“To get First Base?” he says, sitting up sleepily.
Hadley tries not to react and keeps the smile plastered on her face. “To get us someplace safe so then we can try to get First Base.”
He furrows his brow and nods, his faith in her still remarkably unwavering, still believing she is somehow going to get them through this and that it will all work out, despite all evidence to the contrary.
55
GRACE
They are outside a pawnshop that also serves as a Western Union. The area is seedy, but Grace is not scared. Early morning is the safest time to be awake in a city, the homeless sleeping off their benders from the night before or too done in from hunger and cold to be much of a threat.
Grace spent a precious seventy-five cents on a newspaper this morning, desperate to know what had happened at the stadium after they’d fled, hoping for good news about the agent and Mattie. The story was front-page news. The headline, Shooting at Coors Field Leaves One Dead, destroyed her first wish, and the second, smaller headline, Torelli Daughter Kidnapped by Father and Missing, destroyed her second.
Beside the blurry photo of the agent lying on the sidewalk were smaller photos of Grace, Hadley, Skipper, and Mattie. The photos of Hadley and Grace were from their driver’s licenses and bore little resemblance to what they looked like now. The ones of Skipper and Mattie were their most recent school portraits. Skipper looked exactly the same: the same off-center grin, the top of his Dodgers uniform showing. Mattie, however, looked nothing like the girl Grace knows, and Grace was shocked to see how much she had changed since the photo had been taken at the beginning of the school year. Her hair in the photo was long and brown, her teeth still sporting braces. She was young looking, her smile self-conscious and unsure.
It is difficult to get used to the idea that Mattie is gone. Like she’s missing a limb, Grace keeps thinking she’s there; then, when she realizes she isn’t, it’s like this great gaping hole in the middle of everything. Desperately, Grace wants to fix it, her mind spinning and spinning to figure out a way to find her and to get her back, and each time realizing it is impossible.
Grace read the article twice, then threw the paper away before Hadley could see it. She’s worried the truth, in Hadley’s current fragile state, would be too much for her to bear.
Mark Wilkes—that was the agent’s name—is survived by a daughter and a son—the girl six and the boy nine. He also had a wife. Grace tried not to hold that against him. His parents live in Boston, and he has a brother in California. He was a decorated veteran, an ex-marine who served two tours in Desert Storm.
She looks through the window of the pawnshop to check the time. The minutes pass slow as hours as they creep closer to nine o’clock, her faith in Jimmy wavering each second the moment of truth draws nearer. He can borrow a bit from his brother, though Brad won’t have much to spare. A dagger of shame pierces her at the thought of asking him again for help. They still haven’t repaid him for the loan he gave them to flee LA and get their apartment in Orange County.
Guiltily, she wonders how much Jimmy will be able to send, her concern about the future and their limited funds growing. The plan is still for her to go to London with Miles and Skipper, and for Hadley to figure out a way to join them down the road.
The idea was so much more hopeful when she had a million dollars in her pocket and with Mattie along to help. Now, she wonders how she will survive, a fugitive posing under an alias in a foreign country with no working papers and two kids, one of whom she isn’t entirely certain how she’ll deal with when things get rough.
At 8:57 a man walks into the pawnshop from the back. He turns on the lights, flips the closed sign to open, then walks toward the door to unlock it.
“Grace.”
She is staring so hard at the man turning the dead bolt she doesn’t immediately hear someone saying her name. The clock reads 8:59.
“Grace,” he says again.
She turns, her eyes blinking as her brain catches up with her ears, to see Jimmy walking toward her, his long strides covering the distance quickly. He wears faded fatigues, his gold hair mussed and his face lined with exhaustion and worry.
Her eyes fill, and she steps toward him; then, realizing what she is doing, she falls back, her head shaking. “I told you not to come,” she says as her anger and panic catch up with her.
Her hands wrap protectively around Miles as if Jimmy’s presence might harm him. Which it will—not in this moment but in the next day, week, year, lifetime.
“I told you, Jimmy. You need to stay away.”
His half smile melts into hurt, and his eyes drop as he says, “I couldn’t. I couldn’t not come.”
Up close, he looks even worse than she originally thought. Even on his worst day, Jimmy is good looking, but this morning, he is bedraggled, his shoulders stooped, his skin parched, and his beard grown out from days of not shaving. But as always, it is his eyes that draw her in, gold like a summer’s day and looking at her as if no one else exists in the world.
“Please, Grace, hear me out—”
“We need to go,” Grace says, cutting him off and walking quickly past him, suddenly aware that the Western Union man is watching them through the glass. His eyes slide from Grace and Miles to Hadley, then stick on Skipper.
Jimmy looks confused, his head cocking to one side.
“Now!” she practically screams. The man has moved to his desk and is lifting the phone.
Hadley has already stood and grabbed Skipper’s hand. “Hadley,” Hadley says to introduce herself as she races past Jimmy to follow Grace, who’s walking quickly toward the street.
“Jimmy,” he says back; then he sweeps Skipper into his arms as if he weighs no more than a sack of flour. “Hey, buddy, how about a ride?”
He is beside Grace and directing her toward a silver Nissan parked at the curb. He pops open the locks, sets Skipper on the ground, and swings open the door. Skipper climbs in, and Hadley climbs in on the other side. Grace, with Miles still strapped to her chest, hops into the passenger seat.
Jimmy’s eyes fix on Miles, but Grace snaps him out of it. “Drive,” she orders, and a second later, they’re peeling away from the curb.
56
HADLEY
Jimmy drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting out the open window. The guy is damn good looking, like Flash Gordon or Captain America, superhero good looking. Long boned and golden all over, he has honeycomb hair, matching gold eyes, and a crooked smile he uses easily and often.
He wears his army fatigues “to lend credibility,” he said with a wink at Grace, who’s still very angry with him. Though even through her fury, love pulses.
Hadley sits in the back of the small car beside Skipper, who conked out an hour ago. She stares out the window, seeing nothing, unable to wrap her head around everything that has happened or how quickly.
Unlike yesterday, it is no longer shocking. Mark. Is. Dead. Somehow that awful fact has settled in, though it hurts too much to think about. So instead, she obsesses over Mattie, wondering where she is, where Frank might go, and how she can get her back. She has cried so much she is certain there are no tears left. Wads of soggy Kleenex overflow from the side compartment of her door, and her skin is raw and parched.
Today is Wednesday, the day she was supposed to be dropping Skipper off with Vanessa before continuing on with Mattie to start their new life, the notion foggy and vague like a dream from another life.
Everything feels so unreal—Frank is a murderer; Mattie is gone; she no longer has a home to flee from or to run back to—and at random moments, Hadley finds herself so completely lost it feels like she is living in an alternate universe, as if floating outside it all and not really here.
The plan is still for Skipper to go with Grace to London, and Hadley is still supposed to find a way to join them. But how? She has no money, no place to go. And Mattie is still here. How can she go to London when Mattie is still here?
&nb
sp; At least Skipper is doing better. In large part thanks to Jimmy. After Jimmy carried Skipper to the car, something changed for him. Like a duckling orphaned from his father, it’s as if he imprinted on the first alpha male he found, and Jimmy has gone along with it, perhaps realizing how fragile Skipper is.
It started with small talk about baseball, a sport Jimmy fortunately knows a lot about, but after a while, it turned to the army. Jimmy told Skipper about his job in Afghanistan, leaving out the bad parts and mostly talking about the guys in his unit. He talked about each of them and their nicknames and how they earned them, a topic near and dear to Skipper’s heart. Eventually the conversation turned to Jimmy’s uniform, and patiently he explained the different “teams” in the army and why each soldier wears what they do. He even took off his fatigue jacket at one point and handed it over the seat so Skipper could check out the different patches and pins as Jimmy explained what each one meant.
Grace pretended not to be listening, but Hadley could tell she was, her jaw clenched hard against it as she tried not to care.
Part of Skipper’s change also has to do with what happened with Frank. It took some time for him to process it, but once he did, Hadley’s certain he formed his own very strong opinion about it. Skipper has a very defined sense of right and wrong, and though he has a remarkable ability to move past things and is the most nonjudgmental person she knows, he never forgets, and wrong is wrong in his eyes, so he rarely forgives. It’s simply who he is.
Hadley asked him how he felt about what had happened when they were walking to the pawnshop, and he said, “Coach shot that man who was in the car with us when I left my uniform at the pool, and he took First Base.” Then his face got dark, and he added, “And that’s all there is to say about that.” Then he marched a few feet ahead, making it clear he didn’t want to talk about it again.
Skipper’s forthrightness is the reason he still needs to go with Grace. If Skipper is ever questioned, he will describe in remarkable detail what he has witnessed through his crystal-clear lens, leaving out nothing, and everyone will believe him. Skipper never lies, and his recall is extraordinary, a strange gift of memory for places, people, and events. Without meaning to, he would implicate Hadley and he would implicate Grace. He might implicate Melissa, and he would definitely implicate Jimmy. A domino effect of travesty created by his perfect, artless recall.
The car slows as Jimmy takes the exit for North Platte, and a minute later, they pull into the parking lot for a mall.
“Back in a bit,” Grace says, stepping from the car with Miles.
Miles began fussing a few minutes earlier, clearly fed up with being strapped to Grace’s chest and probably in need of a change. Like a pro, Grace unhitched him from the baby pack and flopped him over her shoulder, settling him down as if it was no big deal, and beside her, Jimmy beamed like she was the greatest mother on the planet. Grace rolled her eyes, but Hadley could tell she was proud, her back slightly straighter as she walked toward the entrance.
Jimmy parks in the shade, then turns sideways in his seat to look at them. And again, Hadley is charmed. Her loyalty bone vibrates, knowing it’s a betrayal to like this man who’s caused Grace so much pain, but trying to not like him is like trying to not like Superman. He’s all muscles and white teeth, and there’s something about a man in uniform that makes you believe they are good, even if they’ve done nothing to prove it. It’s like he is cloaked in truth, justice, and the American way, and it makes her want to stand up and salute, or applaud, or knit socks—a swelling of gratitude for his courage, service, and selflessness.
She knows he screwed up. Badly. It’s his fault Grace and Miles are in this mess. But now that he’s here, smiling at her, his army fatigues undone and his dog tags dangling against his T-shirt, quite frankly she’s having a hard time holding her grudge.
“Hey, young man,” he says to Skipper. “What do you say we get you your own set of army fatigues? Make you a real private.”
Hadley waits for Skipper to shake his head and offer his defiant kneejerk response of “No,” the answer he gives anytime anyone suggests he wear anything other than his baseball uniform. But instead, he shocks her with, “That’s the starting soldier? Like the rookie?”
“Yep,” Jimmy says. “A private starts off with a plain uniform; then he earns the rest.”
“And I can wear a private uniform?” Skipper says slowly, his face taking on a look of awe.
“Well, I don’t know,” Jimmy says thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “First you need to answer a few questions.”
Skipper’s eyes get wide, and his face grows serious.
“Were you born in the United States?”
Skipper looks at Hadley, and Hadley nods.
“Yes,” he says.
“Have you ever committed any crimes?”
Skipper shakes his head.
Jimmy nods in approval.
“Do you promise to be brave, serve your country, and protect those you love?”
Skipper’s head reverses direction.
“Well then, I don’t see any reason why you can’t be a junior private.”
Skipper’s face lights up. “When can I get the uniform?”
Hadley blinks in amazement. In less than thirty seconds, Jimmy has managed to accomplish what she and Grace have been trying to accomplish for days.
“We just need to find a store that sells them,” Jimmy says; then he winks at Hadley as he turns back in his seat, letting her know he planned this, and her admiration grows.
He pulls back to the entrance of the mall, then jumps out to help Grace with the car seat she’s bought. He straps it in beside Skipper. “Private, make sure that’s buckled in tight,” he orders.
“Yes, sir,” Skipper says, responding exactly how Jimmy told him you need to respond when an officer addresses you.
Grace hands Miles to Jimmy, and Jimmy takes a second to hold him at face level and nuzzle his nose. Miles squirms and squeals, and Jimmy does it again and again, his face radiant with love, and the last of Hadley’s resistance dissolves. Jimmy might have screwed up, he might even be a screwup, but it’s hard to not like someone who glows with so much devotion for his baby and his wife that it hurts to look at him.
57
GRACE
Grace stands outside the restaurant across from the army-surplus store looking out at the barren prairie that sprawls in front of her. Gone are the soaring pines and mountains, replaced with sun-scorched landscape that stretches to the horizon.
Her head aches, her heart too, everything, all of what has happened and is happening overwhelming her. She didn’t want Jimmy to come, but now that he is here—solid, real, and certain—it’s so tempting to let her guard down and fall into her old ways. To forgive him, give up control, and trust him when he says he is sorry and that it will never happen again. It’s the best and worst part about Jimmy, how good he is and how easy it is to put your faith in him, mistakenly believing he will never let you down, a trust that is broken every time. Because, despite his failings—failing, she reminds herself, singular: one single, debilitating weakness—his love is real. And each time he looks at her with those gold eyes, the ice on her heart melts a little more.
Yesterday, she believed they had a chance, thin but possible. But today, though they continue to go through the motions—driving toward Omaha, pretending she’s getting on a plane with Skipper and Miles—she knows the chances of her going anywhere other than prison are pretty much gone.
Even as she stands here, in the middle of nowhere, she is certain someone will recognize them. Their story is being broadcast coast to coast, all of America watching as the drama unfolds, as if it is great entertainment, gripping reality television without the producers or hype: Two renegade moms on the run from the law with their kids in tow; FBI agents being gunned down in front of baseball stadiums; teenage girls being kidnapped by their crazed dads. All of it juicy and irresistible. Unbelievable, she’d think, were it not happening to them.
Having Jimmy along makes them slightly less conspicuous. No one knows he has joined them, and looking at them, with Jimmy confidently taking up space in his uniform, they look more like a military family enjoying having their soldier home than famous fugitives on the run. But at some point, someone is going to figure it out, and the jig will be up.
Hadley, Skipper, and Jimmy walk from the store, Jimmy bouncing Miles in the crook of his arm as Miles laughs, a great throaty chortle that seems to get more boisterous with each passing day. Skipper struts beside them in his new “uniform,” proud as a peacock showing off new plumes. He wears camo pants, a camo jacket, a camo hat, and brown boots. It’s very gung ho, super-Rambo, but Skipper’s crooked smile and ambling way lessens the severity, and it’s hard to take it any way other than a little boy’s idolization of a soldier.
Her eyes well with fresh tears as she thinks about how beautifully Jimmy has orchestrated Skipper’s change of heart. He’s always had a gift for getting along with people—old, young, it doesn’t matter. He just takes his time with them, shows extraordinary kindness and patience, and the next thing you know, he’s their new best friend.
Hadley walks on his other side, smiling at something he is saying.
Traitor, Grace thinks, while at the same time feeling grateful. It’s the first time she’s seen Hadley smile since Mark was shot and Mattie was taken away. For the past day, Grace has watched Hadley drift in and out of shock, intermittently despondent and manic, dazed one minute, then chain-smoking and crying the next.
Almost as if realizing she’s smiled and is feeling bad about it, Hadley stops, and her eyes dart around to see if anyone’s noticed. Grace looks away so she won’t know that she did.
She wants to tell her it’s okay. Smiling doesn’t mean she doesn’t care. It’s only a symptom of life carrying on, which inevitably it does. No matter how cataclysmic the events, and even in light of the worst tragedies, hearts continue to beat, lungs continue to draw air, and sometimes things continue to be funny.
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