Racing in the Rain Read Online Free PDF

TV and walked into the kitchen. Eve was preparing dinner, and she looked at me when I entered.
    â€œBored with the race?” she asked casually.
    I wasn’t bored. I could have watched the race all that day and all the next. I was creating my own destiny. I lay down near the refrigerator, in a favorite spot of mine, and rested.
    I could tell she felt self-conscious with me there. Usually, if Denny was in the house, I spent my time by his side; that I had chosen to be with her now seemed to confuse her. She didn’t understand my intentions. But then she got rolling with dinner, and she forgot about me.
    First she started some hamburger frying, which smelled good. Then she washed some lettuce and spun it dry. She sliced apples. She added onions and garlic to a pot and then a can of tomatoes. And the kitchen was rich with the smell of food. The smell of it and the heat of the day made me feel quite drowsy, so I must have nodded off. Then I felt her hands on me, stroking my side, then scratching my belly, and I rolled over on my back to acknowledge her; my reward was more of her comforting scratches.
    â€œSweet dog,” she said to me. “Sweet dog.”
    She returned to her preparations, pausing only occasionally to rub my neck with her bare foot as she passed, which wasn’t all that much, but meant a lot to me anyway. I reached out to Eve, and she responded—a connection was made. Denny was right: We are the creators of our own destiny.

Chapter Nine
    A couple of years after we moved into the new house, something very frightening happened.
    Earlier that spring Denny had gone to France for a Formula Renault testing program. He did exceptionally well in this program because it was in France in the spring, when it rains. When he told Eve about it, he said that one of the scouts who attend these things approached after the session and said, “Can you drive as fast on dry tracks as you can on wet ones?” And Denny looked him straight in the eyes and replied, simply, “Try me.”
    The scout offered Denny a tryout, and Denny went away for two weeks. Testing and tuning and practicing. It was a big deal. He did so well, they offered him a seat in the endurance race at Watkins Glen.
    When he first left for New York, we all grinned at each other because we couldn’t wait to watch the race on Speed Channel. “It’s so exciting.” Eve would giggle. “Daddy’s a professional race car driver!”
    And Zoë, whom I love very much and would not hesitate to sacrifice my own life to protect, would cheer and hop into her little race car they kept in the living room. Then she would drive around in circles until we were all dizzy and then throw her hands into the air and proclaim, “I am the champion!”
    I got so caught up in the excitement, I was doing idiotic dog things like digging up the lawn. Balling myself up and then stretching out on the floor with my legs straight and my back arched and letting them scratch my belly. And chasing things. I chased!
    It was the best of times. Really.
    And then it was the worst of times.
    Race day came, and Eve woke up very early feeling awful. She had a pain so terrible that she stood in the kitchen and vomited violently into the sink. She vomited as if she were turning herself inside out.
    â€œI don’t know what’s wrong with me, Enzo,” she said. And she rarely spoke to me candidly like that. Like how Denny talks to me, as if I’m his true friend, his soul mate. The last time she had talked to me like that was when Zoë was born.
    But this time she did talk to me like I was her soul mate. She asked, “What’s wrong with me?”
    She knew I couldn’t answer. And I felt totally frustrated because I had an answer .
    I knew what was wrong, but I had no way to tell her. So I pushed at her thigh with my muzzle. I nosed in and buried my face between her legs. And I waited there, afraid.
    â€œI feel like