Chapter Twenty-Seven

I shouldn't be surprised that Dad is waiting for me on the porch when I get home late on Sunday night. It's like a repeat of the scene on Saturday night—God, how was the race with Riley only a day ago?—when I brought the Hornet home, but this time, as soon as I'm out of the car, he leaps off the porch and pulls me into a hug.

"I was so worried," he whispers into my hair. "Thank you for coming home."

"Of course, Dad," I say back, hugging him hard. Behind me, I hear El's parents' car pulling away, but I don't look back. I am so done with her, her family, and that entire mess.

"Let's go inside and talk about this," Dad says, letting me go at last. He swipes at his eyes.

Although he's not really an angry guy, I'm a bit surprised that he just seems relieved I'm home, not angry that I ran away.

It helps maybe that I texted him back on the long, awful, awkward car ride home with El and her parents. I answered the one voice message he left me, where he just said, in heartbreakingly halting tones: "JoJo. Not sure where you went … but I'm sorry. Please come back. We can talk. And … just. I'm sorry."

His message brought tears to my eyes, and I had sent him a message back, saying I would be there soon.

I follow Dad up the steps and into Jolene's house, throwing my small bag by the door. I wanted to burn every part of it that had to do with Eliana Blum, but even I knew that was just being dramatic.

Dad pours a whiskey and Coke and then takes a second glass out of the cabinet, fixing me a drink as well.

"Not a normal thing," he says, stirring the drinks. "But just for tonight, to take the edge off. Now, tell me what happened?"

We sit down at the kitchen table, and Dad gently pushes aside a photo album I'd not seen since we moved. It's the one of his and Mom's wedding pictures, and there's a photo of them smiling in their wedding clothes on the cover.

I cup my own drink between my hands and exhale. It's only been about twenty-four hours since Dad's and my last fight, but it feels like an age. The story of everything that's happened since then comes pouring out of me—about El looking for Max, and El and I growing closer, and how we talked to Riley, and how we eventually learned Max was in Richmond. I take a long sip of my drink, letting it soothe my nerves just a bit.

"So you all decided to sneak out and go find El's sister in Richmond?" Dad asks. "On a stolen motorbike? In the middle of the night? Without telling anyone where you were going?"

I nod, staring at the ice cubes in my glass. It sounds ridiculous now that he says it. Like I should've known better. Of course I should have.

Dad blows out a breath. "Well. I have to admit, it's probably what I would've done. And it's most certainly what your mom would've done."

That admission startles a laugh out of me. "Are you serious?"

"Do you really want to know where my nickname comes from?" He smiles at me, making his eyes crinkle at the edges.

"Absolutely not."

Dad raises his glass at me. "Fair enough, but let's just say that there were some outrageous years for both me and your mother. Especially when we first met. We were utterly wild for each other, and a little wild in general. There was no lakeside cliff we wouldn't leap off, no street race we wouldn't enter, no dare that went untaken."

"Huh …" I say, swirling the liquid in my glass. This is a new side of my parents, though one that's not totally unexpected.

"Your mom used to say you couldn't know how to have absolute control on the track if you didn't know how to let go sometimes."

"That's good advice … as always …"

Dad smiles again, softer this time. "She was full of good advice. Most of the time at least. Sometimes, like all of us, she was just full of shit, too."

I laugh again, remembering how she would absolutely make up unbelievable answers to questions just for fun. I went to kindergarten thinking that Saturn was ringed by donuts and that there were aliens who stopped by the rings for snacks.

"She was amazing," I say softly.

Dad clinks his glass against mine. "She was. And I miss her so much." His voice is tender, full of tears waiting to fall.

"Me too. I miss her all the time. But I think when I'm driving, I feel closer to her, you know? Because racing wasn't about danger to her. It was about joy and freedom and so much more."

Dad exhales sharply and his tears fall. "You're right of course."

I put my glass on the table, pulling a ticket stub out of my pocket. "I went to the Richmond Raceway, too, while I was on this trip with El. She didn't come. Just me. I was looking for her sister at the track—and I found her there—but that's not really the point. When I was there, it was just like old times with you and Mom. There were the pits, the noises, the smells, the cars doing practice laps … and … it was sad, of course, but it was also kind of good, you know? Like by being in a place like the ones Mom loved, I was closer to her. I don't know. Maybe that doesn't make sense, but I felt her so strongly, just for a moment, when I was there… ."

Dad drains his glass. "That makes perfect sense, JoJo. And, since you took off, I've been thinking a lot about how much like your mother you are. Which, of course, terrifies me. But you were right to say DeeDee wouldn't want me holding you back from your dreams. She would've loved for you to try for the F1 Academy."

My heart picks up at this. Is Dad really saying what I think he's saying?

"Do you want to know something really, really nerdy, Dad?"

He nods.

I pull the folded picture of Jamie Chadwick, the one I always carry with me, out of the pocket of my jean shorts. Opening it up, I put it on the table between us.

"Who's that?" he asks, peering at the creased picture. It's been folded and opened so many times, her face is barely discernible.

"Jamie Chadwick. First W Series winner. I've been carrying her picture around for years now, just as a reminder of what I want to do."

Dad shakes his head. "Unbelievable." He grabs his own wallet from the bowl in the middle of the table and opens it. He pulls a small folded picture from it and places it beside the picture of Jamie Chadwick. It's a photocopy of an old black-and-white photo.

In the photo a white woman in a button-up shirt and white hat sits inside a car. She's seriously side-eyeing the white guy outside her car window, who looks like he's giving her advice. On the top of the car, over the curve of the window, is written "Sara Christian" in big letters.

"Who is she?" I ask, moving my gaze from the picture to Dad.

"Sara Christian, the first female NASCAR driver. Your mom was obsessed with her, from before she was younger than you. She told me about her on our first date … hang on, I have a picture here somewhere. Your mother insisted on putting it into the wedding album."

Dad pauses, flipping open the photo album to a photo of him and Mom in front of her Hornet, which is parked outside a Burger King.

"You went to Burger King on your first date? Very classy, Dad." Even as I say it, I remember El and I going to Shake Shack, and dipping fries into milkshakes and laughing and talking about anything and everything. An ache goes through me at the thought and I shove it away. El Blum and I are done. No more fries and shakes. No more kisses. No more races or road trips. Which is fine.

"It was your mom's favorite," Dad says softly. "You know her great-aunt Betty used to take DeeDee to Burger King on her birthday every year, so I think your mom always associated it with celebrations and new beginnings. Least that's how she explained it to me."

I knew that, of course. Mom had told me the same thing the first time she took me to Burger King for my birthday.

Dad goes on, tapping the picture of Sara Christian. "I can still hear DeeDee telling me, a Whopper clutched in one hand, ‘Did you know Sara Christian competed in NASCAR's first car race on June 19, 1949, at the Charlotte Speedway?' And she always carried this picture in her wallet. I'm surprised. She didn't tell you about her?"

I search my memories—Mom and I had talked about so much; how could I have forgotten something like her favorite female racer? But in a lifetime of conversations, things were bound to slip through.

"She might have told me, but I'd forgotten," I admit. "It's funny, I can remember Mom's laugh, and the way she burnt grilled cheese every time, but I can't really remember all the things we talked about."

A lump rises in my throat and I try to swallow it down. Am I forgetting Mom? Is that what's going to happen over the years?

Seeing my distress, Dad puts a hand on my arm. "It's okay, JoJo. Truly. Much as I hate to admit it, I'll tell you I can't remember everything about her, either. But you taking off for Richmond made me realize we can't always hold on to the people we love. Whether we like it or not, they'll go away. Or we'll lose them, or they'll lose us. That's just life."

He was talking about Mom, and I was thinking about Mom, but I was also thinking about El and our fight and how, even though I was angry at her, I was still devastated to lose her, too. Grief is a terrible, hollowing thing, and something all of us have to face.

A breath wobbles its way between my lips. "That may be true, but I don't have to like it."

"You don't," Dad agrees. "But you can't fight it too much, either. I think the biggest lesson in my grief is that the present is the only time we have. Yes, we can miss people who are gone, but we have to be in the moment. We have to keep living and trying new things and moving forward … just not too fast."

He's right of course, and I'd been thinking about just these sorts of things at the Richmond Raceway.

I run a hand along the picture of Sara Christian. "Where did you get this?"

Dad smiles again. "It was in your mom's wallet, like I said. I've been carrying it around since I went through her things. I never thought you'd be carrying around your own version of this picture. DeeDee would've liked to know that about you, I think."

"I think she'd like that, too," I say. "Can I have it?"

Dad nods, and I fold the picture of Sara Christian in with the one of Jamie Chadwick.

"I'll sign your form," Dad says, finishing his drink and standing to make another one. "And let you get your license this week. In case you didn't get that from my deep philosophical musings on living in the present and following your dreams."

"Dad!" I say, leaping to my feet. "Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. It's your life and you've got to live it. I'm proud of you, JoJo, and I know your mom would've been, too."

I hug him. "Thanks, Dad. For signing the form and for telling me about Mom and for letting me fuck up, just a little."

Dad hugs me back and then drops ice cubes into his new drink. "Always. Though this doesn't mean you get a free pass on stealing your mom's old car or running off to Richmond with El Blum. You're definitely grounded for a few weeks and I'll have some extra chores for you, but those are the consequences of your actions. I'm not going to punish you for being your mother's daughter and needing to race."

"You're the best. I love you, Dad."

"Love you, too," he says, giving me another quick hug. "Now, please, go to your room and don't sneak out. I've been worried all day and need to sleep." He lets out a weary sigh.

"Good night, Dad."

"‘Night, JoJo. I'm glad you're back home."

"Same, Dad. Same."

I leave him in the kitchen with his whiskey and the photo album and make my way upstairs. All of a sudden, I realize how much I smell like sweat and road dust and El's skin, and I just need to shower. Immediately.

After my shower, I curl up in bed with my phone. There's no message from El, though I don't think I was expecting one. There's just a bunch of pictures of us from the trip. El beside the bike, grinning. El in bed from this morning, the light making her hair golden for a moment. A selfie of El and me on the bike, my arms around her waist, and my chin tucked against her shoulder.

A deep sense of loss fills me.

It had all felt so real, so good. And even though El had absolutely been a jerk, I will miss her. A lot.

I swipe my photos closed and pull up Netflix. I may have lost El Blum, but at least we had the summer. And the Fast Furious.

With that thought, I pull up movie one, The Fast and the Furious, and hit Play, happy to lose myself and my broken heart in heists, one-liners, and Letty Ortiz stomping around gleefully in motorcycle boots.

As it turns out, life without El Blum in it is both easier and harder than I could've ever expected. I spend the weeks after we got home working in Grandma Jolene's garage, helping Dad around the house, and avoiding the places where the volunteer club would be. Oh, and also Putt by the Pond. I keep as far away from there as possible. I don't hear from El—not a text, phone call, DM, or anything—which hurts more than I'd like to admit, but it also helps me realize how truly over we are. More than once I start to text her, but then I stop, not sure what to say.

Dad is true to his word. He signs my form and we send it in. I'm still waiting to hear back, and one week stretches into the next with no word from the F1 Academy.

Grandma Jolene gets home, and she doesn't even ask me about El or the Hornet or our road trip to Richmond. She just hugs me and says, "Life is weird, JoJo, but you'll get through it. Keep yourself in the moment and also keep your eyes ahead at all times."

I'm not quite sure how to do that, but I'm trying. If I'd been a hermit at the beginning of the summer, it's nothing compared to my life after El Blum smashed into it.

Which is fine with me.