Free Braking Points by Tammy Kaehler Page B

starting Friday. When I hung up, I felt better than I had in days. They were expensive, but having them on my side was worth it. A call to give Tom the latest news, a quick stop for lunch, and it was my turn behind the wheel again.
    We were eight hours in when Holly looked up from her phone. “Uh oh.”
    I glanced away from the road to her worried face. I took three deep breaths and a sip of Diet Coke. “I’m ready.”
    â€œFirst of all, you’re trending on Twitter.”
    â€œI’m not even on Twitter.”
    â€œI know, but you’re trending with a couple hashtags.”
    â€œHash-what now?”
    She sighed. “Sugar, really, social media? What generation are you from? Hashtags are for search terms or topics. Hashtag ‘Kate Reilly’ is getting some use, and hashtag ‘blame Kate’ is making the rounds. You need to join Twitter.”
    Before I could comment, she held up a hand. “There’s more. Racing’s Ringer responded to you—complete with the creepy eyeball graphic. He’s a jerk and he’s wrong, but he explains his problem with you.”
    â€œRead it to me?”
    â€œâ€˜An open letter to Kate Reilly. Dear Ms. Reilly, You wrote today asking me why I dislike you. Why I have such fun repeating tidbits about your career. I’m happy to explain to you and my Ringer Readers.’”
    â€œâ€˜Ringer Readers?’” I broke in. “That’s dreadful.”
    â€œAgreed. He continues, ‘It’s not true to say I dislike you. I have no use for you and, honestly, I don’t get the hype.’”
    â€œHype? I have hype?”
    â€œLet me finish reading. ‘So you’ve done nothing of value, particularly off the track. Like so many others, you can drive some. But color me unimpressed, because you have a growing voice in the racing industry and the sports world you don’t use. You’re a role model, do something about it! Give back to the fans and little girls who admire you. Contribute to a cause, speak out for an organization. Stand up for something! You’re a public figure and it’s your responsibility to inspire those around you. So until I see you stepping up to your responsibilities, you don’t get my respect. Signed, Racing’s Ringer. P.S. One thing that’s outright unforgivable is your lack of response to Ellie Grayson Prescott’s death. Sources tell me she was a good friend of yours back in your formula racing days, and you found her dead, but can’t be bothered to comment or show remorse. If this is how you treat friends, how do you treat your enemies?’”
    For three miles down the road, I had no words to express the injustice.
    Holly broke open a bar of dark chocolate and handed me a piece. “You did ask.”
    â€œWhen was I supposed to make a statement about Ellie? The night it happened, when I was in shock? Don’t I get time to cope? Do I call a reporter today and make a statement? I don’t get it.” I ate the chocolate square.
    â€œHe’s holding you to a higher standard than most drivers. Shoot, most boys steer clear of DUIs and speeding tickets, and they’re golden. I wonder if the Ringer is a woman, and that’s why she—he? it?—is so hard on you.”
    â€œOn one side I’ve got people threatening to kill me because I did something. On the other, I’ve got someone berating me for not doing something. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.”
    â€œYou ain’t kidding.”
    We rode in silence another couple miles. One minute I felt like crying, the next I felt like yelling, and the next I thought I could laugh and ignore the whole mess.
    â€œTurn off the brain,” Holly suggested, breaking off another piece of chocolate and handing it to me. She popped Garth Brooks into the CD player and for two hours, we sang our heads off and pretended the world of murdered friends, frightening