Speed Demons (12 page)

“Well, it’s the same ocean, so that figures.” Evie crinkled her nose as she smiled. “Let me show you your room.” She tugged at Blythe’s arm. “It’s the prettiest room in the house. I put up the wallpaper and painted it myself.”

“Really?” Impressed, Blythe stepped into the small guest room located down the small corridor off the far end of the living room. Light green and yellow pastels gave the room a serene, spring feeling. White, airy curtains reached all the way to the floor. A French door led to the balcony, which was really a large deck built on the stilts. “I love it.”

“You’ll have only a twin bed, since the rooms are small. Is that okay?”

“Remember who you’re talking to.” Blythe chuckled and gestured at herself.

“Oh, right. You’ll be fine. Now, my next pride and joy.” She took Blythe’s hand and guided her across the narrow hallway and into a room perhaps thirty percent larger than the guest room. “My bedroom.” It sported a queen-size bed, and the colors were deeper, more saturated. Maroon, navy, and gold told an entirely different story of this room and its occupant.

“This is gorgeous. Did you do this room too?” Blythe noticed that it had a partial view of the sea.

“Yeah, it was fun. I bought this place with some of the first money I made, and everybody told me to remodel and extend it. I didn’t want that. I just wanted this house for me. If I wanted a visitor, like I do you, then I have one guest room. This way I can be here alone, and nobody expects or can possibly be offended that I don’t ask them to join me.” Evie tangled her fingers into the hem of her white T-shirt. “I know that probably sounds pretty conceited.”

“No. It sounds honest. And it clearly comes from a woman smart enough to draw the line in the sand very clearly. This is your home, with the emphasis on yours. I’m very glad that I get to stay here with you. It’ll make my work infinitely easier.” She glanced out the window. “And as long as you don’t expect me to brave the waves out there, I’m really going to like it.”

“Brave the waves? Wouldn’t dream of it. I mean, I love sailing, waterskiing, swimming, and such, but not everybody is an aquatic life form.”

“That’s for sure.”

“Then again, I’d never climb a tree during a hurricane.” Evie looked pointedly at her before she chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m not so sure we should start comparing notes about our daredevil records.”

“Better not.” Evie turned around. “Let me show you the kitchen and the library, and then we can carry our stuff inside.”

Blythe tagged along, admiring the rooms that had clearly been modernized—the L-shaped kitchen with a breakfast nook, and the bathroom that held both a soaking tub and a shower stall.

“It’s okay to share a bathroom, right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good. Some women are a bit funny that way. I didn’t think you’d be one of them, considering how you’ve been used to roughing it. Still thought I’d ask.”

“As you say, compared to last year’s accommodation, which was pretty much a roll of paper and a shovel, this is heavenly.”

“A shovel?” Evie winced visibly. “Really? That sounds horrible.”

“Trust me, after a while, that was the easy part. Didn’t even think about it toward the last part of my assignment.”

“I’d love to hear more about your experiences.” Evie looked serious. “I have several of your books, and I’ve looked at other photos on the Internet that you’ve taken, but even if they tell their own story, I want to hear yours.”

Tugging at her locks, an old habit, Blythe looked curiously at Evie, who in turn gazed back with completely guileless eyes. She had no idea what it was about Evie’s eyes that allowed her to see so much of her—maybe because Evie’s eyes in a strange way reflected some of herself.

“Okay. I’m glad we’re here in more ways than one,” Evie said as they returned to the car to get their luggage. “I don’t know about you, but that bed at the hotel outside Fredericksburg was horrible. What had they stuffed in the mattress? Bricks?”

She chuckled. “Actually, I was ready to bet on some leftover junk from a mining enterprise.”

“Sounds about right. Both the beds here are Tempur-Pedic, so I promise we’ll sleep better.” Something ghosted over her face, a paleness that came and went so quickly Blythe nearly missed it. She didn’t miss why, though. Recurring nightmares.

“I’m sure we’ll snooze like babies. Just listen to those waves rolling in. That’ll be soothing.” That probably wouldn’t be the case, but Evie looked self-conscious enough as it was.

“Yeah, I think so too.”

They carried their bags up, and Blythe found she actually loved the sound of the waves while unpacking. She’d forgotten how the ocean sounded down here. She’d grown up in a similar house, only slighter farther from the beach. Myrtle Beach was a tourist paradise, and her family had moved there from Raleigh when she was three. So many things in her life had sucked, but the sound of the ocean wasn’t one of them.

Evie poked her head through the doorway. “Want to go out to dinner or go grocery shopping?”

“How about both? Eat out, then shop for some stuff?” She shoved the empty suitcase under the bed. “That way I can make you breakfast before we head to Darlington tomorrow.”

“How domestic.” Evie grinned. “You said you’re a horrible cook, remember?”

“I know. And I am. But—that said—I make some mean blueberry pancakes.” She pushed herself up from the floor. “Just don’t ask me to do something elaborate.”

“I won’t.”

“If you do some of the cooking, I’ll wash all the dishes and clean up the kitchen.”

“Sounds fair to me.” Evie jangled the car keys. “Ready?”

“Sure.”

On their way to the car, Blythe wondered if she should rent a car after all. It didn’t seem necessary since she was here to shadow Evie. She took her small point-and-shoot Canon with her in case an opportunity for a photo showed up when she least expected it.

*

“Evie! Over here! Evie. Ms. Marshall. Who’s the gorgeous blonde with you? Can you girls pose? Aw, come on, just once.”

“This was clearly a mistake,” Blythe muttered under her breath as they exited the restaurant. “We should’ve dined closer to Pawleys Island.”

“Nothing there was open, unless you were in the mood for super-greasy burgers. It’s not high season anymore, except for the vultures who track the NASCAR drivers.” Evie knew Blythe wasn’t used to this. She hated it too, but it was even more embarrassing when the paparazzi included Blythe. “I wonder who the hell called them. Honestly, I’m usually treated with respect down here. It’s not like New York or California, where paparazzi come up through the cracks in the sidewalks.”

“Well, with the tip we left, I’m prepared to go back inside and demand our money back.”

“Oh, boy, you’re really miffed.” She studied Blythe, whose blue eyes looked dark gray by now.

“I know. I’m sorry. This isn’t your fault. I’m just…I guess I’m disappointed.” Opening the door of the car, Blythe got into the passenger seat. “Better hurry. They’re crossing the street.”

“Buckle up.” Evie turned the ignition and let her beloved Chrysler 300 station wagon sweep by the vultures with cameras. “Let’s lose them.”

“You sound gleeful,” Blythe said suspiciously.

“Me? Nah.” Shifting gears, she passed two cars and slalomed back and forth until she nearly ran a red light. Checking the rearview mirror, she saw that some paparazzi had access to scooters, and fast ones, from what she could tell. Smiling broadly, she appreciated the challenge. It was one thing to outrun another car, but for a large vehicle like hers to get away from motorcycles or scooters would take some serious driving. “Hold on, Blythe.”

“All right.”

She saw Blythe grip the door handle, and then she focused on turning the car left into a one-way street. Before the scooters appeared in her mirror again, she turned right. Two intersections later she spotted two scooters, but that was at least five less than before. Speeding up, she took the next left turn so fast, Blythe gasped and placed a hand on the dashboard.

“Let go. Never hold on to the dashboard. Airbag.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Next right again. Ready?” Turning the wheel and gearing down, she took the curve so close to the sidewalk the front wheel on that side touched it. “Next right again.”

“You sure? Won’t that take us back to them?”

“Nope. Large mall coming up.”

“Mall? Why…oh.”

“That’s right. We need eggs. I was promised pancakes.” She enjoyed Blythe’s surprised guffaw. She made the right and saw the large, quite full parking lot coming up on her left. No scooters had caught up yet when she turned into the parking lot and pulled into a spot between two SUVs. “And this is one of the reasons I drive a regular car. What if I had that Porsche my father thought was the least I should go for? Or, heaven forbid, a Maserati, or a Ferrari?”

“I’m kind of glad you’re driving this car too. For two reasons, mainly.” Blythe unbuckled her seat belt with slightly unsteady hands.

“What reasons are those?” She unfastened her own belt and turned to Blythe.

“First, I don’t want to think about how fast you’d be driving through Myrtle Beach in a Ferrari. My heart’s still somewhere in my throat area, I think.” Blythe swallowed as if it were true. “And second, how would I have been able to spend time on the road here with you, with all our bags and stuff, in a car that can barely hold more than a toothbrush?”

She laughed. “Come on, oh brave soul. Let’s get those eggs and the rest of the groceries before they close.”

“On one condition.” Blythe placed her hands on her hips.

“Condition?” She blinked.

“You let
me
push the shopping cart. I’ve had enough of your kamikaze driving for a little while.”

She laughed again, placing her arm around Blythe’s shoulders. “Sure thing. Anything for those pancakes.” Blythe leaned into the touch, which made it her turn to gasp. She felt oddly protective, something that was redundant because Blythe certainly didn’t need sheltering, but even so, she still felt that way. She reminded herself sternly that they were going grocery shopping, for heaven’s sake. Hardly traveling through enemy territory. Unless the paparazzi had spotted them and found it thrilling to sell pictures of her buying milk and apples.

Blythe grabbed a shopping cart and they stepped inside Walmart’s grocery section. Nobody paid any attention to them, and she relaxed. Placing her hand on the shopping cart handlebar next to Blythe’s, she couldn’t stop smiling.

Chapter Twelve

Flipping open her laptop, Blythe drummed her fingers impatiently against her thigh as it booted. She started up Photoshop and inserted the flashcard from the camera into its slot, eager to see today’s photos. She never got tired of seeing the images for the first time. It was like reliving and rediscovering
life
, and now, to watch Evie in every situation throughout the day, private and public, added a delicious dimension. Then she performed the all-important routine of saving the photos to the laptop, but also to the external hard drive and to a virtual hard drive in the cloud online. She refused to lose any photos because she was too lazy or naïve to back them up.

Blythe began to review the morning’s pictures first, deciding to proceed chronologically even if that wasn’t always how she worked. She simply made herself inconspicuous behind the camera and let life unfold for her subject, whether it was a high-ranking U.S. Army officer, a peasant Afghan woman, or, as in this case, an amazing, brilliant, and gorgeous NASCAR driver.

This morning, Evie had seemed conscious about Blythe’s presence at first, but after a while, she managed to tune her out and kept going about her day. The picture of Evie eating blueberry pancakes while reading a thumbed, tattered copy of
The Hours
was a keeper and might just make part of the cover. Her dark hair hung around her face, and in one photo, Blythe had managed to capture how Evie raised both hands, an impatient look on her face, wrapping a scrunchie around her hair. The gesture was so sensuous yet personal, especially with her half-annoyed expression. Blythe shortlisted this photo for the book.

The next photo that struck a chord showed Evie stepping out of the house, glancing at the beach and the rising sun. Again, her expression gave Blythe goose bumps. Soft, full of awe, her eyes so brightly green in the light, her mouth barely open, Evie seemed goddess-like. Her lips, curvy and full, and damp from just sipping her coffee-to-go, formed a faint smile. Did Evie meet each day with such wonder, each sunset like it was the first she’d ever laid eyes on? Somehow, Blythe didn’t think that notion was entirely impossible. Evie was a strange mix of worldly, seasoned, even cynical, but also childlike and innocent. Blythe found this contradiction hard to capture but thought she was well on her way to doing it.

She browsed through more of the photos, and soon she reached the ones where they approached the track. Blythe sat facing Evie with the camera as she drove to Darlington, and the closer they came, the more impeccable Evie’s posture became. Back straight, shoulders back, chin out, lips tense. Viewing the photo of Evie carrying her sports bag across the parking lot toward the racetrack, you would think she was off to do battle. And maybe she was.

A series of photos of how Evie donned her inflammable undergarments and the coverall would go into the book, for informative reasons, but also because Evie’s expressive face gave her away. The more pieces of her outfit that she added, the more her persona altered. Any softness around her lips or any wondrous expression in her eyes disappeared. Blythe frowned. Was Evie having fun at all? Was she doing this for herself? Or was she back in the NASCAR circuit to prove something, and in that case, to whom? Herself, her father, her fans, or her sponsors? Whatever her reasons, this woman of steel was the direct opposite of the woman who’d read
The Hours
and loved a beautiful sunrise earlier. Then again, Blythe surmised, that was how it had to be, perhaps. A person had to adjust and be different personas during different situations.

Evie in the Viper, gripping the wheel, only her eyes visible before she slammed down the visor. Only a few photos of the Viper passing them at different distances. Training had gone well, according to Ben. Another photo showed Evie stepping out of the car, tearing off her helmet and balaclava, her hair flying in a wide-fanned angle. Static electricity made it crackle as the wind whipped it, and looking at this photo, Blythe relived the moment, heard it.