The Lavender Field

by Jeanette Baker

  In a flash he was out of the car and up the stairs. Restraining himself, he knocked softly on Whitney’s door. She opened it immediately, her face a mix of curiosity and concern.

  “What is it?”

  “Emma’s being held at the police station. My truck battery is dead. Can I take your car?”

  “It’s only insured for me,” she said quickly. “I’ll drive you.”

  “I don’t have time—” he began, but stopped when he saw her reach for her keys and bag. She was dressed in gray sweats and socks.

  “My jacket’s in the car,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  “You need shoes,” he reminded her.

  “They’re in my bag.”

  She ran lightly down the stairs ahead of him, pulling the silky banner of her hair back and securing it with an elastic band. Less than two minutes after he’d knocked on her door, her shoes were on and they were heading toward the 101 north exit.

  Gabriel breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back against the headrest. Her efficiency calmed him. This was a woman who knew how to take charge. Heavens, how deeply you at once do touch me. He closed his eyes, absorbing the heat pouring from the vents.

  She broke the still warmth with a question. “What happened?”

  “My mother-in-law called. She isn’t happy. Emma was caught drinking and driving.” He shook his head. “One of the above would have been enough. She’s underage. This time she may very well have gone too far.”

  “What’s her problem?”

  “How should I know?”

  “C’mon, Gabriel. You can do better than that. A fourteen-year-old girl doesn’t cry out for attention the way Emma does unless there’s a problem. What do you think it is?”

  Gabriel looked at the profile of the woman beside him. It was austerely clean and honest. Without hesitating, she’d come to his aid. She deserved an answer, even if it meant his pride took some bruising. “She misses her mother,” he said simply. “Kristen dumped all of us, the kids and me.”

  “Does she write?”

  “No.”

  “She has no contact with her children at all?”

  “If she does, it’s minimal. According to Eric, he’s heard from her four times in eighteen months.”

  Whitney thought of her own mother’s cloying interest in her life. Suddenly it assumed a new perspective. “Are you divorced?”

  “Yes.”

  “What are the custody arrangements?”

  “She didn’t show up at court when the settlement was finalized. I have full custody.”

  “In other words, you have three children who feel their mother has abandoned them.”

  That was it in a nutshell. Whitney had a way of dispensing with fluff and exposing the core of the situation. Gabriel wondered if it was all legal training or if her personality wasn’t given to superfluous detail. “Yes. The case is classic, isn’t it? Emma is testing me to see if there’s anything she can do that will make me abandon her, too.”

  She glanced at him. “You seem to have figured it out. Why are you surprised and upset? This isn’t that big a deal. She won’t be able to get a driver’s license at sixteen and she’ll do community service, but that’s about it. No one will take her away from you.”

  “Her maternal grandmother wants to do just that. Emma isn’t my biological daughter.”

  She thought a minute. “My expertise isn’t in family law, but if you’ve been her father for more than ten years, and if her mother has abandoned her, you shouldn’t have much to worry about.”

  “Lynne will hire a lawyer. If she does, I will, too. I can’t afford that kind of drain right now.”

  “I see.”

  The offer from the Austrian government lay between them, thick and impassable.

  “I’m sure you’ll work it out,” was all she said.

  He stared out the window without answering.

  The Ventura police station saw its share of activity on a Saturday night. Gabriel and Whitney waited nearly thirty minutes before Emma, escorted by a thin-lipped policewoman, was released to them. She sat on the bench beside Whitney while Gabriel filled out paperwork and spoke to the officer at the desk.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked Whitney.

  “Your dad needed a ride. He had a dead battery.”

  “Lucky for him you were still here.”

  Whitney shrugged. “I suppose so. I imagine he would have awakened your grandmother.”

  “Why didn’t he do that in the first place?”

  Whitney looked at Emma, deliberately not answering until she saw a rosy flush stain the girl’s chest and cheeks. “Like your other grandmother, Mercedes is an old woman. He didn’t want to worry her.”

  The implication was clear. Emma had already unnecessarily worried one old woman.

  “You don’t like me, do you?”

  The corners of Whitney’s mouth turned up. The girl certainly was an original, a blunt one. “I don’t know you, Emma,” she said honestly, “but that’s your intent, isn’t it, to behave badly so people dislike you?”

  “I don’t like you, either.”

  Again Whitney shrugged, frustrated with the child’s disagreeable attitude. “I can handle it.”

  Gabriel joined them. “You have a court date in three weeks.” He reached for Emma’s arm. “Let’s go.”

  On the ride home no one spoke for a long time.

  Emma broke the silence. “Am I grounded?”

  “Yes,” Gabriel replied.

  “I wasn’t really drinking,” she began.

  “The police report says differently.”

  The lies flowed easily from Emma’s mouth. “I was trying to help Casey. She was the one who was drinking. She couldn’t drive home.”

  “You’re fourteen, Emma. You couldn’t drive home, either.”

  “But I wasn’t really drinking. I had just a little in my Coke. Honest, Dad. It really isn’t a big deal.”

  “Tell that to the judge and to your grandmother.” His composure slipped. Turning around he glared at his stepdaughter. “You’re damn lucky that Casey’s parents didn’t report the car as stolen. What in the hell did you think you were doing by involving Lynne?”

  Whitney looked in the rearview mirror. Emma’s eyes had the wide, frightened look of a cat caught in the headlights.

  “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  Gabe snorted and turned away. “Right, Emma. I really believe that one.”

  “How long will I be grounded?”

  “For the rest of your life.”

  “That’s not fair,” she wailed. “You can’t make me. You’re not my father. I want my mother. I want to live with Grandma Lynne.” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  Gabriel opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

  Whitney was impressed. Gabriel Mendoza had remarkable self-control.

  “I’m the only father you have, Emma, and living with Grandma Lynne isn’t an option.”

  “Why not?”

  Whitney watched Gabriel struggle for an answer. Seconds ticked by, and then minutes. Her heart felt hard and tight. Lord, if parenting was this hard, she was grateful she’d never had the opportunity. Mentally, she spoke to him. Make this right, Gabriel. Whatever you say, make it right.

  She thought he’d decided not to answer and searched her brain for an appropriate filler—the weather, the horse show, anything to fill the tense silence. She was just about to pick up the ball when he spoke.

  “Because I’d miss you too much.”

  The wave of relief that engulfed Whitney was palpable. She needn’t have worried. Gabriel was not going to destroy this incorrigible child, who cried out for any kind of attention. She smiled into the night, and then wondered why on earth she should be concerned at all.

  Only Claire was awake and seated on the stairs, waiting for them. Her feet were bare and she wore a white, gauzy nightgown without sleeves. With her hair, a cloud around her pale little face, and her too-big eyes, she looked to Whitney
like an angel awaiting her wings.

  This time Gabriel didn’t bother to lower his voice. He scooped the little girl into his arms. “Damn it, Claire, you’re freezing to death. What are you doing up?”

  “I looked for you,” the child whimpered. “You weren’t in your bed.”

  “Emma needed us.”

  Claire peeked over her shoulder at her sister. “Are you okay, Emma?”

  Emma, stricken into silence, nodded.

  Whitney looked down at her feet. What was it about this family that affected her so? Everything she witnessed was either intimate or painful.

  Gabriel sighed. “C’mon, punkin, let’s go upstairs.” He turned and looked at Emma, then reached out and pulled her close. “I’m mad as hell at you. Don’t you ever do anything like that again. Now, go to sleep, because I’m waking you up tomorrow at nine o’clock. You’re going to help me muck out the stalls. Understood?”

  Without answering, she ran up the stairs.

  Claire laid her head on her father’s shoulder. “Will you read to me, Daddy?”

  “It’s late, Claire. You need to sleep.”

  “Just one story. Please.”

  He groaned. “Okay. One story and that’s it.”

  Over her head, his eyes met Whitney’s. “I don’t think I thanked you for rising to the occasion tonight. I appreciate it.”

  She smiled. “You’re welcome. I have only one favor to ask in return.”

  His eyes hardened. “What’s that?”

  “Don’t wake me up at nine o’clock.”

  For a minute it didn’t register. He was too exhausted. Then he laughed. “It’s a deal. Don’t stay in bed too late. Tomorrow’s my mother’s Sunday brunch. The whole family will be here again after church, this time with husbands and kids. You shouldn’t miss it.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it. What time does she serve?”

  “Food comes out at about ten and is replenished until one. We all sort of drift in when we can. Guests come, too, when they’re here.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He stepped aside. “After you.”

  She preceded him up the stairs and watched him disappear with Claire into her bedroom.

  The light in her own bedroom was still on. She sat down on the rumpled bed, pulled off her shoes and socks and fell back on the pillows. Tonight, Gabriel Mendoza had impressed her. Every other man she could think of, without exception, would have lost his cool and given Emma the tongue-lashing she deserved. Who was she kidding? Every other man would have shipped the child back to her mother, postage due on receipt. At the very least, Emma would be packing her bags and moving in with her maternal grandmother.

  Instead, Gabriel had not only kept his anger under control, he’d reassured Emma that she was still loved and wanted, even while he was under extreme duress with very little sleep. There was more to Gabriel Mendoza than met the eye. Whitney liked him. More important, she respected him.

  Eleven

  On Sunday, Whitney woke to the sound of rain typing irregular patterns on the long windows. Disoriented, with an aching head and heavy eyes, she glanced at the clock. It was already past ten. Groaning, she pulled the covers up to her chin and stretched out on the comfortable mattress. Not until she felt her muscles pull and the familiar surge of energy nudging her brain awake did she roll out of bed and take in the view.

  The yellow haze that normally settled against the foothills was gone, replaced by dark, boiling clouds, leaden skies and gusts of rain flung randomly against the windowpanes. The ocean of waving lavender surrounding the house looked grayer this morning, casting a blue filter through which to view jewel-green grass and plowed earth that rolled out carpetlike in rich, dark brown hues. Burlap hills and cloud-studded sky met at the horizon. Everywhere she looked, Whitney could see no sign of another human being, a rarity she hadn’t believed possible in Southern California. Maybe residents of the golden state didn’t like rain or—more than likely, because they had so little, they didn’t know what to do with it.

  A shower washed away her headache and fresh makeup restored her mood. Shortly before eleven, dressed in a beige wraparound skirt, a white blouse and loafers, she followed her nose to the Mendoza family dining room. People were everywhere, and once again, a feast, tastefully arranged on platters and in chafing dishes, graced the wide table. Mercedes, rearranging the dishes for a pláte of tortillas, smiled when she saw her.

  Divesting herself of the plate, she clapped her hands. “Listen, everyone,” she commanded. “For those of you who haven’t met her, this is Whitney Benedict.”

  Voices hushed momentarily, and even the blackhaired babies standing on unsteady legs, clutching the low coffee table, stared. Then Ramona claimed her, pulling her into the circle of her sisters and two men. “Whitney, you’ve already met Luz and Pilar. Let me introduce you to the rest of us. You probably won’t remember everyone all at once, but this is Luz’s husband, John.” A slight man with wings of gray at his temples and the features of a Goya portrait smiled and held out his hand.

  “Hello, Whitney,” he said formally.

  “Hello.”

  Ramona gestured toward a tall, powerfully built man with a ready smile. “This is Danny, my husband, and those—” she pointed to the babies “—are my twins. We’re all here except for Eric, Claire, Emma and Gabe. The first two are helping Gabe with the horses and Emma is in disgrace. She refuses to come downstairs. I guess you know all about that.”

  Whitney ignored her last comment and shook Danny’s hand. “I’m pleased to meet you.” She looked around. “Do you do this every Sunday?”

  “When we can,” Pilar answered. “Ma likes it when we all get together.” She laughed. “I’m not married, so it’s the only balanced meal I eat all week.”

  “Are you enjoying your stay, Whitney?” Luz was dressed in a calf-length gray dress and black boots. Her chunky silver earrings, bracelet and the barrette that held her hair in place at the back of her head were gorgeous and obviously expensive. “I hear you helped out yesterday at the show.”

  “I’m learning to appreciate California,” she replied honestly. “It’s different from what we’re led to believe.”

  Ramona tilted her head. “How so? Tell us.”

  “Well, for one thing, California isn’t all Hollywood Boulevard and the Avenue of the Stars. I love the outlets and your shops are wonderful, but this is really a rural state, isn’t it? I mean, I’ve never seen so much farmland, so many fruit stands and such exotic offerings in my life.” Her light-struck eyes moved from one face to another. “Do you have any idea how lucky you are?”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to appreciate what you take for granted,” said Ramona.

  Pilar spoke before Whitney could reply. “I don’t mean to change the subject, but have you had any luck changing my brother’s mind about your offer?”

  “It isn’t my offer,” Whitney corrected her. “As Gabriel pointed out, I’m just the messenger. Hopefully, y’all will come to an understanding and a decision will be made before I leave.”

  “Still, it’s Sunday and you’ve been here since Thursday,” Pilar insisted.

  “Pilar,” Luz said, the edge in her voice unmistakable. “You’re pushing.”

  Pilar flushed. “I asked a simple question, that’s all.”

  Whitney was beginning to feel uncomfortable when Mercedes clapped her hands. “Everybody, help yourselves,” she called out.

  At the table, Ramona picked up two plates and handed one to Whitney. “I hope you’re not feeling too pressured,” she said, filling her own with an egg-and-tomato dish, fried potatoes, beans and fruit.

  “Not at all,” Whitney lied. “I’m enjoying myself.”

  Ramona grinned. “From what I heard, you could probably have done with a little more sleep.” She nodded at her boys, now navigating the room in their walkers. “Sit beside me. We can talk while they’re occupied. Once they’re hungry or tired or wet, it’s the end of my socializing.”

&n
bsp; Whitney wondered if it was the end of Danny’s socializing, too, but she was too polite to comment.

  “I’m sorry you had to get involved last night,” Ramona said when they found their seats at the end of one of the couches.

  “Don’t be. I feel sorry for Emma. It must be hard for a teenage girl to be without her mother.”

  “That’s it, of course,” Ramona agreed. “Gabe wanted her to go to therapy when her mother first left, but she wouldn’t hear of it. I guess Kristen didn’t even say goodbye to the kids. She just sort of sneaked out the back door. I think Eric’s handling it, but the girls are having a harder time. For weeks in the middle of the night Gabe would find Claire sitting at the bottom of the stairs in her nightgown waiting for her mother to come home. Every time the phone would ring, Emma would rush to answer it. I guess she keeps hoping Kristen will call. I’m afraid Emma’s going to have to come to terms with it herself.”

  Whitney felt a sudden pang and was no longer hungry. Compared to Kristen, Pryor was looking better and better. “I’ve heard that she wants to live with her maternal grandmother. Is that a possibility?”

  Ramona shrugged. “Anything’s possible. I don’t think it would last. There’s nothing wrong with Lynne’s intentions, but she doesn’t have a handle on the typical teenager. Apparently Kristen was a model child. Maybe some of her rebellion is long overdue.”

  “Did you like her?”

  “I suppose I did, at first,” Ramona replied. “But it’s hard to continue liking someone who hurt my brother so badly.”

  Whitney nodded. “It’s obvious that he misses her.”

  “I’m not sure that’s true any longer. I think his hurt has turned into anger.” Ramona shrugged. She hadn’t touched her plate, either. “I guess that’s normal under the circumstances.” She smiled at Whitney. “Will you be back?”

  “That depends on what your family decides. I’m not sure you’re any closer to a decision than when I first presented the offer.” She hoped her fishing wasn’t obvious. “My firm might find they don’t really need me.”