Jackson noticed right away. Four hundred miles of dead silence as they made their way to the next race. There were no comments about the change in scenery as they passed from the mountains to the plains. The stunning sunset received not a word of recognition.
Storm felt something akin to guilt as he tried to think of a reason, anything to speak with her. The communication line between them was too heavy with silence. Was she mad at him? It was possible.
No, no it wasn't, Storm reasoned. This had nothing to do with him. This was business. It was in her contract, it was in his contract as well. The rules were the rules.
He looked out the window of his trailer and sighed. Off in the distance he saw a forest of windmills spinning in unison across the plains. Gale often joked with him that she thought he wouldn't be able to outrun the tips of the turbine blades given the chance. It was customary that Jackson present her with the mathematical fact that he could, given the correct degree of banking on a closed circuit. He found he missed the pointless banter.
What harm could it do to initiate it? He took another deep breath and prepared the words he was going to say.
They never left his mouth. For the sixth time in the last four hours, Gale braked as though she were attempting to jackknife the trailer. Jackson reached out instinctively to brace himself against the wall as she switched lanes to pass a slower car in the left lane. Gale never passed to the right. She never braked in an uncontrolled and ragged manner. Cheer and grace had given way to chilled ambience on edge.
Jackson settled back into place as the ride smoothed once again. He thought about asking her to slow down. They weren't in a hurry, were they? He wasn't.
Instead, he set his parking brake and anxiously awaited the next abrupt maneuver. For the first time ever, he didn't feel safe with her. He wasn't threatened, necessarily, but he saw an imminent end to Gale's flawless driving record. It was stupid, he thought, totally not worth the quiet rage.
But what did he know? He reached out and turned his stereo up.
Give it time, that'll make it better.
He repeated the same words to himself time and time again. When those didn't work, as they never did, he went to the next phrase. And the next. And the next.
We made a promise. It'll work out.
Let her go. It's better for her.
Just be patient. Patience is a virtue. It's better for everyone.
It wasn't better. Every once in a while he'd catch a glimpse of her roof fairing and feel the same guilt he felt the last time he'd spoken to her. Then she'd be gone again, lost among the tents and trailers and chaos of the infield.
He could have quit his job. He could have retired, he'd worked long enough. He had a pension, not that he needed it with his new Dinoco salary. He'd quit a job before, why couldn't he do it now?
It had been months. Months. The season was almost over. Every weekend they'd been at the same track, and every weekend they'd avoided each other, sometimes to the extreme. It had been hard to begin with, with the media trying to get answers they wouldn't receive. But even after all that time, it was still difficult.
Mack would park in the back row at the drivers' meetings so it would be easy for her to avoid him. He'd travel solo so Gale could enjoy the company of the Piston Cup hauler convoy between races. He'd stay nearby the Dinoco tent during the race instead of parking with the rest of the semis to enjoy the event.
It had been months. Over half a season of unnecessary anxieties surrounding time and place. Mack introspectively wondered if he still enjoyed his work. The answer wasn't a resounding 'yes', in fact, he wasn't sure what it was. What kept him coming back?
As the stadium cleared out, Cruz approached him as he waited patiently for her by her trailer. She was toting a new trophy and grinning from fender to fender.
"Heck of a race today, kiddo," he complimented her with a smile.
"Thanks!" she beamed. "Ready to hit the road? 'Dega's next week!"
"Ready as ever!"
Ramirez was contagious. Her positivity, her attitude, everything. Mack knew from the instant he met her that if he couldn't drive for Lightning, he'd want to drive for her. She kept him sane on long trips without the convoy. The stories and chatter they shared rivaled that of ol' Moe Marcusi.
This was why he didn't want to quit. He enjoyed the racing scene, the racers, the teams. He liked being Cruz's friend and coworker. He'd never be as satisfied working somewhere else, or not working at all. This is why he stayed.
Cruz backed into the trailer with her trophy after a long, hard day. Mack absentmindedly drove to the front of the trailer and backed into place, humming a cheerful tune - one that he and Cruz had compiled just last week to compliment his latest pulp fiction idea. His mind began to turn as he considered where to take the never-ending story next.
Over the audio link the two shared, Cruz picked up on his song and joined in, muttering short, meaningless syllables here and there along with her hums to emphasize certain notes. She let herself relax as she wiped some confetti remnants off the Nitroade-splattered gold finish of her trophy.
Mack started onto the thoroughfare that led outside the track. The road had just begun to dip into the tunnel that led out to the road under the stands when he caught a familiar flash of glossy black and electric blue.
Cruz didn't notice as he fell into silence.
Gale considered the off-season to be nothing more than four months of paid boredom. She never had any plans. It would be nice to have friends or family to visit, but her only family was her team. Friends? Her team. She yearned for something - someone - new.
Someone familiar.
This time last year they'd been parked on a beach in Mexico under palm trees, sipping mimosas as the sun rose above the endless ocean, listening to the tropical birds in the forests behind them come to life. It had been nothing other than magical, the best time of her life.
She felt her throat close as she reached out to unlock the door to her apartment. She hadn't been there since the season started, weeks before she'd left him. She knew what waited on the other side of that door. Memories. Memories she should have told her housekeeper to put away.
Memories she didn't want to forget.
The garage door retracted and revealed the spotless apartment. Everything was orderly, clean, in place. It didn't feel like a home. Sighing, she shut the door behind her.
She immediately crossed the room and parted the blinds to let some natural light into the room. Sunlight always made her feel better, at least to some degree. For a moment, she took in the sight of the city below, cars bustling home from work after a long day in the office. It seemed monotonous and boring, nothing like a peaceful countryside or beach.
Disappointed, she turned back to her living space. The maid had left a pile of mail on the desk, several envelopes comprising junk mail, paper bills she always paid online, packages containing things she'd impulsively bought on Amazon, and more junk mail. She sorted the envelopes absentmindedly, throwing all but a few bank statements away.
The packages didn't prove to be of much excitement, either. She reprimanded herself at all the things she'd ordered over the course of the past several months. Five different samples of luxury paint waxes, a book on scenic highways, and one tea infuser that resembled a Piston Cup that she'd meant to give to Jackson as an inside joke so long ago.
She tossed it to the side and reached for the last package. She frowned, confused at the labeling. This wasn't an Amazon fulfillment package. This was something someone had taped together and slapped a label on personally. It was small, and didn't have a return address, but she recognized that writing. She bit her lip and grabbed her box cutter to open it. Stress manifested itself in tears across her windshield.
The gift was simple. A delicately formed diorama encased in a clear plastic box. Some simple origami seagulls sat on a paper beach next to some paper water. One of the birds was black, one was red, and both had been folded by someone with tires much too large for the job.
Gale scared herself as a sudden sob escaped her lips. Her instinct was to chastise herself for losing her composure so quickly, but no, not then. She deserved a good cry. She wanted it. It'd been too long, and she was alone. She deserved to let herself feel.
Through her eruption of emotion, she felt herself smile so wide it hurt as she pulled a sticky note off the side of the box and read it, letting herself fall into whatever conflicting reaction felt natural.
It's been so long. I had to do something - anything.
- M
She placed the diorama next to a collection of framed pictures of the two of them. For a moment, she relived all those memories. For a moment, she was happy.
She knew he'd keep his promise.
She could wait.
