“What’s wrong, Dwight? Losing the race?”
“More than that, Millie. I think we just lost every race to come.”
“That’s comin’ it pretty strong.” She looked upset, more at his distress than because she believed him.
“Look, how did you get your start?”
Surprised, she said, “Well, I had some money saved up, and when I divorced my old man I got his old racer. Didn’t amount to much, but—”
“Not what I meant. You were a mechanic—I know that much about you. How’d you get started?”
She blinked at him. “Well, we had a small engines course in high school. I already knew more than they could teach me, though. I pumped gas, cleaned windows, helped my father and my two brothers. I like grew up with cars.”
“Me too,” said Dwight. “I got my start in a filling station, pumpin’ gas, checkin’ the oil, cle
