Eight
BAILEY CLOSED HER BEDROOM DOOR BEHIND HER AND WORKED to catch her breath. The bike ride was a good idea. Six miles through her neighborhood into Clear Creek and back again, time enough to pray and think and wonder what in the world God’s plans for her might be. And when she’d start seeing them take shape. It was the last Saturday in March and warmer than it had been all spring. She peeled off her lightweight jacket and tossed it on her bed. Her legs felt tight—the result of too little exercise over the winter. She bent at the waist and stretched, feeling the burn in her hamstrings and calf muscles.
She wasn’t getting a callback from Francesca Tilly and the Hairspray production team. That much was obvious. Nearly three weeks had passed since the audition, and since they needed to fill spots right away, Bailey was sure they’d already chosen other dancers. The rejection hurt, she couldn’t lie. She worked so hard, and no matter why they hadn’t offered her a role, she couldn’t have done any better. So much for the assumption by the redheaded dancer. Bailey wasn’t being handed a role because of her role in Unlocked, which was a good thing. But she hadn’t won a part, either.
Which meant … what?
Bailey kicked one of her legs further behind her, deepening the stretch. The answer was clear. She could keep trying out, of course. But if her best wasn’t good enough, then she had to consider he other possibility: Performing on Broadway wasn’t part of God’s plans for her life.
“Throw it long!” Ricky’s voice cut the silent spring air and wafted up through Bailey’s open bedroom window. “Make it a thirty-yarder. I can catch it … watch me!”
Bailey switched the stretch to her other leg. She remembered one time last summer playing catch with Ricky. He was barely thirteen, but already he was six feet tall and most of the time he didn’t know his own strength. He had told her to go for a long pass but she’d turned around too soon, and the ball hit her square in the stomach. Ricky was at her side immediately, but Bailey felt the blow for days after.
The way she felt it now in light of the failed Hairspray audition.
She didn’t talk about her disappointment with anyone but her mom, and even then she rarely brought it up. Every day of silence only screamed the answer louder. They didn’t want her. She wasn’t good enough or pretty enough or talented enough. Something. She straightened and took a slow breath. Her brothers had their spring scrimmage in a few hours, and she planned to go.
But lately she had to wonder. Was this her life? She’d finish college, maybe fly out for a handful of other auditions, but then wind up here in Bloomington? She loved the town she grew up in, and she certainly didn’t want to live in LA and spend her life auditioning for movies. But she wanted to perform on a stage, dancing and singing. It was a passion that burned in her with every breath. Still … maybe she’d never have what it took to make it.
Bailey walked to her window and stared out at her brothers, laughing and tossing the football on the front yard. They lived on enough acreage that they could run forever without reaching the road. For a few seconds, Bailey envied them — so young, and with so much growing up ahead of them. They didn’t worry about their futures or what they wanted to be when they grew up. Not yet. Even Connor, who was a junior at Clear Creek High this year, didn’t have to think too hard about it. He would go to college — to Indiana University, no doubt. He had plenty of time to think about a career.
But at twenty-one, and with college almost wrapped up, the situation was different for Bailey. Her dad asked her yesterday if she’d thought about teaching drama someday, and she was honest with him. She’d thought about it. About maybe running a Christian Kids Theater group, like the one here in town. But always, though, the idea paled in comparison to being on stage.
She caught a look at her reflection and suddenly she felt shamed by her own thoughts. How dare she complain about her situation? Her family, her faith, her future — and everything that had led her to this point. Her whole life had been golden. And she’d had a turn to act, right? She’d starred in a movie opposite Brandon Paul, after all. Complaining now would only be the worst possible display of ingratitude.
Bailey took a shower and dressed for the game. She was blow-drying her long hair when she remembered the movie again. Unlocked was a runaway bestseller on the New York Times list, and everyone everywhere was reading it. Brandon Paul, Hollywood’s hottest young star, played Holden Harris, the autistic teenager whose beautiful soul was opened up by friendship and the miracle of song. Bailey played Ella, the friend who had helped change Holden’s life.
A week had passed since Brandon had texted her, but then he was gearing up for his next film. Still, she’d see him at the premiere for Unlocked. Her whole family was flying to LA in two weeks for the big event. Bailey smiled at the idea of seeing Brandon again. He had given his life to the Lord during his time in Bloomington, the direct result of his time on location, getting to know Bailey’s faith and the faith of her family. He teased her about wanting a relationship with her, but Bailey could never take him seriously. Besides, she couldn’t live her life in front of a hundred paparazzi.
She turned off the blow dryer just as her cell phone went off. The song was “Mama, I’m a Big Girl Now” from Hairspray. Bailey made a mental note to change it after this call. The number wasn’t one she recognized. She tapped answer as she checked the time on her phone. Fifteen minutes before they had to leave for the game. “Hello?”
Silence.
Bailey checked her phone, and already the call was gone. Strange, she thought. She brought up the number again and studied it. The area code was 317. Indianapolis. For a long moment she wondered if the call could’ve been from Cody. She had his cell phone programmed into her phone, of course, but … he might have a new number. Or maybe he was calling from someone else’s phone. The prison phone, maybe. Where his mother lived.
It was possible. Bailey lowered her phone and stared at the framed photograph of Cody and her on the dresser. If he had made the call, why would he hang up? And why had he walked away in the first place? He should be at the football field, getting ready for the scrimmage. Coaching the Clear Creek kids the way he did last year. Her heart felt heavy as she stood and tossed her phone back on her bed. She needed to finish getting ready, but thoughts of Cody made her want to do something crazy.
Like get in her car after her brothers’ scrimmage and drive to Indianapolis. Find him at his apartment or wherever he was working and beg him to come to his senses. Why not go to him? Whatever mixed up reasoning he’d used to justify leaving, he was wrong. They still felt for each other, still longed for the way things used to be. That’s what his eyes had told her when they were last together — outside the prison, standing face to face in the falling snow.
She put on a touch of makeup, and flicked her hair into a ponytail. On her way out of her room she grabbed her jacket, and as she reached the kitchen below she found her mom making turkey sandwiches. “You look pretty.”
“Thanks.” She didn’t want her tone to give her away, but she could never hide anything from her mom. She grabbed a knife from the top kitchen drawer and took the spot beside her. “How many are we making?”
“Thanks. A whole loaf, like always.” Her mom looked at her, a knowing in her expression. “You’re thinking about him.”
“Who?” Bailey could never hide anything from her mom. She kept her eyes on the piece of bread in her hands, and worked to spread jelly across the face of it.
“You know who.” She set her knife down on a nearby paper towel and turned to Bailey. “He hasn’t called?”
“No.” Bailey sighed. “Not once.”
“Honey … look at me.” Her mother’s tone was tender, but it held a hint of finality.
“A call came in a few minutes ago. Someone from Indianapolis and I thought …” Bailey set the slice of bread down and faced her. “I thought it might’ve been him.”
“Don’t do this to yourself.” She put her hands on Bailey’s shoulders. “Please, honey …”
“He’ll call … he will.” She believed it with all her heart. “One day he’ll figure it out.”
“Maybe.” Her mom ran her thumb along Bailey’s cheek. “But honey, that boy has broken your heart too many times.” She paused, and a fresh empathy filled her eyes. “We all love him … but he can’t keep doing this to you.”
Bailey wanted to argue, but she couldn’t. Her mother was right. She blinked back tears and managed a slight shrug. “I still love him.” Her voice was tight, strained under the weight of her broken heart. “What am I supposed to do about that?”
“Let him go. Give him to God, so that God can heal both of you.” Her mom raised her brow. “Remember what we talked about … The next time that boy pursues you, he better do it like a dying man looking for water in a desert. When it’s the right guy, you’ll know, Bailey … because he’ll cherish you.”
She nodded, frustrated and convinced all at the same time. Her mother was right. She couldn’t dream about driving to Indianapolis and finding Cody. He knew how to reach her. If he cared for her, he’d do just what her mom had said — search for her like a dying man looking for water in a desert. She hugged her mom. “It’s so hard.”
“I know.” Her mom smiled, despite the sadness in her eyes. “Let’s have a good day with the boys.”
They were almost finished making the loaf of sandwiches when Bailey’s dad bounded in from the garage. “The Colts are gonna be amazing, I tell you.” He whistled long and low, his booming voice full of energy. “I mean, what a great morning practice!” He walked up, kissed Bailey on her forehead, and swung her mom around in a hug like something from the movies. “How are my two favorite girls?”
Bailey and her mother exchanged a look, but after a couple seconds they laughed out loud. Her dad would never understand how Bailey felt. Cody had been gone for months. They would figure she had moved on a long time ago, even if the whole family still missed Cody. “Hmm,” her dad pounded back a glass of water and grinned at them. “I must’ve missed something.”
“Just girl talk.” Bailey’s mom grinned at her. “Everything’s fine.”
She offered him one of the sandwiches, and he took it with an appreciative nod. “Thanks. I’m starving.” He looked at the clock on the microwave. “Good. I have a couple minutes still.”
Bailey and her mom laughed again. She loved when her dad was in this mood — nothing but happiness and enthusiasm. She leaned against the counter and smiled at him. “Okay, then … why was practice so good?”
“Two words.” He raised his sandwich in the air. “Matt Keagan.” With that he took a celebratory bite and finished off nearly a third of it.
“Oh boy … here we go.” Bailey’s mom laughed lightly as she put the remaining sandwiches back in the bread wrapper and twisted the metal tie around the top. “Matt’s awfully young to put the entire team’s success on him.”
“Ah, but you and every other naysayer haven’t seen what I’ve seen.” A grin filled his face as he waved his sandwich in the air. “The kid is amazing. I don’t care if he’s passing or running or working special teams. He’s a leader, Jenny. When he’s on the field, the performance of everyone on the team rises.”
Matt had drawn national attention last year at Ohio State University when he tweeted a different Bible verse before every game. He also wrote the verse with a Sharpie across the small white towel he used on the sidelines. His bold stance for faith was rivaled by only a few other players. When it came time for the draft, most people were surprised when the Colts took Matt Keagan in the third round. Since then, his public persona had grown with every product endorsement and every press conference. He even donated a million dollars of his signing bonus to a mission in India that provided women with sewing machines, training, and Bible study.
Matt Keagan was a modern-day hero of the faith larger than life, no question about that.
Bailey’s dad had believed in the rookie then, and he clearly believed in him now. He wolfed down the rest of the sandwich. “The thing is, I could put him at linebacker and he’d lead the league in a couple years. I really believe that. He has that something … that ‘it’ factor that other guys can’t manufacture.”
“So … we’re headed for the Super Bowl?” Jenny found an old supermarket bag in a drawer and set the loaf of sandwiches inside. She cupped her hand around one side of her mouth. “Boys! Time to go!”
“Maybe …” Bailey’s dad nodded, more serious than he’d been since he walked in the door. “I mean, not necessarily this year, but soon. Matt Keagan’s that good. The rest of the league is going to understand why we wanted him so badly.”
The boys’ voices mingled together near the top of the stairs, and in a matter of seconds they ran down, gear bags slung over their shoulders. Only Ricky was too young to play for Clear Creek. Otherwise every Flanigan boy was dressed out and buzzing about the scrimmage.
The group packed into their Suburban, and they were backing out of the driveway when Bailey’s dad looked in the rearview mirror and grinned. “Oh … I invited one of the players over for dinner.”
“Wow, really?” Ricky was sitting next to Bailey in the middle row. He strained forward as far as his seat belt would let him go. “Who, Dad? Tell me it’s Matt Keagan?”
“Crazy kid.” From the back row, Justin gave Ricky a light push in the shoulder. “Matt Keagan would need a dozen body guards to go anywhere anymore. It wouldn’t be him. Right, Dad?”
Their dad hesitated just long enough that Bailey knew what was coming next. She held her breath, waiting. Her father had teased her about Matt Keagan wanting to meet her, but he wouldn’t invite him over for dinner, would he? Before she could think any longer about the possibility, her dad stopped at the end of the driveway, punched his fist in the air, and smiled over his shoulder at Ricky. “That’s exactly who. Matt Keagan.” He turned his attention to the road again and pulled onto the quiet street in front of their house. “His family’s in Ohio — and with our schedule he won’t be making the six-hour drive very often. So I invited him.”
“Are you kidding?” Ricky looked at his brothers behind him and then at his dad. “Seriously, dad? Matt Keagan is coming for dinner?”
“Yes.” Their dad laughed. “Don’t worry, he’s like any other guy.”
“Yeah, except he’s one of the most famous rookies in the NFL.” Even BJ was impressed. He was a freshman this year and not as into football as the others. He’d rather play basketball or soccer any day. But he clearly thought Matt Keagan was a big deal.
Bailey stayed quiet, listening to her brothers talk over each other about the day ahead. Connor hoped Matt might want to throw the football around, especially since he’d be the starting quarterback for Clear Creek again this year. He was six-foot-three now, and still a little thin, but he had grown to love football almost as much as singing and performing. Shawn just wanted an autograph from the football star, and Ricky planned to ask him to move in with them.
“You know … because he probably wants a family like ours where he can feel safe.” Ricky’s tone couldn’t have been any more earnest. “That way he can be part of our family during the week, and still play for the Colts.”
“He has like ten million dollars, buddy.” Justin always put Ricky in his place. This time with a tender sort of fondness, but still he knew which buttons to push. “I’m pretty sure he has his own family.”
“Yeah, but even ten million dollars can’t buy a family like ours.” Ricky stuck his chest out. “Isn’t that right, Dad?”
Touché, Bailey thought. She smiled to herself. Her younger brother was so much like her in some ways. He was full of life and always glad for any time their family was together. It made her sad to think that one by one they would leave until only Ricky was left. He’d be a very lonely only child someday for sure.
Not until they were out of the car at the football field did her mom walk alongside her and give her a look. “So … what do you think?”
“About what?” She acted nonplussed and, truthfully, she was. Matt was a celebrity as big as Brandon Paul in his own right. It didn’t matter if it was football or films that made them famous; they drew a crowd wherever they went. It just wasn’t a lifestyle Bailey was up for, and despite the fact that her father claimed Matt Keagan was interested in her, she was pretty sure he didn’t know she existed.
“Come on.” Her mom smiled, willing to play along. “You know.”
“Matt?” Bailey gave a look she knew was noncommittal. “It’ll be fun for the boys, I guess. I mean, of course. They can tell everyone at school they had dinner with Matt Keagan.”
“Bailey …” Her mom had the sandwich bag and a few bottles of water. She shifted it onto her other shoulder as they neared the stadium. “What do you think about it?”
“Truthfully?” She lifted her face, letting the warm spring breeze brush against her cheeks. “I think Dad loves me very much. He’s worried about me ever since the Cody thing … and this is his way to get my attention on something else.”
Her mom angled her head, thoughtful. “Pretty close.” She nodded, her eyes straight ahead at the team getting set up on the field. The other team—the one from across town in Bloomington — was already there in formation doing their warm-ups. “Any father would want to introduce their daughter to a guy like Matt Keagan.”
“True.” Bailey wasn’t bothered. She understood what her dad was doing, and that his intentions were good. “But let’s be real, Mom. He’s a nationally known role model, and I’m the daughter of one of the assistant coaches.”
“You’re more than that, Bailey.” Her mom was quick to come to her defense. “You’re a talented young woman with a heart for God as pure as Matt’s. The two of you are very similar, actually.”
“Except I can leave my house without cameramen following me.”
Her mom laughed. “I guess that’s true. Of course,” she waved her thumb toward the west, “if you lived in Hollywood you’d have paparazzi everywhere you went. Especially in a few weeks when your movie comes out.”
“I don’t know about that. Anyway, I doubt Matt Keagan even knows I’m alive.” They walked through the stadium gates and into the familiar stands, the ones she’d sat in when she watched Cody play for her dad so many years back, before her father returned to the NFL and the position with the Indianapolis Colts. The field where Cody had returned after his time in Iraq, and where he’d coached her brothers for the last two years. A lifetime of memories surrounded her as she took her seat. She didn’t care who was coming for dinner. She cared about this.
Her brothers’ scrimmage.