Running Wide Open (31 page)

“
You
don’t seem that shook up about it.”

Denny laughed. “I’m good at fakin’ it. Besides, I’ve got a few more laps under my tires than Jim does. It takes a lot to rattle my cage.”

The conversation wasn’t going the way I’d planned. I stuck my hand out the window and directed it into the wind, making it shoot up and down on the air currents. I wasn’t sure how to approach the subject of the Dart, sensing I had only one shot at getting it right.

“Race’s head is really messed up right now,” I ventured.

“Yup,” Denny agreed. “It’s a shocker, seeing him like that. Must be hard to live with.”

“It’s getting worse. Today he didn’t even want to go to the shop.” I ran my fingers around the edge of the side mirror, rubbing away a layer of grime. “Working on the car’s been the only thing keeping him going, but now he thinks that even if he gets back out on the track, he’s not gonna be able to drive like he used to.”

Denny glanced across the cab at me, and I knew what he was thinking. Maybe Race was right about that.

“The way I see it, there’s only one way to fix this,” I said. “He’s gotta get out there and try.”

“How’s the car coming?”

“It’s not. We got the suspension parts off and the engine pulled, but we still don’t have the old K-member out. I don’t know how we’re gonna get a new one. It’s one thing for me to do stuff like that at the shop where we have all the right equipment, but I don’t think I could manage at the wrecking yard. And we’ve still got the door bars to deal with. Race had a guy bend some new ones, but I’m afraid I’ll mess ’em up trying to fit ’em.”

Some optimistic part of me hoped Denny would hear my list of woes and volunteer, but he stayed silent.

“We need your help.”

Denny’s sigh was audible even over the rumble of the pickup’s lousy exhaust. “I know, and I’m sorry, but I gave Kasey my word.”

“Kasey’s wrong!” I said, jerking around to face him. “She’s part of the problem. You know I’m right about this, Denny. You know he’s gotta get back out there.”

“If this was just about Race and his car, I’d help in a heartbeat, but there’s something you’ve gotta understand. I’ve been watching this thing between him and Kasey for a couple of years. Those two belong together. Now that she’s finally figured that out, I’m not gonna be the one to step in and mess it up. Sure, Race needs to get back out on the track. But not as much as he needs Kasey. Understand?”

“You wouldn’t mess it up.”

“Cody, I made a promise. Maybe it was foolish, but at the time it was what Kasey needed to hear. I don’t go back on my word.”

What was it with him and Race and their damned John Wayne ethics? Scowling, I turned away and fell back against the seat. “You’re just as bad as Jim. If you really cared about him you’d help.”

“Hold up there, buddy. You don’t know the first thing about me and Race.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, perturbed that he seemed immune to my manipulative prowess. “You’ve known him since before he could see over the steering wheel.”

Denny seemed surprised I remembered a comment he’d made almost three months ago. His serious expression melted into a smile. “That’s right. Race musta been about ten when I met him. I was driving a Street Stock back then and didn’t have a single win to show for it, but for some reason, he decided I was the one to pull for. By the end of the season he was helping me out on Saturday nights. Back then you didn’t have to sign a stack of release forms to get a kid in the pits.”

My annoyance was momentarily sidetracked by curiosity. “I didn’t know you guys had that kind of history.” It explained why Denny stuck by him, though, and why they were such good friends, in spite of their age difference.

“Sure,” Denny said. “Who do you think taught him how to drive?”

I gawked at him. “Are you kidding?”

“Nope. His dad was giving him fits—too many rules, too much criticism. Race asked me for help. ’Course it was one of those deals where the student surpasses the master. Once he got out on the track it didn’t take him long to start kicking my butt.”

I smiled at the thought of that younger Race, at the talent lurking inside him, waiting to be discovered. “What was he like when he was my age?”

“Quiet, until he got to know a person, then that crazy sense of humor kicked in.” Denny shook his head, his eyes going sad as a basset hound’s. “Race was just an easy-going kid who never had a mean word to say about anyone. All he wanted was to be left alone so he could watch the races and draw his pictures.”

“Well, Grandpa sure wasn’t gonna let
that
happen.”

“Nope, and I never could understand it. What kind of man rejects his own kid?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I muttered, thinking about what Grandpa had said to Race at the hospital. “The more I learn about him, the more I wonder how Race could end up so laid-back.”

Denny chuckled. “Race is hard-wired to be laid-back. But I think it helped that he found what he needed at the speedway. Family is everything to us racers. If you lack one, someone just takes you into theirs.”

I thought about what Denny had done for Race and, later, what Race did for me. Suddenly I saw how my life was part of a pattern. Then an even bigger idea hit me. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence that I had as much trouble with my parents as Race did with his. Maybe that was part of the pattern, too.

In spite of what Denny had said about Race’s easy-going nature, I knew that didn’t completely explain the differences in how we’d handled the abuse. Somewhere along the way Race had made a choice about how he was going to let it affect him.

My mind flashed back to the night Race had picked me up in Medford, and the memory of his words echoed through my skull. “
You can’t change her, kid, but you can damned sure refuse to let her change you
.”

At the time it hadn’t made sense, but now I understood. I’d been letting Mom change me all my life.

* * *

As I watched the trophy dashes that night, I wondered who I could get to help us now that Denny’d refused. Jim was totally out of the question, and I didn’t know any of the other drivers well enough to ask.

When the answer hit me I felt like an idiot for not thinking of it sooner. Addamsen. I’d been using his business card as a bookmark for weeks. But thinking of a solution was easier than implementing it. I felt like I was traveling behind enemy lines as I approached him after his heat.

“Good run,” I said, trying to sound gruff and manly, but botching it when my voice broke.

Everyone in Addamsen’s crew stared at me. They were rough, burly types—the kind of guys who could heft a bundle of shingles onto their shoulders and climb a ladder without breaking a sweat. I could practically smell the testosterone oozing out of their pores.

Addamsen turned away from his conversation when he saw me. “It’s Cody—right? How’s Race? He gonna be out here anytime soon?”

I looked from Addamsen to his crew. I hadn’t planned on having an audience for this conversation, but it was too late to back out now.

“That’s what I need to talk to you about. Remember how you said that if he needed help he should give you a call? Well, he needs help.”

Addamsen chuckled. “I knew he’d be too damned proud to ask me himself.”

“He doesn’t even know
I’m
asking.” I glanced nervously at Addamsen’s crew again. I didn’t want to broadcast Race’s private business for them to hear.

Shifting his eyes from me to his friends, Addamsen caught on. “Let’s take a walk,” he suggested.

It helped, getting away from the others. As we made our way down the pit road, with Street Stocks rumbling past to line up for their main, I outlined what needed to be done on the car and why we were having so much trouble.

“What makes you think he can drive if he can’t fix his car?” Addamsen asked.

“It’s mostly his dexterity that’s messed up. You don’t need that to drive.”

“Must be a bitch, him being an artist and all.”

“No shit.”

“So why haven’t any of his friends helped? I know you gotta be scraping the bottom of the barrel to ask me.”

I explained how Jim had been acting and the deal Denny had made with Kasey.

Addamsen barked out a nasty laugh. “Damn uppity women, thinking they’ve got some right to get between a man and his car. I can’t believe Race puts up with that.”

Now I could see why Kasey didn’t like this guy. “Look,” I said. “I’m not here to debate sexual equality with you. Are you gonna help or not?”

Grinning, Addamsen shook his head. “Sure, I’ll get a couple guys together and come over tomorrow. Lord knows Denny’s the only one who’s given me a challenge in weeks. Jim’s been worthless since that wreck—guess he’s worried he’s gonna be the next one to get his brain scrambled.”

I pulled a concession stand napkin out of my back pocket, on which I’d jotted down the shop address. “Here. There’s no phone, but we’re usually there by nine.”

“It’ll take me a couple hours to get a K-member,” Addamsen said. “I’ll see you around noon.”

Chapter 29

I got up the next morning to find Race crashed out on the couch with the TV on and Winston curled against his side. Kasey, having overslept, was in a hurry to get to the shop. It was no use protesting her seven-day workweeks. She didn’t listen. Ironically, she refused to let me help out more than five afternoons a week.

I picked up the remote and silenced the television.

“You got more interviews today?” I asked Kasey as she bustled through the living room.

“Yes, though I don’t hold out much hope. I swear I’ve spoken to every mechanic in Lane County.” She paused to clutch at a ream of work-orders that were trying to slither out of her arms.

“Maybe your standards are too high. I keep telling you all you need is a regular mechanic. Race could do the welding.”

Kasey glanced toward the couch. With typical cat arrogance, Winston assumed this attention was directed at him and meowed.

“I gave Race the opportunity to help two days ago, and you saw how that went. At any rate, I think you might be reading more into his abilities than he can deliver.”

“Kasey, I’ve seen it.”

“And just what do you know about welding?”

The words caught me like a roundhouse kick, and I gave her a scalding look. What did she think I was, stupid?

Kasey sighed, scooping her keys off the coffee table. “I’ll tell you what, Cody, if you can get him to agree, we’ll give it a shot.”

* * *

Once Kasey was gone, I shook Race’s arm.

“Wake up. We’ve gotta get down to the shop.”

“Go ’way.”

I let him sleep awhile longer, hoping he’d get up on his own. He’d be less grumpy that way. When he finally began to stir I glanced at my watch. Nine-thirty. It would only take fifteen minutes to drive to the shop, but I figured we needed half an hour to be safe.

“C’mon, dude. You gotta get moving. We’re gonna waste the whole morning.”

“Not much we can do without a new K-member,” he mumbled.

“We can work on the door bars.”

“Pointless waste of time.”

I spent the next hour gently cajoling him, knowing if I pissed him off too much he’d never leave the house. My efforts had no effect on his leisurely morning ritual. By eleven o’clock I was desperate. I hadn’t put all this together just to have him blow it off.

“Look,” I said, sitting down across from him at the kitchen table. “If you don’t want to work on your car that’s fine, but I haven’t gotten anything done on the Galaxie since before the wreck.”

Race pushed his empty cereal bowl away and flipped the page of the Sunday comics.

“Maybe another time. I’m not in the mood.”

Not in the mood?
My temper revved and—like an engine screaming past redline—blew. I slapped my hand down on his newspaper.

“Damn it, Race, I’m getting sick of your attitude! I put up with your moodiness, I put up with you snapping at me—hell, I even put up with you acting like I don’t exist—but I’ll be damned if I let you quit. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your ass out in that van.”

Race gaped at me, staggered by the outburst. It was the first harsh thing anyone had dared to say to him since Grandpa’s tirade.

“Welcome to tough love,” I said as I turned to leave the kitchen.

Five minutes later, Race was ready to go.

I knew better than to say anything about Addamsen before we got to the shop. Race would just turn around and head home. But to spare everyone an awkward moment, I figured I had to give him a heads up at some point. I waited until I had the torch lit and was fish-mouthing a door bar, then broke the news. “Umm, I forgot to mention it earlier, but we might be getting a little help today.”

Race glanced up from the measurement he was making. “Who, Denny?”

“Addamsen.”

A mismatched assortment of emotions paraded across Race’s face. Surprisingly, he said nothing. Ten minutes later a white Chevy pickup bearing the Addamsen Construction logo pulled up outside the open bay door. Race watched stone-faced as his nemesis and two crew members got out.

Addamsen gave my uncle a curt nod and went round to the bed of his truck to unload a goo-encrusted K-member. He dumped it at my feet. “Get this cleaned up,” he said. Then he turned to Race. “So what needs to be done?”

It was weird, seeing the two of them regard each other with such stiff formality—the only sign they shared a less than amicable history. Without any indication that the circumstances were unusual or the least bit unexpected, Race said, “The old K-member has to be pulled.”

“John, you wanna get on that?” Addamsen waved a hand at one of his friends then looked back at Race. “What else?”

“We need to fit these bars and make a new door skin.”

Addamsen ordered his other crew member to take charge of the sheet metal work before settling in to help Race with the roll cage. Figuring it was best to fade into the background, I found a sheet of plastic and a couple cans of Gunk, then got to work cleaning the K-member.

It was a surreal afternoon, with everyone trying to act normal even though they must have felt as uncomfortable as I did. After a couple hours Addamsen sent one of his guys to Dari Mart to grab some food and a half rack of Hamm’s.