Page 28

MONTRéAL

ONE MONTH LATER

NATALIA

It’s the third call today from an unknown number in Corbin, Kentucky, and again I tap Ignore.

Phaedra steps over the back of the bench near the water where we’re sitting at Parc Jean-Drapeau and plonks down with a grunt, glancing at my phone as she shoves a small paper sack—splotched with translucent butter stains—toward me.

“They were out of the pain au chocolat, so I got you a Kouign-amann,” Phae tells me.

She digs into her own bag and tears a piece of the pastry inside, folding its golden flakiness into her mouth.

“This is my second one,” she confesses, mouth full.

“I won’t need to eat for a week—like a python that’s swallowed a capybara. But holy shit these are incredible.”

I peer into my pastry bag, then peel off a bite of Kouign-amann, admiring the decadent lamination before popping it into my mouth.

Phae points at my phone when it dings with a voicemail. “Her again?”

I shrug, chewing.

“Just letting her dangle, huh?”

My eyes narrow and I swallow too quickly.

“Let’s see… it’s been six months since Sherri and Jason elbowed their way back into my life, so I figure in another, hmm”—I pretend to calculate, tapping at my temple—“twenty-seven and a half years, I can reassure them I’m alive and got the message. Sound fair?”

Phae rolls her eyes, twisting another chunk of pastry free.

She surprisingly doesn’t have a snarky comeback and instead nibbles at a sugar-encrusted edge of dough, gazing across the water to the adjoining island where the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve is located.

Her dark auburn hair blows across her cheek and she swipes it aside, leaving a pastry flake on her eyebrow, which I brush away.

I go back to dismantling my own breakfast, but it’s hard to enjoy it, distracted by everything Phae isn’t saying. “Okay, just… out with it,” I mutter. “I know you’re brimming with opinions, so let’s get it over with.”

She swallows, rolling the crumpled top of her bag and setting it aside. “I try not to be too up in your business, ever since the falling-out last year, because… y’know, I’m”—she makes air quotes—“ bossy and judgmental . Last year, here in Montréal, we weren’t even speaking.”

“Yeah.” The rift lasted three months and was a miserably lonely time for both of us. I set down my bag and reach for Phae’s hand to squeeze it. “I can never apologize enough for not being there for you sooner with… that .” I’m afraid to mention her father’s death.

“That isn’t why I’m bringing it up. Hear me out.

Look, I know you’re pissed at your parents for being fuckwits when you were a kid.

But, Nat… you might be sorry when they’re the dead kind of gone if you don’t have a relationship with them now.

They’re trying. All those emails your mom sends, telling you her story… How many are there so far?”

“She sends one about every other week. Six now.”

“And you still haven’t read them?”

I shake my head, more of a toss, like a stubborn horse. “I don’t delete them—that’s as much commitment as Sherri deserves.” I point at my phone. “She wants to ambush me, calling like that. Who just calls , without texting first? I know she’s Gen X, but seriously.”

Phaedra grits her teeth in frustration. “ Rrrrraaaahhh! You’re so annoying.

A reputation for being a softie, but you’re really like that bunny in the Monty Python Holy Grail movie—cute and fluffy, but looks are deceiving.

And you’re going to regret it, being a hard-ass and not accepting the olive branch. ”

“You’re not a relationship expert, Phae. Last year you thought I was an idiot to take a chance on Klaus, and then you changed your tune. You’re wrong now too. I don’t need my parents, and I doubt I’ll regret it.”

“Whatever. Last comment, then I’ll drop it: I have an Edward Morgan–shaped void in my life that says you will regret it. ’Nuff said.”

I glare but remain silent, chewing slowly.

“And I think you should read the stuff your mom sent.”

“You said ‘last comment’!” I snap.

She falls silent. For a minute there’s only the crinkling of paper bags as we go back to our breakfast, scored by the sounds of kids and dogs and ducks around us in the park.

“So… how are things with Klausy?” she finally asks, mercifully changing the subject.

“It’s good.” I feel heat creeping up my neck and across my cheeks. “Thanks again for covering for us in Monaco. The dinner at L’Escale was amazing.”

Phae grins. “It was kinda fun, helping you sneak around with your boyfriend.”

I dig in my pastry bag. “I don’t think Klaus is my ‘boyfriend.’ It’s basically just hooking up.” My tone is more angsty than I intended.

The truth is, I’m feeling… a lot. Impulsively throwing caution to the wind on birth control in Barcelona was a bad sign, and I’m lucky my period arrived right on time, as expected.

The fact that I took such a risk has made me examine my emotions more sternly since that night.

I really need to keep a cooler head as much as possible.

Phae almost touches my knee in some attempt at comfort, then pulls back. After a pause, she asks, “But you do want it to be more, right? Because I’m pretty sure he does.”

That metaphoric skydiving feeling floods through me again: definitely scary, but a euphoria so fast and so free… revealing an open view that was never done justice by other people’s descriptions of it. I can influence the direction, but the fall itself is subject to gravity, irrevocable.

The sweetness on my lips as I lick away a bit of sugar glaze makes me think of his kiss. I glance at my phone on the bench, noting the hours until I’ll see him again.

“Maybe I do want more,” I confess to Phaedra. “But wanting doesn’t make it happen. Everything rides on how well we’ve packed our parachutes for the jump.”

This is my second time seeing a race at the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve.

Opinions are divided about this track: Some people say it’s sorta predictable, simple, and old-fashioned, “not very technical,” while others glow about its high-speed straights and heavy braking, with cars running thrillingly close to the walls.

I’m watching the race from the grandstand outside of the Senna corner. Most often I’m in the media center during the race, but occasionally I opt to watch in the grandstands with fans, enjoying the energy and mingling with the crowd to get material for ARJ Buzz .

Cosmin qualified on the front row in second, and Jakob Hahn is in seventh. Despite the rumors after the Spanish GP that he’d be replaced with Emerald’s reserve driver, Klaus and Phae chose to give Jakob until summer break and see where he stands points-wise.

The grand prix gets off to a dynamic start. Emerald must be using a two-stop strategy, because they begin the race on soft-compound tyres. Cosmin overtakes current world champion Drew Powell and starts building up distance.

Cosmin boxes at lap 19 of 70 and the Emerald pit crew sends him on his way outfitted with hard tyres. He emerges behind Powell but has a good chance of reclaiming first place by race end after changing again to fresh softs.

There’s drama on lap 45 when Jakob tries to overtake Mateo Ortiz and gets into a tangle that sends him smashing into the Wall of Champions.

When the safety car comes out, Powell has just passed the pit entrance, but Cosmin is a few turns behind.

Emerald makes a quick decision to box for new soft tyres, capitalizing on the yellow-flag time savings.

The battles between Cosmin and Drew Powell have become legendary this year.

Four laps before the end, they’re going at it hammer and tongs, Cosmin attacking at every opportunity.

They scream into the Pont de la Concorde corner and Cosmin gets the upper hand just before the hairpin, overtaking for first place.

He holds off Powell for the last few laps and bags his third career win.

Heading back to the paddock, I pass by a family with a little girl who’s wearing lavender overalls like the ones I had on in the photo my parents sent.

On one cheek she has Cosmin’s number painted, 19, and on the other, three stripes in the colors of the Romanian flag.

Her father lifts her onto his shoulders.

The mother gathers their things and tucks under the arm of the father, and my eyes follow the three of them as they move with the crowd toward the exit.

For just a moment, watching the family, I remember with a pang of loss a happy time before I knew my parents were irresponsible.

I miss the girl I was. And I miss who Sherri and Jason were… when they were still Mom and Dad.

There’s a celebration for Cosmin at a hip tiki bar, and I can’t resist showing up for a little of it, even though I should be in my hotel room right now preparing for a video call related to a story I’m pursuing.

I feel guilty that I’ve deliberately not mentioned it to Klaus, but…

it has to do with murmurs of a human rights issue in the country that may be hosting a new grand prix.

As a team principal, he has “a dog in this fight,” and I don’t want him to influence how I do my job.

I’m finishing the last of a cocktail with a plastic flamingo in it when Klaus draws up behind me and runs a fingertip along my shoulder.

I give a ticklish squeak and rotate to face him.

He’s had a few cognacs, and the scent of it on him, mingled with his cologne, instantly makes my pulse race with the memory of our first meeting.

He leans in as if to kiss me and I bob to one side, scanning the crowd for any nearby Emerald figures other than Phae or Cosmin, who know to keep our secret.

“Watch it, mister,” I tease. “Can’t have anything about us get back to my boss until I turn in the article. Six more weeks,” I add when Klaus’s brow pinches in a mock-sulky way.