The Masterpiece

by Francine Rivers

  “This was a business, and I was sent here by court order.”

  “To start, but they love you like a son.”

  “Your aunt is a blood relative.”

  “Blood doesn’t always matter. I’ve had to make a family. Shanice, Nicole, Ashley, the Garcias.”

  “Who are the Garcias?”

  People she thought she could trust . . . and now wondered how hard she’d have to fight to reclaim her son. She felt the burn of tears and shook her head, looking away. She swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t stay in here.”

  “I’ll leave when you tell me what you think about this piece.” He nodded toward the wall he’d painted.

  “It looks like a prison break. What I’d like to know is why you’d want to run from love and go back where you had no hope.”

  “I knew who and what I was in the streets.” His jaw tensed. “Tomorrow, I’m going to find out what you’re hiding.”

  ROMAN STOWED THE BAGS in the trunk of his car, then observed the affectionate good-byes. Susan hugged Grace and whispered something that brought a smile to Grace’s face. Chet and Jasper had their turns. Roman had never been comfortable with physical affection, but this time he didn’t resist. Chet stood with him. “If you don’t stay in touch, we might just show up on your doorstep unannounced.”

  “The door is always open.” Roman meant it.

  Jasper looked smug, but didn’t gloat. “I’ll be down in a couple of weeks to see how things are going.” He looked at Grace.

  Roman got the message. “You don’t have all the answers, old man.”

  “None of us ever do.” Jasper embraced him briefly and slapped his back. “At least you’re showing yourself brave enough to drive forward instead of staring in the rearview mirror.”

  Before getting in the car, Roman saw something on the ground. Bending down, he scooped up two acorns on a twig. He gave them to Grace after she fastened her seat belt. “For your collection.” Punching the starter, he put his hand on the back of her seat as he backed out.

  Chet, Susan, and Jasper stayed outside, waving as Roman turned onto the main road. Grace waved back and then closed her window. Roman glanced over. “They sure took to you fast.”

  “I like them.”

  “I think they’re hoping you’ll end up more than my personal assistant.” He saw the pink rise into her cheeks. “I told them you’re dating a youth pastor.” She didn’t say anything to correct him. He concentrated on the road. “Did you get ahold of your aunt?”

  “She’s busy this morning, but said she’d be home after one. It’s okay if you’d rather keep going. She won’t mind.”

  He knew what she hoped he would say. “We have plenty of time.”

  “We should have lunch before we go.”

  He got the message. Don’t expect my aunt to give you so much as bread and water. “We can pick up sandwiches and have a picnic somewhere.”

  They didn’t speak for a while. Roman could tell she was distracted by more than the scenery out her window. “What’s your aunt like?”

  “She’s a good person. She made sure I had everything I needed. She never asked me to do anything more than she did herself.” Grace folded her hands. He’d noticed she did that when she was tense. “She told me to do the best I could at anything I did. She’s very hardworking and dedicated to her job.”

  “Doing what?”

  “She was an executive at the IRS.” She smiled slightly. “No need to worry about that. She now has her own business as a forensic tax consultant.”

  He gave a slight laugh. “I’ll try not to get on her bad side.”

  “It might be safer if we skipped the visit altogether.”

  “Nice try, Grace. Tell me more about her. Is she a Bible-thumper, too?” He hadn’t meant to say that.

  “Aunt Elizabeth took me to church every Sunday, but no, she doesn’t thump a Bible. Nor did my Sunday school teacher. Miranda Spenser might come over while we’re there.”

  Roman sensed there was more she could tell him, but figured he’d find out what he wanted to know soon enough. They stopped and bought sandwiches, water, and a pink-and-blue hydrangea as a gift for the aunt. Grace gave him directions to Woodward Park, where they found a bench beneath an oak, near a pathway along the lakeshore.

  “Did your aunt bring you here for picnics?” Roman took a bite out of his po’boy.

  “No, but I came with Patrick. My ex-husband.” Grace folded the paper carefully around her turkey croissant. She seemed to have lost her appetite. She looked away. “I wish we had time to go to the Shinzen Japanese Friendship Garden. It’s really lovely.”

  Another place she’d been with her ex? He uncapped his bottle of water. “I can imagine you on a cross-country trip. You’d want to stop at every weird tourist trap: tepees in Arizona, space alien museums in Roswell, New Mexico, a roadhouse with a bucking bull in Texas.”

  “And you’d just want to keep moving.” She gave him a sad smile. “You’re right. I would want to make a lot of stops. Did you know there are over twenty national parks and monuments in Arizona alone, and another eighteen in New Mexico? I have maps.”

  He grinned. “I’m sure you do, and the routes all neatly marked in red.”

  “Everyone has a dream.”

  “I don’t.”

  “That’s depressing.”

  Roman finished his water. “Tell me about it.”

  Grace took the plastic water bottle from him, gathered everything, and threw it in a trash can. “My aunt hates it when people are late.”

  Roman looked around as Grace gave him directions. She’d grown up in a nice, middle-class neighborhood. The tract houses looked the same except for the front yards, all well tended. Grace pointed out the house, which turned out to be the nicest one on the block. It had enough curb appeal to be a Realtor’s dream. The red front door could be a welcome or a warning.

  Grace didn’t produce a key from her purse. She rang the bell and took a step back like an unwelcome solicitor preparing to have the door slammed in her face. Roman wanted to put his hand at the small of her back, but thought better of it.

  She gave him an apologetic look. “If she doesn’t answer, don’t take it personally.”

  “Why would I? She’s never met me.”

  The door opened. Roman expected a grim-faced older woman in polyester pants and a flowered tunic. Elizabeth Walker looked ready to take office. She was attractive and fit for a woman in her forties, her makeup perfect, dark hair smooth. She stood a little over five feet tall, in black pumps, black slacks, a white silk blouse, and a single strand of pearls. Roman now knew where Grace had learned to dress as a professional.

  “Hello, Aunt Elizabeth.” Grace offered the potted hydrangea. Roman bristled when the woman took it like a queen accepting a gift from a peasant too far beneath her to rate a thank-you. Then it occurred to him that he’d often treated Grace the same way.

  Elizabeth Walker made room for them to enter. Her cool, hazel eyes fixed on him as he stepped over the threshold. Grace made formal introductions. Elizabeth had a firm grip. Plenty of women had looked him over before, but none the way this one did. He had the feeling she’d like to cut his heart out and put it on a scale.

  “Why don’t we sit in the garden?” Elizabeth led the way through an immaculate and well-designed living room. She liked the same colors Grace did, but darker, more intense tones. He followed the two women out through the sliding-glass door, where he was invited to sit beneath a white pergola surrounded by a natural wonderland. The lawn could have served as a putting green. The waterfall in the back corner flowed into a pond with lily pads in bloom. Birds flittered and twittered around feeders; bees hummed. Roman didn’t have to wonder where the serpent was in this pseudo Garden of Eden. Elizabeth sat in a white wicker cushioned chair that looked like a throne.

  Grace looked awestruck. “It’s beautiful, Aunt Elizabeth.”

  Clearly, Grace hadn’t been home recently.

  “It should be, consider
ing the time and money I’ve spent on it.” She speared him with those cool eyes. “Grace told me you’re an artist, Mr. Velasco. What sort of art do you do?”

  “A little of this and that.” He’d bet the cost of one of his paintings she’d already googled him or called one of her minions to pull his tax files. “Grace said you worked for the IRS.” She could get the full picture of what kind of art he did. Commercial.

  “Once upon a time. You must be successful if you need a personal assistant. What exactly does Grace do for you?”

  Grace spoke quickly. “I field calls, answer correspondence, pay bills, shop for groceries—”

  Roman interrupted the flow. “Grace takes on whatever needs to be done so I’m free to paint.”

  “Then your art isn’t all about waiting for inspiration.”

  He stared back at her. “I paint what the market wants.” He waited for a snide remark, but she gave a simple nod and then told Grace to serve the refreshments. “There is a Bundt cake on the kitchen table and lemonade in the refrigerator. Make a pot of coffee, too. Miranda will be by shortly. I’ll have tea with lemon.”

  Heat surged through Roman’s veins. He glanced at Grace, and saw she didn’t look the least bit upset that her aunt treated her like a servant. She stood and disappeared inside. Elizabeth leaned back and crossed her legs. Her hands rested on the arms of her throne. “So why are you here, Mr. Velasco? I know the spontaneous visit wasn’t Grace’s idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “She knows me well enough to give me a week’s notice.”

  He leaned back, too. “I was curious.”

  “Idle curiosity? Or is there a purpose behind it?”

  “Why do I have the feeling you don’t like me?”

  “I don’t have feelings about you one way or the other.” She tilted her head and raised one brow. “Yet.”

  “I was curious what kind of family made Grace the way she is.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And what way is that?”

  “She works hard and does well. I trust her with my finances.” That ought to tell this accountant something. “She’s a good girl.” That should tell her the rest.

  “Is that your way of saying you two aren’t sharing a bed on this business trip of yours?”

  “Your niece has the morals of a nun, Mother Walker.”

  She looked amused, not insulted. “Good for her.”

  Roman figured he wasn’t going to learn anything if he didn’t cool off. “Grace said you took her in after her parents died.”

  “Yes.” She paused, assessing him. “I was the only family left, and she was only seven. I had to fly back to Memphis and sort things out. Hardly an easy thing to do, considering the circumstances. And then I brought her back here to Fresno to live with me.”

  “Circumstances?”

  She raised that brow again. “Are you on a fishing expedition, Mr. Velasco? You’ll have to ask Grace for details. She may not remember everything, in which case, you’ll have to do some research. It’s all in the public record.”

  The doorbell rang. Elizabeth stood, ending the conversation. Excusing herself, she went inside, leaving the glass door open. Roman could hear Grace, Elizabeth, and another woman talking indistinctly. An older woman in a black-and-white polka-dot dress followed Elizabeth outside. Her gray hair was cut short, her blue eyes warm and openly curious. She didn’t wait for formal introductions, but came toward him with a hand outstretched. “I’m Miranda Spenser, and you are the famous Roman Velasco! It’s such a pleasure to meet you.” She glanced at Elizabeth’s rigid face, and wasn’t cowed into silence. “We’ve been curious since Grace mentioned her new job. I don’t have to ask how she’s doing. She always gives her best to anything she does.”

  Grace came outside with a tray and set it on the table. She served coffee to Miranda first and poured a cup of tea and added a slice of lemon for her aunt. She handed him a frosty glass of lemonade before cutting slices of Bundt cake. He noticed Grace took nothing for herself. Miranda settled in another wicker chair, less royal than Elizabeth’s. “Tell us about yourself, Roman. I’ve never met an artist, and the Internet didn’t tell us much about you, just about your work, which is very interesting, by the way. You don’t seem to settle on any one particular style.”

  Roman had come to learn about Grace, not to talk about himself.

  Grace gave him a sympathetic look. “Have some cake, Miranda.” Grace handed her a thick slice.

  Anything to stop the questions. “There’s not much else to say.”

  “Are you a believer?” Miranda held his gaze.

  He didn’t understand. “A believer of what?”

  “Take that as a no.” Elizabeth’s faint smirk told him she was enjoying his discomfort.

  Miranda didn’t seem put off, but spared him an interrogation as she attempted to catch up on Grace’s life. Was she still taking night classes? How was Samuel? How was she managing? Grace answered in generalities and turned the focus back on him. She talked about his work and then the gallery show in Laguna Beach. “All of Roman’s paintings sold before the end of the evening.” She told them about Golden and the request for a mural representing the history of the area, but didn’t admit they hadn’t even bothered driving through the place. She was rambling, nervous, and the women knew it.

  “How many days have you been on the road?”

  “We left Tuesday morning.”

  When they exchanged a look, Roman decided to rescue her from further questions. “I took her to the Masterson Ranch, where I was incarcerated for three years. The proprietors are close friends of mine.” That made the two women forget all about Grace and any possible sins she might have been tempted to commit along the road.

  “Incarcerated?” Miranda repeated, eyes wide.

  Google wouldn’t have that information. “For painting graffiti.”

  Elizabeth studied him over her cup of tea. “From illegitimate art to legitimate.”

  “Some people believe art should be free.”

  She put her teacup on her saucer. “And yet you’ve allowed yourself to become a capitalist.”

  Pale and tense, Grace stood and collected dessert plates. He wanted to take them from her and dump everything in Elizabeth Walker’s lap. Elizabeth smiled slightly. “Sit, Grace.” She spoke gently this time. She stood and took the tray. “Everything is fine.” When Grace sat, Roman saw bewilderment, then tears glisten, before she regained control.

  Grace watched Roman grow edgier as Miranda talked about church and faith and how much it had always meant to Grace when she was growing up. “She memorized more Scriptures than any student in my class.”

  “I think he can handle Miranda,” Aunt Elizabeth said softly. “Come with me. I want to show you some of the changes I’ve made in the garden since you were last here.”

  Grace steeled herself for the inevitable questions about Samuel and what she was going to do about the future. They walked together in tense silence.

  Her aunt sighed. “Do you like working for this man?”

  “Yes. More as time goes on.”

  Aunt Elizabeth looked back at the two sitting beneath the pergola. “Well, thankfully, he’s not like Patrick. I saw through him the first time I met him. This man isn’t so easy to read. He doesn’t like to talk about himself, and what he did say wasn’t something to make himself look good.”

  “I don’t think Roman cares what people think.”

  “It was his idea to stop by, wasn’t it?”

  “I didn’t think you’d want to see me. You told me what you thought about my situation.”

  “I’ve had time to think more clearly. Not that I’ve changed my mind about certain things.”

  Grace looked away. “I understand. Believe me, I do.” Sometimes the shame was almost overwhelming, until she held her son. She was surprised to feel her aunt’s light touch on her arm.

  “I had no right to condemn you or say the things I did, Grace.”

  Grace’s eyes filled wi
th quick tears. It was the closest to an apology she had ever received from her aunt.

  “How are you doing?” Aunt Elizabeth sounded concerned.

  “I haven’t made a decision. I know what I want, but I don’t know if it’s best.” She shook her head, unable to say more.

  “You and I need to talk about our family, Grace.” Aunt Elizabeth sounded burdened by the past, and Grace knew why. She didn’t want to hear what she had overheard already.

  She decided to change the subject. “The garden is beautiful.”

  “He’s been watching us, you know.”

  Grace glanced at Roman. “He probably wants to go.”

  Aunt Elizabeth pinched off a few dead blossoms. “I’ve been cautious my entire life, Grace. Maybe too cautious.” She tossed the dead petals into the garden.

  “You were right about Patrick. You tried to warn me. I didn’t want to listen.”

  “Yes, I was right, but that doesn’t mean you can never trust your heart again.” She nodded toward Roman. “He wants to know more about you. You’re on firmer ground now. You know how deceptive the heart can be.” She headed back toward the patio. “Don’t hide away and punish yourself for the rest of your life. It’s no way to live.”

  Roman watched Grace while listening to Miranda. The woman talked about “the Lord” as though God was a friend and was sitting in the garden with them right now. This must be the source of Grace’s brainwashing. Grace seemed more relaxed when she joined him beneath the pergola. Whatever her aunt had said seemed to have stripped away the tension. He knew he wasn’t going to learn anything hanging around this house, and Miranda Spenser made him uncomfortable with her Jesus talk. When he stood, the three women understood he and Grace were leaving.

  Elizabeth Walker escorted him through the house, while Miranda and Grace took their time following. “I’m glad you stopped by, Roman.”

  “Are you?” He didn’t believe that for a second.

  “I was as curious about you as you are about me.”