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The Masterpiece(148)

Author:Francine Rivers

“I’ve told you more than I’ve told anyone.” Including Grace.

“I’ll hold it in trust.” Brian considered him for a moment. “God has had His hand on you for a long time, my friend.”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one.”

“Maybe you need to go back and look at everything with new eyes. From where I’m sitting, God saved your life several times, not just that one time in Santa Clarita.” His expression was intense, as though he were trying to drill through steel. “Jesus came to set you free, Roman, not remind you constantly of where you missed the mark. We’re saved by grace . . .”

His fleshly mind went to Grace, God’s instrument to keep him alive and give him one more chance to get things right. And he’d insulted her with a naive offer of what he considered a relationship. No wonder she ran.

He’d let her go, and now here he was thinking about her again. He refocused on what Brian was saying and knew what he meant. God’s grace covered it all.

Brian laughed softly. “I can always tell when you’re tuning me out.”

“I hear you. I’ll think about it.” Maybe he should go back to the Tenderloin. He had unfinished business there.

Brian rubbed his hands together. “Could I talk the Bird into doing some flying for me? Graffiti is the kind of art that appeals to my parishioners.”

Roman remembered the police officer in the tunnel. “I’m not blasting walls anymore. Gave my word.”

“I’m not suggesting anything illegal, Roman. It’d be in the open, no black hoodies necessary.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Something conspicuous on the wall facing the street. I want people to know there’s a church in the industrial park. Of course, I need to get permission from our landlord, but he’s a cool guy and a Christian. I think he’d go for it.”

Ideas flashed like a slideshow in Roman’s mind. Every time he read the Bible, he remembered paintings he’d seen in cathedrals and museums across Europe, others only in his head. He felt a spark and sensed the Holy Spirit bringing it to flame.

What do you say, Bobby Ray Dean? Want to do a little art for Me?

Roman laughed. Graffiti for God? What an outrageous idea! He itched to have a pencil in his hand.

Brian grinned. “Looks like you’re already thinking about it.”

GRACE SAT AT THE KITCHEN TABLE, her laptop open, editing a business brochure. She peered out the window. It had been an hour since her aunt had taken Samuel out in the stroller. She’d never known Aunt Elizabeth to take a neighborhood walk, let alone ask to have responsibility for a baby.

The front door opened. “We’re back!” Aunt Elizabeth called from the foyer. “I didn’t give Samuel to the gypsies.” She appeared in the kitchen doorway, cheeks flushed, smiling, Samuel perched happily on her hip. “Half a dozen neighbors wanted to know what I was doing with a baby. I told them I found him in the supermarket and couldn’t resist tossing him in the basket.” She chuckled. “I never knew I had so many nosy neighbors, but then again, I haven’t taken a walk around the block in years.” She looked over Grace’s shoulder at the computer screen. “What’re you working on?”

“Editing a brochure for a new business venture.”

“How did you get the work?”

“Harvey Bernstein has sent a few jobs my way.” Her aunt had never met her boss at the public relations firm.

“Looks good. Then what will you do?”

“I have three other projects lined up, and Jasper Hawley has connections with several high schools in the Sacramento area. He’s recommended me as an online tutor. I had my first inquiry this morning. I’ll meet Kayden and his father on Skype during Samuel’s nap time.”

Aunt Elizabeth patted her shoulder. “I think you’re going to do very well, Grace.”

The unexpected compliment and pat on her back made tears well up. She had tried for years to win her aunt’s approval. “I hope so.” She saved the file and closed the laptop. “I can take him.” She reached out for Samuel.

Aunt Elizabeth shifted away. “He’s fine where he is.” She took an arrowroot cookie from the box and gave it to him.

“He’s going to get messy with that. Your blouse—”

“Don’t worry about my blouse. It’s washable silk.” She leaned against the counter. “You young people seem to be creating your own careers these days.”