Chapter 2
I’M HERE FOR A FEW MONTHS.
Dallas
Bluestone Lakes is a sixteen-hour drive, and since I haven’t been sleeping the best anyway, I figure I’d push through the night so Sage could sleep for most of the trip.
Initially, the plan was for April to fly into Cheyenne with Sage, and once I had things ready, I would come pick her up afterward, but Sage wanted no part of getting on a plane and preferred the idea of a road trip.
This whole thing still feels surreal, and I’m on the fence about being ready.
I thought the drive would help me understand this move and what’s led me to this point in my life, but it hasn’t.
Instead, I find myself constantly questioning every rash decision I’ve made and my future.
Specifically, if I even want to continue coaching.
Baseball is the only thing I’ve ever known.
It’s been the only constant in my life. I remember the first time I stepped onto a baseball field.
The smell of freshly cut grass, the sound of the ball hitting the bat, and the adrenaline rush as the crowd cheered.
But what would my life look like without it?
Bluestone Lakes represents a new beginning, a chance to leave behind the uncertainties and disappointments that have plagued me. And strangely, near the end of our long drive, I find myself looking forward to this new chapter in my life. An opportunity to embrace who I am without baseball.
My Tahoe slows when the welcome sign comes into view before me.
Welcome to Bluestone Lakes.
My eyes scan the space before me for the first time during this drive.
It’s still early in the morning as the sun barely creeps over the horizon.
Mountains in every direction nestle along the skyline without a cloud in sight.
The urge to pull over and take it all in is strong, but I’m close to hopefully getting some coffee in my system and meeting this mystery woman who will hand me the keys to my rental.
Reaching behind me, I give Sage’s leg a little scratch to lightly wake her up. In the rearview mirror, I watch as her eyes open slowly, assessing her surroundings. My SUV jolts lightly when I hit a little crack in the one-lane highway.
“Are we there yet?” Sage asks groggily, rubbing her eyes and stretching her arms over her head. “Mr. Marshmallow and I are ready to be there.”
While most kids have one comfort item they cling to at a young age, Sage has two.
She has a thin blanket that we used to swaddle her as a baby, which she calls a nanny, and a plush white bunny rabbit she calls Mr. Marshmallow.
It’s not exactly the whitest in color anymore, as Mr. Marshmallow has seen better days, but it brings her comfort.
“We’re here.”
She sits up taller, looking out the window, and at the same time, we pass a ranch.
Beautiful horses line the fence, sitting adjacent to the road.
I keep the SUV slow so that she can get a good look at them.
Watching intently in the mirror and keeping my eyes between her and the road, her face lights up with wonder.
It makes me both emotional and happy because I love seeing her like this, and fucking hate that the feeling plagues me that I’ve missed out on watching her enjoy so many other wonders before this.
“There are so many horses, Daddy!”
“That is a lot, huh?”
“Is this where we’re staying? Can I ride a horse? I want to sit on top of that pretty white one. Looks like a princess.”
I chuckle from my seat. “We’re not staying on the ranch, bug. But this is the town we’re staying in. I’ll do some research and see if they offer rides, so we can check them out one day.”
“I hope they do,” she says, craning her neck to keep looking at the horses while I pass them. Then she faces forward again, kicking her legs up and down with happiness etched all over her face. “This is so fun already.”
I soak up every ounce of happiness she’s radiating, because, quite frankly, I’m nervous.
Having Sage with me once a week is very different from having her full-time.
The time she’s with me is usually packed with something fun and ditching her usual routine: ice cream trips, movie nights, or dinner at her favorite chain restaurants.
It’s all fun and games. I’m not even sure I know what her day-to-day routine looks like now that she’s older than she was when I still lived with her.
“Do you think they have a liquid zoo here, too?”
I choke. “A what?”
“A liquid zoo. You know the places with all the sea creatures inside tanks for us to walk around and look at.”
“An aquarium?”
“That’s it.”
“I have no idea,” I say flatly, because where does she come up with this stuff?
“At least I know they gots horses. That’s just as good.”
“That they do.”
I look from the road to the rearview mirror, and she looks deep in thought.
“Hey, Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you going to play baseball here in this town?”
My chest tightens. Even my daughter knows that baseball’s my life. The tone of her voice is full of worry, though. It’s filled with the question of are you going to be around while we’re here? and that fucking stings.
“I’m not,” I answer honestly, glancing again at her through the mirror. “That okay?”
She smiles, not knowing I’m watching her. “Yeah. It’s all right. But what about coaching? You’re the best in the world.”
Far from it, kid.
“No plans to coach here, bug.”
“Okie dokie,” she says before looking back out the window and seeing the buildings coming into view.
I notice the second sign I was told to look for. Welcome to the Heart of Bluestone Lakes, this one reads. I can already tell this is a very welcoming town. Nan’s directions instruct me to meet her at a small bakery, located a little past the sign called Batter Up.
Less than a minute later, I spot the bakery sign. An older woman, who appears to be in her seventies, sits on a bench on the sidewalk. Her pure white hair and retro-style glasses frame her face while the rest of her looks like she just stepped out of Boogie Nights at a local club.
Interesting.
I park my Tahoe in one of the spots on the road and hop out to meet her.
“You Dallas?” She raises an eyebrow.
I nod, adjusting the brim of my baseball cap to expose more of my face to her. “Yes, ma’am.”
“We aren’t doing that ma’am shit.” She waves her hand in the air, and my eyes widen at how bold she is, having never met me before.
She stands up, looking from me to my Tahoe.
“What the heck is with these out-of-towners coming here with fancy whips?” she mutters while digging into her pocket for a set of keys before handing them to me. “How was the drive to town?”
“Long.” I exhale. “I most definitely need some coffee.”
“Cozy Cup is the place to go!” She smiles, and it’s a stark mood change from just seconds ago. She points at the building next door. “And how convenient for you, it’s right here.”
“Thank you…” I trail off, hoping she gives me a real name.
“Nan. You can call me Nan.”
“Nan?”
“Everyone in town calls me that, and since you’re about to be a part of this town, get used to it,” she rattles off.
“I’m only here for a few months.”
“You’re still here, boy,” she says with an index finger in the air like she’s making a point. “If you live under the roof of one of our homes, even for a short time, you’re part of this place.”
I swallow, feeling an uneasiness creep into my gut. Yes, this is only a temporary place for Sage and me, but the last thing I want to do is get used to it. We’re just here to escape the city, figure out my shit, and for Sage to finish out the school year.
“Right,” I settle on. “Thank you.”
She looks back at my SUV as if she’s looking for something. “Where’s the girl you said was living with you?”
I gesture to my SUV. “She’s in the backseat.”
“Well…” Nan says, making her way to the back door and opening it without an invitation. I should be taken aback, but there’s something about her that screams friendly and safe, even when I don’t know a thing about her. Call it a gut feeling or whatever. “Hey there, kid.”
“Hi,” I hear Sage say as I make my way to where Nan stands. “Who are you?”
“I’m Nan.”
“Like a grandma?”
Nan barks out a laugh. “You can say that. I’m everybody’s grandma ‘round here.”
“That’s really cool.”
“Hungry?” Nan asks.
“I’m always hungry,” she says, unbuckling her seatbelt from her car seat and getting out of the backseat. Someone steps out of the bakery door and onto the sidewalk. Sage scrunches her nose as if she’s sniffing, and her eyes widen. “It smells like sugar out here. My tummy loves sugar.”
Just as I’m about to open my mouth to tell her we’ll stop after I get some caffeine in me, two boys who look to be about eight or nine years old barrel past us on the sidewalk. One with a baseball bat in his hands, the other with a bucket of balls.
Nan throws up her hands. “Whoa. Austin and Archie, slow down, will ya?”
They both skid to a stop, walking slowly back to Nan. “We’re sorry, Nan.” One of the boys says first. “We didn’t mean to run into you guys,” the other adds.
“It’s all right boys. Just be careful. Where ya headin’?”
“The barnyard.”
“All right. Get along now. Stay off the ranch and pick up all the balls when you’re done.”
“Of course, Nan,” one says.
“We’re sorry, again,” the other adds before glancing at me. He’s about to turn around and stops, doing a double take.
The way he’s looking at me tells me he knows exactly who I am. It makes me uneasy because I don’t want to be recognized here. I adjust the brim of my hat and look to the ground, avoiding eye contact altogether.
“Do I know you?” the same boy asks.
“Archie,” Nan cuts in. “Don’t make the new fella in town uncomfortable now.”
He gives me one long, hard stare again, until realization hits him.
He knows exactly who I am.
“Have a good day,” Archie says, turning on his heel to catch up to his friend.
Nan shakes her head. “The twins don’t mean any harm and never cause trouble. Unfortunately, they’re just boys who love baseball but have no means to play it.”
“What do you mean they have no means to play?”
“Well, they have a field set up by the ranch where they can play, but we haven’t had someone willing to step in to coach the kids since the last one quit a few years back.”
“So they just need a coach?” I ask with a raised brow.
She nods, eyeing me with so many questions.
“Oh my gosh, Daddy!” Sage jumps up and down. “You’re the best coach in all the lands. You should definitely be the coach here.”
My daughter’s right.
“I can do it.” I shrug.
I should want to take back the words as soon as they leave my lips since I told myself I’d leave all things baseball in San Francisco, but these kids seem to need help.
Sage thinks I should do it. Baseball saved my life over and over again growing up—a safe place to land when the world around me was chaotic.
And I also feel like it could give me something to do.
“You want to coach the kids?” Nan asks, her brows furrowed.
“Why not?”
“But you’re leavin’ eventually.”
I shrug. “We can figure it out later.”
I always do.
Sage whines, cutting off the conversation. “I need food.”
“And I need coffee.” I smile, crouching down to pick her up.
Standing and facing Nan, I extend a hand to give her a shake.
“Thank you for helping me find a place.”
“It’s no problem.” She waves me off. “Listen, Cozy Cup might be a little busy this time of mornin’.
They also don’t have snacks there. Here in town, we go there for coffee, and then Batter Up for the treats.
Why don’t I take Sage into Batter Up and get her a treat while you grab that caffeine?
I know the owner of the bakery and can get her in and out. ”
Does this woman know everyone in town?
I wonder if she’s like the mayor or something.
“I don’t know,” I say hesitantly.
“Daddy, I’ll be just fine. And looks,” she says, standing on the sidewalk with one arm pointed to the bakery and one arm to the coffee shop, “they are so close to each other. And Nan said I’ll be in and out because she knows people.”
Nan nods. “I know everyone. And I’m practically glued to this town. There’s nowhere I’d run off to.”
This is crazy.
But Sage is right, the shops are really close. She will be in and out.
“Are you sure?” I ask Nan.
“Yes, Daddy! Pretty please with sugar on top? My treat belly is screaming right now that it needs something immediately.”
I look from her to Nan and then next door to the coffee shop. “Okay,” I agree. “I’m right next door when you’re done.”
Nan places a hand on my shoulder and smiles. “Welcome to town, Dallas.”