“Why not?”
“Because she’s going home.”
“Oh.”
He didn’t like the sound of his mother’s response. “You do understand that she has to go home, Ma. She’s got a job, a good job, one that takes years of schooling. We can’t expect her to work as an unpaid housekeeper forever.”
Mercedes picked at the lint on her blanket. “I wasn’t thinking of forever.”
“What were you thinking of?”
“A month. Maybe she could stay for a month and you two could get to know each other better. She’s a lovely woman, Gabriel. You couldn’t do better if you placed an order.”
He stared at his mother, wondering if she could really be so naive. “I want you to promise me something, Ma,” he said carefully.
“Anything, mijito.”
“Promise me you won’t ask Whitney to stay any longer than this week.”
His mother’s eyebrows rose.
Gabriel felt the edges of his temper curl and sizzle. He stood and walked to the window. It overlooked the parking lot. “You may not understand this, but I want you to listen. If you interfere in this, you won’t be helping. There are some things people have to figure out for themselves. This is one of them.”
“You do like her, don’t you, Gabriel?”
“Very much,” he acknowledged, turning in time to see the satisfied smile lurking on his mother’s lips. “That isn’t the point. If there is even the slightest possibility of something happening between us, it will be completely impossible if you suggest that she do anything else for us beyond this week.”
“But why, Gabriel?”
He tried to explain, knowing it wouldn’t make a difference. Mercedes Mendoza heard only what she wanted to hear. He’d spent a lifetime trying to reach her and here he was, still trying. “I don’t want to be under obligation to her. Our circumstances are far enough apart as it is. Leave me a little pride.”
“Your pride might be all you’re left with.”
“I’ll handle it.”
Mercedes leaned back against the pillow, her food forgotten for the first time in her life. “Why do you have so little confidence in yourself, my son?” she asked softly. “Who or what gave you the idea that you don’t deserve a woman like Whitney Benedict?”
“No one.” He was clearly exasperated. “It’s plain enough. Whitney is a lawyer. She comes from a well- known, well-established family and she has no children.”
“So, you’re not a lawyer. You have your own business. Everyone’s family is well known somewhere, and, as far as having children, you make it sound as if that’s a liability. I don’t see it that way. I don’t think she does, either.”
He sighed. “Just promise, Ma. That’s all I ask. Let me do this my way.”
She waited a full minute before answering. “All right, Gabriel,” she said at last. “I promise, but I won’t let you hang yourself. If it looks like you’ll lose it all, I’m going to act. You know I never interfere, but I won’t watch you drown. I’m your mother, after all.”
He knew it was nothing more than a reprieve, but maybe Whitney would be on her way home before his mother could do any real damage.
She was already seated at a small table in the corner when he entered the restaurant. He saw that she’d dressed up after all, not so that she stood out, but enough to know that she’d gone to some trouble. He approved of her narrow slacks and the long-sleeved, scoop-necked sweater, both in a seaweed-green that changed the color of her eyes. Her hair was pulled away from her face and allowed to fall across her shoulders in two pale, silvery curves.
She smiled when she saw him.
“Thanks for coming,” he said. “Have you been here long?”
“Just a few minutes. I’d like a glass of wine, but I waited to see if there was anything you preferred.”
“We have a great pinot noir in this corner of the world. If you like, we could give it a try.”
She nodded, a curious smile on her face.
“What?” he asked.
“Do you know a lot about wine, Gabriel?”
He nodded. “My dad was Austrian. He knew his wines and his food. I don’t mind taking after him in that way.”
“Your mother told me you were close.”
“Very.” He waved the waitress over and ordered a bottle of Cedar Creek pinot noir, the 1998 Reserve.
“Is it hard for you to talk about him?”
“Not really. It helps me remember him.” He smiled. “How about you? What are your parents like?”
“They’re young,” she said. “My mother’s fifty-eight and my dad just turned sixty.”
“Which one do you take after?”
“My mother,” she said without hesitating, “if you’re referring to appearance. We look exactly alike. If you’re curious as to what I’ll be like in twenty years, come home with me and I’ll introduce you to my mother.”
“You don’t sound very pleased about that.”
She shrugged. “It isn’t her appearance I object to.”
The waitress brought the bottle of wine, uncorked it and poured a small amount into Gabriel’s glass. He tasted it and motioned for her to fill both glasses.
“The linguini with clam sauce and the walnut gorgonzola tortellini are both excellent tonight,” the woman said.
Gabriel looked at Whitney. “Shall we go for it?”
She nodded. “Yes, please. They sound delicious. If we get one of each, we can share.”
“What bothers you about your mother?” he asked when they were alone again.
“She’s relentless,” Whitney said immediately. “She chips away until there’s nothing a person can do except crumble.”
“And your dad?”
“Daddy doesn’t have a chance.” She sipped her wine. “This is delicious.”
“Are they happy together?”
Whitney looked surprised. “I have no idea,” she said after a minute. “No one’s ever asked me that question before. I’ve always thought of them as my parents rather than people who need to be happily married.”
He refilled her glass. “Do you mind if I ask the million-dollar question?”
“Is it going to be, ‘Why aren’t you married?’ ”
“No.”
“All right. Ask away.”
“How has a beautiful, intelligent and generous woman like you managed to avoid marriage for as long as you have?”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Is that one of the rules?”
She laughed, but he could see that it was forced. She didn’t answer right away. Finally she spoke. “If I tell you, you’ll owe me. It means that you have to answer one of my questions, even if it’s one you’d rather not. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“I was married, briefly, a long time ago. Because of him I became a lawyer.”
“What happened?”
She looked directly at him. “His name was Wiley Cane. It still is, actually, but I prefer to think of him in the past tense. He was dirt poor, two years older than me and very southern, a real good old boy. I met him my last year in high school. He’d come back after a stint in the Youth Authority. He showed up at school that first day steeped in an aura of forbidden danger. He smoked cigarettes, drank beer and was good with his hands. He lifted machine parts and laid pipe. He had an awful reputation. It was irresistible. I succumbed to the secret desire of every girl who sees a gorgeous, well-muscled, unattainable young animal. I believed I could tame him and that all he needed was a good woman to bring him around.” Her smile was brittle. “I was wrong. I nearly killed my parents before I realized just how wrong I was, but it wasn’t before Wiley almost killed me.” She left out the other part, the part that really counted, the part she had no intention of revealing to anyone this side of heaven. Pity wasn’t the emotion she wanted to evoke in anyone, least of all Gabriel Mendoza. “I was so grateful to the lawyer who arranged my annulment that for a while I ranked him right up there with God. He
inspired me to follow in his footsteps.” She drained her glass. “That’s my story. I’m sure you never imagined it would be so sordid.”
“I admit, you don’t look the part of someone who could be taken in by anyone.”
“Give me a little credit. I was seventeen years old.”
“Yet you’re still alone.”
“I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.”
“Shoot.”
She set down her glass, folded her arms and leaned forward. Deliberately, Gabriel kept his eyes on her face. “This may seem ridiculous, but humor me.”
“All right.”
“Are you attracted to me?”
For the first time since he’d sat down, Gabriel doubted himself. Which was the answer that would settle everything down again and allow them to eat their meal without embarrassment? He settled on the truth. “Yes.”
“Was it there from the beginning, or did I grow on you?”
His lips twitched. She’d only had two glasses of wine. Maybe she was one of those people who couldn’t hold alcohol. “I’d have to say from the beginning.”
Her forehead furrowed. “What was it that attracted you?”
He paused. “Her voice was ever soft, gentle and low, an excellent thing in woman.”
“A man who quotes Shakespeare. Are you trying to impress me?”
“Is it working?”
“Yes, but you don’t have to.”
“Why not?”
“I’m already sold.”
His eyes narrowed. “Don’t play games with me, Whitney. What’s going on here?”
She wet her lips. “I’m leaving soon. Under the circumstances, we don’t have much time to get to know each other.”
He wouldn’t help her. She’d have to spell it out clearly so he knew there was no going back.
“I thought we might skip a few steps in the usual courting ritual.”
“Which steps might those be?”
She sat back in her chair. Her cheeks were very pink. “Damn it, Gabriel, leave me a little pride.”
He leaned forward. “You’ll have to say it, Whitney, loud and clear, because I’m having a hard time believing this is really happening.”
“I can’t say it.”
“Why not?”
“Because of who I represent. It isn’t ethical.”
“Then why are we having this conversation?”
“I won’t always be in this position. I have to know if there is any possibility of us going beyond where we are now.”
“You live in Kentucky.”
She nodded. “Do you have anything against long distance relationships?”
His slow grin deepened the grooves in his cheeks and squared his chin. “Do you always call the shots?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks for the warning. I’ve never been to Kentucky.”
“That’s going to change very quickly.”
He laughed. “I’ve never even kissed you.”
“That’s going to change, too, even more quickly, I hope.”
“You can count on it.”
“Tonight?”
“No.”
She stared at him. “Why not?”
“Because you’re still a lawyer representing the Austrian government, and because I’d like to be the one calling some of the shots.”
Seventeen
Emma stared sullenly at her PE teacher, tuning out the lecture she’d heard once a week since school started in September. She knew better than to interrupt or even answer. Miss Sinclair was happiest listening to herself talk, and as far as Emma was concerned, she had nothing new to offer.
“Are you listening to me, Emma?”
Emma barely nodded.
The woman sighed. “I don’t know what to do with you. I’ve never seen anyone so resistant. Believe it or not, I want to help you. If there’s a problem, please tell me.”
This time Emma didn’t even bother to nod.
“All right, Emma.” The woman’s tone had changed. “I’ll give it to you straight. The next time you come to class without your gym clothes, I’ll fail you. You’ll have to take PE again if you want to graduate. Is that clear?”
Emma looked at her feet. Anything could happen in four years. It was a lifetime away. She had better things to think about.
“Consider yourself warned,” the teacher said, turning away.
Taking her words as a dismissal, Emma walked out of the gym and into the main building. A group of girls she recognized stood in a small group, directly in front of her locker. Tracy Davenport, the acknowledged leader, hissed a warning as Emma approached. The dead silence was a giveaway. Obviously she had been their topic of conversation. She reached through their tight circle to dial the combination on her locker. They separated, allowing her access. The sooner she could be away from here, the better. Tracy, once her best friend, now treated her as if she had the plague. Not that it mattered. She wanted nothing to do with Tracy and her rah- rah club of wannabe cheerleaders.
“Hi, Emma,” Tracy ventured. “How are you?”
“Give me a break, Tracy,” Emma replied scathingly. Why wasn’t her stupid locker cooperating?
Tracy’s brown eyes flashed. “What is your problem? Why are you acting this way?”
Finally, the lock clicked open. Emma opened the door and stuffed her book bag inside. Slamming it shut again, she turned to Tracy. “What way?”
Tracy linked her arm through Emma’s and dragged her away from the group. “Go on without me,” she called back.
Emma pulled her arm away. “Get lost, Tracy. I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. We’ve been friends since kindergarten. What is it? I have a right to know.”
Emma’s lip quivered. She could feel herself losing it. “Go away.”
“Not until you tell me why.”
“Why are you being so stubborn?” Emma shouted. “I don’t want to be friends anymore, that’s all. We aren’t the same. I don’t want to hang out with the people you hang with.”
“Those people are your friends.”
“Then why are they talking about me behind my back? Why are you talking behind my back?”
Tracy looked wounded. “I’m not saying anything behind your back that I haven’t said to your face. What’s wrong, Emma? You can tell me.” Her eyes flickered over Emma’s exposed midriff and low-cut jeans. “Why are you being so weird? Does it have to do with your mom?”
“No.” Close to tears, Emma brushed past Tracy and ran down the hall toward the exit. Blindly, she pushed open the doors and ran down the steps across the wide green lawn. Her heart slammed against her chest and her breath came in gasps. She hated Tracy Davenport. She hated her teachers. Nothing was going right. Nothing had gone right since her mother left.
Emma stopped at the side of the 7-Eleven on the corner to catch her breath. She heard someone called her name. At first she thought it was Tracy. Without turning around, she started walking again, quickening her pace. The call came again. This time she recognized the voice. A bubble of hope and joy welled in her heart. She turned, inhaled and started to run toward the woman coming toward her. “Mom,” she shouted. “Mom. You came back.”
Kristen Mendoza hadn’t intended to do more than cash in what was left of her investment account, call on her children and her mother and leave town the same day. She hadn’t counted on the look on Emma’s face when the child hurled herself into her arms. “There, there, baby,” she crooned, cradling the unfamiliar dark head against her shoulder. What on earth had Emma done to her hair? Circling the school, scouting out what seemed like hundreds of fourteen-year-old girls Emma’s size with blond hair, she hadn’t recognized her daughter at first. If she hadn’t spotted Tracy, she would never have known where to look.
After a minute, she pulled back, setting Emma at arm’s length to look at her. It wasn’t that the clothes were shocking in themselves. Kristen was used to seeing
skimpy clothes and bare skin, but she’d never seen them on Emma. What was Gabriel thinking to allow her to dress this way? She had the grace to flush. She had no right to criticize Gabriel. He was holding it together all alone, if you discounted Mercedes, and Kristen was more than happy to do that.
She had never warmed to her mother-in-law. Not that she didn’t admire her. Mercedes was the kind of person she longed to be—dramatic, unselfconscious, flamboyant, colorfully and ethnically exotic. Kristen, with her pale hair and eyes and her thin features, could never compete, not in that arena. Why she ever felt she had to was a mystery that was never resolved to her own satisfaction. Maybe it had something to do with Gabriel. She realized, only recently, that everything significant in her life began and ended with Gabriel. She was trying to change that.
Kristen brushed Emma’s hair from her forehead. Her daughter’s face was grimy with tears and running mascara. “Oh, Emma. I’ve missed you so.”
The child’s eyes widened eagerly. “Are you staying?”
Kristen shook her head. “No, sweetie. I can’t do that. I need to work and my work is on the road.”
“Can I come with you?”
Rather than answering, Kristen linked her arm through Emma’s, leading her in the other direction. “Let’s get a bite to eat and I’ll tell you everything,” she suggested.
“I have to call home. Dad checks on me. He’ll want to know where I am.”
“I’ll drive you home. We can talk on the way.”
Emma hesitated. “I’d rather talk somewhere here.”
“I’d like to see Eric and Claire, too.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Emma said quickly.
“Why not?”
“Gran hurt herself. She’s in the hospital for a few days. A friend of Dad’s is there.” Emma frowned. “She’s not really a friend. She’s a lawyer.”
“A lawyer? Why does Dad need a lawyer?”
“Austria wants to buy the Lipizzaners.”
Kristen’s heartbeat quickened. “Really?”
“He doesn’t want to sell,” Emma explained. “Gran and the aunts do, I think. Anyway, Whitney stayed to help when Gran had her accident.”
They had reached Kristen’s car. She buckled herself in and waited until Emma was settled before resuming her questioning. “Let me get this straight. A lawyer representing Austria offered to buy Dad’ horses. He doesn’t want to, but she’s staying, anyway.”
The Lavender Field Page 18
