Cody squinted and stared off into left field. “But it’s been four years.”
“Knoxi’s recovery was a miracle.” Brandi changed the subject. “And I’ve been different ever since the incident at the mission. That day, God invaded the impossible. Since then I’ve found courage to do things I would never have done before.”
“Like take on the traffickers?”
“Yes, but I still have issues too,” she confessed. “I can’t trust people — especially men — since the stabbing. I came back here to reconnect with my parents and the values they had taught me, but loneliness is an itch I still can’t scratch.”
Cody leaned forward. “I can trust God, but I don’t trust myself.” He took his cap off and set it on the ground. “I can’t forgive myself.”
“Forgive yourself? Forgive yourself for what?”
“I wanna ask you something.” He ignored her question. “Last night at the theater, you closed your eyes and quit fighting in the middle of the attack and said a prayer. After that, I showed up, right?”
“That’s right. My father has created a list of what he calls his Five Greatest Principles of Leadership. One of them is, ‘In the heat of battle when you are losing ground, be still and know that He is God, and He will speak to you.’”
“So which number is that?”
“Number seven.”
“Number seven? I thought there were just five.”
“Well.” She shrugged. “It started off with five, but over the years…”
“Hmmm. Well, what if you hadn’t been still and prayed? Would I have still shown up?”
“That’s a question for the ages. All I can say is, it was right for me to pray, and it was right for you to be there.”
Cody rubbed his chin and stared down at her knee socks and tennis shoes. “Still can’t bend over?”
“I’m still stiff but I plan to live.” Brandi noticed he was looking at her shoes, so she quipped, “How ‘bout those big bubba boots your Texas women wear? Are they comfortable?”
“Of course they’re comfortable,” he bragged. “They’re padded with Bowie feathers.”
“I don’t even want to know what that means.”
“Bowie feathers?” He raised one eyebrow. “That’s the fuzz from Texas peaches.”
“Well, why not name it Houston feathers? Or Musket feathers, or —”
“Cuz Jim Bowie invented the only knife that’ll harvest the fuzz without destroyin’ the peach.” True to form, his flintlock expression never twitched.
“I said I didn’t want to know.” She couldn’t afford to give in. Laughing would hurt too much.
“No need to suffer today,” he said. “You should give these up.”
“What?” She stiffened. “Give what up?”
He reached down toward her ankles and opened his callused hand. Without thinking, she lifted her left foot and slipped it into his waiting palm. He loosened the shoestrings and delicately eased the tennis shoe off her swollen foot. After a moment, the other shoe followed.
“How did you know?” she whispered.
He set her shoes beside his chair. “Wear just the socks ‘till you can get some flip-flops at the team store on the mezzanine behind first base. You’ll feel better.”
Brandi’s eyelids fell shut as the cooling afternoon air penetrated through her cotton socks. Her voice became feather-soft. “I was horrible to you last night — cruel and selfish.”
Cody shrugged her off. “Nah, you weren’t. Of course, you might’ve been a little mean and ornery. Waspish and petulant, maybe.”
She tried to smile, but her chin softened and tremored. “They meant to bruise me, shame me, make me a public example.” She placed her hand over her lips.
“It’s okay,” his words like a quiet breath. “Nobody can hear us.”
“Afterward, I wanted to scrub every place they touched me. If you hadn’t been there — I mean that’s what they do. It’s a warning to anyone else that...anyone else that…”
“Anyone else that stands up to ‘em?”
She wrung her hands and looked away. “I was so angry. Shamed in public. I didn’t need your understanding or your pity. I just had to show how tough I was, but all I did was take out my humiliation on you.”
“So how do you feel now?”
“Violated. I can’t help it, Cody. I didn’t want you or my parents to know. I feel so exposed, helpless, ugly. I can’t get it out of my mind. I hate that.”
He nodded.
“Yesterday, I could never have dreamed of sitting here now with Cody Musket next to the bullpen in the middle of this huge stadium, but after last night, I wonder how much future any of us has.”
“Are you scared?”
“I’d be lying if I said no.” A tear rolled from the corner of her eye. “I’ve drawn you into my trouble. You have enough of your own. I’m a target. Maybe you should stay as far away from me as you can get.”
“Right now, that wouldn’t be very far.” He brushed her tear with his thumb.
Her pulse raced like a little girl lost in the dark who had just found the porch light. “Cody, I regret that when I met you I was so pitiful, angry, irrational, and…”
Just then, the sunshine broke through again.
“May I do something?” He reached up and removed her baseball cap. “Last night, during the storm, when I first saw you, I tried to imagine how your hair would look with sunlight shining through it, just like it is now.” He stroked her hair.
“Before we had even met?”
“Up ‘til last night,” he said, “I didn’t believe anything on this planet was bolder or more beautiful than the Tyler Rose of Texas that grows down in my hometown of Big Rock.”
Brandi couldn’t help herself. She grinned and then laughed. “Awww shucks, John Wayne, are you trying to be romantic? Like in the movies? I shouldn’t have spilled my guts about loving old melodramatic films so much.”
Cody’s expression faded from his lips, prompting Brandi’s smile to desert her face.
“Oh, Cody, I’m so sorry.” She touched his arm. “You were serious? You actually thought about the sun in my hair? The roses?” She stared. “And I just insulted you and walked away."
Cody hung his head but could not hide a guarded grin. Despite her stiffness, Brandi bent low, looked up into his face, and beamed. “Earth to Cody? So does that mean you’re a serious romantic?”
He raised his eyes. “You mean like Barry Grant?”
“It’s Cary Grant, and I knew that underneath that rough exterior was more than just a tough ballplayer who liked to wear pink boots.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” He motioned with his hands like an umpire ruling a runner safe.
She poked him on the left shoulder. “Do you even know what waspish means?” She pulled a pair of mirror sunglasses from her purse.
“Don’t be so petulant. Of course I know what it means.” He leaned back in the chair. “Just don’t ask me to define it.”
“You really think you’re funny?”
“I’m a quick study.” He reached down and picked up his cap.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ve already learned to read your face.”
She smirked, leaned back against the screen, and crossed her arms. “Oh, you think so? Well, what does this face tell you?” She pulled her sunshades down to the end of her nose and glared at him over the top of the frames.
He pulled his cap down over his eyes, slouched back, and arrogantly folded his arms. “It tells me that underneath that frown and those shades you’re laughing your head off right now.”
She erupted, mirror sunglasses flying through the air. Her sweet laughter was music he had missed for a lifetime. He caught her shades before they reached the ground.
They were quiet for a few seconds.
“Cody, what are we doing? I know why you’re trying to be funny.”
A modest air current had coaxed a wisp of hair into Brandi’s face. Cody reached ov
er and brushed it away.
“A merry heart does wonders like a medicine," he said.
She couldn’t hide her surprise. “Do you know where that quote is from?”
“Uh, I heard it somewhere. Ingrid Bergman?”
“Of course not. It’s from the Bible.”
“Yeah, I know,” he proudly announced. “Proverbs 17:22.”
“You’re certainly the most un-boring man I have ever met.”
“Un-boring? Is that all you can say?”
“No. But that’ll do for now.”
They listened for a few moments as players from both teams stretched and interacted on the infield. The sun retreated behind a low, restless cloud, so Brandi slipped her shades back inside her purse.
A blackbird landed on the fence twenty feet away, then crackled as it swooped down to snatch up a leftover peanut off one of the bleachers. The fluttering of its wings grew softer and softer as it soared skyward. Cody watched the bird until it disappeared, and then dropped his eyes again and shut them. The chatter on the infield died away and all was quiet.
“It was to their shame.”
“What?”
“It was to their shame,” Cody said, “not yours. The guy with the huge biceps had you in a chokehold, and your phone and shoes were scattered among strangers in that hallway. Your blouse looked like the dogs had fought over it, your hair was everywhere and your arms and stomach were lacerated and streaked with mud from the dirty carpet. Your lip was bleeding. I remember all of it.”
Brandi withered into the chair and covered herself with her arms. “Cody, there are just no words.”
He lifted his head, nodded his eyes, and rendered a quiet offering. “I know.”
For a silent moment, she fixated upon his well-tested face, then closed her eyes and surrendered warm tears that had welled up underneath her eyelids. She unwrapped her arms and comfortably dropped her hands to her lap.
Cody leaned in. “He had me measured. He was ready to throw down on me with that knife. You could hardly breathe, but somehow, you managed to reach back and deflect his arm. Right then, you were the most beautiful woman I have ever seen — the bravest person in that hallway.”
She held out her hand and searched for his knee like the blind reaching for a friend.
“You were not a victim,” he said. “You remembered your roots and the source of your strength.”
“But I was so scared. I couldn’t stop trembling afterward. I wanted to crawl into a hole. I wouldn’t even look at you.”
“I know, but you had a job to do. You didn’t stay in your hole. You came back to interrogate me. Your hands were still shaking when we were in the coffee shop.”
She finally opened her teary eyes and looked downward. A beetle moved along the seam where the grass met the dirt track. Her white socks, now dusty on the sides, were toe-to- toe with those silly orange-and-blue tennis shoes Cody was wearing. She brushed back tears with her hand.
Cody’s gravelly words pierced her willing heart at barely above a whisper. “You think courage means you never cry? Never get scared? You’re armed and dangerous, Brandi Barnes. That’s what brought me back to find you.”
She leaned backward against the screen. Her former boyfriend, the stabbing, and now the attack in the theater — in the aftermath of all, she had been in someone else’s skin. She had convinced herself the violence had happened to that other person.
Now, sitting with Cody, she finally gave herself permission to own it. The abuse, the scars — yes, they were hers.
Cody placed the cap back on her head. Brandi pulled it low over her face. He waited while her tears purged the anguish from her soul.
She finally nudged the cap above her eyes. “I’m sorry, Cody.” She opened her purse and fumbled for some tissue.
“Don’t be.” He offered a clean handkerchief from his pocket.
“You’re just like my father.” She raised the cloth and blotted her face. “He always knows the right thing to say,” she paused, looked him in the eye, “and not to say.” Her voice was now steady. A faint smile broke through.
He looked toward the infield. “They’re gonna start early batting practice. We better vacate. It’s gonna start rainin’ baseballs around here.” He returned the chairs. This time, Brandi followed him into the pen.
After he had set the seats down, he did an about-face and saw her standing there. Brandi turned her cap around with the bill in the back, and then wrapped her arms around his neck.
She moved her lips close. “Do you know when I finally stopped trembling last night?”
“No, but I have the feeling you’re gonna tell me.”
“It was when you picked me up in your arms and kissed me.”
“I don’t often have that effect on women.”
“You certainly have that effect on me.” She removed his cap and held it in her hand.
“But we’re in the bullpen. Are you trembling again?” He looked around, pretending to be nervous.
“Ohhhh, yesss. Definitely.” She kissed him passionately and then gazed into his face. Her pupils moved side to side, searching for the hidden message in his eyes — eyes soft, but now sad, troubled.
At that moment, a child’s voice rang out from the bleachers next to the bullpen railing. “Hey, guys, you gotta see this! Come quick!”
She took his arm and pulled him back through the gate onto the field. Cody picked up her shoes, tied the strings together and looped them around his neck.
“I know now which one you are,” she declared as they walked toward the infield.
“I give up. What’re you talking about?” His granite face was back.
“You’re a big something disguised as nothing.” She held his arm with both hands as they walked. “Aren't you going to tell me I need to do my face again?”
He stared straight ahead. “Nothin’ wrong with that face.” He was broody, the smile he had worn earlier now gone.
"Cody, what's wrong? Should I not have kissed you?"
He bit his lower lip. "I got problems with relationships too.”
“Oh, right. I bet you have hundreds of women throwing themselves at you.”
“I dunno know how to answer that. I don’t make myself available.”
“So you’re not available?” Her feet were suddenly heavy, dragging. “Cody, is there someone else in your life? Be serious, okay? I just need to know."
“You’ve seen my legs. Can you imagine anyone wanting to go to the beach with me?”
Her eyes lit up. She pulled herself close, flashed a grin, and donned her sunshades. “Well,” she strutted, “there are no beaches around here.”
Night Traps
The weather remained perfect for the Saturday night game. The crowd of twenty-nine thousand Pirate fans was rewarded. Astros pitcher, Mark Stiller, Cody’s roommate, gave up a first-inning double to leadoff hitter, Nick Colter followed by a two-out, two-run home run by Tanner McNair, and it was all downhill from there for Houston.
In the fifth inning, Cody doubled off the bullpen screen in center field, inches above where Brandi had sat that afternoon. If the ball had struck just one foot higher, it would have given him his twenty-second home run of the season.
Sandy Stiller, the wife of Cody’s roomie, sat in front of Brandi. She turned and introduced herself. “How long have you known Cody?”
“Not long. So your hubby is Cody’s roommate?”
“Yes. Cody’s a loner, kinda’ hard to get to know. You must really be special. This is the first time I’ve known him to invite a woman to a game.”
Felicia Coleman, the wife of Houston shortstop Gerald “Dancer” Coleman, overheard. “Yeah, girl, I notice he glances at you every time he comes back to the dugout.”
Brandi grinned. Knoxi climbed into her lap to get a better look whenever Cody came to the batter’s box with a bat in his hand.
It was a blowout. The Pirates beat the Astros 9-3.
* * *
After the game, Tanner and
Julia took Cody, Brandi, and her family to Penn Wood River Grill, overlooking the Allegheny. Tanner rented a private room. It was a cool evening, and they opened the large sliding doors, which allowed breezes off the river to fill the room with a sweet, natural ambience.
Spirited after-dinner conversation gave Sly the opportunity he had anticipated all afternoon. “Hey, Brandi, Did Cody tell you about the first time he pitched in high school?”
“Oh, God help us,” Julia said. “We should go for a walk on the deck.”
“Oh, no, no, no,” Brandi replied. “I gotta hear this.”
“Well, it was the seventh inning and the hitter comin’ up was Kenneth Davis — biggest home run hitter in the district. Our coach put Cody in to pitch.”
Brandi turned to Cody. “I didn’t know you pitched too.”
“Well, I…in high school, I —”
Tanner stood and raised his volume. “So here was Cody, this skinny little kid, facing the best player in the league.”
“I was the skinny kid?" Cody snorted. “You were so thin you had to run around in the shower just to get wet!”
Brandi and Julia snickered, but Sly ignored the interruption.
“So our coach tells Cody to ‘deck him,’ b’cuz this kid had already hit two home runs and he was gettin’ too comfortable at the plate.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear how the story comes out this time.” Julia tried her best to sound bored.
“Now just hear me out. Cody gets mixed up, and he’s so nervous he hits the batter in the on-deck circle.”
“You’re kidding!”
“Of course he’s kidding,” Cody said. “Do you know how far the on-deck circle is from the plate?”
Sly played it right on cue. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about — see, the visiting coach comes out and claims that since his player on deck was hit by d’ pitch, he should be awarded first base! But our coach comes out and says that if the other guy goes to first base he should be ruled out for battin’ out o’ turn. There was this big rhubarb, and everybody involved got kicked out o’ da game, including our hero here.” He pointed to Cody, then sat back down, crossed his arms and flashed his Hostess Twinkie smile again.
Cody wasn’t laughing. “How many think that story was true?”
No Pit So Deep: The Cody Musket Story Page 12
