Titans (26 page)

It’s been six days since Padlock and I fell. Six days, and the derby is so close it’s breathing down our necks.

The problem lies with the engine. The high-compression race starter is shot. The part works inside the engine, engaging the system and allowing it to operate at its fullest, and fastest, potential. Rags theorizes that when the spear slammed into Padlock’s side and the horse fell, that the impact caused the part to crack and malfunction.

The problem is twofold. The part itself is no longer available through aftermarket companies because the Titan 1.0 was never introduced commercially. Also, even if Barney could create another part from memory and raw materials, he doesn’t have the equipment to do so.

So we panic, and make phone calls, and panic some more.

Lottie comes through on her end as my sponsor and procures machinery with which Barney’s familiar. She purchases some of the materials he needs as well. But it isn’t enough.

“The problem is this piece right here.” Barney holds up the starter and points to a hole that looks like it shouldn’t be there. “We need this in order for Padlock’s engine to turn over.”

“Lottie ordered it, though, right?” I ask, rubbing my wrapped ankle.

“She did, but that doesn’t mean it’ll get here in time,” Rags responds.

The August sun blazes, and soon Barney is working in only a grease-stained T-shirt.

Magnolia plops down on a hay bale inside the barn and asks, “When does it need to get here in order for Astrid to be able to race?”

Rags and Barney exchange a glance. Because I’ve been here every day while they’ve worked on Padlock, I already know the answer.

“If it was going to arrive, it’d be by this evening,” I say. “The company is closed on Saturday.”

“So what happens when it gets here?” she continues. “You guys just pop it in or something?”

Barney turns the starter over in his hands. “It’s not quite that simple. But, yeah, with some adjustments I should be able to make it work.”

I run my hands over Padlock’s neck for the umpteenth time. His unseeing eyes pain me, and though he’s only been turned off for six days, I feel as though it’s been years since I’ve watched him prance or felt the nip of his steel lips. I miss his attentiveness, his neighs and sweet nuzzles. I miss his head-butts and the swish of his tail. And I miss riding.

I’m not the only one who misses the horse either. Barney and Rags stare at Padlock, wearing the same helpless, sorrowful looks on their faces.

“How much longer until they get here, you think?” Magnolia asks, her voice small.

No one answers her. We just turn from Padlock and instead gaze at the driveway leading to Barney’s house.

And we wait.

At eight o’clock that evening, Rags throws the handkerchief he’s been wringing to the ground. “You can’t trust anyone to do their job anymore!”

“Didn’t they promise it by this evening?” Magnolia asks.

Barney pats her on the back. “They said they’d do their best.”

“I bet you Arvin Gambini got ahold of every parts maker in Michigan,” my manager snarls. “He probably bribed them to deliver every piece we needed except one.”

“There’s got to be something else we can do,” Magnolia says.

Barney shakes his head. “The horse won’t run without that part. It might not have run
with
it.”

Rags kicks over an oil canister, and I kneel as best I can with my injury and lay my body over Padlock’s still, cold one.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

Rags yanks me upright and pulls me against him. He hugs me tight and holds my head to his chest. “Don’t you cry, kid. Don’t you dare cry.”

But I can hear the quaking in his voice, and it causes tears to spring to my eyes.

Magnolia joins our hug, and Barney lays his hand on my head.

It’s much later, maybe an eternity of holding each other in that barn, when Barney says quietly, “We started this with a discontinued Titan, two old men, two clueless teens, and a woman we thought we’d never speak of again. In the end, we made it to the Titan Derby. No one’s laughing now.”

We’re quiet for several minutes before Magnolia mumbles, “I was
not
clueless.”

The whole way home, I quiz my manager on what we could still try. We could scour junkyards. We could call other ex-engineers who’ve left Hanover Steel. We could drive all the way to Sandusky, where the part is sold, and pound on the door in hopes of finding an after-hours employee.

But Rags has an objection for every idea I offer. What infuriates me is that his rebuttals make sense. I know it’s over. I just can’t accept it. One week ago, I rode Padlock better than I ever have. Now my horse is a pile of lifeless metal in the back of Rags’s truck.

When we come to a stop outside my house, I feel splintered. I feel helpless.

“You raced a Titan on Cyclone Track, Astrid,” Rags says softly, staring ahead. “You remember that the rest of your life, okay?”

A choking sound leaves my throat and I fight back tears.

Rags reaches over and squeezes my shoulder, but still he won’t look at me.

When I manage to get myself out of the truck, I glance at the man I’ve learned to love like I did my own grandfather, flaws and all. “Thank you for caring about me,” I say. “Now go get Lottie. Don’t let all this end without something good happening.”

The pain in Rags’s eyes is a knife through the rib cage. I shut the door and reach into the truck bed, rub the flat of my hand over Padlock’s cheek.

“You were a good horse,” I whisper. “You will be again when that part arrives.”

Padlock will have decades of running through open fields, and if Rags allows it, it’ll be me on his back. But we won’t have another run like we did six days ago. We won’t have another race, another starting gate, another finish line so thrillingly close. But we’ll have each other. And I’ll have Rags and Barney and Magnolia. At least for as long as we can stay in Warren County.

Stories don’t always end the way you want them to.

Life isn’t always a fairy tale.

Life is
rarely
a fairy tale.

Sometimes, the real point is pursuing a worthwhile goal, even if you fall short in the end.

My dad is awake when I step inside our house. He rises to his feet when he sees me, and I’m careful not to favor my bad ankle, to cover up my injury.

“Astrid,” he says, simply. His voice is so devastatingly heavy with regret that I sink through the carpet, plunge into the center of the earth. “When I’m wrong, I say I’m wrong.” He clears his throat, has a hard time making eye contact. “I was out of sorts before your last race. You shouldn’t have seen me that way. It’s just I didn’t want you to get hurt, and I—”

I stop him, because I can’t do this now. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” I mutter. “My Titan got damaged, and we can’t fix it. It’s over. I won’t be racing tomorrow night.”

Now my dad does look at me. There’s confusion and surprise spread across his face. If he’d watched the local news channel, he would have seen my name announced with the other three jockeys going to the Titan Derby. Lottie’s been careful with the media, explaining that Padlock was damaged in the final circuit race, but was quickly repaired and ready to race. So my dad wouldn’t have known.

Nobody will know until tomorrow at midnight, when Padlock and I aren’t there to step onto the track.

I head toward my room, but stop short of the hallway. “You need to talk to Dani about Jason. Make her tell you.”

“Astrid …” my dad tries again.

But I’m already gone. Already slipping into bed. Already feeling the steady beat of my throbbing ankle beneath the blankets. Already imagining who will take home the Derby Cup tomorrow night.

Dani’s bed is empty when I fall asleep.

I’m not sure what to do with myself the following morning. After more than two months, it’s strange to wake with no training to complete. No weekly sessions with Lottie to attend. No race to prepare for. I’m simply me again.

I walk to Rags’s house, because I can’t stand the idea of losing contact with him. He stands in his garage, tinkering with the same machine I saw him working on at the start of summer when I told him he was off by three degrees. Maybe more. He turns the machine on, and then off. Then he holds a silver object up to the light in his garage and stares at it cockeyed.

“What’s going on?” Magnolia asks.

I jump at the sound of her voice, then hold a finger to my lips and point at Rags.

Magnolia rubs the sleep from her eyes, and I love her time and again for always appearing when I need her, which, I’ll admit, is almost always.

Rags pulls down his welding mask and goes to work on whatever it is he was holding. Sparks fly as a rare August breeze sweeps past Magnolia and me on the street. My heart leaps in my chest watching Rags work with such intensity. Has he found a solution to our problem? I take in his disheveled clothing, tousled white hair, and manic movements, and wonder if he’s been up all night. Then again, he doesn’t look much different than usual.

He labors in silence before pausing to scrutinize his work. He holds the gadget up a second time and scratches his jaw.

Then he hurls it across the garage.

My stomach drops to my feet, and I shuffle toward him. “I thought we were moving past this and being thankful for the opportunity and all that?” I say.

Rags removes the welding mask and drops it on a workbench. “I can’t stop thinking I can figure it out. But I’ve been at it for hours, and nothing works. See this lever?” He shows me a piece that’s shaped like a question mark. “I need something to make it catch. Should be easy enough, but it’s not, because once the engine turns over, this piece of junk unlatches and then the engine overheats.”

I lay my hand on his arm and attempt to comfort him the same way he did for me last night. “You and Barney did your best, Rags. It’s okay. We’ll be okay. Let’s go do something fun today, and tonight we’ll watch the race and criticize every move the jockeys make.”

Rags chances a smile. “I’d do well at that.”

Magnolia punches his shoulder. “You win at standing still and providing useless information, my man.”

Rags glances at her. “Why are you here?”

“Sustenance, remember?”

Rags sighs. “I’m sorry, Astrid. There’s got to be a way to rig this blasted thing. I just don’t know how to do it.”

“Mind if I take a look?” a familiar voice asks.

I spin around and find my father standing in Rags’s driveway. A few feet behind him is Magnolia’s dad, holding a cup of coffee and a rusted toolbox.

“Daddy?” I say.

My dad shoves his hands in his pockets and his face reddens. I walk over to him slowly, smiling because I can’t help myself. He’s the one man who can fix anything, and him being here means everything. I stand before my father, letting the moment sink in. Recognizing that he may have gotten me into this mess with a habit his own father taught him, but he’s also the man I let down the day Grandpa died. I wrap my arms around his waist. He hugs me back immediately, and it’s strange and awkward and perfect.

When I let go, he jabs a thumb over his shoulder. “I brought Frank. He’s mostly useless, but he has a decent set of tools.”

“At least I’ve got a set of something,” Frank jokes.

While Magnolia hugs her dad—and steals his coffee—Rags strides down the driveway and approaches my father.

“I, uh … I’m sorry about the other night,” my dad says to Rags. “I haven’t been myself lately.”

Rags touches the bruise beneath his eye. “I told your girl you’ve got a nice swing.”

“I played baseball at Canyon High,” Dad responds. Then he offers Rags his hand.

Rags shakes it. “Just so you know, I’d hit a man for putting my daughter on a Titan too.”

My dad smiles. “Didn’t say I was sorry for
hitting
you. Just said I was sorry.”

“I see you found my house without my telling you where it was.”

Dad’s grin grows wider. “Remember that.”

Rags laughs, and then eyeballs Frank’s tools. “You really think you can fix this pile of metal?”

“We can fix anything,” Frank replies, before spitting on the pavement.

Rags pats his truck and grins, excitement making him stand taller. “Well, we better get on over to Barney’s place then. He’s got better equipment.”

The sun is setting when my father and Frank appear from Barney’s work area. They’ve eaten nothing but the sour cherry danishes Magnolia made, and have sweat so much that I smell my dad before I see him.

I jump off the back of Rags’s truck gate, anxiety rolling off me in waves.

Magnolia is at my side.

Neither one of us breathes.

I watch my father’s face for signs of triumph, or discouragement, but as always, I can’t read him. It isn’t until a shadowy figure appears in the doorway of the barn that I get my answer.

Padlock trudges toward me, head held high, black steel glistening in the dying light.

I cover my mouth to stop the emotion from pouring forth. “He’s fixed?”

Rags wipes his hands on his jeans. “Not entirely. Your father and Frank fastened a part to the compressor, but we have no idea if it’ll hold.” Rags glances at my dad before adding, “I’m not sure it’s safe to ride, Astrid. If the part malfunctions during the derby, you could get seriously hurt. Even if it does hold, it’ll be much harder to work the control panel than you’re used to.”

I look at my dad too, awaiting his response. If he says the part will hold, I trust him. But he doesn’t mention his work, he only stares at me, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

“Astrid can make it work,” he says. “My little girl can do anything.”