Page 35 of Black Flag

He was quiet for amoment before he added, “I don’t like this lifestyle at times and the invasioninto the only privacy I have but it gets easier. I think.”

“Are you nervous fortomorrow?”

Jameson had yet toactually get inside his race car since the accident other than the safetyclearance NASCAR had him do with getting in and out of the car. If he wasn’tnervous, I was sure I had enough for the both of us.

“I don’t know that Iwould say nervous, just anxious, I guess. I want to be back in the car.”

Eventually conversationdrifted away and we just sat there.

Being here with him,wrapped securely in his arms, I felt safe, as though the rest of the worlddidn’t exist outside this bubble we were in. I was right to say we were goingabout this the wrong way. Ordinarily you would date, have sex, get married andthen have a baby. Some even waited until they were married to have sex.

Not us, no, we startedwith sex, ended up dating, created a little crazy irrational baby out ofwedlock and then maybe someday we’d get married. Jameson was right. Doing itthis way, the crazy-irrational-break-your-heart-dirty-heathen way, was half thefun. It wasourway.

Thursday morning wasanother whirlwind of press and interviews for Jameson and we had yet to spendany time together since our evening in the grandstands. Around nine, I wassitting on the pit box, getting ready to watch Jameson’s first practice sincethe accident.

I was a nervous wreck.I bit off all my fingernails and if it didn’t look so ridiculous, I probablywould have started on my toenails.

A group of fans drew myattention on the other side of the wall. I turned my head to see Jamesonapproaching. He had a sure gait of someone who was comfortable around a racetrack. His black racing suit was zipped down a few inches revealing his whitet-shirt underneath. His helmet tucked under his arm as he reached out to sign afew autographs as he passed by a fence swarming with fans.

Once he made it to thepit box, he swung a leg of over the wall.

“It feels good to beout here again.” He said with a smile, taking in a deep breath of the smells surroundingus; exhaust burning, the sweet smells of octane fuel, tires, and warm asphalt.It was the smells of racing. The smells of everything he knew and had knownthroughout his entire life. It’s whatweknew.

“Here goes nothing,” hemurmured stepping over the wall toward his car parked on pit lane. Spencer, whowas checking air pressures, stood and clasped his hand over Jameson’s shoulder.

My heart leapt up intomy throat when he slid through the window moments later and began his ritual ofputting on his gear.

Was I ready for this?Was he ready for this?

All the fear I’d feltwatching the accident on television that Sunday afternoon came crashing back.The images of his body laying motionless inside the car afterwards burned intomy brain and it was all I could see, all I could focus on.

The other driverswatched him having known about the accident.

A few of themapproached his car, leaned in, and said a few words to him. Jameson in turnnodded, giving them a desultory wave.

Kyle winked offering methe headphones. “Calm him down for me.”

Calm him down? Calm medown!

After a few minutes,Jameson’s car was still in on pit lane.

Instead of talking overthe radio, I climbed down from the pit box and made my way to his car.

Jameson noticed meright away and yanked the window net down, flipping his visor up. I couldn’thear what he was saying over the rumble of his engine so I leaned insideplacing my ear closer to his helmet.

“Honey, what are youdoing out here?” he asked angling his helmet so his words were less muffled.“Get back on the box. It’s not safe down here.”

I shook my headtouching the side of his helmet. “Are you okay?”

His eyes held mine andI saw the fear drowning him. Hewasscared, though he’d never say it, noracer ever would.

But I saw it. I saw itwith the rapid rising and falling of his chest. I saw it in the way thedetermination wavered briefly.

My hand reached insideand with hesitation covered his heart over his belts. His eyes closed, his headfell back, resting against his seat restraints.

When his breathingslowed, I leaned closer so he could hear me.

“You can do this,Jameson. I believe in you. Don’t second guess yourself.” I smiled and winkedlike he always did. Wanting to distract him and knowing the funbags weren’t anoption, I settled for words. “Just think of me on the hood.”

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