Twice in a Lifetime (24 page)

“I’m sorry you had to see that, but it wasn’t what it looked like,” she cooed, stepping toward him and brushing against his arm. “
You’re
the only man I want. I was just having some fun, that’s all. Nothing was going to happen. I promise.”

But Tommy held his ground. “I don’t believe you.”

And so, for the second time in less than a minute, everything about Naomi shifted: her syrupy sweetness vanished in a flash, replaced with a bitter, nasty scowl, her eyes went narrow and hard, and her nose crinkled up as if from disgust.

“Then what are you going to do?” she snapped. “Run home to Mommy and tattle on me? Or are you going to be a man and do what I want?”

“I won’t go along with this,” he answered.

Naomi reacted with genuine surprise. “Maybe you don’t understand what I mean,” she snarled. “Either you go along with this and quit being so damned
independent
, or you and me”—she paused for emphasis—“are through.”

Tommy knew he had a choice to make; either he stood up for what he knew to be right or he went along with Naomi’s despicable plan. One meant an innocent man might end up behind bars. The other that he would never touch a certain beautiful young woman ever again. Surprisingly, it wasn’t too hard of a decision.

He shook his head. “What you’re doing is wrong.”

Naomi laughed in his face. “So now the little boy thinks he’s a man, huh? Well you’re not! You’re pathetic!”

And then, just like in the parking lot, Naomi lashed out. The slap stung, but Tommy took it without flinching or trying to stop her, just as Drake had done. Unfortunately, his reaction only made her angrier.

“Do you have any idea how many men in this shitty little town want me?” Naomi shouted. “As soon as I step back in my father’s bar, there’ll be a line waiting to buy me a drink, and here
you
are, stupid enough to toss me away!” With an especially cruel smile, she added, “You know what? Tonight I’m going to go to bed with the first guy who gives me attention. All those things I’ve denied you, all the fantasies you’ve been daydreaming about, I’m going to give to someone else.”

Tommy knew that her words were meant to hurt him, to make him jealous enough to change his mind, but Naomi didn’t realize that all she was doing was making him feel better about refusing to go along with her lie.

“Good-bye, Naomi,” he said matter-of-factly.

Watching her walk away swinging her hips from side to side, Tommy couldn’t help but think about how hard it had been to grow up without his father. He wondered how different a person he would be if Joe Sinclair had lived, if his mother’s heart hadn’t been broken. He only knew the man through stories told, but for some reason, Tommy thought that his father would have been damn proud of him…

“…but you’d already left your office so I came straight here,” Tommy finished. “I didn’t want Mr. McCoy to get in trouble for something he didn’t do.”

Clara had listened breathlessly to her son’s story, hanging on every word. When Tommy had explained that Drake was innocent, she’d been unable to hold back a smile. Looking at Tommy as he answered each of the sheriff’s many questions, Clara realized that he was no longer a boy, but on his way to becoming a man; Joe would have been proud.

“Well then, seems I need to have another talk with Naomi,” the lawman said, tipping his hat back to scratch his head.

“Don’t go too hard on her,” Tommy replied, his feelings for the bartender’s daughter still strong enough that he wanted to protect her, even just a bit.

“I reckon this means I’m free to go,” Drake interjected.

Sheriff Oglesby nodded. “It’s all right so long as you’re not planning to leave town. I might have more questions.”

Clara looked at Drake; when his eyes found hers, she knew just what he was thinking. Beginning with an innocent meeting, their lives had become entwined, moving forward together. There was still much to be done, many questions to be answered, plenty of details to be sorted out, from telling Tommy about their relationship, to getting Drake’s garage up and running, and especially to settling matters with Eddie. But she felt hopeful, for the first time in forever.

Drake smiled. “I’m not going anywhere.”

A
RE YOU SURE
you’re all right?”

“Goddamn it! How many times are you gonna ask me that? What, do I look like I got one foot in the grave or somethin’?”

Drake wasn’t sure if Amos wanted an honest answer. The mechanic was a mess. Deep, dark circles underlined his watery, bloodshot eyes. His skin was pale as a sheet and sweaty. Occasionally, his hand would shake, like that of a much older man. To make matters worse, he was as ornery as a bear that’d been woken two months early from its hibernation, liable to bite the head off anyone who wandered too close. Now that Drake thought about it, he realized that Amos had been steadily getting worse ever since they’d arrived in town.

“When this is over, let’s get you to a doctor,” he said.

“The only thing we’re gonna do when this race is run is get the hell outta this town!” Amos snapped angrily in reply.

Drake frowned. Every time he tried to talk to the mechanic about his decision to give up racing, to stay in Sunset and start a new life with Clara, something got in the way. Just last night, when he had left Clara to be alone with her son, Drake had thought he’d finally have a chance, but when he’d gotten back to the hotel, Amos had been snoring loud enough to be heard out in the hall. So it’d had to wait, again…Not that there was going to be any surprise in how his friend would react; Amos would rant and rave until he was purple in the face. But Drake had made his decision. He wanted Clara. One partnership would end as another began.

So he and Amos would talk after the race, no matter what.

The dirt road was just as it had been the day of Drake’s defeat, though it looked as if the trees that hemmed in the two cars had sprouted more leaves. Sitting in the Plymouth, he felt the power of the car’s engine; it rumbled in his hands as they held the steering wheel. The Chrysler idled beside him. Its young driver looked cockier than ever, grinning like the cat that swallowed the canary, giving a short nod to Drake when their eyes met.

“He thinks he’s got this in the bag,” Amos observed.

“I suppose I gave him a reason to be confident.”

“He can choke on it,” the mechanic spat.

“You show his old man our money?” Drake asked.

“We wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t. Beatin’ us made that bastard the cock a the walk. He’s struttin’ ’round like he’s the mayor.”

“The higher you climb, the farther you have to fall…”

“To hell with that mumbo jumbo,” Amos growled. “Just make sure you get out in front before the curve this time.”

But then, just as the two men began to go over their strategy, Drake noticed a familiar pickup truck pull up beside the track; Clara soon got out. When she’d asked him if she could come watch, Drake had readily agreed; after all, it might be the one and only chance she would have to see him race. The Chrysler’s driver had attracted a much larger crowd, a couple dozen cars’ worth, so it was nice to have someone besides Amos there rooting him on.

Unfortunately, his friend didn’t see it the same way.

“Sweet Mary and Joseph!” Amos groaned when he saw Clara. “What in the hell’s the widow doin’ here? As if you ain’t got enough on your mind!”

Fast as the pistons firing under the Plymouth’s hood, Drake grabbed the mechanic’s wrist, yanking the man closer as he squeezed tight; his patience with Amos had come to a sudden, angry end. “Watch your mouth,” he growled, his voice as low as the rumble of the engine. “I’ve put up with your guff ever since we got to town, but I won’t sit here and let you run Clara down. Do you understand me?”

Amos looked hard at him, his eyes wet and distant. “You done sayin’ your piece?” he finally asked.

Drake answered by letting him go.

“Just win the goddamn race,” the mechanic swore before walking away.

For the first time, Drake wondered if ending his partnership with Amos might be easier than he expected.

Clara stared at her reflection in the rearview mirror, wondering if she looked good enough. She’d tried on three outfits that morning, never completely satisfied, always wishing she were prettier. Eventually, she had settled on something casual, her favorite blue blouse and a pair of trousers, tying her hair back with a ribbon. She wanted to look nice for Drake, but not
too
dolled up, a delicate balance. Still…

“If you go home to change again, you’re gonna miss the race.” Tommy sat beside her in the passenger seat, leaning against the door and smiling.

“I just want to make a good impression, that’s all.”

“I’ve noticed the way he looks at you. He likes what he sees.”

Clara blushed, though it was nice to hear a compliment from her son instead of backtalk or other harsh words. “Are you sure you don’t want to wish Drake good luck?”

“Naw,” Tommy answered, stifling a yawn. “It’s not much fun being a third wheel. I’ll watch from here.”

“Suit yourself.”

Outside, excitement for the race was steadily building. A crowd had gathered, pushing in among the trees and bushes lining the road. Everyone Clara met was familiar; most were friends or relatives of Ray Barks, Drake’s opponent. She gave a few nods and words of greeting, but didn’t allow herself to linger.

But even with everything that was happening, Clara’s thoughts didn’t stray far from her son. Last night, after Drake had gone back to the hotel, she and Tommy had sat at the kitchen table and talked. When she had told him about his grandmother’s accident, he’d been shocked, then angry at himself for not being around to help. He had even lashed out at Naomi, claiming that she’d just been using him for her own amusement; for her part, Clara said little, not wanting to add fuel to the fire. Instead, she’d put her hand on Tommy’s and said that it was all water under the bridge; to her great relief, he hadn’t moved away or disagreed. Maybe this really
was
a new beginning.

Drake wasn’t hard to find. The Plymouth rumbled beside another sleek, powerful car, dappled sunlight sparkling off both hoods. He waved from behind the windshield. She gave him a smile as she approached, but it faltered a bit when she noticed Amos walking away, his back to her, his hands stuffed into his pockets. She wondered if he was leaving because of her.

“Are you sure it’s all right that I’m here?” she asked as she leaned against Drake’s door, her hands resting on the open window.

“Of course,” he answered. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Clara almost said something about Amos—she’d never told Drake what the mechanic had said to her in the hotel lobby—but then thought better of it; she wouldn’t want to distract him, not with the race about to start.

“Are you nervous?” she asked instead.

Drake shrugged. “Not really,” he replied, then chuckled.

“What’s so funny?”

“This,” he said, wiggling his thumb back and forth between them. “It reminds me of the day we met, although we’ve switched spots.”

Clara smiled at the memory; she couldn’t believe how much her life had been changed that afternoon, all for the better.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Drake told her, placing his hand on hers.

“Me, too.” She looked into his face and saw her own happiness reflected back at her. Right there, in his eyes, he was as open to her as a book; she could read about what had happened between them as well as what was to come, their yesterdays and tomorrows, but especially about their love. He grinned and some of his wrinkles vanished, although others appeared around his eyes; she found him devilishly handsome, with or without.

The other car’s engine revved loudly, breaking the spell that had momentarily enchanted them, though Drake never let go of her hand.

“Are you here by yourself?” he asked.

Clara shook her head. “Tommy’s back at the truck. My mother said she wasn’t up to it, but I think she just wanted us to have more time together.”

“How are things going?”

“I keep worrying that I’ll say the wrong thing and it’ll go back to the way it’s been,” she said, “but so far, so good.”

“Maybe what happened with Naomi screwed his head on straighter. Would be nice if something good came out of that mess,” Drake said, then grinned a bit mischievously. “Speaking of last night…”

Clara blushed like she was sixteen.

“Being with you like that,” he told her, “it was like something out of a dream, only better.”

Clara was certain Drake believed his words. But something still nagged at her, the thinnest thread of doubt. She motioned across the Plymouth’s hood to the crowd. “Are you sure you want to walk away from all of this?”

“For you, I’d give up anything.” With another sly smile, he added, “I suppose I’d even swear off sardine sandwiches.”

“I’m honored,” she played along, his humor putting her at ease.

“You should be,” Drake joked. “After I’ve had a tin, about the only living things that want to kiss me are the neighborhood cats.”

Once again, the other driver revved his engine, then he gave his horn a sharp honk. They looked up to see Amos and Felton Barks, Ray’s father, standing in the middle of the road. From the way they were shooing people toward the trees, it was clear the race was about to begin.

Clara turned back to Drake. “Good luck,” she told him.

“This is for us,” he replied. “The money I stand to win goes toward getting you out from under Eddie’s thumb for good. I promise.”

Clara could no longer resist the urge to kiss him. She leaned inside the Plymouth and found Drake’s lips; she touched them softly, letting them linger for a while before stepping back.

“Be careful,” she said.

“Don’t worry,” Drake said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Get in the goddamn car! Now!”

Sweet Woods raced out of the diner and down the sidewalk toward the Cadillac. He spat a half-chewed piece of toast from his mouth. He didn’t know how many coins he had thrown on the counter to pay for his breakfast, but he didn’t care, not after what he’d just heard.

“What’s goin’ on?” Jesse asked, leaping up from where he’d been leaning against the car, a cigarette dangling from his lips. “Did you hear somethin’?”

Sweet couldn’t help but notice that while one of his men babbled questions, the other was doing just as he’d been told; Malcolm was behind the wheel, the engine roaring to life.

“Quit flappin’ your gums and get in the car!”

Before Sweet had even shut his door, Malcolm was pulling away from the curb and accelerating down the street. Once his boss had pointed them in the right direction, he floored it, going faster and faster.

Jesse turned around in the passenger seat. “Is it Barstow?” he asked.

Sweet grinned, showing just a hint of teeth. “There’s a race happenin’…right ’bout now…” he answered, his breath ragged from running. “Out in the woods…some little dirt road. Folks was talkin’ ’bout it…”

“Could be them,” Jesse agreed.

It was, Sweet was sure of it. He felt it in his gut. All the no-name, forgettable towns, the insult of having to chase after the drug-addled thief, it was finally going to pay off. Once they made it to the race, once he saw Barstow with his own two eyes, he was never letting the man out of his sight again.

Not until he had what was rightfully his.

Not until the bastard was dead.

This time, when the handkerchief dropped, Drake was ready, one hand on the Plymouth’s gearshift, the other on the steering wheel. He pressed down on the gas, not so hard as to make the tires spin wildly in the dirt, but hard enough to blow off the line and take an early lead. Within seconds, the crowd was already behind him, not that Drake noticed. He couldn’t hear anyone cheering. He didn’t notice the wind whipping through the open windows. He didn’t feel the vibration of the car. All he noticed was the track. Unlike the first time he’d raced the Chrysler, he was focused. Strangely enough, the reason was the same one that had previously distracted him.

It was because of Clara.

Before, she hadn’t been there to watch but had been present all the same, at the edge of his thoughts, making his mind wander. But now, Clara gave him strength. It didn’t matter that she was somewhere behind him; she was also waiting across the finish line, because a brighter future with her was what he stood to win.

Drake fluidly shifted the Plymouth from one gear to the next, taking the lead. Unfortunately, he still wasn’t as far ahead as he’d hoped to be; the Chrysler hung close, half a length behind.

Just like in the first race, the Plymouth was on the left; farther down the track, the route curved to the right, meaning that if Drake wanted to win, he needed to be safely out in front before the final sprint to the covered bridge. He needed more and he needed it quick.

“Come on, girl,” he coaxed. “Give me everything you’ve got.”

The tires pounded over sticks, rocks, and ruts in the road. Trees and bushes whipped by in a blur. The engine roared like a wild animal, straining for ever greater speeds. Drake had the sudden hope that as grouchy as Amos had been, he still knew what he was doing under the hood.

Up ahead, he saw the curve approaching. Glancing into the side mirror, Drake sized up his lead, now at just less than a full car length, not much but enough to justify taking a risk. Slowly but deliberately, he eased the Plymouth to the right, hoping to force the Chrysler to slow, trapped between Drake and the woods.

“Back off,” he said, staring in the mirror.

Suddenly, Drake felt a hard crack against his passenger-side rear panel. The Chrysler had fallen back, but not quick enough; the two cars had collided. Instantly, the Plymouth felt loose in his hands, fishtailing slightly and threatening to get away from him. With a practiced hand, Drake turned the wheel into the slide, backed off the gas, silently prayed that the wheels would regain their purchase, and held his breath as his heart crashed around in his chest. Seconds passed, but they felt like eternity. Finally, the Plymouth held the road and Drake jammed the pedal to the floor, the danger past. Amazingly, he still held his lead, now fully out in front.

“Yes!” he shouted at the top of his lungs, but then fell silent; this wasn’t the time for celebration, not with so much of the race left to run.