Things I Want to Say (28 page)

They sat down to dinner just before sunset. The table was heaped with bowls and platters and baskets of food—coleslaw, sliced tomatoes, fried potatoes and hush puppies. Mary Elisabeth had knocked herself out making a feast, and hardly broken a sweat doing it.

Karen watched the young woman with the dispassion of an anthropologist. Mary Elisabeth really was too good to be true. She’d insisted on sitting next to Martin and helping him, “So we can get to know each other better.” He could maneuver a fork fairly well with his right hand, but once the food was in his mouth, it didn’t always stay. And he tended to choke, so small pieces and a reminder to chew thoroughly were important.

“You’re doing real good, Mr. Engel,” Mary Elisabeth said cheerfully, deftly wiping the corners of his mouth with a damp dish towel. When Karen talked to him like this, he glared at her, as if he realized just how patronizing she was being. But with Mary Elisabeth, he looked almost happy.
Even seventy-year-old curmudgeons weren’t immune to the appeal of a sexy young girl.

So what was she doing with Del? And why should Karen care? Frankly, her brother deserved to have someone take advantage of him, the way he’d taken advantage of so many others.

“Casey tells me you’ve been teaching him about birds,” Mary Elisabeth said as she laid another piece of fish on Martin’s plate and cut it into tiny pieces. “I ought to have you teach me some. I only know the common ones around here, like cardinals and blue jays.”

Her breasts in the thin tank top jiggled as she sliced into the fish. Karen wondered if her father appreciated the show. Probably. After all, he was male and breathing.

The girl would be easy to dislike, if nothing else because she was Del’s floozy of the moment. But Mary Elisabeth was too genuine and just plain nice not to feel friendly toward. And the fact that she took so much time with Martin—more time than his own son—had landed her a permanent soft spot in Karen’s heart.

“You want another hush puppy? Here’s one that’s not too greasy.” She offered up the morsel of fried corn bread and Martin opened his mouth like a baby bird.

He chewed and chewed, mouth contorted. Karen looked away. It really wasn’t a pretty sight.

“Guh. Guh!”

“Did you hear that?” Mary Elisabeth dropped her fork and beamed at them. “He said ‘good.’”

“Didn’t sound like anything to me.” Del speared a slice of tomato and added it to his plate.

“No, he said ‘good.’ I know he did.” She looked at Karen. “You heard it, didn’t you?”

“I heard something.” She studied her father. “Can you say it again?” she asked.

He worked his mouth, but nothing came out. His eyes sparked with frustration, and he shook his head.

Mary Elisabeth patted his arm. “That’s okay. We know you said it. It’s a start. It means the parts of your brain in charge of talking are starting to wake up.”

Karen was skeptical of this unscientific explanation, but her father seemed placated by it. He picked up his fork and focused on eating again.

Del turned to Casey. “What’s new with you, sport?” he asked.

“I got an e-mail from Matt this afternoon,” Casey said. “He said to tell everybody hello.”

“Oh? What’s he up to?” Karen asked. The only time she heard from Matt these days was when
she
called
him.
It hurt to think he’d contacted his brother and not her.

“Dad’s made him foreman on some job at a hospital or something. He and Audra had a big fight and broke up, but I’m guessing they’ll get back together. They always do.”

“He didn’t say anything about any trouble with Audra when I talked to him two days ago.” She stabbed at a piece of fish. “What happened?”

Casey shrugged. “I dunno. I guess they split about a week or so ago, so it was old news.”

Old news to everyone but her. She tried to hide her hurt behind motherly concern. “I hope he’s not too upset,” Karen said. “He’s awfully young to be getting serious about anyone.”

“He’s older than you were when you married Dad,” Casey pointed out.

She flushed. “Girls are different. They mature faster. Not to mention
I
was too young, too. I just got lucky with your father.” She’d been happy with Tom, but she couldn’t help wondering what her life would have been like if she hadn’t met him when she did. Would she have stayed in Tipton, married a local man and had a different kind of life? A life
more like Tammy’s? Or would she have found some other way to leave home, and distanced herself even further from her family?

“I think it’s romantic when two people find each other when they’re young and then spend the rest of their lives together,” Mary Elisabeth said. “But I’m glad I didn’t settle down too early.”

“I hope you don’t have any ideas about settling down now.” Del opened afresh beer. “Because I’ve spent way too much time tied down. I’m ready to cut loose.”

Mary Elisabeth smiled, a Mona Lisa smirk. “No, I’ve still got a lot of things I want to do. I’d like to travel some, and see more of the world.”

“I took you to Corpus Christi just last month.” Del winked at the rest of them to let them in on the joke. “Ain’t that enough traveling for you?”

“Not by half, big guy.” She swatted his hand. “You’d better be nice to me and maybe when I decide to start my travels, I’ll take you with me.”

“I’m glad you haven’t left just yet.” Casey swabbed a potato through a pool of ketchup. “I bet Matt and Dad wish they were here right now, eating all this great food.” He grinned at Del. “You sure lucked out, finding a girlfriend who could cook so good.”

“Aren’t you sweet.” Mary Elisabeth reached over to take a swig from Del’s beer, her own long since empty.

“Guh! Guh!” Her father’s fork clattered against his plate and he glared at them, as if defying them to deny that he had, indeed, spoken.

“It
is
good.” Karen reached across the table and took his hand in hers. He gripped her fingers tightly, his skin cool and papery. The gesture brought tears to her eyes, and she rapidly blinked them away. “You’re making progress,” she said. “You’re going to get better.”

How much better would things get between them,
though? He responded more to Mary Elisabeth, a woman he’d just met, than he ever had to her. Was she wasting her time trying to look after him, while her oldest son and her husband went on with their lives without her? How long could she stay away before they began to think they didn’t need her at all?

What would she do with herself if the day ever came when she really wasn’t needed? When she had only herself to answer to?

Walking through the gates at Mitchell Speedway the following Saturday was like stumbling across some relic in an attic trunk and being reminded of a part of life long since forgotten. Karen hadn’t thought of this place in twenty-five years, yet it had once been one of the social centers of her universe. How many Friday and Saturday nights in spring and summer had she spent avoiding splinters on the wooden bleachers, or lined up along the chain-link fence breathing the sweet smell of high-octane fuel and lusting after the drivers who, more often than not, were more in love with carburetors and fuel cells than they ever would be with any woman?

She followed Tammy and her children to the stands, the warped boards rattling underfoot as they climbed toward the middle, where they’d have the best view of the track and the least risk of choking on dust and fumes. They filed into a row, Tammy’s younger children, Jamie and April, climbing up one step to sit behind the women.

While Tammy distributed stadium chairs, binoculars and cold drinks, Karen looked out over the paved oval. “My
God, this place hasn’t changed at all,” she said, staring at the Whitmore Tires sign that had graced the back wall of the track when she was a girl.

“They put in a new grandstand three years ago,” Tammy said as she worked on redoing April’s ponytail. “Stand still, baby.”

Karen squinted at the white-painted grandstand across the way. “It looks the same to me.”

“Well, you know there’s a lot of tradition associated with racing. People like to uphold that.”

In her high school days, it had been tradition for the drivers to carry hip flasks, from which they offered sips of whiskey to the girls who hung around after closing. Karen had drunk from her share of those flasks, and taken more than one wild ride around the track lit only by moonlight, her escort a not-entirely-sober racer, the car fishtailing around curves, engine smoking down the straightaway as the driver sought to impress her.

She shuddered at the memory. Had she ever really been that young and clueless? That reckless?

“Do you want some Fritos?” Tammy offered the open bag of chips. “There’s dip, too.”

She shook her head. “What time do the races start?”

“Seven o’clock. I always like to get here a little early in case Brady or the guys need anything.”

“Can we go down to the pits now?” Jamie said.

They made their way down from the stands toward the pit area. The scent of oil and fuel stung Karen’s nose and the throb of engines vibrated through her chest. They picked their way around stacks of tires and groups of men who huddled around cars. The men stood in groups of four and five, their heads and shoulders disappearing beneath the open hoods like lion tamers swallowed up by their charges. They passed several familiar faces—some whose names she re
membered, others she couldn’t recall. They all seemed to remember her, however. “Hey, Karen, how’s it going?”

“Good to see you, Karen.”

As if they’d last laid eyes on her yesterday instead of twenty or more years ago.

Brady was bent over under the hood of his car, fiddling with a wrench. He straightened when they approached. “I brought you a cold drink,” Tammy said, handing him a Coke she’d snugged into a Koozie with the name of the local auto parts dealer emblazoned on the front. She looked past him, into the engine compartment. “Did you get the problem with the clutch fixed?”

“Yeah, finally. She’s hooked up now.” He grinned over at Karen. “There’s this old boy, Darren Scott, he and I have been trading first place in the standings all spring. I’m determined to beat him tonight.”

“There he is over there,” April volunteered.

She turned and saw a man with graying brown hair and a goatee, standing beside a black-and-white car with the number nine painted on its side. “Cocky sonovabitch,” Brady said good-naturedly.

“April, don’t forget you promised Sandra Wayne you’d watch little Seth for her,” Tammy reminded her daughter.

“I hadn’t forgotten.” April scuffed the dirt with the toe of her tennis shoe. “I was just waiting to say goodbye to Daddy.”

“You go on now, pumpkin.” Brady leaned over and gave the girl a kiss. Karen felt a stab of longing as she watched them. Her father had never made such a casual gesture of affection.

“You should eat something,” Tammy said to Brady. She smoothed the back of his flame-retardant suit. “You want me to bring you a corn dog or something after the race?”

“Nah, I’m okay. I’ll probably go out with some of the guys for a few beers.”

“All right, then.” Tammy stood on tiptoe to kiss him on the lips. “Have a good race. We’ll be cheering for you.”

They made their way back to the bleachers. “It’s amazing that Brady’s still racing after all this time,” Karen said.

“He did quit for a while, when the kids were little and we just flat didn’t have the money. But he took it up again a few years back.” She glanced at Karen. “He says it keeps him young. I’m happy it keeps him out of trouble.”

“What do you mean? Brady never struck me as the type to get into trouble.” Even in school, Brady had been one of the straightest arrows they knew. Except for racing cars, he never did anything illegal, immoral or inconsistent.

“Well, there was this little secretary at work who was sniffing around him, but I got wind of it and put a stop to it.” The determination in Tammy’s voice and the hard line of her jaw made Karen look twice at her friend. Tammy always seemed so easygoing. Then again, it made sense that she’d be fierce when it came to protecting her family, and by extension, her marriage.

“You don’t worry about all the groupies who hang out at the tracks?” Karen asked, remembering her own youthful indiscretions.

Tammy shook her head. “With me and all the kids here, he wouldn’t have a chance to look at another woman. Besides, when he’s here, all he’s thinking about is his car. That thing is his baby.”

“You’re not jealous?” Her tone was light, teasing, but she was serious.

Tammy shook her head. “Nah. I’m the one he goes to bed with every night. I’m not worried about anything else.”

They found their seats and settled in to watch the first race. “Brady’s in the second qualifying heat tonight,” Tammy said.

Karen nodded, the racing lingo coming back to her. Groups of racers competed in the qualifying heat for post
position in the main race, or feature. Brady raced stock cars, which started life as American-made street cars but were so highly modified now as to be unrecognizable as descendants of the family sedan.

The first heat was over almost before Karen knew it. Then it was Brady’s turn. His bright red-and-white Chevrolet was easy to spot in the crowd, and he led the pack most of the way, crossing the finish line inches ahead of the next racer. “Oh, he’ll be happy about that,” Tammy said, grinning.

The qualifying heats out of the way, the track was prepped for the feature race. Karen amused herself watching the crowd. It was an eclectic audience, dominated by groups of men in cowboy hats or ball caps, jeans and T-shirts. There were a good number of families mixed in, the women carrying toddlers or babies on one hip, children playing tag and hide-and-seek beneath the glow of mercury vapor lights.

The teenagers segregated themselves in knots of five or six, the boys mostly separate from the girls, each group watching the other with a show of studied indifference.

She spotted one girl, probably sixteen or seventeen, her heavy makeup and teased hair a clue that she was trying to look older. She was standing with a pair of slightly older men—drivers or mechanics, judging by the shirts they wore that were plastered with the names of auto parts suppliers. The girl was smoking a cigarette. She laughed and threw her head back to blow the smoke out of her nose, while the men looked on admiringly.

Karen caught her breath, remembering herself at that age. For a brief period she, too, had taken up smoking, and carefully choreographed every gesture involved with the habit. Hold the cigarette like this. Tilt her head like that. This was how the cool people looked, how they acted. If she could get the moves right, she could be one of them. Someone better than herself.

Someone different than she’d turned out to be. Back then, she’d dreamed of having exciting adventures, passionate romances, visiting exotic places. She’d have laughed at the idea of settling for a staid life as a housewife and mother.

Was that what she’d done—settled for something less than her dreams? Had she taken the easy road, instead of the one she’d really wanted?

“Hey, Karen, you okay? What are you staring at?” Tammy’s hand on her shoulder pulled her back to the present.

She shook her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You’ve gone all white.” Tammy shoved a Coke into Karen’s hand. “You’ve been living in the mountains too long. You’re not used to the heat.” She turned to her son. “Jamie, wet a rag in that ice chest and wring it out for me.”

“No, I’m fine.” Karen tried unsuccessfully to fend off the wet towel, which Tammy draped around her neck.

“That’ll help cool you off,” Tammy said.

“Thanks.” The damp chill did feel good in the lingering heat.

“I’ll bet it’s nice and cool in Denver right now,” Tammy said, settling back in her seat once more.

“It does cool off a lot at night.” Karen and Tom liked to take a drink onto their back deck after sunset, and sit in the growing darkness, talking. Mostly about work or the boys.

Rarely about things that mattered. The memory sent a pain through her chest, a sharp longing that stole her breath. What had she missed, by not making an effort to dig deeper?

To be more honest about her feelings and opinions, instead of always trying to smooth over any rough patches and disagreements.

“I’ll bet you miss that.” Tammy pulled a round cardboard fan from her bag and fluttered it back and forth under her chin. “I’d hate to live somewhere where it was cold in the
winter, but summer does tend to drag on forever around here.”

“Mama, I want a fan, too,” Jamie whined.

“Here you go, honey.” Tammy handed over her fan, which Karen saw now was imprinted with the name of a local funeral parlor.

Karen remembered all the hours she’d spent placating Matt and Casey this way. Small children were so needy at times. It grew tiring, but now that they were more independent, a deep nostalgia for those times lingered in her. The boys had counted on her then, and she’d always been there for them.

Now that they were more independent and all but grown, she felt an emptiness, and a selfish longing for the old days when she’d been the center of their universe.

“They’re getting ready to start.” Tammy elbowed Karen and directed her attention to the track. As the green flag dropped, the cars surged forward in a cloud of exhaust. Karen found herself watching Tammy, instead of the cars on the track. She could judge the action by the expression on her friend’s face. When Brady’s car skidded through a turn, Tammy gasped and bit her knuckle, her shoulders sagging with relief as he righted the car in the straightaway. When a crash ahead of him forced him to brake and lurch the car to the right, she gave a muffled shriek and rose up from her seat, plopping down again when he was clear of danger.

As the cars neared the final lap, she bounced in her seat, hands pumping. “Come on, baby. Come on, baby. Come on,” she muttered, faster and faster as the cars raced on.

When the checkered flag dropped and the results board showed Brady had come in second, Tammy squeezed her hands together and released a sigh. “Second is good,” she said. “But Brady would be a lot happier with first.”

“Mama, I’m hungry,” Jamie said.

“Have some chips and dip. And there’s some beef jerky
in there, too.” Tammy dispensed snacks, having easily transformed from cheering for her man to catering to her children. She was so calm and efficient.

A sense of familiarity overwhelmed Karen as she watched her friend. She recognized the urgency underlying the capable movements and precision organization. You had to hurry to stay on top of everyone’s needs, your brain spinning at a frantic pace to keep up. Even the outward calm was part of the act. You could never look anything less than absolutely capable. After all, if you fell apart, think how many people you’d take down with you. People who depended on you.

Karen had been there. She’d done that and she’d gotten the T-shirt and the souvenir crown that identified her as the queen manager/mother/organizer/volunteer/et cetera, et cetera….

The problem was, all this activity didn’t leave any chance to slow down or retreat from the constant busyness of life. Sometimes she suspected that was the whole point. Being perfect in all her roles as wife, mom and business partner left little time to question her own needs, or to see her own flaws.

The idea made her feel queasy.

“Brady likes to stay after the race to go over everything on the car and talk to the other drivers,” Tammy said. “There’re three more features on the program, but we won’t necessarily stay to see them all, if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s fine. We’ll leave whenever you’re ready.” Not knowing the drivers or having followed their careers, the races were interesting, but not compelling.

“I’ve got to get a roast ready for the Crock-Pot when we get home, so we can take it over to Mama and Daddy’s after church tomorrow,” Tammy said as she repacked the cooler and gathered up trash.

“Do you have dinner with them every Sunday?” Karen asked.

“Just about. Mama and I take turns cooking, so it works out.”

“You don’t get tired of that? I mean, do you ever think about doing something different? Just for a change.”

“Not really. Besides, my folks would be so disappointed if we didn’t show. There’ll be plenty of time for doing things differently when they’re gone.”

Tammy’s words echoed in Karen’s head as she followed her friend out of the stands and across the grounds toward the parking lot. At what age did you cross over from feeling as if there was always
plenty of time
to the sense that the hours and days were rushing away from you, like water through your fingers? Certainly some sense of urgency had brought her here to look after her father. She’d come expecting to learn more about him, to maybe even figure out what made him the way he was.