Hadley & Grace(32)
“Stop.”
Hadley’s head snaps sideways; then she looks back down at her leg and realizes it’s bouncing again. She folds it beneath her to quell its jitter.
They were on their way before the police were out of their cars, and there’s been no sign of trouble since. She wishes Grace would just relax. They’re safe. They made it.
She feels her leg wanting to bounce.
24
GRACE
Grace pulls the van beside the office of the Wills Fargo Motel in Baker and kills the engine. She leaves the others in the car and is relieved when the kid behind the counter accepts her cash for two rooms without any questions.
She returns to the van and parks it out of sight; then all of them walk toward the strip of restaurants they saw on the way in. The choices are limited—Dairy Queen, Pizza Hut, or Denny’s. They settle on Denny’s because it’s closest.
They wait at the front for the hostess, who also appears to be the waitress and the manager. The sign on the register reads NO CHECKS, and Grace watches Mattie looking at it, her brow creased, and she wonders what she finds so interesting.
“This way,” the hostess/waitress/manager says.
Mrs. Torelli leads with the boy, and Grace follows, holding Miles tight against her and breathing him in. He has been amazing through all this. Four hours in the car and not a peep. She’s so thankful she feels it all the way to her toes. She’s not sure she could have handled any more stress.
She’s realized she’s made a horrible mistake. Whatever Frank is into is bigger than skimming cash and not reporting it to the IRS. Her heart hasn’t stopped hammering since they left Barstow. A battalion of cop cars raced into the McDonald’s moments after they left the old lady’s car there. They don’t send that much firepower for fudging on your taxes.
She should have ditched Mrs. Torelli at the hospital or even in Barstow, jumped in the van with Miles, and taken off. Whatever this is, she wants no part of it. She has Miles to think about. She nuzzles the soft folds of his skin, unable to believe the danger she’s put him in.
In the morning, she and Miles are leaving. She got Mrs. Torelli out of Orange County like she promised, and from here on out, they are on their own. With a little luck, the FBI will forget about Grace altogether.
She glances over her shoulder and realizes Mattie is not with them. She stands at the hostess desk, an amused smile on her face as she places a pen back in the penholder.
Dinner is quiet. Several times Mrs. Torelli attempts to start a conversation, but Grace refuses to engage. This relationship is over, and Grace sees no reason to make it more difficult than it already is.
As they shuffle toward the door, Grace glances at the hostess desk, and despite herself, she smiles. The NO CHECKS sign has been altered, and now, beneath the original message, in parentheses, it reads, Czechs welcome.
Grace looks at Mattie, and color rises in the girl’s cheeks, though her expression remains poker straight. Grace gives her a small nod, then turns away. She likes the kid; she really does. She’s funny and has a rebellious streak Grace can relate to.
When they get to the motel, Grace changes Miles into his pajamas, then gets changed herself, shoving the disgusting clothes she’s been wearing for two days in the trash.
At the Walmart, where they stopped so she could buy the van, she restocked Miles’s supplies and bought a few supplies for herself, including jeans, sweats, a couple of Tshirts, and a new pair of shoes.
She smiles at the broken sole with its dried superglue gaping at her from the trash can. A million bucks. She will never have to superglue her soles again.
She carries Miles outside, to find Mrs. Torelli lounging beside the motel’s sorry excuse for a pool, a hole of water ten feet long and eight feet wide. Mattie and the boy wade hip deep, talking about baseball, a topic that seems to be high on the Torellis’ conversation list.
The desert air still holds a remnant of the day’s warmth, though soon it will be cold.
Mrs. Torelli holds her arms out for Miles, so Grace hands him over and sets down the diaper bag, which holds Miles’s baby supplies along with the money.
“You okay?” Mrs. Torelli says.
“Still kind of hungry,” Grace says. “Do you mind watching him a minute? I’m going to check out the vending machine.”
“You just ate.”
Shrug.
Mrs. Torelli rolls her eyes like there’s something wrong with Grace, but hungry is hungry, and Grace has always had a healthy appetite.
She walks to the vending machine and stares at the selection. None of it sounds very good. As a matter of fact, now that she’s in front of it, staring at the bags of chips and cookies, her stomach roils and she feels a little sick.
“You okay?”
Grace looks up to see the motel clerk looking at her with concern, and she realizes she’s been staring at the machine for a while.
The kid is probably a few years younger than she is, acne peeking beneath a half-grown beard that only sprouts in earnest on his chin and lip. He reminds her of Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, or maybe of Scooby-Doo himself.
“Do you have anything stronger than soda?” she says, realizing what it is she’s really craving.
His smile screws up at an angle. “Follow me.”
They walk past Mrs. Torelli, who holds Miles in the crook of her arm. She’s looking down at him, making little pucker noises as he sucks happily on his bottle. The woman is like a baby whisperer, a serious miracle worker. If Grace were the one holding him, he would be screaming his head off, the bottle being swatted away as he shrieked.