Page 38 of Tipping Point

With pity. As if I’m being forced to do this, as if I don’t have a choice.

Unbidden, the memory of Ma leaving came to mind. The house had been quiet when I woke up, that morning after Da came home from the hospital. I had come down the carpeted stairs on quiet feet, didn’t want to disturb Da. She never even saw me. She was standing at the front door, turned towards the mirror hanging there, arranging a hat on her head, crying.

She picked up her bag, opened the door, stepped outside, and closed it quietly behind her.

I watched through the murky glass as her silhouette faded away to nothing, and I knew.

I knew that I would never see her again.

That what Da had asked of her was too much to bear.

And I knew that if I could ever stop feeling as betrayed as I was in that moment, that I would never ask from anyone what he had asked of her.

My fingers clench the wheel harder.

This is the choice. I am living with the choice that I made.

Don’t think.

Mathieu Dubois, Rheese, and Lucien Rousseau are all bunching up at the chicane up ahead. They’re battling it out to be through first, and none of them look like they’re going to relent. Lucien collides with Mathieu’s rear spoiler, and they spin out. Rheese avoids the debris and pulls away on the straight.

“P seven,” Erik says, ecstatic.

I deploy the energy recovery system to boost me out of the corner and into the straight.

I am just over a second behind Rheese. When I floor the throttle on the straight I am pushed back into my seat, neck and shoulders straining to bear the heavy force working against me. I’m in a designated DRS zone. It means that I open the flap on the rear wing, the Drag Reduction System, and it helps the car reach higher speeds on the straights.

I need to pit to change my tyres, but I want to pass him first. I’ll lose my position, but as long as I come out right behind him again, we can resume our battle.

Two laps later, I trick him into thinking I’m feinting when I’m not and I take the inside line and pass.

“P six.”

Erik is worried about the tyres and frankly, so am I. I’m losing grip and it’s costing me precious seconds.

I go another eight laps before the safety car comes out.

It jars me back to Austin, Texas, like it always does.

Don’t think.

Somewhere up ahead is an accident and the safety car comes onto the track to slow us down to allow the marshalls to clear up the debris, which would be a danger to us. It’s a way to keep the race going, even if it’s slow, and we aren’t allowed to overtake.

While we bunch up behind the safety car, I muse over strategy for the pull away. It’s essentially a second start, all of us bunched up. The distances we had gained between each other were closed. Some drivers up ahead opt to pit. Rheese doesn’t.

Erik calls me in to refuel. We have very little time, and I will lose my position, but hopefully I won’t have to pit again, and make up the spots when the drivers in front of me are forced to pit.

The safety car enters the pit lane too and I just know that somewhere on the track, Ollie Blythe is pulling away from the pack. I pit, refuel, tear out and Erik confirms I lost two positions.

I stick to the strategy.

We’re on the last five laps and Rheese pitted too early in the race. He’s struggling with tyre degradation, and no option of pitting again. His car’s handling is shot, and he’s battling to stay on the tarmac.

I pass him and finish sixth.

I just scored eight points for Delta Victor.

When I get out of the car, mobbed by crew and spectators alike, I swivel around to look for Jay’s telltale camera that towers over the crowd. Camille can always be found at his shoulder, directing the shots.