by Stahl, Shey
you’re going 200 MPH.
A novel by Shey Stahl
Racing on the Edge
The Champion
It’s hard to see past the speed when
you’re going 200 MPH.
1. Window Net – Sway
Window Net – This is a woven mesh that hangs across the driver’s side window to prevent the driver’s head and arms from being exposed during an accident.
Living with Jameson was...difficult.
The only person I’d ever lived with was Charlie and those two couldn’t have been more different. Jameson was constantly leaving his clothes everywhere, shoes in the oddest places and I don’t think he understood where the garbage was or that we had one. I even went as far as making a sign that said, “Hello, I’m the garbage can.”
Didn’t work, he still set his empty beer bottles on the counter and trash on the counters. I didn’t understand, even Lane, Jameson’s nephew, at three, put shit in the garbage but my husband at twenty-three, couldn’t. Honestly though, Mr. Jangles kept his litter box tidier than Jameson did our kitchen.
I’ve always wanted to have a huge family dinner. Now clearly, I wasn’t rational when I had the idea that this would all go smoothly. I must have been high as shit. What happened that evening was hard to describe.
After we arrived home from the small honeymoon and the NASCAR Championship awards banquet, Jameson, my NASCAR Winston Cup series champion husband, assured me the real honeymoon would come after the baby was born and we could really have some fun. The naughty wizard in me, my new nickname for myself, was envisioning broken furniture and clothes hanging from ceiling fans—the good ole Pit Lizard days before I looked like a whale. Being eight months pregnant, I thought I would never see my feet again let alone my size four jeans.
Once at our home on Summit Lake, I decided I wanted everyone together for Christmas. I also decided to have this whole Christmas dinner disaster without Jameson’s knowledge. Nancy, Jameson’s mom, offered to help, as did Alley, his publicist and sister-in law. So I thought no problem, right?
Wrong again.
It started when I convinced Jameson we needed to drive to Olympia the day before Christmas Eve and go to Bed Bath and Beyond so I could actually get dishes for cooking with. That was one necessity our home was not stocked with. We were currently eating off paper plates with plastic forks.
His response, “I don’t think so. I have no desire to go to a Bed or Bath...or whatever else they sell. What the hell does the beyond part stand for?”
Ignoring him, I continued. “I need dishes.” I told him sitting next to him on the couch as he flipped through the channels. “This house has nothing in it.”
“That’s not true,” he took another drink of his beer, nodding his head toward the kitchen. “There are paper plates in there.”
“I need dishes for Christmas dinner.”
His head slowly turned toward me, his facial expression was hard to read but it was something similar to the time I told Charlie, my dad, to take a flying fuck when I was thirteen because he wouldn’t let me pierce my nipples.
“Why?” he finally asked with a sour edge.
“EveryoneiscomingoverforChristmasdinner,” I blurted out as fast as I could and began to run away but was quickly stopped by a death grip on my wrist.
“Come again, Sway?” his eyes narrowed. “For a second there I thought you said everyone is coming over for Christmas dinner.”
I swallowed. It was as though I was trying to swallow over a boulder in my throat. “I did.”
He was silent. No words, nothing, just stared at me, his expression tense, fixated and frankly, it frightened me. I was also almost certain he wasn’t breathing.
I felt the need to explain and then when that didn’t work I did what any normal knocked up woman would do. I cried.
“Shhh...shhh...it’s okay honey.” He soothed rubbing my arm and then swiftly pulled me against his chest when it became apparent that the tears wouldn’t end without some sort of physical assistance. “I just...don’t like my family that much. What would make you think I would want them all at our house, at the same time?”
I cried some more. “I just want everyone together before they aren’t anymore.” I wailed in a childlike way.
That did him in. He knew right then I meant Charlie and agreed to my plan, with a stipulation. “If those fucking twins spill anything—I’m shutting the entire operation down.”
After my break down, we made our way to town for materials and maybe even some drugs for my husband. I wasn’t sure there was any other way to control him if we had both our families together.
“What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a...actually...I have no clue. Let’s go find the plates.” I begin walking away from the kitchen gadgets and toward the dishes while Jameson threw his arm around my shoulder.
We were shopping like a normal husband and wife and it was nice. Aside from the occasional second glance at Jameson, most everyone was leaving us alone. Having just won the series championship in his rookie season, there was no shortage of recognition anywhere we went.
“Plates...yes,” Jameson smiled. “...hey look...beds. How clever with the name and all,”
“Get off that, it’s for show only.” I started to look around the store to see who was watching.
“No they’re not. Why else would they put them out here but for testing?” His eyebrows waggled.
“I don’t think so sport, get up.” He only sprawled out further. “They’re for show only.”
“Come over here.” His voice was dripping with sex, sex that I desperately wanted. These last few days I had turned him down just because I was so uncomfortable.
“No, I’m not getting into trouble.” Even though the thought of a quick qualifying lap on that bed, in public, was incredibly enticing, I did not want to go to jail and become someone’s bitch. First-of-all, I didn’t need any more tattoos and second, I wouldn’t look good with a buzz cut.
“Wife...I think given the terms in which we are here...you should be nicer to me.” He hedged reaching for me.
“Husband,” I yanked him up by his shirt. “We’re here for dishes.” We didn’t get up and eventually started making out on the show bed.
“Excuse me,” a timid voice whispered beside us. “I’m going to have to ask you to get off the bed. It’s for display only.”
I looked over my shoulder to see a tiny red haired girl smiling down at us, her innocence radiating in her flushed appearance.
“See...I told you.” I muttered. Jameson gave the young girl a lopsided grin, trying to earn her forgiveness with his looks. I slapped him on the side of the head. “Let’s go champ.”
He groaned but followed. Eventually we settled on some new dishes and cookware. It came in handy to share a brain at times—it meant that we agreed on almost everything that went into our house. I say almost because Jameson refused to let me paint the baby’s room a soft blue. He seemed to think he needed something a little more manly. We settled on a tan color.
“Now...I need to go to the grocery store.”
“I don’t think so.” He told me putting the bags in the Expedition. “I hate grocery stores. Too many people in them.”
“Fine,” I smiled. “I can go by myself.”
“I don’t hate it that much. “
Whew, I’m getting good at this!
After the grocery store, we picked up Lane so that Alley and Spencer, Jameson’s older brother, could finish their Christmas shopping. I also think this was their plan to get us some parenting experience. I didn’t feel the need to inform them of what happened to Logan’s hamster Blubber. No one needed to know about that homicide as I was never formally charged with anything. After all, the little fucker was dead before I found him that way.
Lane never stopped talking—I was actually a little worried that he hadn’t taken a breath on the way home.
“I’m hungry.” He announced when we walked into the house tos
sing his coat over his shoulder.
What should I feed him?
What does one feed a three-year old? What do you even feed babies? I really need to do some research.
I reached for Jameson’s favorite, blueberry pop tarts. You can’t go wrong with pop tarts, or can you?
“What’s pop tart?” Lane asked, appearing by my side.
Jameson lifted him up onto the counter while we both stared at him, confused.
How could a kid not know what a pop tart was?
“What’s a—” I was in shock. “You poor child!” I pulled him into a hug. “What kind of world are we living in when parents don’t feed their kids pop tarts?” I grabbed his chubby little cheeks and squeezed, his adorable pink lips pushed together. “Please tell me you’ve at least had ego waffles?”
I let go so he could speak.
“Duh...uncle Jay eats those all the time.”
Jameson smiled ruffling his hair. “They’re fucking delicious, that’s why.”
“Jameson!” I gasped. We really needed to work on this language issue we were having. “You better hope he doesn’t repeat that around Alley.” I whispered to Jameson handing the toasted pop tart to Lane.
“You know...” Lane began, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “I not say if you give me something.”
I still found it adorable when he missed words.
“Wow,” Jameson laughed. “He learned younger than Spencer and I did.” He then pulled out a dollar out of his wallet. “Will that work?”
Lane’s eyes gleamed as he took the said dinero from him. “Yep,” and then he jumped off the counter, pop tart in hand.
A few hours later after we got everything put away, Jameson was keeping Lane busy as I prepared everything for tomorrow’s festivities when I heard our doorbell ring.
I was not at all prepared for who was at the door.
“Look Jameson,” I swung the door open both annoyed and concerned. “...our neighbors came over to welcome us to the neighborhood.”
Jameson appeared around the corner with Lane on his back.
“Oh really, who—” he stopped mid step when he saw Dana Sloan, his harmless but peppy stalker fan, standing there with Cooper Young, a guy I slept with in high school. Let’s just say neither one of these people he wanted to see. Ever.
“You have to be shitting me?” Lane reached around Jameson’s shoulder and held his hand out.
“Nope, not shitting you,” I smiled at Dana. “They made cookies. We can eat them later.”
He gave me a “hell no” look but nodded.
“How long have you two lived next door?” I asked, trying to mask my discomfort with the entire situation.
“Oh, we just moved in about a month ago.” Dana beamed. “We’re just renting for now but we’re hoping to buy it now.” You couldn’t miss the meaning behind that.
“How long do you plan on living here?” Dana asked and then began talking about something else and then back to another one. She was all over the place. You couldn’t keep up with the speed in which her mouth was moving. “You didn’t answer...how long do you plan to live here?”
“We didn’t say.” Jameson replied. That was all he said.
We stood there in awkward silence before I decided to fill it. “So we were just leaving.” I hinted reaching for my coat.
Jameson had quickly disappeared but Lane was now counting his money on the kitchen stool.
Goddamn him, he left me alone with these assholes.
“Well, we were just about to head out so...” my voice faded again hoping they’d take the hint. We weren’t really going anywhere but I had to get them to leave somehow.
“Okay...I made you some cookies.” Dana pushed a plate of chocolate chip cookies toward me. “I know they’re Jameson’s favorite.”
They weren’t. Everyone that knows Jameson knew that oatmeal raisin is his favorite cookie.
“Mmm...yes...he can’t get enough of those chocolate chip cookies.” I emphasized the chocolate chip cookies part rather loudly for no particular reason at all.
Cooper and Dana both looked at me as if I’ve completely lost it but at least they finally leave, after telling me a shit load of times that they loved our house and Merry Christmas. They all but skipped off the porch, hand in hand.
“Weirdo’s,” I heard Lane say off in the distance.
“Jameson?” I called climbing the stairs.
“Yeah,” his voice sounded muffled and distant.
“Where are you?”
“Who’s with you?”
“It’s just me asshole. Where are you?”
“In the kitchen,”
I waddled my ass back into the kitchen. It was the only way to walk these days. I won’t say how much weight I’ve gained because it was just downright embarrassing and I’m pretty sure even an elephant, who’s pregnant for two years, doesn’t gain this much weight.
“Are they gone?” he asked but I still couldn’t see him.
“Where are you?”
The pantry door swung open and him and Lane barreled out with water guns and soaked the shit out of me.
I was prepared though, I knew this was going to happen eventually when he bought those goddamn things the other day and quickly maneuvered my sea lion ass to the sink and drench them with sprayer.
The impromptu water fight ended on account of flooding in our brand new kitchen and left Jameson, Lane and I laughing and soaking wet in almost an inch of water.
As we’re mopping up the floor, well Jameson was, I was looking out the back window at the lake where Cooper and Dana were waving to us from their paddle boat.
“We have neighbors Sway.” He leaned against the cupboards. “Peppy-stalker neighbors,”
“What they doing?” Lane asked looking out the French doors in the kitchen, his tiny arm stuck inside a bag of Cheetos.
“It appears these assholes are stalking us,” Jameson told him stealing a couple Cheetos when Lane walked over to him as he sat on the kitchen floor. Lane held out his hand and plopped down on his lap. Jameson in turn handed over another dollar.
“We should get a security system installed.”
“We already have one but we’re for sure installing security cameras and a barbwire fence.” Jameson added.
“Barbwire is tacky.”
He looked up at me from the floor with a contemplative expression. “You’re right...make it an electric fence, more reliable anyways. It might keep Spencer out too.”
Lane looked up from the cookies he stole off the counter. “I need milk.” A couple pieces of cookie flew out of his mouth onto Jameson’s arm.
Jameson tried to keep his cool but if you knew him, you knew that nearly anything on his skin repulsed him, chewed up cookies crumbs were no different. He calmly set Lane on the ground next to the saturated pile of wet towels, stomped to the bathroom, and closed the door.
“What’s wid him?” Lane asked; his bright blue eyes curiously looking the direction Jameson just went.
“He’s got issues with stuff on his skin.” I explained wiping the chocolate from his face with one of the towels on the floor.
Lane seemed to contemplate this for a moment before smiling. “Dat could come in handy.” I could almost hear the “moohahaha” chanting in his head as he walked toward the living room, Cheetos and cookies in hand. It was at that moment that I became aware that Lane was exactly like Spencer.
I spent the rest of that evening preparing everything for tomorrow with a giddy high. Since he was diagnosed with metastatic brain cancer, I knew Charlie, my dad, wasn’t going to be around much longer and I desperately wanted everyone together.
I also knew it was a horrible idea...but what wasn’t a horrible idea for any family to all be in the same house at the same time? We may all be completely crazy but families are window nets, as Jameson calls them. They keep you from falling out of the car completely.
On Christmas Eve, our entire family arrived around two and it took me a good hour t
o get Jameson to even come down stairs. Before he did, I found the need to warn the twins, also known as my twin half-brothers from hell. There were pretty much the worst children ever and I frequently referred to them as the Lucifer Twins.
“Listen you two,” I grabbed their little cheeks in my hands, squeezing. Two sets of chocolate eyes watched me carefully. “Stay away from Jameson today.” I told them. “I’m only looking out for your safety. What the hell are you?” Lucas was bouncing up and down like he had to pee. “Stop moving.”
“I need to pee.” He replied reaching between his legs.
“Then pee,” I sighed, this parenting shit was exhausting. “In the bathroom,” I specified when he grinned.
I spent most of the morning with the women of our families cooking for this meal, and when everyone was finally eating, I was pleasantly relieved. I enjoyed cooking with the girls; it was a nice change.
I don’t cook with Jameson any longer. Why?
Because it was easier to do it myself. Just simple tasks like making a sandwich are so in depth. He will start out by saying. “Where’s the bread?” Then he moves onto, “Where’s the peanut butter?” “And the jelly?” “How much peanut butter do you use?” “How much jelly?” “Do you put peanut butter on both sides?” “Do you cut it in half?” “Wait, do you toast the bread first?”
Do you see what I mean? It’s exhausting.
Who knew making a peanut butter sandwich was a ten-step process.
When everyone sat down to eat, I felt like a load had been lifted from my shoulders, or maybe it was that I wasn’t on my feet with my balloon belly sticking out.
Kyle, Jameson’s crew chief, and his girlfriend Elle, who in not so many words called me fat earlier today, came over. Justin and Tyler showed up as well with their girlfriends, who seemed nice enough and did not call me fat. They said I was glowing and beautiful and I wanted to kiss them but didn’t. I really enjoyed Justin’s girlfriend, Ami, and enjoyed talking pregnancy with her for a while as she just found out she was expecting on Thanksgiving.
