“They’d need more in the adult world, but you’re a juvenile. The DA’s office took that little bit of paint and ran with it. They’re doing what they think best.”
Sam Carter had said something similar. Bobby Ray’s heart pounded a war beat. “They should be jailing the ones who shot my friends!”
“They’d have to catch them first, and since no one is talking, that will take time.” He tilted his head, studying Bobby Ray. “If I had to guess, I’d say the shooter was after Edoardo Gerena, and your friends just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time.”
“Who’s Edoardo Gerena?”
“The party was in his apartment. You probably know him by his street name, Red Hot. From what I gather, he was in jail. One boy died at the scene.” All the time Rush talked, Bobby Ray felt the man studying him closely. Like a germ under a microscope. “Gerena’s brother died on the way to the hospital.”
The small world Bobby Ray had carved out over the last few months imploded. He tried to sit still and calm, but inside, he roiled in fury and pain.
“I’m just curious, Bobby Ray. Why weren’t you at the party?”
Maybe he should have been there. Maybe he could have done something to save his friends. Maybe he could have gotten shot, too. What difference would it have made? “I had other things to do.”
“Where were you that day?”
“School.”
“After school.”
Bobby Ray pushed his fingers through his hair and held his head. He should have gone to the party. He should have been with his friends. “The library.”
“That’s not what I expected to hear.”
Bobby Ray’s face went hot. He wished he hadn’t answered.
Rush pressed. “What were you doing at the library?”
He just looked at Rush. Let the man think whatever he wanted. He was done talking. Rush asked a few more questions. Bobby Ray didn’t say a word. Rush sighed, stacked papers, and put them in his briefcase. He stood and tapped the door. The guard opened it. “He’s all yours.” Rush walked out, leaving Bobby Ray alone with the guard.
That night, Bobby Ray dreamed of his mother again. He begged her not to leave, but she pushed his hands away and said she’d be back. I always come back, don’t I? Don’t hold on to me, baby. I gotta go to work.
GRACE OVERSLEPT SUNDAY MORNING, and awakened to her cell phone buzzing on the nightstand. Fumbling for it, she saw Shanice’s face on the screen and answered. “What time is it?”
“Where are you? We’re at the café. Are you okay?”
“Fine. I’m still in bed. I was up until three.”
“I didn’t know you had that much stuff to put away.”
“I don’t. I just couldn’t sleep.”
“Grace, honey, we have something to tell you. We wanted to tell you in person. Unfortunately, you didn’t show up.”
She wasn’t sure she could survive another of Shanice’s ideas.
“What is it?”
“You have a date this coming Wednesday, at seven.”
“Are we going to a movie or a Bible study?”
“You and Brian Henley are going to dinner at Lawry’s. Nice, huh?”
Groggy, Grace yawned. “I don’t know any Brian Henley.”
“Well, you will. We signed you onto a Christian mingle site, and when this incredible guy popped up, we responded.”
Grace’s eyes opened. “What? You’d better be kidding.”
“Just listen. He’s a widower, a youth pastor with a master’s, handsome as all get-out, loves kids. He’s perfect for you—”
Wide-awake now, Grace sat up. “I don’t need or want a man, Shanice.”
“It’s too late. The date is made.”
“Then you keep it.”
“He saw your picture. He’ll expect you to show up. He looks like a great guy. It’d be rude to stand him up.”
“Tell me how to contact him and I’ll—”
“Please, Grace. Do it for me.”
Grace knew what was bothering Shanice. “Why are you still feeling guilty? What happened wasn’t your fault. It was mine. I’ve never blamed you, ever.”
“I know, honey, but maybe I’ll feel better if you go on this date.”
“That’s blackmail!”
“Not if it turns out the way we’re all hoping.”
“And if it doesn’t, will you promise never to do this to me again?” She waited, but Shanice wasn’t one to make a promise lightly. “Shanice?”
“You might be interested to know how many gentlemen responded to your profile.”
Grace groaned. “Not really.”
“Okay. Okay. You’re not fully awake. I caught you at a bad time. But you’ll thank us later, I’m sure.”
Grace could hear Ashley in the background talking about how cute Brian Henley was. If he was a Brit, Grace wouldn’t have to worry. She could send Ashley in her place.
The warm waterfall shower felt so good, she lingered. Wash all my sins away, Lord. Cleanse my heart and mind from those memories that taunt me. Wash me whiter than snow. She could have let the water run forever. Grace combed her wet hair and shook it so the soft, natural curls loosened. She still had to make this cottage a home for her and Samuel.
Thankfully, Ruben had put the crib together. She had planned on doing that herself, but he insisted he had the necessary tools and experience. The sheets had tiny red, blue, and yellow airplanes. She set up the Baby Einstein Sea Dreams, hung the Fisher-Price Rainforest mobile, and put the plush lamb that played “Jesus Loves Me” in the corner. Samuel liked blankets with silky edges, and she had bought two, one with blue elephants and the other with yellow-and-orange giraffes. She couldn’t wait to have Samuel all to herself for a few days, no Selah eager to snatch the baby away or tend to his needs.
Oh, Lord, I know I’m being selfish, but Samuel is mine. I want more time with my son, not less. I want to be a good mother, even if I can’t be with him full-time.
The grocery store in Malibu had what she needed, but the prices were outrageous. She’d shop at Walmart or take Ashley’s suggestion to share-shop at Costco. They could split the supplies and the bill and both save money. With all her purchases put away, she opened the door to let in fresh air. Her mind kept buzzing with ideas. She’d need shelving for textbooks. She’d kept every one of them from the classes she had completed, as well as the ones from classes she dropped so she could work full-time to support Patrick. He’d promised she could go back after he graduated.
No point in thinking about all that now. She’d worked hard at ripping out the root of bitterness so she could forgive Patrick.
Forgiving herself was another matter.
Restless, Roman drove down to Malibu again and picked up lunch at the grocery deli. On impulse, he bought an orchid, figuring it would be a nice welcome gesture for his new tenant. He’d given her a full day and a half to settle in. What harm could it be to check on her?
Her front door stood wide-open. Roman took that as an invitation. He stopped short of stepping over her threshold. Grace didn’t even notice him as she sat at a small table, hand holding a thick book open as she wrote in a spiral notebook. He stood watching her for a moment. “Settled in already?”
Startled, she dropped her pen. Recovering quickly, she pushed back her chair and stood. “Sorry. I didn’t notice you standing there, Mr. Velasco.”
Were her eyes narrowing because of the sunlight or because he was crossing a line? Roman could almost read her mind. What is he doing here? It wasn’t the usual expression he saw on a woman’s face. “You were pretty deep in concentration.” He came inside, curious to see what she was doing to his cottage. He did own the place, after all. “Just making sure you aren’t repainting the walls.”
“I’d ask first.”
Of course she would. She looked tense. “Catching the afternoon breeze?”
“I didn’t want to run the air-conditioning. I forgot to ask about utilities.”
Utilities? W
as she that hard up financially? “They’re included in the rent.”
“Which reminds me.” She moved papers aside and picked up a check. “First and last month’s rent.” She held it out.
“Already planning to move?” He took the check and stuffed it into his front pant pocket.
“It’s usually how things work. And a security deposit in case I do repaint the walls.” She smiled.
Roman smiled back. “Everything by the book, Ms. Moore.” He set the orchid on the table in front of her. “A housewarming present.”
She blinked. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”
Then why was she staring at it like he’d put a snake on her table? Roman decided not to ask. He wanted a look at her living room. She liked blue, green, pink, and yellow. Everything was cheap chic, warm and cozy. Three pieces of art hung on her wall: “Be still and know I am God” in colorful hand lettering, and two prints of men in Arabic dress, one a bearded shepherd carrying a lamb over his shoulders and the other with head bowed, hands clasped in prayer. “Do you have a thing for Middle Eastern men?”
“I have a thing for Jesus.”
She said it so simply, without the least hesitation, it caught him off guard. Her brown eyes shone clear until she caught his mood, then became perplexed. Something about the way she tilted her head made his heart give an odd double beat. The feeling passed as quickly as it came. “Your lights were on when I came home last night. It was after two. Everything all right?”
“Just restless. Couldn’t sleep. It’s very quiet out here. No traffic sounds. Would you like some coffee? It’s not fresh.”
Was she hoping he’d say no? “Yes. Thanks.” She opened a cabinet, displaying a neat row of unmatched mugs. “You’ve already put all your stuff away.” His gaze drifted over her. She looked good in skinny jeans. She was barefoot, her toenails painted pink. Her shirt rode up enough to reveal pale skin. No tats. None that he could see, anyway.
He glanced at her textbook. Contemporary Clinical Psychology. Surprised, he gave a slight laugh. “Doing some light reading?”
“It’s from a class I had to drop at UCLA.” She handed him a mug of steaming coffee.
College girl. “UCLA? That wasn’t on your résumé.”
“I didn’t graduate.”
“Didn’t like school?”
“Loved it.”
“Flunked out?”
“I had to go to work full-time.”
Roman lifted the mug and read Trust in the Lord with all your heart. He sipped, looking at her over the rim. “Hard-core, aren’t you?”
“I have a Dodgers mug, if that would make the coffee taste better. Or the Raiders.”
Was she teasing him? He gave her a roguish grin. “I’m more a raider than a dodger.” Even her old coffee tasted good. She looked like a teenager with her hair tucked behind her ears. He liked the shape and fullness of her mouth. In truth, he liked everything about her, what little he knew. Neither spoke. Grace sucked in a soft breath. She came around the table, walked out the door, and didn’t stop until she reached the wall. She ran her hand along it.
Turning, she looked at him calmly. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Roman wasn’t fooled. She wanted him out of the cottage. Okay. He could take a hint. He sat in the same place her friend had occupied during their long conversation. She didn’t seem to have anything to say now.
“Is something worrying you, Grace?” Did she think he was coming on to her? He told himself he was just checking in, like a good landlord. “Everything working? The fridge? The stove? The washer and dryer?” He jerked his chin. “It’s only the second time I’ve been in the place. I didn’t even bother to check things out before you moved in.”
“My friends did. Everything works perfectly. The fridge and stove anyway. I haven’t done any wash yet.”
Ms. Moore was rambling, nervous. He felt on firmer ground. “Good.”
Clearing her throat, she looked at him. “How is the last transfer coming along?”
He shrugged. “Everyone is always in a hurry.” Especially him. He couldn’t wait to be done with it. The sooner he got back to work, the sooner he’d be done. He finished the coffee and held out the mug. “You make good coffee.” Maybe she’d offer him a second cup. Maybe they could both relax enough to have a real conversation, something unrelated to business.
“You’re just hooked on caffeine. Too much isn’t good for you.”
She didn’t want him to linger. “Okay, Mama.” Roman stood. “We’re all hooked on something.” What was her addiction?
“Thank you for the orchid, Roman. That was very thoughtful of you.”
He’d never been accused of that before.
Grace backed away. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
Obviously clinical psychology held more allure than he did. “Turn on your air-conditioning whenever you need it, Grace. It’s not wise to leave your door open out here. You’re in wild country. You don’t want any wily coyotes wandering in.”
She laughed. “No. I definitely do not want that.” Now over the threshold, she closed the door.
Despite traffic, Grace arrived at Lawry’s on time. She recognized Brian Henley from the picture Shanice had forwarded—handsome with sandy-blond hair and blue eyes. He saw her come in and stood, recognizing her from whatever photo her friends had posted. He was a head taller than her and had an athletic frame. Smiling, he extended his hand. “Grace Moore? I’m Brian Henley. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He didn’t try to hide his relief. The hostess showed them to a booth. Brian seemed as uncomfortable as she, and she felt odd trying to put a man she hadn’t wanted to meet at ease.
“I was told you’re a youth pastor.”
“Told? Are you saying this wasn’t your idea?”
Grace blushed. “Well . . .” Why not be honest? “You seem like a very nice person, Brian, but meeting someone through a website hasn’t been on my list of things to do. My friends created my profile and set up this date without me knowing. And they wouldn’t give me your contact information so I could call and set the record straight.”
Brian grinned. “My youth group did the same thing to me.”
“Seriously?”
He nodded. They both laughed.
Brian leaned back. “Well, we could call it an evening right now . . . or see what happens.”
She liked his attitude. “We’re here. I’ll pay my share.” She could afford a dinner salad. A pity her friends had suggested such an expensive restaurant.
“The youth group gave me a gift certificate generous enough to pay for two very nice dinners, dessert, and wine.”
“I don’t drink.”
“That makes two of us.”
They talked easily. Brian had met his future wife, Charlene, at the Urbana student missions conference when they were still in high school. They discovered they were both headed for Bible college in Wheaton, Illinois. Both worked and went to school, and they married after their sophomore year. While working on his master’s, Brian took a position at a megachurch on the outskirts of Chicago. Charlene worked in an after-school day care program. One winter night, less than a mile from home, she hit black ice, spun off the road into a tree.
Brian had tears in his eyes. “It’s been four years. I needed to get away from all the familiar places. I put out applications across the country and ended up here in LA. Still a big city, but much smaller church. A challenge. Room to grow.”
“How long were you and Charlene married?”
“Six years.”
“That’s not very long when you love someone as much as you clearly loved your wife.”
“No. Not nearly long enough. How about you? Any serious relationships?”
Grace sighed inwardly. Just tell the truth. “I’m sorry. I guess my friends left out a few pertinent facts in the profile they created. I’m divorced, and I have a child.” When Brian didn’t say anything, she figured this one date would be the end of what might have been a promising
relationship.
“I’m listening.”
She looked up in surprise. How much do you tell someone on a first date? Her story was bleak and embarrassing, enough to expose her stupidity and stubborn foolishness.
“Patrick was a high school football star struggling with algebra, and his coach said I’d make a good tutor. Patrick received better than a passing grade and asked me to the prom. I think that was his way of paying me.” She winced. “That sounds terrible.”
“Is it true?”
“I don’t know. I’d rather believe he liked me as much as I liked him, but my aunt didn’t think so.” And Aunt Elizabeth was always right about everything. Why hadn’t Grace seen the warning signs?
“What about your parents?”
Grace felt Brian studying her. She had to say something. “My parents died when I was seven.” She didn’t want to talk about the circumstances. “My aunt raised me.” Another topic she didn’t want to discuss. Aunt Elizabeth had taken Grace into her home out of familial duty, not love. Grace had never met her mother’s sister before that. Grace was taken into child protective services the night her parents died and had been placed in foster care until Aunt Elizabeth turned up. In truth, as Grace learned later, her aunt had taken the job at the IRS in order to be as far away from Grace’s mother and father as possible. “My friends called me a brainiac, and Patrick was all about sports. And he loved adventure.” And other women.
“So how did you two end up together?”
“We both went to UCLA. He had a partial football scholarship.”
“And you?”
She didn’t want to brag. “Enough to get me through, but Patrick needed to finish school first.” She smoothed the napkin on her lap, avoiding Brian’s perusal. “We got married partway through freshman year. When he lost his scholarship, it made sense for me to work, so he could concentrate on school.” She gave him a bleak smile. “We were going to take turns.” She lifted one shoulder. “A few months after he graduated, I came home early and found Patrick in bed with another girl. He said he loved her, packed up, and left.”
The Masterpiece Page 12
