Janet gestured toward the lumpy patch of gravel connecting the corrugated metal garages and the main grandstand, then turned and marched up the path without waiting.
Mack followed, her mind churning. Why the hell did someone likeJanet Joynerwant to talk toher? At midnight? At a dirt track in the middle of nowhere Indiana? Mack once dreamed about talking with the woman she’d hero-worshipped, had even thought she’d earned it, but that was a long time ago and her life was a far cry from racing stars and heroes now. She was dead on her feet, dirty, and so hungry her stomach stopped growling hours ago. She trudged after Janet, wondering if maybe she was already home in her bed, having a bizarre dream.
Janet waited until Mack caught up, no easy feat when Janet stood at least a foot taller than Mack’s five feet even. “Your dad never mentioned me?”
The smell of wet spring grass rose up as their feet crushed the stubborn shoots that pushed through the gravel. Mack made a mental note to spray herbicide, and immediately decided against it. Crappy for the environment and crappy for her budget. The grass would be dead by the third or fourth weekend of the hot Hoosier summer anyway.
She exhaled heavily, finally understanding the woman’s presence. “Oh.” She tried to keep her voice casual and kind. “No, sorry. My dad’s had a lot of girlfriends.”
Her dad dated women the way he’d once smoked cigarettes—any brand, no loyalty. Mack had seen dozens of girlfriends come and go, and she saw it as a kindness to warn any woman that got involved with Wes Williams not to get too comfortable because he’d change the sheets tomorrow.
Janet threw her head back and laughed heartily, her voice both husky and loud. “I was never one of your dad’s girls. But I knew him in his skirt-chasing days. We weren’t close enough to stay in touch after his accident.”
Mack closed her eyes against the memory of almost losing the only parent she’d ever had. Wes was more than her father, he was her best friend, her coach, a beloved grandpa to Shaw, and the only person who’d ever really understood Mack. She’d thought she and her sister were close, but turned out that Laurie didn’t care much about who Mack was at all.
“So y’all raced together?”
“A bit. I didn’t stay in dirt long. Always had bigger plans.”
Unconsciously, Mack murmured a tone of agreement. She’d had bigger plans, too.
Janet’s smile fell, and she blatantly studied Mack. She didn’t seem like the type to care about dirt and sweat, but Mack swiped a hand over her face anyway.
“You race often, Mack?”
Mack rubbed at the grass with her boot, kicking up more of the spring fragrance. “Nope. Subbing for a friend.”
“Hmm. I met a little girl at the concession stand who told me her mama was racing tonight. She yours?”
They’d reached the dark area between the garages and the grandstand, and Mack could no longer make out the features of Janet’s face. She walked a few feet over to the large chain-link fence bordering theparking lot and leaned back against it, facing the racetrack. It was nice like this, quiet and empty. “Yeah. Shaw’s my daughter.”
“I figured. She’s got that wide Williams mouth.” Mack squinted at Janet through the dim light but could barely make out the line of her profile. “Cute name.”
Mack nodded, wondering if Janet could guess that she’d named her daughter after the famous three-time winner of the Indianapolis 500, Wilbur Shaw, who’d also saved the famed Speedway from becoming a housing development in the 1940s. She’d stared down at her newborn daughter and wanted a name that made her feel hope, not the desolation she’d actually felt in that moment.
“I’m surprised you don’t still do winged sprints. I know you’ve got the kid, but you could run races in the Midwest.”
Mack cracked her neck from side to side and lifted her waist-length ponytail off her sweaty neck. She was too tired to come up with a lie. “We sold the car during a rough patch. 2020 nearly did us in.” It broke her heart to sell that car. She’d won so many races and had some of the best moments of her life in that machine, and selling it felt like the final death blow to her racing career. But the car was just an excuse; even if she still had the sprint, she couldn’t race and keep everything going.
Mack’s shoulders sagged with fatigue. She should get Shaw home and tucked into bed. Hero or not, Janet needed to get to the point. “Ms. Joyner—”
“Janet.”
“Um, okay. It really is nice to meet you. You were my hero as a kid.” Mack looked down at her feet, mortified that she’d said it out loud but too tired to be anything less than honest. “It’s late and I need to get my daughter home. Did you need something from me? Or ... want to talk to Wes?”
The older woman stepped away from the fence and faced Mack. She looked at Mack for an awkwardly long time, then seemed to come to a decision. “You ever think about the Indy 500?”
Mack startled. How could she ever forget it? The question confused her. “We watch it every year. Your driver Leo Raisman is my daughter’s favorite.”
Janet shook her head impatiently. “No. Do you ever think aboutracingin the Indy 500?”
Mack’s skin flushed, quick and hot, at the shameful memory of her long-ago dreams. She didn’t think about racing in the Indy 500, she dreamed about it.
She relaxed the tightness in her throat before answering in what she hoped was a cool, unaffected voice. “Uh, not really.”
“Hmm. That’s a shame. I came here to see if you wanted to qualify for this year’s race.”
Around Mack, the air froze and her senses shut down. The darkness covered her eyes completely, and the smell of the grass and motor oil receded.
