“I’m a very conscientious driver. I do the whole left, right, left thing before crossing.”
“You need to come to a complete stop when you come up to a stop sign.”
“Thought that was more of a suggestion when there’s no traffic for miles.”
The officer is less than amused. “It’s not a suggestion. It’s the law. License and registration, please.”
Cody hands over the documents and resists the temptation to turn up the radio. He glances at the officer’s badge. Brice.
“Officer Brice. You like racing?” Brice starts to write something on his tablet. “You know, like stock-car races?”
Brice lifts his gaze to Cody. “What’s your point?”
“I’m a race car driver. Cody Jackson. Maybe you didn’t quite recognize me with the scruff.” Cody strokes the new beard he’s been growing. “And if you and your family are interested, I could score you some tickets to an Interstate event.”
“I know who you are, Cody Jackson. I saw your last crash live. And then again on YouTube. And then my buddy also e-mailed me the Asian-spoof version.”
“There’s a spoof version? Cool.”
“You’re not trying to bribe me with tickets, are you, Mr. Jackson?” Brice leans over, and Cody gets a good look at the serious expression on his face and the body camera attached to his lapel.
“Oh, no. No, sir. Just a kind offer.” Cody smiles coyly for the camera.
“I’ll pass. Thank you. In the meantime, since you’re new to town and I know that Joe Cartier is expecting—”
“You know Joe?”
“I know everything and everyone. Don’t forget it. And don’t forget that I’m letting you off with a warning.”
“Appreciate it.”
“But this is it. You get only one free pass.”
“I understand. Thank you.” Cody reaches into the backseat and pulls out a rolled-up poster. “Do you have sons?” He starts to unroll the signed poster of himself and his race car.
Brice puts his hand up, shaking his head.
“Daughters?”
“Welcome to Clarksville, Mr. Jackson. Enjoy your—hopefully brief—stay.” Officer Brice turns and heads to his car.
Cody sticks his head out the window. “Hey, excuse me? Officer Brice? How do I get to Joe’s from here?”
* * *
CODY ROARS INTO the parking lot of Joe’s Auto. The throwback car repair shop with its 1950s signage is the first thing Cody likes about this town.
“This looks like the kinda place we could hang for a while,” he tells the cheetah. “Things may be looking up.”
He parks the car in front of an open garage bay, swings his door open, and sets his worn, brown cowboy boots on the black pavement. Cody removes his sunglasses and lets his eyes adjust to the bright sun gleaming off a dozen restored beauties in the lot. “Hope I get to take a couple of those babies for a spin.”
“Not a chance.” The voice drones from inside the first garage hanger. Cody steps in and sees two legs sticking out from under a race car. “You can look, but you can’t touch.”
“Hello? Are you talking to me?”
“Hand me a nine-sixteenths box end, would ya?”
“Ah . . . Joe?” Cody tries to see who’s under there.
“Left side, top drawer.”
Cody finds the wrench in the toolbox along the wall.
“Set it in my palm right here.”
Cody obeys. The hand grips the tool and disappears.
“You must be Cody, am I right?”
“That’s right.”
“Joe.” The hand comes out again with the nine-sixteenths. “Grab me the next size up, will ya?”
“You got a nice ride here. Yours?” Cody exchanges the smaller tool for the larger one and hands it to Joe.
“It sure is. And I’d like to keep it that way. From what I hear and what I see, you might have some trouble doing that.”
“Hey, ‘rubbing is racing,’ right?”
Cody hears Joe tightening a bolt under the car. The instrument appears again, and Cody takes it. Joe scoots his legs up and slides his body until he’s out from under the vehicle. He looks at Cody, studying him as he wipes the grease off his hands.
Joe rises and stands a full head taller than Cody. Formidable. Wowsers. Joe lets a long awkward moment pass between them. Cody is about to break the silence, when—
“No. It isn’t. And don’t ever quote Days of Thunder to me.”
Cody’s confidence macerates. He judged the benevolence of the situation too soon. And purely based on looks. Classic book-by-its-cover mistake.
Joe checks his watch and, seeing the time, grabs his jacket. “We can take my truck. The old Ford out there. Is that what you’re gonna wear?”
“I . . . I guess so. Why?”
“Help me load that go-kart into the back.”
Cody looks around for the kart, completely confused as to what’s about to go down. Go-karts? Are they going to a derby race?
“Hurry now. We don’t want to be late.”
“Late for what?”
“It’s Sunday. Church.”
“Church?”
“Yeah. Steeple. Choir. Pastor. You know church, right? Please tell me I don’t have to explain this concept, or we have more work to do than I was led to believe.”
Cody does know. When he was a kid, his parents took him to Sunday school. That lasted until junior high, when he and Martin Schmidt would sneak out and wander around town for an hour. He had dabbled in churchgoing off and on with various girlfriends he was trying to impress. But no. Well, Sundays were race days. Besides, he preferred to keep his faith life, what little there was, private—and separate—from his race life.
Joe steps behind an unfinished, kid-size go-kart and starts to push. “Cody. I could use some help here. Let’s go.”
“Joe. There’s one thing you should know about me. I don’t do church.”
“You do now.” Joe deflects Cody’s insistent look as he jostles the kart through the garage. “Consider it part of a well-balanced rehabilitation program. Otherwise, we don’t have a deal.” Joe is headed for a collision with a tire-changing machine when Cody hustles after him, grabbing the wheel to steer the kart out of harm’s way.
Welcome to race car purgatory.
chapter six
She Should
AMBER PULLS HER minivan into a spot at the far end of the parking lot of Clarksville Community Church so she can avoid making contact with any of the worshippers arriving there. In her rearview mirror she sees the happy attendees, her old friends, greeting Karena, who stands outside the doors passing out bulletins as they enter. Joyful faces. Perfect and pain-free. A cruel reminder of what her life used to be. She turns away.
Bree opens the sliding door and hops out.
“I’ll see you after work, okay?”
“I wish you would stay for church,” Bree says.
“Can’t. Rosie would kill me.”
“Bye, Mom.” Bree uses all her might to close the door. She sprints toward the church when Amber realizes the crazy crispies are still sitting on the passenger seat.
Amber jumps out. “Bree! Wait! Your snack!”
Bree spins around and sees her mother holding the silver pan. She runs back for it.
“Thanks! Mom . . . will you try to come next week?” Bree’s eyes plead with Amber.
“We’ll see.” The excuse is wearing thin. But Bree accepts the answer and takes off again, spying Hannah, her Sunday school teacher, across the parking lot.
Amber turns to get back into her van when a car pulls up alongside hers. She recognizes it immediately. Her best friend, Bridgette.
“You can’t hide from me, Amber Hill,” says Bridgette, springing out of the driver’s seat, looking as radiant as ever. She dashes to Amber’s side and wraps her arms around her in a huge hug. “I’m so glad you made it to church.”
“Bridge, I’m in my uniform, silly.”
Bridgette steps back and checks h
er out. “Oh yeah. I was so excited to see you that I didn’t even notice. How come you haven’t returned my calls? I’ve been worried about you.”
“I’m fine. Good. Just really busy.”
“I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
“We should do a girls’ night out. Or in. Or coffee. Or a movie. Or something. We need to catch up, girl.”
Bridgette’s warmth flows over Amber. She wants to take it all in—that infectious joy that Bridgette so naturally exudes. If she even had just a sliver of it . . . But all she can muster is: “Yeah. I don’t have a whole lot new to share.”
“You don’t have to. We’ll just hang out. No pressure.”
Amber had always found it impossible to resist Bridgette’s sense of fun. Until Darren was killed. Two years ago tomorrow. Now, she can’t seem to get past that wall she’s built around herself.
“There’s someone special I want to introduce you to.”
“Oh. You’ve got another new one?”
“Not just a new one, the one. Bryan Cartright.”
“Really. The one?” It takes Amber by surprise. What else has she been missing?
“We’re starting to look at rings.”
“Wow. Bridge. That’s fast. When did you meet?”
“Bryan and I met about a year ago.”
Amber feels somewhat betrayed, but mostly guilty. “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to meet him yet.”
“Yeah. I really hope you can. Soon. I want you to get to know him.”
“Yeah. I know I’ve been a bit unreachable. I’m sure if there was a problem with him, Karena would have let me know right away.”
“She would. And she approves one hundred percent. But it doesn’t feel as real without you being part of the mix.”
Amber takes it in, wishing she could give more. Everything about her old life seems so unreachable. She goes for the door handle.
“I’d better get going. I’m already late.”
“I know what tomorrow is, Amber. Even though it’s been two years, I would never forget.” Bridgette lowers her voice. “I was hoping that’s why you were back at church.”
“I can’t, Bridge. Okay?”
“Okay. But . . . You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I won’t be. I’ll be with a diner full of people.” Amber’s joke falls flat. “I promise I’ll give you a call and we can set something up.”
“Sure.” Amber’s promise rings hollow, and Bridgette’s shrug tells Amber she’s not fooling her bestie.
“Thanks for remembering,” Amber manages.
“I’m here for you, Amber. Always.”
Bridgette heads toward the church. Amber watches for a moment, catching Karena’s glance across the parking lot. Karena smiles and waves warmly at Amber. She returns the wave with a sad smile and gets into her van. Her eye finds the foreclosure letter on the passenger seat, and her gut tightens. What would happen if she just tossed it? Pretended she never got it? Would it all go away?
Dismissing it, Amber pulls out of the church parking lot. Now officially very late, Amber turns off the main road to take the shortcut to Rosie’s. It leads right past the cemetery where they laid Darren’s body. She knows she should stop. She knows she should bring Bree. There are a lot of things “she should.” She should be a better friend. She should be singing in the church choir right now. She should be happily married.
chapter seven
Dazzle Me
CODY CHECKS HIS watch. They’re a half hour early. To church. Who gets to church early? Joe maneuvers them down the center aisle, selecting a seat in the third pew from the front.
“We’re sitting here? Right up front?”
“Yes. We are.” Joe lets Cody slide in first.
Cody glances around. Other than the little old lady in the back and a few straggling choir members shuffling out of the choir loft, no one else is present. Cody tries to get comfortable in the stiff wooden bench. He slips his phone out of his pocket and starts to check his e-mail. Before he can click on his text app, Joe’s hand swipes his phone out of his hands.
“Hey!”
“Guess it has been a while since you’ve been in church.” Joe tucks the phone into his jacket pocket. “No cell phones.”
“Joe. The service hasn’t even started. Lemme at least text my mom to let her know I made it here okay.”
“Your mom? Really? Come on. I know I look young, but I wasn’t born yesterday.”
Cody chuckles.
“She really is my mom.”
“No girlfriend?”
“I’m single.”
“Just wait till that gets out around here.”
“Yeah, well, don’t help it along.”
Cody looks up as a woman crosses the front of the church and places her Bible and a sweater on the front pew.
“Karena. Good morning,” Joe calls out.
Karena looks up. “Joe. Hey. Good to see you. How was your week?”
“Blessed.”
“Not as blessed as mine.”
Cody finds the exchange odd. Is this how folks in Clarksville greet each other? Joe better not expect those words to come outta me. There is nothing blessed about how my week went.
“Karena, this is Cody Jackson. Cody, Karena Williams. The pastor’s wife.”
“Oh sure. We’ve been expecting you. Welcome. Nice to have you here.” Karena reaches over the pew to shake Cody’s hand.
“Ma’am. Nice to meet you.” Cody stands politely. Does the whole town know about me?
“Pastor Williams and I would like to have you over for dinner. Get to know you a little,” says Karena.
“You would? Ah, sure. Better check with Joe to make sure I can fit it into my busy churchgoing schedule.” He shoots Joe a teasing look.
Cody notices a few more families trickle in. Karena hustles off to welcome the new arrivals and is soon replaced by a young man wheeling into the handicap spot next to Joe.
“Nelson, my man.” Joe leans over and hugs him. “This is Cody Jackson.”
“Welcome to Clarksville.”
“Thanks.” Cody notices a small, unusual-looking cross hanging around his neck.
“Hey, I saw that last race of yours. What a crash, man. Can’t believe you’re sitting right here after that one.”
“Yeah. So you’re a fan?”
“I am. I am. Got into it more after I got stuck in this chair.”
He’s not sure if he should ask. “I can take you out in the car sometime. If you’d like.”
“I sure would.”
“You seem to like taking your life in your hands, don’t you, Nelson?” Joe jokes. Nelson punches him playfully as three females slide into the pew in front of them.
“Now, this is a trio of trouble right here. Ladies, please meet Cody Jackson. He’s new to Clarksville.”
“Ladies. Nice to meet you.” Cody nods his head in their direction, making eye contact with the oldest one.
“I’m Bridgette.”
“Hannah. Sunday school teacher. And part-time babysitter.” She looks at Bree.
“I’m Breeanne Hill.” She shakes Cody’s hand with a confidence that catches his attention. “Bree for short.”
“Nice to meet you, Bree for short.” Cody holds his gaze on her for a moment while he shakes her hand. She has a sweet and determined face; but worry, or maybe a shade of gloom, lurks beneath her expression. He wonders what her story is. And where are her parents?
Cody banters with them as they fire questions his way.
Yes, he’s training with Joe.
No, he’s not new to the sport. He’s been doing this for about five years.
Who’s his corporate sponsor? Well. Ah. That’s complicated.
Yes, he does like racing.
Yes, he does have his own car. Sort of.
No, he doesn’t know how long he’ll be in Clarksville.
And no, Joe, he doesn’t have a girlfriend.
Thanks for pointing that out after I
told you not to.
And . . . Oh, hey, changing the subject, where can he get a good burger around here? Rosie’s. Rosie’s Diner out on old M37. Didn’t I pass that on the way in? His stomach growls as the piano starts a prelude. As soon as church is over . . .
The pastor steps out from a side door, and the hushed chatter ceases. Cody’s milquetoast image of the pastor from his youth is blown out of the water. This guy is impressive. Three-piece tailored suit. Perfect hair. White smile. And the physique of a football player. Respectable. Very.
Joe leans over to Cody and whispers, “That’s Pastor Williams. He’s been the rock of this church for about twelve years.” Cody nods. “Great guy. You’ll love him. Used to play football.”
There is nothing diluted about this Goliath of the faith. Now, let’s see what he has to say. Bring it, Pastor Williams. Dazzle me. Or at least keep me from falling asleep.
Pastor Williams steps up to the pulpit and opens the service with a quiet prayer. But Cody keeps his eyes open, locked on the hulk in the suit saying his prayers in a soft, low whisper. Like he’s talking to an injured bird. Cody feels himself nodding off in the trance of the pastor’s soothing tone.
“Amen!”
“Amen!” the congregation echoes.
Cody’s eyes snap open.
Pastor Williams removes himself from the pulpit. He takes the three steps down from the altar until he’s level with the people. He spends time engaging with his congregation, his eyes meeting every eye in the room. When he comes to Cody, he smiles, locking his gaze on him.
“What happens when the plans you thought God had for your life don’t pan out?”
His deep voice thunders through the sanctuary.
Why is he looking at me? This has got to be some sort of setup. Joe did this. How else would the pastor know exactly what I’m dealing with here? On the exact day I arrive?
Cody slouches in the pew. Total setup.
“A lot of people blame God. They give up on God. Stop praying. Stop reading His word. Stop going to His church. It was once said that America will become great again when her churches are full. Do you see all those empty seats around you?”
Cody looks to the side. Half-filled pews. Behind him. The back seven rows completely empty. Probably home watching the race. Where I should be.
God Bless the Broken Road Page 3