“It was frustrating for Race. He understood how difficult it must’ve been for you to trust him with your private thoughts. He didn’t want to disappoint you.”
My uneasiness revved to a fast idle. “You read it to him, didn’t you?”
Kasey nodded. “I had to ask several times before he let me. You need to know he didn’t betray your confidence. If you want someone to be angry with, that someone should be me.”
Humiliation warmed my face. I felt suddenly naked. “I’m not mad,” I said, sitting on the arm of the chair beside the door. “I’m just embarrassed.”
“You shouldn’t be. You have talent, Cody. You ought to be proud of that.”
“My story didn’t suck?”
“No, it didn’t suck.” Kasey shook her head and smiled. “There’s something else you might want to consider. I know you seem to regard your sensitivity as some sort of weakness, but it’s not. It’s a gift. Without it, you wouldn’t be able to write the way you do. You’re a smart, intuitive, young man. You’d be doing yourself a favor to recognize that.”
I blushed harder and stared down at my dusty Converse high tops.
“Did Race like my story?”
“He was thrilled with it. I haven’t seen him grin like that in days. He’s very proud of you.”
I felt a crazy little grin of my own slip over my face.
“It’s getting late,” Kasey said, disturbing the slumbering cat as she stood up from the couch. “We need some sleep. But remind me tomorrow and I’ll get you set up to use the word processing program on my computer. With handwriting as atrocious as yours, you’re going to have to learn how to type.”
* * *
In spite of what Kasey said, I felt self-conscious facing Race the next morning. I had to remind myself that the whole point of giving him my story had been to level the playing field. I was supposed to be feeling like someone had pantsed me.
“Hey,” Race said as I entered his room. “You’re just the guy I wanted to see. I got the official word a few minutes ago—they’re gonna let me out of here tomorrow.”
“That’s great.”
“So how was it last night? Did Addamsen steal the show?” Race’s upbeat attitude contrasted sharply with the downer he’d been on for the past two days. I felt like the world was starting to right itself.
“Not completely. Denny kicked his ass in the heat. He almost had him in the main, too.” I tossed a package of frozen Twinkies at Race then straddled the arm of the chair.
“Where did Jim finish?”
Irritation churned inside me, and it was a struggle to keep my face from broadcasting it. “Fourth in the heat, sixth in the main.”
Race nodded, pursuing his own battle with the Twinkie wrapper. “I take it Kasey talked to you last night?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re not upset?”
“No.”
The package burst open and a snack cake shot through the air, landing on the floor a few feet from me. I scooped it up. “You still want this?”
“Three second rule.” Race held out his hand and I dropped the Twinkie into it.
“Well, I guess the floor’s gotta be pretty clean.”
“I wouldn’t bet on that. I haven’t seen ’em sweep it since I’ve been here.” Race chomped the end off the Twinkie. “Y’know, that was a great story you wrote. I was impressed with the details. How’d you know what it would be like, getting spun out in the middle of a race? You’ve never driven anything but my van.”
“Well, I did wreck it,” I pointed out.
Race shook his head. “Still, it’s pretty amazing. You really nailed what it’s like to be out on the track.”
I shrugged. It hadn’t been that tough to figure out. I’d just watched him and the other guys at the speedway then put what they seemed to feel into experiences I understood. Like the satisfaction I felt that first time Race took me out for a driving lesson. Or the oh shit feeling I got when I lost control of the van.
“How long have you been writing?” Race asked, digging the second Twinkie out of the demolished wrapper.
“I dunno. Maybe three or four years.”
“Your school counselor never mentioned it.” Race’s voice was muffled by snack cake. “He just said you did well on your essays.”
“He didn’t know. Nobody does. I tried showing a story to this one teacher last fall, but he flaked out on me.”
“And of course you never told your mom or dad.”
“Are you kidding? Mom thinks artsy guys are losers.” The same way grandpa does, I realized.
Race gave me a sad little smile. “Our family isn’t very big on encouraging creativity. Though I have a feeling your dad might understand. He was really impressed with your grades.”
“I’m not showing it to him.”
“Hey, no pressure. I’m just honored you showed it to me.” Race’s eyes caught mine in a solemn look, and for a moment he was quiet. “You’ve got a gift, Cody. You owe it to yourself to do something with it. Talent only goes so far by itself. You’ve got to train it. And you can’t let anyone stand in the way—not even yourself.”
I thought of Grandpa cutting off Race’s college fund, and how he hadn’t let that stop him. I pictured Race scrawling in his sketchbook without the least bit of self-consciousness, no matter who was watching. He wasn’t afraid to let people see the creative part of himself. I didn’t know if I had that kind of courage. But looking at him now, I understood talent wasn’t something you should take for granted. In a second, it could get snatched away.
“I’m behind you 100 percent, kid,” Race said. “I want you to know that.”
Like there was any question.
Chapter 25
Thursday morning, while Kasey went to pick up Race, I stayed home transferring my story onto the computer in her basement rec room. It was a slow process of hunt and peck, and after about 15 minutes I decided that, come September, I was gonna sign up for a typing class at school.
The Charger growled into the driveway. I shut down the computer and went upstairs. After tapping the remote button to fire up the TV, I flopped on the couch to wait. I knew it would be awhile. Kasey’s house was built on a hillside so the front door, which opened onto the deck, was a full story above the ground. All those stairs were bound to kick Race’s ass. I could’ve gone outside to help, but I figured he’d prefer not to have two people witnessing his weakness.
A couple of minutes later Kasey opened the door. Race, pale and shaky, failed to look dignified as he sank like a stone onto the chair near the doorway. It rattled me to see how thin he seemed in regular clothes. It hadn’t been that obvious when he was in bed.
“I never really noticed those stairs until today,” Race gasped. “You know there’s fourteen of ’em?”
“There’s only seven the way I take ’em,” I said.
Race glanced at the TV, which had just cut from a volley of commercials to a soap opera. “Jeez, Cody, don’t tell me this is one of your dirty little secrets.”
I snatched the remote and changed channels.
“You should go lie down, Race,” Kasey suggested.
“I don’t wanna lie down. I’ve spent most of the last two weeks lying down.”
The way he was slouched in that chair, he was practically horizontal, anyway.
“Do you need one of these?” Kasey asked, holding out the small pharmacy bag she’d brought in with her. “You look like you’re really hurting.”
Race scowled like an overtired two-year-old. “No. I told you, I’m not gonna take that stuff. It makes me feel like I’m in the Twilight Zone. I’ve got enough trouble trying to think straight without throwing chemicals into the mix.”
“What’s in there?” I asked.
Kasey set the bag down on the coffee table. “Vicodin.”
“I’ll take it off your hands.”
“No, you won’t, kid.” Race nodded at Kasey. “Put those away somewhere. Just get me some aspirin.”
“What’s wrong with spending a little time in the Twilight Zone?” I asked, flipping through the channels.
Race closed his eyes and sank deeper into the chair. “The problem is when you can’t make yourself come back.”
* * *
Too stubborn to lie down, Race fell asleep where he was sitting. Winston, taking advantage of a warm, inert body, curled up in his lap. The cat had been sleeping with me since I’d moved in, seeming to sense I needed the peaceful vibe he radiated, but now he put his healing feline energy to better use.
Kasey told me to keep an eye on Race then headed for the shop. It was after six when she returned. Tired as she looked, she went straight to the kitchen to make dinner.
Race hovered in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he watched. “Can I help with anything?” He’d spent the afternoon alternating between sleeping and wandering restlessly through the house, looking for something to do.
“No, just relax. I’ve got things under control.”
Race sighed and joined me on the couch, where I was playing Mario Brothers on my Nintendo. With my first paycheck, I’d replaced a couple of the games Mom had swiped.
“Kasey works too hard,” Race muttered for probably the hundredth time that week. “Tomorrow we’ll cook dinner for her.”
I wasn’t so sure she’d appreciate that.
Soon the tantalizing scent of beef stroganoff began drifting from the kitchen. By the time Kasey called us to the table, my stomach was rattling the bars of my rib cage.
“This smells delicious,” said Race, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
“It’s nice to have someone to cook for. I enjoy the process, but sometimes it seems like a bit of a waste for only one person.”
I slid into a chair and, at Kasey’s beckoning, grabbed the pan of noodles. After heaping some on my plate, I passed it to her and reached for the stroganoff.
Kasey took a helping of pasta then started to spoon some onto Race’s plate. The heat of his glare stopped her short. She pushed the pan in his direction.
“Thank you,” he said stiffly as he scooped into the container. Noodles wiggled off the spoon and plopped onto the table.
“Your plate’s a little to the left,” I said.
Race threw a noodle at me. It missed and landed in my milk.
“Do I have to drink that?”
Fighting a smile, Kasey reached for the stroganoff.
I dug into my food, pointedly ignoring Race as he concentrated on the pan of pasta. With great effort, he managed to get some onto his plate. The vegetables were another story.
“You have a mean streak in you,” he told Kasey as peas rolled over the tabletop.
“I’m sorry. I should have thought.”
“I’ll say,” I agreed, “peas shouldn’t even be considered food.” I’d been avoiding them, but Kasey put an end to that by lowering a spoonful onto my plate.
“Didn’t you ever give this boy vegetables?”
Race gave Kasey an innocent look. “What’re vegetables?”
“You know, dude,” I said, “those green and red things that come on your side of the pizza.”
“Oh, yeah. I never mess with those. I prefer the one-pan method of cooking.”
Kasey shook her head, but her expression melted from exasperation into amusement.
“Y’know, I’ve been thinking,” Race said. “Maybe we could run down to my shop some night this week and have a look at the Dart.”
Kasey’s smile faded. “I’m awfully busy. I still haven’t found a mechanic, and evenings are the only time I have to catch up on paperwork.”
“So how long do you think it’ll take to fix?” Race asked.
“I have no idea.” Kasey turned her attention toward me as I skeptically examined my milk. “Cody, if you’re thirsty take mine. That noodle won’t bother me.” She leaned across the table to swap glasses.
“I know you’re busy,” Race persisted, “but I’d like to know what I’m up against. Maybe I could give Denny a call and have him run me by the shop.”
“Can we talk about this another time?” Kasey asked. “I’m exhausted.”
Race studied her, torn between hurt and understanding. As an expert in the fine art of manipulation, I had to hand it to Kasey. She sure knew how to disarm him.
* * *
I was shocked to find Race up when I entered the kitchen the next morning at six-thirty. Judging by how tired he looked, I figured he’d had trouble sleeping. That was something I could relate to. It had been several days since I’d woken in the darkness to the image of the Dart flipping through the air, but it had happened again last night.
“Are you taking Cody to the shop today?” Race asked, poking at his Cheerios. Milk sloshed out of the bowl and puddled on the tabletop.
“No,” Kasey said. “I think for these first few days he should stay here and keep you company.”
“I don’t need company. The shop’s more important. I feel bad enough already that you got behind because of me.”
Kasey looked up from the morning edition of the Register Guard. Or the Register Disregard, as Race called it, since they tended to neglect printing the speedway results. “That’s not your fault,” she said. “You didn’t tell Harley to quit.”
“Yeah, but I was the one who gave you a reason to spend a good part of the last two weeks at the hospital.”
“That was my decision.”
“Take Cody with you,” Race insisted. “He likes the work and you need the help.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to spend too much time alone.”
Race shoved away from the table, spilling more milk. “Damn it, Kasey, I don’t need a babysitter.”
Carefully, Kasey folded the paper and got up to take her bowl to the sink. “He’s staying here today,” she said.
It was awfully considerate of them to ask for my input on that plan.
* * *
“C’mon kid,” Race said later that morning. “We’re going for a walk. I’m not gonna get my stamina back by sitting here watching TV.”
“Is that a Kasey-approved activity?” I asked, averting my eyes from the book I was reading.
“Do I look like I care?”
Race kept a firm grip on the handrail as we descended the fourteen stairs. Straggling down the driveway, he grumbled about the heat. Just the night before, he’d been freezing and Kasey’d had to turn off the AC.
“Dude, it’s only, like, seventy-five degrees. Your thermostat’s messed up.”
“Along with everything else.”
I had to reduce my pace to grandma-speed so Race could keep up. I entertained myself by practicing some karate kicks at mailboxes.
“I haven’t seen you with a cigarette once in the past two days,” Race said. “How goes the battle?”
“Pretty good. It’s a struggle sometimes, but I haven’t had a smoke since Sunday.”
Race grinned. “Good work.”
We got about three houses down the street before he had to sit down to rest on a huge boulder at the end of someone’s driveway.
“I’m so out of shape.”
“Well, no shit. Try looking on the bright side. You’re alive, you can walk around, and you don’t get dizzy when you stand up anymore.”
“You’re such an inspiration.” Race heaved himself up off the rock. He only made it another half a block before giving in and turning back.
That little bit of exertion wiped Race out so much he retreated to his room, granting me a few hours of uninterrupted peace while he slept. When he returned to the living room he wore a pinched, pale look that meant he was struggling with another headache. He dropped into the chair by the door and stared at the blank TV, tapping his foot in boredom.
“It’s more interesting if you turn it on,” I said.
“I’ve had enough daytime television to last me the rest of my life.”
“Well, read a book, then. Kasey’s got tons of ’em down in the basement.” The who
le north wall of her rec room was floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. A lot of her collection consisted of college textbooks and big tomes about engineering, but she also owned quite a bit of fiction. Enough to keep me busy for the rest of the summer.
“Not that I have anything against it, but I never really got into reading,” Race said.
“Maybe you should try it. It doesn’t take any strength and it’s a really good way to kill time.”
When Race continued to sit there, I laid my book face down on the coffee table and got up. “C’mon,” I said. “I’ll help you find something interesting.”
Race sighed and followed me downstairs.
“Here we go,” I said, pulling a book from the shelves after surveying the fiction. “You’ll like this. It’s mystery, but it’s got a lot of humor.” I handed him the first of Robert B. Parker’s novels about a private detective named Spenser. Kasey had the entire series, fifteen books so far, and I figured it would keep Race busy for a while.
Leaving him alone with the The Godwulf Manuscript, I went back upstairs. I briefly wondered how he was gonna manage to turn the pages, but decided not to risk annoying him by bringing it up. He must’ve figured it out because I didn’t see him again until a quarter to six.
“That Spenser character’s a real smartass,” Race said when he emerged from the basement.
“Takes one to know one,” I observed.
“We need to make dinner,” Race said. “Kasey shouldn’t have to work all day and then come home and cook for us.”
“Have at it. I don’t want her giving me crap for pawing through her cupboards.”
Race disappeared into the kitchen. The banging and clatter he made distracted me, but it wasn’t until I heard the sound of breaking glass that I figured I’d better help. The phone rang before I made it halfway across the living room. I detoured to grab it.
“Cody? Hi, it’s Mom.”
“Sorry, wrong number.” I hung up and proceeded to the kitchen, where Race was picking the broken pieces of a Ragu jar out of an enormous puddle of spaghetti sauce. It was amazing how much square footage a quart of pureed tomatoes could cover.
“Who was on the phone?”
“No one. Here, let me do that. You’re gonna cut yourself.”
Race tossed the bigger shards of glass into the garbage can. “You have no idea how annoying it is when you and Kasey won’t let me do things for myself.” He grabbed for a paper towel and the entire roll pulled free of its holder, bouncing off the counter and spiraling across the floor through the spaghetti sauce.