Hadley & Grace(75)

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Hadley says.

Grace turns to look at her, and she wants to lie, tell her he’s not, but she honestly doesn’t know. She saw him fall but only realized he had been shot after, when everyone was screaming.

“He was trying to save Mattie,” Hadley says.

Grace nods. He was. He was a good man trying to do the right thing. The lump in her throat grows, and she turns away so Hadley won’t see her distress.

Pull yourself together, she urges, but it’s like trying to hold back a tsunami. It’s all so awful. The agent. Mattie. She takes three shuddering breaths and presses the heels of her palms to her eyes.

When she blinks them open, she looks around again. The stores and businesses are closing up for the night, steel grates being lowered, dead bolts and alarms being set. She shudders from the cold, squats down to bundle Miles in his sweatshirt, then wraps the blanket around him as she lifts him back into her arms.

He reaches for her nose, and she shifts him to her hip. He wrestles against her, not happy about being ignored.

She looks at the church, which not only is bolted tight but also has a chain on the door—a looming edifice rather than a harbor of mercy—and a wave of déjà vu washes over her, so strong it knocks the air from her lungs. Eight years ago, the church was smaller and Baptist rather than Catholic, but the desperation she felt was the same. That day ended tragically, and Grace wonders if history will repeat itself, her life once again unraveled by her choices, and those she loves most ruined by her mistakes.

Miles rails against her, trying to wriggle free. Hadley reaches for him. “Give him here.”

Grace hands him over, and Hadley stands him on her lap, where he does little squats, waves his arms around, and babbles, immediately content.

“I’m cold,” Skipper mumbles, still huddled against Hadley, his meltdown spent.

Grace realizes Mattie was holding the bag that held Hadley’s and Skipper’s sweatshirts. She pulls her own sweatshirt from the backpack and hands it to him, then takes a quick inventory of their supplies. None of them are dressed for a night at the base of the Rockies. Grace is in a T-shirt and jeans. Miles is in his onesie and has his sweatshirt and blanket. Hadley wears a skirt and a sleeveless tank. Skipper is in his uniform.

“Hadley, how much money do you have?” she asks.

“I don’t know. My wallet is in my bag.”

By “bag,” she means the canvas grocery sack she’s been using as a purse. Grace rummages through it, past the useless contents of gum, cigarettes, a hairbrush, makeup, and Skipper’s game console to find Hadley’s wallet. It contains sixty-two dollars.

She pulls out her own wad of cash, which she stuffed in her pocket this morning, and curses herself for not thinking to take more money with her. One hundred twelve dollars.

Together they have one hundred seventy-four dollars to get them through the night and to Omaha. Her heart sinks. A hundred seventy-four dollars won’t get them out of Denver.

For a long moment, she looks up at the stained glass window of the church, the ruby-and-emerald glass depiction of Christ in his final moment of martyrdom staring down at her.

“Maybe we should go back for the car,” Hadley says, her words chattering from the cold.

Grace shakes her head as she continues to look at Jesus, wondering what He is thinking and if He is laughing, finding their mortal predicament amusing.

“Grace?” Hadley says.

“No,” Grace says, looking away from the window. “The stadium will be swarming with cops, and I’m sure Frank grabbed the money before he left. He knows it’s evidence against him, so he wouldn’t have left it. I’m sure he made Mattie tell him where it was and went back for it.”

With the mention of Mattie, Hadley’s features melt, and Grace watches as she digs deep to realign them, the muscles in her face clenching.

“Stay here,” Grace says. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Where are you going?”

“To make a call.”

Without waiting for a response, she slings the backpack onto her shoulder and walks to the front of the church. The reception was fine where she was, but she needs to be somewhere she won’t be heard.





52





HADLEY


Gone. Hadley blinks. Mark. Mattie.

Each time she thinks of what has happened, it strikes like a blow—her mind not able to hold on to it.

Skipper saw him first. “Coach,” he said, smiling and pointing.

Hadley followed his finger, her brain a second behind her eyes. Frank. Tony. Here. In Denver. All of it registering in delayed time.

Skipper stepped toward him, but Hadley pulled him back, wrapping her arm around him as Mattie shifted behind her.

Frank was smiling. “Hey, Champ.” He reached out and tousled Skipper’s hair. “I got your trade offer and thought I’d accept it in person. Wolters is yours, but I want Posey in return.”

Skipper nodded and held out his hand for Frank to shake on it, which Frank did, and Skipper looked back at Mattie, a wide smile on his face like he did good.

Frank looked up from Skipper to level his eyes on Hadley’s. “Hey, babe,” he said. “Or should I call you Thelma? Or are you Louise? I’ve got to say, I didn’t see this one coming. You and Grace? Looks like I underestimated that girl.”