Hadley & Grace(66)

“Leave me alone,” Hadley answered, and Grace considered it. The keys for the truck were in the ignition; the keys to the woman’s car whose purse she had stolen were in her hand. The decision was as simple as grabbing Miles and walking away.

“Where are we going?” Mattie said, stepping from the truck with Hadley’s crutches and slamming the door shut on any possibility other than continuing on together.

Grace leaned into the truck. “Hey, Skip, we need to go,” she said.

He sat frozen in his seat beside Miles, his eyes staring straight ahead and his face pale.

“Listen, buddy, I know this is tough—”

His hands flew to his ears, and his head shook to block her out.

She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Okay, buddy. It’s okay.” She looked at Mattie. “We need to go.”

As if on cue, sirens, thread thin, sounded from somewhere to the left, then grew louder as they traveled closer.

Mattie dropped the crutches beside her mom, then climbed back into the truck beside Skipper. “I hope Posey is catching tomorrow,” she said.

Grace watched as Skipper took his hands from his ears, then turned to face her, his eyes flicking left and right, searching for traction.

“He’s my favorite,” Mattie went on. “You think we’ll get to see him?”

Skipper’s focus moved in and out, and Grace watched as Mattie searched for the next words. “Plus, he can hit. Posey’s a heck of a hitter.”

A sideways twist of the mouth as Skipper said, “Posey doesn’t catch for the Rockies.” And Grace nearly gave a cheer. It was remarkable.

“Well, then, who’s catching?” Mattie said, undoing Skipper’s seat belt and taking him by the hand to lead him from the truck.

Grace looked at her with awe, and Mattie shrugged like it was no big deal.

“Either Iannetta or Wolters,” Skipper said.

“Did you ask Coach about the trade for Wolters?” Mattie said.

“I sent it. Do you have my PlayStation? I need to check.”

Suddenly he was frantic again, but not about what had happened at the restaurant, his concern entirely on his fantasy baseball team and the trade he wanted to make.

“I do,” Mattie said. She grabbed the backpack from the front seat. “It’s in here. We’ll check it when we get in the new car.”

She led him toward the theaters, and Grace grabbed Miles and the diaper bag; then she kicked Hadley’s crutches toward her and walked after them.

Two hours later, they were checked into this hotel under the name Blaire Butz, the name of the woman whose car they were driving, a woman who looks enough like Hadley for Hadley to get away with pretending to be her.

Ten minutes after that, Grace fell into a deep, horrible sleep. And now, eight hours later, she has woken up, and the reality of what’s happened has descended on her. She drapes her other arm across her eyes as well, wishing she could return to unconsciousness.

The door to the adjoining room opens, and Grace turns her head to see Hadley in its frame. She is not using her crutches and instead hobbles gingerly on her injured ankle. Her eyes are bruised, and Grace can practically see her hangover pulsing.

“Nice digs,” she says, her movements and words slow as she walks toward the bed, as if any sudden movement might rupture her brain.

“Yeah, I figured why not?” Grace answers.

In light of the increasing probability that she is going to be spending the remainder of her life sleeping on a prison mattress, Grace upgraded their hotel to a Sheraton. During her research of hotels that accept cash, she discovered Sheratons are among them, as long as you show ID.

Carefully Hadley lowers herself to the mattress beside Miles. She caresses his thigh and says, “I have a plan.”

“Me too,” Grace says. “We need to turn ourselves in.”

Hadley flinches.

“I mean it,” Grace says. “It’s our only option.”

Grace has thought it through. Because of last night’s unfortunate turn of events, the chances of her walking away from this are gone. That kid who posted on Snapchat already knew about them, which means their photos and story are out there. Then, last night, dozens of people witnessed what happened at the restaurant, some even snapping photos. There’s no way she is going to be able to just waltz across the border with Miles and start a new life. She wouldn’t be surprised if a reward was now being offered for information leading to their arrest.

“But before we do,” she adds, “we need to get our story straight.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about cutting our losses. Look, last night was a disaster. We just went from being everyday fugitives to probably being on the FBI’s Most Wanted list, along with warnings about us being armed and dangerous . . . and crazy.”

Hadley looks down, and Grace feels her regret. But none of that matters now. Grace is over being angry. What’s done is done, and all that matters now is where things stand and how they deal with them going forward.

“The thing is,” Grace says, her voice growing tight, “I have a record.” She waits for surprise to register on Hadley’s face, and when it doesn’t, she says, “You knew?”

Hadley nods, and Grace swallows, deeply ashamed, as she always is about her past.