The next night, Gracie didn’t go into the closet, and he just appeared, as though he’d been in the room all the time and she hadn’t been able to see him until that moment.
When Aunt Elizabeth found out about Gracie’s angel, she was angry. “Don’t start making up stories to get attention.”
“I didn’t.”
“Don’t argue with me. And don’t you dare lie. Miranda—I mean, Mrs. Spenser—said you announced to the whole class that an angel comes to your room every night.”
“He does.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, am I going to have to take you to a psychologist?”
That evening, Aunt Elizabeth tucked Gracie into bed. An hour later, she threw open the door and came in. She stood at the end of Gracie’s bed, hands on her hips, and looked pointedly around the room. “So? Seeing is believing. Where is he? This angel friend of yours.”
Gracie didn’t know what to say.
“No more talk of angels ever again.” Aunt Elizabeth spoke in a hard voice. “It makes you sound crazy.” She went out, closing the door firmly behind her.
Gracie looked at her friend. “Why couldn’t she see you?”
“Believing is seeing.”
ROMAN REGRETTED venting his frustration. Grace sat silent, making no effort to argue with him. She didn’t seem angry, but then what did he know? Had he been hoping she’d debate, prove him wrong? He doubted anything he said would kill her faith. Was that what he’d been trying to do? Or was he testing her to see how deep it ran?
An angel. No wings. A man. Grace based her faith on what she thought she saw as a scared kid who’d just lost both parents and then been moved across the country by an embittered aunt who didn’t want to look at her, let alone take care of her. And she thought God loved her? She was convinced He did? How does that happen? Roman had been afraid, many times, but never so deeply he’d imagined some celestial being coming to the rescue or offering words of comfort. He’d waded through his fear, crushing it with anger.
All his assumptions about Grace Moore had been wrong. He hadn’t expected to share common roots: devastating loss, fear, pain, no love. He’d run away and put up walls. Grace had hidden and then come out, been repeatedly wounded, and still poured all her hope into an unseen God.
Even with similar backgrounds, he felt the difference. He had a house, fancy cars, money in the bank. She struggled to stand on her own. He didn’t have anyone depending on him. She had a child, a son who needed her. He had a few friends and kept them at a distance. She carved out time with hers. He no longer had goals. She still pursued hers. He lived from one day to the next, doing whatever seemed right in his own eyes, and felt rootless and adrift. She lived to please an imaginary friend and seemed grounded—secure in her faith, if nothing else.
The highway rose and snaked through the Tehachapis. Grace looked out at the mountains. He looked at her. He couldn’t bear her silence, but he’d never apologized to anyone. Especially when he believed what he’d said. “Everything okay?”
She smiled at him. “I’ve driven this road a dozen times and every single time I see something new. I stopped once at Fort Tejon when the park was hosting a Civil War reenactment. Cannons firing, men shooting rifles, some screaming and falling to the ground as though they’d been shot. It was pretty terrifying.”
Roman relaxed. She wasn’t mad at him. “A Renaissance faire might be more fun. There’s one in Irwindale. Maybe we should go.”
“I can’t imagine you at a Renaissance faire.” Her smile lingered, her expression warm. “I’ve seen places over the last few days I’ve only dreamed of seeing, Roman. Thank you for insisting I come along. Even if it’s obvious you didn’t need me on this trip.”
I need you more than you know.
“Glad you enjoyed yourself. It’s been good for me, too.” He didn’t want the journey to end, but knew better than to try to prolong it. Grace wanted to spend the weekend with her baby boy. She’d probably invite that clean-cut pastor over for barbecue and maybe share another kiss, just to see if the second round turned out better than the first. What if it did?
Get a grip, Roman. Grace Moore deserves the right kind of guy. Even if the wrong kind wants her.
He’d put out a feeler with the idea of taking her to the Renaissance faire. Her answer came through loud and clear. Thanks, boss. See you Monday morning. I work for you, remember? Roman wanted to respect her boundaries. And he should be satisfied. He’d set out on this road trip for one purpose: getting to know Grace. The problem was the more he knew, the more he wanted to know; the closer he got, the closer he wanted to be. He had told her more about himself than he’d ever told anyone. He’d kept only one secret back, one he knew could ruin everything he had tried to make of his life.