a football game, loved the strong smell of rubber matting mixed with sweat and ripe football cleats. Being here, breathing it in, took him back to his days at Clear Creek High and the way Jim Flanigan had taken him in, treated him like a son.
How great are You, God … letting me be a part of something like this, something so much bigger than me. Please, Father … keep it coming. Let the miracle You’re working here be so big the world will have to see You before they can understand this.
He smiled as he headed for the door, and at the same time he turned on his cell phone. It took only a few seconds for it to come to life, and as it did Cody saw he had a voicemail message waiting for him from a 212 area code. He paused, tapped his screen a few times, and held the phone to his ear.
“Cody, this is Hans Tesselaar, reporter with Sports Illustrated. I wondered if you might have a few minutes to call me back. We’re watching your season and … well, if things continue the way they’re going, we’re thinking about doing a feature story on your team … maybe sometime at the end of November.” The man rattled off a phone number. “I hope to hear from you.”
Disbelief came over Cody. He’d heard this might happen, but he never really expected it. Sports Illustrated? He made a note to call Mr. Tesselaar back in the morning — assuming he would want to talk on a Saturday. He walked out of the locker room and headed toward his pickup. They were having a game night at Tara’s house with Cheyenne and DeMetri. As Cody made his way across the field, he could only stand firm on one very great truth. He had the best Father in the world and something else too.
All of his life had led him to this.
Twenty-Five
SIX WEEKS HAD PASSED SINCE FRANCESCA ORDERED BAILEY TO stop having her Bible study, and now it was midway through October and Bailey still hadn’t found a way to resume it. The advice from Betty Keller and her friends was strong — hold the study somewhere else. But Francesca must’ve suspected she might do that, because the woman pulled her aside a few weeks ago and said only this: “It would be a cast Bible time wherever you hold it. So don’t think about having it somewhere else.”
“What if it wasn’t for the cast … but for anyone?” Bailey still felt nervous talking to her.
The director gave her a long look. “I can’t stop you then. But given your public role in our cast, I don’t advise you leading it.”
Bailey could do what she wanted, of course. She could hold the Bible study at a local coffee shop, or in the lobby of the Kellers’ apartment building. But if Francesca found out, she could simply cancel her contract and send her home. She had the right to cut Bailey anytime, for any reason. That was how the contract read. Of course, Tim Reed and his girlfriend from the Wicked cast were involved in the church at Times Square, and they had their own Bible study. Bailey could join theirs, but she couldn’t get her castmates to come along.
Gerald had already told her as much. “We meet with you or we don’t meet. I can’t sit in on a Bible study with a bunch of strangers. A few new people would be one thing. But I couldn’t talk about my struggles with someone else leading.”
Bailey understood, but she still hadn’t found a solution. It was Monday night and the show was dark, so like most Mondays she and the Kellers went out for an early dinner. This time they ate at Sardi’s on Forty-fourth Street. The place had long been frequented by celebrities, and the walls bore the caricatures of a number of them. It was the sort of place Bailey could never have come to with Brandon — because they wouldn’t have made it out without attracting the attention of the local paparazzi and a sea of fans and tourists.
But she figured she and the Kellers could eat there without much commotion. It surprised her then when, halfway through their meal, a woman walked up with a pad of paper. “I hate to interrupt you while you’re eating … but could I have your autograph?”
Bailey wanted to look over her shoulder and see who the woman might