Hadley & Grace(22)

Grace hesitates.

“Now!” she snaps.

Grace’s hands fly over the harness, releasing and lifting Miles in a single panicked motion, and Mrs. Torelli takes him and flops him over her shoulder.

“Shhh,” she coos. “You’re okay.” She sways back and forth on her single foot, her left hand holding him as her right pats his back, and immediately he starts to calm, gulping air and grabbing onto Mrs. Torelli’s hair for comfort.

Grace bites her bottom lip and looks at the ground, her eyes filling. She sucks at this, sucks so bad it hurts. It’s one thing to suck at cooking or sewing or making small talk, but to suck at being a mom, that’s got to be the worst failing in the world. And so not fair to Miles. He deserves so much better.

Miles gnaws on his fist, his other hand still holding tight to Mrs. Torelli’s hair, and over his back, Mrs. Torelli says, “Grace, you don’t look so good; maybe you should sit down.”

Grace doesn’t feel so good, but she shakes her head. Mrs. Torelli is the one balancing on one foot. “I’ll take him now,” she says, holding out her arms as she swallows back the acid that’s risen in her throat and thinking she shouldn’t have eaten that second burger last night.

With a concerned frown, Mrs. Torelli hands Miles back, and mercifully, he does not cry. His body lies limp against her, sweaty and spent from his hysterics.

“Do you want us to give you a lift back to your car?” Mrs. Torelli offers.

“How? You can’t drive.”

“I thought I’d try driving left footed.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Grace says, certain she can’t be serious.

“How hard could it be?”

“Really hard. You’re going to kill yourself.”

Mrs. Torelli’s expression tightens, clearly not pleased with Grace’s opinion. “Well, I suppose we’ll see about that.”

Grace rolls her eyes, and Mrs. Torelli glowers at her. Then she lifts her chin, extends her hand, and says, “Well, I guess then this is goodbye.”

Grace shakes it, surprised by the well of emotions she feels. After all, she’s known the woman less than a day.

Mrs. Torelli hops away, using the wall for support, and Mattie shuffles behind her. The boy takes up the rear, loping after them with his face lifted toward the sky as if examining the clouds for rain.

And because Grace really isn’t feeling well, she lowers herself into the chair and closes her eyes, hoping the nausea will pass.

She keeps her eyes shut when the car door slams, but when she hears the SUV reversing, the herky-jerky sound causes them to snap open. She watches as the Mercedes backs up haltingly, the brake lights blinking like a warning signal; then suddenly they stop blinking and the car shoots backward, skipping over the curb to run over the sidewalk before slamming into a planter beside the stairwell.

Grace leaps up, slings the diaper bag over her shoulder, and, holding Miles with one hand and his car seat with the other, races down the stairs.

She throws open the driver’s door. “You okay?”

Mrs. Torelli blinks rapidly. “Yeah. Fine.” She cranes her head back to look at Mattie, then the boy; then she looks back at Grace. “I don’t know what happened.”

You’re an idiot. That’s what happened, Grace thinks, but she says instead, “You hit the gas instead of the brake.”

“I did?”

Grace nods. “Get out.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m driving.”

“Where?”

“To the hospital. You need to get that ankle looked at, and I’m not having your death and your kids’ deaths on my conscience.”

Mattie moves to the back, and Mrs. Torelli hops around the car and into the passenger seat. Grace buckles Miles into his car seat between the two kids, then climbs into the driver’s seat.

As she starts to drive, a strange vibration buzzes in her veins, the feeling a bit like vertigo, dizzying, like she is free-falling—plummeting and tumbling toward a destiny over which she has no control.





18





HADLEY


Grace agreed to take the kids to the cafeteria, so Hadley is alone in the emergency room as she waits for her discharge instructions. Her ankle is badly sprained but, thankfully, not broken. It’s wrapped with an ACE bandage, and the doctor has given her strict instructions to stay off it for several weeks and to keep it wrapped, iced, and elevated—no driving.

As she waits, she considers her options. She could ignore the doctor and try to drive anyway. She flexes her ankle to test the theory, and tears fill her eyes, letting her know driving is not an option.

They could take a bus or a train, but that would mean ditching the car and most of their belongings, and it would leave a trail for Frank to follow, which would be far too dangerous.

She looks at Skipper’s backpack on the floor, which has her share of the money, and wonders if it would be possible to pay someone to drive them. Maybe Grace? she thinks, then just as quickly dismisses the idea. Grace has close to a million dollars of her own; why would she want to drive them?

Which means she would need to hire a stranger, an idea that makes her hair stand on end—a single woman on crutches with two kids and a boatload of cash asking a stranger to drive them halfway across the country. Even she’s smart enough to realize that’s not a good plan.