Overdrive (15 page)

TIM DIDN’T SLEEP
much that night, and when he did, he dreamed that Tyson was hovering over him, waiting to pounce on him for opening his mail.

The next morning as Jamie drove him to school, she said, “What do you think’s in that box?”

Tim shrugged. “Something I guess my dad wanted to protect. I still don’t know why he let Tyson have control over it, but he did.”

“He probably just wanted to make sure there was someone who could take care of you,” Jamie said.

Tim scooted down in his seat. “He couldn’t have picked a worse person.”

Jamie seemed a lot older than Tim, even though she was only 17. He wanted to say something to make her laugh, to make her like him, but he felt like a pimple on the nose of life. There was a
dance at the school tomorrow night and he thought about asking her, even though he couldn’t imagine getting up the courage to do it.

Finally he blurted out, “You heard about the dance Saturday?”

“Yeah,” Jamie said. “I usually don’t go because of the racing, but you might have a good time. Mostly people just stand around and drink punch and listen to music. I’ll be in Colorado.”

“You just going to watch or to work?” Tim said.

“Our PR rep has a wedding she wants to attend. She’s dating Billy Reuters, the driver of the #72 car.”

“I know who he is. Little guy who’d bump his own grandmother out of the way.”

Jamie laughed and Tim felt like a million bucks.

“That’s pretty good. I think he’d probably spin his own grandmother out on the last lap of Daytona if he thought he could win.”

“So, you’re going to rep for your dad? That’s good. Maybe when she gets married, you’ll have a place on the team.”

“No offense, but that’s not my dream job. I want to be behind the wheel, not writing PR copy.”

“Yeah, I guess that’d be a step down for you.”

Tim had noticed a change in Jamie. She didn’t act as on edge and she seemed happier. At peace with herself. At first he thought it was getting the license,
but it seemed deeper than that. Something had happened to change her perspective.

Jamie’s mouth dropped open, and she turned down the radio. “Hey, you know who would go with you? To the dance, I mean?”

“I didn’t say I wanted to go.”

“I know, but if you were thinking about it, I know someone who would go with you. Just as a friend.”

His mind wound through the few people the two of them actually knew. “Who?” As soon as he asked, he thought of Cassie Strower. Of course. Jamie and Cassie were best friends. But Cassie was so spiritual she’d probably kiss him if he promised to become a Christian, then want to baptize him as soon as their lips separated.

“Cassie,” Jamie said. “She really likes being around you. She says you’re a breath of fresh air at the youth group, not like the rest of the people who just say stuff because they want the leader to like them or other people to think they’re spiritual. You should ask her.”

“I don’t think I’m in her league. Plus, I’m not a Christian, and she probably wouldn’t go to a dance with anybody who hasn’t memorized the whole Bible backward.”

Jamie laughed again, and Tim thought making Jamie laugh would be a good job. “I’m surprised she’d even go to a dance.”

“She doesn’t go unless there’s a reason,” Jamie said. “You know, she’s on some committee to set up the room or something. And I used to think the same thing about her—that she had some halo around her head and wouldn’t be interested in anything but praying and eating locusts like John the Baptist.”

It was Tim’s turn to laugh, but it was more of a chuckle and he automatically threw his hand up in front of his mouth so Jamie wouldn’t see the space between his front teeth.

“You have a great laugh,” Jamie said. “You ought to do it more often.”

Tim looked out the window and saw the school in the distance.

“I could talk to Cassie if you want and get back to you?” Jamie said as a question.

“No, but thanks,” Tim said.

Tim was in Spanish when a principal’s aide called for him to come to the office. He took his books because it was near the end of class and said adios to the teacher. She smiled and returned the farewell.

Mrs. Maxwell was waiting for him with a package under her arm. She had a way of smiling that made Tim feel like he actually mattered. Since his dad had died there were very few people he’d actually let inside his world, and he’d had a few late-night talks with
her that he couldn’t imagine having with anyone else on the planet. He’d had a counselor in Florida, but he always felt weird paying for someone to listen to his troubles. It probably worked for other people, but he couldn’t get over the thought that he just wanted to say what the counselor wanted to hear so he could get out of there.

Mrs. Maxwell was different. He didn’t have to be anything but himself around her. He even let a few bad words slip, and he thought she’d want to wash his mouth out with soap or make him write “I shall not cuss” a billion times. But she hardly flinched. He guessed she’d been around NASCAR enough that she’d heard those words a few times. Still, sometimes he got so lost in the conversation that he forgot he was talking to a Christian woman and not his dad.

“I couldn’t help bringing this to you,” she said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No. I’ve been thinking about it all morning.” He took the package and shook it. It was light. “Maybe Tyson just sent an empty package.”

“You want to go get some lunch and open it?” she said.

He looked at the office staff. They pretended they were shuffling papers or expelling kids, but he knew they were watching. “Maybe I could just go for a walk?”

Mrs. Maxwell smiled. “Let’s go.”

She drove him to a park not far from the school, but it felt secluded. There were a bunch of tiny kids playing on playground in the distance with young moms pushing strollers and power walking around the paved track. Mrs. Maxwell left him there and went to get two subs from one of Tim’s favorite restaurants. She already knew the kind of sandwich and all the toppings he liked by heart.

Tim sat at a picnic table and stared at the box. This thing sure had caused him a lot of trouble. But though he should have felt happy—at least that’s what he thought he should feel like—he felt a little sad. He had discovered his father’s stuff in a storage place back in Florida. He had talked with one of his dad’s old friends (Charlie Hale, who drove the hauler), but this was the last link with his dad. Opening this would be the final piece of the puzzle—unless there was something else hidden out there.

He tore the paper around the box and immediately knew Tyson hadn’t put this together. Probably somebody at the post office or one of those stores that send boxes in the mail.
How do those places stay in business?
he thought.

Tim ripped the tape from one side, sighed, then opened it. A gust of wind blew the packing peanuts all over the finely manicured grass and past the sign that said Please Help Keep Our Park Clean. He slammed
the lid and chased them down until he had both pockets full. After he dumped them in the trash can, he retrieved a couple of strays near the duck pond. He imagined a duck choking on a packing peanut and people from some animal rights group throwing him in jail for “duck slaughter.”

The package was waiting when he got back, and he opened only one end and stuck his hand inside. In the middle was something in bubble wrap. He pulled it out and found a picture frame. He undid the rubber bands and uncovered a wedding picture of his parents, both smiling. His mom was wearing a pretty dress—not one of those long, white ones you see in most weddings but just a flowery, blue dress. His dad had a suit on, and they were standing outside a brick building that looked more like a city office than a church.

He reached back inside and didn’t find anything at first. Then, when he did a second sweep, he found a small square box at the back and pulled it out. Inside was a gold ring, too small to be his dad’s. Plus a letter addressed to
Alexandra Carhardt
at a town in Florida he didn’t recognize.

Lexy,

I pray that I get to give your ring back to you someday, but if you’re reading this, that
probably isn’t going to happen. I’ve tried my best to take care of Timmy. He’s such a good boy and I know he’s missed you, but we’ve had fun on the road together. It almost hurts when I look at him and see you. He’s the best of both of us that’s for sure.

More than anything, I wish you could see the two of us together. I’ve given up the bad stuff, and I’ve actually found God. I know that’s going to be hard for you to believe, but it’s true. And every night I pray for you and wonder what you’re doing and if you want to come back to us.

If you get this, know that I’m in a better place, not because I’ve made a lot of myself but because God’s given me a great gift. I hope you find that peace for your life.

Don’t blame yourself for anything. It’s my fault what happened between us. I’ve loved you from the moment I met you and I still do. I always will.

With all my heart,

Martin

Tim held up the ring. He could barely get it on his little finger. Then he turned the letter over and stud
ied the address. There was something familiar about it, like he’d seen it before but couldn’t place it.

He opened the box again and looked for anything else in there. Nothing but those white peanuts.

He closed it, tossed it in the trash, and stuffed the ring and letter in his pocket and headed for the parking lot.

Mrs. Maxwell was there waiting with his sandwich. “You okay?”

Tim nodded. “Yeah. You can take me back to school.”

JAMIE FLEW TO COLORADO
on Friday evening, and her dad met her at the sprawling Denver airport. There had been rain earlier that day that washed out qualifying and they’d moved it to Saturday, so she and her dad had a nice meal at the new hotel that had been built near the track.

The altitude of Colorado made this one of the most interesting places to race in the country. Because it was a superspeedway, cars ran with a modified restrictor plate. It was modified because of the altitude. The first year of the race, just about every car on the track had trouble with vapor lock, basically an air bubble in the gas. And the altitude affected the downforce of the car—its ability to hug the track. But the people who built the Denver complex had done everything they could
to make racing conditions for the cars and fans the best possible.

The track was a unique oval with severe banking and a track so wide that the cars could go four wide into the turns and never touch their brakes if they rode it correctly.

Denver had been one of Jamie’s favorite venues to race on the simulator back at the school. She’d turned in the fastest qualifying lap, even faster than Chad. There was just something about the mountains in the background and the cooler air that sent a chill down her spine when she looked at the track and the surroundings.

As they ate, they planned Jamie’s racing future. There were several venues where Jamie could still get her feet wet in the racing circle—though how she’d get a car was up in the air.

“A couple of our sponsors have approached me, saying they would be willing to put up some money,” her dad said. “Maybe start small with some of the races in the east, then move up.”

“Really?” Jamie said, dropping her fork. “That’s awesome. How much have they offered?”

He told her, and she nearly spewed her Diet Mountain Dew on him.

“Just settle down,” he said. “It’s exciting to hear about that kind of money, but the responsibility can
weigh on you. I’m going to talk with some guys around the track in the next couple of days to see if they know of any cars we could buy.”

“I was talking with Tim today about going to college and racing at the same time. Do you think I could do that?”

He nodded. “I think that’s a great plan. Ease into this while you get an education. Keep your options open.”

“But I already know what I want to do,” she said.

“Yeah, I can see it in your eyes.”

She sighed and took a bite of her blackened chicken salad. “Your plan is better than Devalon’s. He just wanted to throw me out there on the track and see what happened.”

One of the TV commentators walked past and waved at them. Her dad offered a seat and the man sat down. “I’ll only stay a minute, but I have to say, Jamie, that I watched the video of what you did at the school. Pretty impressive racing.”

“Until the engine blew,” she said. It was interesting hearing his voice right next to her instead of coming through the TV speakers. But he moved his hands and used the same expressions he did on the air.

“Yeah, but there are a lot of people talking about how you’re at the top of the new wave of drivers,” the man said. “Younger. Stronger. Better trained. Better athletes.”

“Prettier too,” her dad said.

The man laughed. “You got that right. I’m convinced the good old boy network is giving way to a new generation. More diverse, more open to different backgrounds—and especially females. We’ve had some really good women drivers, but nobody’s had the chance to be the female wunderkind—the Tigress Woods, if you will.”

Jamie laughed.

Her dad looked at her. “The Tigress has a ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“I could paint the car with black stripes and wear a tail on my fire suit.”

The commentator’s eyes sparkled in the dim light. “I really believe you have what it takes, young lady. I’ve seen a lot of flashes in the pan, guys who looked promising but fizzled. You’ve got a good teacher here, so listen to him. I want to call your first win.”

Jamie couldn’t help smiling as the commentator got up and walked away. He stopped to shake hands with someone at another table. Butch Devalon.

“Oh, good grief,” Jamie muttered.

“He’s coming this way,” her dad said.

Devalon strutted over to the table and pulled up his straight-legged jeans by his diamond-studded belt buckle, making sure they saw his championship
ring on his right hand. He gave a little smile and nodded to both of them.

“I wanted to come over and apologize about what happened in Indy,” Devalon said. “My son overheats like a bad engine, and he accused the boy living with you of some things. I wasn’t a very good influence in the matter, and I want to tell you I’m sorry.”

Jamie’s dad looked at her like he’d just heard a dog sing “The Star-Spangled Banner.” In French. While accompanying himself on the piano. “Well, that’s nice of you to say, Butch. We both appreciate that.”

“I wonder if you two would accept a ride tomorrow in my chopper over to the football stadium. Mile High something or other. I’m supposed to do a commercial shoot with a few of the players for one of the Monday Night Football games, and it’d be a treat to have you along.”

“What about qualifying?” Jamie said.

“Oh, I’d have your dad back in plenty of time for that.”

“Kellen would be drooling all over the table if he heard about it,” her dad said.

Jamie kept her mouth closed. Butch Devalon was the last person she’d want to be seen with.

“That’s nice of you, Butch, but I don’t think—”

“One of your sponsors will be there. And there’s
press covering it. We can use all the good press we can get—don’t you think?”

“It was an olive branch,” Jamie’s dad said to her later as they were going up the elevator, the lights of Denver twinkling in the distance.

“It’s not an olive branch. He’s a snake with a stick. I’m surprised you don’t see it.”

“Won’t hurt to go with him. Maybe he’s a changed man. Plus, it’ll take my mind off the qualifying. You and I both know I need a good spot to start from, and I have to finish well for any hope of getting into the Chase.”

“I’ll be at the track,” she said.