She gripped the edge of her seat. Did he realize how fast he was driving? “I don’t have answers. I have faith.”
“I don’t believe in God.” His glance held a challenge. “If He exists, He’s a sadist. He’s a puppet master who tires of people and throws them in the trash. He’s a—” He used words that would have made Grace cover her ears if she hadn’t heard the pain behind them.
“If there’s a hell, it’s right here on earth. And the only heaven we get is what you can make for yourself. This life is all we have, like it or not.”
They both heard the siren at the same time. Roman glanced in the rearview mirror and swore again. The police car came up close, right behind them, lights flashing. Slowing, Roman moved right until he reached the shoulder. He put his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. “Just what I need to cap the day.” He dug for his wallet.
The officer tapped on the window. Roman lowered it and handed over his registration and driver’s license. The officer leaned down. “Do you know how fast you were going?” One hundred and ten. The officer took the documents back to the patrol car.
Roman gripped the wheel with both hands, knuckles white. Grace saw the pulse throbbing in his neck.
The officer returned and tore off the ticket. “Keep it under seventy, Mr. Velasco.” The patrol car stayed behind them as Roman pulled onto the freeway again.
Roman didn’t speak for five miles. He turned on the radio. Less than a minute passed before he switched it off.
“Okay. Let’s finish this conversation and be done with the God talk.” He gave her a grim look, as though he was about to dispense bad news. “I read a chunk of that Gideon Bible you recommended. Sure, it’s got some great stories, better than what was on TV that night. But that’s all it is, Grace—a collection of stories and some history mixed in. Same for all the rest of the religions in this world. There is no God. There is no Satan. No heaven or hell. We’re born. We do the best we can. We die. Game over.”
Grace’s eyes filled with tears. Roman sounded like he wanted life to be fast and short.
GRACE, AGE 7
Grasped by the arm and hauled out of sleep, Gracie awakened screaming. “Hush!” Aunt Elizabeth pulled her up roughly. “Stop that noise right this minute!” She stood Gracie in front of her. Leaning down, she stared into her face. “You have a perfectly good bed, and I find you in the closet.” She looked exasperated, her hair disheveled, her face clean of makeup.
“I’m sorry.” Gracie hung her head and stared at Aunt Elizabeth’s red toenail polish and pink satin pajama legs.
“You’re not sorry or you wouldn’t have done it again.” Aunt Elizabeth sighed. “Look at me!” She crossed her arms as though warding off the chill of night. “Why on earth were you in there?” Her arms loosened, and her voice quieted. “Stop crying, Grace. I’m not going to hurt you. Just get back into bed.” She tucked the sheets and blankets beneath the mattress so tightly Gracie could hardly move. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.” She flicked off the light as she left the room, shutting the door behind her.
Gracie lay wide-awake until she heard Aunt Elizabeth’s door close, then wiggled out of bed, grabbed her pillow, and went back into the closet, quietly closing the door behind her. She could breathe again. She felt safe tucked in the back corner, hidden in the darkness. She wished she had the bear Mrs. Arnold had given her.
Aunt Elizabeth took Gracie to Sunday school. Mrs. Spenser used a felt board and talked about Jesus loving children. She put a little girl next to Jesus. Gracie kept looking at that felt figure. Daddy used to hold her on his lap sometimes and ask her questions. “What did you and Mommy do today? Did Mommy talk to anyone? Tell me the truth, honey.” When Daddy finished asking questions, he’d say, “Good girl,” kiss her cheek, and tell her to go play.
Would Jesus hold her on his lap and ask questions, too? Would he want to know everything Aunt Elizabeth did? Gracie had no idea what her aunt did all day.
“Grace?”
Startled, Gracie focused on Mrs. Spenser. “Yes, ma’am?” Her heart pounded. She was supposed to pay attention to her Sunday school teacher. Aunt Elizabeth would ask Mrs. Spenser if she had. And now she didn’t even know what Mrs. Spenser had said.
Mrs. Spenser’s expression softened with a smile. “Do you know Jesus loves you, Grace? Just like that little girl standing beside him on the felt board.” She put up another figure. “He loves little boys, too.” She winked. “Even rascals like Tyler.”
Gracie’s heartbeat slowed. She listened intently to every word Mrs. Spenser said after that. When people started singing upstairs, Mrs. Spenser put away the felt figures and told the children to gather their sweaters and coats. Big church was over, and their parents would come soon.
The other children had all gone by the time Aunt Elizabeth came. She apologized to Mrs. Spenser, calling her Miranda. “Everyone wanted to know what happened back in Tennessee, as if it’s any of their business.” Aunt Elizabeth glanced at Gracie sitting alone at the table. “How did she do this morning?”
“She was a perfect angel.”
Aunt Elizabeth’s mouth curved into a sad smile. “Maybe there’s more of my sister in her than that—” Mrs. Spenser put a hand on her arm, and she stopped. Aunt Elizabeth shook her head. “Come along, Grace. Time to go.”
On the drive home, Aunt Elizabeth asked what Grace had learned.
Gracie thought about the figures on the felt board. “Jesus loves boys and girls.”
“I’m sure you already learned that much in the church your mother attended. What story did Mrs. Spenser tell you this morning?” She looked in the rearview mirror and scowled. “You didn’t listen, did you? Mrs. Spenser works very hard to put together lessons. You’re not there to play. You’re there to learn about God. Next time, pay attention. I’ll be asking Mrs. Spenser how you’re doing, and I want to hear good reports. Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t call me ma’am. Call me Aunt Elizabeth.” When Gracie didn’t respond, Aunt Elizabeth glared at her in the mirror. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes, m—Aunt Elizabeth.”
“All right. We understand each other.” She came to a stoplight. Her hands relaxed on the steering wheel. “I’m not trying to be mean, Grace.” She turned a corner. “I know you’re not happy.” She flicked a glance in the mirror before refocusing on the road. “Well, neither am I.” She fell silent as she drove on. “I’m going to do my best, and I expect you to cooperate.”
Gracie didn’t know what cooperate meant.
Aunt Elizabeth seemed able to read her mind. “Cooperate means you do what I tell you when I tell you. No dawdling. No daydreaming. No arguments. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Aunt Elizabeth.”
Gracie learned to make her bed with hospital corners. She learned to use the vacuum. She folded the bathroom towels exactly the way her aunt taught her. She cleared dishes, but wasn’t allowed to wash them because Aunt Elizabeth didn’t want any of her Villeroy & Boch broken. The only thing Gracie could not get right was her hair. She brushed it, but couldn’t get it into a proper ponytail. Every morning, Aunt Elizabeth had to take it down, rebrush it, and put it back up again.
One morning, Aunt Elizabeth lost her temper. “That’s it.” She took scissors out of a drawer, yanked the ponytail up, and cut it off right under the tangled rubber band.
Gracie uttered a gasp of pain and burst into tears, knowing Mommy would be very upset. She always said she loved Gracie’s curly dark hair. It’s wavy, just like Daddy’s.