Trust in Me (45 page)

She shook her head, facing away from him. Her hair was down around her shoulders, kissing her neck and back. He wanted to go to her, hold her, put his mouth on her, more than he wanted to take his next breath.

“No, I won’t be picking him up. I’m...busy. Lily’s coming to get him.”

The
I’m busy
set off some primal male alarm. “You’re busy?”

“Yes.” Still, she was turned away.

“Doin’ what?”

“Tucker, don’t—”

His voice rose of its own accord. He didn’t like the feel of this. “What, Beth?”

Sighing, she circled around. “I’ve got a date with Roman Becker.”

He swallowed hard and just stared at her.

“And if you know what’s good for you, for us, you’ll start dating, too. Tara Snow, maybe. We both know she’s interested.”

He wanted to beg her to say she didn’t mean this. At the very least to promise him she wouldn’t let Becker touch her. The thought of the lawyer’s slick hands on his woman made him tighten his grip on the wrench. He felt all riled up and depressed at the same time. But he’d learned from his past that you couldn’t make relationships something they weren’t just by wantin’ it.

“I’ve got to go.” With one last look, she pivoted, stepped into the pretty May day and left him.

For a minute he stood there frozen, staring out at the lake, listening to the water lap onto the shore. Then he turned and hurled the wrench to the side of the garage. It hit paint cans with enough velocity to tumble several to the ground. Their tinny sound reverberated through the bay.

“What’s going on?” he heard behind him. Ron’s voice was concerned.

“Nothin’.”

A very long pause. “Look, if you’re mad about the Indy...” Ron’s tone was so little-boyish it drained some of Tucker’s anger.

“No, I’m not mad about the Indy.”

“You gonna go?”

Was he? He stared after Beth. A ludicrous thought came to him. If he couldn’t have a relationship with her, maybe he’d settle for one with her son. “Yeah, kid, I’m gonna go.”

Another long silence. “Thanks, Tucker.”

“You’re welcome.” Still facing away, he stared at the jumbled paint cans, absently noting the black drips down the side of one. “Go ask Doc what he wants you to do today, okay?”

“Okay.” He thought Ron left, then heard the kid say, “You sure you’re all right?”

“Uh-huh. Just go.”

When he was alone, Tucker crossed to the bench. Dropping down, he buried his face in his hands. How in hell would he make it through tonight with the images of her and Becker torturing his brain?

Just like you did all those years when Ralph Pearson rejected you. Ignored you. Blank your mind, Quaid.

Taking in a deep breath, he summoned The Menace. If he ever needed his alter ego’s stoicism, it was right now.

o0o

RON couldn’t believe he was at the Indy! Over the past few days, he’d had to pinch himself to be sure this was real. From their VIP seats, he stared out at the two-and-a-half-mile track of the famous Indianapolis Speedway known as the Brickyard. It felt like Christmas, his birthday and the first day of summer rolled into one.

“Havin’ a good time, kid?” Doc asked above the din of the thirty-some-thousand crowd. Both he and Tucker were dressed like bums in jeans and T-shirts, with Indy 500 racing caps and dark glasses. When Ron had asked why, Doc had rolled his eyes and said they wanted to be
incognito
.

“You kiddin’? This is the best day of my life.” Ron breathed in the May air, heavy with the smell of gasoline, burning rubber, popcorn and hot dogs. He glanced down at the T-shirt he wore which read,
#52 Quaid/Holt Daytona 500 1990
. Doc had made him change his shirt when Ron came out wearing one that said,
Some days it’s not worth chewing through the leather strap in the morning.
Ron didn’t mind changing; he was getting sick of his nasty sayings.

From down below, two pretty young women spotted them. One called out, “Oh, there he is. Mr. Quaid, will you sign this?”

Ron saw Tucker’s face redden. With a phony smile, he bent over the railing, took the pen and paper offered and signed his name. Geez, Ron didn’t get the guy. Once word spread that The Menace was here, he’d been pestered for autographs. But it was clear that Tucker shied away from the attention.

He liked the races, though. Ron could tell by how he smiled when they’d watched the qualifying rounds and pre-Indy events. Pure joy was painted all over The Menace’s face. It made Ron feel a little sorry for him—like he’d lost a big part of his life when he’d given up the sport.

As he stared out at the warm-ups on the track, Ron remembered Doc’s candid words two nights before, when they’d talked in their palace of a hotel suite after Tucker had gone to bed. One of the things Ron liked most about this weekend was the guy-time he had with Tucker and Doc and the guy-things they did—drinking orange juice right out of the carton, not watching their language and staying up late to shoot the shit.

That night, Ron talked to Doc about Tucker…

 “Why’s he so...I dunno...modest about his success, Doc? Next to Richard Petty, he’s the biggest legend in NASCAR racing.”

Slouched in a chair, Doc was eating peanut butter almond ice cream from a round carton, now that Tucker had gone to bed and he couldn’t bitch about the cholesterol. “Not sure you wanna go there, boy.”

“Whadaya mean?”

Doc stared at him as he munched on the nuts. “Can I talk to you, man-to-man?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Straightening, Doc had set the container on the table in front of him. He leaned over and faced Ron. “It’s ’cause of your daddy, Ron. Tucker ain’t never been the same since then....”

Ron hadn’t ever thought about the accident from Tucker’s point of view. It hit him today as he watched the Indy that driving was a dangerous sport. Crashes happened for a zillion reasons. And for the very first time, Ron had begun to feel guilty for blaming Tucker for his father’s death.

“Ronny, look.” Tucker leaned over and slid his arm around Ron’s shoulder—like a father might—as he pointed to a driver who’d just come onto the track and was waving to a gone-wild crowd. “Know who that is?”

“Oh, geez. Scott Goodyear. Sammy’ll freak out.” Ron grinned. “Think I can get his autograph?”

Tucker and Doc grinned at each other. They’d been doing that a lot this weekend. “I think Doc can manage it.”

“Why?”

Tucker laughed. “Racing’s a tight sport, kid. Goodyear’s crew chief’s an old buddy of Doc’s.”

“Man, you guys are gods in this sport, aren’t you?”

That got a chuckle out of both men. It felt good, to be with them, and not just because they were famous. Not just because they were men on an all-guy weekend.

Ron was beginning to see they liked him.

And he liked them, too.

o0o

TUCKER leaned back in the bar and watched the boy. They’d let him come in this place because Doc wanted him to talk to some technical guys, but Tucker had told Ron he’d wallop him but good if he so much as touched a beer.

Ronny had rolled his eyes, made some smart-ass comment about not being a baby, but Tucker noticed he stayed away from the hooch. Right now he was talking to Eddie Cheever’s crew chief and Buddy Lazier’s designer.

“He’s havin’ a good time.” Tucker took a long sip of his Budweiser and watched the boy like a proud papa.

“Yeah.” Doc eyed Tucker. “He ain’t the only one.”

Tucker ducked his head. “All right, old man. You made your point. I had a good time.”

Leaning over, Doc braced his arms on the table. “Seein’ the big race ain’t eatin’ you up, is it? Like you thought it would?”

Tucker shook his head.

“How come?”

“I reckon maybe because of him.” He nodded to Ron.

“He don’t hate you no more, Tuck.”

“I know.” Tucker’s grin was little-boyish. “Feels good.”

Doc watched him. “You should have kids.”

“I’m forty-three. I figure it’s a little late for that.” Tucker’s gaze hooked on Ron again. “Sometimes I wish...” Tucker caught himself before he finished.

“... he was yours?”

Tucker shook off the thought. “Nah. What’d I do with a bratty teenager?”

“Seems you been doin’ okay.” Doc scowled. “But Tuck, it ain’t that simple.”

“I know.”

Doc sipped his beer. “How is she?”

Tucker gave him his Menace look.

“Don’t pull that shit on me.”

Angling his head away, Tucker thought of the calls he’d made to Beth. He didn’t know Doc had overheard them. “I was just checkin’ to see if she was okay. All alone for five days.”

She’d been okay, except for those in-laws she’d had to deal with. Seems when they got back from Europe and came to see Ron, the Donovans had thrown a conniption fit when Beth had told them she’d let Ron go to the Indy, with him and Doc.

“Ya gotta let her go, boy.” Doc glanced at Ron. “Especially since you made so much headway with the kid. No tellin’ what he’d be thinkin’ if you hooked up with his mama now, after all your denials, after gettin’ tight with him. He might get the notion that you bein’ nice to him to get to her.”

Tucker stood. “I know. I already thought of that.” He downed the last of his beer. “I’m goin’ back to the hotel. See ya later.”

He left the bar without saying goodbye to Ron. This was all nuts. He and Ronny had gotten close, but where the hell had the idea about being the kid’s daddy come from? For Christ’s sake,
that
was a crazy thought.

o0o

“WHERE’S Doc?” Ron shuffled barefoot into the living room of their Marriott suite sipping a soda. The boy was still revved from all the excitement, but his face showed no lines of strain, or rebelliousness, anymore. Tucker was pleased as all get-out.

“He turned in. The pace finally caught up with the old buzzard.” Tucker was leafing through some of the crew chief/designer material the guys, at Doc’s request, had deluged Ron with. And it seemed to be working. Ron had taken a keen interest in that end of the business.

Sinking onto the couch, the kid plopped his feet up on the coffee table. “I can’t believe I got to meet A. J. Foyt and Mario Andretti today after the race.”

Tucker smiled. “Didn’t know Doc had so many ins in this business, did ya?”

“You, too.”

“Nah, the real pros are the designers and crew chiefs.”

Like a typical teenager, Ron snorted. “I got the message already.” He took a bead on Tucker. “It’s called overkill.”

“You’re right.” Tucker picked up the Indy program. “Your mama’s just worried, is all. You gotta make your own choices.” Tucker shrugged. They’d done all they could.

Silence. Rustling. Over the top of the program, he could see Ron thumbing through the magazine. After several minutes, Ron said, “Tucker?”

“Hmm.” He didn’t look up.

“I gotta tell you something.”

“Shoot.” Still, he concentrated on the magazine.

“Since you came to Glen Oaks, I been treating you like shit.”

That drew Tucker’s gaze. He stared at the boy for a long time. “Way I see it, I deserved some of it.”

“Mom says that’s not true.”

“Your mama’s too forgivin’.”

“No, she’s not.”

“Huh?”

“I watched those cars today. I saw them jockeying for place. The crashes. I didn’t understand it then, you know, when my dad died, but now, I see it’s the way the game is played. Crashes are nobody’s fault.”

“I guess you could look at it like that.”

“What I’m sayin’ is, I don’t hold you responsible for my father’s death anymore.”

Tucker felt like somebody stuck a sock in his throat. “No?”

“And Mom’s right, you shouldn’t feel you are either.”

“Maybe. Your mama’s pretty convincing.” A vision came to Tucker. Beth, standing before him, so sure that first night at the police station.
For the record, I don’t blame you for Danny’s death, and if it makes a difference, I wish you wouldn’t blame yourself.

Ron stood and stretched. “So, we square on this?”

“Yeah, kid, we’re square.”

“I’m gonna hit the sack, then.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and thanks for takin’ me here.”

“You’re welcome.”

The kid crossed to his bedroom. At the door he turned. “‘Night, Tucker.”

“’Night, kid.” As the door closed, Tucker lazed back on the couch and closed his eyes. He felt a mite like he’d taken the checkered flag himself that day.

o0o

“SO they’re due back any time, Bethy?” Linc sat in a booth with Beth, looking more rested but still out-of-sorts. Wearing a dark blue shirt and khaki jeans, he adjusted his arm, which, despite the lighter, more mobile cast, was still aggravating. And his inability to be Superman minister was making him antsy.

“Uh-huh.” She glanced at the door. “I really missed him.”

“Him?”

Beth’s face colored. “Ronny.”

“Hmm.”

She fidgeted with the light-pink scoop-necked shirt she wore over jeans. She had
not
fussed with her appearance that day just because she might see Tucker. “It’s over between us, Linc. Not that anything was really going on. Just feelings.”

“Feelings are pretty powerful.”

“Speaking of which, have you talked to Margo?”

“Nope. She won’t return my calls. I’m worried.” He waited. “You called her lately?”

“Yeah, yesterday. You know how she is when she doesn’t want to talk. She babbled on a mile a minute about nothing.”

“By the very fact that she won’t talk to me, we know something’s going on with her. Damn it, she always did have that stubborn Ma Barker streak in her.”

“I’m sorry, Linc.”

He shook his head as the diner door flew open.

Beth didn’t know exactly what she expected from Ronny’s weekend at the Indy with Doc and Tucker, but it wasn’t that they would return to Glen Oaks like conquering heroes back from war. All three of them swaggered into the diner, jostling each other, and making guy remarks. When they came close, she drawled, “Well, I hope they at least showered in the last five days.”

Ron rubbed his scratchy beard. “Looks good, doesn’t it, Mom?” He leaned over and kissed her.

“Ouch.” She soothed her jaw. But she kissed him back. She
had
missed him.