Pedal to the Metal: Love's Drivin' but Fate's Got the Pole (The 'Cuda Confessions Book 3) (8 page)

To my dismay, he shot past the rear entrance. I suppressed a sigh—or a scream. No matter how often Francine told him they’d built a back gate, Ernie headed for Main Street entrance.

“Take the one sixty-five. Buy another ‘Cuda. There’s two that look damn good in the trade papers right now. Best one’s in Atlanta. Spend a hundred grand on that car, and put sixty-five grand in a three-month certificate of deposit. In May, when they come due, cash ‘em in, rake off the interest. Go on a cruise with money you didn’t lift a finger to earn, pay off your student loans with the rest, and take that job with Brock Ingram. The new ‘Cuda’s gonna continue to go up in value, even though it’s a hardtop. Five years from now, I figure you could sell the hardtop for one-eighty and buy back your same Audi for sixty-five grand.”

That was the price of asking Ernie for a ride. He talked about ways to make money, and made me feel dumb, no extra charge. A new flash of heat flew through me, this one at the thought of pulling off such an audacious deal.

In the next breath, Dale’s words rang in my head.

She’s got a legend now. And the stories are what sell these old buckets of rust. But you already knew that.

“Except, Dale bet his ‘Cuda to win the Audi. So, the Audi’s his car. I’ll tell him about this, because I think it’s motherfucking genius. But, what’s worth more to Dale, the cash, or the legend of how that Audi was won?” I’d made up my mind not to care about the Audi. As soon as I graduated, I’d work and save to buy my own car.

Ernie hung a right under the light and chugged down the southeast side of campus. “The legend.” He sighed, darting me a dark look, due, no doubt, to the profanity that slipped my lips more often since the wreck. “Man’s hell bent on leavin’ his kids a legacy. Dad-gum, I was thinkin’ that’d be your car, straight up.”

His kids.

Veering from my idiotic hurt over the way my job title had changed—on a website nobody ever looked at—I turned Ernie’s idea over in my mind.

“I’d sell it so damn fast your head would spin, if it was mine. Just for fun, I got an online estimate for the insurance. You don’t wanna know, but one month’s premium has been known to feed this starving college student for a year.”

“Reality.” Ernie’s laughter ricocheted in the cab. “It’s a kick to the gut, ain’t it?”

My kick to the gut eased when he pulled through the front gates, staying right to sweep around the curving drive. I stared at the soaring turrets of Wilson Hall, thanking my guardian angel for letting me live to see the elegant building one more time.

My bruised brain took another wacky leap. The soles of my feet vibrated, not from the big diesel engine shaking the floorboard, but from the memory of climbing the gray-painted steps to beg for my place here.

If every car in your yard’s worth more than your house, you might be a redneck.
I gave a mental high five to Jeff Foxworthy, who’d based a comedy career on that ‘you might be a redneck’ tagline. How many times had I had the same thought about Dale, his sons, and their cars?

Except, since Christmas, I could see both sides. Ernie’s drag race was taking fifty bucks and turning it into three hundred, then turning that three hundred into three thousand, all before dinner. Same adrenaline rush Dale got from wringing ten thousand rpms out of an engine and watching that car cruise under the checkered flag ahead of all the rest.

“Ernie, what’s the problem between Dale and Kolby? Why won’t Richard let him go?”

He eased to a stop at the far end of the main building, where Wilson Hall adjoined Pell Hall, a rambling dormitory housing freshmen. My dormitory sat a few yards behind. The five story brick cube wasn’t much to look at, but Dexter Hall had the biggest rooms on campus. As soon as my rubbery knees would make the trip, I had to write an essay and study for a test.

Ernie seemed delighted, as always, for the chance to tell a story.

“Them three are like a bad romance. Richard believes, and I think Kolby knows on some level, that Dale can turn him into a top level driver, but that kid’s got two problems.”

He stabbed a gnarled finger past my nose. “How about openin’ the dash compartment and handin’ me one of them Moon Pies?” He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out an RC Cola.

I glared, but pressed the button to open the glove compartment. “Francine’s gonna kick both our asses. You know you’re not—”

“You wanna hear a story or do a half-assed imitation of my wife?”

Growling, I snagged the Moon Pie. Spying another wrapper, I asked, “Hey, can I have that Bear Claw?” Now that the truck wasn’t moving, I was in no hurry to make the trek to the dorm.

“If’n you think you can keep your big mouth shut, help yourself.” He tapped the top of the soda can and popped the drink open.

Resigned to the cavalier way Ernie treated his health problems, I handed him his pastry and ripped the plastic off mine. Unbuckling the seat belt, I crossed my legs. I took a bite of flaky pastry, delighted to find the big diesel engine had warmed the cream cheese filling. Waiting for him to chug his fill and pick up where he’d left off, I nibbled the treat.

“See, Kolby come up drivin’ Dodges, same as Dale. And when Dodge bowed out of NASCAR, Kolby ain’t never got comfortable behind the wheel of a Ford. It can be the fastest car in the world, but if it ain’t your ride, it ain’t never gonna feel right.”

“So, that’s why he bitched to the press about Dale’s engine?”

He nodded. “Without engineering support direct from Ford, Dale’s had to build Rick’s cars from the ground up. Something he’s more’n capable of doin’, of course. It just makes winnin’ easier of you’ve got all the expertise in the world on speed dial. Only makes sense Kolby would see him as the problem, but, I had a Chevy truck once. That bitch defied me every which way. The fella I sold her to swears he ain’t never had a better truck. People name cars after women for a reason, you know.”

I chuckled, but Ernie’s story didn’t change my feelings about Kolby.

“Then, there’s his drivin’. Racin’ folks used to say Dale Earnhardt could see the air. You know what that means?”

I shook my head and took another bite.

“See, the air on a racetrack can take you places your engine can’t. But, first, you gotta believe in it. Just ‘cause it’s science don’t mean everybody can grasp the idea. Kinda like global warming, I reckon. If you don’t believe in a thing, you can see all the evidence in the world and still deny it’s a thing. Hannah could see it. Good God, that boy could make a car do shit cars ain’t supposed to do, because he saw the air like nobody’s business. If Kolby would just listen, he could drive that good, too.”

“Is that why Dale complains about him tearing up the car?”

Ernie took another swallow of his RC Cola before he replied. “Nope. That’s about Kolby’s brother. The same year Ridenhour swapped to the Ford engine, Kasey Barnes joined the Cup circuit. Now, I guess them two boys growed up racin’ each other. Some days, Kolby acts like they’re still runnin’ down a country road. If he can’t beat Kasey, he wrecks him. Rubbin’s racin’, so they say. Knockin’ fenders is part of the sport. But, wreckin’ the car that earns everybody a livin’ instead of tryin’ to finish in the best possible spot?” Ernie shook his head. “That boy’s gonna give Richard a heart attack. Finishin’ dead last in a Cup race is worth about seventy grand. And seventy grand is prob’ly close to coverin’ Richard’s payroll for the week. DNF don’t get you nothin’, ‘cept the chance to start over buildin’ the damn car.”

Payroll for the week?
I chewed and nodded.

“It breaks Dale’s heart to see that boy throwin’ away his talent on his temper. I ain’t never had no kids, so maybe I got no room to talk, but Kolby’s old man needs a kick in the nuts. If your kid’s got talent and temper, why wouldn’t you feed one trait and starve the other?”

That observation struck my heart. Of course Dale, who’d had to walk away from racing, would be annoyed to see Kolby throwing away opportunities.

I tried to frame the problem in terms I knew—me and my mother. If wrecking was better than losing, in Kolby’s mind, then what did that say? How many things had I quit, rather than listen to Mom moan to some friend over the phone that I wasn’t ‘applying myself’? She never let anything be about me. Everything came back to how my actions reflected on her. If, after a couple of tries, I didn’t grasp the idea, I’d quit so I didn’t have to hear her moaning.

“Kissed Francine for the first time right there.” Ernie jabbed a gnarled finger toward Twitchell Auditorium, the three-story music hall nestled underneath tall oaks near the stately main building. “After that Christmas show they put on every year.”

“The Festival of Lights and Carols?” I adored the holiday musical, a Converse tradition.

“Yep. Folks said it wasn’t gonna work, a redneck like me, with her, a graduate of this fancy place. I made her invite those same assholes to our twenty-fifth anniversary bash. Fed ‘em some crow along with their cake.”

Glad to leave the topic of Kolby, I laughed. “How’d you two meet?” If I knew the tale, the wreck had knocked it out of my head.

“Used to be a Citizens and Southern bank right across the street. I went in one Friday at lunchtime to deposit my paycheck. She was in front of me, askin’ real sweet why they’d charged her a fee she didn’t owe.” He patted the spot over his heart. “Woman was standin’ right in a sunbeam. Made my ticker just stop, she was so goddamn beautiful.”

I slid the Bear Claw into the wrapper and laid it on the seat. How the hell had I let Ernie waltz me right back to Concord? Caine’s declaration about those illicit videos he’d made of me rang in my head.

I lied to you, Shelby. About those videos I made of you in your room. I looked at ‘em all the time. I still do, but not at the places you prob’ly think. I fast-forward every one to the moment you come home from school and throw yourself on your bed. The sun comes through the front windows that time of day. It lights up your hair. You look like an angel, and that’s what I keep going back to see.

Ernie’s voice jolted me out of the past. “When she got her two dollars credited back, I stuffed my paycheck into my pocket and followed her outside. Asked her what kind of church she went to. She said Methodist. I’d never set foot inside anything but a Baptist church. Ain’t gonna pretend I was no regular, neither. But I said I went to the biggest Methodist church in town. Offered to take her along come Sunday.”

I hooted. “Ernie, didn’t you get found out when no one in the congregation knew you?”

His naughty grin was a peek at a younger version of Ernie. “I been in a few congregations, and don’t nobody really know nobody, if you ask me. Church ain’t much different than any other social settin’. People got fifteen folks they speak to, fifteen they nod to, they save the rest to have somebody to look down on. But, that church was so big that, when the preacher thanked us for visitin’, I said I’d been a member since I was fifteen and the preacher apologized.”

Ernie’s eyes danced with mischief. “Francine even kissed me to make up for the hurt. She found the little Methodist church over in Beaumont Mill village. Invited me to go there the next Sunday. It’s where we got married.”

“I think you better pray over that lie.”

“I done did.” He winked. “The good Lord said, all’s fair in love and war.”

I squinted. “I’m ninety-nine percent positive that’s not in the Bible.”

“No? Oh, shit.” Ernie made his eyes very round, sending me into another fit of laughter. My phone played the opening bars of
John Cougar, John Deere, John 3:16.

I jerked the device from my back pocket and pressed it to my ear, still laughing. “Hey, Dale!”

Ernie tipped his drink can to smiling lips.

“Sugar, this has gotta be the most comfortable chair any man ever had. Thank you. I’m sending you a picture of me sittin’ in it right now.”

“Oh, my God! You actually got to see it! Is Mom pissed?”
Please, let her be pissed.

His chuckle rumbled through the phone and he lowered his voice. “Ever seen a biddie hen that got a bucket of water throwed on her?”

“No, but that’s one hell of a visual.” The chime that signaled an email sounded. I turned on the speaker, then opened the image. “You look just like a mule eatin’ briars.” The phrase was Ernie’s, but it was colorful, and I liked it.

I showed Ernie the image of Dale, kicked back in the recliner I’d bought him, his face split by a wide smile. I could tell from the angle, Dale took the selfie. I pictured Mom banging her head against the other side of the wall at his back. Satisfaction glowed in my chest.

“Now, that’s a proper throne,” Ernie barked through his laughter. “Lookin’ good, Hannah.”

“Tip, what’cha doin’, hangin’ out with my girl, old man?”

“We just come from the doc’s place. Took Shelby to get her cast off, ‘cause Francine had a meetin’ after school today. How you doin’?”

“Right now, brother, I’m drivin’ a cloud. Just about to get Macy to take me to the airport, so I can head for the big A-T-L and kick some ass. Shelby, where in hell’d you get the money for this sweet ride, baby doll?”

“It came out of my Google ad money, Dale. Don’t worry, The ‘Cuda Confessions You Tube site had a great quarter.”

Ernie interrupted. “Oh? Shelby said you was bringin’ the Audi down today.”

Comprehension dawned. My heart seized, stuttered, then seized again. If Dale was in Concord, planning to fly to Atlanta, then—

“Caine should be turnin’ through the gates any minute. He sent me a text right ‘fore I called.”

Fuck. Me.

Through the trees dotting the front campus, I spied flashes of chrome and gleaming black paint. Before I could open my mouth, a massive truck and trailer that wasn’t Dale’s squeezed past Ernie’s truck. I glared at the circus-style letting underneath the Ridenhour Racing logo.

“Yep. Your boy just got here, Dale. Kolby sure done a number on the twenty-two at Daytona last week, huh?”

I stared in horror as Caine swung the rig around the horseshoe and pulled the right-side wheels into the grass.

The truck door swung open. Caine dropped nimbly to the ground. His red satin Ridenhour jacket rippled as he jogged to the rear of the trailer.