“Is this a trick question?” Amber grows with unease.
“No. That’s not what I’m . . . I just . . . When I look at my life right now, things might seem pretty desperate. I have no idea if I’ll ever be asked back to race with Gibbs. Which is my life’s dream. And I should be upset. But all I can see is His blessing. Right in front of me.” His gaze locks on to hers. “If I didn’t come here, I would never have met you.”
Amber is stunned into silence for a few moments. “I’m glad for you. And I’m sure Joe will help you make a comeback. But as for me, I think . . . I know that . . . It’s been pretty impossible to see any blessings on my path the last couple of years.” The painful pit in her stomach returns.
“Fair enough,” Cody responds. “But I hope someday soon you can see things from my perspective.”
Amber glances up to the stage, where Micah has moved on to a more upbeat song. It’s been an interesting, wonderful, anxious, and refreshing evening all mixed into one brew of emotions. And she suddenly finds herself exhausted. Amber checks the time. It’s getting late. She needs to be up early for work the next day. And the night can’t get any better than it is right now. Better not to spoil a good thing.
Cody walks her out, and she finds the spring evening has taken on an unexpected chill. Amber cinches her jacket closed to keep warm. “Thank you for tonight. This was . . . fun.”
“You don’t sound too sure about that.”
Amber smiles as they head across the street toward Cody’s Firebird. “I’m sure. I kinda forgot what it feels like not to worry. For a few minutes, anyhow.”
“Then, mission accomplished. And I hope we can have more worry-free times together.” Cody walks her to the passenger door, where they come face-to-face. He folds her in to himself gently. She recognizes those eyes. The kind that lead to a kiss. Flutters dance in her stomach. He starts to lean in.
Amber pulls back. “Please . . . don’t. I . . . I’m sorry. I’m just not ready.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to . . . misread the moment. My bad.” Cody straightens up and takes an embarrassed step back.
“It’s okay. Really.” Amber turns with a furtive glance back at Harry’s, glad to see that no one is looking out.
“Let me get the door for you.” Cody leans around her to open the creaky Firebird. Amber ducks into her seat.
* * *
THE DRIVE TO Amber’s house takes less than ten minutes. When they arrive, Amber’s gaze moves suspiciously to a familiar car parked across the street.
“So, can I call you soon?” Cody asks as his Firebird growls to the curb.
“Yeah, that’d be fine.” What is she doing here?
Amber flings her car door open a second before Cody has it in park. She slams the door and is halfway up the front walk before Cody is out of his car.
“Amber? Everything okay?” He calls from the sidewalk.
Not. At. All.
“Thanks again, Cody. Talk later.” Amber shoots up the front steps and disappears inside.
chapter thirty-four
None of Your Business
AMBER DASHES INTO the house and sees Patti sitting on the couch, the bills and foreclosure letters spread out on her lap.
“What are you doing here?” Amber tries to hold in her temper. “Where’s Hannah?”
“She stayed for a while and then I sent her home. Don’t worry. I paid her.”
Amber sees Patti folding up the bank letter.
“Is that my mail?”
“This seems really bad, Amber.”
“You’re going through my mail?” Amber watches her in disbelief.
“Have you talked to the bank?” Patti shuffles the letters back into a pile and places them in the magazine basket.
“You aren’t supposed to see this. You aren’t even supposed to be here.”
“But I have and I am. And I want to help you and Bree. Why can’t you get that through that stubborn head of yours? You’re out of time, lady. And your power’s going to be off by the end of the week.”
“I’m making a payment tomorrow. Not that it’s any of your business.”
“What about the bank? That’s a lot of money. I know you don’t have it. But I would be happy to lend it to you if we could work out some sort of arrangement.”
Amber doesn’t like the sound of this. “Stop treating me like a charity case. I’m not one of your DAV widows.”
“That’s not at all what I’m suggesting. If you let me set you up with your own MyWay franchise, then, over time, you can pay me off with a percentage of the profits. It’s business. Pure and simple.”
Not this again! “Stop with the sales pitch already. I’m not selling that junk!” Amber blows right past the line.
“You’re wearing that junk right now!”
Amber rubs the eye shadow off with her jacket sleeve.
“And that junk, as you call it, was and is my lifeline. And, had things worked out differently, it would have provided the kind of future I always dreamed about for Darren.”
And there it is. Amber now knows without a doubt. Patti resents her.
“You always think you know what’s best for everyone, don’t you?”
“Amber, has it been explained to you what happens when the bank takes over your home? The cops show up at your door and kick you and all your stuff to the curb. Is that what you’re waiting for?”
“That’s not going to happen. I’m taking care of things.”
“Sure you are.” Patti stands up and brushes past Amber to get her coat from the hall closet.
“Don’t treat me like I’m seventeen and trying to steal away your precious little boy.” Amber knows it sounds catty, but the filter has long ago come off. She. Has. Had. It.
“So how was your date with Cody?” The snideness in Patti’s tone sets her off even more.
“None of your business.”
“I just find it interesting that while your life is spiraling downhill, you can find the time and energy to cultivate your love life. Seriously, Amber, get your priorities in line.”
What did she just say? Oh no . . . not having it. “Patti. You need to leave. Now.”
“I guess I always expected you to move on . . .”
“Get out.” Amber stares her down until the latch on the front door clicks behind Patti. Amber rushes over and snaps the dead bolt into place. She storms into the living room and faces Darren’s medals, anger raging inside. It takes everything in her being not to burst into tears or rip the living room to shreds. She’s not sure which would make her feel better.
Amber hears Patti’s ignition turn over. The engine disappears into the night. The image Patti has put in her head haunts her. Would Jim Wellington really kick them out of their home?
Her muscles begin to quake. In half a second she’s a pile on the floor. Melting into the stale-smelling, rust-colored, garage-sale sofa that replaced the leather one, Amber gives in to her weakened state. Tomorrow she’ll find a solution and prove Patti wrong. She is not getting thrown out of her and Darren’s home.
chapter thirty-five
Hot Wheels
SHOULD I TEXT her this morning? Yes. I should. Especially after that weird exit.
8:12 a.m. pops up on his cell phone screen.
“Cody? That you?” Joe’s voice booms from the garage.
Crap. No time. Late already.
“The date went great, in case you’re wondering,” Cody shouts from the office as he clocks in for the day.
“Glad to hear it. Now, get in here.”
“I was the perfect gentleman.”
“I doubt that!”
“And she was the perfect lady.” Cody grabs his work shoes from behind the counter and slips them on.
“I don’t doubt that!”
“She even rejected my attempt at a kiss.” He finds his work coat hanging on a coatrack next to the bathroom door.
“What happened to just friends?”
“That was your rule. Not mine.”
“Forget it. I don’t want the gory details,” Joe shouts back. Cody chuckles to himself. Knew that would rile him up.
“Are we doing the brake job on the LeSabre today?” Cody steps into the garage.
“You are,” says Joe, looking up from a strange project atop Cody’s race car.
“Whoa! That’s some hobby you got going there!” Over in the far stall, Joe puts the finishing touches on an elaborate Hot Wheels racetrack cascading over the top of Cody’s race car. “So this is what you do after hours, huh, Joe?”
“Thought you might enjoy some extra track time. Pick your car.” Joe hands him a box of cars, and Cody digs in.
“I’m gonna have a hard time fitting into one of these.” Cody grins as he snatches a 1967 Firebird.
“Take it easy! Some of those are classics.”
Cody sets the car gingerly in his palm. “Which one did you pick?”
Joe holds up a yellow Camaro. “Never lost a race.”
“You will today.”
“Don’t bet on it.”
Cody sets his car on the left side of the double track in the slingshot device rigged to launch the cars up and over the steep race car terrain onto the roof. Joe places his car next to Cody’s.
Cody pulls his slingshot back as far as it will go, then inches it back a few millimeters more. It’s stretched to the limit. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Joe pull his back with less force. That car’s never gonna make it.
“Ready?” says Joe.
Cody nods.
“Set.”
Cody locks his eyes on the track.
“Go!”
He and Joe release their cars simultaneously.
The pair of Hot Wheels rockets over the hood of Cody’s race car. Cody’s Firebird is half a foot ahead of Joe’s Camaro as it climbs up the windshield into the first turn. Got you beat outta the stacks, old man! Take that! He watches as Joe’s pathetic car follows smoothly behind in a steady trajectory. Is it even gonna make it up the incline of the windshield?
He glances up ahead to his Firebird as it gains speed on the decline and heads into the first curve. But it’s coming in too hot . . . It jumps the track, flies over the edge, through the air, and crashes to the cement floor.
Cody glances back in time to see Joe’s yellow Camaro make the turn with expert precision. It sails through the loop and speeds back down the windshield, over the hood, and into Joe’s waiting hand.
Cody ducks down to rescue his Firebird from the ground. He finds it in pieces. “Oh no! Don’t look, Joe.”
“Lemme guess—yet another busted-up race car.”
“I’m sure I can find another one for you on eBay.”
“You bet you will.”
Cody cups the mangled car in his hand. Wonder how much this is gonna set me back?
“Now explain to me what just happened,” says Joe.
Well, isn’t it obvious? “I was trying to beat you, Joe.”
“How? What was your strategy?”
“Punch it into the turn to—”
“And how’d that work out for you?”
“Going slow has never won me anything.”
“Fast hasn’t, either. It’s costing you. Why can’t you get that into your brain? While you still have one.”
Cody looks down at the shattered ’67 Firebird in his palm. “I’m really sorry about this.”
“Apologies don’t matter. Not to me. Not to Gibbs. We’re only two weeks away from your qualifying race. Do you know what that means?”
“I need more seat time.”
Joe shakes his head.
“Okay. I’m listening.”
Joe searches him. “Are you?”
“I am. Tell me what I need to do to win.”
“What you need to work on is knowing when to go fast. And, more important, learning when to go slow.”
“Precision.”
“Yes. This track here is your first lesson in precision.”
Joe takes another car out of the box. A junker. Cody follows him around to the start of the track.
“And how do we achieve precision? We set the perfect trajectory. Every. Single. Time.”
Cody places his junker on the tracks. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“I’ll show you. Put your fingers on the sides of the car and pull back.”
Cody extends the car back, putting strain on the launching device.
“Ease up.”
Cody moves the car a smidgen.
“More.”
He barely releases the tension.
“More. Come on. It’s too tight. You’ll spin out again.”
“It’s never gonna make it up the windshield.”
“Trust me.”
Okay, old man. Prove me wrong. I’m ready. This time Cody relaxes his grip.
“That’s it. Now focus on the apex of that first curve. Keep you eyes on it. And when you’re ready, release.”
Cody’s eyes drift up the track. He sets a mental trajectory.
One. Two. Three.
He opens his fingers and the junker flies up the windshield, across the hood, and into the first turn. It hits the apex dead-on, sailing through the loop. Cody rushes to the other side of the car as his Hot Wheels does the loop-de-loop and hits the straightaway, flying up the end ramp and into Cody’s waiting grasp.
It worked! Holy cow! It was perfect.
“I did it. I did it!”
“Nicely done.” Joe smiles.
“You’re pleased?”
“Beginner’s luck. Now practice. Again. And again. Until you hit it every time, no mistakes.”
“Yes, sir.” Cody darts back to the launching device. He places his junker on the track. Resets his trajectory. And releases. Another perfect run.
Again. Another precise execution.
“Three outta three.”
“Good. ’Cause we’re going to put this little lesson into practice later this afternoon. And your race car better not end up like that Firebird.”
Joe tosses him a set of keys. “Here. Pull that LeSabre in here.”
Cody steps outside, and a blast of warm spring air meets him.
Things are looking brighter here in Clarksville.
He rolls the Buick into the garage, thinking about the precision trajectories . . . and when he’ll be able to break for lunch to give Amber a call.
chapter thirty-six
Pounding the Pavement
FROM HER VAN Amber watches Bree disappear behind the front doors of the school. She pulls away, heading toward the library first. She has six hours to implement phase one of her plan, and she needs every single minute to count. She starts with the librarian, who helps her polish up her thin résumé.
By noon Amber sets out into the business community of Clarksville to find a new job. The librarian suggests she focus on retail positions because her waitressing skills would easily transfer to customer service. The librarian coaches her to smile, look people in the eye, and not to seem too eager. Amber is unclear how to pull that off, because she is positive desperation is leaking from every single pore of her skin.
Regardless, she begins her trek at one end of Clarksville’s main street and visits every shop with an OPEN sign. The florist requires floral-arranging experience. The fish market will keep her résumé on file. Three local gift stores are sympathetic but admit they hardly have enough business to keep their doors open, especially during the slower winter and spring seasons. There’s a tanning salon looking for a part-time clerk for nights and weekends. Not a great fit for a single mom with a burns-never-tans skin type. Heading up the other side of the street, she finds that the shoe store just made a new hire and isn’t looking. The movie theater is hiring but pays even less than Rosie’s, and can only guarantee twenty hours a week. She stops in at Harry’s and they like her résumé, but the owner is concerned that she’s overqualified and would get bored with the usually slow weekday pace. And she wouldn’t make nearly enough in tips. Dead end. Dead
end. Dead end.
With an hour to go before Bree is out of school, Amber halts her downtown search. Tomorrow she’ll look into the businesses on the outskirts of town—mostly big-box stores, a country club, three gas stations, and a few chain hotels.
Exhausted and feeling more dejected than ever, Amber ends her trek at the far end of the main street, where Joe’s garage lies. A little company might be just what she needs right now.
As she nears the shop, she is excited to see Cody’s Firebird in the parking lot.
She finds the two of them in the garage working underneath a race car. Pieces of the car in all shapes and sizes are scattered around the vehicle in every direction. Amber steps carefully around the parts as she approaches.
“Hey, guys?” Two heads creep out from under the chassis and look over in tandem.
“Amber. Hey, I was gonna call you later,” says Cody. She likes the charge in his voice when he sees her.
“I should know better than to ask, but is she gonna make it?”
“She’ll be under the knife a little longer, but the prognosis is good,” says Joe.
“What brings you by?” asks Cody, rolling himself out from under the engine, greased up from wrist to neck.
“Just in the neighborhood.”
“Glad you stopped by. I was wondering if everything was okay after I dropped you off.”
“Well . . . let’s just say . . . a meddling mother-in-law is not a great way to end an evening.”
“Yikes. Hope no real harm was done.”
“No, it’s okay,” says Amber. She doesn’t miss Cody shooting Joe a look to beat it.
“Well, we could use a break, couldn’t we, Cody?” Joe gets up from off the garage floor. “I’ll put some coffee on. We may even have a doughnut or two left from this morning.”
“That sounds great.”
Joe heads into the office.
“Patti Hill is your mother-in-law, right?”
“Yeah.”
“She came in here once to pick up Bree. Seems like a nice lady.”
“She has a lot of friends in town.”
Cody pours degreaser over his hands and towels them clean. “You look a little tired,” he says, tossing the towel into the trash bin. “You sure you’re okay?”
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