binoculars to his eyes, saw what was happening he paled, dropped the binoculars, and said in a strangled voice, 'Oh, Jesus Christ! He implored his wife beside him, 'Don't look! Turn away!'
Unlike the director's wife, Erica did not turn away. She watched, not wholly understanding what was happening, but knowing Pierre was dead.
Later, doctors declared, he died instantly when car 29 hit the wall.
To Erica, the scene from the moment of the crash onward was unreal, like a reel of film unspooling, so her personal involvement was removed. With a dulled detachment - the result of shock - she witnessed the race continuing for twenty-or-so laps more, then Cutthroat the winner being acclaimed in Victory Lane. She sensed relief in the crowd. After the fatality the gloom around the course had been almost palpable; now it was cast off as a triumph - any triumph - erased the scar of defeat and death.
In the company box the despondency did not lift, unquestionably because of the emotional impact of the violent death a short time earlier, but also because a car of another manufacturer had gained the Canebreak 300 victory. A degree of talk - quieter than usual - centered around the possibility of success next day in the Talladega 500. Most in the company group, however, dispersed quickly to their hotels.
Only when Erica was back in the privacy of the Motor Inn suite, alone with Adam, did grief sweep over her. They had driven together from the Speedway in a company car, Adam saying little, and had come directly here. Now, in the bedroom, Erica flung herself down, hands to her face, and moaned. What she felt was too deep for tears, or even for coherence in her mind. She only knew it had to do with the youthfulness of Pierre, his zest for life, the good-natured charm which on balance outweighed other faults, his love of women, and the tragedy that no woman, anywhere, would ever know or cherish him again.
Erica felt Adam sit beside her on the bed.
He said gently, 'We'll do whatever you want - go back to Detroit right now, or stay tonight and leave tomorrow morning.'
In the end they decided to stay, and had dinner quietly in the suite.
Soon after, Erica went to bed and dropped into exhausted sleep.
Next morning, Sunday, Adam assured Erica they could still leave at once if she preferred it. But she had shaken her head, and told him no. An early northward journey would mean having to pack hurriedly, and would entail an effort which seemed pointless since there was nothing to be gained by rushing to Detroit.
Pierre's funeral, so the Anniston Star reported, would be on Wednesday in Dearborn. His remains were to be flown to Detroit today.
Soon after her early morning decision, Erica told Adam, 'You go to the 500. You want to, don't you? I can stay here.'
'If we don't leave, I'd like to see the race,' he admitted. 'Will you be all right alone?'
She told him that she would, and was grateful for the absence of questioning by Adam, both yesterday and today. Obviously he sensed that the experience of watching someone whom she knew die a violent death had been traumatic and, if he was wondering about any extra implications of her grief, he had the wisdom not to voice his thoughts.
But when the time came for Adam to leave for the Speedway, Erica decided she did not want to be alone, and would go with him after all.
They went by car, which took a good deal longer than the helicopter trip the previous day and allowed something of the insulation which had helped her through yesterday to creep over Erica. In any case, she was glad to be out of doors. The weather was glorious, as it had been the entire weekend, the Alabama countryside as lovely as any she had seen.
In the company's private box at the Speedway everything seemed back to normal, as compared with yesterday afternoon, with cheerful talk centering on the fact that two strong favorites in today's Talladega 500 would be driving cars of the company's make. Erica had met one of the drivers briefly; his name was Wayne Onpatti.
If either Onpatti or the other favored driver, Buddy Undler, won today, it would eclipse yesterday's defeat since the Talladega 500 was the longer and more important race.
Most major races were on Sunday, and manufacturers of cars, tires, and other equipment acknowledged the dictum: Win on Sunday, sell on Monday.
The company box was just as full as yesterday, with Hub Hewitson again in the front row and clearly in good spirits. Kathryn Hewitson, Erica saw, sat alone near the rear, still working on her needlepoint and seldom looking up. Erica settled into a corner of the third row, hoping that despite the crowd she could be, to a degree, alone.
Adam stayed in his seat beside Erica, except for a short period when he left the box to talk outside with Smokey Stephensen.
The auto dealer had motioned with his head to Adam just before starting time, while the race preliminaries were in progress. The two of them left the company box by the rear exit, Smokey preceding, then stood outside in the bright, warm sunshine. Though the track was out of sight, they could hear the roar of engines as the pace car and fifty competing cars began to move.
Adam remembered it was on his first visit to Smokey's dealership, near the beginning of the year, that he had met Pierre Flodenhale, then working as a part-time car salesman. He said, 'I'm sorry about Pierre.'
Smokey rubbed a hand across his beard in the gesture Adam had grown used to. 'Kid was like a son to me, some ways. You tell yourself it can always happen, it's part of the game; I knew it in my time, so did he. When it comes, though, don't make it no easier to bear.' Smokey blinked, and Adam was aware of a side to the auto dealer's nature, seldom revealed.
As if to offset it, Smokey said roughly, 'That was yesterday. This is today. What I want to know is - you talked to Teresa yet?'
'No, I haven't.' Adam had been aware that the month's grace he had given Smokey before his sister disposed of her interest in Stephensen Motors would be over soon. But Adam had had not acted to inform Teresa.
Now he said, 'I'm not sure I intend to - advise my sister to sell out, I mean.'
Smokey Stephensen's eyes searched Adam's face. They were shrewd eyes, and there was little that the dealer missed, as Adam knew. The shrewdness was a reason why Adam had reexamined his convictions about Stephensen Motors over the past two weeks. Many reforms were coming in the auto dealership system, most of them overdue. But Adam believed Smokey would survive such changes because survival was as natural to him as being in his skin. That being so, in terms of an investment, Teresa and her children might find it hard to do better.
'I guess this is a time for the soft sell,' Smokey said. 'So I won't push; I'll just wait, and hope. One thing I know, though. If you change your mind from what you figured to begin with, it'll be for Teresa and not as any favor to me.'
Adam smiled. 'You're right about that.'
Smokey nodded. 'Is your wife all right?'
'I think so,' Adam said.
They could hear the tempo of the race increasing, and went back into the company box.
