Checkered Flag (14 page)

IT WAS WEIRD
for Jamie to be in Texas with her dad having a shot at the championship. Usually when they were here he was playing the part of the spoiler, trying to race ahead of the big boys and steal a win while they were battling it out for the championship. Now he was on the other side of things, looking at the rest of the field from the front rather than the back.

However, the last three races were going to be long and nothing was going to be easy. That became evident when her dad had trouble with the car before the race and had to qualify the backup without much practice time.

There were so many requests by the media for interviews that Chloe Snowe was running frantically and burning up her cell phone. She put a list of interviews in front of Jamie’s dad—
everything from the major NASCAR magazines to a Christian radio station in town that wanted him to come to the studio for their morning program.

“I’ll definitely do that one,” her dad said, pointing to the Christian station.

“But there are a lot bigger stations—”

“I want to do that one,” he said. “I talk about racing all the time, but I hardly ever get to talk about my faith with any kind of depth. I want to do that one, and if any of the magazines want to come along, we’d be glad to have them.”

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Jamie’s concept of a Christian radio station was an old building with dusty, fake plants in the corner and old equipment other stations threw out. She was surprised when she and her dad walked into a new office building and were ushered to an elevator and to the top of the building with a view of the Metroplex that was second to none.

They had listened to the station on the way, and Jamie tried to imagine the people behind the voices. They were nothing like she pictured them. She figured the main host, a guy with a voice deeper than the Grand Canyon, would be big and burly like a bear. Instead, he was shorter than her and skinnier
than Tim. There were traffic and news reporters, both women, who were pretty and welcomed them. Jamie thought they’d all have bloodshot eyes and bed hair, but they didn’t.

Jamie sat in the control room and watched her dad through the huge window. He autographed a couple of shirts for listeners and had a few pictures taken while music played.

When it was over, the host pulled the silver microphone to him and put on his headphones. “Dale, anybody who knows NASCAR knows about your stand for God, your integrity, the way you handle yourself out there. And I think God has really honored you by putting you in this position of racing for the cup.”

“Well, I don’t look at it as God honoring
me
as much as it is him working out his plan in my life,” her dad said. “I don’t see myself any more in his plan now than I did earlier this year when I was in trouble with a sponsor who thought I might not be a good investment. God takes us through the ups and downs and teaches us through the hard times. I’d much rather be in first than 43rd place, of course, but I’ll admit he’s taught me a lot through the spinouts and crashes.”

The traffic reporter leaned forward. “Your daughter is with you this morning, and I know she has a promising career ahead of her. What’s it like for a dad to watch his daughter do something so dangerous?”

“Well, you mentioned a couple of accidents in your last report. It’s dangerous just driving to work. I’ve always wanted my kids to follow Jesus, and whatever he gives them to do is okay with me. I want my daughter to have a chance to do what she wants, and if that’s racing, then I’m fine with it.”

“Does your wife feel the same way?” the news reporter said with a chuckle.

“She’s had her moments,” her dad said. “But you have to remember, because of my schedule, she’s the one who’s been driving Jamie to most of her races in the past few years.”

The engineer in the room started a music bed underneath them, and the host took control. “One more question, Dale. If you don’t win the championship, will this season still be a success?”

“I guess that depends on how you define success. If winning is the only measure of that, then there are a lot of drivers and teams that will be disappointed. But if your definition is doing what God has called you to, doing your best and touching as many people with God’s love as possible, then that changes everything.”

“You still want to win though, right?” the host said.

Her dad laughed. “I didn’t come down here to lose.”

TIM WALKED
past the garage to the pits, rubbing his hands together, hoping he wouldn’t run into any of the Devalons, and checking the leader board. Dale had started a dismal 35th, and the car was terribly loose until the first pit stop. Tim knew it was a continual adjustment process to bring a backup car up to speed. The only question was whether they had enough race to get him to the front.

It was a 500-mile race, but it wasn’t until lap 295 that Dale made his way to the front and was able to stay out of a pit stop and actually lead a lap, giving him those extra points. When the leaders came out, Dale was pushed back to 16th place with a car that desperately needed fuel and new tires.

“We need to come in for a final push, Dale,” T.J. said. “Your right side is really getting thin.”

“Just hoping for a yellow,” Dale said.

On the next lap, the team got what it wanted, though it was at the expense of a friend. The #47 car spun in turn four, then came back down the track, causing the car in third place to clip the second-place car. Dale pitted under the yellow and picked up several spots. There were 15 cars on the lead lap.

“I hate like the dickens that those guys are out,” Dale said. “Are they both at the garage?”

“Yeah, there’s a lot of damage to both cars,” T.J. said. “I doubt either one will make it back.”

Dale had moved into the top 10, chasing Butch Devalon and several others by the end of the race. After some lead changes at the end, the #11 car took the lead and held off the field for the win, putting him in first place in the Chase. Dale finished eighth—a great race for having to use the backup car.

“After starting a lot lower than we wanted, we’re happy with that finish,” Dale said to an on-track reporter after the race. “We kept making adjustments and doing what we had to do.”

“You’re sitting right now at fourth place, 10 points back of the leader, but with three other drivers to jump over by the end,” the reporter said. “Can you do it?”

Dale chuckled. “I guess we’re going to find out, aren’t we?”

In the hauler, the whole crew met, and it made
Tim feel like old times with a team. Usually he had to pack up and tear down for the end of the race so they could get on the road, but a few times when the team had done well, Tim joined his dad and the others for a debriefing about the race.

“We couldn’t have done this without you guys in the pits today,” Dale said. “I felt like every time we came in, you were as fast if not faster than any team out there. That builds a lot of confidence and makes me excited to come in rather than dreading it.”

“Scotty kept us out of a couple of wrecks,” T.J. said. “And Dale’s been driving like he was 20 years old.”

“Don’t forget the contraption Tim made at Talladega,” Chloe said.

Everybody clapped, and Tim thought his head would explode with pride. Someone mentioned Jamie’s feat at Denver that put them in position to even get in the Chase.

That’s when Tim’s cell phone rang. He moved out of the hauler so he wouldn’t disturb the team and looked at the display. He didn’t recognize the number. He answered and waited a minute because there was noise on the line.

“Timmy?” a woman said.

“Yeah, this is Tim.”

The woman gasped. “It’s Alex. I’m here in Dallas. I want to see you.”

“Alex? How do I know you?”

“Alexandra,” she said. “Your mom. I’m sorry I’ve been such a ghost. If you don’t want to see me, I’ll understand.”

“Wait,” Tim said, remembering Chad’s trick. “Tell me something about you nobody else would know. Or something about Dad.”

“What for?”

“I just need you to tell me something.”

“Okay,” she said tentatively. “Let’s see. Your dad had a scar on his left shoulder. Do you remember that?”

“He said he got it from an alligator in the Everglades.”

She laughed. “He got it crawling through the attic of the first house we rented. There were squirrels up there, and he was trying to flush them out. Cut it on an old, rusty nail.”

“Really?” Tim said.

“He was a good man. I’m sure you know that.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you still at the track?” she said.

“They’re getting ready to pack up. The Maxwells are staying one more night, and we’ll get a flight out in the morning.”

“Let me come see you,” she said. “Where’s your hotel?”

Tim told her and she asked him to repeat it so she could write it down. In the background was the clink of plates, the hum of voices, and music that sounded like some honky-tonk.

“I’ll call you from the lobby. I’ll let your cell ring once and you come down. Oh, and Timmy?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t tell the Maxwells, okay?”

“Why not?”

“Well, they might not understand, you know? Let’s just keep this between you and me for now.”

Tim was a nervous ball of energy at the hotel. The family had a late dinner and went to the Maxwells’ room to watch TV coverage of the race and the interviews replayed. Tim put his cell phone on vibrate and kept his hand in a pocket, holding it and hoping it would ring soon.

He and Kellen went to their room and flipped on the TV, but Tim just stared out the window. Mrs. Maxwell called and said it was time to get some sleep, so they turned off the TV and Kellen was out like a light. He was a mouth breather and slurped and gurgled most of the night.

Tim lay there looking at the electric clock numbers that clicked by as fast as cold molasses. He put his pillows (the bed had about a dozen) up in a pile
and tried to stay awake, but the lull of Kellen’s breathing and the fatigue of the day caught up with him.

He closed his eyes for a minute and dreamed that his dad had come to Texas and his mom was riding with him in his truck, her arm around him. They were laughing and talking and having a good time. They couldn’t see it, but Butch Devalon came up to a street beside them and T-boned their truck.

Tim woke up to find his cell vibrating. He jumped out of bed, still fully clothed, and ran to the elevator, not remembering he’d forgotten his key card on the nightstand until he punched the down button on the elevator. He got off at the lobby and tried to straighten his hair. In the elevator he had seen that he had the fuzzy chicken look.

The hotel was a fancy place with all the help dressed in uniforms or suits. Tim walked to the front lobby, where there were a few couches and chairs that looked so comfortable he thought he could sleep here if there wasn’t so much noise of the door opening and closing with people coming in and out all night.

He spotted a blonde woman on one of the couches with a phone to her ear. It wasn’t what he pictured his mom looking like, but he approached the couch and stopped to listen.

“I know,” the woman said with a Southern twang.
“I told Donna the other day that I didn’t want to hear any more excuses, but they keep coming.”

The woman had a nice dress on and a ring that would choke a Clydesdale. Not exactly what he thought his mom would be wearing.

“Excuse me,” someone said behind him.

Tim turned and immediately knew the woman was his mother. She had short, curly hair, and a vague image flashed through his mind from a picture he had kept. She had a pleasant face, with not too much makeup but enough to obscure some freckles. She seemed a little self-conscious about the space between her front teeth, because she didn’t smile too wide when she saw Tim. Her eyes looked tired, like they’d been open way too long and had seen way too much, and there were lines at the corners, like a road map crossing the sides of her face.

She wore a buttoned shirt over a T-shirt and jeans that were torn on the leg. There were lots of kids who wore those kinds of jeans at his school, but they did it as a fashion statement. Tim had a feeling these were the only jeans she had.

They moved to a stone fireplace, out of earshot of anyone else.

“You’re so tall,” she said. “It’s hard to think of you any bigger than when I last saw you. You had your
little blanket and your favorite bear. What did your dad do with those?”

“He probably threw them out,” Tim said. “I wore that cover out, and the bear fell apart.”

“And your voice is so deep.” She looked him over and smiled, keeping her lips together. “I can’t believe I’m actually seeing you again and that you’re not running away.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Just because it’s been so long and you’re probably mad that I never came back. I wouldn’t blame you for being angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“You sure?” she said.

“Yeah. I mean, you’re my mom.” Tim studied the carpet. It had huge swirling designs in it. Interesting, for carpet. “I still have questions, you know. Like where you went and what you did and why it took so long to come see me. And why Dad would have Tyson and Vera take care of me, which they didn’t.”

“I’m the one to blame about that,” she said. “We didn’t have a ton of people to choose from, but I thought if anything happened to your dad, the closest place to me would be in Florida, and they were the only relatives down there.”

“You knew you were going to Florida when you left?” Tim said.

“That was my plan. I wound up staying there longer than I wanted in a place I didn’t want to be. But that’s another story.”

Tim looked at the carpet again, then back at his mom. He wasn’t going to squander a chance to find out everything he could. After all, he had no idea if his mom would take off after this meeting and he’d never see her again. “Why did you get sent to prison?” Then, when he saw her face, he said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“No, it’s okay. I was wondering how to tell you anyway. How’d you find out?”

Tim told her.

“It’s a long story. The truth is, I got hooked up with a group of people who weren’t good for me. I had a job as a chauffeur, driving people around and getting big tips. But I got into some financial trouble, and a friend offered to bail me out if I’d help him, just once. I agreed and I got caught.” She held up both hands. “No excuses. I knew better and I let it happen.”

“And you went to jail and did your time.”

“Absolutely.”

“Then why did you skip your parole? You were supposed to meet with an officer once a week, weren’t you?”

She rubbed her hands together like there was something wrong with them, worried, looking
around. Was she searching for an exit in case some police officers tracked her down? “Look. I’m not perfect. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. But I’m here to ask you something important. That’s why I came.”

“How did you get my phone number?” Tim said.

“Tyson gave me the number of that social worker, but she wasn’t much help. After I saw the magazine article, I spoke with Charlie Hale. He got your number from Maxwell. He didn’t know he was giving your number to Charlie to give to me, of course. That’s how I got your address too.”

“What do you want to ask me?”

His mom looked scared, and it was a weird feeling for Tim to watch someone older go through what he experienced in class every time he had to give a speech. “I was wondering . . .”

“Tim?” someone said behind him. He turned to see Mrs. Maxwell. She had puffy eyes, like she’d been asleep, and wore her bathrobe. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Tim said. “I just . . .” He looked back at his mother, then got tongue-tied. He checked the clock. It was one thirty in the morning.

“Kellen called our room and said you weren’t in your bed. Dale was sound asleep, so I came here.” She looked at Tim’s mom. “Do I know you?”

“Not exactly, ma’am,” his mom said, extending a hand. “Alexandra Carhardt.”

The look on Mrs. Maxwell’s face was priceless. If she’d have gotten the crown jewels of England as a birthday present, her expression wouldn’t have been any more surprised. “Tim’s mom? I’m so glad to meet you. Oh, you two have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll leave you alone.”

“No, it’s okay,” Tim’s mother said. “I’m sorry I came so late. I just wanted to know if Tim would like to come live with me.”