Hadley & Grace(9)

“Well, I don’t want it living under my bed.”

Hadley peeks again beneath the bed skirt, where the spider remains frozen with fear. She takes the magazine and sneaks it beneath the fabric. Squeezing her eyes shut, she clenches her grip . . .

“I can’t. You do it,” she says, pulling away and sitting up. She holds the magazine back toward Mattie.

Mattie’s eyes grow wide, her bluster dissolved into an expression that exactly mirrors Hadley’s. Then it hardens, and her brow furrows into a deep V. “You’re the mom.”

“And you’re the one who doesn’t want a spider living under her bed.”

They glare at each other, a standoff of cowards. Then the door opens and Skipper walks in. “Coach is home,” he says. “Time to load the bases.” The phrase he uses for having a meal.

Stepping closer, he tilts his head. “What you doing?”

“There’s a spider,” Mattie says. “Under the bed. And Blue doesn’t want to kill it.”

“And First Base doesn’t want to kill it either,” Hadley shoots back.

Skipper’s head angles a little more, then straightens. He walks to Mattie’s nightstand, takes an empty Starbucks cup that’s there, carries it to where Hadley is, kneels on the ground, and lifts the bed skirt; then, with extraordinary care, he coaxes the spider onto a magazine-subscription card he found on the floor. He puts the cup over it, then slides both from beneath the bed.

“Where’d you learn to do that?” Hadley asks, amazed.

“Mrs. Baxter doesn’t like to kill spiders either.”

Mattie has joined them on the floor, the three of them looking at the upside-down cup. Her daughter wears fuzzy Cookie Monster pajama bottoms and a Maroon 5 T-shirt from a concert she went to two years ago, when she was twelve.

“I’ll take it outside,” Mattie says, patting Skipper on the head as if petting a dog. And if Skipper were a dog, he would be wagging his tail, his face lit up with pride.

Mattie slides the notebook beneath the card to give it extra support, then carries it out the door.

“Time to load the bases,” Skipper repeats.

“Go on down, Champ,” Hadley says. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

Skipper ambles away, and Hadley falls to her butt and drops her face in her hands. She can’t even deal with a spider. How is she going to do this?

Prince Charles grunts as he climbs from the bed to flop beside her. He sets his heavy head on her lap, and she strokes his neck.

“What am I going to do?” she says quietly.

He rolls his chocolate eyes up at her.

Her whole life, Hadley has been taken care of, first by her father, then by Frank—all life’s difficult choices made for her. And now, here she is, thirty-eight, facing the most important crossroads of her life, and she is terrified.

At the sound of Mattie’s footsteps returning, she takes a deep breath and pushes to her feet.

One foot in front of the other, she tells herself as she heads down the stairs. Repeat as often as necessary to finish. Someone famous said that. She can’t remember who.

Frank is at the table showing Skipper the new pack of baseball cards he’s brought home. At least three times a week, Frank stops by Target to buy a new pack. He’s been doing it since Skipper was a toddler, and their collection is now in the thousands.

She leans down and kisses his cheek.

“Hey,” he says, taking her hand and looking up with concern. “How you holding up?”

“Okay,” she says.

“Hang in there.” He turns to smile warmly at Skipper, then reaches out and tousles his hair. “Blue and I are going to miss you, Champ.”

Skipper nods, then returns to studying the cards. It’s been this way since Hadley explained to him that he was going to live with his mom: an unsettling avoidance of the topic that concerns her, unsure how he’s going to handle it once he realizes it’s real.

Hadley gathers the ingredients for the salad and, when she’s sure Frank’s attention is fully back on the cards, carefully moves the pizzas from the bottom oven to the top.

Safely back at the island and chopping the lettuce, she says, “How was work?”

“Home run day,” Frank says brightly, then high-fives Skipper, who coined the phrase. “Finally got that old bastard Jerry Koch to sublet his lot to me.”

She offers a supportive smile. “Jerry? The man we met last year at the fundraiser for the Boys & Girls Club?”

“Yeah. The old geezer with the bag for a wife.”

Hadley nods as if agreeing. Frank doesn’t like unattractive women. She remembers liking the couple. Jerry’s love for his wife, Sandra, radiated as he talked about her many achievements. He bragged about her as if she were the most accomplished woman in the world and gazed at her like she was still the prettiest girl in the room.

Frank pushes from the table and walks to where Hadley is. He wraps his arms around her waist, and his wide gut presses against her ribs as he pulls her to him. Instinctively, she sucks in her stomach, causing the Spanx to contract and dig into her flesh.

“I saw the Mercedes was delivered,” he whispers.

She nods as she continues to chop the vegetables.

He leans in closer so his lips are against her ear. “All day, I couldn’t stop thinking about you driving my truck.” He rubs his groin up and down against her. “God, how it was driving me wild.”