I turned around in the chair, hanging my arm over the back. “Are you saying I finally learned to use my gift of intuition for good instead of evil?”
Kasey pursed her lips. “Speaking of gifts, you’re particularly adept at throwing a person’s words back in her face.” She studied me thoughtfully. “You know, at the beginning of May I wondered what Race had gotten himself into, but now . . . well, it’s pretty amazing, the bond you two have.”
It was pretty amazing. And for the first time, I understood it was what I’d been looking for my whole life.
* * *
Friday night we stayed home because Mom was due to show up. I’d toyed with the idea of not being there but rejected it because she’d called Kasey and told her when her plane was leaving. Kasey was still under the impression that Mom was being reasonable. She assured me that if I spoke respectfully and told my mother how much I wanted to stay in Eugene, she’d listen.
At 7:14 the bell rang. When Kasey opened the door my mother swept into the room, presenting her with a huge bouquet.
“These are for you. To show my gratitude for taking care of my son.”
“I only stepped in recently,” Kasey said. “Race is the one who’s done all the work.”
Mom threw a disdainful glance at her brother, who was sitting on the couch with me playing Mario Brothers on my Nintendo. I’d convinced him to give it a try the week before, hoping it would help restore his fine motor skills, but so far the main result had been Race setting a world’s record for getting Mario killed off.
“If he’d been doing the job properly, you wouldn’t have had to step in,” Mom said. “It’s irresponsible to participate in a high risk activity like racing when you have a child depending on you.”
Kasey’s smile withered under the heat of Mom’s tone. Her eyes darted at me, wide with sudden realization, but I looked away.
“Oh, yeah, it’s so much more responsible to just run out on your kid,” I muttered.
“I left you with your father,” Mom said. “And though the man may be lacking in personality and ambition, the one thing you can say for him is that he takes his responsibilities seriously.” She scanned the room. “Where are your bags? Our plane leaves at nine-twenty, and I still have to drop off my rental car.”
I kept my eyes on the TV, where I was navigating Mario through a particularly difficult set of obstacles. “I’m not going.”
“Oh, yes you are.”
“Leave the kid alone,” Race said. “The first time he gets inconvenient, you’ll just send him back.”
Mom shot Race a look that held all the warmth of a Midwest blizzard. “It wasn’t particularly convenient for me to keep him out of jail, but I did it.”
“And you’ll hold it over his head for the rest of his life. Look Saundra, I’ve got to admit you came through for him, and you don’t know how glad I am that you did. But he’s happy here. Why don’t you consider his feelings, for once?”
“I’m his mother,” Mom said. “I love him, and I want him with me.”
“Manipulation, coercion, inflicting guilt—you’ve got a funny definition of love,” Race observed.
With an uncomfortable jolt I realized that, until I’d met him, it had been my definition of love, too.
“Get your things, Cody,” Mom ordered. “Or I’ll call the authorities.”
I looked at Kasey—who was staying out of it in spite of her white-knuckle hold on the flower vase—then at Mom. “I don’t have to. Dad told me you don’t have custody.”
“And you believed him?”
My temper kicked into gear, but with effort I managed to shift back to neutral. “The man may be lacking in guts and communication skills,” I said, calmly mocking her, “but the one thing you can say for him is that he’s honest. Unlike you.” I put the game on pause, set down my controller, and got up. Race shot me a worried glance as I strode across the room to pick up the phone.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Mom’s voice shrilled upward.
“Calling Dad.”
“I have no intention of talking to that man. Hang up and get in the car.”
“No,” I said, “I’m staying here.” My finger hovered over the numbers as Mom knifed me with a wounded look.
“Are you that bent on breaking your mother’s heart?”
Guilt tugged at me. I wanted to give in to it, but I knew I didn’t have the strength to let her keep hijacking my emotions. Race was right. When screwed-up people butted into your life, sometimes the only thing to do was walk away.
I dropped the phone into its cradle. Focusing on it, I forced myself to work my feelings into words. “I don’t want to break your heart, but I can’t take this anymore. You’re not gonna change. It’s messing with my head to keep thinking you will.”
I risked a look at her, hoping this time she’d get it. Willing my words to break through, so she’d finally understand.
“So we’re back to this, are we? Poor little sensitive Cody. Better give him his way or he’ll cry.” A smirk twisted her lips. “You’re pathetic, just like your father.”
My brain buzzed with humiliation. I glanced at Kasey, hating for her to witness this. She shook her head faintly, and in that second it clicked.
Mom only had power over me if I gave it to her.
I turned to face her, calling on the inner calm I’d learned from my sensei. My scrawny, five-foot-five body felt like it had suddenly gained six inches. “No,” I said. “I’m not. And I never have been. You don’t get to tell me who I am.”
In two strides Mom was across the room. Her hand flashed out and fire seared my cheek.
Instantly, Race was on his feet, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away. “If you ever touch him again, I’ll have the state on you so fast you’ll think you hit a time warp.” His eyes blazed with a rage hotter than any I’d seen in those dark weeks following the wreck.
Mom drew back, the color draining from her face. She yanked her arm out of Race’s grip, fingers massaging her wrist.
“I’m going to the police.”
“You go right ahead.”
The two of them glared at each other until Mom swung abruptly back to me, her gaze smoldering. “I’m giving you one last chance, Cody. If you don’t come with me now, I’m through with you. Is that what you want?”
“No. But I’m not leaving.”
The muscles in her jaw twitched, and her lips pulled into a bitter little smile. “Then I guess you’ve made your decision, haven’t you?” Without another word, she turned and headed for the door.
My legs went shaky underneath me. I dropped to the couch. As Mom reached for the knob, my image of her blurred. I blinked and glanced down at my lap, bracing myself against the ache in my throat.
When the door slammed, I didn’t look up.
Race rested his hand on my shoulder, and I jumped.
“Good job, kid,” he said softly. “You really held your temper.”
I looked up at him, swallowing hard—not caring if he saw the tears.
“I’m proud of you,” Race told me.
My mouth slipped into a smile. What more could I ask for than that?
Chapter 33
The next morning Race woke me up—early. The sunlight on the branches outside my window looked so fragile and unripe that I immediately consulted my alarm clock. 5:49.
“It’s not even six o’clock!”
“Yeah, I know. Kasey’s gonna be up any minute. Come help me in the kitchen.”
I pulled on cut-offs and the T-shirt Dad had sent me then followed him down the hallway. “I thought you were gonna take it easy today.”
“I plan on going back to bed right after this. Believe me.”
What I saw in the kitchen shocked me. Platters of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and fresh fruit adorned the table, which was elegantly set right down to the detail of two tapered candlesticks. In contrast, the countertops and stove were a disaster.
“It looks like an IHOP exploded in here,” I
said.
Race grabbed a sponge and began wiping down the stove. “I need you to load the dishwasher, pronto. It’s gonna ruin the effect if Kasey sees this mess.”
“Uh, yeah, about that. Don’t you think a candle-lit breakfast would be more romantic without me around?”
“It’s just for effect. Anyway, you need to be part of this. It’s our way of showing Kasey how much we appreciate the trouble she’s gone to.”
I opened the dishwasher and pulled out the bottom rack. “If you wanted me to be part of it, maybe you shoulda got me up a little sooner.”
“I would have, but things kinda got out of hand with the food. I’m not used to cooking with more than one pan.”
Between the two of us, we got the kitchen cleaned up in seven minutes. I was closing the door on the dishwasher when Kasey walked in. She inspected the table with a smile.
“What’s all this?”
“It’s a ‘thank you’ breakfast,” Race said, pulling out a chair for her.
Second cousin to the ‘I’m sorry’ pizza, I thought.
“I’m duly impressed.”
Race lit the candles. “We wanted to show you how much we appreciate what you’ve done, taking us in and all. I know you must’ve had your doubts, considering what my trailer looked like.”
“I hoped your sense of decency would overpower your distaste for picking up after yourself. And you didn’t disappoint me.” Kasey reached for the eggs, spooning some onto her plate before handing me the platter.
“Still, it’s gotta be a pain, always having someone in your space. You can’t even escape to the shop anymore, with me and Cody working there. I plan on getting an apartment as soon as I can, but I’m gonna have to pay off some debts first. When the insurance company gets their act together and figures out what I owe Sacred Heart—” Race saw the expression on Kasey’s face and didn’t finish. His stubborn refusal to accept the hospital’s charity was one of the things they still disagreed on.
“Did it ever occur to you that I might like having the two of you around?” Kasey asked.
Race stared at her speechlessly as she stabbed a couple of pancakes and transferred them to her plate.
“I grew up in a large family. Sometimes I miss the chaos. This house has always been too big and empty for me.”
“Really?”
“Really. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like.”
“I don’t know if my ego could accept that.”
Kasey smiled and passed the pancakes to me. “Tell your ego to get over itself.”
* * *
When we were done with breakfast, I helped Race clear the table and load the plates into the dishwasher. After latching the door and pushing the button to start the load, I turned to find him watching me.
“You okay about what happened last night?” he asked.
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
His lips twisted into an I’m not buying it sort of pucker, but he didn’t call my bluff. “If she hassles you again, I want you to let me know right away so I can put an end to it.”
“She’s not gonna hassle me. She’ll probably never speak to me again as long as I live.”
And I’m fine with that, I told myself. I’ve got Race and Kasey now. I don’t need her.
Race’s eyes stayed on me, making it clear I wasn’t fooling him.
“You gonna let me put the soap away?” I asked, shaking the box in his face.
He stepped aside.
“You did the right thing, kid,” he said as I ducked around him. Then he gave my shoulder one quick squeeze before he walked away.
* * *
After breakfast, Race retreated to his room and slept until almost one. Kasey shocked me by staying home. For the first time in months, she was caught up enough at the shop to take a day off. She spent it doing yard work, and I helped.
At four o’clock, I put on the newest addition to my T-shirt collection. Race gawked at my chest as if I’d suddenly sprouted a pair of double D’s.
“Where’d you get that?”
I looked down at the Eugene Speedway logo, still unblemished and smelling of fresh silk-screen ink. “Uh . . . the Museum of Natural History?”
Race grinned and shook his head.
We got to the track early, rattling down the dusty drive with the trailer squeaking against the hitch each time we hit a rut. The grass in the fields surrounding the track was dry now, its buff color warm and friendly against the sharp blue of the August sky. On the other side of the grandstands, engines howled. Super stocks—I could tell from the distinctive whine. They screamed into turn one as we got out of the van at the pit booth, and the vibration tickled my feet through the soles of my Converse high tops.
“Hey, Race, welcome back,” said a guy in line to buy pit passes. Then everybody waiting began calling greetings and asking Race questions. When we got up to the booth, Cheryl, the lady inside, scrambled out to give him a hug. Race blushed at the flurry of attention.
“Must be pretty sweet to be so famous,” I said as we got in the van and were given the go-ahead to pull across the track.
Race cocked his head back and smirked. “If you’re nice to me, maybe I’ll let you bask in my glory.”
Once we were in the pits, Kasey and I took care of everything but the driving, including keeping Race on task for practice and time trials. We had to because everyone in Sportsman class, and a lot of guys from other divisions, kept distracting him by coming over to chat. The glaring exception was Jim.
Annoyed, I grumbled about his absence.
“Did you think you were the only one allowed to have a personal crisis over what happened?” Race asked.
“At least I got over mine.”
“Jim will, too. Cut him some slack.”
Proving he still had what it took, Race just missed setting fast time by three hundredths of a second. Our pit area was chaotic following that accomplishment, and Race got so sidetracked he neglected to line up for the trophy dash when he should have.
“It’s good to see you back, Morgan,” Ted Greene barked as he swept down the pit road, slinging threats. “Now get lined up, or I’ll make you sit this race out.”
“I always knew that man had a heart,” Race told the Super Stock driver who’d been bending his ear.
Kasey and I went to watch from the pit wall as the four cars in Race’s dash pulled onto the track. I felt so nervous I thought my stomach was gonna digest itself.
The Dart, always distinctive among those Firebirds and Camaros, now stood out for its crumpled roof and freshly painted driver’s door. The #8 I’d fashioned out of duct tape completed the effect, contrasting with the expert graphics on the fenders.
“Next time around,” I said, anticipating the start as the flagman brandished the furled green.
The cars blazed out onto the backstretch, bunched up tight. A tang of vaporized racing fuel drifted on the breeze, sending a surge of adrenalin through my bloodstream.
When the green flag flew, the pack charged into turn one as a single unit. Nothing changed for the first quarter lap except the speed of the cars. Then, slipping out of turn two, Denny edged ahead of Tom Carey to take the lead. Race followed in his wake, Carey to the outside and Addamsen falling directly behind.
With the white #68 Camaro still at his side, Race couldn’t take the high line going into turn three. Instead, he bore down on Denny, whipping to the inside as the two cars pulled out of the corner. The Dart roared down the front stretch, its bumper inched up flush with Denny’s door. It was enough to claim the groove. Race went into turn one hard and pulled ahead to take the lead coming out of two. The crowd practically went into meltdown.
After that, Denny didn’t have a prayer of overtaking the Dart. Addamsen was another story. Race managed to hold him off for a lap and a half. Then, as they entered the north turn, the black Camaro squeezed by on the outside.
“Ah, crap,” I said, knowing that with only one lap to go there was little chance of Race recl
aiming the lead. He tried to prove me wrong, badgering Addamsen through the corners and pulling even with his rear quarter panel on the backstretch. But when the two cars screamed under the flag tower, the Camaro was a full fender-length ahead.
“Damn!” I said.
“Second place is impressive enough,” Kasey pointed out.
“Hey, I’m not complaining.”
The cars slowed for the cool down lap, then Addamsen pulled up to the start-finish line to claim his trophy. He grabbed the microphone from the announcer’s hand and addressed the crowd.
“I’d like to thank my crew, John and Tony; my sponsors, Willamette Tire, Emerald City Subs, and Duke’s Auto Wrecking; and most of all, my competitor, Race Morgan, for giving me a run for my money. It’s good to have you back, Morgan.” There was momentary silence as everyone tried to assimilate this new level of decency into their opinion of Addamsen. Then the crowd broke into a roar of approval.
Back in the infield, Addamsen parked his car and strolled over to our pit. “Morgan,” he grunted. “That was the best challenge I’ve had in weeks. Your debt to me is paid.” A hint of a smile indicated he wasn’t entirely serious.
“Too bad you didn’t tell me that sooner,” Race said. “You could have saved me the public humiliation of buying you a case of Hamm’s.”
“It’d be even more embarrassing to have to return it,” Addamsen said.
“Good point. Stop by my van after the races and I’ll give it to you. Lord knows I’m not gonna drink that crap.”
When Addamsen left, I followed Race to where the Cadillac hearse was parked at the north end of the track, so he could thank the paramedics.
“Just doing our job,” said Alex.
“Yeah,” Steve agreed through a mouthful of hot dog. “But do us a favor and try to keep the shiny side up tonight. I don’t feel like breaking a sweat.”
The heat wasn’t as spectacular as the dash, but Race started out strong, stealing by Tom Carey on the first lap. Schrader and Whalen quickly overtook Jim, who’d had the pole. At least with them, Jim put up a fight. When Race challenged him, he ducked down low and gave up the groove. A weird combination of disgust and pity tugged at my gut. Was it guilt that made him do that, or did the idea of getting his car that close to Race’s spook him?
In the remaining laps, Race managed to work his way up to third, but he couldn’t find a way around Denny. He pulled into the pits after the race and parked the Dart.