Hadley & Grace(3)
“I’d say things have worked out pretty well,” Frank goes on. “Baby’s healthy. Husband’s doing better.”
Grace says nothing, the nervous feeling growing.
“The past is behind you, and the sharks don’t know where you are.”
She tries not to react but knows she has by the smirk on Frank’s face, the threat in the not-so-veiled statement plain. The people Jimmy owes money to are dangerous, and getting mixed up with them was the biggest mistake of his life.
Frank picks up the last page of the contract, the commission agreement that promises her 10 percent. After folding it neatly in half, he slides it toward her. “I’m glad things are going so well for you and your family,” he says.
Grace doesn’t move, her unblinking stare the only challenge she offers, but even that small defiance is enough to cause Frank’s features to darken. Holding her gaze, he pulls the sheet back, crumples it in a ball, then banks it into the wastebasket beside his desk. When he turns back, Grace lowers her eyes. She’s been screwed over enough times in her life to know when she’s been beaten.
3
HADLEY
The truck beeps, making Hadley realize the door is ajar, with the keys still in the ignition. She pulls them out, and the beeping stops.
She stares at the low-slung brick buildings in front of her. It’s hard to believe that today is the last day she will ever drive here, the last day she will ever park in this parking lot, the last day she will ever pick up one of her kids here after their day at school.
“Coming?”
She turns to see Melissa Jenkins smiling from the sidewalk, a platter of sugar cookies decorated with smiley faces in her hands.
Hadley blinks, then blinks several more times. “Yes, of course,” she says, painting on a smile as she climbs from the truck.
Melissa and Hadley have known each other since Melissa’s daughter, Katie, and Skipper were babies, and she is Hadley’s closest friend.
Years ago, when they first met, all Hadley saw was Melissa’s rose-tattooed arms, long nails, and goth black hair. Now, all Hadley sees when she looks at her friend is the biggest-hearted, hardest-working woman she knows.
A wealthy widow, Melissa inherited her husband’s three Harley Davidson dealerships, and she runs them with an iron fist and a soft spot for ex-felons. She also raises three foster kids, along with her own daughter and son.
She wraps her arm around Hadley’s shoulder and gives an encouraging squeeze. “Hang in there, kiddo,” she says. “Today is not forever. It’s just today.”
Hadley almost manages a smile. Despite having a month to get used to the idea of Skipper leaving, she is no more ready to accept it than she was the day her sister called with the news she was getting married and therefore ready to take on the responsibility of being Skipper’s mom.
They’re greeted in the school’s courtyard by a hand-painted banner that reads, Good Luck Skipper!!! We’re Going To Miss You! A hundred handprints of varying colors surround the words, along with the signatures of the kids who belong to those handprints.
She and Melissa set the sweets on the table that’s been set up for the celebration, and a moment later, the bell rings. Kids spill from the second-and third-grade classrooms, and Hadley scans over the heads for Skipper.
He is the last to leave Mrs. Baxter’s room, ambling behind the others in the slow, distracted way he has. Her heart swells at the sight of him, the way it always does when she sees one of her kids after not seeing them for some time.
“Hey, Blue,” he says as he walks into her outstretched arms and wraps his skinny ones around her hips.
“Hey, Champ.” She kisses the top of his honey hair. He smells as he always does, of brown sugar and sweat, the result of eating maple Cream of Wheat for breakfast and of being an eight-year-old boy.
For an extra-long moment, he holds her, perhaps realizing the moment is precious or perhaps not. With Skipper it’s hard to know how much he understands and how much he doesn’t. His IQ only measures seventy-five, but despite that, Hadley often thinks he’s the wisest person she knows, blessed with insight and intuition far beyond his intelligence.
Releasing her, he walks to the table, picks up a chocolate-marshmallow cupcake, his favorite, and carries it to the bench beside the playground. Today he wears his Dodgers uniform—always number forty-four, regardless of the team, a tribute to the great Hank Aaron, who is his hero.
As he eats, he looks at the other kids playing. An ordinary playground with ordinary kids, but the way he gazes out at it is as if it’s the most extraordinary place in the world. And as often happens when Hadley watches him, she finds herself envying him, wishing she could see the world through his eyes.
The pants of his uniform have ridden up on his knees, and Hadley makes a mental note to buy him new ones. Then she checks the thought. Vanessa will need to buy him new ones. Her throat tightens as her emotions rise again.
Mrs. Baxter lets out a wolf whistle and claps her hands three times, signaling for the kids to gather around. She leads them in a chorus of “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow,” then lines them up so each can hug Skipper goodbye.
He is extraordinarily well loved. Some of the girls even cry. One kisses his cheek, then giggles and runs away. Katie fist-bumps him, snatches his baseball cap, and then puts it back on his head backward. He smiles. She’s been doing that same thing to him since they were in preschool together. Skipper’s really going to miss her. She is his “bestest friend,” as he likes to say.