YOSEMITE HELD an awe-inspiring beauty with its hanging valleys, waterfalls, giant granite domes, and moraines, but Roman couldn’t keep his eyes off Grace. She was clearly enjoying herself, and it shone in her face.
“If I had your talent, Roman, I’d be painting this.” She spread her arms, encompassing the valley in front of them.
“And get nowhere. It’s been done a thousand times.” He pocketed his phone and joined her.
She looked at him. “What were you doing? Texting a girlfriend?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” He smiled slightly. “Not the kind you mean, anyway.”
“Then why do you always have that thing in your hand? You’re missing everything!”
He’d seen it before, but saw it differently this time. “Half Dome is pretty spectacular. I wouldn’t mind climbing that rock someday.”
“You’d need a lot of mountain-climbing experience.”
“I used to climb tall buildings.”
“Okay, Superman.”
He liked her smile. “They weren’t that tall. Five or six stories.” He looked up at Half Dome. “I wanted to do heaven spots. The higher, the better.” He glanced at her. “Earn street cred.” She didn’t understand a word he said, and he wasn’t ready to explain. “Never mind. Why don’t we get back on the road and cover some more ground before we call it a day?”
She gazed at Half Dome. “What a pity.”
“You’re the one who has to be back by Friday.”
“Yes. I do. Can you wait one minute?” She walked over to the stream and picked out a small stone.
“What’re you going to do with that?”
“Remember Yosemite.”
They were well on their way when Grace asked him to pull over. She just wanted a few minutes to see a cirque lake. Roman followed her to the edge. Grace stood looking up at the mountain and the mirror image on the surface of the water. “It’s like an oval mirror. It doubles the beauty.”
It was a magnificent scene. “I’d never attempt to paint this. I couldn’t come close to what we’re seeing.”
She faced him. “No one could.”
“Some come close.”
“Isn’t art all about interpretation?”
“Partly.” He sat on a boulder.
She looked back at the lake. “I should’ve bought postcards.” She took out her phone and took a few pictures, then came over and sat beside him. “Tell me about your paintings. I don’t understand them, you know. The mural, yes. The great migration, and it’s beautiful. Your other work baffles me.”
Leaning forward, he rested his forearms on his knees. “They’re people I’ve known, exposed, but disguised so no one can recognize them.” He gave a rueful laugh. “By the time I’m done painting, I don’t even know who they are.”
“Who were they when you started?”
His mother, the landlord of the Tenderloin apartment house, foster family members, CPS workers, the girl who introduced him to sex, gang friends, and a wannabe tagger who didn’t know how to stay alive. “Some I want to remember; others I wish I could forget.”
Scooping up a rock, he stood and sent it skipping across the water. Concentric circles spread, ruining the mirror image. He picked up a white stone and tossed it to her. “For your collection. We’d better go.”
They reached the top of Tioga Pass, and Roman grinned at her. “Hang on. It’s going to be a scary ride down.”
“You can see for miles!”
“That’s Mono Lake down there.” The car hugged the curves on the steep grade. She looked more excited than afraid. “I’ll bet you like roller-coaster rides.”
“I’ve never been on one.”
The tires squealed as Roman took another curve. He heard Grace’s intake of breath and slowed on the next one. “No trips to amusement parks or county fairs?”
“No trips anywhere. My aunt didn’t take a lot of time off, and I found a job as soon as I was old enough for a work permit.”
“And when you were married?”
“I worked.”
So much for the idyllic lifestyle he’d imagined. She pulled her map from the door pocket and opened it. “There’s a visitor center down there.”
“And you want to stop.”
“You’re the boss.”
“Okay.” He accessed the computer and asked about Lee Vining hotels. Switching to the phone system, he made the call and booked two rooms. Grace put the folded map back in the door pocket. He couldn’t tell if she was upset or had run out of things to say. “I thought we should book something so we’d have time to look around and not feel rushed.”
She gave a soft laugh and shook her head. “You don’t need a personal assistant on this trip. Your car can do everything for you. I’ll bet it can even take notes and carry on a conversation.”
“Probably, with prompts.” He grinned at her. “You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Oh, what I wouldn’t give to have half its brain.”
They spent over an hour in the visitor center, reading through the information, before going out to the Mono Lake Tufa reserve. Everything fascinated Grace. “This is the strangest place I’ve ever seen.”
“Well, you haven’t seen much.”
She pointed. “That looks like an ancient city over there. It could be Sodom and Gomorrah after God rained down fire and brimstone.” She wondered aloud if Mono Lake looked anything like the Dead Sea in Israel. Another place she’d love to visit, even with terrorism on the rise. The sky looked more blue against the white formations. She pointed out shapes; he saw shadows. She asked how he would paint this place. He’d use bright colors, sharp, jagged lines, white and black. She listened intently, as though trying to hear more than what he was saying.
He bought sandwiches at a deli, and they sat at a picnic table. Grace enjoyed the view of Mono Lake. She was attentive to everything around her, drinking it in, savoring it. A breeze came up, and she closed her eyes. He could see the relaxed pleasure in her face. She was beginning to loosen up with him. Or was it the other way around?
What exactly was he looking for on this journey? The not knowing made him nervous. He’d never thought Grace beautiful, but she stirred him deeply. He’d always gotten his adrenaline rush painting graffiti and outrunning cops. She looked at him, and he felt his pulse kick up.
He’d been attracted to women before, but not the same way he was with Grace. She scared him. He could put a stop right now to whatever was starting to happen between them. Jasper said that was his pattern. The old voice spoke in his head. Don’t get too close, Bobby Ray. You know how much love hurts. Walk away before you feel anything more than you already do. She’s going to rip your heart out.
Jasper said it had to do with his mother. Bobby Ray couldn’t trust women because the one he needed most had abandoned him. Was that why he kept his relationships with women shallow and physical? Was anything ever that simple?
Why go over old stories, unlock doors, or find what was under the lid of a garbage can? His mother hadn’t kept her word. She hadn’t come back. How could she? She was dead. Jasper tried to get him to deal with it, find closure. Bobby Ray had survived. Why go back? Roman wanted to keep moving on.
If he did have abandonment issues, so what? His mother had been less to blame than the man who’d fathered him. Maybe he never knew. Maybe he did and turned his back on Sheila Dean. Roman had always been careful, even the first time. He didn’t want a child of his growing up fatherless with a mother who had to turn tricks for a living.
Grace crumpled the paper that had held her deli sandwich and stuffed it into her empty soda cup. She smiled at him. “Thank you for dinner.” She gathered his debris and headed for the trash can.
Roman watched her walk away. He loved the way she moved. His body warmed. He’d better not think about going down that road with this girl.
Not this soon, anyway.
She came back and sat so she could watch the sunset. He came around the table and sat beside her. She smiled at him. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
He’d rather look at her than the sunset, but he knew better. “For a little while, and then it’s gone.”
“Pessimist. It’ll happen again tomorrow. Every sunset is different.”
“The colors have to do with pollutants in the air.”
She gave him a pitying look. “Colors come from a phenomenon called scattering. The wavelengths of light and the sizes of the particles determine the colors. I learned that in a college science class.”
He’d never taken a college course, but he’d read a lot. “By particles, they meant pollutants.”
“You see it as you wish, Roman, but I see sunrise as God’s good morning, and sunset as God’s good night.” She pulled out her phone and checked the time. “We’d better get to the hotel, don’t you think?”
“I take it you want to get to your homework.” He didn’t want to spend the evening alone, but he remembered her heavy backpack. Could he talk her out of it? Maybe, but what sort of guy made a girl give up something that mattered to her? “Let’s go.”
Roman checked them in. When he took their luggage from the trunk, she gathered hers. He offered to help, but she said she could manage. He’d already noticed. “A pity I didn’t bring something to read.” He intended to sound pitiful.
“Check your nightstand. I’ll bet you find a Gideon Bible.”
He laughed. “Thanks a lot. Sounds like a real page-turner.”
Grinning, she opened her hotel room door. “It’s been on bestseller lists for years.” She went inside and closed the door behind her.
Bored, Roman grabbed the remote and turned on the television. News. Sports. Stupid sitcoms. More news. He flicked through the channels, one after another, and found nothing to interest him. He turned the set off and lay on his back. His mind circled around Grace. Swearing under his breath, he got up and took a cold shower. Cooled down, he cranked up the temperature, but then the room felt stuffy. He turned on the air conditioner. Giving in to impulse, he picked up the phone and called Grace’s room. Stretching out on the bed, he put his arm behind his head. “What’re you doing?”
“You know what I’m doing.”
He scrambled for something to delay the end of the conversation. “Tell me about Sodom and Gomorrah.”
“You can read about them yourself.” He heard her open and close a drawer. “There’s a Bible in my room. I’m sure there’s one in yours. Read Genesis.”
“Which is where?”
“In the beginning. The story is somewhere in the first half. Wait a minute.” She put the phone down. He could hear pages riffling. She picked up the phone again. “Start with chapter 18 on page 16 and keep reading. See you in the morning.”
It wasn’t the first time Grace had hung up on him. She was still his employee, and office hours were over. At least he hadn’t waited until after midnight to call. At least he wasn’t calling to needle her about a placid kiss from Prince Charming. At least she wasn’t mad this time.
Roman turned on the television again. After fifteen minutes, he gave up, shut it off, and yanked open the nightstand drawer. If the Bible was as boring as it looked, he’d be asleep in five minutes.
Grace wondered if Roman was upset with her the next morning. He hadn’t said much over breakfast, and now that they were on the road, heading north toward Bodie and Bridgeport, she couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?”
“No, I didn’t. Thanks to you.”
“Me?”
“I read until two in the morning. Genesis. Exodus. Gave up on Leviticus, whoever he was. Do you believe all that stuff?” He sounded ready for an argument.
She wasn’t the kind of girl eager to pull on boxing gloves, but she still wanted to know. “Which stuff do you mean?”
“God created everything in seven days. The serpent in the garden, Adam and Eve being kicked out, the angel keeping them from going back in, the plagues of Egypt. All of it.”
She decided not to hedge. “Yes, I do.”
Roman glanced at her with a sardonic smile. “Seriously?”
He wasn’t the first to dismiss what she believed. Patrick had complained when she went to church on Sundays. He wanted her home with him. He nagged so much, she gave up church. She realized soon enough all he wanted was a cook to make touchdown taco dip for his chips while he watched sports on TV, or a quick, rough roll in bed so he could sleep through to Monday morning. Giving up church hadn’t changed the inevitable outcome of their relationship. She’d gone back to the Lord wounded and floundering. Work then became her way of coping, until a caring friend talked her into a night out.
Grace swore she’d never stray again. Hold me close, Lord. Never let me go. Alone, she knew she’d drown and wash up on a sandy shore.
Roman looked at her again. “Why?”
The single word implied she was stupid. “Because it’s true.”
“Give me a break!”
“You needn’t be insulting. I’m as serious about my faith as you are about yours.”
“I don’t believe in God.”
“You believe in yourself. You believe you have control over your life and can live accordingly. That’s your religion.”
He didn’t say anything for the next five miles. Grace wished she’d kept quiet. So much for being friends. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Roman.”
“Who brainwashed you? Your aunt?”
“It doesn’t matter.” He’d never believe an angel came to her any more than Aunt Elizabeth had. The visitation had opened her heart to the Lord. How do you explain that kind of experience to an atheist? Or was he an agnostic? Did it matter?
“I’d like to hear.”
He looked serious, and she couldn’t see a way out. “There’s order everywhere: the stars, the seasons, the currents of the ocean, the air that moves over the planet, down to the cells that make up everything. I don’t believe that’s by chance or a series of accidents. It takes intelligence to create all that, intelligence beyond anything human beings can understand. That’s part of why I believe in God.”
“There was a serpent in the garden.”
Was he mocking her, or did he seriously want her to talk about what she believed? “Satan.”
“You believe in a devil.”
Just when she was beginning to enjoy his company! Was the rest of the trip going to be like this? “Yes, and I believe in hell, too. Everyone these days likes to think they’ll go to heaven or a better place somewhere. The truth is, the price for sin is death and hell. That’s why Jesus came. That’s why God sent His Son. Only Jesus could live a sin-free life and be the perfect sacrifice to ransom us. All He asks is that we believe. And I believe.”
“I must have pushed a button and gotten the recording.”
“You asked.” Hot tears threatened, and she looked out the window. Lord, You deal with him. “My ex-husband didn’t believe either.”
“If faith matters that much to you, why did you marry him?”
She gave a bleak laugh. “You have no idea how many times I asked myself that same question. He needed me. I thought I loved him. I was warned.” By her aunt as well as the quiet voice within her. “I just didn’t want to listen.” She had been so desperate for someone to love her she swallowed a lie.
She didn’t like feeling exposed. Let Roman do the talking. “Why don’t you tell me what you believe?”
“We’re born. We survive as best we can. We die. End of story.”
She glanced at his profile. He looked grim, as though hope didn’t exist. “No wonder you’re so miserable.” She turned her face away. “Why don’t you read Ecclesiastes tonight? You have a lot in common with King Solomon.” Including his taste for women.
Roman gave her an irritated glance and made the turn to Bodie.
She sighed. “Do you want to hear some history?”
“Something other than the brochure I read and practically recited to you?”
Grace breathed in and out slowly as she did a search on her phone. She read about the gold- and silver-mining boomtown that had boasted ten thousand inhabitants in its heyday—sixty-five saloons, gamblers, prostitutes, and a reputation for violence and lawlessness. A little girl, on hearing where her daddy planned to move the family, said, “Good-bye, God. We’re going to Bodie.”
Roman parked and got out of the car.
They walked among the dilapidated buildings. Grace paused to peer through windows, while he stood waiting, hands in his jacket pockets. A church, a saloon, a store. She looked through the window of a small house where a prostitute had once conducted business. “What a miserable life that must have been.”
“She picked it.”
Annoyed, she started to walk on, then decided not to let his comment go unchallenged. “Do you really think a woman wants to be a prostitute? I can’t imagine anything worse than having to sell my body to any guy who wanted to use me. I think women do that kind of work as a last resort.”
He looked angry now. “They aren’t forced into it.”
She was sick of being the brunt of his ill temper. “That depends on what constitutes force in your dictionary, Mr. Velasco.”
“Spoken like a college girl, Ms. Moore.”
“What if a woman lost her husband on the way out West? They didn’t have the same rights and opportunities men did. Or the physical strength. What if it was a girl on a wagon train and her family died of cholera or typhus? Can a woman plow a field and build a cabin on her own?” The only way she could stop herself from saying more was to walk away from him. He fell into step beside her. She quickened her pace.
“She could get married again.”
“What if all the men were like you?” Grace blushed, but she couldn’t bring herself to apologize. “If the girl had an education, she might find a job as a teacher, but most women weren’t allowed the privilege of education back then.” She made a sweeping gesture encompassing Bodie. “How many schoolhouses do you see out here?”
“What about now?”
“Now?” She didn’t know what he was talking about.
“What excuse does a woman have now?”
How could he be so insensitive? “Sometimes people make mistakes they can’t undo. Sometimes people are so beaten down they don’t know how to get back up. And there will always be people who want to keep them in their place.”
“And you know this how? From some textbook?”
Trembling with anger, Grace faced him. “What happens to a fourteen-year-old girl who gets pregnant and her parents kick her out? What if her boyfriend was just using her and doesn’t care what she does? How does she make a living? The people she thought loved her don’t. Where does she go? How does she earn money to buy food or keep a roof over her head? So she sells herself once, just so she can eat. Then she feels so dirty nothing matters after that. People look at her like she’s trash anyway. Now she believes she is. She can’t see any way out.”
All the anger went out of him. “Any of that ever happen to you?”
“No, but it doesn’t mean I can’t have empathy.” Clearly, he didn’t. Feeling sick, Grace walked away.
Roman didn’t follow her, but she felt him watching her. She went to the next corner of the town grid before she looked back. He stood where she’d left him, hands shoved in the pockets of his black leather bomber jacket, looking at the ramshackle house where the prostitute once lived.
They met at the car, both calm. “I’m sorry, Roman. I didn’t mean to get on a soapbox.”
He pushed the ignition button. “I can see why you like psychology. You can make a career of rescuing people for the rest of your life.”
Like Patrick. “No, thanks. Been there, done that, and it ended badly. I’m having enough trouble sorting out my own life to be of any use to others.”
“Sounds like we may have something else in common.”