An hour later, Brian and Roman stood across the street, watching. “Wow!” Brian shook his head, amazed. “It’ll be done before the day is over.”
“Not completely. Once the kids have everything filled in, I’ll do the finish details. Hector has a crew lined up to do the protective coat.” He saw one boy ready to move on to another section. “Hey, Bando!” Limping across the street, Roman pulled another color out of the supply box and showed him where to work next.
Cars passed by. A few drivers stopped to watch. The crowd grew. A patrol pulled over, and officers got out. Roman recognized one. His stomach dropped, and his pulse picked up speed. The cop headed straight for Roman.
“Are you in charge here?” The policeman who had caught the Bird doing his work in the tunnel looked at the wall.
“Yes, sir.”
“Impressive piece. Sort of in-your-face, don’t you think?”
Roman didn’t see the need to answer. The officer looked around. “You got permission this time.” He smiled slightly. “Nice to see all these kids working on something constructive.” He winked at Roman. “Have a good day.” He went back to his patrol car. He and his partner got in and drove off.
Brian laughed. “You look pale. Were you expecting him to arrest you?”
“It crossed my mind.”
The next morning, Roman was less than pleased to find a TV crew on-site when he returned to do the finish details. His work crew was also there. Contemporary Christian music blared, a few kids doing hip-hop moves in the driveway. One did a backflip from a standing position. A reporter approached. Roman dodged the microphone and stepped onto the lift. He pretended not to hear the questions called up as the machine rumbled into action. It was going to be hard enough to concentrate with a dance contest going on without adding reporters to the fiasco. His phone vibrated. When he saw Brian’s ID, he answered. “Tell them to leave.”
“They want to know why Roman Velasco is painting graffiti.”
“I’ll talk when the project’s done. Right now, I have work to do.” He shut off his phone. A prickling feeling made the hair rise on the back of his neck. The Bird’s wings had already been clipped. Now, it seemed the Bird would be cooked. How much jail time would he be serving for all the identified pieces he’d done over the years?
That thought sent a shudder of fear through him, but he shook it off. He needed to concentrate and finish this masterpiece. No use worrying about the consequences now.
Whatever happens, I trust You, Lord.
Grace loved her new home. Samuel slept with her for the first few nights until she put his crib together and transferred him to his own room across the hall. She didn’t get much sleep the first night, listening to his screams of protest that turned into pitiful wails. She moved her bed so they could see each other. He finally wore himself out at one in the morning.
Samuel took his first steps at ten months. He toddled around the house and climbed on furniture. One tumble off the sofa taught him to turn over on his stomach and slide down until his feet touched the carpeted floor. Most of the time, he played contently in the office, toys strewn all around Grace’s computer desk. His inner clock told him when it was time for Mama’s full attention, and he could be quite vocal in claiming it.
Word spread, and VirtualGrace.biz quickly brought in more clients. Grace had enough work to meet expenses and put some into savings. When more requests showed up in her e-mail in-box, she made priorities and set boundaries: God first, Samuel second, work third. She got up early every morning to read the Bible and spend time in prayer. That quiet time steadied her for the rest of her busy day.
Samuel always awakened by six. Every morning after breakfast, when weather permitted, Grace strapped her son into a jogging stroller she’d bought off craigslist and took him out for a mile run. She often thought about Roman doing his weight-machine workout. She had to get some exercise when most of her day was spent at a computer. She found a bicycle at a thrift store, and every clear afternoon before Samuel’s nap time, she strapped him into a bike seat, and took him on a thirty-minute ride. She also took breaks so he could play in the backyard. When it rained, Grace played with Samuel on the rug.
She met Angela Martinez over the side fence. Angela and her husband, Juan, had a nice yard, too, but the back third was taken up by a garage for Juan’s truck, trailer, and John Deere mower for his landscape maintenance business. Angela was a homemaker, rearing three active children: eight-year-old Carlos, five-year-old Juanita, and two-year-old Matías. Angela had plenty of sage parenting advice. Juan asked if he could prepare the soil and seed Grace’s vegetable boxes. Both families would benefit from an eventual harvest. George and Dorothy Gerling thought that was a great idea and gave permission.
Aunt Elizabeth came up in November to celebrate Samuel’s first birthday and surprised Grace with a sizable check. “I don’t know what he needs or likes at this age. You use the money however you want.”
Grace hugged her aunt. “It’ll start his college fund.”
A delivery truck showed up, along with Dorothy and George announcing they’d bought Samuel a red race car bed. George went right to work assembling it. “Every boy dreams of race cars.”
Dorothy put on sheets stamped with little cars and a matching bedspread. “I couldn’t resist!” She left a spare set for Grace. They couldn’t stay long. George had a golf outing with buddies, and Dorothy had a book club meeting.
Aunt Elizabeth was painfully polite until they left. “What a waste of money!” She stood with hands on her hips looking at the new bed as though she wanted to dismantle it with an ax. “Don’t they have grandchildren of their own to spoil?”
Samuel clearly liked his big-boy bed, though Grace intended to keep him in his crib a while longer. He could spend nap time in the race car. “They have one daughter, single and in the military.”
“Oh.” Aunt Elizabeth’s shoulders relaxed. “Well. No wonder.” She sighed. “At least there’s a nice, thick rug on the floor and the bed isn’t so high he’ll fall off and fracture his skull.” With that grim blessing, she swung Samuel up into her arms. “Come on, Rapscal. Let’s play with the Duplo blocks I brought you.”
Aunt Elizabeth called, upset, a week later. “Did you give the Gerlings my address? They sent me an invitation for Thanksgiving.”
Grace confessed and waited for Vesuvius to erupt. When her aunt didn’t say anything, Grace sent up a silent prayer before searching for a concession. “If you’d rather it was only the three of us, that’s fine. Your place or mine. I just don’t want another Thanksgiving to go by without you.”
“On that we certainly agree.” The long pause made Grace bite her lip. Her aunt sighed. “It was actually a very sweet invitation.”
“Then you wouldn’t mind?”
“I’ll let her know I’d love to come.” Her tone was tinged with slight sarcasm. “I hope she doesn’t put oysters in her stuffing.”
Thanksgiving Day with Dorothy and George turned out to be very pleasant. Christmas was fast approaching, and Grace found herself thinking more about Roman, wondering how he’d celebrate the holidays. She’d thought time and distance would diminish her feelings. Most days she was working so hard, she didn’t think about anything but Samuel and what needed to be done to provide for him.
Evenings were different, and nighttime, the hardest. She had vivid dreams about Roman and sometimes awakened in tears.