Pulling on a thick terry-cloth robe, Grace went outside. The pavers felt cold against her bare feet. She inhaled the crisp night air. The lights were on in Roman’s studio. Apparently, he was having a sleepless night, too. Wrapping her arms around herself, she looked up at the stars, flung diamonds on black velvet. She wanted to pray, but didn’t have words for what she was feeling, what she needed to ask.
My son. Lord, my son, my son.
Wiping tears away, she sighed. The chill had begun to penetrate, driving her inside. She sat on the sofa and read her Bible until her eyes grew heavy. Rather than face the empty crib in the bedroom, she pulled the blanket off the back of the sofa and covered herself. The pillow smelled faintly of Roman’s aftershave. She dreamed of him and awakened breathless. Disturbed, she lay awake again.
Oh, Lord, help.
Grace inhaled the strong scent of fresh paint when she entered the main house the next morning. She made coffee, filled a mug, and headed for the studio. Roman stood at the back wall, making wide sweeps with a paint roller, covering whatever he’d painted there recently. “Good morning. Have you been up all night?” She felt her cheeks warm, wondering if he would ask how she’d known he’d been up at all.
“Had to get something off my mind.” Roman made one more broad sweep before dumping the roller into a rumpled tarp. Vibrant colors and shapes bled through the muddy beige. She tried to discern what he’d hidden.
“I saw you on the patio around midnight. You’re not sleeping any better than I am.”
She didn’t look at him. “What were you painting?”
“Nothing worth talking about.”
Nothing good, by the tone of his voice. “Could you paint Jesus?” She offered him the mug of coffee.
“I didn’t see His face.” He took the mug, his fingers brushing hers. “It’s the others I remember clearly.”
Grace worked in the office until noon. When Roman didn’t come down, she took a sandwich and iced tea upstairs to his studio. He sat, one hand buried in his hair, the other tapping a pencil on a blank sheet of paper. She set the plate and glass on the stand beside his work area. He glanced at her, and she noticed the shadows beneath his eyes. “Talia called. She has some prints for you to sign.”
He tossed the pencil into a tray. “How many?”
“Two hundred. She set the price at one thousand each.”
“How much would you pay for one of them?” She didn’t want to answer. He lifted a brow, his mouth curving in a sardonic smile. “Don’t look so guilty, Grace. I wouldn’t hang one on my wall, either.” He swiveled on the stool. “Problem is, I’ve lost my momentum. I don’t have a clue what to draw or paint right now.”
“It’ll come to you.”
He gave a bleak laugh. “Maybe God has a problem with my work, too.”
“Maybe He has something else for you to do.”
“Such as?”
She wished he’d stop looking at her. “I don’t know. Ask Him.”
“I don’t know how.”
“You just talk to Him. I do it all the time.”
“I don’t hear you talking all the time.”
“You don’t have to pray out loud.” She looked at the blank sheet of drawing paper. “Hector told me when he painted pottery, he’d start with an ordinary shape. A cactus, for example, or boulders.” Roman had plenty of those on his property.
“As you know, cacti and boulders aren’t my thing.” He looked her over. “I’d be more inspired if you posed for me.”
Her mouth fell open. He must be kidding. “Very funny. If you want a model, I have a file of letters from a dozen beautiful women very willing to do that.”
“I’m not asking you to take your clothes off, Grace. Just sit for an hour. It might get me started on something other than what I’ve been doing.” He nodded toward the wall he’d buffed that morning.
Grace’s whole body went hot. She couldn’t sit for an hour with him looking at her. She shook her head, mortified at the warmth that spread up her neck into her cheeks. “If you need inspiration, try what Hector does. Start with a line.”
Roman smiled slightly. “Okay. Give me a line.” He handed her the sketchbook and a pencil. “Let’s see if it inspires me.”
Grace went over to the windows and tried to match the horizon. She put the sketchbook and pencil on his worktable. “See what you can do with that.”
He gave a dry laugh. “I should’ve known you’d want a landscape.”