by Amy Gallow
"That was very good.” Glenn's words turned her back. “Anyone watching will understand that you are not happy with the prospect of me riding for them. It may even keep the pretence going till after the race."
"I-I...” She stopped, appalled. “I didn't mean that at all."
"I know.” His eyes were wicked with amusement as he drew her to him and their lips met.
A horn blared in the distance and the PA announcement of “Five Minutes!” was reinforced with a raised board at the front of the grid. “The Race is Dry!” the PA declared.
Their lips parted and he was smiling at her. “Things to do,” he said and led her back to where the Widow-Maker brooded on its temporary stand.
Angela had gone back to Tony, so the two mechanics fussed around Glenn and the bike, obsessively checking and rechecking.
The three minute horn blared its warning, backed by the PA announcement and the changing of the raised board. Time for one last kiss before the helmet went on and turned Glenn remote, separated from her by a purpose she couldn't share. She held the umbrella up to block out the sun.
The one-minute horn startled her, sending a shudder up her arm so that the umbrella shook uncontrollably.
He started the Widow-Maker's engine and the mechanics rocked it off the portable stand, leaving her nothing to do but shade him from the sun.
Time was rushing by, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand. There was so much to say ... so much to do...
The horn blared again. “Thirty seconds. Clear the grid!"
He turned his head, she looked into his eyes for one last moment, then the visor slid into place, and he was just an anonymous figure astride a brutal machine.
She stepped back, furled the umbrella and continued backing until she came up against the fence, her eyes never leaving him.
The Starter's green flag sent the field away of their final warm-up lap and Lexie felt Angela join her. Arms around each other for comfort, they watched the big screen opposite as it followed Glenn's progress. He was a rider of interest and the Media's ghoulish focus never wavered.
"The other riders are giving him space at the corners.” Angela's voice was hushed. “That will change when the race begins. No one wants to fall on a warm-up lap."
Lexie couldn't glance away. Every image must be stored against the time when there would be no more—only futile memories.
"He's riding well.” Angela seemed compelled to talk, adding her own commentary to that booming from the speakers. “He caught the pack by surprise coming out of Honda Corner. There's a thirty meter gap now."
Lexie swallowed nervously, her mouth dry one second and then filled with bitter saliva. “What will happen next?"
"They'll come back to the grid and the others will pause while the front row riders take their place and the grid will fill backwards. As soon as they're settled, the starter will get them away so their tires don't cool too much. Glenn will be there first, so you and the mechanic will go out to him immediately. The starter will tell you when to clear the grid. Walk, don't run. Come back here and we'll watch them away and then go back to the pit."
Lexie nodded, her attention never leaving the screen opposite.
Ninety seconds had never seemed so long, each one drawn out to breaking point and disappearing into eternity. It was agony.
"Here they come."
Lexie dragged her attention away from the screen and looked to her left. The leading riders were just coming into view at the top of Gardiner Straight.
"Take this.” Angela handed her a squeeze bottle with a bent spout. “He might want a drink."
The chill of the liquid had defeated the insulating wrapper and Lexie felt it draining the heat from her hand. Something else was draining the heat from her heart and the strength from her legs. They felt wooden as she moved forward from the fence to meet Glenn.
The Widow-Maker stopped on its mark and his helmeted head turned towards her, only his eyes recognizable behind the visor. She raised the umbrella to shade him and offered the drink bottle. The helmeted head shook a negative, but his eyes concentrated on her face. She thought he smiled. The mechanic drew his attention and the helmet shook another negative before his eyes returned to her. He gave a thumbs-up just as the PA amplified a click and the Starter spoke. “Clear the grid! Clear the Grid!"
Their time had run out. A single glance and the helmet turned away and his body tensed, wiping away everything but the task at hand. She'd been foolish to think that he'd go anything but flat out to win.
Lexie backed two paces and then turned, half running to join Angela at the fence.
A blue light started flashing at the end of the pit lane and the red light above the Starter's Stand went out. The whole circuit held its breath. Lexie whispered something that was half prayer, half farewell. Her pulse thudding in her ears...
The red light flashed above the Starter in a pulsing demand for attention.
"There's been a late withdrawal. Both Bagnelli machines must clear the grid immediately."
Lexie stared uncomprehendingly as Glenn turned the Widow-Maker from the track and rode towards her. Further back, Tony was doing the same.
Angela grasped her shoulder and Lexie turned. “Salvatore died a few minutes ago and Raul is withdrawing our team from the race as a mark of respect.” Angela nodded. “He doesn't have to race!"
Lexie understood. She dropped the umbrella and ran to meet the Widow-Maker—the machine carrying her love out of danger and into her arms.
* * * *
Twelve months later, the Douglas home was chaos for the whole week after the Australian Motorcycle Grand Prix. Glenn had completed his contractual obligations to the Japanese early and this had been his first event as overall manager. Sandra and Judy led the combined families in the wedding preparations while Kieran and Lionel watched from the sidelines.
Saturday morning, Lexie was at their new home, built to overlook the surf at Express Point, her entourage of bridal attendants chattering noisily as hairdressers and make-up consultants labored to make things perfect. She had no idea where Glenn was. Her brothers had taken him away Friday afternoon, oblivious to her threats of massive retaliation for any stupidity they might contemplate.
She'd taken her time in forgiving him for putting everything at risk to prove something everybody already knew, enjoying his discomfort, but that was now in the past. Today they would officially become man and wife, formalizing a relationship that grew in strength with every passing day. It was not a minute too soon, if the test kit in her bathroom could be believed.
"Lexie.” Claudia, Raul's wife was at the door. “Are you superstitious?"
"Not any longer.” Lexie rose and followed a beaming Claudia out onto the balcony.
Tommy's cruiser had nudged into the bay of the YMCA Beach and lay just outside the break, swinging round on the gentle onshore breeze to reveal the cockpit. Five figures lolled on the cushions, looking the worse for wear, while the sixth stood waving at her. She didn't need the binoculars to recognize Glenn. He had a cell phone in his hand and pointed at it just as hers rang.
"Hi, Sweetheart. I'll deliver this lot back to the San Remo. Could you ask Kieran or someone to meet me? I thought you might be worried."
Lexie smiled. The vestiges of Glenn's guilt over his decision to ride the Widow-Maker were still working for her. “Just make sure you get them to the church on time. Claudia wants to know how Raul is.” She could see him turn to one of the figures and speak.
"He's swearing never to drink Australian beer again. Other than that, he'll live."
"I love you."
"I know. See you at the church."
Six hours later, he kept his word and Lexie married him.
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About the Author
The only child of an itinerant rural worker, Amy had more schools than birthdays until the age of fourteen. Her first paid employment was as “Slushy,” washing the pots and pans in the galley of a passe
nger carrying paddle steamer on the River Murray. In spite of these advantages and a personal code of honor that she owed more to her father's love of Clarence Mulford's Hopalong Cassidy and the Arthurian legends than to any practical concerns, Amy survived to follow his itinerant ways. This included time in the military, the Merchant Marine and the Offshore Oil Industry, even a period as university lecturer.
Amy's writing came from the accidental enrollment in the wrong course in 1975 and provided her with an escape route from work pressures. Winning a number of competitions led to a contract with an Australian print publisher of category romances. Eight books later, The Widow-Maker is Amy Gallow's first book with Whiskey Creek Press.
You are invited to visit Amy's website at:
www.amygallow.com
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