Blind Spot (3 page)

THE TRAILER PARK SAT NEAR
the Apalachicola National Forest, about 30 miles from the Gulf of Mexico, but to Tim Carhardt, the gulf felt as far away as the moon. Florida was the place all the retirees from up north came when it got cold, but not many chose this trailer park in Tallahassee. Tim couldn’t blame them.

He ambled along the dusty road with his frayed backpack slung over his shoulder, kicking at rocks, watching school buses kick up more dust along the road. It was nearly a mile walk home, so he should have taken the bus, but getting there later was better than sooner. And Tim hadn’t exactly become the most popular kid in the neighborhood. He’d actually tried to stay away from them. When he heard laughter
behind him, he headed into the forest just far enough to let the kids on bikes pass.

Tim had been through a lot of changes in the past few months. He’d gone from being full-time on the road with his dad to full-time in school and living with distant cousins. They weren’t distant enough.

His dad had done his best with school, but the way they both figured it, Tim had spent so much time around cars and motors that his future was there, so why fight it?

“As long as there are cars, they’re gonna break down,” his dad had said. “And then they need to be fixed. Job security. Whether it’s with a crew like this or in some shop, you can do this the rest of your life.”

Except the rest of his dad’s life hadn’t lasted long. At least not as long as Tim had hoped. Funny how he’d thought his dad would always be around.

A bunch of people had come to the funeral back in October, and there had been talk of some kind of benefit race for Tim that never happened. A few drivers, including the Overton crew, had given money to a fund, but Tim hadn’t seen any of it. The media probably would have covered it more if they’d had video of the crash. The pit camera had cut out right before the accident. Go figure.

A nice car was parked near the trailer, right next to the wooden porch with all the peeling paint. Tim had
seen the car before, but he couldn’t place it. He stared at the license plate, but it wasn’t until he looked in the backseat and saw two boxes of shoes and a weird-looking hat that it clicked.

Social worker.

The screen door squeaked, and his cousin Tyson’s wife, Vera, stepped onto the porch with the woman. “Here he is now,” Vera said with a drawl. Vera didn’t pay much attention to Tim except when he was opening the refrigerator. She put sticky notes all over the food she didn’t want him to eat, which was pretty much everything in the fridge except the milk.

“You walk all the way from school?” the social worker said. Her name was Lisa. He remembered that. Nice smile. Perfect skin. Tiny glasses that made her look older than she was. Probably in her 20s. Her voice was confident, and she walked like she owned the place, sticking out her hand for Tim to shake. She wasn’t from the South—you could tell that by the way she talked.

“He doesn’t like riding the bus much,” Vera said.

Lisa stared at him. “You want to take a walk?”

Tim looked at her open-toed high heels. “You won’t get very far in those around here.”

She smiled, kicked them off, and pulled some Crocs out of her backseat. “You want to leave your backpack?”

Tim shook his head. “Not heavy.”

They walked down the road by the trailer park and onto a path leading to a playground at the edge of the forest.

“Why don’t you ride the bus?” Lisa asked.

“I like walking.”

“What about school? You like it there?”

Tim shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“I talked with a couple of your teachers, and they said you were pretty quiet most of the time but that you’re really smart.”

“Why’d you talk to my teachers?”

She stopped and turned. “Tim, this is my job. I’m supposed to look out for you. Check on how you’re doing. I’m not the FBI. I’m on your side.”

They walked a little farther. Some kids on skateboards rattled along the concrete path to the playground. Smaller kids played on swings and slides, their moms hovering.

“How about home?” Lisa said. “You getting along okay with the Slades?” She chuckled. “What a name, huh?”

Tim smirked. “I guess I’m doing as well as can be expected.”

“What’s that mean?”

“I don’t know. It’s just hard living with people you’ve never known.”

“Are they mean to you?”

“Define
mean
.”

“Do they watch TV with you? eat meals together? yell at you? throw stuff at you?” She looked at his jeans. “Let you buy new clothes?”

“They’re sorta tight on the finances.”

“Tim, they’re getting a check every month for the extra cost of taking care of you. That’s supposed to go to food and clothes and school supplies.”

“Maybe the check hasn’t come yet.”

Lisa sat on a bench and folded her arms. “I talked with your counselor too.”

“Oh, boy.” Tim sat directly across from her and watched the kids on the playground.

“He said you haven’t been there in at least a month.”

“I was kinda sick.”

She leaned forward. “There’s nothing that says you have to go to the counselor. Sometimes people don’t want to talk about stuff that brings up bad memories. I can understand that.”

“I’m not scared of memories. I just don’t want to talk with that guy. Gives me the creeps.”

“Why?”

“He’s getting paid for talking to me. That’s all we do. Just talk. Seems weird to me.”

“Is that what your cousin said?”

Tim didn’t answer.

Lisa sighed and hung her head. Finally she scooted to the edge of the bench. “Tim, you’ve been through the biggest change of your life. The counselor is there to help you through it. And I simply want you to have the best chance at life you can get.”

“I’m doing all right. Don’t worry about me.”

She stood and walked toward a winding path around the playground. “Come on—let’s keep walking.”

He followed. A warm breeze blew through the palm trees, and a hint of moisture was in the air, as though there might be a thunderstorm coming. As Tim had learned, when a thunderstorm rolled in, you had to head inside fast.

“What about your dad?” Lisa said. “You miss him?”

“That’s a dumb question.”

“Yeah, you got me on that. I just didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Tim stuck his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know. Dad probably wasn’t ever going to win awards for best father or anything like that. I know some people thought I shouldn’t be traveling with him and I ought to be in school. I learned a lot, though.”

“Sure you did. And you probably wouldn’t trade that time for anything.”

“You got that right. If I’d have been somewhere in a school, I’d probably never have known him.”

“What about your mom?”

“What about her?”

“She ever get in touch? Do you hear anything about her?”

“I haven’t seen her since I was little. She left when I was in third grade.”

“No letter? No contact at all? Didn’t come to the funeral?”

Tim shook his head.

“Didn’t you find anything about her in your dad’s stuff?” Lisa asked. “An address? Phone number?”

“I never got to look at any of it. Tyson said they didn’t have room for it here. They put it in some storage place over on Highway 27.”

“And Tyson took your dad’s truck?”

“Drives it to work. When his head’s not hurting too much.”

“Does he have a medical problem?”

“Yeah, it’s called Budweiser.”

“I see.”

“I don’t want to get him in trouble or anything.”

“You won’t. I just want a true picture, and I think I’m getting it. Your dad didn’t leave a will or a trust. Could it have been in that stuff?”

Tim shrugged. “Almost everything he owned he carried in the truck.”

“Maybe I can work it out for you to get access to his things.”

“I’d like to see them.”

They walked a little farther to a gravel path that led to a pier overlooking a lake. Some kids tried to skip rocks, but they just plopped in the water. There was movement beneath them, and Tim didn’t like the look of those grayish green backs and the reptilian eyes on the water’s surface.

“Season’s starting again soon,” he said. “Gonna be weird not going to Daytona.”

“Have you heard from any of the crew? the guys you and your dad traveled with?”

“No. I guess they’re busy getting new jobs. Overton retired after Homestead.” They began the long walk back toward the trailer, and Tim picked up a rock and tossed it into the water. “You know, it’s not so bad here. When I was out with my dad, I had about this much room I could call my own.” He held out his hands. “Now I’ve got about 10 times the space. I get three meals a day and a bed. It’s not the Hampton Inn, but it’s all right.”

“You don’t have to protect them,” Lisa said.

“I know. I just don’t think they’re the whole problem. Part of it’s me.”

“You?” Lisa said, her forehead creased in disbelief. “You’re the one who lost your dad. You have a right to be ticked off at life.”

“Yeah, but I’m not. I feel . . . I don’t know. Kinda numb. Like I’m walking through some big mall, but all the stores are locked. I don’t feel much about Dad except that I miss being on the road together. It’s almost like all that was just a dream.”

“It wasn’t a dream, Tim. It was real. You two had a lot of good times. You did stuff kids can only dream about. I wish I had that kind of time with my dad when I was your age.”

“What was he like?”

“This is supposed to be about you, not me.” She bit her lip and stared at the setting sun. “He sold insurance. We moved about every year or two, so I’d make friends just in time to leave them. Kind of like a military family, I guess.”

“He still living?”

“Yeah. He and my stepmom are out in Arizona. My mom died of cancer a few years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

Lisa turned to him. “There’s some stuff you don’t know. Stuff I can’t tell you yet. But there may be a way out of Apalachicola. If you had it, would you take it?”

They were a stone’s throw from from the trailer
park. His dad’s truck was in the parking space in front. Tyson was on the porch talking with Vera. When he saw them, he yelled, “Hey, I want to talk with you!”

“Would you want to leave here if you could?” Lisa said to Tim.

“Maybe,” Tim said. “I’d think hard about it.”

Tim’s cousin stalked toward them, his boots cutting into the hard clay. He pushed his ball cap back on his head and dropped his hands to his sides. “He in trouble again?”

“No, this is just a social visit, Mr. Slade,” Lisa said, flashing her white teeth.

“I told him he’d better shape up or we’d have to send him off to the home for waywards.”

“No need for that. Tim seems like a pretty good kid. What kind of trouble?”

Tyson Slade’s face was scarred. Tim figured it was bad teenage acne that had never been treated. He wore sunglasses too. Tim guessed that was so his employer couldn’t see his bloodshot eyes.

“Some neighborhood kids don’t care for him,” Tyson said. “I wonder if he hasn’t brought it on himself.”

“And how would he do that?” Lisa said.

Tyson cocked his head, as if her tone wasn’t appreciated. “Surely in your line of work you know how kids can be. They say something smart-alecky or get on people’s nerves. One thing leads to another.”

Lisa nodded. “Yeah, I know. Have a good day, Mr. Slade.” She glanced at Tim. “I’ll get back to you soon about your options.”

Tyson looked at Tim after Lisa left. “What options was she talking about?”

JAMIE KNEW THE PREVIOUS
year had not been good for her dad, Dale Maxwell—at least not in his sponsors’ eyes. His best finish was ninth at Martinsville, late in the season. Some engine trouble two weeks in a row and crashes at Daytona and Darlington had severely hurt his earnings. Then there was Talladega.

Driving, as he had often told her, had been in his blood since he was a kid. His dad had told him that once he snapped the steering wheel in place, there was nothing he’d do that would even come close to the thrill of racing. It was a charge that would reach deep into his soul.

Her grandfather had been right about him, and it looked like the heart of her father beat in her, too. It wasn’t that she wanted to prove she could
make it in a guy’s sport. It wasn’t about a girl overcoming the odds. Jamie’s passion was speed, and her eyes sparkled every time she talked about NASCAR or her car or anything that had four wheels. She didn’t mind getting her hands dirty taking an engine apart. She never complained about the dirt of the tracks or the heat of the engine in the cockpit. She wondered if it was eerie for her dad to look at her—was it like looking in a mirror at himself, only with long hair and a pretty face? (At least, her dad said she had a pretty face.)

She had always been his partner when she was young, his “little helper” as he called her, going to the garage or to time trials, watching his every move. The whole crew marveled at how much she knew about the sport.

Now she could feel the distance. The older she got, the further she grew away from him. Because of his schedule during the season, he didn’t come to many of her races—part of the reason she drove the Legend car. It was much easier for her mom to tow with just the Suburban. Jamie wondered if perhaps her dad couldn’t stand the thought of his little girl getting hurt. Or maybe it was something else that made them grow apart.

Jamie knew she was perceived as all girl at school and church. Feminine. Petite. She could spend an
hour with her hair on Sunday mornings, and she had good taste in clothes. But given the choice, she’d choose jeans and a T-shirt, tie her hair in a ponytail, and slap on a racing hat. That was her favorite outfit—other than the fire suit.

She knew her dad was proud of her. Especially of how she’d handled Chad Devalon. Her dad had the same problem with Chad’s father and said he dreaded seeing #13 in his rearview mirror.

“You ought to tell her how you feel,” her mom had said to her dad one evening. Jamie was in the next room, listening. “She needs to hear what you think about her.”

Words were difficult for her dad. He could stand in front of reporters and answer any question that came up with a wink and a nod and a smile. He could keep his cool after someone had bumped him into the wall with only a couple of laps to go. But the hardest thing in the world was talking to his teenage daughter. At least, that’s how Jamie figured it.