Running Wide Open (18 page)

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.”

“I don’t need a damned ambulance!”

An uneasy feeling crept over me. It was totally unlike my uncle to give the paramedics such a hard time.

“Race, you’re showing classic signs of head trauma. If I don’t—”

Race clutched suddenly at the door of the ambulance, and Alex steadied him as he started to sway. “Oh, shit. . . . I feel really—” He slumped forward into the paramedic’s arms.

Fear squeezed my chest, forcing out the air. What the hell was happening? He’d been fine just a second ago! Kasey’s grip tightened around my shoulders, and it was that, more than the damp breeze sweeping in from the surrounding wetlands, that chilled me.

“He’s going to be all right,” she said, her voice soft in my ear. It seemed like she was trying to reassure herself as much as me.

As Steve pulled a stretcher out of the back of the Cadillac, and Alex tended to Race, Ted went into drill sergeant mode, barking at the people who still crowded the edge of the track. “Get back! Anyone not helping with these cars, clear out!”

All those times I’d watched shows like
Cops
and
911
I’d never thought about what must be going through the minds of the people involved. It seemed sick, now, that they could put that stuff on TV. That was my uncle Alex and Steve were working on, and I didn’t want anybody watching. Finally, I understood why Alex refused to talk about his job.

A siren wailed far away down West 11th. I shivered, my knees going wobbly. Kasey’s grip was the only thing keeping me upright.

Amber light from the tow trucks bathed the wrecked cars, the track, and the backs of the paramedics. The yowl of the siren got louder. I began to shake as the real ambulance pulled onto the track, its flashing red beams bleeding together with the yellow ones.

“It’s going to be okay,” Kasey repeated, but the trembling in her voice made a lie of her words.

The new paramedics took charge. Seeing us pressed against the front of the crowd, Alex slipped over to join us, his eyes solemn.

“What happened?” I demanded. “He was just talking to you! What’s going on?”

“Sometimes with head injuries it’s like—”

“You told me no one ever gets hurt out here! You said!”

“Cody—” Alex reached out, but I shoved his hand away.

“You lied to me!”

“Kasey?” Denny was suddenly there. “Give me the keys to the van. I’ll make sure all Race’s stuff gets back to the shop.”

“They’re in the toolbox.”

I tore away from Kasey’s grasp. “Who gives a shit about his stuff? What about Race? What’s gonna happen to him?”

Kasey swung me around to face her, drawing me close with a little shake that cut through my panic. “He’s going to be fine, Cody,” she said, looking me right in the eye.

But what if he wasn’t? What if . . .

Ted touched Kasey’s shoulder. “The ambulance is ready to leave. You two should go. I’ll help Denny get things sorted out.” He looked across the track at the crumpled Dart and shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Kasey.”