Three-Point Play (8 page)

Cody shot a glance at Becky, Beth's sister. She nodded, curled her left hand around the crook of his elbow, and the two of them walked in perfect synchronicity down the middle aisle of Crossroads Community Church.

When they arrived at the front of the church, they parted ways, and Cody took his place next to Ray Fairchild, one of his dad's work friends. Cody scanned the congregation, allowing himself a small smile when he spotted Pork Chop, flanked by his father and big brother, about halfway back.

Chop, exaggerating every move, straightened his tie, then smoothed both eyebrows with thick fingers. Then he nodded at Cody. This last gesture, Cody knew, was sincere, not just for show.

Cody closed his eyes.
Okay, God. It's really going to happen, isn't it? Please help me do my part to make this day happy for Dad and Beth. Forgive me for being selfish. Amen.

Cody almost added a P.S. to his prayer, noting that there was still time for things to be postponed. A power failure or a small earthquake wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, would it?

Then he saw his dad and Pastor Taylor emerge from a side door near the front of the church.
Chop was right
, he thought.
That's the face of a genuinely happy man
.

Cody extended his hand as his father took his place beside him. Luke ignored the hand and embraced his son with both arms.

“Oh, sweet!” Cody heard someone in the congregation gush.

Cody straightened his sports jacket. The church organ swelled as Mrs. Leadbetter launched into the “Wedding March.”

Beth stepped gracefully down the aisle accompanied by her father, a red-faced man built like a fire hydrant.
If he played football
, Cody figured
, he'd have been a center, maybe a guard. And if baseball was his game? A catcher. Definitely a catcher.

As the ceremony continued, Cody scanned the congregation noting how many people dabbed at their eyes with handkerchiefs and tissues. He knew that Pastor Taylor was delivering another of his famously poignant wedding messages, but he couldn't concentrate on the words.

The only words he could focus on were the ones that flashed in his brain, like the neon sign over the Dairy Delight: DON'T FAINT, DON'T CRY, DON'T FAINT, DON'T CRY.

Fail to heed either of these warnings, Cody knew, and his father's wedding day could be ruined.

Cody's narrow train of thought derailed momentarily when the pastor got to the part about “You got a problem with this marriage? Then speak now, or forever hold your peace.”

Okay
, Cody tried to send a telepathic message to the congregants,
here's your last chance, people. C'mon, somebody out there must have an objection—what are you waiting for?

But no objections were forthcoming. Cody stifled a sigh and handed his sniffling father the ring.
Okay, Lord
, he prayed.
I get the message. Your will, not Cody Martin's, be done. But I hope it wasn't too bad a thing to hold out one last little hope—

Cody cut his prayer short as he fumbled the handoff of the ring. It dropped toward the ground. Cody could imagine it hitting the floor and rolling into a heating vent, where it would be lost forever. Instinctively, he bent his knees and shot out his right hand, quick as a rattlesnake strike. Relief warmed him as his fist clenched around the ring.

His father winked at him. “Nice catch,” he whispered.

The reception was held in the church's fellowship area. Cody was hugged and patted by dozens of people, many of whom he didn't know.
This is kinda like being in the locker room after a big game,
he thought.
Except for all the perfume and cologne
.
And thank goodness I don't have to see any of these people naked, especially old Mrs. Leadbetter. Yuck!

He had just been sandwiched between two large women wearing blood-red hats, describing themselves as “your new aunties!” when he saw Blake approaching.

The youth pastor smiled widely at the women, announcing, “I need to steal this young man from you for a moment if I may, ladies.”

Giggling, they released Cody from between them.

“They're getting ready to cut the cake,” Blake offered.

“Oh, goodie,” said the woman with the slightly bigger and redder hat. “I just adore wedding cake!”

“Thanks for the rescue, B,” Cody whispered, as he followed Blake up the stairs and into the youth pastor's office.

Blake sat on his desk, rather than behind it, and gestured for Cody to sit down facing him.

“I wish you could see your face right now, Cody,” the youth pastor began. “There must be a whirlwind going on inside your head. Want to take a shot at trying to explain to me what's going on up there? I'm concerned about you.”

“I'm not sure if I can put it into words, B. It's kinda like eating a really good meal, and that makes you happy, right? But, then, something about the meal doesn't sit quite right in your stomach. Maybe it was too sweet or too rich. Or maybe you ate too much. And, all of the sudden, you think you're gonna puke. That's how I feel, I guess. Does that make any sense?”

Blake pursed his lips and nodded slowly. “You know, Code, it does. It ain't poetry, but I think I see what you're getting at. You're happy for your dad. Maybe for Beth too. But on the other hand—”

“Yeah—the other hand. The one that just balled itself into a fist and drilled me in the stomach.” Cody stood. “I think I'm gonna go outside and walk around for a while. Get some air.”

“Where are you planning to go?”

Cody tried to smile, but he got the feeling the attempt wasn't successful. “Anyplace some perfumed women with scary red hats won't try to hug me.”

“Hey, dude,” Blake called after Cody, as he started to walk away, “you want me to grab you a piece of cake?”

Cody turned around. “Nah, man. You know, for the first time in my whole life, I'm not hungry for cake.”

Chapter 6

Night Visitors

C
ody watched Blake collect the pizza box and pop cans from the living room coffee table. “You don't have to do that, B,” he called from the couch. “I was gonna clean it up later.”

Blake smiled warmly. “It's okay, Code. I got it. I'm gonna toss this stuff, then head down the hall to your deluxe guest room. Gotta prep for Monday morning Bible study tomorrow.”

Cody held his thumb on the TV remote's arrow key, trying to find a decent show. He thought Blake had retired to his temporary room, but he heard the exaggerated sound of someone clearing his throat.

Cody looked up. “You need to be tucked in or something, B? You're on your own if you do.”

Blake nibbled his bottom lip. “Cody, my man,” he began, “I get the feeling I'm kinda steppin' on your toes here. It's only my second day, uh, house-sitting or whatever, and I feel uncomfortable. And that's not the standard drill for you and me. I'm really not trying to cramp your style here, but I promised your dad that while he and Beth were on their honeymoon—”

Cody sighed. “Ah, B, I don't want you to feel bad. It's just that I'm almost fifteen. I don't need a babysitter. It's just ridiculous that Beth insisted on it, and I can't believe Dad didn't overrule her. Besides—”

Blake sat down in Luke Martin's recliner, which rested at a 90-degree angle from the couch. “Besides what, Cody?”

Cody sighed again. “It's just that when Dad and Beth get back from California, this house won't be the same again. Ever. It's gonna be louder. Busier. It's gonna be just plain trippy.”

Cody saw Blake begin to nod slowly. “And you'd like to enjoy a few quiet evenings before everything changes—”

“Exactly.”

Blake let his head tilt back toward the ceiling. “Oh, man, I don't know, Cody. I made a commitment to your dad—”

“—I won't say anything.”

“C'mon, dude, you know we don't roll like that.”

Cody sensed he was losing the argument. He leaned forward, rubbing his temples. “Well, how about this, then? You told my dad you'd look after me. That doesn't mean you have to be here
all
the time. He doesn't expect that anyway. He knows you have a demanding job—dealing with messed-up teens like me.”

“And your point is?”

“Well, why don't you just pop in from time to time, just to check in and stuff? We can even have dinner every night, if you want. And I have your cell if there's an emergency.”

“But, Code—”

“Blake, listen to me, please. I need some time to myself.
Need
, not just want. I'm not planning to have a drunken party over here or anything. You know me better than that.”

Blake stood, frowning. Cody could almost see the tug-of-war going on in his head. “Tell you what,” the youth pastor said finally. “Why don't we give your plan a try for tonight? See how things go.”

Cody clapped his hands together. “Sounds like a plan to me.”

“But you'll call me if anything comes up. If you start to feel—whatever. You can call me any time of the night.”

“Will do, B.”

Cody almost closed the door on Blake's backside as he ushered him out moments later.

Finally!
Cody thought, as he plopped on the couch.
A little privacy. A little quiet
. He wondered how life would be when the new Mr. and Mrs. Martin returned in five days. Would Beth make breakfast every morning, the way his mom had? Would mornings be pleasant, yet quiet, the way he liked them? He hoped Beth wasn't one of those overly cheerful morning people, moving briskly, singing too loudly with the radio, saying stupid stuff like, “Smile, sunshine; it's a big, bright, brand-new day!”

“If Beth turns out to be a perky morning person,” Cody mumbled, “I'm gonna have to join the army or the circus or something.”

He padded to the refrigerator for a can of root beer. Upon his return, he collapsed in his father's chair, rested his feet on the coffee table, and chugged half the soda. He set the can down, to the left of one of the coasters Beth had purchased, and let out a long, satisfying belch. “Probably won't be able to do that much longer,” he said ruefully.

After several minutes of channel surfing, Cody settled on a kung fu movie that seemed promising. However, after an action-packed opening sequence, nearly twenty minutes chugged by without any “kung,” and precious little “fu.”

The last thing Cody remembered before he drifted to sleep was wishing he hadn't, in disgust, slid the remote to the opposite end of the coffee table— meaning he'd have to move from his comfortable position to retrieve it.

When his eyes popped open at 2:45 a.m., he began scrolling through his brain trying to think of a non-terrifying explanation for the sounds coming from his dad's bedroom upstairs.

The wind? No, the wind didn't shuffle coins or jewelry back and forth across the top of a chest of drawers—which constituted the sounds Cody was sure he heard. There was something purposeful about what was going on, as if someone were looking for something in particular. Like a burglar looking for the “good” jewelry. Cody shook his head briskly, trying to focus his thoughts. Did the Martins even own any good jewelry?