“Never been more serious in my life.” Roman lifted his coffee, thinking he’d said more than enough, until he felt the nudge to go on. “I didn’t believe in God. Strike that. Maybe it’s closer to the truth to say I hated Him. I’d just had a heated conversation with a Christian. We’d called a truce and pulled in to have lunch. I dropped dead on the sidewalk.” He shuddered. “Looking back, the timing seems providential.”
Martin’s mouth twisted in a cynical half smile as he leaned back. “Tell me what it was like in hell.”
Roman measured Tuck Martin’s expression. “Someday you’ll see it for yourself.”
“Is that a polite way of telling me to go to hell?”
“Reject Jesus, and that’s where you’ll end up.”
“You’d allow me to put that in my story.”
“Can’t stop you now, can I?”
Brian came back as Tuck Martin turned off his recorder and dropped it in his backpack. “Do you know what he just told me?”
“I hope so.” He looked at Roman with approval. “Your NDE.”
Roman shrugged. “He doesn’t believe me.”
“It was a good thing Grace was with him in Santa Clarita, or he’d be dead. She knew CPR.”
“Grace?” Tuck Martin’s interest returned. “Talia Reisner said you had a personal assistant who lived and traveled with you.”
Roman felt a rush of protective anger. “Grace didn’t live with me. She had her own place.” He wasn’t about to tell this nosy reporter she lived next door in a cottage he owned. “She’s as straitlaced as they come. And if you insinuate anything else in your article, I’ll rip your head off.”
Martin drew back.
“Sorry, Mr. Martin.” Brian chuckled. “Roman is a new Christian.”
Martin held up his hands. “I wasn’t meaning to insinuate anything. Ms. Reisner spoke very highly of Ms. Moore. She said you needed a keeper, and Grace was organized, efficient, and a delight to know.”
Roman glared at him. He knew what the next question would be.
“I’d like to talk with her.”
“I’ll bet you would,” Roman growled, wishing again he’d never agreed to this interview.
Brian glanced at Roman and then back at Tuck Martin. “Grace moved out of the area.”
Roman watched Tuck Martin closely and saw reporter instinct rising up like sludge in a clogged drain. When he looked at him, Roman stared back, letting the anger show. Ask about Grace again, and you are going to regret it.
Martin’s brows flicked up. Face relaxed, expression enigmatic, he leaned back and settled in. “There are plenty of bestselling books out there about near-death experiences in heaven. A couple of movies, too. I don’t remember any about hell.”
Roman returned Martin’s cynical smile with one of his own. “It’s not an experience I want to remember. Why would I want to write about it?”
“You could hire someone.”
“Like you?” Roman snorted. “You don’t believe me.”
“I might if you talked about it a little more.”
Brian sat quiet, clearly observing them.
Martin kept pushing. “You should warn people, don’t you think? Isn’t it your Christian duty?”
Roman gritted his teeth to keep from telling Martin where he could go and what he could do with himself once he got there.
Brian rescued him. “They’ve been warned. It’s all written in black-and-white. Most people like believing they can be good enough to get in the gate. Truth is, none of us are. Jesus holds the key.”
“That’s the party line.”
Brian leaned forward, hands loose around his fresh cup of coffee. “Before you go, can I ask you a question?”
“I grew up in a ‘Christian’ home.” Martin’s face hardened. “I’ve seen religion firsthand.”
Roman watched, amazed at how easily Brian could get people to talk. Maybe it was the way he listened, full of compassion without judgment or condemnation. Turned out Martin was from a hardworking, middle-class Christian family, but not the loving kind Brian had. Tuck’s father had been controlling and intolerant of anyone who didn’t share his views.
“He made sure I was sitting in the pew every Sunday. In suit and tie.” He shrugged. “Haven’t worn a tie since I left home.”
“How’s your relationship with your father now?”
Tuck shook his head. “He’s the same, just older and tired. He mellowed once Mom died. Still goes to church. My sisters and their families go, too. I love my father, but we disagree on just about everything. I see him once a year, and we stick to safe topics.” He gave a bleak laugh. “Fishing. That’s about it.”
Brian, a fisher of men, told him there was a big difference between religion and faith.
Tuck Martin’s phone rang. Apologizing, he checked the display. “Forgot the time. Gotta run.” Roman and Brian stood. Tuck shook hands with both and thanked them for their time. He looked at Roman. “Working on anything else?”
“Nothing I plan to show or sell.” Roman felt Brian’s glance. They were best friends, but that didn’t mean he had to tell Brian everything.
Tuck shouldered his pack. “I’ve done more talking this morning than both of you put together.”
Brian smiled. “Maybe you needed to.” He took out a card and handed it to him. “Anytime.”
Brian tapped on Roman’s door that evening. “Thought you might be up.”
Roman went back to the sofa, stretched out his legs, and put his feet on the coffee table. He turned off the basketball game. “How’d the board meeting go?”
“Long. Like the day. I’m exhausted.” He stood in the living room.
Roman knew something was on his mind. “So, what’re you doing here? Sit down or go home and get some sleep.”
“I won’t be able to sleep until my curiosity is satisfied.” He tipped his head. “I’d like to see what you’re working on.”
“It’s not finished.”
“I’m not a critic.”
Roman shrugged, and they went into the second bedroom. Sketches littered the drawing board. A large canvas sat on an easel. Brian had to move to the other side of the room to see it. “Oh, my.” He spoke softly, in reverence. “She’s beautiful.”
“I could use more light.” Roman felt edgy, exposed. “This would’ve been better done at the place in Topanga Canyon.” And with the right model. He joined Brian and studied the painting with a critical eye.
A young woman, advanced in pregnancy, wearing Judean clothing, stood with one hand spread over the top of her swollen belly, the other cupping beneath as though holding the unborn child in tender embrace. Her expression revealed wonder and fear.
“What do you call it?”
“The Indwelling.”
“She looks like Grace.”
Roman’s heart leaped, but he didn’t say anything. He’d been praying just before Brian knocked on the door. If God wanted him to search for Grace, three people had to bring her up without any encouragement from him. And now, here was Brian, a few minutes later, doing exactly that.
Number one.
Roman was afraid to hope. Hope hurt.
Brian frowned. “You haven’t mentioned her in months.”
“Nothing to talk about.”
“You still love her.”
“Leave it alone, Brian.” Roman went into the living room and turned the basketball game back on. Brian sat in the easy chair as though he intended to stay awhile. Roman gave him a mocking smile. “I thought you were tired.”
“I can get her address from Shanice, if you want it.”
Temptation rose quickly. He caught himself before he gave in. “It’s better if I don’t know.” If he knew where she was, he might not be able to wait for God’s timing.
“Why not, Roman? You’re not the man you were.”
“I’m not the man she needs.”
Brian laughed and shook his head. “Listen to you, playing the martyr. If all you want is a roll in the hay, then, yes, I agree. Leave her alone. But you want more, don’t you?”