Running Wide Open (30 page)

I remembered the way he’d always looked after a race. The grin that took over his whole body. The confidence that radiated like heat from an engine. Getting back out on the track would fix this—I was sure of it. But at the rate we were going it would never happen. We needed help, so even though I figured Kasey would shoot me down, I approached her about it one day at work.

“I know how you feel about the Dart,” I said as we prepared to drop a newly rebuilt 327 into a ’68 Camaro. “But we need you. Race can’t do the stuff that has to be done, and I don’t know how. It’ll take us a year to get the car fixed.”

Kasey lowered the boom and gave the engine hoist a shove to get the motor mounts lined up. “I’m sorry, Cody, but I have to say no. The minute that car’s back together Race is going to want to drive it.”

Annoyance drilled me. “Well, that’s the point, isn’t it? Maybe it’s what he needs.”

“He’s not ready.”

“But he will be in a couple weeks.”

Kasey raised an eyebrow at me. “I’d tend to take your opinion more seriously if you had a degree in medicine.”

And what made her such an expert? “That goes both ways, you know.”

“Cody, it won’t hurt him to sit out the rest of the season. If the two of you insist on spending your time working on the Dart I’m not going to stop you. But I also won’t help.”

* * *

While Kasey refused to listen to me about the car, she agreed that Race needed a distraction and encouraged him to do something—
anything
—other than hole up in his room and stew about his problems. She suggested he take classes at the college. She encouraged him to talk to a counselor. One night at dinner, she even asked him to come help at the shop.

“Oh,
that
would work,” Race said. “You’d get about two hours a day out of me. Besides, I’d drop every tool you own.”

“You couldn’t hurt them. They’re Snap-Ons.”

Race ignored the quip. “Forget it. I can barely deal with my own car—hell, I can’t even tie my damned shoes.” His face twisted. “Do you have any idea how frustrating that is?”

“No, I suppose I don’t,” Kasey said, meeting the hostile stare with sympathy. “Do
you
have any idea how frustrating it is to see someone you care about this miserable and know there’s nothing you can do to fix it?”

Race stared down at his plate, hands clenching on the tabletop.

“I know how aggravating this must be,” Kasey said. “But you’ve got to realize you’re not the only one who’s hurting.”

Race’s head jerked up. “And what have you lost? Your home? Your independence? The only talent you ever had?”

Kasey closed her eyes, pausing to draw a breath. “We’re losing
you
.”

The gentle response did nothing to cool Race’s temper. The vein in his temple pulsed as he glowered at her, jaw knotted.

“You act like you’re ashamed, Race, and there’s nothing to be ashamed of. You’re working as hard as anyone could at getting better. You don’t need to keep hiding your problems. If you’d just talk to us—”

Race shoved away from the table, rattling the water glasses and making the chair legs screech across the linoleum. “I don’t want to talk. Talking doesn’t change anything.”

* * *

Later that night I hunted Kasey down at the computer in the basement where she was catching up on paperwork for her business.

“What brings you down here?” she asked, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

I shrugged.

“That was quite a scene at dinner,” Kasey observed.

“At least he
said
something. Mostly he sulks around acting like no one else exists.”

A rapid burst of clicks resonated from the keyboard as Kasey finished what she’d been doing. “He’s depressed, Cody. You shouldn’t take it personally.”

“I can’t help it! He won’t talk to me. He just keeps shutting me out.” I slumped against the wall and slid to the floor. “I can’t deal with this. I don’t mind that much when he yells, but when he acts like I’m not even there . . .” An ache crept into my throat, choking off the words. I rubbed my hands over my face. “You know that stuff the doctor said about brain injuries—how people’s personalities change and they’re never the same again? What if that’s happened to Race? What if this is just who he is from now on?”

Kasey swiveled to face me, eyes wide. “Oh, Cody, is that what you’ve been worrying about? It won’t be like this forever. What Race is going through is a perfectly natural reaction to loss. He just needs time to process things in his own way.”

“How much time? Weeks? Months?”

What if I couldn’t hold out that long?

“I don’t know. Maybe it would be a good idea for you to get away for a while.”

I blinked at her, shocked, “I’m not gonna give up on him.”

“That’s not what I’m suggesting. I just think a change of scenery for a week or two might help.”

“What kind of change? Dad doesn’t want me, and I’m not going anywhere near Grandma’s as long as Grandpa’s there.”

A faint
don’t be silly
look flitted across Kasey’s face. “You’re wrong about your father,” she said. “He’s only trying to do what’s best for you, but your mother’s the one I had in mind. She wants you to visit.”

The words hit me like a faceful of ice water. “Uh-uh—no way! You didn’t hear what she said about Race.”

“Cody—”

“She told me getting hurt was his own damned fault.”

“I seem to recall you saying something similar.”

“That’s different!”

“How?”

I pinned Kasey with a glare, struggling to put what I felt into words. “She’s not a kid.”

“I’m going to let you in on a little secret, Cody. Just because someone’s an adult doesn’t mean she’s going to act like it. Seeing how your grandfather and Jim have behaved recently should tell you that much.”

And that made it okay? Adults had all the rights. They should accept the responsibilities that went with them.

“People have different ways of dealing with fear and pain,” Kasey said gently. “Your mother reacted out of anger. That’s something you ought to be able to understand.”

“I’m not like her!”

Kasey sighed. “I didn’t say you were, I’m just pointing out she’s only human. Every time I talk to her, she tells me how sorry she is for what she said to you. She wants to apologize, but you and Race won’t let her.”

A protest caught in my throat as I remembered how many times the two of us had cut her off.

“You should give her a chance.”

“She doesn’t deserve it.”

“I think she does. If it weren’t for her, you might very well be in a detention center right now. Your mom is the one who kept you out of the system.”

“Is that what she told you? It’s gotta be a lie. Why would the cops listen to her?”

“They didn’t. But she persuaded your grandmother to intervene. After a hefty donation, the zoo agreed to drop all charges.”

“No way.”

“Why do you think you got off without even having to do community service?”

I shrugged. “I just figured it wasn’t any big deal.”

“It was a
huge
deal. Fortunately, your mom cared enough to get involved. She asked your grandmother to take you in, and that’s where you would have wound up if your grandfather hadn’t been so dead set against it. Instead, your grandma offered to pay for military school, but your mom nixed that idea and called Race. You might consider what a concession that was, in light of how poorly they get along.”

“That can’t be right,” I said. “Race woulda told me.”

“Your mom’s kept him as much in the dark about this as she’s kept you. I can’t claim to know her reasoning behind that, but I can say she’s gone above and beyond in her duty as a parent.”

The firmness in Kasey’s expression made it impossible to look at her. “I don’t believe it,” I whispered, staring down at my knees.

“It’s the truth, Cody.”

I shook my head. How could it be the truth? It went against everything I thought was real.

* * *

When I went back to my room, Mom’s letter was still on my end table. My resentment hung on me like an old, comfortable sweatshirt, the kind you can’t get rid of, even when it’s full of holes. I didn’t want to believe Mom had bailed me out. But what if Kasey was right?

I picked up the letter and tore it open. It started with an apology—a list of all the ways Mom had screwed up. That was new. She’d said she was sorry in the past, but always in a way that skirted around admitting she’d been wrong. And there was something else about this letter. It seemed honest. Mom told me how miserable she’d been, living in Portland and being married to Dad. She even talked about what she’d done to fix her problems—going back to school, seeing a therapist. I wasn’t sure I believed it, but part of me wanted to.

The letter ended with a final apology—this one to Race—and asked for just one thing: The chance to talk to me. I folded the paper and stuck it in the envelope.

What would it hurt to call? Leaving home had changed me for the better. Maybe it had done the same for her.

Chapter 28

Even with that little seed of hope, the call wasn’t easy. I dialed Mom’s number and stumbled through the conversation, my feelings as tangled as the wires that snaked through the engine compartment of Race’s van. Some deep, desperate part of me wanted it to be different this time, wanted to believe Mom had changed. But the pissed-off part woke up as soon as I heard her voice, and it wouldn’t let me do anything more than grunt.

Mom didn’t seem to notice. “Kasey thinks you need to get away for a while,” she said after apologizing again and telling me how things were going to be so much better now. “I’m coming to Eugene next week, and I’d like to see you. Maybe you can come back to Phoenix with me—just for a visit.”

I stiffened at the suggestion then reminded myself I owed her one for sending me to live with Race.

“Please think about it,” she said.

Please
. That wasn’t a word I was used to hearing from her. It snuck through the jumble of mismatched emotions and stung my conscience hard.

* * *

During karate practice the next morning, the conversation played back through my mind, in spite of my efforts to stay focused. In the end I’d agreed to consider a trip to Phoenix. But what if Race took it the wrong way? I didn’t want him to think I’d abandoned him.

I’d stewed about his blow-up half the night and come to a conclusion that it was time to take matters into my own hands. If Kasey wouldn’t help with the Dart, I’d find somebody who would. Like Denny. In spite of what Kasey had said to him that day at the shop, I figured I could talk him into it. But I wanted to do it in person, so he’d have a harder time saying no. That meant getting to the speedway.

“Guess what?” I said when I found Race in the kitchen eating breakfast. “It’s been six weeks. Kasey can’t give you any more crap about driving.” I laid the van keys on the table.

Race exhibited all the enthusiasm of an earthworm on a wet sidewalk.

“We need to celebrate,” I said. “Maybe we can go to the speedway tonight.”

“What makes you think I’d want to?”

The question jolted me. I hadn’t expected him to refuse. “I just thought it might be fun.”

Race rolled his eyes. “Yeah, it’s loads of fun watching people do something I can’t.”

“But you
can
, now. All we’ve gotta do is get the car back together.”

“Why?” said Race. “So I can go out there and find out that I’m no good at driving, too? What makes you think I’d still have my edge? You figure somehow that’s sacred?”

I stared at him, caught off guard by this new level of doubt. Even though we’d barely talked about it in days, I’d figured his commitment to working on the car meant he knew he’d drive it again.

“It’s time to face facts,” Race said, standing up and taking his cereal bowl to the sink. “I’m never gonna get back out there, and I’m sick of caring about it.”

* * *

Race’s words shook me, but they also confirmed my theory. Getting in that car was the only thing that would convince him he wasn’t completely useless. I called Kasey at her shop and asked if she’d take me to the speedway that night, but she said she had too much paperwork to catch up on.

“Try Denny,” she suggested. “I’m sure he could use an extra pair of hands in the pits.”

Denny agreed to swing by the house on his way to the track. I waited for him on the bottom step, wearing my
I’m up and dressed. What more do you want?
T-shirt.

“Where do you get those things?” Denny chuckled.

I shrugged. “Here and there. Mostly at the mall. Dad sent me the squirrel one.” I climbed up beside him in the cab of his old, beater pickup.

“Addamsen still leading the points?” I asked as he backed his trailer around and headed down Spring Boulevard.

“Yup. But I’m trying to give him a run for his money—’course I’ll never catch up.” He was quiet a few seconds, negotiating the narrow, twisty road. “Jim’s dropped down to fifth. He just can’t seem to get it together since the wreck.”

“Cry me a river.”

Denny raised an eyebrow. “He still hasn’t been by to see Race?”

“Are you kidding? He’s an asshole.” Just the thought of Jim made me want to slam my fist into something. I rolled down my window and rested my arm on the top of the door.

“Well, some folks have a harder time than others dealing with the bad stuff life throws at ’em.”

“Gimme a break. Race is the one who’s got bad stuff to deal with, not Jim.”

“That’s what I’m getting at,” Denny amended. “Some people don’t know how to handle it when something lousy happens to a friend. I’ve been there myself. I was ten years old when my mom died. My buddies didn’t know what to say. Some of ’em just acted strange, but others stopped talking to me altogether.”

“Well, they were assholes, too.” I slumped in the seat, suddenly wanting a cigarette. What was it about riding shotgun that triggered those cravings?

“Just because people
should
act a certain way doesn’t mean they’re gonna,” Denny said, echoing what Kasey had told me the night before. “Fact is, this thing with Jim is complicated. He’s scared. He knows that if something like this could happen to Race, it could happen to anyone.”