Instantly, Mack felt guilty. Hadn’t she spent her whole life convincing Laurie that Wes wastheirdad? That DNA didn’t matter; it mattered who had raised them? Her sister could be an elitist but Mack truly believed Laurie was her full sister in every sense of the word. So why did Laurie always bring out the worst in her?
“I’m sorry—”
“Well, you’re here now so best to focus on that,” Laurie said, her face implacable. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Behind her, the fading afternoon light flooded the kitchen and reflected off the shiny surfaces.
Ashamed, Mack let Laurie make the pivot. “Tomorrow I go to the shop and get fitted for a seat, learn the basics of the car controls, and meet the team. Friday, I try out the car at the Speedway. If it goes well, I can do my rookie test the same day. If I pass ...” She trailed off, not willing to let herself imagine the moment when she received a special license to qualify and run the Indy 500. “A week of learning the car on a simulator and trying to find a sponsor, then four days of practice before qualification starts.”
The achievement of a lifetime, all boiled down to a handful of days in the car.
Laurie reached out and squeezed Mack’s hand. She was embarrassed by how much she wanted the physical contact to continue. Other than a hug from Shaw, Mack couldn’t remember the last time anyone touched her. She’d grown used to being lonely but her body had not.
Mack’s inner child wanted to keep hold of Laurie’s hand and confess the cluster of emotions bouncing through her mind: nervousness, impostor syndrome, hope. But it was the last one that terrified Adult Mack.
Her own yearning was shameful. The minute Janet put that crisp card in her hand, Mack’s own hands throbbed with desire for a tight steering wheel and a twin turbo V-6 at her back. She shouldn’t want that. She should care about what she was doing to her daughter, her father, her family business. She wasn’t only nervous about learning the car and making the race—she was terrified she’d fall in love with it and forget the little girl who waited at home for her, forget the father who’dgiven her everything. She was scared shitless by how very much she wanted the Indy 500, afraid of what she’d do once she got a taste of the life she’d missed out on.
She was afraid she’d want to stay.
Years ago, she might have told Laurie all those things, but now she pulled back her hand.
Texts From Wes Williams to Mack Williams
Wes[5/1, 8:51 a.m.]: want u 2 know how proud I am.
Wes[5/1, 8:51 a.m.]: don’t overthink it. full send, throttle on the floor, like you always do.
Chapter 7
3 weeks until the Indianapolis 500
Mack pulled her gear bag from the battered Bronco and looked up at the towering glass building in front of her, the iconic Indianapolis Motor Speedway Pagoda. The ten-story glass and steel building was a far cry from the single-story wooden grandstand at Haubstadt, and Mack felt like Dorothy inThe Wizard of Oz, suddenly lifted from her grayscale life and dropped into a Technicolor dream world. Dorothy spent her time in Oz trying to find her way home, but as Mack took in the enormity of the Speedway—not so different from Oz, really, with its bright colors and magnitude—thoughts of home quickly faded.
“You get the helmet?” Janet said by way of greeting. Generously, Janet paid in advance for Mack to have a new helmet fitted since her own was painfully outdated, without the connection points for a water straw or cooling hose. Many drivers put elaborate designs on their helmets, but Mack asked only for a bright blue helmet with her initials and the number of the car she’d be driving, the same style she’d used throughout her career.
Mack held up her bulging bag. “Thank you.”
Without another word, Janet turned and headed toward the long, low rows of garages known as Gasoline Alley. The sharp tang of renewable ethanol fuel seared Mack’s nostrils and she allowed herself to stop for a moment and breathe in the cool, acrid air. She’d once been aninsider in this sport, walking through tracks and taking for granted the joy of being part of something she loved so much. She inhaled and let herself feel the honor of being one of the few drivers to walk this infield.
The weather was cold but clear, every driver’s dream, and a charged stillness pervaded the infield. IMS was the largest sporting venue in the world, with 250,000 seats surrounding the two-and-a-half-mile oval track. Inside the giant asphalt loop were a museum, a golf course, a regulation dirt track, a concert venue, the pagoda-shaped media and control tower, multiple parking areas, and over one hundred garage bays. Come race day, the track would be teeming with almost a half million people and the chaotic energy of spectators, teams, sponsors, officials, and drivers, but today it was empty but for the JJR team.
Mack’s back pebbled with goose bumps as she took in the three long, low concrete buildings that stretched farther than she could see, each with a bold black number painted over the garage door. From this angle, Gasoline Alley appeared to stretch on without end. Janet strode silently in front of her, and as Mack watched her boss march forward, she remembered the old racing superstition that women in the garage area were bad luck. Only fifty-five years had passed since the first woman was allowed in Gasoline Alley, and Janet raced here not long after, when men still routinely spat on and shouted death threats at any woman who dared walk on this grease-stained concrete.
It was a prejudice many young women imagined as long past, but Mack knew that if she qualified she would be only the tenth woman to start this race in one hundred years.
“You actually read all that lawyer paperwork?” Janet asked over her shoulder.
Mack nodded in acknowledgment of the massive deck of information Janet overnighted to her house. Background information on the team, insurance riders, waivers of liability, and Mack’s contract with JJR. With no time or money to find an agent and desperate for the chance, Mack signed it all. Last night, she’d warily asked Laurie to read it over, and to her surprise, her sister examined the contract andexplained it in regular words without making Mack feel stupid. Her translation: Mack was at Janet’s mercy.
“So you understand that our main sponsor, Hartley, is supporting a share of both cars, but the eleven machine is still blank,” Janet said, using the practice of referring to a car by its assigned number. “You’re responsible for securing additional funding for your ride. If you can’t cover the final cost of running the car, you’ll owe me. Any additional income you want from this opportunity, you’ll have to find through sponsorship.”
Mack’s throat tightened at the reminder of the risk she was taking. Not only was she not making any money on this endeavor, she could potentially put herself deeply in debt if she couldn’t find sponsorship. A single car for the Indy 500 cost upward of $1 million, and Janet was only providing the physical car. Mack needed to raise six figures alone to support the cost of her team members and supplies. She was too scared to ask Laurie if she was putting the family business at risk, and she couldn’t even begin to think of the consequences for Shaw if Mack brought a load of debt on their heads. It had been so long since she’d courted sponsors, and back then she’d had it easy, coasting on her youthful success and, admittedly, Wes’s reputation.
Janet pursed her lips, seemingly reading Mack’s mind. “Kissing ass for cash is hell on earth, but the Indy 500 is worth it. You working on sponsorships?”
Mack hummed a nonanswer. She saw no point asking for money until she passed the rookie test.
“Well then, here we are.” Janet stopped at an open garage and Mack gasped at the work of art in front of her. The shiny machine looked more like a spaceship than a race car. A long, narrow nose cone flared into a sleek, low body, topped by a cockpit-like capsule where the driver sat, and thin bilateral wings bookended the front and back of the vehicle. The low-slung car measured only three feet high but stretched almost seventeen feet long. Mack could smell the fresh rubber of the wide tires even twenty feet away.
Janet placed her thumb and index finger on her lower lip, filling the garage with a shrill whistle. “Some of you met Mack Williams at the seat fitting yesterday. The rest of y’all come say hi to our new driver.”
