As she drives, rain spits on the windshield, and she sends a silent prayer that the camouflage will keep Jimmy safe. Her wipers swish back and forth, and she finds the rhythm of the blades hypnotizing. Lost in a trance, she is thankful to Grace for planning out what Hadley needs to do, her movements switched to autopilot.
Her ankle throbs as it presses the accelerator, but she pays it no mind, her eyes scanning from the road to the speedometer to the gas gauge as her mind calculates. Jimmy drives north. She drives east. She should be halfway to her destination and the kids and Grace safely in the air when Jimmy runs out of gas.
The radio is on, and she listens intermittently as the news reports on the progress of the pursuit. The reporters use their names—Hadley, Grace, Skipper, Matilde, and Miles—as if they know them, and they talk about them as if they are truly concerned, their smooth voices full of worry as they discuss how traumatic this must be for the kids and whether they are hungry and how they will go to the bathroom.
Hadley finds herself caught up in it, fretting along with them, until she remembers it isn’t real, that they are talking about them—her and Grace, and Miles and Skipper and Mattie—but that they aren’t in the car; Jimmy is.
On and on they go, interviewing neighbors and friends and experts, anyone who might have some added insight on the story—Skipper’s teacher, a neighbor of Grace’s, one of the parking lot managers, a lawyer, a child psychologist. For the most part, everyone says nice things. Even the random strangers who are interviewed and asked their opinions are nice. Almost all of them blame the FBI and say they bungled the case. “Mother-bear instinct” gets thrown around a lot, along with “backed into a corner” and “fight or flight.”
Everyone prays for them and hopes for a peaceful resolution, one in which no one gets hurt, especially the kids.
The story is rehashed again and again, dissected from every possible angle: not only what is happening but everything that led up to it, the last six days analyzed endlessly. They get the details surprisingly right. The only parts they get wrong are not realizing that Grace and Hadley never planned to team up and that Jimmy is now a part of it.
The child psychologist discusses the long-term effects this could have on the kids, which distresses Hadley, especially when the woman talks about trust and abandonment issues.
A slew of lawyers debate the legal trouble she and Grace are in, and all agree that Grace, with her history, is in serious trouble. Her record, combined with her more significant role in the crimes, puts her at much higher risk for a long-term sentence than Hadley, who none of them seem to be able to agree on in terms of what kind of punishment she will face.
At one point, a car expert comes on to discuss the make and model of Tony’s car and to predict how long it will take for it to run out of gas. His estimate is roughly the same as Grace’s. If Jimmy continues to maintain the speed limit and started with a full tank, he will be able to drive approximately seven and a half hours.
An ex-FBI agent has been on several times, and each time he reassures the reporter and audience that the pursuit will continue in the manner it has, the police following at a safe distance and proceeding with extreme caution. The primary objective is to bring the women in safely without anyone getting hurt.
The reporters go back and forth about Hadley and Grace’s motives for not surrendering, the consensus being that they are prolonging the inevitable in order to spend as much time as possible with their kids. They play up the nobility of it, making her and Grace sound heroic.
Each of the reporters goes on and on about what they would do with that precious time if they were in the same position, what they would say, and the wisdom they would impart. They ask callers to call in and contribute, and they do.
It’s all very dramatic and tragic, and Hadley finds herself playing along, thinking about all the things she would like to say to Mattie and the things she still wants to share with Skipper.
A family lawyer discusses what will happen to the kids after the women are arrested. Mattie and Skipper will most likely end up living with Vanessa, Hadley’s only living relative, though it’s possible Frank’s parents could make a case for raising Mattie. The thought is very upsetting. Frank’s parents are not nice people, and Mattie hates them.
Miles, of course, will end up with his dad, Corporal James Herrick, who is currently serving in Afghanistan.
There’s a lot of talk about Jimmy, an outpouring of support for the heroic soldier whose life has been turned upside down by his wife’s recklessness. It’s strange how much support there is for Hadley and the kids and how little there is for Grace.
Hadley has already listened to two women callers phone in and offer to marry Jimmy if Grace doesn’t make it or if he decides to divorce her for what she’s done, which you can hear in their voices is what they think he should do.
Hadley feels bad for how Grace is being portrayed, the blame for anything criminal or unscrupulous put on her because of her past and because they do not like the way she looks. Several times her scowl is mentioned, and once a reporter even commented on the way she walks: “Like she’s cocky or has something to prove.” Hadley hated the woman instantly. None of these people have any idea what they’re talking about.
The way they talk about Hadley is laughable as well. Melissa made the mistake of saying Hadley was trusting, and the press took that and ran with it, making Hadley out to be a gullible victim who got caught up in Grace’s harebrained scheme because she was naive and desperate to escape her abusive marriage.
Of course Frank is the real villain, the sinister monster who tracked down his wife, kidnapped his daughter, and shot down an agent in cold blood amid a crowd of families. An abuser, a wife beater, a devil without a soul, he’s nothing but evil and deserves to be strung up by his toenails and horsewhipped. As she listens, she hopes Mattie is not listening. To some extent we all believe ourselves to be products of our parents, and no one would want to be a part of the person they’re describing.
She waits anxiously for updates on Frank and Tony, knowing they’re still out there. The reporters hypothesize they were making a run for Mexico when Mattie escaped, and they might be right. But she knows Frank will not be heading there now. Cruel as Frank is to Mattie, she is also his progeny, and he won’t leave without her.
She looks again at the gas gauge. The needle hovers halfway between empty and full. Grace and the kids should be in Omaha now and on their way to the post office to retrieve the passports, and in another three hours, they will be in the air and on their way to London, away from the FBI and away from Frank.
Her heart keeps rhythm with the wipers, her hands tight on the wheel and her eyes tight on the road. In the distance, lightning flashes. She drives toward it, hardly paying attention now to the radio as it continues to jabber on about her family, all of it far away, like a distant dream she is chasing that continues to move away and get farther out of reach.
65
GRACE
Grace is at Eppley Airfield with Miles, Mattie, and Skipper, her eyes glued to the television over the bar in the restaurant beside their departure gate. The coverage of the car chase has been nonstop. For two hours, Grace has joined the rest of the world as it watches Jimmy driving, first in Nebraska and now in South Dakota, a battalion of cop cars behind him.
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.
B
ehind 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.
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 al
lows 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.
Hadley & Grace Page 27