Running Wide Open

  “Nice victory lap, Everett,” Race said. “Remind me never to let you drive the Dart.”

  Dumbfounded, I gaped at the mess.

  “Y’know,” Race commented, looking around to see if anybody had witnessed the incident. “I think what we really need now is some produce.” He snagged the sleeve of my leather jacket and quickly directed me to the other end of the store.

  Out in the van, we laughed like idiots. I was still feeling giddy and revved up when we turned off the highway into the trailer park.

  “Did you check the mail yesterday?” Race asked.

  “No. I thought you did.”

  Race pulled alongside the bank of mailboxes. He handed me the key so I could open ours. I dug out the wad of mail and began sorting through it.

  “Bill,” I tossed an envelope at Race. “Another bill. Latest issue of Circle Track—”

  “Hey, watch it,” Race groused as the magazine bounced off his shoulder.

  I flashed him my cockiest grin and continued slinging mail. “Bill. Occupant. Something from the DMV . . .” I froze, my eyes locked on the remaining envelope. Familiar billowy handwriting screamed up at me.

  “What is it?” Race asked.

  “A letter from Mom.”

  I hadn’t heard from her since the day she’d left Portland. Even when I got in trouble, it was Dad who’d talked to her. All the arrangements had been made for me to move to Eugene without a single word passing between us. What could she possibly have to say to me now?

  Feeling Race’s eyes on me, I didn’t risk looking up. I thrust the keys in his direction. “We gonna sit here all night?”

  As soon as I got to my room I tore open the letter. It was short and to the point. Mom was done with her bartending classes and had found a great job. She’d heard from Dad that I was no longer quite the juvie-bound punk she’d given up on back in April. It was time to get a fresh start. She wanted me to move to Phoenix.

  Chapter 15

  I couldn’t sleep that night. The letter, like a beacon rotating in my head, kept drawing my attention. The worst part was, of all the stuff that could’ve gone wrong with my living arrangements, this hadn’t even been on the list. I tried to convince myself that I could refuse to go—that Mom had given up her right to tell me what to do when she left. But deep down, I was afraid she had the power to make me move.

  Race had enough sense not to ask about the letter the next morning, and I didn’t tell him what it said. Maybe if I didn’t respond, Mom would give up the idea. She was flighty. She didn’t like inconvenience. Unfortunately, she was also stubborn. When she decided she wanted something, she usually got her way.

  I tried to figure out why she wanted me back. Maybe she was angling for child support. Maybe she needed to impress a new boyfriend by playing the Good Mommy role. The one thing I wouldn’t let myself believe was that she might actually miss me. I’d been through a lifetime of her intermittent bursts of attention, and they always ended in disappointment. It was easier to be ignored.

  “You okay, kid?” Race asked when I’d been up for a good twenty minutes and still hadn’t said anything.

  “Sure.”

  “I’ve got a welding job at the shop this morning. Fuel cell can for a Street Stock. I should be home by two at the latest. You can come if you want.”

  I shook my head.

  “Don’t let her get to you,” Race said, punching my arm lightly as he headed out the door. “It isn’t worth it.”

  Now that school was out, I had plenty of time and nothing to spend it on. I tried finishing the story I’d been writing but got stuck on the ending and couldn’t figure out a way to fix it. On any other day I could take a walk along the river to kick-start my brain, but it was still raining, and I couldn’t stop obsessing about the letter. I pulled it out of the envelope and stared at the words. She’d said to give her a call. Maybe I should do that. Just confront things head on and tell her I wasn’t coming.

  I picked up the phone and dialed, but it didn’t go at all the way I’d planned. From the get-go she commandeered the conversation, droning on about her new life and job. I could hardly get a word in.

  “Mom,” I interrupted. “Mom! I need to talk to you about coming to Phoenix.”

  “I’ll send you a ticket,” she said, barely stopping to breathe. “But not from Eugene. I refuse to pay the extra fare just for the sake of convenience. Get Race to drive you to Portland. It’ll give you a chance to say goodbye to your dad before you leave.”

  “Are you high?”

  “What did you say to me?”

  “I’m not gonna make Race drive a hundred miles just because you’re too damned cheap to pay a few extra bucks!” God, how inconsiderate could she be? “Anyway, I’m not moving to Phoenix. I like it here.” I was sort of surprised to hear myself say that. Coming back after running away had seemed like the only decent choice I had. But now it was more than that. I couldn’t stand to think of what my life would be like without Race in it.

  A long, slow silence oozed out of the phone. “Maybe I didn’t make myself clear,” Mom said. “You’re my son, and you’ll do as I say.”

  “Make me!” I slammed the handset down so hard that pieces of the phone’s base busted off and flew across the room.

  Shit! How was I gonna explain that to Race?

  Maybe I could fix it. He must have some glue somewhere. I dug through all the drawers in the kitchen, then through the little compartments at the edge of the drafting table. Finally I found a bottle of Elmer’s under the sink.

  It took me a good ten minutes to locate the broken pieces. Knowing Race could walk through the door at any second, I tried to stick them all together at once. But the glue wasn’t drying fast enough to hold them, and they kept falling apart. I was about to throw the stupid phone across the room in frustration when Race pulled up out front. Damn!

  “What happened?” Race asked as he discovered me trying to shake sticky bits of plastic from my fingers.

  I might as well have had glue on my lips, too, for all I could answer.

  Race went to the kitchen, opened a drawer, and pulled out a roll of duct tape.

  “What did I tell you about using the right tool?” He tore off a piece of the sticky silver webbing and used it to bind the plastic together. “There. That thing’s good for up to two-hundred miles an hour.”

  An unexpected twist of a smile darted across my face. I shook my head. Race probably thought duct tape could cure cancer.

  “There’s only one person who could piss you off enough to mutilate my phone,” he said, sitting down on the arm of the laundry chair and giving me a serious look. “What did she say that got you so upset?”

  I didn’t answer. No way was I gonna tell him.

  Race sighed, running a hand though his hair. “Cody, if she bothers you that much, don’t talk to her.”

  “You’re not mad about the phone?”

  “No. But I’m starting to worry about you. It’s like your temper doesn’t have an ‘off’ switch. You’re always running wide open. One of these days that’s gonna get you into real trouble. You just got lucky with the van.”

  “It’s not like I do it on purpose! It just happens. Usually I don’t even see it coming.” It was the first time I’d said anything about the anger that ambushed me out of nowhere. It was embarrassing, admitting to it.

  “I get that, kid. I know you think I don’t understand because it’s so easy for me to let stuff go, but I can see it’s a real struggle for you. I wish there was something I could do to make it easier.”

  Race went quiet, looking at me, then he got up and clapped his hand solidly on my shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go down to the shop and work on your car. That’ll make you forget about all this.”

  My car. That was just one more thing I’d have to leave behind if Mom got her way. It wasn’t the most important thing, but I was sure gonna miss it.

  Chapter 16

  I didn’t call Mom again, and over the next few days the
urgency of the letter slowly lost its grip on me. Practicing my karate and working on the Galaxie served as good distractions. Race seemed impressed with how easy it was for me to remember all the stuff he taught me. He even told me I was mechanically inclined, imparting this like he thought it was more important than being the next Dalai Lama.

  Much as I expected Mom to call me back, it didn’t happen. Each day that passed left me a little more at ease. I didn’t want Race finding out what she was up to. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe he wanted me with him. I was just afraid that if he knew, he’d agree Mom had a right to take me.

  By the end of the week, I was pretty much back to normal. I decided that unless I heard from my mother again, I’d pretend I’d never gotten her letter. That was easier than trying to control the anger that blazed up whenever I thought of her. My sensei kept talking about centering yourself and not letting your emotions control you, but it seemed impossible. How could I get a handle on something that huge?

  On Saturday, cloudless skies and temperatures in the 70s erased the dismal weather of the past ten days. Race was revved up after the previous week’s rainout and easily creamed Addamsen in the trophy dash. We spent the lag time between events playing catch.

  “Look alive, kid!” he hollered, drilling the Nerf football at me. I nearly tripped over a toolbox making a dive for it.

  “Hey,” I said, tossing it back. “You never did explain why you drive a Dodge. Doesn’t it make it harder when something breaks here at the track and you can’t borrow it from Jim or Denny?”

  “Sure, but there’s advantages, too.” Race tossed the football toward one of our parts boxes, apparently sensing another teaching opportunity. He never said it outright, but I knew he was jazzed about me getting interested in cars. He tugged the floor jack through the infield dust and used it to raise the front end of the Dart.

  “Okay, look at this.” Race crouched down to point at the underside of the car. “See how it doesn’t have springs? Instead it’s got these torsion bars. They provide the spring action by twisting. The cool part is you can make an adjustment to how high the car sits off the ground by turning this bolt, here. Not such a big deal in a Sportsman, where everyone uses weight jacks to adjust the ride height, but it was important in a Street Stock.”

  I hunched down beside him, breathing in the mingled scents of hot oil and speedway dust as I studied the suspension. “So why doesn’t everyone in Street Stocks run a Dodge?”

  “Because the whole amateur racing industry is centered around Chevys. They’re cheaper and easier to get parts for. People seem to think there’s some mysterious magic about how Chrysler suspensions work, but that’s a bunch of crap. The laws of physics don’t change just because you’re running a Dodge.”

  “Exactly,” said Kasey, coming up behind us. She’d been off checking out Jim’s new engine.

  “Is the lesson over?” I asked. “I’m starving.”

  “You’re always starving,” Race said.

  “So?”

  Not bothering to argue the point, Race dug some money out of his wallet and handed it over.

  I snagged a cheeseburger from the concession stand then took it over to the hearse so I could watch the next race with Steve and Alex. I’d gotten into the habit of hanging out with them for a little while every Saturday. Even though Steve had been the one to entertain my ghoulish curiosity that first night, it was Alex who was turning out to be the coolest. He knew Tae Kwon Do, so we had a lot to talk about. I told him what my sensei had said about keeping your emotions in check, and how impossible that seemed.

  “It’s like everything else. It just takes practice,” Alex said. “You didn’t expect to split a board after your first lesson, did you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well, controlling your emotions is no different. Just keep practicing, and over time it will get easier.”

  When I looked at it that way, it gave me a little hope.

  * * *

  Addamsen behaved himself in the heat, in spite of the way Race had shown him up earlier. Maybe Jim and Denny’s lesson in manners two weeks before had made an impression. Surprisingly, there hadn’t been any fallout. I guess Addamsen knew he’d end up looking like an ass if he tweaked about it.

  Denny pulled off a win, with Race coming in second and adding another point to his lead. The cars filed into the pits, and I jumped down from the hood of the Cadillac. “Catch you guys later,” I told the paramedics. “I gotta go see if my uncle needs anything.”

  I dashed back over to the Dart, drawing the pungent odor of racing fuel deep into my lungs and reveling in how the shriek of Super Stock engines reverberated in my chest. It was a perfect night to be at the speedway.

  “Nice of you to let Denny win one for a change,” I said as Race wiggled out of the Dart.

  “Let him, hell. I’m not the only one out here who can win a race, y’know.”

  “Yeah,” I said, slugging him in the shoulder, “but you’re the only one who could take the points lead away from Addamsen.”

  While we waited for the next event we tossed the football around, squinting against the sun until it dropped behind the grandstands. A breeze wafted through the infield, stirring a strange exhilaration inside me. I had my own car, the coolest uncle in the world, and a Mom who was way off in Phoenix, where she couldn’t bother me. I was finally in sync with the universe. From here on out, anything was possible.

  Ted Green hollered for the Limited Sportsmen to line up, prompting Race to put the football away and slide through the window of the Dart.

  “Addamsen’s gonna blow his engine on the first lap of the main and you’ll gain ten points on him,” I said.

  Race cinched up his belts. “Now where’s the fun in that? I’d rather have it be neck-in-neck right up to the finish. It’s more exciting for the fans that way.”

  Maybe so, but there was nothing like a good points buffer to make you feel secure. I dropped my cigarette and ground it out in the powdery dust, reaching to hook up the window net. As Race cranked the engine, I crouched and hollered at him through the nylon webbing. “Now remember, I’ll settle for nothing less than total victory, so get out there and kick some ass!”

  With fast time, Race held the outside position on the back row. I let out a whoop as he rocketed between Tom Carey and Jim at the start. Before Addamsen could file in behind him, Jim swung down low, slamming the door on the black Camaro. For the next eight laps, the four of them snaked their way through traffic, gradually picking off slower cars.

  Addamsen managed to squeak around Jim, but he seemed to have his hands full with Carey. That was fine by me. The further Race could stretch out his points lead, the better I’d feel. The four cars zigzagged around lapped traffic, and Race zeroed in on Holly Schrader, challenging her for third place.

  Half a lap ahead, one of the slower cars began spewing steam. The second place car, trying to pass the leader, got squirrelly when it hit the trail of water in the high groove. Its driver regained control, but Race wasn’t so lucky. As he swooped around Schrader’s Mustang in turn one, the back end of his car broke loose. Carey, directly behind, clipped the left corner of his bumper. The back of the Dart lurched up off the ground. The rear tires left the asphalt and the engine revved. The dark underbelly of the car flipped into view and, smooth as could be, Race’s car rolled up on its roof.

  There wasn’t time to do anything but think oh shit as Carey swerved to the right, launching himself off the top of turn two. Addamsen dodged low, spinning to the grass of the infield. Then the rest of the pack piled into turn one. Jim, in the lead, had nowhere to go. He tried to throw his car sideways, but was too close to pull it off. In front of him, the Dart completed its roll, slamming down on all four wheels.

  Jim’s Camaro slid around to a three-quarter angle.

  Then it plowed right into Race’s door.

  Chapter 17

  A cold, sick feeling clenched my stomach as I watched Jim’s Camaro slam into the Dart
.

  “Oh my God,” Kasey said, her whisper cutting straight through me. Then she was dragging me across the infield. Yellow tow truck lights sliced the darkness as we ran.

  Jim had already backed his car away from Race’s by the time we got to turn two, where the unsettling reek of overheated brakes hung in the air. With all the dust, I could hardly see.

  Ted Greene stood at the edge of the asphalt, trying to restrict the growing crowd of crew members. “Get back,” he shouted. “Nobody but track employees and paramedics out here!” He seized my shoulders as I tried to shove past. “Kasey!”

  Her arms went around me, pulling me close. “He’s right, Cody. We need to stay back.”

  The ambulance braked at the top of the track. Before Alex and Steve could get out, Race crawled through the window of the Dart. Relief rushed over me. He was okay.

  Swaying, Race gripped the top of the door then leaned over and retched.

  “You should’ve stayed in the car,” Alex said, sprinting to his side. “You could have a spinal injury.”

  “I’m fine—just a little dizzy.”

  “Better safe than sorry. Now hold still. No, stop moving your head. You want to end up paralyzed? Steve, get me a cervical collar.”

  Steve brought it to him, then leaned into the Dart to grab Race’s helmet.

  “Did you lose consciousness?” Alex asked as he immobilized Race’s neck.

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know?” Alex led Race to the back of the ambulance and made him sit down.

  “I don’t remember,” Race snapped.

  “Can you tell me who the president is?”

  “Abraham Lincoln.”

  Alex frowned. “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “Yeah, but apparently I’m not being very successful. Look, I told you I’m fine. Why don’t you go ask Jim who the president is?”

  “Jim isn’t the one with a big crack in his helmet,” Steve said.

  Race tried to stand up, but Alex restrained him. “You’re going to the hospital to get checked out.”

  “I don’t wanna go to the hospital.”

  “Steve, radio for an ambulance.”