Hadley & Grace

by Redfearn, Suzanne

  OTHER BOOKS BY SUZANNE REDFEARN

  In an Instant

  No Ordinary Life

  Hush Little Baby

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2021 by Suzanne Redfearn

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Lake Union Publishing, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and Lake Union Publishing are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781542014380 (paperback)

  ISBN-10: 1542014387 (paperback)

  Cover design by Kathleen Lynch/Black Kat Design

  For Skipper Carrillo:

  the original Mr. Baseball

  CONTENTS

  1 HADLEY

  2 GRACE

  3 HADLEY

  4 GRACE

  5 HADLEY

  6 GRACE

  7 HADLEY

  8 GRACE

  9 HADLEY

  10 GRACE

  11 HADLEY

  12 GRACE

  13 HADLEY

  14 GRACE

  15 HADLEY

  16 MARK

  17 GRACE

  18 HADLEY

  19 GRACE

  20 HADLEY

  21 GRACE

  22 MARK

  23 HADLEY

  24 GRACE

  25 HADLEY

  26 MARK

  27 HADLEY

  28 GRACE

  29 MARK

  30 HADLEY

  31 MARK

  32 GRACE

  33 HADLEY

  34 MARK

  35 GRACE

  36 HADLEY

  37 GRACE

  38 MARK

  39 GRACE

  40 HADLEY

  41 GRACE

  42 HADLEY

  43 MARK

  44 GRACE

  45 HADLEY

  46 GRACE

  47 HADLEY

  48 GRACE

  49 MARK

  50 HADLEY

  51 GRACE

  52 HADLEY

  53 GRACE

  54 HADLEY

  55 GRACE

  56 HADLEY

  57 GRACE

  58 HADLEY

  59 GRACE

  60 HADLEY

  61 GRACE

  62 HADLEY

  63 GRACE

  64 HADLEY

  65 GRACE

  66 HADLEY

  EPILOGUE GRACE

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  1

  HADLEY

  Her watch says 12:52, which means eight minutes remain to get the cupcakes. Plenty of time, yet Hadley feels her pulse ticking. She looks at the two women in front of her and wills the line to move faster. She doesn’t like to be late.

  The woman at the counter is struggling to make her decision. “So, the special today is strawberry cheesecake?” she asks for the third time. She is older, with silver hair and a bend in her spine.

  The salesgirl, perhaps sixteen, offers a patient smile. “Yes, but if your granddaughter just wants plain strawberry, we have that as well.”

  “She told me strawberry,” the woman says, her voice unsure as she clutches her purse tight against her, a frayed black bag possibly as old as Hadley.

  Impatience bleeds from the woman directly in front of Hadley, midforties and professional, her arms folded across her chest and her Prada wallet held at the ready, the blush-painted nail of her index finger tapping against it.

  Hadley’s phone buzzes, and she looks down to see a text from Frank.

  Truck ok? Mercedes will be dropped off this afternoon. How u holding up?

  “The cheesecake one is very pretty,” the grandmother says. “She’s six. Did I mention it’s her birthday?”

  The Prada woman rolls her eyes. The grandmother did mention it is her granddaughter’s birthday. She also mentioned she is turning six and that they’re celebrating with a picnic in the park beside her daughter’s apartment. Her daughter is bringing pizza, and the grandmother is supposed to bring a Sprinkles cupcake for dessert.

  Hadley wants to tell her she should buy the original strawberry cupcake, not the special. If it’s what her granddaughter asked for, then it will be what she’s expecting, and anything other than strawberry will be a disappointment.

  Strawberry has always been Mattie’s favorite as well. “Stwawbewwy, pwease,” she used to lisp when asked what flavor she preferred for cake, ice cream, or Jell-O. And Mattie would have been terribly let down if she’d been given strawberry cheesecake, especially on her birthday.

  “The cheesecake is really good,” the counter girl says, trying to be helpful. She holds up the special. The pink frosting is decorated with red sprinkles and has a ruby-red candy in the shape of a strawberry on top. The strawberry cupcake literally pales in comparison—cream frosting, no sprinkles, no candy on top.

  Hadley returns to her phone and pecks her answer back to her husband.

  Truck is fine and I’m ok as long as I don’t think about it.

  She feels the lie in her chest as she presses send.

  Frank’s text is instant. Hang in there. Love u.

  Prada woman lets out an audible groan, and the grandmother glances back to see her laser glare.

  The grandmother returns to the salesgirl and stutters, “F-fine. That’s fine. I’ll take the special.”

  She shuffles to the register as Prada woman shakes her head and steps to the counter. Succinctly and rather loudly, she rattles off her order as if demonstrating how cupcake ordering should be done. The grandmother stands a few feet away, her face pinched, clearly uncertain of her decision.

  Hadley’s phone buzzes. Love u!!!

  “Can I help you?” the salesgirl says.

  Hadley feels Prada woman watching, judging her on her cupcake-ordering ability. She tucks her phone in her pocket and recites sharply, “Two dozen chocolate marshmallow, two dozen strawberry, one dozen red velvet, and one dozen vanilla.” She just stops herself from looking at Prada woman for her approval.

  The grandmother is counting out the exact change from her purse as the girl at the register smiles patiently, and Hadley thinks kindness must be the number one job requirement for applicants, and she wants to commend the manager on her hiring. This would be a lovely first job for Mattie, she thinks at the exact moment she realizes that, God willing, she and Mattie won’t be anywhere near this place when Mattie is old enough to work.

  Hadley whispers to the girl at the counter, “Please add two strawberry cupcakes, each boxed separately.”

  Her phone buzzes again, but she ignores it. She doesn’t want to slow down the cupcake-purchasing flow by not being ready when it’s her turn to pay. She imagines Frank staring at the screen of his phone, gripping it in both hands, his thumbs poised and his brow creased as he waits for her reply.

  Prada woman marches past with her cupcakes, her nose in the air, and Hadley takes a small measure of delight in the smudge of lipstick on her collar, knowing lipstick, especially red lipstick, is very difficult to get out.

  Hadley pays quickly, glances at her watch, and hurries from the store. She is now two minutes behind schedule, but she can make that up if she cuts through the minimall instead of waiting for the light.

  As she scans the parking
lot, she sees the grandmother just climbing into her car.

  “Excuse me,” Hadley says, hurrying up to her.

  The woman looks up, and Hadley startles at the remnant of beauty in the old woman’s face. Her vivid blue eyes are framed by magnificent cheeks that still glow pink, and for a flicker, Hadley is reminded of her mother.

  “The girl in the store asked me to give this to you,” she says, holding out one of the strawberry cupcakes. “She wanted to make sure your granddaughter got the cupcake she wanted, and she felt bad that you had to choose.”

  The grandmother’s remarkable eyes grow large. “She did?”

  Hadley nods. She has always been a marvelous liar.

  Relief floods the woman’s face to the point of her eyes growing misty.

  “I hope your granddaughter enjoys it,” Hadley says and then hurries away, her heart filled with the wonderful feeling you get when you know you’ve done something right.

  Her phone buzzes again, and she pulls it from her pocket as she races to Frank’s truck, the bags of cupcakes thumping against her legs.

  LOVE U????

  Where the hell are u?

  I said I LOVE U.

  LOVE U. LOVE U. LOVE U!!!!!

  With a deep breath, she types, Love you too. I just needed to pay for the cupcakes.

  He emojis back a happy face and a heart, and she closes her eyes, lets out a slow exhale, then climbs into his truck to drive to Skipper’s school for his going-away party.

  2

  GRACE

  Yes. Yes, yes, yes!

  A man of his word, Jerry promised the contract would arrive before the end of the day, and three minutes ago, at exactly 1:28, the fax machine whirred to life and began spitting out the golden pages.

  Grace kisses the contract, twirls, then kisses it again. She looks at the photo on her desk—a picture of Jimmy, Miles, and her in front of Angels Stadium—and gives a thumbs-up.

  It’s hard to believe the photo was taken only two months ago, Miles so small he practically fit in the palm of Jimmy’s large hand. Jimmy is in his army uniform, a proud smile on his face. It was Presidents’ Day weekend, and all military families had gotten into the game for free. Jimmy was home to attend his mother’s funeral, an event that was both sad and a relief. His mother had been suffering a long time and had been unable to remember him or his brother, Brad, for far longer than that.

  As she dances the contract to Frank’s office, the heel of her left shoe slaps against the carpet. The sole came loose a week ago. She mended it with superglue, but this morning, it came apart again. Maybe tonight, after she picks up Miles, they’ll stop by Walmart and she’ll buy a new pair in celebration. Perhaps she’ll even treat herself to a meal out—pizza or fish tacos. Her mouth waters with the thought. She hasn’t eaten since the hurried english muffin she stuffed in her mouth on the way out the door this morning. She didn’t want to risk leaving the office for lunch and missing the contract coming through.

  Her rap on the door lifts Frank’s head.

  “Done deal,” she says, walking in and then slapping the contract down on the desk in front of him.

  “What’s this?”

  “The contract to sublease Jerry Koch’s downtown lot,” she says, working hard to keep the glee from her voice. “Took a bit of persuasion—actually, a lot of persuasion—but here it is, signed, sealed, delivered.” She almost singsongs the last line to the tune of the Stevie Wonder hit and just stops herself from adding, It’s yours.

  Three months. That’s how long she’s been negotiating, cajoling, and back-and-forth flirting with Jerry Koch, owner of the business mall in downtown Laguna Beach. The sublease of his parking lot in the evenings and on the weekends will bring in two to three grand a week for Aztec Parking, and 10 percent of that will be hers—at least a grand a month, twelve grand a year, and the answer to her prayers.

  Frank’s eyes pulse once in surprise. “Well, I’ll be. The old bastard finally came around.”

  “He did. The entire lot. Evenings, weekends, and holidays.”

  Grace feels like her heart is going to explode. When she proposed the idea of subleasing Jerry’s lot, Frank told her she was wasting her time. He had already tried, and the guy wasn’t interested. She said he was probably right but asked if she could pursue it just the same. He told her to knock herself out and agreed to a 10 percent cut if she managed it.

  And now, here she is, three months later, contract in hand. Her mind spins with what the money will mean to her and Jimmy, a million ideas tumbling through her head: First, pay off Jimmy’s gambling debt so they can stop looking over their shoulders; second, get new tires for her car; next, move Miles out of the crappy day care he’s in. Then, perhaps, in a few months, once all that has been taken care of, they can consider a nicer apartment, one with a tub so Miles can take baths, since he is now four months old and starting to sit up.

  Frank stops on the last page of the contract, and as she watches his eyes scanning back and forth, her excitement turns slightly nervous. Frank is what her grandmother would have called a righteous slitherer—a fork-tongued charmer who preaches the gospel but whose own word can go either way. Her grandmother wouldn’t have much liked Frank Torelli, and she would have liked less the idea of Grace working for him. But then, she wouldn’t have much liked most of how Grace’s life turned out after she died.

  Frank sets down the contract and lifts his face to Grace’s. Frank’s eyes were the first thing Grace noticed about her boss—deep brown, piercing, and slightly misaligned, as if he’s looking at you, but not. He leans back in his chair and steeples his fingers in front of him. “Grace, this is good work,” he says. “Mary said you were smart.”

  Grace tenses at the mention of her previous boss. When Jimmy’s debts caught up with them, and they needed to leave LA in a hurry, Mary called Frank and asked if he would hire Grace after Miles was born. It was extremely generous, especially considering Grace was leaving her in the lurch.

  “I’d say things have worked out pretty well,” Frank goes on. “Baby’s healthy. Husband’s doing better.”

  Grace says nothing, the nervous feeling growing.

  “The past is behind you, and the sharks don’t know where you are.”

  She tries not to react but knows she has by the smirk on Frank’s face, the threat in the not-so-veiled statement plain. The people Jimmy owes money to are dangerous, and getting mixed up with them was the biggest mistake of his life.

  Frank picks up the last page of the contract, the commission agreement that promises her 10 percent. After folding it neatly in half, he slides it toward her. “I’m glad things are going so well for you and your family,” he says.

  Grace doesn’t move, her unblinking stare the only challenge she offers, but even that small defiance is enough to cause Frank’s features to darken. Holding her gaze, he pulls the sheet back, crumples it in a ball, then banks it into the wastebasket beside his desk. When he turns back, Grace lowers her eyes. She’s been screwed over enough times in her life to know when she’s been beaten.

  3

  HADLEY

  The truck beeps, making Hadley realize the door is ajar, with the keys still in the ignition. She pulls them out, and the beeping stops.

  She stares at the low-slung brick buildings in front of her. It’s hard to believe that today is the last day she will ever drive here, the last day she will ever park in this parking lot, the last day she will ever pick up one of her kids here after their day at school.

  “Coming?”

  She turns to see Melissa Jenkins smiling from the sidewalk, a platter of sugar cookies decorated with smiley faces in her hands.

  Hadley blinks, then blinks several more times. “Yes, of course,” she says, painting on a smile as she climbs from the truck.

  Melissa and Hadley have known each other since Melissa’s daughter, Katie, and Skipper were babies, and she is Hadley’s closest friend.

  Years ago, when they first met, all Hadley saw was Melissa’s
rose-tattooed arms, long nails, and goth black hair. Now, all Hadley sees when she looks at her friend is the biggest-hearted, hardest-working woman she knows.

  A wealthy widow, Melissa inherited her husband’s three Harley Davidson dealerships, and she runs them with an iron fist and a soft spot for ex-felons. She also raises three foster kids, along with her own daughter and son.

  She wraps her arm around Hadley’s shoulder and gives an encouraging squeeze. “Hang in there, kiddo,” she says. “Today is not forever. It’s just today.”

  Hadley almost manages a smile. Despite having a month to get used to the idea of Skipper leaving, she is no more ready to accept it than she was the day her sister called with the news she was getting married and therefore ready to take on the responsibility of being Skipper’s mom.

  They’re greeted in the school’s courtyard by a hand-painted banner that reads, Good Luck Skipper!!! We’re Going To Miss You! A hundred handprints of varying colors surround the words, along with the signatures of the kids who belong to those handprints.

  She and Melissa set the sweets on the table that’s been set up for the celebration, and a moment later, the bell rings. Kids spill from the second- and third-grade classrooms, and Hadley scans over the heads for Skipper.

  He is the last to leave Mrs. Baxter’s room, ambling behind the others in the slow, distracted way he has. Her heart swells at the sight of him, the way it always does when she sees one of her kids after not seeing them for some time.

  “Hey, Blue,” he says as he walks into her outstretched arms and wraps his skinny ones around her hips.

  “Hey, Champ.” She kisses the top of his honey hair. He smells as he always does, of brown sugar and sweat, the result of eating maple Cream of Wheat for breakfast and of being an eight-year-old boy.

  For an extra-long moment, he holds her, perhaps realizing the moment is precious or perhaps not. With Skipper it’s hard to know how much he understands and how much he doesn’t. His IQ only measures seventy-five, but despite that, Hadley often thinks he’s the wisest person she knows, blessed with insight and intuition far beyond his intelligence.

  Releasing her, he walks to the table, picks up a chocolate-marshmallow cupcake, his favorite, and carries it to the bench beside the playground. Today he wears his Dodgers uniform—always number forty-four, regardless of the team, a tribute to the great Hank Aaron, who is his hero.