“At least.” His father hesitated. Then he hugged him again, even tighter than before.
That’s when Cody realized his father was crying, shaking as the two stayed locked together. Cody’s face was wet, and he wasn’t sure if it was from his father’s tears or his own. Here, in his father’s arms, he was a boy facing the biggest battle of all, the battle for Ali’s life. If he was to survive it, he needed all the help he could get. When he could talk, Cody mumbled into his father’s shoulder, “I’m afraid, Dad. I can’t live without her.” He grabbed a couple of quick breaths.
His mother and Carl Joseph joined them, adding their arms to the hug. Cody cleared some space and looked at his mother. “I’m sorry, Mom. I was… I treated you awful.”
“I always hoped you would find room in your heart for me, Cody.”
“Hey!” Carl Joseph jumped a few times. “That’s what we always wanted. That Cody’s heart would get better, so he could love people. Even you!”
Everyone laughed, but more tears followed. His mother squeezed in and kissed Cody’s forehead. “Yes. Even me.”
Cody didn’t know where the tears were coming from, but they came like a river. He hugged his mom and then his dad again and finally his brother. The whole time, Carl Joseph patted Cody’s knee. “It’s okay to cry, brother. Big boys can cry.”
They were still like that, his entire family basking in the warmth of forgiveness and new love, when Cody heard Ali’s mother’s voice in the doorway. He eased the others back again and wiped his hands across his cheeks.
“The nurse said it was okay if you had one more visitor.” She stepped inside and behind her, led by two attendants, came a gurney through the door into his room. On the gurney was Ali. Her mother shrugged. “She told the doctor she couldn’t get better unless she was with you.”
He fought back another wave of tears and held out his hand toward her. “How are you?”
“Listen.” She inhaled long and slow and grinned at him. “I can breathe.”
He wanted to run from the bed and take her in his arms, but instead he reached out his hand a little farther. Chairs were moved and the room quickly rearranged so that her bed could be placed next to his.
When it was, she slowly reached out and took hold of his fingers. “Well, Cody.” She sounded tired, but her expression couldn’t have been happier. Her eyes traveled around the room at his mother and father and Carl Joseph, and finally back to Cody. “Wanna tell me about my wedding present?”
He bit his lip, stifling a grin. “Yes, I do.” He cleared his throat and looked at the others. “Ali, I’d like to introduce you to my family.”
Chapter Nineteen
Their time together passed far too quickly.
The doctors’ fears—that Ali’s body might reject Cody’s lung since he wasn’t related to her—never materialized. She took to her new lungs as if they’d always been a part of her. Cody wasn’t surprised. He was complete only after she came into his life. It was fitting that a piece of him would complete her, also.
He did his best to convince himself that he hadn’t lost a step, that he could run his horse three miles and not hurt for oxygen. But the truth was something a little different. Sometimes after ten minutes in the saddle his chest would hurt and he’d have to slow down some to catch his breath.
Ali’s father brought it up just once when he caught up with Cody near the barn. Cody had his hands on his knees, catching his breath.
“Gotta pace yourself now, Cody.” He grinned. “We both do.”
Everything they’d been told about donating a lung was right on. A little more winded once in a while, but otherwise not much to complain about. Cody didn’t talk about it or dwell on it or hardly ever even think about it, and Ali’s father was the same way.
All that mattered was Ali.
For two years they lived the type of life most people only dream about and never find. Cody stayed away from bulls and rodeos and anything that might take him from her. They moved into her parents’ guesthouse, and he continued on with her father, working the cattle and keeping the ranch in good repair.
Dr. Cleary told Ali from the beginning that, like always, horseback riding would shorten her time. Ali talked it over with Cody, and the two agreed she would still ride. She would have to ride. And so—against medical wisdom—Cody and Ali climbed atop Ace once a day and rode the perimeter of the ranch, galloping across the fields toward the foothills, breathing in the smell of sweet summer grass and gardenias, their bodies moving with the horse in a fluid motion that felt as beautiful as it was to watch.
Cody explained it to Ali’s parents this way: “The doctors want Ali to spend her days trying not to die.” Sincerity rang in his tone. “We believe Ali should spend her days trying to live.”
Together they found new and breathtaking ways not only to live, but to love.
Because of her new lungs, Ali was strong enough to hike with Cody on easy trails in the Colorado Rockies. Once in a while they would take a picnic to a remote spot and remember their rodeo days.
Ali would recount specific barrel races, the way she felt tearing around the arena on Ace, how she worked so hard to convince everyone she wasn’t sick. And Cody would take a half hour to break down an eight-second bull ride, how the rage drove him and how he willed himself to focus the anger into staying on the bull’s back.
But like always with Ali, Cody could talk for only so long before he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, savoring her, loving her the way he’d promised to love her on their wedding day. And sometimes, during those remote mountainside picnics, their bodies would come together and—without climbing another step—they would discover heights they hadn’t imagined possible.
One early fall afternoon they rode Ace to the small nearby cemetery where Anna was buried. They climbed off the horse, joined hands, and stood above the marker. Anna Daniels, 1976 to 1986. Beloved daughter. Sister. Friend.
Reds and yellows screamed from the surrounding trees, summer’s last desperate show of life, but the two of them were silent. What could they say about a ten-year-old girl who’d lost her life? Whose living was over before it really began?
Cody read the inscription again. “I wish I’d known her.”
“Yes.” Ali bent down and brushed dirt off the corner of the stone. “I wish that, too. You would have liked her.”
Ali had talked about Anna before, how she would’ve laughed when Cody told one of his tired jokes or how she might’ve been a rodeo queen if she’d had the chance or how she would’ve enjoyed a certain brilliant sunset. But that day, staring at Anna’s tombstone, Ali leaned her back against Cody’s chest and brought his arms around her waist.
“Marry again, Cody. Promise me.”
Fear grabbed hold of every muscle, and his chest stiffened. “Actually”—he kept his tone casual—“I believe bigamy’s still against the law.”
“Cody, please.” She let her head fall back against his shoulder, her eyes toward the sky. “You know what I mean.” Jasmine bushes were scattered throughout the cemetery and the air was sweet with the smell. She tapped the heel of her boot against the toe of his. “After I’m gone I want you to fall in love and get married again.” She turned her head and found his eyes. “I want you to have children.”
“Don’t, Ali.” Sorrow and dread and anger took turns punching him in the gut, but anger came out on top. “I want kids with you.”
She turned the rest of the way and looped her arms around his neck. “I want kids with you, too. They told us in March, remember? I can’t have them—you know that.”
“There has to be a way.” He hated having no options. “Let’s talk to Dr. Cleary again.”
“There’s no way, Cody. That’s why I want you to promise me.”
He narrowed his eyes, fighting back angry tears. “Please, Ali…”
“It’s all right to talk about it.” Her voice was softer than the breeze. “When I go, you’ll be too young to live the rest of your life alone.�
�
“No.” He pressed his face against hers, and his hands moved up from her waist to her lower back. He couldn’t be angry when she was so alive, when his life was so full of her. “You’re forgetting something.”
“What?” She leaned into him.
“You’ve got my lung in that body of yours.” He touched the back of her neck, making slow circles beneath her hair. “Gunner lungs last longer.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes.” He kissed her throat and nuzzled his face against hers. “So there.”
He thought about what he’d said. It was true; he was strong and in good shape, and so was her father. Maybe the doctors were wrong; maybe with the right lungs, a transplant would give her twenty or thirty years.
Maybe someone would find a cure for cystic fibrosis.
She angled her head, her eyes a mix of patient love and determination. “I still want you to marry again.”
He took a step back and put his hands on her shoulders. “You know what I’m going to do?”
“What?” She looked past his jumbled emotions, straight to his soul.
“When we celebrate our fortieth anniversary, I’m going to remind you of this conversation.” He raised an eyebrow. “Then you’ll feel pretty silly, huh?”
“Yes.” Her eyes danced and a smile lit her face. “Pretty silly.”
“Okay, then. That’s what I think about your request.”
She tucked her chin against her chest, her expression as sweet as it was coy. “Can we make a deal?”
He sighed and placed his fingers along her cheekbones. “You’re pretty demanding for a woman.”
“I know.” She grinned. “It’s my nature.”
“But… since I’m a cowboy and it’s a cowboy’s nature to be a gentleman, what’s the deal?”
“Okay.” She bit her lip. “Here it is: If I go before you, you’ll get married again and—”
He shook his head. “I told you—”
“Wait…” She held a finger to his lips. “Let me finish. If I go before you, you’ll get married again. And if you go first… I’ll remarry.” She lifted her eyebrows. “How’s that?”
His jaw hung open in mock surprise and he mouthed the word, You? He took a step back, desperate to keep things light. “You’d remarry?”
She poked her fingers at him and giggled. “Come on, Cody; I’m serious.”
The humor left him. He stared at her, not sure what to say. “I can’t, Ali.”
“You can’t?” Disappointment shaded her face. “You can’t remarry?”
“No.” He didn’t blink, couldn’t pull himself from her. “I can’t believe you’ll ever be gone.”
THERE WERE OTHER times.
Times when she’d have a checkup with Dr. Cleary and get glowing reports on her lung function tests and bacteria counts, and Cody would believe every lie he’d ever told himself. She wasn’t going to die; she was fine, cured, a new person. The disease didn’t stand a chance against a competitor like Ali Daniels. The lies helped him sleep at night, but they couldn’t stop the passing of days. One after another they came, and each one as it left took with it a small piece of Ali’s good health.
The end crept up on them like the last scene in a favorite movie.
Diabetes set in, and Ali’s kidney functions fell. Always the fear was a bacterial infection. With cystic fibrosis, some infections could be fought with IV antibiotics. Others would settle in and chip away, taking ground one day at a time until a person’s body simply gave up. The pancreas and her digestive system, even her kidneys, could hold their own for years with such an infection. But once a resistant bacteria moved into her new lungs, it would be only a matter of time.
The first pneumonia came just after their third Christmas.
Ali went to bed with a sore throat and an ache in her chest. She woke up coughing as hard as she had before the transplant. Cody thought about running into the main house for a thermometer, but there was no need. She was burning up. He helped her dress, bundled her in blankets, and carried her through a thick layer of snow to her parents’ house.
The four of them went together, Ali’s father driving, her mother in the passenger seat. Cody sat in the backseat cuddling Ali, stroking her head and telling her to hold on, she’d be well again in no time.
At first it seemed he was right.
Dr. Cleary put Ali on oxygen and gave her high doses of intravenous antibiotics and fluids. Four days later she seemed as healthy as she had before getting sick, with one exception. She was tired.
“We’d expect you to be tired, Ali. But really”—the doctor raised an eyebrow, imploring her—“stay off the horse for a while. A month or two, at least.”
Ali looked at Cody, and he saw something in her eyes he’d never seen before. He saw fear. For as long as he’d known her, no matter what illness she faced, even before receiving the new lungs, Ali never looked scared.
But now she was on her last chance.
No lung transplant loomed in the distance for her this time. Rather, if her lungs didn’t respond to treatment, if she didn’t take it easy and build her strength back, she might never get better.
This time Cody and Ali agreed she should follow the doctor’s orders—at least until she recovered and her tests were back to where they’d been. It was winter, so Ali wouldn’t miss being on Ace the way she would’ve any other time of the year. The weeks drifted by; Cody worked less and whenever he wasn’t working, he was with her.
They watched old movies—Casablanca and Gone With the Wind and An Affair to Remember—and they spent hours playing backgammon and reading out loud together. Reading was a surprise delight for Ali. All her life she’d stayed away from books, not wanting to waste a single day when she could be outside living.
But books were marvelous now, opening doors to wonder and mystery and magical places Ali had never imagined existed. Her favorites were The Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Chronicles of Narnia. Ali loved The Last Battle, the final book in the Narnia series.
“Listen again, Cody.” She would turn to that part of the book, her voice thick with tenderness. “ ‘All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page.’ ” She would stop, take a breath, and continue. “ ‘Now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.’ ”
For a moment she would fall silent, staring at the page. Then she would look up, tears in her eyes. “That’s how heaven will be, right?”
Cody would draw her near and kiss her cheek, absorbed in her. “Yes.” He would search her eyes. “But not for a long time.”
She would only smile and take his hand, switching the conversation to Tom Sawyer and the marvels of childhood magic and making memories along the banks of the Mississippi.
Lazy winter days made for early nights, and often Ali was tired. But Cody would argue the fact whenever Ali’s parents brought it up.
“I’d like to see more color in her cheeks.” Her mother would pull Cody aside every week or so, a frown knit into the lines on her face. “She doesn’t look right.”
And Cody would find his most confident tone, his most relaxed smile. “It’s winter.” He’d pat Ali’s mother on the shoulder. “Anyone would be pale after a season indoors. Wait till spring; she’ll have more energy then.”
But by late March, she didn’t have more energy; she had a second bout of pneumonia. After another week in the hospital, Dr. Cleary was reluctant to send her home.
“I’d like to keep you here; I think the IV and oxygen tent would help some.”
“But not a lot?” Cody was confused. He stood near the head of Ali’s bed. He looked at her parents and then at her and finally back to the doctor. “The hospital’s always been a good thing for her.”
The doctor frowned. It took a moment before he looked up. “In the past we could get her better.”
�
��Meaning?” Ali took hold of Cody’s hand, her eyes on Dr. Cleary.
A sad-sounding sigh left the man’s lips. “It’s not good, Ali; your lung function’s way down and”—he breathed in slowly through his nose—“we can’t treat the bacteria.” He sat on the edge of her bed and took hold of her right foot, his eyes damp. “I’m afraid it’s in both lungs.”
And like that, the end was introduced.
CODY FELT STRANGE and disconnected.
He wasn’t in the room standing next to Ali’s hospital bed. He was on a grassy bluff at her parents’ ranch, looking into her eyes, knowing she had never looked more beautiful, more whole and well. And he was taking her hand and placing a ring on her finger and promising to be strong when she could not.
Only how could he be strong now? The doctor was basically telling them she wouldn’t get better. Her hand was still in his, and he squeezed it. Cowboy up, Gunner. Cowboy up.
He locked his jaw and blinked hard. Get me through this.
The room had been silent, the news working its way through the room, through their hearts and minds like a slow, deadly fog.
“So…” Ali’s eyes showed no reaction. She coughed twice, rib-jarring coughs, and stared at the doctor. “How long do I have?”
“It depends.” He folded his arms tight. “A month, two maybe. Stay indoors, away from your horse, maybe a little longer.”
“But if she stays in the hospital, wouldn’t that…” Cody couldn’t finish, couldn’t bring himself to have this discussion. Talking about it would make it true, and it wasn’t true; it couldn’t be true. Anyone could get pneumonia, right? It didn’t mean it was the end.
The doctor was biting his lip. “If it would make a difference, I’d keep her for a month.” He gave a defeated shake of his head. “At this point, I think she’d be happier at home.”
Ali pulled Cody’s hand close and pressed it to her cheek. Her eyes stayed on the doctor. “How will I know? Will there… will there be a sign?”
A Thousand Tomorrows / Just Beyond the Clouds Page 17