It’s lunchtime by the time I hitch a ride home with Rob and Brenda, leaving Mark and Mason to work on the vehicle in peace.

Letting myself in the front door, I can hear heated, raised voices as soon as I go inside.

Mom, Dad and Tommy are in the kitchen. I walk in and they all turn to look at me. Everyone looks red-faced and angry, as if they’ve been arguing for a while.

Crap.

One look at Tommy tells me how fed up he is. Poor Thomas! He just hates arguments and strife.

Not that I particularly love it myself.

The soul-destroying audit at work and the additional pressures of the race is making us teeter on the edge.

And apparently, it’s having the same effect on Dad.

“I told you that Mollenkamp kid was using you!” Dad barks, as soon as I walk into the room.

I stop dead in my tracks.

“Carson!” Mom says, putting her hands on her hips. “And I told you not to…”

“This again!” I say, tossing my purse on the counter and crossing my arms. “You were fine and friendly with him at the track last week,” I say, hotly. “What changed?”

“I found something out, that’s what,” he retorts.

“Oh, what? Is he trying to use me for free parts now?”

“Inside information, more like,” he barks.

“What? Like, industrial secrets or something? We don’t have any, Dad! We’re an auto supply company, not the CIA, for fuck sakes!”

“Language, missy!” Dad says.

“That’s not all Dad’s worried about,” Tommy says, in an exasperated tone. “We found out that Mark’s in the race now, too. They emailed the new roster. Dad thinks he entered the race to undermine you.”

“I do not!” Dad retorts. “I merely suggested that his participation might make Marie nervous. Or, less confident or less…ambitious to win. Don’t put shitty words into my mouth or I’ll…”

“What? Fire me? Good! You can get someone else to do your shitty audit.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dad says. “How many times do I…”

“Would the two of you please calm down!” Mom interjects.

They all start talking and yelling at once, fingers pointing and hands waving, voices getting louder and louder.

We’ve had tons of family fights over the years. This isn’t even the worst one. But somehow, right now, I can’t stand all this yelling. It’s just too much, way too much.

“Stop!” I shriek, putting my hands over my ears. “Everyone stop!”

Unbelievably, everyone stops. Dad crosses his arms, steps back and looks away, shaking his head.

Mom, sighing heavily, holds up both her hands, then takes a seat on one of the stools by the island.

Tommy gets a soda from the fridge, opens it and drains half of it in a few strong swallows. Then he leans against the counter, crosses one ankle over the other and lets out a rude burp.

My dad crosses his arms, then puts his hands on his waist, then crosses his arms again, before rubbing his bald head and heaving a big sigh.

Perched in her chair, Mom’s foot sways, showing her agitation.

Sighing, I ask: “Could you please tell us; what’s this all about, Dad?

Dad runs his hand over his head again, stopping to massage the back of his neck. “It’s just that… he…I…Dammit. Alright, look…he…he…” He licks his lips and rubs his head again. “ The thing is…the problem is…Mark was seen with, ah…um…” He stops talking, looks away, mutters under his breath and licks his lips again. “Ah, Jesus! Just tell me this: Did you tell Mark anything about any of our clients? Something that no one is supposed to know?”

“Did I tell him something no one is supposed to know? Like what? I don’t know anything no one’s supposed to know!” I look to my mom, who rolls her eyes and shakes her head.

I look at Tommy.

He shrugs, lifting his hands. “Yeah, he asked me the same question. What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Tommy,” Mom says, warningly.

“Dad. What are you talking about?” I look at him with pleading eyes.

My dad looks to Tommy and then me again. “So, neither one of you has been told…something…by or about… one of our clients?”

“Not me,” I say, shaking my head.

“Me neither,” Tommy says. “Despite your poor opinion of me, I’d have, you know, kept it in confidence if asked.”

“I don’t have a poor opinion of you, I’m merely trying to find out…”

“Carson,” Mom says. He glances at her but keeps talking.

“…if word of something has gotten out. So…so that I can make the right decision about…something.”

“Carson,” Mom says again.

“What?”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“I…well I’m trying to keep something in confidence myself! It’s important, or I wouldn’t bother.”

“Can’t you see they don’t know whatever it is you’re talking about?”

“Yes. I can now. But…”

“But what? What’s wrong with you? This is bloody daft!”

Dad stiffens. “Goddamn it, Vivian. This is about the future. Their future,” he gestures to me and my brother, “our other sons’ future, and the future of the business.”

“Then why can’t you tell us about it?”

“Because I’ve been asked not to, that’s why.”

“Who the hell has the right to ask you to keep secrets from your family?”

“The person to whom the secret belongs, that’s who! Come on, Vivian! Are you telling me that you don’t trust me to make a judgement call?”

There’s Dad’s thing about trust. Dad demands trust from everyone, but has problems showing trust in return.

“No, Carson, I’m not telling that I don’t trust you. I don’t care about secrets your clients have asked you to keep. I do care if you’re having paranoid suspicions about your children, however.”

Dad stares at her icily. “It’s not about the children. Or, well it is, but, I mean, it’s about their future.”

“Then you should be able to tell us!” Mom’s losing patience now.

“Vivian! Dammit! I’m warning you, don’t… ”

“Warning me…? Warning me? Don’t bother, Carson Sinclair! I’m quite happy to leave you to yourself!”

She stalks out of the kitchen and up the stairs into their bedroom, slamming the door behind her.

“Great,” Dad mutters angrily, turning to my brother and me. “This has got me exactly nowhere. Is it too much to ask my own family to trust me?”

Tommy and I regard each other guiltily. His face mirrors what I’m feeling: Confused.

“Dad? You’re still the only one who knows what’s going on here,” I say quietly. “You can’t expect…”

“I’ll tell you what I expect,” he says, his voice low and dangerously reasonable. “I expect practice laps as scheduled tomorrow morning. Plain and simple. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m tired of this discussion.”

And off he goes too, up the stairs, his footsteps stomping down the hall to his office.

Tommy and I regard each other morosely.

“That was fun,” Tommy says dryly. “Anyways. I’m gonna go over to Mike’s, get a couple games of pool in on his new table. Hey…you wanna come?”

“Nah. I’m gonna hide out in my room. Thanks though.”

“Okay.” And to my surprise, he comes over and gives me a hug. “This’ll blow over by tomorrow. No worries, ‘Ree. ”

“You think so?”

“Yup. The sun’ll come out…tomorrow.”

* * *

But the sun doesn’t come out tomorrow.

Or the next day, or all the next week.

It’s a crazy busy week, one during which Mark and I don’t get to see each other at all. Mark’s shop is swamped, with him making sales calls during the day as well as regular work, and putting hours in at the shop at night.

While it’s great for his business, it means no date night for us.

But we talk on the phone as much as we can, and when we do, of course he hears in my voice that something’s wrong.

But I just don’t want to drag him into it, even though it’s about him.

So I tell him only that Dad’s stressed out about something and that a big family like ours has disagreements sometimes. He listens, doesn’t ask pushy questions, merely tells me he’s here for me if I need to talk.

By the time the next Sunday, practice day, rolls around, things are still pretty tense at home. Mom and Dad were both out this week, a lot, with Mom in her room and Dad in his office when they’re home.

It’s my first practice slot with Mark, so I want things to go well.

I don’t have much hope, though.

Most Sunday mornings, Mom’s in the kitchen, cheerfully cooking a big hot breakfast for anyone who wants it, usually teasing and laughing with Dad while she’s at it.

Today, she’s conspicuously absent. Dad’s here, though…drinking an instant coffee and eating a bowl of cold cereal, looking like every bite hurts.

Geez!

He leaves an hour ahead of schedule, with a curt reminder to me and my brother not to be late for practice.

Tommy and I make scrambled eggs with cheese, which we eat without saying much either.

I’m nervous about the laps today.

It’ll be my first time driving the track with Mark, and my nerves are already shot about the whole damn race in general.

Suffering from butterflies, I can barely make myself eat. Tommy tries to ask if I’m okay, but I just hold up my hand. Just thinking about it makes it worse. With a sigh, he holds his peace.

But he keeps glancing at me warily.

We get through breakfast and, although neither one of us wants to do it, we get into his car and dutifully go to the track.

“Marie…about Mark,” Tommy says, as he steers us onto the freeway. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to be too…chummy with him at the track in front of Dad, alright? I don’t wanna piss off Old Sourpuss any more than necessary.”

“Wordy McWorderson,” I say, trying to lighten the mood, for both our sakes.

It doesn’t help.

“I mean it, Marie. Don’t push it. Things aren’t right with Mom and Dad either so…let’s just don’t push it.”

“I know, I know! Mark already knows things are touchy. Don’t worry about it, nothing bad will happen.”

* * *

At the track, we prepare for our practice laps and then stand around while we wait for our turn. It’s another boiling hot day and I’m already sweating buckets in my suit.

Things are cool between Dad and me but we keep it civil enough to do what we need to do.

Suddenly I notice Tommy do a double-take and then stiffen. Glancing around, I see Mark standing just outside our garage bay, wearing a racing suit in a horrible burgundy color, with his name emblazoned down the side in huge white letters. Tommy and Mark haven’t met but there’s no mistaking that name.

The suit itself is a fashion disaster but somehow, Mark fills it out so nicely, he manages to make it look…well, not so bad. My heart goes out to him while, at the same time, panick-y worry flares that Dad will see him and cause a scene.

Luckily, Dad wants to show Tommy something on the car and he moves away.

Making big eyes at Mark, I gesture with my hands and my head, telling him to get away. Thankfully, he does what I ask and leaves us alone before Dad sees him.

Still, my nerves are on edge. My stomach feels like it’s full of acid. Somehow, I have to get through this.

* * *

Getting behind the wheel has its usual soothing effect. At the starting line, I give Mark a quick thumbs-up, which he returns.

Quickly, we fall into a kind of a dance, leaving the pack behind and then lapping them easily.

That magical thing happens again, and we end up pacing each other just as we did that day at Freddy’s farm. One after another, we trade first place, then fly over the finish line, neck and neck.

We nod to each other at the finish line, and then head our separate ways to the garage building.

Back in the bay, Tommy informs me of what I already know: The laps we just completed saw Mark and me tied for first place on the practice leaderboard.

“That was quite an interesting race, Marie,” Dad says, emerging from the back room, wiping his hands on a rag. His voice is cold, signaling that he’s still in pissed-off mode. “You and Mollenkamp drove a very close tie.” He tilts his head, looking at me curiously. “How do you explain that?”

“The same thing happened when we raced the buggies,” I say, defensively. “We’re evenly matched as drivers, I guess.”

“Are you? That’d be convenient, wouldn’t it? It looked to me like you were letting him pace you.”

I throw my hands up. “Here we go again!” I stomp over to the workbench and fling my gloves down on it. “I don’t want to hear any more of this… unless you tell us what’s going on with you!”

“Hey, would you two give it a fucking rest for a day?” Tommy says, watching us with dismay.

“No rest for the weary, Thomas,” Dad says. “Someone has to watch out for this family.”

“Oh, nice, Dad. Nice! Like the rest of us don’t watch out for the family?”

“You never know what’s about to happen, son,” Dad says…but it’s me he’s looking at.

He steps closer, his finger going up and wagging in the air. “You have to be vigilant. You simply cannot trust every one who shows an interest in you. You have to remember there’s an additional monetary motivation here, especially when the guy has none himself.”

“Dad!” Tommy steps forward and puts a hand on Dad’s arm. “You’re taking this shit too far now. You sound paranoid as hell, don’t you realize that?”

“Yeah,” I say, “And I mean, why on earth would I let Mark pace me anyway?” My voice is getting shrill but it’s a struggle to control it.

“Maybe you want to let him to win the purse money?”

“So you’re saying I’d help him cheat? Thanks a bunch, Dad. He’d never stand for that. If he wins, he wants it to be fair and square.”

“Undoubtedly he does.” His voice is deadly quiet now. “But women naturally defer to a certain type of man, Marie. They obey him…try to please him. I’m not saying it’s deliberate, you could be doing it subconsciously.”

I’m rolling my eyes. I don’t want to hear any more of this.

But he won’t stop.

“This race is a turning point for Sinclair’s. We have invested too much into this race––and into you–– to let some money-hungry upstart make fools of us all.”