The reality made Tyler feel sick. His father . . . his coach. His mentor. The man who had believed Tyler could be one of the best pitchers of this era. Tyler dreaded seeing him now, not because the man had believed too greatly in him. But because his father had been right. All of it had been possible—if only Tyler had done things differently.
Halfway up the walk he stopped. He swallowed hard, summoning his courage. “Mom”—he looked at her—“how’s Dad?”
She looked slightly baffled by the question. “He’s . . . he can’t wait to see you.”
“He’s not mad?”
“Tyler.” Shock softened her tone. “Mad at you?”
“Mom, you remember the last time we talked? I figured he would be angry with me forever. A little more every day.”
“No.” She looked suddenly weak, devastated even. Like she might collapse on the sidewalk and never find the strength to get up. “We’ve both been . . . heartsick. Every day.” She hesitated, clearly wanting him to get this next part. “He wants to spend the rest of his life making it up to you. We never meant for . . .” Her voice trailed off and tears overtook her eyes.
Tyler put his arm around her shoulders and held her. They were all so hurting, so damaged by the choices of the past. “Let’s go inside.”
His fears let up a little. With all that had already happened today, he wasn’t sure he could face his angry father, too. He’d rather have a quick conversation with his mother here out front and then be on his way. He wouldn’t mind watching Marcus and the team practice—if they’d let him. Then he had surgery in the morning.
He couldn’t picture his father humbled and ready to make things right. Maybe he had only pretended so Tyler would feel welcome enough to come home. Then once he stepped inside his dad would lower the mask and light into him. Which was fine, really. Any other day Tyler could take it, receive the verbal lashing he deserved and decide whether there was a reason to ever come back home again.
Just not today.
They walked slowly together, Tyler’s arm still around his mom’s shoulders. How had he gone so long without his mom? He’d been so hurt by their disappointment that he’d blocked her from his heart and mind. He might’ve stayed away from her forever if it wasn’t for Virginia. When they reached the front door he hesitated just a beat or two. He had never skydived, but he’d seen videos of people with parachute packs hovering at the open door of a plane, trying to find the will to jump.
That’s how Tyler felt now. He took a deep breath and opened the door. His father was a few feet away, sitting on the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. Almost like he was praying. He looked up and their eyes met.
“Dad.” Tyler steeled himself for what was certainly coming. The barrage of insults and criticisms. The deserved reminders of all he’d done wrong, all the failed choices that had broken their family and destroyed his chances at baseball.
Tyler waited. For what felt like an hour, he stood looking at the man who had once been his father, sure the words were going to come. But they never did. Instead Bill Ames stood. His eyes never left Tyler’s. He had more wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes, and he had put on a few pounds.
The real difference was in his spirit.
“Can I . . . hug you?”
His dad came to him slowly, as if the move took all his effort. The way he walked, his tentative body language felt familiar—and Tyler realized why. His father looked the way he himself must’ve looked a few minutes ago walking up to the front door. There was nothing natural about the hug. His dad tried to avoid Tyler’s braced-up shoulder and they didn’t seem to know whose arm went where.
But once he was in his father’s embrace, Tyler’s fears faded like April snow. Without any words at all, he was in that moment certain of things he had never expected to feel. First, his dad loved him. Without asking about how long until Tyler could pitch again and without rehashing some of the best moments in Tyler’s baseball career. Love. All by itself. The kind Virginia had talked about. Tyler could feel it—and it was the strangest, most amazing feeling ever.
The other obvious truth was this: his dad was sorry. In what could only be another part of the miracle, his father clearly didn’t blame him for the lost years. His hug carried with it tangible proof of his regret and remorse. Tyler’s shock gave way to acceptance and finally a hope he hadn’t felt before where his dad was concerned.
Tyler’s mother stood nearby, her arms folded, tears on her cheeks. It was a moment that needed no words. His father’s hug said it all. After a while they made their way to the sofa, all three of them. Tyler explained why he was there. He would be having surgery in the morning. He was staying with Marcus.
“I’m not sure about pitching again.” Even though his parents had changed, Tyler still felt this might be the worst blow of their lives. “The doctor says we’ll have to see.”
His mother spoke first. “Is the operation . . . dangerous?”
Tyler blinked. Her question was the last thing he had expected. “Uh . . . I don’t think so. I mean, he didn’t say anything about it being risky.”
His father looked relieved. “We’d like to be there. In the waiting room.” He paused. “If that’s okay.” Even his voice was different, kinder. Quieter.
“Sure.” Tyler’s mind raced. This was how he had always wanted his parents to treat him, the way he had wanted them to love him.
And like that, there was no more talk about Tyler’s shoulder or his pitching or his game. Instead the conversation moved on to his job at Merrill Place, and his friendship with Virginia Hutcheson.
“She sounds lovely.” His mom had been on the brink of tears since he arrived. This was another of those moments. “I wish it would’ve been me. Giving you advice. Talking about grace.”
Tyler looked at her, at the mother who had taken him to church as a little boy and cheered for him at his Little League games. “I wish that, too, Mom.”
“I’ve been praying.” Her faith shone in her eyes. Another change. “Especially after we met your friend Ember.”
“Who?”
“Ember, right?” She looked at Tyler’s father. “I think that was her name.”
“Yes.” His dad nodded. “Ember.” He turned to Tyler. “She knew you in Florida.”
“We saw her at lunch one day.” His mom looked confused. “She definitely knew you.”
Tyler had no idea who they were talking about. “She knew me?”
“Told us to pray. Not to give up.” His dad shook his head. “After that, we never stopped praying.”
Ember? Tyler searched his memory. Was she a fan? Someone he had met at the hospital when he was drugged up? He had no idea. Either way, he marveled at the fact. While God had brought Virginia into his life, He had brought his parents someone, too: Ember. A friend he didn’t remember ever knowing.
It didn’t have to make sense.
They talked for another few minutes. Then Tyler had to get Marcus’s Hummer back. He hugged his parents. This time the words came more easily for all of them. Apologies and promises that this was just the beginning.
Even his dad’s hug felt more natural. “I love you, son.” His emotions seemed to gain ground on him and he had to wait a few seconds. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever get another chance to tell you.”
“That’s behind us.” Tyler smiled at him and then at his mother. “I love you both.”
He still had to work out forgiveness, for himself and his parents. But for now he was treating the moment the way Virginia would’ve treated it: Love first. Questions later. Grace beyond measure. All of it unconditional.
Because love like this was from God.
When Tyler pulled onto the freeway ten minutes later, he replayed the entire visit. Every remarkable, unexpected moment. As he did, something hit him, something he hadn’t fully grasped until just now. Of all the things they’d talked about and all the ways they’d laid the foundation to a new bridge between them, one topic came up just onc
e.
Baseball.
Which could only mean one thing. Tyler let the truth sink deep in his heart, where it watered the dry and barren places in his soul. His parents no longer saw him as a baseball player.
They saw him as their son.
30
BECK WAS DRESSED LIKE a janitor. Something he learned from watching Tyler. He pushed a mop bucket and a cart of cleaning supplies down a long cement corridor. Along the way, he passed a few of the grounds crew. Beck nodded briefly and kept walking.
Confidence, he told himself.
Everyone except Marcus was down on the field taking practice. The coaches, too—all of them. Including Coach Ollie Wayne.
Beck stepped inside the man’s office. He glanced back once. The corridor was clear. He had time. He needed to accomplish what he’d come here for. Beck opened the top drawer at the far left side of Coach Wayne’s desk. From the back, he pulled out a business card and stared at it.
Perfect. Let this work . . . Please, God.
He set the business card on the center of Coach Wayne’s keyboard—where the man couldn’t miss it.
Then, before Beck left the coach’s office, before he returned the cleaning supplies and disappeared, he looked once more at the card and the name across it.
The name was Jep Black.
CHERYL CONLEY TOOK the call from Marcus Dillinger late that Monday afternoon. Marcus had told her that this was the day for Tyler’s surgery, and Cheryl had prayed all morning. This last stage of what God was doing, the miracle He was working, was the most important of all.
“The surgery just wrapped up.” Marcus sounded troubled. “Doctor said it went well, better than he hoped.”
“Thank God.” Cheryl exhaled and dropped to the nearest chair at the kitchen table. “I’ve been praying.”
“Well . . . the news—it wasn’t all good.” Marcus took what sounded like a weary breath. “The damage was even worse than the test showed. He probably had an infection after the injury. Somehow it healed on its own, but it caused significant damage. Much more than the torn labrum.”
Cheryl wanted to hang up and start the conversation all over. This wasn’t possible. Tyler had been given the most extraordinary chance with this surgery. He was ready to work harder than anyone in baseball to get better. She struggled to ask the one question screaming through her mind: “Was . . . the doctor able to fix it?”
“He saved Tyler’s arm.” Marcus sighed. “Cheryl, he’ll never pitch again. He can’t.”
She closed her eyes and pictured the young man, the earnest way he had sat next to her mother every day. He deserved to pitch again. His story was a couple pages from a happy ending. God . . . why? She blinked and looked out the window. “Is there . . . if he works hard—”
“No. He’ll never throw again. The doctor said he might be able to pick up his kids one day.” Marcus sounded discouraged. “At least he has his arm. Seriously.”
“I guess . . . I really thought God was going to—”
“Me, too.”
“You did the right thing, Marcus.”
“Hmmm.” This time the hint of a sad smile sounded in his tone. “I know that, Miss Cheryl. I have no doubt.”
Cheryl let the reality hit her. Tyler Ames was finished playing baseball. “Were you there? During the surgery?”
“I got there at the end. They let me leave practice for an hour.”
“Good.” Cheryl pictured Tyler being wheeled into surgery. “I hated imagining him there alone.”
“He wasn’t alone.” His voice held a fresh sort of joy. “His parents were there the whole time.”
“His parents?” Cheryl held her breath. Tyler had told her about them. “That was a good thing?”
“Yes.” Marcus took a deep breath. “I told you, Miss Cheryl, God’s got this. Lots of love and forgiveness happening around here.”
“Wow.” Cheryl leaned against the window. “Does Tyler know? About his shoulder?”
“The doctor had warned him. He’s telling Tyler now.” His voice was serious again. “Pray for him. He could use it.”
“I will. And I’ll be watching the World Series. You’re going to win it all, Marcus. I believe that.”
“I hope so. An LA car dealer’s going to build the kids a new gym if we win.”
Cheryl smiled. “Proud of you, Marcus. Really.”
The call ended and for a long time Cheryl stared out the window trying to come to terms with this change of events. Out back Chuck and the granddaughters were working on a vegetable garden they planted—in memory of their great-grandmother.
Didn’t I hear You right, God? Cheryl sighed, suddenly more tired than before. I could picture him in uniform, Lord. I could see him pitching again. She leaned into the cool glass. I trust You, Father. I do. But could You be with Tyler Ames right now? When he’s getting the worst news of his life? Give him a reason to believe in You. Please.
Precious daughter . . . I work all things to the good of those who love Me.
The answer whispered across Cheryl’s soul, and chills ran down her arms. It was a verse from Romans she’d read that morning. Now it was as if God had spoken the words straight to her soul. He worked all things to the good for those who loved Him.
So what about Tyler Ames?
Cheryl imagined how the young man might be feeling at this moment, knowing that his dreams of pitching were over. Forever. She pictured him lying in a bed, his arm bandaged, the pain of the surgery just setting in. Where’s the rest of Tyler’s miracle, Father? What happened?
She waited, hoping for some sort of response, some spotlight of understanding so the verse from Romans would make sense in Tyler’s situation. But none came. Instead, gradually, an image began to take shape in her mind. Tyler hadn’t been at the hospital alone. He’d been there with his parents. The parents he hadn’t talked to in years.
Nearly every conversation between her mother and Tyler was about family and staying close, forgiving one another. Tyler had told her once that the talks made him miss his mom and dad, made him see the way he was at fault for the break in their relationship. He would’ve done things differently if he had it to do over again. Cheryl’s mother had taught Tyler that.
Now that’s exactly what had happened. The course of events was uncanny, really. Tyler busts his shoulder and winds up homeless. He slips into a church and some stranger points him to Merrill Place, the retirement center where Cheryl’s mother lived. At the exact time when Cheryl and Chuck were praying for healing and peace for the woman. The bedside talks, the childhood connection with Marcus, the trip to LA.
Every single one of those events had to happen for Tyler and his parents to be reunited. For a reconciliation to happen.
The light in Cheryl’s soul grew brighter, the dawning more complete. Tyler wasn’t going to play baseball again, but so what? They had asked God for a miracle and they had gotten one. When the reality of his situation fully hit him, he wouldn’t be alone.
His parents would be there.
Which was maybe the greatest miracle of all.
SAMI TOOK THE worn tray from Mary Catherine and added a scoop of salad and a couple of cookies to the plate. She passed it to the person on her left and took another one from Mary Catherine. The LA Freedom Mission was where Sami spent a great deal of her social time lately. Volunteers staffed the place, serving dinner to the city’s homeless every day of the week.
Mary Catherine had heard that the mission was going to be short a few volunteers for the next two weeks. The two of them didn’t hesitate. A week into the work and they knew most of the regulars on a first-name basis.
“Don’t like the cookies. I’m a diabetic, remember?” A grizzled-looking man with a ragged plaid shirt and gray dreadlocks waved a gnarled finger at Sami.
“Gotcha, JT.” Sami winked at him. “Double salad for the diabetics. Sound good?”
“Thatta girl.” He returned the wink, took the tray from the end of the line, and headed for the cafeteria.
“He’s a good man, Samantha,” her grandfather had told her when he called yesterday. “You’re walking out on a great opportunity.”
Love could never be an opportunity. The very idea made Sami slightly nauseous. She loved her grandparents; she always would. They had cared for her and raised her and they deserved her respect. But she could never agree with their view of life. The way good things seemed earned and opportunities were meant to be exploited.
Sami would never go back to that thinking again. She had her Bible now. That was what she relied on. She had pulled it out of the box in her closet and dusted it off. Every night she became a little more familiar with Jesus. The way He lived and loved. The way He forgave and served people.
His grace.
“Connie, hello! No salad, right?” Sami flashed a smile at the woman in her late sixties, next in line. “Extra cookies?”
“You remembered!” The woman gave Sami a thumbs-up and limped to the end of the counter for her tray.
Sami watched her go. This was love. Sami wasn’t used to it or good at it, but she was trying and she liked how it felt. This weekend a few of the volunteers were going to paint a home for some foster kids.
It was after nine by the time she and Mary Catherine got back to their apartment. Her roommate was seeing a guy now, someone she met at church. He was the chief fundraiser for a ministry that worked to rescue kids from sex trafficking. Oh, and he loved to laugh. They’d been going to church together for the past three weeks.
“Nothing like talking about a sermon to see if the guy you’re starting to like is real.”
Real. Sami loved that. It was Mary Catherine’s way of describing people who lived their faith. Broken, regular people who had discovered grace and wanted to spend the rest of their lives acting it out. Real people. Living in hope that other people would become real, too.
Angels Walking Page 26
