Checkered Flag (9 page)

JAMIE WENT OVER
to take a look at the tires they’d pulled off her dad’s car. When the torch hit the rubber, it melted straight through. A camera crew came over and shot the second tire, which did the same thing. Jamie could imagine what the guys in the booth were saying. There was just nothing left of these tires.

She turned her attention to the track. The debris was almost cleared. When the restart came there would be about 15 laps left. Her dad was in first place, but the Chase drivers were now bunched up right behind him. Butch Devalon had overcome the mishap with the jack and was back in third place.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder; it was the on-track reporter. He handed her a pair of headphones with a microphone attached and pointed at
the grandstand—as if telling her someone wanted to talk to her.

“Jamie, this is Jack in the booth. You got a good look at those tires. What do you think?”

“They aren’t tires anymore,” Jamie said. “Just big hunks of rubber.”

“If you could have been up on that war wagon, what would you have told him?”

Jamie laughed. “You don’t tell my dad anything. When he gets it in his head he’s right, you stand back and try to stay out of his way.”

“Can you believe what’s happened this season?” the announcer said. “To have the year start so badly and then turn it around?”

“Well, it just shows you have to stay behind the wheel and keep the tires spinning. You can’t give up because things are going badly. Good things can happen with a little momentum.”

“Hey, thanks, Jamie.”

Jamie was about to take off the headset when she heard, “She’s a chip off the old block, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, and the way she drove in Denver, it wouldn’t surprise me to see her out here herself in the next couple of years.”

The reporter and camera guy moved on, and Jamie went back to the war wagon and found Chloe in front of the monitor. The pit crew was crowded
around behind her. The jackman was the only one not watching—he was sitting on a stack of tires looking exhausted. He gave Jamie a weak thumbs-up and stood.

“You okay?” Jamie said.

He nodded. “If your dad wins this thing, I’m gonna quit.”

“What? Are you serious?”

He smiled. “I’ll quit because I’ve just experienced the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

They walked to the wall and watched as the green flag came out. It was a single-file restart, and her dad punched the throttle right before the line and got at least a three-car-length lead. Jamie focused on Butch Devalon in third place as he struggled to pass the car in front of him so he could get at her dad.

The next 12 laps felt like 100 to Jamie as the cars screamed around the track. She waited for a crash that would bunch the cars up and set up a shoot-out, but the race stayed clean.

Butch Devalon finally pulled into second place, but the closest he could get was about a car length away, and then her dad pulled away again and won the race.

The crew went wild, and T.J. slapped high fives all around and patted people on the back.

When Jamie’s dad pulled into the winner’s circle,
the crowd cheered and the team stood around the car and shook one of the sponsor’s sodas all over her dad. He climbed out and acknowledged the crowd. Jamie stood behind the car and watched. She was crying she was so happy. The reporter asked what was going through his mind and stuck the microphone in front of him.

“I have to thank my wife and family for sticking so tight with me through a lot of years. Nicole, Kellen, and where’s Jamie? Come over here. And, Tim, this is for you too, buddy. And to the giver of all good things I’m thankful today. This was a great race, and I thank the sponsors who hung in there with me. . . .”

Her dad named all the sponsors, and then the reporter took the mike back. “Tell us what happened out there when you didn’t pit but stayed on the track. T.J. Kelly was pleading with you to come in.”

“I know T.J. wanted to win as badly as I did, but I felt like we should stay out and fight through it. I couldn’t begin to explain it, but I just knew in my gut that we’d be okay.”

Jamie’s dad hugged her, and she got to experience the winner’s circle like never before. He held up the trophy above his head, and the crowd cheered more.

A few Devalon fans booed next to the fence and yelled, “You’re washed up, Maxwell!”

Her dad smiled and didn’t respond.

As they walked back to the hauler, Jamie noticed something running down her dad’s face. “You still sweating, or are those tears?”

He smiled, and his skin crinkled with those familiar lines. He stopped and looked at the stands emptying. There were still many people there, and he pointed at them. “Winning feels so good. But you know what I really want?”

“You just won the race. You’re fifth in the Chase. What more could you want? The championship?”

He shook his head. “Something’s been burning deep down inside me for a long time. There’s a lot of people up there who know all about racing but next to nothing about God and how much he loves them. I think the Lord wants me to be bolder with my witness to them. I think he wants to use me in a greater way.”

“What does that mean?”

Her dad shook his head. “I’m not sure. I just know I need to seize the opportunities I have when they come.”

When they were back at the hauler, after everybody had patted her dad on the back and told him what a great race he had run, Jamie pulled him aside. “All right, fess up. Why did you stay out there that long? Why didn’t you come in when T.J. told you to?”

T.J. walked in just then with a worried look on his face. “I’d like to hear the answer to that too. You took an awful big chance out there, Dale. I know you won, and I’m happy for us, but this can destroy our confidence if you don’t listen to what we say.”

Her dad put a hand on T.J.’s shoulder. Touching people was his way of connecting. “I was listening to you. I didn’t dismiss your call.”

“Then why didn’t you come in?” T.J. said, almost shouting.

“Because I heard something I couldn’t ignore.”

T.J. closed his eyes. “God’s not talking to you now, is he? I mean, I know you talk to him throughout the race, but . . .”

Jamie’s dad smiled. “I didn’t hear any voices, no. But I knew I was supposed to stay out there and get the lead. I’ve never had it happen that strongly. And I’m sorry you felt like I was ignoring you. I really am. I just wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I hadn’t listened to what I was hearing.”

T.J. nodded. “I understand.” He reached out a hand and shook her dad’s. “It’s been good working with you. But I think this is our last race together.”

“What?” Jamie said.

T.J. shook his head. “We’ve got a great chance to do something special. But if you’re not going to listen to us and if you’re going to follow the voices in your
head or what you think is right, then there’s no reason for me to be on that wagon.”

Scotty walked in and piled his radio equipment on the counter. “I feel the same way, Dale. If you’d have tried to go around one more lap, we’d have been at the back of the pack. We’d have lost and you’d be pretty far back in the Chase.”

Her dad rubbed his chin. “Look. You two are right. We race as a team, and the crew chief is the quarterback. I was the running back here looking at an open field, and I called an audible. I’ll try not to do that again.”

“You’ll try?” T.J. said. “That’s not good enough. I know you own this car. You pay our salaries.
You’re
the quarterback. But when you go off and do something like you did today, it means all of us could lose.”

“But we won,” Jamie said, coming to her dad’s defense. “If he’d have pitted when you wanted him to, he wouldn’t have won the race and you know it.”

T.J. sighed. “We’ll never know that. And you’re right, we did win. But look how close we came to losing it all.”

Scotty pointed at Jamie. “Let’s say you’re the crew chief, Dale, and you know Jamie needs to come in for fresh tires and fuel. You tell her to but she doesn’t. What would you do?”

“I’d chew her out good when she blew a tire,” her dad said.

“Exactly,” Scotty said. “You wouldn’t want
her
doing what you did out there.”

Her dad nodded. “In all the races we’ve been through together, there’s probably a handful where I’ve done this, right?”

T.J. and Scotty nodded.

“Then trust me when I say I won’t do it again. If we disagree, I’ll give you every chance to talk me out of it. We’re a team here. We just won a huge race, and we’ve got seven more.”

There was an awkward silence between them.

Finally T.J. put out a hand. “I guess if it means a championship, I can’t walk away from that.”

Scotty put his hand over T.J.’s. “It’s hard to walk away from a winner.”

Jamie put her hand in, and her dad put his on top of it.

“Let’s show them what a great team can do,” he said.

TIM WAS HOPING
that Butch Devalon would have a heart and retract his ban on his being in the pits, but after the results of Kansas, Devalon was even madder at the Maxwells and wouldn’t even return phone calls. The police still hadn’t officially cleared Tim about the fire, which troubled him. Dale had said they would issue some kind of statement about his innocence soon, but the whole thing hung over him at school. Lots of people had heard he was a suspect, and he felt their stares as he walked into class.

The week dragged, and Tim lost himself in the NASCAR talk shows. People called to talk about the Devalon/Maxwell feud. Some backed Dale, others Devalon, and some just thought the grudge brought a level of excitement that the sport needed.

A major magazine (not NASCAR) put Dale and Butch on its cover with a big headline that said, “Good Guy vs. Bad Guy.” They used parts of the Calvin Shoverton article in the coverage. Tim couldn’t believe some of Devalon’s quotes. One said, “I’m painted as this bad driver who wrecks people and doesn’t care. That’s not true. I just want to win. I care a lot about people. Look at how much of my winnings go to charity.”

Tim rolled his eyes when he read that. Everybody knew the drivers gave to charity because it was good PR plus a good idea to avoid higher taxes. As far as Tim could tell, the Maxwells gave a lot of their money to their church and some select charities. They didn’t talk about it much, but once Tim had found their checkbook out on the kitchen table and caught sight of a couple of checks they’d written.

Dale was gone a couple of days running tests for the upcoming races and doing some more media and a commercial for one of the sponsors. The phone rang just about constantly, and Tim got so fed up with it that he turned the ringer off on the one in his room.

Mrs. Maxwell drove him, Jamie, and Kellen to Talladega on Saturday. They stayed at a hotel with a
suites
in its name that was a long way from the superspeedway. Dale joined them for dinner, and they ate at a nice steak place and got a special booth in the back,
where they wouldn’t be bothered by people who recognized Dale. Tim ordered surf and turf, which was some shrimp and a hunk of steak, plus french-fried onion rings and mashed potatoes that looked like he could eat them for dessert. It was more food than he could possibly finish, so he took it back to the room and put it in the little refrigerator, along with a piece of strawberry cheesecake that probably had enough calories in it to keep him going for a month.

He was munching on the onion rings, watching an old James Bond movie with Kellen, when Dale came in and turned the volume down just as one of the bad guys was being pushed out of a plane.

“Got some good news,” Dale said, sitting on the edge of one of the beds. “You’re going to be down in the pits tomorrow.”

Tim did a double take. “You serious?”

“You bet,” Dale said. “Devalon is still making a stink about it and probably will through the whole race, but the people at the track overruled him. They remember what happened here last year, and they said they didn’t care if you burned down half of North Carolina—they weren’t going to be the ones to keep you out.”

Tim smiled. “There are some good people here.”

Dale nodded. “I don’t suppose I have to tell you to be on your best behavior and that everybody’s going to be watching.”

“No. I’ll be a little angel.”

“That’ll be the day.” Kellen laughed.

“We got an early day tomorrow,” Dale said. “You two get some rest. We have to be at the track before the rush.”

/////

It was a foreign thing for Tim to drive to a race—with his dad, he had always slept either at the track or in a nearby fleabag hotel. The family got up, ate breakfast in the restaurant downstairs, packed their stuff, and headed for the track. A few miles later they hit traffic, and it was stop-and-go until they got to the gate.

The guy at the front looked inside, saw everyone, and tipped his hat. “Nice to have you here, Mrs. Maxwell.” He pointed out where they could park, but Mrs. Maxwell acted like she’d been to the track a hundred times.

The RVs and campers were just starting to stir. Saturday night was the rowdiest night of Talladega. A lot of people came early in the week and stayed to party, and the race signaled the end. Tim’s dad had always kept him away from that scene, but he couldn’t help hearing the music and smelling the food cooking on grills. Even now there were people out cooking sausages for breakfast, wearing their favorite drivers’ hats and T-shirts.

They found the Maxwell hauler and put their stuff inside, then wandered over to the garage. Fans already milled around, trying to get an autograph or a picture with some famous driver. Tim figured a lot of people would probably think it boring to just stand around watching people working on cars, but he found it fascinating. There was always something to learn about the way someone approached an engine, what they looked for when they heard a noise, what the driver felt when he sensed a particular movement or heard something out of the ordinary.

A little later Dale came by, and they had lunch at the hauler under one of the tents set up to keep the sun from baking them like the bratwurst and onions and hot dogs on the grill. Dale ate some pasta and stuff that would stick with him through the race. There was the old air of excitement, food, fuel smell, heat rising from the concrete, and nerves of the crew. In one way, it was a lot easier not to be in the Chase. You didn’t have the pressure of worrying about a lug nut going on crooked or being the goat who messed up the pit stop. Most of the guys played it cool, pretending to relax and even sleeping, but Tim knew that they were eating Rolaids like they were candy.

After the drivers’ meeting, the chaplain stood and prepared for the chapel service. Most of the drivers scampered out like someone had dropped a skunk
under their chairs. The guy was doing a series on people in the Bible God had chased or something like that, but Tim found it hard to concentrate with the excitement of the race just ahead. He couldn’t understand how Dale or any of the other drivers and crew members could focus on God stuff when they were about to do the most thrilling thing in their lives. Jamie and Mrs. Maxwell were glued to every word.

Tim closed his eyes at the end but just so he could rest them. Getting up early each day for school exhausted him, and on the weekend he liked to sleep in. Traveling and getting up early this morning had caught up with him.

They walked back to the hauler and met a family with a little girl Tim thought looked familiar. Her name was Jenna, and all three of them looked like it was Christmas morning they were so excited.

“I saw you at that camp, didn’t I?” Tim said to Jenna.

“Yeah, I’ve got diabetes,” Jenna said, “and Mr. Maxwell said if he made it in the Chase, he’d pay for us to come here.”

“Well, you are his good luck charm,” Tim said. “He should have done that a long time ago.”

“Excuse me,” she said, “but I don’t believe in luck. God works in our lives and nothing happens by chance.”

Her mom and dad smiled, and Tim nodded. He wanted to ask her,
So, did he give you diabetes?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Jenna said. “You’re thinking, ‘Did God give me diabetes?’”

Tim’s eyes widened. “Well, as a matter of fact . . .”

She kept talking as they walked through the hauler. “I don’t think God
gave
me diabetes to punish me or because he doesn’t like me. He allows different hard things to help his children grow. You know, like a farmer pruning his trees.”

“So he did make you have diabetes,” Tim said.

“It’s impossible to understand it all because we’re just puny little humans. But the way I look at it, God let us choose whether to follow him or not, and sin came into the world. After that came diseases and all kinds of bad stuff. God didn’t cause that to happen, but since he was in control, he allowed it to happen.”

“So you don’t blame him?”

“How could I be mad at somebody who died for me? He loves me. And he’s given me not one but two pancreases to take care of me.” Jenna explained that her parents acted as her pancreas, giving her insulin every day.

Dale took them to the pits and showed them the car. After that it was time to get ready. Jenna and her family stood back and put on their headphones.

Dale turned to Tim. “You ready for this?”

Tim looked around. “Is Devalon gonna sneak up and attack me?”

Dale laughed. “No. Just wait a minute.”

After the introduction of the drivers, the announcer asked people to stand and remove their hats. Then a picture of Tim’s dad flashed on live television. “One year ago, Martin Carhardt tragically lost his life here at Talladega. Joining us today with the Dale Maxwell team is his son, Tim Carhardt.”

Tim was stunned by the announcement and was even more surprised when
his
face flashed on the screen.

Before the announcer could continue, the crowd applauded and cheered.

Tim couldn’t help smiling, and he dipped his head and looked at the ground.

Finally the announcer went on. “In tribute to this fallen friend, we ask for a moment of silence in his memory, after which we’ll hear the prayer from NASCAR’s chaplain.”

The stands fell silent—an eerie sound for a place that made so much noise. A few seconds later, someone yelled, “We love you, Tim!”

Then the chaplain prayed, a singer performed the national anthem, and jets flew overhead.

Dale pounded Tim on the back. “Didn’t expect that, did you?”

Tim shook his head. “It was nice. Thanks for setting that up.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” Dale said. “They did that on their own.”

Tim nodded. “Well, I thank you anyway.”

Dale’s pit box was close to the end of pit road this year, which made Tim glad. He stood back as Mrs. Maxwell handed Dale a slip of paper. Tim guessed it was the verse she gave him before each race (or read to him over the phone when she wasn’t there in person). He didn’t have the nerve to ask what it said. Dale kissed her, then got in the car and strapped in, and the chaplain came along and prayed with him.

Then the call came—“Gentlemen, start your engines!”

Tim loved the sound of the engines together, and when the cars pulled in behind the pace car, he couldn’t believe the noise and the power of those engines. And that was before they actually started racing!

“You okay?” Jamie said to him.

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Did it bring back some bad memories?” she said.

“A little,” Tim said. “But there’s so much good I remember about my dad that I don’t think about this track as being the problem. I’m kind of glad to be back here.”

Jamie walked a little farther down pit road with her headset on, and Tim turned to the race. Dale started in the 12th position, and when the green flag waved, he and the others shot forward, drafting in two long trains.