Blind Spot (13 page)

SOMEBODY ONCE SAID
that no man is an island, but Tim made himself one. He didn’t know who had said that because he didn’t pay much attention in English class. Tim went to school and did his homework (for the most part) and steered clear of anyone from the church.

Each day since he’d been fired from his job, he’d lingered around his locker until the buses left and the hallways cleared. From school, he walked to the nearby library and stayed in a room downstairs until dark, then walked home through a wooded area. To say he was skittish about being attacked by Jeff and his friends was an understatement. He even taped a piece of paper over the small window in the library study room so no one could see inside.

He found enough reading material
in the library, but he always returned to his father’s diary. Through those pages he seemed to understand more and more about his dad.

In an entry that came a few months after his wife had left, Tim’s dad wrote about a momentous change.

Something happened today that I can’t really explain. I’ve never been religious. I’ve never gone to those chapel services and think it’s mostly a show. But I’ve been at such a low point that I’m tempted to just turn to the bottle. Instead, today I picked up a little booklet one of the chaplains left with me when he heard what had happened. Said he’d be praying for me.

The booklet was called “When Someone You Love Is Gone,” and it was about going through loss and how God is the only one we can lean on. I think it was probably written for people who face the death of a wife or husband, but it feels like Lexy has died now that she left Tim and me.

I read the whole thing from front to back and then started over again. I always thought
God was there but pretty much left him alone. This makes me think he cares about me and wants to help if I’ll let him. I looked up the verses it listed, and it took a long time because I don’t know much about the Bible. Couldn’t find half of them. But the ones I did find sure make sense. I think I’m on my way to someplace. Where it takes me, I don’t know, but I want to be a good dad to Tim and show him I can make something of myself.

Tim closed the book, unable to continue. He’d noticed a difference in his dad a few months after his mom had left, but that was so long ago he’d just gotten used to it. He was never pushy about going to church, because they were always on the road, but he did go to the chapel services. Had the whole religion thing worked for him?

The lights clicked off in the library, and Tim grabbed his stuff and made it out before the security guard noticed him. He stuffed the diary in his backpack and walked the lit sidewalk, swatting at no-see-ums and thinking about his dad. A car drove slowly beside him and stopped. His heart beat faster, and he looked for a place to run.

Finally he got the nerve to turn and saw a girl
talking on her cell phone. The thought of Jeff and his crew frightened him, but he was struck with another thought: if religion had worked for his dad, would it work for him?

No way. Couldn’t.

Tim passed a shopping center and cut through the parking lot on his way toward the forest. Still deep in thought, he tried to piece together the fragments of his life. He had so many questions. If his dad’s religion was so important to him, why hadn’t he talked more about it? What had caused his mother to leave? Did she get tired of life on the road, meet some other guy, or not want to take care of him?

A car engine revved and rattled. Tires squealed, and then doors opened. Tim turned to see Jeff and the two goons almost on him. It took him only a second to assess the situation and take off. He didn’t have great brains or brawn, but one thing he could do was run. He raced for a chain-link fence at the other side of the parking lot. With one motion, he threw the backpack over, jumped for the top, and caught it, then cartwheeled over the two strands of barbed wire.

He snagged his backpack as the three made it to the fence, laughing and gasping for air.

“What’s so funny?” Tim said.

Jeff pointed to the pond behind Tim. “You know where you are?”

Tim looked around. He’d walked through here for the past few weeks and vaguely remembered a sign on the front of the building.

“It’s the reptile park, numskull,” one of Jeff’s friends said.

Tim turned and stared at two eyes on the surface of the pond. A tail swished in the water at the edge of the pond and sent a chill through him.

Jeff moved back and jumped, scaling the fence.

Tim took off for the front of the park.

“Cut him off!” Jeff yelled, hitting the ground. “Oh, you’re not gonna get away from us this time, loser!”

The front gate was locked and so was the building, but Tim found another fence small enough to scale and ran full force into it. He was almost over when something tugged at his backpack. It was Jeff, ripping it from his shoulder.

Tim wasn’t about to lose his one connection with his dad, so he slipped back from the fence and landed with a thud.

Jeff unzipped the pack and dumped the contents on the ground, kicking and ripping Tim’s composition book to pieces.

“Stop!” Tim lunged at Jeff, who deftly moved back.

“Stop! Auntie Em, stop!” the two mocked from the other side of the fence.

Tim held up a hand in front of Jeff. “This fight is between you and me. Tell them to stay on the other side of the fence.”

Jeff picked up the diary and leafed through it. “What do we have here? Says Martin Carhardt in the front. This must be your old man’s.”

“Put it down.”

The other two scaled the fence just as Jeff tossed the diary into the gator pond.

Tim ran to the edge and watched the diary float. As he took a step into the water, something green and menacing rose to the surface and splashed. The diary disappeared.

“I didn’t know gators could read,” Jeff said, and the other two laughed.

Seething, Tim turned on them and rushed in a fury. He swung and kept swinging, hoping he’d hit something, tears streaming, out of breath and patience. He’d read somewhere that the Bible said it was better to give than receive, and he wanted to give a lot more than he took. He’d also heard people who were hit were supposed to turn the other cheek.

Another reason religion wasn’t for him.

TIM WALKED INTO A
brick building surrounded by cars. A popular spot. The first floor had an office listing in a glass case. It smelled like alcohol, and people were sitting in plastic chairs in the hallway, waiting their turn for something. It gave Tim the creeps.

He stepped out of the elevator on the third floor. A sign at the end of the hall said it was the Department of Children and Family something or other. It was quieter up here, and Tim walked back and forth a few minutes, trying to get the nerve to go through the door. He turned around and even pushed the Down button on the elevator, but he finally walked into the office.

Inside he found more chairs. A section for kids with puzzles and wooden blocks and Tinkertoys. Lots of magazines everywhere.

“May I help you?” a woman said from behind the desk. It had a long top with a sign-in sheet.

“I’m looking for Lisa,” he said.

“She’s out right now on a case. Did you have an appointment?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Well, let me call her and tell her you’re here. What was the name?”

Tim told her and sat.

A few minutes later a young mom walked in with a curly-haired baby who couldn’t stop crying. She carried the child on her hip, like she was some kind of baby pimple. When she put the kid on the floor, the baby screamed even more. Then she saw Tim and cried harder, clear snot running down. Tim tried to play peekaboo to get the little thing to settle down, but it was no use.

“She’s teethin’,” the mom said. “It ain’t got nothin’ to do with you.”

From her voice, Tim could tell the mom was only a girl, probably not a lot older than him.

“Tim,” the receptionist said, “I just talked with Lisa. She said to wait in her office. She’ll be back in 15 or 20 minutes.”

The woman showed him to a corner office with a window overlooking some trash bins. Lisa’s desk was neat compared to the trailer, but there were several
stacks of papers and forms. He wondered how many people she talked to each week.

Her computer was in screen-saver mode. It flashed pictures of her and a dark-haired guy—he guessed it was her husband. One was taken by the beach with a big heart drawn in the sand. Another looked like it was a concert, both of them holding up ticket stubs. More photos showed groups of people waving, a baby in a crib, an older woman in a wheelchair, and some girls in pajamas hanging on to a younger Lisa. All of them smiling.

Does anybody you know ever
not
smile?
Tim thought.

When Lisa walked in, Tim was looking over the books in her bookshelf. She plopped her purse on the floor and closed the door. “See anything interesting?”

“Sorry. I was just looking.”

“No, it’s fine. I never read them anymore. If you see something you like, just take—” She drew closer and looked at his face. “Tim, what happened to you?”

He sat and folded his hands in his lap. “Had a run-in with a chain-link fence and a couple guys who wanted to introduce me to it.”

“Did you have that looked at?”

“In a mirror, yeah.”

She examined the bruises and scrapes. “Did Tyson do this? You’re not protecting him, are you?”

He shook his head. “He’s a real jerk, but he’s never hit me.”

She sat back in her chair and looked at him the same way one of his teachers at school did. Like he was a wet pup in the rain and they wanted to let him in but couldn’t because he wouldn’t come.

“How did you get here?” she finally said.

“Bus.”

“You didn’t have school today?”

“I did, but I figured this was more important.”

“What can I do for you?”

“That family in North Carolina. You think the offer’s still good?”

“I haven’t talked with them for a couple of weeks, but the last time I did they said to tell you if you ever change your mind, they’d be glad to come get you.” She folded her hands. “What about your dad? about what happened at Talladega?”

“The way I figure it, the guy probably feels guilty and wants to make himself feel better. They have a nice house?”

She pulled an envelope from her desk drawer and handed him a picture. Dale Maxwell stood on the porch of a blue house with his arm around a pretty, red-haired woman. In front of them was a younger
kid with a missing tooth, smiling. Beside him was a girl, a few years older. He recognized her from the Daytona broadcast. She looked a lot like her mother but with an attitude. Arms crossed. Lips together. No smile. A few freckles on her cheeks.

“Nice house,” Tim said.

“They’re really good people. They want to help you.”

“How soon do you think I should go up there?”

“I’ll call and ask if they’re still willing to pick you up. Would you be more comfortable taking a bus? Maybe fly?”

“Whatever they want. I’m ready to go as soon as you can get me there.”

She called and left a message on the Maxwells’ answering machine. “I’ll call you as soon as I hear from them.”

JAMIE’S MOM WENT INTO
hyperdrive cleaning the house and getting the downstairs room cleared of boxes and buying a new mattress for the creaky old bed from their grandparents’ house. Jamie vaguely remembered how her mom had gotten Kellen’s room ready weeks before he was born. She called it nesting.

If Jamie were honest with her parents, she would have admitted that she hated the idea of someone interrupting their life. Things were hard enough the way it was, but for some guy to come live with them for who knew how long was just plain dumb. But with both of them set on the idea and Kellen looking forward to outnumbering the girls, she was the odd man out.

The offer from Devalon to race Chad’s car ate at her all weekend. She
worked on Saturday and on one run took the long way around so she could drive by the Devalon garage. Chad’s car—at least the one she assumed was his—was outside, new decals on the side. It was already filled with sponsors, including a huge Devalon decal
and the #13, like his dad.

She’d run through the conversation several times in her head, telling her dad about the Devalon car and taking a practice run. She knew what he’d say, though.

The only person who knew about it was Cassie Strower, and Jamie had sworn the girl to secrecy.

“You have to at least tell your dad,” Cassie had said. “What if something happens?”

“Then my career gets cut short. At least I’ll know I tried.”

“No, what if something good happens and you get a chance to race for them? How’s your dad going to feel knowing you kept this a secret from him?”

“You worry too much.”

“You know I’m right,” Cassie said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have told me.”

“I told you because . . .”

“What?”

“Because I thought you’d understand. Obviously I was wrong.”

Cassie put an arm on her shoulder. “I’m just say
ing I think you’d feel better if they knew about this. You told me your dad said he was
for
you, not against you, in your dream to race.”

“Sometimes I think they say that stuff to soften me up for the letdown.” She turned toward Cassie. “You know how it was when you were a little kid and it’d be snowing outside, and the only thing you could think of was getting out there and riding that sled as fast as you could or building a fort and having a snowball battle? But parents want you to stay warm and not go outside, or if they let you, you have to put so many layers of clothes on you can’t move.”

“I always liked wearing big coats and gloves.”

Figures,
Jamie thought. “Parents want to keep you cooped up. They want to block your dreams.”

“Why would they do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re scared of what might happen. Scared I’ll fail.”

“Or get hurt.”

“Cassie, have you ever felt like you were meant to do something? I mean, really made to accomplish something big?”

Her friend nodded. “I know exactly how it feels.”

“You?”

Cassie looked away, then turned back. “I’ve never told anybody this, but one night I was reading this story about a missionary who went to this foreign
country and had all kinds of trouble telling people about God and what he’d done. And I must have fallen asleep reading, but then I woke up and it was dark outside, and the lights were on in my room, and I just had this feeling that I was going to do the same thing. Not go to a foreign country necessarily but tell a lot of people about God.”

“You heard a voice?”

“No, not an actual one, but it felt as clear as hearing you talk to me right now.”

“That’s weird.”

“Yeah, I know. But in a strange way, I think I must feel the same as you do about racing.”

Jamie sighed. “Your dream feels a lot more spiritual than mine.”

“No way. Maybe God made you to go fast. Maybe he wants to use you on the track. I just think it’s better to tell your parents about this Devalon thing before you get in too deep.”

Jamie stared at the #13 car until her truck radio squawked. “Hey, Jamie, where are you?”

“I’m almost there,” she said, shifting into first and spinning her tires.