Over the Wall by Chris Fabry

was surprised they didn’t serve grilled horse. They served everything else. He finally picked a cheeseburger, and Dale had some kind of pasta dish. He said it was a good prerace meal that gave him energy.
    Tim knew there were racers who had superstitions—they would wear the same old T-shirt under their fire suit or eat the exact same meal as the week or year before when they won a race.
    Dale said he didn’t have any of those except he always prayed with the chaplain and kissed his wife. “That’s not as much of a superstition as it is a priority and a focus. If that’s the last time I ever talk to my wife, I want her to know I love her.”
    “Why do you pray?” Tim said. “You’d be able to talk to him on the other side when you got killed, wouldn’t you?”
    Dale smiled. “I guess you’re right. I think it’s more to tell him I know my life is in his hands, and I’m okay with whatever happens.”
    The waitress came back with their food and a refill for Tim’s soda. There were a couple other drivers having late dinners too, and both of them gave a wave or a nod as they passed. Most drivers, like Butch Devalon, were in their big motor coaches or out on the town, Tim guessed. He’d always wondered what it would be like to actually eat and travel with the drivers. They were pretty much gone as soon as the race was over, flying home in their helicopters or airplanes.
    When they had finished their meal, the waitress came again and showed them the dessert menu.
    Tim eyed the chocolate sundae and then noticed the price.
    “You feel like some dessert?” Dale said.
    “I’m pretty full.”
    “That sundae looks good.”
    “Yeah, if I could pack in any more, I’d order that.”
    “Why don’t you wrap up a sundae to go and he’ll eat it in the room,” Dale said to the waitress.
    “Anything for you, sir?”
    Dale slapped his stomach with both hands. “Any more and I’ll finish at the back of the pack tomorrow.”
    The waitress went away, then came back with a bag. She handed the check to Dale and pushed another piece of paper toward him. “My son is a big racing fan. I don’t mean to impose, but—”
    “Not at all,” Dale said. “What’s his name?”
    She told him. “Oh, he’ll be so thrilled.”
    Dale reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pin with the NASCAR logo on it. “I don’t have any hats with me, but give him this and tell him to holler real loud tomorrow.”
    The woman beamed. “Oh, thank you so much. This is great. I really appreciate it.”
    When they got back to the room, Tim watched SPEED while Dale made a phone call. From hisconversation, Tim guessed he’d called the PR person for the team.
    Dale gave the name of the waitress and said, “She’s got a son who’s a fan. Can you take a hat or a shirt down and give it to her? . . . Yeah, I know we can’t give all of it away, but I think it’ll mean something to her. . . . Great. Thanks.”
    Dale sat at a round table in the corner and took off his boots, looking out at the golf course.
    It seemed like there was something on Dale’s mind, but Tim figured if he wanted to talk, he’d say so.
    “If you don’t mind, Tim, why don’t you turn that off and come over here and have a seat.”
    Tim did and opened the bag with the sundae in a Styrofoam container. The ride up the elevator had made just enough room for dessert. And the ice cream was the right consistency—soft and gooey and mixing well with the chocolate and caramel.
    “Did you ever get the letter I sent to you?” Dale said.
    “No, I don’t believe I did. What did it say?”
    Dale pursed his lips. “Well, I kind of explained some things. Tell me this. You ever heard of the elephant in the room?”
    “No, sir.”
    “Do you know what it means?”
    “Does it have anything to do with the circus?”
    Dale tried to hide his smile. “No. It means there’s something that needs to be talked about, but everybody is avoiding the touchy topic. And the more you