Just Beyond the Clouds, Page 3

  “Coke. Thanks.” Sky gave him a wary look. “You somewhere else tonight, Gunner?”

  “Maybe.” Cody took a few steps back.

  The legend held his eyes for a beat. He knew better than to ask if the reason had something to do with Ali. It was common knowledge in the rodeo world that Cody hadn’t gotten over her. There goes Cody Gunner, they’d say. Poor Cody. Still pining away over that wife of his. Yeah, he’d heard it all, the whispers and well-intentioned remarks about moving on and letting go. That was okay. Cody climbed down seven stairs to the dirt-covered arena floor. Let them think he was crazy for holding on this long.

  They hadn’t loved Ali. Otherwise they’d understand.

  It was eight years ago that they’d shared their last season on the circuit. Back when her cystic fibrosis had seemed like merely one more mountain they’d need to climb on the road to forever. Not like the eliminator it turned out to be. He steeled himself and stared at the ground as he walked back to the network food tent.

  He and Ali had that one last season, and then they married. Cody gave her everything he had to give that year—his heart and soul, a lifetime of love, and one of the lungs from his own chest. “What happened?” people would ask when they heard about the lung. “You gave her a lung and it didn’t take?”

  Cody would only narrow his eyes and remember Ali, her honesty, the depth in her voice. “It worked.” That’s all he would say. It worked. Because it did. The doctors had told them the transplant would buy them only three years. And in the end that’s exactly what it did. Three years. About a thousand tomorrows.

  He would’ve given her his other lung, if he could’ve.

  “Gunner!” The voice was familiar.

  Cody looked up and into the eyes of Bo Wade, a cowboy Cody had competed against that last year—after Ali died, when Cody came out of retirement to do it all one more time, to win the championship for her, the one Ali never managed to win. Bo was in the top five back then, but he had hung it up a few years ago. Cody held out his hand and found a smile. “Bo Wade, watcha up to?”

  “Workin’ for the network.” He grinned. “Hoping to be in your spot someday.”

  “Yeah.” Cody grinned. “Same old story.”

  They talked for a minute or two about the season and the rise of the PBR. “Things are different now.”

  “No doubt.” Cody checked his watch. He had ten minutes to report back. “Some of those bulls are wicked mean.”

  “And huge. Makes you wonder what they’re puttin’ in the feed.”

  Cody was about to wind up the conversation when it happened.

  Bo’s expression changed. He looked down at his dusty boots and then back up again. “Hey, man. I’m sorry about Ali. I never got to tell you.”

  Cody’s breath caught in his throat, the way it always did at the mention of her. He’d tried a lot of different answers when people brought her into the conversation. He would sometimes shrug and say, “Things happen,” or he’d look up at the bluest piece of sky and say, “She’s still with us. I can feel her.” Once in a while he’d say, “She’s never really gone.” All those things were true, but for the past year he’d kept his answer simpler.

  “Thanks, Bo.” Cody squinted. “I miss her like crazy.”

  “I bet.” The corners of Bo’s mouth lifted. There was no awkwardness between them. The two had ridden the circuit together for five years. That made them family on a lot of levels. “I remember back before the two of you got together.” He shook his head. “Nothing could stop you like seeing Ali Daniels on a horse.” He paused. “We had no idea she was sick.”

  “No one did.” The conversation was too painful, the subject still too raw. Cody clenched his jaw. “Good seeing you.” He shook his friend’s hand again and nodded toward the arena. “Gotta get back.”

  “Okay.” Bo slapped Cody’s shoulder. “Take it easy, man. Maybe see you around the second half of the season. The network just made me permanent tech advisor.”

  Cody congratulated him, found a Coke and a bottle of water, and headed back to the booth. He kept his eyes straight ahead, but all he could see was Ali, her blonde ponytail flying behind her, racing around the barrels on Ace, her palomino, or standing in the tunnel after a ride, gasping for air while Cody brought her the inhaler. Ali in her compression vest back at the ranch her family owned. Ali beside him on a grassy bluff promising to love him until death had the final word.

  He pursed his lips and blew out. He had to hold on to the little details. The smell of her clothes after a ride, the mix of horse and perfume and lavender soap. The feel and exact color of her favorite faded jeans. The sensation of her breath on his face when they kissed.

  He had to hold on to his memories, because otherwise they would fade and there would be no getting them back. But he had to live in a world without Ali. That was the balancing act working in rodeo. Here—among the smell of horses and bulls and arena dust—he could think of nothing else.

  Cody reached the stairs and stopped. He still had three minutes. He slipped into a shadowy spot beneath the bleachers and leaned against the cool metal bars. He needed out. Otherwise the memories would drive him crazy. Besides, bull riding had taken enough of his time. A change in careers would be good for him. Maybe something closer to home.

  Concern shot a burst of adrenaline through him. His mother’s phone call this morning stayed with him, made him glad he was going home tomorrow. There was trouble with Carl Joseph. Big trouble. The kind they’d always feared for Cody’s younger brother.

  Yes, something closer to home would be better than this, than walking every day through a hallway of memories he couldn’t escape. He could go home and be a rancher, raise cattle or competitive bulls. Or maybe find a job in sales, commodities—that sort of thing. He pictured Carl Joseph, the way his brother had clung to him last time he was home. Buddy was never happier than when Cody was home. So maybe he would go back and open a sports camp for kids with disabilities.

  He heard the music blaring through the arena. Less than a minute before they went on again. He took the steps two at a time, dropped into the seat beside Sky Miller, and placed the Coke on the table between them. “Sorry, man. Got hung up.”

  Sky popped the top on the Coke and took a long drink. “Get in the game, okay?”

  “I will.”

  He was sharp in the second set, but his heart wasn’t in it. When he helped pack up the booth that night, he had the feeling that this was it, that he wouldn’t be back for a long time. Maybe forever. Sky must’ve known, too.

  When it was time to leave, Sky pulled him aside. “You’re good, Gunner. You know your stuff.”

  “Thanks.” Cody shifted, anxious to go.

  “You could ride this gig for a lotta years.” Sky paused. “Thing is, Gunner, you need to figure it out.”

  Cody didn’t want to ask. “What?”

  “Ali. Your past.” Sky rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled hard. “You take her with you everywhere you go. You’ll never be the best until you can walk in here”—he waved at the arena—“and see the stands, hear the bulls knocking around in the chutes, smell the sweat.” He hesitated. “And not see her, too.”

  “That’s the problem.” Cody put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I’m not trying to see her, man. She’s just there, that’s all. She’s there.”

  Sky studied him, and for a minute it looked like he might launch into a speech about moving on and putting the past to rest. Instead he grabbed his bag. “Maybe over the break, Gunner. Maybe you can figure it out then.”

  “Maybe.” Cody smiled, but he could feel the tears clouding his eyes. He looked down, and in that one simple movement, he gave it away.

  “You’re done, aren’t you?”

  “I’m not sure.” Cody backed up, putting distance between them. The dam in his heart was breaking. He didn’t want anyone around to see it happen. “Good working with you, Sky. I’ll be around.”

  With that he turned and swung his bag over
his shoulder. The hotel was across the street, and he had a flight home in the morning. He was waiting at the light when a carload of girls screeched to a stop.

  “Hey, Cody Gunner—wanna ride?” The brunette behind the wheel wore red lipstick and had eyes that looked a little too bright.

  “Yeah!” A girl in a cowboy hat and a tight T-shirt leaned in from the passenger seat. “We know every hot spot in Nampa.”

  The light turned green and the walk sign appeared. Cody tipped his hat at the girls. “Gotta get my sleep tonight, ladies.” He started jogging across the crosswalk.

  “Come on, Cody,” the brunette called after him. He ignored them. Another thirty seconds and he was inside the doors of the hotel and headed for his room. Every stop on the tour, every year he’d been a part of rodeo, he’d had offers from girls like that. Before Ali, he agreed to an offer here and there. But never now. The idea made him sick to his stomach, like throwing dirt in the face of everything Ali stood for.

  Inside his room he washed his face, brushed his teeth, and crawled into bed. He pulled the framed photograph of Ali from the hotel nightstand and stared at it. The way her smile reached the depth of her eyes, how even now she seemed to be watching him, looking at him.

  “Ali, girl”—he ran his thumb over the smooth glass—“I feel you everywhere tonight.” His voice was a raspy whisper. “Like you’re right here beside me.”

  But she wasn’t. No matter how long he looked at her picture or thought about her, she was gone. They’d had that last year on the circuit and then three more years, and then she left him. Her body, anyway. Her spirit was still with him—always with him. Whether he was in a rodeo arena or not.

  Some nights, like tonight, if he looked at her picture long enough, he could still hear her voice. They were riding double on Ace, taking the path out to the back of her parents’ property where the clouds and trees and mountains all came together in a piece of paradise.

  Cody . . . I want you to love again.

  “What?” He had been outraged, of course, horrified at her request. “I’ll never love anyone but you, Ali. Never.”

  But she insisted. I mean it, Cody. I want you to love again. When I’m gone, you can’t waste your life thinking about me. She leaned up and kissed him—and for the sweetest moment he was there again. Promise me, Cody. Promise me when I’m gone you’ll find love again.

  She pushed him until finally, against everything in him, and only because it was what she wanted to hear, he promised. He blinked and the distant conversation faded. He wiped the tears off the glass frame. “Ali . . . I can’t.” He brought the framed photo to his face and pressed the glass against his cheek. “I can’t do it.”

  Then he set the frame on the edge of the table so that her smile was facing him. He might forget the details but he wouldn’t forget this—the sparkle in her eyes or the way she could see right through him when no one else ever could.

  When she was alive he would’ve done anything for her. He forgave his father for her, and he gave up bull riding for her—to protect his lung, that piece of himself that belonged to her. The piece that bought them a few more years together.

  But there was one thing he could never, ever do. No matter where the next season in life took him, he couldn’t keep that one promise. The promise to love again. Because the idea was crazy. He hadn’t known how to love at all before he met Ali. With her, love became real for the first time. She defined it.

  He looked at her again. “You understand, Ali. Right?”

  Wherever she was, whatever place in heaven shone a little brighter because of her presence, she would have to understand. Because the promise to love again was overshadowed by a bigger promise. The one he’d made to her that day on the bluff overlooking her parents’ ranch. The promise to love her forever and always. He touched the frame once more. “Good night, Ali.”

  Death might’ve had the last word for Ali, but not for him. So he would love her and he would carry her with him every day, every painful step. Year after year after year.

  As long as his remaining lung drew breath.

  Chapter Three

  Carl Joseph stood at the window next to the front door and waited.

  He didn’t mind waiting. Brother was coming home, and that was worth waiting for two minutes or two hours. Even two days.

  “Cookies are ready!” Mom came to him and smiled. “Want a chocolate chip cookie, Carl Joseph?”

  They smelled really good. Chocolaty and warm all through the house. Carl Joseph thought about saying yes. But he couldn’t. “First cookies with Brother.” He looked out the window. “I wait for Brother.”

  Mom said okay and went back to the kitchen.

  One way to make the time go faster was to count. He counted the squares on the windows at the front of the house. Then he counted the lines on the sidewalk outside—the part he could see. And he counted the tree branches on the big tree out front. He was on the thirty-seventh branch when Dad pulled up.

  “He’s here!” Carl Joseph shouted loud, but that was okay. Daisy wasn’t here to tell him to be quiet. “Brother’s home! Brother’s here!” He jumped up and punched his fist in the air. “Yeah for Brother!”

  When he opened the door, he was out of breath. He bent over and blew out, and then he stood up and there he was! Brother! Brother stood up from the car and grinned. The same kind of grin like when he was on TV all those times and he lasted eight seconds on a bull. That grin.

  “Buddy!” He had his bag tossed back over his shoulder because he was strong. Brother was very strong. He ran to the porch and dropped his bag. “Give me a hug!”

  Carl Joseph wrapped his arms around Brother and lifted him up. Then Brother did the lifting, because Brother was stronger. Brother spun him around in a circle and set him down. “I missed you, Buddy.”

  “Missed you more!” Carl Joseph stretched up and looped his arm around Brother’s neck. “Come on! Mom has chocolate chip cookies. Just like every time you come home!”

  They went in and ate cookies and milk and all day, the whole time, Brother stayed with him and talked to him.

  It was the best day Carl Joseph could remember for the longest time. And the whole time he kept talking to God about his number-one wish. That one day Brother would stay at home. Because as good as hellos were, as good as it was to share warm chocolate chip cookies with Brother, there could be something better.

  To never have to say good-bye.

  BROTHER HAD BEEN home for a full day and life was happy times.

  Carl Joseph planted his feet in the play yard and studied the sky. Clouds. All clouds. And clouds were not good for Daisy. They were on a short break, so maybe the rain would stay locked up there until they got back into the classroom.

  “Fresh air is good.” He linked his arm through Daisy’s. “Tetherball?”

  Daisy squinted up at the sky. “I guess so.”

  “Don’t be afraid, Daisy. It won’t rain today.”

  She looked at him and nodded. Very slowly. “Okay, CJ. Okay. I’m going to believe that.”

  They walked across the yard to the tetherball pole. Carl Joseph let go of her arm and walked backward a few feet in front of her. “Knock knock.”

  The first part of a smile was on her face. “Who’s there?”

  “Lena.” Carl Joseph clapped his hands and laughed. Because if he laughed, maybe Daisy would forget about the clouds and maybe she would laugh, too.

  “Lena who?” Daisy smiled bigger.

  Carl Joseph stopped walking backward. He took a step toward Daisy. “Lena little closer!” Again he clapped, and he laughed harder than before.

  “Lena little closer?” Daisy thought about that for a minute. Then her hands shot up in the air and her eyes lit up like sparkly diamonds. “Oh . . . I get it. Lean a little closer!” She put her hands on Carl Joseph’s shoulders. “I like that one the best.”

  A funny feeling swirled around in Carl Joseph’s stomach. His cheeks felt hot, the way they felt when he stood cl
ose to Daisy. He took her hand and skipped with her to the tetherball pole.

  “I’m going to win today.” Daisy hopped around beside him. “I’ll beat you, CJ. Watch out!”

  Carl Joseph laughed again. Daisy wasn’t thinking of the clouds anymore. He could tell. He covered his face. “What do you see, Daisy?” His voice was muffled, but it was loud. When he covered his face he had to talk loud. That way Daisy could hear him.

  “I see you’re hiding from me!” Daisy took hold of his wrists. “Come on, CJ, take your hands down.”

  “Surprise!” He dropped his hands and held them out to his side. “You see me, Daisy? I’m the winner. That’s what you see. The winner of all.”

  Daisy grabbed hold of the tetherball and gave it a hard shove. “Ready, set, go.”

  “Ahhh!” Carl Joseph squealed out loud. “I wasn’t ready.”

  “Just kidding.” She caught the ball by the rope and waited. “Ready now?”

  “Wait.” He held up one finger. His breath was fast, too fast. He put his head down and blew out—the way Brother had taught him. After seven breaths he looked up. “Okay . . . ready.”

  She slapped the ball and it came at him fast. Then he hit it so hard it soared up and over Daisy. Carl Joseph leaned his head back and laughed, but when he stopped laughing, the ball was already past him. “Ooops!”

  Now it was Daisy’s turn to laugh, but she didn’t miss the ball. She smacked it loud, and it went round and round and round until it touched the pole.

  “Winner!” She danced a pirouette. “Winner, CJ. I’m the winner!”

  “Fine.” He didn’t want to play anyway. He pointed at the bench against the wall. “Let’s sit there.”

  They each took one half of the bench, because it wasn’t nice to make a girl feel crowded. When he had his breath back, he smiled at her. “Brother’s home.”

  “I know. You told me.” She swung her feet. “Is he better yet?”