Running Wide Open (26 page)

“Pretty overwhelming, huh?”

I nodded. “I feel like such a wuss.”

Alex dropped onto the floorboards beside me, hunching forward and resting his elbows on his knees. He fixed his gaze on the smashed down grass at our feet, rather than me, and I appreciated him giving me that little bit of space.

“What you’re going through is normal, Cody. Nobody expects the people they care about to get hurt. It’s always a shock, and it takes time to work through. Believe me, I see it every day.”

Trying to get control of myself, I looked out over turns three and four where the Street Stocks weaved back and forth, warming their tires in anticipation of the green flag. Golden, late afternoon sun blazed down on them from an amazingly blue sky, and the heat of the day still hung in the air. It was perfect Fourth of July weather—a rarity in western Oregon.

“I was a real jerk to you the other night. I—I said things I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

Alex patted my knee. “Don’t worry about it. That was hardly the worst emotional outburst I’ve seen. People say a lot of crazy things when they’re upset.”

“It’s not just that. Race wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you and Steve. I owe you guys big time.”

“You don’t owe us anything. We were doing our jobs. I’m just glad it turned out the way it did. Sometimes, no matter what you do, it doesn’t help.”

“That must really suck.”

“Yeah,” Alex agreed, staring out over the north end of the track. “It does.”

* * *

Jim avoided me through the heat races. At first I thought it was my imagination, but when I walked past him to go to the concession stand and he didn’t say anything, it really torqued me.

“Hey, Jim,” I said pointedly on my way back to Denny’s pit.

“Cody,” he acknowledged, nodding and shifting as if his boxers were riding up. “How’s Race doing?”

“Maybe you should go talk to him and find out.”

Jim blinked then mumbled something about how busy he’d been at work.

“You’re his best friend, Jim. You’re supposed to have his back. Hell, even Addamsen’s been to visit him!”

That tidbit of information seemed to catch Jim off guard. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand just fine—you feel guilty. Get over it. Race already lost the championship. You think it’s gonna make things better if he loses you, too?”

Jim glanced away from my deliberate stare, fiddling with the radiator cap on his car.

“Look, he knows it’s not your fault. You’re the only one who thinks it is. Just go see him, okay?”

Jim didn’t answer. Disappointed, I walked away.

* * *

Kasey was waiting up when Denny dropped me off after midnight. Curled up on the couch with Winston, she smiled sleepily at me as I came through the door. “How was it?” she asked.

“The fireworks were okay.”

A slow comprehension registered in Kasey’s eyes. “You were miserable.”

“I know you and Race were trying to help,” I said quickly, “but it felt so wrong, being there without him.”

Kasey nodded. “I should have realized that. I’m not sure what the trouble is with me lately, but I just can’t seem to think straight.”

I knew what the trouble was. She was exhausted. Between putting in ten-hour days at work, then spending the evenings with Race, she never got a break. The only thing that seemed to recharge her was when her mom would call or stop by the shop.

“Come sit down,” Kasey said, drawing her legs up to make room for me on the couch. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

My stomach tensed and I froze. “What?”

Kasey’s face softened at the panicked note in my voice. “There’s nothing wrong. It’s about the story you gave Race this afternoon.”

“He told you about it?”

“Not exactly. When I showed up he was trying to decipher your illegible penmanship. He kept asking me to translate words for him.” Kasey smiled. “Fortunately, with all my younger brothers and sisters, I’m fluent in chicken scratch.”

“So what’s the big deal?” The thought of her seeing some of the words I’d put on paper made me uneasy, but it wasn’t like she’d read the whole thing.

“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.