanted to say this. Just so she’d know. “Art was one of the guys from my division. One of the guys sent in to rescue us.”
She nodded, and he wondered if maybe she already knew these details. “He was a hero. They told me that.”
“He was … no regard for his own safety.” Cody closed his eyes and he could see the first burst of daylight, the first few seconds after he’d been released from captivity, when he had no choice but to run through a hail of bullets toward freedom. He blinked and found Cheyenne’s eyes again. “I saw him lying there, Chey … He and the others set us free. And Art … he was the first to rush the compound where we were being held. His death … it was a distraction that allowed the others to free us. He was absolutely a hero.”
Tears fell onto her cheeks and she bit her lip, as if she were bracing herself against the pain of the terrible truth. “Do you … remember him? How he was at war?”
“Of course.” Cody took her hand again. “Art was bigger than life … always smiling, always laughing. No problem too big to handle.” Cody’s smile couldn’t take full form under the weight of his own heartache. “He was Tara’s son.”
“So you think about him?” For some reason this seemed to lighten Cheyenne’s burden, help her find a point of focus again.
“I think about him … about the last time I saw him.” Cody studied her face, her eyes. He hadn’t told this to anyone but the counselor. “I think about the way it felt to be crammed in a prison cell, and how I watched men die on either side of me as we were set free.” Cody shivered a little. “I have flashbacks, Chey. I saw a counselor about it this morning.”
She leaned closer, shock written into her eyes and face. “Cody, … why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s my problem.” He appreciated her kindness, but he would never have told her about this until now. He stared at nothing in particular. “I guess … it’s like a weakness. I should be stronger. Nothing about the past should be haunting me now.”
For a while she only looked at him, and the care and concern in her eyes was so great Cody wondered why he’d waited so long to talk to her. Of course she understood. She was engaged to a soldier, after all. “Everything about war haunts the people who’ve been there.” Her half smile was proof she was going to be okay. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you that, Cody?”
“I guess. But it’s been a while now. Close to three years.” He gritted his teeth and shook his head, frustrated. His eyes met hers again. “The counselor said a lot of times it’s not the flashbacks that are the problem. They’re a sign that something else is wrong.” He hesitated. He hadn’t told her about Bailey. There had been no reason before today, but now … if he was going to be any sort of longtime friend, Cheyenne needed to know. “He asked me about my motivation, what kept me alive when I was in captivity, what kept me fighting to come home again.”
Cheyenne’s smile warmed her eyes this time. “I was Art’s motivation.” She angled her head and looked off. “The Army insisted I get counseling when he was killed, and that’s what we determined after ten sessions. I was Art’s motivation. He was fighting and surviving and living each day as carefully as he could so that he’d get home for me.” Her smile let up. “Having perfect motivation doesn’t guarantee a perfect ending. One of the first rules I learned at counseling.”
“No … it doesn’t.”
Slowly a curiosity seemed to come over Cheyenne, and with it a knowing. That if she followed this thought line the answers might not be what she wanted to hear. “You’re thinking about it … so tell me.” Her voice softened. “What was your motivation, Cody?”
For a long time he wasn’t sure he would answer her. At least not specifically. It was enough to explain that friends and family were what drove him to find a way back home — whatever the cost. But he liked Cheyenne … he did. And he couldn’t have a friendship with her, let alone whatever the future might hold, unless starting here he could be honest.
She was still waiting, searching his face, trying to see past the walls he so easily kept in place. He sighed and the sound added to the weight of the subject. “Her name is Bailey Flanigan. She’s a few years younger than me … lives with her family in Bloomington.”
Cody watched the walls go up in Cheyenne’s eyes. He was sorry … she’d been through enough today without this hurting her too. But they’d never actually established that they had a thing for each other. Anyway, he couldn’t turn back now, and her expression told him she didn’t want him to stop at this point in the story. “Bailey.” She said the name, watching Cody for his reaction. Nothing about Cheyenne’s tone or expression said that she was angry or jealous or frustrated. Rather, there was a knowing, as if this was the missing piece she hadn’t quite understood about him. “Do you … still see her?”
“No.” He moved to the edge of the sofa and folded his hands. How could he explain Bailey in a single conversation? “It’s complicated. She … we parted ways in January.”
“January?” She must’ve figured out that they’d met before that. “I guess … I didn’t know you had a girlfriend back then?”
A sad laugh rattled Cody’s hurting heart. “She was never my girlfriend. Back in high school, I lived with her family. We became close … like best friends.”
“Meaning,” her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, “you didn’t mean to, but you fell in love with her.”
Cody managed the hint of a smile. “Something like that.”
Again they shared a quiet moment between them, this one more tense than before. Because Cheyenne was clearly surprised by the revelation of Bailey … surprised and maybe a little hurt. Which could only mean the obvious: She was starting to have feelings for Cody, the same way he was starting to have feelings for her. She sat up straighter, more composed than before. “So … what did the counselor suggest?”
“I guess just that maybe I need to figure out what’s happening with her … with the source of my motivation.”
“With Bailey.” Her tone wasn’t accusatory and it wasn’t a question. Again Chey seemed to erect walls that hadn’t been there before. Cody turned, facing her. “I was on my way to see her when you got here.”
This time Cheyenne looked awkward, startled even. She checked her watch and then stood, her smile polite. “I’m sorry, Cody. I didn’t mean to change your plans. I just … I live down the block and … I called Tara. She though it’d be okay.” She shook her head. “I should’ve called.”
He stood and put his hands on her shoulders. “No, Chey, don’t be sorry.” He willed her to see that she was wrong. That he was grateful she’d come. “I want to be that kind of friend for you … where you can come by anytime and talk about anything.”
Cheyenne opened her mouth like she might say something, refute him in some way, but then he took half a step closer to her and pulled her into a hug, the sort of embrace the two of them had never shared together.
“I never … should’ve listened to Tara.” She was crying again, Cody could feel her body trembling against his. “She told me God saved you … for me.” She leaned back and met his eyes again. “Isn’t that crazy?” She dabbed at her eyes with one hand, and kept hold of him with the other. “Here you are in love with someone else.”
The realization of what she’d just said hit him with a force that made him hold tighter to her for fear that his trembling legs would give out. Did she really mean what it seemed like she meant? That she had listened to Tara and now she had feelings that strong for him? Did she believe Tara was right … that God had spared him so that Art’s fiancé wouldn’t be alone in life? “Tara said that?” His voice was low and shaky. “About us?”
“Yes.” She sniffed and shook her head quickly. “I didn’t want to believe it for the longest time.” Her face was so pretty—even with tear stains on her cheeks. Faith and love emanated from everything she said and did.
Cody was suddenly very aware of himself, his feelings, the way his body felt pressed against hers. Without meaning to, he brought his hand up and cradled the back of her head. Was this what he’d been fighting with Cheyenne all this time, feelings for a girl as rare as April snow? She wasn’t Bailey. But she was genuine and loving, and in some ways she was as broken as he was. “Chey, what are you saying?”
She shook her head. “I can’t … It doesn’t matter.” She started to push away, but he held her gently and almost immediately she gave up the fight. Then with her face inches from his she looked in his eyes, searching for answers. “I can’t let myself fall for you, Cody Coleman … because you have her.”
He could kiss her. And in that single instant, kissing her was the one thing he was certain he wanted to do. She was so close he could feel her breath against his face, smell her perfume as it filled his senses. Yes, he could kiss her and maybe … finally … he could get Bailey Flanigan out of his system. Cheyenne understood war better than Bailey ever would, so what if Tara was right? What if God had spared him for the purpose of finding love and a lifetime with Cheyenne?
She seemed to know what he was thinking, because she didn’t say anything, but she stayed in his arms, their faces closer than before … still closer. Cody brought his other hand up, so that he held her face in his hands and the feelings from a few seconds ago doubled. He could kiss her and give in to the aching loneliness that had consumed him for so long, and maybe here … now, he would find something with Cheyenne that would be real and lasting. Something better than what he’d felt for …
Bailey.
Her name hit him like cold water, and he stepped back just enough to find his composure again. “Chey, …” He allowed two breaths … three. “I care about you. And maybe …” He saw that the walls around her heart were down again. “Maybe Tara is right. Maybe we’re supposed to be together and we’re only just now figuring that out.” He was still shaking with the desire that had come so quickly over him. But as quickly as it had come, his longing for Cheyenne had been replaced with a certainty about Bailey. He ran his hand softly along Cheyenne’s face and he backed up another step. “But … I have to figure things out first.”
No bitterness hid in her smile. Just an openhearted understanding wrapped in a thin veil of hurt. “You mean … you need to go find her. Your Bailey.”
“Yes.” He hugged her again, but the intensity from a minute ago was gone. “I’m sorry about Kassie … I really am.” He paused, not sure what else to say. “Please tell her grandfather I’ll pray for his family.”
“I will.” This time Cheyenne stepped back. She picked her purse up off the floor and slid it over her shoulder. “Thanks, Cody. For listening.” They walked to his door together, and she turned to him one last time. “I’d like to be your friend … no matter what happens with her.”
“Yes.” He touched the side of her face once more. “I’d like that, too.” He was grateful for her attitude, glad she didn’t say that because of Bailey, she was never going to talk to him again.
As she left, as she drove away, Cody felt himself relax. He had dodged a big mistake there, and he could only thank God for watching out for him. If he would’ve kissed Cheyenne here … now, when there was no relationship between them … how could he look Bailey in the eyes and tell her how much he missed her? Tell her that he still cared and try to explain the reason he’d sent her away last January? No, if he kissed Cheyenne now he wouldn’t be headed to Bloomington today. He’d be struggling to stop and knowing that if this was how he could act after three months away from Bailey, then he must never involve her heart in his life again.
But he hadn’t kissed her.
And leaning against his door frame he looked up at the cloudy sky and thanked God. Thanked Him for sparing both of them the confusion that would come after kissing … and the way they could never go back to the pure friendship they’d had before. You’re with me, God … I can feel Your presence … thank You, Father.
It didn’t occur to him until he was in his truck and already on the highway headed west that the truth was something slightly different. Yes, God had spared him from making a hasty decision, and maybe hurting himself and Cheyenne in the process. But Cody was still confused — no question about that. His confusion baffled him and frightened him and made him doubt everything he had ever known to be true about himself and his feelings for Bailey Flanigan. Because even as he drove to find her, even as he imagined what he’d say and how she’d respond … even as he worked to keep his nerves calm when every mile brought him closer to her … even then only one scent filled his clothing and his senses.
Cinnamon and vanilla.