“Elaine…” I take a big breath in and exhale loudly. My eyes fill with tears and I spit the words like I would remove a knife from a brother before putting pressure on the wound. “She didn’t die in a car accident.”
Tessa stays silent and as I can’t make myself look at her, I continue fixating on the road ahead of me. It’s the first time I’ve said those words out loud to anyone.
I need her to say something, anything so I don’t feel like she’s judging me for lying to the people around me, but I don’t want her to ask me anything either. Because I wouldn’t be able to tell her what happened.
Not now.
Silence falls again between us and it feels like the most unnatural thing.
I start to regret what I said, ready to backpedal my words and find a way to explain when Tessa takes a big inhale and sighs.
“Sometimes I think being dead would be easier,” she says her voice shaking.
Her words hit me hard.
I know exactly what she means.
I’ve thought the same a million times.
I understand it and I don’t need to say a word to tell her so.
Her hand is still on my leg, immobile, suspended in time like our lives.
I cover it with mine, and slowly, afraid she will pull away not needing what I do, I intertwine our fingers.
Because in this moment we’re not two wounded individuals trying to survive the loss of someone.
We’re two souls recognizing the pain in the other and reading the sorrow we try so hard to hide from our friends and family.
It’s good not to feel so alone and to know someone gets the agony I went through.
For the rest of the way, we hold hands without saying a word to each other because sometimes you find the consolation you crave in the simple touch of a stranger who can appease your grief more than a thousand words—and we both know it.
As dangerous as we are to each other’s hearts, we can count on our shared experience to understand our needs.
And maybe that’s all we need to get through the day.
Chapter Ten
TESSA
"The first thing you need to do is build up your resistance to the heat. You're going to be doing laps at 104 degrees, and because you're lightweight, you might lose a few pounds during a race."
I look at who was labeled to me as the guru of car racing in the state with incredulity. It's strange to have him standing in front of me years later. He got old and fat and all wrinkled, but he still has the same voice.
Even if I respect him, I scrunch my nose at his words.
Does he believe I don't know my shit?
I've been training at the gym with a sweatshirt on for months to be sure I can hold my heat and still drive.
Nonetheless, he was clear I shouldn't interrupt him to show how serious I am, so I shut up and let him continue. "I like that you're throwing away the gender factor, and I do believe it's going to be beneficial to the sport, but it's not because you have boobs and a vagina that the guys are going to be tender. They are competitive assholes who don't like to be beaten by a girl. They are hotheads who believe cars are only for men. Not all, of course not… but you know how it is, not your first rodeo." No, it's not… but again, I keep quiet mainly because I'm not sure if he's referring to my father or my former job.
"Now show me what you've got. Bring it on, and depending on what I see, I can tell you what we are going to do. It's not NASCAR, but it's still racing, and you should take it very seriously. Understood?"
Once again, I stay silent and nod.
He's offering me the opportunity of a lifetime, and I need to show him what I have in me. I sent him numerous emails he didn't answer until he called two days ago, and I have the feeling this is more due to my birth name than anything else. I never told him who I was, but it was clear someone had told him who my father was, and I should have started with that.
Not sure who and not sure I like it, but it is what it is.
I take my helmet and walk to the car on the tracks. I still remember when I used to race in a go-kart as a kid.
It was my weekly treat. Something I loved to do.
My dad would rent the place for one afternoon every time I stayed with him, and we had time to go.
He would let me go around and around for hours until I was too tired to speak or walk.
Something my mother hated, so I hid it from her.
Something she still hates, and have yet to tell her.
My father has always been the one who shouldn't be named.
She was clear on the concept.
She even gave me a new father and a sister for me not to regret the one I loved the most, insisted I took their family name and to make sure I never raced again. Unfortunately, I loved cars too much.
My step-dad Andre thought being an engineer would help.
Mom agreed reluctantly, thinking it was better to allow me to enjoy cars than have me rebel and to drive them as fast as my dad used to.
She still sobbed when I chose the car industry. But a cold sob like rich people can fake on TV.
It wasn’t a proper career for a woman.
She has never supported any of my choices and when I decided that if I could lose the men I loved the most by living a precautious life, then I could live my dreams and passions to the fullest. She totally gave up on me being the daughter she wanted.
I came back to racing
