Chapter 22: Ride to Valhalla

February 18, 2001-Malahide, Ireland

It was a large crowd that gathered at Bridy McNeil’s pub that evening to watch the race and a formal farewell to Rory as she prepared to leave for North Carolina. Bridy had closed her bar to the public just to accommodate the friends, family and assorted well-wishers. A band set up in the corner and the snooker table doubled as a buffet. It was a joyous sound that wafted out into the lane and to the sea across the road. The merry sound of a fiddle set to an old waltz brought a few people to the dance floor.

Rory headed to the bar for a re-fill of Guinness when someone caught her arm.

"Are you dancin’, darlin’?" came that familiar whisper of a voice.

"Are ya askin’, luv?" Rory laughed as she was spun ‘round. "Bono! How good ‘tis to see you!" He clumsily led her in the dance, occasionally tripping on his own feet. The band struck up one of Rory’s favorites,

‘I’ll be all smiles, tonight luv!
I’ll be all smiles tonight.
Tho my heart may break tomorrow
I’ll be all smiles tonight.....’

"I wouldn’t miss this for the world!" her dapper partner exclaimed. "When ya headin’ back?"

"In a coupla weeks-I’m getting a tad bit nervous. I’ve spoke with everybody-Michael, The Pettys, Dale-and they’re so happy to see me back. I feel kinda embarrassed like I’m not worth all the trouble that I’ve put everyone through..."

"Oh stop that! You can’t put a price on the joy your life has brought to your loved ones. If it ever happened again, there’s not a one of us who wouldn’t do it all over again for you." Piercing slate eyes matched her own, "Now let’s enjoy this evening -look it’s starting now."

Bridy motioned for the band to put an end to their session and turned up the television. She was happy she had invested in the satellite dish instead of relying on the two channels they normally received.

"Jaysus, what did he do to his hair?" Rory groaned as she watched an interview with Michael. He now kept his hair professionally clipped and groomed in place of that wild mass of curls that Rory remembered so dear.

"Well I think it looks grand." Bridy said grinning. "But look at Mick-spittin’ image!"

Mick sat on the bar, wide-eyed as he watched his father wave to the crowd. Rory put an arm around him and held him close. "Do you think he’ll win today, Mum?" His eyes never left the telly as he nursed his Coke and chips.

"I sure hope so, luv. That would be grand now, wouldn’t it?" She buried her face in her son’s dark curls. Together they sat there as the image of 43 cars made it’s parade lap as the 2001 Daytona 500 commenced.

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Daytona Speedway

Dale Earnhardt paused for a moment before he climbed into his car. Suddenly he drew Teresa to him and held her for a few moments.

"Are you ok?" She asked, puzzled. He normally wasn’t so sentimental. Stevie had wandered over to join them, pausing to tape a printed Bible verse to his dashboard. It was something of a tradition. "Hey! Good luck!" She yelled as she made her way to the booth were Darrell would now be calling the race as a commentator. Dale pulled himself away from Teresa and crawled into the car. Why was he thinking like this? All that seemed to occupy his mind lately was the loss of friends. Maybe it was finally time to retire.

He had faith in Steve Park-that kid was going far, champion was written all over him. Michael and Dale could go far too, they were the hope of Dale Earnhardt Incorporated. He thought of friends now gone: Neil, Davey, Tim, Lee, Adam.....

Oh stop this shit! he mentally smacked himself in the head. Let’s get this show on the road and show these motherfuckers what Dale Earnhardt Incorporated can do. Flipping the ignition switch, the Goodwrench Chevrolet awoke snarling and ready to run.

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As the cars snaked behind the pace vehicle, Michael’s own thoughts were on his loved ones as well and the man who alone believed in him to give him one last shot . For the past few years, speculation was that he was done, finished, wash-up. Not even a has-been but a never-was. The excuses were many; everything from Bahari’s shoddy equipment to his own poor driving ability. I have no right being in this car, he thought. The 15 handled so smooth, so effortless, responding quickly and it accelerated as if the engine never wore a restrictor plate. No longer did he have to worry about the car falling apart around him as he had for the past two years. Not since his tenure with the Wood Brothers, had he had access to such incredible equipment. Dale was taking a chance on putting him in this ride and he knew it. I won’t let you down, Dale, he promised. Now it was time to deliver. The green flag was out and the sleek blue and gold Monte Carlo shot forward.

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"Goddamn, fucking asshole!" Earnhardt yelled as his car was savaged by the upstart Kurt Busch. He returned the bump with the one finger salute as the 97 sailed by. As he tore into the pits, he noticed the 15 had also come in after having led for the past few laps. "Now what the hell is he doing?" he muttered as he sailed by the Napa pit box while the blue car still sat there, one tire hung up as the crew struggled trying to free it. "I’m gonna rip those bozos a new one when this is finished!" Where was Junior? He was supposed to be behind Michael. "I’m gonna kill ’em both!"

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The laps wound down as the cars surged forward. So many lead changes but now only one team succeeded in maintaining the lead. Michael unleashed the 15 in one last ditch effort to recapture the lead, Junior close on his heels. He glanced up as his teammate waived-keep going! Over his radio, Scott Eggleston yelled, "Keep it together! You’re almost home!" Over Junior’s radio, Tony Eury was doing likewise. Behind them, nearly shaking with elation at the sight of his two cars so close to capturing the race, Dale bellowed, "Tell those two knuckleheads to stay in line!!"

Now the white flag was waving. Go Michael! Damn you, GO! Dammit, Sterling! Get that piece of shit off me!

The 3 bobbled drunkenly, suddenly loose. She wavered towards the apron, faltering. The 40 was coming hard behind them, last lap and there’s no checking up now! Suddenly, in one sickening moment, a minute portion of the Goodwrench Chevrolet’s bumper made contact with the silver Dodge.

Dale felt the nudge as he fought the raging beast for control. Time stood still as he saw the wall loom in front of his hood and the terrifying sight of Schrader’s car as it bore down on his right, filling his passenger window. It all happened in the hand of a second as the world suddenly faded from his view and all sensation ceased to be. All was silent and a peculiar sort of peace settled on him; his heart filled with an infinite joy as he watched his best friend take his first victory and his son blaze under the checkers in a streak of crimson. As he floated away from this realm, he chuckled and smiled that old Cheshire smile. "You did good, Mikey! You did good."

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Malahide

The pub was on it’s feet at lap 175 as Ward Burton slammed into his teammate and Tony Stewart. The orange and white Pontiac was sent spiraling skyward, barrel rolling to land upside down on Bobby Labonte’s vehicle.

Bidy shocked, turned to Rory, "How in hell could you stand to watch this? Sure now, that man is dead!"

Rory shook her head, "Nah-the energy of the crash was dissipated in the flip. He’ll be bruised but they have ‘em pretty well strapped in. They’ll be ok-it just looks worse than it actually is." How could she be so calm?

"It was still horrid! They are all mad!" Bridy sputtered and went back behind the bar to draw more pints for the thirsty crowd.

"Mum! Look! He’s leading!" Mick excitedly pointed to the screen and sure enough as the race wound down to the final laps, the 15 charged to the front with Junior’s blood-red Chevrolet in tow. Behind them both, Dale Earnhardt kept the others at bay. One more lap to go and

"SHIT!" Rory yelled as she watched the 40 nudge Dale Earnhardt into the wall as the 36 plowed into the passenger’s side. Then the cameras pulled away from the wreck and now the 15 shot under the checkers a good quarter mile from the others. The momentary silence was now shattered as the bar erupted in cheers.

"What’s wrong, Mum? He won!" Mick turned to Rory, his exuberant expression falling when he saw the look of absolute horror on his mother’s face. "Mum? Why are you cryin’...Mum?"

Bridy wandered over and put her hand on Rory’s shoulder. "Sure now, that didn’t look as bad as that other wreck!" Rory shook her head. Yes, this was bad. Very, very bad. That car must’ve hit the wall at 160 miles an hour. It now sat near the infield, surrounded by ambulances and firemen. The camera went back to Victory Lane as Michael accepted his trophy, oblivious to the tragedy behind him. Rory’s head was spinning. That dream!

That awful dream of a couple days ago. Her mind flew back to those dreadful nightmares that Michael used to have and it sent a shiver down her spine. Dale! Oh Dale.....you came back to say goodbye! OGod...OGod...her mind was screaming. Shaking now, she backed away from the bar. Don’t fall apart here! You’re scaring Mick-stop it! Oh please, sweet Jesus stop it!

"I’ll be back-I just need some air." She ran upstairs to the bedroom. She sat on the bed with her face buried in her hands, still shaking. Ogod...Michael, my poor Michael. As she desperately sought composure, she glanced over to the nightstand and saw the dried rose that lay there by the lamp. She gently picked it up and cradled it to her breast , weeping for the loss of one man who never gave up on her and would never see again.

Much later the next day, Rory still resided in her room. Mick poked his head in and sat beside her. "Mum, Dad was just on the telly and they said that Mr. Earnhardt was gone. Will we still be able to go back now?"

Rory held him close, "Of course we will, luv. He’s going to be needing us more than ever now." She closed her eyes, unable to fathom the pain that Michael must be feeling now. As if on cue, her phone rang and reluctantly she picked it up.

"’lo?" She whispered, stroking Mick’s hair as he curled up beside her like a lost puppy. It frightened him to see his mother so upset. "Hello?" she asked again, a little louder. Still silence. She was nearly replaced the receiver when the barely recognizable voice on the other end spoke.

"Ro?..It’s Michael." She could tell he was breaking down.

"Oh Michael....I don’t even know where to begin to tell you how sorry I am...how I wish I could be there for you..." she vainly fought back the tears. I can’t upset Mick anymore.

"I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye to him...it was just like the dream...just like it. I didn’t even know what happened until Kenny came over and...and..." he was loosing it. "I-I looked for hh-him and he wasn’t there....Junior had already left..Darrell was gone too..."

God help him, he went through this alone! Damn them for leaving him! Damn them! her mind raged silently.

"I stayed at the track for-for hours afterward....I didn’t know what to do...I-I don’t know what to do. ...are you still there? Ro?"

"Yes, Mikey...I’m still here, I just wish I could say or do something .." She was crying openly now.

Michael sighed, "Just knowing you’re there. Please be there for me Rory, I need you so much....I don’t know how much more of this I can take.." As he sat there in the darkened garage, he fingered the white scar on his wrist.

Chapter 23: Hearth and Home

A chilling drizzle permeated the air as the crew loaded the cars into their respective haulers to head out for Atlanta. A kind of malaise settled on the whole of DEI, in every crevice of the workshops, garages and on the mind of every crewman and driver alike. Steve Park huddled against the chill as he stood sipping his coffee in a vain attempt to warm his bones. He looked over to where the Napa hauler had just started to roll out of the gate and make it’s labored journey to the highway. Spying Michael standing alone in the doorway of the 15’s shop, he debated on whether or not to join the other driver. The look on his drawn face, eyes that hadn’t seen a full-night’s sleep in over two weeks and perpetually clenched jaw lent an air of inapproachability to him now. Well, he ain’t the only one mourning here and misery loves company, Steve thought. If I have to drag him kicking and screaming out of that hole he dug himself into, then I will.

Michael never even noticed him as he walked up along side. "’Mornin’!" Steve said softly. Michael looked up for the first time, nodded his head in something of a greeting.

"How’s it goin’, Steve? That was a good run a coupla weeks ago." he said without turning, that sad faraway look in his eyes. The race he was referring to was at Rockingham one week after Dale’s death when Steve and his Pennzoil Chevrolet brought home the trophy. It was perhaps one of the most touching moments in the history of the sport.

"Hey, man-why don’t you come into the lounge-it’s freezing out here. C’mon, let’s get some coffee." Steve finished his cup and was about to head back in. The damp cold was going right through his bones, aggravating the painful reminders of all his old wrecks. He was torn between keeping Michael company and the warmth of the lounge’s wood stove. Michael glanced down at his watch; almost 2:30-time to pick Caitlin up.

"Say-She’s coming home today, right?" Steve had remembered that Michael was annoyed at yet another scheduled appearance. Michael had wanted to pick up Rory from the airport, but a prominent talk-show host had requested the presence of the Daytona 500 winner and as far as Teresa was concerned, his appearances came above all else.

"Yeah, as soon as I pick up Caitlin, we’re headin’ over to the Petty’s ranch." a ghost of a smile flickered across his lips. "Kyle said she was bringing about 14 trunks with her!"

"Man, I bet there’s gonna be a lot of catchin’ up to do! Caitlin must be excited to see her mom after all these years." Steve grinned, finally finding something that broke the ice.

Michael laughed, "Yeah-she started working on a welcome-home sign about 3 months ago! I’m just happy that I don’t have to worry about those two becoming close. I think Caitlin’s kinda missed having her birth mother...her ’n’ Buffy were never really that close. I was the one who took care of her most of the time."

"Yeah-that’s sad. Now you said something the other day-she had a little boy while she was...um...incarcerated?" oshit, Steve thought, maybe I shouldn’t have brought that up.

Michael’s face darkened. "Yeah." he said softly. "Her going through that without me..God, that tears me up inside. I can’t even imagine what it must’ve been like for them." He swallowed hard, "I’ll make it up to them...if I had just gone with her in the first place, none of this would have ever happened."

Steve stared at him, open-mouthed. "Will you stop taking the blame for everything!? Everything can’t be your fault! You’re marriage tanked-you blamed yourself! You say what happened to Rory was your fault! What happened to Dale-"

"Hey, guys!" Junior blessedly cut him off as he sauntered over, nursing a warm Bud. Steve abruptly changed the subject. "Teresa’s gonna bitch a fit if she sees you with that beer." he warned.

"What are you two idiots standin’ in the rain for?" It’s freakin’freezin’ out here!" ignoring Steve, he killed the beer off and finished it with a monstrous belch. Steve shook his head. "Well I’m goin’ back for some more coffee. Mike-let me know how things work out. Remember what I said-it ain’t all your fault." he turned and headed back for the lounge.

"Ain’t your fault? Whatcha do this time?" Junior asked curiously. "Buffy light into ya again?" He burped again and muttered, "Gotta stop eatin’ at Taco Bell..."

"Naw-just me being me." Michael worried about Junior. The lanky kid was keeping a lot in and it worried Michael. "How are you doing?" he said finally, trying to look Junior in the eye.

Junior avoided his gaze and stared as his own hauler now left the shop. "Copin’." he said flatly. "Dad wouldn’t have stood for anything less and you know it." That truth cut like a knife. Turning now, he regarded Michael. "You’ve got to pull it together-you know that, right? Dad had a lot of faith in you and so do I, but it’s gonna take more than that to put that car up front."

"I’ve gotta have people behind me too, Eggleston doesn’t listen to a damn thing I say or tell him about the car. The set-up has been off-"

Junior fixed him with that steely glare. "And you’ve been off, too! Mike, we’ve hardly been able to get a word out of you! You act like you’re the only one who’s grieving! Guess what!? I ain’t even had time to grieve! If you wanna keep this ride, dude, you better pull your head outta your ass and start drivin’."

He instantly regretted those words as he looked at Michael’s shocked expression. "Look man, I’m sorry-I’ve just had a lot of shit heaped on me about this whole deal. You’re like a brother to me and there’s nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for ya but we’ve got to stick together on this."

Michael was still reeling from Junior’s rant, "I understand. Look, I gotta pick up Caitlin-I’ll see you tomorrow at the track."

"Take it easy, Mike. Say ’hey’ to Rory, would ya? Tell her I’ll pop by as soon as she’s settled." Junior watched as Michael pulled himself into his truck. I shouldn’t have went of on him, he thought. Yelling at Michael usually did little or no good at all. That head was harder than the retaining wall at Talladega. Shaking his head, he looked up at the clouds and saw a bit of blue sky breaking through the murk. What am I going to do, Dad? I don’t want to handle this shit, I’m just a racecar driver. He ran his hand through his blazing red hair. That beer wasn’t bad for lunch, think I’m gonna need one more for desert, he thought as he wandered back to the lounge.

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The feeble late afternoon sunlight finally made it’s way through the clouds. Rory opened one of the windows to air the little cottage out. She was exhausted-the long flight and time difference were finally taking it’s toll on her. Lynda had taken Mick off her hands and Kyle had promised to show him around the compound and garages. Both Lynda and Richard volunteered to keep an eye out for Michael and Caitlin as Rory planned to put in a nap for a little while. Curling up on the hand-made quilt and looking at the pines through the window, she dozed off.

Michael’s blue Tahoe finally charged up the driveway and Caitlin was out the door before the truck even stopped.

"Where is she!?" she hollered as Richard grabbed her in a bear hug.

"Hey, now! Not so fast! Yer Momma’s sleepin’ off that long flight of hers. Why don’t you come over to the barn and meet your little brother first. Him and Kyle are goin’ out on a little trail ride, I’m sure they’d love to have you a long." It was a well known fact that the fastest way to Caitlin’s heart was on the back of a horse.

Lynda walked over to Michael, "She probably is lying down-poor little thing was wrung right out when they arrived."

Michael nodded, "Yeah-I won’t bug her if she’s sleeping. I’ll be right back if she doesn’t answer the door."

He walked down the path to where the cottage sat next to the machine shop. It was a simple, homestead affair with a little porch and a large magnolia next to the kitchen window. There was a spring-pond in the back and a small garden plot. He cautiously knocked at the door. No answer. He could hear a radio playing inside-hmm she might be just putting stuff away and getting settled in, he thought as he opened the door.

"Rory?" he poked his head in the kitchen. God, this place looks the same as when she used to stay here so long ago. Kyle did wonders with it. He walked up stares to the small bedroom, grazing his head on the low ceiling. "Owww-dammit!" rubbing his forehead, he paused just before the bedroom doorway. Rory, oblivious and soundly sleeping, was curled up in a little ball. God, she hadn’t changed at all. Michael bent low beside her sleeping form and tenderly caressed her cheek; gazing at the face he thought he’d never see again.

He couldn’t pull himself away and quietly curled up beside her. He buried his face in that honey-gold mane, breathing her essence of lavender. For the first time in weeks, he peacefully dozed off beside her and the years of pain, longing and loneliness drifted away as she nestled warm in his arms.

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Rory stirred sometime later. The scent of the pines wafted into the room on a warm southern breeze. Sure now, I’m dreaming, she thought. She was almost afraid to open her eyes. Afraid that instead of her beloved home, she would wake in the cramped confines of Long Kesh. Aye-I’m dreaming, as she felt a familiar but not forgotten presence beside her as Michael’s long arms encircled her and that familiar tickle of his stubby whiskers on her neck. Turning over, she rested her face against his, holding him tightly. "Oh, Michael...my poor luv...." she whispered, tenderly kissing his brow. The boyish softness that she remembered was gone, replaced by a more hardened countenance that has seen more heartache and disappointment than should be allowed. She caressed his broad shoulders as she pulled herself ever closer to him, relishing the sense of shelter against the outside world and it’s miseries. The slamming of the front door broke the serenity as she heard Mick’s excited voice, "Mum!".

Sighing and slowly, carefully rising-she didn’t want to wake Michael, he looked so peaceful sleeping, she tenderly kissed his forehead and pulled the quilt over him.

"Ssshhhh! I’ll be down in a minute." she said quietly at the head of the landing. Then she noticed the tall, slender girl standing beside her grinning son. "Caitlin?" she whispered, nearly breaking her neck as she took the stairs two at a time. She caught Caitlin in a Earnhardt-style bear hug, crying openly now. "My baby girl...I thought I’d never see you again." she whispered. Standing back, she wiped the joyous tears from her eyes. "Let me look at you! You’re taller than I am!" She stood there for a long time, she and her brood tightly embracing one another. No words spoken, none needed. At long last, Rory was home.

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Michael awoke a little while later to the homey smell of fried chicken and dumplings wafting up from the kitchen. He looked outside, it was dark now. Stumbling down the stairs to the dining room, he quietly stood in the doorway, as Caitlin and Mick sat mesmerized over a photo album and Rory bustled about with dinner. It was a sight that he had longed and prayed for so may years. He was almost afraid to intrude, lest the whole scene vanish before his eyes.

Rory happened to look up from the plate of pear crumble she was making. "Hey!" she said softly. "I didn’t want to wake you up, you were sleeping so sound..." She looked over to the table as Mick now looked up to see who she was speaking to. "Do you know who this is, Mick?" she ruffled the stunned boy’s hair. Mick continued to gaze at his father as if he were the Pope. After watching him win the Daytona 500, as far as the boy as concerned, he may as well have been!

Michael grinned and knelt next to him, "Hey! This ain’t the boy that was talkin’ my ear off every week!" Gathering Mick up in an embrace, "Thank you.".

"Fer what?" Mick looked at his father with a puzzled look on his face. He still sat in quiet awe of his father, wide-eyed.

"For takin’ care of your Momma for me while y’all were away from home You did good, I’m proud of you." Rising, he pulled Rory into his arms, "I’m proud of all of you, y’all inspire me. I wish I had half the courage..." Rory met his lips. "Save it!" she grinned. "I don’t know about you but your kids and I are starving! Look at ‘em-they’re wastin’ away."

Michael closed his eyes and whispered, "I missed you so much, baby, " as he held her close. "I thought I’d never live to see this day."

Rory rested her head against his chest. "I missed you too, darlin’. When I woke up and found you there beside me, I thought I had died, I was so afraid it was all a dream."

"I love you, baby." he tenderly kissed the top of her head. "Love you too, Mikey." she pressed against his warmth. The heartache of the empty years of hanging on were over; they were a family united once more.

Whatever the future held now no longer mattered. After what had already been endured, it seemed as though there was nothing more that life could throw at them and not be conquered.

Chapter 24: Love and Rockets

As the evening wore on and both Caitlin and Mick had finally passed out snoozing in front of the television, Rory nestled against Michael as the two quietly sat sipping some of Richard’s homemade elderberry wine.

She had done some wrestling with her conscious in regards as to whether to re-kindle the romantic aspect of their relationship. She weighed countless pros and cons and all it took to make up her mind was the single memory of her rage at the discovery and confirmation of Buffy’s deception. All’s fair in love and war, she thought as she caressed his thigh. Moving her head closer to his, she tenderly kissed his neck, tracing a tiny heart with her tongue just below his ear. Michael gazed into her soft blue-green eyes and raised her hand to his lips. "Honey..." He rested his forehead against hers, feeling the first stirrings of arousal.

"Stay with me, Michael." He needed no urging as their lips met. She ran her fingers through his hair, "Oh I miss it..."

"mmm .what’s that, honey?" he murmured God, I’ve missed it too...his thoughts wandered.

"Your hair, I miss all that hair." It all came back to the hair.

Michael laughed softly, pushing her back on the couch to her delighted giggles. He suddenly became aware of two sets of eyes staring at him. "Dad, can we stay here tonight?" Caitlin asked. Mick cast a look at the couch, "Ewww..I’m going to bed. ‘Night, lovebirds!"

"Don’t be cheeky!" Rory growled. Turning to Caitlin, "Honey, there’s a bedroom set up just for you by the living room. It used to be Adam’s game room. It’s all yours-you can do whatever you want with it."

"Cool!" She hugged Rory, then Michael. "I love you both! Good night!" she exclaimed as she scampered off to her room. Sighing, Rory looked at Michael as he pulled her close again, nuzzling her neck. "Are you sure you want to pick up where we left off?"

"I’ve never wanted anything so much in my life as I want you right now..this is all I‘ve ever wanted," his lips continued to nibble the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Rising, he scooped her up as she embraced his neck. He carefully made the ascent into the bedroom, and laid her on the bed. They continued to feverishly exchange kisses. Rory looked up at him smiling. "Remember Pocono? Us in the shower?" She reached up, lovingly caressing his cheek; fingertips tracing the curve of his lips.

Michael looked thoughtful for a moment, "Yeah..how could I forget. I missed the driver’s meeting! Boy, was Helton pissed..." he chuckled. Rory cast her eyes down, her hand slowly traveling down his abdomen. "Is that all you remember?" she cast those hypnotic eyes to his, a slow smile spreading across her lips, as her finger gently started to unbutton his denim shirt. Suddenly she rose, taking his hands. "C’mon, luv-I need a bath!" she laughed.

"What!? It’s almost 10:00!" She was already was out of her cloths and in the bathroom. Shaking his head, he followed her, removing his shirt. She lit a row of small votive candles as she ran the warm water in an enormous old fashioned bathtub. "Turn the light out and join me" she turned and smiled, tossing her tawny mane. He sucked in his breath at the sight of her lovely, alabaster skin, large firm breasts; her nipples reminded him of little pink rosebuds. Likewise, Rory was also taking in the sight of his muscular, well-toned body. "Come in, darlin’. The water’s grand." she purred.

Michael slid in behind her; arms encircling her shoulders as he sucked her neck. The nearly hot water and bath oil felt so soothing, relaxing to their bodies and their souls. Rory situated herself between his legs, leaning her head back against his chest. They continued immersing themselves in one another’s gaze; afraid as if for one moment it would all disappear like so many dreams. The years melted away like the wax on the candles. Yesterday, tomorrow didn’t matter as the world blissfully slipped away.

An unknown length of time slipped away as the water cooled to the point of no longer being comfortable. Rory unfolded herself from his embrace, rising and taking his hand; her eyes never left his. Michael drew a large Turkish bath towel around them both. He cupped her face in his hands, seeking her mouth. Tender caressing kisses became more intense as the towel slipped to the floor. Her own mouth devoured his neck and breast; honing in on his nipples as her tongue swirled around one, then the other. He pressed against her, firmly holding her bottom. Closing his eyes he thought, I could die in her arms tonight-heaven could never match this...

Rory urged him to the bed and rolled him on his back. Michael sat up, shaking his head, smiling,. "uh uh..this is for you , baby." He pushed her back as he traced the delicate blush of each aureole with his tongue, tenderly suckling her. "mmmm...so sweet, baby." he turned his attention to that glorious golden pelt between her legs. Nostrils flaring as he breathed the intoxicating scent of her musk, her hips bucking to meet his hungry lips as he slipped his tongue into her, relishing her wetness. "ohhh Michael...it’s been so long...so long.." She writhed against him as he relentlessly sucked her swollen clit, greedily drinking and lapping up the nectar that flowed over his lips. She was at the edge, falling into waves of rapture; crying , screaming his name as he continued his assault. At last, he relented and lay beside her, holding her as her heart slammed against her breast and she trembled like a captured wren. Her hand drifted down his abdomen and gently stroked the velvet skin of his engorged member; butterfly kisses eagerly following the trail to his pubic bone. She delicately planted soft kisses, traced intricate patterns along the head and shaft; messaging his balls. Finally, agonizingly she took him in. He groaned as she increased the intensity, sucking him harder. Gasping, he gently pulled her head away as she lapped up the remaining drops of precum. Puzzled, she looked at him, "Is everything alright, luv?"

"mmm-hmmm..I just wanna save some of that for you." He rolled her on her back with a low, almost-feral growl. She whimpered as he parted her legs and slid into her. He lay still for a moment, allowing her to get used to him. It had indeed been a long time for her and Michael had every intention of being gentle as he didn’t want to hurt her. Moaning, she bucked her hips towards his, wrapping her legs ’round him.

"Easy, baby..let’s just take this slow." He started long-stroking her, pulling almost completely out then slowly plunging back in. He kept this up at an agonizingly easy pace; grinding into her newly aroused clit.

She urged him faster, and he responded, as she clung to him. She came hard, spilling her own juices as they mixed with his as he exploded inside her. He collapsed on her, shaking and slick with sweat.

He propped himself up on his elbows as she met his lips. "That was all for you, baby," he said as he leaned his forehead against hers. Kissing her brow as she snuggled against him, now sound asleep, "Hey." he said.

Drowsily, she opened her eyes, "hmm?"

"I love you, lady. Don’t know if I told you or not." he grinned at his mate.

"At least a dozen times in the past five minutes. I love you too, darlin. Now let’s get some sleep so I can wake your pretty arse up in the mornin’. We’ve a big day ahead of us!" She pulled him down next to her as he wrapped his long legs around her. "Good night, Mikey." she whispered to the sound of his snoring.

Chapter 25: Getting on with It

"You’ll be the captain,
I’ll be no one
And you can carry me away if you want to
You can lay low, just like your father
If I tread upon your feet, you just say so
You are the captain
I am no one
I tend to feel as though
I owe one to you." -Kasey Chambers, The Captain

Rory awoke the next morning as the sunlight flooded the bedroom with a warm, golden glow. Why didn’t I close those bloody curtains? she wondered, burying her head against Michael’s neck. Her heart ached from the almost overwhelming happiness of having him and Caitlin back in her life. The long years of heartache and yearning were finally over for all of them. He looked so content now, a little smile curling his lips. She woke him with a tender kiss on his broad forehead. "Good morning, sweetheart," she whispered. I’m never letting him go, never, never, never! she thought as he stirred into wakefulness. He stretched out to his full six foot-five length, yawning . Rory laid across his chest, entwining her fingers in his. "G’mornin’, beautiful." he grinned, pressing her fingers to his lips. The elation of their reunion was almost palpable. Neither could break the gaze of the other as they basked in the afterglow of last night’s lovemaking.

Their peace was rudely shattered by the shrill ring of his cell phone on the night stand. Grunting, he reached over, saw the illuminated number-Sherrill’s Ford-and promptly shut the ringer off. Buffy. She knew where he was-granted he hadn’t expected to make it an all-nighter so soon, but she really shouldn’t be surprised. And he didn’t feel like turning the whole, sweet moment upside down with an argument with her this morning.

"Who was it, luv?" Rory yawned and lazily traced spirals in his chest hair.

"Somebody who knows better than to bug me at this hour..." he growled. Even when he as angry, the sound of that growl drove her wild. Time to make him happy.

She mischievously tongued his earlobe. He fixed her with that lazy, seductive smile and raised eyebrow. "Lower?" she returned his gaze.

"mmmm-hmmm." He continued gently pulled her hair out of her eyes, as she trailed those loving lips down his throat, his collarbone, slowly moving between his breasts...

She glanced back up, eyes never leaving his face. "Lower?" She traced the outline of his navel, the sound of his moans growing deeper... "It’s been a long, long time since I’ve had a wakeup like that.."

Now Rory raised her head, eyebrows rising. "mmm-mmm, my poor baby! I’ll make it up to you, darlin’" The phrase, worthless cow also came to mind, but there was no way that she was going to spoil this moment with a catty remark. Turning her attention back to the pleasure at hand, she gently took him in and began to slowly drive him insane.

"You don’t have to do this for me." he whispered, reaching down and caressing her shoulders. Dayum! She does that so goddamn good....

"It’s payback." she paused as she continued to message him. "You wouldn’t let me get you off last night when I wanted to." She had that cheeky look on her face that he loved. "And I want to get you off, darlin’. Badly," she purred. And it didn’t take much longer to get her wish as he reached his climax; "Come for me, baby." she whispered as he relinquished all control to her. Now satisfied that she gotten his day off right, she returned to her to place across his chest and snuggled her head in the crook of his arm as he slowly returned to earth from his platitude of ecstasy.

"Mmm-now that’s what I call a wake-up" he chuckled. He gently kissed her, "Here’s to many more, my love." Stretching again, he glanced at the clock-8:15-time to get up. "Hey-how ‘bout that shower?" he grinned, playfully slapping Rory’s rump as he rose.

"You brute!" she charged after him, giving him a slap across his bare bottom. "I ought to give you the spankin’ of your life for that!"

He poked his head out of the shower, eyes glowing with lust; wicked smile spreading across his face. "Is that a promise?"

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

Downstairs a little while later, Caitlin had just arose herself and even at her tender age, she knew how her father liked his coffee. She just grabbed a can of Maxwell House out of the larder when she heard a knock at the door. Freezing in her tracks, she momentarily panicked. "Cripes! What if it’s Buffy?" She could hear her father laughing and joking upstairs; it sounded as if he had just come out of the shower. It was so good to hear him laugh like that. She cautiously went to the door and peered out.

"Uncle Kyle!" she grinned. Kyle stood there with a wicker picnic basket; the aroma of fresh-baked biscuits and ham permeating into the crisp morning air.

"Folks up yet?" he flashed his signature smile. "Mom just finished cooking some extra breakfast this morning-thought y’all would like some."

"Hey! Is this going to be a regular deal around here in the mornin’?" Michael grinned as he thudded down the stairs. Kyle arched his eyebrows and shook his head, man! he didn’t waste any time...!

"For Rory-she and her kids are welcome for breakfast any time-you’re just being a mooch!"

"Good mornin’, Kyle." Rory had just joined them and started preparing the coffee.

"Look, hon-Kyle’s brought us breakfast-now that’s what I call room service!" he winked devilishly at her, "Nice wake up call and now a delivered breakfast. I think I could like it here!"

"Why thank you, Kyle. Please tell Lynda if there’s anything I can help her with not hesitate to come and get me." She set the basket on the table and started setting plates. Rory smartly pinched Michael’s buttock as she walked past him, "You and your wake-up!" she chuckled.

"Now where’s that boy of mine-I’d like to take him to the shop with me this mornin’" he helped himself to a biscuit.

"He’d sleep till noon if you’d let him. As soon as he smells the ham, he’ll be down. I was going to see what I had to do the get him enrolled in school this morning. I suppose a couple more days won’t hurt." Turning to Michael, "Speaking of school, what are you going to do about Caitlin?"

"Mom-I want to stay here with you and go to school with Mick!" she looked frantically at her father. "Dad, please?"

Rory walked over to Caitlin, the child was clearly becoming upset. She gently embraced her, "It’s ok, honey, of course you can stay here." she tenderly kissed her forehead. Looking up at Michael, "You know, we’ve got our work cut out for us, luv. There’s Margaret to think about too. It’s not going to be easy on her."

Michael puffed out his cheeks and signed as he slumped into a chair. "I know-I’ve gotta head back to the house and get Caitlin’s cloths and things. I’m not lookin’ forward to this..." he reached out and Rory took his hand. Suddenly she noticed the scar on his wrist. It looked as though at one time it had been quite deep-however did he get it? Accident? Then a darker picture came to her mind and a chill ran down her spine...oh Michael, please let me be wrong... She broke her gaze, hoping he didn’t notice.

Kyle finished the coffee he helped himself to and rose. "Rory, you don’t have to go to Atlanta this weekend if you don’t want to-take your time and get settled in. But if you do decide to go, you can have my old coach-it’s big enough for the kids, lots of room. Just let me know later this afternoon so I can get a driver to take it to the track."

Rory looked at Michael, "We’ll be there, Kyle. I’ve been dying to get back to work. I’ll see you at the shop this afternoon. Tell Richard that I‘ll see him and Lynda later too."

"Great!" He embraced her with a quick peck on the cheek. "It’s good to have you back, Rory. See ya later"

Mick finally wandered into the kitchen and dug into the ham and biscuits, cheerfully stuffing his face. Michael grinned and pulled him into a bear hug. "I gotta get down to the shop this morning, care to join your old man down at the Garage Mahal?"

The boy’s fairly bugged out at the thought, "Can I Mum? Please!?"

"Aye-just don’t be givin’ those lads any grief. If I hear any word of you raisin’ the devil, I’ll wear you out! You mind your father and stay out of everyone’s way." Mick tore out of the kitchen and headed into his room to get dressed. Caitlin did likewise, one final hug to Michael and Rory before she left the room. "I love you both, I’m so happy we’re together again."

"I think she’d fit into some of my cloths, she can stay here with me." Rory slid into his arms as he nodded . "I hate to see you leave, you know that don’t you?" she whispered as Michael rested his head against her.

"I know-I’ll try to be back later." he sighed. No, this definitely wasn’t going to be easy alternating between the two houses. And two wives. One had his heart, the other owned his name.

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

It was a long drive to Sherrill’s Ford, as Michael decided to stop by the house for a change of cloths and to visit with Macy. Tentatively, he picked up the cell phone and called just to get a feel as to what he would be dealing with. He grinned over as Mick fiddled with the CD player in the Tahoe. "This is cool! Mum’s truck is old-doesn’t even have a radio."

Michael ruffled his hair, "I’ll buy her a new truck-I’ll let you and Caitlin pick it out. How’s that sound?"

Buffy’s voice interrupted him as she answered the phone. "So-how was it?" she snapped.

"Take it easy-you know where I was. Sorry I didn’t call-it was getting late and I figured you’d be in bed." No matter what he said, there was no correct answer here-might as well just put all the cards on the table and roll with it. God knows, we’ve been through this a hundred times already, he thought. "Look, I’m on my way home. I want to get Caitlin’s stuff and then I have to go over to DEI. I’ll see you in a few minutes."

Mick looked at his father curiously. "Dad-will I see my baby sister?" He was personally thrilled about this-he had often envied his school mates who had plenty of brothers and sisters. Now in a matter of days, he gained two! The only child was still something of an oddity in Ireland. Caitlin who was something of a tomboy, was as fun to be around as a lad, not at all prissy. She could ride and wrestle with the best of them.

Michael nodded, smiling. These kids are a godsend-now if I could get Buffy and Rory to call a truce, I’d be all set. Deep down, however, he knew that was about as likely as Palestine and Israel calling a truce! As far as Rory was concerned, Buffy was a traitor and to her way of thinking, there was nothing lower. Well this is going to be interesting, he thought as he drove the Tahoe up the winding drive.

"Mick, I want to show you my little race shop out back. It’s gonna be yours someday." Michael had always longed for a son of his own. It was somewhat selfish thought perhaps, but the thought of a next generation of Waltrips taking the checkers was a tantalizing thought nonetheless. After Macy’s birth, Buffy had pretty much put an end to any thoughts of increasing the size of their family with her final statement on the matter: "I’m too busy to be your broodmare!"

Buffy was just on her way out the door with Macy. "Oh good, you’re back. I’m on my way to Charlotte to talk with the accountant from Aaron’s. You can take Macy with you." She fished in her purse for the keys to her Prelude. (Courtesy of Darrell Waltrip Honda, naturally.) She noticed Mick standing by the Tahoe.

"Buff, Macy-I want you to meet Mick." He is adorable, Buffy thought. Well, now Michael’s up to his ears in kids-just what he always wanted. Mick shyly extended his hand. "Nice to meet ya, Missus." he said in his soft brogue, gazing up with his father’s blue eyes.

"Nice to meet you too, Mick. How do you like it here in America?" Adorable and so polite! There’s no way this is Michael’s offspring!

"It’s grand!" he grinned. "Racetracks everywhere! I can’t wait till I can drive! Dad said he’d teach me." In his mind, he was already chasing down Gordon at Darlington.

"Well, let’s hope you’ll do a better job than he does." she said simply. Yes, this was Michael’s child. "Michael, do you plan on being back later?"

"I’m taking some of Caitlin’s cloths over to Rory’s. Are you sure you’re ok with this?" She’s being a little too agreeable with this, Michael thought.

"Caitlin is her daughter." Buffy said flatly, "As long as she’s happy with the arrangement, I can’t see any point in denying her. How is Rory doing? Is she settled in yet?" She coolly regarded her husband-he looked happy and well-rested for the first time in weeks. How was she last night? Buffy thought bitterly, how many times did you fuck her? Does she still enjoy sucking your cock?

"Yeah--she’s settling in just fine. In fact, she and Caitlin are going over to the Petty’s shop today-she’s going to be working the Atlanta race." Buffy’s icy stare wasn’t wasted. As if he could read her thoughts, Michael added, "We did a lot of catching up last night." Touche`!

Macy, meanwhile, had wrapped herself tightly to her father’s leg, shyly regarding her new big brother. Mick knelt beside her. "Hi!"

His smile was infectious as his father’s. Macy coyly peaked from around Michael’s knee. "Hi." she replied in a small voice, thumb in her mouth. She cast a sad face up to her father, "Are you goin’ ‘way, Daddy?"

Michael swallowed hard-this was going to be the difficult part. Still feeling Buffy’s cold gaze, he knelt beside his youngest daughter. "I’m not going to leave you, honey. I’m always going to be with you." What’s Mommy been drilling into your head? he wondered.

Buffy impatiently looked at her watch. "Look-I’ve gotta go. Are you going to be here when I get back? If not, I‘m going to have diner with Teresa."

Michael sighed, "As long as Macy can stay with me and depending on what time I finish up at DEI, probably not."

"Are you sure she won’t mind Macy being along? I don’t want to inconvenience her or crimp her style any." Parting shot. Game over. Buffy started the Honda’s engine; she didn’t even look back as her car left for the highway. Let him think I’ve accepted this all he wants, but if he thinks I’m going to give up after investing almost 10 years of my life, he’s got another thing coming.

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

Kyle had just finished showing Rory the garage that housed the 43 Pontiac. Caitlin was as keenly interested in the goings-on around the garage as her mother. Rory herself had kept abreast of the advancing technology as best she could; reading every magazine front to back that came her way in the past 10 years. She was no stranger to the new aerodynamic technology that was taking stock car racing by storm. "It’s all about Aero now." Kyle muttered. A short, handsome man was just finishing a conversation with Richard when he walked over to Kyle, curious as to who the vaguely familiar woman was.

"John, I’m not sure if you remember Rory-she used to do fabrications and sheet metal work for Dad." Kyle began the introduction. "Rory, this is John Andretti-he’s driving for Dad now."

Rory looked at the man and firmly shook his hand. "Aye -I remember you. Can’t for the life of me remember who you drove for. I really admired your Uncle Mario-incredible driver! I look forward to working with you."

"My pleasure ma’am! Guess I’ll see you at the track tomorrow." he smiled. "Wait a minute! Rory Waltrip-Michael’s wife-now I remember! It’s good to see you back again."

"She’s always trying something new-she’ll get the set-up you need no problem. She has a super-natural eye and feel for the cars, John. You couldn’t ask for a better car chief." John tipped his hat as he left the building. Stunned, Rory turned to Kyle.

"Car chief!? Are you mad??" She stared incredulously at Kyle.

"You don’t think I’m gonna just put you back in the shop, do you?" he grinned. "You’ve more than proved yourself as far as being knowledgeable enough about what this car’s gonna need. The job’s yours if you want it-I mean you can still go back to the shop if you want to, but I know you can do this!"

Car chief! Rory’s head was spinning. Whereas the crew chief oversaw the pit crew, the spotters, the driver as well as the car, the car chief sole responsibility was the set-up of the car itself. The car-chief could make or break the team with the set-up alone. She was about to tell Kyle "thanks but no thanks, I’ll stay in the shop" when she looked at the excited face of her daughter and the hopeful one on her old friend.

"As you can guess, things haven’t been the greatest around her-since Dad retired it seems like things just started going down the tubes." he looked away for a moment, gathering his thoughts. " It was real tough when grampa Lee passed away-he always kept us going in the right direction. Then when Adam left us-". Rory gently put her hand on his arm. He continued, "You were such an asset to us, Rory-you were trying things that others haven’t even thought of yet. You have no idea how much it means to have you back. Maybe now, we can start to pick up the pieces."

"You can count on me, Kyle. I won’t let you down." she said firmly. "We’ll put Petty Enterprises back in the winner’s circle."

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

Mick was in heaven. So far, besides meeting his new baby sister, the best part of the trip was sitting in his father’s "Dream Machine"; the #99 Aaron’s Rents Busch Grand National car. He had already made up his mind-he was going to be a race car driver like his father. Or better, he grinned to himself. The Tahoe pulled into the Napa team garage at DEI and the boy’s jaw dropped at the immense building. Inside, half a dozen Napa blue Monte Carlos sat in various stages of completion. He reverently walked over to one race-ready car and peered inside. "Is this the Daytona winner?" he asked, lovingly gazing at the car as if it were the crown jewels.

"Nah-that car’s in the Daytona USA museum-we’ll see it in July when we go back for the Pepsi 400." Michael stood smiling behind him with Macy on her perpetual shoulder perch. "Hey kiddo, I gotta get my qualifying and race schedule from the office. Don’t go nowhere, I’ll be right back."

While Michael went into the office, Mick looked around the shop. Shite! He thought-nobody’s here. As if pulled by unseen forces, he pulled himself up on the window sill of the 15 and slid into the driver’s seat head-first. As he sat behind the wheel of the Chevrolet, he was gone-out of this realm and out of the garage. He was chasing his heroes down the stretch at Talladega, drafting low behind the leaders. He failed to notice that he had company as Junior poked his head into the window.

"Hey, squirt!" Mick nearly jumped out of his skin. "Michael Patrick Waltrip, I presume? Good run, kid!" Junior laughed as Mick nearly turned himself inside out trying to exit the car. "Hey-don’t worry! I ain’t gonna beat ya for another couple of minutes!" He slapped his Budweiser cap on the boy’s head. "Where’s your old man?"

"I-In the office, sir" Mick stammered. Michael had just come out of the office carrying his schedule. "Hey!" he grinned. "My boy keepin’ out of trouble?"

"Yeah-he’s ok. Just won the 500, I think!" I’m gonna like this kid, even if he does talk funny, Junior thought.

"Mick-this is my boss, Dale Jr." Mick stuck his hand out and shook the Junior’s hand. Junior gave Michael a mock glare, "Knock of the boss stuff, dude. Plane leaves for Atlanta at 7:30-I’ll see ya tomorrow. Nice meetin’ ya, Mick. I’d hang around but I gotta take Buddy to the vet for his shots Say ‘hey‘ to your momma.."

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

Later, much later that evening while the kids were clustered around the small television set and Michael and Rory had retired to the couch, the dust was finally settling on a hectic day. Michael lay with his head in Rory’s lap and his long legs sticking comically over the back of the couch. He was elated about Rory’s promotion-it would be good for her to get back into the swing of things. Atlanta was on the horizon and hopefully DEI would burn it to the ground by taking the competition like Sherman took that great antebellum city long ago. Rory suddenly started cackling, starting with muffled snickers and finally erupting into unstoppable belly-laughs.

Michael cracked an eye open, "Ok-kindly let us in on the joke, if you don’t mind."

"I’m just rememberin’ the last time we were at Atlanta." she continued to crack up. "You went out with Kenny, Kyle, Dale and Rusty and ...and I remember Kyle and Dale Jarrett draggin’ your sorry arse in at 4:00 in the mornin’! And you poundin’ on Mike Helton’s trailer and howlin‘ at the moon...."

"Ugh! You had to bring that up.." he started smiling at the memory himself. "Actually I brought quite a lot up if I remember correctly..."

"I’ve never seen somebody so sick in my life!" she hooted.

"Dad! You got skunked!" Caitlin laughed. Mick and even Macy grinned.

Rory snuggled him close as the kids descended on him-one huge, writhing group hug. It doesn’t get any better than this.

Chapter 26: Season of the Witch

The cheerful mood that Michael had been in evaporated as soon as he climbed in his car for qualifying. Atlanta Speedway is one of the fastest tracks on the circuit and normally Michael was in his natural element: the super speedway. As far as he was concerned, the car was a dog in the first practice sessions. He screamed at Eggleston, the crew chief and the rest of the crew that he couldn’t work with the car. Set-up’s wrong, gear’s are wrong-in short, there’s no way in hell that cursed thing could get out of it’s own way. Eggleston growled, "Do you mind being a little more specific? You’ve been bitchin’ every week about the car and we’ve done all we can with it! I ain’t a mind-reader, Waltrip! In fact, I’ve ‘bout had it with you and your whinin’! I’m a crew chief, baby-sittin’ ain’t my job!"

"You job is to give me a fucking car I can drive! Ever since Daytona, all I have is shit to work with!" Michael yelled. Overhearing the ruckus in the Napa pit box, Junior and Tony Eury wandered over. "What’s the problem, Michael." Junior silently regarded his old friend. These outbursts were getting a little more common lately.

"I’ll tell ya what the fuckin’ problem is-you and Steve are getting new cars and I’m driving a three-year old shitbox! This car is junk! I had better shit when I was driving for Bahari!" If Dale were here, thing’s would be different! He wanted to say that so bad, it was practically out of his mouth.

Junior hated this-hated the fact that he had to deal with this at all. He could see where Michael was coming from but the Napa team was so new that the 2001 budgets never were figured with this car in mind. Dale was in the process of restructuring everything when he died, thus leaving much of the logistics for the Napa team unfinished. But Michael’s frame of mind hasn’t been the greatest lately either. He looked pretty happy a few days ago-goes to show what getting laid will do for a guy-but every time he gets in that car, it all falls apart. In short, as far as Junior was concerned, Michael needed some time off-badly. Time away from the track, time to heal the gaping wound in his heart left by his father’s death. Junior stood between Michael and the seething crew chief; knowing well that whatever he said would be the wrong thing.

Finally Eggleston spoke, "Well-you don’t have to worry about me givin’ you the wrong set-up for the car or the wrong cue on the track because I’m done." He turned to Junior, "It’s been great workin’ with you and I admired the hell out of your father, but there ain’t no way in hell I can work with this sorry-ass looser another minute!" With that, he left abruptly for the comparative safety of the hauler. Junior shoved his hands in his pockets and stared at the cloudless sky. Now what? Fuck, Dad-what do I do now? He glared at Michael , who was in the process of starting to say something.

"Don’t. Say. One. Word." Junior continued glaring, "Jesus Michael! What the hell is wrong with you, man?" Michael slumped inside the car and sat staring angrily ahead. "Awww, fuck it. Nobody gives a goddamn what I say anyway..." he muttered, refusing to look at Junior.

An official waived for Michael to start moving on the track for his qualification run. Without another word to Junior, he snapped the window net up and peeled away from the wall. Junior stood silently watching his friend charge into the front stretch; helplessly torn between the loyalty of a friend and the new responsibilities of team management. Tony Eury shook his head, "I told Dale right from the get-go that signin’ him was a bad idea. He’s got a major attitude problem and he’s too damn moody. Can’t even communicate to his crew!"

Junior glared at his crew chief. "Lay off-he’s been through some real shit-we all have. Just give him some time...Mike will turn it around." Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Eury was right. He looked up as the 15 came back in and headed straight for the garage. He followed at a distance and watched as Michael pulled himself out of the car and angrily shot his helmet in the driver’s seat. He was currently fifth-not bad. So why was he still angry...? Junior decided since his qualifying was over, he might as well take a walk.

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

Junior stopped short in front of the Petty’s garage. A heated argument between an official and the crew of the 43 reverberated above the normal din of the garage. The sound of a familiar Irish brogue brought a smile to his face in spite of the venom that normally soft voice held.

"Now then-tell again why these springs are being impounded!? They were on the car at Las Vegas!" Even from her diminutive height, she was formidable. Hell hath no fury...

"So-this is what I’m seeing now-John just beat Dale Earnhardt Jr. and Jeff Gordon in qualifying. The 43 is out front for the first time in months with a new car chief so automatically you think something’s up." Rory growled.

The official cast a weary gaze at the hellcat in Petty blue. "Look-it’s a random check-nothing more. What I’m telling you is these springs are 1/16th too short and you people are gonna have to deal with it. Keep whinin’ and you can tell Mr. Helton your problems! Be happy it’s a first time offense and you’re just getting a warning. Just replace the damn springs and you’ll be good to go."

Junior chuckled, "Dad always said you had more tricks up your sleeve than Junior Johnson!" The official glanced at Rory with raised eyebrows, "Is that so?"

John Andretti threw the Junior a furious look and Kyle growled, "Shut your piehole, man-we don’t need anymore aggravation today." Rory also started to cast an annoyed glare his way until she recognized him. Or barely recognized him-when she saw him last, he was just a boy of 16. But the same impish twinkle in his eyes, scruffy goatee and his cap hanging jauntily backward told her yes-this was that same scrawny kid who once delighted in dogging every veteran in the garage.

"Junebug...? My God is it you?" She whispered as she threw her arms around him. The slender young man in the Budweiser fire suite was all that was left of her memory of his father.

"One and the same! Man, I wanted to stop by earlier, but damn sponsors and the team have me runnin’! Damn, it’s good to see you again-can you take a break and take a walk?" Rory cast a look at Kyle. "We’ve got everything under control-go on, you deserve a break!"

They walked over to the pit entrance and leaned against a wall; close enough to watch the action but away from the fans and curious on-lookers.

"Dang! You ain’t changed at all!" Junior grinned. Indeed, to his way of thinking, she was still worthy of pursuing except that he would rather deal with a rabid grizzly bear than Michael’s wrath.

"You’re lookin’ good, yourself and let me see, you’re the Busch grand champion now?" She offered him some coffee from her thermos, which he declined. "Nah-never touch the stuff except when I have a hangover."

Now the small talk was over. She looked up at him and gently put her hand on his. "Now-how are you doing, really?"

"Well-we’re really tearin’ it up this year-Michael took Daytona like a fifty dollar hooker and Steve killed ‘em at the Rock-"

"That’s not what I’m askin’."

Junior sighed, "Um-well...it’s like this. I’m carrying on-that’s it. I had my selfish moment when I cried for Dad but he would want me just to get on with it. I guess you could say I’m doin’ awright. Yeah-it hurts like hell and I’m dealin’ with stuff that I don’t wanna deal with, makin’ choices I don’t wanna..." He thought of Michael and the precarious position his job was in. He sighed, "I do have one major problem and you’re about the only one who can help me with it."

"Junior-you know there’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for you."

He looked out at the track, gathering his thoughts. "It’s Michael-somethin’s going on with him. He’s fine until he gets in that car-it’s like he’s lost his nerve. He tries to cover it up, complainin’ about the car and the crew. He’s so moody sometimes, even I can’t talk to him. I‘m just afraid that if he doesn’t straighten up, we’re gonna have to let him go. I dunno-I’ve heard of severely depressed people actin’ like that. I mean the whole ordeal you went through, the joke of a marriage he got himself into and now Dad. He’s done some crazy stuff too-self-destructive type shit...stupid moves on the track, drinkin’ way too much and he even-" he stopped himself before he revisited that awful autumn afternoon in the hayshed.

But Rory spoke up, remembering the scar on Michael’s wrist and the dark vision it brought. She knew it must’ve been difficult and lonely for Michael-just how far did despair drive him? "What did he do, Junior?" She said softly as she peered up at him.

Junior swallowed, took a deep breath before he answered her. "Not long after you left-when we found out that you were imprisoned, he fell apart big-time. I found him passed out in Dad’s hay barn-h-he tried to slash his wrist and end it. I was the one who found him-I was never so scared in my life-I thought he was fuckin’ dead! After that, there wasn’t too much he did or said that made any sense, it was like you had to keep him tied down to keep him from flyin’ off the face of the earth. If it wasn’t for Dad bein’ there, he’d probably be dead now...and right now, I just don’t know what to do. I just know that I‘m glad you‘re back."

He paused for a moment as Tony Stewart’s Pontiac screamed around the track in an ear-splitting blaze of orange. "Maybe now he can put it all behind him."

Rory gazed out on the catchfence as her old friend Ken Schrader took the track; only Mark Martin and Kurt Busch remained to complete qualifying. Michael had been pushed from fifth to tenth-still not a bad effort. She and Junior stood quietly by the fence, gathering and sorting their thoughts on the events of the past. Junior couldn’t help stealing a an admiring glance as Rory continued her musings. She was one of those rare females that combined natural beauty, intelligence and humor conveniently combined with a backbone of pure titanium and the compassion of the saints. Those were the same qualities that his father found in Teresa. It was no wonder the two women didn’t get along-they were too much alike.

Finally she turned to him, "Michael and I will work through this - the fact that we’ve survived these ten years is a feat within itself. But I am worried about you. You’ve no time to grieve for your father and still the sponsors, the media and yes-even Teresa have been hounding you to death! Michael’s told me what your life has been like-nary a moment to yourself!" She took his hand in hers and for a moment, Junior almost felt like crying-overwhelmed that somebody actually cared enough to talk to him as a living human being. "It’s ok-let go if you want to. God knows, I’ve shed enough tears for all of us. ‘Tis naught to be ashamed of."

He shook his head as he felt his eyes well up. "Awww, fuck-I’m just tired. Tired of everybody and tryin’ to be everything except myself. Seems like I ain’t allowed to be myself. I just wanna drive my car-I don’t wanna make life and death decisions! I don’t wanna be Dale Earnhardt Jr....I’d rather be just plain ol’ Junebug ....Y’know-it really sucks bein’ me sometimes!"

Rory put her arms around him. "There now, whether we like it or not-it’s been handed to you and the only thing you can do in the end is to please yourself. To hell with the rest o’ them. Do yourself proud and the rest will fall into place."

"It’s just so hard...so fuckin’ hard..." Junior’s voice broke.

"This is what has kept me alive when all I wanted to do was lie down and give up. It’s a little prayer for your sanity: God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can and cannot change-and the wisdom to know the difference." The two watched the last of the cars had back for the garage as Bud Pole Qualifying was finished for the Cracker Barrel 500. Junior gave her a faint smile. "That’s good-I’m writin’ that one down and pastin’ on my dashboard."

"Like I said-it’s the only thing that kept me from loosin’ my mind." She started heading for the garage. "C’mon-I gotta collect my kids from Stevie before she kills ‘em!"

"Umm-is it ok if I take Mick off your hands this afternoon? Just kinda hang with him and play some video games over in the hauler. He’s a great kid and I’m sure you could use a little peace ‘n’ quiet." Junior had already decided to take Mick under his wing so to speak. The boy’s enthusiastic presence was comforting and a welcome distraction from the stress from the track, the fans and his new responsibilities.

"Boy can sure talk your ear off once he gets goin’!"

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The aroma of Carolina pulled pork wafted from Stevie Waltrip’s kitchen as Rory dropped down in a chair. Macy was busy at work on a generous portion with more barbeque sauce on her little face than in her belly. Stevie shook her head and started filling a plate for Rory. "Good lord, child-dig in! Put some meat on them bones!"

"Well hello, Miss Macy!" Rory chuckled as the child continued to regard her behind her mask of barbeque sauce. Macy still didn’t know quite what to make of this soft-spoken stranger. She furrowed her brow, deep in thought. (or as deep in thought as a four-year old could get)

"Where’s Mick?" She had grown quite fond of her new big brother.

"He’s with Uncle Junior and Daddy-they should be back for dinner soon" Rory scanned a copy of Winston Cup Scene, sipping a can of root beer. Stevie had grabbed a plate of her own and joined the table. "So, Punkin-whatcha think of your new brother?"

Macy grinned, "He’s funny like Daddy! I looooove him!" The two women cracked up at this. It was like old times again. Furrowing her brow again she asked, "Are you a real witch, Mizz Rory? Momma says y’all are a witch." Stevie rolled her eyes heavenward. "Macy! That wasn’t very nice-I’ll warm your little butt if I ever hear that again!"

Rory let up a weary chuckle. First, she made an enemy with the Nascar officials-next stop would be the Big Red Trailer. Then, the disturbing revelations about Michael. Now she was a witch! Out of the mouths of babes.....

Macy piped up. "That’s ok-I like witches! You’re like Sabrina! You’re a good witch." Rory rose from her seat and put her arms around her. "I am a good witch-I haven’t turned anybody into a frog lately." Although that reptilian track brownie sounded like a tempting target. The sound of the coach door slamming and Michael’s voice broke the moment.

"Hey y’all-mmmm-mmm what smells so good?" he grinned as he helped himself to the pot on the stove. Stevie looked at him suspiciously. He seemed to be concealing something in his fire suite jacket-something alive!

"Michael, what the hell do you have tucked in there?" she growled. "You better not be bringin’ any critters in here!" Stevie’s statement was finished with a shriek as a tiny black head poked out of his jacket. Yowling, the tiny black kitten erupted away from Michael’s grasp and promptly perched on top of the kitchen cabinets. Michael’s attempts to retrieve the frightened little cat were returned with a volley of angry hisses and growls. Macy squealed with glee, "A kitty! Can we keep him?"

"Dammit Michael-get it outtta here!" yelled Stevie, heading toward the cabinets armed with a broom.

"Shhh...you scarin’ the daylights out of it." Rory said quietly as she stood precariously on the counter and gently retrieved the cat. Coal black with luminous bright green eyes, he looked like a little black panther.

Snuggling the tiny beast, it soon began a deep purring; now content and reassured that it was out of harm’s way.

"See Daddy-she is a real witch!" Macy giggled. "Can we call him Salem?"

Shaking her head, Rory smiled at her new charge. "Nah...we’ll call the little demon Pooka-they’re mischievous spirits in Ireland."

Michael shot her a warning look, "Margaret....!" he hissed. "He was hiding underneath the hauler-don’t know if he was just dropped off or where he came from. Junior said he had some extra cat food and stuff back at his coach. What’s this witch business?"

Rory shook her head, laughing. "I’ll tell you later....much later! Let’s go find Uncle Junior and see if he spare us a wee bit of kitty litter."

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As the flag dropped on the Cracker Barrel 500, Michael tightly gripped the wheel. His stomach was so tied up in knots, he thought he was going to vomit at any moment. He found himself pushed up against the wall as Robby Gordon and Jimmy Spencer made it three-wide. Ogod...get me through this! He couldn’t breath, his heart was now slamming violently against his rib-cage. In another life, he would have bulled his way from the two parasites that clung to his car’s underside. I can’t do it, can’t take it anymore...he suddenly checked up and now felt the tap from Rusty’s bumper. The Napa Chevrolet bobbled drunkenly but somehow stayed straight.

"What the fuck is wrong with him??" Rusty wondered. He hadn’t meant to bump the car in front of him, but now he wanted to get past the slowing vehicle. Michael motioned for him to pass low. Rusty cast a curious glance at the dark blue car-it didn’t appear to have anything wrong with it. Several others followed Rusty as Michael dropped to the end of the line.

From the Napa war-wagon, Ty Norris was now acting as a makeshift crew chief. Damn Eggleston for quitting. Now the 15 was sinking through the field like a stone in a mill pond. "Michael! What’s wrong??" he yelled over the radio. No answer-dead silence. "Michael, can you hear me??"

Inside the cockpit of the 15, Michael debated on whether or not to answer him. Sighing, he flipped on the intercom. "Yeah-I copy. Car’s tight." It wasn’t though but he had to say something. What do I say? I’m scared shitless? What the hell is wrong with me-why can’t I do this? Ty’s voice came back on. "Pit next lap-we’ll adjust the tack bar." He looked up as the Budweiser hood loomed in his rear-view mirror. The cars flew in procession as Michael motioned to Junior that he was heading for the bottom and the pits. As the 15 rolled to a stop and the crew went to work, Michael flipped up his visor to wipe the sweat from his face. Noticing his ghastly pale complexion, Ty leaned in the window. "Mike-are you ok? You look terrible..."

"Yeah-I’ll be ok...just get me a drink." Michael stared blankly ahead. It was that dead look that scared Ty. Grabbing a bottle of Gatorade and passing it to Michael, he inquired again, "Are you sure you’re up to this? I can get a relief driver...." This was clearly not the same man who climbed into this car at Daytona. He looked terrified and this was not a frame of mind to be in at 190 miles per hour.

Michael shook his head and quietly put his visor down and the net back up. The Gatorade refreshed him somewhat and he tore back out on the track. Focus, he told himself, just keep the focus. It will be over soon enough. He hung for the remainder of the race in mid-pack. Never challenging, never a threat, never a contender. Darrell’s words came back to haunt him: "You’re just drivin’ in circles and gettin’ in everybody’s way...." That’s right....just hang in there, but I’ll still walk away from this race. I’ll still come home to my family. It was this new fear that planted itself in his mind-the fear of being taken away from them like Dale. It was this fear that would curse him for the rest of the season and perhaps the remainder of his driving career.

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Later that night, Michael stared into the blackness of the room. He rested his cheek against Rory’s head and tried in vain to find sleep. He couldn’t go on like this-he was letting them all down. He searched for an answer in the void. I don’t deserve any of this, he sighed. Rory stirred beside him and turned over to face him. Sensing his restlessness, she nestled close and tenderly kissed his throat. "Try to sleep, luv-we’ll get through this. As long as we’re together, we’ll survive this. You’re a good driver, Michael and you’ll turn it around and then they’ll never catch you. It will be alright..." Her soft voice soothed him and he nuzzled her with his own kisses.

"I know...they’ve just gotta stop pushing me...I need the team behind me, not working against me."

"You’ve got me behind you...and Junior-he still believes you can do it! Plus the undying support of the kids..."

She was right-with a home team like that, who needed a crew chief anyway? Pulling her on top of him in one swift embrace, he smiled sadly. "Macy says you’re a witch, huh? Turn me into a real driver. What do you need anyway? Eye of newt? ....Lizard’s gizzards?"

Rory silenced him with a deep soul-kiss. "Nah...yer bollocks!" She laughed softly and gently pulled him on top of her as the two melded together.

Chapter 27: Revelations

Daytona July 2001

The sky was just turning pink along the horizon as three figures made their way up the track’s steep embankment. Daytona Speedway in the dark was like a monstrous fortress; looming black against the canopy of midnight blue. A little breeze fluttered the flags along the infield and grandstand. It was all so still and quiet-as if the world was holding its very breath. This track who’s name was magic in itself; it is a place of spellbinding drama, soaring triumphs and heartrending tragedy. The essence of Daytona Speedway could at best be summed up as a place of "terrible beauty".

Now on this hallowed ground, three came seeking solace, retribution and redemption. The trio had come to face the beast that took him-the Man away. In the vast scheme of the cosmos, he was relatively insignificant. But to the masses who adored him, he would always remain immortal. His black Chevrolet would haunt this place as long as this new sport of kings would be run. Unseen, this specter would forever lead the pack, running unfettered by restrictor plates or time and the challengers would never catch him. The challengers and contenders would always be there in his shadow for we will never see his like again. To the masses, he would remain The Intimidator. To those who now stood before the wall, he was simply Dad. My brother-in-arms. My beloved friend. Simply Dale Earnhardt...just Dale......

The Man’s son knelt next to the wall, slender fingers tracing the concrete and the painted-over gouges that remained. Tears flowed freely now like a watershed. Months of pent-up grief and confusion were released as he wept. It was alright now, he felt like he could carry on and become the driver that the Man envisioned. A slight, fair woman tied a single wine-red rose with a strand of black ribbon to the lower links of the catchfence above the wall, stepped a pace back . Crossing herself, she said a silent prayer to keep her two companions safe for the evening’s race and the Man’s guidance to watch over them. Standing apart, stood the third. A tall, almost imposing figure, he looked out beyond the grandstand, the garages, hotels and condos. He felt the spirit of the Man who considered him a brother and he felt a sense of reassuring peace. There was a confidence in him that had been absent but now restored as if indeed the departed was standing beside him. Now composed, Dale Earnhardt Jr. rose as Michael and Rory stood silently beside him. The three embraced together. The Man had never let them down and in a way, he had paid the ultimate sacrifice. Now it was their turn to do him proud as they made their resolutions. The Man would be avenged.

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Walking back to Rory’s coach, neither she nor Michael spoke-it was as if words seemed out of place this morning. Unnecessary. Glancing at her watch, Rory knew that Caitlin and Mick would be up and about soon and it was time to start breakfast before she was due at the garage. Quietly stealing into her modest motorcoach, she made a line for the bedroom to pick up her inspection paperwork and notebook. Michael followed and flopped on the bed as she went through her notes on yesterday’s practice. He still loved simply watching her. Her presence at once calmed, inspired and ignited him. Rory smiled to herself as she reviewed her notes on Andretti’s practice laps. She cast a sideways glance at him as he reclined languidly on the bed; reminding her of a panther stretching out. She felt the heat of his gaze; his eyes and his smile still sent a shiver down her spine. My dear Michael, she thought, you should be in your garage with your crew as well-I’ll play with you later!

Michael caught a glimpse of himself in the wall mirror next to the bed. Frowning, he sucked in his stomach. Rory watched his facial expressions with amusement. "Do you think I’m getting fat?" he asked, removing his shirt and inspecting his midsection for the tell-tale spare tire.

"What?" Rory asked, laughing. "Wherever did you get that idea??"

"Buffy thinks I’m getting fat.." he muttered, trying unsuccessfully to ‘pinch an inch’ near his belt.

Granted he was getting older and there was a slight softness around his middle but it basically gave him a seal-sleek look. The extra weight really wasn’t that noticeable, hell as far as Rory was concerned, he was still the sexiest thing on two legs anyway. He could be as fat as Jimmy Spencer and as bald as Schrader, and she wouldn’t love him less. Shaking her head, she gave him a mischievous grin, "uh-huh...I like you with a little extra flesh on your bones-I don’t want you too skinny. Gives me something to hang on to- more of you to love." She rose from her chair and slipped her arms ‘round his shoulders and gently kissed his cheek. Fat indeed! Only Buffy could pick him apart like that. "Now-if you want to change something, grow your hair out! It’s too bloody short and I miss running my fingers through it." She drew his lips to hers and gave him a dirty wink. "And my toes, too!"

"Oh I don’t know-it makes me look more polished when we tape Inside Winston Cup. Makes me look professional." He sighed and laid his head in her lap. "Speaking of My Show-you gonna help me with my ‘Roving Reporter’ bit? I wanted to do a feature on the women in Nascar-y’know...the gals behind the scenes...it would be great if we could feature you because you’re a car chief now-that’s a huge deal. Until Stevie came along, they wouldn’t even allow you gals in the garages-not even the pit punkins!"

His Show! Rory chuckled, "Now what are you gonna call it? Wenches behind the Wrenches? What I do isn‘t very glamorous. In fact, most of the time I don‘t even look human back there all covered with grease and muck from the pits. "

"Grrr-rrr... that makes me so hot.." Michael growled playfully, "You in them coveralls and nuthin’ on underneath ‘em...mmm-mmm baby..." He nuzzled against her neck; lips hungrily seeking her throat. She slid underneath him and embraced him as he ground his loins into her. "You’re so bad..." her whisper ended in a moan as she felt him harden. Must get to the garage...must get to the-

Her clipboard and notebook thudded to the floor, momentarily breaking the tension. A small envelope dropped from the notebook and Rory grinned as she reached down and tossed it to Michael. He shook his head with a dazed expression on his face. "Huh? Whazzis?" He was still wrapped around her as he fumbled with the envelope.

"Hey-almost forgot to show you these pictures. Stevie had ‘em-they’re Caitlin’s baby pictures." She nestled against Michael as he flipped through the old photos. "Isn’t she precious? She was so tiny..."

"Yeah...look at you two..." he brought out the one of Rory and Caitlin just back from the hospital. There were some of Rory before Caitlin was born that brought a smile to his face. "You were the most beautiful pregnant woman in the world, ya know that?"

"UGH! I was big as a house! Michael Curtis, I swear you’re as daft as a bedbug!" She threw him an exasperated look and a swat to the back of his head. He responded by smothering her mouth with his kiss. He smiled gently, his eyes never leaving hers, "Yeah, I’m nuttier than a fruitcake but I meant every word I said. Those were the memories that I kept with me all those years without you."

"You honestly thought I was beautiful being pregnant? All fat, sick and cranky...."

"You had this glow about you....you reminded me of them old paintings of the Madonna or somethin..I don‘t really remember you being cranky. Horny yes, cranky no. Y‘know, those nine months were probably the happiest of my life.." he sighed, "Maybe it was because we were both so happy back then...before everything fell apart. I was just thinkin’ when we got down here, that we would’ve been married 10 years in February."

"Ach..Mikey...let’s not relive the past anymore today.." she buried her head against him. Michael sat the pictures aside and spooned himself around her. Her cell phone chimed to life. Awwright, hold on Your Majesty...Rory figured it was The King wondering where she was this morning.

"’Lo?" she grunted. "Michael? Aye-hold a moment..." she handed the phone to him, "It’s Ty Norris-they’ve a new fella who wants to meet you.. It’s about the open crew chief position.."

"Yeah?" Michael listened to Ty for a few moments. "Ok, I’ll be over in a few...later." Sighing, he untangled himself and rose from the bed stretching. Rory had already headed for the kitchenette and was busily getting breakfast started. The aroma of fresh coffee wafted down the hall and mingled with the salty breeze that the drifted in the window. The sun had broke through the morning mist; the promise of a potentially wonderful day.

"Headin’ out? Here, take this ham ‘n’ biscuit with your coffee." She was already wrapping up her own food to eat on the run. Michael caught her in his arms before he left. "It’s gonna be a busy day-I probably won’t see you until later." Pausing as an idea formed in his mind, "After the race, meet me on the beach."

"What’s goin on at the beach?" Rory was getting her two sleepy-headed offspring ready to go to Aunt Stevie and Darrell’s coach.

"Ain’t tellin’. Just be there. C’mon, I’ll walk you back to the garage."

The morning activity was underway around the garages and pit-row. Fans already streaming into the grandstand and wandering about the grounds in search of autographs, food or pictures. The stall where the 43 stood wasn’t all that far from where Michael and Junior’s cars were kept. The Napa crew were just putting a last-minute coat of wax on the car. The 15 carried a special paint-scheme for the Pepsi 400 as did Junior’s and several other vehicles. It’s cobalt-blue skin was accentuated by a wave of red and white near the bottom and a half-dozen stars on the hood surrounding the Napa logo.

"Wow! She’s beautiful!" Rory exclaimed. "Too bad you have to put ‘er in a race."

"Yeah...hopefully we won’t get wrecked. I’d hate to see anything happen to it. It runs real sweet too-I think we’ve got a chance today..." He put his arm around her and leaned close. "Remember, after Victory Lane, I’ll see you on the beach...I love you, baby." He finished with a quick kiss. Rory hung around his neck for a moment, standing tip-toed as she pulled his face to hers. "I’ll see ya later, luv. Be careful out there." The two grudgingly parted ways, unaware that the Napa crew weren’t the only ones who were observing their open displays of affection.

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Teresa Earnhardt quietly sipped her morning coffee, watching her driver and his former wife embracing in front of the Napa Chevrolet. Buffy sat with her also, trying to ignore the couple. Frowning, Teresa turned to her companion. "I’m gonna have to talk to him about carryin’ on like that in the garage. Sponsors will have a problem with that."

"Aaron’s have already told me that they that they don’t find his off-track conduct very acceptable. Not much I can do about it though."

"How are you coping with all of this?" Teresa inquired. Buffy had told her months ago that an agreement was made and for all practical purposes their marriage was over except in name and property. But Teresa was perceptive, she could see that Buffy wasn’t quite as accepting as she let on.

"It’s funny, in a way. There was a time a couple of years ago when I was so fed up with him, I couldn’t even look at him! Now that she’s back in the picture, I can’t help but feel bitter. I mean, look at them-they’re like newlyweds, fer Chrissake! But I’ve nobody to blame but myself." She shook her head. "He tried so hard-he was just as affectionate to me, always holdin’ me, always attentive and I pushed him away. If I could do it all over again..."

"It’s not like I didn’t warn you...remember what I said about gettin’ your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed?" Teresa arched an eyebrow and gave her a faint smile. She partially blamed herself for encouraging Buffy to pursue Michael. Macy was the only good thing to come from this union and remembering how angry Dale had been for her meddling would forever be there to remind her of the foolishness of it all. "Have you spoken to her at all since she’s been back?"

"No-I’m almost kinda afraid of her. Michael told me she was absolutely furious-said I was a traitor and there was no chance of any talkin’ what so ever I mean, I don’t hold any anger towards her-none of this was her fault, after all."

"She’s angry about her letters that you tucked away? In a way, I can’t blame her-that was pretty stupid..." Teresa didn’t pull any punches.

"What can I say-I thought if Michael didn’t hear from her, he’d forget her in time. It certainly looked like she wasn’t going to see the light of day anytime soon."

"Never underestimate the power of an Earnhardt." Teresa mused, "Here’s the tragic part-even she doesn’t know this. Her release cost Dale a fortune in lawyer’s fees and hush money to the Northern Ireland government. Her poor brother gunned down a decoy-her father’s still on the loose over there. Her poor brother went to his grave for nothing. If it hadn’t been for Dale, she would still be rotting in prison. Rory has no idea how lucky she is. Dale thought very highly of her and there wasn‘t a damn thing he wouldn‘t do for Michael. Michael Waltrip owes us big-time and he had better plan on getting his shit together on the track or so help me I’ll fire him myself!"

Buffy stared at her open-mouthed. "Does Michael know any of this?"

"No and I’m not going to publicly hold it over his head. Dale would never forgive me and there’s always been enough tension between me, Junior and Kelley. No-this is going to the grave with me and I’d appreciate you not discussing it with him either. That ugliness is done and buried with Dale. But Michael knows he must perform out there or he‘s done. "

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Chapter 28: Ride the Wind

Richard Labbe stood outside of the Budweiser hauler, waiting patiently for Ty Norris. A long-time veteran of the pits and a well-established crew chief with the likes of Robert Yates Racing (just to name a few) on his resume, Labbe had been informed of an open position for an experienced crew chief for Dale Earnhardt’s fledgling team. Upon hearing of a possible promotion of Tony Eury Sr., the thought of handling one of the most promising young stars of the Winston Cup circuit was enticing to say the least. Richard Labbe (or "Slugger", as he preferred to be called) knew this was the opportunity he had been looking for; up-and-coming driver plus successful crew chief equals a guaranteed recipe for a winning combination.

Ty greeted him, smiling broadly. "Hey, Slugger! Glad you could make it-just in time for Happy Hour. Michael should be getting ready to go out any minute-the Napa pit-box is right over there." Ty led the stocky man down pit-row; Slugger couldn’t help but look wistfully at the gleaming Budweiser car as he passed by.

Michael? As in Michael Waltrip? Slugger tried to ignore the cloud of misgiving that had started to form in his mind. Accentuate the positive-let’s not give this a complete write-off yet. But the winner of the Daytona 500’s reputation preceded him. Images of the fiery-tempered driver pulling his car in front of Lake Speed at Michigan and pummeling the older man who was still strapped in his car immediately popped into Slugger’s mind as well as Michael’s moody nature and inconsistent track record. Still, he also remembered those brief, but significant flashes of greatness: the hard-drive through 41 cars at Pocono as he chased down Bill Elliot and the stirring victory in the 1996 Winston All-Star. Maybe I can work with this, mused Slugger as Michael stepped out from behind the war-wagon to greet him. The driver of the Napa Chevrolet firmly grasped his hand as Ty introduced the potential crew chief, "Hey there, how‘s it goin‘? ! Heard you were interested in workin‘ with us.. Gotta warn ya, though-I’m known as the Problem Child around here!" Michael said, grinning. Looking up at Michael’s earnest expression and ever-infectious smile, Slugger took an immediate liking to him.

"Well, if you don’t mind-I’m just gonna hang by your pit-box tonight and get a feel for how things are done ‘round here." Slugger added, "I can’t get released from my own deal until October, but at least I can get an idea of what we’ll need to do next year." In spite of his misgivings, Slugger saw something in Michael, just as Dale had. Slugger knew that no matter how close a friend Michael was to Dale, there was no way in hell the old man would’ve let Michael drive his cars if he couldn’t win. Yes, the gangly driver could be a handful to deal with. Yes, he did have a rather large chip on his shoulder- chips like that flourish in the shadow of a legendary brother. But he had that certain look in his eyes-well, Slugger thought, maybe it was just the hot Daytona sun. Maybe it was the lingering spirit of the Intimidator. That look hadn’t been there a few days ago-that peculiar, fearless gleam. Old-time race-horse trainers called it the ‘look of eagles’. Michael definitely had the years and miles under his belt to be a true contender-he had long-ago paid his dues to the sport. He’s a work in progress but I think I can work with him, Slugger ended his musing and turned to Michael. He must’ve been lost in his own thoughts as he stared at the infield.

"So-do you think you’ll sign with us in October?" inquired Ty, curiously regarding the now thoughtful Slugger Labbe.

"Yeah-just give me some time to get my things in order. I’ll sign for a year to see how it goes. If we make it work, I’ll sign for an extension in ‘02."

Michael suddenly broke his reverie. He knew Slugger was one of the best crew chiefs out there. He also knew that his options were running out. His old friend, Bobby Kennedy was committed to one team for another year and he had already sent a couple of other potential crew chiefs screaming out of the garage with his recent temper-tantrums. He felt comfortable around Slugger; he liked the man’s sense of direction and easy-going, laid-back nature.

Ty eyed Michael squarely, "Well, Michael-what do you think?" He was at the end of his rope with Michael; he fully understood where the driver was coming from but if he wanted to keep this ride, he needed a major attitude adjustment. Dale was always fond of saying that when you go to break a mule, you have to start at the head. Lately, Michael often had Ty looking for the nearest 2x4 to test that theory’s effectiveness. Something was up with him today-he seemed more at ease than he had in months. There was a certain focus and actual drive in his demeanor Maybe Junior was right-he was finally snapping out of the self-imposed stupor that had enveloped him since their last trip here in February. .

"I think we can make this deal work." the Napa driver said firmly, "I’ll make it work. If it doesn’t-I’ll quit. You won’t have to worry about runnin’ me off..." He looked directly at Slugger, who remained silent; observing the interplay between Norris and Michael. "I won’t let you down."

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"Heya, darlin’!" Lynda Petty greeted Rory as she took her place on Andretti’s war wagon. "How’s our boy doin’ today?" The 43 Dodge had just ripped down the front stretch as Happy Hour wound down. Rory put her headphones aside and returned the older woman’s smile.

"Ach-we’ll need wings to catch the DEI cars today and I’m not just pullin’ favorites." She shook her head as Junior’s car whipped by as if John’s car had quit. It almost looked as if the 43 had started running backward. Steve Park drafted tight to Junior’s bumper and the two Chevrolets lit into the first turn as if they were one vehicle. "Bloody things are fast! They have their game down..." Rory personally hated the new Dodges, preferring instead the sleeker aerodynamics of the GM cars. Michael and Dale Jarrett now raced by in tandem. Rory held her stopwatch on the 15 as it barreled ‘round the track. Glancing at the stopwatch, she sucked in her breath as it made another lap by.

"What is it, dear?" Lynda’s brow furrowed. Rory wasn’t exaggerating-Michael’s car was even faster than Junior’s. Now curious, Richard Petty ambled over to see what had the two women so engrossed.

"47.3" Rory whispered, "Do you think he forgot that damn plate?"

"What did you say!?" Richard inquired sharply, removing his sunglasses to get a better look at the watch. "I’ll be damned...hell, with them boys in the race, we might’s as well pack up and go home!" The King was only half-joking.

It was no secret that Petty Enterprises was struggling. There many times that no matter how fast the car was, John’s heart just wasn’t in it. And Kyle-the loss of Adam still plagued him. With Loudon coming up, there were times that he was so despondent, he barely made the qualifying field. Rory diligently kept up her end of the deal, difficult as it was. Always cheerful, always willing to try something different and she never failed to rally the troops come race day. Still, even she felt it daunting at best to even bother competing with DEI at Daytona.

Richard pointed his long index finger at her. "Looky here, young lady! Y’all better torture ol’ Michael into spilling his guts on that engine program of theirs!"

"Believe me I’ve tried everything but Chinese water torture. I honestly don’t think he knows himself what goes into that car. I told him he should spend more time in the shop." She replied, taking a swig of Snapple.

Lynda changed the subject, "Say-y’all goin’ to work that Wives’ Auxiliary Ball ‘n’ Auction next week? Should be a lot of fun."

Rory shook her head, "Nah-’cept for you, Stevie and Liz Allison, the rest o’ them little bitches treat me like a bastard at a family reunion!" She had gotten quite used to the icy stares from the younger women in the circuit; the catty remarks and gossip rolled off her back like water off a duck’s arse. She often consoled herself that at least she earned her keep.

Lynda shook her head sadly, "Hmmpph! Go figure-you know dang well who’s behind that!"

"Stevie warned me that Buffy had a lot of friends. All and fine-I don’t care. I know who my friends are." Rory said simply.

"You should still go-show ‘em up! Let ‘em all know you’re back and here to stay!"

"You think I can still go? I didn’t get an invite..."

"Bull! That thing is open to all racing teams and families!" Richard snorted. "Just show ‘em your ID badge and call me over if they give you any lip!"

Rory sighed as the 15 whipped by John’s car again, nearly knocking the 43 loose. "I’ll think about it."

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

"Tonight, tonight,
the highway’s bright.
Out of our way, mister you best keep.
‘Cause summer’s here and the time is right
For racin’ in the street"-Bruce Springsteen-from Racing in the Street

As dusk was falling over the speedway, the floodlights turned the track into an almost magical place. The air crackled with excitement as if a storm was on the horizon. The night was warm and muggy and the afternoon’s heat was still rising from the asphalt. The cars sat gleaming and ready to roll two by two as soon as the order to start the engines was given. Color guards and endless military personnel lent a solemn air to the festivities. The crowd in the packed grandstand seemed even more volatile than usual. There was something about night racing that ignited all involved from the lowliest gas jockey to the very top echelon of Nascar itself. Bill France, Mike Helton and a slew of others sat in their suites, as eager as the inebriated sots in their Budweiser adorned finery.

On his way to his car, Michael stopped by Andretti’s box and grabbed Rory’s arm. Hastily he pulled her behind the war-wagon. "Remember-meet me right after the race!" he said as he molded his lips to her; lifting Rory off her feet.

"Be careful out there, Mikey!" She pulled his face to her lips for one last kiss. "I love you." she whispered as the call for all drivers to their cars rang out.

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

Lap 130 and some of the cars were making their last dive for the pits. John Andretti was running well tonight-he was currently 14th and as strong as he had been all year. "Come on, Johnny! You can do it!" yelled Rory. "Ok lads! Head’s up-here he comes!" The 43 was just on it’s way in when the ever-irrepressible Kurt Busch decided that patience wasn’t his greatest virtue and slammed into Mike Wallace. The ensuing melee involved a dozen vehicles, included the 43 Dodge. The smoking vehicle finally made it in as Rory was condemning Kurt Busch to the darkest corner of Hades. "Goddamned fucking elf-eared prick! I’m gonna kill the little bastard!" she snarled, disgustedly tossing her pit-cap at the 97 and it’s impish driver.

Junior had decided to take full advantage of the chaos and charged past Dave Blaney to the front. Johnny Benson and the rest of the pack had a run on him and he knew it. His car was also becoming ill-handling. Junior wanted this win badly. He had come here to put the ghosts of Daytona to rest and appease his father. Six laps to go and Ty was screaming that Benson was below him, gaining with help from Elliot Sadler.

Suddenly, blowing past Benson, the Napa Chevrolet moved as if it were shot from a cannon. Now sweating, Junior looked up in his rear-view as Ty radioed in that help was coming. The 15 was strong and coming faster as the laps wound down. Junior grinned as he could see Michael motioning to him-keep going! I’m behind you! As the cars entered the front stretch, Junior felt the bump from the 15’s nose and his Budweiser Chevrolet shot forward.

Michael watched as Junior’s car bobbled a little coming off the third turn. He’s loose-I could pass him now and win this thing myself, he thought. No-not today. He hasn’t given up on me and I won’t hang him out to dry now. Elliot Sadler was behind Michael -he had plenty of help if he wanted to get by. Tony Stewart was also in the back and ready to pounce if either of the leaders faltered. Michael edged his car closer, practically pushing Junior as he spied the white flag. Almost over, hang in there bud. One more lap to go and it was. As the checkers waved, DEI’s finest sailed under the wire and the 2001 Pepsi 400 was engraved in the history books. Far away, Dale raised his glass in salute to teamwork.

The Budweiser Chevrolet was spinning as if as elated with the victory as it’s master in the infield. Howling like a loon, Junior was out of his car and on the roof as the 15 pulled up beside him. As Michael climbed out and mounted the roof on his own car, Junior also lunged on top of the 15. The two drivers threw their arms around each other unabashed; laughing and crying at once. Together, as more like brothers than teammates, they celebrated in glorious victory. No more looking back-the nightmare that had plagued them for the past 4 months was over. As Junior’s pit-crew encircled the two cars, he joyously leapt into their arms. Michael, still smiling, jumped down from his own. His job was done here tonight. He looked up and spotted Rory leaning on the hood of his car. Smiling broadly, he gently took the hand of his lady and together they left for their own victory celebration far away from the this sacred ground.

"On a hot summer’s night
Would you open your throat to the wolf with the red roses?"-Meatloaf

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

The evening wore down and far away from the parties, traffic and noise, Michael and Rory sat on a blanket watching the fireworks overhead. A small lantern and the blazing full moon provided all the light they needed. Rory was out of her coveralls and into a delicate ivory lace sundress and little else was left to the imagination as the lace clung and floated transparently about her. She lay back on the blanket as Michael caressed her; his hands gently fondling her breasts as he sought her lips. Suddenly, she gracefully rose and slipped her dress over her head. Michael’s eyebrows arched, "OOOOhhkay! Somebody wants to get nekkid!" he grinned. "With our luck, we’ll be arrested! Man, Teresa would just love that!" he cackled.

He grew silent as he regarded her figure in the moonlight. There was something so wild, so enticing about the thought of making love to her on the beach. Rory straddled his hips wearing only a lacy thong.

"Where’d you get that?" Michael mischievously fingered the delicate material.

"Your daughter gave bought this for me! Can you believe that kid?" she chuckled. She shifted her weight, feeling the delicious sensation of his erection pressing against his khakis. She leaned forward, breasts brushing his chest as she whispered, "Make love to me, Michael." He sat up and removed his t-shirt and lay back down, pulling her beneath him as he sought her lips. Sighing, Rory hands tenderly caressed the taut muscles of his shoulders and back as he eagerly devoured her throat. The delicate scent of her gardenia perfume mingled with the pungent aroma of his sweat and aftershave as the two writhed together in ecstasy's embrace. Pausing for a moment, he gazed at her with an expression of tenderness and a little sadness too. "Happy anniversary, baby." he whispered. Fumbling with his belt, he finally rid himself of the last of his clothing. The gentle sound of the waves and the distant noise from the track was their soundtrack.

They spent the remainder of the evening into the wee hours of the morn making love as if it were their first time together. As the pink strip of sunrise reflected on the still ocean, they sat quietly huddled together in the blanket. It felt as if their lives were just beginning as their sorrows were finally put behind them. Some of those sorrows that Michael had planned on putting to rest with the new divorce petition that lay on the kitchen table in his motor coach.

Chapter 29: Out of the Darkness-Season’s End 2001

Slugger had just put the finishing signature on his new contract after a lengthy review in the plush office at DEI. Teresa and Ty Norris were present for their end of the closing , calmly sipping coffee and conjuring small-talk and propositions for the upcoming season. Michael also sat there, quietly fidgeting as his employers sealed the deal. He was never fully comfortable in an enclosed office setting and there was something about Teresa’s demeanor that unnerved him. There was more to this meeting than the acquisition of Slugger as his new crew chief and judging by Teresa’s unwavering gaze-much, much more to discuss. He cast a glance at the setting late October sunset as the slanting, golden rays set the outside oaks ablaze. He looked forward to heading down to Lowe’s before it got too late. Junior was teaching Mick the ropes in the finer art of handling a midget car and he promised his boy that he would be there. He smiled inwardly at the memory of putting his young son in the driver’s seat of his Busch car and the almost-solemn look on the boy’s face as the boy’s hands reverently caressed the steering wheel. Mick almost immediately understood the legacy behind the car-his father, Uncle Darrell and the ghost of Dale Earnhardt. He would make them all proud someday...

"You’re awful quiet, Mike-everything ok?" Teresa leaned forward, studying her driver’s thoughtful face.

"Hmmm? Yeah-just thinkin’"

Slugger rose to leave, shaking hands with Ty, Teresa and finally, Michael. "Guess I’ll see ya in Homestead come Thursday." he grinned.

Michael nodded and smiled confidently at Slugger. "I’ll be there and we’re gonna turn this thing around."

Ty looked at his watch. "Gotta head out myself-got a football game to catch tonightr. See y’all later." Michael also rose but Teresa halted him.

"Michael, sit down. I need to talk to you for a moment. It won’t take long." She closed the door behind Ty and Slugger and regarded Michael as he slowly sank back down in his chair. His defenses automatically switched to overdrive. Now what? I knew something was up here, he thought.

"Ok-I’m your captive audience-shoot." he deadpanned.

Teresa sat back for a moment, weighing her next words thoughtfully. Finally, noticing Michael’s apparent unease, she spoke. "I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors about Jeff and Brooke Gordon-looks like they’re going to file a petition for divorce within the next few months if not sooner."

Thrown somewhat off guard, Michael arched his eyebrows in surprise. He wasn’t particularly close to Jeff and he had enough to occupy his mind without succumbing to the rumors that regularly flew about the garage. "No-I don’t really put much stock in that stuff."

"Well-it’s gonna be huge and it may involve a lot of disclosures. The scuttlebutt is that Dupont is not too happy and they may even back out of his contract-dump him. They don’t want to deal with the controversy."

"Soooo- what does this have to do with me?" He didn’t like at all where this was heading.

Teresa leaned close. "Don’t play dumb, Michael. I respect you more than that. It’s no secret that you’re also filing for divorce."

"I keep my life private, you know that. Buffy and I have been pretty much separated for most of the year and there hasn’t been any problems. As long as we keep it amicable, there’s no need for it to get ugly and public."

Sighing, Teresa shook her head. "Do you know how much Napa has invested in you? It’s up to 12 million dollars for your team. And you’re now 24th in points. I don’t think I need to run down your statistics for the year. I know what you’ve been through and I realize that the equipment and crew haven’t been there as it should. Right now, Napa is not happy with you and frankly we can’t afford to loose them. Here’s what I’m asking of you-I want you to be more conscientious in your conduct, especially with your former wife. As you know, Buffy is a very active, public and popular figure with the fans and sponsors and it simply looks appalling when you’re carrying on with Rory for all the world to see." Michael glared at her for her audacity in passing judgment in his personal affairs, but she continued. "Also-and this is pretty much self-explanatory. Your performance must improve or I’m afraid that you will be replaced before next season’s up. There are a lot of driver contracts expiring and lots of young talent out there who would kill for that seat. But I‘m not looking for a rookie-we need a veteran such as yourself to anchor the team. Bottom line is, I really need you to be there, Mike. Do you understand?"

"The performance will improve-if it doesn’t, then I’ll quit. Simple as that. You have my word on it. But what goes on off the track is my business-not Napa’s, not the fan’s and not even yours." he said quietly.

"For the time being and until your divorce is final, then please be discrete. If it means keeping up the appearance that you and Buffy are happily married, then so be it. Can you at least manage that?" Teresa didn’t want it to come to this but push was coming to shove in this battle of will. "Dale has done a lot for you-much more than you will ever know or understand. Can you at least do this much for his sake?" Michael hung his head, she’s bringing Dale into it now and what could he say?

"You’re asking me to live a lie. I hate for it to be this way but fine. I’ll do what I have to do." he said simply. Deep in his heart, he knew Dale would never ask this of him but things were so different now and he could feel the walls closing in. He couldn’t afford to loose this ride. Where would he go? Who would hire him? Too young to retire but his options of finding a suitable team willing to hire him were slim at best.

"Sometimes we all have to do things we don’t like to do. I’m not asking you to live a lie, Michael. Just be aware of your actions when the cameras are on you. Personally, I’m happy to see you at peace in your personal life. You’re truly a team player, Mike and I respect you for that. I knew I could count on you." She rose and opened the office door. Michael also rose to leave. "You’re meeting Junior now, right? Get out and enjoy the rest of the afternoon. I’ll see you next Monday at our usual staff meeting."

"You’re not going to Homestead?"

"No-we’re still trying to get some aspects of the estate settled. Lawyer stuff-you know how that goes. Plus, I’ve got to see if Kenny can still fill in for Steve for the next few months."

Michael fished in his pockets for his truck keys and turned to Teresa, "Guess I’ll see you Monday then."

"Good luck in Homestead . Oh, Mikey-?"

He turned as she followed him out to the parking lot. "Yeah?"

"Thanks for hearing me out. Remember, it’s nothing personal."

"Right. Strictly business. See y’all Monday." He fired up the Tahoe and headed for the track. Right-business. Thank God, I’m not a businessman. He had no use for the corporate world or it’s charades. When all was said and done, he was still just a journeyman racer. Never a contender for the title and probably never will be, but dammit they still came every weekend to watch him run that blue bitch up front at the super speedways. He enjoyed being a spokesman for his sponsors but that was it. He popped in one of his favorite discs and cranked it up to the point of blowing out the windows. Pounding on the wheel, he bellowed along with The Boss, startling the matronly woman next to him in the Windstar. She and her homogenized brood were probably off to one of those countless, mindless activities in their over-scheduled life. He was on his way to nurture his son’s dreams and watch them take flight.

"There’s a notion way down deep inside
it ain’t no sin to be glad you’re alive
I wanna find one face that ain’t lookin’ through me
I wanna find some place, I wanna spit in the face of these badlands
you gotta live it everyday
Let the broken hearts pay the price they gotta pay
Keep pushin’ till it’s understood and
These badlands start treatin’ us good"- B. Springsteen,

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

"Ya almost turned her over! Back off on that throttle as you head for the turns!" Junior hollered over his radio. Mick barreled around the tiny midget track in his equally down-sized vehicle. In his head though, he was no doubt chasing Stewart for the title in the Budweiser Chevrolet or maybe the fabled black #3. Michael stood beside him, grinning proudly as only a father can and sipping one of the several beers that Junior had tucked in his small cooler.

"Heard from Steve’s mom today." Junior said quietly, a shadow crossing his angular features. "Guess they’re gonna start the serious re-hab now." Neither he nor Michael cared much to re-visit that awful day at Darlington. All in the matter of seconds, Steve Park’s driving career and more importantly, his life were nearly ended in a brutal wreck. Now came the painful recovery and the endless questions as to whether he would ever return to the track. Steve was one of the most competitive drivers on the circuit; hand picked by Earnhardt himself and the first driver for DEI. Frustrated by these thoughts, Junior doffed his cap and ran his hand through his wiry red hair, "Awww fuck it, anyway. How the hell are we gonna hold this deal together, Mike?" Although he addressed his teammate, he was also in a way, addressing his father for some sort of answer. Next year, Ty and Teresa wanted him to take on even more managerial responsibilities and deep in his heart, Junior knew he wasn’t up for it. Worst part was, Teresa knew it too.

"There wasn’t too much good about this year, was there, bud?" Michael said, shaking his head. The images that 2001 brought would be ingrained on their minds (and ours, gentle readers) forever: Dale. Steve’s accident. 9/11 and the lost souls associated with that tragedy. Junior grunted something that may have been a reply. He grinned as Mick pulled into the make-shift pit box.

"Ya did good, kid. I’m gonna have to go out there and whup yer butt myself one of these days!" he ruffled Mick’s curly hair.

"Now that’s something I haven’t done in years!" Michael chuckled as he pulled his son into a bear-hug.

Junior cackled, "Where we gonna find a shoe-horn big enough to squeeze your big behind in a midget?"

"I’d outrun both of yer sorry slow arses!" Mick chimed in his two cents. He started throwing his helmet and small firesuite into his duffle bag and headed back to the Tahoe as both men wrangled the tiny car onto a trailer; they watched in amusement at the boy’s exaggerated swagger.

"Cocky little shit, ain’t he? Wonder where he gets it from...?" Junior poked Michael in the ribs as he was about to crack open another beer. Mick pulled a Coke out of the cooler and finished it off quickly, belching with gusto. There was nothing like a good, old fashioned burping contest to lighten the mood and chase the blues away. Michael stretched and yawned, it had been a long day and the thought of supper and relaxing with the kids seemed like a good idea indeed.

"Well Bud Boy, care to join us for supper? Or are you off to whatever den of iniquity you hole up in during the week?"

"Your place or Rory’s?"

"Rory’s-she’s doin’ up some homemade venison chili tonight. Cornbread and all the fixin’s. Come on, you gotta have a decent meal once in a while."

Junior belched and grinned. "My usual seven-course meal does get old once in a while. You can only live on a six-pack and bag of chips for so long. Say-does her chili have beans?" he asked slyly.

"NO! And you don’t need ‘em!" came the resounding answer.

"Awww, listen to you, fartmeister! I thought we were gonna have to burn your Bristol car after you ate that pound of Teresa’s devilled eggs! Ugh!"

"That was to pay you back for polluting my truck with the salsa ‘n’ beer farts from your posse! Smelt like a skunk died under the seats!"

"What were you doin’ sniffin’ the seats, you perve?? Y’know, I’ve got this buddy who can light up a fart..."

"Now that’s disgustin’! What if you singe the hairs on yer butt?"

Mick sat quietly in the backside, enjoying the juvenile bantering back and forth. He adored and worshipped his father and Uncle June was more like a big brother to him. "Fartmeister..." he giggled.

Michael gave Mick and Junior a weary grin. "Think we better rein it in with the potty talk. We’re supposed to be positive role models for this here boy." he jerked his thumb at the backseat. Mick reached over the driver’s seat and throttled Michael in his own little bear-cub hug. "I love you, Dad. You too, Uncle June."

Somewhat sobered, Junior slapped Michael’s knee. "I wouldn’t worry ’bout the role-model thing. I think we’ve done awright."

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

Rory had just taken out a pan of cornbread when she heard the front door slamming on it’s hinges accompanied by the sound of uproarious laughter, stomping about and a plethora of other bodily noises-a typical small herd of males returning to the nest to feed. A herd of bulls in a china shop would have been quieter.

Caitlin looked up momentarily from her homework, "They’re baaaack!" she grinned.

"Sounds like Junior’s with ‘em. That’s good, that boy needs to be around a family and a good meal once in a while." Rory grabbed an extra plate. "Well, hello there! Nice of you to bless us with your presence."

"Jeeze, don’t tell him that-it’ll go right to his head." Michael gently bussed her as she fished in the refrigerator for the drinks and fresh butter. "June-do you think you could get me a coupla cases of beer this weekend? We’re runnin’ a wee low here, darlin’..."

"No problemo-just come by the Club E mobile unit this weekend and I’ll set you up!" he grinned, helping himself to the savory chili.

"The Club E mobile what??"

Michael shook his head, "It’s what he’s callin’ his coach now."

"Well, sounds better than The Whorehouse on Wheels" she whispered back, grinnin. "How’d the laps go, luv? Did you put that weasel Busch in the wall today?" She kissed Mick’s forehead as he sat grinning and excitedly replayed his afternoon lessons with Junior.

"Kid’s good-gotta feel for it. You ought to start him in some beginner races next year." Junior grunted around a mouth full of food.

Michael leaned back in his chair, puffed up a bit. "Of course he’s got a feel for it! Apple don’t fall far from the tree, y’know!" If anybody were to tell him that his boy wouldn’t be the next Richard Petty, they were flat out of the box crazy.

As dinner wound down and the kid retired to the parlor and the video games with Junior, Rory leaned back in her own chair as Pooka launched himself into her lap, settling in for a bit of a catnap. Regarding Michael’s somewhat preoccupied face, she turned to him, reaching out and taking his hand. "So now, how did the meeting with Ty and Teresa go? Did Slugger sign with DEI?"

"Oh yeah, he signed. Said he’d give it a shot for a year and see how it goes." Should he tell her about the rest of the meeting? She put Pooka down and slipped into his lap. In spite of his jocular mood, she could feel the tension in his neck and shoulders along with that distant look in his eyes.

"So now, what else did she say?"

Sighing, he shook his head, "I gotta pull it together next season or I’m done. For good. If I can’t race, I don’t know what I’d do-it’s all I know..." He decided against mentioning the whole divorce and what-will-the-sponsors think issue altogether. That would have to take care of itself.

Rory held him close, knowing full well how heartbreaking it would be for him to loose his ride at DEI. With all the emphasis on the young turks of the game, it made it all the harder for seasoned veterans like Michael to find viable rides and sponsors for a full-time Winston Cup gig.

Deciding to change the subject, Michael looked up from her shoulder and grinned. "Almost forgot to tell you-Buffy finally bought that condo down on the lake. You can move back to the farmhouse now, if you’d like. I know how much you’ve missed the place."

"Are ya sure it’s ok? I mean, we need to be careful shaggin’ around together until the divorce is final. Those sponsors can be-" she was cut off as Michael’s lips found hers.

"God, you’re amazin’ sometimes." he grinned. "I wasn’t gonna bring it up, but Teresa kinda hedged around that topic today." He rested his forehead against hers.

"Did she now? I knew there was somethin’ more ya weren’t lettin’ on. But you know luv, it’s kinda fun-all illicit and naughty! I like it when you’re bad..." she grinned wickedly. "So go on and play the upstanding, faithful husband by day and then by night I get to corrupt you. It’s grand playing the tart!"

"I just hate it to be like this...God knows, we’ve been through enough already. I told Teresa that what goes on in my private life is my business and mine alone."

"The almighty sponsors giveth and taketh away.. We’ve just to deal with it one day at a time. I’ve waited ten years just to see your face, luv. Do you honestly think a few more months mean anything to me?" She chuckled as she felt his rough whiskers tickle her throat as he sought the sanctuary of her warmth.

"Let’s put them rugrats and Bud Brat to bed so I can corrupt you myself!" he whispered.

"Who’s gettin’ corrupted?" Junior inquired sweetly from the doorway. "I wanna get corrupted too!"

"To the couch with ya, Junebug-we’ve a plane to catch at six!" Rory rose from her mate’s lap and grabbed Junior’s ear and led him back to the parlor where she had previously set out an extra pillow and blankets.

"We’ll stop by your place before we leave for the airport to pick up your cloths. I’d let you my truck but you’re in no shape to be drivin’. Jaysus, I swear if you needed a transfusion, all they’d have to do is hook you up to a keg! Where the devil do you put it all??" She shook her head; he was such a good kid, she hated the thought of the drink getting the better of him. Times were tough for him and he had been leaning on a liquid crutch a little too heavily lately.

"Uncle Jun’s shitfaced!" Mick snickered. Junior tipped his cap comically and fell over backward on the couch. The boy immediately clammed up with a quick glare from his mother. "Don’t be cheeky!" she hissed through bared teeth. "To bed with ya, Mick-you too, Catey."

Both rose and dutifully kissed their parents and beloved, besotted uncle goodnight. They also would need to be on the move in the morning to Auntie Stevie’s. Junior was already snoring loudly as Rory pulled his blanket over him. "He’s been at the beer all day, hasn’t he?" she said sadly.

"Yeah-thing’s have been gettin’ to him a lot lately." Michael slipped up behind her and held her close. "Wouldn’t be so bad if Ty and Teresa would just let up on him." He tenderly kissed her neck and held her tiny hands. "Now where were we....?"

"You were about to corrupt me, darlin’." Her arm slipped around his waist as she led him upstairs.

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

The diligent preparations of Slugger Labbe paid off well as the Napa Chevrolet doggedly clung to the lead. The car itself felt like it was firing on seven cylinders-clearly not at it’s peak but she hung in there, stoutly holding off Bill Elliot. Bill himself was looking for that golden comeback trail as the one-time champion dug in and passed Michael for the lead.

It was the first time since Talladega that Michael had been out front. An over-heated engine had taken him out of contention there but today was different somehow. No, he wasn’t going to beat Bill today but he proved he still had it. He raised his hand out the window in salute as Bill sailed by to take the checkers for the first time in years. Like Michael, he was just looking for little bit of glory. As Michael crossed the finish line, a large patch of blue sky shown through the tropical storm clouds. There were those who had already written him off-Michael Waltrip was done for good. But he came back today to let the doubters know he was still very much here to stay. "The reports of my demise were highly exaggerated!" From the darkness of the year past, the spirit endures to fight another day.

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

Chapter 30: A Night to Remember

New York City-December 2001

"Are you sure you don’t mind sitting with the Pettys? Honestly hon, I’m damn-near ‘bout to call the whole damn thing off and go home..."

"It’s ok-I don’t mind sittin’ with ‘em-they’re practically my parents!"

"You have no problem with Buffy being next to me at the awards ceremony?"

"Of course not-she best keep her hands off yer dick, though!" came the cheeky reply. Anything to appease Queen Teresa... "She’ll be answerin’ to me!" Note to self, thought Michael, keep Rory away from bar-even though she’s going along with this-one wrong move on Buffy’s part and all hell will break loose. There was a certain, combative edge to the love of his life; Michael knew Rory detested these gatherings as much as Buffy loved them.

Michael was wracking his brain over this latest dilemma. He paced about his posh suite at the Waldorf-Astoria as Rory fiddled about in the bathroom. If it hadn’t been for the special recognition planned for Dale, he would’ve stayed home. 24th in year-end points was nothing to celebrate. Damn Teresa for insisting that Buffy accompany him and damn Buffy for being so obstinate. She always had to be the belle of the ball and thrived on these social events. Sighing, he adjusted the stiff collar of his tuxedo and checked his appearance in the mirror. Definitely gotta loose the gut, he groused. I AM getting fat....

"Ta-DA!" Rory tottered unsteadily out of the bathroom in her four-inch Italian pumps. When she did dress up, it was usually a simple peasant-style dress and her ever-present boots. But tonight, she was barely recognizable. The sheath-style green crushed velvet dress clung enticingly to her petite figure. Her long hair draped her creamy pale shoulders like a golden veil. A silver collar done in a Celtic eternal knot decorated her throat and the claddagh ring that Michael had given her so long ago were the only jewelry she wore. Tonight, his wild Irish rose looked like a queen. He caught her as she was about to trip over his sneakers that poked out from under the bed.

"What do ya think? Am I presentable?" she grinned breathlessly.

"You look stunning, baby.." he murmured as he buried his face in her hair. "Just don’t break your neck in those god-awful shoes!"

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

The ceremony itself was something that Michael would just as soon forget. Teresa accepted a post-humus award for the most popular driver. After Bill Elliot had captured this on so many occasions, they finally saw fit to give it to one who deserved it. A large video screen projected images of Dale while Garth Brooks lip-synched some maudlin melody. But the sad tune and the memories the images invoked were too much for him and he found himself breaking down. "Stop it!" Buffy hissed, "You look like an idiot!" From her seat next to Kyle, Rory looked on helplessly, caught up in her own tormented emotions and the desire to rush to Michael’s side and hold him. The sight of him with his head in his hands and not being able to console him broke her heart more than Dale’s tribute. There was nary a dry eye in the house when the film montage was finished. Junior had excused himself before it was even finished.

Kyle reached over and took Rory’s hand, "It’ s ok-they’ll be cutting to intermission pretty soon. It’s almost over. You gonna be ok?"

"Look at him! He’s shattered and she sits there like stone! Where is her heart?" she whispered furiously. Kyle just shook his head. Rory was getting madder by the minute and the evening was still young. The hurt and anger she had so graciously suppressed for Michael’s sake were now on a slow burn to boiling over now. For years, she had been the epitome of inner strength and grace under pressure but watching Buffy brow-beat him in this darkest of moments was too much.

Buffy caught a glimpse of one of the TNT cameras focusing on Michael. Hastily, she jabbed Michael in the ribs, "Michael, straighten up, for God’s sake! The camera’s right over there-you can’t just sit here with your face in your hands!" she snapped. For his part, Michael didn’t acknowledge her or even look up. He had retreated into his own private hell and there was no budging him.

Rory sat in her seat, glaring daggers for the remainder of the evening. As the curtain dropped on the ceremony and the guests headed out for the post-awards ball, she seemed to have composed herself somewhat. Patty gently laid a hand on her arm, "Are you sure you’re ok?"

Rory smiled, "I’m fine. Perfectly fine." Kyle and Patty exchanged nervous glances.

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

Michael stood surrounded by a group of executives from Napa along with Buffy, Teresa and Ty. He felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. It was almost as if he really wasn’t in the room at all, but watching it as if on television or observing a play. He never felt so disconnected in his life. He looked at Rory-she seemed to be holding up ok. Hell, it looked as if she was having a grand old time with all her old friends. She bantered amongst Kenny and Rusty Wallace, jokingly sharing a drink and a dance with both. Kenny tossed a twenty dollar bill to the conductor of the Glen Miller Orchestra. "Hey-can ya play ’My Wild Irish Rose’?" She even cut the rug with the ever-dashing Tony Stewart, who couldn’t take his eyes off her cleavage. Spying Michael, she waived to him, smiling an "I love you!" across the room. Michael returned her smile wanly. Would this evening ever end? Excusing herself from Stewart’s clutches, Rory made another pass by the bar for a refill of Guinness and wandered boldly over to where Michael sat with the DEI/Napa contingent.

Teresa welcomed her over. "Oh Rory! So glad to see you here...I’d like to introduce you to Jack Kirwin, vice-president of Napa Marketing division. He’s also from Ireland and we were just talking about how lovely it is over there.." Rory extended her hand to the older gentleman. "Rory’s car chief on the 43 Cheerios Dodge for Petty Enterprises." Michael added proudly.

"Car chief, is she? Indeed!" Kirwin exclaimed. "What part of the island do you call home?"

"Belfast, sir. And you’re from..?"

"Galway myself. How did you get to be a car chief? Last I heard, women weren’t allowed anywhere near the cars!"

"Some women just don’t know their place..." muttered Buffy, just audible enough for all to hear. "Goes to show what having the right connections will do."

"I come from a long line of metal workers and I graduated from Trinity College with my studies in aerodynamics and structural engineering. Richard Petty sponsored me as an exchange student and eventually an intern in his body shop. I’ve paid my dues from there." Rory stated simply, never taking her eyes off from Buffy. Teresa shifted nervously in her chair. Ty excused himself along with Junior and headed for the bar.

"Well now, there’s some credentials!" Kirwin laughed. "Maybe Teresa could steal you away from the Pettys to work on our Napa Chevy!"

"Credentials and connections-road to success, isn’t that right, dear?" Buffy hooked her arm in Michael’s. "Poor little thing had a tough life, you know. Growing up in absolute poverty and then spending ten years in prison..." Apparently, the champagne had loosened her jaw somewhat. Teresa blanched and Michael glared at her. "Elizabeth! This is not the place!"

Kirwin’s eyebrows arched, "Prison? Whatever for?" Teresa felt as if she was witnessing a train wreck; unable to look away and repulsed all at once. "Mr. Kirwin, perhaps you’d care to join us at the billiard table?" she stammered.

Buffy continued, unabated. "Oh some terrorist deal...right dear? Something about your father and the IRA ...if it wasn’t for Dale Earnhardt‘s money, she’d probably still be there." One look at the horrified faces around her told her that she had gone to far. It was bad enough that she brought something up that was meant to stay buried. But to imply that Dale Earnhardt was somehow involved with terrorists in light of the tragedies of 9/11 was utterly ghastly. Many have said she wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box and the events following her statement will live on in Nascar lore along with Darrell’s mysteriously exploding engine and Tim Flock’s monkey. Michael stared helplessly as Rory quietly rose from her seat and made her stance behind Buffy’s chair. The full, brimming pint of ebony black Guinness stout was sent cascading down the front of Buffy’s low-cut pearl white dress. "If you’re gonna declare war, I’d advise you to know who your enemy is!" Rory said quietly. In fact, you could hear a flea fart, it was so quiet.

"Rory-please! Let me apologize!" Kirwin was also on his feet and heading for the door. What kind of people was he dealing with? Saving face with a struggling driver was one thing but the possibility that the IRA may be involved with Dale Earnhardt was more than he wanted to deal with. "Mr. Kirwin-let me explain!"

"Teresa-we’ll talk, I promise! But it’s been a bit much tonight...nice meeting you all...*ehem*..good night!" came the feeble response from the fleeing executive. Buffy still sat there in shocked sobriety and Michael stood helplessly by. Mike Helton broke from his own stupor as he recovered from the scene. Storming over to the King’s finest car chief, he thundered. "What is the meaning of this?!"

Rory wheeled on him and spat, "PISS OFF!" At this moment, she had quite enough of everybody in this room. When will the charades end? Don’t break down, she told herself as she held her head high and walked to the exit. She was oblivious to the faces around her: some shocked, others secretly smiling-Tony Stewart gave her a big thumbs-up. Don’t ever let them see you cry...

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After doing a bit of damage control himself, Michael finally broke away from the gathering. He opened the door to his room-God how can I face her after this? There was no sign of Rory anywhere in the suite.

A stiff breeze blew through the room and that’s when he realized that the balcony door was open.

"Ro? Honey? Are you out here?" He cautiously walked up to the figure slumped against the balcony railing.

He tenderly put his hands on her shoulders. "I wouldn’t blame you if you never wanted to see my face again after tonight." he said softly.

"I’m not mad at you, darlin’. I’ve said my piece and gave Buffy her comeuppance. Sure now, I’da loved to beat the livin’ piss outta her but what good would it do me?" She turned her tear stained eyes up at him and he held her tightly. "Tell me Michael, is it true what she said?"

"That part of it is news to me...I’m sure Teresa would know for sure. Right now, I wouldn’t go near her with a barge pole." He started laughing.

"What’s so funny?"

"I can’t believe you just told the godfather of Nascar to piss-off!"

"Then it’s off to the big red trailer for me then. I’m a seasoned criminal-I can handle it." True, she could take care of herself and anybody else that got in the way.

"I told you this wasn’t going to always be smooth sailing...still up for it, babe?"

Rory pulled his face to hers, "Look-we’re in this together. But if you’ll be wantin’ out, then say so now."

"No-I don’t want out. I just want you...." The two stood huddled against the shimmering backdrop of Broadway as the din from the city that never slept rose from the streets below. The stars shown brightly in the winter sky like the tears of ice they both cried over the years. Nascar recovered from Rory‘s insurrection. Teresa recovered and convinced Napa to remain with DEI and assured them that there was no strings attached. Mike Helton discovered it was far better to be pissed off than pissed on.

Chapter 31: Silly Season: Games People Play

Sherrill’s Ford, May 2002

The 30-foot UHaul van made it’s labored way up the long driveway to the old farmhouse on Dogleg Road on an early Monday morning as another North Carolina spring day began with the bright sun shining through a thin layer of cirrus clouds and a concert performed by the local Cardinals arose in the magnolias. Beavis loped out of the garage, nodding his old head and woofing a greeting to the strange vehicle-he was the watchdog and watching the coming and going of company was just what he was doing. Beavis was the oldest employee and official PR of Michael Waltrip Racing and he took his job seriously. Nobody walked away without a scratch behind his floppy ears and a drool-soaked hand. The old lab inspected the moving van and the ancient Petty-blue Dodge pickup towed behind and raised his leg in salute on the truck’s rear wheels. "Dodge!" he sniffed. "This is a Chevrolet establishment! There’s some brass!" Aha! The Master just stepped out of the Tahoe that was following behind. Trotting over as Michael swung out of his truck, Beavis promptly sat at his feet after jamming his cold nose in his owner’s crotch in greeting.

"Mornin’ souphound!" Michael ruffled the dog’s head. "Hey hon, you remember Beavis don’t you?"

"Of course I do! He was but a pup when I left." Rory gently stroked Beavis’ head as he gave her a sloppy kiss that only a yellow lab could do. "Hello, old friend." she murmured. How the place had changed! Gone were the rotting tobacco sheds and the deadfall of bushes and trees in the back field. In it’s place, was an enormous pole-barn structure that housed the race shop and garage. The old split-rail fences were long replaced with sparkling white post and rail of the likes you’d see on a thoroughbred breeding farm. The house gleamed with new paint and siding; the roof no longer bare of shingles and covered in moss. Like a phoenix, the old plantation had risen from the ashes of neglect. Involuntarily, she clutched Michael’s hand as he led her to the front porch. Caitlin, Mick and Macy had already made tracks and were rampaging hell-bent to the race shop. The on-duty mechanics were long used to Michael’s offspring and they were no bother at all, but a welcome diversion.

Rory felt herself shaking slightly in spite of the warm weather. I thought I’d never see this place again, she thought as Michael instinctively put his arm around her and drew her near. "Welcome home, baby." he said gently. Noticing her eyes brimming with unshed tears, he cupped her face in his hands and sweetly kissed her trembling lips. "It’s ok now, you’re home to stay and nobody’s gonna take that away from you again."

"Are you sure it’s ok, Mikey? I feel like I’m almost waitin’ for the other shoe to drop sometimes." she leaned against his broad chest, soothed by his touch and the beat of his heart against his t-shirt.

"Baby, it’s gonna be alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt us again. Don’t worry about Buffy changin’ her mind-she never did care for this place-she was always on my ass to sell it. She’s quite content where she is now over in the condos." Indeed, Buffy had chosen much more upscale digs in the gaited condominiums on the sylvan shore of Lake Norman. She was still close enough so Macy wouldn’t be too far away from her Daddy-in fact, they were only about 20 minutes away. After the Winston Awards ceremony, a truce was called between Rory and Buffy. Uneasy most of the time-Rory still couldn’t trust Buffy any further than she could throw her-but it was relatively peaceful. The divorce had stalled in the usual legal red-tape and disclosers regarding property and income and Rory had tolerated her presence at the races for Michael’s sake. It was now something of a joke amongst some of the other drivers: Waltrip’s Harem, as it came to be called. Buffy’s tactless display at the ball also dropped her down a few points in the standing with the other wives and Rory was grudgingly welcomed back into the fold-if she were to chose to associate with them, that is.

They walked to the back porch and sat on the old swing as their brood ran amok through the field. Rory gave a sidelong glance at Michael, chuckling. It was funny how things worked out sometimes....

"What’s got ya, now?" he grinned as he pulled her onto his lap with a satisfied grunt. She smelled so sweet, he buried his face in her neck; they almost looked like a redneck’s vision of Rodin’s sculpture, The Kiss. With the minor exception that they had far too much clothing on...but that could be remedied....

She rested her forehead against his, smiling broadly. "Your dream!"

"Huh?" Then he closed his eyes, "My God, you remembered."

"How could I forget? ‘Tis just you an’ me and the wee ones underfoot. Sittin’ on the porch like a couple of oul spuds! An’ sez I: ‘I’ll cook yer biscuits, bang the dents outta yer car an’ jump yer bones all the night, Mikey Waltrip!"

"An’ love me forever?" he whispered as she gazed deeply into those beloved cerulean blue eyes.

"Aye...I will love you forever. If the grave were to find you, I shant be long behind, darlin’"

He looked at her strangely. The Irish did have some peculiar sayings. "Ugh! Let’s not get morbid!"

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

They spent the rest of the morning unpacking items from the van, chasing the kids, keeping Pooka from shredding Beavis, loosing Macy among the boxes, finding Macy, loosing Pooka, finding the cat but loosing their minds....

Between all of this happy chaos, Michael watched a tape of Sunday’s race and took a few notes for his Inside Winston Cup show. In fact, he had about an hour to get to the Charlotte studio for the weekly taping session. He briefly debated on canceling his appearance, but he took great pride in what he jokingly referred to as "His Show". Plus, he couldn’t saddle Alan Bestwick with the pressure of finding a guest host this late in the day. On the screen, Mike Joy and Darrell were on the subject of the particularly turbulent "silly season" of 2002.

"....Well Mike, I see Rudd stepping down-not retiring, but leaving Yates. He ain’t happy there and hasn’t been for awhile. And yeah-I see something opening up at DEI." Darrell said flatly.

Michael glowered at the screen as Joy continued, "How many seats opening up over there?" Darrell wordlessly held up two fingers. That alone spoke volumes. It was no secret that Steve Park was struggling horribly and perhaps had come back to soon. Junior would always have a job no matter what. There was no question that his seat was secure. That left the dubious future of the Napa Chevrolet in the balance.

As if to drive the stake home, Darrell finished, "The 1 and the 15 are gonna be replaced."

Rory stared at the screen open mouthed, while Michael wordlessly glowered. "How can he know for certain? The nerve of that oul bastard!"

"He’s got no business sayin’ that! He don’t know shit!" Michael’s fury was building. That age-old battle of wills between Michael and Darrell was nearly as old and turbulent as the battle for Palestine or at least the Hatfields and McCoys. It always came down to Darrell’s lack of support for his younger brother. The fledgling team was struggling, perhaps more than it should this year-growing pains really. Slowly Slugger and Michael were turning it around. But surely, Michael did not need this dire prophesy from Darrell. Rory gently reached out to lay her hand on his shoulder but sprang back as he suddenly whirled and slammed his fist into the wall, shattering the sheetrock and leaving an eight-inch crater.

"MOTHERFUCKER DON’T KNOW SHIT!!" he yelled. Shaking and breathing heavily, somewhat composed after his outburst, he pulled her close. Rory held him tightly, wishing she could end his torment; wishing she could give his car the wings it needed to fly past the others and it’s driver the heart and control he needed for those elusive victories. The ringing phone broke their embrace.

"I’ll get it-you go get dressed for the show." she picked up the phone, "Hullo?" It was Kenny Schrader wondering if Michael could swing by his shop and pick him up. "Tis Schrader-can you go get him?"

"Tell him I’ll be by in fifteen minutes." He really wanted to tear his brother a new rectum for those statements, but perhaps Schrader’s company would be better for him.

As he walked to the door, Rory looked up at him, "Be good-forget about Darrell!"

"I’ll see you later-love you." he bent to kiss her before he hopped in his truck.

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

Rory had just finished putting the dishes from dinner away and a plate of left-overs in the fridge for Michael later. He had phoned her from Charlotte roughly five hours ago stating that he would be a little late-a few beers with the boys, nothing more. No problem-after the state he was in when he left, she thought it would do him some good to have a little unbridled fun. But now it was getting late and she was starting to worry. She didn’t like the idea of him being drunk behind the wheel, even though she knew it usually took quite a lot of alcohol to get him inebriated. Caitlin was also worried, she had been through this before.

All those years she had lived with Buffy, she remembered the fights. The squealing of her father’s tires as he left for the bar only to return in the wee hours the next morning, hung over and reeking of stale perfume and whiskey. Buffy had tolerated his infidelity, but she knew her mother would have nothing of it. The thought of her newly reunited family breaking up again was too much to stand and she felt hot tears in her eyes and her throat began to ache.

"Sis-what’s wrong?" Mick asked curiously. Now Rory looked up from her needlework, brows furrowed. "Caitlin?" Immediately she rose and embraced her as Caitlin broke down sobbing. "What is it, dear? Please tell me!"

"It’s starting again...Dad’s gone out, he’ll get drunk ....I don’t want us to break up!" She wailed.

"SSShhh-ssshhh. We aren’t going to break up! Whatever gave you that idea!?" She gave Caitlin a sip of her tea. "Now then, why do you think I’ll break up with him if he’s a little tipsy?"

"It’s not just that." she sniffed, trying hard to compose herself. "When we lived with Buffy...hh-he used to go out when he was mad and he started seeing other -" Rory sternly held her finger up to Caitlin’s lips.

"This is different. He was upset with your Uncle Darrell-he’s only out with Schrader and the boys." she said softly. "It’s ok, luv-I won’t allow anything to tear us apart-we worked too hard now to get back together." She looked at the brass clock on the mantle, "Look now, why don’t you go to bed. It’s getting late and there’s school tomorrow."

Caitlin nodded and after kissing her mother goodnight, she and Mick trudged upstairs. Rory settled back on the sofa, casting a furtive glance out the window and trying to push the unsettling thoughts of Michael’s past affairs out of her mind.

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

In a loud nightclub dubiously called the Delta Queen, Michael was well into his cups as he washed the memory of the day’s events away with copious amounts of bourbon and beer chasers. Spying a familiar tall brunette, he yelled, "Hey Sherrie!" The object of his attention turned from her companions and returned his greeting. "Mikey!" She looked bewitching in her red leather mini-dress and mile long legs that had on previous occasions wrapped themselves so enticingly around his shoulders.

After a few dances and a few more drinks, he duly noted the time. Sherrie walked out to the truck with him, her hand gliding down and resting provocatively on his buttock. Her eyes drifted from his ever-handsome face to the equally attractive package between his legs. While not exactly invited, she pulled him into the backseat of the Tahoe. Too drunk at the moment to resist, he leaned his head back on the seat, closing his eyes as he felt her hand deftly unzipping his jeans. Smiling, she released his thick cock from his briefs and teasingly ran her tongue down the length of him, sending waves of pure pleasure down his spine. He moaned loudly and the sound of his own voice must’ve sobered him because he snapped his eyes open and shook his head. What the hell am I doing?? his conscious rattled him. My God, Rory and the kids-how could he do this to them? He gently pushed Sherrie’s head aside. "What’s wrong?" confused, she looked up at him as he zipped himself back up.

"I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry-I shouldn’t have let you on..." he mumbled. "I gotta get home...."

Sherrie pulled herself together, sighing. She knew it would happen sooner or later-he could never be hers. She always knew his heart belonged to somebody else and their attraction was purely a physical release. "It’s ok, Mike-it was good to see you for a little while anyway." She got out of the truck and turned to him again before she left. "But if you want to make her jealous, you know where to find me." she said with a wink as he pulled away.

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

It was nearly 3:00 in the morning when he finally pulled in the drive. Rory curled up on the couch, semi-dozing when she heard his key in the lock. She met him in the hall just as he figured she would. Bracing himself for a battle, he simply hung his head and said quietly, "I’m sorry."

"Have you done something to be sorry for, my love?" Rory tenderly touched his face, her eyes seeking nothing but the truth. Michael shook his head sadly. "Just sorry I stayed out so late-I shouldn’t have made you worry..."

"We’ll talk about it tomorrow if you want. If you don’t then, fine too." Sighing, she wrapped her arm around his waist and led him to the bedroom. "Don’t be sorry, Michael-unless you’ve done something to be sorry for." she said simply.

After a cursory wash up in the bathroom, he looked at the haggard face staring back at him. Nothing happened yet he still felt guilty. "Coming to bed, luv? Are you ok?" he could hear the concern in her voice. I don’t deserve her, he thought. "I’ll be there in a minute, babe." he said softly.

Returning to the large sleigh bed, he spooned himself around her and held her tight as they drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 32: Across the Pond

On the odd weekend, the powers that be at Nascar gave their drivers an odd weekend off-this year it was for the occasion of Mother’s Day. Michael, Caitlin and Mick cruised the lot at Dale Earnhardt Chevrolet among the gleaming new pickups. Rory’s old, beloved Dodge finally gave up the ghost amid curses that would send a drunken sailor to confessionals and all involved agreed it was time to replace the old girl. (the truck, not Rory.) Michael finally stopped before a shiny royal blue Silverado 3500HD. It was just the beast she would look for-a solid working vehicle with just a few creature comforts such as a CD player and AC. Best of all, it had a six-speed manual transmission. Rory would rather have a root canal than drive an automatic. ("That’s for old ladies!")

"Well guys, whatcha think? I think me an’ her are gonna go rounds to see who gets to drive this thing!" Michael grinned. His offspring were already climbing aboard the thing as the salesman graciously prepared the paperwork.

On the way home, amidst arguments on which radio station to play and who gets to ride up front, Michael turned to Caitlin. "Are you sure about this other little surprise you two are plannin’? It would mean that you’d have to stay with Uncle Darrell and Aunt Stevie until we get home."

Caitlin nodded. The surprise in question was a pair of roundtrip tickets to Ireland for Michael and Rory. The wisdom of their children astounded Michael. They knew the pressure their father was under as he fought every weekend to keep his job and this pressure was starting to take it’s toll on them all. The night that Michael left for the bar, had frightened Caitlin badly and to her it was a sign that things were starting to break down again. As a way of keeping her parents together, Caitlin had originally come up with the idea of a vacation for just the both of them as Rory had been talking about taking a trip once the season was over in November. But with the world in turmoil as the winds of war howled from the Mid-East, who knew how much longer it would be safe to travel even to a neutral country like Ireland? As far as her more laid-back brother was concerned, she was getting bent out of shape for nothing but also agreed that their folks could use some time to themselves. Plus, he loved visiting Uncle Darrell-he loved listening to the old goat’s "war stories", tall tales and various other lies.

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

Rory had just finished speaking with Kyle about the body package they would be running at Daytona in July, when she looked out the window at the strange vehicle that pulled right up to the front porch. She was used to the odd visitor, fans or just curiosity seekers that occasionally happened by but they would always stop in front of the race shop-never at the house itself. Cautiously, she made her way down the hall and peeked out the door. Her caution disappeared as Michael swung out of the driver’s seat and two smaller heads poked out of the passenger side window. Charging off the porch, she gasped, "It’s beautiful! Michael you shouldn’t have....! It must’ve cost the moon!" Gingerly she climbed up in the cab and wordlessly admired the plush leather interior and the plethora of electronic gadgetry. It was a far cry from "Oul Lee". (her affectionate name for the Dodge in honor of Lee Petty)

"Happy Mother’s Day, hon. I knew you’d love it." he tenderly kissed her as Rory still sat awe-struck behind the wheel. "Hey-I almost forgot! The kids have a little somethin’ for you too." She turned as Mick stuck a large, heavy card in her hand with that goofy, lopsided grin breaking his face. She stared dumbfounded at the two plane tickets that fell in her lap. She tried to form the words that wouldn’t materialize as she looked first at Mick and Caitlin then to Michael. "Michael-there’s just two..."

"It’s for us, baby. The kids wanted us to go-it’ll be ok. Already talked to Stevie and she said she’d watch ‘em while we’re gone." he pulled her close as he could tell it hadn’t really sunk in yet. "Besides, we never did have a proper honeymoon."

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

It was a long flight to Dublin-better than six hours not counting the usual delays. The vast expanse of the North Atlantic stretched out beneath the 747 as it streaked across the horizon. Rory was thankful for the night flight and snuggled her head against Michael’s chest, enjoying the sound of his soft drawl as he rambled on about everything from the goings-on at DEI to his childhood in Kentucky.

"So how many brothers and sisters besides Darrell do you have?" she asked sleepily. She barely knew his family. His father, Leroy had passed on a year before her return and his mother was none to happy at first about her return. But seeing how happy and at peace her son was reunited with the one love of his life, she now regretted pressuring him into the annulment so many years ago. There were so many wrongs committed back then regarding decisions in Michael’s life so perhaps in welcoming back her estranged daughter-in-law, it would set some things right again.

"Well-let’s see..there’s Carolyn and Connie, my two sisters. They’re both older than I am-I’m the baby of the family!" he grinned. "Then there’s Bob-he’s a couple years younger than Darrell." Methuselah would be younger than Darrell, she thought wickedly; holding back the giggle that threatened to erupt any moment. They grew quiet and reflective on the foibles of family for a moment. It was getting chilly and Michael pulled the blanket over them as the rest of the passengers settled into slumber.

"I wish I could’ve made peace with your father." Rory wistfully said. "I remember when we announced our engagement and how suspicious he was."

"Dad was always like that in all of my decisions. Didn’t matter what it was-nothing I ever did was right." Michael sighed, "A couple years before he died, we spent a lot of time together-kinda made our peace. I forgave him for all the times he wouldn’t support me when I needed him most. He was just bein’ my Dad...lookin’ back, I’m happy with that." He stared off into the dark cabin of the jet, a look of intense sadness etched on his face. "Rory?"

She looked up at him; there was obviously something weighing heavy on his heart. "What, luv?"

"I gotta a confession. It’s about the other night and it’s been botherin’ me ever since..."

"Go on-I knew something was bothering you, but I figured you tell me when you were ready..."

He paused a moment, picking his words carefully. "I kinda bumped into this woman that I was ..uhm kinda seein’ on the side for awhile..." he gulped as he regarded her now unwavering gaze. "Oh, Mikey..."

"Like I said, nothing really happened. She walked back to the truck with me and yeah-she kinda molested me a little. I told her flat-out that we can’t do this anymore. I don’t know what the hell ever came over me to even go there in the first place. It won’t happen again, baby." He gently pulled her even closer to him. "I promise this with all my heart."

She grinned at him, "I wondered what was eatin’ ya. I forgive ya-it took some bollocks to tell me that, ya know." He felt her hand on his thigh inching towards his crotch. "So she molested ye, did she...?" Again that delicious, wicked grin. "I’d bet she never molested ya better than I can...!" He gasped as her hand firmly began massaging him. She was about to go for the zipper and ducked beneath the blanket as Michael whispered, "Babe, uhm we better not..." as he caught the disapproving gaze of an older professional woman in the seat across the aisle.

The lump under the blanket responded, "Ach ..ye better not fart-I’ll kill ya!"

"I’m serious, hon-we’re bein’ watched..." he uttered a strangled hiccup as he felt those exquisite lips working their magic; her lovely pink tongue caressing, teasing, stroking....In between those loving strokes, she mumbled, "Tell ‘em to bugger off and get their own dick to enjoy, I ain‘t sharin‘...!"

He cast a side glance and noticed the nosy passenger had turned her back and dozed off. Rory, meanwhile had turned up the intensity on her activities beneath the blanket.

"ogod..."he whispered in a low moan as he felt his release building. "ogod...baby.." It took every ounce of restraint to keep from screaming out loud as he reached his climax. Through it all, their fellow passengers dozed away as the jet made it’s nightly voyage to the distant shore.

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The sky was turning a grainy pink as the plane touched down in Dublin. Rory was going over their itinerary and the car rental paperwork as Michael yawned and stretched beside her. "I think we’d better just crash at the hotel for a few hours-this jet lag is gonna be a pisser." she said finally, rising for the bathroom for a quick wash-up. Michael peered out the window at the vast, flat expanse of runways and open fields. The distant Wicklow mountains loomed purple and misty in the distance as seagulls drifted lazily in the sky.

After they departed from customs and made their way through the airport to their rental car, Rory had to practically run to match the long, exuberant strides of her mate. As if getting a second wind, Michael had to look at everything, stop at every duty-free shop, chat with at least half a dozen travelers....He was completely caught up in this new adventure. "Hey-lemme have the keys! I wanna drive..!" he grinned as they stopped before the four-door Citroen.

"Oh no...no! No! No!" Rory shook her head furiously. "You’d kill us all! It’d be like that Vacation movie we watched the other day! You might’ve won the Daytona 500 but ya ain’t ready for the Dublin traffic!"

Sighing, she looked at the wounded look in his eyes and handed the keys to him. "Awright-but you go exactly where I tell ya and you’ll be keepin’ it well under the speed limit!"

They hopped in the car after tossing their luggage in the back. Rory grinned at him as he sat dumbfounded in the front seat. "What?? I thought you were drivin’, luv! The wheel’s on this side!" she laughed. After switching places, they were finally on their way. The trip to the lovely old Ormond Quay Hotel was fairly without incident; Michael dodging cars, buses and lorries as if he were navigating the course at Watkins Glen.

Once inside their spacious suite, Rory flopped exhausted on the bed while Michael grabbed her hands and attempted to pull her to her feet. "Awww c’mon! You’re not gonna poop out on me now! We gotta a whole city to explore!" he grinned.

"Ugh! I’m takin’ a nap! Then a shower. Then we’re goin’ to dinner. In that order. Jaysus! Have ya been into the Stackers?? Where ever did you get all this energy from!" He began ecstatically smothering her with kisses; long arms wrapping around her. She pulled his lanky form back to the bed where he continued to play the human octopus. Rory firmly cupped his face in her hands; marveling at how wonderful it was to see his eyes so full of life. He seemed to relax a little as she ran her fingers through his thick hair. Within minutes, he was snoring peacefully. "Finally!" she grinned and drifted off herself.

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"..I’m so happy you’re gonna be visitin’ for awhile! I’ve missed you so much, sister. ...Aye...I’ll see you tomorrow evening, then." Bridy hung up the phone and grinned as she pulled the pints for the usual regulars who came by after work. A couple of the chaps eyed her quizzically.

"Are ye havin’ company?" inquired one old timer behind his mug of Beamish.

"Aye! My dear sister in law is here on holiday from the states with her man." she grinned.

"Rory’s comin’ home, is she?" the old lad grinned.

"It’ll be grand-I haven’t seen her since she left a little more than a year ago." Bridy thought back to the horrible race where they all gathered to watch her beloved Michael take the checkers as the track took the life of Dale Earnhardt. Since then, still the best of friends, she and Rory corresponded often. Bridy had looked forward to a trip of her own to the states but it was hard getting away with the bar to run.

There was another at the bar who was also interested in the return of Bridy’s sister in law. Paddy Keagan had waited years for this day to arrive. Excusing himself from his companions, he made his way to the telephone booth outside of the pub. It was his own father who had taken Kevin McNeill’s bullet that day in Derry. It wasn’t supposed to happen-Kevin was to be executed before he had a chance to open fire, but a botched reconnaissance and miscommunication had foiled their plans. The main objective was the safety of their chieftain, Daniel McNeill and it was Paddy’s father and Daniel’s own son who paid the price. If it hadn’t been for that little bitch, nobody would’ve had to die. Both Kevin (who up to that point, had always been a valuable asset to the IRA) and Francy Keagan went to their graves for no other reason than the release of that whore. She should have rotted in prison! No use was she at all. Now, he smiled, retribution would be done.

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The sun was setting in golden glow over the river Liffey. After a long afternoon of sightseeing the treasures of that great city, Michael and Rory paused for a moment on the old Ha’penny Bridge. It was a beautiful old wrought iron footbridge that arced gracefully over the gently rolling expanse of the river.

As they watched the traffic and the comings and goings of the city around them, a satisfied peace settled on the two as they held each other.

"So-what do you think of Ireland, Mikey." she whispered.

"I love it here-it’s gonna be real hard goin’ back." He fell had fallen as much in love with this little country almost as much as the lady who rested in his arms. "Ya know, it’s great just goin’ out and being anonymous. Just blendin’ in and being part of the scenery. I can’t do that back home anymore..."

Dusk had started to fall as the couple made their way back to the hotel. "Almost forgot to tell ye-tomorrow we’re goin’ to Bridy’s pub. She’s got a band lined up and you’ll get a chance to finally meet her."

"Bridy? You’re sister-in-law?" he grinned. "Cool! What kind of band does she have?"

"Ceilli. It’s all traditional music-you’d like it. Sort of like Bluegrass."

"Y’mean we’re gonna put on our dancin’ shoes?" he grinned broadly and hoisted her up as she let out a delighted squeal.

"Put me down! Behave yourself!" she laughed. An older couple regarded the two with wistful smiles; remembering their carefree days. Rory deftly grabbed a handful of Michael’s butt cheek as he playfully slipped his hands up her short knit dress. It was an unusually balmy night and the fountains in front of the hotel looked so inviting. Giggling like a child, she kicked off her heels and leapt into the reflecting pool.

"Rory! What are you doing!!?" He jumped in after her; soon both were soaked to the bone and promptly reprimanded by the security guard. Michael caught her in his arms and lifted her out. "Gotta keep ‘em in line, ya know!" he grinned at the guard as he hoisted his mate on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Ya brute! Put me down!" Rory hollered, still laughing. She went for another grab at his buttocks again.

"Owww! My ass better not be black and blue later...!" he warned. "Sheesh, where’d ya get that Kung-Fu grip, lady?"

Dripping wet back to their room, she smiled and pulled his face to hers, "Thank you for a wonderful night, my love."

"My pleasure, m’lady." he grinned in return. "The pleasure’s all mine!"

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

The party at Bridy’s pub was well underway. The band was in fine tune and the couples reeled and jigged to their heart’s content. The Guinness flowed from what seemed like bottomless taps and there wasn’t a soul in the bar without a smile on their lips. It was a grand evening indeed.

It is often times like this when the unthinkable happens. As the guests were all well into their cups, the laughter and gaiety became cries of fear and condemnation at the sound of shattering glass and a "whoosh" as the Molotov cocktail turned the dance floor into an inferno. Michael had just emerged from the men’s room and was nearly blinded by the thick smoke that greeted him. Choking, gagging he dropped to the floor as he vainly tried to find Rory in the melee. What the hell was happening? It was pure chaos as the crowd stampeded to the exits or tried to. The wave of humanity pushed Michael through the door and into the cool evening as the sounds of sirens filled the night. Dazed he collapsed on the ground as he watched in horror as the flames climbed into the night sky. Rory-where was she? Lungs seared by the hot smoke, he still found his voice and staggered through the bystanders looking for her. "Rory!!" he yelled, trying to be heard above the din. God, she couldn’t still be in there-he looked at the now-engulfed bar. He headed back in as a fireman grabbed him.

"Sir, you’ve got come back! She’s about to give way!"

Michael furiously shook his head, "NO! My wife’s in there! I know she is!" Pushing the man aside he ran into the burning entrance. Frantically he looked past the thick smoke, flames and fallen timbers. Above, he could hear the creaking of the roof and upper loft. "RORY!" he screamed. He stumbled over something soft near the snooker table. The love of his life had been knocked senseless and overcome by the fumes.

His own strength was rapidly failing with each breath as he wrapped his arms around the inert form.

He felt strong arms around him as a fireman pushed an oxygen mask over his face and grabbed Rory’s lifeless form. Staggering out as a huge timber barely missed his head, he collapsed next to her on the tarmac.

Stirring, revived by the cool ocean air, she sat up, coughing. A sob caught her throat as she looked at Michael’s soot-blackened and tear streaked face. "Mikey....what happened?"

His innards felt as if they had been barbequed. He shook his head as he tried vainly to speak. "I dunno...I heard a window breakin’...and something like an explosion...." he coughed up what felt like a lung and tenderly raised her head and placed his jacket underneath for a cushion against the hard ground. "Let’s just rest for a bit-once we make sure that Bridy’s ok, we’ll head back..." She gazed up at him and smiled, "Now this is an adventure for the books!" she managed a wan smile. Michael continued to gaze tenderly at her with the sudden realization of just how very close he came to losing her. Suddenly her loving gaze turned to one of absolute horror. Brows furrowing, he whispered "What’s wrong, baby?"

"Oh Michael..." she whispered as the lone gunman stood behind Michael leveling a revolver to the back of his head.

Chapters 33-37