Francesca parked near the elementary-school flagpole, checked her watch and decided to leave the car in idle. The bell would ring in another minute and Nick would be out for the weekend.
She spotted him immediately, her gangly, towheaded son, his legs so long and deer-thin and awkward it looked as if he would never grow into them. Her heart swelled with love. He waved and ran toward the car. She waved back and reached across the seat to open the door for him.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Hello, love.” She stopped herself from asking how he’d done on his spelling test. The moment was too sweet. “Are you hungry?”
“Not yet.”
Nick was never hungry. Food was nothing more than fuel to him. If he never had to eat again he would be delighted.
She checked to make sure his seat belt was clasped. “How about if we stop in at the bakery for hot chocolate and a brownie?”
“Is Max at home?”
“I think so.”
“Can we just go straight there?”
Francesca was disappointed. “I thought we’d spend a little time together. I’ve been pretty busy lately.”
“Max doesn’t come very often and besides, Gran’s brownies are better.”
Francesca relented. “All right. We’ll go straight home to Max, but don’t blame me if Grandma hasn’t made brownies today.”
“She has,” Nick said confidently. “It’s Friday.”
Not only had Julianne whipped up a batch of brownies, she’d also wrapped one for Max. “Sit down and drink a glass of milk first,” she said, setting a tall glass in front of Nick. “Max isn’t going anywhere.”
Nick sat. “I got a hundred on my spelling test,” he announced.
Julianne’s eyes widened and Francesca clapped. “I knew you could do it.”
“The words were hard, too. We had to hear them in sentences or we wouldn’t know which way to spell them.”
Francesca nodded her head and leaned one hip against the counter. “Homophones. I’m so proud of you, Nick.”
“Can I have another brownie?”
“No,” the two women said in unison.
Nick grinned. Chocolate covered his front teeth. “Just checking.”
Francesca laughed. “Brush your teeth and then you can go. Say hi to Max for us.”
They watched him race out of the room and up the stairs.
“My goodness.” Julianne yawned. “All that energy makes me tired.”
“He’s growing up,” observed Francesca. “I remember when I was his whole world. Now I have to make an appointment.”
“I know. I remember. But, in the long run, independence is a good thing. It’s what we all want for our children.”
Francesca opened the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of milk. She sipped it standing up. “I’m at loose ends. I think I’ll have one of those brownies, too.”
Julianne set a brownie on a plate and handed it to Francesca. “I have a suggestion for you, but first sit down and eat.”
Francesca sat. “What is it?”
Julianne pulled up a chair and sat across from her. “Sarah Gillette has her dressage lesson this afternoon. Why don’t you go and watch?”
“You have Sarah’s schedule memorized?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“Mitch mentioned to me that his daughter could use a mentor and you said you would help.”
Francesca looked at her mother-in-law. She didn’t look thirty but she definitely didn’t look fifty. “Why aren’t you volunteering?”
“She likes you and you have the horses in common. I’ll tackle Drew.”
“Is this getting personal for you?” Francesca asked casually.
Her forehead wrinkled. “I’m not sure,” she said after a minute. “I know the children need help and it takes so little effort on our part.”
“All right.” Francesca reached for another brownie. “I’ll wrap this up for her. No one can resist your brownies.”
Julianne smiled. “I know she’s not Nick, but she’s still not much more than a little girl. I think you could help her.”
“I’ll give it my best.” She didn’t get up.
A minute passed. Francesca turned her empty glass around on the tabletop.
“Is something on your mind, Frances?”
Her voice was warm and low, inviting confidences. Francesca swallowed. “You want Jake to have Soledad, don’t you?”
Julianne sighed. “Yes, I do. And I want Gene and Kate to have a reason to stay. They’re good people, but most of all, I want Jake to have something of his own.” She looked down at her hands, and when she spoke again, her voice was full of emotion. “You don’t really understand that, Francie, because you’ve always had it all. Your legacy was right here in the land from the day you were born. Jake gave that up when he married you. He put all his energy into this vineyard, but it was still all yours.”
“I shared everything with him,” Francesa said, stung by her mother-in-law’s words.
“As long as he stayed with you. But he left and nothing was his. Soledad will be his.”
Francesca’s eyes were very bright. “Do you blame me for not giving him anything?”
“Oh, Francie, of course not. DeAngelo Vineyards is yours. It came to you intact from your father and his before him. It’ll be Nick’s after you. That’s the whole point. Jake needs something of his own, something apart from what you can give him. I’ve always felt that was a huge part of the problem between you. You’re a strong woman and you bring a great deal to the table, not the least of which is a profitable vineyard and winery. Jake’s ego couldn’t take that. I don’t know many men who could. This venture will be good for him. It will be good for both of you.”
She strove for a light tone. “I guess that means you think I should mortgage the vineyard.”
“No, I don’t.” Julianne sifted her hair with her fingers. “I’m not explaining myself very well. DeAngelo Vineyards has been in your family for a hundred years and your father would be turning over in his grave if you risked it. But the winery is different. You and Jake worked together to build it from scratch. He gave up all interest in it to you when he left for Napa. He didn’t have to do that. I think it’s time to return the favor.”
Francesca’s eyes burned. She looked down at the brownie in her hand. What she was feeling needed to be said. “I’m not over what he did to me, you know. No matter what I feel or what I want, there is still that. If you think I’ve forgiven and forgotten, you’re wrong.” Her voice broke and the tears spilled over. “Maybe it’s selfish of me, but that’s the way it is. If I do let him have the winery, it will be because of you, Julianne, not because of anything I owe Jake. Because you’ve always been there for me.”
Julianne was out of her chair, her arms wound tightly around Francesca’s shoulders before she could draw another breath. “Oh, my darling,” she murmured against the younger woman’s silky hair. “If only you wouldn’t struggle so. No one would ever call you selfish. You’re wonderful and loyal and dearly loved by all of us, including my son. If he weren’t such an idiot, he would have realized that long before he made the dreadful mistake he did. I only hope and pray you’ll forgive him, for all our sakes. But I certainly don’t expect it, Francie. Whatever you do will be the right thing.”
The words, validating and conciliatory, cooled the fire in Francesca’s chest. She’d often wondered how Julianne felt about her, especially after Jake left. As a child, she knew that Julianne had been fond of her. But Francesca wanted more. More than anything, she wanted to be Julianne’s daughter. In many a juvenile diary she’d created her own imaginary story, the one that ended with the unveiling of a document proving she was really a Harris. Her head told her that Julianne would always love Jake best. After all, he was her son. But Francesca, a little girl without a mother of her own, wanted Julianne to love her, too. It was good to know, after all these years, that she did.
The School of
Dressage on Refugio Road was a low white structure with the inevitable Spanish red tile roof typical of public buildings in the Santa Ynez Valley. A split-rail fence, also white, circled the ring where the art of dressage was taught and the paddock where horses grazed.
Francesca walked into the office, waved at the woman on the phone behind the desk, passed through the double doors and out to the ring. Sarah Gillette was finishing her lesson. Hooking her arms over the top rail of the fence, Francesca relaxed and watched the trainer lead the girl through the finer points of the canter.
Sarah looked the part, fine-boned and lean with a straight back, strong hands and a face made for the small-brimmed, velvet hat on top of hair skinned back into a bun. She was completely intent on her task, which, at the moment, was maneuvering Fairy Light into the high-stepping strut necessary for parading in front of a panel of judges.
Francesca watched approvingly. Sarah was good and, from the satisfied expression on the trainer’s face, she followed directions. Not wanting to distract her, Francesca walked back to the stables to look at the horses. She didn’t have long to wait. Ten minutes later, Sarah, hatless now, led Fairy Light into the barn. She grinned when she saw Francesca.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I came by to see if you needed a ride home.”
“Really?” Sarah looked skeptical.
Francesca laughed. “Really. I haven’t seen you in a while and I wanted to know how the lessons were coming.”
“I love them. If it weren’t for coming here, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.”
Francesca clucked softly and moved toward Fairy Light. Gently, she stroked her nose and head. “How are you, girl? Are they treating you the way you deserve?”
The horse nickered and blew into Francesca’s cupped hand.
“Do you miss her?” Sarah asked, handing the horse off to the small, wiry man who’d followed her into the barn.
“You bet I do.” Francesca nodded at the man. “How are you, Juan?”
The man’s grin was very white in his brown face. “Very well, thank you. It’s good to see you again, Francesca.”
“You can ride her if you want,” Sarah offered.
“That’s okay.” Francesca backed away. “She belongs to you now. From the looks of it you’ve been doing a wonderful job with her. I knew you two would be good for each other.”
“She’s my best friend,” Sarah said softly. “I think I’d run away if it wasn’t for Fairy Light.”
Alarm bells rang in Francesca’s brain. “Do you want to go for a soda and talk for a while? I brought you one of Julianne’s brownies, but maybe you’d like to go somewhere and save it for later.”
“My dad is coming for me,” Sarah said regretfully.
“Why don’t you call him and see if it’s okay? I’ll drive you home later.”
“Do you mean it? You’re always so busy.”
She reached into her pocket. “Use my cell phone. I’ll wait outside until you’re done.”
Francesca waved goodbye to the groom and headed toward the exit. Before she was halfway there, Sarah caught up with her. “Dad says it’s fine. I thought he would. It’s a huge pain for him to come out here and pick me up three times a week.”
Francesca’s eyebrows rose. “Three times a week is a lot of expensive dressage. I hope you’re grateful. Most kids are lucky to get one lesson a week.”
“It’s the least he can do,” Sarah muttered.
“I heard that.” Francesca unlocked the car door.
“I wanted you to.”
“Why?”
Sarah shrugged. “Giving your kids things isn’t the best way to do it.”
“Do what?”
“Be a dad.”
Pulling out on to the road, Francesca drove toward the center of town. “Maybe it’s a start for a person who’s as unfamiliar with the territory as he is. Obviously, your dad wants you to be happy or he wouldn’t do things for you.”
“It would be a lot nicer if he did some things with us instead of for us.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Francesca agreed. “But what if he doesn’t know how to do that?”
“Dads are supposed to know those things.” Sarah looked out the window. “My mom did.”
“Well, that’s the thing.” Francesca was beginning to feel sorry for Mitch. His daughter’s expectations were tough to live up to. “Moms are different, Sarah, not necessarily better, just different.” She changed the subject. “How’s your brother?”
Sarah kept her face averted. “He’s fine.”
“I heard otherwise.”
Sarah groaned. “I guess the whole town knows.”
“Look at it this way. If Drew was selling drugs, others were buying them.”
“It’s just so seedy and embarrassing.”
“Don’t take it so personally. You’re not your brother’s keeper. People know you for yourself.”
“That’s the problem. No one knows us at all. How do they know I’m different?”
“By the way you behave,” Francesca said reasonably. “You can’t worry about what people think of other members of your family. Be yourself. You’re a very nice person. People will see that.”
“Drew’s a nice person, too,” Sarah whispered. “At least he used to be.”
“He’s a good person. Whenever I think of Drew I get a warm feeling inside.”
Sarah looked surprised. “Why?”
“I remember the barbecue when Nick fell into the river. He might have drowned if Drew hadn’t fished him out and carried him home. I’ll always be grateful to him for that.”
This time Sarah’s flush was from pleasure. “He did do that, didn’t he?”
“He certainly did.”
“Drew’s changed,” the girl confided. “He wasn’t like this at home before Mom died. He was funny and smart. He told the best jokes.”
“Did he?”
Sarah nodded. “Mom and Drew had a terrific relationship. They played off each other like a comic routine.” She drew a deep breath. “Sometimes I felt left out, almost as if I was from a different family. I’m more like my dad, I think.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“No. I guess not.” Sarah did not appear convinced.
Francesca took the exit leading away from town.
“Where are we going?” Sarah asked.
“I thought we’d go into Solvang. They have a great ice-cream parlor and the shops are quaint. Do you mind?”
“No. I’d like that ”
Later, fortified with double-dip ice-cream cones, they wandered through the Danish village. Francesca stopped in front of a window filled with clocks. “I’ve always wanted a cuckoo clock.”
“Why don’t you have one?”
“They’re expensive and I don’t really need it. Besides, there’s always a better reason to spend my money.”
“Like ice cream.”
Francesca laughed. “Exactly.”
Sarah smiled sunnily. “This was really nice of you, Francie. I was feeling sort of down, but you perked me up. Thanks.”
Francesca melted. She was sweet and vulnerable with those big blue eyes and the spray of freckles across her nose. “You’re very welcome. I’m glad I helped.”
“Maybe we can do this again some time.”
“I’m counting on it. I’d like you to be happy here.”
“I thought you wanted us to leave.”
Francesca’s smile faded. “Why on earth would you think that?”
“Because of the winery my dad’s company is building.”
Francesca sat down on a bench and motioned for Sarah to join her. “How much do you know about that, Sarah?”
“Only what I’ve heard from other people. My dad doesn’t really talk about it with us.”
“What have you heard?”
Sarah’s lower lip trembled and she looked away. “Some of the girls at school said that the winery GGI is building would take busine
ss away from the local people. They’ll lose their jobs.”
Francesca sighed. “I guess that’s kind of hard to hear when you’re fifteen and hoping to make friends.”
“Is it true?”
“Yes and no. But either way, it has nothing to do with you personally.”
“I don’t understand.”
“A few people will lose their jobs, but more people will get new ones. Those who will lose are the local growers, like me. There aren’t more than fifteen working vineyards with wineries in the whole valley, so the losers don’t make up a large part of the population. The people who work for us will be absorbed by GGI. It’s that simple.”
“It doesn’t sound simple to me.”
“The bottom line is that I have as much to lose as anyone in this valley if GGI gets its winery. But that doesn’t mean I want you to leave Santa Ynez or that we can’t be friends. Please believe me.”
Sarah tilted her head. Her blue eyes, intense and considering, met Francesca’s. Then she smiled. “I believe you.”
“Thank you.” Francesca stood. “It’s time to go home. Your dad will be worried.”
“My dad doesn’t worry about me, but I do have homework.”
Francesca maintained her smile. Mitch Gillette was an intelligent man and he loved his children. That was clear to everyone who knew him. What a shame that his son and daughter didn’t know it, too.
Twenty-Two
Mitch slid the knot of his tie close to his throat, shrugged into the jacket of his charcoal-gray suit and checked out the final results in the mirror. He felt off, somehow, and slightly uncomfortable. It had been quite a while since he’d worn a tie. He hadn’t missed it but, on the other hand, he didn’t want to get too comfortable with the lifestyle in Santa Ynez. Once the winery was built, he would be sent somewhere else. Hopefully, for the sake of his children, that was still a few years away.
“Drew,” he called down the hall. “Let’s go.”
“I’m down here,” the boy called back.
Mitch met his son at the foot of the stairs and looked him over. Drew looked good. His hair, combed back from his face, was still damp from the shower and his clothes, although still baggy in the loose style teenagers preferred, actually fit. He was nearly as tail as Mitch. He nodded. “Good for you.”
A Delicate Finish Page 20
