The Masterpiece

by Francine Rivers

  “You’ll have to put him down if you’re going to have coffee.”

  Roman put Samuel back on his stomach and placed the rabbit just out of reach. “Go for it, buddy.”

  Grace handed Roman the mug of fresh brew and busied herself taking out sandwich fixings. She thanked God the man didn’t have a clue what she was feeling. Everything had been fine until he died on the sidewalk, and her world turned upside down. She didn’t want to love him. She’d just be hurt again, far worse this time than ever before. She felt a blush coming and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Turning away, she opened the jar of peanut butter. Get a grip, Grace. Don’t forget who you’re dealing with here.

  “I haven’t thanked you properly for saving my life.”

  She faced him. “I didn’t save your life. God did.”

  “Yes, I know Jesus saved me, but He used you to do it.” He looked grim. “You did CPR on me. Remember?” He rubbed his chest. “My chest still aches.”

  “I’m not surprised. A man helped me. And then two paramedics worked on you, and then a surgeon. You had a lot of hands on you, Roman.”

  “Yours were the first.”

  Why did he have to look at her like that? Her insides felt warm and soft. “Well, I’m glad you’re alive.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  Roman hadn’t moved, but he felt closer. His gaze traveled over her face, lingering on her mouth. Samuel started to cry. Thankful for the distraction, Grace went to check on her son. She bent down and munched at his tummy, making him laugh before she scooped him up.

  Roman returned to the sofa. Leaning forward, knees apart, he held the mug in both hands and watched her pour formula into a bottle. He looked so pensive, but then considering what he’d been through, he did have a lot to think over. She warmed the bottle in the microwave. “Did you sleep any better last night?”

  “No.”

  Grace came back with Samuel on her hip and handed Roman the bottle of warm milk. He looked surprised, then worried. “You’re sure you trust me?”

  “I only have two hands, and you’re both hungry.” She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile as she relinquished her son. “Be brave, Roman. Cradle him in your arms, give him the bottle, and you’ll be just fine.”

  Roman did what she told him and gave her a smug look. “I think I have the hang of it.”

  All that male confidence needed a reality check. “I should warn you: what goes in one end comes out the other.” He uttered a short, suitable word. She smiled slightly. “Precisely.”

  Grace prepared chicken parmigiana and slid it into the oven. She started water heating for spaghetti and cut squash, sweet peppers, and onions for roasting. Setting the table for two, she looked over and saw Roman stretched out on the sofa with Samuel lying on his chest, both sound asleep. Heart aching, Grace sat in the rocker and watched them.

  Oh, Lord, don’t let me make another mistake, please. I don’t want to be like my mother and pick a man who’ll destroy me. Patrick came close. And the other . . . I can’t blame anyone but myself for the choices I’ve made.

  Samuel stirred. She carefully lifted him away, not wanting to disturb Roman. Holding her son close, she studied the man occupying her sofa. Roman had been tormented by nightmares at the hospital. He’d talked in his sleep and cried out at times. Now, he looked so peaceful.

  Roman awakened to the sound of running water. He sat up, rubbing his face. He’d slept deeply, without dreams for the first time since he’d had the near-death experience. Grace stood at the kitchen sink, giving Samuel a bath. Towel draped over her shoulder, she looked at him. “You’re awake.”

  “I didn’t mean to go out like that.”

  “You were exhausted.” She gave a nod. “Your dinner is on the table. You might have to microwave it.” Samuel splashed, and she laughed.

  The meal smelled and looked good. “You’ve gone above and beyond duty taking care of your boss.” He pulled out a chair and sat, feeling more at home here than anywhere else.

  “It’s no more than a friend would do.” Grace pulled the stopper and let the water drain. Wrapping the towel around Samuel, she lifted him from the sink. “Come on, little man. Let’s get you ready for bed.”

  Roman took a few bites, relishing the home-cooked meal. He noticed the time on the microwave and groaned inwardly. Grace didn’t seem upset, but what woman wants a man to come over so he can spend three hours sleeping on her sofa? He called out to her. “I’ll take dinner over to my place and get out of your way.” He pushed the chair back.

  She came back, Samuel riding her hip, his hand clutching the front of her blouse. “You can finish dinner before you go.” When Samuel started to fuss, Grace bounced him and kissed him on the top of the head. “I’d better get him settled.”

  “Thanks for dinner, Grace.”

  “You’re welcome. I think you’ll sleep better now that you’re home and fed.”

  By home, she meant the big house, and he knew he wouldn’t. He finished dinner, rinsed his plate, and put it in the dishwasher, seeing the irony that he knew how to keep things neat and tidy in someone else’s house, but not his own.

  Collecting his cane, he closed her door on the way out. He stood on her stoop and let his eyes adjust to the night. Crickets chirped and fell silent as he walked along the pathway. He’d left the front door unlocked. Flicking on the lights, he came into the foyer. He left them on and switched on more in the living room. He turned more on in the hall. His footsteps echoed. He’d left his bed unmade. When had he become such a slob? He looked around his stark, black-and-white, ultramodern bedroom and decided he’d sleep better in the guest room.

  Wide-awake now, Roman went back to the living room. The silence unnerved him. He turned on the television. Pulling his black book out from under the couch, he sketched the prostitute’s house in Bodie. Flipping the page, he drew his mother. One drawing flowed into another: Reaper lying in a pool of blood, White Boy falling. The images darkened, and he filled several pages with demonic faces. Realizing what he was doing, he shoved the book back under the leather couch.

  He hadn’t seen Jesus’ face. All he saw was light.

  Raking hands through his hair, he stood and limped to the windows, where he looked out at the night sky. He saw darkness everywhere. Grace would see the stars. He felt seven years old again, abandoned, scared. He’d never felt safe in the apartment when his mother was gone. Even less so when she brought men back. That last night, she’d left him alone and vulnerable. He’d clung, and she’d pushed him away. He’d watched out the window, just as he was doing now. He moved back from the blackness.

  Jesus. Jesus.

  Roman sensed monsters lurking just beyond the veil, so close, still intent on pulling him away from the One who’d saved him.

  THE WEEK PASSED SLOWLY without Grace coming to work each day. Roman gave her some space. It was the least he could do, after everything she had done for him.

  Late Saturday night, his phone beeped an incoming message. Grace. Would you like to go to church with me and Samuel tomorrow?

  Roman’s first inclination was to say no, but he remembered Jasper’s advice. Best to go for the first time with someone he knew. And he’d have more time with Grace. He thumbed a response. What time? Her answer came quickly, and she wished him a good night.

  Roman drove to Van Nuys, Grace in the front passenger seat and Samuel strapped into a car seat behind him. The parking lot filled; a multitude migrated toward the open doors, where greeters handed out programs. Roman had never felt comfortable in a crowd.

  Grace turned to him. “I’ll take Samuel to the nursery and be right back.” She nodded toward a set of open double doors into what looked like a small stadium. “We usually sit on the right side about halfway down.”

  He felt a moment of panic as she disappeared into the throng. Who had she meant by “we”? He spotted her again, weaving her way through the crowd like a salmon going upriver, and then she was gone. Others moved around
him like he was a rock in the stream. He tried to get out of the way, but felt himself swept along in the tide. Once through the doors, Roman slipped out of the stream and stood close to the wall.

  The sanctuary looked like a concert hall, complete with a band setup onstage. A large screen hung behind them, high enough for everyone to see announcements rolling one after another: a women’s Bible study on Wednesday nights, choir auditions and practice times, men’s ministry events. A mission team was heading to Zimbabwe for two weeks; volunteers were needed for the Sunday school classes.

  What was taking Grace so long?

  Maybe he should have stayed home and watched a few church services on television before he ventured into the fray. He might have had a better idea what to expect.

  “Hey, you!” Shanice appeared, grinning at him. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Are you here all by yourself? And why do you have a cane?”

  “Torn muscle.” He shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. He looked over Shanice’s head toward the back doors. “Grace is around somewhere. She said she was dropping off Samuel in the nursery, wherever that is.” Must be Timbuktu, considering how long she’d been gone.

  “You look ready to bolt.” Shanice’s dark eyes danced with amusement. “Never been in a church before?”

  “No.” And this just might be his last time.

  “It can be pretty overwhelming. Come on.” She took him by the arm. “We’ll take good care of you until Grace catches up.” He spotted Ashley and Nicole. They must be the rest of the “we” Grace mentioned. He looked around for exit signs. Shanice almost pushed him into the row of seats. “Just do what everyone else is doing and you’ll fit right in with the crowd.”

  Roman had never been good at that.

  A man came out center stage and shouted for God’s people to praise the Lord. Everyone surged to their feet. Roman stood uneasily. Lyrics replaced announcements on the screen. Everyone was singing. Loudly. It was a giant karaoke bar, but no one needed a few drinks to loosen up. This gang was already bouncing and clapping.

  Jasper had told him about choirs and pastors in black robes, silence and decorum. He hadn’t said anything about shrieking electric guitars, synthesizers, drums, or singers who sounded like rock stars. The place shook with the music. Shanice leaned toward him. “Don’t you sing?”

  “Not even in the shower.”

  By the third song, most people had their hands in the air, some jabbing a finger at the ceiling like football fans rooting for their home team. Grace slipped into their row. Shanice made room for her. She said something in Grace’s ear before they switched places. Grace scooted in beside Roman. She smiled at him and then joined in the singing. Her voice wasn’t as strong or trained as Shanice’s, but he liked it better.

  After half an hour, Roman figured singing was all that went on in church. He read the lyrics carefully and began to enjoy how a couple thousand voices could blend together. Just when he was getting comfortable, the music ended and another man came onstage and invited everyone to pray. Roman looked around as he listened, taking in the worshipful attitude of so many.

  When the prayer ended, a rippling sound surrounded him as everyone took their seats. He sat, tense and watchful. The overhead screen posted an outline. Grace opened her Bible. He’d brought the one she gave him, but didn’t have a clue where to look. She took it and found the place quickly, pointing out the passage to him. Roman read the chapter, closed the Bible and put it aside, and focused on the speaker. The preacher talked about guarding your heart because it set the course for your life. Roman knew all about guarding his heart. He’d been doing it for years.

  The sermon ended too quickly for Roman. He wanted to hear more, but the band came out again. A last song, another word from the pastor, and it was all over. “I’ll get Samuel and meet you out front.” Before Roman could stop her, Grace slipped out and joined the throng heading for the exit. Nicole sat texting. Ashley looked around and then intercepted a man in a business suit. He looked happy to see her.

  Shanice grinned at him. “You survived. What do you think of church?”

  “Not what I expected.”

  “Is that good or bad?”

  “I don’t know. I was expecting formality and tradition and a list of everything you have to stop doing.”

  She laughed. “There are all kinds of churches, Roman.” Someone caught her attention and gave her a hug. Roman noticed plenty of public displays of affection, all circumspect, and hoped no one would attempt to hug him.

  Shanice introduced him to several people, including a man who immediately invited him to a men’s breakfast the following Saturday. Roman said thanks, he’d think about it. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than having breakfast with a bunch of strangers.

  “There are a wide range of choices, if you want to get involved,” Shanice told him as they made their way to the double doors. “We have baseball and soccer teams, and there are plenty of guys who like to play tennis and golf.”

  Golf? Roman gave her a dry smile. “Anybody do parkour?”

  “Is that why you’re limping?” When he stayed silent, she gave a slight shrug. “Well, you’d be surprised. I know two stuntmen who go to church here. So, where did you learn it? Training for American Ninja Warrior?”

  “I picked it up in the neighborhood I grew up in, in San Francisco. A matter of survival.”

  She raised her brows. “I thought you were some aristocrat’s brat who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth.”

  “Seriously?” Roman laughed. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

  “Well, homeboy, we were neighbors. I grew up across the bay, in Oakland. Plenty of drugs and gangs there, too.” She gave a grim laugh. “I always picked a boyfriend big enough to beat up anyone who tried to mess with me.”

  He knew there was more to that story. “Parents?”

  “My father’s serving time at Chowchilla. My mother was one tough mama who made sure I finished school and went on to college. How about you?”

  “Not so lucky.”

  Grace joined them, Samuel riding her hip like a cute little monkey. Shanice grinned. “Roman’s still here. I thought he was going to bolt for the door before the service even got started, but he stuck it out like a good soldier.” She took Samuel and buried her face in his neck, blowing raspberries against his skin while he squirmed and laughed.

  “Roman drove, so I won’t make it to lunch today.”

  Shanice handed Samuel back. “I’ll call you later. We’ll make time this week.” She squeezed Roman’s arm. “It was good to have you here, Mr. Velasco.”

  Grace kept Samuel at the cottage until his bedtime. Bundling him up, she took him back to Burbank. Selah came out the front door the moment Grace pulled up to the curb. She didn’t even greet Grace as she opened the door, unbuckled Samuel, and lifted him from his car seat. “I’ve missed my Sammy.” Jostled awake, he cried. “Ay, mi corazón, al fin estás en casa.”

  Selah slammed the car door. Glaring at Grace, she spoke in rapid Spanish. She reverted to English. “I was worried! I thought you’d had an accident! Don’t keep him so late.” She didn’t give Grace a chance to speak as she hurried up the walkway and went inside the house. The front porch light went out.

  Grace got back in the car and sat for a moment, fighting tears. She felt wrenching loss after having had a whole week with Samuel, knowing it would be Friday before she would see him again, and then only for two nights. She hadn’t had any luck finding suitable, affordable childcare, even after months of looking. Was she being too particular, demanding too much in the way of recommendations? Was she afraid to hurt Selah, who had been so supportive over the last year? Selah hadn’t been concerned about Grace’s feelings this evening. She had looked at her like an enemy, spoken harsh words, some of which Grace understood. Ungrateful. Irresponsible. She cried most of the way home.

  Unlocking the cottage door, Grace dumped her pu
rse and keys on the table. The empty crib made her cry again. She got ready for bed. An hour passed, then another, and she still couldn’t sleep. She got up when the digital clock glowed 12:34.

  Pulling on a thick terry-cloth robe, Grace went outside. The pavers felt cold against her bare feet. She inhaled the crisp night air. The lights were on in Roman’s studio. Apparently, he was having a sleepless night, too. Wrapping her arms around herself, she looked up at the stars, flung diamonds on black velvet. She wanted to pray, but didn’t have words for what she was feeling, what she needed to ask.

  My son. Lord, my son, my son.

  Wiping tears away, she sighed. The chill had begun to penetrate, driving her inside. She sat on the sofa and read her Bible until her eyes grew heavy. Rather than face the empty crib in the bedroom, she pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa and covered herself. The pillow smelled faintly of Roman’s aftershave. She dreamed of him and awakened breathless. Disturbed, she lay awake again.

  Oh, Lord, help.

  Grace inhaled the strong scent of fresh paint when she entered the main house the next morning. She made coffee, filled a mug, and headed for the studio. Roman stood at the back wall, making wide sweeps with a paint roller, covering whatever he’d painted there recently. “Good morning. Have you been up all night?” She felt her cheeks warm, wondering if he would ask how she’d known he’d been up at all.

  “Had to get something off my mind.” Roman made one more broad sweep before dumping the roller into a rumpled tarp. Vibrant colors and shapes bled through the muddy beige. She tried to discern what he’d hidden.

  “I saw you on the patio around midnight. You’re not sleeping any better than I am.”

  She didn’t look at him. “What were you painting?”

  “Nothing worth talking about.”

  Nothing good, by the tone of his voice. “Could you paint Jesus?” She offered him the mug of coffee.

  “I didn’t see His face.” He took the mug, his fingers brushing hers. “It’s the others I remember clearly.”