Hadley & Grace(74)

In front of them, a few feet away, is Frank. Beside him, his brother, Tony.

Mark’s mind spins quickly, assessing the situation as he watches Frank say something to Skipper that causes Hadley to tense. Then he leans in and whispers something in Hadley’s ear, and Hadley starts to shake her head as she reaches back protectively for Mattie.

She is too slow. Quick like a rattler, Frank grabs Mattie by the arm and wrenches her forward. Hadley reaches out, but Frank’s threatening glare stops her. Then he hisses one more thing before pulling Mattie with him through the crowd, his brother following.

Hadley cries out, “No, Frank, please!” and Mattie looks over her shoulder, her face pale.

Hadley steps toward her, but Grace lunges forward to stop her. “No, Hadley, don’t.”

After that, everything moves in hyperspeed yet slow motion at once: Grace holds Hadley back, the baby between them, as Mattie is pulled through the crowd, then pushed into the back seat of a black car with blacked-out windows parked illegally in the taxi queue. Mark races toward them, weaving through the herd of people that stream toward the entrance, his gun in his hand. “Frank Torelli!” he bellows over the crowd. “FBI. Stop!”

People around him gasp, and someone screams, “Gun!” and Mark realizes a second too late that the gun they are referring to isn’t his, the barrel of Frank’s pistol swinging around with him and the timing wrong—Mark’s shot firing half a second behind.

His first thought is of Shelly, her hand waving as she forgets to sing. His next is of Ben and the dog they were supposed to get. The last is of Hadley screaming as the bullet hits his chest.





50





HADLEY


Grace is screaming that they have to go. “Now,” she says as she pushes Hadley from behind. The crowd moves against them, straining to see what is happening—some sort of spectacle. Cell phones glow and are lifted high, trying to capture whatever it is, hoping to be a part of it.

Hadley cranes her head back as Grace continues to shove her forward. Mark is on the ground, people crouched around him, his head turned sideways and his eyes open.

Mattie is gone. In Tony’s car.

She stumbles, and Grace catches her by the arm. Miles howls in his harness from being jerked. Skipper has her hand and is tugging at her, tears streaming from his eyes and his face white with panic.

They were having such a good time, discussing what they were going to eat when they got inside. Skipper wanted a foot-long, the same thing he orders every time he goes to a game. Mustard only. A root beer to drink. Mattie wanted to try the Helton Burger, hailed as one of the best burgers in baseball, topped with grilled onions, pickles, and a special sauce.

“Hadley, please,” Grace pleads.

Frank. There. Suddenly. He appeared like a magic trick, out of nowhere. Tony beside him. Frank was saying something about a fantasy baseball trade.

Mattie was behind her; then she was gone, being pulled away toward Tony’s car.

But then Mark was there as well, almost as if she’d conjured him. And for a second, she thought it was going to be okay. But it wasn’t, because Frank had a gun. Bang. But it didn’t sound like a bang. The sound almost silent. Pffft. And Mark fell, his eyes open like he was looking at her.

It all ricochets around in her head, like marbles loose in her skull. Her body jerks, her knees buckle, and she nearly goes down, her legs catching her a moment before she falls.

“Come on, Blue, run!” Skipper screams, pulling with all his might.

Hadley narrows her eyes on the round button on top of his hat and allows herself to be pulled along.





51





GRACE


Grace’s breath wheezes in and out, and sweat pours down her face despite the late-afternoon chill. They are in the courtyard of a church, a dozen blocks from the stadium.

Hadley has collapsed on a bench, her tears slowed to a trickle, her mouth slack jawed and her pupils receded to pinpricks. Skipper sits beside her, rocking back and forth, his eyes staring at nothing.

She pulls a blanket from the backpack, lays it on the ground, takes Miles from the baby pack, and lays him on top of it. He kicks his feet in the air and pulls at his purple socks, delighted at the rush of running through the streets.

Grace kneels in front of Skipper. “You’re okay,” she says, taking his hands.

He pulls them from her and tucks them into his armpits, rocking harder.

She turns to Hadley, puts her hands on either side of Hadley’s face. “Hadley, you can’t lose it. Do you understand? I need you to hold it together.”

Hadley’s mouth glubs once, then remains open in a frozen gape.

“Hadley,” she says again, the warble in her voice belying her own fear.

Hadley blinks.

“Come on, Hadley, hang in there. Please,” Grace says.

Another blink, and then she watches as Hadley, with extraordinary determination, clenches her jaw and nods.

“Good,” Grace says. “Good girl.”

Hadley turns to Skipper, sees him rocking, scoots close, and wraps him tight against her. She turns back to Grace. “Grace . . .”

“Give me a minute,” Grace says, calling on every ounce of will she can muster to keep from falling apart. She focuses on her breathing as she scans around them. They are in a not-so-great part of town, a run-down commercial neighborhood, the sun and heat of the day disappearing quickly.