“What’s the deal with those two?” I ask him.
“You mean him and Ariel Bronwyn, in the number 8 car? I worked out a deal with Ricky, her spotter. We work together as a team to get each other in position to possible take the checkered flag. They stay together until there are three laps to go then all bets are off and it’s every man for himself...or woman.”
“I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Do what? Make deals with other drivers and teams? They been doing that since day one, baby girl.”
“There’s a lot more strategy going on here than I thought.” I reply.
“There’s as much strategy to a car race as there is to a game of chess. It all just happens a helluva lot faster when you’re racing.”
I guess so. I resume my watch and keep the rest of my questions to myself. Seems like the more time I spend with Marco, the harder it is to watch him race. It’s like I’m more vested in the outcome of each race. It’s not just a job anymore. I’m not sure what it is, but It’s definitely not just a job. As much as I try to tune Harvey out, I can tell he’s having the time of his life. His driver is tearing it up and the race is nearly finished.
“How much longer?” I finally ask.
“Two laps and we’re in fourth and moving up on the Irwin Fletcher’s number 99 car. The plan is to stick on his ass all the way until the last turn and blow by him. I think we saved enough fuel racing with Bronwyn to be able to make our move.”
Holy crap, Marco’s doing it! He’s living up to his father’s name once again.
Marco
Inside the number 7 car…
“Time to make a move yet?” I holler to Harvey.
“Not yet tiger, not yet. You just stay on his ass end a little longer.” Harvey replies.
“You know, Fletch knows exactly what I’m going to do, Harvey. The moment I make my move, so will he. If he does, he’s going to put me in the grass.”
“I got your back Panada.” Harvey replies, making fun with my last name again.
“If I win this, you gotta promise to stop with the nada stuff.”
“Marco, if you win this I’ll call you Sir for the rest of my life.” Harvey replies.
“Done.”
I can’t believe this is happening! After the shit I’ve been through this season, losing my father, the crashes, not finishing races, everything, it’s finally all paying off. Not only am I gonna take third away from that asshole Irwin Fletcher, but I may just steal second from Kyle Baker. Now that would be fucking sweet!
One lap left. Time to make my move. I look to my right. I can just make out Ariel’s car. Looks like she snuck up on me while I was daydreaming. I give her a friendly smile and wave, she replies in kind. Now there’s one driver I really wish the best for. I look to my left. It’s hard as hell to see through the net, but there ain’t a car in site. I’m still sitting on Fletcher’s ass, got plenty left in the throttle. Time to make a move.
“Harv, I’m making my move!”
“Too early Panata!”
“If I go now he won’t expect it. I can pass him and lose him on the next turn, I know it!”
“Wait!”
I tap the brakes to get off Fletcher’s ass, drop down off the groove, then hit the—
The sound of crunching metal is unmistakable. So is the awful feeling when you no longer have four tires on the track, or any. The impact spins me around like a top. They say that when you’re about to die, your whole life flashes before your eyes. If that’s true, I didn’t accomplish shit cause not much is flashing now. I remember watching the Wizard of Oz as kid and I was always fascinated by the tornado and that scene with Dorothy’s house spinning in circles, rising higher and higher surrounded by farm animals and debris. I imagine that’s what this whole scene looks like now, only instead of the house it’s my number 7 car, and instead of cows and chickens it’s car tires and quarter panels. This is some seriously fucked up crashing I’m doing and it’s gonna hurt like hell when I land.
Carrie
Back on the Spotter’s stand…
“What’re you doing? What the fuck are you doing?” Harvey shouts.
I look on in shock as Marco makes his move at the exact wrong time. He drops off Irwin Fletcher’s bumper, then cuts a hard left to the bottom of the track and right out of the groove.
“Not there you fucking idiot!!” shouts Harvey. “He’s out of the groove, he fuckin—”
The move slows him down immediately and it’s enough to make the number 12 car slide right up his rear underneath Marco’s right rear bumper causing his car to go airborne.
“Fuck!”
I turn and sprint to the steps. I arrive at our pit box in record time as Rachael is pulling out. Fortunately, she sees me in her rearview mirror and skids to a halt. I climb in out of breath as she hits the gas again.
“Carrie, what the hell? I just about left you in the box!”
“Sorry, I was with Harvey. Saw the whole thing go down.”
“And...”
“This one’s bad Rachael, real bad.”
Marco’s car flew out of control before striking the wall at the beginning of the last turn. The question is, did he strike on the side, bottom, or the top of the car? I’m praying for the bottom. I rubberneck as we pass another car with significant front end damage. Could be the car that struck Marco when he pulled in front of him. There’s an ambulance there as well as a fire truck, but fortunately there no fires to put out. We follow the trail debris to what’s left of the number 7 car, lying against the wall and from the looks, it hit on its top.
Almost before Rachael brings our rescue unit to a full stop I’m out of the vehicle. I sprint the short distance to what’s left of Marco’s car. I’m trying to remain objective here, but how could anyone have survived the mess we just pulled up on? My hands are starting to shake, by breath is coming rapid and shallow. My fingertips are going numb and the edges of my vision are turning black. What the hell is happening to me? I have this urgent desire to just sit down, put my head between my knees and just breathe.
“Carrie, are you alright?”
Rachael comes up to me, trauma kit in hand. I walk around to the front of the car hoping I can squeeze myself between the wall and the hood of the smashed vehicle.
“Marco, can you hear me?”
Just when I think I heard a voice, 41 cars pass by.
“Marco?”
The silence is deafening. I start pushing, pulling, shoving, and wrenching hot metal car parts until I find a space big enough for my small frame to fit through. Finally I have eyes on Team Panata’s only driver.
“Marco, can you hear me?”
As I ask that simple question my brain is working overtime taking in the wreckage of the inside of the car. I don’t see any blood, but I also don’t see any movement beyond the gentle rise and fall of his chest. At least he’s breathing. I wedge myself further into the car until I can reach Marco with my outstretched arms. I tap on his shoulder. At first I get no response. I gently take hold of his shoulder and shake ever so tenderly.
“Carrie, can you see him?” Rachael is yelling from the other side of the wreckage.
“Yeah, but he’s out cold. He’s breathing on his own but definitely unconscious.”
“Well come back out. Fire rescue is here and they’re going to pull the car apart for us.”
It’s a little harder getting back out, but with some effort I manage it. Reluctantly I stay back and let the fire people work their magic. It takes close to five minutes, maybe more before they finally pry apart the car enough so we can effectively work on him. It’s only after I remove his helmet that he starts waking up.
Later that day…
I’m back in my trailer trying to take my mind off the events of the day. I can’t help the feeling that keeps haunting me. Every few minutes my mind transports me back to that split second when Marco’s car was launched through the air. I remember the helpless feeling as I watched him hurtle towards the
concrete wall. I keep thinking “what if”. What if he gets his head smashed in by that concrete barrier? What if he dies? What if he lives? Can I really be involved with another wheelman? Can I walk away from Marco or is it too late?
I don’t know what scares me more. The prospect of him dying in that crash, or the prospect of him surviving that crash? After we transported him to the track’s trauma center there was nothing for me to do so I just came back here to relax and before I know it, I’m fast asleep. Then there’s those first thirty seconds after I wake up and everything is just fine, then it all comes flooding back to me like a damn that just broke open. I can see the wall and Marco’s crushed car leaning up against it. I remember the race and those awful feelings of helplessness watching Marco hurtling towards his death. And it’s not just the one time that the damn breaks and the raging torrent of emotions overtake me. Oh no, that scene just keeps replaying itself in my head every few minutes and I don’t know how long I can keep my sanity under the current conditions. Dammit! Why the fuck did I have to go and do this again? I swore that I wasn’t going to fall for another driver, yet here I am. Then it dawns on me. I need to talk to another driver’s wife. There are plenty of these guys that are married. Somehow their wives have figured out how to reconcile being married to a race car driver. If I don’t figure it out I’m going to be a basket case. If it weren’t for Danny, I would be handling this a lot better, now that I think about it. Danny ruined racing for me on so many levels...
My phone ringing interrupts my dark train of thoughts. It’s either Rachael or the hospital. I fish my phone from my purse. It’s the hospital.
“Hello?”
“Hi, my name is Carole. I’m the charge nurse here on 2 west.”
“How is he?”
“Fine. He’s asking for you, so if you’d like to come and see him feel free to do so.”
“Be there in ten. Thanks Carole.”
I hang up before she can reply. I grab my purse, a light jacket and run out the door. Five minutes later I’m knocking on his door.
“Come on in Carrie.”
I open the door and step in. He looks okay. Sure he’s got a few scratches but to me he looks amazing given the shape of his car. Then I see his helmet sitting there in a chair. He sees me looking at it.
“Yeah, they gave me a little souvenir. First time I ever cracked up my helmet. Guess I got my bell rung pretty hard didn’t I?”
I’m speechless as I walk over to his bedside. He’s got an IV in his right arm and he’s hooked up to a heart monitor for good measure looks like.
“Yeah, they’re gonna be monitoring me for a couple days just to make sure it was just my helmet that got cracked up and not my brain.”
I sit on the edge of his bed and take his hand in both of mine. His grip is strong. Seeing my somber expression, he tries to reassure me.
“Hey Doc, it’s all good. This stuff, it’s just a precaution. They’re not really worried about me. This is more of a CYA thing if you know what I mean.”
“Cover your ass...yeah I get it, but judging by the condition of your helmet, I think the only one here whose not worried is you, and you should be concerned. If you got a concussion, which I am sure you do, the track doctor is not going to give you clearance to race until he’s satisfied that you’re 100% recovered.”
“Yeah I know the drill Doc, and I’m telling ya, I’m fine and Dr. Schumacher will agree as well so don’t fret. So tell me, how’d Ariel do?”
“So are you going to tell me why you made your move when Harvey specifically told you to back off and wait?” I ask, ignoring his question.
“I saw the opening and I took it. Not my fault somebody decided to run me over.”
“Really...is that what you think happened out there?”
“It ain’t what I think Carrie, it’s what happened.”
“Oh man, hitting the wall really did scramble something in there,” I say as I tap him on his head.
“Did you come here just to argue with me, or see how I’m doing?”
“Both,” I reply with a straight face. “So, how are you Marco?”
“Like I said, I’m fine. I just—”
Another knock on the door interrupts our little reunion.
“Come in,” hollers Marco.
The door opens and in walks Alanzo, Team Panata’s crew chief and the team’s primary sponsor, Enzo from Red Bull. This can’t be good.
Alanzo and Enzo pull up a chair near Marco’s bed. Alanzo addresses me first.
“Uh, Carrie, it’d be better if you just stepped out for a few minutes. We need to discuss some important team business.”
“Sure,” I grab my purse and make for the door when Marco stops me.
“She can stay,” he says. “Anything you guys wanna say to me she can hear too. So spit it out. You pulling out, Enzo?”
“No...Said I would stick it out for the season, and I will, provided you can drive. What’s this I hear about a concussion and you getting benched?” Enzo asks.
“What the fuck? I ain’t getting benched. You get me a car and I’ll be cleared to drive it.”
“You realize you have to win at Daytona if you want to keep your ride right?” Enzo asks.
“Of course I know that! Why the hell you think I’m so stressed?”
“Stressed? Why would you be stressed, Marco? I thought you said you’re fine.”
“That’s not what I meant, Enzo. I’m just concerned that you won’t have a car ready for me to drive.”
“Well,” says Alanzo, jumping into the argument. “Given your predilection for wrecking my cars, it has been a challenge. We’ll have a car for you Sunday, but that means you’re gonna have to borrow a ride for practice and qualifying.”
“What the hell? I have to qualify in a different car than the one I’m gonna be racing in?” Both Alanzo and Enzo nod their heads. “Forget it then!” Marco objects.
“No no no,” I jump into the middle of the conversation. “You have to race, Marco! You can’t let everybody down. It’s not just you who depends on your driving and winning races you know. You’re supporting forty other people...families really, and they’ll all be out of a job if you lose your ride so this isn’t just about you! Marco, get your head screwed back on straight and get your ass ready to race!”
“She speaks the truth,” Alanzo replies. He gives me a grateful smile then turns back to Marco. “You’ll be driving Ariel’s back-up car and you’ll qualify with hers as well. Come race day we’ll have a car all put together and ready to race. You just get your ass outta here, ya hear?”
“I read ya loud and clear Alanzo, loud and fucking clear.”
Without further words both men nod their heads in my direction and leave the room, closing the door behind them.
“Is that much of a problem, driving a different car in the race from the one you qualified in?” I ask him.
“Depends...if the weather changes significantly between qualification day and race day, driving an unfamiliar car can be dangerous, really fuckin’ dangerous. Look, I’m really worn out. You mind letting me get some sleep here?”
“Oh yeah, of course. I’ll just let myself out. You’ll be discharged tomorrow right?” He nods his head. “Great, then give me a call and I’ll come and get you.”
“Great, you get some rest yourself, Doc. You look tired too.”
I give him a peck on the cheek and walk out. Tired as I am I really don’t think I’m going to be doing much sleeping.
Chapter Eight
Burning Faster
"‘Whoops’ is a word that should never be said by some professions - Pilots, Racing car drivers, and hair colorists come immediately to mind but Dentists also have to be up in the top five…” Richard Stubbs
Carrie
That Monday...
When I haven’t heard from Marco by four I really begin to get concerned, but I try not to let my anxiety overtake me. I’m sure the doctor checking him out and giving him his release was just tied u
p with other patients and just hasn’t gotten to him yet.
“You should call him, you know.” Rachael suggests.
We’re finishing a late lunch Monday afternoon and she catches me checking my phone for messages for the umpteenth time.
“You think I should?” I ask.
“You’re driving yourself nuts, Carrie. Yes you should call.”
“This is getting like before isn’t it?” I ask, referring to my life with Danny and the times he was in the hospital and I was waiting for word from him or his doctors. I would get all stir crazy and drive everyone around me crazy.
“No...you’re definitely different this time,” she lies.
I decide not to call her on the little white lie and call Marco instead. I grab my phone and just before I can hit speed dial it rings. It’s a blocked number. I almost don’t answer it, but it could be a doctor from the hospital or maybe his phone died and he borrowed one...
“Answer it already!” Rachael shouts.
I hit the green button. “Hello?”
“Hi, is this Carrie Zane?”
“This is she. Is something wrong with Marco?” my heart is in my mouth and thumping so hard I’m having a hard time talking.
“Marco has asked us to call you to come in.”
“What’s wrong? It’ll take me 45 minutes to get there. Don’t make me all crazy with worry while I’m driving. What the hell is wrong with him? I saw him just yesterday.”
“It’s just something minor, Ms. Zane. Something we missed on his CAT scan so we’re repeating the exam now. That’s why he couldn’t call you himself.”
“You’re not making this any easier,” I reply. “What is wrong? Is he bleeding in the brain or something? Did you find a tumor, is that it?” I feel like my whole world is falling apart now. My eyes are blurry and I’m starting to shake.
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