Heartsick, Grace sat at the table, the papers in her lap. Clearly, Roman agreed all ties needed to be severed. She just hadn’t expected to feel so shattered. Covering her face, she wept.
Oh, God, why did You bring me here? Why did I ever meet Roman Velasco if all he’d do is turn my life upside down and inside out? Help me understand!
Samuel grabbed hold of her jeans and cried. Wiping tears away, Grace lifted him and held him close. This was no time for a pity party. She needed to remember the good things that had come out of her relationship with Roman. They’d had a wonderful four days together on the road. He hadn’t died in Santa Clarita. He’d met Jesus. She couldn’t allow herself to sink into an abyss of regrets again and play the if only and what-if games. She thought of Selah and her dreams. Now, she had to put down her own.
Setting Samuel on the rug, Grace put everything back in the manila envelope, folded it carefully, and tucked it into the tote. Time to pack and move on.
After reading Grace’s carefully worded letter of resignation, Roman knew whatever chance he had with her was over. He watched her arrive early Saturday morning. His heart squeezed tight when she appeared on the path, Samuel riding on her hip, and several flattened boxes tucked under her arm. She didn’t look up. When she disappeared inside the cottage, Roman moved away from the windows. He tried to concentrate on the painting. Giving up, he went back to the windows. Two men carried a sofa out of the house. Two more toted a mattress. Grace didn’t have much, so the work was done and everyone was gone before noon.
Roman stood at the easel for the rest of the day. The landscape Grace had started with a single line was coming together. Every time he looked at it, he saw Grace. That had been the point, hadn’t it? He’d intended to show her, see if she noticed what he was hiding in the scene.
The phone rang. Roman answered without looking at the ID, hoping against all odds it was Grace. Maybe they could talk, work things out. Unfortunately, it was Hector. His compadre had learned enough English to be understood, and wanted Roman to see the mural he’d just finished at a Mexican restaurant on Olvera Street. Roman needed to get out of the house and said sure, he had time, plenty of time. He headed downtown.
As soon as Roman walked in the door, Hector called out and wove his way through the tables packed with patrons, a wide grin on his brown face. “Amigo!” He waved his arm toward the wall. “What do you think?”
Roman liked the vibrant colors, the mountains in the background, Mexican workers toiling in fields, a beautiful Latina carrying a basket of white lilies, children in colorful costumes dancing in a circle. He nodded. “Buen trabajo, amigo.”
Hector laughed. “You speak Spanish!”
Roman forced a smile. “You just heard the extent of my vocabulary.” Other than gracias and a string of curses best forgotten. A plump redhead made her way toward them. Roman recognized her from the picture Hector had shared in San Diego. “Your girlfriend?”
“Mi esposa. Two weeks ago. Vegas. No questions asked.” Hector put a possessive arm around her as she looked at him with adoring eyes. “Tracy, meet Roman Velasco, el patrón.”
“A pleasure.” Roman shook her hand.
“Hector has talked a lot about you.”
Roman winced. “I’m not an easy boss.”
Hector wasn’t finished dispensing news. “We’re expecting a bebé.” He looked proud and happy. Feeling an odd pang of envy, Roman congratulated them.
“Come.” Hector waved him over to a vacant table. “Dinner is on me.”
The guacamole and chips were fresh and delicious, the salsa hot enough to make Roman’s eyes water. For a small girl, Tracy had a big appetite. Hector chuckled and said she was eating enough for twins. Roman ordered a combination plate of chiles rellenos, enchiladas, refried beans, and rice. Hector talked about the importance of family and friends. Other mural projects had come his way. He’d be able to support a family now, but assured Roman he never forgot un amigo. “Anytime you need me, I’ll be there.”
Roman told him the mural in San Diego had been his last. “I’m working on canvas now.” The landscape would keep him occupied for a while. What then? And when he finished it, would he sell it? Doubtful.
The waitress cleared plates and brought back coffee and flan.
“Bring Grace next time you come down. She’ll want to see the wall.”
“Grace quit.”
Hector’s brows shot up. “You let her?”
“Wasn’t my call.”
“But you still see her. Yes? She lives right next door.”
“She moved out. This morning, as a matter of fact.”
Hector looked angry. “Eres estúpido o no más obstinado?”
Tracy blushed. “Hector said—”
Roman held up his hand. “I think I got it.” Was he stupid or just obstinate? Why not be honest? “Let’s just say I took a shot, and she dodged the bullet.”
“You just give up?”
Roman turned the mug of coffee and didn’t answer.
Hector shook his head. “She was good for you, jefe.”
“Yeah.” Roman lifted his mug. “But I wasn’t good for her.” He looked at the gold band on Hector’s finger. “Things don’t always work out the way you hope.”
Dinner over, Roman didn’t feel up to Topanga Canyon and drove to Laguna Beach. Talia’s gallery was closed. Just as well. She’d want to know what he was painting. If he told her, she’d want to sell it, sight unseen. He headed north. He stopped in Malibu and walked the beach. He sat, forearms resting on his knees. The moon shimmered white light on the sea. He thought of the light that had surrounded him, the firm grip that had pulled him up from the abyss.
Jesus, why did You bother saving me?
Angry, Roman pulled out his phone.
Jasper’s voice was groggy from sleep. “Everything okay?”
“I took your advice and suggested Grace and I move to the next level.”
“Oh.” Silence. “And?”
“She quit. She moved out of the cottage.”
Blankets rustled and Jasper sighed deeply. “Start at the beginning.”
“I made a nice dinner, set everything up on the patio. She likes the view.” Roman’s eyes felt gritty. He stopped talking and tried to breathe.
“Did you make a pass?”
“I kissed her. She said she loved me. I asked her to move in—”
“Move in?”
“She didn’t like the idea of being friends with benefits.”
Jasper groaned. “Bobby Ray, when I said ‘settle down,’ I didn’t mean ask her to shack up with you. I meant marry her.”
“Who gets married these days without trying each other on?” He thought of Hector and Tracy, already pregnant.
“Try each other on? You mean like a change of clothes.” Jasper sounded angry now. “You want a relationship that lasts? You commit. You want to play house and screw around? Go back to the club and find another one-night stand.”
Roman could feel Jasper’s disappointment, but it wasn’t close to his own. How many times had he risked his life climbing to high places to blast a wall, but he didn’t have the guts to risk his heart. He thought he could protect himself from the pain, but it was here, full-on, deep-set, like claws trying to pull him under.
“Bobby Ray.” Jasper’s tone had softened. “Call her. Apologize. Ask if you can start over.”
“It’s too late.”
“You won’t know unless you try.”
“She’s not picking up.”
“Be strong and courageous. For once in your life, come out of the shadows.”
They talked for over an hour. Roman stayed on the beach all night and watched the sunrise. “Jesus.” The light and colors brought back the relief and wonder of being pulled up out of hell and feeling life come into him again. “Jesus.” Roman wanted to pray, but didn’t know how. “Jesus.” He looked at the sunrise and remembered the power that lifted him from death to life. “Jesus, help me.”
When Roman returned to Topanga Canyon, he went into the cottage. Grace had left the key on the kitchen counter. No note. Wrenching pain filled him. Alone, in silence, he admitted what he’d known for a long time. He loved her. Until this moment, he hadn’t been able to admit it, let alone say it to her. If he said it now, she wouldn’t believe him.
He’d spent three years looking for his mother before finding out she’d died the night she left him alone in the apartment. Only then had he given up. Was that when he gave up on loving anyone more than himself? Roman walked back to the house and sat on the edge of the leather sofa, head in his hands.
One person might tell him how to build a bridge to Grace. Brian Henley answered on the third ring. “I’ve been hoping you’d call. I just got home from church.”
“Can we meet for coffee? I need some light on a few things.”
“We all do.”
They set a time and place.
ROMAN ENTERED Common Grounds and spotted Brian Henley seated at a table in the corner. Laptop open, he raised a tall cup of coffee in greeting. Roman nodded in acknowledgment and got into line. He’d expected Brian to suggest a Starbucks downtown, not a place in an industrial park filled with blue-collar workers.
Roman relaxed. He was back in the old hood. A tattooed, male barista took orders while a girl with flaming-red hair and piercings in her nose, her lip, and the tops of her ears worked the machines.
Sluggish from lack of sleep, Roman ordered three shots of espresso in a tall, regular coffee. The two baristas moved like dancers, working around each other with tango precision. They had to, considering the number of clients. Most customers collected their orders and left. A few stayed, occupying the half-dozen tables.
Brian closed his laptop when Roman slid into the seat facing him. Tucking the computer into a worn backpack, he looped the straps over the back of his chair. He picked up his cup of coffee and gave Roman his full attention. “Glad you didn’t back out.”
“I had my moments.” The coffee was hot and rich. Still not as good as Grace’s. “You hang out here a lot?”
“It’s close to work and a good place to meet new people.”
This clean-cut guy wanted to meet ghetto rats? A teenage girl with dreadlocks came in and called a greeting. Brian knew her name. “Does Shanice know you’re meeting chicks at a local coffeehouse?” He meant it to be rude.
Brian just smiled. “She’s got nothing to worry about.” He grew serious. “You look tired.”
“Too much on my mind.”
“Hell or Grace?”
“They kind of go together, don’t they?” Roman gave a bleak laugh. He wanted to ask if Brian had learned where she was staying, but knew he wouldn’t get an answer. “She’s probably told you the whole story by now.”
“She didn’t volunteer, and I didn’t ask. You talked about your near-death experience in hell at the barbecue. That’s something I won’t forget.”
“I hadn’t planned to talk about it at all.” Roman spoke dryly.
“Hard thing to keep locked up inside yourself.”
“I know Jesus saved me, but from where I’m sitting, things are worse, not better.”
“Okay.” Brian nodded. “Maybe you’re trying to hold on to old ways. The question is: are you willing to give Jesus your life?”
Frustrated, Roman leaned in, teeth clenched. “What does that mean?”
“Stop living by your own rules.”
Roman had read enough of the Bible Grace gave him to know about rules. “Yeah, well, the Bible is full of commands. Most of them don’t make a lot of sense to me.”
Brian leaned forward, too, holding Roman’s look. “Here’s the good news, Roman. We’re under the new covenant, the one Jesus paid for with His own blood. When you say yes to Jesus, He gives you the Holy Spirit. The next time you read His Word with that in mind and some prayer, you’ll begin to understand. The Spirit is going to teach you and show you how it applies to your life. You’ll start recognizing God’s voice. You’ll know where you’ve gone wrong and how to get right with God. You follow His lead. Your life begins to change from the inside out.”
Roman shook his head. “You make it sound easy.”
“Simple.” Brian leaned back, never breaking eye contact. “Not easy.”
“You seem to have it all together, Pastor.”
Brian’s mouth curved in a wry smile. “Hardly.” His phone buzzed. “I need accountability as much as any man, maybe more.” He checked the message and tucked the phone back in his pocket. “Pastors tend to be targets for the enemy. You met a few of Satan’s helpers. Destroy a shepherd, and a whole flock can be lost.”
Curious, Roman shifted the conversation away from an experience he didn’t want to think about, let alone talk about. “How did you end up as a—what did you call it? A shepherd?”
Brian talked about his childhood in the Midwest, his farming family, growing up in the church, the pretty girl he met at a Christian event and married while at Bible college and lost all too soon.
The easy rapport surprised Roman. He found himself talking about growing up in the Tenderloin, shoplifting from corner markets so he had something to eat, his mother’s disappearance, moving from one foster home to another. “Jasper says I have abandonment issues.”
“No big surprise there.”
Roman finished the last of his coffee. “I never had a father.”
“You always had a Father. Now you can get to know Him.” Brian’s phone signaled another message. He checked it.
Roman glanced at the time and said a foul word out of habit. “We’ve been talking for two hours.”
Brian laughed. “Good to know we can. I’ve got to get back to church.” He stood and shrugged on his backpack. He stopped on the sidewalk. “How about next week?”
Roman was surprised the pastor was willing to go another round with him. “Sure. You name the time. I make my own schedule, but you have a job.”
Brian walked backward, facing Roman. “I’ll check my calendar and call you.”
“You need a ride?”
“I’m two minutes away. The church is a block down on the right.”
Roman didn’t see any steeple. “That’s an industrial building.”
“Yeah!” Brian grinned. “Low rent, plenty of space. Hey, do you play basketball? The youth group is playing tonight.”
“No basketball.” Roman sighed. “I used to do parkour.” Stretches and strengthening exercises had brought a lot of pain, but no improvement to his leg. It was a constant reminder he hadn’t imagined his trip to hell.
“Why don’t you come and look around on Sunday? No shirts and ties here. Service at ten.” Shifting his pack, Brian jogged across the street and disappeared down a driveway.
The meeting hadn’t gone as Roman expected. He’d felt at ease, as though nothing he might say would surprise Brian Henley. Maybe pastors had heard it all.
With the encouragement of her friends, Grace decided to launch an online business. She wasn’t convinced it would be enough to support her and Samuel, but it was a start.
“Good grief, girl.” Shanice was her biggest cheerleader. “High school honor roll, scholarship to UCLA, promoted from receptionist and secretary to office manager at a public relations firm in under four years! You have a lot going for you. You’ve got all kinds of marketable skills, honey. All you need is a little confidence. I tried to tell you that when you first lost your job.”
Grace’s friends had taken on the project at their most recent Sunday lunch.
Ashley suggested a website. “We need a good name for it. You can link it to a blog about a single mom with a baby making it in the world. That would help drive traffic to your site.”
Grace gave a soft laugh. “I haven’t made it anywhere yet.”
“You will. God isn’t going to let you down.” Ashley stirred her coffee. “It’s the journey people want to read about.”
“You can offer several different services.” Shanice jotted notes. “You k
now how to write a good résumé. That’s a marketable skill right there. You helped your husband write his term papers, didn’t you? You could offer online editing. And tutoring.”
“Did you ever write slogans for that PR firm?” Ashley made herself comfortable on the sofa.
“Sometimes.” Harvey Bernstein had often asked her to help with brainstorming. She’d come up with a few one-liners still seen on billboards.
“Sometimes start-up companies need people to write slogans. They pay good money for them.”
Her friends’ confidence in God’s provision and in her skills bolstered Grace. She designed VirtualGrace.biz with free graphics. She listed her qualifications and services offered and wrote her first blog post.
She called Harvey Bernstein with her plan. He kept his eyes on the game and knew several people who might need her assistance. He even told her what prices she should charge. “These are up-and-comers who will expect to pay more, and you’re worth it. I just pulled up your website. Great job, Grace. That’ll get you work as well.” Harvey had always been an encourager.
The first inquiry came from the son of a friend of Harvey’s who had a start-up tech business and needed a brochure. He told her she’d been highly recommended, and sent his business plan and pictures.
Her first blog, “Sifting through the Rubble,” drew attention as well, especially after Shanice shared it with everyone she knew—old friends and new, church members, business associates at two studios. Ashley passed along the post to fellow teachers and administrators. Grace hadn’t expected her confessional to be of interest to anyone, but comments and e-mails poured into the website, most from women, half of them mothers. A few offered practical advice.
Selah kept calling. They had talked twice since Grace took Samuel, and both had been distressing conversations. Grace stopped answering. She hoped Selah would come to accept that her time with Samuel, while greatly appreciated, was now over. This was the tenth voice mail in two days. I know you’ve received my messages, Grace. Considering all I did for you, you could at least give me the courtesy of returning my calls. I want to know that Sammy is all right.
The Masterpiece Page 35
