Chapter 11: The Roll of Thunder and Wheels

The tri-oval stretched out before the drivers like a sleeping dragon and just as deadly. Two and a half miles of long straight-aways and hair-pin, flat-as-a-pancake turns. You can get up to and beyond 180 miles an hour but you have to de-accelerate quickly, lest your car go hurtling like a meteor through the fence. Davey Allison now led the congregation at lap 150, the black and gold #28 Texaco Ford was an obsidian blur; challenged by Mark Martin. Alan Kulwicki and Darrell soon took up the chase-and following close on their bumpers charged the bright yellow Pennzoil Pontiac. Michael drove as if pursued by Satan and his hellhounds-overcoming his abysmal start; clawing and bumping his way to the front. In the announcer’s booth, Ned Jarrett was concentrating on the battle between Allison and Martin. He glanced up as he heard Parsons suck in his breath, "Well, I’ll be damned-!"

"We’ve got a race for third!" Ned exclaimed, excitedly. "Michael Waltrip is going three-wide between his brother Darrell and Alan Kulwicki! What a race this has been for Michael! Benny, never have I seen anyone come so far back at this track to make a serious challenge!"

"WWHHOOOAAA!" yelled Parsons, "He’s loose of turn 1-he’s gonna wreck if he don’t back down on the throttle!" Parsons shut the mic off and turned to Ned, "It would serve him right, too! The arrogance on that boy! Couldn’t even drag his sorry ass to the driver’s meeting this morning." he snorted derisively.

Ned Jarrett coolly regarded Parsons. "I don’t think it’s our place to pass judgment, BP. Let’s get on with our job and let Michael worry about his." he said softly.

On the track, Darrell checked his Monte Carlo as the 30 squeezed by him. Alan Kulwicki angrily shook his fist at the departing Pontiac, "You crazy bastard!" he shouted. Three wide at Pocono was a deadly gamble at best. Behind them, Dale Earnhardt was grinning ear-to-ear, "Atta boy!"

Earnhardt had his own hands full to offer a challenge for the lead at this point. Both Ken Schrader and Rusty Wallace were plotting an attack of their own-the #3 being their primary target. Rounding out the top 10 and quietly biding their time, Bill Elliot-completely forgotten by his foes as they dug in after Earnhardt-and Harry Gant.

Kyle was having his own problems as his car suddenly became very tight- "Damn! Gotta a tire going down!" he yelled to his crew chief. Suddenly, the 42 swerved violently; backing into the outside retaining wall. "SHIT!"

The caution flag was out as the leaders dove for the pits. "Four tires!" Michael yelled. "You’re takin’ two and likin’ it!" came the retort, " we don’t have time for four!"

"I can’t make it to the end on two!"

"You’ve made it this far! You can do it!" Bobby Kennedy, the new crew chief hollered. "35 laps-then you’re home free!"

The car was off the jack and screaming away. The tire issue concerned all drivers today. Goodyear had issued a much softer compound-too soft for the high temperature and speed. Tires were bursting like water balloons today-at least 4 cautions were the result of a blow-out.

Michael came out behind Allison. He dug in relentlessly and soon both cars were flying door to door. 150,000 fans were on their feet, this was the sort of battle every race fan dreams of. The timeless duel of the champion and the challenger. Four laps to go-the 30 puts it’s nose in front. Alas, Michael won the battle with Allison, but lost the war as Bill Elliot dove beneath them both to take the checkers. Michael saw the challenge coming too late, his car now unresponsive with the old tires. He crossed the finish line half a car length behind Elliot.

"I almost had it!" Angry with Bobby, angry with himself, angry at the world. Michael was surprised as Ned came over to congratulate him on a job well done. He was genuinely shocked as the microphone was thrust into his face. "Good job, Michael! I haven’t seen anybody come up through the field that quickly in a long, long time. Great race!" Ned was smiling warmly at him, gently resting his hand on Michael’s shoulder. "Anything you’d like to add, son?" he said softly. Michael stared back at him, eyes wide-suddenly realizing this was the best finish of his Winston Cup career.

"Umm...I’d like to say ‘thanks’ to the Bahari Racing team, my crew chief, Bobby and the folks at Pennzoil." he looked at Ned, wondering why all the attention. "Did I win and I just don’t know it?" he grinned sheepishly.

"Next time, Mike! Next time..." Ned smiled warmly.

Michael suddenly felt an arm grabbing him ‘round the neck in a bear hug. Earnhardt was shaking him, "I knew you could do it! Dayum!" he stood back, looking Michael over.

"What are ya lookin’ at? My pants unzipped or somethin?"

"Just seein’ if ya sprouted an extra set of balls! That pass between Alan and your brother was fuckin’ wild!" he grinned.

Benny Parsons was interviewing Bill, regarding the fuss over the younger Waltrip with annoyance.

Bill grinned, "Kid damn near beat me! Helluva run-he’s gonna be something to reckoned with one of these days!" he laughed.

Parsons glared, "He’s just very , very lucky." he said flatly.

Earnhardt was holding court now in the garage area, raising a beer in toast to his friend. Darrell and Michael walked arm in arm towards the little knot of veterans. Elliot joined them for a brief while before he returned to his celebrating team and sponsors. Michael felt for the first time in his brief career now part of the game, no longer just driving in circles; he felt like a true comrade. In the distance, the over-due thunderstorm made it’s presence known with a low rumble of thunder.

Chapter 12 Talladega

The families that travel the stock car circuits are a curious breed, not unlike gypsies, tinkers, Bedouins or the Travelers. There is such a distinct culture among these folk-laws, mores, traditions and superstitions-and the Winston Cup caravan was no exception. An anthropologist could easily do a thesis on the racers, their families and even the fans who follow the sport from track to track. It was not an easy world to gain entrance into-sometimes a newcomer would always be regarded with trepidation and never become fully accepted . It may have been the close-knit association with the founding clans-the Pettys, the Allisons & the Earnhardts-or the sport’s backwoods beginnings with the descendents of the moonshiners, miners and mill workers. Every child was taken care of, the injured driver or mechanic would always find many helping hands to get him through the hard times.

It was in this loving, extended family that Caitlin happily began her life. At the present, she was snuggled in a large, old-fashioned wicker basket atop a workbench in the Talladega garage as her mother diligently re-built a carburetor. Rory was ecstatic about being back to work and the King and his crew kept an eye on the wee one as she contentedly gurgled away in her make-shift bassinette. Babies were no stranger to the Petty compound-in fact, they were usually regarded a pleasant diversion from the stress of competition. Outsiders were often horrified to find children of the drivers in this environment-nobody paid them any mind-to the drivers, it was no different than the children of farmers or miners. Anybody growing up in a garage learned quickly to stay out of the way and respect the machinery.

"There! That does it!" Rory placed the carburetor on the 43 and was about to bolt down the hated restrictor plate. She looked up at the sound of terribly off-key warbling:

"Me an’ my babeeeee! My baby an’ meeeeee!..."

Michael bent to kiss her, "Hey there, sug!" He was in a good mood, which was a very good sign.

"How’d practice go, luv?" she wandered over to the workbench and collected Caitlin. "Guess who’s here!"

Caitlin grinned and drooled, waiving her tiny hands; her large blue eyes dancing.

"Car’s runnin’ like a dream! We’re startin’ sixth, we’ve really got a shot at this!" Michael smiled broadly, sweeping Caitlin up in his arms. "Hello, Princess!" he greeted Caitlin with a sloppy smooch on her little forehead. She grinned back at him, trying to grab his nose.

"Howdy, all!" Kyle just entered the garage with a box of donuts and coffees. "AAwww...what a cutie-pie!"

He set the donuts down and tickled Caitlin’s belly.

Michael straightened, wrinkling his nose. "Uh-oh! Somebody needs a-changing’ methinks!" he said, gently setting her down and grabbing a fresh nappy out of a duffle bag.

"Nah-I just checked her a few minutes ago! Besides, she’d be howlin’ like a banshee if she had a dumper."

Rory said as she tore famished into a cruller. "It’s just a little gas-that wretched supplement I was trying her on." Kyle was cracking up. "Yep-just like her ol’ man-cuts a mean one and sits there grinnin’!" Rory added with a cackle.

"I’ll vouch for that!" Kyle exclaimed as Michael duly swatted him.

"Hello-has anybody seen Dale?" came a voice outside.

"Earnhardt or Jarrett" Michael hollered.

"Earnhardt-Richard Childress needs to see him."

Buffy Franks stood outside the Petty garage, dressed smartly and carrying a clipboard. She had not spoken other than a cordial greeting to Michael since that day last year in Atlanta. She still regarded him as coarse and arrogant. He still held Caitlin tenderly snuggled against his shoulder as he walked over to Buffy.

"I think he’s chasing down Junior-was gonna give him some chores to do around the garage. Keep the boy outta trouble, if y’all know what I mean."

Meanwhile, Rory nonchalantly fired up the 43, Caitlin not so much as stirred as the Pontiac barked to life.

Buffy’s eyes widened in horror.

"Omigod-how could you bring that little baby around here!" She glared furiously up at Michael. Meanwhile Rory quickly shut the car down, satisfied at the rich sound of the engine.

"Oh she’s used to it, besides we don’t expose her to the cars if we’re really crankin’ em up. Hell-she sleeps like a stone most of the time."

"But it’s so filthy here! It’s no place for children!"

Now both Kyle and Rory both looked up, wondering what the commotion was about. Kyle knew that this situation needed diffusing badly.

"She’s fine, hon. Caitlin’s never in any danger and she clean as a whistle!" he said softly. Rory stood by her husband’s side, her hand on his arm. "heck-when I was a kid, I lived in the back of Grampa Lee’s station wagon with Dad, Dad & Uncle Maurice!" Kyle added, smiling warmly. Buffy shuddered at the thought.

"It’s not like we have daycare here. And besides, I can’t give up my work-it‘s my life.." Rory said. (*A/N-Through the work of the Motor Racing Outreach Ministry, there are now fully staffed daycare units at the track.)

"I’m sorry, guess I shouldn’t pass judgment on something I know nothing about!" Buffy said sheepishly.

"Hey-you’re a workin’ girl to, why don’t you sit a while and have at these donuts?" Rory warmly offered. "I’ve seen you chasin’ ‘round the garages every weekend with out a break. C’mon and take a load off."

"Ok, but just for a little bit." replied Buffy "Mr. Childress can be quite demanding sometimes".

The two women retired to the workbench, watching Michael and Kyle playing with Caitlin. Michael still hadn’t gotten over the wonder of his little daughter. He delighted in simply watching her sleep, singing to her constantly, savoring every moment with her.

"So-how’s Alan? He’s having a great season-he’ll be champion one day!" Rory was working on her second donut.

"We’ve been kinda off and on-he can be so distant, sometimes." Buffy continued to watch Michael-he had put Caitlin back in her basket, singing her to sleep. "He’s just so focused on his car, on his races and career that he forgets how to be human sometimes."

Michael brought the sleeping baby over to Rory. "Hon, I gotta run out for a bit, gotta see Bobby about tomorrow’s game plan." He playfully pulled Rory to her feet, lifting her to meet his lips.

"I’m cooking short-ribs with grits and cheese for supper-hurry back, dear." she held him, kissing his neck.

"With biscuits an’ butter?" he rubbed his nose against hers.

"I’ll butter your biscuits, if you don’t hurry back!" she grinned, goosing him.

Buffy sighed, "Boy was I ever wrong about him! What a sweetheart!" she exclaimed. " I wish Alan was more like that."

Rory watched as Michael headed up the row to the Bahari garage. "He is indeed! You couldn’t ask for a better man-if there’s one finer, I don’t want to meet him!" She took a sip of coffee. "I think we fell in love the day we met. I know in this day and age, it’s sounds a bit daft." Rory turned momentarily away, feeling her eyes getting teary. Odd she should feel this way, discussing her feelings with someone who was practically a stranger. " He and Caitlin are my life. Everyday I find myself lovin’ him more."

"I hate to say it, but I thought he was the biggest jerk when I met him-then here he is like the greatest dad and husband on Earth! I only hope I could find one like that someday". Buffy mused wistfully, "Unfortunately, I tried but I just can’t see Alan playing that role." Buff helped herself to half a donut.

"You’re breakin’ up with him, then?" Rory was trying unsuccessfully to lick the frosting from her fingers. Now where’s Michael when you need him? she thought to herself .

"No-it’s weird but I try to picture myself with Alan but the picture just doesn’t materialize. It’s like he’ll just up and vanish someday." Now Rory looked up at her sharply, brows furrowing.

"Don’t talk like that!" she admonished, " It almost sounds like this dream that Mikey has every now and then-he says he sees himself winnin’ a race, but me and Dale just disappear or something to that effect. Scares the shite outta me-like a shade of things to come." Rory got up, "Well-I’m not going anywhere, if I can help it!" she said grinning. "My grandmother said talk like that was like dancin’ on a grave!"

Buffy also rose, "I’ve got to get back and give these mileage charts to Richard-maybe I’ll run into Dale by the food tent. Thanks for the coffee and donuts, you’re the first woman around here that’s really made me feel welcome!" There was a reason for this-Buffy was stunningly beautiful and still regarded as single, even if she was dating Kulwicki-the Wives literally went into a defensive mode whenever she was near their husbands. In the grand scheme of the Nascar Nation, you were either married or you weren’t-dating didn’t count.

"Any time-I’m so used to being one of the guys, I don’t have much of chance to socialize with the ladies either!" Rory’s job here in the garage was done-now she needed to gather Caitlin and return to the motor home and prepare dinner.

Buffy headed for Childress’s garage. "Oh Rory? If you need a baby-sitter sometime, I’d love to volunteer for the job!"

"Why thank you! I’ll keep you in mind. See ya ‘round, Buffy-we’ll have to leave the menfolk behind and have us a real ladies’ night out one of these days." Rory waived, as her new friend headed for the Earnhardt garage.

*************************

"You watch out for her..." warned Stevie as she and Rory sat in Darrell’s coach kitchen.

"Oh, she’s not so bad-Teresa speaks very highly of her." Stevie knew that arguing with Rory was about as pointless as arguing with Michael-once the mind was made up, there was no changing it.

"Well now, what was it you wanted to tell me, Redhead? What’s this big surprise?" Rory straddled a chair, blue-green eyes boring into Stevie.

"Seems like there’s something in the water around here these tracks. I’m pregnant!" Stevie grinned.

"Fantastic! Oh Stevie does he know yet?? He’ll be so excited!" Rory leapt up, nearly strangling her sister-in-law as she embraced her.

"He doesn’t know yet-hell I just found out myself!" she signed, "Just hope I’m not too old..."

"Bugger off! You’re not old, Stevie...my mother was nearly 45 when I was born."

"Yep and look how brain damaged you are!" Stevie cackled, "You turned down the best drivers on the track and married Mike!"

"oooo-witch!" Rory gave her a playful poke. "I’ve got to get home and get supper started, why don’t you and your man join us? Just tell him to keep his pants on!" The memory of Darrell’s bare bum was forever etched in her mind.

**************************************

Sunday arrived in October’s blazing glory. The sky was a crystal blue tapestry feathered with soft clouds. The drivers were all preparing for their introductions and the opening ceremonies. There was something about Talladega that put one’s sensory on overload. Perhaps it was the energy of the crowd or the towering banks of the track or the dizzying speed that the cars would obtain or the sensation of death’s shadow that hovered over every inch of the track.

Michael stole a quiet moment with Rory in the garage after the crew pushed the car to the pits. He was nearly drunk with adrenalin; eyes bright with the competitive fire that burned in his soul. Only Rory’s quiet presence kept him anchored to the ground. She wrapped her arms ’round his neck, seeking his mouth; Michael greedily devouring her kiss. This was a ritual between them, this few moments alone together before the race started. They both knew that each kiss could very well be their last the moment that the Pontiac’s engine started.

"We’ve got to get you to the pits, you don’t want to miss the introduction, luv-Bill France himself will hang you from the flagpole." Rory whispered. Michael didn’t release her from his embrace. Just few more minutes? his eyes pleaded with her. After all this time, he still hated leaving her, even for a few hours.

They walked back to the pit, Michael still holding her tightly. Rory took her place on top of the war wagon.

She eased back in her seat and picked up her binoculars. With Caitlin safe and snug with "Auntie Stevie" in Darrell’s coach, Rory could watch race from her customary perch.

The race unfolded as a dramatic duel between Earnhardt and Bill Elliot. Sadly, Michael’s day ended on lap 170 as a blue plume of smoke from the exhaust pipe indicated a blown engine. Throughout the day, he complained that the car was missing , running on 5 cylinders. Bobby Kennedy’s orders were to "drive it until it broke, we need the points." And break it did-spewing smoke and oil across the track; luckily he was able to ease the wounded beast to the apron and back to the pits. Climbing out of the car, exhausted and disappointed, he climbed on the war wagon to watch the rest of the race with Rory. The green flag dropped as soon as the oil was cleaned up. The Pennzoil crew was about to pick up their gear and call it a day when a unified scream of terror erupted from the crowd.

The cars of Dale Earnhardt and Bill Elliot collided against the outside wall, a quarter mile from turn 2. As close as the cars were, several others contacted as well, a huge melee of spinning cars, smoke and flying sheet metal. Elliot’s car rode the wall, practically on two wheels, landing upside down on Earnhardt. Fuel leaking from a ruptured hose burst into flame, engulfing the cars.

Before anyone could stop him, Michael tore away towards the wreck. The fire trucks and EMTs were on their way, but the Pennzoil pitbox was directly across from the pile of smoldering metal. Elliot had already climbed out of his car but Earnhardt’s window net held fast, he couldn’t get it down. Michael ripped frantically at the net. Finally the net was down ; Michael and Elliot dragged Earnhardt out of the window of the upturned car just as the firemen arrived.

An ambulance also pulled up, ready to take the drivers to the infield care center. Michael looked curiously at Earnhardt.

"What’s your problem? Ain’t you ever seen a crispy critter before?" Earnhardt’s wry sense of humor was kicking in already.

"Your mustache-it’s been scorched right off!" Michael exclaimed. "I told you about using the full-face helmet."

Earnhardt looked at his friend, suddenly thoughtful. "Y’know, I coulda cooked over there-I owe you one, Mike."

"Good thing my car blew up, huh? Otherwise I wouldn’t-" Michael paused, the ramifications of what may have happened if it weren’t for his misfortune with the Pontiac’s engine were beginning to sink in. He swallowed hard.

"It’s ok, kid" Earnhardt grinned, grasping his shoulder, before the paramedics led him away.

Michael stared at the departing ambulance, he suddenly felt faint. Rory placed a hand on his arm, "Let’s go home now, we can talk all of this out later if you want." He shook his head as if trying clear the mental cobwebs away. "C’mon luv, it’s all right now" She gently led him back to garage. Once back at their coach, he curled up in Rory’s arms, the peace of sleep finally taking his troubled mind.

Chapter 13: Exit

Sherrill’s Ford, October 1991

The purple shadows crept over the late afternoon. It was unusually warm for this time of year. The smell of barbeque hung tantalizing in the air. The party for Stevie and Darrell was winding down as the guests hung around the back yard and porch while the assorted offspring raced about chasing Beavis, the big stray mutt who adopted Michael. Beavis loped along, tongue lolling as he clamped onto a Frisbee that Junior had tossed to him. As Junior tried to pull it away, Beavis braced his haunches, emitting a low growl as he cheerfully engaged the young Earnhardt lad in a game of tug-o’-war.

Michael kicked his feet up on the porch rail as he leaned back in his chair, cracking open a fresh beer. Darrell, Earnhardt, Neil Bonnet and Ken Schrader lounged about in rocking chairs and the porch rail, ruminating and swapping lies. Darrell was relating old horror stories of working for Junior Johnson as Michael uttered a monstrous belch, patting his gut contentedly. This provoked a look of disgust from Darrell and a hoot from Junior, "Awwwright! A 10!"

"Dang frogs!" Michael grunted with another small burp.

Earnhardt decided to change the subject altogether. "So-where you gonna put this race shop you’re plannin’?" He grabbed his beer off the rail just before his son could grab it.

Michael stood up and pointed out a rotting tobacco barn and paddock near the south side of his house. "It’s gonna go right over there. I’ll tear down that drying barn and level it off next spring. Dad said he could get me a good deal on a backhoe. We’ll be cutting down that stand of birch too, so if’n anybody wants it, come ‘n get it." He started heading for the back door, "Anybody want another one? Speak now or forever hold yer peace..." Junior was about open his mouth but shut it with one glare from his father. Michael grinned,

"Give it up, bro-it’ll stunt your growth."

"Didn’t hurt you any!" Junior retorted, "You’ve put away enough beer to sink a battleship...."as a swat from his father silenced him.

**********************************

Michael found Rory in the den, going through the day’s mail. In the kitchen, Stevie, Teresa Earnhardt and Kelly Jarrett could be heard chattering away like a flock of goldfinches, gossiping. Laying his hands on her shoulders, he suddenly felt her tighten up, inhaling sharply as she read one of the letters.

"What’s wrong, hon?" he inquired, immediately concerned.

Rory continued to scan the letter. Sighing, she sat down and looked up at him, handing him the letter.

"Dearest Sister,

I’ve kept my promise to inform you of Mother’s condition and I regret to say that last Thursday, she finally passed on. We both need to sort through her belongings and settle her affairs. Please contact me at your earliest convenience so we can make the necessary arrangements. I’ve contacted Father, but it’s doubtful that he will be any assistance to us. I need to know when you will be able to leave for Belfast-the sooner we can get this unpleasantness over, the better. Best Regards, Kevin."

Michael knelt and gathered her in his arms, "Oh baby, I’m so sorry...." he whispered. "I’ll see if Teresa can do the booking for you, I’m sure she won’t mind. I just wish there was something I could do or say...." he broke off.

"It’s not as if we were that close, luv-I was always a burden to her-Kevin was her pet." she said simply. "But my grandmother’s lace and needlework-I want to bring that home for Caitlin. Plus, all of my books-I’ll have to fight Kevin for them, but I don’t think he really cares anyway. He’ll just be lookin’ for what he can hock." She reached for his hand, "There is something you can do, if you don’t mind."

Michael continued to hold her close, gently stroking her hair. "Anything, darlin’."

"I don’t feel comfortable in taking Caitlin with me and I don’t plan on being longer than a week gone-would you mind watching her alone?" she asked. Rory despised flying and a six-hour flight would be too much on a baby, even though she didn’t feel at ease with leaving her either. But she knew that Michael had a deep bond with Caitlin, it would be for the best. "Of course not!" he said . "Besides, as long as Auntie Redhead is around, we’ll hardly be

alone!" he added, grinning. "You know, hon-it might be fun-kinda like a vacation-God knows you deserve it! Go on, make the most of it, hit a few pubs and get U2’s autographs for me!"

Rory pulled his face to hers, lips meeting. "I don’t know quite what I’d do without you, Michael Waltrip." They sat there, entwined together, time drifting by.

Darrell wandered in, "Where’s that beer! Gotta do everything myself these days..." he muttered. "Dayum! Goin’ at it like a couple of rabbits-we’ll be up to our eyeballs in babies come next year....." he walked back to porch , popping the top and shaking his head.

*********************************************

A couple of days after the barbeque, the morning streamed into the window warm and golden. Rory was still dozing, as Michael stood silently by the large bay window that overlooked the rolling fields and pines in the distance. The sunlight felt warm, comforting against his bare skin. It’s nothing to get yourself worked up about, he told himself-she’ll be home before you return from Phoenix. He plucked one of the wine red roses that stood in the crystal vase-looking back he couldn’t believe it was almost a whole year since he proposed.

Rory stirred and glanced over at the clock-7:20-they would need to leave for the airport by 11:00; a few hours left to spend with Michael and Caitlin. Yawning and stretching, she looked over to where Michael stood gazing out the window. She smiled to herself, admiring him. For the most part, she usually regarded the sight of a naked man as appealing as a plucked chicken. Except Michael-as far as Rory was concerned, his lean, muscular form was sculpted by the gods themselves. She loved his warm, sensitive nature, the playful sense of humor, his unfailing spirit and optimism. Rising, she embraced him, resting her head against his broad shoulders. She chuckled softly, "Good thing, we’ve no neighbors! You’d be givin’ them quite the eye-full!"; her hands gently caressing his abdomen. She pulled him back to their bed, as he tenderly laid the rose on the pillow next to her head. "Hold me for a little while, Mikey" she whispered curling up in his arms as he spooned himself around her. A soft breeze entered the room, the smell of the piney woods and the roses mingling with the faint scent of his sweat. Rory gazed at Michael as he nestled his head on her breast as if she were trying to ingrain his visage into her mind; lovingly tracing the curve of his lips with her fingertips as he nuzzled her. It was a moment in time that neither would forget.

"What are ya thinkin’ about, Mikey?" she asked softly, "it’s not like you to be so quiet."

"Oh, just plannin’ things."

"Like what, luv" she snuggled against his side, lazily fingering the fine hairs on his chest, lulled by the soft beat of his heart.

"I’m just picturing us about twenty years down the road, with my own race team and shop out back and a yard fulla rugrats runnin’ around. And just you ’n me sittin’ on the porch, like mom and dad-drinkin‘ beer an’ listenin’ to the hillbilly music on the radio....." he smiled at the bucolic vision. "Just you ’n me baby-growin’ old, fat ’n happy forever..."

"I can see it too!" She grinned, "I’ll give you a house full of wee ones! I’ll cook yer biscuits, bang the dents out of yer car, and jump yer bones all night. I’ll love you forever, Michael." She tenderly pulled his face to hers, savoring his sweet kiss.

"You are the one love of my life, baby."

*******************************************

Dale Earnhardt had volunteered his own private jet to take Rory to New York’s JFK airport. Michael had grown increasingly uneasy, a lump stayed in his throat making it so tight he could barely speak. He felt as though he would come unglued at any time. Earnhardt, blessedly was as solid as a rock. He grinned at Rory-"Say, think you can sneak some of the premium Old Bushmills whiskey over?" Teresa rocked Caitlin, softly singing her to sleep.

"I’ll do what I can." Rory grinned back. She looked over to where Michael stood a few feet away, staring into space. "Dale, he’s not taking this well at all-I know Caitlin’s in good hands, but would you please look after Michael?" Earnhardt nodded, also regarding his friend with equal concern.

"Rory-promise me one thing." he fixed her with that steady gaze, steel blue eyes boring into her. "Promise me that if anything happens over there-you call me first." he handed her a small piece of lined paper.

"Here’s every conceivable phone number to get a hold of me-remember that if you run into trouble." He looked up. "Well, there’s the plane-go say goodbye to your husband-and remember what I told you." he gave her a bear hug. Rory embraced both and Caitlin. "I’ll see you soon, darlin’, take care of Daddy and remember dear, Momma loves you." she said softly, kissing Caitlin’s wee forehead.

Rory walked over to Michael; he practically lifted her off her feet, embracing her as if life itself depended on it. She looked up at him, those soft, blue eyes that she loved so, were wet with unshed tears. "Michael-don’t-" she held him so close, barely breathing. "It’s not gonna make this any easier."

Michael’s voice broke, "I’m sorry-I know I shouldn’t be loosing it like this. Dale’s gonna bust my ass all the way home..." he tried unsuccessfully to grin.

"Just remember our dream-the good one. Us sittin’ on the porch all fat ’n happy and all our babies underfoot!" Their lips met, mingled with tears. Reluctantly, they pulled apart.

"Remember, I’ll be back soon-probably before you get back! I love you Michael!" Rory shouted, as she waived from the steps of the jet.

"I love you too, baby! Hurry back!" he yelled above the howl of the turbines.

Earnhardt put his hand around Michael’s shoulders as they watched the silver jet soar into the sky. "It’ll be ok, Mike-she‘ll be back before you know it." That old Cheshire grin again. For a moment, Michael was almost re-assured. They watched the jet gracefully lift and exit into the sky, heading North.

Michael looked over at him as Earnhardt wiped a hint of a tear from the corner of his eyes. Will it really be ok, Dale? Michael thought, as he watched the tiny pinpoint disappear.

Chapter 14: Dreams Gone with the Wind

"Is a dream a lie that don’t come true or is it something worse?"-Bruce Springsteen, from The River

Phoenix 1991

"Goddammit, guys-keep it down! Can’t you see I’m on the fuckin’ phone!?" Michael yelled. This uncharacteristic outburst silenced Junior, Kenny, and Kyle as they sat cheering for the Panthers on the TV in Michael’s coach. Both Earnhardt and Darrell, who had been quietly discussing the upcoming race at Phoenix looked up sharply. Michael had become increasingly testy and irritable since Rory left-as far as the Pennzoil crew was concerned, she couldn’t come back too soon. Their driver was had become difficult at best to deal with.

Michael slammed the bedroom door behind him. "Yeah....we qualified 12th, not the greatest-season’s almost over.....no, hon-everything’s ok....I just had to shut that bunch up-sometimes they drive me nuts!

So, you think you’ll be home sometime Wednesday?" he flopped on the bed, smiling for the first time in days. "We miss you baby,.....Caitlin?....she’s doin’ fine...Stevie’s watchin’ her....she misses Mommy-hell, I miss Mommy!" As he spoke, he gazed lovingly at his wedding picture on the nightstand. "Glad everything’s goin’ good over there-maybe we’ll just take a trip together once the season ends-always wanted to visit Ireland. How ‘bout checkin’ out that new Cajun restaurant when you get back? We’ll head there for dinner after I pick you up......ok, baby-I’ll talk to you tomorrow. ." he signed, "I love you, Rory."

He laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. A soft knock at the door broke his reverie. It was Junior who cautiously poked his head in. He had just recently turned 17 and was now something of a regular at Michael’s football get-togethers. "Hey man, you ok?" he had never really seen Michael go off like that before. "Was that Rory? How’s she doin?"

Michael signed, "She’s doin’ ok-been to a couple of pubs, did some shopping, gonna be bringing a shitload of stuff home." Junior grinned at him, "She got a younger sister, by chance? She’s hot!" He caught the warning glare from Michael and instantly wished he could take back his last statement. "Sorry man-couldn’t help it, it’s that accent!"

"All I’m gonna say is she can do things that you’re way to young to even think about!" he chuckled, rising.

He remembered how he was at Junior’s age-sex had occupied about 9 out of every 10 thoughts that entered his head. Junior, sensing Michael’s change of disposition, dug a little deeper, "Can you-uhm...give me some specifics here?" Michael looked at his young protege as if about to answer him, "mmm-no." he replied, grinning, "m’boy-just think about a fine glass of bourbon-goes down real smooth ‘n easy and finishes nice."

"Awww man! You’re killin’ me!" Junior groaned, "You prick!" He paused for a moment, suddenly serious.

"You really miss her, huh?"

Michael was getting ready for this afternoon’s Busch race, pulling on his fire-proof Nomex underwear. Pausing, he looked up at Junior’s furrowed brow.

"Yeah-I feel lost without her." he said.

"It’s funny-Dad’s like that with Teresa. It’s weird. I mean, some of the guys can’t wait to get away from their wives and girlfriends for a week!" He looked at Michael, "I hope I can find someone like that someday."

"Junebug, yer only 17-shouldn’t be worryin’ bout this stuff. All you should be thinkin’ bout is havin’ fun and gettin’ some tail every now and then." he grunted, as he pulled on his fires suite. "Gettin’ married and havin’ kids is a big deal -nothin’ you want to rush into. You’ll find someone when the time comes."

"Like Dad says, ‘life’s too short’".

"yep-life’s short. Now you gonna go over the wall for me this afternoon or sit here stewin’?" he gave Junior a playful poke in the ribs. Michael had told Junior he could help out in the pits for the Busch race. (Something the elder Earnhardt regarded as pure foolishness.)

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Junior found out quickly that watching a race and actually being part of the action were as different as night and day. His assigned job sounded fairly simple: as soon as Michael came in, he was to pass a fresh water bottle to him. Far easier said than done-the water bottle was passed via a large, aluminum pole as Junior was not allowed as part of the actual "over the wall" crew. But his job was vital none the less. The heat, even for late autumn, was well into the 80’s-the car’s interior was hovering around 115. Michael, like most drivers, usually lost close to 10 pounds in water weight, thus dehydration was a constant threat. Junior donned headphones to keep contact with Bobby Kennedy, the crew chief.

"Heads-up! Here he comes and he’s asking for four tires and water!" Bobby yelled. To Junior, it was like watching a tornado coming in as the Pontiac roared into the pits. Hefting the awkward pole, Junior positioned himself over the wall on one leg....

Suddenly, he felt as though his head exploded-as an official launched himself into the Pennzoil pit, yelling "Get back or he’s getting a penalty!" Bobby shoved Junior’s leg back, nearly upending him. "Gotta stay behind the wall!" he hollered. Junior sucked his breath in, angrily wiping his eyes.

"Lay off’n him! He didn’t know any better!" barked Michael, taking in the whole episode. Finally, the car was off the jack as Michael slammed it into gear, flying. Earnhardt also was moonlighting in the Busch race, pitting two spots down from Michael; also took in his son’s mishap. Shaking his head, "Boy’s gonna fuck up and Mike’s gonna kill him....!"

On the backstretch, Michael suddenly found himself dogged by Mike Dillon, the son-in-law of Richard Childress. Dillon was notorious for his lack of couth or patience. He also had a deep-seated dislike for both of the Waltirps, particularly Michael. He was forever exclaiming that Michael wasn’t worthy of the cars and sponsors he got; if it weren’t for his connections, he’d still be driving late model wrecks at the old Kentucky Speedway. He also fancied Rory-her attachment to Michael was the final insult. Now with the rear spoiler of the 30 in his sights, it was time to extract a little retribution.....

Michael felt the first tap and grudgingly moved over-the Pontiac was running like shit, badly over-heated. The cars into the turn, Dillon was still there; edging into the 30’s flank. Michael was now loose, he hung on as he started to loose control. He cut down on Dillon’s car, pinching him toward the apron. Suddenly Dillon’s Chevrolet snapped violently around, slinging Michael hard into the wall. Dillon managed to straighten himself out, as Earnhardt blew past him, angrily shaking his finger at him.

Michael sat dazed for a moment, the wind was knocked out of him. Between the crash and the heat, it was difficult to draw a deep breath. A tow truck had just pulled along side of him, the attendant already at his window.

"Hey man, you ok?" The little Chicano driver comically reminded Michael of Cheech Marin. In his frazzled state, he almost started laughing. He unhooked the window net and started unbuckling his harness and helmet.

"Man, you shood keek dat muthafucka in de azz!" The driver helped Michael as he wearily climbed out of the ruined Pontiac. "Hey man-you look like you could use a coupla joints." he grinned up at Michael, showing a mouthful of white teeth under his thick, black mustache.

Now Michael busted out laughing in spite of himself. "Did anyone ever tell you that you look like-ah never mind. If there wasn’t a chance of me gettin’ barred, I might take you up on the offer!"

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Back in the garage, Dillon had found himself penalized for deliberately wrecking another driver. He stalked into the Pennzoil garage and Junior descended on him.

"Asshole!" the boy tried unsuccessfully to throw a punch at the larger, heavier Dillon. About to be fined by Nascar did not bode well with Dillon and did nothing for his already foul disposition. Grabbing Junior by the collar of his t-shirt, Dillon promptly pinned the boy against the garage wall. Junior flailed away at his attacker, his nose drizzling blood down his chin. Dillon at once released him. Junior slid down the wall, completely stunned as an enraged Michael pounced on Dillon’s back, knocking him face-first into the asphalt. Clouds of dust rose as the two wrestled.

"Fight!" somebody yelled and soon the area became a hive of activity as mechanics, drivers and assorted hangers-on circled the two combatants.

"Get ‘im Mike!" howled Junior, "Kill ‘im!"

Dillon viciously swung at Michael’s face, as the taller man ducked and came back snarling, pummeling Dillon in the gut and knocking him back to the ground.

"Get up!" growled Michael, his face dark with fury. Dimly he could hear someone shouting his name. Dillon staggered to his feet, lunging toward him as Richard Childress and Danny Meyers grabbed him.

Michael found Kyle and Darrell’s arms holding him back as well. Michael glared icily at both of them, "Lemme go-I made my point." he hissed. "Wreckin’ me is one thing, but whuppin’ up on a kid is somethin’ else-I ain’t standin’ for it."

He turned back to where Dillon stood nursing his bruises. "I don’t know what your problem is-but this is the end of it. I ever catch you anywhere near my car, my crew or my woman- I’ll put your ass up so far behind your ears, you’ll have to swallow to shit!" With that, he and Junior headed back to the coach for a well-deserved beer.

Darrell smirked to the still-stunned Childress. "Sounds like somethin’ I woulda said....yep-that’s my baby brother!" he grinned and sauntered off behind Michael.

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Belfast 1991

Rory sat in front of a large steamer-type trunk that had belonged to her father. Inside were rotting old cloths, some letters and a few unpaid bills-hardly anything worthy of keeping.

"Kevin! Do you want this old trunk of Da’s? It’s full of his old shirts and a bunch of past dues. I say haul it to the curb." She rooted around at the bottom. Hello-what’s this? Puzzled-she opened the small metal box that was wrapped in a bath towel. "Jaysus-Kevin come here and check this out!" Inside the box was an ancient Colt 45-meticulously kept and probably dating back to the early ‘60’s. Strictly military issue and probably worth a few quid.

Kevin had been sitting at the kitchenette, reading The Times’ horseracing section and his bookmaker tables. He was only mildly interested-antiques weren’t his forte.

"That thing hasn’t been fired in years-it would probably blow yer head off if you tried to shoot it. Y’know there’s a pawn shop right next to Athletic Club." He took a pull from the bottle of Beamish stout he had been sucking on. "Say-if we’re gonna catch the peace rally, we’d better run. The seats are gonna fill up early."

They had planned on attending a public forum with noted Sine Fein leader Jerry Adams. Rory hadn’t cared one way or anther if she went-but for old time’s sake and the fact that she and Kevin had managed to patch up some differences, she figured what harm could be in it? It was a peace gathering , after all. Besides, there was a rumor going around that Sinead O’Connor would be joining as well and Rory was rather fond of her music.

"You’re right-I’ll fix my face and we’ll be off." she grinned. Rising and absent mindedly putting the old handgun in her handbag.

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The forum was interesting-but to Rory it was all the same old, tired war of words. End the British occupation. Stop the Protestant attacks on Shankill Road. A United Ireland and Free....all things Rory had grown up with and yes, still believed in, but didn’t expect things to change after 800 years of subjugation by England. A little more melancholy than optimistic, Rory and Kevin exited the building and headed back their mother’s apartment. Those that attended the forum were promptly greeted by a rough-looking group of protesters and members of the Royal Ulster Constabulary, plus a few who looked like Ulster’s elite para-military.

"Kevin-what the hell...." Rory muttered. Suddenly, all hell was breaking loose around them as oaths, threats and a barrage of rocks and bottles rained down on them.

"Terrorists!" "Murderers!" "Rot in Hell, you Papist bastards!" were just a sampling of the epithets being hurled. A few of the attendees started returning the fire of their attackers and now the RUC started making handy use of their nightsticks. To Rory’s horror, Kevin started to join the melee; gleefully firing a rock at the nearest protester.

"Christ, I’m outta here! Kevin-if you had a brain, you’d join me!" Rory took off in a dead run. Kevin relented and followed her. The sound of gunfire hastened his retreat all the quicker. Rory quickly rounded a corner. Looking over her shoulder for Kevin, she failed to see the soldier that she ran headlong into.

"Hey! Now hold it right there!" he commanded. In her panic, Rory forgot where she was for one fatal moment. "Fuck off!" she snapped. She soon saw the error of her last statement as Her Majesty’s finest slammed her to the ground. As she fell, her handbag opened; revealing the old handgun. Unconscious, she was dragged off to the waiting armored transport and an uncertain future.

Kevin finally rounded the corner, having gotten separated in the crowd. Watching the soldier load the van, he asked the on-lookers if they had seen his sister.

An elderly gentleman, an old "volunteer", looked at him with tears in his eyes. "Was she fair, with long golden hair?"

Kevin gulped, "Aye..."

"They’ll be takin’ her to Long Kesh prison-they found a gun on her!"

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"Hey-I think these ribs are ‘bout done!" hollered Darrell, turning the meat on the grill. One had to shout to be heard above the din of Junior’s stereo. The throw-down was in full swing, even if it was a Wednesday-the conventional work-week having no meaning to a race car driver. The oaks were ablaze in the late October sunlight, truly a lovelier day couldn’t have been given. Michael sat on the porch, enjoying that redneck manna from heaven-an ice, cold Budweiser.

"Hey-try to stay sober enough to pick your wife up tonight!" Teresa scolded him. She ducked as Kerry flung a football at Michael’s head. Michael caught it, crashing comically backwards; his long legs sticking straight up over his head. Inside, the phone was ringing off the hook. "Dale! Could you get that??" Teresa hollered.

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Dale Earnhardt emerged from the house nearly half an hour later, his face ashen. "Darrell, Teresa-could you two join me in the den?" he said quietly. Teresa’s brows automatically furrowed. "What’s wrong, Dale?" He simply shook his head. Darrell wandered over, "Whazzup? Who died?"

Earnhardt took a deep breath, ran his hand through his thinning hair. "Rory’s in trouble-I just spoke with a court appointed legal counsel. Said she’s been arrested for carrying a gun and some sort of connections with the Irish Republican Army. Those charges are real serious...But hee said because she’s an American citizen, they’ll realize there’s got to be some mistake. Hell, she was trying to sell some old firearm that belonged to her father and got caught up in some political riot they had in Belfast." Darrell stared at him, his jaw nearly hitting the ground.

Earnhardt continued, "But in Northern Ireland, he said that the prisons are full of cases like Rory’s-kangaroo courts and folks that will never see the light of day. Remember that kid-Bobby Sands? Got lifted for carryin’ a gun-ended up dyin’ in a hunger strike...."

"Good God, how are we gonna tell Michael?!" Darrell asked, incredulously. "It’s not gonna be easy-it’s gonna be the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. He’s gonna need every one of us, because this might kill him."

Darrell nodded and walked over to where Michael sat joking with Kerry and Junior. "Mike-Dale wants to see us in the den." he said simply, still not absorbing everything himself yet. The full magnitude had not even begun to manifest itself.

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To say Michael took the news of Rory’s arrest hard, would have been a gross understatement. He stood there in front of Earnhardt and his brother, in stunned, disbelieving silence.

"Mike, were gonna do everything in our power-no matter how much it’ll cost to get her back...."Darrell began.

"She’s ...not coming ......home tonight..?" Michael mumbled, his eyes pleading. Please, God -let this be a dream....

"Mike-I’m so sorry...." Earnhardt gently put his arm around him. "First thing in the morning, I’ll get us the best defense lawyer in the country..."

"She’s not coming home?..."

"No, Mike..." Darrell said quietly. It was slowly, agonizingly beginning to sink in...Michael fell to his knees screaming. "NO! ......NOT RORY!-OH GOD! ....WHY!??" Darrell held him tightly as sobs wracked his body. It felt as though his very heart had been ripped from his body.

Junior heard the commotion from the den and stood in stricken silence in the doorway, he caught his father’s eye-it had been the first time he had ever seen the old man cry. He turned and ran out the door, ran as fast as his legs could carry him; the heartbreak in that house was more than anyone should have to endure in a lifetime. Outside, the breeze had picked up; a little whirlwind danced in the now empty yard-scattering leaves like so many discarded and broken dreams to the heavens.

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Chapter 15-Ourselves Alone

The pain was unbearable. Those first anguished hours after receiving word of Rory’s internment, were by far the worst moments of his life. That pain was more than psychological, it was also very physical. His chest felt as if struck by a sledgehammer, his stomach twisted in a labyrinth of knots. He wept bitterly against Darrell’s shoulder, huddled on the floor of Earnhardt’s den. Darrell had never felt so powerless, so helpless in his life-for someone who never had a lack of words, he was now completely speechless. All he could do is hold his brother and pray that this tragedy did not take him too.

Teresa quietly led her husband into the hall. "Dale, we can’t let him go home alone...."

"I know-he can stay here as long as he needs to. Darrell said he and Stevie will look after Caitlin for a while." Earnhardt sighed, "Times like this, I really do wonder if there’s a God...Better go find Junior-he lit out of here so fast I didn’t have a chance to even talk to him yet. Christ, the way he looks up to Mike...shit I don’t know what to do anymore..." he broke off, his head felt as if it would explode any minute. He left the den, gently but firmly squeezing Michael’s shoulder as trying to infuse some sort of his own inner strength into the shattered being before him.

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Michael awoke to find Darrell slumped in the rocking chair next to the bed. Must’ve passed-out....jesus what an awful dream that was....shit! I’ve gotta get to the airport-Rory’s gonna be pissed an’ bitchin’ a fit if I don’t hur-

Then it all came back to him. He felt his gorge rise as he stumbled for the bathroom. Darrell awoke with a start at the sound of his retching. "Mike-hold on, bud..." Christ, please have mercy on that poor kid, he thought as he knelt beside his brother. He held Michael’s trembling body, god he feels so cold...hang on Michael, ogod please hold on...

Wrapping a woolen blanket around him, Darrell led him back to the bed. "Here-drink some of this-make ya feel a little better..." he held out a glass of warm, flat Coke. Michael turned to him, "How long have I been out?" His voice was barely audible-his throat was raw from screaming. And his eyes...Darrell could hardly bare to look at them, it tore his heart out.. It was like looking into the eyes of the dead.

"You’ve been out of it since Wednesday, it’s now Friday morning. I’ve gotta head for Atlanta for qualifying-we’ve already talked to Chuck and he said that Kenny Wallace is gonna take your ride this weekend." Michael continued to stare blankly at the window. "We felt it was for the best..." Michael sighed and laid back down on the bed. He barely touched the drink-in fact he hadn’t ate or drank much of anything. Down the hall, Darrell could hear Caitlin crying, she was fine for the first few days without Rory, as long as Michael was around, but now being cut off from her father, it was too much for her. For the past couple of days, she was as inconsolable as Michael. "I’ll be right back, Mikey." he said softly. At the foot of the bed, old Beavis thumped his tail and stared mournfully up at Darrell as if to say, "Help him, please?"

Darrell reached down and scratched the dog’s big yellow head, then turned and headed for the little parlor-turned-nursery.

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"Darrell, where are you going with Caitlin?" Teresa inquired suspiciously. "I’m taking her to see her father-if we don’t do something, that boy’s gonna be dead before this weekend’s over." Darrell knew in his heart that this wasn’t mere exaggeration-he could tell Michael’s system was beginning to shut down. He looked like he was on the verge of going into shock and without any fluids, renal failure would set in soon. No food or drink-no sleep save for a trance-like state. If the plan that Darrell was carrying out didn’t work, the next step would be hospitalization.

"Darrell-wait! I don’t think it’s a good idea right now...."

"Look-from the sound of things, we might end up burying that wife of his-but I’ll be god-damned if I’m gonna bury Michael too!" he hissed, hackles rising.

Darrell held his little niece to his breast, soothing her. He sat on the edge of his brother’s bed as he gently rocked her.

"Mike....Mikey?" his voice broke when there was no response. "Someone would like to see you...somebody real special..." He tenderly laid Caitlin next to her father’s head on the pillow. Caitlin reached out to grab his nose like she always did. Just the sight of him delighted her. But when he didn’t move, she started crying again. Darrell was about to move in and pick her up when his brother stirred into consciousness. It was Caitlin’s crying that brought him out of the self-imposed coma. Michael’s eyes focused on the baby and he drew her close, holding her like one would hold a doll. "Shh-shh...Daddy’s right here..." came the hoarse whisper. He nuzzled her close-he was so dehydrated that he couldn’t even shed a tear. Caitlin burrowed against his chest, the week-old growth of beard tickling her.

Darrell stood quietly by the door, failing to notice as Earnhardt walked up behind him and peered over his shoulder. He turned and whispered, "Darrell, plane’s already at the airport-we gotta leave. Think he’s gonna be ok?"

Darrell replied, "As long as he has Caitlin, he’ll come ‘round. He’s hurtin’ bad, though. Did you hear anything from that Legal Amnesty thing or whatever it is?"

Earnhardt shook his head, "They’re opening up a case for her, but the problem is this-there is such a backlog of cases just like Rory’s. Plus, there’s this situation with the IRA-from what I’ve been told, her father was like public enemy number one-some kinda revolutionary nut. From the looks of things, England wants this ol’ boy’s ass and if it means detaining an American citizen to get him, than so be it."

Darrell looked at him, aghast. "Jesus, Dale! You gotta be kiddin’!"

Earnhardt sadly regarded Michael as he hoarsely crooned to Caitlin, trying to get her to sleep. "Kelley is the expert when it comes to this stuff-she gave me a shit-load of books about Northern Ireland and the IRA. I talked to Bobby Kennedy over at Bahari -he’s got a couple of relatives that were involved with ’em too. Kelley suggested that we even put in a call to Amnesty International-whatever the fuck that is. Can’t hurt, I suppose. I suggest we all bone up on this stuff, learn all we can-because this fight’s gonna end up coming down to us rednecks takin’ on the whole British judicial system."

Darrell hung his head, "Sounds like it’s gonna be a loosing battle and we’ll never see her alive again."

At that point, Earnhardt turned and fixed him with that patented, icy glare. "Don’t you ever let me hear you say that again! If you give a shit about Michael, don’t go givin’ up on her! Remember this Darrell-you give up on Rory, you’re giving up on your brother!" he snapped, jabbing his finger in Darrell’s chest. "That poor girl entrusted me before she left and I ain’t gonna give up and just forget about her! If it comes down to me goin’ over there and fuckin’ the Queen Mother to set her free, by Jesus I will! Now get yer shit together -we got a plane to catch!"

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Earnhardt was about to doze off as the jet made it’s way to Atlanta. Darrell was snoring loudly behind him, exhausted. Something caught the corner of his eye, stuck next to the window. A rose-dark red and withered dry. It must’ve been one that Michael had given Rory before she left. He tenderly wrapped the rose in a tissue and placed it in the breast pocket of his jacket. He made a silent vow to fight for her freedom from that moment forward till the day he died. "Where ever you are, Rory-we’re all with ya, girl. We won‘t forget you." he said a silent prayer.

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Belfast 1991 - November

Rory had finally begun to accept her predicament-heartache was no stranger to her. Her blessed existence in North Carolina was almost doomed to come to an end sooner or later. Who do you think you were kidding? she thought bitterly to herself. Life is not a fairy-tale, there are no happy endings-what makes you think you were so special? The initial shock of waking in the dank, cold cell instead of her warm bed with the scent of the pines and her husband’s warm body beside her was fading. However, any thought at all of Michael and Caitlin, re-opened the raw wound of her heart and soul. To avoid the sedatives and mind-numbing tranquilizers, she kept the screaming silent only to herself. The only visitors she was allowed were a priest and her brother. She would eventually be allowed the luxury of mail, but only at a time determined by the courts. The courts. Justice. They were alien here. She had legal counsel-assured that her case would be examined and the charges dropped. It was ludicrous! Any ballistic expert could tell them that the gun had not been fired in forty years, for chrissake! Oh but there were other agendas at work here....a British paratrooper had fallen to gunfire that night-one of Her Majesty’s finest-somebody had to pay. Her father, responsible for the deaths of possibly hundreds in terrorist attacks, could be brought to justice to pay for his crimes if he knew that his only daughter were here. Yes, she was a hostage, in essence so were Michael and Caitlin. The fact that her citizenship or American husband had no validation on the charges put on her head only added to the sense of moral outrage. The American legal system was out of jurisdiction here along with any sort of human decency. No jury heard her case, just a magistrate in a powdered wig that she was rudely dragged before. Her heart stopped as the charges were read and the punishment was handed down. Go directly to jail, do not pass go, and fuck the $200.00! She was afforded the sole luxury of her own private cell and the few belongings that she had.

She thought of Dale too and what she asked of him before she left. He always struck her as almost God-like in his simple wisdom and sense of loyalty and authority. Knowing that he was there to look after Michael and Caitlin was the only thing that kept her from falling into madness.

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Mooresville, November 1991

He stood in the hay barn, gripping the bales for the prize herd of Angus beef cattle that Earnhardt raised. He figured that helping out on the ranch would be good therapy-if he kept busy somehow, he wouldn’t have to think. The mantle of depression still clung cloyingly to him. As he ripped the twine that bound the hay, he grew introspective on his life, his daughter and his career. She’d be better off without me, he thought grimly. Darrell and Stevie were far better parents than he could ever hope to be. If he left now, she would still be young enough to forget about him in time. His career as a race driver? What a joke-almost six years in Winston Cup and not even one victory. He would never measure up to his brother and his accomplishments, or the hype that was levied upon him. Any thought of Rory and he would break down again. He still couldn’t sleep in their bed-her essence, her scent still lingered in the room like a ghost. He couldn’t bare to be in the house now.

"Dammit!" he grunted as he struggled with the twine that stubbornly held fast. Glancing around, he spied one of those retractable razors-that would cut it loose. He felt woozy, staring at the gleaming blade. It would be so easy to check out of this life... it would almost be like he was never there at all....no, it would be a blessing if he were out of their lives altogether-that way he couldn’t hurt or disappoint anybody again....one less failure to deal with.

Breathing heavily, he grasped the blade and pressed it to his wrist..

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Chapter 16: The Ties that Bind

Dale Earnhardt sat on his tractor, squinting at the setting sun. Where the heck was he with that hay? I gotta get started on the horses....He looked up, spying Junior as the boy headed for the house with a couple of cronies in tow.

"Hey, Junebug! Wander down to the hay shed and see what Mike’s up to. He’s takin’ forever with those bales-I’m gonna be over with the brood mares in the nursery if you need me." Junior groaned but reconsidered complaining when he caught the warning glare from his father. "I’ll be a sec-don’t start the game without me!" With that, he loped off a quarter mile to the shed.

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"Hey! Dad’s lookin’ for ya!" Junior hollered, making his presence known. "He needs some bales for the horses...Mike?" No answer. Junior felt an unexplained chill run down his spine. "Mikey?" He peered into the darkness and spied the large form on the floor. "Mike!"

The wild bird of panic fluttered in his heart as he knelt beside his friend. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he noticed the blood-soaked sleeve of Michael’s flannel shirt. A sob caught his throat. "Aww shit.... Mikey...." His foot kicked the blade, now encrusted with dried blood. He shook Michael’s shoulder as if trying to rouse him out of a sound sleep. No response. "C’mon Mike-get up man, please? Stop fuckin’ around......c‘mon Michael..get up" Now he was weeping like a lost child. What do I do-godwhatthefuckdoIdo...... "MIKEY!" he screamed. He had practically known Michael all his life-couldn’t actually remember not having him around. He was closer a brother than Kerry was. Now he’s gone...ofuck... Dad...gotta find Dad. Blindly rising, he headed out the door, running for all he was worth.

"DAD!!!!!" Earnhardt looked up from his chores to see his son running hell bent towards him. One look at his tear-streaked face was enough to send him on a dead run to the shed. He didn’t need Junior to tell him that something was terribly wrong. "DAD! M--Mikey...he‘s dead..." Junior stammered. "I-I didn’t know what to do..."

Earnhardt was already kneeling beside Michael’s inert body. "Jesus...how could you let this happen?" he breathed. He gently pushed the unruly hair out of Michael’s glazed eyes. Something didn’t seem right..he can’t be dead, Earnhardt thought to himself. He felt the smooth skin around his neck for a pulse-sure enough, it was there. Faint, but present. His skin felt clammy, but not the icy chill of death. Puzzled, he examined closer. Junior stood by his side in numb silence.

"Junior, he’s still alive but he’s in shock." he said softly. "Go get that first aid kit out of the shop and bring the truck over. We’re taking him to the emergency room-he’s gonna need stitches. Go on, get the truck and I’ll try to bring him around."

While Junior went for the kit, Earnhardt examined the jagged wound on Michael’s left wrist. Not deep enough and at the incorrect angle to sever the artery. He also noticed the ugly bruise on his forehead-must’ve knocked himself out when he collapsed. "You dumb son-of-a-bitch!" he chuckled in spite of himself. "Fucked up your own suicide! Must’ve passed out at the sight of the blood ...." He found an old horse blanket and wrapped it around Michael, trying to warm him up. Michael whimpered and stirred into semi-consciousness; wincing in pain. "Hey-lay still. You ain’t outta the woods yet. Boy, what the hell were you thinkin’?" he said, sadly shaking his head. He looked up as Junior parked the truck outside. Junior crouched, staring wide-eyed at his father as if indeed, the old man just raised the dead. "Is he gonna be ok?" he asked.

Earnhardt looked at his son, shaking his head sadly, "That depends on Michael and whether or not he wants to live."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Junior and Earnhardt sat patiently in the waiting room of the hospital, awaiting word as to whether Michael would be coming home. The doctor inquired as to what happened and the only thing Earnhardt could say was "He cut hisself opening up hay bales and passed out when he saw the blood!" He didn’t want to bring up Michael’s depression, he just wanted to bring him home. He generally regarded doctors, hospitals and institutions as really good places to stay away from. If these quacks even suspected he just attempted to kill himself, they would have cranked up on all sorts of shit-he’d wind up worse than when we brought him in, Earnhardt thought grimly.

"I called Darrell, he said he’d be here as soon as he could. I didn’t go into specifics...didn’t want to freak him out anymore than he already was."

A nurse walked over to them. "Are you his family?"

"Closest thing to it." Earnhardt said gruffly. "His brother’s on his way."

"You can go in now, Dr. Lechter wanted to keep him over night for observations and we were going to administer fluids into his system. He’s severely dehydrated."

Michael was sitting up in bed, a wave of embarrassment swept over him when his two visitors walked in. Earnhardt sat on the edge of his bed and looked him straight in the eye. "How ya feelin’?" He glanced at Michael’s bandaged wrist, which required several stitches.

"Sore. I’m sorry I’m putting you through this..." his voice broke off. "You should’ve just left me there..."

"Mike, you’re family to me-you mean the world to us." Earnhardt clasped his shoulder, getting a little emotional himself. "Why? That’s all I wanna know...why? You can’t just give up! Shit happens sometimes-that’s life but you can’t just lay down, die and give up-Christ! What would we tell Caitlin? Shit-And Rory? That ain’t the man that wild Irish rose of yours fell in love with, either! You gonna hurt her, too?"

"Dale-I know that. The minute I took that blade out and started to-you know.....end it, I thought of Caitlin-I just couldn’t leave her. I couldn’t give up hope on Rory-but Dale, dammit it hurts so much...." he buried his face in his hands. "It hurts so goddamn much....I don’t know how much longer I can stand it. I feel like every thing I touch turns to shit. If only I had been there with her, none of this would’ve happened."

"Stop blaming yourself-nobody could see that coming." Junior spoke up for the first time. "You always take the blame! This shit ain’t your fault! Remember what you told me? Living is your best revenge."

"Kid, things will work out one way or another. We’re gonna do all we can to bring Rory home." Earnhardt held Michael in a bear-hug. "And when we bring ’er home-we’re gonna have us a throw-down the likes that’s never been seen before! And if we can’t and all else fails-then it was never meant to be. Either way, we’re always gonna be there for ya. You just concentrate on gettin’ better. I wanna see that Pontiac in Victory Lane when we hit Daytona.."

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The season of 1992 crawled along and racing all but totally consumed Michael as he threw himself into his driving career. No longer was he just ‘driving in circles’. No wins yet, but he was always a contender at the finish. All through the garage, hearts went out to him as the other teams and their families regarded Michael as he went about his business with little Caitlin in her carrier or snuggled against his shoulder. It wasn’t easy trying to raise his daughter alone. There were plenty of offers for babysitting, but usually only he would allow Stevie (who had just given birth to Sarah) and Darrell to watch her while he was on the track. His once-busy social life came to a halt as he turned down offers of the night-life, parties and the ever observant pit-lizards.

This was the year that Alan Kulwicki’s star was reaching it’s zenith. The points battle was devastatingly close between Mark Martin, Earnhardt, Rusty, Kulwicki and Davey Allison. Michael, like several of the other tough mid-pack runners were the spoilers. Several top owners also noticed the hard-charging driver of the Pennzoil Pontiac. His contract was up at the end of 1993 and there were already several top teams taking notice. The legendary Wood Brothers were anticipating signing the younger Waltrip to their stable along with up and coming Robert Yates and Joe Gibbs. Even Darrell’s old team, Hendrick Motorsports had expressed interest in him at one point, but were now captivated by a promising rookie by the name of Jeff Gordon. But Michael, ever resistant to change, remained loyal to Bahari and the under funded, rattle-trap cars he drove.

It was the Wood Brothers team that Earnhardt urged Michael to consider. The drivers they sponsored were among the elite; true legends in every sense of the word: Pearson, Jarrett, Bonnett-even Kyle had driven for them at one time. They had some of the best equipment out there and they were still small enough to cater to the driver’s needs. "You’d be a bigger idiot than I’ve got ya pegged for if you don’t take them up on their offer." were his words of encouragement. (Earnhardt could be a tad blunt.)

As for Rory, her case was still buried in the labyrinth of red-tape. Michael still privately agonized over her-he had no contact with her and she still was not allowed any letters out. He was able to get through his days now without breaking down, gradually the pain lessened and he simply, quietly coped with her absence. Oh, but there were bad days. On what was their first anniversary, he deposited Caitlin with Darrell and Stevie and barricaded himself in his coach. He wanted to be alone; just himself and her ghost. He had drank himself into a stupor, it was all he could do to escape the agony. His mother and father had conferred with Darrell as to the viability of this marriage. When Darrell had quietly pulled Michael aside and gently suggested he simply move on, get an annulment and forget about Rory, Michael stormed out of his coach and refused to speak with his brother for a good two months. Michael had no desire to find another love-he remained faithful to Rory, ever sworn to his vows.

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Fate can be a peculiar thing. Michael was wandering over to Childress’s garage, looking for Earnhardt. They were qualifying at Michigan Speedway and were using a new aero-package on the cars and he just wanted a bit of Earnhardt’s sage advice. Still annoyed with his brother’s insolence, Michael secretly enjoyed seeking the wisdom of one of Darrell’s greatest advisories. Buffy sat on a workbench, running through her payroll sheets for the crew, sipping a bottle of sweet tea.

"Oh hi, Mike-how’s it going?" She, like everyone else in the Winston garage, was touched by Michael’s recent misfortunes. It broke her heart as she often watched him after his early morning jogs, simply staring along pit-row, forlorn and alone.

"Goin’ ok. Say-if you see Dale, have him give me a shout-gotta ask him ‘bout this new spoiler set-up." He grabbed one of the ice teas she offered. "Tell Alan to stay outta my way Sunday! I have a feeling I’m gonna whip his ass!" A shadow crossed her face at his joke.

"Hey-I’m sorry. I forgot you two called it quits...." he hung his head, embarrassed at his boldness.

"It’s ok-we’re still friends." She touched his arm, "I’ll pass it along to him. He needs takin’ down a peg or two anyway!" she grinned.

A ghost of a shy smile played on Michael’s lips. Except for airtime in front of a camera, he rarely smiled in private. But for some reason, Buffy’s simple friendliness made him feel good.

"I gotta get goin’. Nice seeing you." He turned and headed back for his team’s garage.

"Oh Mike? If you ever need help with Caitlin, I’d be happy to sit for her. You know-Dale says you could use a night off."

"Thanks-I’ll keep that in mind! See ya Sunday." again, that quiet smile and he was off to his car.

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Chapter 17: Michigan

The dog-days heat of mid-August baked the infield driver’s compound at Michigan International Speedway. It rose in radiated waves off the hard asphalt, the towering stands and the sweating masses that swarmed the grounds seeking autographs, cold beer, a glimpse of their favorite driver and possibly relief from the oven that they had subjected themselves to. A barbeque and impromptu softball game was in full swing amongst the teams of Childress and Petty. Michael was stepping up to bat for the Petty crew. He was oblivious to the admiring glances of the women who had also gathered around to watch the action.

Buffy and Teresa sat under an awning, enjoying their ringside view of the game from the comfort of the shade. Taking a swig of her wine cooler, Buffy cast a frosty glare at the twittering gaggle of unattached women who were trying to make themselves as visible as possible from the sidelines.

"That’s disgusting! His poor wife wasn’t gone a year and they’re all set to pounce on him..."

Teresa continued to watch the game as Michael swatted a good ‘un to center field, bounding away to first base with mile long strides. Sighing, she turned to Buffy and said simply, "Alls fair in love and war. As far as they’re concerned, she may as well be dead. He’s unattached now and he’s fair game." She raised her shades, to Buffy’s amazement, she was also admiring the view. Michael had since stripped to just a pair of faded cut-off jeans and ratty sneakers; his battered Pennzoil cap keeping his ever-unruly hair at bay and out of his face.

"Teresa!" she exclaimed, finely arched eyebrows making a bee-line for the top of her head.

"What?? I might be married, but I ain’t dead!" Teresa had her own version of her husband’s Cheshire smile as she regarded Michael’s tight, denim-clad buttocks. "All I’m gonna say is better get in line, girl if you want a shot at him."

"Ugh! Is that all you ever think about?" Buffy rolled her eyes heavenward. The crack of the bat and a whoop from the Childress team as the ball was caught diverted her attention to the field. Michael was promptly tagged out. A few whistles from the adoring females on the side went unnoticed. He trotted over to the awning where Teresa was guarding the cooler. Buffy had to admit secretly to herself that he was fairly easy on the eyes. Accustomed to Alan’s pale, somewhat soft, pudgy physique, Michael was a welcome diversion. She remembered what Rory had told her about "love at first sight"-glancing at his deeply tanned, muscular body and cerulean blue eyes, she could see why.

"Hey, ladies. Could you possibly spare a cold one ?" he flashed that mouth-full of dazzling white teeth.

Teresa took this as her cue to go harass her husband. Before she left, she smirked to Buffy, "Remember what I told you." Michael shrugged as he helped himself to the beer. "Ech-Lite beer...that all he has in here?..."

"If you root around in the bottom, there’s a couple of Molsons left." Buffy grinned up at him. "How’s the car runnin’?"

"Ahhh...come to poppa.." he retrieved a bottle of Golden and plopped down on the grass beside her, draining half the beer in one gulp. After a pleased belch, he stretched out on the grass beside her; the picture of contentment . "It’s runnin’ ok-dang throttle keeps stickin’ though." He lay back, soaking up the sun. For the first time in many months, he actually felt good. Maybe it was the rush of the game, the warmth of the sun or maybe the slight buzz from the beer-at any rate, he was at ease.

Buffy on the other hand, had suddenly found herself at war with her emotions. Stop it! she scolded herself-you’re no better than those idiot whores. Still, her eyes kept wandering to the semi-dozing figure. Compared to Alan, he was so virile, enticing...She arose abruptly to secure a ‘Co-cola’ from the cooler. Maybe I’d better hop right in there with that ice, she thought.

Buffy was so intent on rummaging about that she failed to notice as Michael stole up behind her for a fresh beer. She uttered a comical squeak as she backed up and fell back against him. She felt the heat of his hard body and the sensual aromatic mixture of Hawaiian Tropic and his sweat as he reached out to steady her.

"Hey! Sorry-didn’t mean to scare you." he grinned, "Just lookin’ for reinforcements!" he tossed the empty bottle on the ground by the cooler and retrieved another.

"You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that!" she chided him, blushing as he levied a quizzical look on his face. Again, that mischievous, shy smile. He was searching for a snappy comeback when Darrell wandered over.

"Hey, Dale’s lookin’ for you-said he just got a call ’bout Rory." Michael’s face blanched.

"Is she ok? What’d he say...?" He frantically searched his brother’s face for an answer.

"You gotta talk to Dale-all I know is they’re gonna try and give her a re-trial." he shrugged. He wanted more than anything for his brother‘s heart to heal; wanted him to move on with his life-with or without Rory.

Michael exited from the awning to Earnhardt’s coach, breaking from a quick pace to a run. Darrell and Buffy sadly watched him depart.

"And for chrissake, put some cloths on...!" he muttered. Turning to Buffy, "Don’t know what to do with him anymore...the way he keeps pinin’ away for her-hell, we’ll never see Rory again. And that poor, little girl of his needin’ a momma..damn, cryin’ shame..." he broke off. Buffy remained silent; Teresa’s words coming back to haunt her.

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Dale sat in his kitchenette, sorting through a bundle of mail. He looked up as Michael bounded through the front door. Teresa excused herself as she left to re-join Buffy outside; a peculiar fixed expression on her face.

"Hey-there you are!" Earnhardt said grinning. "I just spoke with Rory’s legal counsel-said she’s getting a new lawyer-guy by the name of Collins-he’s a law professor from Oxford. And some other cat is takin’ up her cause-he’s a political big-wig with the Labor Party in England-name’s Tony Blair." Michael sat down on a stool, head in his hands. These names meant nothing to him-he wanted results and the waiting was killing him. Earnhardt gently put an arm around his shoulder. "Look, I know it’s a slow start, but it looks like we’re moving in the right direction. We just gotta be patient and not loose faith." he said softly as he pushed an envelope into Michael’s hand. "Here...I think you ought to read this.."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

August 2, 1992

"My dearest Michael, I might only imagine the hell that I’ve put you through in these past few months. The magistrate has finally allowed me to sent you letters-apparently they figure that a stock car driver poses no terrorist threat. (they obviously haven’t seen your brother in action!) I’m getting better-my humor is coming back as you can see.

But it’s not been easy-being separated from you and Caitlin has torn my heart to shreds. I pray that you are both handling this as well as you can and that God give us the strength to survive this ordeal. Kevin has decided to abandon New York and reside in Mother’s old apartment to be near me until I am released. He will make sure that my letters get out. There is not a moment that my husband and my daughter do not occupy my mind and heart. Your love and your love alone keeps me alive. I’ll keep your faces in my mind until I get to hold you in my arms again.

I’ll not forget you, Mikey Blue-Eyes!

Hoping to hear from you soon, darling, your Rory."

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The next afternoon arrived even hotter than Saturday. The interior of Michael’s Pontiac was hitting nearly 130 degrees. Outside, the intense heat all but split the asphalt. A squad of F-16s soared overhead as the vocalist warbled out a rather painful version of the "Star-Spangled Banner."

"Michael!" No response from the cockpit of the 30. Exasperated, Bobby Kennedy charged over to the side of the waiting car. ‘MICHAEL!!" He unhooked the window net and roughly shook the driver awake. Bobby shoved a water bottle in his hand- "Here-take these." He handed Michael a couple of Viverins. "This’ll keep your ass up."

Dazed, Michael shook his head. Christ, it had been a rough night. Caitlin was colicky-kept him up most of the night. After re-reading Rory’s letter several times, her soft lilting voice had haunted him. "I’m ok-I was just resting my eyes..." Bobby walked back to the pit-box, shaking his head. He had a bad feeling about this....

The order of "Gentlemen, start your engines!" resounded over the PA and the Pontiac snarled to life. Earnhardt was starting next to him, he looked over to Michael and gave him a reassuring grin. The cars slowly rolled behind the pace car, snaking back and forth. Right off the bat, something didn’t feel right. As Michael goosed the accelerator, the car lunged forward as if it had a mind of it’s own. Backing off, just in time before he plowed into Sterling’s back deck, he radioed Bobby. "The throttle again-it ain’t right."

Bobby sighed, "Do what you can-if it sticks, pop it out of gear." Bahari didn’t have the funding allocated to install one of the newer safety devices that integrated a kill switch-only the biggest teams could afford to run with the newest technology. They often cut corners and scrimped on vital parts for the car, as did many of the smaller, racing independents. The old method of "popping it out of gear"-momentarily stalling the car and re-starting it at 170 miles an hour as a dangerous proposition at best. The cars were now up to starting speed and as the green flag dropped, the pace car dove for the apron. The colorful surge of metal swept by the grandstand as the crowd rose as one; the roar from the multitudes was nearly as loud as the cars themselves.

Michael gingerly shifted through the gears, warily watching the tachometer. So far, so good-easy baby, he whispered to the car. He let Earnhardt pass him, offering no challenge-just get me through this in one piece.

"How’s it handling?" came the voice over the radio.

"So far, no problems, but I ain’t pushin’ it either." Michael replied. The amphetamines were making him jittery-more nervous than he needed to be. The cars were just exiting the third turn; dangerously bunched up in a tidal wave of steel and fiberglass. The extreme heat was getting to all of the drivers and tempers were beginning to flare.

Darrell was already dogging Schrader. "Goddammit-get that piece of shit outta my way!" he sputtered. Back and forth weaved the 17, madly trying to pass the 25. Schrader, ever the consummate professional , looked up and shook his head, annoyed. Not even a quarter of the way through the race and the fiery Kentucky champion was already pushing the envelope. Sighing, Schrader lifted, allowing Darrell to pass below him. As Darrell went by, Schrader noticed the 30 charging behind the 17. Something wasn’t right. As the cars rocketed into the turn, the 30 didn’t check up as it should’ve, in fact it was completely out of control.

What the hell is wrong with Mikey? Schrader wondered. He radioed his crew chief. "What’s going on with the 30-damn near blew my doors off. Something ain’t right here." As they flew down the backstretch and into the next turn, the 30 was nearly sideways, running as if on a dirt track. Ray Everham called in, "Just spoke to Kennedy-they’re having a problem with the throttle."

"Well god-dammit, have the officials black flag him before he kills somebody!" Schrader yelled as he nearly caught the swerving car. Reluctantly, he eased up, motioning for those behind him to do likewise.

Now leading, Darrell looked up as the nose of the 30 was already at his door and mere inches apart. Suddenly, as the two cars entered the 2nd turn, the 17 shuddered violently as the 30 rubbed against it.

Jeff Hammond’s voice rang out over the radio, "Back-off Darrell! Throttle’s stuck on the 30!"

Inside the 30, Michael’s heart was slamming against his chest. He couldn’t think straight anymore, hands shaking as he grasped the gear shift. Gotta get to the pits...god please stop this thing! His foot was glued to the floor as he vainly tried to pry the pedal up. Darrell watched horrified, helpless as the 30 flew by him.

Turn 1 loomed ahead, the 30 wasn’t turning for the apron-it was now heading straight for the retaining wall.

Memories of Bristol flashed through Darrell’s mind as the car disintegrated before him. As he began to check, his tires contacted debris from Michael’s car, sending him spinning. Everham shouted something at Schrader as he headed for the side of the 17. Ken Schrader’s eyes bugged slightly, as he ignored his crew chief, "Boys, I’m about to get real busy here....!"

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Chapter 18: Odds & Ends-1992-1993

A platoon of rescue personnel and tow trucks descended on the tangle of ruined cars. Several drivers were already crawling out of their vehicles, taking in the damage done. After the 30 had plowed into the wall, the others were so bunched up, there was no avoiding the multi-car pile up that ensued. Schrader scrambled out of the 25 that was planted just behind Darrell’s seat. Darrell was just unbuckled his harness and was sitting dazed in the window compartment, watching the paramedics that stood by his brother’s car as Michael made his labored exit out the window.

Between the heat, the wreck and the adverse reaction to the pep pills that Bobby had given him earlier, Michael was shaking so violently, he dropped straight to his knees the moment his feet hit the ground. Now Darrell made his way over, forcing himself between an official and the paramedics. Michael made an attempt to stand as Darrell held him, his long legs nearly buckling again. Someone yelled for a stretcher.

Michael shook his head, trying to rid himself of the disturbing double vision and the ringing in his ears. Darrell was speaking to him-it may as well had been in Chinese-he could no longer understand a word his brother said. Darrell, genuinely frightened now, as he looked into Michael’s eyes-the pupils were completely dilated. "Jesus! Mike-c’mon bud, talk to me!" He was nearly hyperventilating now, on the verge of convulsions. The stretcher was brought over just in time as Michael collapsed into unconsciousness'.

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The surf pounded at the stark, barren cliffs. The setting sun painted the landscape and the turbulent sea crimson as seabirds squawked and swooped above the roiling tide. Rory’s body felt so soft, inviting as she lovingly embraced him; tenderly kissing his bare breast. A spray of sea-foam glittered in her hair like diamonds as he tenderly caressed her face. He bent low as she pulled his face down to hers, her soft lips parting to welcome his eager tongue; he closed his eyes as she pressed tightly against him, her hips massaging him. They gazed into each other’s eyes as a mist rose from the ancient island, shrouding the haunted oak groves behind them. "I love you, baby," he whispered, "I missed you so much." He closed his eyes once again, moaning as her hand drifted down his stomach to his groin; gently stroking him. That’s it, I’m dead and this must be Heaven. "I’ll love you forever, Michael, never forget that." She lovingly gazed up at him as she resumed caressing him, kisses enveloping him. He felt her delicate tongue tracing an intricate Celtic pattern drifting down his chest, abdomen and pausing enticingly at his pubic bone; lingering, teasing. Gasping, he turned his gazed back to her as he felt her lips encircle him as the mist grew thicker....then she was gone. "Rory...!." a sob caught his throat as he frantically looked around, surrounded by the advancing night.

He sat up in bed, not sure even where he was at the moment. Groaning, he pulled himself into a sitting position and rested his head on his upraised knees. The hospital -he was at the hospital. He vaguely remembered the wreck and the heat, but little else. The images that were in his head were so painfully real even if it was a dream. Despair settled around him once again, the familiar ache of his loss filling his heart.

There was a knock on the door, he mumbled, "Yeah...?"

"Mike?" came a somewhat familiar voice. Buffy poked her head in, "How ya feelin’? Care for some company?" Michael stared blankly at her, his eyes were still a little fuzzy.

"Yeah...come on in... I could use the company, but I’m not sure how much company I’ll be...." he said softly. "Whatcha doin’ here anyway? Thought you’d be on your way back home."

"I’ve got a cousin here in Michigan, I thought I’d visit her for a couple of days. As soon as I heard which hospital you were staying at, I couldn’t just not stop in to see how you were doing." She sat down in the little chair beside the bed. "Can I get you anything?"

"Some Coke would be nice-I’m parched." he gave her a half-hearted grin. He was genuinely touched by her presence. It was good to have company and right now the last thing he wanted was to be alone. Buffy returned with a can of Coke and a small cup. "Want some?" he offered.

"Sure." she took a sip, "Has anybody else been in?"

"Yeah-Dale and Darrell were here earlier, but I kinda fell asleep on them. The doctor said I had a mild concussion and I should be able to go home Tuesday morning." He fished around for the TV remote, "Wanna watch anything?"

"I could use a good laugh-see if there’s something humorous on." Buffy repositioned herself on the edge of the bed so she could see the elevated screen. They settled on a re-run of Caddyshack. Being an avid golfer, it was one of Michael’s favorites. The silly, slob comedy worked it’s wonders as Michael’s natural wit couldn’t resist quoting the lines from the film, much to Buffy’s delight. She laughed out loud at Michael’s Rodney Dangerfield and Bill Murray impersonations. A night nurse stuck her head in, "Ssssshhhhh-keep it down or I’ll have to ask your guest to leave!"

Michael glanced over at the clock-10:30, way past visiting hours. He looked at Buffy, shrugging. He started in again as Carl Spackler-only this time in the Daytona 500. Crossing his eyes and speaking with his lower lip hanging to one side like a cretin, "It’s a real Cinderella story....rookie outta nowhere, tears in his eyes as the white flag waves..." he mumbled, ala Bill Murray, "The checkers are out ...an’ he wins the Daytona 500-he wins the Daytona 500! It’s in da hole!" They both started giggling like a couple of school kids.

"Mike...shhh-we gotta be quiet before she comes back!" Buffy tried to stifle her laughter.

Now Michael tugged at the collar of his pajamas and bugged his eyes comically- now he was Dangerfield. "Last time I saw a mouth like that, it had a hook in it! Bet she was somethin’ before electricity!! No respect...I gets no respect!"

Buffy collapsed in hysterics, burying her face in a pillow. Michael was grinning broadly, the old sparkle returning to his eyes. "I gotta million of ’em!"

He regarded his guest as she tried to compose herself. It was so good to able to laugh, to forget about the nightmare of the past few months. He reached out and took her hand, "Thanks."

"What for?" Buffy was wiping the tears from her eyes.

"For cheering me up. It seems everybody is either giving me bad news, bad advice, tellin’ me how I should be bringin’ up Caitlin...y’know, nobody just wants to be with me and be a friend anymore." he looked so sad when he said that, Buffy reached out and took his hand.

"Awww-don’t say that. You know they all care about you, Darrell and Stevie, your folks, Dale-they just want to help you." she sighed, "God-it must be so hard for your. You and Rory were so close..." Michael looked away from her. "I’m sorry Mike, I shouldn’t have said that.."

"It’s ok-but it pisses me off the way Darrell, my mom and dad talk about her-like she’s dead or something.

The only person that won’t give up on her is Dale-I don’t know what I’d do without him." Angry, he shook his head, "Dammit anyway! I will see her again!"

"Mike-sure you’ll see her again. It’ll work out..." Buffy hoped she didn’t sound too phony when she said this. Secretly she was beginning to hope that his wife would never be seen again. Teresa had already planted the seed. Buffy always dreamed of being one of the "grand old dames" like Lynda Petty and Stevie Waltrip. And marrying into the Waltrip family would be marrying into one of racing’s royal families. And she really enjoyed being around Michael; witty, charming, loyal and a great future ahead of him. Darrell and Stevie already thought very highly of her as well as did Teresa and of course she was Richard Childress’s golden girl-she could do no wrong in their eyes. The on again-off again affair with Alan was getting tiresome-she would always be second fiddle to his car. Buffy had grown envious watching Michael and Rory practically joined at the hip, always together, always in love. Now she was gone and from the sound of things, she would be out of the picture for quite some time to come. The more rational side of her mind sounded the cautionary adage about playing with fire, but it was a thought ignored.

Michael decided to change the subject. "So-looks like Alan is a serious contender for the Championship -you’ll get play Mrs. Kulwicki at the awards ceremony this year. Has he ever gotten around to poppin’ the question yet?"

"Which question is that? Will Hooters sign on as sponsor next year? Which short and fat shop to find a tux?" she growled.

"Hey! That wasn’t nice!" Michael still couldn’t help laughing at his old nemeses’ expense, even though the two had grown quite friendly over the past year. Michael admired Kulwicki’s focus and drive on the track-though he would rather be beaten with a cat o’ nines than admit it to anybody. "Y’know, Buff-when you get hooked up with us drivers, you gotta love the whole deal, otherwise it ain’t gonna work. I’m just glad Rory has her thing with the Petty’s-she lives for the races as much as I do."

Buffy sighed, again with Rory! She thought-who am I kidding? I can’t replace her-nobody can.

"Have you heard from her?" she asked innocently.

Michael’s eyes brightened. "Yeah! I just got her letter the day before the race. They’re finally letting her send letters. I wrote one up-Darrell said he’d mail it for me. Took me all night to write it. Wanna read it before we send it?"

"Sure" she said absently, taking the letter from his hand.

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August 15 1992

"Dear Rory,

Me and Caitlin are hangin in there as best we can. We miss you so much baby-I know Dale has contacted everybody in the world tryin to get you out of that place. Its been real hard on all of us, especially the Pettys. Kyles tryin to hold everybody together over there but Richard, Lynda, Patty and Adam is takin it real bad. I dont no what I’d do without Dale-he’s fighting so hard and keepin my spirits up. Darrell’s still a real pain in the ass-are you surprised? Caitlin’s doin a lot better than I am-she’s got the hole garage rapped round her finger! She’s gettin big-it was real hard on her birthday with out you-I cried more than she did.

Baby-I wish every day that this nightmare would end and youd be wakin up with me. The house feels so empty without hearing you singin every mornin, cookin’ stuff-you don’t even want to know what it’s like for me at night without you in my arms. All the pit lizards keep hittin on me but I just ignore em-theres not a woman in the world that could ever take your place in my hart. I’m startin 8th tomorrow-the cars got a problem with the throttle and I just hope we finish with out wreckin.

I can’t wait to hear from you again-I’ll keep in touch too-if you can put up with my bad spelling.

I love you

Caitlin loves you

My hearts hurtin hunny-come back home soon

Forever yours, I love you baby.

Mikey Blue Eyes

PS-Did I tell you I love you

PPS-I probably did-but I still love you anyway.

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Rory sat on the edge of her bed, tears streaming down her face as she finished the letter for the umpteenth time. She could hear his sweet voice, she could see those sparkling eyes gazing at her. His simple phrasing and atrocious spelling brought it all back to her. She looked up at Kevin and his girlfriend, Bridy quietly sitting in the sparse little room. It was more of a dorm room than a cell. The only thing that indicated a prison was the barred window and the armed guard outside of the door. Rory’s case was treated quite differently than the others who were brought here-she was treated more like an "extended guest"-as Northern Ireland sought her fugitive father.

"Did you tell him about Mickey yet?" Kevin asked softly.

"I couldn’t-not yet, not till I know he’s going to make it." Rory replied sadly. She tried to block out that December morning, sick to her stomach as the horrifying realization of a new pregnancy set in. She remembered the heartbreak, the loneliness of giving birth to their son who may never know his father. Michael Patrick Waltrip was born nearly four weeks too soon, spending the first two months of his fragile life holding on by a thread. Shaking her head, "I can’t hurt him all over again by tellin’ him about a son that may die." Kevin moved to her side, embracing her, "He won’t die. He’ll make it-he’s got you for a mother and that big, ornery hillbilly for a da, sure now, he’ll make it!"

Bridy spoke up, "You’ll be out of here soon! You’re quite the celebrity-Bono and Peter Gabriel have both taken up your cause-look what the music community did for Nelson Mandela!"

Rory cast an exasperated look at her. She meant well, but Rory had little or no use for posturing rock stars.

"Aye-don’t forget Nelson Mandela was in prison for 30 years! I’d be old and gray when I get out. I’ve puttin’ my faith in Dale Earnhardt." she grinned. "Not even Margaret Thatcher would mess with him!"

A whimper from the pram in the corner diverted Rory’s attention to the here and now. She lifted her tiny son out and snuggled him close, nursing him. God, he was so fragile, like a new kitten. She kissed his forehead, "One day you’ll be as big and strong as your daddy. You’ll be givin’ him a run for his money at Daytona.."

"You’ve gotta tell him, sister." Kevin, "He’s of every right to know."

"I’ll tell him in my next letter."

There was a rattling of keys and the warden entered. "Time to go now, you two. Say your good-byes now."

Kevin embraced his sister, "I’ll see you tomorrow-I can only stay for half-hour-doin’ double time on the docks this week." Rory nodded. As a musician, it was hard to watch Kevin wasting his life doing the back-breaking work with the dock workers.

"I’ll see you, Bridy-good luck on your interview tomorrow."

"Thanks, luv-I’ll need it!" Bridy gave her a quick hug.

Then they were gone and Rory and Mickey were alone again while the world outside went about it’s business and life went on without them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

On a rainy Saturday night in John Miles pub, The Limerick, the usual crowd hovered about the snooker table in one corner and the dart board in another. Kevin glared coldly at the older man in the black mackintosh. His long red hair shot out from underneath the woolen cap and tendrils of pipe smoke curled around his hard countenance.

"You’re takin’ an awful chance meeting me here." Kevin growled, "Sure and ain’t you afraid you’ll be spotted?"

"I just want to know how Rory is fairing. I wanted to give you a couple hundred quid to tie you over." Daniel McNeil said quietly. He hunched his big shoulders against the cold and took another pull from his pint.

"Like you could give a damn! If you really cared about her, you’d turn yourself in!" Kevin’s voice was rising. He was loosing patience with the old man; the sight of his sister and her baby rotting in Long Kesh was eating at him. "I can’t bear to see her in this state any longer, Da! I’ll be turnin’ you in myself if you don’t do it first!"

Daniel grabbed Kevin roughly by the collar. "You’ll be keepin’ a civil tongue in your head!" He glanced nervously around. No danger of being ratted out here-The Limerick was known watering hole for regulars with strong pro-IRA sympathies. But there was no sense in taking chances, either. "Don’t be stupid, Kevin-you go to the authorities and I can assure you that your life will be over by sundown. I don’t like Rory in there any more than you do, but we must wait a little longer before we make a move. The worse this looks for Parliament, the more support the resistance will receive. Do you understand? We all must make sacrifices." He took another sip of stout. "Besides, it’s not like she’s being beaten-she’s not suffering."

Kevin felt his eyes well up and he looked away from his father. "You have no idea..." he muttered.

Daniel leaned close to him, "Remember what I said-don’t go gettin’ any stupid ideas." He threw a wad of bills on the counter, "Buy something nice for my grandson and get a haircut!" With that, he motioned to a couple of tough-looking companions who were quietly watching at the bar and left. Kevin slumped down in the corner and wept as he weighed decisions and consequences that no man should have to make.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the end of one era and the beginning of a new one. One champion’s torch passed to the next. Richard Petty, The King was retiring and Jeff Gordon was making his Winston Cup debut. Unfortunately, the end of the line came for The King as the 43 went into a spin and the inside guard rail. Uninjured, he waved to his fans-100,000 strong giving him a standing ovation. The championship battle was being waged between Martin, Kulwicki and Elliot. While Bill Elliot triumphantly took the checkers, Alan Kulwicki became the 1992 Winston Cup Champion.

Michael was one of the first to step up to Alan to congratulate him-the once bitter rivalry long since put behind him. It was the wrap-up of a horrendous year for him. Over the past couple of months, he struggled with which direction he needed in his personal life. Buffy had come by often to help him with his mail, sorting and going through the bills, fan mail and such. Oddly, he received only one letter from Rory around Labor Day weekend and hadn’t heard from her since. His parents and Darrell urged him to annul his marriage on the grounds of abandonment. He didn’t know which way to go-he still deeply loved Rory, but after a year of separation, he was beginning to doubt if he’d ever see her again. It was Caitlin and her needs that he knew he must put first and foremost. It was difficult to bring her up on his own-and the loneliness that he surrounded himself with was crushing him. Away from the camera, he had become somewhat withdrawn and even more moody and temperamental. Darrell’s advice was simple-get on with your life, it’s too damn short to pine away on someone you may never see again.

Walking back to the hauler, Michael bumped into Buffy as she hurried to find Richard Childress for her ride home.

"Hey! Thought you’d be celebratin’ with Alan tonight!" Michael grinned.

"Nah-he’s occupied by the Hooters girls-I can’t compare with them." She returned his smile.

"Mmmm-I wouldn’t say that...I think you could give ’em a run for their hooter-I mean, money!" he didn’t mean it to come out quite like that and started blushing furiously.

Buffy laughed-she thought he was adorable, like a naughty lad caught filching from the cookie jar.

Boldly, standing on her tip-toes, she kissed his cheek. He nearly jumped out of his skin; hair on the back of his neck standing straight up.

"Sorry-couldn’t resist! You’re cute when you get all embarrassed!" she giggled.

Michael stared at her dazed. It had been so long since he felt like this. "It’s ok. Just sorta surprised me, that’s all." Actually, he didn’t mind at all. As friends, he and Buffy had gotten quite close since she came to visit him after his August wreck at Michigan. Impulsively, not even aware of what he was doing, he reached out and pulled her close. He stood there, breathing heavily now, it felt like an out-of-body experience. Buffy likewise, wasn’t sure whether the moment was actually happening either when Michael brushed her mouth with his trembling lips. He felt an almost forgotten sensation of arousal stirring deep in his gut. He held her tightly, his kisses become more urgent. It was this urgency that caused Buffy to yield-she wasn’t quite ready to handle this aspect of their blossoming relationship. "Mike-whoa! I gotta head out-Richard is waiting for me." Michael reluctantly pulled away. "Sorry-don’t know what came over me-guess it’s been awhile..."

Buffy composed herself. "It’s ok-we’ll chalk it up to one of those racin’ deals." She looked up and grinned at him. "I’ll see you Monday afternoon at the shop. Take it easy, Mike." She turned and headed for the Goodwrench hauler.

Michael stood by in a fog as he watched her go. What the hell was he doing? He looked down at his wedding ring and a flood of emotions washed over him. God, help me sort this out, he prayed silently, I only want to do the right thing, I just wish I knew what the right thing was....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

April 1993

Another loss-it almost seemed like it couldn’t be happening. But it did and one aspect of Michael’s life was locked on a new course. Alan Kulwicki was dead-his plane had crashed, snuffing out one of the brightest stars ever to look through the windshield of a stock car. Buffy was shattered-her feelings for Alan ran deeper than she knew herself and now he was gone. Now she and Michael were in the same situation so to speak, both having suffered a loss and like lost souls often do, took comfort in each other’s company.

At Bristol, a couple of days later. Michael did something that when he looked back on it the incident, he often wondered if he was in his right mind. Impulsiveness was one of his character traits that often got him in trouble. Doing things without fully thinking them through was basically the Waltrip way. After a stirring tribute lap, the "Polish Victory Lap" as it came to be called and a moving eulogy to Alan, Michael dropped to his knees and requested the hand of one Elizabeth Franks in marriage. In tears, all Buffy could do is manage an exuberant "yes!". If the great philosopher Confucius had been present, he would have sagely shook his head and advised Buffy, "Be careful what you wish for-you just may get it." The fall-out directed at Michael was even greater- while the media gathered in Bristol’s winner’s circle ate up this touching moment-his peers were less than thrilled. Kyle angrily stormed back to the garage and the one man who Michael looked up to more than even his brother, Dale Earnhardt sadly turned his back on him.

Michael caught up with Earnhardt in the garage. "Dale?"

Earnhardt kept his back turned, "Michael , if you had a brain, you’d stay away from me right now." Turning, he glared. "I’m goddamn mad, crazy mad right now and I can’t talk to you.. Mebbe later, but not now! If you don’t mind, I gotta get ready for practice.."

"Dale-I had to move on..." even to Michael, those words sounded hollow.

"Michael-please-just leave me alone." Earnhardt growled.

"Please listen to me-it’s for the bes-"

"Get the hell outta here, Michael." Earnhardt angrily started out of the garage, "I can’t even look at you right now." He stalked back to pit row, leaving Michael alone. Somewhere a radio was playing an old Springsteen song. The words would come back to haunt Michael as he looked back on this day.

"The price you pay, oh the price you pay..
Now you can’t walk away
From the price you pay...."

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Chapter 19: The Honeymooners

November 1993

BANG-ZOOM! To the moon! An exasperated Michael was thinking, rather perversely- of the old ‘50s sitcom and the character of Ralph Kramden as he pounded on the bedroom door. What would Ralph do? Probably the same thing he was doing-yelling and screaming at his wife. Buffy had barricaded herself in behind the heavy oak door on their wedding night-of all nights. What the hell was she expecting?? Michael thought furiously-we’re gonna sit here and watch TV? He had tried to be patient-he had put up with her teasing for almost a year. He had respected her, he had put her on that ridiculous pedestal that Southern men do for their women. He had wooed her like a gentleman, showered her with flowers, gifts and a diamond the size of a restrictor plate-and for what? The bitter thoughts rattled about his brain. What was he doing wrong?

"Buffy-I am giving you a count of three to open. This. Fucking. Door!" he growled. Not the best choice of words, but he was at the point where he was down to one nerve left. One raw, stretched-to-the-limit, very thin nerve....

"Leave me alone!" Buffy snapped. "You are out of your mind and you need help!" I’m out of my mind? Honey you ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Michael’s frazzled mind was already on the verge of taking a leave of absence as rational thought had packed its bags and left a while ago. He caught a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror and his reflection scared the hell out of him.

His only crime was trying to make love to her-he had held himself back for months. She has some major issues here and she damn well better get over ’em, he muttered to himself.

Michael threw himself on the door. As he pounded against it a second time, Buffy opened it and sent him sprawling face-first on the floor. He scrambled to his feet, facing her. "What the hell did I do? I was just tryin’ to get close to you! You’re my wife, for fuck sake!" he sputtered. She stepped back and stared at him wide-eyed. No doubt contemplating a call to 911, he thought bitterly.

"Michael-I will not have you speak like this to me." She glared up at him, arms folded. "We aren’t home five minutes and you’re all over me! I don’t like being pawed like that-You were all over me like a cheap suite. I’m not one of your pit-sluts, you know!"

Michael shook his head-this isn’t happening, this isn’t happening! He took a step back and a deep breath. "Look, let’s just get a grip for a second. I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I wasn’t pawing you. That is the way I am-it’s called affection. It’s called making love. Elizabeth, what is your problem?" he said quietly. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you." He cautiously walked over to her and embraced her as gently as he could. "Let’s try this again. I don’t know what’s happened in your past to make you afraid, but I want you to know I won’t hurt you." She felt like a pillar of marble in his arms, she was that rigid. He gently urged her on the edge of the bed, still holding her.

Buffy simply could not warm up to him. She enjoyed being with him, his humor, his company. But she was brought up in a very reserved, stalwart Christian family and was quite unprepared for Michael’s physical displays of affection. On one hand, she preferred the quiet, detached mannerism of Alan compared to Michael’s raw passion. Quite simply, she was one of those women who existed on a more cerebral level-she could do quite nicely without the more visceral aspects of marriage. Why did it always have to come down to this? But now I’m his wife, I can’t keep denying him. She looked at Michael’s wounded expression, his sad eyes. Ok, she thought, I’ll try for his sake to enjoy this. She relaxed and nuzzled his neck.

Michael gently laid her back on the bed, tenderly kissing her. Buffy was content with this. But the kisses became more intense as he rolled on top of her. Buffy stared at the ceiling, just give me the strength to get through this, she thought. She returned his kisses, never straying below his neck. Rising, she turned off the light and removed her silk bathrobe, revealing a lace camisole underneath. Michael did likewise, and slid under the covers. He nuzzled her neck, nibbling lightly on her collar. Buffy gingerly caressed his shoulders and and ran her fingers through his hair. She reluctantly let her own kisses travel down his neck and chest.

"Yeah...that’s it ..."he moaned, gently urging her lower. Oh no..not this. Anything but this... She had detested oral sex-period. There were no ands, ifs or buts here as she regarded where he would like her to kiss him next. Ugh, she thought-he’s deformed! The size of it...! She caught his pleading gaze-oshit. Ok, she thought, I’ve made my vows and I’ll give it the old college try...

She moved down his stomach, half-heartedly stroking him. "yeah...take me baby.." he whispered, writhing in anticipation. She started to take him in and froze-I can’t do this. No way...Michael could tell this wasn’t working and pulled her up to him. "It’s ok, you don’t have to..." He gently rolled her on her back, letting his tongue play upon her breasts, stomach and beyond. Grinning to himself, sometimes it’s better to give than receive...

The moment his mouth invaded her, Buffy let out a shriek. Startled, Michael wasn’t sure if he was finally getting to her or if he accidentally bit her. He turned one of his most seductive gazes up at her, "Want some more, darlin’? I can do this all night long.." He lavished one of those lazy smiles that have melted the most hardened pit-lizard’s heart on her. He slowly moved up beside her, seeking her mouth. Finally, I found something that works, he thought. That thought was interrupted by a quick slap on the cheek. "What the hell-!"

She shoved his face away. "Ugh-Michael that is disgusting!" He stared at her in utter disbelief. God help him he almost said it-Rory would never push me away...but he didn’t-at least not this time. Now frustrated, hurt and disappointed, he rolled off her and sat up. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. I have to get away from this before I do or say something I’ll end up regretting. Rising and gathering his cloths, he headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked, puzzled.

"I can’t deal with this anymore tonight. I’m sleeping on the couch where it’s warm." he growled. What the hell did I get myself into?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

January 1994

In a rough little bar near Daytona dubiously called "The Hornet’s Nest", Dale Earnhardt leaned back on his stool, regarding his besotted companion. On one hand, Michael’s nuptial miseries amused him-served him right jumpin’ into this deal with Buffy. (This one’ s for you, Rory, he grinned to himself.) On the other, being one of his closest friends, it deeply hurt him to see Michael so sad-it seemed as if the poor kid was meant to suffer for the rest of his life. Quit it, he told himself, stop feeling sorry for him-it’s the only way he’s ever gonna learn.

"Ready for another one?" Michael grunted, belching as he polished off another bottle of Bud. Earnhardt shook his head, "Nah-I’m still nursin’ this one." He leaned over to Michael, "Ok-so I take it the honeymoon’s over. Man, you look like shit. What’d she do to you?" Of late, Michael had been eating and drinking way too much; he had nearly packed on thirty pounds, his once racehorse-sleek physique was now getting a bit paunchy. Jesus, Rory would kick his ass if she saw how he had let himself go, Earnhardt thought. He had also taken up smoking, much to Dale’s dismay-Christ didn’t he live dangerously enough?

"Try what didn’t she do to me!" Michael snapped. Earnhardt continued to quietly stare at him with that same droll poker face. Michael glared at him, warning him that if he so much as said one "I-told-you-so", he would be driving the Goodwrench Chevy with a boot lodged up his ass. Earnhardt returned the icy stare with a disarming grin. Michael shook his head-why be angry at Dale? He knew all along.... This was just another in a long line of learnin’ ‘speriences for him. Earnhardt admonished, "Don’t be pissed at me-you didn’t listen to me! Just went on and did your own thing and got hitched to ol’ Ice Box anyway!" He took a sip of warm beer. "Oh, I got into Teresa ‘bout meddlin’-she’s the one that put Buffy up to chasin’ you. Told her to mind her damn business and stay outta it. But you know how she can be when it comes to that matchmakin’ shit..."

Michael stared at the floor, "Let’s see, she had the whole Bahamas cruise packed fulla shit to do-not one unscheduled minute. I think she even penciled in each time I took a leak. By the time we got back to our room, I was so exhausted, I couldn’t lift a foot, let alone my dick!" Earnhardt snorted at this and rolled his eyes heavenward.

Michael continued, "What’s worse is this-I like being with her. She’s a good woman-great with helping me with my business, great with Caitlin, good cook. But whenever I try to get close to her, she freezes right up! I’ve turned myself inside out trying to turn her on, but it’s like she dead from the hips down!" He stared at the floor, "Guess that makes me a real asshole-I feel like I’m just being selfish or something....Dale-I just don’t know what to do anymore..."

Earnhardt sighed, "Well you’ve made the bed, and now you gotta lie in it. Lemme ask you this and be honest with me." He fixed him with a steely gaze, "Do you love her?"

Michael looked at him, but couldn’t look him in the eye. That alone told Earnhardt all he needed to know, but he wanted to hear the words. "Do you?" he asked again.

"Like I said, Buffy’s a great person and I enjoy being with her..." he desperately searched for words. "I guess so...I mean, she’s different than Ro-...it’s a whole different deal than before." he finished lamely. "I was thinkin’ of Caitlin and her growin’ up without a momma.....oshit...I fucked up big time didn’t I.." he said softly.

Earnhardt put his empty glass on the counter, and looked at his old friend and put his hand on Michael’s arm. Yes, you fucked up and it wouldn’t be the first time, he thought. Been listening to Darrell too much...

"And did you ever stop to think about what’s gonna happen when her real momma comes home? What are you gonna do then? Did that ever enter your mind?" Berating him wasn’t going to solve anything. "Well, I’ve always been there for you-shit, if it hadn’t been for you at Talladega, I might not even be here.! I guess we’ll burn those bridges when we get to ‘em. But do me a favor-next time Darrell tries to give you advice run it by me first before you act on it? And I’ll try to keep Teresa in line." He wiped the foam of beer from his mustache, looking at the clock on the wall

Michael glanced up too, afternoon test was starting soon and he was skunked. "I think I’m gonna sit this one out-Bobby can drive the car."

Earnhardt sadly looked out at the ocean across the road. "Too bad Rory wasn’t here-she woulda loved to get behind the wheel of that car..." he said wistfully, almost to himself. If Michael heard him, he gave no indication. Little Girl, he thought, I hope you’re doin’ a helluva lot better than he is.

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While Michael was drowning his sorrows at the Hornet’s Nest, Teresa and Buffy were putting up a simple lunch of fried chicken and macaroni salad for the boys at the track. Teresa cast a knowing glance at the silent Buffy as she cracked a couple of hard-boiled eggs. She ain’t said boo about the trip.

"Ok lady, spill your guts! You ain’t said a dang thing since you’ve gotten back." Teresa stood there, hands on her hips.

"Oh the trip was wonderful! I’ll dig out the pictures as soon as we’re done here. We did so much sight-seeing-God it was beautiful!" she exclaimed. There was something hollow about her tone that raised Teresa’s hackles.

"And if wishes were horses, we’d all be ridin’!" she snorted. "Something happened ‘tween you two. Michael’s been miserable around the garage-more than usual. So what happened?"

Buffy sighed and sat down. No use trying to hide from Teresa. "I love Mike-he’s really a sweet guy-I love his sense of humor, he’s a wonderful father..." she broke off and looked up at Teresa.

"But what?" Teresa asked.

"I can’t please him-not the way he wants, anyway." Buffy stared at the ceiling, it was easier than trying to look Teresa in the eye. "I know it’s me-I just don’t know how to deal with him when he’s like that...he’s so passionate, Ter! I’m not used to that-and frankly some of the things he likes just flat-out turn me off. I can’t help it..." her voice broke.

"Look Buffy-I’m not saying you should do things you aren’t comfortable with, but you wanted this! You wanted this whole Mrs. Winston Cup Driver’s Wife deal and now you’re getting cold feet?" she sat down in the chair opposite Buffy. "Listen, darlin’-he’s out there every weekend riskin’ his neck so you could live your dream. My advice is this-you better just get your biscuits in the oven and your little buns into bed with that man or he’s gonna be gone like a draft line at ‘Dega!"

"I just had no idea he was like this!" she said softly.

"What do you mean you didn’t know how he was?? Christ, Buff! He was always makin’ out with Rory-hell one time he was supposed to meet Dale in the garage at Darlington. Well, Dale got hung up with one of the officials and when he came back, Michael had her pinned on the hood of his car!" Buffy shuddered at the image. "Sorry for the visual Buff, but you can’t sit there and say you didn’t know what a horndog he is!"

"I guess I just thought he’d be different with me-I thought he’d change! He never tried anything other than a kiss the whole time he dated me."

"And I’m sure he spent a lot of time in a cold shower afterward." Teresa said dryly. "Or spankin’ the monkey..."

"Teresa! God! Do you have to be so gross about it??"

Teresa shook her head. "Sorry-but you gotta lighten up girlfriend. If you wanna keep him, you better just sit back and enjoy the ride. Just think of all the sweet, young things out there that would love to get their hands on him. Think about those hips that won‘t quit!" Now serious, she added. "Think about what one more heartache might do to him."

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On pit-row, Michael watched Sterling and Jeff Gordon in a mock battle as they streaked around the track. Bobby told him that he wasn’t on the schedule to test that afternoon, so Michael planned on a return trip to the Hornet’s Nest as soon as Earnhardt was done. Darrell was already done for the day and was making his way to the Pennzoil war wagon, grinning broadly. "Hey Bro!" Michael waved to him. As Darrell got closer, he could smell the beer and cigarettes. Shit, he’s drunk again...hope Bobby don’t let him anywhere near that car...

"Dayum, you don’t plan on drivin’ today do you?" Damn is right, boy can hardly stand up straight, Darrell thought.

"Nah-I’m just watchin’" he regarded Darrell behind his mirrored shades, taking another drag on his cigarette. This annoyed Darrell and he promptly removed the butt from his brother’s mouth. Michael opened his mouth in protest.

"Not one word or I’ll knock your head clean off!" Darrell growled, "What the hell’s the matter with you lately?"

You son-of-a-bitch, you got me into this mess-shoulda never listened to you in the first place! Michael thought but knew better than to say it. He sighed, "I dunno, Darrell-just dunno what to do anymore... I think I made a mistake in gettin’ married. Me and Buffy are like night and day-just ain‘t workin‘ out." he said simply.

"If I had a dime for every time me and Stevie had a battle, I wouldn’t be doin’ this shit! She’s a good, Christian woman, Mike. Give it a chance, give it time." Darrell laid a hand on his shoulder. "You did the right thing, trust me-it will work out! It will all work out for the better."

The two walked back to the driver’s compound. A herd of kids clung to the fence, excited to see the drivers. One thing that usually cheered Michael was interacting with the fans, having been one himself not that long ago. One freckled imp eagerly climbed the fence, grasping a Pennzoil cap in his tiny hands. Grinning, Michael ambled over. "Hey there!" he smiled broadly. The lad’s father stood by, smiling.

"Say-don’t think you could drag your brother over here, could you?" he said softly.

"Sure! Hey Darrell-get over here and say ’hey’ to this man!" Michael was enjoying the simple adoration of the youngster. "What’s your name?" he said as he signed his name on the cap.

"John Bogart! That’s my dad-we came all the way from Oswego to see you." the boy was so excited he could barely speak.

"Oswego? Where’s that at?" Michael asked, putting the finishing touches on his elaborate signature.

The older gentleman spoke up. "Upstate New York-we’re just escaping the snow! Been a fan of your brother’s for a long time-it’s great seein’ you both out there now."

Darrell had joined them, "Well I’da retired but somebody has to keep an eye on him!" Michael felt good making these two snowbirds happy-it was all so routine interacting with fans to him but it was something that the man and his son would keep with them forever. (*Author’s note-this is based on a true incident, kids-that man was my Uncle Burt and my cousin John and yes, he still has that hat!)

Darrell and Michael signed for a few others that joined the fence and then headed back to the compound.

Michael had decided to forgo the Hornet’s Nest for tonight anyway. The encounter with the fans seemed to put him in a better frame of mind knowing that somebody looked up to him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael stole up behind Buffy as she sat the key lime pie on the table. He gently bussed her neck and just stood there holding her. Buffy could smell his beery breath and was about to reprimand him when she saw Darrell shaking his head. She sighed, "Where’ve you been all day? I was worried ..."

"Just hanin’ with Dale, signin’ autographs-the usual stuff." he nuzzled her hair. There was something different about him, he seemed happier tonight. Teresa’s words kept ringing in her ears as she tenderly kissed his cheek. "Come sit down, supper’s gettin’ cold."

Darrell stood up and headed for the door. "You don’t have to go now. Stay for dinner." Buffy offered.

"Thanks but no thanks-gotta find the Redhead-I was gonna take her to dinner tonight." That was a fib-but it looked like his brother needed some time alone with Buffy. "I’ll see you kids tomorrow. Hey-come on over for breakfast-Stevie’s been dyin’ to have y’all over for her blueberry pancakes!"

"Sounds like a plan." Buffy leaned against Michael. It actually felt good to have him hold her like this. "If we can get up in time." With that, Michael glanced at his wife and grinned. "Plan on sleepin’ in?" he coyly asked. Hmm..could it be? he thought to himself, am I gonna get lucky tonight?

She poked him in the ribs, "Well, that’s up to you now and how late we stay up tonight!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that evening with Michael snoring loudly beside her, Buffy curled up at his side and draped her arm across his chest. That wasn’t so bad, she thought, maybe I could learn to like this. It had been a good evening and when she let him make love to her, she was amazed at how gentle he could be. She looked over at him-he was still had the faint traces of a smile on his face. You’re one sexy beast, she thought, I just wish I could appreciate that part of you more. Michael stirred beside and as if reading her thoughts, spooned himself around her. Kissing her forehead, he murmured "Love you..." and resumed his snoring. Buffy sighed and rested her head against his shoulder. Maybe the honeymoon isn’t over yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 20: Love, Forgiveness and Redemption-1995-2001

"All the promises we made,
From the Cradle to grave
When all I want is you..."
-U2, from Rattle & Hum

Belfast October 1995

Rory handed Kevin a batch of letters she had written to mail out. Kevin casually looked through them , shaking his head. "I dunno why yer wastin’ your time writin’ to him, sister. After what that bastard did to you..." She rolled her eyes, "We’ve been through that a hundred times, why do you insist on bringing it up again?" she inquired sharply. Why did she still write to him? He never responded-at first she thought that Kevin never sent the letters out, but she did get a few back with a hand-written "Return to Sender" on them-clearly not Michael‘s script. Then that awful day she saw the notice in the Winston Cup Scene. The issues that she received were often a couple of months past the issue date, but it kept her in touch so to speak with her former life. The notice of his marriage to Buffy. Rory wanted to die at first but reason got the better of her. Why should he put his life on hold? Life goes on, broken hearts mend. Rory wished them well. She still wrote to him-it was more like therapy now. She updated him on Mickey-how big he had gotten, his first word, his first steps. She had basically given up hope of ever seeing him again, at least in this life. Somehow she hoped that deep in his heart, some part of him still loved her, had never given up on her. They all wondered why she didn’t let go of his memory. Simple-she still loved Michael as much as the day she left him and she would never love another. All she had to do is look at Mickey wriggling on Bridy’s lap and she saw him again. The same lopsided grin, those bright blue eyes and dark curls.

Rory also kept in touch with the Pettys-how she still loved old Richard. And Kyle-he was as much of a brother as Kevin. She missed Patty and Adam every day. Kyle kept her up to date on Adam’s driving-he would be carrying Petty Enterprise-he was their hope for the future. And then there was Dale-he wrote sporadically-being as busy as he was, he still found the time to send out a brief letter or card. He never gave up hope-whenever he got the chance, he was constantly needling every senator, congressman, and even President Clinton for help in her case. Clinton proved their best hope for resolution-he was deeply involved in the Northern Ireland peace negotiations. Rory had grown numb to the endless miles of red-tape and stalemates. She preferred letters about how Junior was doing with his budding racing career, how Kerry and the kids were doing and his occasional pissin’ and moanin’ about the other drivers. (including Michael)

"Well sis, gotta run-Mickey needs to get his inoculations if he’s gonna start pre-school and I’ve got a couple of errands. We’ll be seein’ you tomorrow." Kevin rose and kissed Rory on the forehead and gathered Mickey in his arms.

"Bye Mum!" Mickey chirped as he threw his pudgy arms around Rory’s neck. "Love you!"

"Bye now darlin’, I’ll see you tomorrow. Love of my life, Mickey." she whispered. This was always the hardest part of the day. Since Mickey had gotten older, he went to stay with Bridy and Kevin as Long Kesh was no place to bring up a child. Rory stood by the barred window and watched them leave, eyes welling up. Some days were better than others, but today she seemed particularly blue. She held the tears back by sheer will. It may had been the argument Kevin had started about the letters. Why , oh why didn’t Michael ever write back? She still had his last and only letter he had written to her-he had vowed to keep in touch. So why did he stop? Stop it! I’m sure there’s a reason for it, she thought. Then an odd thought dawned on her- Buffy! That’s it! She’s been going through the mail before he gets a chance at it-it could be the only explanation. Rory sighed, oh to hell with her-if I ever get out of here, she’ll rue the day she ever seen my face. Her musings were interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Rory-it’s just me! Care for some company, dear?" It was Sister Maria, one of the prison counselors. Rory was relieved-she didn’t care to be alone with her thoughts any longer today.

"Come in, please! I could use someone to talk to." she tried not to sound to desperate. When she was first brought to Long Kesh, she resented the clergy’s intrusion but now welcomed their warming presence.

There was a rattling of keys and Sister Maria entered with a guest in tow. He looked vaguely familiar-medium height, blocky build and hair that was dyed a strange blue-black. Rory had grown fond of the young nun and spent many a lonely day in her company-but who was her friend? A new priest-sure now, he didn’t look like a priest! He almost looked like-

"Bono?" Rory asked, incredulously. The veteran musician smiled warmly, slate-blue eyes sparkling. He gently took her hands in his. "Rory Waltrip-I’m honored to finally meet you." he said softly, his eyes never left her face. "I’ve heard so much about you from Amnesty International-what you’ve endured breaks my heart. I mean that and I want to help you." Bono, along with other notables in the music community, was well known for his work in bringing attention of the plight of political prisoners and human rights abuse to the masses. He had often given his voice to those that had all but given up and surrendered their own.

While many of his peers were merely posturing for the sake of publicity, Bono was genuinely concerned and had given much of his time to various causes. When he heard a story about a young Irish woman who was imprisoned on trumped up charges in the hopes of luring her terrorist father and torn from her American husband and daughter, he felt compelled to do all he could to help her.

"Honored? To meet me? I think it should be the other way ‘round!" she exclaimed. She sighed, "But what could you do that hasn’t been done already?"

Maria smiled gently, "Oh what this man can’t do! He’s done wonders to bring attention to situations like yours!"

Bono chuckled, "Oh please, Sister! It’s just that I don’t give up easily, and the squeaky wheel get the grease as they say. I’ve got my connections, the ears that I can bend. I’ve been known to worm my way around politicians-God knows, they‘re slippery enough." Bono looked at her wall and paused at a fading photo pinned to the wall. It was a shot of Rory, Michael, Kyle and Richard Petty at Level Cross.

"Holy shit! Is that Richard Petty? How do you know him?" he had the unabashed adulation of the most rabid fan.

Rory followed his gaze and sighed, " Aye-‘tis Himself. I used to work for Petty Enterprises hanging sheet metal on the cars. The big fella to my right is my husband Michael. Or he used to be, that is..."

"Really? You know, when I think of America, there’s a few people that come to mind: Elvis, Martin Luther King and Richard Petty-the three Kings! Wow-that’s incredible!" he shook his head, "Ach- we have to get you out of here, Rory. Get you back to your people."

"I know Kyle has forever assured me a job in his garage-I’m not worried about where I’d go. But I’ve since lost my husband-he remarried and I haven’t heard from him in a couple of years." she said sadly.

"Tis a pity he couldn’t be a bit more patient...aye, the heart goes on but hope can’t follow without it". He murmured sadly. Bono fingered the photo-dear God, she looks so happy there! He cast a gaze at her now-haunted eyes and lips that had a sad shadow of a smile. "I’m thinking of taking in the Daytona 500 next year-never seen one of those races up close. I could take a message for you if I can get close enough to him, that is."

Rory thought for a moment- oh this was madness! I won’t pin my hopes on this man, no matter if he’s raised the dead and walks on water! She walked over and retrieved a small silver cross that she made. It was the classic Celtic cross with the eternal interlocking knot-work. It was strung on a simple braided silver chain about 12" long-she had planned on giving it to Mickey. I could make him another-this one’s for Caitlin, she thought.

"If you make it to the race, give this to Michael for our daughter. Give them both my love and my hope that I’ll see them again." she slipped the cross in Bono’s hand. She had to trust him on this, she had to keep the faith alive. Suddenly she felt alive herself-for the first time since she left North Carolina an eternity ago. She would return-and she would take back what was rightfully hers. Turning, she looked directly at him, eyes blazing, "You’ve sung about saving the world and saving the children-can you save me?"

Bono swallowed hard, "You will be out of here, mark my words. This injustice has gone on long enough."

He added a silent prayer to himself, God if I never accomplish another thing, please grant her freedom.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

On a crisp, late November day, the dark red Chevelle charged along the winding highway. The hills were all blazing with Autumn’s finery, it was a good day to be alive. Michael effortlessly shifted the car through it’s gears on the winding road. Beside him, Buffy occasionally glanced at her watch, keeping track of the time as her husband nonchalantly enjoyed the scenery and the power of old muscle car that he recently restored.

"Mike, we have to be back in Charlotte for the dinner by six. We should be starting back..." It was the Busch Ladies Auxiliary dinner, one of the social highlights of the post-season. Michael puffed out his cheeks-he was enjoying the relaxation of the road and could care less about the dinner. He hated those events but Buffy lived for them as much as he lived for the races.

Sighing, he relented, "Ok-we’ll start back." Ozzy Osbourne’s "Crazy Train" rumbled over the radio and he promptly cranked it up, much to Buffy’s annoyance. Grinning, he mimicked Ozzy’s maniacal laughter and floored the accelerator; the old Chevy lurched forward to nearly 80 miles an hour. Buffy rolled her eyes. God, he can be so immature, she thought. It was cute when we first started dating, but it’s getting old.. She reached over and turned the volume down. "Oh I can’t stand him! Try to find some Garth Brooks, will ya?" she muttered testily. In the back seat, Caitlin squealed with glee as the Chevy flew down the road. Suddenly she yelled, "Daddy! Horsies!"

Ignoring Buffy’s protests, Michael swerved the car to a stop along a sparkling white post and rail fence. A large heard of yearlings peacefully grazed in a vast pasture shadowed by the Smoky Mountains. A small cabin sat a distance from the field on which an old couple sat in their porch rockers and watched the tall man hoisting the little girl high on his shoulders to get a better view of the horses. "Look, Punkin! That there’s what ya call a Pinto." Michael pointed to a chestnut and white mare as she curiously wandered over to the fence. She nosed Caitlin’s offered hand and allowed the child to stroke her forehead. Caitlin held out a piece of graham cracker cookie which the mare happily swept of her hand. Michael looked back at the old couple on the porch and a sudden wave of sad wistfulness enveloped him. It brought back a half-remembered dream of a peaceful future. It also brought back the painful memory of Rory. God, how he missed her! He thought of her often lately and the things that could’ve been. He had tried to put it all behind him and build a life with Buffy, but his first wife haunted his thoughts .

"MICHAEL! COME ON IT’S GETTING LATE!" Buffy yelled from the car.

"Buff, come over here for a sec-I wanna show you somethin’". he called.

Buffy shook her head-Jesus! Daydreaming again! She angrily walked over to the fence. She was oblivious to the pastoral beauty around them-all she could see was the late arrival for a rather important dinner party.

"What!?" she snapped. This is ridiculous! What are the other guests going to think when they come waltzing in an hour late? Sure enough, he was leaning on the rail with that faraway, wistful look on his face.

"See that little cabin? How’d you like somethin’ like that someday? Just us sittin’ on the porch and a bunch of kids runnin’ wild in the yard?" He turned to her and took her hand, "We’ll just sit in our rockers like those folks over there and grow old together.."

Buffy’s eyes blazed. "We’re growin’ old just standin’ here! Is that what you dragged me over here for?? Michael, are you out of your mind? We’re late for an important dinner that includes potential sponsors and all you can talk about is a pipedream!?"

"Aww, c’mon honey...we need to slow down! It’s the end of the season-we ain’t gotta be anywhere...." he put his arms around her. Buffy stiffened, she was clearly not in the mood and he was completely ignoring the warning signs. He buried his face in her hair. "Don’t you want to start on that big ol’ family?" he whispered.

Buffy backed up, fuming "Hell no! One’s enough, for Pete’s sake! The last thing I want is a herd of kids runnin’ wild! Now let’s go-now!" She started back for the car, leaving Michael and Caitlin in her wake.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1996 came and went as Michael enjoyed his first season with the Wood Brothers driving the fabled 21. The drivers that went to victory with that number on the side of their car were the stuff of legend. Michael’s first victory in a Winston Cup event also came in that car. Although the Winston all-star event at Charlotte Motor Speedway (now Lowes), was a non-point, bragging rights only race, it was still a victory. The orange Citgo Thunderbird started 23rd after finishing well in the qualifying heat. By rights, the car should not have won. On the white flag lap, Dale Earnhardt tangled with Terry Labonte (in one of their several duels) and Michael slipped underneath them to take the checkers. Darrell, who had been experiences problems with his car, finished last. He casually asked Jeff Hammond in the pits who won. "Michael won!" Jeff shouted.

"Michael who?" Darrell had forgotten his brother was even in the final heat! Once he realized that it was his brother, he sprinted towards victory lane; tears streaming down his face. He nearly crushed his brother in a bear hug. It was a joyful night for all involved.

Michael finished the season in twelfth place-one of the best finishes of his career. As the teams rolled into Daytona for the start of the 1997 season, he was pumped up-this could be the year of his first top 10. Len and Glen Wood, hard task-masters both, were pleased with his first season with them.

As Buffy was preparing dinner in their coach, Michael burst through the door with a bottle of champagne and a dozen roses. Nothing could deflate his mood tonight! He had a potentially winning vehicle and it was the start of what could be his best season yet. He swept Buffy up in his arms and firmly planted his lips over her mouth. She relented, as he lifted her off her feet and carried her to the bedroom. She dutifully yielded to him-let him have his fun, she thought, there was nothing planned for the evening. Buffy viewed their infrequent coupling as just part of the job-it went with the territory. It was the part of the job that she never really grew to enjoy, although she at least on occasion tried. As she stared at the ceiling of the coach, she wondered who he was thinking of, not that she really cared anymore. As long as we look like Nascar’s first couple to the sponsors and the public, let him fantasize all he wants. Michael, ever a creature of routine, endured this situation-he couldn’t afford the controversy another divorce would bring-especially financially. He honestly enjoyed Buffy’s company-when she wasn’t nagging or dragging him to social event, that is-basically he simply hated to be alone. Bad company was better than none at all at home.

As he made love to Buffy, in his mind he was far away. He could still remember Rory and the way she used to make him feel. He thought of her more and more these days-couldn’t understand for the life of him why she never wrote anymore. He remembered the way her lips hungrily devoured him-ogod what those lips did to him! He started moving faster, driving deeper with each thrust.

"Oww! Take it easy!" Buffy squirmed as his hips ground into her. Finally, he was finished and collapsed, exhausted on top of her. Buffy wriggled out from underneath him as he soon started snoring. It had been a long day, Buffy yawned and curled up beside him instead of making her usual exodus to the shower. She kept telling herself-he’s such a good man! Why can’t you just accept him for who he is? In short, Buffy still missed Alan-so serious, so focused. Michael was the complete opposite and on occasion, he completely drove her mad with his silliness, loosing races that he should have won and his occasional temper tantrums.

He was constantly getting in fights with crew members and other drivers. She tried to block out the incident a couple of summers ago in Michigan after Lake Speed had bumped him in the final lap, he pulled the 30 in front of Speed’s car, got out and tried to punch the daylights out of the offending driver. In front of the thousands in the stands and millions who watched the incident on television. It set him back ten thousand dollars and probation for a year. But she enjoyed the prestige and company of the other wives and the myriad of award ceremonies, dinners and the social status being his wife brought. We all have to pay the piper, she thought and drifted off to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As the 1997 Daytona 500 wound down to the last few laps, it was ever the pageant of excitement, color, speed and sound. Bono was completely overwhelmed-he felt like a spectator at Rome’s Bread and Circuses. He was also slightly intoxicated as Kevin proved to be quite content to keep plying him with beer. Bono didn’t mind-the beer kept Kevin in a lively mood and away from thoughts of assassinating his estranged brother-in-law. He kept his hand on the chain and cross in his pocket-it was his God-given mission to make sure it left with the driver of the Citgo Thunderbird. Due to his own hectic schedule, he never did make the 1996 edition of the 500 but this year he planned to carry out his vow to Rory. The live race was nothing like he had seen on the BBC at home. On the edge of his seat, he hollered to Kevin, "Who’s in front?"

"Can’t tell-I think it’s some bloke named Gordon."

"How can you tell?"

"Those two in black shirts below me keep yellin’ for ‘im to crash! They’re howlin’ for the guy in that black car!"

Bono thumbed through his program, trying to see which driver was which. "Oh look-here’s that Kyle fella in Rory’s picture." He continued to look through the book as he dodged a flying beer can. "Let’s see....Waltrip, Darrell...aha...here ‘tis-Michael. That’s him in the 21."

Suddenly the crowd rose as one to it’s feet as the dreaded "Big One"-that hideous melee of cars and smoke-unfolded. Frantically, he grabbed at the binoculars of the person to his left.

"FUCK! What’s going on?? Kevin-can you see anything??" he yelled. Bono was horrified as he watched what he perceived as fatalities unfolding everywhere as the cars slammed into each other, the wall and tore through the infield. They’re all dead! Sure now, they’re dead! Nobody could walk away from this! Madness-it’s all madness! He honestly felt sick as he visualized the paramedics pulling the broken bodies out of the wreckage. The caution flag was out, slowing down the others on the track while the rescue workers went about their business.

A person behind him said it looked like Marlin cut a tire down and the rest piled into him.

"Where’s Waltrip??" Bono shouted. He stared in horrified fascination as spilled fuel burst into flame underneath one of the ruined vehicles. I can’t take anymore of this! Ogod! Those poor lads....

"Which one?" said the gent who he was choking with the binocular strap.

"Michael! Where’s Michael??" he yelled back.

"Michael? Who the fuck cares? Darrell’s in front!"

Kevin attempted to stand on his seat to see above the throng, but ended up toppling over face-first into the ample lap of the woman behind him.

"Get off me! Drunken Asshole!" The large woman yelled. Kevin scrambled to his feet, grinning.

"Sorry ‘bout that, missus! But you gotta admit that was the best thing you’ve had all year!" he cheekily announced. Meanwhile, Bono kept searching the field for the 21 and spotted it as it came to rest against a wall in the infield. A wrecker was promptly on it’s way along with an ambulance.

"That’s him! Come on, Kev-we gotta get to the garage!" Bono started down the grandstand. It was just as well they left now-the woman that Kevin just insulted was rising with her equally beefy husband to pound the bejesus out of the both of them. They both had pit-passes but getting past security to the garage was going to be a challenge. Hopefully, the huge wreck would temporarily provide a cover for them as they scurried through the tunnel and into the pits.

The two dodged the war-wagons, wreckers, media and security guards. Bono looked frantically for the 21-it was easy to find-it had been painted like a Dalmatian for some promotional thing that Citgo was doing.

He heard somebody yell - "Hey, look! Ain’t that the guy from U2?!" Ofuck! Bono thought. Turning to Kevin, he handed him the cross as he saw the autograph seekers descending on him. "Find him, Kev! Remember, do it for Rory! I’ll hold these guys back!!" he yelled.

Kevin, dazed with beer and adrenalin, ran towards the 21, it now had it’s hood up as steam poured out of the engine cavity. He slammed against the driver’s side door-the window net was down and Michael was unbuckling his harness, no doubt figuring that his day here was done.

"Hey! Michael!" Kevin hollered. At the sound of the dense brogue, Michael looked up as if shot. Kevin also looked up as the security guards stalked towards him. He desperately pushed the cross and chain into Michael’s hand as the driver stared at him stunned.

"Ya bastard! Ya spineless, fucking bastard!" Kevin hissed, " Ya broke my sister’s heart-she’s on the verge of being set free and ya gave up! I could kill ya for what ya did to her! But she sends this with her love-after all she’s been through, she still loves ya-God knows ya ain’t worthy of her and never was. Please give it to Caitlin! That’s her wish...." he felt the guards rudely grabbing him and pulling him away from the car.

"Kevin?" Michael finally found his tongue. "Kevin!" He started climbing out of the car as the guards dragged Kevin towards the garage exit.

One of the burly men turned to Michael. "You know him?"

"Yeah, he’s my brother-in-law! I need to talk to him!" Michael yelled. He heard the hood slam down on the 21, Glen Wood was shouting for him to get back in the car. The crew chief grabbed Michael and urged him back to the vehicle as Kevin was escorted out. Kevin yelled out, "She still loves you, Michael! She hasn’t forgotten you....!" He was cut off as the Ford barked back to life and thundered back to the track. Michael furiously slammed his fist into the dash. After years of dormancy, the searing pain in his heart had returned as long-buried memories came flooding back. Tears smarted his eyes, he could barely see the track and the other cars around him. All he could see was Rory’s face as he settled the 21 behind the bumpers of Schrader and Rusty.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherrill’s Ford -a month later-

Michael struggled with the heavy cedar chest as he tried to remove it from the bedroom. Buffy wanted to do some remodeling and it was fine with him. It gave him something to do and it kept his mind off his troubles. The year had started out terribly with the wreck at Daytona and was going slowly downhill since. He couldn’t focus and as far as the Wood Brothers were concerned, his days with them were numbered. He dragged the heavy chest across the floor-shit! what did she have in here? Rocks?

Breathing heavily, he opened the trunk-hmmm, that’s odd, he mused. Some linens, a Bible, some silverware-this stuff couldn’t be what was weighing this thing down. He knocked on the floor of the trunk-hmmm-a false bottom? What the hell....

His fingers pried the lining shelf up-it was heavy and made of oak-it felt as though it weighed a ton. Beneath the shelf, there were letters-dozens of them. He looked through the bundles, his heart was pounding so hard it felt as if it would leap out of his chest. Belfast-they were all post-marked from Belfast. Whatthefuckisthis....! Swallowing hard, he ripped into one of the older ones.

"Dearest Michael,
Just wanted to drop you a line to wish your brother a happy birthday! Tell the old fart that it’s never older only better....."

Rory! All the letters she sent-six years worth of them! Dear God, why did she keep the letters from him? Elizabeth. That fucking bitch...it was over-now it was over! She would never have to worry about him trying to make love to her again-it was done. He slumped on the floor and started reading.......

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy returned home around six later that evening. The doctor had confirmed her condition. Pregnant. Well-this will put an end to his whoring around. Odd, she thought, it’s early and the house is dark. His truck was in the driveway, but otherwise the house showed no sign of life. Oh well, the way he’s been acting lately, nothing surprises me anymore.

"Mike? I’m home..." she entered the den. Michael sat in the semi-darkness, coldly regarding her as she walked into the room. He had spent all afternoon reading through the letters, reliving the horror of prison, the loneliness, her undying love for him, the son he never knew.....

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" She turned one of the lights on. "How’s the bedroom coming?"

Clueless-fucking clueless. Michael rose from the sofa and grabbed her shoulders. She prattled on, "Got the confirmation from the doctor-we’re pregnant!" She turned to see the stony look in his eyes and immediately regretted turning on the light. Her victorious smile faded when she saw the dark expression on his face. Furious and snarling, he shook Rory’s last letter in her face.

"Why?" he growled hoarsely. "How could you do this?? I can’t believe you kept her letters from me! Not only did you keep her from me-you kept her from her own daughter! And why? WHY??! To keep me as some sort of trophy-keep your so-called social status?! Don’t you think I’ve been through enough? Answer me, Elizabeth."

Unfazed, Buffy stared back at him. "Oh Michael, enough with the melodramatics! You needed to get over her, Michael-for your own good and Caitlin’s." she snapped . "Didn’t you hear what I just told you? I’m pregnant! Now you’re going to have to deal with it! This is your baby too! Don’t even think of divorcing me now! After all I’ve done for you! I’ve gotten you sponsors! Who do you think begged the Wood Brothers to reconsider you? Could Rory have done that for you? I doubt it! She was nothing but a simple mechanic! She was nothing but a criminal’s daughter and she was probably just as much a terrorist as he was!" Now she stared directly into his face and spat, "In short, Michael, you wouldn’t be where you are now if it wasn’t for me-it takes more that that little whore’s charms to make it in this business!"

Michael raised his hand as if to strike her-then reconsidered. This situation was already out of control and as much as he hated her for what she said, he knew he was trapped. Still she egged him on, "What’s the matter? Go ahead, Michael-you better make the first shot a good one.." she whispered. He had to leave and leave now; it would be so damn, fucking easy to break her neck. I have to walk away from this and think this over....

Clenching his jaw, he muttered, "Damn you" He turned to leave, but before he walked out the door, he turned. "Don’t ever keep another thing from me again, Elizabeth. Do you hear me? I can‘t talk to you anymore tonight-but remember this-I‘m the one putting a roof over your precious little head and financing your little ass and even if it costs me everything I own, I can still walk away. Then where would you be? You‘d have be a ‘nothing‘ again, a working -stiff nothing like Rory. Fate worse than death, right sweetie?" His smoldering glare never left her face.

Buffy returned the volley, "Are you threatening me?? If that’s a threat, Michael, I can make you sorry you ever saw my face!"

"I already am. Good night, Elizabeth." he turned and left. Buffy stared silently after him as she heard his pickup start and squeal out of the driveway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

September 1997

"It’s a girl!" exclaimed the doctor as he held the tiny, wrinkled being aloft. After drying her off, the nurse promptly handed her to Michael. I don’t want this, he thought, I want out....then he looked at the tiny hands, wide blue eyes so like his own. Shit-it’s not her fault. Michael fell in love with the little miracle the moment he laid eyes on her. He had insisted on naming her Margaret in honor of his mother. He held her close-she reminded him of Caitlin when she was born and a much happier time-it seemed a hundred years ago. He silently assured her, even though Macy couldn’t possibly understand him, that no matter what happened, her daddy would always love her. Macy grinned at him and tried to stick her tiny hand in his mouth. Buffy quietly regarded the two of them, knowing full well that they would be inseparable. She felt mildly embarrassed having called him every kind of son-of-a-bitch in the book as she endured the labor. Well-he wanted a big family and he deserved every word she said after he put her through this pain.

The nurse took Macy and returned her to Buffy’s arms. Michael went back to the waiting room and gave the news to Caitlin, Darrell and Stevie. "She’s gorgeous! Like a little angel.." He secretly wanted to name her Rory but naturally that would have resulted in World War Three.

Macy and Caitlin were to become his only comfort at home-Buffy more or less threw herself into her various charities and social functions. That was fine with Michael, the less contact with her, the better. It freed him up to stay with his girls or spend time fishing with Dale. He also busied himself with Junior’s racing career-always helping him with his Busch car, constantly at the track encouraging him. Junior happily played the role of a doting uncle when Michael desired some time out on the town. He often took physical pleasure with the adoring ladies in some of the hipper clubs in Charlotte. It rarely offered more than a physical release as his heart craved the love that none could give him.

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December 1999-Londonderry, Ireland

A cold rain soaked the lone gunman as he sat cloistered in the narrow alley above the pub. Kevin’s hand rested on the Luger revolver he held tucked in his coat. It was 11:00 pm-closing time. It had come to this.

He knew what the price was going to be, especially if his father wasn’t alone when he left the bar. You’re paying the ultimate sacrifice Kevin, he thought. But if he could see his sister free, it was worth it. Mickey had regular support payments coming in now that his father was in contact-the kid would be set for life and so would Rory. It was Bridy, he worried about. True, she hasn’t been happy these past few years-himself at the docks at all hours and her working the old-folks home and the pub they bought in Malahide. She was young though. He turned his gaze to the bar as he saw the front door open.

Daniel McNeil wandered out into the cold deluge. He spun as he felt the hot metal bullet pierce his side and then another. He had expected to die this way for years-it was only a matter of time before a bullet would find him. Live by the sword.......

Daniel’s companions opened fire on the sniper, the whole street ablaze for a few agonizing moments before the sirens wailed in the night.

Kevin stared into the weeping heavens, "Our Father..." on his lips as the life drained out of him.

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Rory stood before the House of Lords, Jerry Adams and Prime Minister Tony Blair himself as they granted her freedom. In the back of the room, with the other spectators, Sister Maria, Bridy and Mickey, Bono wiped a tear from his eye. It had finally come to pass-Rory was free but what a terrible price to pay. Somewhere above, Kevin raised his pint in toast to his sister’s emancipation.

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In the little cottage that Bridy owned, Rory stared out the window to the Irish Sea. It had been a thoroughly exhausting day-mentally and physically. She was shattered. Free. Just the word now sent her reeling. She held her son tightly-now what she wondered, Whatever am I to do?

"Will you be going back to the States?" inquired Bridy, "You’re more than welcome to say as long as you’d like here."

Go back where? Rory thought. To what? "Bridy, if it’s no trouble, I’d like to stay here awhile-just to sort things out. I’ll help you keep the house up and I’ll even help out in the pub. I can’t go back just yet...I don’t know if I can deal with this reality right now...." As much as she missed her old friends, the sound and sight of the races, could she stand to be constantly running into Michael and his family? She looked at Mickey’s expectant face-good he wanted to see his father so badly, to finally meet him after all I’ve told him. Rory sighed and watched the pounding surf.

"Mum-can we go to Caroline?" he asked the question she had been dreading.

"Mick-we will go back, but I need to sort things out. I’m not ready yet-we’ll go someday but not right now. Please understand luv, it’s hard for me after being away for so long."

Mickey looked up at her and hugged her tight. "I know, Mum. When you’re ready, we’ll go." The boy had wisdom far beyond his years. "I love you, Mum-I’m so glad you’re home..." his voice broke as the tears started falling.

"Love of my life, Mickey."

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October 2000

Dale grinned as he dropped the heavy contract -all 50 pages of it-on Michael’s desk.

"Well-we’re all set! We’ve got Napa committed and all I need for you is your John Hancock and it’s done!" Michael grinned back at him. It was a new start. After a disastrous two year deal with Mattei Motorsports and speculation as to whether he was finally done with racing, Dale had offered him a ride in his fledgling team. He was now the pilot of the #15 Napa Chevrolet, filling out the roster with his old friend Junior and Steve Park. Macy giggled and started doodling on the contract as he finished signing.

"What? You too?" laughed Dale, "I know these drivers are getting younger, but this is nuts!" He scooped her up and sat her on his knee. "You gonna drive for me too? Too bad I can’t rig up a child’s seat in that car..."

Turning serious, Dale leaned over and said, "I know you can win if I put you in one of my cars, Michael. Hell-you better win! It’s do or die now."

Michael grinned-throughout the years, Dale had been unwavering in his faith and friendship. He stuck with him through thick and thin. "I won’t let you down, Dale-we’ll be brinin’ that 500 trophy home!" Absent-mindedly he fingered the silver cross he now wore

Chapter 21: Banshees and Valentines

Sherrill’s Ford December 2000

Michael had just finished writing out Christmas cards (or at least trying to-Macy had taken her usual spot on his lap) and was contemplating a peaceful evening with the kids. It was one of those rare evenings, snug and toasty inside as the winds howled out of the North. It sounded like surf pounding, whistling through the tall pine trees that towered outside. Michael and Buffy had since called a truce since the discovery of the letters. Parental warfare would do neither of the children any good and both had simply decided it was for their welfare to provide as stable a home as possible.

Caitlin was busy at work on an elaborate art project-a welcome home sign. Through the years, Caitlin had come to know her mother through the eyes of her "Uncles" Dale, Kyle and she especially loved sitting on old King Richard’s skinny lap as he showed her his photo album. She would set in rapt attention as Richard would show her pictures of the slight woman with the long, honey colored hair busy at work on the old 43, chasing his beloved grandson Adam across the field on horseback or sharing a softball game with the Petty crew. And the stories of her humor, keepin’ the boys in line, battles with old Lee Petty who felt that women had no place in the garage and it was bad luck to have ‘em anywhere near the cars, how the old patriarch nearly died pitching a fit as he discovered the 43 festooned in green tissue paper for St Patrick’s day. (*green was a forbidden color as far as the old-timer’s were concerned-bad luck again) Caitlin had also inherited her mother’s gift for handiwork-she was forever making jewelry and "fixing stuff" around the house.

Now at last, Rory would be coming home to Level Cross. She and Michael corresponded directly after the discovery of the hidden letters. As soon as she was released, Rory mustered up as much courage as she could and placed the call to Michael. At first, Buffy answered it and Rory promptly slammed the receiver down. "I can’t do it! She’s answered!" Rory muttered. After a few moments, the phone rang again-this time Michael picked it, growling "It’s 12:30 in the morning-this better be good!" At the sound of that dear, Gaelic lilt at the end of the line, all the years of hurt and loss melted away in a watershed of tears. Surprisingly, Buffy relented without protest as Michael and Rory kept the lines of communication open-after she saw the look of true happiness on her husband’s and Caitlin’s face, she knew it would be a sin to deny them. Rory had sent them plenty of photos -she herself had changed very little, perhaps a little thinner and a few more lines under the eyes, but she was still as lovely in that quiet, ethereal sort of way.

Then there was that strapping boy, Mick. Just the thought of a son sent a chill down his spine. From what Rory had told him, the boy was constantly playing "race", be it on a bicycle or a pony. The one thing that always got a got a chuckle was his boy’s brogue and the lad’s tendency to talk your ear off. On more than one occasion, his mother could be heard in the background, "Mick, say good night to your father! It’s costin’ the moon!" At the tender age of barely eight, he was nearly as tall as Rory and still growing like a weed. Mick’s birth also brought bitter-sweet memories of their last morning together and the arousal those thoughts usually invoked. Would she still look at him the same way? Would it even matter anymore. One evening, upon closing their long-distance conversation, Rory went out on the limb and finished with "I still love you, you know." Michael swallowed hard and whispered, "I know and I’ve never stopped loving you, in spite of everything that’s happened. I just wish I handled things differently...We’ll have to sit down and figure this deal out when you come home." Michael secretly counted the days until they were set to arrive. March 1, 2001 was marked on his planner, circled in red. Kyle was already busy fixing up the little cabin that she used to stay in and even resurrected her old pick-up. The Pettys were thrilled beyond words to have her back and Mick would help fill the void left by Adam’s death.

Buffy wondered what this intrusion would bring. Michael had said nothing about it other than Rory and Mick would be staying at Level Cross. Michael wasn’t sure what the future would bring either, as Dale had said, "We’ll burn those bridges when we get to ‘em!" Buffy knew it was going to be difficult sorting out visitations and the fact that Rory had planned on resuming her old job in the metal shop and would be a regular fixture at the track was unsettling at best. Whether her husband had planned on re-kindling his romance with Rory was a topic never breached.

Dale Earnhardt was also planning one hell of a throw down upon Rory’s return. It had been something he had promised long ago. As he sat in his sparse little office, he showed some of her recent photos to Junior and Steve. Steve drew in a breath and whistled. "Dang, she’s beautiful! She was Mike’s wife? What happened to her?"

"She got into some trouble when she went back to Ireland to settle her mom’s estate. Ended up in prison for almost 10 years for something she had nothing to do with." Dale explained.

Steve couldn’t take his eyes off her picture. "Wow...talk about an enchantress. I’m enchanted already!"

"Yeah, I remember some of the err-dreams I had about her.." Junior tried to take that statement back as soon as it left his mouth. Dale’s iron gaze burned a hole right through him as he stammered. "Well dammit, you gotta admit she was hot!"

"Knock it off, both of you!! Sheesh I’m gonna take both of you horndogs and have you neutered!" their boss exclaimed.

Dale sat back in his chair, musing, "Yeah, she is a pretty little thang....Shit!" he grinned at his drivers, "Teresa would kill me if she heard that! She never did like that little minky..."

Rising, he herded his two protégé's out of the office and back to the garage.

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February 14th 2001-Malahide, Ireland

An ugly, black mass of clouds gathered overhead as white caps lashed the coast. It was getting late and Rory had just walked back from the GPO and market. She had been stocking up on snacks for the Daytona 500 party and her "American Wake"-an old tradition dating back to the days of The Great Hunger when immigrants left home, never to return. Sorting through the letters, she came upon a large, bright red envelope and a wide smile brightened her face like the sun breaking through fog. She sat on a stone wall along the road, and spied the return address: 8556 Dogleg Rd, Sherrill’s Ford, NC. Carefully, she opened it and withdrew the Valentine’s card within.

"My Dear Rory-
I know I can’t possibly make up for all of the Valentine’s Days we’ve missed but I’ll try. Ever since you’ve come back in my life, I feel like I’ve been given my heart back. I’m counting the days until you and Mickey are back home. Just hearing your voice takes all the pain away from my soul.
With love,
Michael and Caitlin
XOXOXOXOXOXOX
Ps-did I tell you I still love you?"

"You old devil..!" she chuckled, "Whatever am I to do with you!" She giggled in spite of herself, at least his spelling is improving with the years! Rising and heading back to the cottage, she felt the first drops of rain as the wind picked up.

The storm picked up in intensity that evening. As Bridy and Mick were already in bed, Rory was closing the shutters over the windows when a strong blast of wind blew the door wide open. Outside, a strange wailing echoed over the shriek of the winds. It sounded as if someone was trapped out on the sea wall. Grabbing a lantern, Rory walked out into the deserted yard to see from where the unearthly keening came from. Squinting, she saw what she perceived as an older woman standing by the front gate to the yard. Her hair streamed wildly in the wind and her wraith-like figure stood straight against the gale. Sure, she must be demented to be out in this weather! Rory thought furiously. She must have Alzheimer's or something...she’s disoriented.

"Hello there! Please come in! It’s too dangerous for you out here!" Rory called but the figure backed away towards the sea. Rory trotted after, now soaked to the bone. Suddenly the woman was gone, vanished!

Rory turned and headed back to the house at a run as that wavering howl rose above the storm. She stopped short at the sight of a black car in front of the gate. It was completely dark-no lights, no plates, no sign of life within. There was something ominous about it, at the same time there was something familiar about it, too. It sat low to the ground with a spoiler on the deck lid that made it look even more monstrous in the dark

"Whatever the hell-?" Maybe it was someone looking for that old hen, she thought. She started forward. Odd-that car has no lights and on a night like this! Drawing closer, she could see it was a late-model Chevrolet-something of an oddity in Ireland. As she got closer, the vehicle suddenly and silently backed away, fading into the murk. No sound of an engine, just wheels on gravel.

"Ofuck-I need a drink!" Rory muttered as she went back in, latching the door soundly behind her. She tip-toed up the narrow stares to the loft bedroom, hopped in and turned the lights out. A good night sleep and I’ll call Michael first thing tomorrow.

No sooner was she asleep, when a knock at her door stirred her. "Now what-" she sat up in bed and looked up into the face of Dale Earnhardt.

"Jaysus! Dale!" she whispered. " I’ll kill Bridy for not tellin’ me you were visiting!" Dale shook his head, raising his finger to his lips shushing her. Not a word was spoken from him other than the sad smile on his face. He gently took her hand and laid a well-dried rose on the nightstand. Turning without another word he walked towards the door.

"Dale? Wait! Where are ya goin’?" Now it was dawning on Rory that this can’t be happening-this must be a dream. Dale looked back one last time, turned and was gone. She slumped back in the bed and fell to sleep.

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Sherrill’s Ford-Valentine’s Day

Michael lifted his glass of wine and quietly looked over the menu at Vinny’s. He was craving prime rib for days and this place offered some of the best. Buffy was also looking over the choices; settling on the Veal Marsala. Buffy looked up at her husband as he continued to study the menu; regarding how the candlelight accentuated his handsome face. Sighing, she looked back on their marriage and wondered how much longer it would last. She realized long ago, that they were incompatible and she knew how much of the blame was hers. She spent too many years trying to mold him into something he wasn’t, trying to break him. They should have parted ways long ago but she stubbornly hung on, hoping he’d grow up. Now they had a daughter that was so bonded to Michael, it would be impossible to separate the two. The traits that she once found charming had often drove her crazy and she was certain the he felt the same way about her. Buffy remembered Teresa admonishing, "Stick to your guns! You can’t just let her waltz back in after all these years!" But a recent discussion with Stevie revealed another old truth- "Buff, if you cared about him and could see how miserable you two have been, you’d just let him go." And yes, she did care about him. When she got down to it, they were far better off as friends, it’s just when they got married that things went downhill.

As if reading her thoughts, Michael looked up and gently took her hand. "We sure made a clusterfuck of things, didn’t we?" he said softly.

"So what are you going to do?" Buffy absently fingered his rough hand, entwining her fingers in his. "Most of this is my fault, you know that don’t you?" Michael shook his head, "I’m just as much to blame, Buff. I thought I was doing the right thing but I could never see past the next day. I don’t know what else to say, Buff. I still love her, but I just can’t abandon you and Macy either. Caitlin wants to live with Rory and I don’t think we should deny her. But I can’t bear to leave Macy and the last thing I want to do is hurt you more than I already have." he swallowed hard.

Buffy made up her mind. We can’t keep playing charades anymore, she thought. "Mike, it’s over. It’s been over for years and we both know it. I care about you, but I can’t honestly say I love you-not the way it’s supposed to be between husband and wife." she continued holding his hand, "I know I’ll never replace her and you know it too. Now we just have to figure our what we’re going to do."

Michael slumped forward, head in his hands. What indeed were they going to do? There was so much involved now-his Busch car was registered in Buffy’s name, the property, the boat, custody and visitation-the whole situation made him feel as though he was standing at the edge of abyss. Buffy gently squeezed his hand, "Look-let’s just take this one day at a time. For the kids’ sake. Let’s just try to keep this as civil as possible. I mean, how does she still feel about you? She may just want to get settled and reacquainted with Caitlin and go on with her life. Poor thing, what a long road she’s been down..." Buffy did mean that, she couldn’t hold any real animosity towards Rory; certainly she never asked to be imprisoned for a decade and the horrors and loneliness those years witnessed. Buffy always regretted the cruel things she said about Rory, she admitted she was jealous of the love that Michael shared with his first wife.

"Well, it’s been interesting, ain’t it?" he said simply. He rose and knelt beside Buffy’s chair and held her.

Buffy leaned her head on his shoulder, "Yes, it’s been interesting and kinda fun too." She looked up at him and kissed his cheek. "You know, it might not be so bad being friends. A good friend will always be there in the end." he said, gently nuzzling her.

Buffy sighed, "We’ll work it out, Mike. One way or another."

Chapters 22-32