Chapter 20
Her entire family ambushed Mack as she exited the infield restroom-turned-locker-room, smothering her with hugs even though she reeked of a funky combination of physical exertion, nervousness, and post-practice nausea sweats. Her dad was unfazed.
“My Spec, flying around Indianapolis. I knew it. I knew it would happen yet,” Wes croaked as he hugged her.
Emotional, Mack pulled away. This was how she wanted her dad to see her, not the exhausted, cranky bitch she often was at home. He’d never made his love conditional, but dammit if she didn’t want to earn his praise anyway. “Shh! I haven’t even qualified yet.”
“You smell funny.” Shaw pinched her nose, doing her duty as a child to keep her mother humble, even as Mack squeezed her tight. Single parenthood was often isolating and thankless, but it all made sense when Shaw squeezed her back.
“I figured you might want a ride home, and Dad and Shaw are dying to show you the RV. According to my niece, it is the height of luxury. Could we escort you to our father’s newest home with wheels?
” Laurie managed to turn yet another of Billie’s homemade T-shirts—a tie-dyed blue-and-white swirl with her name in bold black cursive—into a fashion statement with white jeans and sky-high sandals.
A tram drove them through a long tunnel under the track itself, exiting into the grassy sprawl of a parking lot as the sun kissed the horizon.
Each time Mack saw an Indiana sunset, all open skies and waving fields and golden apricot light, she felt it in her bones.
Indiana was permanently imprinted in her insides.
Even if she’d kept racing, she never would have left the land that made her make sense to herself.
She closed her eyes and inhaled the bright floral scent of tulip poplars and dogwoods and the verdant tang of freshly mown grass.
They jerked to a stop at a massive burgundy-and-gold motor coach parked in between dozens of other campers.
Wes proudly ushered her inside, and she instantly traveled back twenty years.
This motor home was three times the size of the one they’d grown up in, but the concept was so familiar Mack swore she could smell the vinyl seats and Wes’s Old Spice cologne.
And yet, nothing in this coach felt like Wes.
The stainless steel appliances, plush fabric seating, and stone tabletop were a far cry from the orange corduroy and peeling Formica they’d grown up with.
A sign proclaiming Welcome Y’all adorned the entryway, and a bouquet of fake white lilies sat on the dining table.
Black-and-white buffalo check curtains hung at the windows, and a framed watercolor of a field—with a sunset startlingly similar to the one outside—hung over the small kitchen sink.
The entire place smelled like the candle section of Walmart.
Not for the first time, Mack wondered how her dad could afford such a luxury vehicle.
She desperately wanted to ask, but she worried the answer would be too terrifying.
She’d deal with that after Indy. After she qualified and raced and knew the full extent of what kind of money she owed Janet.
If she couldn’t find sponsorship, she might be paying back Janet and the RV mortgage for the rest of her life.
She’d have to find a second job, maybe a third.
Shaw tugged on Mack’s arm as she chattered about all the RV’s features, pointing out the dining bench that turned into a sofa, the small bathroom, a row of bunk beds, and large primary bedroom at the back.
The hallway was lined with rows of black-and-white photographs in matching frames, and Mack stopped when a familiar image snagged her attention.
A cigarette dangled from a younger Wes’s lips while his hands held a large trophy.
Perris, California. Early on in the heat races, her dad flipped his car, bouncing end over end before landing upside down.
Mack was too young to worry much, but Laurie had sobbed until Wes, like a stray cat, crawled out of the mangled chassis without a scratch.
He went on to win the main event later that night as the banged-out dents in his car gleamed in the overhead lights.
Mack had been full of childlike glee at her dad’s victory, but Laurie hadn’t spoken to their dad for two days afterward.
Their family history played out in grayscale down the hallway.
Wes toasting cans of Miller High Life with his racing buddies after winning the Chili Bowl Nationals, Wes standing on the roof of his car after winning his seventh and final championship.
Laurie at thirteen, holding a cardboard microphone at a makeshift podium Wes made for her when she complained about not being able to compete at the school spelling bee.
Mack at ten, helmet in hand, the top of her head not even clearing the roll bar of her first quarter midget.
Twenty-year-old Mack, sweaty but smiling after a stint at 24 Hours of Daytona.
Laurie, peering over the top of Persuasion.
At the end of the hallway hung a large portrait of Mack and Laurie at four and eight years old, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. Mack touched a finger to the place where their cheeks smashed together.
“You like it?” Billie asked, startling Mack. Her hands were clasped together, an expectant look on her face. She didn’t know if Billie was asking about the RV or the photos.
“It’s nice,” Mack managed. Where had Billie even found these photographs? It was unsettling that someone she barely knew had seen the still shots of their lives and known exactly how to display their past so that they’d remember the good parts, not the bad.
“It’s awesome!” Shaw said as she clambered onto the top bunk, swathed in ruffled blue bedding. “Blankie loves it!” She rubbed her face on her worn fleece blanket, the way she had as a baby, and burst into giggles.
Not for the first time, Mack marveled at the difference between her own childhood and her daughter’s.
Mack’s early years were adventure and chaos, but she’d busted her ass to make her own daughter’s life predictable and serene.
She’d been so sure that Shaw needed stability, that their life needed to be quiet and calm and uneventful, but looking around the motor coach Mack wondered if she’d steered them from safe into boring.
Shaw seemed to be enjoying the adventure.
Mack twisted her hair off her neck, feeling hot and overwhelmed.
“Billie made it all fancy,” Wes remarked. “Did all the work herself, too. She could have her own business decorating RVs, couldn’t you, baby?”
“This is the only RV I’m interested in, hon.” Mack had to glance away from the tender look they shared. “This is our little slice of retirement heaven.”
“Retirement?”
Wes startled, then quickly lifted one side of his mouth in a lazy smile. “A man can dream, can’t he?”
Billie opened the full-size refrigerator and offered Mack a can of fizzy water but she waved it off. “Hey, this company is a good idea for sponsorship! Who doesn’t love flavored fizzy water?”
“Me,” Mack retorted. Her body ached and everything about the situation gave her the heebie-jeebies.
How could her dad be thinking about retirement when Mack was wondering if she needed to get over her pride and find a job at the local appliance factory to pay for the extravagance of this RV and her few weeks chasing the Indy 500?
“That’s not a bad idea, actually.” Laurie tapped at her phone. “I’m making a list of specialty beverage companies and emailing tonight.”
Ever the older sister, Laurie continued to help Mack with sponsorships despite being swamped at work, and despite their ability to reel in anyone yet.
It was Laurie’s version of an olive branch, and Mack was trying to accept that Laurie’s bossy assistance might be the only piece of her sister she’d ever get.
In the two weeks Mack had lived with her sister, Laurie had spent 90 percent of her time at the office, on her computer, or on her phone.
When Mack asked about her job, Laurie always responded with the same blunt It’s fine.
Laurie asked Mack endless questions about her time at the track, but it was clear her sister wasn’t going to share any of her interior life with Mack.
Shaw tugged on the hem of Billie’s cropped T-shirt. “B, can I have a snack?”
Billie handed her a container of hummus and celery from the fridge and plopped down on the padded banquette. Her daughter, consummate Doritos and blue Powerade aficionado, ate hummus now?
A large whiteboard hanging over the table caught her eye. “What’s that?”
Wes beamed. “Another one of Billie’s ideas. A weekly schedule with all our appointments and activities, right where I can see it. Keeps me from asking Billie a hundred questions.”
“I read about it on a blog for caregivers of brain injury patients. Visual cues are so important!” Billie pointed around the room at the light switches and cabinet doors, and Mack saw that each one had a tidy label: Overhead Light.
Spices. Plates. Batteries. “We put them up in the bathroom and bedroom, too. The labels help your dad find things independently.”
A sickening mix of shame and judgment swirled in Mack’s belly. More often than not, it was easier for Mack to hand Wes a fork or turn on the lights herself. Had she held her dad’s recovery back? Kept him from being more independent because she was in a rush to get things done?
“We got a shared calendar on our phones, too. Little alarms tell me when to take my meds.” He pulled Billie closer with his good arm. “Ain’t this woman a goddamn miracle?”
Mack’s stomach bucked. The RV felt hot and disorienting and too much like an actual home.
Laurie shot Billie a polite but firm look. “I bet Mack is ready to go.”
“Oh, right! I’ll get us fired up. We’ll drop you off but come back here for the night.
Paid for the camping spot and all.” Billie glided into the oversize driver’s seat, buckled herself in, and lowered the steering wheel.
Seconds later, they were bumping out of the parking lot and onto the interstate.
Outside the window, Indianapolis passed by, its tightly gridded neighborhoods filled with brick and clapboard houses, tidy squares of greening lawns, and rows and rows of sycamores, maples, elms, and aging oaks.
Mack perched on the soft seat next to Shaw, half-heartedly answering Wes’s questions about gearing ratio and the in-car tools. Her body was shot after a day of wrestling the car, and being in this RV made her feel extraneous.
The street was quiet when Billie pulled the RV into a no-parking zone and turned on the flashers. The glass and limestone of Laurie’s apartment building glowed pale silver in the fading light, and Mack wished she could teleport upstairs and into a hot shower.
“Get some rest,” Wes ordered. “Big day tomorrow.” She felt her dad’s hand, once rough but now soft, on the back of her neck. “Hey,” he whispered, as if they were the only two people in the RV. “It’s just another day racing, and you know what they say.”
In tandem, they said, “A bad day of racing is still better than not racing at all.”