No Pit So Deep: The Cody Musket Story

by James Nathaniel Miller II

  Julia and Brandi raised their hands.

  “Well, listen to this.” Cody bounced up. “After Cap’n Sly quarterbacked us to the district championship in football, he told reporters that his two greatest assets were his legs, his arm, and his brains.”

  Brandi and Julia erupted. Brandi knocked her water glass over, and that escalated the hilarity.

  “Good thing he did a postgame interview, cuz otherwise the fans wudda never known that he looked for his open receivers, we played sixty minutes, and that our guys were a team.”

  Julia and Brandi laughed so hard they fed off each other’s energy. The stories were not that funny, but the laughter was. Soon, it was contagious.

  As the group left through the crowded front portion of the restaurant, the two women still could not gain control of themselves, hanging on to each other like tipsy sisters. This prompted Sly to address the Saturday night crowd.

  He quoted a verse from the King James Bible. “These are not drunk as ye suppose.”

  The crowd applauded, and Tanner spent the next ten minutes signing autographs — the perfect way to end the night for a smiling hometown hero.

  * * *

  After arriving back at the hotel, Brandi and Cody decided to wind down with a cup of decaf in the lobby, after which they took the elevator to the twelfth floor and then walked slowly down the hall toward her room.

  Brandi took Cody’s arm. “Where is our security team?”

  “Invisible. They have all the entrances to this floor covered.”

  “I didn’t see anybody,” she said.

  “That’s the idea. You probably didn’t see the people watching us at the stadium either.”

  “Nope. Didn’t notice. And the restaurant too?”

  “Covered.”

  “You should know that you are the first man I have ever let see me cry.”

  “Ha! I find that hard to believe.”

  “I know. I cry easily, but not in front of men. Not ever.”

  “I guess that makes me special.”

  “No. That’s not what makes you special.” She tried to nestle closer. They were quiet as they approached the door to her room.

  “Cody, you said something this afternoon about your scars. If I had scars like yours, I wouldn’t be ashamed for anyone to see them.”

  “But you haven’t seen…I mean it goes deeper than that.”

  “And the cross-shaped scar? How deep does that go?”

  “You don’t give up,” he concluded. “I don’t want people to know what happened. What I saw. What I felt. What I still feel. Some things you just don’t talk about.”

  “You don’t look upon yourself as a hero, Cody. I get that.” They stopped in front of her door.

  “Do you think I would’ve surrendered to the Taliban if I had known what they would do to me? I wasn’t that brave. And there are things you don’t know about me — stuff you wouldn’t like.”

  She placed her arms around his neck and looked him in the eye. “I want to know.”

  “Once a journalist, always a journalist. I guess it’s your nature to wanna know the story even if you aren’t gonna write it. I don’t resent it. It’s who you are.”

  “You think that’s why I’m asking? It’s my nature? Cody, the only place I want to write your story is on my heart. Can you not see that? Can’t you trust me?”

  “Like I told you, it’s myself I don’t trust.”

  “Cody, this afternoon in center field, you knew I was hurting. I was foolish to think I could hide it from you.”

  He looked down and away.

  She gripped his shoulders and shook him gently. “Cody, look at me. You made me feel pretty, clean, brave, loved. That’s what a hero does. When you pulled off my shoes this afternoon because you cared about my pain, I wanted to believe with all my heart that you’re the man who’ll always be there to catch me if I fall. You want to know why I called you un-boring earlier?"

  He gazed into her eyes and said nothing.

  "You stand ten feet tall and destroy three armed killers with your bare fists, but a few hours later, you kneel at my feet and sooth my burning skin with hands as soft as velvet mittens. You’re too shy to change your shirt in front of me, but you sweep me up and kiss me without warning. You mention ‘armed and dangerous’ and ‘Tyler Roses’ in the same breath. You hardly smile, but you are the funniest guy I’ve ever known.”

  He was silent, introspective.

  She stroked his face, her eyes glistening. “You’ve suffered more than I have, Cody, but you’re too honorable to point that out, and you never told me to just get over it.”

  “I’m not the guy you think —”

  She put her fingers over his lips. “I have known you barely twenty-four hours, man of steel, but I make up my mind quickly. I’m either all in, or I’m all out. With you, I’m all in. I want to know why that scares you so much.”

  Cody’s eyes were warm, wild, troubled.

  "I'm not asking for a wedding ring tonight, man of steel. I just want to know what’s going on in this mind of yours.” She tapped on the side of his head with her fingertips. “Please let me in.”

  “I get that you don’t waste time," he said.

  “Cody, I know you care for me. Can you deny it? Time is something we may not have."

  "I could fall so hard for you,” he confessed. “Last night, when I first saw you, I thought I could — But now, I don’t know if…”

  “Do I make you nervous? Afraid you’re going to throw a wild pitch and hit the guy on deck?” She searched his eyes. “You said you could read my face, Cody, but I can’t read yours. Please tell me what you’re thinking.”

  The bullpen kiss had stayed with him all through the game. All he could think about was kissing her again. But now she wanted answers he couldn’t give.

  He shrugged away from her and leaned back against the wall. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  He eased his hands into the front pockets of his cargos and then took a long, deep breath.

  “We practiced night traps on the Harry Truman. Landing on a carrier at night is something you never get used to. My knees were always shaking.”

  Brandi folded her arms and leaned back against the opposite wall. Where is he going with this?

  “One night we returned after a mission — eight aircraft. A thunderstorm had engulfed the boat with forty-knot gusting winds, lightning, driving rain. The deck was pitchin’ up and down and rolling side to side.” He paused, wiped perspiration from his brow.

  “The ocean reflected the lights from the carrier, so I couldn’t tell where the boat ended and the water began. I couldn’t tell the sky from the sea 'cause lightning flashes reflected in the waves. I got disoriented and saw myself crashing into the back of the boat. I wanted to panic.”

  Brandi imagined herself in the cockpit but then returned to her senses, confused. Maybe I shouldn’t ask him what he’s thinking again. Where’s this leading?

  “Then I reminded myself to look for my LSOs — landing signal officers — experienced aviators dressed in these funky iridescent outfits, holding lighted batons. They shine the batons toward a thirty-foot-long area on the approach end of the runway where the four arresting wires are located. You have to catch one of the wires with the tail hook to stop the aircraft.

  “Flying at 130 knots at night with flashes of light and the boat bouncin’ around and having to hit an area that small — scariest thing you can imagine. The first seven before me missed, and then I missed. We flew back around and tried again. In all, I made three approaches before I caught one of the wires.”

  “Terrifying, Cody. But your point is?”

  “Disorientation, vertigo — it’s what life is like for me every day since Afghanistan. I can’t find the deck. Dunno where the boat ends and the water begins. I see myself crashing. It’s only a matter of time.”

  He shook his head. “Baseball is the one solid thing in my world, and I can’t do that forev
er.”

  “Cody, I’m trying to understand. I want to understand.”

  He pulled his hands from his pockets and crossed his arms. “I can’t carry anyone with me. I’m afraid they’ll be destroyed, just like Seismo.”

  Brandi’s stomach churned. Oh, God, I’m in over my head. This is out of my league.

  “Cody, if you watch the lightning and focus on what can go wrong, then you’ll never really be alive. You need to just keep your eye on the —”

  “I didn’t need any advice. I just needed you to listen.”

  Her heartbeat advanced. Giving advice was her nature. Why couldn’t he see that?

  “Look. I just wanna get beyond all the nightmares, get away from my past. I just —”

  “How’s that working out for you?” she interrupted. “Flying solo? If you’re afraid to let anyone get close, you’ve created your own prison for yourself.”

  “This isn’t getting anywhere.” He jammed his fists back into his front pockets.

  Her eyes fell. “No…I didn’t mean to — I mean, I know you’ve been in a real prison, Cody. I shouldn’t have said — Please don’t walk away. Cody, come back.”

  “I’ll tell you after we get to Detroit,” he muttered as he walked away.

  “Tell me what?”

  “How I got the other scar.” His sad eyes looked back before he vanished into the elevator.

  She wrung her hands. Why do I always say the wrong thing?

  When she opened the door to the room, Ray was waiting. “You don’t look too happy, baby girl. Is there anything —”

  “Detroit. He said he would tell me more in Detroit. After that, I’ll let you know if anything is wrong. Don’t really want to talk right now, Daddy.”

  Showdown with Captain Sly

  On Sunday morning, Ray and Whitney left early driving home to Altoona. Brandi and Knoxi slept in. Brandi had been exuberant about Cody's invitation to accompany him to Detroit, but their hallway conversation about night traps the evening before had stunned her. She awoke under a cloud.

  He was afraid to attach himself to anyone. She got that. But if he wanted to fly alone, why did he still desire to take her with him to the All-Star Game? He wasn't making sense.

  Cody could be articulate, but he was moody and unpredictable. What would he be like in Detroit? The face on Roberto Clemente’s statue outside PNC Park was easier to read than Cody’s.

  A security team accompanied her with Knoxi to the stadium before the 1:00 p.m. game. She had not talked to Cody all day. What was he thinking? Fragile emotions began to grate. How safe were they during these games? Could just a handful of security professionals protect them? She was snowballed by fear.

  From her box seat in Section 11, she scanned the crowd. She and Knoxi were surrounded by a multitude of strangers, and suddenly it was the two of them against the world. She battled the urge to retreat into the concessions area where merchants sold popular baseball park specialties such as Cuban Pretzel Dogs, beer, and team gear. Should she hide in the ladies’ room?

  Soon, Mia Bustamante, the wife of the Astros right fielder, introduced herself. Others did the same. Felicia Coleman finally made her way to her seat in front of Brandi. Sitting with new friends, Brandi settled in and braced herself.

  Knoxi was shy, but Mia was able to make friends with her and tried to teach her to clap her hands and shout, “Yaaaaay!” whenever the Astros did something exciting. The toddler smiled but made no sound.

  At the end of nine innings, the score was tied 6 runs apiece. Extra innings were in order. In the top of the fourteenth inning, with the score still tied, a disruption made its way like a whirlwind through the crowd in Section 11. People in the front row stood, staring back at Brandi. Fans in the sections to her left and right pointed. Suddenly, she was the center of attention, and no one was interested in baseball anymore.

  She leaned forward. “Felicia, what’s going on?”

  “I dunno, but I’m gonna find out.” She pulled out her cell phone, punched the quick dial and raised it to her ear.

  Mia Bustamante motioned Brandi to lean toward her. She spoke in broken English. “Did you and your boyfriend…did something happen Friday at picture show when we no play baseball?”

  Brandi’s facial skin was burning. Her head was pounding.

  “Just act like nothing happen.” Mia was smiling.

  Felicia put her phone back into her purse. “Brandi, you got attacked? Girl, are you okay?”

  “Oh.” Brandi sighed and placed her hands on her temples. “I guess the news is out. We wanted to keep it quiet as long as possible.”

  Mia and Felicia moved close. “What happened? Something about an attempted abduction at a theater?” Felicia asked. “I just now heard.”

  Brandi took a deep breath. “It made the Pittsburgh news yesterday — back page. Must have just now hit the national media. Hopefully, they haven’t figured out that Cody was involved. I'm okay. It’s just that —”

  “Oh, you no look okay, Ms. Brandi.”

  “Yeah, girl, we need to get you outta here right now. Are you in more danger? Something about editorials you wrote? We should get you to a quiet place. I just now noticed the bruises.”

  “Crowds like this make me nervous ever since — I should go somewhere and get away from all these people.”

  “Well, honey, wherever you go, I’m goin’ with you. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  “Si, Señorita Brandi. Me too! I can carry Knoxi.”

  The three women made their way to the exit from Section 11. When they reached the top of the steps, Julia met them. “I just heard,” Julia said. “Come on. Follow me.”

  Brandi introduced Felicia and Mia to Julia.

  “I know a place,” Julia announced. She led them to a popular sports bar located beyond left field, which featured twenty flat-screen televisions and an outdoor patio and bar with a perfect view of the game. They sat down, drank coffee, and talked while three more innings went by without a score.

  Julia knew the story already, but the other two did not. Brandi spoke of her feelings for Cody and his invitation to Detroit.

  Mia and Felicia sat mystified and tearful listening to Brandi’s romantic story of rescue and love at first sight. Brandi was not accustomed to finding such love among other women her age. Most others had seemed jealous and competitive.

  In the top of the eighteenth inning, Cody came to the plate with a runner on base. The four women turned toward the field to watch. On the first pitch, Cody lifted a high fly ball toward the left-field seats.

  Brandi immediately realized it was headed their direction. She held her breath as the ball appeared larger and larger descending out of the sky. It struck the patio rail thirty feet in front of them and bounced high as it continued toward their table.

  Her three friends scattered, but Brandi reached up and snagged the ball out of the air with her bare hand. The other three laughed and screamed as they reunited around Brandi with hugs and high fives.

  “Girl, you made the play of the game!” Felicia was beaming.

  The women glanced at one of the television monitors. The broadcast crew was showing replays of Brandi’s catch. It was time to go. In only minutes, the patio would be overrun with media.

  It was Cody’s second home run of the game, and he had also hit for the cycle — single, double, triple and home run — a rare feat in baseball. The two-run homer had made the score 8 to 6 in favor of Houston.

  Brandi and her three friends headed back to their stadium seats. It was the bottom of the eighteenth inning, the Pirates’ last chance to either tie or win the game.

  All the relief pitchers in the Astros bullpen had been used. Aging pitcher Sam McDonough had pitched the previous five innings for Houston and was tired. After two outs, the bases were loaded. The Astros just needed one more out, but McDonough was spent, and everybody knew it.

  Astros manager Joe Moran walked to the mound, knowing he had no one left in the pen. Cody had done some p
itching in college. Moran had asked him to pitch in another extra-inning game previously, and he had retired all three batters he had faced against the Los Angeles Angels. His fastball was clocked as high as 93 mph, and he had demonstrated a pretty good curve.

  McDonough, the veteran, wanted to stay in the game, but Moran had seen enough. “Good job, Mac.” He spat on the ground. “But we all know you got nothin’ left.”

  Moran handed the ball to Cody. “It’s all yours, Musket. Just one more out."

  This was the last thing Cody wanted. He had been baffled when Brandi had reappeared at her seat with a baseball in her hand. Where had she been for the past three innings? Additional police had suddenly appeared on the field but would not tell him why. They looked nervous.

  He knew who the next scheduled hitter was. Tanner stood in the on-deck circle swinging a bat, flexing his muscles and flashing his best Cap’n Sly grin.

  Cody looked at Moran. "Why me, Skipper?"

  Moran spit on the ground again. “Might as well show that lady in Section 11 what you got. I figure you’re on a roll. She must be treatin' you right cuz you never swung the bat as good as you have the last two days. Fan this guy!"

  The manager walked away, never looked back, but had one parting shot. “Don’t let me see you wearing no pink dress after da game.”

  Veteran Astros catcher Mike Cannon sensed Cody's distraction and recognized the nearly impossible task thrust upon the rookie. He got in Cody’s face to make him refocus.

  “We’re gonna stick with the heater, and don’t under any circumstances shake me off, you feel me? Do I have your attention, rookie?”

  “Got it!”

  Cody took his allotted complement of warm-up pitches. He managed to get only one of them over the plate.

  As Tanner stepped into the batter’s box, he motioned for the next hitter, Kip Caldwell, who was now standing in the on-deck circle, to move back to the safety of the dugout. Caldwell played along. Tanner had briefed him about the on-deck story.

  This ploy did not go unnoticed by Cody or Brandi. It made her smile, but she would not return Cody's glance. Cody looked toward the plate again. Glaring at him was Captain Sly, with the tight mustache, bulging shoulders, and that wicked grin, wielding his imposing Tanner McNair model thirty-four-inch bat with the dense head and custom tapered handle.