“He’s okay, you know,” he whispers, those all-knowing eyes watching me.
I nod. “I heard.”
“From him?”
Shaking my head, I reply, “No, I watched part of the race.”
Dad takes his fish out of the skillet and places it on a paper towel-covered plate. He turns off the heat and gives me his full attention. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” I say, taking a seat at the table.
He comes over to join me and reaches for my hand. “What do you want?”
“What?” I ask, confused by his question.
“Out of life, Lena. What do you want?”
My throat constricts as that familiar wetness burns my eyes. He doesn’t say anything, just waits me out. “I don’t know,” I respond, even though that’s not the right answer.
I do know.
Dad clears his throat and says, “Listen to me, Lena. This is the only life you get. You have one chance to find your happiness and make it stick for however long God gives it to you.” His eyes turn sad. “I was fortunate enough to find my happiness, pumpkin. Your mom was the best thing to happen to me, besides you. I lost her too soon, and I don’t want that for you. If being here, in Brenton, is what you truly want, than I’m behind you one-hundred-percent, but something tells me, that’s not where your heart truly lies.”
I blink back the tears, but they fall anyway.
“…I just didn’t have good grip,” Mack’s voice echoes through the room.
Our attention is pulled to the television on the counter as the broadcaster agrees, “Good grip is important.”
Mack’s smile is small, but mighty. “I’m not just talking about on the track, Bob. The great Colton Donavan once said to me, grip is necessary on the track, but even more so, off. Not only was I missing it at Long Beach, I was missing it in my personal life too. That magical grip that holds it all together. It reaches into your soul and bonds you to another person. That’s what I was missing Saturday night, Bob. My grip. My bond. My soul.”
“He’s talking about you, you know,” Dad says, chuckling.
I look across the table. “You think?” I ask, hope starting to fill the aching hole in my chest.
“I’m certain, Lena Christine.”
I glance back at the television, only to find it cut to a commercial break, but deep down, I know he’s right. He’s who my soul calls to. Without him, there is no happiness, and that’s not what I truly want for this life. I want to be happy, smiling, and full of love.
For Mack.
And Oliver.
I get up from the chair, press a kiss to my dad’s forehead, and say, “Thank you, Daddy.” My arms wrap around his shoulders. “You’ll always be my first love.”
“But I’m not your forever, Lena.”
I nod, grab my bag, and slip out the door. I walk across the track, the only sense of roots I’ve ever known. Well, until I visited Los Angeles. Being there, with Mack and Oliver, is when I truly felt at home. Yes, I’ll always have a place in Brenton, with my dad, but that’s not where my heart is calling me.
Unlocking my studio, I turn on the lights and set my bag down. I take my old Nikon out of the case and head to my dark room. I mix the solution, prepping the trays for processing. I remove the film from my camera and get to work. Meticulously, I go through the steps to transfer the film to paper, my hands steady and careful.
The first image starts to come to life. It’s one from the first few nights in LA, and my heart beats wildly as excitement sweeps through my blood. There on the photo paper is a developing image of Mack sitting in his rocker recliner and feeding Oliver.
I go through each one, snapshots of my time with them brought to life before my eyes. I see Oliver in his stroller, in his swing, and in the bathtub. I see Mack working on his truck, smiling at the soapy baby in the small tub, and at the racetrack. Then I get to images I didn’t take. Ones of Oliver and me together. The ones Mack took when he was trying to be sneaky.
I hang each one up carefully, smiling at the memories they possess. All of the pictures capture my time with them perfectly, and it’s right then I realize what my heart has been telling me all along.
Mack is my happiness.
I swipe away the tears and watch the photos come to life as I finish processing. The moment I’m able to step out, I slip from the room and reach for my phone. The first thing I search is for this weekend’s race. It’s in Richmond.
My next search is for airfare, but before I can book, I need a plan. I grab my bag, turn off the lights, and lock the door. I’m practically running back up to the house to speak to my dad. I’m going to need assistance for this part, and there’s only one man who can help me. But first, I need to know how to get ahold of Fish.
He’s my ticket in on Sunday.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mack
My hand is still shaking as I set the phone down. Exhaling, I close my eyes and breathe in the quiet.
It’s done.
Colton wasn’t thrilled to hear my decision, but I know I made the right call. For me and for Oliver. Funny, I had the same reaction three years ago when he offered me a job with CDE, and I never expected to feel relief when I turned down this one.
We’re in Richmond for the race. I’m due in the garage in twenty minutes to go over our race plan and take a few photos with corporate sponsors. The door to the motorhome opens to a flurry
