by Chris Fabry
“We’ve been contacted by someone who’s asked if you’d like to come live with them,” Lisa said.
“They volunteered?”
Lisa nodded. “The parents know about you and talked with their two kids, and everybody agreed they’d like to have you move to North Carolina.”
“But they’re not family,” Tyson said. “Blood’s always thicker. You’re our relative, and we want you here.”
“The father is a driver,” Lisa continued, ignoring Tyson.
“What’s he drive? Truck series?”
Lisa’s eyes widened, and her face got tight, as if she’d forgotten to study for an important test. “I’m not sure. I know he was on TV last weekend. He drives the #14 car.”
Tim’s jaw stiffened. “Maxwell?”
“You know him! That’s awesome. He and his wife sound really nice. They’ve already qualified as a foster family and—”
“Not interested,” Tim said. He grabbed his backpack and headed outside.
“Tim, why not?”
“Leave the boy alone,” Tyson said. “He’s made his decision.”
Lisa followed Tim outside and caught up with him at the little park near the edge of the forest. “Hey, don’t run away like that. I’m not the enemy here. I’m for you. What’s going on?”
“I don’t want to move to North Carolina.”
“You don’t have to do anything, but I’ve got to think their place would be a lot better than here. Help me understand.”
“I’m not living anywhere close to that guy.”
“What’s the problem with Dale Maxwell?”
Tim set his jaw and finally looked at Lisa. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong. He’s the guy who ran into my dad. He’s the one who killed him.”
Chapter 29
More Trouble
JAMIE’S DAD FARED A LITTLE better in the next race in Las Vegas, finishing 23rd. She was just glad he finished rather than blowing an engine or crashing. In the next three weeks in Atlanta and then the short tracks of Bristol and Martinsville, he managed to finish in the top 20, but there were still rumblings from the main sponsor, and since money fueled the teams and cars as much as the gas, home was tense. Dallas was a disaster. He blew out a tire to some track debris and lost second gear heading out of the pits. By the end of the race he’d lost third gear as well and was penalized for going too fast in the pit area.
Jamie’s car went unsold, and she pulled out of several races. She heard through some friends that Chad hadn’t raced yet but was burning up the local track with practice time.
A flurry of phone calls had come from a woman in Florida. Jamie had been on her way to her job at the car-parts store when she called, asking for her mom. Jamie said she’d take a message.
“Are you Jamie?” the woman said.
“Yeah.”
“Just tell her Lisa called from Tallahassee.”
“Are you the one trying to get a home for the Carhardt guy?”
“That’s me. But I’m not having much success. How are things in your world?”
There was something about the woman’s voice that seemed inviting. Like she was someone Jamie could trust. “Pretty good. Looks like I might get my car sold.”
“You have your own car?”
Jamie told her about Maxie and all she’d done to it.
“Sounds like a member of the family,” Lisa said. “Won’t it be kind of hard to get rid of?”
“Yeah, but I’m going to start racing on my own soon, and this is what it takes.”
“So racing runs in the family, huh?”
“I guess.”
“Well, tell your mom I called. Nothing urgent.”
/////
Jamie raced the next weekend, but there was something missing. She won easily, but not having Chad behind her to push her was a loss. She drove the track like a pro and nearly lapped the field, but she lost her concentration and almost forced the guy into the wall. He was a friend of Trace Flattery’s.
“Sorry about that,” she said to Trace after the race.
“What’s up with you, Jamie?” Trace said. He winced as he ripped his headphones from his rather large ears. “You act like you’re in some other world.”
I want to be, she almost said. She apologized again and went back to the garage and the solitude of her car.
If she’d been told a year earlier—or even a few months ago—that she wouldn’t have Chad breathing down her neck, she’d have been ecstatic. But that wasn’t true anymore. All she could think of was his move up. She heard he was going to qualify for a race near Atlanta the following weekend. He was doing what she wanted to do.
Easter had come and gone. Her mom had bought her a new dress from Kohl’s, and she felt like a little kid with a basket of candy. True, it seemed like a bribe to get her to go to church willingly, but it was a good one. She got stares from the guys in the back row as she walked by.
Trace had approached her in Sunday school and nervously said, “You look real pretty today.”
She rolled her eyes. “And that’s a change?”
“I just meant, you normally don’t dress up like that and . . .”
“I know what you meant,” she mumbled. She felt bad shooting him down, but what did he expect?
/////
Jamie drove the white auto-parts truck to the Devalon garage in nearby Mooresville for a delivery late one afternoon. The sun was staying up later as winter let go of its subtle grasp on the Charlotte area. People imagined tons of snow when they heard North Carolina, but the winters were generally mild. When spring hit, though, all of nature budded and sprung full force.
She stepped out of the truck with the package of parts and walked up the brick walkway lined with shrubs and finely manicured grass. It looked like a golf course. The Devalon garage was a rambling complex that seemed more like a car museum compared to her dad’s garage. Huge bay doors lined either side of the structure, and at the front was an opulent office, complete with a case of trophies and a gigantic picture of the lead driver in his all-black leather outfit.
The girl at the front desk smiled and signed the delivery form. Her smile was sticky sweet, like a prom queen who hated her date. The woman probably felt like slapping a puppy, but it was her job to show her teeth and be pleasant. “Thank you,” she said.
The familiar sound of air wrenches and the smell of hot oil filled Jamie’s senses as she walked past the garage. She was checking her clipboard for her next delivery when someone came up behind her.
“Hello, Jamie.”
“Oh, hello, Mr. Devalon. Thought you’d be getting ready for Phoenix.”
He nodded. “Headed out tomorrow.”
“Congrats on the All-Star Challenge. I’m sure you’ll do well.”
“It’s not that big of a deal. Been there before and hope to be again. Your dad ever make it?”
She knew he knew that her dad never had. It was just another instance of him trying to put someone in their place. “I don’t think so. And it doesn’t look like he’ll make it this year.”
“He’s had some tough luck. I’m sure he’ll overcome all this adversity. Always seems to.”
Jamie nodded and turned to the truck.
“Hold up there.” Mr. Devalon walked to the truck and leaned against the door, covering the logo. “Our owner’s coming to the track next week. Chad’s been making progress, getting ready for his first race in the new division, and he wants to take a look at him and his times. How about you coming over and giving it a shot?”
“I would, but I don’t have a car yet. I’m trying to sell my—”
“Use ours.”
“Chad’s?”
“Sure, why not?”
“How’s he going to feel about it?”
He laughed. “You let me take care of that. He’ll be fine. What was it you said about him pushing you to be your best? Now you can return the favor.”
Jamie tucked the clipboard under an arm and kicked at the gravel in the driveway.
“Why are you doing this, Mr. Devalon? Why are you being so nice to me?”
He pulled out a piece of nicotine gum, crossed his arms, and looked off toward the lake behind the garage. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m trying to change my image. Maybe I want to be known as kind and gentle to the weaker sex.”
Jamie rolled her eyes. Maybe he’s up to something. But what?
Mr. Devalon uncrossed his arms and opened the truck door. “Or maybe I see talent and figure the only way it’s gonna get noticed is if I give you a little help. Five o’clock next Tuesday.”
Chapter 30
Discovery
SOMEBODY ONCE SAID that no man is an island, but Tim made himself one. He didn’t know who had said that because he didn’t pay much attention in English class. Tim went to school and did his homework (for the most part) and steered clear of anyone from the church.
Each day since he’d been fired from his job, he’d lingered around his locker until the buses left and the hallways cleared. From school, he walked to the nearby library and stayed in a room downstairs until dark, then walked home through a wooded area. To say he was skittish about being attacked by Jeff and his friends was an understatement. He even taped a piece of paper over the small window in the library study room so no one could see inside.
He found enough reading material in the library, but he always returned to his father’s diary. Through those pages he seemed to understand more and more about his dad.
In an entry that came a few months after his wife had left, Tim’s dad wrote about a momentous change.
Something happened today that I can’t really explain. I’ve never been religious. I’ve never gone to those chapel services and think it’s mostly a show. But I’ve been at such a low point that I’m tempted to just turn to the bottle. Instead, today I picked up a little booklet one of the chaplains left with me when he heard what had happened. Said he’d be praying for me.
The booklet was called “When Someone You Love Is Gone,” and it was about going through loss and how God is the only one we can lean on. I think it was probably written for people who face the death of a wife or husband, but it feels like Lexy has died now that she left Tim and me.
I read the whole thing from front to back and then started over again. I always thought God was there but pretty much left him alone. This makes me think he cares about me and wants to help if I’ll let him. I looked up the verses it listed, and it took a long time because I don’t know much about the Bible. Couldn’t find half of them. But the ones I did find sure make sense. I think I’m on my way to someplace. Where it takes me, I don’t know, but I want to be a good dad to Tim and show him I can make something of myself.
Tim closed the book, unable to continue. He’d noticed a difference in his dad a few months after his mom had left, but that was so long ago he’d just gotten used to it. He was never pushy about going to church, because they were always on the road, but he did go to the chapel services. Had the whole religion thing worked for him?
The lights clicked off in the library, and Tim grabbed his stuff and made it out before the security guard noticed him. He stuffed the diary in his backpack and walked the lit sidewalk, swatting at no-see-ums and thinking about his dad. A car drove slowly beside him and stopped. His heart beat faster, and he looked for a place to run.
Finally he got the nerve to turn and saw a girl talking on her cell phone. The thought of Jeff and his crew frightened him, but he was struck with another thought: if religion had worked for his dad, would it work for him?
No way. Couldn’t.
Tim passed a shopping center and cut through the parking lot on his way toward the forest. Still deep in thought, he tried to piece together the fragments of his life. He had so many questions. If his dad’s religion was so important to him, why hadn’t he talked more about it? What had caused his mother to leave? Did she get tired of life on the road, meet some other guy, or not want to take care of him?
A car engine revved and rattled. Tires squealed, and then doors opened. Tim turned to see Jeff and the two goons almost on him. It took him only a second to assess the situation and take off. He didn’t have great brains or brawn, but one thing he could do was run. He raced for a chain-link fence at the other side of the parking lot. With one motion, he threw the backpack over, jumped for the top, and caught it, then cartwheeled over the two strands of barbed wire.
He snagged his backpack as the three made it to the fence, laughing and gasping for air.
“What’s so funny?” Tim said.
Jeff pointed to the pond behind Tim. “You know where you are?”
Tim looked around. He’d walked through here for the past few weeks and vaguely remembered a sign on the front of the building.
“It’s the reptile park, numskull,” one of Jeff’s friends said.
Tim turned and stared at two eyes on the surface of the pond. A tail swished in the water at the edge of the pond and sent a chill through him.
Jeff moved back and jumped, scaling the fence.
Tim took off for the front of the park.
“Cut him off!” Jeff yelled, hitting the ground. “Oh, you’re not gonna get away from us this time, loser!”
The front gate was locked and so was the building, but Tim found another fence small enough to scale and ran full force into it. He was almost over when something tugged at his backpack. It was Jeff, ripping it from his shoulder.
Tim wasn’t about to lose his one connection with his dad, so he slipped back from the fence and landed with a thud.
Jeff unzipped the pack and dumped the contents on the ground, kicking and ripping Tim’s composition book to pieces.
“Stop!” Tim lunged at Jeff, who deftly moved back.
“Stop! Auntie Em, stop!” the two mocked from the other side of the fence.
Tim held up a hand in front of Jeff. “This fight is between you and me. Tell them to stay on the other side of the fence.”
Jeff picked up the diary and leafed through it. “What do we have here? Says Martin Carhardt in the front. This must be your old man’s.”
“Put it down.”
The other two scaled the fence just as Jeff tossed the diary into the gator pond.
Tim ran to the edge and watched the diary float. As he took a step into the water, something green and menacing rose to the surface and splashed. The diary disappeared.
“I didn’t know gators could read,” Jeff said, and the other two laughed.
Seething, Tim turned on them and rushed in a fury. He swung and kept swinging, hoping he’d hit something, tears streaming, out of breath and patience. He’d read somewhere that the Bible said it was better to give than receive, and he wanted to give a lot more than he took. He’d also heard people who were hit were supposed to turn the other cheek.
Another reason religion wasn’t for him.
Chapter 31
The Request
TIM WALKED INTO A brick building surrounded by cars. A popular spot. The first floor had an office listing in a glass case. It smelled like alcohol, and people were sitting in plastic chairs in the hallway, waiting their turn for something. It gave Tim the creeps.
He stepped out of the elevator on the third floor. A sign at the end of the hall said it was the Department of Children and Family something or other. It was quieter up here, and Tim walked back and forth a few minutes, trying to get the nerve to go through the door. He turned around and even pushed the Down button on the elevator, but he finally walked into the office.
Inside he found more chairs. A section for kids with puzzles and wooden blocks and Tinkertoys. Lots of magazines everywhere.
“May I help you?” a woman said from behind the desk. It had a long top with a sign-in sheet.
“I’m looking for Lisa,” he said.
“She’s out right now on a case. Did you have an appointment?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, let me call her and tell her you’re here. What was the name?”
Tim to
ld her and sat.
A few minutes later a young mom walked in with a curly-haired baby who couldn’t stop crying. She carried the child on her hip, like she was some kind of baby pimple. When she put the kid on the floor, the baby screamed even more. Then she saw Tim and cried harder, clear snot running down. Tim tried to play peekaboo to get the little thing to settle down, but it was no use.
“She’s teethin’,” the mom said. “It ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.”
From her voice, Tim could tell the mom was only a girl, probably not a lot older than him.
“Tim,” the receptionist said, “I just talked with Lisa. She said to wait in her office. She’ll be back in 15 or 20 minutes.”
The woman showed him to a corner office with a window overlooking some trash bins. Lisa’s desk was neat compared to the trailer, but there were several stacks of papers and forms. He wondered how many people she talked to each week.
Her computer was in screen-saver mode. It flashed pictures of her and a dark-haired guy—he guessed it was her husband. One was taken by the beach with a big heart drawn in the sand. Another looked like it was a concert, both of them holding up ticket stubs. More photos showed groups of people waving, a baby in a crib, an older woman in a wheelchair, and some girls in pajamas hanging on to a younger Lisa. All of them smiling.
Does anybody you know ever not smile? Tim thought.
When Lisa walked in, Tim was looking over the books in her bookshelf. She plopped her purse on the floor and closed the door. “See anything interesting?”
“Sorry. I was just looking.”
“No, it’s fine. I never read them anymore. If you see something you like, just take—” She drew closer and looked at his face. “Tim, what happened to you?”
He sat and folded his hands in his lap. “Had a run-in with a chain-link fence and a couple guys who wanted to introduce me to it.”
“Did you have that looked at?”
“In a mirror, yeah.”
She examined the bruises and scrapes. “Did Tyson do this? You’re not protecting him, are you?”