Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Everyone out there was wearing helmets and gloves. No one was playfully bumping into each other. These were serious drivers. Those were serious turns. And, “This is a seriously bad idea. I’ve never driven with a helmet before.”
“Exactly my point.” Bernadette pushed her sunglasses down to look me in the eye. “Would you rather the first time you did that be in a car by yourself? Or in this safe space with your oldest friend?”
“Safe space, my ass. Speaking of my ass, can we even fit in those?”
“There are grown men out there, twice our size. Stop stalling.”
I lifted my phone and snapped a picture of the track. “I’m sending this to Chick later. After he’s forgiven me for The Betrayal.”
“He sounds as dramatic as the rest of our menfolk,” Bernie said wryly. “When he gets here, he’ll fit right in.”
She led me to the man who seemed to be low-key in charge of the small group waiting to race. He took our money and made us sign a waiver releasing the track and everyone associated with it from all liability in the event I injured or killed myself behind the wheel (Because obviously it would be me who did that, not Bernie). After he checked our helmets—mine was plain white, while Bernie’s was fuchsia with a golden lightning bolt on the side—he gave us a rundown on kart operation, basic racing techniques, track rules, and safety protocols.
I was happy to hear that deliberately bumping other vehicles was considered dangerous and would be grounds for being asked to leave, but by the time he was done, I was even more nervous.
He set us off to the side and told us we’d be in the next group of drivers, which left us with five minutes to kill.
“That looks faster than forty-five miles an hour,” I told Bernie.
She put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “You can start out as slow as you want. It’ll be fun. Trust me.”
I wanted to, but my stomach was a little uncertain about this entire outing. At least it was mid-day on a Tuesday and not that crowded. There were maybe ten people on and around this track that didn’t work here. I always liked fewer witnesses when I was planning to embarrass myself.
“Sam would have loved this,” Bernie said.
“She actually didn’t like go-karts. She was more of a roller coaster kind of girl.”
She’d said it was because when she was little, her family had worked at and lived behind an amusement park, and her bedroom was an arm’s length away from the tunnel portion of their biggest roller coaster. She’d heard people screaming every night and wanted to be out there joining in the fun.
I’d always thought it explained a lot about how difficult it was to get her to relax.
“No, I meant us entering Lemons. She would have been first in line to be on our team.”
“I know.” I had the proof on my phone. “Not Morgan though.”
“Not Morgan,” she agreed. “Although when they first started, she was so excited about it I was sure she’d join them. Or join me and start an all-girls’ team to smoke their lap times. Your sister is no slouch behind the wheel.”
She’d had a bit of a speeding problem in her teens, if I remembered correctly. “Why didn’t she?”
“It was supposed to be a race with his best friends. A wish fulfillment with the guys. She didn’t want to get in the way of that.” Bernie shrugged. “That’s marriage for you.”
I laughed at the expression on her face. “Still not a fan of the institution?”
“I mean, it’s fine for other people. I can tell Phoebe wants it. But after Yvonne’s experience? And Wade’s?” She sighed. “It only made me more thankful that I slipped that noose with the teenage dirtbag, aka sperm donor, before it was too late. We would have been miserable together, you know?”
I remembered her telling me all about the seventeen-year-old bad boy who’d skipped town when he found out she was pregnant. She’d thought she was in love with him, but as soon as she knew Phoebe was growing inside her, all she could think about was what a bad influence he’d be. When he left, she was genuinely relieved. If I recalled, so was everyone else.
“How are things with you and Morgan, August?”
I made a face. Things with us had been stilted and uncomfortable. My fault, I knew. But at least we were still talking. “We’re fine. How is Phoebe feeling about her mother wanting to race her way into granny history?”
“For your information, other grandmothers do it all the time. But yeah, Phoebe doesn’t appreciate my need for speed.” She perked up. “Which isn’t fair, when you think about it, since she participated in a Lemons event a few years ago. So did Morgan.”