She survived the next few days, putting in extra hours at work to help her boss, Harvey Bernstein, finish a big project. He commented on her pallor. “Is everything all right, Grace?” She assured him everything was fine. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.” A bonus would have been nice, but Harvey gave her a half day off on Friday. Maybe she and Patrick could sort everything out over the weekend.
Unlocking the apartment door, Grace walked in and found Patrick on the couch with a shapely blonde, neither wearing much of anything. They sprang apart. The girl grabbed her clothes and fled into the bedroom.
Patrick stood. “What’re you doing home?” His face went from red to white. “You’re supposed to be at work.” He pulled on sweatpants.
Grace looked from him to the bedroom door and back again, speechless.
“You weren’t supposed to be here.” Patrick sounded annoyed.
Dazed, Grace stammered, “H-Harvey gave me the afternoon off.”
The girl came out of the bedroom, her perfect body encased in pink-and-black spandex. Even her socks and aerobics shoes matched. Without looking at Grace, she hurried to the front door, then quickly retraced her steps to grab her pink jacket off the arm of the couch. “I’m sorry.” Her voice was a husky whisper. “I’m so sorry you had to find out this way.”
Find out what? Grace stood in the middle of her own personal apocalypse.
Opening the front door, the girl slipped out, but not quick enough for Grace to miss the gym logo on the jacket she pulled on or the pleading look she gave Patrick. Grace stared at her husband. “She works at the gym you joined?”
“Her father owns it.” He sounded resigned. “Look.” He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a heavy breath. “Can we sit down like civilized people and talk this out?”
She knew what he would say even before he started making excuses, but she listened anyway. Patrick said he didn’t intend to fall in love with Virginia, but she’d come on strong to him when he joined the gym. At first it was a harmless flirtation, but he and Grace had been having problems by then. “You don’t like sex, Grace, and Virginia, well . . .” They had a lot in common.
Grace was always on him about finding a job, so why not work at the gym part-time, even if only to pay for his membership? He got along well with people. He made a lot of friends. Virginia’s father noticed. He dropped hints about future possibilities. He said he wanted to retire and hoped his daughter would find a nice, outgoing, ambitious young man who would stand beside her and run the business.
Patrick talked and talked, the words pouring over Grace like hot lava. She understood what he was saying. Patrick had loved her for a while, but she didn’t have enough to offer anymore. He’d found someone who did. “I couldn’t help myself, Grace. Virginia is my soul mate. Try not to hate me. It’s not my fault.”
The initial shock and pain turned to numbness. Grace felt nothing.
“Okay. Don’t say anything.” Patrick grew angry at her silence. “I guess it’d be too much to expect some understanding.”
Grace sat at the kitchen table while her husband packed. Part of her wanted to beg him to stay, beg him to love her, beg him for a second chance. Another part kept her silent and frozen in her chair, her eyes fixed on the plates he and Virginia had left on the table, one with a few crumbs and the other with a half-eaten deli sandwich.
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.
ROMAN GRABBED THE TOWEL he’d draped over the arm of the treadmill and wiped sweat from his face. His T-shirt was soaked. Something was off. He’d only run three miles and felt like he’d run a marathon. Cutting the speed, he walked another mile to cool down before shutting off the machine. Stepping off the tread, he felt light-headed. The moment passed, but left him weak. Maybe he was dehydrated. He uncapped another bottle of water with electrolytes and drank it. He’d skip the weights.
Ah, for the good old days when he did parkour in San Francisco. His graffiti had been in heaven spots, high and dangerous places, where his work stayed longer than the usual few days for other taggers. His initials, BRD, gained him a reputation as the Bird.
The pleasurable memories gave way to thoughts of White Boy. He redirected his thoughts.
The only adrenaline kick he got these days came from the endorphins he earned working out. Maybe age was the problem. Today was his birthday, not that anyone knew or cared. He was thirty-four. How should he celebrate the passage of another year? Look for a hookup in a club? Sex with a stranger didn’t have the appeal it once did.
A cold shower refreshed him, but didn’t alter his mood. He raised his face to the spray and thought he heard his cell phone ring. Who would be calling him on a Sunday?
With nothing else to do, Roman went into the studio and dabbed some more paint on the canvases set up near the windows. He wanted to put his fist through one, but tossed the brush into a can of linseed oil instead. He sat at his drafting table and sketched ideas. Crumpled papers littered the floor.
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.
“Keeping tabs on me, Hawley? Why don’t you come on down and do it?”
“Is that a real invitation? I’m in Oxnard. I can stay over at your place tonight. I haven’t seen the new house yet.”
“Sure, just don’t have a bed.”
“Still the minimalist. I have a sleeping bag in my trunk.”
“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.”
Roman went downstairs and sprawled on the couch in the living room, sketching ideas in the black book he kept there.
Awakening to the door chimes, Roman cursed. First thing he’d have Grace do Monday morning was find someone to replace the annoying chimes with a short, functional bell. A straightforward ding-dong would be great. The chimes were still going strong when he opened the door. Jasper stood there laughing.
“Love the chimes. A Viennese waltz? Let me guess. Not your idea.”
Roman tried to overcome his shock at Jasper’s appearance. His mentor had lost weight, and his hair had gone white. “Man, you got old.”
“And you’re still the same smart aleck you’ve always been.” Jasper walked in, suitcase in hand. “Quite a place you’ve got here. Holy Jehoshaphat! Look at that view! Perfect setup for an artist.”
“If I painted landscapes.”
Jasper glanced back. “Why did you leave that sweet place in Malibu? Open a sliding-glass door, and there was the beach and all those pretty, bikini-clad girls walking by.”
“I needed a change.” The condo held one night of memories he couldn’t forget and a host of questions he’d never be able to answer about a girl he’d tried to find and knew he’d never see again.
Jasper shook his head. “I keep hoping you’ll grow up and settle down.”
Roman drove his red Camaro to a seafood diner in Malibu. Nothing much had changed for Jasper. He was still teaching at the Masterson Mountain Ranch and keeping tabs on the boys who would let him. He cared about what happened to every one of them. Most finished the program and moved on. A few stayed in touch. Some called when they were in trouble, like the young man in Oxnard. Jasper had a few extra days. “I figure I ought to live it up.”
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.”
“Ha-ha.”
Jasper rubbed his head. “My hair is growing back. That’s something.”