She had to stop thinking about him! She needed to concentrate on moving forward, starting over again.
Shanice had given her strength over the last two weeks, but Grace didn’t want to outstay her welcome. Shanice had a life of her own, and Brian wanted to be part of it. Whenever he called, Shanice looked guilty, as though she’d done something terrible to Grace rather than merely invite her to have a girls’ night out. Grace was responsible for what happened, not her friend. And then, in the aftermath, she’d delayed moving ahead because she lacked faith. Now she realized the cost to Selah and her family. She didn’t want to make the same mistake again.
“I’m going back to Fresno, Shanice.”
“To your aunt’s?” Shanice’s eyes widened. “But she wouldn’t even speak to you—”
“I’m not planning to stay. I’m only going for a visit. If she’ll let me. It’s time, and she and I need to talk.”
“What if she slams the door in your face?”
Grace gave a soft laugh. “Aunt Elizabeth would never be so rude.”
“Why are you going to her when she wouldn’t help you before?”
“I just want to talk with her about a few things.” When her aunt had left Memphis, she’d abandoned everything and everyone she knew. Maybe Aunt Elizabeth could tell her how she’d done that. Grace also wanted to know why.
“You’ll come back after that?” Shanice looked hopeful.
If she stayed in Southern California, temptation would pound on the door of her mind and heart. How many times in the last two weeks had she thought about driving to Topanga Canyon? She’d been looking for an excuse to see Roman again. But she knew what would happen if she did.
Twice in the last week, she’d picked up her son and pulled out her car keys intending to go. And then she’d heard that still, small voice warning her. Don’t go back, Grace. Trust Me.
“As long as I’m here, I’ll be tempted to contact Roman. And I’d be a fool if I did. My mind tells me he wants all the physical benefits without any responsibilities, but my heart is deceitful.” She lifted one shoulder in bleak admission. “At least Patrick put a ring on my finger while using me. Roman wasn’t even willing to do that. Though I guess I should give him credit for his honesty.”
“Brian met with him at a coffee shop.” Again, that faint stain of guilt on Shanice’s face.
“How did it go?” Grace regretted asking and held up her hands. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.” She stood, grimacing. “I’m going to call my aunt. Pray for me.”
When Aunt Elizabeth answered, Grace asked if she would mind having company for a few days. Aunt Elizabeth sighed. “I take it you’ve made a difficult decision.”
“Several.” Grace ran her hand over Samuel’s head.
“When shall I expect you?”
“Tomorrow afternoon, if that’s convenient.”
Roman managed to cross the racquetball court fast enough to send the ball zinging toward the back wall. Brian missed it and let out a groan of defeat. “Mercy! I surrender.” He bent at the waist, hands on his knees, and gave a wheezing laugh. “Even with a bum leg, you’re more of an athlete than I am.” Breathing hard, he straightened. “And here I thought artists spent all their time standing around painting.”
Grinning, Roman bounced the ball up and down. “Depends on what kind of painting we’re talking about. A tagger has to be fast on his feet or he’ll end up cuffed and in the back of a police car.”
“Are you still doing graffiti?”
“Not anymore.”
A couple of young women stood at the window, watching. One had dark hair like Grace. Turning away, Roman retrieved his bottle of water and drank deeply. He couldn’t get through an hour without thinking about her. It’d been a couple of weeks, and he still felt crushed and broken inside. If she loved him, why the silent treatment? He’d put out the olive branch the first few days, hoping she’d pick up or text back or call or write or something so they could talk things out. Clearly, that wasn’t going to happen.
Brian picked up his towel and wiped his face. “She’s hurting, too.”
Roman didn’t have to ask who he meant, but wondered how Brian knew he was thinking about Grace. Was the pain etched on his face? He’d been trying to push it down, keep it out of sight. How long before it eased? How long before he could get through a single day without feeling like his heart had been ripped out of his chest?