Sweet Carolina

by Roz Lee

  She reminded herself she'd always been a “glass-half-full” kind of person. Dell gave her some excellent feedback regarding her new engine, and there were a few things she wanted to try. If they worked, this engine could be the one that would make Hawkins Racing a force to be reckoned with on the circuit, provided she could keep her driver alive, and her car in one piece. Caro sifted through the stacks on her desk, looking for her notebook.

  She flipped through it until she found what she was looking for. She wasn't ready to give up on her dream yet. As long as the doors remained open, there was still hope of saving her family legacy, and creating one of her own.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Dell stood in the middle of the track, his hands fisted on his hips, his eyes masked by dark glasses. He made it a point to arrive a day earlier than everyone else to this particular track – a bi-annual, grim pilgrimage of sorts. Dubbed, “The Lady in Black” because Darlington was the first track to be paved with asphalt, the moniker seemed more fitting to Dell than the newer, “Too Tough to Tame” nickname. This track, more than any other, would always remind him of dark times. It was here he had his last, harsh argument with his father, and here, on the final turn, where his father's life came to an end.

  He put one foot in front of the other until he stood on the exact spot where Caudell Wayne drew his last breath. Dell looked at his feet. Heat from the sun-baked asphalt radiated up through the soles of his shoes. The wall had been repainted dozens of times since the wreck, but still, Dell found it hard to look at. He took a deep breath and raised his eyes to the section of concrete in front of him, not for the first time wondering if Caudell sensed in the split-second before he hit that it was the end.

  Dell didn't see the wreck. He'd been too far out in front on the final lap. He still remembered his spotter's voice congratulating him on the win, and in the next breath, telling him Caudell crashed.

  “There's a crash behind you, turn four. Your dad's involved,” he said.

  “Anyone else?” Dell asked.

  “No,” he hesitated, “it doesn't look good, Dell.”

  By that time, Dell was around the track on his victory lap. “I see it.” The last cars were dodging the wreck. A silence Dell couldn't explain filled his car. He heard nothing. No engine noise. No crowd yelling. Not even his spotter or crew chief. Caudell's car sat perpendicular to the wall, utterly still except for a cloud of steam curling up from the crushed radiator. Dell braked, coming to a stop with the nose of his car a few feet from the passenger side door of his father's car, giving him a clear view inside.

  He knew before he unfastened his restraint system, before his feet hit the asphalt, before he rushed around to the driver's side. It was too late.

  The Lady in Black, silent as the night, wrapped herself around him as he stared through the window net at his father's lifeless body and tried to find some emotion within him stronger than the anger coursing through his veins.

  Dell raised his eyes to the sky, as flawlessly blue today as it had been dark that night. “Stupid, fucker. You never did listen to reason. It was your way, or the highway, and look where that got you.” Silence answered him. He turned to go when the glint of sun on metal caught his eye. He bent down and picked up the nickel-plated washer. It was hot from the sun-heated asphalt. Dell pinched it between his thumb and forefinger. A sign? Yeah, he chuckled to himself – a sign someone else fucked up on this stretch of track. He palmed the coin-sized piece of metal and curled his hand into a fist.

  He turned back to the wall, and with every ounce of strength he possessed, he chucked the washer at the wall. It hit with a metallic ping and ricocheted across the track, out of sight.

  “Take that, you goddamned hard-headed son-of-a-bitch.”

  * * * *

  “Can I see you for a minute?” Caro asked.

  “Sure,” Dell said, taking the seat next to her in the golf cart. “I've got a few minutes.”

  Caro set the cart in motion. Dell admired the lines of her legs and arms as she steered the cart. “Where're we going?”

  “Someplace we can talk,” she said.

  The further she drove away from the relative civilization around the track, the more worried he became. When she'd passed the last row of motor homes in the fan parking area and kept on going, Dell realized nothing good could come of this conversation. He looked around at the empty field that would fill in the next few days, but for now, was nothing more than pastureland. “I'm beginning to think this may be a one-way ride for one of us,” he said.

  “No. I'll give you a ride back.” She finally stopped the cart, but she didn't seem in any hurry to start the conversation she said she wanted.

  “What's up, Carolina?”

  “Look, Dell. I'm worried about you.”

  Dell chuckled. “Seriously? Why?”

  “It's the way you drive – on the track, I mean. I have no idea how you drive off the track.”

  Her nervous babbling didn't help one bit. “Just tell me, Caro. What is it you had to drag me out to the middle of nowhere to say?”

  “I know I've asked you before, but it was a rhetorical question then. This time, I'm serious, Dell. I really want to know. Are you trying to kill yourself? Is that why you drive the way you do?”

  Dell focused on an arriving motor home in the distance, slowly making its way across the grass to one of the chalk-lined parking spaces. She couldn't know how wrong she was, and he wasn't going to tell her. “No.”

  “Then why, Dell? What goes through your head when you're racing? Because I can tell you, I'm not the only person who thinks you drive like a suicidal maniac.”

  The motor home made three attempts to back into a space where there wasn't a single neighbor. Dell watched in silence.

  “Talk to me,” Caro said. “I'm only trying to help, Dell.”

  “Are you firing me?” he asked. He couldn't lose another ride. Racing was the one thing that kept him sane.

  “No! Good heavens, no, Dell. I'm trying to figure out… oh, hell. I don't know what I'm doing.” He didn't dare look at her, but he heard her frustrated sigh and noticed the way her whole body slumped. “Damnit, Dell. You can't keep going the way you are. You're going to get killed. The other drivers hate you. More than a few would take you out at the first opportunity if it weren't for the way your dad died.” She stopped, as if she'd said too much. Dell kept silent watch as the motor home driver attempted to level his rig. If Caro thought he was going to participate in this conversation, she was sadly mistaken.

  “I'm sorry. That was inappropriate,” she finally said. “I'm concerned, Dell. That's all.”

  He kept his mouth shut.

  “Okay, I get it. You don't want to talk about it, and maybe bringing the subject up at this track wasn't a good idea, but I don't want you to get hurt.”

  “Are you worried about me, Caro, or worried about your car?”

  “I won't lie to you. Both. I'm worried about both, because the only time I need to worry about either is when the two converge.”

  Yeah, right. No way was he going to tell Caro his darkest secret – that the only time he felt in control was behind the wheel. The fact she worried about him at all was unexpected, and…nice. For that reason alone, she deserved something from him.

  “Fair enough,” he said. “If it's any consolation, I don't go out there looking for ways to wreck your car, or to hurt myself.”

  “Okay. Okay,” she said. “That's reassuring.”

  “This conversation is over. Take me back.”

  She placed her foot on the gas pedal, then removed it. Dell slid his foot over to accelerate for her and she kicked him in the shin.

  “Ow!”

  “You deserved that,” she said. “You're good, Dell.” She shook her head. “I almost bought your act.”

  “It's not an act.”

  “Sure it is. You said all the things I wanted to hear. But it's what you aren't saying that I should be listening to.”

  “You can't listen
to something I didn't say.”

  “That's where you're wrong, Dell. I believe you when you say you aren't trying to hurt yourself while you're driving, but you were very specific about that. And you're off the track more than you're on it. So, Dell, are you suicidal off the track?”

  Dell watched as another motor home made its way across the grass to a parking space. Why couldn't Caro mind her own business? “Look, Caro, I don't want to drag you into the fucked up world inside my head. I'm not going to kill myself. I promise you that.”

  “Well, that's good. But it still doesn't explain why they call you Madman.”

  Dell sighed and released the tension holding his back straight. Damn, why did this woman make him want to tell her everything? It felt good to know someone cared, but he was coping well enough. As long as he kept busy, the memories didn't bother him so much. “I'm aggressive on the track. Some people don't like it, that's all. I'm not trying to kill myself or anyone else, I assure you. It's sweet of you to care, but I'd appreciate it if you let me fight my own demons, Caro, in my own way.”

  “Okay,” she said, pressing on the gas pedal, setting the cart in motion. “But you better not be lying to me, Dell Wayne, or I'll kill you myself.”

  * * * *

  Dell dropped the net and scrambled out through the window. He'd had enough of Richard Warner to last him a lifetime.

  He tossed his helmet into the car and looked around. Dick Warner's car was a mangled mess, but the son-of-a-bitch was still inside, trying to restart it.

  “Not today,” Dell vowed as he crossed the track to Warner's car. Cars sped by under the yellow caution flag, even as Dell threw caution to the wind. As he walked, he pulled off his gloves and let them fall to the pavement. He wanted to experience the feel of Warner's skin beneath his fingers as he choked the life out of him. After nearly four hundred laps of putting up with Warner's shit, Dell was through. Through pretending Warner was a good driver. Through pretending the bastard hadn't meant to shove Caudell Senior into the wall. Through pretending it didn't matter. And he was damn well through letting Warner try to do him the same favor.

  Dell fisted his fingers in the safety net covering the driver's window, and yanked. The netting fell free and Warner turned toward him. His helmet covered most of his face so Dell only saw Warner's eyes. Eyes filled with disbelief and a white-hot rage that mirrored Dell's.

  “Get out, Warner. We're going to settle this right here and now,” Dell said through gritted teeth.

  Warner gave up trying to restart his car. He drew his gloves off, then his helmet. “If that's the way you want it, C.J.”

  Dell's vision clouded with a red haze. He stepped back far enough for Warner to get one leg out. He grabbed Warner by the collar and dragged him the rest of the way.

  “Don't you ever call me that,” Dell said. Then he planted his fist in Richard Warner's face.

  Warner responded with a punch of his own. Dell dodged it, connected a left jab to Warner's mid-section and another right to his jaw. Warner stumbled backwards, but before Dell came at him again, he lunged forward.

  Dell absorbed the blow to his chin and retaliated with another series of punches that connected with satisfactory auditory stimuli.

  “What the fuck?” Warner yelled over the roar of engines buzzing past.

  “You fucking killed Caudell, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let you kill me too,” Dell answered between jabs to Warner's abs and jaw.

  “It was an accident, you asshole,” Warner countered.

  “Accident my ass,” Dell said as he landed another punch.

  “What's it to you, bro? You got everything the old man had,” Warner said as he buried his right fist in Dell's stomach. Dell doubled over, gasping for breath. Someone grabbed his arm and pulled him backwards. Another set of hands wrapped around his other arm and before he found his footing, he was in the back of an ambulance.

  “Let me go,” he growled as he lunged for the door.

  “You aren't going anywhere but to the track medical center,” the medic said. He knocked on the roof, and the ambulance lurched into motion.

  Dell refused treatment. All his injuries were from Dick Warner's knuckles, and those would be gone soon enough. As he made his way to his motor home, Warner's final words echoed in his mind. What did he mean by them? Of course Dell got everything. He was an only child. Why wouldn't he? Did Warner think that was reason enough for Dell to want his father dead?

  Hell, he couldn't care less about the money. He'd already given a huge chunk of it away, and he'd give the rest away as soon as he figured out the best way to do it. If he suddenly started living like a pauper, people would notice and wonder. He'd have to let them think he blew the money or tell them the truth. And the truth was none of their business.

  * * * *

  Too Tough to Tame. That's what they said about Darlington. The same could be said about Dell Wayne, though “Too Wild to Tame” might be more accurate. Her little talk with Dell accomplished nothing.

  He was still alive, but she had another wrecked car. Another Did Not Finish to post, and on top of that – a fine to pay. Dell's fistfight with Richard Warner, in the middle of the track – while cars dodged the wreckage – resulted in a fine for Hawkins Racing and a personal fine for Dell.

  Caro tried to think positive thoughts. Having refused a ride through the tunnel to her motor home, she welcomed the painful jolt of each hard step on the concrete walkway. It gave her something to think about, something to be angry at besides Dell. She needed to get out of there, as far away from him as possible or she might be facing criminal charges along with another fine. In her present state of mind, Dell and Warner's altercation might look like a brawl on a kindergarten playground compared to what she wanted to do to Dell Wayne.

  What the hell had he been thinking? NASCAR drivers don't fight each other. And they especially don't fight in the friggin' middle of a race! Stupid. And juvenile. And even more stupid. Stupider than stupid.

  How he got off with a fine and no suspension was beyond comprehension. If she came up with the money to pay her share of the fine, Dell would race next week – provided she managed to put a car together. Caro snorted. The last thing she thought she would be doing was mentally calculating the price of scrap metal, hoping it would amount to enough to keep the doors open another week.

  It was a short drive home, by NASCAR standards, but long enough to give Caro time to calm down and reassess her situation. Maybe selling scrap metal to pay the bills was a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. Hawkins Racing couldn’t take many more hits like the one today. Not only had they lost another car and been fined, but Dell's fistfight would bring unwanted talk. Speculation was running rampant already, fueled by the reporters who delighted in scandal. Caro sighed. She still needed to talk to Dell's sponsor, convince them to continue their support, or the scrap metal idea might come to fruition after all. How could she justify Dell's behavior? She'd seen the footage of the altercation. Dell was the one who started it, confronting Warner so the man had no choice but to defend himself. Though it did appear Warner threw a few punches that weren't strictly in self-defense.

  Whatever.

  There wasn't any excuse for two grown men punching on each other.

  * * * *

  The last person Dell expected to see on his doorstep was Richard Warner.

  “Can I come in?” Richard asked.

  Curiosity got the best of him, and Dell stood back, indicating Richard should enter. Since their brawl on the track the night before, Warner's words continued to echo through Dell's mind, taunting him with the certainty that there was something behind them – something he should know.

  “It's Mother's Day, don't you have some place to be?” he asked as he closed the door. He walked past Warner, expecting the man had enough sense to follow him, though he wasn't at all sure it was the case.

  “No. I haven't seen my mother in three years.”

  “Funny, I took you for a momma's boy,” Dell
said, grabbing a beer from the refrigerator. He held up the bottle. “Want one?”

  “No. I'm driving.”

  “Well, aren't you the Boy Scout.” Dell pulled a diet soda out of the refrigerator and tossed it at his guest. Warner caught it with one hand and murmured his thanks. Dell leaned against the counter and took a long pull from the bottle. As far as he was concerned, he'd offered enough hospitality.

  “Look, Dell… I think we need to talk.”

  What was it with everyone these days wanting to talk. First Caro, now Dickhead Warner.

  “You think?” Dell pushed away from the counter and headed to the family room where he dropped into his favorite recliner. “You killed Caudell, and now you're trying to kill me. What's to talk about?”

  Warner perched on the edge of the sofa, rolling the unopened soda can between his palms. “It was an accident, Dell. I didn't mean to kill him. I only wanted to get past him. I needed the track position points.”

  “Well, that makes me feel better. My old man is dead because you needed four points.” Dell stood. “I appreciate you coming by to explain that to me, Warner.” Dell pointed toward the front door. “I trust even an idiot like you can find your own way out.”

  “Sit down, Dell. I'm not through,” Warner said.

  Dell stared at him for a tense second before deciding throwing Warner out would be too much trouble. He sat. “Say what you came to say, then get out of my house.”

  “I'm here to apologize. You can't seriously believe I wanted to kill my own father.”

  “Whoa!” Dell sat up. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Warner went still, then he set the soda on the coffee table with exaggerated care. Finally, he looked at Dell. “Caudell was my father, too.”

  Dell shot out of his seat as if Warner lit a firecracker under him. “What the fuck? Are you out of your mind?” A red haze clouded his vision.

  Warner stood. “I thought you knew, Dell. Honestly, I did or I wouldn't have come here.” He shifted on his feet. “Look, can we sit down and talk about this?”