The Outside Groove (14 page)

I didn't have a response, so I looked away, reflexively turning to Uncle Harvey, who was still standing on the threshold of the shop, looking very uncomfortable.

“Can I get anybody anything?” he said, stepping into the yard.

I shook my head.

“No, thanks,” Mom said.

“Well, suit yourselves.” As he passed us, Uncle Harvey pasted on a smile so fake it looked painful, and nodded at Mom. “Carol. Good to see you.”

“You too, Harvey.” Mom's smile also looked fake, but she seemed to wear it more easily.

Uncle Harvey retreated into his little house.

The break in my exchange with Mom had evidently bolstered my confidence, because as soon as Uncle Harvey's front door closed behind him, I asked her, “What happened between him and Big Daddy?”

Mom winced as if I'd just pinched her. “That,” she said, “is a very private matter, one I doubt you'd find interesting—”

“So, why do you think I just asked you about it? I'm interested.”

Mom looked at me, seemingly exploring my eyes for evidence that I could be trusted. A couple of seconds later, she turned away again, letting a vacant stare fall on her car. “I can't tell you,” she said.

“Can't or won't?”

“Now is not the time,” she said, still not looking at me.

Neither of us said anything for a minute or so, during which I sensed, from the set of Mom's jaw and the distance in her gaze, that now really wasn't the time. She seemed a long way away, and I worried that bringing her back to be hammered with questions might produce undesirable results for me and my budding racing career. No, if she wanted to keep this secret, I'd let her ... for now.

“How'd you find out that I was coming here?” I said delicately.

Mom turned toward Uncle Harvey's house, a strangely sad look tugging at the corners of her eyes and mouth. “I had a feeling from the very beginning,” she said. “And then I followed that tow-truck driver.” She regarded me, still wearing that sad expression, but smiled faintly. Her smile didn't last but a couple of seconds, though, before she looked away again in the general direction of town. “We're not going to discuss this meeting,” she said. “Up here. Understand?”

I nodded and crossed my arms, turning my attention to Theo in the shop. “But I've got to keep racing.”

Mom waited a few seconds before letting out a sigh. “Fine,” she said. “Be careful.”

As she got into her car and drove off, a tingle rippled through my arms and legs with the realization that Mom hadn't come up to Uncle Harvey's to shut down my racing career. No, she'd come to see what I knew about what had come between my father and my uncle. She'd come to see if I knew their secret—the secret that, I suddenly understood, might've been even more dangerous than racecar driving.

My limbs were still tingling as I listened to Mom's car engine fading on down the road. My cell phone rang, and, right away, my heart slipped into my stomach. I didn't have to look at the number to know who it was. “Hello, Ms. Egan,” I said.

“Hello, Casey?” She spoke in the la-di-da voice that she sometimes used to create the impression that something was no big deal when, obviously, it was.

“Ms. Egan, I'm so sorry. I'm on my way, but...”

Ms. Egan gave me a moment to offer an excuse, but I couldn't come up with one. “That's fine,” she said
—la di da, la di da.
“I was just concerned that you might have forgotten.”

“No, I just ... I've been running a little behind schedule today.”

“Not to worry. We'll see you soon then?”

The way she phrased this as a question made my face light up, as if she didn't quite believe that I'd show up, even though I'd never
not
shown up in the five years I'd been baby-sitting and tutoring Blaine and Maddy. “I'm five minutes away,” I said, shortening the actual time by about ten minutes to give the impression that I'd been booking it toward their place for fifteen minutes already.

“OK,” she said. “The kids will be eager to see you.”

“I'll be right there.”

I crammed the phone in my pocket. “Got to run,” I said to Uncle Harvey as he stepped back out of his house. “See you tomorrow afternoon?”

“I'll be here,” he said and waved.

I sprinted across the lawn.

***

Fortunately, there were few cars on the roads, since every one was up at Demon's Run, so I let Hilda gallop a little, let her drift toward the centerline on the wide turns, trying to find that invisible line, that wide radius where power and resistance made their peace. She settled in the corners pretty well, responding to the steering like she did the day I drove her home. Good girl.

I slowed down for a tighter left turn with about two miles to go before the Egans' road and eased around, eyeing the road for that spot where the curve met the straightaway. I lifted but didn't brake, and when Hilda's nose seemed to straighten out, I punched the gas, feeling her lunge into the stretch as if shoved from behind. Exit speed.

I blew through gears like snapping my fingers, and in a few seconds, I was splitting the difference between my “five minute” white lie to Ms. Egan and the truth. The sun flashed in my mirrors suddenly, flickering as if through a stand of trees. I reached for the visor and, while glancing up, discovered that it wasn't the sun but flashing lights behind me. Chief Concave was right on my tail.

I pulled over. Although I was tempted to make a quick call to Ms. Egan, I decided that this might only make the Chief angrier than he probably was. I had no idea how fast I'd been going, but it was likely pretty fast. I got my registration out of the glove compartment, hoping that maybe saving the chief from having to ask for it would improve his mood. I rolled down my window.

“Casey,” the chief said, resting a hand on Hilda's roof.

“Hello, Chief Congreve.”

“You in a hurry?”

“Yessir. I'm late for work.”

“And now you're going to be even more late.”

“Appears that way.”

“Tell me something.” He shifted his weight but didn't reach for his ticket book—a good sign. “You make a lot of money at this job of yours?”

“No, not a lot. I'm saving for college.”

“College. I see. Got a bright future ahead of you, don't you?”

“I'd like to think so, sir.”

“Sure, you do. You're a smart girl. There's just one problem.”

“What's that, sir?”

“You hit a tree going as fast as you were going back there and you're not going to college. You're not even going to the emergency room. We even get you out of that car alive...” He put his hands on his hips and stared at the ground for a moment, as if to calm himself. With a snort, he shook his head then looked at me again. “You understand what I'm saying?”

“Yessir.”

“And you're saving for college, you said. Saving your money?”

“That's right.”

“If I write you a ticket, well, that's going to put a little crimp in your savings, isn't it?”

“Yessir.”

“Yes indeed.”

“I'm very sorry, Chief Congreve. I just ... I was paying attention to the road, watching for cars.”

“You didn't see me, though, did you?”

“No. I didn't.”

“Thought I might be up at the races.”

I didn't say anything. I was getting the distinct impression that the chief would rather have been at the races than dealing with me. This was something we had in common.

“Problem is, Casey, I've got a job to do. Got to make sure the roads are safe for the people who aren't at the races.”

“I understand. I'm very sorry—”

“Rumor has it you tried your hand at racing up at Demon's.”

“Yessir. Two weeks ago.” If there was a bright spot in this exchange, it was that any rumors of my Corkum County Speedbowl debut that were circulating in Fliverton hadn't reached the chief, which meant that maybe no rumors were circulating at all.

“Well, how'd that go?”

“It didn't.”

“How's that?”

“I didn't do well at all. Wrecked. Didn't even finish.”

“Ah. I see. Well, your brother's doing pretty good.”

“Yes, he is.”

“He might put Fliverton on the Circuit map yet.”

“Let's hope so.”

At this, Chief Congreve leaned to rest his hands on my window and look me in the eye. “Do you really hope so?”

“I do.”

“That's interesting.”

“Sir?”

“Oh, just that, well, the last time I saw you, you were talking to your Uncle Harvey, down at the fishing access.”

Again I said nothing.

“I sometimes feel like he doesn't hope so,” the chief said. “Don't ask me why, but I just get that sense. He certainly didn't hope so for your daddy.”

“But he was my father's crew chief.”

“And a good one too. Circuit-level all around—and a genius about tires, people said. But I guess family matters are personal matters.” Chief Congreve straightened up and his gaze traveled up and down the road. A truck rumbled over the hill to the south, and as it blew past, the driver and the chief exchanged a wave. “Casey, I'm going to give you a warning,” he finally said.

“Thanks. I really can't afford a ticket.”

“But I've got to tell you, it most genuinely upset me to see you hammering along the way you were.”

“I understand. I'll slow down, Chief.”

“Yes, you will. Now get to work safely.” He turned and walked back to his cruiser. As I tracked him in my rearview mirror, my heart started racing. And it wasn't out of fear that I might be about to lose my job. I realized, as Chief Congreve got into his car, that somewhere in that block head of his lingered a detail of our local history that no one had ever told me, something about Big Daddy and Uncle Harvey's racing days
—family matters are personal matters.
I could've got out of my car, walked back there, and asked the chief about it. I was that close to the answer. But I didn't want to press my luck. And I didn't want to be any tardier than I already was. And, deep down, I was a little afraid of what the chief might tell me.

As I came downstairs early that following Saturday, I was puzzled by the sound of the television coming from the living room. Neither my mother nor Big Daddy was a regular television watcher, and while I might've called Wade's sense of humor about as sophisticated as the average cartoon, he never watched much television either. Stepping into the dining room, I glanced into the living room to find Wade and Big Daddy both sitting there, Big Daddy in his chair and Wade on the couch, watching what must've been a DVD of a Demon's Run race.

“See, Savard was pushing you out in turn four,” Big Daddy said.

“I remember.”

“And you let him. He pushed you off your line.”

“I didn't lift, though—”

“Watch.” Big Daddy snapped his fingers and pointed at the screen. “You're right. You didn't lift. And look at your back end coming down along the Widowmaker. You're out of control there, Wade. Out. Of. Control—”

“I got it back—”

“You want me to rewind that thing so you can see it again? You were out of control. I'm telling you, if you don't get your head on straight—”

“I won the race, didn't I?” Wade grumbled and turned to Big Daddy. In the process, he spotted me watching them. A cheesy grin broke across his face. “Good morning, prom queen.”

“Prom's tonight, Wade,” I said.

“It's tonight?” Big Daddy asked Wade, which didn't make sense, since I was the one going to the prom.

“Where you off to now?” Wade added. “Going to get your hair done? Maybe get a manicure?”

“That's right,” I said and walked into the kitchen. I opened the refrigerator door, which blocked Wade's view of me. I stood there for a few moments, rooting around in the crisper for an apple, letting the blood drain from my face.

“Going to get ... a pedicure?” Wade sang as I shut the door.

“Yup, the whole deal.” I bit into the apple. “Enjoy your cartoons,” I said and turned my back on them.

***

By the time Uncle Harvey and I pulled into the Corkum County Speedbowl pits, the Sharks had already staked out a slot, the three of them hovering there in identical mint-green T-shirts. Bernie had her sleeves rolled up and the shirt knotted above her bellybutton. When Jim swung the wrecker around behind them, they turned, and I read the words printed on their shirts:

 

G
O
C
ASEY
G
O
R
ACING

 

As Uncle Harvey and I got out of the car, T.T. approached with some shirts slung over her shoulder. She tossed one to each of us and veered toward Jim, who was wearing his just-let-me-work face. T.T. tossed him a shirt anyway. He caught it, held it up, then looked at Bernie and Tammy, who stood with their hands in their back pockets, staring at him from behind their sunglasses. “Thanks,” he said with the enthusiasm of a bucket of driveway sealant.

Uncle Harvey pulled his T-shirt over his windbreaker and summoned the Sharks to gather round. He yanked a notebook from his pocket and handed it to T.T. Jim lowered Theo into the pit just as the announcer gave the ten-minute warning for practice. I walked over to help him.

“They got you a T-shirt, guy,” I said and bumped my shoulder against his.

“This'll go over real well down at the diner—”

“Oh, you can't wear it in town, Jim.”

He smirked. “I wouldn't wear this in front of a firing squad.”

“Well, will you at least wear it here?”

With a deep sigh, he wrestled the T-shirt over his work shirt, taking care to pull the collars so they flapped out from beneath the T-shirt. “If it'll keep them out of my face, I'll try anything.”