“You need a bath tonight, Shaw Westly Williams.”
Shaw paused long enough to wrinkle her freckled nose. “Mama, do you think mermaids have to take baths?”
Mack pretended to think it over. Shaw had recently turned ten, still a little girl, but occasionally Mack could see the early signs of puberty popping through when Shaw rolled her eyes or sassed. Anytime she could indulge the childishness in Shaw, she tried. “Mmm, they live in the ocean and swim underwater all day, so probably not.”
“Then I definitely want to be a mermaid!” Shaw giggled a second before turning serious. “Can we go to the ocean? Pretty please?”
Her light voice hit Mack with the force of a heavyweight punch. They managed to get by on the income from the track, Wes’s social security, and the occasional odd jobs Mack pulled in the winter when money was tight, but they’d never had the funds to take any kind of vacation. Ten years ago, Mack would have left right then, driving until they reached the surf, windows down and blasting music. She’d lived for the moment, drunk on the wildness of doing whatever she wanted whenever she wanted. But now she had to be solid and more stable for her daughter. Shaw needed a schedule and sleep and the foundation of home and family, not a midnight trip to Florida.
“Someday, baby.”
“Daddy lives near the ocean. Maybe he could take me.”
Mack jerked, as if Shaw really had hit her. Shaw had stayed with her father exactly once, and Mack would never, ever allow her to go anywhere alone with him again. Not that he would make time for her anyway. Saying so would only hurt Shaw, so she nodded and said, “He does.”
“I have to swim in the ocean so I can learn to be a mermaid.”
“Solid logic,” Mack said as she swept strands of fine hair off her daughter’s forehead. She was long-boned like her father, and had only a few inches to grow before she matched Mack’s height. Recently she’d lost the chubby cheeks of younger childhood, and Mack could see glimpses of the teenager Shaw would be far too soon. Time truly was a goddamn thief.
Mack gestured at two suspicious red parentheses on each side of her daughter’s mouth. “Were you sneaking candy again?”
Shaw was a track kid through and through, roaming the grounds on race nights and wrangling free snacks from the septuagenarian who’d worked concessions since the mid-nineties. Shaw smiled and Mack saw remnants of popcorn in her teeth.
“Bath, brush, and floss.”
“I know, I know. Track night, bath night,” Shaw grumbled.
As she watched Shaw skip away across the parking lot, Mack tried to appreciate the youthful energy of her daughter instead of giving into the weariness that seemed to be her only remaining personality trait. She packed snacks, washed load after load of clothes, cooked bland but nutritious meals, practiced spelling words, and drove Shaw to dance class and softball practices, all while keeping the track solvent and Wes in good health. Next week there’d be another race, another load out, more bills and bathrooms and bleachers to hose down.
Mack wasn’t ungrateful. Shaw was a great kid, her dad survived an accident that should have been fatal, and she could pay their bills. But on nights like tonight, when everyone needed something from her at the same time, when she could hardly feel her feet inside her worn boots and she knew she still had work to do, and when the mundanity of her future stretched out like a rural country lane, she had to shove away her grief for the life she might have had. She hated herself for being unsatisfied with a good life.
“Mack Williams?”
Mack turned to see a tall woman with wiry gray hair leaning against the ticket office. She wore a wrinkled man’s shirt, ill-fitting jeans, and the Merrell slip-ons favored by old men. She shifted, as if she’d been standing in the same place for a while.
“We’re closed for the night. Sorry.”
“I already saw the races.” The woman held out her hand. “Janet Joyner.”
Holy shit.
Mack hadn’t recognized the woman at first, but the instant she heard her name, memories clicked into place. She was more weathered,with grooves at her mouth and starbursts by her eyes, but the woman in front of her was definitely the same woman whose autographed picture still hung on Mack’s bedroom wall. In the 1990s, Janet Joyner broke gender barriers in multiple forms of racing, from the Daytona 500 to the Indy 500, and now she owned a small IndyCar team. Suddenly, Mack was eight years old again, standing on top of an aluminum riser and screaming at the top of her lungs as a silver-and-blue car zoomed by her.That’s the girl driver,she’d told her dad.I’m going to race in the Indy 500 just like her!
Embarrassed by her grimy appearance, Mack wiped her hands on her shorts and shook Janet’s hand. “Oh wow. It’s ... an honor. I ...” She almost started spouting random facts about Janet’s career at her. Mack’s face felt sticky and hot. “Like I said, we’re done for the night but we run races every weekend from now until the fall. I can give you some tickets.”
Janet looked at her oddly, as if she’d said something amusing. “You’re Wes’s girl, right? Mackenzie Williams?”
Mack returned her frown. “It’s Mack. You know Wes?”
To her surprise, Janet grinned, revealing straight, coffee-stained teeth. “Me and Wes go way back. I always said I’d visit and—” She held out her arms in an impressive wingspan. She looked more like a retired WNBA player than a race car driver. “I’m here.”
Mack gestured toward the infield, surprised her dad never mentioned that he wentway backwith one of her heroes. They generally told each other everything. “Dad’s home for the night. It’s only me and ... um ...” Mack looked around for Shaw and saw her sitting in the cab of Mack’s car, pretending to drive. She held up a finger.Just a sec.
Janet grinned again. “I’m not here for Wes. I’m here to talk to you.”
Chapter 3
4 weeks until the Indianapolis 500
