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Then, I hear it…
The roar of a motorbike.
I pause, lift my head and push my hair back behind my ear.
It’s a way off. Probably out on the 321 some miles away. But I’d know that sound no matter the volume. The smooth tone, the thick body… It’s a motorbike, alright. And, like always, I’m brought a little closer to the man who rode them for so many years of my life.
“Hey, Daddy…” I say, talking to the noise of the engine. It’s a habit I’d picked up years ago when Dad was away at races. Over the last year, it’s been a pastime I treasure even more.
Sometimes I even feel like Dad might be listening. As if the roar of an engine somehow acts as a telephone line between us.
“Sorry, I haven’t called in a while…” I joke, “Reception out here is terrible. Nothing but trucks and bigrigs.”
I glance down into my cup and tease its edge with my thumbnail.
“I bet you’d have a fair amount to say if you knew what was going on with me right now.” I sigh. “Not, of course, that I would have listened to any advice you’d be able to give. I’ve been doing a spectacular job of ignoring advice from the living so, I can’t imagine it would be much different with you, sorry.”
I look up at the sunrise that’s now boldly glowing over the treeline down Main Street, and spot one of the taller branches bending in the breeze. Like it’s waving at me. Like Dad is waving at me. I sigh, long and hard.
“Well, the basic gist if it is, Dad… Nick passed. I know you liked him, so I’m sorry to be the one to break that news. It happened on the track. Not because of anything the team did.” I hurry to add this last part. I’d spent weeks in that workshop, going over every nut and bolt to find the issue, to make sure it hadn’t been something we did. I don’t think I could have lived with myself if I or another member of the team had been responsible for a friend’s death.
Now, I funnel my fingers through my wayward hair and rub at my face, trying to lift my spirits a little.
“Turns out I wasn’t exactly equipped to handle another death so soon. I kind of ran away. You know that town Grandpa was always talking about? The one your side of the family is from? I kind of found it and moved there. On a whim. You know, like a sensible adult. I kind of made a mess of it though,” I admit, biting into my lower lip. “I thought I was coming here for a fresh start, but I think I’ve just been burying my head in the sand.”
“Sometimes you need a head-burying moment.”
For just the briefest of moments, in my exhausted state, I actually think my father has somehow appeared, Mufasa-style in the clouds. But when I look around, I find David in Calvin Klein boxer briefs and with crazy morning hair. He’s lounging against the open door of the master bedroom’s balcony and offering me one of his grins.
“You’re always one to tackle stuff head on, Liz.” he says, folding his arms across his naked chest. “You charge right on through whatever wall is in your way and never give yourself a break before you take on the next. It’s understandable if you needed some time to hide away and recuperate when you hit a wall that won’t come down. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take down-time between challenges.”
“You say it like that, and I sound bone-headed.”
David shrugs.
“Maybe you are.”
Realizing that the one-way conversation with my father has left me with tears in my eyes, I brush at my face and try to swallow them back. I breathe deeply.
“Is this all pretend, David?” I ask, looking out across the Forge.
He comes to stand with me at the railing. How he can bear the cold with his naked chest and bare feet, I have no idea. I shiver with a frigid chill just looking at him. “Is what pretend?”
“This.” I sweep a hand out to encompass the view of the town. “Am I just here to hide away until New York is less emotional? Will I go back there as soon as things get tough here?”
Caleb’s accusations last night have been whirling through my head for hours. At first, I was angry. After David had fallen asleep, I’d cried silently into the pillow, wanting to scream, and soothing myself with visions of punching Caleb in his stupid face. Or maybe just backing over his toes with the truck. Either way, I’d been discarding his judgments completely. He’d said them to hurt me so they couldn’t be true. Simple as that.
After hours of thought and an unhealthy dose of exhaustion, however, I’m now forced to worry if there might be truth to his accusations.
Was I selfishly running away from my friends and family in New York? Would I run again from here?
When David doesn’t immediately respond, I look up to find him watching me with a look of complete bewilderment.
“You think that you, Lizzie Lucas, make a habit of skipping out when things get hard?”
“Caleb thinks I’m avoiding Nick’s death. And Dad’s. And that I don’t really want to be here. It’s just somewhere for me to hide from reality.”
David falls quiet again, before stealing my coffee and taking a sip.
