Page 82 of Pumpkin Spice Promises

“So, if you went pro, what would you do? Afterward?” The interviewer asked.

Carson looked down at Blueberry. “Keep riding.”

“That’s it?”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“Big sponsorship? Prize money? You don’t have something you’d buy?”

Her eyes brightened. “Oh definitely. Pops needs a truck.”

I went still.

“He needs one?”

“He’ll tell you no.”

From somewhere off camera came James’s voice sounded. “Don’t need nothin’!”

Carson ignored him. “His truck is older than me. I’m serious. It makes this horrible sound every time he starts it, but he keeps saying it’s got character.”

“It’s a Chevy!” James yelled.

“It’s garbage!”

The interviewer laughed.

“When I make enough, I’m buying him a new truck.” Carson looked directly into the camera. “He can complain all he wants. But it’s happening.”

The video continued, but I wasn’t listening anymore.

My eyes moved toward the dark window across my living room as if I could somehow see Jones Automotive from here. James’s truck sat in my second bay. Carson never got the chance to buy him another one.

I thought about the way she’d looked at me when I told her what needed fixing.

Give me the actual price.

I’d assumed pride.

There was some of that. But it wasn’t just pride.

That truck had been part of a promise. A future she’d been so certain was coming that she’d announced it to a camera without hesitation.

She’d make money. Go pro. Buy James a truck.

The next video was dated five years ago. I almost didn’t click it. Carson was twenty. Maybe twenty-one. The arena was larger than the others. She looked different again. More polished. There were logos on her shirt now. A sponsor banner behind the gate.

Blueberry danced beneath her while an announcer listed accomplishments too quickly for me to catch all of them.

Then they ran. Fastest run I’d watched yet. The timer stopped. The crowd erupted.

Carson rode out of the arena with a smile so wide it was visible beneath the brim of her hat.

The video continued into a short interview, someone knew this time. “You’re sitting exactly where you need to be going into Tennessee.”

Carson nodded, still catching her breath. “One more good weekend.”

“Feeling pressure?”