Was she making one now, telling her secrets to this man, allowing him to see inside her? Was she hoping he’d reciprocate?
Roman looked so troubled, she felt sure she’d failed. “You haven’t the faintest idea what I’m talking about, do you?”
He shrugged. “I’ve been in the Vatican and a few of the famous cathedrals in Europe. I’ve seen people who believe. I wasn’t looking for God. I was there for the art.”
They didn’t talk for a long while. She wondered what he was thinking, but didn’t ask.
“You needed to believe someone cared.”
He was trying to explain the inexplicable. “Someone does care, Roman.”
His hands moved restlessly on the steering wheel. “My mother went out one night and never came back. CPS put me in foster care. Let’s just say I didn’t stick with the program. I kept looking for her until someone finally got around to telling me she’d died.” He gave her a cynical smile. “She was a prostitute like the ones you defended in Bodie. She died of an overdose at twenty-three. I was seven when she disappeared. You can do the math.”
Pregnant at fifteen, a baby in her arms by sixteen.
Roman looked pale, almost ashen. He spit out a word he hadn’t said since the first day she worked for him. “I don’t know why I told you all that.”
She could hope it was for the same reasons she had shared her secrets.
He moved into the fast lane again. “Where was God in everything you and I have been through, Grace? Tell me that. Where was God when your father was beating your mother to death and then blowing his brains out? Where was God when my mother was selling her body to keep a roof over our heads? She used drugs to feel better. Maybe she wanted to forget how she made a living. Maybe she wanted to forget she had a kid. Where was God in all that?”
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.