Sunshine Hunter

by Maddie Cochere

  Chapter Five

  We were speeding south on I-75 on our way to the boat races in Sarasota. All four windows of the car were down, the wind was whipping around inside, but my hair wasn’t being tangled this time. I had pulled it back into a ponytail, twisted it, and clipped it onto the top of my head. I would let it down once we reached our destination, but for now, it was safe from the wind.

  It was a perfect summer day. The temperature had dropped to a normal eighty-five degrees, and the humidity was more bearable after the rain had come through last evening.

  “Do you think you should slow down a little?” I prodded Darby. After a year of too many tickets, I was more aware of speeding. At least I was when I wasn’t out of my mind with anger.

  “Nah, everything is under control,” he said with a smile. “Have you ever been to the boat races?”

  “No, I haven’t,” I said. “What can I expect? Do they drive around in a circle like at NASCAR?”

  He chuckled. “No. Today we’re going to see powerboat drag racing. I think they’re running the quarter-mile. The boats are killer, and they can run the quarter mile at over two hundred miles per hour in about four seconds. You have to see it to believe it. And no one likes to see a crash, but at those speeds, a driver can lose control, and accidents do happen.”

  “Ok,” I said. “This sounds like fun. I’ve been to the drag races before. A friend of mine from school ran a classic Mustang at Norwalk, and he let me ride down the track with him once. I almost had him convinced to let me drive the next-”

  Before I could finish my sentence, a green Ford Focus zipped up on our right and began moving into our lane. Darby laid on the horn. “Come on, buddy, get over,” he yelled, but the car continued into our lane, forcing us onto the grassy median between the northbound and southbound lanes.

  The back of the car fishtailed, and I was sure we were going to lose control. A bridge abutment was just ahead. I put my hands out to brace myself. I glanced at Darby and saw he had a steely look of determination as he hit the gas to speed up.

  I couldn’t hold back a scream. I was sure he was propelling us into the bridge. I closed my eyes, awaiting the inevitable impact, but there was no collision. He had somehow managed to maintain control, pull out from the grass, and get us back onto the highway. The green Focus was far down the highway now.

  “What happened back there?” I screeched. “Do you think that guy saw you or heard the horn? How did you keep us from crashing?” I still had a death grip on the dash.

  “It wasn’t a guy. It was a woman,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

  “Was it an old woman who just didn’t see us?” I asked. I was beginning to relax my grip now that I realized we were safe, but my heart was still racing.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “I couldn’t see if she was on her phone or distracted, but she was behind us in the middle lane, so she had to see us when she moved up and forced herself into our lane. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she did it on purpose.”

  “How did you learn to drive like that?” I asked. I was breathing normally now. “If I would have been driving, I would have slammed on the brakes, let go of the wheel, covered my eyes, and hoped for the best.”

  He smiled and said, “My dad wouldn’t let me drive until I had several defensive driving classes under my belt. I enjoyed them so much, I’ve taken a few racing courses over the years. Did you know that when you’re driving fast, you should accelerate coming out of your turn rather than going into it? And, in a situation like we just faced, braking can sometimes be more dangerous than accelerating out of the problem and getting back onto the roadway. One of the worst things you can do is leave the roadway at any time. Your chances of crashing into something are higher than if you stay on the road. If she would have waited another fifteen seconds to move into our lane, we would have either caused a pile-up or met the bridge personally.”

  The thought caused a shudder to run through my body.

  Thankfully, the rest of the drive was uneventful, and we arrived at the races in one piece. We had great seats in the grandstands, and I thought the races were both exciting and nerve-wracking at the same time. It was an especially good day, because, so far, there hadn’t been any accidents.

  We brought a small disposable cooler filled with bottles of water with us, but with the heat, we had consumed all of them after a couple hours. Darby turned to me and said, “I’m going to run down and get us a couple of drinks. How about a cold beer?”

  I wasn’t much of a beer drinker, but a cold beer sounded good out here in the hot sun. “Sure, and a snack, too?” I asked with a pretty-please smile.

  He laughed. “I’m on it.”

  There was a lull in the action, so I took the time to look around at people. The stands weren’t filled to capacity, but there was a large crowd. I was surprised at the number of teenagers and senior citizens in attendance. Darby had mentioned that boat racing was popular in Florida, and it looked like all ages enjoyed the sport.

  I spotted a man and woman having a moment a few rows below me. He had put his arm around her and pulled her close for a kiss. It dawned on me how refreshing it was not to have guys trolling the front of the stands with signs that read, Show Us Your- … wait a minute. Was that the skinny guy from the hotel?

  I had just caught a glimpse of a guy taking a seat in the stands. He was thin with dark, curly, shoulder-length hair, and from the back, he looked like the skinny guy from the restaurant and the beach. Was this a coincidence? It seemed odd he would be here at the same time we were.

  Darby poked me to take my beer and nachos. He settled back down into his seat.

  “Look down below us several rows and to the right,” I said. “I’m sure that skinny guy from the restaurant is here.” I tried to point him out, but I could no longer find him. “I know I saw him a minute ago. Don’t you think it’s weird he’s here, too?”

  “Not really,” he said, shoveling nachos into his mouth. “These races are advertised all over the state.”

  He was probably right. Why did I care that the skinny guy was here? For all I knew, the businessman and the family with the two kids could be here, too.

  The action started again. The beer hit the spot, and nachos always tasted better at sporting events.

  The next race set my heart to racing, too. The boat on the right lost control and tipped just enough on its side to take flight. I had never seen anything like it. A collective gasp went up from the spectators. A loud ooh sound of concern and distress was heard next when the boat came down in the other lane and hit the back of the other boat, sending it careening out of control. Both drivers surfaced unharmed.

  It was unbelievable when one boat in the next race flipped end over end on the water. Once the crowd knew the driver was ok, there was an unmistakable excitement over the crash – just as it had been with the last one.

  I caught Darby’s attention. He had a big smile on his face but tried not to smile when he saw the look on my face. “What?”

  “These wrecks are horrible, but it feels like everyone wants to see them.”

  “It’s part of any dangerous sport. You don’t want to see anyone get hurt, but some of the accidents are pretty spectacular-”

  I gripped his arm hard enough to cause him to stop talking. I was positive I was staring at the skinny guy, and I wanted Darby to see him. Something felt off with him, and I needed to know if Darby thought it was the same guy from the hotel.

  “What now?” he asked, trying to follow my gaze.

  My vision blurred for a few moments. I couldn’t focus on the person below us. When I could see clearly again, the person had turned around and was laughing at something the man behind her had said. I felt foolish.

  “Nothing,” I said. “It was nothing.”

  There were only three more heats before the races ended. I was happy when there were no more accidents.

  My eyes felt strained with the slight blurriness coming a
nd going. I was mildly concerned, but I had heard of eye migraines and thought this might be what I was experiencing. I attributed the symptoms to the bright sun.

  When we stood to leave, I suddenly felt lightheaded and noticed some weakness in my arms and legs. “Wait. Something’s wrong,” I said, sinking back into my seat. “I don’t feel well.”

  “It’s probably from too much sun and the beer,” he said. “If I help, do you think you can make it down the steps and to the car?”

  “I can try,” I said.

  I stood and nearly lost my balance.

  He had to give me support all the way down the steps. When we reached the parking lot, I could no longer walk.

  “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll go get the car and bring it up.” He literally leaned me against a light post.

  I felt foolish holding onto the post while people walked past me, but I couldn’t move or let go for fear of falling down. Cars seemed blurry as they passed in front of me to leave the lot. I felt dizzy. What was taking him so long? I couldn’t hold onto the light post much longer.

  A green Focus drove by. I noticed it because it was going slower than the other vehicles. I could barely concentrate on the car or the driver, but the slight build and the hairstyle made me think it was Skinny Guy. He officially had a name now.

  Darby pulled up and hopped out to help me into the passenger seat. “Are you feeling any better?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” I said. I climbed in and leaned forward to put my head on my knees. He slid behind the wheel. I noticed he had the windows up and the air conditioner on. I stole a sideways glance at him.

  He seemed to know what I was thinking and said, “I thought you might feel better in the cooler air.” He handed a bottle of water to me. “I bought some water for you. I thought you might be dehydrated.”

  I sat up and took the bottle of water. “Did you see the face of the woman who ran us off the road?” I asked.

  “No,” he said. “I only caught a glimpse of her wavy hair. She might have been a teenager.”

  “Could it have been a thin man with curly, shoulder-length hair?” I asked.

  “I guess it could have been,” he said. “Wait a minute. You aren’t thinking it was the guy from the restaurant?”

  “Yes, I am,” I said. He looked doubtful. “It was Skinny Guy,” I insisted. “I know I saw him driving a green Focus when you went to get the car. I was dizzy, but I’m sure the driver had the same build and the same curly hair. Why would he want to run us off the road? Who could he be?”

  “Susan, that’s crazy talk,” he said with a perturbed edge to his voice. “You’re suffering from heatstroke and dehydration. Put your seat back and rest. I’ll have you to the hotel in no time.”

  I leaned back and closed my eyes. The lightheadedness was letting up, but my limbs still felt heavy and weak. I couldn’t relax. What was with Skinny Guy? Was all of this a coincidence? I couldn’t help but feel there was something wrong, but what? How could there be something wrong here in Florida? And if there was something wrong, was the trouble directed at me or at Darby?