Hadley & Grace(89)
It is strange to see. The fascination. As if their story is the most important thing in the world. It seems to her that there must be other more vital things to be concerned with. Somewhere in the world people are starving, children are being abused, nations are being besieged by national disaster. Yet, all day, every news channel has shown nothing but a helicopter view of a black car driving steadily down a two-lane road in the rain.
On either side of the car are fields. It looks like corn but might also be wheat or barley. It’s hard to tell in the dim light and blur of the rain. The headlights are on, though it’s only three o’clock, the storm obscuring the sun and making the world dark.
Behind the dozen police cars that trail Jimmy, dozens of other vehicles stretch out in a sort of haphazard parade. There are media vans, the kind with extendable antennas and satellite dishes on the roofs, along with everyday cars with people in them. Grace isn’t sure what to call them. Fans seems like a strange word, but that’s sort of what they are: spectators caught up in the spectacle who want to witness it up close and be a part of it.
When Jimmy drove through North Platte, people huddled alongside the road waiting, holding umbrellas in the downpour to watch him drive by. Some waved signs of support with sayings like STAY FREE or GO MAMA BEARS. It was strange to watch, and Grace wondered what Jimmy made of it. She imagined him smiling and waving, though it’s doubtful any of them could see him through the gloom and the rain and the dark tint of the windows.
There’s been some speculation that a man is driving the car, but the FBI has dismissed it, restating several times that two agents witnessed Grace and Hadley, along with their three kids, get into the car in McCook and that the FBI has been following them since.
The FBI seems irritated by all the attention, and Grace can’t really blame them. They have not been painted in a good light, and the circus following the pursuit is a recipe for disaster. They have repeatedly asked people to stay away so they can do their job, but their pleas have been mostly ignored, the nation captivated by the drama.
Grace turns from the coverage to look at the tarmac through the windows and at the planes taxiing up and down the runway. Skipper kneels with his nose pressed to the glass, his hands on either side of his face. Mattie—Tillie now—sits on the stool to her left. And Miles is asleep in Grace’s arms. She leans down to kiss the soft skin of his cheek, warm and moist like dew.
Grace can’t believe they are here. The three passports were waiting at the post office just as Melissa promised, and no one blinked an eye when they checked in or went through security.
A woman a few seats away points excitedly, and Grace turns her attention back to the television. An Asian newscaster fills the screen, the words beneath her reading, BREAKING NEWS! The shot switches from the newsroom to a helicopter view of the pursuit.
The car is stopped, its headlights shining into the rain. The police cars behind it have stopped as well, and she watches as people flood from their cars and as the police race to form a line to contain them. Like a swarm, they press forward, straining to see, and Grace feels herself leaning in as well, practically lifting off her seat toward it.
The PA system announces their flight, and Skipper, who’s been listening intently for their number, leaps to his feet. “That’s us,” he says. “One one five nine. We need to go.”
Grace doesn’t move, her eyes glued to the scene above her. On the television, a large man dressed in a white shirt and brown pants hitched high on his waist walks without an umbrella toward Tony’s car. Several officers, guns drawn, follow.
Skipper takes Grace’s hand and tugs at it. “Trout, we’ve got to go.”
Mattie pulls him away. “Hold on, Private,” she says.
“But they announced our flight. One one five nine. That’s us.”
The driver’s door of Tony’s car opens, and a second later, Jimmy steps out, his hands raised in front of him. Grace feels her blood stop as she watches the spotlights shift to target him, his body lit up against the storming afternoon.
Miles squirms, and Grace realizes she is gripping him too tight. She loosens her hold as her nose pinches tight and her jaw slides forward.
“Trout, come on,” Skipper says as the PA system announces that their flight is now boarding.
The large man with the too-high pants walks past Jimmy, bends to look inside the car, straightens, then slams his fist on the roof.
Skipper breaks away from Mattie, grabs hold of Grace’s hand again, and tugs at her. “Trout, come on.”
Her eyes still on the screen, she allows him to pull her toward the gate. Her last glance is of Jimmy being led toward the waiting cruisers, reporters, and crowd. He turns to face the camera, and a thin smile crosses his lips as his eyes look directly into hers.
66
HADLEY
Despite the earlier rain, the night is clear and relatively warm. A few vagrant clouds drift in the midnight sky, the stars beyond them bright. Hadley’s seat is tilted back, angled so all she sees is sky. For a long time, she gazes at Orion, the only constellation she knows. She learned about the star warrior on a field trip she took with Skipper’s class last year, surprised to learn the three bright stars in a row that she always believed to be part of the Big Dipper belong to another constellation altogether and that she had spent her whole life being wrong.