Hadley & Grace(90)

The hours pass in silence, save for the occasional passing big rig on the highway to the west or the caw of a night bird—an owl, or perhaps a bat. In and out of consciousness she drifts, though mostly she is awake, her thoughts vacillating between hate and love and how both have led her to this place in her life. She thinks about how much she hates Frank and how much she has grown to love Grace and Miles and Jimmy.

You were amazing. Mattie’s words repeat in her head, and each time she thinks of it, profound sadness chokes her and makes it difficult to breathe. How did she allow herself to become so lost or to let things go on as long as they did?

Pffft. Frank didn’t even react as he pulled the trigger, his face blank, as if Mark were nothing more than an annoyance, a gnat buzzing around his head. That is who she was married to, who she allowed her children to be raised by.

She lights her third cigarette of the night and lowers the window so the smoke will not fill the car. When she’s done, she turns on the radio. It cackles with more news about Jimmy. They can’t get enough of him: his sacrifice, his return from Afghanistan to save his wife and son . . . and unborn child. She smiled when she heard this new juicy tidbit had been revealed, knowing that, despite everything, Jimmy couldn’t help but boast about his family.

When her eyelids grow too heavy to keep open, she turns off the news, closes the window, and tries to rest, time passing slowly, the minutes ticking like hours, until finally the dawn rises and her ankle feels strong enough to continue.

The storm of yesterday is a memory, and the morning sky is cloudless. She wonders how they are doing—Grace, Mattie, Skipper, and Miles. She imagines them in London, Mattie pulling Skipper along as he staggers behind, wide eyed with wonder, and Miles kicking and babbling, excited by all the commotion.

The miles slog by, and she focuses on the road and on staying awake. It feels like she hasn’t slept in a year, her exhaustion lulling her dangerously toward sleep, the sound of the tires like a lullaby. Several times her eyelids flutter closed, and she snaps them open a second before driving off the road.

A little before dinnertime, a sign welcomes her to Grand Portage Chippewa Reservation. Her stomach is hollow with hunger, but she ignores it. She drives straight to the lodge, walks to the front desk, and asks to speak with Dennis Hull, the name Grace told her would get her across the border.

“Mrs. Torelli?”

She turns. The man talking to her is in his twenties and not Native American. His skin is white, his eyes gray. He wears comfortable shoes and a suit that looks new. She sighs, as relieved as she is disappointed. She is so tired.

She will confess, protect Grace as best she can, serve whatever sentence they give her, and move on with her life.

“My name is Kevin Fitzpatrick.”

“Fitz,” she mumbles, and she feels a small smile on her lips, glad it is Mark’s friend who is arresting her.

She staggers sideways, and he reaches for her, catching her by the elbow to steady her.

“Whoa,” he says. “Dizzy?”

Hadley nods.

“What do you say we get you a bite to eat?” he says, his accent pure Brooklyn.

Hadley blurts out, “I want to confess.”

“Okay, but how about we feed you first so you don’t pass out during the confession?”

She allows him to lead her by the elbow toward the dining room.

He’s not very tall, perhaps her height, and thin, his suit loose, like he doesn’t quite fill it out.

“You’re a field agent now?” she says. “Mark would be so happy for you.”

“He recommended me,” Fitz says proudly but also sadly.

Mark told Hadley about Fitz, how he was the one who spotted them on the surveillance tapes the night they took the money. “Smart kid, with a good head on his shoulders but a soft heart,” he said. “And that doesn’t work in the field.” She could feel his worry, how much he liked Fitz and wanted to protect him. At the time, she didn’t understand, but now she does. Fitz is more concerned about her fainting than getting a confession from her.

As the hostess leads them to a table, she scans around her, looking for more agents. “Where are the others?”

“Just me. I’m actually supposed to be on my way to South Dakota, but I came here instead.”

Hadley collapses into the booth, and Fitz slides in across from her. He pushes her water glass toward her.

She takes a sip, and her body responds with a surge of thirst. She guzzles it down, realizing only after she’s finished that she has not put anything in her body since she left McCook.

Fitz orders a cup of coffee and a cup of soup, and Hadley does the same.

“How’d you figure out where I was?” she says.

“You might say I’m a bit of a detective nerd. For a year, I’ve been working the desk on the case. My job was to relay information to Mark and to keep the case file up to date. It’s not the most exciting job, but it does give you a sort of wide-angle view of things. Things got interesting when you and Herrick took the money.”

“That’s one way of looking at it,” she says, that night so far away it seems like another life altogether.

“Did you plan on teaming up?” Fitz says.

Hadley shakes her head.

“I didn’t think so.” He sounds almost excited. “It was just too random. Remarkable.”