Author's Note: Thanks, readers, for your patience with the long break between chapters. I've just gotten home from Texas and Oklahoma after losing my beloved Daddy and I'm getting back to work on my stories. I figured for a start, I should post a new chapter here because it was all ready to go! Katbybee and I hope you will enjoy Charlie's story as much as we do.

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My Racing Heart

As a kid growing up in Daytona Beach in the 1930s and 40s, it was almost inevitable that Charlie Petrosian would end up haunting the racetrack. He was only a little fella — knee-high to a grasshopper as his grandpap said — when the first stock car race took place on the local course in March of 1936, but he still remembered watching in awe. The press of the crowd had been overwhelming for the five-year-old, and he couldn't see anything from down on the ground anyway, so Pop had hefted him high and plopped him on his sturdy shoulders and he'd watched from above. By the end of the race, his eyes were red and watery from all the dust he'd gotten in them. The race had been a chaotic affair, with cars stalling and getting stuck at the sandy turns on either end of the track. Even so, little Charlie had caught the stock car fever.

His mama tried to steer him away from cars to less expensive endeavors. "What are you thinking, Charlie?" she would scold in her native Armenian, dragging him home by the ear after finding him at the racetrack one day when he didn't come straight home after school. "We can't even afford a car to get your father to and from work! Forget this racing business and think about the kind of legacy you want to leave this world!"

But Mama didn't understand. Charlie didn't want to race. No, he was entranced by the engines that made the cars go. He wanted to learn everything about them. When he went to the track, it wasn't the racers he wanted to meet. It was the mechanics.

Charlie was eleven when Japan bombed Pearl Harbor and America got into the war. Dad went away to fight. Most stock car racing in the US ground to a halt because of the war. Some smaller tracks in Florida continued to host races on weekends, but they were too far for Charlie to get to. Not that he didn't try. Once he'd saved up his allowance and was about to buy himself a bus ticket to Cocoa Beach one weekend, but his little sister ratted on him, and Mama saw to it he didn't go. And so, he was home when the telegram arrived. The one that started with, "We regret to inform you," and let them know that Gus Petrosian would never come home from the war.

It was at Daytona Beach during the war years that Charlie met Jim Johnstone, who was stationed at the nearby Navy base. Jim was the mechanic for Bill France, who years later would help found NASCAR. Jim took Charlie under his wing, teaching him all about car engines, how to build them, how to repair them, and how to soup them up to make them almost fly. Throughout the war, he provided Charlie a strong shoulder to lean on when his mother struggled to guide the growing boy through a rocky adolescence. The race track became Charlie's haven, and before long he was well known for his mechanical skills. When the war ended, he was sad to say goodbye to Jim, who had to move back to New Jersey with his family. But at only fourteen years old, he had a marketable skill. Against his mother's wishes, he dropped out of school and went to work as a mechanic's assistant at the race track. She couldn't really argue the point. She was busy raising six children and they needed the money Charlie brought home.

At age nineteen, Charlie impressed the right people with his skills and his work ethic, and he'd been offered more than one job. Mama wanted him to take the job with the Daytona Beach Fire Department, working as an assistant to the mechanic who took care of the big engines. His stepfather — Mama had remarried when Charlie was seventeen — wanted him to learn carpentry and build houses with him. But Charlie's heart was set on the racetrack. Besides, the racer who offered him a job would pay him plenty. And so, he became the mechanic for racer Tony Johnson. Mama didn't like that because she'd heard that Tony Johnson had honed his racing skills as a moonshine runner during Prohibition. She was sure her son was going to become a drunken fool and destroy any chance he had at building a solid legacy. But at nineteen Charlie was a grown man who could make his own decisions, and he loved working for Tony. Sometimes after work, he'd sit around listening to the racer's stories.

Tony was a good guy, nothing like some of the others, known for their carousing and womanizing ways. He had made sport of the police by running moonshine, but he'd never been much of a drinking man. "Dulls the brain," he told Charlie. "Slows the reflexes. I saw too many times what could happen to a runner who drove drunk to let it happen to me." He also wouldn't dare disrespect his wife by eyeing other women. He joked that he feared her too much, but Charlie knew better. Tony loved Irma with all his heart.

Charlie was proud to see his work in motion. Tony generally ended up in the top five, and there were a couple of times he took second place. That coveted first place position, though… they just couldn't seem to capture it. So, one day after a race, Charlie walked over to inspect the first-place racer's vehicle. He planned to be careful how he went about it. He didn't want to look nosy, after all. He would introduce himself to the mechanic, get to know him, and then ask for a look at the stock car's engine.

He was not expecting to find that the person bending over the car's engine, making some adjustments, dressed in greasy coveralls and wearing an old ball cap, would prove to be a girl! "Hi," she said as she straightened up, and she smiled at him. Her hands were all rough and grease-stained, and so was the handkerchief she pulled out of a pocket to wipe grease off her nose. Her bangs were too long, but not quite long enough to stay in the single brown braid that hung down to the middle of her back, and she had to keep pushing them out of her eyes. Brown eyes, just a shade lighter than a Hershey's bar. She was an absolute mess. And she was the most beautiful woman Charlie had ever seen.

"What's'a matter with you?" she asked. "Ain'tcha ever seen a girl mechanic before?"

Charlie shook his head and flicked his gaze to the car, suddenly aware that he'd been caught staring. Mama had taught him better. "Sorry," he mumbled, too tongue-tied to say anything more. Other than his little sisters, Charlie had no idea how to talk with girls. And so, he turned tail and ran, vaguely aware that she was doubled over laughing at his hasty exit.

He wasn't expecting her to follow him. He was bent over Tony's engine, checking everything out, making sure the fluids were all properly topped off, and regaining his composure when he felt someone's steady gaze on him. He looked over his shoulder and saw her standing there, a sheepish grin on her pretty face. His stomach just about sank to his ankles.

"Sorry. I shouldn't've laughed, but you looked just like a jackrabbit runnin' from a fox." She reached out a hand to him. "My name's Teresa Guadagno. My friends call me Reese." She nodded across the track to the car she'd been working on. "That's my brother's car. I'm his mechanic."

"She's fast," Charlie said, avoiding eye contact. He could hardly breathe.

"Sure is." When Charlie glanced sideways at her, he saw she was beaming with pride at the praise. "I souped her up. Dad taught me everything I know about engines." Then she came up next to him and looked into the engine of Tony's car. "I could teach you if you want."

Charlie narrowed his eyes. He didn't really believe she could've souped up that car to make it win. He wasn't a bit convinced that a girl could be a good mechanic. But he kinda liked the feel of her next to him, her warm breath tickling his neck when she spoke. He wasn't ready for her to go away. "Uh… sure."

"First off, you gotta tell me your name."

"Oh. Yeah. Charlie Petrosian." He rubbed his greasy hand on his coveralls, then offered it for a shake.

She laughed again and displayed her hand, with grease under the fingernails. "I don't mind the grease if you don't." Then they shook. When their hands touched, Charlie could swear he felt a jolt of electricity pass through him. At least he was breathing again… sort of.

For the next couple of hours, Reese showed him all sorts of tricks he would never have thought of. As it turned out, she really did know her stuff. She knew way more than Charlie did. As she explained it, she'd been working on cars with her dad since she was only five years old. Like Tony, he'd been a moonshine runner, and he depended on having a fast car so the police couldn't catch him. By the time Reese was born, Prohibition was over, but her dad still loved racing, so he kept working on car engines, making them faster and better. His son was a top-notch driver but lacked Reese's aptitude for the mechanics. "But no one wants to hire a girl mechanic," she said as she tightened a lug nut. "So, I've been working for Matteo. But he's off to college soon. Today was his last race, which means I'm officially outta work."

"I bet Tony'd give you a chance," Charlie said. "He's noticed how your brother always seems to win." He hesitated briefly, but felt sure he was doing the right thing. "Besides, I've been offered a job by the fire department, working on the big engines." Hopefully that job still existed. It was too late to turn back now. "I'll tell Tony about you."

"Really?" Her eyes glowed and that smile of hers stretched from one ear to the other. "You'd do that for me?"

Mama would say later that Charlie's pay was burning a hole in his pocket when he asked Reese to go to dinner with him. They didn't go to a fancy restaurant, of course. Neither of them wanted to bother with dressy clothes or scrubbing the grease out from under their nails. Instead, they went to a hotdog stand on the beach. They sat in the sand and ate hot dogs and potato chips and watched the waves till high tide came in.

Charlie still felt a bit tongue-tied, but Reese could talk a blue streak and he was happy to let her. The more she talked, the more he admired her. She had the sort of dreams he'd never really let himself consider. She wanted to earn enough to buy her own car and take a road trip to every state in the Union. "Whenever I need more money, I'll stop and find work at a racetrack for a while and then I'll move on when I'm ready. I wanna see mountains and I wanna dip my toes in the Pacific Ocean."

Over the weeks that followed, Reese's dreams became Charlie's dreams. And whenever he imagined himself on that epic road trip, it was with Reese at his side. Tony hired her on Charlie's recommendation, and soon he was taking first place in every race. Charlie watched from the sidelines, his eyes not on the cars but on the pretty girl mechanic who could soup up a car better than any man alive. He enjoyed his work on the fire engines, and soon found himself moving up from the assistant position. That was the day he asked Reese to become his wife and live out her dreams with him. When she said yes, he thought he must be the happiest man in the world.

As a wedding gift, Charlie was able to buy his bride a used station wagon and a travel trailer. Mama didn't need his paycheck anymore, so he'd been putting it by, saving every penny. They both kept working hard and saving whatever they could, and within a year they were ready to quit their jobs and take off on their long-hoped-for road trip. They camped all over the country, picking up work at racetracks whenever they needed a little money. By the time they got to California, Reese was eight months along with their first child. She went into labor working a race at the Carrell Speedway in Gardena. Six months later, they said goodbye to their sweet Carol Sue, who died in her sleep. Charlie hadn't known anything could hurt more than losing his dad, but when he saw his little girl, who had been so rosy-pink when they laid her down to sleep, looking all pinched and blue, his heart shattered. He and Reese decided then that it was time to settle down and stay in one place. Reese wanted to be close enough to visit Carol Sue's grave. Charlie wasn't sure he could bring himself to visit the cemetery after the funeral, but he didn't feel the itch to travel any more. So, he looked up the Los Angeles County Fire Department and applied for a mechanic's job. He liked working on the engines even more than he liked the stock cars. Besides, those poor engines needed a good mechanic to save them from all the abuse the fire boys dished out on a daily basis.

They settled in, living in their trailer until they could afford a house. Reese struggled with the blues for a while, but before long she was expecting again. That baby thrived, as did the next. Two more beautiful girls. Reese had them at the track with her as soon as they could toddle about, watching her work on engines, coming home covered in engine grease and happy as clams. Then came two miscarriages before they finally got their son. Each loss hardened Reese a little more. Each loss left Charlie feeling a little more shattered. But they clung to one another. They loved each other more deeply. And when Harvey was born, he guided them out of the darkness and made them both feel whole again.

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Charlie looked around the rented hall at all the people who had gathered to celebrate his retirement from the Los Angeles County Fire Department. Reese sat at the head table. For once she didn't have grease under her nails or in her long silver braid, but she still hadn't worn a dress. She'd told him the day they got married that it was the one time in her life he would see her in a dress, and she'd kept her word. He didn't care. Didn't matter what she wore — she was still the prettiest girl who ever walked the Earth. Well, one of the seven prettiest. His two living daughters — top-notch mechanics, both of them! — and his four granddaughters were right up there with her. And if she'd only lived, Carol Sue would have been beautiful too.

Harvey sat next to his Mama, watching her carefully. He'd been born with Down Syndrome, as it was called these days. When the doctors delivered the diagnosis, they had advised putting the newborn in an institution, but Reese had pulled her son into her arms and kissed his downy head and declared him just as precious to her as his big sisters. She wasn't about to lose another baby when she didn't have to. Harvey had come home from the hospital and been showered with love from the start. As he grew, Reese had taken her time figuring out how he learned best. "So, they won't let him go to school," she'd said. "That doesn't mean he can't learn. He'll be my special helper at the track."

Harvey had never learned to read. He didn't talk much. But he knew the names of all the tools in a mechanic's toolbox. He could change a tire and check oil and top off fluids, and he made friends with everyone he met. Harvey Petrosian was considered a person of great value among the racers who gathered at the Ascot Park speedway, where he assisted Reese as a mechanic. Every single one of them considered it good luck to get a high five or a thumbs up from Harvey before a race.

For years, Charlie had thought his legacy was with the Los Angeles Fire Department. He'd kept those fire boys in line! Oh, they thought he didn't know how they quivered when they had to call on him because of some problem they'd caused one of his precious engines. But he knew, and he enjoyed every minute of it. For years now, he'd no longer worked as an active mechanic. His eyesight wasn't what it used to be, and he was no longer capable of doing that work effectively. Instead, he'd kept busy training incoming mechanics to work on the fire engines. Now that his last class was ready to take on those numbskull fire boys and keep them in line, he was happy to stay home and enjoy his grandchildren while he could. Because now he understood. A bunch of engines were no legacy. Even a bunch of demanding perfectionist mechanics were no legacy. No. Charlie looked his legacy in the eyes every day when he hugged his son, when he swung a grandkid up in the air, when he counseled his daughters, and most of all, when he looked into the deep, brown eyes of his beloved Reese. And that was a legacy to make a man proud.

Next up: Joe and Rose Early