Blind Spot (14 page)

TIM GOT OFF THE
bus and walked through the neighborhood filled with old houses. He had gotten a phone number for Briarcliff Elementary and talked with someone in the office there. As it turned out, he was more than a mile from the right stop, but he kept walking.

He finally found the street and checked the information against the address he had written down. After several blocks he came to the single-story ranch house on a quiet street. He recognized the car in the driveway and got on his hands and knees and looked underneath. There was no leak, and the stain on the driveway looked dry.

He rang the doorbell, and a yippy dog barked in the window, standing on the back of the couch. The curtain moved at the side of the window. Then
the door opened slightly, the chain on the back of the door still attached.

“Yes?” a woman said. “Can I help you?”

“Hi there. I don’t know if you remember me. You gave me a ride not long ago.”

“Tim!” Mrs. Rubiquoy closed the door and unlatched the chain. “Come on in. Brutus, calm down.”

Brutus rushed over and sniffed Tim’s shoes and the cuffs of his pants. The dog’s eyes were bugged out, and his ears stood straight up.

“Doesn’t look like a Brutus to me.” Tim laughed. He sat, and the dog jumped up beside him and warily climbed onto the back of the couch. “I see your car’s not leaking anymore.”

“Yes, the garage said they didn’t get the . . . what was it?”

“Freeze plug?”

“Yes, that’s it. They got it all fixed, and I haven’t had a problem again. Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, ma’am, I’m fine. Just came here to return something.”

“Oh?” She sat on the edge of the couch at the other end. Brutus edged closer to her.

“You knew I took something from your purse the day you gave me a ride.”

Her eyes darted around the room.

He pulled out the $100 bill. “I don’t think you put this out for me to see for no reason. You thought I’d take it.”

Mrs. Rubiquoy nodded, and a hint of a smile came to her face. “But the fact that you’ve brought it back proves something to me.”

“What’s that?”

“That I wasn’t wrong about you. It was an experiment. If I never heard from you again, I’d just given a $100 contribution to a young man’s life. But if your conscience got the best of you and I
did
hear back . . . well, you’re proving I was right about you all along.”

Tim shook his head. “I don’t know how this proves anything but that I’m a low-down, dirty thief who takes money from old ladies. No offense.”

She smiled and pointed to a picture on the mantel. “That’s my husband. He had an uncanny ability to pick people for his work who turned into the most wonderful employees. His company gave him an award for it once. And when they asked how he weeded out the bad from the good, do you know what he said?”

“I can’t say that I do.”

“He said that most people are really good workers. They just don’t have confidence.” She placed a wrinkled hand on Brutus, and the dog closed his
eyes. “I don’t know how you got those scratches or how life has slapped you upside the head. I don’t even know how our paths crossed that day. But I do know
why
. God wants you to know you’re a good boy, Tim. He has something special for you. He wants to work through you.”

“I’m not sure I even believe in God.”

“Well, that’s okay. He believes in you.” She handed the $100 bill back to him. “Now you go out and take the world by the horns, and don’t forget that there’s an old lady down here in Florida waiting to hear that you’ve found the Lord. Okay?”

He stared at the money with a feeling of weight being lifted from his shoulders, as if the woman had just taken away a hundred pounds from him.

“Have you had anything to eat?” she said.

“Not yet. I thought I’d stop and get a burger on my way home.”

“I know a good place around the corner. Then I’ll drive you home.”

“You don’t have to do that, ma’am.”

“Why? You think I’m scared you’re going to take more?” She laughed, and it was contagious.

ON TUESDAY JAMIE SLIPPED
out of the house decked out in her work uniform but headed to the track. When she got there, she changed into her fire suit and her orange helmet. She had her racing gloves and shoes as well, and when she walked to the railing overlooking the track, she almost turned around. Who was she kidding? Chad had a huge jump on her. She’d never even been around this track before.

The black #13 car roared past as several people watched from the pits.

She turned to leave but heard a voice calling from below. It was Mr. Devalon waving, pointing to the access road.

She hopped in her car and drove up to a security guard, who was on the phone. The man waved her through, and she parked by the garage and walked through a couple of gates toward the pits, her helmet under one arm.

The scream of the engine sounded like music to her. She could see Chad in the far turn, accelerating out of it and speeding toward the finish line.

Butch Devalon was talking with a tall man—something about the race in Texas this coming weekend—when another man holding a stopwatch interrupted them.

“Look at this, sir,” Stopwatch said. “We can confirm it with the chip, but that’s not bad.”

Butch Devalon waved Jamie over. “Jamie, I want you to meet the owner of the team. This is Mr. Hardwick.”

She shook the older man’s hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

“Call me Shane. I’ve heard a lot about you, Jamie. And I respect your dad’s driving. What’s he think of all this?”

“Uh, well, he’s . . . open to me succeeding.”

“That’s a good way to put it,” Mr. Devalon said. “We’re looking forward to seeing what you can do.”

Chad rolled into the pits, unhooked the window net, and climbed out. He was all smiles at his time, but that changed when he saw Jamie. “What are you doing here?” he said.

Jamie looked at Chad’s dad, sensing the tension. “You didn’t tell him?”

“Son, we’re giving you a little competition here. Just to see what happens.”

Chad grabbed the HANS device and shoved it into Jamie’s gut. “Where’s her car?”

“She’s using ours.”

“Mine?”

“No,
ours.
You didn’t pay for it. Hop in there, Jamie. Let’s see how fast you can go.”

“Don’t wreck it,” Chad snarled.

Under any other circumstances she would have been excited. Chad’s reaction had dampened her enthusiasm. As she clicked the six-point harness and snapped on her HANS device, she took a few deep breaths and tried to concentrate. Chad and his dad would have troubles with each other the rest of their lives. No reason she had to be in the middle. She was only taking a little ride around the track. No big deal. She popped the steering wheel on and locked it in place.

“Take it easy for the first two laps,” Mr. Devalon said, leaning down and helping her get strapped in. “Get a feel for the car and the track. We’ll wave the green flag for you. Take a cooldown lap after you get the checkered.”

Jamie nodded and pushed in the clutch and put the car in first gear. The last thing she wanted to do
was stall the thing in the pits, but that’s what she did. The engine sputtered and died.

“That’s okay,” Mr. Devalon said. “It’s a little sensitive today. Hit the switch again.”

She went through the procedure, and the car fired to life. She imagined the voice over the loudspeakers saying, “Gentlemen and lady, start your engines!”

This time she was off, shifting into second, then third as she ran out of room on pit road and hit the middle of the first turn. It felt like she was going straight into the wall, but at the last second she turned left, punched it into fourth gear, and was gone.

“Woooooooooooooooo!” she yelled, slamming the pedal to the floor. She studied the track to find the racing groove that would give her the fastest lane around the track and backed off the accelerator as she hit the third turn. The engine whined as she dropped lower on the track. Then she hit the accelerator again.

Speed. Pure speed. The engine was more powerful than anything she had ever driven. It felt so good—she wanted to scream!

As she passed the starting line, she glanced at Mr. Devalon and the others talking. Chad wasn’t there.

The sun beat down, reflecting off the shiny surface of the car. The smells of oil and gas and the heat of the engine ran through the cockpit. The track had
been cool during the day with cloud cover, which meant better speed for her and Chad, a firm grip for the tires but not too firm.

The accelerator was at the floor as she took the green flag. Jamie let up slightly in the turn but not much. She shot out to the backstretch and felt like she was flying. The wheel in her hands, the white lines of the track whizzing by, the blistering noise around her. For two laps she was in a zone, going as fast as she had ever gone, in complete control, with no one to tell her to back off, no one to tell her to take it easy.

When the checkered flag waved, she slowed a little, but it was too much fun not to take the first turn at full speed. She moved down to the apron after the third turn and rolled into the pit area.

“Looks like you’ve done that before,” Mr. Devalon said as she climbed out and took off her helmet.

“What a blast!” Jamie smiled. She couldn’t help it. It was the greatest feeling she’d ever experienced. “How was my time?”

“Ask the owner—he kept a clock on you.”

The owner was talking on the phone when she got there. She’d blown it. She was sure of it.

“How’d it feel?” Mr. Hardwick said to her when he hung up.

“Incredible. That’s a great car. Thanks for letting me drive it.”

“You’re not a bad driver, young lady,” he said. “Your time was . . .”

“What?” Jamie said.

“I was just talking with the track manager. You came within .85 of a second of beating the qualifying record.”

Her mouth dropped. “Really? I don’t believe it.” She felt like she would explode. All the years of racing anything with four wheels had paid off. She
could
go fast. And she wanted to go faster.

“Hold up,” Chad said behind them. “I want another shot at her. What was the difference in our times?”

The owner showed him and Chad winced.

Mr. Devalon grinned. “Fair enough, Son. Go out there and show her.”

Chad slammed on his helmet and got in the car, looking back at Jamie with a scowl. He spun the tires so they smoked as he raced onto the track.

Jamie moved to the wall and sat there, unable to hide her smile.
Almost beat the track record.
A girl almost beat the track record!

Now all the feelings about the guy from Florida coming to live with them and the other stuff that had her down melted. Her dream was coming into clearer focus. She didn’t know how she’d get there, but she was going to get there. No matter what.

A squeal of tires brought her back, and she glanced to her right. Chad had driven full speed into the last turn and was losing it. Everyone turned as the #13 car shot up the incline and scraped the wall, then turned sideways and went airborne.

CHRIS FABRY
is a writer, broadcaster, and graduate of Richard Petty Driving Experience (top speed: 134.29 mph). He has written more than 50 books, including collaboration on the Left Behind: The Kids, Red Rock Mysteries, and the Wormling series.

You may have heard his voice on Focus on the Family, Moody Broadcasting, or Love Worth Finding. He has also written for
Adventures in Odyssey
,
Radio Theatre
, and
Kids Corner
.

Chris is a graduate of the W. Page Pitt School of Journalism at Marshall University in Huntington, West Virginia. He and his wife, Andrea, have nine children and live in Colorado.