Annoyed, she dumped caution. “No, thank you.”
“Don’t you want to see the mural?”
“Another time.”
“I won’t be here after it’s done.”
“I know.”
“Wow. That was cold.” He didn’t sound particularly upset.
“You asked for it.” Her own emotions were another matter. “Did you have an errand you wanted me to run?” She tried to keep her tone neutral, so he wouldn’t guess what his teasing had managed to do.
“No.” He ended the call.
Grace gave a soft gasp at the abruptness and stared at her phone. Shaking her head, she tucked the phone away.
“The boy can be exasperating, can’t he?” Talia had a speculative gleam in her eyes.
More than Grace wanted to admit.
Roman didn’t call Grace again. He caught himself watching the clock every afternoon around three, usually minutes before she called him. She went over his messages and whatever mail had come in. She asked how the work was going, but he couldn’t tell if she was really interested or just being polite.
Roman eliminated the lion eating the baby giraffe before Hector arrived to start the final protective coat. People stood around, watching them finish the work. The wall looked impressive. It was the best work he’d done.
Clearing supplies and tarps, he wondered why he felt vaguely disappointed, as though he’d failed to include something essential.
“You don’t look happy, señor.” Hector spoke in accented English. He’d been improving greatly over the last few weeks, and Roman felt a twinge of jealousy.
“Is Grace tutoring you in English?”
Hector grinned and raised his brows. “No. I met a girl. On the beach. Muy bonita. She teach me English. I teach her Spanish.”
Roman could tell by Hector’s expression that the two had jumped over more than language barriers. “Sounds like a nice arrangement.”
Hector pulled out his phone and showed off a selfie. The girl, a plump, sunburned redhead, looked smitten with her Latino Romeo. Hector looked victorious with his arm around her.
He pocketed the phone. “Is Grace coming down?”
“Isn’t one girl enough?”
Hector laughed. “To see the mural, jefe.”
“I don’t know.” Roman wasn’t about to admit he’d invited her and she’d said no. He caught Hector looking at him and stared back. “What?”
Hector nodded toward the reception desk, where a man was pointing him out to a middle-aged couple.
Roman faced Hector. “Let’s go have dinner. I don’t feel like playing nice with strangers.”
They got a booth in a nice restaurant down the street. Hector spent most of the time texting with his girlfriend. Conversation had never been easy with Hector, but even a stilted conversation would have been nice. Whatever she said made Hector decide to head back to Los Angeles rather than spend the night at the five-star hotel in San Diego. Roman waved him off and sat alone and had a brandy.
It was a little after eight when he got back to his hotel suite. He stood at the windows, feeling adrift. Grace hadn’t called today. Good excuse to call her. He took out his phone and tapped her number.
It took five rings before her voice mail kicked in. She didn’t offer the usual pleasantries or give her name, just instructions to leave a message. She didn’t even say she’d get back to whoever called. Roman didn’t leave a message. It was a Friday night and well past five o’clock. Why should she answer?
The heaviness increased in his chest. Too much steak, too much alcohol. His jaw ached. A dentist said he must grind his teeth in his sleep and recommended a custom mouth guard. That and less stress in his life. He felt a little off, and not just because he’d had a few drinks.
Why should he be stressed? He had everything everyone else wanted.
Stretching out on his bed, he tried to sleep. He was edgy, in need of something. He could go back to his old habits. Go to a club, hook up with a girl. But the emptiness always came back later. The inner tension never went away.
He turned on the television and rented a movie violent enough to distract him. His arm ached from reaching up and doing the fine work every day for the last several days. He rubbed the muscles. Another drink might help. He opened the minibar and took out three shot bottles of Scotch.
Roman relaxed after the third drink. Only the heaviness remained. He called Grace again. She answered on the second ring. “What?” She sounded groggy and annoyed.
“Are you in bed?
She let out her breath sharply. “No. I’m singing in a karaoke bar. What do you think?”
“Man, you’re grumpy.” Roman craned his neck to look at the clock on the nightstand. “What time is it?”
“Please tell me you didn’t call to ask for the time. It’s after midnight. Are you in a movie theater?”
“I’m in my room watching a movie. I doubt it’s one you’d like.” He shut it off.
“What do you want, Roman?”
You. The thought caught him by surprise. Thankfully, he hadn’t said it aloud. Oh, he could tell her what he wanted, but she was too far away to do anything about it, and she wouldn’t anyway.
“Are you all right?”
When had the sound of her voice started doing things to his body? “I think I had too much to drink tonight.”
“I can tell.”
“How?”
“You don’t sound like yourself.”
That sobered him. How did he sound? Vulnerable? Clearing his throat, he sat up and rubbed his face. “You didn’t call me with an update.”
“I told you I wouldn’t bother you unless it was necessary. It was a quiet day. There was no reason to call.”
What if he wanted to be bothered? “The mural is done.” He spoke carefully, not wanting to sound as drunk as he now realized he was. “Hector finished the protective coat tonight. He went home. He’s got a girlfriend.”
“I know.”
“You met her?” How often did she and Hector talk, and why should that annoy him?
“Not yet. He showed me her picture. She looks nice.”
Roman could hear Grace moving around and hoped she was making herself comfortable. He didn’t want to end the conversation yet.
“Congratulations on finishing the mural. I guess that’s why you’ve been celebrating.”
Celebrating? Was that what she thought? The longer she worked for him, the more he wanted to know about her. There was something about Grace Moore that had caught his attention right from day one. “Actually, I just felt like getting drunk in my room.” He realized how pathetic he sounded. What a loser! Just shut up, Roman, before you say something even more stupid.
“I’m sorry, Roman.”
“Sorry about what?”
“I don’t know. That you’re alone after you’ve finished something people are going to enjoy for years to come. You have every reason in the world to be happy and proud of what you’ve accomplished, and you’re not.” She didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I’ve never known anyone who needed the Lord more than you do.”
“The Lord?”
“Jesus.”
Roman felt the energy seeping out of him, like air from a punctured tire. He thought of the sign in the Tenderloin, right across the street from the flat where he and his mother lived. “Jesus saves,” Roman said sardonically. “I used to sit in a window at night and ask Him to save my mother. He didn’t do squat.”
“Do you want to talk, Roman?”
He figured he’d already said too much. He knew he’d said more than he ever intended. Tapping End Call, he tossed the phone onto the nightstand.
GRACE, AGE 15
Grace started working at McDonald’s as soon as she was old enough to get a permit. She worked while friends came and went. They’d say hi, order hamburgers, fries, and sodas, and say bye. Or they’d sit at a table together, talking and laughing while she was busy behind the counter.
Salim Hadad
, her supervisor, tried to schedule her for Sunday shifts. “I can’t, Mr. Hadad. I go to church with my aunt.” He said it was good a teenager took religion seriously, even if she was a Christian.
Mr. Hadad said she was his best worker. If she were older, he’d make her a manager. She never stood around idle, even at quiet times when no cars were in the drive-through, no customers at the counter. She washed tables, swept floors, cleaned grills, scoured the women’s bathroom, and restocked toilet paper and towels without being asked. She cleaned milk shake, soda, and coffee machines, refilled napkin and straw dispensers, anything to keep busy during her shift. Salim told her she could study, but she said her conscience wouldn’t allow it. “You’re not paying me to do my homework.”
Today Salim was rushing around, grumbling about a worker who hadn’t shown up. He grew more frustrated when two others couldn’t seem to do anything without bumping into each other. Grace remembered how overwhelmed she had felt the first few days until she caught on to the routine. She delivered a tray of Happy Meals to a lady with half a dozen girls in soccer uniforms. Filling drinks, she had the uncanny feeling of being watched.
When the woman and girls left, Grace stood ready to take the next order.
Patrick Moore stepped forward. Her stomach fluttered, and her heart picked up speed. He’d moved from Colorado at the beginning of the year and made the varsity football team. It wasn’t long before he became the star quarterback. Every girl in school had a crush on the blond, blue-eyed hunk with the ski-slope tan. Even the guys liked him. “Hi.” Patrick’s smile made her blush as he looked at her name tag. “Grace . . .” Stammering, she asked for his order. His smile broadened into a teasing grin, flushing her face hotter.
“Two Big Macs, two large fries, and a large soda. For here.”
Grace punched in the order. He gave her a twenty, and she made change. She put the food on a tray. Maybe he had a girl with him. She resisted the urge to see who it was. Lindsay? She was head cheerleader, and they’d been a couple for a while. Grace set the tray on the counter. Patrick seemed in no hurry to take it. “Nice to see you, Grace.”
She didn’t know what to say. He picked up the tray and took a step before turning around. “When do you get off?”
Her mind went blank for a moment. “Six.”
“I’ll give you a ride home.”
“I have a bike.”
“I have a bike rack.”
Patrick took a booth where he had a straight-shot view of her at the counter. Grace didn’t even notice an older gentleman standing in front of her until he spoke. “Ah, Cupid does his dirty work again.” He chuckled. “I’ll have a Whopper.”
She smiled. “You’ll have to go down the street to Burger King.”
Patrick Moore read a graphic novel while he waited. When Grace was ready to go, he took her backpack and carried it. She felt small walking beside him. He snapped her bike into a rack on his sea-mist Buick Regal. “Nice car.” Did he think her shallow for noticing?
“I’d rather have a Jeep Cherokee with a ski rack on top. This baby is three years old and has eighty thousand miles on it. My dad did a lot of traveling in his last job.” He opened the door for her. She slipped in and strapped on her seat belt. When he got into the driver’s seat, he looked at her. “My dad signed it over to me on my sixteenth birthday.”
“Nice present.”
“It’s got some kick.”
Patrick didn’t clench the steering wheel like Aunt Elizabeth. His hands were relaxed. He drove six blocks and gave her a sideways smile. “You’ll have to tell me where you live.”
If her face got any hotter, she’d set the car on fire. “I guess it is hard to read minds.” She gave directions rather than the address. She asked about Colorado. He shared his life story: born in Fort Collins, grew up in the Springs, loved to ski and snowboard; Fresno took getting used to after the Rocky Mountains. Fortunately, it was only a few hours’ drive to the coast. He wanted to learn how to surf. “What about you?”
What could she say that wouldn’t bore him? “Not much to tell. My parents died when I was seven. My aunt took me in. I go to school. I study. I work at McDonald’s. I go to church every Sunday. That’s my life.” She was far more interested in his. “Are you playing baseball this year?” She didn’t want to say she knew he’d played football and basketball, too.
“Yeah.” He laughed. “I love sports. Playing them and watching them.”
“Live games or TV?”
“Both.” He gave her a quick, smiling glance. “How about you?”
“I played soccer in grade school. I wasn’t very good at it.” She’d never had time to watch much television, and the last thing Aunt Elizabeth would be interested in was a sports program. “Turn right at the next intersection.”
Patrick pulled up in front of the house just as Aunt Elizabeth turned in to the driveway.
“Would you like to meet my aunt?” It wasn’t until the words escaped that she realized introducing a boy to her aunt might sound more serious to him than giving her a ride home and dropping her off.
“Sure. Sit tight.” He got out, retrieved her backpack from the backseat, and came around to open her door. She held the pack while he unlocked her bike and set it on the sidewalk.
Aunt Elizabeth stood just outside the garage, watching and waiting.
Grace made introductions. “Patrick is a student at Fresno High, Aunt Elizabeth. He moved here from Colorado. He gave me a ride home from work.” Grace couldn’t seem to stop herself.
“I gathered he gave you a ride home.”
Embarrassed, Grace took hold of her bike. Aunt Elizabeth smiled tightly as she shook hands with Patrick. “It’s nice to meet you, Patrick.” She drew back, a faint frown forming. “Moore. Colorado. Are you any relation to Byron Moore?”
“Yeah. He’s my father. You know him?”
“We work in the same building.”
“Small world.”
“Indeed.” An arctic wind had blown in. “Well, thank you for bringing Grace home safely.” She gave Grace a pointed look. “You have things to do.”
What had just happened? Grace thanked Patrick for the ride and watched him drive away. She wheeled her bicycle into the garage as her aunt took a bag of groceries from the backseat of her car. Her face was rigid. “What’s wrong?” What had she done now to annoy her aunt?
“Nothing.” Aunt Elizabeth hit the button to close the garage door as she went through the door to the kitchen. She set the bag of groceries on the counter. The chicken she’d put in the Crock-Pot smelled ready to eat. “I’m going to change my clothes.” She walked past Grace. “Set the table.”
When they sat down to dinner, Aunt Elizabeth said grace and snapped her napkin. Grace knew something was on her mind. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Patrick looks like his father.” She raised her head, her mouth tight. “Concentrate on school.”
Grace opened her locker, switched out her textbooks. When she closed it, she turned and bumped into Patrick Moore. Startled, she took a step back, blushing as he grinned at her. “I’ll walk you to class.” Everyone looked at them as they went down the hallway. Grace could imagine what they were thinking. What’s Patrick Moore doing with her? When she entered class, she made her way to her desk and sat dazed.
Word spread fast. Crystal caught up with her at lunch and wanted to know how long Grace had been going out with Patrick. Grace said she wasn’t. “Yeah, right. Come on! Tell me everything!” Grace insisted there was nothing to tell. Crystal snorted. “I heard he dropped you off after your shift at Mickey D’s.”
Gasping, Grace felt her face go hot. “Who told you that?”
“Someone who saw you.”
High school gossip moved faster than a mudslide, and Grace was mortified to find herself in the middle of it. She refused to answer Crystal’s question, but the girl was a bulldog. “If there’s nothing to tell, why are you blushing? Have you had sex with him yet?”
Yet? “He gave
me a ride home. That’s all. He was being nice. It’s not like anything happened.” She headed for civics. Crystal fell into step beside her and gave her the scoop on Patrick Moore, whether Grace wanted to hear it or not. He took Lindsay to homecoming. Remember? Well, they went all the way. Then he dropped her like a hot rock and went out with Kimberly. He wasn’t a make-out artist or a kiss-and-tell guy, but girls talk. Grace had better be careful. Frustrated, Grace finally stopped. “Why are you telling me all this?”
“Because he was asking about you in the boys’ locker room!”
“How would you know that?”
“Nathan told me.”
Grace didn’t want to grab on to false hope regarding Patrick Moore. And she did very well telling herself that, until he showed up at McDonald’s again on Saturday. He brought his homework with him this time. “I hear you’re good at algebra.” She helped him on her breaks. He gave her another ride home. He talked about his dreams for a scholarship. She asked where he wanted to go to college. UC Santa Cruz, but his dad said it was a party school. Patrick laughed. His dad wanted him to go to UC Berkeley, but Patrick shook his head. “I’m not that smart.” Grace gobbled up every word he said all the way to the front door of her aunt’s house, and then he surprised her again. “Can I call you?”
“Sure.”
He handed her a fancy phone. “Here. Give me your number.”
She tapped in her aunt’s phone number and handed it back to him. He smiled as he tucked it into his pocket, just over his heart.
He called a couple nights later, but Aunt Elizabeth answered the phone before Grace could reach it. She gave Grace an annoyed look. “I’m sorry, Patrick, but Grace can’t talk right now. She’s doing homework.” Grace held out her hand with a pleading look, and her aunt turned her back. “You can see her tomorrow at school.” She hung up.
Grace wanted to cry. “Why did you do that?”
“Because I thought it best. You’re fifteen, and—”
“He just wanted to talk!”
“How do you know what that boy wants?” She looked exasperated.
“Every girl in school would die to have Patrick Moore call!”
The Masterpiece Page 14
