Speed Demons

by Gun Brooke

  “Sounds fair to me.” Evie jangled the car keys. “Ready?”

  “Sure.”

  On their way to the car, Blythe wondered if she should rent a car after all. It didn’t seem necessary since she was here to shadow Evie. She took her small point-and-shoot Canon with her in case an opportunity for a photo showed up when she least expected it.

  *

  “Evie! Over here! Evie. Ms. Marshall. Who’s the gorgeous blonde with you? Can you girls pose? Aw, come on, just once.”

  “This was clearly a mistake,” Blythe muttered under her breath as they exited the restaurant. “We should’ve dined closer to Pawleys Island.”

  “Nothing there was open, unless you were in the mood for super-greasy burgers. It’s not high season anymore, except for the vultures who track the NASCAR drivers.” Evie knew Blythe wasn’t used to this. She hated it too, but it was even more embarrassing when the paparazzi included Blythe. “I wonder who the hell called them. Honestly, I’m usually treated with respect down here. It’s not like New York or California, where paparazzi come up through the cracks in the sidewalks.”

  “Well, with the tip we left, I’m prepared to go back inside and demand our money back.”

  “Oh, boy, you’re really miffed.” She studied Blythe, whose blue eyes looked dark gray by now.

  “I know. I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. I’m just…I guess I’m disappointed.” Opening the door of the car, Blythe got into the passenger seat. “Better hurry. They’re crossing the street.”

  “Buckle up.” Evie turned the ignition and let her beloved Chrysler 300 station wagon sweep by the vultures with cameras. “Let’s lose them.”

  “You sound gleeful,” Blythe said suspiciously.

  “Me? Nah.” Shifting gears, she passed two cars and slalomed back and forth until she nearly ran a red light. Checking the rearview mirror, she saw that some paparazzi had access to scooters, and fast ones, from what she could tell. Smiling broadly, she appreciated the challenge. It was one thing to outrun another car, but for a large vehicle like hers to get away from motorcycles or scooters would take some serious driving. “Hold on, Blythe.”

  “All right.”

  She saw Blythe grip the door handle, and then she focused on turning the car left into a one-way street. Before the scooters appeared in her mirror again, she turned right. Two intersections later she spotted two scooters, but that was at least five less than before. Speeding up, she took the next left turn so fast, Blythe gasped and placed a hand on the dashboard.

  “Let go. Never hold on to the dashboard. Airbag.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  “Next right again. Ready?” Turning the wheel and gearing down, she took the curve so close to the sidewalk the front wheel on that side touched it. “Next right again.”

  “You sure? Won’t that take us back to them?”

  “Nope. Large mall coming up.”

  “Mall? Why…oh.”

  “That’s right. We need eggs. I was promised pancakes.” She enjoyed Blythe’s surprised guffaw. She made the right and saw the large, quite full parking lot coming up on her left. No scooters had caught up yet when she turned into the parking lot and pulled into a spot between two SUVs. “And this is one of the reasons I drive a regular car. What if I had that Porsche my father thought was the least I should go for? Or, heaven forbid, a Maserati, or a Ferrari?”

  “I’m kind of glad you’re driving this car too. For two reasons, mainly.” Blythe unbuckled her seat belt with slightly unsteady hands.

  “What reasons are those?” She unfastened her own belt and turned to Blythe.

  “First, I don’t want to think about how fast you’d be driving through Myrtle Beach in a Ferrari. My heart’s still somewhere in my throat area, I think.” Blythe swallowed as if it were true. “And second, how would I have been able to spend time on the road here with you, with all our bags and stuff, in a car that can barely hold more than a toothbrush?”

  She laughed. “Come on, oh brave soul. Let’s get those eggs and the rest of the groceries before they close.”

  “On one condition.” Blythe placed her hands on her hips.

  “Condition?” She blinked.

  “You let me push the shopping cart. I’ve had enough of your kamikaze driving for a little while.”

  She laughed again, placing her arm around Blythe’s shoulders. “Sure thing. Anything for those pancakes.” Blythe leaned into the touch, which made it her turn to gasp. She felt oddly protective, something that was redundant because Blythe certainly didn’t need sheltering, but even so, she still felt that way. She reminded herself sternly that they were going grocery shopping, for heaven’s sake. Hardly traveling through enemy territory. Unless the paparazzi had spotted them and found it thrilling to sell pictures of her buying milk and apples.

  Blythe grabbed a shopping cart and they stepped inside Walmart’s grocery section. Nobody paid any attention to them, and she relaxed. Placing her hand on the shopping cart handlebar next to Blythe’s, she couldn’t stop smiling.

  Chapter Twelve

  Flipping open her laptop, Blythe drummed her fingers impatiently against her thigh as it booted. She started up Photoshop and inserted the flashcard from the camera into its slot, eager to see today’s photos. She never got tired of seeing the images for the first time. It was like reliving and rediscovering life, and now, to watch Evie in every situation throughout the day, private and public, added a delicious dimension. Then she performed the all-important routine of saving the photos to the laptop, but also to the external hard drive and to a virtual hard drive in the cloud online. She refused to lose any photos because she was too lazy or naïve to back them up.

  Blythe began to review the morning’s pictures first, deciding to proceed chronologically even if that wasn’t always how she worked. She simply made herself inconspicuous behind the camera and let life unfold for her subject, whether it was a high-ranking U.S. Army officer, a peasant Afghan woman, or, as in this case, an amazing, brilliant, and gorgeous NASCAR driver.

  This morning, Evie had seemed conscious about Blythe’s presence at first, but after a while, she managed to tune her out and kept going about her day. The picture of Evie eating blueberry pancakes while reading a thumbed, tattered copy of The Hours was a keeper and might just make part of the cover. Her dark hair hung around her face, and in one photo, Blythe had managed to capture how Evie raised both hands, an impatient look on her face, wrapping a scrunchie around her hair. The gesture was so sensuous yet personal, especially with her half-annoyed expression. Blythe shortlisted this photo for the book.

  The next photo that struck a chord showed Evie stepping out of the house, glancing at the beach and the rising sun. Again, her expression gave Blythe goose bumps. Soft, full of awe, her eyes so brightly green in the light, her mouth barely open, Evie seemed goddess-like. Her lips, curvy and full, and damp from just sipping her coffee-to-go, formed a faint smile. Did Evie meet each day with such wonder, each sunset like it was the first she’d ever laid eyes on? Somehow, Blythe didn’t think that notion was entirely impossible. Evie was a strange mix of worldly, seasoned, even cynical, but also childlike and innocent. Blythe found this contradiction hard to capture but thought she was well on her way to doing it.

  She browsed through more of the photos, and soon she reached the ones where they approached the track. Blythe sat facing Evie with the camera as she drove to Darlington, and the closer they came, the more impeccable Evie’s posture became. Back straight, shoulders back, chin out, lips tense. Viewing the photo of Evie carrying her sports bag across the parking lot toward the racetrack, you would think she was off to do battle. And maybe she was.

  A series of photos of how Evie donned her inflammable undergarments and the coverall would go into the book, for informative reasons, but also because Evie’s expressive face gave her away. The more pieces of her outfit that she added, the more her persona altered. Any softness around her lips or any wondrous expression in her eyes disappeare
d. Blythe frowned. Was Evie having fun at all? Was she doing this for herself? Or was she back in the NASCAR circuit to prove something, and in that case, to whom? Herself, her father, her fans, or her sponsors? Whatever her reasons, this woman of steel was the direct opposite of the woman who’d read The Hours and loved a beautiful sunrise earlier. Then again, Blythe surmised, that was how it had to be, perhaps. A person had to adjust and be different personas during different situations.

  Evie in the Viper, gripping the wheel, only her eyes visible before she slammed down the visor. Only a few photos of the Viper passing them at different distances. Training had gone well, according to Ben. Another photo showed Evie stepping out of the car, tearing off her helmet and balaclava, her hair flying in a wide-fanned angle. Static electricity made it crackle as the wind whipped it, and looking at this photo, Blythe relived the moment, heard it.

  “May I see?” Evie asked quietly from the door.

  “Sure. Come in.” Blythe noticed that Evie carried two mugs. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “If you’re thinking about hot chocolate with whipped cream and marshmallows, then yes.” Evie handed her a mug and pulled out a chair next to her at the small dining room table.

  Blythe sipped the hot chocolate and hummed in pure pleasure. Not too sweet and very chocolaty. Just the way she liked it. Glancing over at Evie, she saw that the soft expression was almost back in place. Something about coming back to her sanctuary, her house by the sea, had settled Evie again, she surmised.

  “Wow, I sure look miffed.” Evie studied the photo Blythe pulled up. “I wasn’t happy with how the Viper handled.”

  “Why is that? Ben seemed pleased.”

  “He wasn’t behind the wheel. He didn’t feel how I had to struggle to hit the same mark in the corner every time. It should be more effortless. They need to fine-tune the coils and dampers. Steering too.”

  “I’m sure they will.” Ben would walk on a tightrope for Evie. He was gruff and ran the team with the proverbial iron fist, but he adored Evie. The next photo Blythe pulled up showed just that. Evie stood with her back to the crew, calming down after the training session, her hands on her hips and her head tipped back. Ben stood closer to the camera, rubbing his neck, his eyes concerned and soft as he gazed at Evie.

  “He’s aged.” Evie spoke quietly. “Look at his temples. I hadn’t noticed that until now. Look.” She pointed at the graying hair on his temples. “He didn’t have that last year.”

  “He really cares about you.” Blythe pulled up the next picture. Here Ben had placed a gentle hand on Evie’s shoulder and she turned her face to him, smiling in a self-deprecating manner.

  “I know.” Evie mimicked the same expression as the one she had in the photo. “I’ve known him since I was ten years old. He used to work for Mal, but when I started competing as a teenager, he said that if Mal didn’t make sure I learned the ropes, he would. Mal more or less broke off any type of friendship with Ben when he refused to be my father’s mole and do his bidding.”

  “What do you mean, do his bidding?” Blythe drank some chocolate. Evie’s eyes darkened again.

  “Ben refused to be coerced or bribed into influencing me. On the contrary, he kept me apprised of what my father and grandfather said and did.”

  “I have photos of him from when you crashed,” Blythe said hesitantly. “The look on his face as he’s running toward the pileup of burning cars…It impacted me as much as the thought of you being stuck.” Blythe knew she shouldn’t emphasize the crash now that Evie was trying to work past it, so she didn’t go into further detail. She didn’t tell Evie how she eventually had dropped the camera right where she stood and run after Ben. Rescue workers and first responders held them both back while they worked to get Evie and the others in the crashed race cars out. She would never forget Ben moaning Evie’s name, calling her his little girl. “He’s more of a dad to you than Mal is, isn’t he? Emotionally?”

  “Oh, yes.” Evie ran gentle fingers across Ben’s face on the screen. “Mal will never understand how I see Ben as a true parent figure, someone who loves unconditionally and does it while knowing every unflattering thing about me.”

  Blythe gripped the mouse harder. She had no reason to be envious. She’d walked away from her family and the increasingly hardening climate among them, but hearing about someone else’s parents—real or substitutes didn’t matter—would always spark a twitch of remorse and pain. Remorse for leaving, pain for not having any other choice.

  Blythe browsed more photos, and a couple actually made them laugh helplessly. One featured Evie drinking from a water hose and getting completely soaked when one of the team members accidentally bumped into her. The next one showed Evie with a transparent white T-shirt, her nipples clearly visible.

  “God almighty, you’re not putting that one in the book.” Evie snapped her head around, looking pointedly at her.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” she deadpanned. “Perhaps we could sell it to that calendar producer who’s been bugging you for hot pictures so you could be Ms. July.”

  “Blythe!” After looking completely scandalized for a fraction of a second, Evie laughed and swatted her arm. “Brat. Very funny.”

  “And lucrative.” Blythe nodded in agreement. “Just imagine.”

  “Let’s not imagine that.” Shaking her head, Evie covered her eyes. “Please. Next.”

  Chuckling, she switched to the next photo, but not before she flagged the previous one as “private” and “keep.”

  *

  Evie turned off the bedside lamp, then thought better of it and switched it back on. For some reason, she didn’t want complete darkness on this cloudy night. Usually the moon lit up with the stars, but not tonight. She left the window open about an inch, to let the sound of the waves soothe her. She was on edge tonight. Did it have anything to do with being dissatisfied with her—and the car’s—performance? Jittery and restless, she debated whether to take one of the sleeping pills she rarely used. Deciding against it, since the drowsiness stayed with her far too long, which would prevent her from going out to Darlington, she curled up and closed her eyes, forcing herself to breathe slowly. Eventually sleepiness blanketed her.

  *

  Blythe sat up in bed, listening. She was a very light sleeper, a habit that had developed automatically because she’d stayed in dangerous places so many times. Now she’d heard something while sleeping, and her heart hammered.

  At first, she could distinguish only the waves, but after a few seconds, a faint murmur, or perhaps a moan, came from the hallway. She sat up, her feet on the cool hardwood floor. She listened again while holding her breath. Nothing. Opening the door fully to the hallway, she stood indecisively in the doorway, shivering a little in her boxers and tank top.

  “No. No!” A tormented voice whimpered. Evie. Was she dreaming?

  She padded over to Evie’s door and pushed it open a small crack. “Evie?”

  “Open it. No. Open it, open.” Evie’s voice was filled with pain and Blythe could see her in the dim light from the bedside lamp, twisting and turning in her rumpled bed.

  “Oh, God.” Blythe hurried over to Evie, kneeling next to the bed. “Wake up, Evie. Evie?” She tried to capture the flailing hands. “Evie it’s me. It’s Blythe. You’re dreaming.”

  “No. No. Let me out. Let me out.” Barely audible, the pain in her voice made Blythe want to cry in sympathy. Evie fought while still caught in her nightmare. Her skin was damp and cold, and she’d obviously been crying; her hair was tousled and stuck to her wet cheeks.

  “I’m here. I have you.” She wouldn’t be able to wake Evie like this from the horrible dream she was so caught up in. It seemed impossible to break through her panic and torment. Climbing up on the bed, she wrapped both arms around Evie, not bothering with her own safety. Evie was bigger and stronger, but all Blythe could think of was her anguish. Her heart broke when she understood that this must happen frequently.

  Struggling to hold on t
o Evie, who trembled violently beneath her, she kept trying to rouse her. “Evie. Evie. Wake up.” She pressed her lips against Evie’s ear. “Please, Evie. It’s Blythe. You’re dreaming. You’re all right. It’s just a bad dream. You’re not in the car.”

  “Fire. Everywhere.” Evie still sounded terrified, but her voice sounded different. Blythe hoped this meant she was waking up.

  “Hey, there. You awake?” Carefully, she gazed down at Evie, mindful not to let go of her. “Evie?”

  “What—what are you doing? Blythe?” Evie opened her eyes and blinked repeatedly.

  “You were dreaming.”

  “Yes. Oh, God…again. So much smoke. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t see.” Evie suddenly flung her arms around Blythe’s neck. “Thank God you woke me up.” Trembling, she buried her face against Blythe. “So much pain and they were screaming. Endless, piercing screams. And I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t get out, and the fire…the fire ate through my suit, into my skin. It hurt so much. I tried to scream. I tried.”

  “Yes. You’re okay now. I’m not going anywhere.” Blythe didn’t know why those words made her cheeks go warm. “Just hold on to me. You’re fine now.”

  “When will the dreams stop? I can’t take it anymore. I’m afraid to fall asleep.”

  “Oh, sweetie.” Her heart contracted painfully again. “I wish I knew. I wish I could do something—”

  An idea formed, but it was so audacious and presumptuous, it wasn’t even worth mentioning. Was it? She argued with herself. What if she slept next to Evie, to be able to hear her sooner?

  “What? You were saying something?” Evie moved sideways so they were facing each other on the bed.

  “Well, I was just thinking, what if I manage to hear you and wake you up before the dreams get this bad? I’m a light sleeper.”

  “Yeah, that’d be great.” Evie wiped at her cheeks. “I’ve dealt with this until now. Some nights I’ve worked out for the rest of the night, or read book after book. That’s not possible now. I need my sleep in order to carry on with my training, and later it’s even more important, when the races start.” Evie pushed herself up on her elbow, hovering over her. “Do you think you’d be okay with sleeping in here?”