9. Sara
SARA
Four years later…
Danny crossed the finish line in second place, and I screamed so loudly, my throat burned.
The crowd in the grandstand was on their feet and the dust cloud from the pack was still hanging over the track when I grabbed Tiffany and squeezed her so tightly, I knew she couldn’t breathe.
Second place in a field of thirty-two riders was the best finish he'd had all season, and I was proud enough for both of us.
Andy came in seventh, which was solid given that he'd been fighting a bad clutch for the last four laps.
I'd told him before the race that the cable was stretching and he needed to compensate, and he'd waved me off the way he always did.
But seventh was still a paycheck, and a paycheck put food in the fridge.
We cheered from the sideline as they took their cooldown laps and the team gathered at the winner's circle for the podium ceremony.
I stood behind the rope barrier with my clipboard pressed against my chest and watched my brother climb up to the second-place step.
He pulled his helmet off and his hair was matted with sweat, but he had a grin on his face that made him look like a kid again.
The announcer called his name, and the crowd clapped as they handed him his trophy which he raised over his head with both hands. I was so proud of him.
It wasn’t quite the same feeling as the thrill of having a bike under me and crossing the finish line myself, but I'd acclimated to being their pit leader and coach. Besides, with Kip around, I had to take fewer risks. I couldn’t keep putting myself on a bike where injury or death were possibilities when I had a three-year old son to care for, and my brothers knew that.
They'd remind me every chance they got, especially when I went out for a ride or took one of their bikes out to test ride it after a tune-up.
After the festivities were over and the crowd started to fan out, Andy found me and threw his arm around my shoulders.
"Seventh isn't bad for a guy with a dying clutch.
" His stupid grin made me smile and jab him in the ribs.
For twenty-nine years old, he sure was immature.
These boys had no clue how badly they still needed parental supervision.
"Seventh is great. But next time, listen to your crew chief when she tells you the cable is stretching." I lifted both eyebrows up at him, tickling him a little, and he slapped a sloppy wet kiss on my cheek just to annoy me.
"Yes, ma'am." He squeezed me and then let go. "Where's Danny?"
"Finishing up with the press," I told him. "He'll meet us at the trailer."
Andy slung his gear bag over his shoulder and we started the long walk back through the pit area toward our hauler. The afternoon sun was brutal, and the asphalt had been soaking it up all day. I could feel the heat pushing through the soles of my boots.
"You think Danny's going to be insufferable about this?" Andy asked, dodging a kid who ran across our path chasing a dog between two trailers.
"He's already insufferable. Second place is just going to give him a reason to be louder about it." We both had a chuckle about that one, though it was the truth. I sighed happily, knowing a good race made everyone a little less edgy for at least a few days.
"Great. Six-hour drive home with him talking about that last straightaway."
"You could always ride in the hauler with the bikes," I suggested.
"Don't tempt me." He shifted the gear bag to his other shoulder and glanced over at me. "Be honest. How bad did it look from the pit wall when I was fighting that clutch?"
"Bad. Your lines got sloppy in the back half because you were thinking about your hand instead of the track." I kicked a stone with my toe and shrugged. A coach was only as strong as the biker they were coaching, so long as that racer listened to them.
"I was thinking about my hand because it was cramping up from pulling so hard." Andy flexed his fingers and rubbed his palm.
"I told you before the race we needed to adjust it." Giving him a shove, I looked up toward our hauler and then mopped the sweat off my forehead.
"Yeah, yeah."
"We'll get it fixed before the next round."
"Yes, ma'am."
We reached the hauler at the far end of the row, and I dropped the tailgate and climbed up to grab the cooler I'd packed that morning before the sun came up.
The ice had mostly melted into cold water, but the cans were still cool enough.
I fished out two beers and tossed one to Andy.
He caught it one-handed, cracked it, then leaned back against the side of the trailer with his ankles crossed and his head tipped toward the sky.
"This is the part I actually race for," he said, holding up the can. "Everything else is just the price of admission."
I cracked mine and leaned beside him, and we stood there in the thin strip of shade the hauler provided and watched the pit crews around us breaking down their camps.
Generators shutting off, canopies coming down, trailers getting loaded.
The whole place was winding down from the energy of the race, and there was something peaceful about being on the other side of it with a cold beer and nothing left to fix until tomorrow.
Andy nudged me with his elbow. "There he is," he said, nodding back toward the track.
Danny was making his way through the pit lane with his trophy in one hand and his helmet tucked under his arm. He was walking slowly and nodding at people who called out to congratulate him, shaking hands and slapping backs, taking his sweet time because he'd earned the right to enjoy it.
When he finally reached the hauler, he set the trophy on the tailgate and grabbed a beer from the cooler and cracked it open. "Second place," he said and held up the can.
Andy and I raised ours and we clinked aluminum. "Second place."
"Next time, it's first," Danny said. "I had him on the last straightaway, Sara. I had him and my rear tire broke loose in the gravel section. If I'd had another hundred yards, I would've taken him."
"You would've," I agreed, because I'd watched it happen from the pit wall and he was right. "We'll adjust the tire pressure for the next round and give you more grip in the loose stuff."
"That's why you're the best crew chief in the circuit." Danny winked at me the way Dad always did when he wanted to boost my ego a little. It was strange how much he looked like Dad, sort of the way Kip looked like his father.
"I'm the only crew chief in the circuit who doesn't charge you double for being difficult." I rolled my eyes at both of them and we had a good laugh, and five minutes later, the croon of my best friend snaked its way through the chaos to find me.
"Where's my favorite racing team?" she called as she came around the back of the trailer with Kip on her hip, and my heart swelled the way it always did when I saw my son.
He had a sticky red face and a bright smile, and his hair stuck up at odd angles because he refused to let me style his hair this morning before the race.
"Mama!" He reached for me with both arms, and I took him from Tiffany and settled him against my chest. He was getting heavy and so grown up now, talking like a little adult because there were no other kids around and I refused to let anyone baby talk with him.
"Hey, baby. Did you have fun with Tiffany?" Though her parents kept him while the race was happening, Tiffany was my go-to sitter for every race day. I always had too much on my plate to chase after Kip too.
"We got ice cream."
"You did? What kind?" I glanced at her, and she smiled sheepishly because she knew I would never let him have that much sugar without eating dinner first.
"Brown."
"Chocolate," Tiffany translated. "He ate the whole cone and then asked for another one. I said no because I value my life and I knew you'd kill me." My brothers chuckled while I lifted an eyebrow in accusation.
"You made the right call." I kissed the top of Kip's head, and he squirmed and wiggled until I set him on his feet and he immediately ran to Danny, who scooped him up and sat him on the seat of his dirtbike.
Kip grabbed the handlebars with both hands and made engine noises with his mouth while Danny held him steady.
He had to stretch over the fuel tank until he was basically lying down.
"Look at this kid," Andy said. "He's a natural."
"He's three," I said.
"So was Danny when Dad put him on his first bike. It's in the blood, Sara."
Danny pulled his helmet out and set it on Kip's head. It was comically oversized and dropped down past his eyes, and Kip pushed it up with both hands and grinned so wide, I could see every one of his tiny teeth.
Andy pulled out his phone and snapped a picture, and then Tiffany insisted on getting a group photo of all of us around the bike. Danny held Kip on the seat while Andy and I flanked them on either side, and Tiffany backed up and counted to three and took the shot.
"That's a good one," she said, turning the phone around to show us. "That's going on the fridge."
I looked at the photo and saw my family, smaller than it used to be and shaped differently than I'd imagined, but whole.
Then Danny got a second round of beers and raised his can again. "To the team. Best crew, best brothers, best kid in the whole damn circuit."
"To the team," we echoed, and Kip clapped his hands because he thought we were clapping for him.
I was watching Andy chase Kip around the trailer in a slow-motion game of tag when my phone buzzed in my back pocket. I pulled it out and saw Mom's name on the screen and smiled. She always called after race days to hear how the boys did, and I figured this was her checking in.
"Hey, Mom. You're going to be so proud. Danny got second and Andy?—"
"Sara," she said, and it stopped me cold. She sounded scared and emotional.
"Mom? What is it?"
"Sara, you need to come home."
I stepped away from the group and pressed the phone harder against my ear. "Mom, what's wrong?" They were so loud and rowdy, it was hard to understand what she was saying.
"It's your father." She choked out the words, and I heard her sob before she pulled herself together enough to keep talking.
Something was very wrong. I waved at Danny, but he was too busy playing with Kip.
"I found him on the floor of the shop just lying there, Sara.
I don't know how long he'd been there. I was at the diner all day and when I came home, he was on the floor and he wasn't moving and I couldn't wake him up. "
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I leaned against the trailer and asked, "Is he breathing? Mom, is he breathing?"
"The paramedics are here. They think it's a stroke. They're taking him to the hospital right now and I'm following the ambulance, but they told me to call the family." She broke down sobbing again, then said, "They said I need to call the family, Sara. They said to get everyone here."
The phone almost slipped out of my hand. When doctors told you to call the family, it meant they weren't sure he'd make it long enough for the family to arrive.
"We're coming," I said. "Mom, we're coming right now."
"Please hurry, sweetheart."
I turned around, and Danny saw my face and his smile disappeared. Andy stopped mid-stride with Kip in his arms and Tiffany pushed off the trailer and straightened as Mom hung up and I let my phone screen go black.
"Sara, what is it?" Danny set his beer down and took a step toward me.
Tension needled in the center of my back as my shoulders tightened. "It's Dad. Mom found him collapsed in the shop. They think he had a stroke and they're rushing him to the hospital." I hadn't been so scared in four years. "We need to go right now."
Danny's face blanched, and Andy pulled Kip closer to his chest. Even Kip quieted down, tucking his head against my brother’s neck like he knew something was wrong but he was too young to understand.
"Oh, God," Tiffany mumbled, and then she did what I failed to do.
She took control. "Boys, load the trailer.
Sara, you should take the truck and go now.
We'll come up behind." She peeled Kip from Andy’s arms and handed him to me, then swatted at my brothers to get going before she pecked me on the cheek.
"Be careful," she said. "I'll get the boys to grab a bag for you and kip. Go… Get home."
The idea of pulling into Grove Hill again after so long terrified me, but thinking of losing my father was far scarier. Tiffany was right. We had to go and we had to do it now.
I just prayed Dad made it long enough for us to say goodbye.