Had anyone else noticed, other than Jasper? “Maybe you’re the one who should be careful.”
Shanice didn’t pretend not to understand. “Brian, you mean. Believe me. I’d never do anything to hurt Grace. I’ve done enough damage already.” She stood and said she hoped she’d see him in church the next morning. He said he’d mention it to Jasper. As Shanice walked away, he wondered what damage she’d done and what it had to do with Grace.
Dirty dishes stacked and set aside, Roman poured Jasper a second glass of Napa cabernet. They’d gone to Grace’s church together. Roman had been waiting to hear Jasper’s opinion, but he seemed unusually quiet. “What did you think?”
Jasper shrugged. “Different from what I’m used to, but good sermon. I didn’t see Grace.”
“She was there with Shanice and the others. They go out for lunch every Sunday.” Roman had sat on the opposite side of the auditorium, where he couldn’t see her, knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate if she was anywhere close.
Jasper leaned back. “Great steak, by the way. You haven’t lost your touch, Roman. If you ever decide to give up art, you can always go to culinary school and open your own restaurant.”
“This is the first real meal I’ve cooked in months, unless you count a ready-made dish popped into the microwave. Grace usually starts something before she heads home.”
“How are things between you two?”
“She’s doing a great job.”
Jasper gave a soft laugh. “That’s not what I was asking, and you know it.”
“It’s none of your business, but we’re going nowhere.”
“Because that’s the way you want it?”
“Not exactly.”
“What exactly?”
Roman downed his wine. “You know my history with women.”
“There’s a big difference between having sex and having a relationship, my friend.” Jasper’s expression softened. “This is a new thing for you. Listen up. Here’s rule number one. You don’t hook up with a lady like Grace Moore. You spend time with her, see where things go.”
“It might be easier to keep things as they are.”
“Easier?” He shook his head. “You’ve always had attachment issues. That’s part of your history, too. It’s not easy to go through life without love. It’s lonely. It’s painful.”
“How would you know?”
“Observation.”
Roman felt uneasy under his mentor’s perusal. He stood, glaring down at him. “I like Grace. A lot. More than any other woman I’ve ever met. That doesn’t mean I’m in love with her.”
“I remember how you were with Susan.”
Roman swore. “I was a teenager, and just like every other guy who lived at the ranch!”
“I know. You all fell in love with her for a while. You’re looking for what Chet has with Susan. You might just get it.”
Hope was deadly. “They’re one couple in a thousand.”
“Depends on what territory you’re occupying.” Jasper set the wineglass aside. “You don’t go into a relationship thinking about odds. And if you aren’t in love with Grace, I’ll eat my socks.”
Roman stood at the glass wall. Was Grace back from lunch yet? What did women talk about when they got together for lunch?
Jasper joined him. “I’ve been in your shoes. Falling in love is terrifying. You don’t know what’s up or down, and half the time you feel inside out.” He gripped Roman’s arm. “Love is worth it, Bobby Ray. It’s the best part of being human.” He smiled. “‘Faith, hope, and love—and the greatest of these is love.’ It can last forever.”
Roman shook his head. He knew Grace felt something, but did she feel enough to last? She didn’t know him as well as she thought, and he was afraid if she did, that would be the end of any possibilities.
“Be honest with Grace. Tell her how you feel.”
“What if I’m not ready?”
“Then be a stand-up guy and leave her alone. One way or the other, you’re going to have to make up your mind.”
Roman didn’t see Grace after she brought his morning coffee. He had completed several pages of sketches for the new painting, based on Grace’s line. Setting up a tinted canvas, he penciled in the layout. Glancing at the clock, he was surprised it was eleven thirty. Most days, Grace checked in midmorning with messages.
The house was quiet. Roman headed down the hall to the office. Had she gone grocery shopping? Was she off somewhere on errands? She usually informed him when she was leaving the house. Maybe she was having lunch at the cottage.
Grace sat with her elbows on the desk, hands over her eyes. Her posture told him she was upset. “Grace?” She started, but didn’t turn to face him. Roman entered the office. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything’s fine.” Her tone said otherwise.
“Okay,” he drawled. “What happened? Brian break up with you?” He could only hope.
Wiping her face quickly, Grace turned. “Brian and I are friends. That’s all.” Her eyes were red and puffy.
“You were hoping for more.”
“I always hope for too much,” she muttered and looked back at her desk. “No messages this morning. A few e-mails you might want to read.”
Roman didn’t move. “What are you hoping for?”
She looked at him, sorrow seeping into her eyes. “Wisdom. Sometimes you have to end a friendship so you can move on.”
Had Shanice come clean about her attraction to Brian? “Your best friend?”
“One of my best. I trusted her.” She shrugged. “Sometimes people aren’t who you think they are.” She gave him a beseeching look. “But I don’t really want to talk about it.”
“Well, if you change your mind, I’m here.” He’d never made such an offer before and realized he sounded like Jasper. He winced inwardly, knowing he was ill-equipped to ask the right questions and give sage advice. Especially to a woman.
“Thanks, Roman.” She smiled, her eyes moistening. “God is going to have to work this out.”
Grace stopped by the studio an hour later to bring him a sandwich. When she approached the easel, he shook his head. “No peeking until it’s finished.”
“Am I going to like it?”
“Depends on whether you see what’s in it.”
“You’re being very mysterious.” She thought for a moment. “Ah. Hidden pictures.”
“Actually—” he wiped his hands on a stained towel—“it’s my first landscape.”
She chuckled. “I’ll believe that when I see it!”
That evening, Grace spooned chicken salad onto a plate, made herself a cup of tea, and checked Facebook on her phone. There was a trending article about the graffiti in a pedestrian tunnel in LA. The writer didn’t want the graffiti covered. Though it lacked the distinctive signature of the Bird, it might have been done by the longtime infamous and unidentified West Coast graffiti artist.
Something clicked inside Grace. There was a link to a related article, this one including a picture of a demon’s face. Several citizens had been interviewed, all saying they didn’t like walking through that tunnel with grotesque faces and flames at the end. “It feels like you’re walking into hell.”
Again, that click.
Opening her laptop, Grace did a search on the Bird. Numerous hits came up, including speculation about work in Europe. People had been trying to figure out the Bird’s identity for more than a decade. One article reported that his signature, BRD in black letters made to look like a blackbird in flight, always appeared in the lower left corner of his pieces. Grace’s heart began to pound. She remembered the living room wall at the Mastersons’.
Grace pulled up images of the Bird’s work. A man mooning a surveillance camera. Petroglyphs of women in high-heeled, red-soled shoes carrying shopping bags and strutting along the walls of a subway tunnel. A pregnant girl wearing a Save the Whales T-shirt as she opened the front door of a Planned Parenthood clinic. Two peace protesters in a street brawl. A priest with his foot planted on a treasure chest. She scrolled down to the demon faces in the pedestrian tunnel.
Clicking on one photo, she sent it to Roman’s office e-mail address, intending to print it out in the morning.