Running Wide Open (15 page)

“Kinda late, isn’t it?”

The bite of my tone attracted a vaguely guilty glance.

“I’ve gotta get the car back together,” Race said. He pulled a half-gallon of milk from the top shelf and poured himself a glass.

“You didn’t forget about tomorrow, did you?”

“What’s tomorrow?”

“I’ve only been talking about it all week!”

Race turned and sagged against the counter. “Look, Cody, I’m beat. Just tell me so I can go to bed.”

“It’s my first karate lesson.”

Race grimaced. “That’s tomorrow?”

Typical adult. “I guess you’re gonna bail on me, huh?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“What about your stupid car?”

“I’m sure it can spare me for a couple hours.”

“Right.” I wasn’t like I hadn’t been through this kind of thing a million times with Mom.

“Look, kid. I said I’d take you, and I’ll take you. Understand?”

“If you say so.”

Race’s jaw tightened and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before he responded. “Go back to bed. We’ve both gotta get up early if I’m gonna give Kasey a hand tomorrow.”

Yeah, I’d believe
that
when I saw it. The only time I’d witnessed him in a vertical position before seven-thirty was the day I’d set his clock back.

* * *

Amazingly, Race was up, dressed, and wolfing down a Twinkie when I wandered into the kitchen the next morning.

“Your class is at seven, right? I’ll be here no later than six.”

Make that 6:47. I was battling hurricane force nerves by the time he showed up. Fortunately, the dojo was only a few miles from the trailer and Race managed to avoid the cops in spite of setting his own speed limit. After all the fuss, my class was a lot less exciting than I’d expected. Mostly, we went over the dojo rules and practiced some basic exercises and stances. The sensei talked a lot about breathing and oriental philosophy, but I just wanted to get to the good stuff, where I could learn to kick somebody’s ass.

At eight, Race picked me up and dropped me off at the trailer.

“I’ve gotta put in a few hours on the Dart,” he said. “I’ll probably be late, so don’t wait up.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.” I’d be glad when that damned thing was fixed so I could stop living in solitary confinement.

Race wasn’t home when I went to bed, and I never did hear him come in. The next morning I found his blankets lying crumpled on the couch, exactly the way they’d been the night before. I peered out the window into the driveway. No van. I didn’t know whether to be pissed or scared.

Not sure what else to do, I called Kasey, who told me she hadn’t seen Race since he left her place the day before.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Cody. I’ll drive over to his shop and see if he’s there. Just go to school, okay? If there’s any problem I’ll call the office.”

As I sat through classes that day, my annoyance boiled into an all-out rage. How could Race not come home? Didn’t he know how much it would freak me out?

At three o’clock, instead of going home, I flipped through the bus schedules at the nearest convenience store and plotted how to get to Kasey’s shop. Race’s van was sitting out front when I got there, but the building was locked up and no one was around. I smacked the door then slumped against it, fuming. Where was everybody? It wasn’t even four o’clock. Shouldn’t Kasey’s mechanic, Jake, be there at least?

I checked the van. It was open. Good, maybe I’d hotwire the damn thing and take it for a joy ride. I was contemplating how I might pull that off, considering my lack of mechanical expertise, when I saw the keys dangling from the ignition. Bingo!

The van rumbled to life under my touch and Jimmy Buffett kicked in with
Cheeseburger in Paradise
. Mashing the eject button, I jerked the tape out and tossed it into the back of the van. I glanced at the gas gage. Half a tank. Cool. I’d have myself some fun, and this time Race could be the one to feel a surge of panic when he came back and found out his ride had disappeared.

While Race had let me drive a lot, I’d never gone any place interesting like the hill above the University, where the roads were twisty and fun. I decided to swing up that direction to give myself a little challenge. Feeling vaguely uneasy without Race in the passenger’s seat, I coaxed the van out onto the road.

The streets on the butte were winding and narrow, and the van swooped around them in an abrupt, rolling way that felt dangerous. The sensation sent a tingle through my muscles. Was this what it felt like to drive in competition? No wonder Race dug it so much.

I wound my way up the hillside, making it a contest to see how fast I could go. Then out of nowhere a car was coming at me. I swerved to the right. The shoulder gave way, and suddenly the van was plunging down an embankment, shrubs and undergrowth rushing by. A single thought echoed through my head as the van came to a stop, slamming into a Douglas fir.

Race is gonna kill me
.

Chapter 12

As I sat on the front steps of the guy whose Douglas fir I’d dented, Race pulled up in the Charger. I expected a tirade. Instead, he gripped my shoulders hard and looked me over, his eyes finally stopping to peer into mine.

“Are you okay?”

I glanced away. “Yeah.”

“He seems to be all right,” said the guy who owned the house. “I don’t think your van’s too bad off, either, though I imagine you’ll need a winch to get it out.”

Race wound up having to call for a tow truck, but at least the homeowner didn’t seem bothered by the damage I’d done to his shrubbery. And there wasn’t much wrong with the van other than a dented grill, a tweaked fender, and a broken headlight.

“I probably oughta ground you or take away your driving privileges,” Race said as we drove home. “But if you’re willing to fix the van, I’ll let it go at that.” His tone lacked its usual lightness, but I didn’t detect the hard set to his jaw that usually warned me when I’d pushed him too far.

Back at the trailer I retreated to my room. Race banged around in the kitchen, fixing dinner. I couldn’t believe he was letting me off so easy. Maybe he felt guilty for leaving me home alone all night. Maybe he thought he got what he deserved. I wanted to believe that, but the rationalization left an uneasy feeling at the back of my mind.

“Cody—dinner.”

I went out and dished myself up some Hamburger Helper. As I flopped down in the laundry chair, Race flicked the remote to bring the TV to life.

“About last night,” he said, tossing the device onto the coffee table. “I sat down to rest for a few minutes and fell asleep. It was almost nine when I woke up this morning. I called from Kasey’s shop, but I guess you missed the message I left on the answering machine.”

My eyes locked on my plate, focusing on the green beans Race had mixed in with the meat and noodles. “I went straight over there from school.”

“I should’ve left a note when we ran out to get parts.”

Pissed as I was at him for ditching me, I couldn’t see why he was rattling on about it when I’d screwed up so big. “Don’t you even care?” I demanded.

“What—about the van?” Race poked at his food, scowling. “Of course I care, kid. I’d like to wring your damned neck.”

“You don’t act like you care.”

“Why, because I’m not yelling at you?”

I shrugged.

“Look, Cody, even though it was a stupid way to deal with the situation, I know what inspired your joy ride. Maybe I’m messing up by not coming down hard on you. Maybe you’ll go on to a life of crime and it will all be my fault. But I’d like to think you’ve got the sense to see what you’ve done wrong—that if I give you the opportunity, you’ll make things right.”

It couldn’t be that easy. I’d screwed up and gotten caught. I was supposed to pay. Wasn’t that how it worked?

“It doesn’t make sense. If I was you, I’d kick my ass.”

Race laughed. “I guess you’re lucky you’re not me then, huh?”

His amusement was like gasoline fueling the fire of my temper. “You think this is some kind of joke?”

Race studied me for a long moment. He sighed and set his plate down on the coffee table. “Okay. I didn’t want to have to dredge this up, but here’s the deal: When I was seventeen I wrecked my dad’s Mercedes.”

“Seriously? Man, Grandpa musta freaked.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“So what’d he do?”

A rarely revealed hardness swept my uncle’s face. “He sold my car.” Race worked his mouth as if the words tasted bad. “It was just an old beater Nova, but I’d bought it with my own money. He said maybe I’d learn to respect other people’s property if I lost something I cared about.”

I stared at Race, thinking Grandpa had to be the world’s biggest asshole.

“I’m not going to be like him,” Race said with the determination I always saw before he went out on the track. “I refuse to believe that’s the only way to raise a kid.”

* * *

After school the next day, Race picked me up and took me to his shop. “The new fender and grill are in back,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder into the rear of the van. “Some of the bolts are gonna be rusty. Make sure you spray ’em good with WD-40, or you’ll never break ’em loose.”

Leaving me to my own devices, he went to work on the Dart. I didn’t have the slightest idea of how to begin, so I popped the hood. The shadows of the engine compartment made it impossible to see the bolts that held everything in place.

“There’s a trouble light hanging under the work bench,” Race called, anticipating my problem. I retrieved it, but all it did was illuminate my ignorance.

“Uh, Race? What am I supposed to do first?”

Patiently, he pointed out all the bolts and told me the best order in which to remove them if I wanted to save myself some grief. I dug a handful of wrenches out of the toolbox.

“No, kid, you want a ratchet.” Race got one and showed me how it worked. “A job’s always easier if you have the right tool.”

I spent the rest of the afternoon grazing my knuckles and shearing off bolts. But I didn’t complain. No way was I gonna let Race know how miserable I was. He commented on my swearing, saying I had the perfect vocabulary to be a mechanic, should I ever consider such a career path. As if.

I almost had the fender off when, reaching for a bolt, I sliced my finger. The thick smear of grease on my hands failed to staunch the oozing blood. “Hey, Race,” I hollered. “We got any Band-aids around here?”

“Not exactly.” He grabbed a roll of duct tape from the workbench and brought it to me, tearing off a piece. “There,” he said, wrapping it around my finger. “All better.”

“You coulda let me wash it first.”

“Nah, germs can’t live in grease.”

“Is that a scientific fact?”

Race grinned. “Maybe.”

I got back to work and the dented fender finally gave up its struggle. Sweating and shoving the hair out of my eyes, I pulled the new parts from the back of the van. I was glad to see that Race had thought of getting some replacement bolts. I’d busted off two of the originals.

The fender and grill went on a lot easier than they’d come off. As I fit them into place, a twinge of pride caught me off guard.
I’d fixed a car
. It wasn’t like I’d rebuilt an engine or anything, but still. It was the first time I’d really used tools, and it surprised me how comfortable they felt in my hand.

“Nice work,” said Race as he came up behind me. “I noticed you adjusting the fender. Pretty smart, thinking of a detail like that.”

Embarrassed, I shrugged. It wasn’t rocket science. The bolt holes were slotted, and it just made sense.

Race rested his hand on my shoulder. “You need to learn how to accept a compliment,” he said. “You’ve done a great job here, and I’m proud of you. Now let me show you how to adjust that headlight, then we’ll go get the obligatory celebration pizza.”

“Can I have a beer this time?” I asked, craning my neck to look back at him.

Race squeezed my shoulder.

“No.”

* * *

On the way home that night, I asked Race what he had left to do on the Dart.

“Mostly fine-tuning the set-up and replacing that bumper and fender.”

I stretched out my feet so they were resting on the dash. “By an amazing stroke of coincidence, I just happen to have some experience replacing fenders.”

Race looked at me across the cab, the surprised tilt of his eyebrows barely noticeable in the glow of the streetlights. “Are you volunteering to help with my car?”

“You don’t have to make it sound like I offered to give you one of my kidneys.”

Race chuckled. “My mistake. Sure kid, I’d really appreciate it.”

Chapter 13

When I got up Saturday morning, Race was at his drafting table working on the ad he’d been neglecting all week.

“Would you believe I’ve been up since six?” he asked as I scrounged through the cupboards for cereal.

“Going by looks alone, I’d say you’ve been up all night.”

We’d stayed at the shop until almost midnight the day before. Kasey had made her Friday deadline with the Mustang, but she’d gone down to Cottage Grove after work for her brother’s graduation. Race was left with only me to help him finish the Dart.

I’d figured it would be a simple thing to swap out the parts, but that was before I knew they had to be modified. We had to trim the fender for clearance then roll the sharp edge so it couldn’t cut the tire. Plus, the bumper needed to be welded to the fenders with metal straps. If it wasn’t, Race said two cars could get locked together.

There was also the matter of straightening the buckled hood and setting up the front end. I proved to be about as useful as racing slicks in an ice storm. Race had to educate me, along with doing most of the work. The car was ready though, and it was a good thing because Race had a lot left to do on that ad before he could show it to his customer.

Kasey met us at the track that evening. First thing, she handed Race a check.

“What’s this for?” he asked, studying it wide-eyed.

“You didn’t think I was going to let you work all week for free, did you?”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Race held the check out to her.

“Just accept it graciously. I couldn’t have finished that Mustang on time without your help, and I know putting the Dart back together must’ve taken a toll on your finances.”