Page 68 of Furious

“It was your mom’s favorite,” Dad says softly. “You know her great-aunt Betty used to take DeeDee to Burger King on her birthday every year, so I think your mom always associated it with celebrations and new beginnings. Least that’s how she explained it to me.”

I knew that, of course. Mom had told me the same thing the first time she took me to Burger King for my birthday.

Dad goes on, tapping the picture of Sara Christian. “I can still hear DeeDee telling me, a Whopper clutched in one hand, ‘Did you know Sara Christian competed in NASCAR’s first car race on June 19, 1949, at the Charlotte Speedway?’ And she always carried this picture in her wallet. I’m surprised. She didn’t tell you about her?”

I search my memories—Mom and I had talked about so much; how could I have forgotten something like her favorite female racer? But in a lifetime of conversations, things were bound to slip through.

“She might have told me, but I’d forgotten,” I admit. “It’s funny, I can remember Mom’s laugh, and the way she burnt grilled cheese every time, but I can’t really remember all the things we talked about.”

A lump rises in my throat and I try to swallow it down. Am I forgetting Mom? Is that what’s going to happen over the years?

Seeing my distress, Dad puts a hand on my arm. “It’s okay, JoJo. Truly. Much as I hate to admit it, I’ll tell you I can’t remember everything about her, either. But you taking off for Richmond made me realize we can’t always hold on to the people we love. Whether we like it or not, they’ll go away. Or we’ll lose them, or they’ll lose us. That’s just life.”

He was talking about Mom, and I was thinking about Mom, but I was also thinking about El and our fight and how, even though I was angry at her, I was still devastated to lose her, too. Grief is a terrible, hollowing thing, and something all of us have to face.

A breath wobbles its way between my lips. “That may be true, but I don’t have to like it.”

“You don’t,” Dad agrees. “But you can’t fight it too much, either. I think the biggest lesson in my grief is that the present is the only time we have. Yes, we can miss people who are gone, but we have to be in the moment. We have to keep living and trying new things and moving forward … just not too fast.”

He’s right of course, and I’d been thinking about just these sorts of things at the Richmond Raceway.

I run a hand along the picture of Sara Christian. “Where did you get this?”

Dad smiles again. “It was in your mom’s wallet, like I said. I’ve been carrying it around since I went through her things. I never thought you’d be carrying around your own version of this picture. DeeDee would’ve liked to know that about you, I think.”

“I think she’d like that, too,” I say. “Can I have it?”

Dad nods, and I fold the picture of Sara Christian in with the one of Jamie Chadwick.

“I’ll sign your form,” Dad says, finishing his drink and standing to make another one. “And let you get your license this week. In case you didn’t get that from my deep philosophical musings on living in the present and following your dreams.”

“Dad!” I say, leaping to my feet. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely. It’s your life and you’ve got to live it. I’m proud of you, JoJo, and I know your mom would’ve been, too.”

I hug him. “Thanks, Dad. For signing the form and for telling me about Mom and for letting me fuck up, just a little.”

Dad hugs me back and then drops ice cubes into his new drink. “Always. Though this doesn’t mean you get a free pass on stealing your mom’s old car or running off to Richmond with El Blum. You’re definitely grounded for a few weeks and I’ll have some extra chores for you, but those are the consequences of your actions. I’m not going to punish you for being your mother’s daughter and needing to race.”

“You’re the best. I love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too,” he says, giving me another quick hug. “Now, please, go to your room and don’t sneak out. I’ve been worried all day and need to sleep.” He lets out a weary sigh.

“Good night, Dad.”

“‘Night, JoJo. I’m glad you’re back home.”

“Same, Dad. Same.”

I leave him in the kitchen with his whiskey and the photo album and make my way upstairs. All of a sudden, I realize how much I smell like sweat and road dust and El’s skin, and I just need to shower. Immediately.

After my shower, I curl up in bed with my phone. There’s no message from El, though I don’t think I was expecting one. There’s just a bunch of pictures of us from the trip. El beside the bike, grinning. El in bed from this morning, the light making her hair golden for a moment. A selfie of El and me on the bike, my arms around her waist, and my chin tucked against her shoulder.

A deep sense of loss fills me.

It had all felt so real, so good. And even though El had absolutely been a jerk, I will miss her. A lot.

I swipe my photos closed and pull up Netflix. I may have lost El Blum, but at least we had the summer. And the Fast & Furious.