Hadley & Grace(2)

The grandmother’s remarkable eyes grow large. “She did?”

Hadley nods. She has always been a marvelous liar.

Relief floods the woman’s face to the point of her eyes growing misty.

“I hope your granddaughter enjoys it,” Hadley says and then hurries away, her heart filled with the wonderful feeling you get when you know you’ve done something right.

Her phone buzzes again, and she pulls it from her pocket as she races to Frank’s truck, the bags of cupcakes thumping against her legs.

LOVE U????

Where the hell are u?

I said I LOVE U.

LOVE U. LOVE U. LOVE U!!!!!

With a deep breath, she types, Love you too. I just needed to pay for the cupcakes.

He emojis back a happy face and a heart, and she closes her eyes, lets out a slow exhale, then climbs into his truck to drive to Skipper’s school for his going-away party.





2





GRACE


Yes. Yes, yes, yes!

A man of his word, Jerry promised the contract would arrive before the end of the day, and three minutes ago, at exactly 1:28, the fax machine whirred to life and began spitting out the golden pages.

Grace kisses the contract, twirls, then kisses it again. She looks at the photo on her desk—a picture of Jimmy, Miles, and her in front of Angels Stadium—and gives a thumbs-up.

It’s hard to believe the photo was taken only two months ago, Miles so small he practically fit in the palm of Jimmy’s large hand. Jimmy is in his army uniform, a proud smile on his face. It was Presidents’ Day weekend, and all military families had gotten into the game for free. Jimmy was home to attend his mother’s funeral, an event that was both sad and a relief. His mother had been suffering a long time and had been unable to remember him or his brother, Brad, for far longer than that.

As she dances the contract to Frank’s office, the heel of her left shoe slaps against the carpet. The sole came loose a week ago. She mended it with superglue, but this morning, it came apart again. Maybe tonight, after she picks up Miles, they’ll stop by Walmart and she’ll buy a new pair in celebration. Perhaps she’ll even treat herself to a meal out—pizza or fish tacos. Her mouth waters with the thought. She hasn’t eaten since the hurried english muffin she stuffed in her mouth on the way out the door this morning. She didn’t want to risk leaving the office for lunch and missing the contract coming through.

Her rap on the door lifts Frank’s head.

“Done deal,” she says, walking in and then slapping the contract down on the desk in front of him.

“What’s this?”

“The contract to sublease Jerry Koch’s downtown lot,” she says, working hard to keep the glee from her voice. “Took a bit of persuasion—actually, a lot of persuasion—but here it is, signed, sealed, delivered.” She almost singsongs the last line to the tune of the Stevie Wonder hit and just stops herself from adding, It’s yours.

Three months. That’s how long she’s been negotiating, cajoling, and back-and-forth flirting with Jerry Koch, owner of the business mall in downtown Laguna Beach. The sublease of his parking lot in the evenings and on the weekends will bring in two to three grand a week for Aztec Parking, and 10 percent of that will be hers—at least a grand a month, twelve grand a year, and the answer to her prayers.

Frank’s eyes pulse once in surprise. “Well, I’ll be. The old bastard finally came around.”

“He did. The entire lot. Evenings, weekends, and holidays.”

Grace feels like her heart is going to explode. When she proposed the idea of subleasing Jerry’s lot, Frank told her she was wasting her time. He had already tried, and the guy wasn’t interested. She said he was probably right but asked if she could pursue it just the same. He told her to knock herself out and agreed to a 10 percent cut if she managed it.

And now, here she is, three months later, contract in hand. Her mind spins with what the money will mean to her and Jimmy, a million ideas tumbling through her head: First, pay off Jimmy’s gambling debt so they can stop looking over their shoulders; second, get new tires for her car; next, move Miles out of the crappy day care he’s in. Then, perhaps, in a few months, once all that has been taken care of, they can consider a nicer apartment, one with a tub so Miles can take baths, since he is now four months old and starting to sit up.

Frank stops on the last page of the contract, and as she watches his eyes scanning back and forth, her excitement turns slightly nervous. Frank is what her grandmother would have called a righteous slitherer—a fork-tongued charmer who preaches the gospel but whose own word can go either way. Her grandmother wouldn’t have much liked Frank Torelli, and she would have liked less the idea of Grace working for him. But then, she wouldn’t have much liked most of how Grace’s life turned out after she died.

Frank sets down the contract and lifts his face to Grace’s. Frank’s eyes were the first thing Grace noticed about her boss—deep brown, piercing, and slightly misaligned, as if he’s looking at you, but not. He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers in front of him. “Grace, this is good work,” he says. “Mary said you were smart.”

Grace tenses at the mention of her previous boss. When Jimmy’s debts caught up with them, and they needed to leave LA in a hurry, Mary called Frank and asked if he would hire Grace after Miles was born. It was extremely generous, especially considering Grace was leaving her in the lurch.