Caleb’s features turned somber. “The Lady in Black is very unforgiving. I came out of turn number four at 185 miles an hour, let my wheel drift and the car bumped the wall. I left half my paint on the wall, the ‘Darlington Stripe’ they call it. Then my right front tire blew and I was completely out of control. This was before the roof flaps era so my car flipped over and then went airborne. There are two interior walls at Darlington, the inside and pit walls. I cleared them both and slid right into a pit crew.”

“Oh my God.”

“My pit crew,” Caleb said solemnly. “My personal pit crew.”

Annabelle gasped. “It wasn’t your father, was it?”

Caleb turned to look at her, his eyes watery. “I walked away from the crash with a few bumps and bruises, but he was in the hospital for months before finally pulling through. But after that, I couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t shift a gear, couldn’t mash an accelerator, couldn’t even slide in the car. So I just walked away from it all. Turned my life around. Went from speed to being a librarian. As far away as I could get from that world. But I kept the Nova. It was one of the first cars I ever raced in. I painted it that shitty gray to cover up the numbers and stripes. The number twenty-two car, Double Deuces, they called me. It didn’t look like much but under the hood it had muscle, that car. Dual carbs, overhead cam, four hundred–plus horses and a gas pedal that never let me down. Whenever I needed to bring it, it was there. Years ago, late at night, I used to run it on straightaways when Centreville was still cow country. Got it up to 150 more than once. Those were the days.”

“Caleb, I’m so sorry.” She gently squeezed his shoulder.

A few moments of silence passed.

“Hey, I really got you, didn’t I?”

She glanced back over at him. He was smiling broadly.

“Come on, Richard Petty’s protégé? Me?”

“You made that all up? You shit!” She smacked him on the shoulder hard. But there was admiration in her features.

“What? You think you’re the only one who can lie really well? I’ve spent my adult life surrounded by stories at the library, Annabelle. I can ‘fiction’ with the best of them.”

“That still doesn’t explain how you can drive like this.”

“I grew up on the side of a mountain in Pennsylvania. First thing I ever drove was a Bobcat down a dirt road that would make this stretch of gravel look like the Autobahn.” He paused. “And I did do some stock car racing when I turned eighteen. Mostly junk on dirt tracks. But after my third near-fatal accident, I decided to go into library science. But I’m still a big NASCAR fan.”