Checkered Flag (5 page)

JAMIE COULDN’T BELIEVE
all the press coverage her dad got for his miraculous move into the Chase. Only once before had anyone leapfrogged over so many drivers in the last few races to make it. Never in the history of the Chase had anyone squeezed into the 12th spot and then claimed the cup.

The Calvin Shoverton article had run two weeks after New Hampshire, where her dad had placed sixth. He’d been leading till the final 50 laps, and then an accident forced him to the pits. He was hit square in the back, though, and after taking the crush panels out, he fought his way back to the sixth spot. Because he’d led so many laps, his point totals pushed him into the ninth position.

The article had centered on her dad, of course, but there was a lot in there about Jamie as well as Tim. He came
off as the outcast orphan taken in by the loving family, and while that was partly true, Jamie thought the picture Shoverton painted made her family look too saintly. He wrote:

Very little is known about the life Tim Carhardt led between his father’s death and his move to Velocity, NC. There were a few months spent living with a distant cousin, and to hear Tim talk about it, it was simply a blip on the radar screen of his life.

But if you look closely, the deep wounds of Talladega and a mother who all but disappeared into thin air have shaped this young man. And to hear Dale Maxwell talk about him is like hearing a doting father talk about a gifted son. Almost like you’re hearing Tim’s real father speak.

“Tim’s a great kid who had something tough happen,” Dale said, his eyes filling as he spoke. “I felt so bad after the accident and wanted to give him a chance at something new and to let him know that his life doesn’t have to be defined by one event. I couldn’t be more proud of the way he’s handled everything if he were my own son.”

/////

Before English class one day, Vanessa Moran found Jamie and shoved the article in front of her. “I don’t get this.”

“Get what?” Jamie said, handing the article back to her.

“Lots of stuff. Like, how do they keep score in NASCAR? None of it makes sense to me.”

“You’ve been watching the races?” Jamie said, smiling.

“Yeah, my dad has a few clients who are drivers or crew chiefs or whatever you call them. And we got tickets to the Charlotte race in October.”

“So you’re into it?” Jamie said. “I can’t believe it.”

“I’m into the cute drivers and the hunky-looking crew members and the strategy and teamwork and . . .” Vanessa sighed. “I just can’t understand how to make sense of the scoring. How did your dad jump up so much without winning the race?”

Jamie nodded. “It’s kind of complicated—and they seem to change the points system just about every year—but basically you get a certain amount of points if you win a race, and then second place gets a few less points, and on down the line. Plus, you have to factor in the lap leaders. They get extra points for laps led and who leads the most laps.”

“You need to go to a race with a calculator,” Vanessa said.

“Almost, but they keep track of all that for you. That’s one of the things that makes each lap so exciting. It’s not just cars circling the track where it only
gets interesting at the end. It’s team members trying to help each other out, and it’s solo drivers like my dad trying to wiggle into the top 12. All that comes together at every race.”

Vanessa looked at the story. “Yeah, I’m starting to see that. There’s just one thing that gets me.”

“What?”

Other students filed into the classroom, and the hallway was almost empty. Their English teacher, Mrs. Dagsnit (a few kids called her Mrs. Dogbit), didn’t like kids being late.

“It’s the whole spiritual thing,” Vanessa said. “I’ve been going to the youth group since we moved here, and you’ve always seemed like a levelheaded person. You didn’t take the whole Christian thing over the edge like some people do.”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Jamie said.

“You know Cassie and Pastor Gordon and a few others act like you have to give your whole life to God and go off to some foreign country if you really want to be a Christian. But you’re different. You’ve acted like it’s okay to believe in God but not to let it ruin your life. Then I read in this article that you’ve had some big spiritual renewal.”

The bell rang, and Mrs. Dagsnit gave them the evil eye.

“Why don’t we talk at lunch?” Jamie said.

TIM WALKED OUTSIDE
the school to eat his lunch. Mrs. Maxwell had him make his own lunch, just like Jamie and Kellen. It was no problem for him because he'd done that in Florida without much help from the Slades. At least here at the Maxwells' house they had a drawer full of chips and snacks, plus plenty of bread and meat for sandwiches. And Mrs. Maxwell sure did like to cut up celery and carrots.

Tim sat under a tree that looked like it couldn't figure out what color it wanted to be. This time of year in North Carolina the leaves looked like a new box of Crayolas. Every color under the sun and then some.

A few football players and cheerleaders sat at a picnic table several yards away. There was a lot of talk about the Velocity High football team,
but Tim didn't know much about it. He hadn't been to any games and didn't want to go. He figured he had very little chance of becoming friends with that crowd anyway.

He pulled out his cell phone as he took a bite of a ham sandwich. He'd been given the phone by the Maxwells in order to get in touch with them if he missed the bus and needed a ride or had some other emergency. It wasn't fancy, just a prepaid phone that charged 20 cents a minute, but he didn't have anybody to text and he wasn't going to phone Tyson in Florida.

The screen said “1 message waiting.” He retrieved it and listened. It was the writer, Calvin Shoverton. “Hey, Tim, sorry it's taken me so long to get back to you. I have good and bad news. Call me.” He gave his number and Tim dialed him back.

“Well, first I want you to know this is a hard one,” Calvin said. “It took me several days to get the public records people down there to tell me what I needed to know. I finally got in touch with a reporter. . . .”

Tim watched the time tick by. He noticed his heart was beating faster and he was sweating a little.

Finally, Calvin said the magic word
but.
“. . . but I did track down the court case of your mom.” He sounded like he was reading from some official document. “Alexandra Lee Burton Carhardt was com
mitted to the Kathryn A. Ross Women's Correctional Facility three years ago. She was released in January of this year. Her parole officer is almost as hard to find as she is. She said your mom came to see her for two months after she got out and hasn't been seen since. So there's an arrest warrant out for her in Florida.”

“Why was she put in prison?” Tim said.

Calvin paused. “It was a drug offense. I tracked down the actual court proceedings. There was a blurb in a paper down there that said she was convicted of drug trafficking.”

“What does that mean?”

“Looks like she was working for a limousine service and tried to put drugs in somebody's luggage without them knowing it. I don't know much more about the specifics, but she pleaded guilty.”

“So you have no idea where she is now?” Tim said.

“Zilch, zero, nada. Like a puff of smoke in the wind. Just disappeared.”

“Any guesses?”

“I talked with a police officer friend, and he said that anybody who would skip parole probably wouldn't stick around the state. It's hard telling where she went. She could have caught a bus to New York or headed west. If she wants to stay invisible, she can. At least for a while.”

A cloud passed over the school, and Tim felt a chill go through him. “You put a lot of work into this, and I'm grateful.”

“Didn't do much at all. Did you see the article?”

“Yeah, you're a good writer.”

“What did you really think?” Calvin said.

“Well, it kinda made me look like some poor orphan kid people ought to feel sorry for, you know? Like a wayward youth who gets picked up by some Bible-thumpers who are doing their good deed for the decade.”

Calvin laughed. “That's not a bad analysis.”

“I'm not saying what you wrote wasn't true,” Tim said. “It just wasn't the whole story.”

“I got you. I guess an article is like a snapshot—we can only capture a little of the story at a time. Thanks for the feedback. How about the Maxwells? What did they think?”

“I don't think Jamie liked the quotes from Kellen. She chased him around the house threatening to rearrange his teeth, but I don't think she will. And Mrs. Maxwell cut the article out and put it in the scrapbook she keeps. I took a look at their hall closet, and the thing is about full floor to ceiling with those things.”

Calvin chuckled again, and then a voice came on Tim's phone that said he had only five minutes of air time left.

“I gotta go, Mr. Shoverton. Thanks for the information about my mom.”

“You bet. Call me anytime, and if I find out anything else, I'll let you know.”

JAMIE MADE IT THROUGH
the lunch line and picked up some fruit and a container of yogurt. Mixed berry was her favorite, but the closest she could come was strawberry banana. She grabbed a plastic spoon and found Vanessa in the commons near the big palm tree.

They made small talk about their day and Jamie tried to act natural, but she couldn’t help feeling nervous. Since the talk with her dad about spiritual things, she’d been praying for her friends who weren’t Christians, and Vanessa was at the top of the list. Jamie was also studying the Bible—not just reading it but studying it—with a couple of books Cassie suggested.

Vanessa’s question about Jamie’s spiritual life was an answer to prayer—but also an opportunity to say something stupid, and she didn’t want to do
that. She almost felt like a dog that had chased a car and caught it and now didn’t know what to do with it.

She took a deep breath and tried to relax.
Just another conversation with a friend
, she thought.

“So what did you think about what I said?” Vanessa asked.

“You nailed me,” Jamie said. “If you’d have asked me last spring what God meant to me, I’d have said that he was great and awesome and blah, blah, blah. But I wouldn’t have known what I was talking about. Now I can say it from the heart.”

“What happened to you?”

Jamie sighed. “I’ve always thought of God as just ‘the good Lord,’ you know? Up there somewhere, not really caring about what we do down here—unless we do something wrong or have fun, and then he comes down hard on us. He makes us feel guilty or gives us cancer or takes away something we love.”

“Yeah,” Vanessa said. “I know exactly what you mean. But what changed?”

“I guess I got a good look at myself. My god was racing. I love being in that cockpit, and I really want to be the best and go the fastest. I thought if I gave my life to God, he’d take my dreams away and make me do something I hated.”

Vanessa stared at her natural soda. “And now you think differently?”

Jamie nodded. “My dad helped me see it. God wants what is absolutely best for me. If I follow his plan, I’ll wind up a lot more happy and fulfilled than I will if I follow my own. Now, I’m kind of new at this, so I’m not saying I think that way all the time, but I really want what he wants.”

“You think that involves racing?” Vanessa said.

“I hope so. But I guess part of submitting to God is trusting him and waiting. I think he’s given me a gift—an ability he wants to use. I don’t know how, but I’m along for the ride.”

“Wow,” Vanessa said, but it didn’t sound very convincing.

“Have you ever done that?” Jamie said. “Asked God to come into your life and forgive you?”

Vanessa picked up her half-full soda can and tossed it into the nearby trash can. “I have to go. I’ll see you around.”

“Vanessa?” Jamie called, but the girl was gone.