Speed Demons (2 page)

After checking her watch, she tucked the manila envelope into her worn leather messenger-style bag, which held her ever-present Canon. Then she glanced at her reflection in the car window. Dressed in dark jeans, a crisp white cotton shirt, and a brown blazer, she looked younger than forty-two, at least at a distance. Her petite frame, and the freckles she’d despised as a teenager, didn’t exactly make her look more mature. Pearl Wang, Blythe’s mentor and friend ever since she’d arrived in New York, maintained that people only underestimated Blythe once. “Everyone with their head screwed on right will realize what this woman’s made of the second she raises her camera,” Pearl often said.

Blythe hoisted her bag and began to walk to Pasta Cosi, the Italian restaurant on the corner farther up the street, opposite the park. Pearl would also have recognized the way Blythe’s nerves were affecting her right now. When she wasn’t involved in photography, in doing her job, she had to deal with her lifelong struggle with nearly debilitating shyness. She had to force herself to approach people, to socialize and carry on conversations with people she hardly knew, even complete strangers. Few people, except Pearl and a couple of her closest friends, knew the toll it took on her. For a long time, she had hoped her shyness would become easier with age, but the last few years it seemed to have gotten worse.

Blythe willed her fingers to relax around the shoulder strap of her bag. Her heart hammered and goose bumps erupted along her arms. She knew how to appear unaffected, but it had taken her years to perfect the appearance of being comfortable when she wasn’t. Now she used one of her techniques, a mantra of sorts in which she told herself that Evangeline wasn’t a stranger. They had met several times before the crash. Tall, Evangeline Marshall had long dark hair and deeply set green eyes in a chiseled, oval face. Nobody had seen any new close-ups of her since the crash, and Blythe wondered, not for the first time, if the injuries had left scars.

She entered the restaurant, which looked about half full.

“Welcome,” a young woman just inside the door said, and reached for some menus.

“I’m meeting someone. Reservation’s under Marshall.”

The woman checked her chart. “Ms. Marshall is waiting for you. Follow me, please.” She guided Blythe over to the far corner. “I hope you will enjoy your meal.”

Evangeline looked up from a paperback she’d been reading. “Hello, Blythe.”

Blythe had never felt more tongue-tied, but forced herself to greet Evangeline politely. She hung her bag across the tall backrest of the chair and sat down across from Evangeline. “Nice to see you again, Evangeline.” It was. She shuddered at a sudden flashback of the smoking pileup of cars and the broken body of the vibrant woman in front of her.

Evangeline placed her book on the chair next to her. “Call me Evie. Please. It’s been a while.”

“Yes. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“My manager said you have something important to show me.” As direct as always, Evie obviously hadn’t developed an affinity for small talk during her recovery.

“Yes.” Blythe didn’t allow the annoying tremors in her stomach to rush her. “I understand this is one of your favorite restaurants in Branford.”

“It is.” Impatience oozed from Evie, but she motioned toward the menu next to Blythe’s plate. “I recommend the puttanesca.”

“Thank you. I’ll take your word for it.” Glad she didn’t have to peruse the menu, she turned to the approaching waiter.

“I’ve already placed my order,” Evie said, when Blythe gestured for her to go first.

She ordered the dish Evie suggested, then sipped her water, stalling a few seconds longer. “You want to eat first or…?”

“No, let’s get to the point.” Evie also drank some water.

Understanding that Evie wanted to make sure she wasn’t wasting her time, Blythe dug into her briefcase for the manila envelope. “I just want you to know that some of these aren’t easy to look at. For anyone. For you, it might be even worse.”

“What is this?” Evie weighed the envelope in her hand, her dark eyes burrowing into Blythe’s.

“Photos that I took. That day.” Not sure why she found it impossible to say “the day of your accident,” she watched Evie pale a couple of shades.

“You—you took photos?”

Blythe couldn’t judge if Evie was shocked or outraged. Trying not to recoil, she nodded solemnly. “I did. That’s why I was there, after all. I was lined up to photograph you coming through the curve and was already shooting when everything happened. I just kept my finger on the shutter release. It all went so fast.”

Evie’s eyes turned flat as she opened the envelope slowly, as if it contained a bomb. Blythe assumed the experience had been like being in a high-powered blast. She knew every single one of those pictures by heart, and even if Evie remained expressionless, the crisp images of her car plowing through the crashing cars hidden in the smoke reflected in her eyes. More than a year after the accident, Blythe still shuddered to think of the horrific events she’d witnessed.

Evie browsed through the first photos, and as she turned each one over, her eyes narrowed and her hands faintly shook. Without finishing the full series of pictures, she suddenly shoved them back into the envelope.

“Are you trying to sell me these, this long afterward?” Looking dangerous, she pushed the envelope back. “I’m not interested.”

“No. No, you misunderstand.” Hadn’t Evie’s agent explained properly? Blythe pressed her palms against the table. “I don’t want money for the photos. They’re not for sale.”

“Then, frankly, I don’t get why I’m wasting my time here.” Acid dripped from Evie’s words.

“Because I want to give them to you, and I have a proposal.” Blythe normally didn’t handle customers herself. She had employees to take care of the administrative tasks, so all she had to do was show up and do the actual work. But she refused to leave this task up to an assistant, no matter how far out of her comfort zone she had to step.

“Go on.” Evie looked more relaxed and calm.

“I know it’s been hard for you. On top of that, it’s so unfair that the bloggers out there are spreading false rumors and raising questions that the NASCAR officials and your rep have already answered. My pictures should set the record straight once and for all. We could include them as one of the chapters in a photography book. That way, you’d get to tell your story and I could finish what I started.” Blythe took a deep breath and gulped down some more water.

Evie didn’t say anything at first. She observed Blythe with those dark green eyes, which didn’t give away any of her thoughts. Blythe wanted to lower her own eyes, but the brave woman across from her would consider that a sign of weakness, and she didn’t want to do anything to spoil her plans.

“You wish to resume where we left off?” Evie lifted one corner of her mouth. “Trust me. A lot has happened since then.”

“Your manager confirms that you’re planning a comeback.”

“Planning one and actually getting there are two completely different things. You might end up like before, having put tons of planning and work into something that amounted to nothing.”

Blythe heard the pain behind Evie’s defiant words. “Even if you don’t want anything to do with me, or the book, the photos are still yours, and you can use them to prove once and for all exactly what happened. I had a vantage point that the news cameras and the sports network didn’t. My pictures tell the true story.”

“You’re giving these to me, and the right to do whatever I please with them?” Evie’s voice lost some of its annoyance.

“Yes.”

“No strings attached?”

“None.”

Evie had her reasons to be suspicious. According to her manager, several publishers and editors had swamped her with suggestions and proposals. The chance that she’d accept Blythe’s offer was infinitesimal.

“If—if I should go ahead with such a project, there’d be tons of clauses and exceptions.” Evie placed a hand on top of the envelope between them.

“I’m sure we could work things out.” At last, Blythe realized there was enough oxygen in the restaurant. The waiter returned with their food and she welcomed the break in their conversation. Cautiously she tasted the puttanesca, relieved that the angel hair pasta dish was savory, but not too hot.

“Great choice, huh?” Evie said, sounding casual.

“It’s delicious. Very good choice.” Blythe smiled as carefully as she’d just tasted the pasta and, to her relief, Evie reciprocated.

*

Evie studied Blythe surreptitiously as they ate in silence. She usually wolfed down the food at Pasta Cosi, but tonight, with so many emotions fighting to overwhelm her, she had to concentrate on chewing every bite so she wouldn’t choke.

She’d recognized Blythe Pierce as soon as she stepped into the restaurant. Evie felt at ease here at Pasta Cosi, having frequented this place ever since high school, but her heart raced as Blythe walked toward her.

Blythe’s face was one of her last clear memories before the crash. During the day she couldn’t remember the pileup, but some nights it all returned in her dreams, haunting her with nauseating details of flames, smoke, and broken bodies. She shook away the destructive thoughts and instead studied Blythe. Dressed in preppy clothes, with her blond hair curling down to her shoulders, Blythe had translucent, blue eyes that grabbed Evie. How could someone who had witnessed so much in all the major hellholes in this world have such a mild gaze? Blythe’s pale, freckled complexion also belied her age and experience.

Evie had reacquainted herself with the photographer’s biography and work via her website before she agreed to meet. According to it, Blythe was twelve years Evie’s senior, but she didn’t look it. Surely you couldn’t spend months and months in Iraq and Afghanistan, in such scorching heat, without sun damage? Perhaps Blythe’s makeup protected her, but from what Evie could see, she wore only some eye shadow.

She had been certain Blythe had intended to sell those photos at a very high price, and that she would threaten to sell them to the tabloids or someone else out to use them for God knew what purpose. When Blythe simply gave them to her, Evie became speechless for several moments. The selfless act seemed without ulterior motives. Her mind raced as she tried to figure out Blythe’s next step. She began to relax as Blythe merely ate and seemed content to wait for her to make up her mind.

“I need to know more,” Evie blurted. “I’m sorry. I just can’t make a decision like this on the spot.”

“I realize that your comeback alone must be stressful enough, without having me shadow you. Still, that’s how it would be. If you eventually agree to do this book, I’ll have to be with you during practices and everything that has anything remotely to do with you as a NASCAR driver. It’s important that you understand this.”

Evie nodded, grateful for Blythe’s straightforwardness. “I do.”

“I’ll do my best to answer any questions you might have. I know that your team researched me last year. Nothing much has changed, but if you want, you can double-check my credentials and references.”

“I might. Still, that’s not what worries me. I mean, you’re well-known and everything.” Evie put down her fork, unable to finish her meal. She could tell that Blythe liked hers. Her plate was almost empty.

“What’s the problem, then?” Blythe frowned, running her fingertips along the rim of her glass. She tipped her head sideways, looking intently at Evie in a way that made something hum inside her.

“Eh…I need to talk this over with you further. In public like this, I’m sure I’d forget half the questions I meant to ask.” Evie thought for a moment and then decided to take the leap. “Why don’t you come to my family’s summer house in Plymouth this weekend? I’m having some friends over and you’re welcome to join us. I know from last year how excited they were that the famous Blythe Pierce planned to feature me in a book.”

“Are you sure?” Blythe looked taken aback. “I’d love to discuss this project more, but I don’t want to impose.”

“No problem.” Evie waved the waiter over, but before she had a chance, Blythe took the leather case from his hands, tucked in her credit card, and returned it.

“You don’t have to do that. I suggested that we meet here.” A little annoyed, Evie inhaled and slowly let the air out again. Digging deep for a more gracious approach, she forced a smile. “Thank you, though.”

“You’re welcome.” Blythe turned to the waiter and signed the receipt. “Seemed like a good compromise since I’ll be your guest this weekend. When do you want me…there?” The hastily added word and Blythe’s flushed cheeks amused Evie.

“How about Saturday, around noon? We can have lunch and, if the weather’s good, enjoy a walk on the beach.”

“It’s a deal. Why don’t you text me the address? You have my cell phone number on the business card in the envelope.”

Evie placed a hand again on the envelope that held the evidence of the event that had nearly ended her life and had definitely changed her outlook on it. The woman across the table was unlike anybody she’d ever met. Evie remembered how she had transformed from a shy recluse to a completely focused and brilliant professional photographer. Her résumé and published work suggested she wasn’t afraid to take risks and approach things in unusual ways to obtain the shot she was after. This juxtaposition between such extremes fascinated her, and perhaps this time around, Evie would have a chance to get to know her better.

They rose from the table and thanked the staff on their way out.

“I have my car over there,” Blythe murmured, seeming even more aloof than before now that they were standing close together on the sidewalk. “Can I give you a ride somewhere?”

“No, thank you.” Evie knew she sounded short, but apprehension, originating from a flicker of attraction, made her wary of being in a confined space. If she decided to collaborate with Blythe on this project, she had to keep a certain distance. She had walked from her Branford condo, and she didn’t want Blythe to feel she had to drive her home. “I’ll have my manager e-mail you directions to the summerhouse. See you then.”

“Thank you. Bye.” Blythe seemed relieved to be on her way, hurrying to her vehicle over by the park.