“I adjusted the timing a bit, Mr. Delaney. She was running rough. Sweet as can be, now.”
The owner’s eyebrows rose fractionally. “I see. And how much extra is that going to run me?”
“Nothing, sir.” Dad sounded surprised. “No parts involved, and she was my last job of the day. Couldn’t have you travelling far that way, so I went ahead with it.”
Harry caught the American’s look of surprise. Delaney extended his hand. “Well, thank you very much. I appreciate it.”
Dad showed his grease-stained palm. “Can’t shake without a good scrub. It was nothing. Pleasure to work on a quality engine.”
Mr. Delaney clasped the work-roughened hand in a firm, brief shake. Dad reddened. Released, he brushed past Harry into the bright sunlight.
Harry kicked at a stray piece of gravel as his father loaded the bicycle into the trunk of the car. How could a man understand the inner workings of a machine so clearly, yet not see the wounds in his own son’s life? He slammed the car door and slumped down in his seat.
He sulked through the short drive home, ignoring his father’s tentative attempts at conversation. Supper, as always, was strained. As soon as he finished his turn with the kitchen clean-up, Harry shot out the back door.
The angst inside him grew, and restlessness drove him mercilessly. September came, but the start of school did nothing to help. Cutting classes and wasting time weren’t enough anymore. A destructive anger simmered in his heart.
One evening the phone rang in the middle of supper. Carol scooped it from the wall cradle, then turned to their father. “It’s for you.”
Dad pushed his chair back and walked to the phone. “Hello? Yes, it is.” His face tightened, lines of emotion etching themselves around his mouth and eyes. The eyes targeted Harry, fixing him to his chair.
Harry’s heart jumped like a scared rabbit. He’d provoked a response from his father at last. He heard the principal’s deep tones describing the smashed windows and spray-painted obscenities on the school walls. And the two-week suspension from classes.
Dad’s free fist clenched. “I see.” His voice was dangerously quiet. “I’ll deal with him.” He slammed the receiver into its cradle.
Carol shoved the rest of her meal into her mouth and stood before she finished chewing. “Excuse me. Homework.” She cleared her place at the table and fled.
Harry knew better than to move. He drummed his fingers under the edges of his chair to release some of his anxiety as he waited for his father to react.
Dad ignored him. He pulled a card from his wallet and picked up the phone again. After he dialled, he stood twisting the cord around one hand. “Room 347, please.”
Curiosity threaded Harry’s fear.
“Matt Silver calling, sir. About that job. I’ll take it.”
Harry’s mouth hung open. His father exchanged a few more words and jotted something on the back of the card with a pencil stub. When he hung up, he turned blazing eyes full upon Harry.
“We’re moving to the States. You’re going from bad to worse, son.” His voice faltered. The fleeting glimpse of pain in the quiet man’s eyes pierced Harry’s heart. His father did care.
Anger surged, helping him brace for the coming discipline. Caring wasn’t much use if a person didn’t do anything about it. He scowled down at his half-empty plate, stomach filled with lead-winged butterflies.
His father returned to the table, but made no pretense of eating. “The only time you leave this house before we move will be to go to school—once they let you go back.”
Dad gave his notice at the garage, unmoved by pleas from his boss to stay. Harry discovered the job offer had come from the wealthy American tourist he’d seen at the garage in the summer.
Mr. Delaney was back in town on a business trip, bringing another fancy car for Dad’s wizard touch. He’d offered Matt a job this time. Harry learned later it was his father’s attitude as well as his instinct with engines that impressed the older man.
In Delaney’s world, most strangers were either intimidated by his money or after a share of it. Matt Silver was fascinated by the powerful engine, but completely indifferent to its owner’s net worth.
The next month snailed past. Harry obeyed his curfew, and caused no more trouble at school. What was the point? The anger he’d clung to had no power to save him from the hollow darkness inside. Sure he’d forced a reaction from his father, but that got him what? Nothing.
He avoided his friends and ignored his teachers, putting in time. He might not care what he was moving to, but each day meant one closer to moving from this place and all the misery it piled up around him.
On his last day he turned in his books and collected his transcript and papers from the office. Goodbye and thanks for nothing. Heading for the main exit, he heard “Harry—wait.”
He huffed a sigh, but his feet stopped, and he turned to the thin, bearded man hurrying toward him. Mr. Barnaby, the one teacher he sort of respected. The one who always looked him in the eye and saw a fellow human instead of a child. Who hadn’t approved of his vandalism but who still spoke to him kindly.
Mr. Barnaby stepped up to him now and gripped his shoulders. “I wish you all the best, Harry. Take this move as an opportunity to make a fresh start. You have too much potential to waste yourself like you’ve been doing here.”
The teacher’s lips twisted in a wry smile. “I know English isn’t your thing, but you have a quick mind. When the right thing catches your interest, you’ll go far.”
The words stuck in Harry’s head. No one had believed in him since his mother died.
Chapter 23
Harry’s dad arranged for Carol to live with his sister Isobel. Carol shed no tears as they watched her board the train for Ottawa. Harry wished for a second he could go with her, but the girl who’d annoyed him with her sisterly mothering had died with Mom. This Carol was no more nurturing than their father.
Before dawn the next morning, father and son set off for a new life, towing all their worldly goods in a rented trailer. Harry slept the first part of the way. They had cleared the U.S. border before Dad casually asked how he felt about correspondence school.
“Why?”
“So you can stay with me when we’re on the road.”
Harry’s mouth dropped open. “Are you going everywhere with the old man? Like a nanny for his car?”
A muffled bark erupted from his father’s lips. Harry’s eyes widened even more. Dad hadn’t laughed since... well, since their disastrous summer vacation.
“Mr. Delaney runs a stock car team. I’ll be working on those engines, which means I go with them when they race.”
He made it sound like he’d been offered the chance of a lifetime. Harry scowled out the window. He couldn’t care less about engines or machines. Going to the different races with his dad might be okay, but those were what, a week or two apart? That left an awful lot of practice and engine tuning. Boring.
Would there be anyone his own age? A hollow feeling settled in his stomach.
Almost fifteen hours after they started, they pulled into the Team Delaney complex in Mooresville, North Carolina. From the road signs, Mooresville was home to a number of stock car racing teams.
Dad shot Harry a grin. “They call this place Race City, USA.”
And that was a good thing? Harry slid a little farther down in his seat.
They stopped at a white security booth, then followed the uniformed guard’s directions to the employee parking lot. Only a few cars remained this late in the day, and Dad chose a spot near a blue building big enough to be an airplane hangar.
Harry might not want to be here, but it was good to feel the gravel crunch under his feet, to stand and stretch. They walked around the side of the building. A chubby man in a racing jacket, insulating headphones resting around his neck, came through the door as they reached it. He stopped long enough to hear Dad’s question and jerked his head back the way he’d come. “Office is through ther
e. The receptionist’s gone for the day, but just sing out and the boss will hear you.”
Aaron Delaney looked older than ever. The racing boss grasped Harry’s hand in a firm shake and searched him with a stare. Harry squirmed on the inside, but kept his hand still. And he didn’t look away.
“It’s good to meet you, young Harry. I’ll tell you straight out, I’m an old-fashioned sort, but I try to be fair. Here’s the deal. Keep your grades up, clean up the way you look, and I’ll be proud to have you around.
“You can go anywhere on the complex, do anything, as long as you abide by the safety rules. One violation and you’ll be barred from the premises. I value each member of my team, and I won’t stand for any unnecessary risks.”
Rules and more rules. Harry mumbled, “Yes sir” and tuned out the old man’s conversation with Dad. At least safety rules made sense in a professional racing environment.
It didn’t take long to get used to the routine. Monday team meetings were a good time for schoolwork. He tried to be around to watch the pit stop drills during the week, though. He couldn’t believe the rivalry for best speed between the two Team Delaney drivers’ crews, or how it crept into his blood. The two crews drilled hard, and no wonder, when he learned how many points could be won or lost in the pits.
Okay, so it wasn’t always boring around the track. And the homework wasn’t too bad. His father still owed him for dragging him to this engine-happy corner of the US. Still ignored him, too. Dad looked more like he used to, though. Like maybe he was coming back to life.
Dad couldn’t bring Harry’s mother back, though. Or comfort her grieving son.
Harry went to his first race under protest. Well, he’d protest anything his father suggested, but he honestly didn’t want to go. Why spend a rainy weekend living in a trailer behind a track somewhere, with all the noise and crowds?
His father refused to let him stay home alone. Harry hung out in their trailer until he couldn’t stand it anymore, then found his way to the Team Delaney pits. Might as well see how the crews did in a real racing practice.
It beat the tin can trailer, so he claimed a place beside the team spotter for the whole weekend. When the cars roared onto the track for the race, Harry lost himself in the speed and raw power. He’d seen them practice lots of times, driving endless oval laps, but without the jockeying for position, without the maximum give-it-all driving. He’d thought it was overrated.
This wasn’t overrated. He had to remind himself to breathe.
~~~
Harry had been right. There weren’t many kids his age around during the week. But on race weekends a whole community of motor homes and trailers moved into the track site, with kids of all ages. The older boys and girls were free to roam, and Harry often met them wandering the grounds or looking into the garages during breaks in the schedule.
He and an older boy named Rajit roamed the pit areas on the next race weekend, taking in the bustle and the ever-present oil smell. They couldn’t go everywhere, but their passes let them get closer than the paying fans. Rajit’s dad was a race engineer for another team, and Rajit had friends in most of the garages.
An hour before race time, Rajit cut him loose. “You want to stay with your own team during the race, so nobody thinks you’re spying on their strategy or their data. Maybe I’ll see you afterward.”
“Good luck, and thanks for the tour.” Harry headed back to Team Delaney and climbed the stairs to join the spotters. One of them offered him a clipboard. “Want to record fuel consumption?”
He’d done that a few times in practice. “Sure.”
As the Team Delaney cars roared into the pits, Harry’s pencil marked fuel intake and laps burned. He missed a bit of the race action this way, but it kept him more in tune with his own team’s performance.
His dad probably hadn’t known when he took the job—might not have cared—if their team was any good. They’d lucked out, though. Delaney’s drivers both ranked better than middle-of-the-pack, and team pride was infectious. Harry loved the positive energy of it all.
Between races, Harry and his dad lived in an apartment in Mooresville. After about a month of following the cars from race to race, Dad nudged Harry while they were washing the supper dishes. “What do you think about karting?”
“Huh?”
His father grinned. “Motorized go-karts. Smaller than the stock cars you drool over every day, but better than a bike. Mr. Delaney thinks you might like it.”
Harry put the two dinner plates in the cupboard. “No thanks.”
Dad’s face darkened. “Listen, son. The man’s a decent boss, and for some reason he’s taken an interest in you. If he’s offering you a treat, better take it.”
“Why me?”
“He’s picked up how keen you are on racing. Says this is a chance to find out if you’re any good at it.”
Racing. Harry couldn’t imagine a puny go-kart would have much speed, but it might be worth a try. The old man understood how he felt about race cars, maybe even felt the same. “Okay, tell him I’ll give it a shot.”
When they met Mr. Delaney at the go-kart track Saturday morning, Harry’s first look at the line of parked go-karts made him wish he’d stayed in bed. The old man’s offer was kind, but these things were ridiculous. Squat little karts with smooth mini tires sticking out from stubby bodies. They looked like something a rich preschooler would ride in his driveway.
Mr. Delaney shot him a piercing look as if he heard Harry’s thoughts. Harry fought to keep his face bland. Enthusiasm was more than he could muster. Delaney’s habitual stern face cracked into a tiny smile. “Reserve judgment until you’ve tried it.”
The old man helped Harry select gear and a helmet. Then he led father and son toward the go-karts. Outfitted, instructed in the basics, and strapped in, Harry gripped the steering wheel.
They wouldn’t be going through all this stuff if the little cars didn’t have a bit of kick. He nudged the gas pedal and blundered onto the track. There was another go-kart already out, but he had plenty of room.
Start slowly, they’d said. Harry eased around the oval. He picked up the rhythm instinctively, loving the feel of the acceleration, the vibration of the tires on the tarmac.
Before long he was at full throttle. He took the entrance to the next turn too fast. Next thing he knew Harry faced backward on the track, his dizzy brain trying to catch up. He swerved the little kart around and kept going.
The other kart waggled a slalom course on the opposite side of the oval track. Harry had spotted orange blurs on the pavement. They must be what the driver used as markers. Harry grinned. He had to try it.
Accelerating out of the oval’s curve, he angled his kart to the right of the first orange mark, held speed, and slithered left across the track before the next splotch of orange. He sawed the steering wheel back and forth, shoulders tight, running over more markers than he skirted, but picking up the pattern.
He climbed out of the open-framed kart an hour later and pulled off his rented helmet. Speed and vibration thrummed in his veins, and he couldn’t stand still. He’d never felt so alive. Dad flashed him a thumbs-up. Harry grinned, then looked at Mr. Delaney.
The older man’s eyes sparkled, but his face wore a strangely closed expression. He cleared his throat. “Silver, the boy’s got talent. He’s almost thirteen, and that’s late to be starting, but he’s good. He should learn to race.”
Harry whirled to his father, but Dad shook his head.
“You pay well, Mr. Delaney, but I don’t have that kind of money. And I’m still supporting a daughter at home in Canada.”
Delaney’s voice was crisp. “Forget the cost. Your son has real potential. I have money to spare. Will you allow me to sponsor him?”
He waved away the answering frown. “This is not charity. Part of it is the fun I’ll have watching him develop. I do like the boy, but it’s a business investment. I’d be grooming him for a place on my team, and he’d wear the team logo on
his jacket.”
Dad crossed his arms over his chest. “Thank you, sir, but the answer is still no.”
Harry’s hands balled into fists in his jacket pockets. He didn’t dare look at either man. This sudden offer meant more to him than anything he’d ever wanted before. The pain of losing it must be naked on his face. Even his father couldn’t mistake the emotion. Tears pricked his eyelids. He turned away.
~~~
When Harry saw Mr. Delaney approaching the pit crew drills on Monday, he left his seat and went back to the little room he’d been given for his schoolwork. He ate lunch in there too, alone. The old man would probably say something about the weekend’s karting, and Harry couldn’t go there, not now.
His father broke the stony silence on the way home without taking his eyes from the road. “You were good in that kart on the weekend. And you really wanted more.”
You think? Harry kept his mouth shut.
“Mr. Delaney convinced me to let you try.” No emotion in his voice, no facial expression. No eye contact.
Was this an apology? “Last Saturday.” Harry’s voice came out as flat as his father’s.
“Going forward. If your grades drop or you get in trouble, you’re done. And if you don’t have what Mr. Delaney thinks you have, you’ll be done anyway. He’ll give you a year to find out.”
The car kept moving, but for Harry everything stopped. It couldn’t be true. His father was too proud to let someone else provide for his family. Too stern to value his son’s happiness.
But Matt Silver didn’t lie, and he wouldn’t raise false hope.
Harry drew a cautious breath. “Do you mean it?”
“Boss says you need the chance. He’s right.”
“Sweet! I mean—thank you. Very much. I won’t let you down.” His heart was racing, and he could have jumped from the car and run the rest of the way home for the joy of this gift. But he didn’t want to embarrass his father with a big display of emotion. Instead he held it in, warmed by the glow.
“Mr. Delaney will give you the details tomorrow.”
~~~
Heaven's Prey Page 17