19. August
19
AUGUST
A few days later, I was headed down I-69, sticky with sweat, my thighs a little shaky and my abs aching from the strenuous positions I’d already been in this morning.
It’s not what you think.
Wade had actually left for the garage when I was still dead to the world, which turned out to be a good thing, since Bernadette showed up at my door before my first cup of coffee, armed with a couple of yoga mats and a set of two-pound weights. She’d somehow managed to convince me to do a series of stretches and sun salutations with her by the pool, and then run me through a small core-centric circuit that she expected me to repeat daily for the next six weeks.
Daily .
I tried to explain that, as the reigning queen of Procrasti-Nation and a lazy so-and-so, I wasn’t ready for the advanced moves she was showing me. She told me to stop complaining, because she had eighty-year-old clients that did more every day. And if I was going to race a car, I had to be physically as well as mentally prepared .
I couldn’t argue with that, but I could still whine, because no matter how good it eventually made you feel, starting a workout routine after a lengthy stint as a couch potato sucked.
She followed up the circuit with this mystery road trip, basically ordering me to put on long pants and sneakers and bring the racing helmet and gloves I’d bought online. I didn’t argue too much about that either. I didn’t even force her to tell me where we were going, despite my trepidation.
My only explanation was that I was in a strangely agreeable mood lately. It must be all the sex I was having with her brother.
So now we were driving south on the interstate, with Jiminy’s windows rolled down and the hot wind tearing at our hair (when the lunch-hour traffic permitted us to go that fast).
Bernie checked her phone and then shook her head with a groan. “Aw man, what did I do to deserve this?”
“What is it?”
“Phoebe is running through her yoga moves and sending me supportive messages that she doesn’t think I know are recycled Taylor Swift lyrics.” She turned toward me. “Where did I go wrong, August? I love rock and roll. I sing rock and roll. And my daughter is playing her favorite Taylor songs on a loop every day and calling this her ‘Pregnancy Era.’”
Since I had Swiftie leanings myself and didn’t want to sound unsupportive, I changed the subject. “You said we’d talk meeting strategy on this road to nowhere you’ve got me driving.”
An impatient Gene had scheduled our Lemons conversation for tomorrow night. Apparently, there would be an official exchange of money for the car title, along with discussions of timelines and training schedules for the race. Since I’d agreed to work at the icehouse for a few extra hours because Patty had an appointment, we were all meeting up there when I was done.
Chick hadn’t called me back since I told him. He’d already bought his airline tickets and was bummed to miss the meeting, but it couldn’t be helped. It was September and the race was in less than two months. The team was starting to panic.
Bernie rolled up her window a little to hear me better over the wind and got down to business. “I thought we should be on the same page before the guys show up tomorrow. My brother we can handle, but the other three are bulldozers. If they can, they’ll plow right over us and we’ll end up sidelined.”
“They wouldn’t do that.”
“You need to trust me when I tell you how they work. Lucy can and will use his talkative charm for devious ends. Gene’s more stubborn than your sister on a bad day, and Rick is the worst of them all.”
I frowned. “Are we talking about the same guys? The only one who’s argued about me driving so far is Wade.”
“They’re lulling you into a false sense of security,” she assured me. “Some of them think women are too emotional to drive.”
“Did someone actually say that? Is this the same person that banned you?” It couldn’t be Gene. He wouldn’t stay married to a woman like Morgan for long if he believed that. And I didn’t want to think it could be Lucy. He was a sweetheart, and he wasn’t as invested in the driving as he was coordinating the race itself. “Was it Rick?”
“Yup.” She popped the p in a puff of displeasure. “He said it the last time I asked if they needed another driver for the race. They decided to add Dave instead, and we all know how that turned out. Talk about emotional.”
I grimaced. “Well, we obviously have to crush that man like a bug. Metaphorically speaking, because he’s actually a little intimidating and probably knows ten ways to kill someone with his pinky finger. But we do have Wade on our side now. And I still own the car they need if they want to have one in time for this very special anniversary. I don’t think we’ll have any problems, as long as we stick together. ”
Feeling her eyes on me, I looked away from the road long enough to catch her smiling. “What?”
“I like this. Hanging out with you. Sticking together. It brings back good memories.”
“It does.”
“Which reminds me, I need to apologize for being a shitty friend for the last few years.”
My heart clenched. “No, you don’t.”
“I wasn’t all that welcoming when you moved back.”
“We don’t have to?—”
“I do. I made up my mind that you’d hit the big time and turned into a California avocado-toasty priss. You not showing up that often proved my point, as far as I was concerned. Phoebe told me I was wrong, but I didn’t listen. Because I was jealous.”
“Jealous?” I gaped at her. “In what universe could that possibly be true? Not the avocado thing, because I know you love them too, so I’m not apologizing for that. But jealous?”
“You went on the road with Sam while I stayed home and chased after a toddler.” She started ticking off a list on her fingers. “You lived in Hollywood?—”
“ North Hollywood. And that was only for a few years.”
“You dated actors and hung out with screenwriters who became your new best friends,” she went on as if I hadn’t interrupted. “You put out three bestselling books in three years, and there were movie rumors.”
“They were only rumors, and that actor I dated was a cheater who couldn’t memorize his lines,” I reminded her. “Meanwhile you raised a brilliant child who loves you, started your own business, and still have weekly paying gigs with The Wreckers.”
“I co-own the studio with my brother and our only stable weekly gig is at his icehouse,” she muttered gloomily.
“I’m not listening to any negative talk from a woman whose body is an actual temple that men still stand in line to worship at. I saw a literal line the other night after your first set, and they weren’t trying to get selfies with your drummer.”
Look at us. A mutual admiration society.
“I have to work for this temple more than I used to since I hit the big four-oh,” she admitted. “And dating is exhausting. You don’t know how often I long for a month off to cuddle with an endless supply of chili cheese fries.”
I was about to suggest we find a restaurant to split an order, since my workout had made me munchy, when she continued, “I didn’t force my way in the door after the memorial because things had been so off between us, and I thought you needed space. I should have known better. Life is always messy and complicated, but none of us should go through it alone.”
“Are you telling me it takes a village? Is that what yoga has done to you, B? Are you a walking motivational poster now?”
“You laugh, but it does take a village, in spite of your silly Retta rules.”
I pressed a hand to my chest and gasped. “What is it you Hudsons have against our rules?”
“They’re hypocritical. You, Sam and Morgan made us family in every way but one—you shared all the good and none of the bad.”
Shaking my head, I said, “I don’t think that’s true.”
“Come on, August. We didn’t know about Sam’s triple bypass until it was over. We never know when Morgan’s having a rough patch. And you shut us out the same way.”
“I do not.” She’d obviously given this a lot of thought, but did I have to point out all the ways her family had been helping me through my rough patch recently?
“I’ve been thinking about it, how unfair I’ve been to you when you’ve always been there for us in the ways that counted. You kept me sane during my pregnancy.” She was ticking off fingers again. It seemed to be her day for lists. “You put Phoebe’s college fund over the top with your first big check and never forgot to be there for all her special moments, despite the distance. You even filled out your sister’s dating app when she was hesitant, and then nagged her continuously until she poked Gene back, so you get to take credit for their happiness too.”
Okay, I did like to remind her about that every anniversary. “You’re welcome, Morgan.”
“You bought your mother a place here so she could be happy near your sister and a good cardiologist while still being independent,” she went on. “You gave my brother somewhere to stay that wasn’t my couch, even though you’d barely spoken to us in years and I’ve been a bitch to you. You’ve done all of that and more, and yet whenever you’re in trouble or hurting, we only hear about it secondhand, when it’s too late for us to be there for you.”
I reached out and squeezed the hand she’d been counting on for a moment before letting it go. “You’re being here for me now. And I don’t think Mom meant for you to feel excluded, Bernie. I know Morgan doesn’t. They’ve just always been sticklers for taking care of things on their own.”
I thought about my reaction to Morgan reading the journals. Bernie said I was like them, but it had never felt true to me. Morgan had protected me from bullies when I was younger. Mom had always been there, giving me a hand up when I needed it. And unlike Morgan, I’d needed it more than once. Was that what I’d worried about finding between those pages? Evidence that, as close as we were, she secretly wished I was more like them?
This was getting too maudlin.
“As for Phoebe,” I said, lightening my tone. “She’s my godchild and that was entirely selfish on my part, since I missed my baby window and she might be the only one willing to take care of me when I’m old and crotchety.”
“It’s not too late for you to come to the dark side. I hear forty-three is the new thirty-three. ”
“That doesn’t feel remotely accurate. Oh, this is our exit.”
I slowed Jiminy to a crawl after turning down a street that I realized was leading directly to an actual racetrack. The clues had been there and I should have known, but maybe I’d just been so relieved the workout was over, I didn’t care what came next.
“Don’t worry, we’re only going to look around,” she assured me before I could whip a U-ey in the driveway. “Things are less frightening when you can visualize them.”
“Visualizing. Sure. Then what are the helmet and gloves for?” I asked suspiciously.
“You’ll see.”
My grip tightened on the wheel, but I turned in anyway. There was no one working in the guard shack, but Bernie said she had permission, so we drove right through and did a slow tour of the facilities. She pointed out the various garages and covered paddock spaces, fuel pumps, skid pad, viewing stands with bleachers and tables underneath and, of course, the closest parts of the track. I was surprised and a little dismayed to see so much concrete everywhere. I’d heard the guys talking about “the paddock” and assumed there’d be more of a Kentucky Derby vibe, with plenty of dirt and grass to horse around on.
“What’s the skid pad for?” I asked anxiously as we passed it. The black circle on the concrete told the tale of thousands of smoking tires doing endless screaming donuts.
“Don’t worry, it’s not for us. The skid pad is mainly for testing a car’s handling. Lemons is about driver endurance, not vehicle performance.”
She eventually directed me between a couple of garages and through a different driveway, then had me park in front of another long, low building, alongside several other cars. When she opened the passenger door and stepped out into the sunshine, grabbing her helmet with gloves inside it, I turned off the engine and grabbed mine. Maybe we were getting them inspected?
Keep dreaming , I thought as I got out. It sounded like there were some damn big bees buzzing on the other side of the building, and they were warning me to run.
“First of all,” I said as we walked toward the end of the building, “I would like to point out that an hour away is not a tiny bit of a drive . Which is what you promised when I agreed to get in this car.”
“It is in Texas. And Jiminy deserves a few normal road trips before he transforms.”
Since I was really feeling our workout, I stopped and handed her my helmet, then did a slow squat-and-stretch. “You said working out would make me feel better,” I groaned at the twinges I was feeling everywhere.
She let a sideways smile escape. “Stretch it out. Trust me, in a few weeks you’ll appreciate the effect a little flexibility can have on the forty-something’s love life. You want to be able to enjoy being in your sexual prime instead of throwing out your back or pulling a muscle, don’t you?”
“That’s an interesting sales pitch,” I said lightly as I took back my helmet, “I’m not sure I’m your target audience.”
“Based on the energy I’ve been getting from you and my brother, I think you are. All I’m saying is, you might want to limber up sooner rather than later.”
Sooner. A lot sooner. Like a few days ago. If you counted the foreplay, over a week. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She stopped mid-step and turned around to stare at me with her penetrating brown eyes. “You’re as bad at lying as my brother is. It’s already happened, hasn’t it? That’s why you were limping when you let me in this morning.”
“I wasn’t limping .”
I really was. Epsom salt baths couldn’t solve everything.
“Oh yes, you were.” Her brow furrowed thoughtfully. “I wasn’t expecting it to happen this soon. Snails move faster than my brother when it comes to women he’s interested in.”
“We’ve been making out since my first day at the icehouse.” If I weren’t holding a helmet, I would have slapped both hands over my mouth.
Why had I told her that?
You always told her everything.
Yes, when I was thirteen and in the throes of puppy love. Back then, I mostly loved the fact that he knew who Prince was, liked to read and actually paid attention when I spoke—the three things guaranteed to impress a quirky teenage girl.
More recently, it was the lazy lion vibe he gave off. Like he’d been lounging around for years, calm and unaffected, but when he was ready to pounce? Look out.
I barely had to use my imagination to finish the story I’d been writing. The one I’d been letting him read spicy snippets of in bed. I was basically a sex stenographer now, using my recovery periods while he was at work to transcribe our dirty activities, take muscle relaxing baths and hydrate. At the rate we were going, I’d be writing a second book before I knew it.
“Is it weird that I want to say good for you? And talk about how you might be a natural manifester, because you used to write his name all over your notebooks while imagining your wedding, and now you’re limping ?”
Of course she’d remember that.
“I’d rather talk about the fact that you had me drive over an hour to stand in this hot parking lot when we could be eating chili cheese fries and recovering from our yoga session.”
“Sure. We can change the subject. For now. Welcome to the goal we’re manifesting today.”
We rounded the side of the building and I stopped short when I finally saw what all the buzz was about.
“These are go-karts, Bernadette.”
“Oh, come on,” she said, waving her hand to indicate the entire area. “I took you all around the paddock and you can literally see the real track we’ll be driving on in October from where we’re standing.”
It was nice to finally have an image in my mind. To be honest, it was giving me all sorts of ideas I wanted to write down. Or it was until she started directing me to an actual activity.
“And now we’re literally seeing go-karts. Tell me you weren’t planning for us to drive one.”
“I can’t tell you that, and they call it karting here. Look at them, August. These are not the go-karts of our misspent youth.”
She wasn’t wrong about that. They were small but intimidating. Low to the ground, and from what I could see of the drivers that were currently on the track, very fast.
Everyone out there was wearing helmets and gloves. No one was playfully bumping into each other. These were serious drivers. Those were serious turns. And, “This is a seriously bad idea. I’ve never driven with a helmet before.”
“Exactly my point.” Bernadette pushed her sunglasses down to look me in the eye. “Would you rather the first time you did that be in a car by yourself? Or in this safe space with your oldest friend?”
“Safe space, my ass. Speaking of my ass, can we even fit in those?”
“There are grown men out there, twice our size. Stop stalling.”
I lifted my phone and snapped a picture of the track. “I’m sending this to Chick later. After he’s forgiven me for The Betrayal.”
“He sounds as dramatic as the rest of our menfolk,” Bernie said wryly. “When he gets here, he’ll fit right in.”
She led me to the man who seemed to be low-key in charge of the small group waiting to race. He took our money and made us sign a waiver releasing the track and everyone associated with it from all liability in the event I injured or killed myself behind the wheel (Because obviously it would be me who did that, not Bernie). After he checked our helmets—mine was plain white, while Bernie’s was fuchsia with a golden lightning bolt on the side—he gave us a rundown on kart operation, basic racing techniques, track rules, and safety protocols.
I was happy to hear that deliberately bumping other vehicles was considered dangerous and would be grounds for being asked to leave, but by the time he was done, I was even more nervous.
He set us off to the side and told us we’d be in the next group of drivers, which left us with five minutes to kill.
“That looks faster than forty-five miles an hour,” I told Bernie.
She put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “You can start out as slow as you want. It’ll be fun. Trust me.”
I wanted to, but my stomach was a little uncertain about this entire outing. At least it was mid-day on a Tuesday and not that crowded. There were maybe ten people on and around this track that didn’t work here. I always liked fewer witnesses when I was planning to embarrass myself.
“Sam would have loved this,” Bernie said.
“She actually didn’t like go-karts. She was more of a roller coaster kind of girl.”
She’d said it was because when she was little, her family had worked at and lived behind an amusement park, and her bedroom was an arm’s length away from the tunnel portion of their biggest roller coaster. She’d heard people screaming every night and wanted to be out there joining in the fun.
I’d always thought it explained a lot about how difficult it was to get her to relax.
“No, I meant us entering Lemons. She would have been first in line to be on our team.”
“I know.” I had the proof on my phone. “Not Morgan though.”
“Not Morgan,” she agreed. “Although when they first started, she was so excited about it I was sure she’d join them. Or join me and start an all-girls’ team to smoke their lap times. Your sister is no slouch behind the wheel.”
She’d had a bit of a speeding problem in her teens, if I remembered correctly. “Why didn’t she?”
“It was supposed to be a race with his best friends. A wish fulfillment with the guys. She didn’t want to get in the way of that.” Bernie shrugged. “That’s marriage for you.”
I laughed at the expression on her face. “Still not a fan of the institution?”
“I mean, it’s fine for other people. I can tell Phoebe wants it. But after Yvonne’s experience? And Wade’s?” She sighed. “It only made me more thankful that I slipped that noose with the teenage dirtbag, aka sperm donor, before it was too late. We would have been miserable together, you know?”
I remembered her telling me all about the seventeen-year-old bad boy who’d skipped town when he found out she was pregnant. She’d thought she was in love with him, but as soon as she knew Phoebe was growing inside her, all she could think about was what a bad influence he’d be. When he left, she was genuinely relieved. If I recalled, so was everyone else.
“How are things with you and Morgan, August?”
I made a face. Things with us had been stilted and uncomfortable. My fault, I knew. But at least we were still talking. “We’re fine. How is Phoebe feeling about her mother wanting to race her way into granny history?”
“For your information, other grandmothers do it all the time. But yeah, Phoebe doesn’t appreciate my need for speed.” She perked up. “Which isn’t fair, when you think about it, since she participated in a Lemons event a few years ago. So did Morgan.”
“They did?” Why hadn’t I heard about this?
“They went on one of the rallies with Gene that first year.”
“A rally? Not a race?”
She nodded, her smile growing as she spoke. “The way she described it made it sound like a blast. Basically, it was this hilarious scavenger hunt through New England. Just driving around like tourists and stopping for funny photos and activities.”
“That sounds more my speed.” Why hadn’t Mom wanted to go on a rally?
“We should do one together.” She was using that Wonder Woman grip of hers on my arm again. “August, we have to do it. With your big brain and my ability to talk my way out of tickets and into free desserts, we’d be unstoppable.”
I arched a skeptical brow. “How many tickets are we talking about here?”
“I can’t remember. That’s how many.” She rolled her eyes at me. “The next big rally is in March, so we’d need to borrow someone’s van or…Wade’s friend has a 1984 Crown Vic station wagon he wanted to sell. I could make that work.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t scoop that up when the team was looking for a car.” Thankful, but surprised.
She took out her cell phone and started texting. “I’m betting it costs a lot more than five hundred dollars.”
Was she buying our “rally car” right now? “Let’s get through this race first. If I survive it and I’m still here, we’ll do the rally. Deal?”
She looked up and stared holes through me, obviously trying to do some manifesting of her own. “You will survive and you’ll still be here. We’re doing it.”
I hadn’t meant to upset her. To be honest, I hadn’t liked saying it either. If I’m still here . “I guess we can’t let Phoebe and Morgan have all the fun, can we?”
Her lips curved. “No, we can’t.”
Phew. “Okay. Do you have any pointers before we go-kart our way into glory?”
She rubbed her hands together. “I do. I brought you here because I wanted you to get a feel for racing in a fun environment, to get used to the rhythm of the sharp turns and straightaways.”
“The rhythm?”
“You’ll think you have to take the turns fast, but if you do, you can drift or spin and it will slow you down when it’s time for you to speed up. There is a rhythm. Today, we need to find yours.”
“I’ve never had your rhythm.”
“Very few people do.” She sent me a wink. “You’ll get your own.”
“Any other hints before we get out there?”
“Yes. There are two teenage boys over there who are going to be in our batch and show you, by example, all the wrong things to do.”
“How do you know?”
“They’re teenage boys, and I recognize their body language. Just watch me, watch your turning, and stay away from them.”
Adrenaline raced through my veins when the stone-faced man led us to our karts and buckled me in. When the engine started, my hands were shaking, my butt was vibrating, and my head was sweating in the sock that went on under my helmet.
Oddly enough, I suddenly wasn’t afraid at all.
It was go-karts. Who could ever be afraid of go-karts?
It was me. I was the one that could be afraid of them. And my rhythm was more in line with Myrtle the Turtle’s. No wonder I loved that car.
An hour and a half later, I was turning into our neighborhood, my body still humming from my thirty-minute racing fail.
“You were fine,” Bernie assured me for the tenth time. “You were thinking too much, and I knew those kids would be little assholes. But you started getting it there at the end. ”
I glanced over at her in disbelief. “How do you know? You were too busy trying to break the sound barrier. Seriously, you’re amazing Bernie. They were intimidated by you. I was driving like an old lady who didn’t know what she was doing.”
“But you had fun?”
“I did.” I stunk up that track with my lack of skill, and I’d had to pull in for equipment checks twice after my wheels went off the track, but it was exhilarating, and I’d enjoyed myself more than I had in a long time. “I had so much fun.”
“Good. Now we’ve got a baseline, and on Friday we can go to the track that’s only fifteen minutes from here and try it again. After that? We’ll graduate to real cars.”
“Wait a minute. There’s a go-kart track fifteen minutes from here?”
“Don’t be mad about the drive. You needed to see that track, so you’d know what you were getting into before the meeting. Now you do. Why is there a moving truck in your driveway?”
“What?” I parked at my curb and got out of the car, staring at the truck in confused consternation until I saw the men beside it.
Then my confusion left my consternation in the dust.
There were six of them, and they were all in short shorts and matching purple tanks that made them look as if they’d stepped directly out of an 80s workout video. Or an X-rated movie set.
“Hey, boys. You lost?” Bernie asked saucily from behind me.
“If this is your place, we’ve got a special delivery for you,” the tallest one purred, eyeing her with interest.
“I bet you do,” she purred right back, making me snort, which was, in all cases, the opposite of sexy.
I addressed the young man with the tablet. “This is my house, and I didn’t order anything.”
“We’ve got a king sleigh bed with a matching dresser, one side table and some accessories for a guest room,” Tablet boy responded, sounding bored .
I choked, my smile disappearing. That son of a— “There’s been a mistake.”
He looked down and tapped his pad again. “A Chick Martin already purchased this to be delivered to a Ms. August Sunshine Retta at this address.”
“That’s her. She’s Sunshine,” Bernie rushed to say before I could deny it.
The six twenty-somethings nodded at the confirmation and stripped off their shirts in a well-practiced bit of choreography that sent my jaw plummeting to the driveway. “What is happening right now?”
“Our job,” Tablet said with a flexing shrug. “We’re The Magic Movers. Like those Magic Mike movies, but with furniture. We deliver the goods while delivering the goods.”
“We’ve got your package right here. That’s all you had to say,” Bernie added before I lightly nudged her with my elbow.
“Ow.”
I had no idea something like this existed in the world.
“He shouldn’t have done this.”
“‘You Need to Calm Down.’” Bernie snapped a few quick photos with her phone, smiling like a mad woman. “Apparently, I’m okay with making Swift references when the situation warrants it. Let’s relax and enjoy the view. After today, we deserve it.”
“ You enjoy the view. And you guys hold your abs for a minute. I have to make a call.”