Twice in a Lifetime (27 page)

Amos glanced over his shoulder at Drake’s bag in the backseat. If he could just get away, if he could find somewhere to buy more morphine, if he could rent a room, get a fix, sleep for a few days, everything would be all right, he was sure of it.

Because he was distracted, thinking about the drugs and the money he had stolen and bracing himself for another hit from the Cadillac, Amos wasn’t paying attention to the road. He was driving fast, the Plymouth’s speedometer buried. So when the sudden, sharp turn arrived, he hadn’t seen it coming.

Even as Drake struggled to keep the pickup on the dirt road, he kept glancing at the two speeding cars. He could see that the Plymouth was going too fast as it approached the curve, the Cadillac right on its tail. He felt the sudden urge to cry out, to shout a warning to Amos, but it would have been futile. He was helpless to do anything but watch.

What happened next felt as if it occurred in slow motion.

Amos jammed down hard on the Plymouth’s brakes, as if he suddenly realized he was in grave danger. Smoke billowed off the pavement as the tires screamed. But it wasn’t enough. The car slid to the right, out of control, before flying off the road and over a steep incline. Incredibly, the Cadillac followed. Its driver had been too close, too intent on catching his quarry, and he hadn’t realized he was being blindly led to his doom.

“Oh my God!” Clara shouted.

In his many years racing cars, Drake had seen plenty of crashes, but this was one of the worst. The Plymouth sailed through the air, landing on its undercarriage hard enough to blow out a couple of tires before bouncing toward a copse of trees. It rammed nose-first into a thick elm, its front end crumpling as if it was made out of paper; metal and glass flew everywhere. A heartbeat later, the Cadillac rammed it from behind, flipping over the Plymouth’s roof to smash into the same tree. After all their furious racing, whipping down the backcountry roads, both cars fell silent and still.

Drake skidded to a stop at the bottom of the hill, a couple hundred feet from the crash. His heart felt like it was going to pound out of his chest.

“Stay here!” he shouted at Clara and Tommy before leaping out and running toward the wreck. He’d gone only a couple of steps before a fire erupted to life; Drake had no idea which of the car’s gas tanks had ruptured, though it hardly mattered. In seconds, the flames grew, hungry, spreading until both vehicles were burning, sending black, acrid smoke billowing skyward. Drake had to shield his face, the intense heat like a wall. He peered into the fire, searching the cars for something, movement, a cry for help, but there was nothing.

“Amos!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, but he knew it was pointless; his friend was dead. No one could have survived that crash.

But then, just as he was about to give up hope, Drake saw the tall grass thirty feet from the wreckage begin to move. Without any consideration for his own safety, he ran to it, silently praying that he was wrong, that Amos had miraculously survived. Sure enough, someone was trying to crawl away, both battered and bloodied, his clothes singed as well as torn.

“I’m here, Amos!” Drake shouted. “I’ve got you!”

However, when he turned the wounded man over, Drake discovered that it wasn’t the mechanic after all; it was the silent, dangerous-looking thug from the hotel. The man’s mouth moved, but no sound came out. In his eyes, Drake saw no trace of viciousness, only confusion and fear. Even though the stranger had threatened to do him and Amos harm, Drake grabbed his arms and dragged him away from the fire. By the time he lay the thug down, the man was unconscious; a quick check revealed he was still alive.

Drake wiped his brow and stared at the blaze. Amos was dead. The Plymouth was wrecked. Everything he had spent years saving, almost all his money, was now nothing but ash. He glanced up at the truck; Clara and Tommy stood beside it, mesmerized by the fire. What was he going to tell her? Without his money, how were they going to build a future together? What hope did they have of getting rid of Eddie now?

Try as he might, Drake couldn’t come up with a single answer.

Clara shivered in the wind, rubbing her hands on her bare arms, but she had no desire to get back in the truck. Dusk was fast approaching, the sun slowly settling for the night. Smoke still drifted lazily toward the sky, the sharp smell burning her nose. The fire department had long since come and gone, leaving behind two charred wrecks that had once been cars. The only survivor of the crash had been rushed to town in an ambulance; she didn’t know what would happen to the remains of Amos and the other men. Right then, she couldn’t bring herself to care.

All that mattered was Drake.

He stood with Sheriff Oglesby, talking about the crash. Clara was too far away to hear what was being said, but she guessed that Drake was telling the lawman the truth: that he didn’t know why the men had been after Amos, not exactly, only that the mechanic had been accused of stealing something. Drake’s expression was calm, he was nodding a lot, but Clara expected that he was torn up on the inside; even if Amos had robbed him of his money, they had spent years together traveling from race to race, under the Plymouth’s hood, building a friendship as close as family. She worried how he would react to such a huge loss. Clara imagined that the worst part was that Drake would never have the chance to talk to Amos about his betrayal. He would die a thief.

And he took the money with him when he went…

Earlier, Clara had watched Drake walk the tall grass around the wrecks, hoping that his bag had been ejected as the survivor had, but he’d come up empty. Left with nothing but ash, she couldn’t help but think of Eddie. How could they fend him off now? If the banker went through with his threat, then in addition to losing the Plymouth, Amos, and all of Drake’s money, her home would be taken away. Once, she’d considered surrendering to Eddie’s demands; now her love for Drake made it impossible. But what else could they do?

“Penny for your thoughts.”

Clara jumped at the sound of Tommy’s voice. She had been so preoccupied that she hadn’t heard him approach. He hadn’t said much since the crash, wandering up and down the ditches, watching from a distance.

She shook her head. “I’m just tired,” she answered, then nodded toward the wrecked cars. “It’s been a long day.”

Tommy was silent for a bit, kicking rocks at his feet. “I’ve been thinking about something,” he finally said. “What was in Drake’s bag? Must have been important, as mad as he was that his friend took it.”

Clara considered lying, but when she saw the way her son was looking at her, when she thought about their recent reconciliation, she couldn’t.

Isn’t his life in as much trouble as mine?

She took a deep breath. “There’s something you should know…” she began.

By the time she’d finished, Clara had told Tommy everything. She explained that Drake had intended to help them, but that plan was now in jeopardy.

“It isn’t fair,” Tommy spat angrily.

“You’ll find out that plenty in life isn’t,” Clara answered. “Sometimes, there isn’t anything you can do about it.”

“But he’s blackmailing you!”

“Eddie doesn’t see it that way,” she explained. “He’s in love with me and means to have me whether I want to be his wife or not.”

Tommy balled his fists in anger. Clara was reminded of Joe; he would often rail away against things he found unjust, furious at a newspaper article or a radio program. Life father, like son, she supposed. But just like then, when Joe complained about there not being enough jobs to go around, the price of a pound of flour, or even about Hitler’s march into Czechoslovakia, there was nothing that could be done. They were helpless.

“I’ve got an idea.”

Clara turned to look at Tommy; for a moment, she thought she’d misheard. “There’s nothing we can do now,” she told him. “The money’s gone.”

Her son shook his head. “If my idea worked, we wouldn’t need it.” From the look in Tommy’s eyes, Clara could see he believed what he was saying.

“It’s too late. We don’t have—”

“Just hear me out and then decide,” Tommy interrupted, his excitement showing. “Besides, what do we have to lose?”

Clara knew the answer: nothing. Amos’s thievery and death had placed their backs against the wall. At this point any idea, no matter how odd or impractical, should be considered. After all, they needed a miracle…

“All right,” she said. “Let’s go talk to Drake.”

E
DDIE STOOD IN FRONT
of the large picture window and frowned. It looked miserable outside, the sky full of clouds the color of dishwater. This time of year depressed him. It was always raining and the mornings were cold enough to hint at the winter to come. Occasionally, he fantasized about moving someplace warm, somewhere like Florida, though he knew he would never leave Sunset; this was his home, where he and Clara would raise their family. He was lost in those thoughts, drinking a cup of coffee, when the telephone rang. Surprised, he looked at the clock; it wasn’t even eight. Who could be calling at such an hour?

“Hello?” he asked tentatively.

“We need to talk.” Immediately, Eddie recognized the voice on the other end of the line. It was Drake McCoy. His hand tightened on the receiver.

“What can I do for you?” he said.

“Cut the crap,” McCoy replied. “You know why I’m calling.”

“You’ve come to a decision…”

There was a moment of silence. “I have,” the race car driver answered. “But that all depends on if your offer still stands.”

“It does. The same as before.”

“That’s not good enough anymore. I want double.”

Eddie nodded to himself; ever since the two men had met, he had been considering this possibility. “I already tried to give it to you.”

“Not double
that
,” McCoy said. “Twice the second amount.”

“
Four
times the original offer?” he blurted.

“If that’s too much…”

Eddie swallowed hard. He wasn’t against paying such a hefty amount—he would’ve given most everything he owned to have Clara—but he was surprised that the driver was being so greedy. McCoy had flaunted his principles when they first met; Eddie wondered if something had happened with Clara to change his mind.

“All right,” he eventually agreed. “Come down to the bank this afternoon and I’ll get you your money.”

“Not there.”

Eddie frowned. “Why not?”

“Because Clara’s working today, and even though I don’t expect you to understand, I don’t want to hurt her any more than necessary,” McCoy explained. “She doesn’t need to know what’s happened until I’m long gone.”

While Eddie would have enjoyed the triumphant feeling of watching Clara’s face collapse as the race car driver walked out of her life forever, a part of him admired McCoy for wanting to avoid a scene. “If not the bank, then where?”

“The hotel. I’ll be in the parlor at noon.”

Before Eddie could say anything else, the phone line went dead.

Picking up his coffee, he took a drink but then spat it back out; while he’d been talking to McCoy, it had gone cold. But rather than refill it from the pot, Eddie chose something stronger, something fit for a celebration. With a glass of bourbon, he went back to the window. Suddenly, things didn’t seem quite so gloomy. By the time night came, nothing would stand in the way of his life with Clara Sinclair.

She would be his, forever and always.

When Drake hung up the phone, Clara began to breathe again; the whole time she’d been in the kitchen, listening to his conversation with Eddie, her heart had raced.

“Do you think this is going to work?” she asked.

Drake nodded. “I do,” he answered, though she wondered if he wasn’t trying to convince himself as much as her.

Tommy’s plan had surprised them both with its ingenuity; listening to him as he spelled it all out, Clara had wondered if spending so much time with a delinquent like Naomi had rubbed off on him. After that, Drake had made suggestions and they had stayed up most of the night finalizing what they would do. None of them had slept more than an hour or two.

But now, with a phone call, the ball had started rolling.

“What if something goes wrong?” Clara pressed, unable to stop agonizing over it. “What if he realizes we’re up to something?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Drake answered. “Even if Eddie manages to sniff out our plan, then we’re back where we started, stuck between a rock and a hard place. Tommy’s right about one thing: we don’t have anything to lose.” Gently, he took her hand. “Just stick to what we talked about and it will all work out.” He smiled. “Trust me.”

Clara wrapped her arms around Drake’s waist and held tight. She pressed her head to his chest and listened to the steady beat of his heart. Touching him like this, it was hard to believe all they had been through.

“I’m sorry about Amos,” she told him.

Ever since the crash, Drake hadn’t said a word about his friend, although it had been obvious he’d been thinking about the mechanic, wondering what had gone so wrong. All morning, his attention had wandered, no doubt replaying over and over again what they’d witnessed. After they’d decided on their plan to deal with Eddie, Drake had gone out onto the porch alone and sat on the steps, staring up at the cloudy sky. Clara imagined he was remembering races they’d run, conversations shared down country roads, laughs over beers; she’d watched from the window, but hadn’t joined him, and eventually he’d come back inside.

“Me, too,” he said. “But now isn’t the time for mourning.” Drake tipped her chin up until she was looking in his eyes. “What matters is you.”

Clara rose on her tiptoes to kiss him tenderly, their lips barely brushing; if this worked, they could have a more passionate celebration later.

“You need to get ready for work,” he told her.

She shook her head. “I can’t believe I have to spend the morning with Eddie, acting like I have no idea what’s going on.”

“It’s all part of the plan,” Drake said. “Besides, I need to get going. I have things to take care of before the meeting at the hotel.”

“Can I come with you?”

Both of them turned to see Tommy leaning against the doorway. There had been a time when Clara would’ve been horrified if her son found her standing in a man’s arms, but not now; with all they had talked about, she knew Tommy understood what they could lose, as well as what they wished to gain.

Drake nodded. “Sure,” he said. “I’d like that.”

Watching them back the truck down the driveway, Clara thought that no matter what, one way or the other, things were about to change.

Forever.

Clara stood on the porch, finishing a cup of coffee. A steady rain had begun to fall, drumming on the roof above her head. In the distance, a deep roll of thunder rumbled. The weather matched her mood.

After Drake and Tommy left, she’d taken a shower, gotten dressed, put on a touch of makeup, and tried to ready herself to go to the bank. She still couldn’t believe she was going to stand at her teller window, smile at customers, and pretend that she didn’t know what was about to happen. She knew Drake was right, understood that it was part of their plan, but it made her sick to her stomach nevertheless. But she would go through with it, for all their sakes.

Behind her, Clara heard a floorboard creak; moments later, her mother appeared at the door. Christine had sat with them for most of the night, discussing how to deal with Eddie. She hadn’t said much, but when their spirits lagged, especially Clara’s, Christine had offered encouragement.

“Worrying never got anyone anywhere,” she had said. “Besides, Eddie Fuller has always been an odd duck, even when he was a boy. Whatever bad comes from this, however he suffers, he’ll deserve whatever he gets.”

“Did you sleep?” Clara asked her now.

Her mother nodded. “A little,” she said, but then yawned. “From the look on your face, I reckon I got more than you.”

Clara smiled weakly. “I’m just so nervous. I keep thinking about everything that could go wrong. Drake tells me not to worry, but I can’t help it.”

“That’s understandable,” Christine said.

“Imagine what could happen if Eddie finds out what we’re up to. He wouldn’t rest until all of our things were out in the street. We’d be ruined.”

“But Eddie doesn’t want that,” her mother disagreed. “All he wants is you, and he’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen. His love will blind him.”

“You sound like you think this will work.”

“I do,” Christine said, putting her arm around her daughter’s shoulders. “But even if it doesn’t, you and I have been through worse. Both of us lost our husbands. We raised our children largely on our own. We worked and scrimped to put food on the table. Even if we lose the house, we’ll land on our feet.”

Listening to her mother inspired Clara. She remembered the day, standing on this very porch, when she’d been told of Joe’s death. Overwhelmed with grief, she had been unable to imagine a future without her husband, but she’d still managed to build one. Even if Eddie’s vindictiveness put her on the street, she would still have Tommy and her mother. She would also have Drake. Together, they would build a new future, no matter what it took.

“Thanks, Mom,” she said. “You’ve made me feel better.”

“I’m glad,” Christine answered. “Now get on down to the bank. It’s time for you to get that rotten son of a gun off your back for good.”

“Are you planning on marrying my mother?”

Drake tightened his grip on the steering wheel. Ever since he and Tommy had left the house, they had been busy. First, they’d gone to the filling station—if Eddie made a run for it, Drake wanted to make certain he had plenty of gas. After that, they went to the hotel and packed up the rest of his and Amos’s things; a quick search of his dead friend’s belongings revealed no clues to explain his thievery. Down in the lobby, Edna Gilbert offered her condolences for Amos but was thankful that the men who’d threatened her had met the same fate; when Drake told her that he and Eddie would be using her parlor that afternoon, her good humor vanished. After that, he’d telephoned his bank in Illinois, wanting to know exactly how much money he had left; it wasn’t much, but it would get them by for a while if their gambit failed. Through it all, Tommy had been quiet, as if something was weighing on his mind. Now Drake knew what it had been.

“Someday,” he answered, “if she’ll have me.” He paused. “Is this why you wanted to come along? To ask me that?”

“Partly,” Tommy admitted.

“Do you have a problem with your mother and I being together?”

Clara’s son shook his head. “No, I don’t. I see how she looks at you and how even with all this craziness going on, you can still make her smile.”

“I love her,” Drake explained, knowing with all his heart it was true. “When we met, I knew she was the woman I’d been looking for my whole life. But I’ve worried you wouldn’t be happy about it,” he said, remembering their first encounter and how it had ended. “I’m not trying to be your father.”

Tommy stared out his window, watching rainwater trickle down the glass. “I don’t have many memories of him,” he said. “I was so young when he died that I can’t remember much. I’m not sure what you’d be replacing.”

“I’ve spent more than twenty years
trying
to forget my old man.”

“You have?” Tommy asked. “Why?”

“Because we fought like cats and dogs,” Drake explained. “Nothing I did was ever good enough, so the first chance I got, I hit the road and never looked back. So even if I wanted to take your father’s place, I’m not sure I’d know how. I suppose I’d have an idea what
not
to do, but that wouldn’t make me much of a parent. What I’m hoping,” he said, looking at Tommy, “is that we can be friends.”

The boy was silent for a while, as if he was considering the offer, and then he slowly nodded. “I think we can do that.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Does this mean you’ll teach me how to drive really fast?”

Drake laughed loudly. “We’re going to need to get a new car first.” Noticing Tommy’s disappointment, he added, “Who knows? Maybe with some tinkering under the hood, this old truck might have a few good runs left in her.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Tommy joked; this time, they both laughed.

Turning down the street on which Clara and her family lived, Drake looked at the house through the whipping windshield wipers. If he made a mistake, if he underestimated Eddie, it could all be lost.

“Make sure that bastard gets what’s coming to him,” Tommy said, as if he had read Drake’s mind.

For him, for Clara, for all of them, he was betting on it.

Eddie walked into the Sunset Hotel with a spring in his step. As usual, Edna Gilbert stood behind the front desk. When she saw him, she opened her mouth to say something, but Eddie strode past her and into the parlor without a word. Today, he wasn’t in the mood for chitchat. He had far more important matters to attend to.

Drake McCoy sat at the same table Eddie had used at their last meeting. Without waiting for an invitation, Eddie took the seat opposite.

“I must say,” he began, unbuttoning his vest, his stomach having grown a bit larger since his father’s death, “I admire you not wanting Clara to see this.”

The race car driver frowned. “Like I told you on the phone,” he said, “I have no interest in being cruel.”

“Just getting richer?” Eddie suggested.

McCoy shrugged.

“She seemed quite happy at the bank, smiling at her customers, going about her day like it was any other.”

Oddly enough, it had been Eddie who’d struggled to stay focused on his work. Sitting at his desk, pretending to sort through papers, he kept going to his door to steal glances at her, daydreaming about the future they would soon share. With McCoy headed out of town, his pockets stuffed with cash, there was nothing left to keep them apart. Once, Clara had caught him looking at her. Quickly, her gaze had darted away, her discomfort obvious, which hurt Eddie deeply; her reaction strengthened his conviction to change her mind, to make her look upon him longingly, with love in her eyes.

“Did you bring the money?” McCoy asked.

Eddie nodded. He pulled another check from the inside pocket of his coat and pushed it across the table. “Eight thousand dollars.”

McCoy picked up the check and looked at it. Eddie had expected the man to smile, pleased with the numbers. Instead, the race car driver frowned, as if something offended him. Then he ripped the check in half.