Start Your Engines

by Jim Cangany

  “Barbara wants us back for a team meeting. Shall we?”

  “Yeah, sure.” Gabrielle forced herself to look away from the bench. So close.

  “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She shook her head. “Just lost my train of thought. Let’s get to it.”

  The meeting was a pep talk from the team owner. Everybody knew the next two races were the most important on the schedule, yet Barbara’s words managed to be every bit as calming as they were motivating. They were so effective, Gabrielle, who had taken a seat in a somber mood due to missing her chance for the long overdue heart-to-heart with Brad, left convinced she was going to win the pole during the next day’s qualifying.

  She almost pulled it off.

  When the checkered flag flew to bring qualifying to a close, Gabrielle was slotted in P four, the outside of row two. It was her best starting position and only a half second off the pole winner’s time. Meanwhile, Chas had only managed to qualify in tenth position. It was exhilarating to start so far ahead of him.

  The good times kept rolling through the race the following day. After a slow start that saw her fall back to eleventh, Gabrielle stormed back during the second half of the race to finish third.

  It was Gale Force Racing’s first time to participate in the podium ceremony, the celebration for the top three finishing drivers. Gabrielle’s knees were a little shaky when she took her position. She smiled when she accepted the silver cup awarded to the third-place finisher. In the afternoon sunlight, under a cloudless sky, the prize was almost blinding in its glory.

  When she raised the trophy above her head, she caught sight of her teammates. Everyone was there, even Brad’s parents. They were clapping and cheering and snapping photos of her. A tear fell, then another, then a few more. She let them fall. After so many years, and so many tears of anguish, there was no way she was going to deny herself the opportunity to shed tears of joy on American soil.

  Reality came crashing in as soon as Gabrielle was finished with the podium ceremony. She handed the cup to Barbara, mumbled an apology, and sprinted for the privacy of the bathroom in the team’s garage.

  Her anxiety attack didn’t last as long as before, and she was able to emerge from the restroom while Brad was still chatting to a few reporters. She tried to shut the door without making a sound but fumbled with the handle.

  Brad stopped whatever he was saying in midsentence and looked her way.

  A broad smile appeared as he went to her and put an arm around her. “Here she is, folks. The driver of the day. I’m going to let you all in on a little secret. For a team that’s not even a year old to land a podium finish at the Crossroads Motor Speedway speaks for itself. This is just the beginning, though. I guarantee you better things are on their way. Gabrielle’s good on road courses, but wait until you see her drive on the oval next week. That’s when she’s really going to shine.”

  He gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. His words left Gabrielle too shocked to speak, so when one of the reporters asked her for a comment, she chuckled.

  “Far be it from me to disagree with my team director.”

  That got a laugh from the group and brought an end to the Q and A session.

  When they were alone, Brad stuffed his hands in his pockets and drew a circle on the asphalt with his shoe. All of a sudden the engaging and charismatic team director was gone, replaced by the reserved Brad.

  “I meant what I said. I remember how good you were on ovals before, well . . . you know.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Why don’t you get some rest? You’ve earned it.” With both hands back in his pockets, he strolled away, whistling something that sounded a lot like Pharrell Williams’s “Happy.”

  Thunderstruck, Gabrielle plopped down into her Gale Force Racing director’s chair. Had Brad been sincere? It sure sounded that way. Not only that, but to remember her driving from so long ago? It was simply mind-boggling.

  And more promising than ever.

  • • •

  Brad massaged his jaw muscles as he kept his eyes on his computer. He’d been kicking himself daily since his foolish prediction and, after six days, his tail was getting sore.

  Gabrielle had qualified well and raced even better on the road course. As team director, it was part of his job to promote his driver. There was a thin line between promoting her and putting unneeded stress on her, though. If things didn’t go well, she might crack under the pressure.

  Through the two practice sessions she was rock solid. In fact, as Gabrielle’s engine roared to life to set out on her qualification run, she’d made him look like a prophet. The car was eye-poppingly fast. So fast, in fact, that she had a real chance at finishing her qualifying run in P one, the coveted pole position.

  The qualifying process was different on ovals than road courses and street circuits. Instead of all of the cars being on the track at the same time, on ovals, the drivers went out one by one. They had the track to themselves for a two-lap effort. The average of the two laps determined the driver’s qualifying speed.

  An official waved Gabrielle forward. She was allowed one warm-up lap, so it was critical to take the green flag for the attempt at full speed.

  Barbara was seated to Brad’s left, drumming her fingers on the work surface at a pace to rival that of Gabrielle on the track. Brad had seen his boss calm, angry, and happy, but he had never seen her visibly nervous.

  “Have fun out there, short stuff. Show them what you’ve got.”

  “Ten-four, boss.”

  Despite the sweat rolling down his back, Brad managed a smile. At least she’d stopped referring to him as one bite. The nickname meant she was calm. A calm driver was a fast driver.

  Everything on the computer screen looked good. He stole a glance at Scott, whose arms were crossed and had one foot resting on an inverted plastic bucket. With his eyes shielded by dark sunglasses, his expression was unreadable. His foot was tapping almost as fast as Barbara’s fingers were drumming, though.

  The AES machine flashed across the finish line as the starter waved the green flag, the prismatic paint job displaying every color of the spectrum.

  “God, she’s beautiful.” The moment Brad had uttered the words, he realized he wasn’t sure if he was referring to the car or its driver. He was happy he didn’t have his microphone on, though.

  A video feed of Gabrielle’s progress was in a corner of his computer screen. As she barreled down the long backstretch, which was five-eighths of a mile in length all by itself, he checked her speed. She was zooming at over two hundred miles per hour.

  At Gabrielle’s request, the team had disconnected her speedometer. Brad was to report her speed when she finished the first lap and again when she completed the attempt. He was to say nothing else.

  Brad held his breath as she flew down the front straight, the song of the turbocharged engine sweeter than an opera singer, and completed lap one. Her speed flashed on the screen. It was all Brad could do to keep from shouting.

  “Two hundred point thirteen. Everything looks great.”

  The first lap was pole-winning speed.

  Down the backstretch and into turn three, the line Gabrielle took was as smooth as soft-serve ice cream. Exiting turn four, she drifted up so close to the white concrete retaining wall, Brad flinched and closed one eye for a moment.

  The close call didn’t slow her down, though. She took the checkered flag, completing the run with a two-lap average of 200.2 miles per hour.

  “Congrats, Gabrielle, you just set a Continental Series track record.”

  “Yes!” Her shout almost burst Brad’s eardrums.

  Scott gave Brad a thumbs-up but pointed at the scoring pylon. There were two cars left to make their qualifying attempts. One of them was Chas.

  By the time Gabrielle was out of the car and had her helmet off, the number seventy-seven had the first lap in the books at just under 199 miles per hour. He was no threat. The team gathered around her to wait for Chas to make his at
tempt.

  Brad gave Gabrielle a fist bump, but nothing more. He didn’t want to jinx anything.

  The Thornton Industries machine looked fast as it took the green flag. Brad reached out and took Gabrielle’s hand. A pleasant tingling sensation went up his arm when they touched. She didn’t pull away. Rather, she held on. It was a perfect fit.

  Nobody said anything as Chas came into view coming out of turn four. Brad kept his focus on the scoring pylon as their rival completed lap one.

  199.96.

  Gabrielle loosened her grip a touch as the group let out a collective sigh of relief. Chas wasn’t far off Gabrielle’s time, but catching her could be a tall order. It was an order he couldn’t deliver. His second lap was a tick over two hundred miles per hour.

  Gabrielle was on the pole.

  For the most important race of the season.

  At the most historic racing venue on Earth.

  Amid a cacophony of whoops and shouts of elation, Brad took Gabrielle by the shoulders.

  “You did it.” At that moment, someone bumped him into Gabrielle, which brought his lips to hers. The moment they made contact, fireworks went off. Brad wasn’t sure if they were real or imagined, but he didn’t care. Kissing the woman in his arms was electrifying.

  Her lips were soft, with a hint of blueberry from her lip balm. His thumb stroked her cheek and wiped away a tear. All too soon, she pulled back. He opened his eyes to find her red-cheeked but smiling from ear to ear. He recovered his senses enough to take her wrist and raise her arm.

  “Presenting your pole winner for the Crossroads One Hundred, Gabrielle Marquez.” The team enveloped her with hugs and high fives. Even Barbara, as cool a customer as they came, hugged her.

  After a raucous celebration dinner to celebrate the team’s first pole position, Brad headed back to his apartment. He wanted to study Gabrielle’s qualification run to see what information he could use in the following day’s race.

  He also needed to think about that kiss. It had been a purely accidental thing, but it had also been pretty incredible. Barbara had jokingly given him grief about putting the moves on her driver, but nothing more had been said. It seemed everybody had dismissed it as something harmless they’d done in the heat of the moment.

  Brad chuckled. Yeah, there had no doubt been some heat in the moment. Despite the potential ramifications, he couldn’t deny the Earth-moving pleasure. He sat back as he struggled to come to grips with a huge question.

  What exactly was his relationship with Gabrielle?

  He went to the window. Bridget’s car was still in the driveway. Everybody in the family had come out to the Speedway for qualifications, but Bridget and Amy were the only ones to return to Fleetwood for a visit with Grandma and Grandpa afterward.

  As fast as his surgically repaired hip would allow, Brad was entering the farmhouse. His family sat around the dining-room table, plates covered in corncobs and barbeque sauce, the final remnants of dinner.

  “Bradley, just in time for dessert.” His mom left the room and returned with a freshly baked peach cobbler.

  Brad closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and was immediately in Paradise. The aroma of the baked peaches, cinnamon, and perfectly done crust made his stomach growl.

  “I hope you don’t think you’re getting the whole thing, Brother.” Bridget loved to needle him about his legendary appetite and would until the day he died. That was okay. He’d needle her back about her devotion to combat video games and all things Halestorm.

  After another long inhale for effect, he opened his eyes. “Nah, half will do.”

  Helen ignored the two of them and served everyone an equal portion. Brad hovered over his serving of the delicacy and let the steam tickle his nostrils. He was on his second bite when Bridget put down her fork.

  “So what brings you by? I figured you’d still be staying at the Speedway tonight.”

  “Gabrielle and Barbara are, but I thought I’d get away for a while to study data in peace and quiet.”

  “Speaking of Gabrielle, I heard the two of you were sucking face right there in the pits after qualifications.”

  Edward dropped his fork at the same time Brad almost spit out a mouthful of cobbler.

  “Bridget, please. Where are your manners?” Helen gave her the good ol’ Mother-Thomas-is-not-happy stare, but Bridget ignored it.

  “Grandma, what’s sucking face mean?”

  Edward dropped his fork again, and Bridget burst out laughing at Amy’s inquiry.

  “That’s a question that should be answered by your mother, dear.” Helen rose. “I think I’ll make coffee.”

  Eventually order was restored as Bridget promised Amy they’d discuss it later. After a cup of coffee, Brad decided to make his move.

  “Hey, B, can I talk to you outside for a minute?” He waited to make sure nobody else followed them before he got settled in one of the Adirondack chairs on the porch. “If you didn’t have a daughter, I’d kill you for that little comment.”

  She chuckled. “Yeah, well, I saw an opportunity I couldn’t pass up.”

  “What are you going to tell her?”

  “The truth. It was a happy moment, and you guys kissed in the excitement. That’s not why you wanted to talk to me, I’m assuming.”

  “No, it’s about,” he massaged his neck muscles, “the other thing, actually. Swear to God, it was an accident, and I didn’t mean it to happen, but . . . ”

  “But what?” Bridget leaned in close. Her gaze was intense, but not with the usual troublemaking. This time there was genuine concern.

  “I don’t know. I mean, ever since, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Gabrielle and that kiss.”

  Bridget let out a low whistle. “That must have been one earth-moving smoocharoo. Too bad I missed it.”

  “Not helpful.” Brad loved his sister, but man, she could be annoying at times.

  “I beg to differ.” She pulled her legs underneath her as Lightning jumped onto her lap. “I’ll never forget the first time Paul kissed me. My life was never the same after that.”

  Bridget and Paul had been sweethearts almost from the moment they met during band camp her freshman year of high school. When they got married, instead of a tuxedo, Paul wore his police officer’s uniform.

  The world was their oyster until one night when he responded to a domestic-violence call. When he announced his presence, shots were fired at him through the door. A bullet hit his jugular vein. He never came home.

  Paul was buried in the same formal uniform he was married in, at Bridget’s insistence. Amy was all of six months old when she lost her dad.

  Brad stared at his hands. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine how much it still hurts.”

  Bridget scratched Lightning’s ears until the old cat purred as loud as the engine of Gabrielle’s car. “I don’t think the pain will go away. But I have Amy and my memories of him. I wouldn’t trade places with anyone.”

  Lightning’s purr was the only sound as Brad pondered Bridget’s words. To know after one kiss that you wanted to spend your life with someone would have been inconceivable to Brad a day ago. Sure, he’d dated a few times, but he’d never made a connection with anyone that had a spark to the relationship. Now? Well, it still seemed about as likely as him winning the Crossroads Five Hundred, but he couldn’t rule out the idea anymore.

  “So what should I do?”

  “What do you think? It’s not complicated.”

  “Look, I know cars. I even know how to make one go over two hundred miles per hour. But this . . . is Gabrielle. I don’t know what to think.”

  Something rustled under a peony bush, which prompted Lightning to take a flying leap from Bridget’s lap.

  “In matters like this, everybody is out of their comfort zone.” She got to her feet. “I love you, Brad, but I’m going to tell you the same thing I’ve said before. You need to talk to someone about your anger issues before you slug someone else, so you can start enjoying life aga
in. Then you need to talk to Gabrielle.”

  She kissed him on the head. “You’ve got a lot going for you right now. Don’t screw it up by listening to the naysayers in your noggin.”

  The moonlight turned the lawn into a carpet of shimmering silver as Lightning continued his hunt. Who would have thought the cat would still be around seven years after tangling with a coyote? Back then, the pessimists said she should be put to sleep for her own good.

  Brad ignored them and found the best vet around, and six months later, Lightning was prowling around like nothing had ever happened.

  He yawned and headed back to the apartment. Bridget was right. Maybe it was time to ignore the naysayers again.

  Chapter Eleven

  Brad donned his sunglasses and looked up and down the front straightaway of the historic Crossroads Motor Speedway. A few puffy clouds drifted along a breeze in the picture-perfect blue sky.

  It was going to be a good day. He could feel it in his bones. It didn’t hurt that he’d paid a visit to the counselor the Open Wheel Racing Series made available to teams at all events. It was a short visit, not much more than a meet and greet.

  But it was a start.

  At the end of the thirty-minute visit, he and the counselor had made arrangements to meet on a weekly basis for the next month or so. Despite the fact he snuck out of the counselor’s office in the hope nobody saw him, he couldn’t deny a tiny weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Sure, it was only a pound at most, and it seemed like there was another ton remaining, but it was a step in the right direction.

  Maybe it’s in Gabrielle’s direction. That thought made him laugh. One thing at a time. His team had a race to win.

  A few hours later, Gabrielle, along with the seventeen other drivers, pulled away for the parade lap. Despite the calm confidence Gabrielle was showing, Brad had chewed his fingernails down to the quick.

  Gabrielle had backed up his foolish boasting by winning the pole. Now, she was mere minutes from possibly leading her first laps of the season, and the first laps in Gale Force Racing’s history.