Twice in a lifetime, p.12
Twice in a Lifetime, page 12
“I have an idea,” he said.
“What is it?”
His expression grew mischievous. “Do you trust me?”
After everything that he’d done for her, from helping her fix her truck, to coming to her aid with Eddie, and even to trying to take the responsibility for what had happened the night before, she knew that she did.
Clara nodded.
“Then let me make it up to you.” Drake pointed farther down the street to a car parked against the curb. It was black, sleek, and powerful-looking, even though it was coated with dust. “Let me take you for a ride,” he said. “You can show me around Sunset, and we can talk. What do you say?”
She looked from him to the car and then back again. His eyes searched her face; she could see how badly he wanted her to agree. Slowly, like a door opening on rusty hinges, Clara decided to take a chance. She thought of her mother’s words the night before, about how she might as well reach for happiness, even when it came from somewhere completely unexpected.
“Are you planning on driving really fast?” Clara asked.
Drake grinned. “Only if you want me to.”
And so she agreed.
Drake followed Clara’s directions and drove down Main Street. Businesses soon gave way to rows of houses, but within minutes those too began to dwindle. The Plymouth bumped over railroad tracks, then sped away from Sunset and into the countryside. There, things moved at a different pace than in town, slower yet pleasant. The growl of the car’s engine echoed off the thick trunks and broad boughs of the trees lining the road. A flock of birds, startled by their passing, furiously flapped their wings as they rose into the light of the setting sun; Clara had to shield her eyes to watch their flight. Drake honked at a farmer out in his field preparing that season’s crops; the man waved from his tractor.
“That’s a hard life,” Drake said, nodding at the man and his farm. “At least it was back when I was the one living it.”
“Do you ever miss it?”
“Not once since the day I left.”
The wind teased at Clara’s hair, forcing her to keep pulling it from her face, but she had no desire to roll up her window. The air was crisp and full of the smells of spring, from the sweet aroma of the wildflowers that filled the ditches to the pungent stink of manure. Above the whistling wind, she could hear the radio, the faint voice of a woman singing about heartbreak.
They drove over rickety bridges, around sharp corners, and up and down hills; on one steep incline, Drake worked the gears so smoothly that Clara could hardly feel them shift.
“You do that well,” she observed, nodding at his hand.
“Lots of practice,” he replied. “I’ve spent so much time behind the wheel of a car, I reckon I could do this in my sleep. Heck, most nights I probably do, pressing down on the clutch with my foot, one hand turning the steering wheel while the other works the shift, all of it under the covers.”
His joke made them fill the car with laughter.
Clara couldn’t help but notice how at ease Drake made her feel. Listening to him talk, no matter whether he was making fun of himself, offering her his heartfelt apologies, or even snarling protectively the way he had at Eddie, she found herself captivated. She wanted to know everything about him.
But if Clara was being honest with herself, it didn’t hurt that she found him so handsome. Bouncing in the passenger’s seat, she watched as sunlight streamed through the windshield and lit up his face. She noticed the small lines around his mouth and eyes, made all the more pronounced because he was squinting into the setting sun, and understood that Drake was getting older. But then again, so was she…
“What is it?” Drake asked; he had caught her looking at him.
“Nothing,” she answered, looking away. Clara knew she was blushing; all she could hope was that with the sun in his eyes, he didn’t notice.
Eventually, Clara directed him around a short bend, up a small rise, and then to stop next to a withered old tree, its empty branches so broad they spread out and over the road. Drake did as she asked, looked all around them, narrowed his eyes in curiosity, and then said, “So what now?”
She pointed out the window. The road stretched before them. From where they sat with the Plymouth’s engine idling rhythmically, it slowly descended, running between fields of wild grass, looking endless. Far ahead, several miles at least, it curved out of sight.
“I want to know what it’s like to ride in a race car,” she said.
Drake turned to look at her, one forearm draped over the steering wheel, the other rising to lay across the top of their seat; his fingertips brushed against Clara’s shoulder; the slight touch made her skin tingle.
“I thought you were joking,” he said.
“What you do for a living sounds exciting to me.”
“It’s also dangerous.”
“Then I suppose it’s a good thing for me that you’ll be doing the driving,” Clara responded with a sly smile.
“All right,” Drake said, grabbing the stick shift and putting the Plymouth into gear. “Just remember, you asked for this.”
From the instant Drake pressed down on the gas pedal, Clara’s excitement rose as steadily as their speed. In a matter of seconds, the Plymouth was rushing down the hill, gravel crunching loudly beneath its tires. Deftly, Drake shifted from first to second gear, the engine growing louder as its pistons pounded, its belts turned, and its fuel burned. Outside her open window, the countryside started to race by, the purples, yellows, and reds of the wildflowers spotting the ditches beginning to blur together.
“You sure you want to do this?” Drake asked with a grin.
Clara nodded, her heart pounding.
Before she knew it, they had moved all the way to fourth gear. Clara gasped as the Plymouth began to shudder. One hand dug into the seat beside her leg, while the other gripped the door frame; she squeezed them both so hard that her knuckles turned white.
By now, they had reached the bottom of the hill and were moving faster than Clara had ever gone in all her life. The wind whipped violently through their windows, causing her hair to fly in every direction; it was so strong that it even tugged at her clothing. She looked behind them and saw that they were kicking up an enormous cloud of dust. It was so exciting that she grinned from ear to ear.
The Plymouth hurtled forward, its engine roaring. Drake’s hands held the steering wheel tight; thick cords of muscle stood out on his forearms. Clara was amazed at how effortlessly he kept the car steady, mastering the terrific speed at which they moved. She wondered what it was like for him to race other cars, against other drivers willing to drive just as dangerously as he did now. As she watched him, he glanced over at her.
“Are you having fun yet?” He shouted in order to be heard.
She nodded, her eyes a bit wide, the sight of which made him laugh.
Suddenly, Clara felt as if all her troubles had fallen away. Feeling bold, she leaned out the window; the full force of the wind struck her face and sent her hair sailing out behind her. Clara closed her eyes and felt the warmth of the setting sun on her skin. Somehow, even though the Plymouth was speeding forward, everything in motion, it felt as if this moment would forever be frozen in time, like a picture to be framed and cherished. Drake had already done so much for her, but this was yet another gift, a memory she knew she would never forget.
And so, even as Drake took his foot off the gas, the car imperceptibly beginning to slow as the sharp curve approached ahead, Clara tipped back her head and began to shout with joy as loudly as she could.
“I don’t know when I last saw something so beautiful.”
Clara nodded in agreement.
Once they had finished racing down the long stretch of road, Clara’s pulse still beating fast, she had directed Drake back the way they had come; they drove down dirt roads, crossed bridges, passed through thick woods, and climbed up into the hills southeast of Sunset. Finally, with the sun still a good hour from the horizon, they entered a clearing that looked over the town, the river, and miles of countryside.
They got out of the car, climbed the front bumper, and sat on the Plymouth’s warm hood. For ten minutes, neither of them had said a word; instead they watched as a gentle breeze stirred the tall grass all around them. Brilliant sunlight reflected off the slowly moving river. A boat chugged against the current, dark smoke puffing from its stack. A flock of geese winged their way north, passing close enough for their honking to reach Clara and Drake. It was as if they were looking at a work of art, priceless because it was so very real.
“I don’t know what could be better than this,” Drake said.
“You should see it in the fall. When the leaves change color and the sun is on the water, everything as far as you can see is bright orange and gold.”
“Is this how the town got its name?”
Clara shook her head. “I’m not sure. My husband used to say that…” she started, but then stopped.
This was the second time she had mentioned Joe to Drake, and it felt uncomfortable, even a little unfair. After everything he’d done for her, she was certain that the last thing Drake wanted was to hear about a man who had been dead for more than nine years.
But then Drake surprised her. “What was his name?” he asked.
Clara’s heart again started to pound, although this time it wasn’t because of excitement. “Joe,” she answered softly.
“What was he like?”
She turned to face him; just like before in the Plymouth, the bright sun illuminated his face, which did nothing to slow her pulse. She offered him a faint smile. “You don’t want to know any of that.”
“Sure I do,” Drake answered. He stared back at her, his dark eyes unwavering, his expression compassionate yet strong. “It’s clear that he meant a lot to you, that he still does. If I’m going to get to know you better, then I want to hear all about him.” He paused. “Please. Tell me.”
And so, a bit reluctantly, Clara took a deep breath and began to speak of her life with Joe Sinclair. She told him how they’d met, how their first date had been at the movies, to see a comedy whose name she could never remember, and about how she had known, even then, that he was special. Soon, she’d warmed up and the memories came quickly: their wedding; building their home; Tommy’s birth; and even the day, just after the Japanese had bombed Pearl Harbor, when Joe had enlisted in the army. She found herself talking about things she hadn’t for a very long time, not even to her mother. When she told him a funny story, Drake laughed right along with her.
“Sounds like your husband was a great guy,” Drake said, his words completely genuine. “It’s easy to see why you miss him.”
Clara felt tears well up in her eyes, but she didn’t want to cry, not here, not now. “How about you?” she asked. “Has there ever been someone special in your life?”
Drake chuckled, but it sounded forced. “Not anyone that mattered, and certainly not like what you had with Joe.”
“Surely there was somebody…”
“When I was younger, sure, there were a few women who were with me for a while, but the life of a race car driver, going from town to town, never really knowing where you’ll be from one day to the next, it’s not a life worth sharing. Traveling with Amos is one thing,” he explained with a smile, “but there aren’t many ladies who are keen on bouncing around in the backseat while speeding down roads you can’t find on any map.”
Drake paused, his eyes staring far away. “Can I confess something to you?” he asked. “A thought that’s been on my mind lately?”
“You can tell me anything,” Clara replied.
He smiled, clearly pleased by her answer. “I don’t know how much longer I want to do this,” he explained. “Nowadays, it seems like whenever I run a race, I look over and the other driver is some pimply-faced kid who was probably in diapers the first time I got behind the wheel. Hell, it happened just this morning.”
Clara’s eyes widened. “You had a race today?”
He nodded.
“Did you win?”
Drake chuckled loudly. “Nope,” he said. “Amos thought it’d be easy, but it sure didn’t work out that way. Not by a mile.”
“Why not? Your car seems awfully fast to me.”
“Speed is a part of racing, but a car is only as good as the man driving it, and today I wasn’t worth squat. I reckon I had too much on my mind.”
He means me…and what happened between us last night…
Clara’s mind raced to grasp all the implications of what Drake had just said. Her heart pounded and her skin flushed, making her somehow feel both flattered and embarrassed at the same time. There was a small part of her that wanted to press him about it, to know that she wasn’t mistaken, that he’d been so lost in thought about her that he’d lost his race, but she just couldn’t. Not yet…
“If you didn’t race anymore, what would you do?” she asked instead.
“I always figured I’d open a garage. I might not be as good at fixing engines and the like as Amos, but I can more than hold my own. What with all the new models coming out—Fords, DeSotos, Studebakers—and folks buying them like they’re going out of style, I figure there will always be a demand for a guy who doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty.” Drake paused. “Actually, that reminds me. I have a favor to ask.”
“What is it?”
“I wanted to know if I could use your garage to work on the Plymouth,” he explained. “After every race, it pays to make sure that everything’s running properly. I’d do it out in front of the hotel, but I don’t think it’d go over well.”
Clara nodded. “After everything you’ve done for me, how could I say no? Though I should warn you, the garage door is broken. I’ve asked Tommy to fix it, but he—well, he has other things on his mind these days.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Drake said. “I won’t need it for long. A couple of hours, maybe less.”
“You don’t have to hurry,” she told him. She paused, then added, “You can stay as long as you’d like.”
Silence stretched between them. Clara went back and forth between being angry at herself for being so forward and the next second wanting to say more; unable to choose, she did neither. It was uncomfortable, this dance between them; she was woefully out of practice. Down on the river, where the sun was starting to melt into the trees on the far bank, the boat blew its horn; the sound rolled across the water and up the hill. It was then that Drake unexpectedly slid off the Plymouth’s hood to stand right in front of her. He placed a hand beside her and leaned forward slightly, staring into her eyes as she unflinchingly looked back.
“Last night,” he began, “I moved too fast. I assumed things that I shouldn’t have and ended up putting you in an uncomfortable spot.”
“Drake, I told you that—” Clara began, but he cut her off.
“Listen to me,” he said. “The reason I’m telling you this is so that before I come closer, before I kiss you, there won’t be any surprises.”
“All right…” she murmured, suddenly breathless.
“This way, if you didn’t want me to do it, you could stop me before I made a fool out of myself.”
Clara’s heart raced; she wondered if even the Plymouth’s engine worked as hard. Drake’s boldness was shocking yet refreshing. She was amazed at how easily he could tell her what he wanted without seeming embarrassed. She wondered how she should reply and then, like a bolt of lightning, she knew that the answer was as brazen as the man standing before her.
So Clara didn’t move, didn’t say a word, and she most definitely didn’t try to dissuade Drake from what he intended to do. In the end, she knew without a shadow of a doubt that she wanted the exact same thing, wanted it so badly that it surprised her.
A thin smile spread across Drake’s face. His hand found hers as he leaned closer, pausing for only a moment, surely wondering if she was going to once again change her mind. But when she didn’t, he committed to kissing her. He tenderly placed his lips against hers. At first, their touch was tentative and their eyes remained open, watching each other as if neither of them could believe what was happening. But it didn’t take long for Clara to give in to her feelings. It had been almost ten years since she’d last kissed a man, since well before Joe’s death. She closed her eyes, wondering how she’d found herself here, with this man, but she was happy about it all the same. She didn’t think about her mother’s memory loss, her son’s problems, their financial difficulties, or Eddie’s unwanted advances. She didn’t even think about her deceased husband, up till then the last man she had touched.
All she could think about was Drake McCoy, the way he kissed her, and all the wonderful ways he made her feel.
Chapter Thirteen
I CAN’T BELIEVE the nerve of that old goat! Why, it took all the restraint I had to keep from knockin’ that grin off his damn face!”
Drake fought back a grin of his own. Amos paced quickly across their small hotel room, his eyes narrow and angry as his hands waved wildly, punctuating the air after every word he spat. Just minutes earlier, he’d whipped open the door and begun ranting, complaining that his efforts to convince the old man and his son to give them a rematch had met with unexpected resistance.
“So there I go, walkin’ into that dump of a diner, swallowin’ my pride, and headin’ over to where he’s sittin’. ’Fore I know it, he’s offerin’ to buy me breakfast,” Amos said with a sneer. “Like I’m some charity case! Like he took the last dime I owned when that hillbilly son of his crossed the bridge first!”
“But he pretty much did, didn’t he?” Drake asked, unable to resist the urge to give his friend a little ribbing.
“He don’t know that!” Amos barked. “So I wave him off, take a seat, order a cup a coffee, and start layin’ it all out. I done just like we agreed. I complimented his boy’s drivin’, the car, everythin’ I could think of. He’s just soakin’ it all in, noddin’ like a sunflower in a stiff breeze, but then when I suggest we do it again, that we raise the stakes a bit, suddenly he ain’t so sure. He’s hemmin’ and hawin’, makin’ one excuse after another. I walked outta there madder than a hornet. Dumb, stubborn bastard!”
