Over the Wall (11 page)

JAMIE AND HER MOM
held on to each other in front of the TV. The announcers’ voices rose as the racers neared the end of the 500th mile. Jamie could hardly watch, but there was no way she was
not
going to watch.

“The big question is, can Dale Maxwell pull it out?” the commentator said. “Can he beat a faster Devalon team breathing down his neck?”

“They’re in turn three, Butch Devalon coming hard—Oh!—”

“He clipped him!”

“Can you believe that?”

“No!” Jamie screamed at the TV.

“He’s into the wall hard on that one,” the commentator said. “It looked like Butch was going to try and slingshot out of there, and when Dale moved down to block, he got into the #27 car. That’s a shame.”

“Butch Devalon avoids the crash and takes the checkered flag in a thrilling end to this race at the Texas Speedway.”

Jamie and her mom fell onto the couch together, the air coming out of the entire room. “I can’t believe he did that.”

The replay showed that as Dale moved down, Devalon had nudged his teammate into Maxwell. There was discussion about whether it was on purpose.

“And here are the official results. . . .”

Jamie’s heart fell. Her dad had gone from winning the race to finishing 23rd. The looks on the faces of the pit crew said it all. Cal slammed his gloves onto the pavement. T.J. leaned back in his chair and shook his head. Worst of all, the in-car camera had gone out at the crash impact.

The TV coverage was ending, and Butch Devalon was doing his little victory dance that looked to Jamie like a duck trying to get out of a cold pond. Just before they cut away, the camera focused on the #14 car and the driver, not moving inside the car.

TIM STOOD
at the infield care center door, watching the Devalon car being pushed to the garage. NASCAR would take the engine apart piece by piece and inspect it to make sure there was nothing funny about it.

A few yards away, a camera crew encircled Butch Devalon, and Tim could hear him babbling on. “It was a great race, and I hate like the dickens to see Dale taken out of it like that when he’d been leading for so long,” he said. “I take my hat off to him. He took a big chance staying out there, and it almost paid off for him.”

“What happened at the end?” a reporter said, shoving the microphone back at Devalon.

“I got a little antsy there trying to get past him. What I wanted to do was go way low and let my teammate go high
and see if either of us could get a clear shot at the finish, but we kind of bunched up. It was just one of those racing things.”

The reporter asked another question, but Devalon held up a hand and looked straight into the camera. “Before I go on, I want to dedicate this race to my son, Chad. A lot of you know he got into a wreck on a track back home this past week, and he was pretty banged up. So this one’s for you, Chad. Woo-hoo!”

“How does it feel to be leading the points race at this stage of the season?” another reporter said.

“Oh, we got a long way to go, but I’d rather be leading than chasing anytime—that’s for sure.”

Tim turned away and walked around the building. On the other side was a concessions stand, and the people were packing up and locking coolers. His stomach growled and ached. He’d been so focused on the race that he hadn’t eaten anything.

A commotion behind him made him turn to see Dale walking out of the back of the building and into a gauntlet of reporters. He had a white bandage around his left hand and walked a little slowly, but he looked okay to Tim. T.J. was there waiting and spoke with Dale.

The reporters shouted questions at Dale until they surrounded him and made him stop moving, but he still craned his neck above the cameras and micro
phones, looking for something. Or someone. When he saw Tim, he waved and gave him a thumbs-up. He turned to T.J. and said something.

The crew chief got out of the pack and came over to Tim. “Dale wants you to stay right here until he’s done with these people, okay?”

“Yes, sir. Is he okay?”

“I think he’s all right, but I’ve never seen him this mad before.”

“You weren’t moving out there, Dale,” a reporter asked. “What happened?”

“Well, you hit the wall as hard as I did and you’ll find out. I guess the reason I didn’t move was a mixture of shock and disbelief about what had happened. And there wasn’t a whole lot I could do but just sit there and watch the guys pass me.”

“Talk about that final turn, Dale. Did you think you had the finish line?”

“Yeah, I knew we had a good car today, and I just wanted to punch it out of that fourth turn there, but it didn’t work out like I wanted.”

“Devalon said it was one of those racing things. Do you agree with that?”

Dale pushed his hat back a little and scratched at his hair. “Yeah. I suppose it was.”

“What do you want to say to Devalon?” another reporter said.

“I don’t know that
saying
something is what I would do right now. And if I did, I’d probably have to ask forgiveness for it later.” Dale smiled. “Thank you, guys. I need to get back to my team. They did a great job out there today, but I couldn’t finish it the way I wanted. Excuse me.” He pushed his way through the crowd and waved at Tim to catch up with him.

Soon the media members left, and it was just Tim, Dale, and T.J.

“You okay?” Tim said.

“Yeah, I just need to get to a phone and call my wife.”

“Here you go,” T.J. said, handing Dale a cell phone.

Dale dialed as he walked, passing other crews and drivers who tried to encourage him.

“Tough luck out there today, Dale.”

“Nice race, Maxwell.”

“You’ll get him next week, Dale.”

He waved and tried to smile, but Tim could tell he’d been wounded and not just on his body.

“Honey, it’s me. . . . No, I’m all right. Jammed my left wrist a little when I hit the wall. . . . Yeah, it was disappointing to say the least. . . . No, I haven’t seen him or talked to him, and I can’t say that I want to. . . . He’s right here with me. We’ll head to the airport and be back there early this evening. . . .”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tim saw someone in a black fire suit heading toward them. He came up behind Dale as a lone camera guy followed.

Dale turned. The look on his face when he saw Butch Devalon was priceless, if you’re willing to pay for a look that makes dogs cower and little children run away. “Hang on a minute, honey,” Dale said, putting the phone away.

“Dale, I want you to know—”

“No,” Dale interrupted, pointing a finger at him.

The red light on the camera glowed, and several people came out of a nearby hauler to watch.

T.J. touched Dale’s shoulder, but Dale shook him off. “Everything you needed to let me know you showed me on the track. I’m done with it, Butch.” Dale clenched his teeth, and it looked like he wanted to say something else, but he turned and walked away.

“Dale, don’t act this way,” Devalon called after him. “That could just as easily have been me in the wall out there.”

Dale stopped, but T.J. put a hand on his back and pushed him forward. “Keep walking. Cameras are rolling. Let’s get out of here.”

TIM COULD TELL
that Dale was stiff as he tried to get comfortable in the airplane seat. They didn’t talk much on the way home, though Tim did find out how many backup cars they had in the garage and that it wouldn’t be a problem to be ready for Phoenix next weekend because that was a one-mile track, and they were going to use a different car anyway.

“Did you want to punch Devalon when he came up to you?” Tim said.

Dale got a far-off look on his face. “Tim, I try to live my life like Jesus did, but I tell you what, I felt like turning old Devalon’s tables over on him and getting out my whip.”

Tim didn’t know whether to laugh or not. “I don’t understand.”

Dale told him some story about Jesus getting mad at people who were
selling stuff in a church. Although Tim didn’t follow the whole thing, it made sense. Jesus got mad at people and he was perfect, so getting mad was not the problem. Hauling off and punching somebody or yelling bad words at them was.

/////

The Charlotte airport was a lot like the other airports Tim had been in over the past few days. They got their luggage and took it to the car. Dale drove north, first on the Billy Graham Parkway, then on a couple of other roads.

“Velocity is not all that big,” Dale explained, “but it’s a nice place to raise a family.”

Dale told Tim about Kellen and how much he looked forward to having Tim live with them. He said Jamie was going through a phase and planned on attending a driving school soon. “I wouldn’t expect too much from her the first couple days.”

“Are you saying she’s going to be mean?” Tim said.

“
Mean
isn’t the word. Just kind of moody at times. I think growing up is hard for all of us, and her mother and I are trying to help her do that. What I’m saying is, if you find it hard to
connect
with her, as my wife likes to say, it’s not your fault.”

/////

Mrs. Maxwell was waiting outside under the porch light when they arrived home. She was a pretty woman with long red hair. She had a thin build and a nice smile. She hugged her husband, not too hard, and shook Tim’s hand. “I’m glad to finally get to meet you, Tim. Did you enjoy the race?”

“It was a whole lot of fun until the end,” Tim said.

“My feelings exactly,” Dale said.

The screen door swung open, and a kid in pajamas came running outside carrying two baseball gloves. “Is this him?”

“Tim, this is Kellen,” Dale said.

“Mom said I have to go to bed soon because I have school tomorrow, but we could probably get in a few minutes of catch,” Kellen said in one long breath.

“Kellen, Tim has had a long day,” Mrs. Maxwell said.

“I’d like to throw a little,” Tim said, “but it’s kind of dark. How about tomorrow?”

“Good idea,” Dale said. “Why don’t you take Tim and show him his room?”

“Okay,” Kellen said.

Dale hugged his son, and the boy kind of rolled his eyes. “You make it out of the race okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be as good as new in a few days. Show Tim downstairs now.”

Tim noticed some shoes in a pile by the door, but he didn’t think anything about it. Kellen threw the gloves on the upstairs landing and tossed the ball from hand to hand as they walked downstairs. There were pictures of the family on the wall, and the girl, Jamie, looked more like a model than a race car driver.

The house was clean and had lots of wood floors. The downstairs had thick carpet, and there was an area in the family room with a pool table and a big TV.

“We come down here to watch movies and stuff,” Kellen said. “And there’s a Ping-Pong table you can throw on top of the pool table.”

“That’s cool,” Tim said, though it didn’t even come close to what he was thinking. After living so long with his dad on the road and then in Tyson’s trailer, this place was like a castle complete with a moat and a playground.

“This is your room,” Kellen said, flipping on the light. “Mom fixed it up for you.”

Tim put his suitcase down, and his gaze swept the room. The bed looked so comfortable he wanted to jump in and go to sleep that second. On the walls were pictures of racetracks, drivers, and cars. The closet was bigger than his room back in Florida. He
looked down and realized he still had his shoes on and remembered the pile of them upstairs by the door. He’d never been in a house where you actually took off your shoes when you came inside.

Something caught his eye on the nightstand, and he walked over and picked up a picture. It was a photo of his dad he’d never seen before. He was standing behind a couple of racing legends, looking at the camera and smiling.

“The racing chaplain who goes to our church found that for you,” Mrs. Maxwell said, stepping into the room. “I thought you’d like it. But if there’s anything here you don’t like, just tell me and I’ll have it taken down.”

“It’s awesome,” Tim said. “The whole thing is . . . like a hotel. Like I’m walking into a dream.”

She smiled. “I’m glad you like it.”

A girl appeared in the doorway and peeked around Mrs. Maxwell. “Hi, I’m Jamie,” she said, smiling. Same smile as her mother. She reached out a hand, and Tim shook. Firm handshake. Kind of rough hands, like she knew how to use tools.

“I-I saw you on the Daytona coverage,” Tim said.

“Yeah, I guess a lot of people did,” Jamie said. “You need a ride to school?”

“We need to get him situated before he starts,” Mrs. Maxwell said.

“Well, if you need a ride, let me know.” Jamie turned and started out. It looked like she wanted to say something to her mom, but she didn’t.

“Thanks for letting me come here, Mrs. Maxwell,” Tim said. He didn’t feel right calling her Nicole, though it felt fine calling Mr. Maxwell Dale. “If I do something wrong, let me know. I’ve never lived in a nice place like this.”