Page 9 of The Scout
Chapter4
Cash
Gravel crunched under my rental car’s tires as I traveled the wide-open two-lane country road. I’d driven on this route countless times before, yet it looked different. The split-rail fencing looked worn, the white barn and farmhouse where Hannah had loved to visit the baby goats appeared to be abandoned, and the large oak tree where we had once carved our initials was no longer there. Still, the memory of making out with her where that tree once stood was as vivid as the day it happened.
On the other side, cattle grazed in the long, dried-out grass. Seeing movement in my peripheral, I slowed down to let a family of geese cross the road. I rolled down my window and watched the mom and dad geese safely maneuver their family until they disappeared into the long clumps of wildflowers.
Continuing on, I passed a pickup truck and a paneled station wagon that had to be considered a classic. When I rounded the corner at one of the four stoplights in town, my alma mater came into view: the same redbrick building, the purple bobcat painted on the sign a bit faded, and the maple trees that my class had planted in the small courtyard now shading the entire area.
Not able to help myself, I pulled into the empty parking lot next to the field. Nostalgia coiled itself around me. Aside from Hannah’s house, most of my time had been spent at that very spot.
I got out and hopped the fence, landing with a plume of dust. Everything from the dugout to the outfield seemed smaller, but that had to be inevitable after spending so much time at professional and collegiate stadiums. The hard, backless bleachers reminded me of my parents. They’d always been my biggest supporters. Especially my father. Ever since I can remember, he’d coached me. Starting with teaching me how to catch a ball in our backyard and extending to how to get a base hit. Once everyone realized I belonged on the pitcher’s mound, he’d hired the best pitching coach in our area.
When we moved, I remember him telling me that the coach was top-notch. Thinking back, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if he had checked out the team before looking for a place for us to live. At times my mother thought he was more driven than I’d been—a notion both of us dismissed.
Glancing up at the scoreboard, I couldn’t help but notice the white sheet draped over the top of it. No doubt covering the new name ... my name. It was an incredible honor. I plucked my phone out of my pocket and called my dad.
“Hey, son.”
“Hi, am I catching you at a bad time?”
“No, perfect timing. We just wrapped up a meeting with a new client. Too bad you’re not here because your mom and I are celebrating tonight. What great city are you in this week?”
“Blossom Berry Falls,” I responded with a chuckle. “Can’t call it a city now, can we?”
“Why are you there?” he practically barked out before softening his tone. “Sorry. It’s just been so long since I’ve thought about that place.”
I knew my father couldn’t wait to move, but by his tone, it was clear I’d never known how much. “That’s why I’m calling. They’re renaming the school’s field after me. Can you believe it? Cash Jameson Field.”
“That’s nice. How long are you staying there?”
I’d expected a bit more excitement, but I knew he was in business mode, so I didn’t think much of it. “Probably leaving on Sunday.”
“Good, good.” He cleared his throat. “I mean. I’m sure there are more productive ways to use your time.”
“Everything okay, Dad?”
“Yes, sorry. It’s been a very busy day. I actually have another meeting to get to. You should call your mother. I’m sure she’d be happy to hear your voice and news.”
“Sure. I’ll call her later.”
“Tomorrow might be better. She’s getting her nails done or whatever.”
“All right.”
“Great. Bye, Cash.”
Before I could saygoodbye, the screen went dark. Chalking up the bizarre exchange to my father being preoccupied, I tucked my phone into my pocket.
“Well, if it isn’t Cash Jameson,” a gravelly voice said.
When I turned, an older gentleman holding a landscaping rake smiled at me. “Milo?”
“In the flesh. Heard you were heading back here.” He nodded toward the scoreboard. “’Bout time they named this place after you.”
Milo had been the team’s equipment manager back when I played. He played ball when he was younger but never wanted to coach. Too bad because the guy knew the game inside and out. I couldn’t help but give him a quick hug. “Good to see you. How’re things? Still hanging out here, I see.”
“You know it. Wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. The smell of the grass and dirt are as good as the missus’s peach cobbler.” When I cocked a brow, he added, “Don’t go tellin’ her that, or I’ll smack ya. I don’t care who you are.”