It’s clear by the thick silence between us that the topic is on both of our minds. Neither of us are the type to broach hard subjects. We’re much better at putting on a face and muddling through. I’m learning that the long-term impact of that isn’t good for the soul, though. It goes against my new promise to myself too. It falls into the festering wound category, and nothing good has ever been born from that.
“You know I was afraid to drive that first kart you bought for Tommy and me?” I twist my mouth and look sideways at the man who’s been my father figure.
“No kidding?” He rears back with a short laugh. “Didn’t show one bit. You took those turns like a boss on the practice track. Tommy took out, what . . . three bales of hay?”
“Four,” I respond.
We both laugh.
“It was clear from the get-go which of you belonged behind the wheel.” He nods, his expression seeming to drift into the past.
“Yeah, and I’m shit under the hood. Just ask your son. He gets so pissed when I mess with things.”
“He gets pissed at you? You should see what he does to me when I tinker with my own damn truck.”
It’s true. Tommy goes in when his dad isn’t looking and fixes his timing belts.
Giggles ring out from the house behind us and we both turn to look over our shoulders.
“Sounds like a good time in there,” he says.
I turn enough to meet his gaze and memorize the faint sound of my daughter’s laugh, locking it away for later, when I need something to push me harder in life. Those are the things I collect now.
“You remember what you said to me? Before I strapped that helmet on?”
Tom shakes his head, lips taut and brow pulled in with curiosity. I’ve come back to the words he told me many times lately. They’ve been a guide through some of this darkness.
“You told me the only limits in life are the ones we give ourselves. You said just because I was too short to reach the pedal didn’t mean I would always be so small. And when they tell me the kart is only meant to go thirty, it means I can go twice as fast if I really want to. Limits, you said, are self-fulfilling.”
His mouth falls into a fatherly smile, gentle and reassuring. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen it on his lips, under the thick mustache now showing a lot more gray above his lip.
“You make me sound like a damn smart fella.”
“You are,” I respond.
He breathes out a laugh and glances down. He’s uncomfortable with the attention. I get that from him. We might not be blood, but he’s the one who really raised me. I learned a lot from this man. And I’m who I am because of him. If I’m enough, it’s because he made sure I was.
“Alysha wasn’t ready. Not to be a mother.”
He nods slowly but doesn’t look up. The dimples from his smile disappear, but he isn’t frowning.
“You made a decision with the facts on hand. I was cold, so you lit a fire.”
He shakes once, a tiny laugh breaking from his chest that masks the hurt and anguish he’s suffered for too long. Tom doesn’t meet my gaze, but he opens his arms wide and steps into me, bringing me into the kind of hug he used to give me as a kid when I won a race, the kind he gave to Tommy and Hannah. I’m already every bit his son. Marriage will be a formality, a promise to his daughter.
His heavy hand falls on my back and his chin digs into my shoulder.
“I’m proud of you, kid. So fucking proud.”
I smile over his shoulder, my eyes soaking in the blue Arizona sky. Everything feels certain right now. It’s clear as day. Alex is a limitation, and his power exists because I give it to him. I’m not coming in eighth next weekend. I’m not even coming in second. I’m going to win. I’m going to set a record so mind-blowing they’ll have to check my engine and inspect Tommy’s hands for fairy dust. I’m going to win because Alex Offerman doesn’t get to tell me what to do. And when the press comes to ask me how I feel, I’m going to out him to the world. Then who’s going to feel the weight of limits on their shoulders?
19
It was a perfect day. Every moment of it, simply perfect.
We didn’t leave the house but for the picnic we had outside. I think Dustin was more insistent on setting up the blanket with Bristol’s alligator stuffy and the big round smiley face pillow Jorge won for her at the Omaha State Fair a few months ago.
I spoke to Jorge today. I needed to, not only for closure but to apologize. Even though I always told him how life with me would have to be, it’s impossible to tell someone not to hope for something different—for something more. Jorge . . . hoped.
Our talk was good, and while I could hear the pain in his voice, he is genuinely happy that I am trying for the life I really want. For a man who doesn’t believe in fighting, he’s pretty adamant about others not being pushovers. I don’t have much that’s my own in Nebraska, and most of the things I purchased with him I insisted he keep. Whatever comes of life here, I want it to be fresh, with new things, all the way down to my coffee mug and pot.
He promised to ship my art, though most of my collection is committed to the institute’s gallery for another six months. He also promised to make a call to his colleague in Sedona. It’s not a prestigious school, and pretty small compared to Omaha, but I’d be teaching. I’d have my own space to work and create. That’s all I ever hoped for when I was young and putting pencil to paper.
I let Bristol talk with him too and she told him stories, including the one about Dustin telling her to ask Santa to make mommy and Dustin kiss. Her broken sentence structure was no use in masking that one, and I know it hurt Jorge to hear.
With Bristol finally asleep, worn out from our epic day, Dustin and I join Bailey and Tommy in the living room for some action movie the boys seem to care about a whole lot more than we do. Tommy pulls it up in the queue as Dustin climbs over the back of the sofa, slipping into the space between the arm and me so he can pull me against him and hold me close. Bailey eyes me from across the room and I mouth “what?”
“You know what,” she says, pointing and circling her finger around us, drawing an air heart.
I roll my eyes, but nuzzle in closer.
“You know what sounds better than watching a movie?” I have a feeling they’ll agree with my idea.
“Hmm?” Dustin hums above my head.
“Checking out the Straights.”
Tommy doesn’t bother turning his head, waving me off and pressing on with the movie.
“Nice sentiment, but they shut that shit down.”
“No they didn’t,” Dustin pipes in.
I shift my head to look up at him, surprised by the news as much as my brother and Bailey. I was being sentimental, and thought maybe we could basically pick some random desert road and take turns driving fast.
“Tell me. Tell me right now, you hold out,” Tommy says, pausing the screen and tossing the remote to the coffee table. Suddenly, my brother is fifteen and begging for Dustin to share his porn.
“Ava and Matty moved it out to county land. They’ve been running ’em on weekends about twenty-five miles out.”
“Shut the fuck up.” My brother sits up straight. He’s a Labrador waiting for Dustin to toss his ball, and it’s hilarious.