Three years passed in a blur of airports, racetracks, and quiet moments in haulers around the world.

What began as one weekend at Long Beach became something much larger. McClaire’s “favor” evolved into a standing arrangement: I handled logistics, emergency childcare, and whatever else the team needed when she was on track. Star grew from a fussy infant into a bright, red-eyed toddler who called me “Unca Roadkill” and liked to tug on my mustache until I made silly faces. Johnny Jr. turned ten and became a full-blown track rat, already having visited Spain, France, Japan, and McClaire’s private island headquarters. He could name half the grid and explain tire compounds better than most adults.

The monthly wires from McClaire kept our life comfortable. No, more than comfortable. But every week I spent away carved another crack into my marriage. Abigail stopped asking detailed questions about where I was really going. She just stopped asking.

“Mom, Dad has a job with a racing team,” Jr said carefully, trying to play peacemaker. 

“He has to go to the events. It’s not like he’s… you know… doing something bad.”

Abigail turned on him

“I didn’t ask you, Jr.”

“I’m just saying…”

“I said I didn’t ask you!” Her voice cracked. 

“This is between me and your father. Go to your room.”

Jr’s face flushed. He looked at me for backup, but I didn’t have any to give. Not this time.

“Fine,” he muttered, voice thick. Then, louder, 

“Fine! Maybe if you weren’t such a bitch all the time, Dad wouldn’t have to leave so much!”

The words hung in the air like smoke.

Abigail went completely still. I saw the slap land even though no one raised a hand.

“Jr,” I said quietly. 

“Room. Now.”

He looked at me like I’d betrayed him, eyes glassy, then stormed down the hall and slammed his door hard enough to rattle the pictures on the wall.

Abigail stood there staring at the empty hallway, one hand pressed to her mouth. When she finally spoke, her voice was small.

“He’s never talked to me like that before.”

I didn’t know what to say. Because he was right, in a way. And because I was the reason he was learning how to wound the people who loved him.

She looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw every lonely night, every missed dinner, every time she’d had to be both parents while I was halfway around the world playing uncle to another man’s child.

“I just want you back, Johnny,” she whispered. 

“I don’t even know who we are anymore…” Things had gotten worse since menopause hit. Her body was betraying her, and the one person she’d always counted on was never home.

“I’m telling you the truth, Abby,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm.

 ”I’m asking you to be reasonable. To slow down and think for one second. This job, this assignment, is almost over. A few more years and we can retire. Really retire! Never work another day. Look around, Abby. Look at the economy right now. People are begging for jobs. If I walk away, I’m not just breaking a promise to someone who saved my life. I’m making things worse for you and Jr.”

She broke then, shoulders shaking, tears spilling over.

“I just want you back, Johnny…”

“I know.” I pulled her into my arms. 

“Me too. I love you.”

She clung to me like I might disappear again.

I held her and stared at the wall over her shoulder, the weight of two promises pressing down on my chest. One to the woman in my arms, and one to the immortal who had given me this second chance in the first place.

I didn’t know how much longer I could keep both.

 On the good news side of things however, McClaire was an excellent student. Through the toddler years she paid extra close attention, read numerous books on parenting, and even more to Star every night she had the ability to do so. She had numerous questions everyday, to me, to Dashie, to literally anyone who would lend an ear. Questions about schooling, foods, behavioral training, moral philosophy questions, and even diaper brands. 

Even on the days, or sometimes weeks, that McClaire couldn't be there she made sure her presence was felt somehow. Letters or souvenirs in the mail, pictures, or even reading bedtime stories over the phone while halfway around the world. Sitting there, listening in as McClaire read on speaker phone was a joy. Especially as she read out a bit of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, fake southern accent and all.

“It’s lovely to live on a raft. We had the sky up there, all speckled with stars, and we used to lay on our backs and look up at them, and discuss about whether they was made or only just happened. We said there warn’t no home like a raft, after all. Other places do seem so cramped up and smothery, but a raft don’t. You feel mighty free and easy and comfortable on a raft.”

The most interesting nights however, came when McClaire started reading the stories of Stella Star's past life. The whole ordeal, or adventure even, had been documented in detail by a kid named Max Grayson. The book, called Road Racer, included in incredible detail just who Stella Star once was, all told from the point of view of a boy who apparently was tortured by her at one point. I could relate, and McClaire didn't skip on any of the details. But Star listened as intently as any other story. 

“You know Stella, you beat me on the track several times, but Watkins Glen in 1967 was the first time!” 

“I did?! Yay!”

“Yep! And one day you'll do it again too!”

“I hope so, Momma McClaire!”

Star meanwhile, was one hell of a child too. She picked up walking really quickly, running even quicker. By the time she was 4 she was a terror, sprinting around like she was magnetically attracted to everything. McClaire hypothesized that some of her learned skills from her previous life had somehow embedded themselves into her soul. Her agility, reading comprehension, and just general ability to retain information was incredible. Sadly, that included curse words.

“Unca Roadkill, what does God dam-ate mean?”

“Uh… that's something you shouldn't say Stella!” I said immediately.

“Do-no-van says it all the time?” 

“Next time he says it, call him an idiot.”

“Idi-it?” The fact that she had such an advanced knowledge of language without the ability to say it totally correctly was adorable. Still, It's a good thing she didn't go to public school, because she would be getting red cards daily hanging around a race shop. However, it wouldn't be long until she found her way into driving something, and seeing her rip around in a tiny electric go-kart told me exactly what I needed to know.

“McClaire, I think my work here is done.” 

She looked at me, equally impressed at Star’s abilities as I was. 

“Officially speaking, I would say you're right Johnny. That being said, she's still going to want to visit her Uncle Roadkill every now and again. 

“I would like that.” I replied. However, ever the forward thinker McClaire already had a worry on deck.

“Jr. Was telling me about how things with your wife have been going. Her refusal to leave the home and everything. He was getting worried you two were going to break up?”

“No, never. Just as I made a promise to you. I made a commitment to her to be her husband until death do us part. Just as I kept my promise to you I'm not going back on that.”

“You're a good man Johnny. She would still probably get the wrong idea if I just showed up with Star in tow…”

“Yeah, let's not do that.” I sighed.

“I'll come to visit occasionally, but I need to spend some time at home. To fix things.

“Then go…” McClaire’s expression shifted as something important clearly occurred to her. She was quiet for a long moment, staring at the half-empty shot glass in her hand. Then, almost to herself, she spoke.

“I killed my father when I was ten years old. He beat my mother to death in a drunken rage, and that night, before he even sobered up I got my revenge.” 

“Wah… what?” I said, shocked. I had no idea how this popped into her head but as she continued and started to make sense.

“I was terrified that I would screw up like him. He was a military officer for the British Army, a World War veteran who commanded hundreds of men to their death in both wars. I never understood that, that he got drunk to deal with the pain and the grief, and then it all spilled out onto my mother and our servants.”

“McClaire?” I said, now turning to face her directly. 

“I killed him with his own sword, as he slept. He woke up right after I impaled him, and the last thing he saw was me. That's how I ended up adopted into the McClaire family and ended up with this curse. It's also why I was terrified something like that would happen between me and Star. After all, my very existence is stressful, and she already tried to kill me in her previous life. The pieces are there for history to repeat and that's why I was so terrified that if I wasn't a good parent that it would.” 

“That's not going to happen now.” I said with steadfast certainty.

“I've never seen someone sacrifice the way you have, dedicate yourself to your child like you have, and have the guts to ask for help when you needed it most.” McClaire smiled again as she looked at me

“Yeah. Kinda like you in Oklahoma. Only a mad man would beg to come with the two girls that just kidnapped him.” McClaire laughed. 

“Better than walking back to Chicago. Back to my old life…” I replied and she slid another  shot glass across to me. 

“Here’s to forgiveness,” she said quietly. 

“And to new beginnings that don’t have to look like the old ones.”

“Cheers!” After the clink of the glasses and a slow sip of whiskey, I set my glass down. It was time.

“Come on Jr. we're going home.”

McClaire smiled and motioned for him to follow me. We started walking toward the helipad on the far side of the island.

“Don't worry, when you're older you're welcome to come back. But for now… be patient with your mother and kind to your father.”

“Yes, Miss McClaire.” Jr. Replied respectfully.

 I smiled at that and glanced back at her one last time. She gave me a small wave. Then Jr. and I walked the rest of the way to the waiting helicopter that would take us home.

Home.

We got in a little past three in the morning. Putting my key in the deadlock, it unlocked with that familiar clunk that now seemed nostalgic. The house was dark and quiet, Abigail had clearly given up on waiting for us and fallen asleep.

“So we're not going to be traveling anymore Dad?”

“Not as much Jr.” I knew he was disappointed. They always had amazing stories to tell his friends whenever school was back in session. 

“When you're a little older, If you want to go work for McClaire I won't stop you.”

“I've been thinking about it, but I guess I still have a lot of growing up to do.”

“Pfft, You're the most mature ten-year-old the world has ever seen.” I laughed, collapsing down gratefully onto the couch. If there's one thing I wouldn't miss about traveling, it was the rock hard airline seats.

“Just wait until Star gets a little older… You know Dad, you sure are friends with a lot of weird people.”

You can say that again. I laughed internally. 

“You two finally made it in?” The door to our bedroom opened and she stepped out in her nightgown, rubbing her eyes. The fabric was stained and she’d put on weight, the quiet evidence of too many nights alone.

“Abby, we're home… for good this time.” She stared at me like she hadn’t heard right. Her eyes flicked between me and Jr, searching for the catch. When none came, her shoulders dropped and her face crumpled.

“For good?” she whispered. The tears came fast after that. 

“You mean it this time?”

“I mean it.”

She nodded once, then walked straight into my arms and buried her face in my chest. All the stress of our marriage, finally lifted off my chest.

“The job is over.” I said, my voice rough as I too fought back tears.

I taught a God how to be a parent.

“And now I come home to you just as I promised…”