Over the Wall by Chris Fabry Page B

“Didn’t have anything to say, but he did a good job.”
    “It was a powerful drama,” Jamie’s mom said. “What did you think, Jamie?”
    “Yeah, it was good.”
    Jamie went to her room and stayed there the rest of the night. The phone rang late, and she saw it was her dad’s cell phone, but she didn’t pick up. She wondered if the guy from Florida had made it and how things had gone, but there was too much on her mind. Too many things spinning around.
    She tossed and turned through the night and dreamed she was at a track—it was the Texas Motor Speedway—standing near pit road. A dark figure lurked behind the wall, and Jamie moved towardthe end of pit road. But as she neared the spot where the ambulance was parked and the emergency medical personnel milled about, the dark figure darted toward her. Scared, she ran around the ambulance, trying to get away. Her feet hit grass, but in front of her was a chain-link fence.
    Jamie vaulted the fence and ran toward the apron of the track, followed closely by the figure. A thunderous sound approached, and she looked back, seeing a line of cars, three deep, heading straight for her. She ran faster, but her feet were like lead. She fell and covered her head, sure that she would be flattened by the cars.
    She looked back quickly and saw her father’s face through the windshield. That face comforted her for a moment but then turned into Butch Devalon’s, his dark sunglasses glinting in the sunlight. He swerved right toward Jamie.
    She awakened, pulled the cover from over her head, and noticed the sun peeking over the trees. She sat up and stretched, yawning, and quickly dressed in her sweats. She stole downstairs, smelling coffee brewing, and saw her mother at the kitchen table. She had her Bible open and the phone to her ear.
    Jamie slipped outside to her car and drove to the fitness center. Other drivers had their own gyms intheir homes or at the nearby garage, and she’d bugged her dad about putting one in, but it was no use.
    She threw herself into the workout, alternating between weights and the bike or treadmill. She had a section on her audio player with songs just the right length for each station in the workout. The TVs overhead were tuned to the Sunday morning news shows. There were heads talking—a guy in a military uniform, a woman senator—and one had the vice president. He didn’t look too happy with the interviewer.
    TVs over the treadmills were tuned to SPEED and gave updates on the race in Texas. They replayed highlights of yesterday’s race and the qualifier for this afternoon.
    All through the exercise and music and TV images, Jamie couldn’t shake the feeling from last night. It wasn’t the dream that stuck with her but what the pastor had said and the look on her mother’s face. The more she thought about it, the more she pumped the weights, and the more convinced she was that her mother’s tears had been for her. Jamie was sure her mother was crying because she thought Jamie needed to give her dreams and her life to God. She closed her eyes as she bench-pressed the weights.

Chapter 21
Chapel
    “NICOLE AND I HAVE decided we’re not going to force you to go to church services,” Dale said to Tim as they walked toward the media center. They’d bought several shirts, a jacket, and a hat at the concession area, and Tim had stuck them in his suitcase in the hauler.
    “Of course, we hope you’ll want to go with us, but we’re not going to make you,” Dale said.
    “Okay,” Tim said.
    “There’s a chapel service right after the drivers’ meeting, so you can stay or head back to the hauler if you’d like.”
    Tim looked around and spotted who he thought was the chaplain—an older guy with a bad suit. He didn’t want to go, but he figured it wasn’t a good idea to annoy Dale just before the race. Sure, Tim was ticked that Dale wouldn’t tell him who had pushed him at Talladega,but he assumed Dale had a good reason for not saying