Page 17 of Off the Trail

“Hell, I probably sound insufferably self-centered.”

“You’re just human. Which means you aren’t nothing,” I say firmly.

“Maybe. I don’t know what I am.”

I glance back at him, the brim of his cap hiding his face from me. But by the set of his shoulders, there’s something really young about him right now. He’s older than me, but I feel like the wise one. I’ve been through the worst and come out the other side. Do I have everything figured out? Of course not. But I know where I am, why I am.

“You can figure it out,” I say. “Shawn Camden isn’t just a former Laurel. You have more than that going for you.”

“I’ve done literally nothing but play baseball since I was five years old.”

“Come on, you’ve got to have hobbies, interests. You like fishing.”

“I don’t think I can build an identity around fishing,” he says, laughing a little.

“It’s been done.” I point ahead. “Almost there—we just have to get past this rocky part.”

“Isn’t that always the way?” His voice is wry.

“It’ll be worth it,” I say firmly. “Come on. Where we’re headed is a great place to get perspective.”

Chapter 7

Shawn

“We made it,” Blaze calls from up ahead and somewhere above me. Misty’s been leading the way since he let her off leash, apparently unconcerned about her roaming free on top of a mountain. I’ve come to trust that Blaze knows what he’s doing. I guess I’ve come to trust him in other ways, too, otherwise why would I have spouted off to him about my life?

I’m vaguely embarrassed about what I said. Here’s a guy who was orphaned at nineteen, took over raising his sister, and has carved a life for himself out of the Maine woods, where it can’t be that easy to find work or opportunities, while I’ve got stupid rich people professional athlete problems that, when you think about it, aren’t really problems at all. I mean, so I don’t have any direction, and I wasn’t lying when I said baseball has been my entire life since I was a kid. But I have a few things going for me. I’ve got a nice apartment and three—I mean, two cars. I have great parents, even if my dad hasn’t talked to me since I got cut from the team. I’ve got friends—all of whom are baseball players or paid to be around me, like Callie.

Okay, I’m depressing myself again.

The point is, I thought I’d be one of those players who stuck around the majors until I got a potbelly and only got trotted out for a few innings at meaningless home games. But I’d still be in the clubhouse, in the dugout, part of the organization.

Well, the organization had other plans.

I’m in the woods with yet another guy who’s getting paid to hang out with me, but at least it’s nice to have a connection with someone outside of baseball, even if he is a Laurels fan.

I guess that gives us something else in common, because I’m still a fan, despite everything.

“Hey, Blaze, can I ask you something?” I say as I push myself over the top of a large boulder, glad that I’ve kept up my workout routine as I scale the steep incline to where Blaze stands with his back to me, arms akimbo.

“Always,” he responds.

But my question dies when I walk over and realize we’re at the edge of a cliff. The boulder we’re on gives way to—nothing. Truly nothing, just air a foot away from us. Misty stands next to Blaze, seemingly enjoying the view, too. I’m nervous about her being so close to the edge, but Blaze doesn’t seem to be, so I relax. He knows his dog.

I let it go and take in the view. Pines surround us in a semicircle and cover the higher crest behind us. Up here is high enough for me. Below, a burnished gold and red carpet of deciduous trees is interspersed with dark, glossy evergreens. The sun is setting at a rapid clip off to our right, so I surmise that’s west like a good little boy scout. Not that I ever was one. Too busy with baseball practice, baseball camp, baseball, baseball, baseball.

Suddenly, I’m fed up with my love of the greatest game. If I had a baseball right now, I’d throw it off the edge of this cliff with all my might. It’s like I had a transplant when I was a kid—trading my heart for a ball. And now I wish I had something of my heart left.

I glance sidelong at Blaze, whose kind, bearded face is limned by the rapidly depleting sunlight. He seems to think there’s something left inside me, something among the stuffing and the leather that’s worth digging around for. He doesn’t think that I have a rubber core.

Maybe as long as one person thinks I can get back in touch with my humanity, that’s enough.

“It’s beautiful,” I say, in a pathetic understatement.

“Yeah. I never get tired of this view,” he says. “We’re going to lose the light in a minute. I better set up our dinner while I can see.”

“We have flashlights or something, though?” I ask, some of my city-boy anxiety rising up. I’m still not convinced we’re not going to meet a bear before getting back to the safety of the truck.