Home Run: A Novel (26 page)

Baby steps. That’s the cliché of taking it easy or taking it slow or taking it one day at a time.

Cory takes that first step and finally starts. He finally really, truly starts, even though he’s gone through all of this before.

Lesson 1. Principle 1. Step 1.

The words heard so many times now wrap themselves around him like a blanket. But this time it’s a baby’s blanket.

He reads the verse from Romans in the worn-out booklet that has his messy handwriting all over its pages.

“I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.”

He keeps reading and finally gets to the questions.

He’s done faking it, just going through the motions.

It’s time. It’s finally time.

Cory answers the questions without being funny and without shading the truth.

This is where it starts.

Chapter Forty-one

Grand Slam

The sanctuary of the old church surely held a wealth of history and stories. The afternoon sun streamed through the tinted windows as the CR meeting began. J. T. stood in the front, holding a basket of blue chips. Cory sat in a pew close to the front. Next to him sat Clay and Karen.

“The first chip is the most important, reminding us to surrender to Christ only,” J. T. said. “If you’ve identified a new area you’d like to surrender to Christ, or if you’ve relapsed and are coming back, we hope you’ll come forward and take a blue chip to remember this surrender date.”

For Cory, it wasn’t about a new area.

For Cory Brand, it was about the whole ship and every single area inside it. Every corner and crack and shadowy space.

He felt more nervous standing now than he ever had standing at the plate, awaiting the pitch. This was more important and held far more implications.

In light of the rest of time and eternity—yeah, this was pretty important.

Cory stepped out and began walking toward his friend and sponsor. As he pulled out a blue chip from the basket, J. T. gave him a big hug.

The kind a father might give his son.

“I’m proud of you,” J. T. whispered.

Cory clutched the chip and sat back down next to Clay and Karen.

He wasn’t alone anymore. And it wasn’t because of these people surrounding him, either.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change …

Cory stood with the rest of the people at the CR meeting, reading the serenity prayer from his pamphlet. There were a hundred things he needed to do—no, make that a thousand—yet he knew he needed to take it easy.

There were a lot of things in his life he couldn’t change.

Emma and Tyler. The Grizzlies and Helene. Tomorrow and next month and next year.

All I have is now.

He knew he had to take it slow. And keep this prayer in the back of his mind.

… courage to change the things I can …

With his bags packed and ready to go, Cory had one more thing to do in this motel room. He couldn’t say he was going to miss this deathtrap inn or his holding cell in it, but he was going to miss the simple nature of living here without much. Wealth and belongings and busyness could keep your mind off the important things. This room had been the perfect place for Cory to remember and to find himself again.

For God to find me and meet me halfway.

He glanced at the Bulldogs roster he had taped to the wall, then pulled it down carefully and placed it in a bag.

He was never going to forget the names on that roster.

Never.

… and the wisdom to know the difference.

Cory had given Chad his loner truck back along with enough money to trade it in for a nicer one. Now he drove a car he’d purchased from J. T. The guy had practically given it away, but Cory had still insisted on giving him some money. He owed J. T. that much.

As he drove out of Okmulgee with the sun just up, he passed the small bar where he’d tried to escape, the one where Tyler had found him. It was a reminder of all the unspoken words and undone things he was leaving behind.

This time, however, he wasn’t running away.

This time, Cory was doing the best thing possible.

He was making his life healthy again. He was moving on and moving toward the future.

Maybe this was a door God was going to shut permanently. And Cory had to be okay with it.

Maybe someday in the future, he’d see them again.

What does that prayer say about looking back or looking ahead?

As he drove out of town and got back on US 75, Cory remembered the words of the prayer. He remembered them and whispered them to himself.

Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time …

Cory felt like Kevin Costner’s character in
Bull Durham
as he opened the door and smelled the aroma of fries and sweat in the manager’s office. He’d skipped the minor leagues on his way to fame and glory. Now he stood across from the manager of the Tulsa Mustangs, an AA baseball team that was a long way away from the Grizzlies.

“Good to see you, Cory,” Ron Knoller said, shaking his hand.

The old Cory might have said something witty like
It’s not so hot seeing you, Jim
or
I didn’t even know they had mustangs here in Tulsa.
But he just smiled and said, “Thanks for seeing me.”

“Not many days we get an all-star walking through that door.”

“I don’t see any in this office.”

Ron gave him a serious look. “Once you make that team, you’re
always
an all-star in my book. And as far as I can tell, there are two of them in here.”

Cory laughed, suddenly curious to know Knoller’s background. “Glad I’m in the right place then.”

“Have a seat.”

… accepting hardship as a pathway to peace; taking, as Jesus did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it …

A few minutes into the conversation with the manager of the Mustangs, the no-nonsense Knoller asked him a question.

“So just tell me—am I gonna regret making this decision? Is this gonna be a pain in the rear for me?”

Cory smiled. It was an honest question. “I certainly hope not.”

“The guy who knocked over that poor batboy—is he gonna show up on the field anytime soon?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t plan on it. And that boy—his name is Carlos. He’s my nephew.”

For a second Ron tried to make sense of this admission, then he cursed and let out a deep laugh from his gut. “Now
that
is the funniest thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

… trusting that You will make all things right if I surrender to Your will …

Cory held the uniform that read
Mustangs
across the front in his hand as he looked out onto the field from behind home plate. The view was a lot smaller than Samson Field in Denver.

He swallowed and looked up at the sky. Because this stadium was smaller, the view of the horizon was wider. The canvas of the sky looked like it had been splashed in blue and white and orange and red. The fading sun made everything look grand and endless.

He let out a sigh. A nervous, tired, uncertain sigh.

For a dozen years he’d been doing it his way.

No, make that for thirty-three years.

That life was over. He’d tried it his way, and he had failed.

Staring at the sky, Cory felt inspired. He wanted to go back on this field and wanted to get behind home plate and do his job.

He wanted to appreciate the ability—the opportunity—of stepping up to the plate.

A man could run halfway around the world to try to find himself, only to find he hadn’t gone very far after all.

He looked at the field and the sky and the fading sun with the newfound hope of a free man. A man knowing he didn’t have to do it all and carry the weight of that around his shoulders every day and night.

All he wanted—all he needed—was to pray and trust God to make things right.

… so that I may be reasonably happy in this life and supremely happy with You forever in the next. Amen.

Happiness in this life isn’t such an easy thing to come by.

Cory can feel the huge hole inside he used to fill so easily. And nights like this when he’s alone and bored and restless, this hole seems to be shouting at him, demanding he do something, begging for one more refill.

He finds his iPhone and dials the number.

“Yeah?”

“It’s Cory.”

“Are you okay?”

Normally he would say yes, but normally he wouldn’t be making this call. The old Cory didn’t know how to say no. The old Cory didn’t know how to ask for help.

“I’ve been better,” he tells J. T.

“Where are you?”

“I’m fine. I’m at the apartment. Just bored out of my mind and itchy. I’d go work out, but my knee’s killing me.”

“I can leave in a few minutes.”

“No, man. It’s fine. I just—I just wanted to talk.”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re an hour away.”

“Forty-five minutes. Tops.”

“No, come on. Let me at least meet you somewhere.”

“Are you sober?”

“Yeah.”

At this point in their relationship, there’s no need to lie to J. T. Cory’s been sober for a while, but it feels like those weeks and months could vaporize in a single second.

“I’ll be there soon. Just hang tight.”

With that, J. T. hangs up, and Cory knows he’s on his way.

And while it no longer surprises him, it’s still amazing.

Cory sighs and swallows and waits. He can wait for J. T. to get there.

But it doesn’t mean it won’t be hard.

Chapter Forty-two

Scoring Position

Emma hit another grounder out to the team of zombies on the field. The ball soared past Tyler, who didn’t seem too bothered and walked to pick it up. Carlos watched him at shortstop, his glove down and his head tilted in boredom. Wick was talking to Kendricks, and neither of them was paying attention.

The team was a disaster now that Coach Cory was gone.

“Come on, guys,” Emma shouted out. “This is pathetic. You gotta at least try.”

But Emma knew it was hard to encourage them to be motivated when stepping back out on this field felt like work now. Every time she saw a Bulldogs logo for the rest of her life, she was going to think of Cory.

Coach Cory, their hero.

Coach Cory who broke my heart. Twice.

“Hey,” Carlos said with a laugh, “this is like the movie when that lady leaves the children and it’s not fun for them anymore.”

Tyler didn’t know which movie he was talking about. Emma knew but didn’t want to dignify the comparison. She still could hit the ball out to them. She wasn’t
that
uncoordinated.

“What’s that movie called with the nun and the singing children?” Carlos shouted across the field to Emma.

“
The Sound of Music
?” Tyler realized.

“Yeah, this is just like that,” Carlos joked. “It’s not fun anymore without Coach Cory.”

She popped another ball out toward Carlos. “You’re killing me, buddy.”

Things were bad when the kids were comparing Coach Cory to Sister Maria.

The ball dropped to Carlos’s side just as he looked out toward the parking lot, oblivious. Emma was going to say something when she turned back and saw Clay walking onto the field, followed by Karen.

“Dad’s here,” Carlos cried out, running toward him.

Clay’s arm was no longer in a sling.

“Coach Clay is back,” Stanton said as the Bulldogs circled Clay.

Everybody cheered his arrival.

Thank God one of the Brand boys came to save the day.

“How’s everybody doing?” Clay said in a cheerful voice.

Emma let out a sigh and raised her eyebrows. “Wonderful now.”

It only took a few moments for the team to get back into lifelike mode. Clay still had to take it easy, but he could throw with his right arm and he could get the team practicing again. Emma took a break and went to the sideline to sit with Karen.

“Look at how enthusiastic they are,” Karen said.

Emma nodded. “Yeah. Wish I could get over it that quick.”

Cory sat in the large sanctuary of the Tulsa megachurch, surrounded on all sides by strangers. He missed the small-town feel of the meetings back home.

Well, back in Okmulgee.

Right now, Tulsa was home. And he was okay with that.

The testimony for the large group was going to be given by a woman named Robin. She looked a little older than Cory and was dressed in business attire, like she worked in some sort of corporate environment, one of those places Cory knew nothing about but liked watching on shows like
The Office.

Once again, here was a stranger telling everyone her story. It didn’t feel strange or awkward anymore. It felt right.

“I grew up in a Christian yet dysfunctional home. We went to church whenever the doors were open. My father’s work took him away from us most of the time. My stay-at-home mother was verbally and psychologically abusive. She was legalistic, and her expectations were unrealistic. She was a Christian, but she hurt me in ways no one else could.”

Robin composed herself, looked out at the audience, then continued to read from her notes.

“Mom’s rapid mood swings were really difficult. She would often send my sister and me to our room, where we were mandated to sit quietly, and then she would forget about us for hours. On more than one occasion, when I could no longer stand the suspense, I would leave the bedroom, knowing the yardstick would be broken on my backside and I would be picking out splinters for a week. But it was dark outside, and I was hungry. I also wanted to take the brunt of the punishment instead of my sister.”

Cory knew that part of Robin’s story very well.

“As a child, I lived in a constant state of fear. I believed in God, but I had a warped sense of who He was, and I couldn’t trust Him. Life, for me, was performance based. But after going through my step study, I’m encouraged. I’m changing. I now believe God is a
loving father.
He’s not waiting to strike me dead and send me to hell for every mistake I make—no matter what my childhood experiences have taught me. I am valuable not because I am doing something well, but because I am God’s child … and He doesn’t make junk. Thank you for letting me share.”

Cory joined everybody in saying thanks to Robin.

As they began to sing, he thought about God the Father. God as a loving father.

But how do I know—what’s to show that He really, truly is such a loving father?

That same loving father gave up His one and only Son for him.

For you, Cory Brand.

The thought crushed him.

If—and that was a massive if—he ever could be Tyler’s father—if he could start to be that young man’s father—there was no way Cory would ever give that up.

No way.

And that’s how much He loves you.

It was a pretty awesome thought.

Later on, in the open share group, Cory realized that he wasn’t some anonymous guy in the room. Everybody knew who he was, and it showed in the looks and the hesitation. Yet nobody said the obvious. Nobody asked for an autograph or asked where he’d been or asked about baseball.

This story wasn’t about baseball.

This story was about recovery.

After the rest of the men had introduced themselves, it was Cory’s turn to talk. Nobody could see the blue chip in the palm of his hand.

“I’m Cory Brand,” he said.

They all looked at him, waiting, watching.

“I’m a brand-new believer in Jesus, and I struggle with alcoholism and anger.”

Without any awkward hesitation, the men all greeted him with warm, welcoming voices.

“Glad you’re here, Cory.”

“Glad you made it.”

“Welcome.”

“Good you could come.”

He suddenly felt a hundred pounds lighter. Cory smiled. If he could see what it looked like, he’d probably not recognize this grin.

It wasn’t the Cory Brand trademark smile.

This was a humble smile. A smile of thankfulness.