Hadley & Grace(46)
He shifts his focus to his full bladder, hoping to distract the other organ that’s treacherously sprung to life. Until this moment, he was fairly certain the most mortifying experience of his career was being hijacked by a woman on crutches, then being driven away in the trunk of his own rental car, but getting a boner while she helps him take a whiz would definitely top that.
She hops around him in a circle to unwind the final tangle, then says, “Got it. Now, turn around so I can pee . . . and put your hands over your ears.”
He does as she asks, a smile filling his face, and he wants to wipe it away because he knows he shouldn’t be smiling and should instead be assessing the situation and considering his escape.
The problem he’s having is not whether he can escape but rather whether he should. Even with his hands bound, now that he’s untethered from the desk, he could easily overpower her. But each time he considers it, he decides against it. The best chance for resolving this without anyone getting hurt is to convince Torelli to turn herself in. Which means remaining her “captive” for as long as it takes.
And, of course, there’s also the not-so-minor consideration of Herrick returning at any moment. There are two miles of open desert between him and the highway, and if she catches him, she’ll either bring him back and tether him more securely or shoot him, neither option particularly appealing.
“Your turn,” Torelli says as she hops up beside him and leans on the sink.
“Run the water,” he says. “And put your hands over your ears.”
“Wow, you must be a loud pee-er.”
“I’m a guy.”
She giggles like she’s genuinely having fun, then turns on the faucet. He watches as she squeezes her eyes shut and presses her hands against her ears. She looks like a little girl playing hide-and-seek, a little like Shelly, and he swallows as his guilt and concern grow.
35
GRACE
Miles needs his diaper changed.
“Turn wide,” Grace says. “Go out, then come in sharp.” She uses her index finger to draw in the air what she means.
Mattie nods, then haltingly pulls the truck into a spot at the far end of the parking lot of the rest stop.
The truck is not easy to drive. It’s a Chevy Silverado king cab with oversize tires that they bought off a man named Wade who’d been parked beside them at the Starbucks where Grace stopped to get a coffee.
Fortunately, Mattie is a natural and a good listener. She has paid careful attention to everything Grace has said, and Grace is impressed by how quickly she’s caught on.
“You came in too tight,” Grace says. The front tire is on the line. “Back up and do it again.”
Mattie checks her side mirrors, checks the rearview mirror, checks them again, then looks over her shoulder, backs the truck up, straightens it, pulls in again.
She did it perfectly, but Grace doesn’t say so. The only acknowledgment she gives is to climb from the truck. Like her grandmother used to say, “Compliments need to be hard earned, else they don’t mean much at all.”
Skipper and Mattie head to the vending machines as Grace carries Miles to the restroom.
Miles kicks and smiles as she changes him, then laughs when she raspberries his tummy after. He reaches to snag the wipe, and for a minute, she plays with him, dangling the cloth and snatching it away, feeling guilty for how little time she’s spent with him the past couple of days.
Since they started this wild ride, Hadley has done the lion’s share of the mothering—the pampering, the feeding, the coddling—things that seem to come much more naturally to her. The woman is seriously gifted when it comes to babies, or at least when it comes to Miles. She just picks Miles up and he quiets. It infuriates Grace but also makes her incredibly grateful. For two days, Miles has not cried for more than a minute, Hadley mystically able to soothe him each time he starts.
She looks at him lying there, smiling and kicking, and she marvels at how quickly he’s changing. He laughs all the time now and looks more like Jimmy because of it. She smiles at the small dimple on his right cheek that twitches when he’s determined, a trait that makes him look a little like her. It amazes her that five months ago this little guy didn’t exist. How is that possible when her entire world now revolves around him, this erupting bundle of life?
“You and me, kiddo,” she says, stroking the smooth skin of his forehead with the back of her hand. “Somehow we’re going to get through this.”
He bats her away and tries again to snag the wipe, making her smile. She taunts him by waving it just out of his reach, and his face grows fierce, his little hands flailing.
She chuckles and dips the wipe low enough for him to grab, and his face lights up in triumph as he snags it from her grip.
She knows she should get going but doesn’t want to step from this moment and into the next, reluctant to face the uncertainty of what lies ahead. Finally, with a deep sigh, she gathers him up and walks back outside.
The sun is high in the sky now, the heat sweltering. Skipper and Mattie stand near the vending machines. In front of them is a kid perhaps Mattie’s age and beside him another kid a year or two younger.
The first is tall, thick, and lumpy; the other, short and thin.
“Give it back,” Mattie says.
It’s then that Grace notices that the large boy has Skipper’s hat and is waving it in the air, out of Skipper’s reach. Skipper leaps at him, trying to grab it. The boy easily swings it away as he says, “Retard.”