This time, however, he wasn’t running away.
This time, Cory was doing the best thing possible.
He was making his life healthy again. He was moving on and moving toward the future.
Maybe this was a door God was going to shut permanently. And Cory had to be okay with it.
Maybe someday in the future, he’d see them again.
What does that prayer say about looking back or looking ahead?
As he drove out of town and got back on US 75, Cory remembered the words of the prayer. He remembered them and whispered them to himself.
Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time …
Cory felt like Kevin Costner’s character in Bull Durham as he opened the door and smelled the aroma of fries and sweat in the manager’s office. He’d skipped the minor leagues on his way to fame and glory. Now he stood across from the manager of the Tulsa Mustangs, an AA baseball team that was a long way away from the Grizzlies.
“Good to see you, Cory,” Ron Knoller said, shaking his hand.
The old Cory might have said something witty like It’s not so hot seeing you, Jim or I didn’t even know they had mustangs here in Tulsa. But he just smiled and said, “Thanks for seeing me.”
“Not many days we get an all-star walking through that door.”
“I don’t see any in this office.”
Ron gave him a serious look. “Once you make that team, you’re always an all-star in my book. And as far as I can tell, there are two of them in here.”
Cory laughed, suddenly curious to know Knoller’s background. “Glad I’m in the right place then.”
“Have a seat.”
… accepting hardship as a pathway to peace; taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it …
A few minutes into the conversation with the manager of the Mustangs, the no-nonsense Knoller asked him a question.
“So just tell me—am I gonna regret making this decision? Is this gonna be a pain in the rear for me?”
Cory smiled. It was an honest question. “I certainly hope not.”
“The guy who knocked over that poor batboy—is he gonna show up on the field anytime soon?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t plan on it. And that boy—his name is Carlos. He’s my nephew.”
For a second Ron tried to make sense of this admission, then he cursed and let out a deep laugh from his gut. “Now that is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”
… trusting that You will make all things right if I surrender to Your will …
Cory held the uniform that read Mustangs across the front in his hand as he looked out onto the field from behind home plate. The view was a lot smaller than Samson Field in Denver.
He swallowed and looked up at the sky. Because this stadium was smaller, the view of the horizon was wider. The canvas of the sky looked like it had been splashed in blue and white and orange and red. The fading sun made everything look grand and endless.
He let out a sigh. A nervous, tired, uncertain sigh.
For a dozen years he’d been doing it his way.
No, make that for thirty-three years.
That life was over. He’d tried it his way, and he had failed.
Staring at the sky, Cory felt inspired. He wanted to go back on this field and wanted to get behind home plate and do his job.
He wanted to appreciate the ability—the opportunity—of stepping up to the plate.
A man could run halfway around the world to try to find himself, only to find he hadn’t gone very far after all.
He looked at the field and the sky and the fading sun with the newfound hope of a free man. A man knowing he didn’t have to do it all and carry the weight of that around his shoulders every day and night.
All he wanted—all he needed—was to pray and trust God to make things right.
… so that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with You forever in the next. Amen.
Happiness in this life isn’t such an easy thing to come by.
Cory can feel the huge hole inside he used to fill so easily. And nights like this when he’s alone and bored and restless, this hole seems to be shouting at him, demanding he do something, begging for one more refill.
He finds his iPhone and dials the number.
“Yeah?”
“It’s Cory.”
“Are you okay?”
Normally he would say yes, but normally he wouldn’t be making this call. The old Cory didn’t know how to say no. The old Cory didn’t know how to ask for help.
“I’ve been better,” he tells J. T.
“Where are you?”
“I’m fine. I’m at the apartment. Just bored out of my mind and itchy. I’d go work out, but my knee’s killing me.”
“I can leave in a few minutes.”
“No, man. It’s fine. I just—I just wanted to talk.”
“It’s fine.”
“You’re an hour away.”
“Forty-five minutes. Tops.”
“No, come on. Let me at least meet you somewhere.”
“Are you sober?”
“Yeah.”
At this point in their relationship, there’s no need to lie to J. T. Cory’s been sober for a while, but it feels like those weeks and months could vaporize in a single second.
“I’ll be there soon. Just hang tight.”
With that, J. T. hangs up, and Cory knows he’s on his way.
And while it no longer surprises him, it’s still amazing.
Cory sighs and swallows and waits. He can wait for J. T. to get there.
But it doesn’t mean it won’t be hard.
Chapter Forty-two
Scoring Position
Emma hit another grounder out to the team of zombies on the field. The ball soared past Tyler, who didn’t seem too bothered and walked to pick it up. Carlos watched him at shortstop, his glove down and his head tilted in boredom. Wick was talking to Kendricks, and neither of them was paying attention.
The team was a disaster now that Coach Cory was gone.
“Come on, guys,” Emma shouted out. “This is pathetic. You gotta at least try.”
But Emma knew it was hard to encourage them to be motivated when stepping back out on this field felt like work now. Every time she saw a Bulldogs logo for the rest of her life, she was going to think of Cory.
Coach Cory, their hero.
Coach Cory who broke my heart. Twice.
“Hey,” Carlos said with a laugh, “this is like the movie when that lady leaves the children and it’s not fun for them anymore.”
Tyler didn’t know which movie he was talking about. Emma knew but didn’t want to dignify the comparison. She still could hit the ball out to them. She wasn’t that uncoordinated.
“What’s that movie called with the nun and the singing children?” Carlos shouted across the field to Emma.
“The Sound of Music?” Tyler realized.
“Yeah, this is just like that,” Carlos joked. “It’s not fun anymore without Coach Cory.”
She popped another ball out toward Carlos. “You’re killing me, buddy.”
Things were bad when the kids were comparing Coach Cory to Sister Maria.
The ball dropped to Carlos’s side just as he looked out toward the parking lot, oblivious. Emma was going to say something when she turned back and saw Clay walking onto the field, followed by Karen.
“Dad’s here,” Carlos cried out, running toward him.
Clay’s arm was no longer in a sling.
“Coach Clay is back,” Stanton said as the Bulldogs circled Clay.
Everybody cheered his arrival.
Thank God one of the Brand boys came
to save the day.
“How’s everybody doing?” Clay said in a cheerful voice.
Emma let out a sigh and raised her eyebrows. “Wonderful now.”
It only took a few moments for the team to get back into lifelike mode. Clay still had to take it easy, but he could throw with his right arm and he could get the team practicing again. Emma took a break and went to the sideline to sit with Karen.
“Look at how enthusiastic they are,” Karen said.
Emma nodded. “Yeah. Wish I could get over it that quick.”
Cory sat in the large sanctuary of the Tulsa megachurch, surrounded on all sides by strangers. He missed the small-town feel of the meetings back home.
Well, back in Okmulgee.
Right now, Tulsa was home. And he was okay with that.
The testimony for the large group was going to be given by a woman named Robin. She looked a little older than Cory and was dressed in business attire, like she worked in some sort of corporate environment, one of those places Cory knew nothing about but liked watching on shows like The Office.
Once again, here was a stranger telling everyone her story. It didn’t feel strange or awkward anymore. It felt right.
“I grew up in a Christian yet dysfunctional home. We went to church whenever the doors were open. My father’s work took him away from us most of the time. My stay-at-home mother was verbally and psychologically abusive. She was legalistic, and her expectations were unrealistic. She was a Christian, but she hurt me in ways no one else could.”
Robin composed herself, looked out at the audience, then continued to read from her notes.
“Mom’s rapid mood swings were really difficult. She would often send my sister and me to our room, where we were mandated to sit quietly, and then she would forget about us for hours. On more than one occasion, when I could no longer stand the suspense, I would leave the bedroom, knowing the yardstick would be broken on my backside and I would be picking out splinters for a week. But it was dark outside, and I was hungry. I also wanted to take the brunt of the punishment instead of my sister.”
Cory knew that part of Robin’s story very well.
“As a child, I lived in a constant state of fear. I believed in God, but I had a warped sense of who He was, and I couldn’t trust Him. Life, for me, was performance based. But after going through my step study, I’m encouraged. I’m changing. I now believe God is a loving father. He’s not waiting to strike me dead and send me to hell for every mistake I make—no matter what my childhood experiences have taught me. I am valuable not because I am doing something well, but because I am God’s child … and He doesn’t make junk. Thank you for letting me share.”
Cory joined everybody in saying thanks to Robin.
As they began to sing, he thought about God the Father. God as a loving father.
But how do I know—what’s to show that He really, truly is such a loving father?
That same loving father gave up His one and only Son for him.
For you, Cory Brand.
The thought crushed him.
If—and that was a massive if—he ever could be Tyler’s father—if he could start to be that young man’s father—there was no way Cory would ever give that up.
No way.
And that’s how much He loves you.
It was a pretty awesome thought.
Later on, in the open share group, Cory realized that he wasn’t some anonymous guy in the room. Everybody knew who he was, and it showed in the looks and the hesitation. Yet nobody said the obvious. Nobody asked for an autograph or asked where he’d been or asked about baseball.
This story wasn’t about baseball.
This story was about recovery.
After the rest of the men had introduced themselves, it was Cory’s turn to talk. Nobody could see the blue chip in the palm of his hand.
“I’m Cory Brand,” he said.
They all looked at him, waiting, watching.
“I’m a brand-new believer in Jesus, and I struggle with alcoholism and anger.”
Without any awkward hesitation, the men all greeted him with warm, welcoming voices.
“Glad you’re here, Cory.”
“Glad you made it.”
“Welcome.”
“Good you could come.”
He suddenly felt a hundred pounds lighter. Cory smiled. If he could see what it looked like, he’d probably not recognize this grin.
It wasn’t the Cory Brand trademark smile.
This was a humble smile. A smile of thankfulness.
It’s easy to start thinking about tomorrow and next week and next month and the rest of the nexts in his life. Yet Cory tries to remember this whole one-day-at-a-time thing. He thinks of the verse saying to not be anxious about tomorrow, that God will take care of it.
He wants to believe this, but it’s hard.
It’s hard because it means he has to give up control.
He has to give up and simply let God take care of it.
Chapter Forty-three
Choke-Up
Emma thought she could outrun the sadness but discovered it had simply been tucked away and along for the ride. She assumed she could block out the pain but realized it tinted every single thing she had the opportunity to see. She believed she had moved on but found herself in the same spot she’d been at only twenty-two years old.
She knew she wouldn’t change a thing, because changing it would mean Tyler wouldn’t be here. Yet still she sometimes felt like she walked with the wreckage of Cory Brand following her every step. She could drive in the truck and hear the rumbling behind her, like tin cans attached to the back of some newlyweds’ car. But she drove this car alone, hearing the clicking cans that had been there over ten years. Try as she might, Emma could not get rid of those dangling, annoying, mocking reminders.
Cory had been gone eight months, but it felt like yesterday. He had been gone ten years before that, and then suddenly in two months last summer he’d made all these connections only to leave them again.
That was your choice.
Maybe so, but he still chose to leave them again. Without trying. The man who had worked so hard on his precious baseball life could have tried a little harder. But leaving was the easy thing to do, and Cory Brand was a master of easy.
She drove through the town to pick up Tyler, who was hanging out with a friend, when she saw the sign. Emma didn’t realize she was passing by the motel, because the motel wasn’t something you paid attention to. Unless, of course, some bigwig major-league baseball player was staying there. Or, of course, unless the first love of your life had to stay there as a form of punishment for being too much like himself.
She slowed down to make sure she was seeing the sign correctly.
Cory Brand Stays Here
For a moment Emma couldn’t believe what she was reading. Then she saw the second sign nearby:
Ask About Custom-Stocked Mini-Fridges
The tears that suddenly popped out of her eyes went right along with the loud laugh she couldn’t help giving.
For a moment she almost swerved off the road.
God, what are You trying to tell me?
Some things were simply impossible to avoid. Like Tyler’s love of Arby’s curly fries. Like Cory Brand and everything about him. Like the love she had tried and tried and tried to give up but could not let go of.
Emma wiped her eyes and wondered if Celebrate Recovery would allow her to come and give her testimony. “Hello, I’m Emma Hargrove, and I still somehow, in some way, love Cory Brand.”
They would all understand. They’d welcome her with open arms more than anybody else in the history of CR.
Emma sighed and turned on the radio. She had to stop thinking about him.
The c
lassic rock station blared “Open Arms” by Journey. Once again, it reminded her of Cory.
She shut off the radio.
She was beginning to think she was cursed. It was a disease. A bad case of Cory Brand.
She just needed more time. That was the key. Time to recover from the madness of last summer. Then she and Tyler could move on with their lives.
When she answered the doorbell that early April afternoon, Emma was surprised to find Karen standing there. “Hi?” she said, more question mark than greeting. Karen always told her when she was coming by. Something was wrong; she could read it on her friend’s serious face.
“Hey, there. I know I’m kind of popping in unannounced.”
“That’s okay,” Emma said. “Want to come in?”
“Um …”
This wasn’t a good sign. Karen’s voice never trailed off.
“Is Tyler here?”
“Upstairs,” Emma said.
Karen gave her a nod and signaled her to step outside. Emma knew something was wrong now and went outside quickly, shutting the door behind her.
“Tyler called Clay,” Karen said in a subdued tone. “He asked if we would talk you into letting him go to the game tomorrow.”
Emma knew which game she was talking about. Even though Cory had been gone since last August, Tyler had been keeping tabs on him through news and other sources. Emma had learned from her son that Cory was now playing with the Tulsa Mustangs, a minor-league team. That news alone had surprised Emma, but she was done being surprised by Cory. She was done with him period.
“He called you? I am so sorry.” Emma still couldn’t believe Tyler was trying to work it after she had specifically told him there wasn’t a chance in this world that they were going to go to the home game.
Somehow he must’ve gotten to Karen, because she gave Emma a look.
“Absolutely not,” Emma said.
But Karen was strong and could be stubborn, and that look wasn’t going away.
Home Run: A Novel Page 22
