“His mother. He was seven when she disappeared. He was in and out of thirty foster homes between the ages of seven and fifteen. There’s a lot of deep-seated anger in a child who’s been abandoned. Some turn to violence. Roman used paint to fight back.”
“Some hide or become people pleasers.” Grace realized she’d spoken aloud. She shrugged. “I was seven when I lost my parents. My aunt raised me.” She looked at Roman’s mother, trying to see any resemblance between mother and son. He must take after his father. Had he been a constant reminder to his mother of someone she had loved? Or someone who’d used and abandoned her? She remembered what Roman said about prostitutes in Bodie. “Roman talks about his travels, but not his past.”
“Don’t talk. Don’t trust. Don’t feel.” Susan nodded. “The mantra of kids who suffered at the hands of their parents.”
Grace never spoke of her past either. She’d always felt vaguely responsible for what happened in Memphis, though she didn’t know why. Her aunt couldn’t bear to look at her because she looked so much like her father, and Aunt Elizabeth had hated him. She had said as much to Miranda Spenser. It didn’t matter that she’d been quickly shushed and corrected. Grace had heard, and the seed was planted. She grew up doing whatever people wanted her to do. Aunt Elizabeth above all others, until Patrick came along and usurped her. Grace constantly tried to make up for whatever she’d done wrong.
How do you make amends for something you don’t understand?
Men’s voices came from outside. Footsteps on the porch announced their return. Susan closed the sketchbook she’d been looking at. “These are good, but not even close to what he’s capable of doing. Chet and I went down to San Diego last week and spent a few days. We wanted to see Roman’s mural.” She picked up the sketchbooks. “He keeps getting better and better, but he hasn’t come close to his real potential. If he can’t let go of the past, he never will.”
Grace knew the same truth applied to her.
The Mastersons invited José and Abbie over with their two tweens. Dinner was lively with conversation. José had been a tough gang kid when Roman shared a room with him. Now he was quick to laugh, fit and content. His wife, Abbie, an ordinary-looking girl with brown hair and hazel eyes, made Carlos and Tina mind their manners. Abbie brought two homemade cherry pies for dessert. Carlos and Tina, far from shy, talked about school and friends and what they were doing this summer. They teased their father about lazing around the ranch on horseback while they had to muck out the stables. José said he’d had his day; now it was their turn. Roman reminded him of the hours they’d both spent shoveling horse manure into wheelbarrows and spreading it over an acre garden.
When Susan rose to clear dishes, everyone helped. The men talked sports and local politics. Chet invited them all to make themselves comfortable in the living room. Abbie sat next to José. José put his hand on his wife’s thigh, and she smiled at him. Clearly, twelve years of marriage hadn’t put the fire out. Grace stood by the bookshelves, talking with Jasper.
When Roman started to get up, Susan reclaimed his attention. “Tell us about the Laguna Beach show.”
They must have heard about the event from Jasper. “The paintings sold.”
“Roman always was good with words.” Chet grinned at him. “Where are you and Grace heading tomorrow?”
“South.” He wasn’t ready to go home, but he’d promised Grace they’d be back by tomorrow so she’d have her son over the weekend.
Grace came to sit on the couch across from him. “Golden wants to commission Roman to paint a town mural.”
“Golden?” José laughed. “You’ll have to invent some history.”
Roman looked at Grace with fixed attention. No doubt, she had been getting an earful about his private life. He intended to learn more about hers. “We’re skipping Golden and going to Fresno.” She didn’t look happy with that announcement. He gave her a steely smile. “Grace hasn’t seen her aunt in a while. Seems an opportune time.”
Hands clenched, Grace sat on one of the twin beds and stared at the wall. She’d like to step through the hole Roman had painted and get away. Why was Roman so set on stopping in Fresno? Even if Grace called first thing in the morning, Aunt Elizabeth would see the short notice as a gross breach of etiquette. She stood when Roman came into the bedroom with her suitcase.
“I left your backpack in the car. I didn’t think you’d be up to studying this late at night.”
“You won’t get the same warm welcome in Fresno that we’ve received here.”
He put the suitcase on the dresser. “Why is that?”
“Just take my word for it.” She didn’t want to talk about Aunt Elizabeth. “You said you’d tell me about Sheila, Reaper, White Boy, and BRD.”
“BRD. Bobby Ray Dean. That’s the name on my birth certificate—that and my mother’s, Sheila Dean. No father named. Susan came up with the name Roman Velasco. Writers have pseudonyms. Why not painters? She was kidding.” He looked at the wall, a muscle jerking in his jaw. “I thought Roman Velasco would have a lot more class than Bobby Ray Dean ever could.”
“So Sheila is your mother.”
“Yes.”
“And Reaper and White Boy?”
“Boys I knew in the hood. One was shot dead at a party where I should’ve been. One died in a fall.”
Three names to honor the dead? Or did he see himself as dead, too? Did he feel guilty because he was alive and they weren’t? Grace felt close to tears. She understood the feeling.
“Why don’t you want to go to Fresno?”
He didn’t know he was opening old wounds. “My aunt took me in when my parents died. She did it to fulfill my mother’s wishes, not because she wanted me. You were welcomed into the Mastersons’ life. I wasn’t welcome in hers.”
“This was a business, and I was sent here by court order.”
“To start, but they love you like a son.”
“Your aunt is a blood relative.”
“Blood doesn’t always matter. I’ve had to make a family. Shanice, Nicole, Ashley, the Garcias.”
“Who are the Garcias?”
People she thought she could trust . . . and now wondered how hard she’d have to fight to reclaim her son. She felt the burn of tears and shook her head, looking away. She swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t stay in here.”
“I’ll leave when you tell me what you think about this piece.” He nodded toward the wall he’d painted.
“It looks like a prison break. What I’d like to know is why you’d want to run from love and go back where you had no hope.”
“I knew who and what I was in the streets.” His jaw tensed. “Tomorrow, I’m going to find out what you’re hiding.”
ROMAN STOWED THE BAGS in the trunk of his car, then observed the affectionate good-byes. Susan hugged Grace and whispered something that brought a smile to Grace’s face. Chet and Jasper had their turns. Roman had never been comfortable with physical affection, but this time he didn’t resist. Chet stood with him. “If you don’t stay in touch, we might just show up on your doorstep unannounced.”
“The door is always open.” Roman meant it.
Jasper looked smug, but didn’t gloat. “I’ll be down in a couple of weeks to see how things are going.” He looked at Grace.
Roman got the message. “You don’t have all the answers, old man.”
“None of us ever do.” Jasper embraced him briefly and slapped his back. “At least you’re showing yourself brave enough to drive forward instead of staring in the rearview mirror.”
Before getting in the car, Roman saw something on the ground. Bending down, he scooped up two acorns on a twig. He gave them to Grace after she fastened her seat belt. “For your collection.” Punching the starter, he put his hand on the back of her seat as he backed out.
Chet, Susan, and Jasper stayed outside, waving as Roman turned onto the main road. Grace waved back and then closed her window. Roman glanced over. “They sure took to you fast.”
“I like them.”