The marker ran out of ink before he finished, but he figured he’d done enough. He tossed the empty marker into the wastebasket and sat on the floor at the end of his bed. He wished he had a couple more pens so he could finish what he’d started, but it didn’t matter. He had done enough to get kicked off the ranch.
Someone rapped on the door and opened it. Bobby Ray saw Chet Masterson’s scuffed brown boots. Here it comes. Time to go. It’s what he wanted, wasn’t it?
The fear came up from deep inside him, gripping him by the throat. Where do I go now? Where am I going to end up this time?
“You’re finally talking, Bobby Ray.” Chet Masterson stood calmly studying the wall. “Looks like you have a lot to say.”
Jasper Hawley looked at what Bobby Ray had drawn. The next day, he came back with a box of books and dropped it on the table in front of Bobby Ray. “We’re adding art to your curriculum.”
“You expect me to read all these?” After glancing at the first, Bobby Ray itched to see what else was in the box.
“You’ve got time.” He took books out one by one: art history, the works of Leonardo da Vinci, Francisco Goya, Paul Cézanne, Vincent van Gogh, Hieronymus Bosch, Emil Nolde. Intrigued, Bobby Ray opened the last one. Hawley took it back. “Not now. First things first. Math, Latin, and social studies.” He spread his hands flat on the pile of art books. “These are incentive to buckle down. As soon as you finish your assignments, they’re all yours.”
Bobby Ray finished his class work in a couple of hours. He had to be reminded to do chores, but did them quickly. He spent hours looking at John Singer Sargent’s watercolors of Venice and paintings by John William Waterhouse, transported to other places and times. He loved the sharp, bright colors of Van Gogh, the mask faces of Nolde, the starkness of Picasso.
When Hawley gave him pens and sketchbooks, Bobby Ray filled them. Hawley brought a book on twentieth-century muralists. Bobby Ray did more drawings.
Susan peered over his shoulder one afternoon. “Can I take a look?” She grabbed his sketchbook before he had time to answer. She turned the pages. “Ohhh, I like this one.” She put the sketchbook in front of him. “Do you want to paint a wall?”
Was she kidding? She looked serious, even excited.
“I’ll give you the one in the kitchen if you’ll do something like this. I’ve always wanted to see Italy. Paint something Roman. Or places Vasco da Gama might have seen on his voyage around the Cape of Good Hope.”
“Rome and Velasco.” Bobby Ray grimaced.
“Vasco.” She gave a laugh. “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?”
Susan was kidding, but she planted a seed nonetheless. Bobby Ray Dean was the boy with the thick social services file, the castoff, the nobody who belonged nowhere. Roman Velasco had class. With a name like that, life could be a whole lot different.
GRACE LOVED THE FEEL of Samuel snuggled against her body, warm and relaxed in sleep. She should put him in the crib, but every minute with him was precious. She didn’t want to miss even one. Selah and Ruben sat with her in the living room, quiet, pensive. They’d opened their home when Grace was most vulnerable and made her part of their family. Circumstances were changing rapidly, and Grace knew Selah wanted to keep things as they were. No. That wasn’t true. Selah wanted more. She wanted to adopt Samuel, might even feel entitled to him after giving so much.
Ashamed of her unplanned, crisis pregnancy, Grace had kept it secret until she started to show. Her boss of four years, Harvey Bernstein, had recently retired and sold the business, putting her out of work. Her unemployment would run out before the baby was due, and she wouldn’t be able to get another job until after the birth. Patrick had emptied her savings account on the way out of their marriage. She didn’t know where to turn.
Finally, swallowing her pride, she told her friends after church during their weekly lunch. Shanice looked physically ill. “Oh, Grace, I’m so sorry.”
Ashley took Grace’s hand. “What are you going to do?”
“She could have an abortion,” Nicole said in a matter-of-fact tone, as though that were the most logical way to get out of trouble.
Shanice glared at Nicole. “Sometimes I don’t know you, Nicole. What are you thinking?”
Nicole’s face reddened. “Fine. Since you have all the answers all the time, what’s she going to do?”
“She can go to a pregnancy counseling center and get help. She can have the baby and give it up for adoption.” She looked at Grace, tears filling her eyes. “I’ll go with you. You’re not alone in this, girl.”
Grace had known that Shanice would relate to what she was facing more than their other friends would. She said more than once that she wished she could take Grace in and offer a home to both her and the child. But the condo she shared with another woman was just too small for a third roommate.
A nurse at the crisis pregnancy center listened to Grace’s circumstances with compassion, not judgment. It took a few weeks, but the lady connected Grace with Selah and Ruben Garcia, candidates for an open adoption. Grace found herself living with a family who loved her and gave her hope for a future. She knew her child would have a loving home with Selah and Ruben and their two teens, a much better life than she could offer. They had all the papers drawn up to be signed as soon as the baby was born.
She had been confident that adoption was the best plan until the day Samuel was born and she held him in her arms. She bonded with him immediately. She didn’t know how she was going to make a life for the two of them, but she knew she couldn’t give her son to someone else to raise.
Grace was honest with the Garcias about her change of heart. They all knew nothing was final until Grace signed the papers, and she told them she had decided she couldn’t do it. Selah understood in the beginning, but it had become clear over the last few months that her attachment to Grace’s son had grown stronger.
“Are you sure about this move?” Selah sounded more like a grieving mother than a supportive friend.
“I can’t live here forever, Selah. I need to be on my own. I can’t stay dependent on you and Ruben.”
“You’re part of our family. We’re not asking you to go.”
Grace held Samuel closer. “As soon as I’m settled, I’ll start looking for childcare.”
Selah looked crushed. “Why would you give him to a stranger when you have me?” Ruben put his hand on his wife’s knee. Selah ignored him. “I’ve been a mother since Javier and Alicia were born. I’ve been . . .” She hesitated. “You know Samuel will be happier with me than some stranger. You know that. You can leave him with me during the week and have him on weekends. You can pick him up on Saturday and bring him back on Sunday. He will be safe with us. You want him safe, don’t you? You know how much we love him. He’s like a baby brother to Javier and Alicia. Please, Grace. Don’t give him to someone you barely know.”
Grace felt torn.
Ruben looked as worried as Selah, but she wasn’t sure it was for the same reason. He’d accepted Grace’s decision to keep Samuel, and though Selah said she had, they both knew she still hoped Grace would change her mind again.
Selah had been in the delivery room with Grace, holding her hand and encouraging her through a difficult birth. Selah had been the first one to hold Samuel after he was born. Even after Grace changed her mind about the adoption, Selah wanted her to stay. She insisted Grace stay home and nurse Samuel for the first three months before trying to find a new job.
Seeing Selah’s distress, Grace felt ungrateful and selfish. Selah had been as much a mother to Samuel as she had, and more so in the last few weeks since she’d started working for Roman Velasco. She was gone up to twelve hours a day and barely had any time with her son. Last Saturday, he’d cried in her arms and reached out for Selah.
“Samuel thrives here, Grace. He has family. You wanted us to be his family.”