Hadley & Grace(33)

She’s read about certain people having a gift when it comes to soothing away colic. Some experts hypothesize it has to do with a particular scent; others say it’s acoustic, a particular tone of voice. Whatever the case, Mrs. Torelli has it in spades. Grace has never seen Miles so happy.

Mattie and the boy are now out of the pool, wrapped in towels and playing with the handheld electronic devices they seem obsessed with.

She follows the clerk into the office, then behind the counter and through a door that leads to a small room with a desk, a bed, and a chair. He gestures to the chair, then opens the bottom desk drawer to pull out a bottle of Johnnie Walker Red and two Dixie cups. He pours them each a shot and holds hers out to her.

“What were you in for?” Grace says with a nod toward the crude tattoo on his forearm of an X with a line through it.

“Stupidity.”

Grace smiles. “Me too.”

“You were in prison?” he says.

“Didn’t quite make it. Six months in jail, and the judge commuted my sentence.”

“Lucky.”

Shrug. At the time it didn’t feel lucky. At the time it felt like Grace’s life had ended.

They raise their Dixie cups to each other and knock back their drinks. The whiskey burns as it goes down, and she coughs. It’s been a long time since she’s indulged in anything stronger than beer, and even scrounging together enough money for that has been difficult.

He lifts the bottle, offering another, and she nods. He refills her cup, and this time she nurses it, sipping it slowly.

“Rough day?” he says.

“You could say that.”

“Hunter.”

“Grace.”

The alcohol takes effect quickly, swirling warmly through her body before seeping into her bloodstream and wrapping softly around her brain.

Hunter pours himself another as well but just holds it, staring at the liquid as he swishes it around. He barely looks old enough to drink, and Grace wonders what he could have done to land him behind bars so young. He doesn’t look like the dangerous type. Probably drugs. That’s what most young people are in for. His tattoo is a popular one among inmates. It means strength, something you need a lot of when you’re counting your days to freedom.

“Got caught stealing a car for a girl,” he says, reading her thoughts.

“You were going to give your girl a stolen car?”

He shakes his head. “No. I stole a car so I could go see her.”

“Wow, that is stupid.”

He toasts her with his Dixie cup. “You?”

She gives him the abbreviated version. “I broke into a church.” She leaves out the part about her best friend being with her and about it being the coldest winter Georgia had ever seen and that Virginia was sick.

“Really needed to pray?” Hunter says with a cockeyed grin.

“Really needed to get out of the cold.”

She sees a small shudder run through him and knows he’s spent some nights in the cold himself.

“No big deal,” she says. “I went in. I got out. And now, here I am, living the dream.”

None of it is that simple, but he raises his cup to toast her anyway. “To second chances.”

“To second chances.” They both shoot back what remains in their cups, then for a long moment sit quiet. That’s the nice thing about ex-felons; they know how to be still.

Grace rarely thinks about Virginia, that distant night like a dark hole that sucks the light from the present each time she remembers it. They say she fought the police when they tried to take Virginia away. She doesn’t remember that part, but it was included in the charges: breaking and entering; destruction of property; negligent homicide; resisting arrest; assaulting an officer.

She blinks away the memory and looks around the small room. The space is worn but not unpleasant. In the corner is a guitar, and on the bureau, a harmonica. She imagines Hunter whiling away his nights playing wistful romantic melodies for the girl he stole the car for.

“So, what happened to the girl?” she says as she sets the cup down and stretches her arms over her head.

Hunter’s eyes drop to the carpet, a tell of how much he cared for her. “Moved on. A guy serving time without a dime to his name wasn’t exactly the winning combination she was looking for. Plus, while I was inside, I lost a couple teeth.” He pulls back his lip to reveal a hole on the left side in the bottom row, explaining perhaps why he always grins to the right. “Went from ugly to real ugly real fast.” He half grins, concealing the gap.

Grace actually doesn’t find him ugly at all: a bit mangy with his untrimmed hair and scruffy half beard, but his eyes are a warm bronze, and he has an easygoing way about him that is very attractive, and again she is reminded of Jimmy.

“You okay?”

She shakes the thought away and says, “You should get those fixed.”

“Yeah, I’m working on it. Should have enough saved for implants by the time the rest of my teeth start falling out from old age.”

His sideways grin breaks her heart. She really likes him. He’s got what her grandmother called moxie. After all, he stole a car so he could see his girl. There’s something incredibly romantic about that.

“What time are you off?” she asks, an idea forming.

“Eight.”