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.”
She turns and smiles as if she likes it.
“Mmmm,” he says with another rub, then pulls away to pour himself a glass of wine.
When he returns to the table, he says, “By the way, I think I need to get rid of the new girl.”
“Really? I thought you liked her,” Hadley says.
“Turns out she’s useless. That’s what I get for doing someone a favor.”
“Didn’t you say she was the first assistant you’ve had with half a brain?”
Frank doesn’t respond. He does that a lot: offers up what seems like a conversation, only to ignore her when she takes part.
She returns to tossing the salad.
Half a minute later, he says, “Jesus fucking Christ!”
Hadley’s head snaps up. Mattie is in the archway, Prince Charles beside her.
“Wipe that shit off your face,” Frank says. “You look like a goddamn whore. And what the fuck is that in your ear?”
Every fiber in Hadley’s body tenses, and she watches as Mattie’s face darkens; then she turns to Hadley, her glare challenging her to say something. When Hadley remains mute, she storms away.
“What the hell?” Frank says. “Why do you let her go around like that?”
Hadley says nothing, her blood pumping wildly. She always reminds Mattie to remove her makeup and earrings before her dad sees her. But tonight she was distracted: first by her daughter’s hate, then by the spider, then by Skipper. She always remembers. “Mattie, your dad’s home. Make sure you wash your face and take off your jewelry.” Jewelry being a polite euphemism for her bizarre piercings.
Frank went nuts when Mattie dyed her hair. He raged, grabbed a pair of scissors, threatened to shave her head as punishment. The only thing that stopped him was Hadley begging him not to. She was literally in their bedroom on her knees blocking the door, and then her mouth was on his cock, and because of that, he let it be. The memory sickens her. That is how she protects her daughter. She feels the pain in her scalp as she remembers him yanking her hair as she went about it, the searing pain of having her hair wrenched from its roots and the deeper hurt of the cruel things Frank said, words she prayed Mattie would never hear.
Of course Mattie knows none of this. She believes Hadley is a terrible mother who does nothing to stand up for her. She’s right about the first part; no good mother would have allowed things to go this far.
She stops chopping and leans against the counter, the knife trembling in her hand. And now Skipper is leaving. Without Mattie knowing it, Skipper is the one who has protected her.
Yes, Frank yells, says horrible things, has a temper, and throws things. He might even have gone so far as to chop off Mattie’s hair. But he’s never physically hurt her—a mercy bestowed on her by Skipper simply being who he is.