Page 27 of Wrecking Boundaries (SteelTrack Racing #2)

I stretch, and my entire body protests. A sore back is the lone reward for sleeping on the floor.

Sarah lies on her side next to me. Her eyes briefly flutter, but her slow breathing continues. She needs to wake up soon since we have a plane to catch.

I rub her lips, and she squeaks.

The house is silent, and I’m tempted to linger beside her, but my back cramps, so I get up with a pained sigh and quickly dress.

“You’re already awake,” I say to Mom in the kitchen. “I’ll make us coffee.”

“It’s already done,” she says. As if to prove it, the first drop lands in the coffee pot. “There’s cereal and milk for breakfast, and eggs too if you would rather have that.”

“Coffee is fine.”

She pulls a travel mug from one of the cabinets and creamer out of the fridge. “The girls already left for school.”

We said goodbyes the night before. Josie mellowed after Sarah’s camp suggestion and sounded like she might actually miss me. There was a point during dinner I would have guessed she felt differently.

“You’re dressed like an office lady,” I say, finally noticing her clothes.

“My job is in an office, hence the office attire. Remember me telling you they’re training me for a promotion?” Julia Knowles is barely fifty, without a hint of gray in her light blond hair. It’s shorter than it used to be and pulled back into a professional knot.

“You’re in a pantsuit.” I didn’t think she knew those existed. “The promotion, yeah, I remember. Is it happening?”

It slipped my mind. Between my racing performance and other career worries, everything at home slipped my mind.

It shouldn’t have.

Mom grabs the partially full coffee pot, quickly pouring the contents into her travel mug. The machine, still brewing, drops coffee onto the burner with a loud hiss. She puts the pot back in so it can finish. “Later in the summer, I hope.” She adds creamer next. “I’m going to sell this house next year,” she says in an off-handed manner.

I’m not prepared. “We just finished paying for it.” It’s also our family’s home. Dad lived in it. “Where are you going to go? Why?”

“Josie will be on her own soon, like the rest of you. I think something smaller, with less upkeep and lawn to worry about. A condo would be nice. Maybe one in a planned community.”

“But why?”

Mom crooks her head and takes my hand. “Our lives are changing, Jake. You grew up here, you and your sisters, but we don’t need this place anymore. It’s work, an upkeep. You lack time, and I lack interest.”

“There’s plenty of time. I can come home more often.”

She laughs softly. “Jake, you have your career to take care of. If I’m not mistaken, you’ll be married with kids soon. That’s enough for any man.”

“Not me.” That sounds horrible and a rejection of Sarah. “You know what I mean.”

“Are you going to visit every weekend to check the lightbulbs, Jake?”

“Yes, if it’s needed.”

She rolls her eyes, but her features soften. “You’re a great son, Jake, and you’ve become an even better man. There’s so much of your father in you. I look at you, and I see him again.”

“It’s the hair,” I say to lighten the conversation.

This talk is strangely unnerving. It feels like we’re putting my father to rest all over again. That doesn’t make sense, yet it sounds accurate.

“No, Jake, it’s the man you are. He never knew when to quit, either. My parents said we were too young to marry, so he bought a ring. I told him your go-kart racing was a child’s fancy, which would eventually pass. He was correct about that, too. He poured everything into helping you succeed.”

The coffee maker beeps. I set about making my cup, relieved there is finally something to occupy my hands. “It killed him, Mom. He worked himself into an early grave.”

Her silence is long enough to tell me she’s considered the same. “I won’t lie. I’ve had that same thought before, up until I realized it’s complete bullshit.” The intensity in her voice at the end surprises me. “He died because sometimes horrible things happen. Sometimes, your husband dies young, leaving you and your children alone. It’s unfair, and I still feel anger over it. He didn’t die because of you, Jake. He died because sometimes horrible things happen. It wasn’t fair that I became a widow, and it wasn’t fair that you had to step up the way you did.”

Is coffee always this bitter? I pour it out, filling a glass with lukewarm tap water instead. “I didn’t resent any of you. Our family needed me. What else could I do?”

“Like I said. There’s so much of your father in you.” She tilts up my chin, inspecting my face like she did when I was a kid. “The younger two never knew him, but they always had you. All of them did, and that’s why it’s time for you to stop. ”

“Time to stop what?”

She’s throwing a lot at me, and her speech feels like it’s leading up to a goodbye.

“Stop trying to raise them. They have me.”

“I’m not,” I say, but my rebuttal has little weight. Her statement almost perfectly reflects Sarah’s advice, too.

“You are, and I should have stopped it long ago. Also, no more money. I make a decent salary, so we don’t need more assistance.”

“But this house, and braces, and everything.”

She puts a hand on her hip in case I forget she is still my mother. “Those are my problems, not yours. No more money, Jake. No more direct deposits or advances. It’s time for you to step back.”

“What if something happens?” It’s a ridiculous question, and it’s the best substitute I can summon for all the thoughts twirling in my head.

“Then I’ll figure it out.” She glances at the oven’s clock. “It’s time for me to go. Lock the front door when you leave.” She squeezes my cheeks like she did when I was little. “I’m so proud of you. He is, too, I promise. He’s with you in every race. He never stopped cheering you on, even if you can’t see him. He’s there, and he’s proud of you. He raised a good man, Jake.”

We say goodbye, and she leaves.

Sarah needs to wake up, and we both need showers.

Instead of doing either task, I head to the dining room, where the familiar family picture sits on the wall.

My mother is correct; I look like him. The picture has been in the same spot for years, so I hardly notice it. Some memories of him are sharp, like the sound of his voice or his horrible singing. His features and what he looked like are less so. I remember a giant man, but the picture says we’re the same height, with him maybe an inch shorter. Our hair is the same. We have the same cheekbones and jawline. The man in the picture could be my brother. We’re nearly the same age.

Sarah would say we wear the same cocky smile.

It was her turn to cry two nights ago, and now it’s mine. I wipe at my cheeks. “Miss you, Dad,” I whisper, feeling foolish because there’s no one to hear it. “I’ll see you at the track on Sunday.”

I find Sarah wrapped in blankets and back on the bed.

“This is way more comfortable,” she says.

“I told you that last night.”

“It’s a bed built for one.”

“Thank you for Josie’s camp idea. I should have said so last night,” I admit.

“If it helps, she’ll probably change her mind. The idea came to her last week, and she’ll move on. I once wanted to be an FBI agent because it seemed cool.”

Sarah’s messy hair covers part of her face. She blows on it and then swats some away when it doesn’t work. I get on my knees and begin carding my fingers through it.

“You could still be one if you want.”

“No, thank you. I’m content to be your business partner.”

I don’t push her to define ‘business partner,’ but I warm at her use of the phrase.

“We should get ready,” I say, realizing I’m eager to leave.

My childhood home no longer feels like my childhood home.