The Masterpiece

by Francine Rivers

Looking back, she wondered if Patrick had ever loved her. Every promise Patrick had made, he’d broken. He had needed her. He had used her. It was that simple.

He muttered a foul word under his breath. “I don’t know what I want, but I think you’re what I need.”

Roman looked her over again. He wasn’t sure he liked anyone making rules in his house, but then this one had done more in two hours than the combined efforts of the other four. And he liked her. He didn’t know why. Maybe it was her complete lack of interest in him. Might be nice to have someone who did the work and didn’t ask too many questions.

Grow up, Grace. You live with the mess you make. Maybe God was punishing her. He had every right, considering how she’d behaved after the divorce.

Grace had put the office in order by the end of the second week. She liked to stay busy. She was an active but quiet presence in the house, and he liked that. But this morning, she said she wanted to explain the new filing system. He had a feeling he knew where she was going with that. He’d said he didn’t have time.

“Do you have time to talk now, Mr. Velasco?” “Depends on what you want to talk about.” He faced her. “Don’t even think about quitting.”

It didn’t take long to get hooked on what the gang had to offer. The problem was, Bobby Ray didn’t like carrying what had killed his mother. Every night after he made a delivery, he’d dream about Mama in a cheap motel room. She’d be sitting on rumpled sheets, her body emaciated, her face ravaged by guilt and shame. She’d cry and hold her hands out to him. You know I love you, baby. You know I’m gonna come back. Don’t you? He’d wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, tears still wet on his cheeks.

Roman always knew when Grace Moore came into the studio. The air in the room changed.

“Not so fast.” The stool scraped across the floor as he stood. “I’m not hiring another temp.”

The more Roman thought about it, the better he liked the idea of Grace Moore being his next-door neighbor.

“Have you prayed about it?” “Constantly. I’m still praying.” Grace looked at the three. “It seems to be a gift from God, or am I just desperate to find any way to be on my own again? It solves one problem, but creates another.”

His mouth tipped. “You mean they’re checking me out, making sure I’m not some wolf after a lamb.”

He raked his hands through his hair. Maybe he should’ve shaved, but he didn’t want to look like this meeting was the biggest event of his weekend. Even if it was. Why should this girl’s opinion matter to him? Because she had class, and having her around reminded him how far he had come up in the world. Unlike other women, who just wanted to drag him back down again.

He extended his hand to Shanice first and looked her straight in the eye. “It’s good to know Ms. Moore has friends who look out for her.”

She lost the baby in the second trimester. He didn’t try to hide his relief. He brought home flowers and a bottle of champagne. “Back to plan A.” When he popped the cork, she came close to hating him.

By the time Patrick finished his rant, the seed of fear was firmly planted. He hadn’t touched her, but she sensed he’d wanted to hit her. Grace didn’t say anything more.

Patrick slept soundly, and Grace knew they’d crossed a line. She was afraid of what lay on the other side.

She was Patrick’s wife. Shouldn’t she fight for her marriage? Say something, Grace. Speak up before it’s too late. Don’t just sit there and let him walk out the door. Another voice gently whispered inside her heart. Forgive him and let him go.

His cell phone rang, and Jasper Hawley’s face appeared. His teacher, counselor, and mentor at Masterson Ranch called every month or two, checking up on him. He visited now and then, too, although it had been a while since Roman had seen him.

“What’s in Oxnard?” “Visiting one of my lost boys who just got out of prison. Speaking of lost boys, isn’t today your birthday?” Roman relaxed, pleased. “Have you been poking through my juvie records again?” “I have all the pertinent facts memorized. See you soon.”

Troubled, Roman gave in. “What is wrong with you? You’ve lost about fifty pounds since I last saw you. And don’t tell me you’re on a diet.” “Nothing wrong with me now. I went through chemo.” Roman lost his appetite. He looked at Jasper and didn’t know what to say. “Don’t bury me yet. I went into the hospital with a colon and came out with a semicolon.” Jasper’s grin died. “That was supposed to be a joke.”

“Bobby Ray Dean.” The name jarred Roman. “No one has called me that in ages.” “You’ve come a long way, son, but you still don’t know who you are or what you want, do you?” “More.”

“I’d get married again, if I met the right woman. Up to now, no one comes close to the one I had.” Roman thought of Grace Moore.

At two minutes to nine, the chimes went off again. When Roman opened the door, he knew by the look on her face that Grace Moore had decided to move into the cottage. “That happy about it, huh?” “We’ll have things to discuss first. After work.” This girl didn’t make anything easy.

He talked faster, and Grace had to concentrate to catch everything. Clearly, the man liked Roman. El jefe paid well and was a gifted artist. Hector considered it an honor to work with him. He didn’t pause until Roman interrupted their conversation. “Do you know what he’s saying?” “Most of it. He was just telling me about himself.” And you.

And enough with the Mr. Velasco. You didn’t say Señor Espinoza. You said Hector. Time to call me Roman.”

How much money did it take to get into heaven, anyway? Was there a heaven? Or hell? Did God even exist? Roman had never lived with anyone who thought God was real, let alone necessary. “Live and let live” was religion enough for him.

“Hawley still keeps tabs on me. Calls me one of his lost boys. He’s making sure I walk the straight and narrow, I guess.” He finished the orange juice. “End of story.”

“Prayers.” He gave a telling laugh. “I hate to disillusion you, Grace, but prayer isn’t what got you the place. You’re good at your job. I wanted to keep you around. That’s all. There’s no one out there listening or intervening on our behalf.”

She hadn’t come to faith because someone gave her all the answers. She came to faith because she met and talked with someone who made her feel enveloped by God’s love. Still, she had to say something to this man who looked like he had everything and nothing. “I believe in God. Life can be pretty unbearable without something to believe in.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Are you letting your hair grow out?” Her hand rose instinctively to touch the hair that now covered the back of her neck. She’d cut it short in penance. Her friends told her it was time to stop punishing herself. “I guess.” “You’d look good with long hair.” Patrick had said the same thing. “Short is more practical.” He frowned and opened his mouth as though to say something, then changed his mind.

Grace Moore would be moving into his cottage this weekend. He was already having second thoughts. He didn’t want to become too close, and having her right next door might be a temptation.

If I have to be in a group home, why not one in Alameda County?” “Because it’s right across the bay, and you’d run away again.” “San Francisco is my home!” “Just because it’s the only place you’ve ever been doesn’t mean it’s the best place for you.” “It should be my choice, shouldn’t it?” “You’ve been making choices all along, Bobby Ray. Your most recent choice landed you here.

Sam handed over a thick file. “Everything you need to know about him is in there.” Bobby Ray knew it held family history, a list of foster homes he had been in and out of over the past eight years, along with his former foster parents’ reports, school records, test scores, court records, and whatever else the system had managed to dredge up and commit to paper in an attempt to describe who he was. Nothing worth anything. Nobody knew him.

Blaze Star or Nash might be in a horse trailer tomorrow and out of here. Ever think about that?” “Sure I think about it. I’m not stupid.” “So why get attached?” “You see me ever getting a chance like this again? I’ll probably end up like my old man, serving time. I’m going to enjoy this until I’m eighteen.”

“You’re finally talking, Bobby Ray.” Chet Masterson stood calmly studying the wall. “Looks like you have a lot to say.”

“But wait. Roman Velasco. That would be a great name for an artist!” She put her hands up as though framing the wall. “Roman Velasco lived here.” “Pseudonyms are for writers.” Chet laughed. “Tell that to Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent. If pseudonyms are good enough for superheroes, why can’t an artist have one?”

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.

She looked at the wall one last time. “If you leave the ladder in here, I can repaint that wall a nice eggshell white.” “It’d take more than one coat, and what’s the point?” “It’d be a nice clean canvas so you can start fresh.” Start fresh. If only he could.

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?”

“What do you want, Roman?” You. The thought caught him by surprise.

“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?

“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.

They only kissed once that first day. The second time, they managed to study a few hours before they ended up on the couch. The next time, Patrick didn’t want to stop. “I love you so much. I’ve loved you since I walked into McDonald’s and saw you behind the counter. I need you, Grace. Don’t say no.” Grace thought she loved him, too, but she knew what they were doing was wrong. She could hear a whisper in the back of her mind. This isn’t what I want for you, beloved. Leave this place.

Was that a baby crying? The door opened, and Grace’s expression was anything but welcoming. She held a red-faced, crying baby in her arms. Roman grimaced. “He doesn’t look happy.” Neither did she. “He’s had a big day. Sometimes when he’s overstimulated, he gets fussy.” Roman guessed she’d babysat enough times to know.

Jasper was watching him, too, and had an oddly speculative gleam in his eyes. Roman glared at him. “What?” “You tell me.” Jasper lifted his glass of bubbly. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

Jasper tilted his head, studying Roman. “This is something new for you.”

“You can’t keep your eyes off Grace.”

“You’re still up.” “Not for long.” “I’m in my studio. If you’d invited Prince Charming in for the night, I wouldn’t be calling.” Grace gasped, cheeks on fire. “Were you watching us?” “I was curious what two Christians do at the end of a date.” He laughed low. “That kiss earned a G rating.”

“You weren’t angry, Bobby Ray. You were burning up with jealousy. You didn’t like seeing Grace with another man.”