“Art history.”
“That’s what I thought.” She laughed. “Talia majored in economics and marketing.” Grace had learned more about Talia’s personal history over one lunch than she knew about Roman’s after months of working for him. “She went to Cal in the seventies, as a registered Republican. Her boyfriend was in ROTC. They married right out of college so she could get pregnant before he ended up in Vietnam. He made it home, but died of cancer in his forties. She blames Agent Orange, some chemical they sprayed along the rivers to defoliate the jungle. They had a daughter who is now a successful estate planner in Florida. She’s happily married with two boys. Talia flies there once a year to visit.”
“Not what I expected. How did she end up with the art gallery?”
“She married the owner. She was his tax consultant. He taught her about art; she taught him about business. They had eleven happy years together before he passed away.”
Brian turned in to the driveway. Lights were on in the main house. As she and Brian walked along the pathway to her front door, he took her hand. Surprised, she smiled at him, and noticed the lights on in the upstairs studio. What was Roman doing? And why was she thinking about him again?
She realized Brian hadn’t said anything since he parked the car and helped her out. “Thank you for coming to the gallery with me tonight, Brian.” She slipped her hand from his, took her keys from her purse, and unlocked the door.
“Can we talk for a few minutes before I go, Grace?”
She hesitated, wondering if tonight might be a turning point in their relationship. “Do you want to come inside? I can make coffee.”
Brian glanced at the main house and shook his head. “It’s nice out here.” He’d seen the light on, too. A pastor had to care about appearances. He took her hand again as they sat on the wall together. “I like you, Grace. I like you very much. I think you know that.”
This was what she’d hoped for, wasn’t it? Why didn’t she feel the least bit excited? “I like you, too, Brian.” She tensed when he raised his hand and tucked her hair over her shoulder.
“May I kiss you?”
She’d only kissed two men in her life, and neither had asked permission. Covering her surprise, she said yes. Curious what she would feel, she leaned forward and met him halfway.
Brian’s kiss was tender and unhurried, pleasant. She didn’t feel the faint stirrings she had with Patrick, the promise of something that never happened. She hadn’t felt much more with Samuel’s father.
Someday her son would grow up and ask who his father was. What could she say? I met him at a club. When he asked if I wanted to go to his place, I said yes. You were the result. If she surrendered Samuel to Selah and Ruben, she wouldn’t have to confess. Selah could tell him honestly that she’d planned for and chosen him to be her son.
And why was her mind wandering hither and yon when Brian Henley was kissing her?
Brian drew back, his expression enigmatic.
“What’s wrong, Grace?”
“I’m not good enough for you.”
“We’re all sinners, and friendship is a good place to start a lasting relationship. It’s how Charlene and I started.” He took her hands and stood, drawing her up with him.
Grace was again relieved not to feel any particular physical attraction. She had been enamored by Patrick, and that relationship had been a disaster. The second, worse. She’d allowed anger and hurt to excuse a night of following the crowd of irresponsible young adults who thought casual sex was perfectly all right between consenting adults. She’d been lonely and miserable, desperate to feel something, anything. She barely remembered the evening, but she remembered waking up in the middle of the night in a stranger’s bed. Throwing on her clothes, she’d fled. She ran down the beach, crying, and up onto the road, where she’d had enough sense to arrange for an Uber.
She liked Brian. He was kind and caring. He was handsome. They could talk about anything and everything. They had faith in common. She wanted to live a life pleasing to God, and Brian’s clear calling was to serve the Lord. She felt safe with Brian, no hint of temptation. Surely, that was a good sign.
“Are you up for a hike on Solstice Canyon Trail next Saturday? I’ll get a pack so I can carry Samuel.”
“Sounds wonderful.”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.” He leaned in and kissed her softly on the mouth. Grace wished she felt a spark.
She tossed her purse on the table. If hiking was Brian’s favorite form of entertainment, she’d better invest in something more than tennis shoes. She’d need hiking boots. Maybe Roman would allow her to use the exercise room so she could build enough muscle to shoulder a pack. She let out a mirthless laugh.
She changed into pajamas, washed her face, and brushed her teeth. She heard Elvis Presley singing “Big Boss Man.” Heart racing, she went into the kitchen and pulled her phone from her purse. Glancing at the microwave clock, she answered. “It’s after midnight, Roman.”
“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.”
Grace ended the call. She’d turn the phone off completely if it wasn’t her only lifeline to Samuel in case of emergency. She put it on her nightstand and slipped into bed. Elvis sang again. She put a pillow over her head.
BOBBY RAY, AGE 7
Bobby Ray Dean awakened to the whoop of a police car siren and red lights flashing across the ceiling. He pulled the smelly blanket higher over his shoulders. Drowsy, he stared at the orange, red, and gold neon Jesus Saves across the street. Still cold, he cocooned into the worn cushions of the old sofa.
Voices drifted from behind the bedroom door: a man, irritated; Mama cajoling. Bobby Ray knew that whenever a man came home from work with her, he had to leave the bed and sleep on the couch.
Bobby Ray’s stomach growled. He’d found cereal in the cabinet to eat for supper, but no milk in the refrigerator. Other than the bottles Mama kept around for her guests, the cupboards were empty. He hoped Mama’s new friend would leave enough money to buy a few cans of Dinty Moore stew and Spam, maybe even some eggs and bread and milk. Most of what she earned went for the white powder that helped her forget everything and feel good until she had to get up and remember again.
He could get something to fill his belly at the Salvation Army café, and he would get lunch at school for free. But that was hours away, and the only way to ease the pain now was to go back to sleep. It was hard with the lights flashing. He kept thinking about the grocery store. He’d managed to steal an apple once, but the next time he reached for a banana, the grocer grabbed his wrist and said unless Bobby Ray could show him a dollar, he’d better put the banana down. Bobby Ray kicked him and ran, the green banana still clutched in his hand. The grocer chased him two blocks before Bobby Ray managed to escape. He didn’t go by that store anymore.
Mama stopped talking in the bedroom, and other sounds made Bobby Ray pull the foul-smelling blanket over his head and plug his ears. He might only be seven, but he knew what Mama let men do to her so she could pay the rent. At least this man had looked nice. The last one had knocked Bobby Ray across the room. Mama jumped on his back, and he hit her, too, and kicked her before he left.