the season. I made one for the whole year. I wrote, ‘This season is for my mom.’ And you can’t devote a year of sports to someone, then go out and play like a stiff. So I think I’m playing in a way that would make her proud, but I don’t know.”
They approached a red light, and Blake turned to look at him. “It seems to me you don’t have peace about something.”
Cody closed his eyes and searched his mind for answers. “I think maybe it’s the funeral. It was a good service and all. It was cool when Pastor Taylor asked all the people to stand who Mom had helped in some way. Took them meals when they were sick. Watched their kids. Listened to their problems and gave them advice. Almost everybody in the whole church stood up. It made me so—I don’t know—proud of her. I never realized how many people she reached out to.”
Blake placed a hand on Cody’s shoulder. “Your mom is a great example of how one person can touch hundreds of lives. And note what I said. Is a great example. Not was. The Bible says that the memory of the righteous will be a blessing. And the example set by a righteous person like your mom is one way that blessing shows itself.”
Cody nodded slowly. “Yeah—you know, B, I think that might be kinda what my problem is. You see, when all of those people stood, I did too. But I’m her son. What else would you expect? I should have done more. I should have gone up there and said something. Before the funeral, Pastor Taylor said I was free to say a few words, but I knew I was too torn up inside. Iwoulda gotten up there and not been able to do anything but cry. I spent most of the service sobbing with my head in my hands as it was.”
“Cody, nobody could expect a thirteen-year-old to speak at his own mother’s memorial service.”
“I know. But I wish I could have. I should have given her some kind of a tribute. I think that’s what was missing—is missing. But I don’t know what I can do now.”
“Well—” Blake said. “What in the world!?”
Blake stomped his brake pedal, and he and Cody lurched forward against their seatbelts, before rocking back against their seats. The rail-thin runner who had bolted in front of Blake’s car gave a helpless shrug, hurried from the middle of the street, and headed up the sidewalk.
“Drew Phelps.” Blake chuckled. “He’s gonna be a great runner someday—if he doesn’t get himself killed.”
Cody watched Drew float up the street, his feet barely kissing the ground. “Man, I wish I could run like that. They had a meet yesterday. He won.”
“He should take a day off, enjoy the victory.”
“I don’t think he believes in the concept of a day off. Not even in the off-season. He works as hard as anybody I know. He hits the track and the roads as hard as Chop hits the weights.”
Blake offered to take Cody to lunch after Sunday service, which Cody had tuned out of just after Pastor Taylor’s opening joke. He had tried to concentrate on the sermon, but the images of Brett Evans spitting on him and turning his back on him loomed in his mind’s eye, haunting him. He and the Evanses had been friends and teammates since Cody moved to Grant. Now, it seemed, that was over. Both twins were good athletes, so he was sure they would all continue to be teammates. But how could he play alongside two guys who hated him?
As he and Blake sat across from each other at Mamie’s House o’ Pies, Cody felt the youth pastor’s eyes drilling into his skull. He shifted nervously on his side of the booth. “Do I have ketchup on my face or something?”
Blake smiled. “No, I was just wondering about a few things.”
“Such as—”
“Such as where you were during the service today.”
“What do you mean? I was there in the back row, like always. I didn’t even sneak out for a donut.”
“I mean, where your mind was.”
“Oh. It was that obvious, huh?”
“I’ve seen horror-movie zombies with better powers of
They approached a red light, and Blake turned to look at him. “It seems to me you don’t have peace about something.”
Cody closed his eyes and searched his mind for answers. “I think maybe it’s the funeral. It was a good service and all. It was cool when Pastor Taylor asked all the people to stand who Mom had helped in some way. Took them meals when they were sick. Watched their kids. Listened to their problems and gave them advice. Almost everybody in the whole church stood up. It made me so—I don’t know—proud of her. I never realized how many people she reached out to.”
Blake placed a hand on Cody’s shoulder. “Your mom is a great example of how one person can touch hundreds of lives. And note what I said. Is a great example. Not was. The Bible says that the memory of the righteous will be a blessing. And the example set by a righteous person like your mom is one way that blessing shows itself.”
Cody nodded slowly. “Yeah—you know, B, I think that might be kinda what my problem is. You see, when all of those people stood, I did too. But I’m her son. What else would you expect? I should have done more. I should have gone up there and said something. Before the funeral, Pastor Taylor said I was free to say a few words, but I knew I was too torn up inside. Iwoulda gotten up there and not been able to do anything but cry. I spent most of the service sobbing with my head in my hands as it was.”
“Cody, nobody could expect a thirteen-year-old to speak at his own mother’s memorial service.”
“I know. But I wish I could have. I should have given her some kind of a tribute. I think that’s what was missing—is missing. But I don’t know what I can do now.”
“Well—” Blake said. “What in the world!?”
Blake stomped his brake pedal, and he and Cody lurched forward against their seatbelts, before rocking back against their seats. The rail-thin runner who had bolted in front of Blake’s car gave a helpless shrug, hurried from the middle of the street, and headed up the sidewalk.
“Drew Phelps.” Blake chuckled. “He’s gonna be a great runner someday—if he doesn’t get himself killed.”
Cody watched Drew float up the street, his feet barely kissing the ground. “Man, I wish I could run like that. They had a meet yesterday. He won.”
“He should take a day off, enjoy the victory.”
“I don’t think he believes in the concept of a day off. Not even in the off-season. He works as hard as anybody I know. He hits the track and the roads as hard as Chop hits the weights.”
Blake offered to take Cody to lunch after Sunday service, which Cody had tuned out of just after Pastor Taylor’s opening joke. He had tried to concentrate on the sermon, but the images of Brett Evans spitting on him and turning his back on him loomed in his mind’s eye, haunting him. He and the Evanses had been friends and teammates since Cody moved to Grant. Now, it seemed, that was over. Both twins were good athletes, so he was sure they would all continue to be teammates. But how could he play alongside two guys who hated him?
As he and Blake sat across from each other at Mamie’s House o’ Pies, Cody felt the youth pastor’s eyes drilling into his skull. He shifted nervously on his side of the booth. “Do I have ketchup on my face or something?”
Blake smiled. “No, I was just wondering about a few things.”
“Such as—”
“Such as where you were during the service today.”
“What do you mean? I was there in the back row, like always. I didn’t even sneak out for a donut.”
“I mean, where your mind was.”
“Oh. It was that obvious, huh?”
“I’ve seen horror-movie zombies with better powers of
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