THE GRAVITY OF IT
BILLY
You know going in that death is a very plausible outcome to any day you are in your car on a track. But it becomes one of those things you refuse to really process. You make it abstract, the odds of it all, because if you didn’t, you would never get behind the wheel. I have become especially gifted at it because my dad died doing this in front of me, and I chose to do it anyway.
I’ve witnessed more than a few serious crashes since I started in Formula One, and sadly some fatalities. This… today… I realize as I hear Clara gasp and follow her gaze up to the television bolted to the wall of my dressing room, looks like another one. I’ve personally never witnessed so much smoke and fire. The flames are huge and everywhere and there is no one emerging from the car, which isn’t even visible.
“Who?” I manage to choke out because I hadn’t seen which team’s car hurtled into the barrier, and right on through it.
Clara’s voice is strangled when she says, “Lucia.”
“No…” I argue stupidly.
The TV announcer’s serious voice fills my ears. “There’s no movement from Lucia Castera’s car. Oh no… this is horrible..”
“They’re putting the flames out fast, which is a good sign. We can only hope…” the second announcer’s voice trails off ominously.
“No,” I say again, louder, like if the universe hears me it’ll somehow change the outcome of the catastrophic wreckage I’m staring at.
“Billy…” Clara’s voice is soft and sad.
“I need to find Frankie,” I bolt toward my door, but Clara calls my name again, more urgently. I turn and she points to the television.
I see Lucia emerge from the ball of smoke and fire, and a rescue crew guy runs toward her. She jumps from the car, through the flames and smoke and falls to the pavement in a lump. The crew sprays her with extinguishers even though she didn’t appear to be on fire, and one of them rushes over and picks her up, I can see her legs are under her. She’s conscious, walking, albeit with help and very unsteady. That’s something. That’s got to be something, right? I leave the room in a full-on run without looking back. Everyone in the hall is frozen like mannequins staring at the closest TV, tablet, or phone screen. We are about two football fields away from where this horror is unfolding, on the track, but no one dares to go there. They all know it’s better to let the rescue crews do what needs to be done, and no one wants to be a looky-loo in this business.
I see Rocco standing like a stoic lamp post in the middle of the team paddocks. I grab his arm, and he looks at me with a mask of horror on his face I have never seen before and hope to never see again. “Bash… Frankie. I can’t find them. I don’t think they’re here yet.”
I look at my own phone for the time and then run to toward the parking lot entrance, calling back to him. “You find Bash. I’ll find her.”
Frankie usually gets here before the end of the F2 sessions at the latest, so she’s either on her way to the track, or she’s still in the parking lot. I run toward the parking lot, figuring I’ll start by asking security if she got here. When I get to the entrance from the V.I.P. parking, there she is. She’s walking in. Actually, it’s almost more of a run. Nick is beside her. My eyes lock with hers.
I experience the torture of watching her expression change. It goes from strained to panicked to completely shattered. She’s stopped moving just inside the gate and I come to a stop in front of her.
Frankie releases a small, pained sound followed by a deep shuddering breath and her left hand raises to her chest. “Lucia?”
I nod and I reach out for her. My hands land on her shoulders, which are so tense it’s like clasping rock. “But she got out of the car. It took a minute. But she got out. On her own.”
Nothing in her body relaxes. She knows, like I do, that adrenaline can hide a lot of stuff. The last person to die from a crash four years ago also climbed out of the car. But he died en route to the hospital from a brain bleed. “I don’t know what to do.”
Her confession is a hoarse whisper, and I want to hug her so badly, but as I step closer, she steps away, causing my hands to lose their grip on her shoulders and drop. “You can go to the hospital. Rocco can run qualifying… if we go ahead.”
It will be delayed no doubt, but if Lucia is… it might be canceled and done tomorrow, after a memorial ceremony. Frankie doesn’t move. She just stands there. Nick looks at me. “Call Bash.”
“He’s not here?” I ask, shocked as Nick shakes his head. “Fuck.”
“He’s flying to California. Someone needs to keep trying his phone,” Frankie says, her voice sounding a little less fragile. I know what’s happening. Her survival mode is kicking in. She just needs to get through this, and she knows it. “I’m going to the hospital. They’ll bring her there. No matter what.”
I want more than anything in the world to go with her. In this moment, I would skip qualifying, hell, I would skip the entire race and even walk out on my career if she asked me to be with her instead right now. I watched my mom go through this alone. I don’t want Frankie to be alone. But she doesn’t ask me for anything more.
Instead, Frankie takes one more shuddering breath and blinks back tears. Photographers have started to line the chain link fence that sections off the private parking from the general public. “You should go back,” Frankie tells me. She turns and takes a few quick strides toward her car with Nick but then stops and turns back. “Billy.”
“It will be okay,” I promise. Nick frowns like I’m an asshole writing checks I can’t cash, but in this moment, in my heart, I mean it. Because no matter what happens to Lucia, I will make sure Frankie will be okay. I swear on my own life.
She turns away again, and I run toward the gates as I hear her car start up and tires screech behind me.
Rocco is standing exactly where I last saw him when I get back, but other people are moving again, some frantically, some clearly in a daze. I approach him, and he looks up from his phone.
“Do you know anything?”
