28. Wade
28
WADE
Three weeks later…
I leaned against the side of the bug with my elbows on the roof, squinting against the sun as I scanned the colorful crowd of vehicles, drivers and spectators for any sign of August.
Grid time, when the cars would start lining up for the race, was in less than an hour and I still hadn’t managed to find a minute alone with her. She’d left with Chick at the crack of dawn this morning and been on the go ever since. I’d thought about going to look for her, but that was probably the surest way to miss her, so I’d planted myself here thinking she’d have to show up sooner or later.
We brought the bug in the trailer on Thursday evening, during early registration, so we’d have our pick of the twenty-by-forty-foot spaces in the open paddock. We also set up the tent and anchored it to the trailer in case the winds picked up at some point. But the weather was gorgeous, probably seventy degrees with a forecast high of seventy-eight, and not a cloud in sight. Late October was the best time of year for a race.
“What are you doing, Wade?” Chick asked behind me .
Immediately moving to the rear of the car, I popped open the deck lid and crouched for another look at the engine. “Last-minute check.”
I could really use a loose wire or a cracked hose right about now. Anything to keep me too busy for small talk. It was nothing against Chick—I’d actually been enjoying his company since he moved into the apartment a few weeks ago—but I wasn’t in the mood to talk right now. Not to anyone who wasn’t August.
Unfortunately, there was nothing left to do to the car. Jiminy was in as good a shape as he had been coming off the production line. Better, because I hadn’t ruined a classic, no matter what the judges said when they placed the Good Enough sticker on the windshield and declared us ready to race.
He wouldn’t be in the same condition after this weekend, but I’d resigned myself to that reality. I was more worried about the drivers.
One driver in particular. And it isn’t your sister.
I had more sympathy now for Morgan than I used to—her husband did this up to three times a year. I doubted it was what she’d signed up for when she married an accountant who loved board games. Still, she said she worried more about him holding a sword than sitting behind the wheel.
“Check for what?” Chick asked. “Didn’t Jiminy pass the Tech and BS inspections yesterday?”
“The judges aren’t looking for vehicle maintenance issues,” I said, tugging on a hose as if there were a snowball’s chance in hell it might be loose. “That’s my job.”
“I’m still peeved Kingston got to film all of it, but I wasn’t allowed to watch anything except their Test & Tune session.”
The team had paid extra for August and Bernie to have a little time on the track yesterday afternoon. They’d never driven Jiminy here, and I felt the newest drivers should get a feel for how he handled in the turns before the actual race. Bernie hadn’t needed it, but August had been grateful.
“Don’t take it personally, Chick. Gene loves the bullshit inspection and you’re the better bullshitter. Most likely, he didn’t want you stealing his thunder.”
“Don’t sweet-talk me, Captain Wade, or I’ll start thinking you like me.”
Giving up, I sighed and pushed up from my crouch, closing the lid carefully so I didn’t ding the wrap before finally looking over at him. He was dressed like he was on his way to some clambake in Maine instead of a racetrack in Texas (I might have googled “Things to do in Maine” recently). And he had on one of those newsboy caps as his only shield from the sun. October or not, The Great Gatsby over here was going to burn unless he stuck close to the tent.
“You’re okay I guess,” I told him. “But you need a bigger hat.”
“You really do like me!” he said, playfully pumping his arms. “Pardon my Sally Fields impression, but the word on the street is Wade worries to show he cares. Also, I have a giant hat in the RV I can swap this out for if I need to. I’m good, big guy.”
Ignoring him, I scanned the crowd again. Still no sign of August. Damn it. I couldn’t wait until this weekend was over and I could finally have more time alone with her.
A few days ago, I’d woken up with my face buried in her hair and my hand on her ass. Life was good and getting better all the time. Things weren’t perfect—we had a puppy to chase, work to accomplish and lives to manage. We had Chick and Bernie showing up to chat more often than I’d like. And we’d argued a couple of times since I officially moved in—once when I tried to convince her to put her bed in the guest room so we could use mine instead (I’d succeeded. I spent a lot of money on it for a reason)—but we’d made up not long after, making love and laughing over a pint of peanut butter ice cream in the middle of the night.
My mornings hadn’t been nearly as pleasant since then. Between training for the race, slowly handing back the reins to Phoebe at the icehouse and working on edits for one book while promoting another, she was usually up and gone before I was. And by the time she fell into bed at night, all she needed was sleep.
Meanwhile, I was training Oscar to take a bigger leadership role at the garage. I’d also made Phoebe an equal partner at the icehouse, giving her more control and a substantial raise in the process. And since August had told me about Todd’s unexpected offer on her house, I’d introduced him to the retired football player and his perfect home. They already had a signed contract and would be closing in January. Morgan was really happy about that. So was Bernie—she loved having them around, but she also loved sleeping through the night. And she needed her privacy for reasons I didn’t want to speculate on.
Slowly but surely, I was moving all the pieces of my life around to make more time for myself. More time for August. The woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. The one who had agents and journalists blowing up her phone, appointments to keep and was spending more time with Morgan lately than I ever did.
But there was still a line between us. A deadline. A starting line. A line I thought I’d be ready for when it got here.
Until I looked at the calendar and realized the weekend of the race had arrived.
“Another fearsome scowl from Captain Wade.”
I shook my head in resignation. “I keep telling you, I’m not captain of anything. I’m only the pit crew.”
“You can’t change my head-canon. Where’s the rest of your two-man crew anyway? The bearded protégé.”
“He’s wandering the paddock, checking out the competition.” Dalton was in paradise. He’d clicked so well with the rest of the guys, they’d be fine with him if or when I eventually bowed out as their mechanic.
That pinched more than I’d thought it would. But it was worth it, if it meant I could have more time with August.
Yeah. I was a fool for the woman.
“Hey, 71? Can you two move out of the shot?” asked a tall man with a silver beard, a Panama hat and a cigar in his mouth. The yellow band on his wrist identified him as one of the drivers.
“He means us.” I nodded to the number on our car and pulled Chick two large steps away so a few more people could snap pictures of Jiminy with their phones.
“I love our Mouse Trap Civic,” the guy said, “but it’s great when people make their cars look this pretty. Just because this is Lemons doesn’t mean we can’t have nice things.”
Another driver, a large Hispanic man wearing a cartoon mouse on his shirt, lowered his phone to stare at him. “That’s exactly what it means, Roy. It’s implicit in the title. We’re all supposed to be racing fugly lemons that we decorate for laughs. Not classics that are dolled up for an art car parade. Like that hot tub Lincoln a couple years back. That was some funny shit.”
“Then why are you taking so many pictures?”
“Because my wife just lost her dad and I wanted to honor him. It’s giving me ideas for the art car parade.”
“Hey, does that movie poster say?—”
I swore under my breath. “Move it along, guys.”
“Sorry, man. Thanks.”
When they finally wandered away, Chick grinned. “Jiminy’s wrap is a hit.”
“It’s not bad.” I’d taken a few unobtrusive snapshots myself, because it was a piece of art.
It shouldn’t have worked. Movie posters from every film Sam Retta had worked on, good and bad. Airline tickets, letters, postcards and family pictures all blended into a brightly colored mosaic that drew the eye, with the background the same bright yellow as the car itself.
Life in Motion.
That was the official name of the theme. Sam’s busy life wrapped around a racecar.
But not only hers.
August’s book covers were on there too, along with a copy of Morgan’s master’s degree, wedding photos and those expensive pics they’d taken of their collies wearing scarves and sunglasses. There were images of Bernie singing with her band. Gene ringing the bell as he finished his chemo. Phoebe at the icehouse with Todd. Lucy and Rick in their Marine uniforms with their arms over each other’s shoulders. Chick and Kingston, each separately walking a red carpet, had been placed side by side. I’d also spotted a teenage Kingston holding a camera bigger than his head the night we filmed that horror movie. What was it called again? Some title that had nothing to do with the badly-pieced-together storyline. Duck Vengeance .
So many memories.
There was one of me, working on a car when I was barely eighteen, and another, working on this one, not long after they’d moved back home.
Most significant of all—at least to me—August had included a picture of the two of us at Morgan’s wedding. She was laughing, her flowers covering half her face while I looked down at her like I’d been hit over the head with a two-by-four.
A blind man could have seen it, even then.
August had made this. She’d cobbled together all the disparate pieces of our lives and turned them into something cohesive and mesmerizing. She’d told a story and, like all the others she’d written over the years, it was made of fucking magic.
She didn’t know it, but this would be Jiminy’s first and last race. I’d already handed over five hundred dollars to Gene and he’d taken it without a word of protest. He didn’t want to ruin this masterpiece any more than I did. Just yesterday, he’d bought Dalton’s high school ride, a green ’76 Plymouth Duster his parents had sold him for two hundred dollars. The body had taken a beating over the decades, but the meticulously maintained high-performance V8 engine would leave most of the vehicles in the paddock in the proverbial dust on the straightaways. Gene was already itching to get started on it.
As soon as I thought of him, he wandered out of the home-base tent toward us, a huge grin on his face and that ridiculous Joe Dirt mullet on his head. He wore his favorite neon-green Hawaiian shirt over his fire suit, with a calculator shoved into the chest pocket. He said it worked, because it represented the many facets of his unique personality. Like Rick’s Coast Guard cap, Army T-shirt and Marine tags. Or Lucy’s lack of a costume. “My life is too layered for a single outfit to convey. But this is usually what I’m wearing while it's happening.”
“Any last-minute issues?” I asked. One of the judges had shown up this morning wanting to talk to him again.
“There are no issues. They love me and our sisters. I left him with Bernie and one of my famous breakfast hot dogs. He was trying to get her number after praising us again for our y u rune classification. They appreciated our pitch. It tugged on some heartstrings.”
“Maybe they were just relieved you didn’t have a ten-minute one-man play ready to go this time,” Chick said sourly, still pouting over being left out of the fun. “I’ve been hearing strange stories about you and chili in unusual containers.”
Gene guffawed at the reminder. “That first year was legendary.”
“And disgusting,” I told him. I didn’t want to think about that or the part my sister had played in yesterday’s inspection. “Is August with her?”
“I haven’t seen her since the drivers’ meeting. Maybe she’s in the flashy RV that made this guy my new favorite person.”
Chick preened. “I may not drive, but I bring all the best presents. And now you’ll never be led astray by Dave the Dick again.”
He and August had come roaring into the paddock this morning in a high-end RV he’d apparently purchased “for the team” so the drivers and crew had someplace comfortable to relax between shifts. The man might have more money than sense, but no one could say he didn’t take care of his friends.
Since August had initially assumed it was a rental, I was betting she’d try to convince him to return it before the weekend was over.
“Hi guys.” Morgan walked around the side of the tent and slipped her arm through her husband’s. She looked happier than I’d seen her in the last few years. Her recent trip and that fresh start she and August had decided on appeared to be working out for her. “Bernie said one of the judges cried at the pitch, but only after you told him Mom worked on Blind Fury and Highway to Hell . Is that true?”
Gene’s smile softened for his wife. “What can I say? He loves really bad movies.”
“Hey, there were good movies too,” she said. “And she worked on that reboot of The Twilight Zone for a few years in the eighties. Everyone loved that. Why do people only remember the junk?”
“Would we call a Rutger Hauer movie junk?” Chick asked skeptically. “He was in Blade Runner and Ladyhawke .”
“He was also in Hobo with a Shotgun , Omega Doom and had a bit part in your Mutant Bounty movie,” Gene countered. “I don’t think he’s all that discerning with his acting roles. ”
“Getting him was a coup for that film,” Chick said a little defensively.
When Morgan rolled her eyes at me, I forced myself to smile. “Have you seen your sister?”
“She was saying hello to Mom’s friends and the Haywoods while I was getting them seated in the stands. It’s crazy back there, and you know she’s not big on crowds. Maybe she needed a moment or two to herself. Oh, here comes Kingston. He’s been filming everyone all morning. He might know.”
My jaw tightened in frustration. Where the hell was she? I really needed to see her before the race.
I turned to see Kingston striding toward us, with Lucy and Rick hot on his heels.
“They don’t allow drones for any aerial shots,” he complained, “I couldn’t get August to give me a pre-race interview and now Lucy says I can’t plug in my audio recorder to his sound board.”
“You didn’t say anything about touching my equipment,” Lucy shot back. “We already attached three camera mounts inside the car for you. Front view, driver view and rear view. Then we mounted a few exteriors on the bumper to catch the road action. But I have a system in place and I need you not to fuck with it.”
Lucy was serious about his system.
“Tell him you’ll record it for him with your audio dongle-thingy so he can add it to his edits,” Bernie said, popping up on the other side of Rick suddenly enough to make him flinch.
“I thought you were in the tent,” he muttered.
“I’m freakishly fast,” she warned him. “You’ll find out later.”
Lucy was nodding slowly at her. “I can do that.”
Kingston looked like a vein might burst in his temple at any moment. “Fifteen minutes ago, you specifically said there was no way you could do that.”
The redhead shrugged. “You didn’t turn your body into a pretzel for the judges. ”
“Does anyone know where my sister is?” Morgan asked helpfully.
“She was aimed toward the parking lot a few minutes ago,” Rick said. “Moving fast. Green around the gills.”
Bernie’s smile turned worried. “That’s not good.”
“That’s normal newbie nausea,” Gene countered when his wife glanced at him in concern. “I wasn’t feeling great before my first few races either, remember?”
“Maybe you shouldn’t eat hot dogs for breakfast,” Chick muttered.
“I’m going to go check on her.”
Everyone looked at me with varying levels of interest and worry.
“Don’t get distracted,” Gene warned. “We have less than forty minutes before the car is on the track.”
“You’ve got to be cooler than this, man,” Lucy said, shaking his head. “I know you’re living together now, but women don’t like being chased. They dig the mysterious guys who act like they don’t give a shit about them.”
That probably explained why he spent so much time in the doghouse.
“That’s a rumor started by insecure men who need coddling,” Chick said dryly, earning an interested look from Kingston. “If it’s the right man, women love to be chased.”
“As long as it’s consensual,” Bernie added, “otherwise it’s stalking.”
“Only females under thirty love a mystery man,” Morgan agreed with an amused look. “The rest of us have smartened up and want something different.”
Honesty, orgasms and comfortable shoes, I’d heard. “I appreciate all this input I didn’t ask for.”
They knew better and so did I. I loved the hell out of them all, but right now, August was the only one I could think about .
“Excuse me?” The leader of another group of paddock wanderers waved to get our attention. “Could you all move out of the way? We want to take a selfie with 71.”
“I’ll be back,” I said to no one in particular, escaping before I could get sucked into another discussion that wasn’t about the race or what my life was going to look like after it.
Rick said she’d been heading toward the parking lot. I’d start there.
I strode through the forest of trailers and campers that would transform into a small community campground as soon as the day was over, rudely ignoring everyone who recognized me and waved or called my name.
They were all good people and I’d apologize later. Right now, I needed to get to August and find out what was spooking her. And then I needed to make my confession.
I still hadn’t been completely honest with her, and it had been rubbing me the wrong way all day. I hadn’t told her how I really felt about her or how long I’d been feeling it. I hadn’t told her that the last few months had been the happiest I’d ever had, that I was crazy in love with her, and that I needed her to start thinking about the future again instead of just living in the moment, so I could find a way to be a part of it.
After she’d opened up enough to let me in, I’d realized that all my worries about becoming my father were bullshit. The people I loved would always be important to me, and August was one of those people now.
If— When her books took off and she needed to travel, I wanted to split my time between joining her and keeping the home fires burning. If she wanted to buy the damn RV from Chick and start wandering the countryside, I would be there beside her.
I wouldn’t lie and say I didn’t want to keep the house as our home base, but it seemed I was becoming more adaptable in my old age. Forty-nine now. I could take a breath and live a little. Take some risks. With her.
You have to tell her.
This race had been my mental line in the sand. I’d been giving us time to get used to living together. Giving myself time to get over my own hang-ups. But that time was now up.
“Do you mind?” I asked, snagging a water bottle from a random open cooler, not surprised at the genial nod I got in response. It was a mellow crowd, for a bunch of adrenaline junkies.
I reached the parking lot and saw her pacing next to her CRV. Her curls were held back in two French braids and she wore a cute pair of denim overalls over her cooling suit.
She was talking to herself, and I stopped to watch as tenderness filled my chest and wedged itself around my heart. She did that a lot—talked to herself when she was working on a story or a problem, or just wandering around the house with the dogs.
I loved that.
I loved seeing her dolled up for work at the icehouse one day and sitting at her computer with mismatched socks and three forgotten drinks on her desk the next.
I loved the way she could be in the middle of falling apart and set her problems aside the minute someone else needed her, the way she had with Todd and my niece.
I loved how she liked the way words sounded and edited herself mid-conversation to pick a better one.
I especially loved the way she crashed into sleep, and how lost she looked every time she woke up, like she’d been somewhere far away and couldn’t remember how she’d gotten back. And how, when her eyes finally focused on me, her smile always said she wasn’t at all mad about the change in location.
The more I knew about August Retta, the more I loved.
It wasn’t the idea of her anymore. It was the reality I was in love with. The funny, anxious, reaction-video-watching, reality-challenged siren who teased me for wearing a headlamp and keeping extra caulk in the garage. The woman who could still blush five minutes after she’d dragged me to the bedroom for “research.” The woman who loved me covered in engine grease. Who refused to give up a twenty-year-old car named Myrtle because they’d bonded .
She was the one for me.
All I had to do was tell her.
“How are you doing, Gus?”
She bounced a little in her fire-retardant sneakers and glanced my way in acknowledgment, but didn’t stop pacing. “Hey, Wade. You know me. Doom-spiraling into a panic attack. Same old, same old. What are you doing out of the paddock? Or the pit, or home base—did you know you all call it something different? The race starts in less than an hour.”
“Thirty-five minutes now. You want to tell me what’s going on with you?”
“Not particularly, no.”
I held up the water bottle. “I brought something to make this conversation a little easier.”
Her eyes narrowed on it. “Are you using my trick on me?”
“It’s our thing now. This happens to be a bottle of water straight from the honesty pool.”
I had clearly lost my mind, but the spark of amusement in her eyes said she appreciated it, and that was all that mattered.
“No judgments, remember?” I continued, moving closer. “Just some straight talk to get whatever’s going on in your head off your chest. Did someone say something that upset you? A judge or one of the other teams?”
She snatched the water bottle out of my hand like a talking stick and started pacing again. “Everyone here is very friendly. Like Stepford friendly. Like they know you’re going to die, so they’re lulling you into a false sense of security friendly.”
“So when you said doom-spiraling, you weren’t emphasizing the doom enough. Have you ever considered writing horror?"
She smirked for a moment and met my gaze. “Fine. They’re genuinely decent people with no secret evil agenda. Is that better? Gene really stumbled onto something here. I’m not surprised Mom wanted to be a part of it. I am surprised that someone didn’t manage to talk me out of joining in before things got this far.”
I wasn’t about to remind her of my initial reaction. I leaned against the car and crossed my arms. “You don’t have to do it.”
“What was I thinking ?” she went on, as if she hadn’t heard me. “A few defensive driving lessons doesn’t make me that Danica chick. And I know there are better female drivers to mention, because she’s gone all lizard-people gonzo, but you know what I mean.”
Did I?
“I’m not a risk taker. Do you know I’ve never competed in an actual sport in my life? Video games and bar trivia don’t count.”
“I was never going to say they did.”
“Thank you for getting it.” She spun on her heel, pointing her water bottle toward the paddock. “Chick went all out for this. Did you see that RV? Bernie gave me a crash course in stretching and another in speeding. I’m super flexible now, thanks to her.”
She really was.
“Morgan showed up. Everyone is here.” The water bottle now pointed at the stands. “Five of my mother’s oldest friends came here to support her car. Cyndy, Dayna, Eddie, Susan… Beatrice even flew in from London . They made Jiminy T-shirts and hats, Wade. Well, Eddie is wearing a ‘Free Robert Duvall’ T-shirt, which is related to this ongoing Trivial Pursuit joke he had with Mom, but he’s holding a sign and everything. And Phoebe keeps calling and demanding we FaceTime because she wants to be a part of it, even though she’s dealing with a three-week-old baby and our two dogs.”
That made me smile. Our two dogs.
I was easy to please.
Meanwhile, August wasn’t done spiraling.
“If I crash and burn in front of them—hopefully not literally—after making such a big deal out of this? I will never get over it.” She stopped pacing again. “You were right from the start. I should have thought this through and realized it was a horrible idea for me. The good news is that the car is still in the race. That’s all that matters. It might even be better this way. No one will notice if I chicken out, go home and hide under the bed for the rest of my life. They’re probably expecting it.”
I needed to put a stop to this now.
“Unlock Myrtle, Gus.”
“What? Why?”
“Please.”
She made an “Ugh, fine” face and pushed her key fob. As soon as I heard the beep, I opened up her door, put her in the back seat and came around to sit beside her.
“Don’t try to distract me with your big sexy body and its ability to manhandle me like I’m a paperweight,” she said with a suspicious look. “I’m panicking.”
“Would it be okay if I addressed a few of your concerns?”
“It won’t help, but you can try.”
“Chick didn’t fly out here for the race,” I told her. “He flew out for you—okay, and to get away from that over-amorous wrestler, but he really came to be here for you . I imagine the same is true for your mother’s friends. They came to support you. Meanwhile, Bernie’s stretching and speeding might have started out for you, but they also distracted her from her grandmother blues, which were becoming an issue. And Kingston has enough film to make two documentaries, whether or not you ever agree to his interview.”
She stared at my hand’s slow movement up and down her arm. The honeysuckle-and-jasmine scent in her hair was getting to me in the close quarters.
Focus up, man. She needs you.
“You’ve done more than enough to make yourself and your mother proud. You don’t have to race if you don’t want to. People will notice, but not one of them will think any less of you.”
She dug her forehead into my chest and shook her head. “That’s the whole problem of me, Wade. I will think less of me and I do want this. At least, I want to want it. But as usual, whenever I get close enough to a deadline or finish line that people expect me to cross with flying colors, I hesitate.”
“You know that’s not true.” I blew out a breath against her hair. “I swear, Retta women are the most stubborn females on the planet. You hold yourselves to impossibly high standards. You finished two books. You joined a Lemons team and got them all behind your vision. You survived a hurricane, let a grumpy old mechanic into your life, and designed the perfect memorial to Sam’s life with the car she loved. Those aren’t insignificant accomplishments, August. You might not be able to see it, but I do. And you dazzle me every day.”
She lifted her head and stared into my eyes, her lips parting in surprise. “I dazzle you?”
I wrapped my hand around hers, holding the water bottle with her so she’d know I was telling the truth. “If we’re being honest, you always have.”
Tell her.
I swallowed hard around the tightness in my throat. “You know whatever you end up deciding to do, Gus—race or no race, stay or go—I’ll always be on your side, and at your side. ”
She leaned forward and kissed me before I could tell her that the reason I would be there was because I loved her.
I’d tell her in a minute.