Speed Demons

by Gun Brooke

  “I’m sorry. I’ve never had any flashbacks while driving before now.”

  “Because driving a race car on a racetrack is a lot different than driving between New Haven and Plymouth.” Breaking the embrace, she looked solemnly at Evie. “I hadn’t realized I’d feel so…involved.”

  “But you do.” Somehow this reassurance seemed to calm Evie. “I can’t promise not to scare you while competing, but at least now we know a good way to bring me out of flashbacks if they happen again.”

  “What do you mean?” Blythe dreaded whatever conclusion Evie had drawn.

  “You.” Evie beamed. “Your voice penetrated all that smoke and terror. When I heard you I knew what I was seeing wasn’t real. Your voice was the only variable that didn’t fit in. Even Ben’s voice fit in because he was right there in my ear last time. Before the crash.” She suddenly flinched and her eyes darkened to a frosty forest green. “Fuck. Not now. Fuck!”

  *

  Evie clasped her hands behind her back. This was exactly what she didn’t need. Not now, today, or ever. Pressing her lips together, she stared at the approaching man with a measured calm she didn’t feel.

  “Hello, Malcolm,” she said, and Blythe gave a soft gasp. “What brings you here?”

  “Evangeline,” Malcolm Marshall said politely. “Where should I be, if not here, where I can hopefully prevent my only child from making the biggest mistake in her life? A second time, I might add.”

  “I refuse to have this discussion with you. I have the track for another hour, but—”

  “A waste of resources.” Malcolm waved his hand dismissively at Ben and the rest of the team. “When you hear my news, you’ll be glad I stopped you from another redneck way of trying to kill yourself.”

  “Please. Malcolm. Father.” It was pointless to try to reason with him when he was in this mood. He hated being contradicted, and if no witnesses were nearby, he could become quite abusive, verbally.

  “I’ve been on the phone with several of the Formula One teams over the last weekend. If you play your cards right, they might just consider you. As a favor to me, naturally, but when they see how committed you are, you’ll gain their trust in your ability. I mean, you’re a Marshall. I’ve taught you everything, after all.”

  In fact, Malcolm had taught Evie very little. She’d learned from him, firsthand, only how she was never good enough, how she was a constant failure and disappointment. Her emotions still surging from her close call during training, she began to tremble. “You’re just too much, Dad. I won’t be returning any calls from your F1 buddies, so you can stop calling in any so-called favors. I know you hate NASCAR. You’ve made that clear. I don’t know why you keep showing up when you know I won’t change my mind. I love this type of racing, even if you don’t.”

  “You call this racing?” He stepped closer, sneering. “Compared to Formula One, this is like driving a damn tractor, cheered on by peasants. No offense, Benny.” He didn’t even look at Ben when he threw out his last comment.

  “Mal, you need to leave.” Ben stepped close, flanking Evie on her left side.

  She suddenly felt Blythe take position on her right.

  “And who’s this?” Malcolm frowned, towering over Blythe. He made an ugly face at the camera. “The press?”

  “No.” Blythe didn’t volunteer anything, merely raised her camera and kept snapping pictures of Evie’s apoplectic father.

  “Hey. You have no right.”

  “We’re in a public place. I have every right since I have a contract with Ms. Marshall.” Blythe spoke curtly. “I document everything regarding her return to the NASCAR circuit, and that includes anything, or anyone, aiding or trying to prevent it.” The camera kept clicking.

  Malcolm reached for the camera, only to find Ben gripping his wrist mere inches from Blythe. “I wouldn’t do that, Mal. You’ve said what you came to say. If Evie wants to contact your F1 chums, she will. If not, she won’t. We’re all her friends. You better leave.”

  “Oh, I’ll leave, all right. I’ll leave, and I’ll talk to your grandfather. He had such hopes after your crash. Once they said you’d live, he was so sure you’d understand. Two generations of Formula One champions and you break his heart with this hillbilly NASCAR shit.” Spitting as he talked, Mal clenched his hands. “Let me know when you’ve straightened yourself out.” He turned around and shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket before stalking away.

  “That’s my dad for you.” Evie took a deep breath. “He’s all heart, really.” Laughing hollowly, she felt Blythe’s arms around her waist.

  “There’s one hearty person in every family. Even more in mine.” Blythe held up her camera. “If we forget just how he looked when he was being his most acidic, I have some great shots of him. For a moment I thought I’d have to wipe the lens. He was frothing, wasn’t he?” Her calm irony made Evie relax, which was unexpected, but a relief.

  “Well, he wasn’t saying anything new.” She grabbed Blythe’s hand, which was still cupping her side. “Same ole, same ole.”

  Ben had calmed down as well. “Yup, I’ve heard it all before too. What do you say? Take that lovely red Viper of yours and give Blythe here another angle to shoot from. Got to help her get the best pics, huh?”

  Evie could’ve wept as their loyalty washed over her. She put on her balaclava and, helmet under her arm, hurried toward the car. “You might get a good angle from the bleachers, Blythe.”

  “Thanks for the tip.” Blythe grinned.

  “Anytime. Abso-freaking-lutely anytime.” Evie pushed herself into the Viper, and this time when she let the engine roar and took it out on the track, driving was all pleasure.

  Chapter Seven

  Blythe picked up her cell phone and promptly put it back down, exasperated for doing the same thing three times within the last few minutes. Tugging at her curls, she looked out the window of the Holiday Inn where she was staying. Branford looked lovely, yet another crisp autumn day when all the maple trees were on fire. Part of her wanted to take her camera and just go on an impromptu photo safari in the neighborhood, but she still had some work to do on the computer. But before she could really focus on that, she needed to figure things out.

  Picking up her cell phone once more, she dialed Pearl’s private number.

  “Blythe. What’s up?” She sounded busy and distracted.

  “Am I disturbing your editing?” Blythe closed her eyes tight. She’d hoped to gain some courage by talking to her friend.

  “No. Not really. I need a break from this abysmal article. Honestly, when will people learn what the spell-checker is for?” Pearl huffed and then her tone changed. “So, tell me what’s going on, Blythe.”

  Pearl’s familiar opening rant helped ground Blythe. “You know I’m getting that award, right?”

  “Yes. If you mean the National Photojournalist Award. I wish I could be there to cheer you on.”

  “It’s all right. I planned to go alone, but I’ve met this woman, I mean through work, and…um…I thought I’d…but probably that’s a bad idea. What do you think?”

  “About what?”

  “About what I just asked.” Blythe sighed.

  “Let me see what I got from your slightly disjointed sentence. You met a woman, but you’re adamant that I know it’s only a work-related relationship. Then you’re having second thoughts about asking her. Is that about it?”

  “Ah. Yes.”

  “Blythe, honey, you called because you really want her to join you at the ceremony, but you can’t bring yourself to invite her. You’re hoping I’ll think this is a big mistake and talk you out of it.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “And still you know, after all we’ve been friends for almost twenty-five years, that I’m going to push you to take a leap of faith. Call this lovely friend of yours. Ask her. The worst she can say is no.” Pearl’s voice softened. “I have a hunch that she might just accept.”

  “Why? Why would you have a hunch?�
�� Blythe clutched the cell phone.

  “I know you rather well. You wouldn’t even dare consider asking a woman if she hadn’t shown some sort of interest in you, as a friend or more.”

  Blythe wanted to curse at Pearl for being so damn omniscient. She’d never been able to hide anything from Pearl. That was probably a good thing, but sometimes it could be unnerving. Still, Blythe knew she’d called Pearl because she needed reassurance and a push in the right direction.

  “Thank you. I feel so incredibly immature because I can’t just figure these things out on my own. I guess I just don’t trust myself.”

  “Hey, you’ve come a long way. You’re eons from the wounded sparrow that landed on my doorstep all those years ago. That’s why I know this woman means more to you than you realize right now. She makes you feel more, and that’s why you panic and don’t rely on yourself. And you know what? That’s how it is for most of us. We meet someone and they make us feel vulnerable. We question them, and we keep our inner debates to ourselves.”

  “So you’re saying it’s not just me as a typically awkward person?”

  “Oh, honey, you’re not awkward. You never were. I think your parents made you feel that way, but the way I see it, it was never true.”

  Blythe smiled at the strong conviction in Pearl’s voice. Pearl had once and for all let Blythe know that she was in her corner, no matter what. “Thanks. I needed some sense beaten into me. I’ll ask her. I can use someone there who isn’t impressed with the hoopla since you’re not able to attend.”

  “I’m sorry about that, I really am.” Pearl sighed. “If it wasn’t the opening night of Mike’s play—”

  “Don’t even think about it. What kind of mother would you be if you dissed your own son when he’s got the lead role? You did say they’re taping the play, right?” Pearl’s oldest son, a senior in high school, was playing Romeo in his drama class’s production.

  “Yes, they are. All the parents get a copy, so you’ll be able to see it with him next time we get together.”

  “Tell him I can’t wait. I’ve arranged for flowers to be delivered onstage afterward.”

  “He’ll be thrilled.” Pearl shared more details about her family, then they hung up, but not before Pearl urged her to call “the woman” right away. Blythe promised, but she had to take a moment to think about it or, rather, what to say. If she didn’t rehearse mentally before the call, she’d end up stuttering and sounding like a complete wreck.

  She glanced at the e-mail she’d saved to her desktop and shuddered. Yet another award, something she truly disliked but grudgingly acknowledged the honor of receiving it. This award in particular, since it was for the photos she’d taken in Afghanistan. She’d risked her life carrying out her job there, but so did the soldiers, and even if they received the military’s version of awards, that wasn’t why they did it. Nor did any thought of recognition enter her mind when she crawled between muddy vehicles or became one with the wall in a field hospital, to photograph the faces of wounded soldiers and civilians.

  Still, this was different. The award handed out Friday would help inspire young women and also shed light on her subject matter. With a little luck the audience would focus on those things rather than on her. After all, the individual behind the camera did the storytelling rather than basking in the limelight herself.

  No matter how much of Friday’s event Blythe had chosen to block from her memory, the arrival of her evening dress at the hotel room pushed it to the front of her mind. Her assistant had made sure she wouldn’t forget and had also left a note with the dress containing information about the makeup artist she’d booked for her and urging Blythe to bring a date.

  Having to bring a date was, if possible, even worse than the event itself. The ceremony and celebrity-laden event, being held at the Omni New Haven Hotel at Yale, would be televised nationally. Showing up alone when she was the guest of honor would be bad too. Groaning out loud, she grabbed her cell phone again and pressed Evie’s number on speed dial.

  “Hello, Blythe. Don’t tell me you’re bailing on me tomorrow morning?”

  “What? Oh, the morning’s run? No, no. I’ll be ready. That’s not why I’m calling.”

  “No? What’s up?”

  Blythe tried to figure out a good way to ask Evie, but words eluded her completely, internal rehearsal or not.

  “Blythe? Are you all right?”

  “Um. Well, you see, I’m…eh…” Wanting to thud her forehead against the laptop screen, Blythe bit down hard on her thumb. “You see, I have this thing on Friday evening. I totally understand if you can’t, and honestly, I don’t blame you, since it’s bound to be boring and tedious, and—”

  “Hold on, hold on. I may be a bit on the slow side, but you, on the other hand, aren’t making one bit of sense. What’s happening Friday?”

  “I have a function.”

  “The way you say function, I can only surmise that you detest these shindigs as much as I do.”

  “I do, and that’s why I understand that you don’t want to join me.” This made perfect sense to Blythe.

  “Not that you actually asked me to join you, but why, just to humor me, don’t you tell me more about it?” Evie’s voice held a definite smile.

  “Ah. Right. It’s an award thingy, and it’s very formal. You know, tuxedos and evening dresses.”

  “Where is it?”

  “Omni New Haven Hotel at Yale.”

  “You’re kidding!” Evie began to cough. “Around here that’s the award this time of year. And you’re not just attending, are you? You’re it. You’re the recipient.”

  “I suppose so.” Fidgeting, Blythe wished she hadn’t called, but that wasn’t really true either. No matter her reason for talking to Evie, the sound of her voice invigorated and soothed Blythe at the same time.

  “And you’re asking me to go as your, um, date?” If it was possible to detect a blush via the phone, Blythe could see Evie going pink.

  “Yes. It never dawned on me that I’d need one for Friday, but my assistant strongly urges me to find one, and you were my first, and only, choice.”

  “Really?” Evie sounded genuinely excited. “I’d be happy to. What are you going to wear?”

  “Oh, on Friday? A light blue evening dress. My assistant has connections in the fashion industry, and she gives my measurements to the latest new star whenever I need something to wear besides jeans or chinos.”

  “I should have her do that for me as well. I’m not much better at shopping for clothes.”

  “At least you don’t have to try for the preteen section of the store.” Blythe snorted.

  “Ah, come on, you’re not that tiny.”

  “Hmm. Don’t bet on it.”

  “Anyway, since you’re in blue eveningwear, I know just what to wear. What time should I pick you up?”

  “You don’t have to pick me up—”

  “You’re the guest of honor. I’m your date. I pick you up. End of argument.”

  “What argument? You just steamrolled right over me.” Blythe laughed. Suddenly much calmer about Friday, she tried to remember when she’d actually giggled with someone over the phone last, if ever. “Thanks, Evie. I know it was last-minute.”

  “Hey, I was just planning to hang around in front of the TV by myself. You’re doing me a favor.”

  Blythe doubted that but didn’t push the matter. “See you tomorrow morning for our jog, then.”

  “Sleep well, Blythe.”

  “’Night.”

  Closing the connection, Blythe refocused on her computer. Perhaps now that she had no reason to fret about Friday anymore, she could get some work done in Photoshop.

  *

  Evie jogged just behind Blythe, mainly so she wouldn’t run too fast for her, but she had to admit that the sight of Blythe turned her on. Dressed in black leggings and an old sweatshirt, her hair in a curly ponytail, Blythe kept an even pace. Her firm bottom showed how fit she was, as did the fact that she wasn’t
out of breath.

  Evie had worked on getting into shape again ever since she got back on her feet, but scar tissue still inhibited her mobility in some areas. Despite her flameproof coverall, the heat from the burning vehicles had damaged her. The scars didn’t bother her while driving, but the largest of them, located on her left hip, made her limp a little. This was the reason she preferred to run behind Blythe. She wasn’t embarrassed, but she didn’t want Blythe to pity her.

  “How about doing some stretches over there?” Blythe called over her shoulder, pointing at some picnic tables at the far end of the park.

  “All right.” Evie jogged over to the closest bench, relieved to get a chance to soften the scar tissue and her calf muscles. Her left hip throbbed, and she couldn’t help but massage it as she performed the stretching exercises her physical therapist had showed her.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” Blythe swayed from side to side, pulling at her hamstrings.

  “Not recently. Old stuff.” Hoping Blythe would settle for this casual explanation, she stretched harder than advisable. A sharp, stabbing pain pierced the rigid skin tissue on her hip, and she moaned and grasped the picnic table to remain upright.

  “Evie!” Moving close to her, Blythe put an arm around her waist, holding her close. “A cramp?”

  “No. Just a bit overeager.” Inwardly cursing her carelessness, Evie rubbed at the stinging sensation. She really needed to check the area but didn’t want to pull her leggings down in public and with Blythe there.

  “What happened?” Blythe stood between her and the cars passing the park. “You’re white as a ghost.” She looked up at Evie’s face, her eyes darkening.

  “Just a scar that bothers me sometimes.” She took a deep breath. “I need to sit down and make sure I didn’t tear something.”

  “All right.” Blythe helped her sit, then pulled off her own sweatshirt and held it up as a screen. “Go ahead.”

  Evie pushed the leggings off her hips and halfway down her thighs. Leaning to her side, she felt along the scar, grimacing at the tenderness.

  “Yes?” Blythe tilted her head. “You need to see a doctor?”