To Love and to Perish - By Lisa Bork Page 0,3

a car lost control, plowing through the hay bales into a spectator and killing him. When the international track was built on top of the hill above the town, all the real racing moved there. But in the early 1990s the festival took advantage of growing nostalgia and asked the Sportscar Vintage Racing Association to bring their race cars down from the track to participate in tribute laps. Nowadays, different groups of car classes descended the hill from the Glen, raced up Franklin Street, and ascended the hill to the track with roaring engines, squealing brakes, puffs of exhaust and flashes of racing color. It was an exciting tribute and a beautiful setting, just steps from the base of Seneca Lake and the glorious gorge in Watkins Glen State Park.

Danny leapt up and took a few steps from the table. “Can we get a spot to watch the race? I don’t want to miss anything.”

I helped Ray gather our trash. “Sure. I think the best view will be near Milliken’s Corner.” The corner was an almost ninety-degree left-hand turn where my dad had witnessed a car plow into the hay bales many, many moons ago. It wasn’t so easy to turn a race car after riding its brakes down the hill. With today’s drizzle, it was going to be that much tougher on the cars and their drivers. Things could get a little squirrely—and exciting for the spectators.

The four of us retraced our previous path down Franklin Street and headed left onto Route 409. A white and blue sign marked the famous Milliken’s Corner, courtesy of the Glen Region Sports Car Club of America. Several spectators had already taken seats on the few hay bales available. A handful of folding chairs were turned face down on the sidewalk, keeping the seats dry while waiting for dignitaries or local store owners, no doubt.

“Where should we stand?” Danny looked at me for guidance.

“Well, if we stand at the base of the hill, we can see the cars come down and make the turn. If we stand closer to the corner of Franklin, we could see them on both turns and as they roar up the street, too.”

Danny moved his gaze to Ray for a decision.

Ray wasn’t listening. He’d spotted a local county deputy sheriff he knew and was waving to him. “I want to say hello. Be right back.”

Maury sidled closer to me. “I think I’m going home. I’m not that into the race.”

I felt guilty for inviting them to join us. Clearly, he’d only shown up to be polite. Erica could take a lesson from him in that regard. “Okay, sorry, Maury. Tell Erica I’ll call her tomorrow.”

With a nod, Maury melted into the crowd.

The cars lining Franklin Street roared to life as the drivers revved their engines in preparation for heading uphill to begin the race. Danny and I decided to stand on the inside corner of 409 and Franklin. We had a view of Milliken’s Corner and the main drag. The spectators started to get a little dense as everyone jockeyed for position. I lost sight of Ray.

My cell phone rang.

I answered, expecting to hear Ray’s voice. Instead, it was my friend and mechanic, Cory Kempe.

“Have you seen Brennan?”

I glanced about in surprise. Cory and his boyfriend, Brennan Rowe, had entered Brennan’s Mini Cooper in two events this weekend: tomorrow’s sprint race and Sunday’s endurance race. They also planned to drive in the tribute laps this evening.

“No. I thought he was driving with you in the parade lap.”

“He told me to go ahead without him. He said he had something to do.”

“In town? Not at the track?” Cory and Brennan had been at the track all day, prepping the Mini for the sprint race tomorrow. Brennan had driven in the qualifying race today and done well even though it was his first time on the track.

“I don’t know where. He took off an hour ago. He didn’t say where he was going. I thought you might have seen him.”

“Sorry. I’ll keep my eyes open, though.”

“Please do. Let me know if you see him with another man.”

I wasn’t sure I’d heard Cory correctly. “What do you mean?”

“I think Brennan’s having an affair.”

That didn’t sound like Brennan, who called the shop at least twice a day for almost a year now to talk to Cory. He was the most attentive boyfriend Cory had ever had, and, unlike my sister Erica, a stable and responsible person. “Why do you say that?”

“He’s been