I was still dragging my feet on contacting Blake directly. He was living right next door. All that I needed to do was walk up to the door and knock on it or give him a phone call. Instead, I sat on my hands and hoped that I would just run into him somehow. He stopped even sending me text messages to let me know he wasn’t going to make it to softball practice or the team’s games.

As I said goodbye to Reggie after a team practice, I said, “I’m going to go to one of the baseball games. I want to see Blake play baseball.”

He said, “You do realize you could just call him up, and the two of you could probably ride together.”

I laughed and said, “That would be way too easy.”

“How do you know when and where he plays?” asked Reggie.

“I dug out a little newsletter online about his league. It has brief little articles about most of the games, and, apparently, Blake hit a home run. I figured out the name of his team, and they have a schedule posted online.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” asked Reggie.

I said, “No, I think this is something I have to do for myself. I’ll let you know how it turns out.”

Reggie said, “Give me a call on your way home. I do want to know how it turns out. Is the game tomorrow?”

“Yeah, there’s one tomorrow evening. I’ll give you a call when I’m on my way home, or if I’m hanging out with Blake, whichever of those happens.”

After arriving at the stadium, I settled into a seat on the bleachers. It was a tidy little stadium, and the smell of hot dogs and bratwurst hung in the air. The crowd was not large. It was very easy to find a seat.

Shortly after I sat down, both teams lined up on the field for the national anthem to be played over the PA system. I scanned the teams, and I didn’t see Blake. I checked quickly to make sure I had the right team. I was right about that. I could see the team name printed clearly across the front of the uniforms.

Just a few feet away from me, two skinny high school kids were sitting in the stands together watching the game. I stood up and walked over to join them. I asked, “Do you guys come here for a lot of games?”

One of them piped up and said, “We see almost all of them when we can.”

“Do you know a player named Blake Powell?” I asked.

They looked at each other, and then the taller of the two said, “You must be talking about the Blake that we met. Did he play in minor league baseball?”

I said, “Yeah, that’s him.” I sat down on the bleachers just below the pair. “Do you know why he’s not here tonight?”

They looked at each other again. Then the taller one spoke up again. “Something kind of bad happened in the last game, but I don’t think we should really tell you all about it. You should go talk to somebody on the team if you need to know. I don’t think Blake is coming back.”

The other guy spoke up. “It’s a shame, too. Blake’s a good guy.”

I slapped one of them on the knee. I said, “Thank you, guys. You’ve been really helpful. I’ll head down there and talk to somebody on the team. Do you play baseball in school?”

The taller boy said, “I’m already on the team and my buddy Shane here is working on it.”

I said, “Well, my best wishes to both of you, and I’ve gotta run for now. Take care, guys.”

I bounded down the bleachers and made my way to the far end of the dugout. I stepped up to the opening by the fence and asked the closest player. “Is there someone here I can talk to about Blake Powell?”

There was a sudden silence that spread through the dugout. Everyone froze in place until one player walked up to me. He said, “I’ll meet you outside. We shouldn’t talk in front of everybody else.”

He said his name was Pete. He told me that Blake was a good player, but Blake lost his cool and was thrown off the team and out of the league. The brief description of raging anger didn’t sound like Blake at all to me. I asked, “Can you tell me exactly what happened?”

He shook his head and said, “I really don’t think I can. I respect the privacy of both Blake and the league too much. Did you say you’re a friend of Blake’s?”

I said, “Yeah, I’m actually a neighbor, too.”

Pete stared a little more closely at me and tilted his head to the side. He said, “Hey, weren’t you on that softball team with Blake? I think I recognize you.”

I smiled and said, “Yeah, that’s me. So does that mean you’ll help me out.”

He shook his head. “You told me you’re a friend, neighbor, and he was on your softball team. I think you’ve got plenty of ways to contact Blake and find out more. I really think you should hear it all from his side.”

I said, “It must have been bad for him to get thrown out of the league.”

“Talk to him, and, please, tell him that Pete and John said hi.” Then he turned away and walked back to the dugout.

I returned to my car feeling like I didn’t find out much real information. All that I knew was that Blake wasn’t playing baseball with the league anymore, but a whole set of mysteries popped up about why.

As I drove back home, I realized it was time to try and contact Blake directly. I couldn’t hide behind my fears any more. We needed to talk directly and see if we could patch something up. Perhaps I could at least convince him to come back to the softball team.

When I pulled into my driveway, I saw that the lights were all out at Blake’s house. Then I remembered it was one of his usual nights for work down at the Toolbox. For a moment I considered heading downtown to try and meet him, but I didn’t want to disrupt a night of work.

The next evening would be softball practice. I had all day to get in touch with Blake and ask him if he was planning to attend. I decided to bake a batch of brownies and take it next door in the morning in memory of our first date.