Hearts Under Caution

by Gina Wilkins

  In addition to carrying everything from cars to pit box to uniforms and tools, the hauler served as the team office at the track. It was fitted with a refrigerator, microwave and cabinets full of food, crew lockers, and the lounge area with leather wraparound couch, a built-in desk for a computer and phone and a plasma TV complete with a full range of audio visual equipment and Jake’s favorite video game system.

  From where she sat high above the concrete, she could watch everything in the pits below her, as well as having a view of the busy garage area and the crowded spectator stands. Jake’s spotter, whom she knew only by first name, Arnie, stood high atop the stands with the other spotters, giving him an unimpeded view of the action. Arnie would be responsible for keeping Jake out of trouble on the track. He would monitor every minute of the action through binoculars, communicating warnings of any potential trouble to Jake, whose peripheral vision was limited in his protective, high-back, wraparound seat.

  Some nonfans probably thought the driver was isolated out there in his car, but the truth was, he was in almost constant communication with his spotter and crew chief. It was up to Jake to let Wade know how the car was running, whether it was too tight or too loose, how it responded in traffic or clean air, in curves and on straightaways. Wade’s job at that point was to relay instructions to the pit, who would make every effort to improve the vehicle’s handling by making adjustments.

  It still amazed her that the well-practiced and perfectly-coordinated pit crew could change four tires, fill the tank, clean the windshield and make minor handling adjustments in under fourteen seconds. It took her almost that long to unscrew the cap on her gas tank.

  After being given the famous command, forty-three engines started simultaneously, the noise so loud that it was nearly deafening even through her headset. The smell of exhaust blended with the scents of food, beer and sweat, and would soon be permeated with a burnt-rubber tang. Lisa knew that particular blend was the finest perfume to the noses of the most rabid racing fans.

  And then the cars were moving, following the pace car around the uniquely triangular track in a parade of colors and numbers and sponsors’ logos. Leaning forward in her seat, she felt her pulse rate increase and sensed the mounting excitement of the crowd. The pace car exited to pit road, the green flag waved and the race was on, forty-three massive engines roaring like attacking lions.

  LISA HAD HEARD non-race fans say they couldn’t imagine how anyone could watch a bunch of cars going around in circles for four hours or more on a Sunday afternoon. She, herself, usually had work in front of her when she watched the races on TV, looking up from the computer only when the announcers excitedly pointed out something happening on the track. But actually being at the track…well, that was an entirely different experience.

  There was so much to see, so much activity all around her. The noise seemed to vibrate inside her chest, and it was almost dizzying to try to follow the cars around their circuits. She was fascinated.

  It was particularly interesting to hear the conversations going on through her headset. Jake, she discovered quickly, tended to get overexcited when he was racing. The car wasn’t handling as well as he liked at the beginning and he was losing positions, falling back to the twelfth spot, even after a couple of pit stops made under cautions.

  He was almost collected in a Turn Two wreck on lap twenty-two and another on lap forty-four. Both times he had his spotter to thank for keeping him out of danger, both near misses getting him even more perturbed.

  If she hadn’t already known, Lisa would have found out then how Wade had earned his nickname. The more tense Jake became, the more soothing Wade’s voice became, his steady, soothing influence having an obvious effect on his driver.

  Wade kept reassuring Jake that the crew would soon have the car exactly right, that Jake was doing an amazing job, that he had no doubt a great finish was practically guaranteed. And it worked. By the time the race was more than two-thirds finished, the car was handling beautifully and Jake had stopped complaining and was focusing fiercely on catching the leaders.

  Engine blowouts were becoming an issue toward the end, as Jake had predicted. Cars that had been in serious contention went out not with a crash, but with a stomach-sinking billow of smoke from beneath the hood. She could see the stress on the faces of the crews in the pits as they willed their cars’ engines to take the abuse just a little longer.

  Lisa was on her feet, along with the other hundred-thousand-plus spectators, as the race neared its conclusion. Jake had made his way to the seventh spot and was closing in fast on the cars ahead of him. Though she wasn’t sure he had enough time to pass them all, it seemed to be a good bet that he would finish in the top five, a very satisfactory performance.

  Someone got loose and hit the wall in Turn Two, taking two other cars with him in a noisy, metal-crunching crash. Lisa grimaced, covering her mouth with unsteady hands as she watched to make sure no one was hurt.

  Two of the crumpled cars headed straight for pit road, letting her know that the drivers were chagrined, but uninjured. The most badly damaged car wasn’t going anywhere without a tow truck, but the driver put his window net down, signaling that he was okay. He was assisted from his vehicle and taken directly to the infield care center for the mandatory post-wreck evaluation, but Lisa could tell that he was more angry and disappointed than hurt.

  She turned her attention back to Jake. Wade had instructed him to come in for a pit stop during the caution, having predicted correctly that all the other lead cars would do the same. And then, he warned Jake to stay within the mandated pit road speed. A speeding penalty at this point would be disastrous.

  Never was the pit crew more invaluable than during these end-of-the-race stops. Lisa watched as the over-the-wall members stood poised for Jake to come to a stop, their muscular bodies almost visibly vibrating in their colorful fire-retardant uniforms, their grim faces mostly obscured by protective helmets.

  This was what they practiced endlessly back at the shop, filming themselves going through these motions and then scrutinizing the tapes and trying to do even better next time. Pit stops were exhaustively, painstakingly orchestrated. The tiniest misstep, the extra hundredth of a second could be the difference between a win and a loss at the finish line.

  The instant Jake was in the pit, they were on him, swarming the car like efficient purple and silver robots. After a quick debate between taking four fresh tires or two, Wade had decided to go with right-side only, a surprisingly risky call since most of the other leaders were taking four. It said a great deal for Jake’s confidence in his crew chief that he accepted the gamble with little argument.

  A NASCAR official hovered over them, making sure every lug nut was firmly in place, every required “T” crossed, and then Jake was away in a squeal of tires, Wade yelling at him to watch his speed.

  Pleased with their timing, the pit crew high-fived and slapped each other on the shoulders before turning to watch the rest of the race, tension evident in the set of their shoulders. They weren’t questioning their leader’s gutsy call, but they were all clearly worried about the two older tires.

  Wade’s decision had gotten them the track position they wanted. First out of the pits, Jake reentered the race in third position behind two drivers who had decided not to pit at all during the caution—equally daring moves since it had been a while since either had been in for fuel and fresh tires. Behind Jake were several fast cars with four fresh tires.

  It was going to take every ounce of skill he possessed to stay ahead of them. Crossing her fingers, Lisa held her hands to her chest, feeling her heart pounding against her ribs.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  REMEMBERING THAT HER FATHER had three other cars in the race, Lisa quickly checked their positions during the final caution lap. Ronnie was now in eighth place. Not bad. Mike was a lap down following an earlier incident, somewhere around the twentieth position.

  The rookie, Scott, was farther behind, having been col
lected in one of those early wrecks and being off the track for a number of laps while his car had been repaired. Still, barring more problems, he would complete the race, which was always better than a DNF (did not finish) on his season record.

  Having done her duty toward the other Woodrow Racing drivers, she concentrated again on Jake’s team, her gaze turning to the purple pit box on which Wade sat leaning forward, staring fiercely at the track. A reporter stood on the ground beneath him, microphone held up toward Wade’s mouth, questioning him about his decision to take two tires. He seemed to be answering cordially enough, but she could see by his body language that he was impatient for the reporter to go away and let him pay full attention to his driver.

  The pace car left the track, the green flag fell and engines screamed as pedals hit metal. Jake went low, as did the Number 53 behind him, both of them passing the second-place driver, who had faltered on the restart. And then it was a battle between the Number 82 and the Number 53 cars for second position as they advanced relentlessly on the leader.

  Once again an edge of anxiety crept into Jake’s voice over the headset, and once again, Wade was unruffled. “No worries, Jake,” he drawled. “We’re looking good. You can pull ahead on Turn Three.”

  Standing next to Lisa for the end, J.R. shook his head and chuckled. “That’s why we call him Ice,” he shouted to Lisa over the noise surrounding them. “Ain’t nothing that bothers him.”

  She wondered if she was the only one who detected the faintest changes in Wade’s voice. As unperturbed as he sounded, it was still obvious to her how important this was to him, how badly he wanted a win. And how heavily the responsibility weighed on him to make that happen.

  Ice? Maybe on the outside. But she still believed Wade had a great deal of emotion inside that he refused to allow anyone to see. While the skill served him well in his role as crew chief, it was also a strong defense mechanism he used to protect himself—and a daunting deterrent to anyone who wanted to know him intimately.

  Her heart nearly stopped when Jake tried to make a pass on the leader and almost got loose. She thought she might have screamed a little when his back end fishtailed just a bit, but the sound was lost in the pandemonium around her. The Number 53 car almost got around him, but Jake managed to block, keeping his second-place position. In the headset, the spotter was yelling, as was Jake, but Wade continued to be the voice of calm.

  Jake had his car under control again now. Second place with five laps to go and a car with four fresh tires right on his rear bumper. Wade cautioned Jake repeatedly to keep his head, to stay in command.

  The sounds of hard impact drew everyone’s attention to Turn One, where two cars had collided, spun out of control and caused several other cars to wreck along with them. Lisa winced when she saw that Ronnie was one of the drivers caught up in that melee. He’d simply had nowhere to go but into the side of another car, despite the best efforts of his frantic spotter. Knowing Katie would be disappointed, Lisa shook her head sadly.

  Because NASCAR always tried to finish under green for the sake of the fans who loved a heart-stopping ending, there would be one attempt for a green-white-checkered finish. After the caution, one lap would be completed under green flag, one under the white one-to-go flag and then the checkered flag would fall, signaling the end of the race. A shoot-out, some called it, with every driver giving it his all to finish in the best position possible.

  Through her headset, everyone was talking so fast that Lisa had trouble keeping up, though Wade’s was the voice she listened to most closely. There was such confidence in his measured tone that it almost seemed that Jake was guaranteed the win. She could hear Jake taking reassurance from his crew chief’s quiet confidence, a new sense of resolve sounding in his own voice.

  The pace car fell away. On his four worn tires, the lead driver slid up the track on the restart, and both the Number 82 and the Number 53 cars took immediate advantage of the opening, dropping low and rocketing around him. Jake had taken the lead.

  Lisa’s heart was pounding again now, her hands clenching so tightly in front of her that her knuckles hurt. Still she couldn’t seem to loosen her grip. The crowd roared, almost drowning out the near-deafening car engines.

  The Number 53 car dropped low, taking a look around Jake’s car. Jake blocked frantically, weaving to take up as much track as possible. Turn Two—and Jake almost got loose again, the back of his car slipping just enough to make Lisa gasp, along with the other thousands of spectators riveted to the action. She knew everyone was questioning the two-tire call now and that Wade would be the one to take the flack if it proved to be a mistake.

  She heard the spotter shouting instructions, Jake yelling back and then Wade’s voice, deep, calming, encouraging, despite the pressure he must be feeling. Jake shot forward again, keeping the Number 53 car behind him.

  Lisa didn’t realize she was cheering until she ran out of breath. When Jake inched a little farther ahead, she started chanting again, “Go, go, go, go, go!”

  Beside her, she could sense that J.R. was jumping up and down and bellowing, but she didn’t take her eyes off the track long enough to look at him. She wasn’t even watching Wade then. All her concentration was on that purple and silver car, as if she could help Jake hold the lead through willpower alone.

  Jake crossed the finish line a tenth of a second ahead of his rival. And promptly lost his left rear tire. The ring of worn rubber shot away from the wheel, bouncing onto the apron and across the grass as if celebrating its hard-won victory.

  “Whooo!” Wade startled her by shouting into the headset, letting his emotions show for that one glorious moment. “Way to go, Jake! You’re the man!”

  Lisa laughed, delighted by the pure elation in Wade’s voice.

  Jake was hollering, thanking Wade, thanking his crew and laughingly announcing that he was heading straight for Victory Lane. There would be no celebratory spins today, he announced wryly. It would just be too embarrassing to hit the wall during a victory celebration.

  Lisa realized that her throat was sore. She’d gotten so carried away at the end of the race that she’d almost screamed herself hoarse.

  No wonder people became addicted to this sport, she thought, dazedly shaking her head.

  She would have loved to have gone to Victory Lane to join Jake and Wade, but they had agreed ahead of time that, should Jake win, it would be better if she remained in the background. If the media realized that Woody’s daughter was here for this victory, someone would be sure to ask for a comment, and she was still trying to remain somewhat inconspicuous.

  With J.R.’s assistance, she climbed down the twolevel ladder to the pavement below. She didn’t expect Wade to be waiting for her at the bottom.

  She stared up at him, seeing the satisfaction in his face, the high color that was just starting to recede a little from his cheeks. For Wade, that was quite a show of emotion. “I thought you would be with Jake.”

  “I’m on my way there now,” he said, his voice still characteristically calm. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay. You’ll stay here at the hauler until I get back?”

  She looked longingly after the crew, who were already dashing to join their driver. “I’d like to walk around a little, maybe watch some of the action in Victory Lane.”

  Wade shook his head. “Too many people milling around over there right now. I think it would be better if you hang out here. Unless you want me to try to find you an escort….”

  Knowing he needed to hurry to join Jake, she shook her head. “I’ll wait here,” she conceded reluctantly.

  “Thanks. I’ll try to hurry.”

  “No. Take all the time you need. Now go. You deserve your time in the spotlight. That was an amazing race you pulled off today. You and Jake both.”

  Wade startled her by reaching out to give her a quick hug—just a squeeze of the shoulders, really, but enough to make her heart stutter. And then he was gone, running to join his team. She was surprised he ha
d hung around long enough to speak to her; she would have thought she’d be the last thing on his mind right now.

  Still feeling the warmth of his arm around her shoulders, she went into the lounge of the hauler. She would wait here for Wade, quietly out of his way.

  That sobering thought drained a great deal of her exuberance over Jake’s win, leaving her frowning as she turned on the TV to watch the post-race commentary.

  “IT’S GETTING KIND OF LATE,” Wade said as he parked in front of Lisa’s parents’ house Sunday evening. “Think your folks are still up?”

  Glancing at the lights burning in the windows, she nodded. “They tend to turn in early, but not quite this early. There’s a TV show Mom likes that comes on at nine on Sunday evenings. I’d bet she’s watching that. Dad’s probably still in his office, gloating about Jake’s win, making lists of all the calls he’s going to make tomorrow and preparing for the review meetings with his team leaders.”

  Sounding wryly amused, he said, “You seem to know their schedule pretty well.”

  “I should. It hasn’t changed for as far back as I remember. Mom enjoys reading and watching her TV shows and there’s nothing Dad would rather be doing than working. I know it was hard for him to miss being at the racetrack today, feeling like he was calling all the shots for all four teams.”

  Wade turned in the driver’s seat to look at her, and she wondered what he had heard in her voice. “He’s been spending more time with her since she’s been ill, you know.”

  Unlike her? She wondered if there was an implied criticism in his comment or if she was simply reading too much into it. “You don’t have to convince me that my father loves my mother, Wade. I’m aware of that. He would be devastated if anything happened to her.”