Hadley & Grace(50)

“This isn’t going to end well,” Mark says as they’re leaving.

For a moment, Hadley is concerned Grace might make good on her threat and leave him with nothing but granola bars. Instead, her back still turned, she nods and says, “You have kids?”

“A boy and a girl.”

“Then you understand,” Grace says, and she continues out the door.





37





GRACE


The only station they can get on the radio is country, and Mattie is in pain, her hands pinned to her ears as Grace and Hadley belt out “Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy).”

Hadley has the worst voice Grace has ever heard. The woman is completely tone deaf, with a kazoo implanted in her larynx. It makes Grace incredibly happy. Hadley might look like a million bucks, but her voice would scare off dogs . . . cats, mice, roaches.

Miles babbles along. It turns out the kid is a country music fan. And so, even though it is the witching hour, time for his nightly meltdown, he is happy as a clam, gibbering and jabbering along to the music and kicking his feet.

The doctor said eventually the colic would work itself out, and he would stop having fits, but it’s been going on so long Grace had given up on it being true. She’s not certain if he is simply outgrowing it or if it’s the change in circumstances that’s triggered the progression. Whatever the case, she is extraordinarily grateful. It’s as if a giant burden has been lifted from her chest. Because, though the doctor assured her she was not to blame for her son’s misery, it felt like she was, and so, ever since she became a mom, she’s felt like a failure. And now, it’s as if suddenly she is passing muster.

Dropping the Torellis in Bakersfield didn’t work out. Mostly because Grace is an idiot. She missed the exit, and by the time she realized she’d missed the exit, she was so far past it that she just kept going, and she’s almost convinced herself it was by accident.

The problem was that at the time she was supposed to be exiting, everyone was asleep, conked out from their predawn start. Hadley was passed out against the window, not twitching or talking. Miles was snoring in his car seat, with Skipper’s baseball hat gripped in his little fist. And Skipper was curled on Mattie’s lap, Mattie flopped on top of him.

Had any of them been awake, Hadley, Skipper, and Mattie would probably be on a train right now headed for Omaha. But they weren’t. They were all peacefully asleep and not being annoying in the least. Then the exit came and went, and it was too late to turn back, or at least that’s what Grace told herself, her guilt niggling at her each time she looks at Miles and realizes again the danger she’s put him in.

She sings louder, and Hadley matches her as Mattie cries, “Child abuse!”



Grace’s back aches. The truck’s seats have no lumbar support, and the entire drive she’s been slouched, causing her muscles to cramp and her back to spasm. They are driving through the mountain town of Mammoth, the radio now crackling with eighties rock and roll.

Miles lets out a loud “Ba ba ba,” and she glances at him in the mirror. He babbles a lot now, and it’s startling how quickly it has happened, as if he’s discovered his voice can be used for something other than screaming.

Skipper stops what he’s doing, leans over so he’s in front of Miles, and says, “Ball”; then he holds up the baseball they bought at Walmart. “Ball,” he repeats. Miles’s face lights up, and he reaches for the white sphere. “Ball, say ball,” Skipper encourages.

Skipper is determined to make Miles’s first word ball, and he’s been working on it all day, repeating it to him with such frequency Grace is fairly certain he will get his way. Hadley, on the other hand, is just as determined to make his first word mama, and she mouths it to Miles every time Grace holds him. “Mama. That’s your mama. Say mama.” Grace pretends she doesn’t care, but secretly she does.

All of this makes her think of Jimmy—she’s desperate to call him and tell him about all the new developments—and each time, she needs to remind herself what he did that’s made that impossible. Over and over she tells herself, Stop thinking about him, but it does no good. Ever since she walked in on Hadley and the agent in the archaeological trailer, he has taken up permanent residence in her brain and refuses to leave.

They roll into the downtown, and Grace reduces the speed to the posted thirty-five miles per hour, a creeping crawl through the deserted ski village. They are nearly through when blue and red lights fill her rearview mirror.

“Hadley,” she says, the name coming out a croak.

Hadley looks over, notices the light show reflecting off the windshield, glances over her shoulder, and says, “Oh crap. Were you speeding?”

“No. Not even a little.”

Without hesitation, Hadley says, “I’ve got this,” and before Grace can answer, Hadley is climbing from the truck with her crutches.

Grace watches in her mirror as Hadley hops toward the police car. The officer is still in his seat and talking on his radio. When he notices Hadley, he steps from his car and, standing behind the door, says something Grace can’t hear. She rolls down her window.

“Ma’am, I need you to get back in your vehicle,” he repeats.

“Grace, are you and my mom going to be arrested?” Mattie says, her voice tight.