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She puts a hand on her hip in case I forget she is still my mother. “Those are my problems, not yours. No more money, Jake. No more direct deposits or advances. It’s time for you to step back.”
“What if something happens?” It’s a ridiculous question, and it’s the best substitute I can summon for all the thoughts twirling in my head.
“Then I’ll figure it out.” She glances at the oven’s clock. “It’s time for me to go. Lock the front door when you leave.” She squeezes my cheeks like she did when I was little. “I’m so proud of you. He is, too, I promise. He’s with you in every race. He never stopped cheering you on, even if you can’t see him. He’s there, and he’s proud of you. He raised a good man, Jake.”
We say goodbye, and she leaves.
Sarah needs to wake up, and we both need showers.
Instead of doing either task, I head to the dining room, where the familiar family picture sits on the wall.
My mother is correct; I look like him. The picture has been in the same spot for years, so I hardly notice it. Some memories of him are sharp, like the sound of his voice or his horrible singing. His features and what he looked like are less so. Iremember a giant man, but the picture says we’re the same height, with him maybe an inch shorter. Our hair is the same. We have the same cheekbones and jawline. The man in the picture could be my brother. We’re nearly the same age.
Sarah would say we wear the same cocky smile.
It was her turn to cry two nights ago, and now it’s mine. I wipe at my cheeks. “Miss you, Dad,” I whisper, feeling foolish because there’s no one to hear it. “I’ll see you at the track on Sunday.”
I find Sarah wrapped in blankets and back on the bed.
“This is way more comfortable,” she says.
“I told you that last night.”
“It’s a bed built for one.”
“Thank you for Josie’s camp idea. I should have said so last night,” I admit.
“If it helps, she’ll probably change her mind. The idea came to her last week, and she’ll move on. I once wanted to be an FBI agent because it seemed cool.”
Sarah’s messy hair covers part of her face. She blows on it and then swats some away when it doesn’t work. I get on my knees and begin carding my fingers through it.
“You could still be one if you want.”
“No, thank you. I’m content to be your business partner.”
I don’t push her to define ‘business partner,’ but I warm at her use of the phrase.
“We should get ready,” I say, realizing I’m eager to leave.
My childhood home no longer feels like my childhood home.
29-Jake
Texas Motor Speedway
“What are you watching?” Derek asks as he enters the RV.
“Last year’s race, so we can repeat last year’s win.” I pause the video and note the backpack on his shoulder. Derek always travels light. “I didn’t expect you to arrive until tomorrow morning.”
“I flew in early with Bert.” He plops the backpack on the floor and pulls an energy drink from the fridge. “You mind if I bunk here?” Derek has spent more time in my RV than I have lately, which is fine since it means the thing is getting some use.
“I’m leaving soon, so make yourself at home.” I turn the race back on. “Look at me out there. Outstanding. Absolute king.”
I won the first stage and led laps throughout last year’s race. Boone Rivers almost caught me at the end until I pulled ahead and took the win. Hopefully, this year will be a repeat.
“You going to see her?” Derek asks me.
The casual question doesn’t match his tone. Derek views my relationship as a joke, some hilarious revenge scheme against Boone Rivers. I haven’t bothered correcting him.
