Page 27 of Drive To Survive

“Please don’t put your hands on me.” I took a step back. “What can I do for you?” I asked, thankful that I had a couple of inches on her. Not that I imagined that would save me if she decided to get physical. Mrs. Wilson struck me as a scrappy kind of fighter, one who’d yank your hair out by the roots and throw dirt in your face.

“Next time you decide to send your boyfriend around to threaten my husband, I will end you.” She sneered, looking me up and down while I stood there with my mouth wide open.

“What?”

“White trash, that’s what you are,” she continued. “Why don’t you crawl back under that rock you came from and stay there?”

My knees shook, and I couldn’t halt the tremble in my hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She snorted. “Don’t play little Miss Innocent with me. What’s wrong? Poor desperate single mom can’t fight her own battles, so she asks a crippled, has-been racing driver to turn up on my doorstep and tell my husband that my kid is a bully and if he doesn’t take him in hand, then we can expect a call from the authorities.”

I tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. My silence gave Mrs. Wilson more airtime to continue haranguing me.

“Your boyfriend is lucky my husband didn’t teach him a lesson. My Brad is not a bully. It’s your child that needs a good slap, spoiled little bastard. Tell your kid to stay away from mine, and tell your boyfriend that the next time he comes around my house spouting his lies about my family, he’ll have more trouble than he can handle.”

She spun around and marched off. My breath came in short, sharp gasps, and I reached out a hand to steady me in case my legs went completely out from underneath me.

Nico!

What the hell have you done?

EVERLY

“Thank you so much for watching Rhett for a little while, Dorothy,” I said, handing Rhett’s schoolbag to my neighbor. “I promise I’ll only be a couple of hours.”

Dorothy shooed me away. “It’s fine. I’m only in the kitchen baking a pie. Would you like to help me, Rhett?”

Rhett nodded enthusiastically. “What kind of pie?”

“Apple and blueberry. After we’ve made it, you can have a slice if your mom agrees.”

Rhett looked up at me, pleading written all over his face. “Can I, Mommy? Please.” He pressed his hands together.

I laughed. “It’ll spoil your dinner, but all right. On this one occasion.”

“I can feed him,” Dorothy said. “What about…” She tilted her head and pursed her lips. “Pizza.”

“Yes!” Rhett exclaimed.

“You really don’t have to do that,” I said, guilt now swamping me that I’d asked her. Watching him for a couple of hours felt like enough of an imposition without her feeding him, too.

“I know.” She winked. “Now go. Run your errands. Take as long as you need. We’re going to be just fine, aren’t we, Rhett?”

“Yep,” he said. “See you later, Mommy.”

I walked down the path, and by the time I reached my car, they’d already gone inside. Dorothy was a good neighbor. I made sure not to ask her for too many favors, but on the odd occasion I needed someone to watch Rhett, she was always more than happy to help me out, and I’d return her kindness by insisting she let me pick up her groceries or do a few odd jobs around the house. Her husband had died a decade earlier, and they didn’t have kids. Whether that was by choice or it just hadn’t happened for them, I wasn’t sure, but considering how her eyes lit up whenever I asked her to babysit Rhett, I’d guess the latter.

Asking for help didn’t come naturally to me, but given what had happened outside the school today, I had no choice. When I had this out with Nico, I couldn’t have Rhett present. My anger had simmered on the entire journey from the school to home, but as I pulled onto the freeway, heading north to PFK Racing, the simmer turned into a full-blown inferno. How dare he interfere in my son’s life! All he’d done with his stupid, macho antics was make things a lot worse. Thankfully, when I’d asked Rhett if Brad had given him any more trouble today, he’d said no, but it was only a matter of time. Mr. Wilson was a man who lingered on the edge of violence, and now his wife, whom I had hoped to have a sensible conversation with, was standing right alongside him, urging him on. All of this rage and vitriol would spill over into their son, and Rhett was the one who’d suffer.

Heavy traffic lined the freeway, drivers pointlessly dodging from lane to lane and making very little headway. I never understood why they bothered when every lane was as crammed as the one next to it. Only the carpool lane progressed at anything more than a snail’s pace, and envy filled my gut as those vehicles with multiple occupants swept by, probably laughing at all us poor suckers trundling along and praying for a miracle.

I pulled into the parking lot at PFK Racing, and slamming the car door, I marched over to the main building and strode inside. The place was empty except for Adele, half-hidden behind a mountain of paperwork.

“Is Nico in?” I asked, ice spiking my tone enough that Adele’s head snapped up.

“Oh, hey, Everly. You scared me then. I was miles away.”

“Is he in?” I repeated, not in the mood for small talk.

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