Chapter 32
Alyssia
“Alyssia, are you certain you’re okay to handle this?” Jeanette asks as she comes running into the room we’ve set up as our department’s control center for the next few days.
It’s race weekend in Monaco. The day has finally come for our organization’s first charity event.
I try to think about how much of a fun experience this will be for the children and not about how one employee called the cars ‘rockets on wheels.’
Rockets are supposed to launch in the air, where there aren’t things like metal poles and steep curves to navigate at one-hundred and fifty miles per hour.
Conversely, now when darker thoughts start to cloud in, I think about the trip to Silverstone. Seeing the safety features up close helped to lighten some of my fears.
Are you sure? I shake off the thought.
“I’m positive,” I tell Jeanette, who’s been running around since this morning, ensuring everything runs smoothly.
“Okay, okay,” she says, sounding like she ran a mile.
I go over to the table of the conference room and pour a glass of water before taking it to her.
“Merci.” She takes the glass and chugs half of it down in one gulp.
“Isabel is doing well with the influencers. She’s out with them now,” I remind her.
“Yes, yes.” She nods. “You’ll have to excuse me. I get worked up on race weekend. It’s always a pleasure to support a worthy cause, but it is a lot to handle. Are you sure—”
“I’m positive,” I assure her in French. It seems to relax her when I speak her native language.
“The children will be here in about ten minutes, and then Gunther will come to give them his presentation before we walk them out to the paddock to meet a few of the drivers and watch some of the practices.”
I run through it to assure and remind her that we have this all under control.
“Perfect.”
A moment later, she heads out to meet up with Isabel before I hear a group of children.
“I heard we’re going to meet Max Ferreira,” one of the children says as he enters the room.
It hits me then that that’s the same last name I heard at Silverstone. Different first names though. I have to assume there’s some relation but before I can question it, the rest of the children spill inside.
Their excitement electrifies the room.
“I can’t wait to meet him,” another little boy exclaims.
The children are accompanied by a woman dressed in a white button-up and black pants, with a VIP tag that denotes her position as the chaperone.
“Hello,” I greet, arm extended. “Come in.” I have her and the children take a seat around the table.
“Good morning,” I wave from the front of the table.
Six out of the ten wave back, while three give me smiles or nods. One little boy remains silent and seemingly completely unfazed by it all.
I watch him for a beat before speaking again.
I give the children and their escort a brief introduction, showing them my name tag that hangs from a yellow lanyard around my neck.
“On behalf of the collaboration between the Jacqueline Reed Foundation and Formula 1, we all welcome you to this year’s—”
“Are you pregnant or just fat?” the little boy who’s been silent up until now suddenly asks.
A few of the other kids cover their mouths and snicker.
“Alain!” their escort chastises. She stumbles over her words in English until she switches to French to admonish him properly.
“It’s just a question,” he tells her in French, then looks slyly at me like he’s pulled one over on me.
“Yes, I’m pregnant,” I reply in French.
His eyes widen, but then he sinks lower in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.
I watch him for a few more seconds. There’s something familiar about his countenance. It reminds me of someone …
Before I let myself get sidetracked, I continue my introduction and go over the day’s events. As soon as I finish speaking, Philo Baier, the lead engineer for Kr?mer racing, enters. A few of the children start whispering excitedly with one another.
“Hello,” Philo greets, but it comes out more as ‘halo’ due to his German accent.
Philo keeps the children entertained by showing pictures of his career and clips of races. I make myself watch the short, one minute race videos.
If I can’t watch this, I won’t be able to watch the actual race on Sunday, I reason.
A sigh of relief passes my lips when I make it through all of Philo’s footage. He goes on to explain more about what the children will see up close today when Alain yells out, “That’s stupid!”
The children’s escort calls his name, but he keeps going.
“It doesn’t make any sense. It’s dumb. I don’t want to be here!”
“Go sit in the hallway then,” she tells him.
With slumped shoulders and a poked out lip, Alain stomps out of the room. The need to check on him overcomes me. I make eye contact with the children’s escort, and she nods when I gesture toward the hallway.
Alain’s crouched, arms folded, leaning against the wall as he stares at the concrete floor. He doesn’t say or do anything as I approach, but I notice the red splotches on his cheeks.
My heart of hearts tells me this little boy is angry at the world about something but doesn’t have the words to express himself.
“Philo took time out of a very busy day to be here with you today.” I speak to him in French.
“So what?” he mumbles in French.
I go to crouch down in front of him, but my belly stops me. I find a folding chair and bring it over to sit next to Alain.
“Didn’t you want to be here today?” I ask since all of the children had to apply and explain why they were interested in the field.
“No.” He shakes his head, but it feels more of a defiant response than the truth.
“Then who filled out the application for you?”
He’s quiet for a beat. When I think he’s going to ignore me, he says, “My mom.”
It’s the way his voice cracks on the word mom that a painful memory comes rushing back to me.
A few weeks after my parents’ death, my grandmother and I had gone over to my old house before selling it. I checked the mail and there was a big envelope with my mom’s name on it.
The university name was familiar since my mom had let me in on her entire process of applying to Ph.D. programs. As a teacher turned principal, she always stressed the value of education.
The first word in the letter was ‘congratulations.’
I burst into tears.
That sorrowful emotion is exactly what I hear in Alain’s voice.
I don’t need to ask if his mom died because there’s a deep, innate knowing inside of the pit of my stomach that answers the unasked question.
“My mom died, too,” I say the first and only thing I can think of.
For the first time since I’ve stepped into the hallway, Alain lifts his head to look at me.
“How?” His voice is smaller, the anger diminishing, being replaced by grief.
“Car accident.” I manage to choke the words out. “My dad, too.” I keep the fact that I was also in the car to myself.
He lowers his head again, but not in a dismissive way. “I didn’t know my dad. Mom said he didn’t want a family.”
My chest tightens and I force myself to breathe past it.
“Mom got sick.” His voice is barely a whisper.
“It sucks so much,” I say without thinking. When I start to believe I should’ve come up with something more profound to say, Alain raises his head to look at me again. There are tears in his eyes, but the faintest smile on his face.
After removing an unused tissue from my pocket, I pass it to him. He uses it to wipe his tears away.
“My dad loved science. He taught high school chemistry. Did your mom like science?”
He takes a beat before answering.
“I told her I wanted to learn to build the cars I saw on TV,” he says in an almost whisper.
“She helped you apply for this program?”
“Yes.” He turns his head to look toward the closed door. “Now she’s not here.”
“But you are, Alain.” I scoot forward, sitting on the edge of my seat. “It hurts a lot now, but you’re still here and your mom wanted this for you.”
He wipes a tear that falls with the tissue.
“You don’t have to participate today if you don’t want to,” I assure him. “But don’t give up on your dream.” I blink, doing my best to keep the tears from falling. “Make your mom proud by keeping your dream alive.”
I don’t know if he understands what I’m telling him, but the words fall as if coming from a deep, long-ago buried place within me that’ve been dying to get out.
Alain doesn’t answer but suddenly he sits up straight, his eyes going wide as he looks at something behind me.
I turn to find Travis, dressed in his bright red racing suit, approaching us.
“You’re Travis Townsend.” Alain’s voice comes alive.
“Nice to meet you.” Travis extends his hand for Alain to shake.
I watch, wordlessly, as he crouches down in front of him and asks his name.
“Alain.”
“Amato Racing fan?”
“Of course,” he says, furiously wiping at his cheeks so Travis doesn’t see his tears, I suspect.
“Then you’re staying until Sunday to watch us win, huh?”
Alain looks from Travis to me. I nod in encouragement.
“Yes,” he finally answers.
As soon as he does, the door opens and Philo comes out, followed by the rest of the children and their escort.
“Alain, are you coming?” she calls.
He rises to his feet and high-fives Travis, who holds up his hand. Then he surprises me when he reaches out with both arms, wrapping them around my neck, and whispers in my ear, “I’m sorry about your mom and dad.”
It’s so quick that I have to wonder if I imagined it all.
Through blurred vision all I see is Alain sprinting away to catch up with his group.
Travis takes my hands into his.
“Are you oka—”
I throw my arms around his shoulders and bury my face deep into his neck, inhaling. Emotions too thick and dark to name wash over me, but I hold tight to Travis. Somewhere, without my knowing, he’s become the person I want comfort from. The one I want to hold when I get scared.
Travis turns into my rock when he slides his arms around my waist, holding me to him. He rocks us soothingly, all while telling me it’s okay as I release the pent-up emotion.