Pryor’s lip trembled. “Yes. I know. What should I do, Lila Rae?”
A small smile curved the old woman’s lips. “If it were me, I’d have a heart-to-heart talk with the girl.”
Pryor’s mouth dropped. “You know how hard it is to get anything out of Whitney. She’s a very private person.”
“Sugar her up a bit,” her aunt suggested. “Drop in on her. Compliment her. You’re good at that, Pryor. Why can’t you behave that way with your daughter?”
“I can’t just drop in, Auntie. I have to give her some warning.”
“For pity’s sake, Pryor. You’re her mother. What’s the worst that can happen? She’ll say she’s busy and you’ll try again. Or else you could go somewhere together, you know, for the weekend, to one of those spas everybody’s talking about.”
“I’m afraid,” Pryor said honestly.
“My dear child, Whitney won’t throw you out. She’s a good girl, in spite of that streak of stubbornness that appears to run in our family.”
Pryor stared at the thin sliver of lemon floating in the amber pool of her tea. She couldn’t pick up and leave with Whitney for a weekend. It wasn’t just Whitney who would look at her as if she’d grown horns. Boone wouldn’t like it, either. He couldn’t manage on his own. Without her, his diet would be potato chips and macaroni and cheese. She’d come home to a husband who needed bypass surgery. She looked at Lila Rae. “What about Boone?”
“What about him?”
“He doesn’t know how to cook.”
“Have him eat out.”
“His cholesterol is high.”
“Make up his meals and freeze them.”
“He won’t eat them without me.”
“Boone isn’t a child, Pryor. He can be left alone for a few days. Women leave their husbands all the time.”
“I suppose so.” Pryor wasn’t convinced.
“Of course, there’s another way to look at it.”
“What’s that?”
“The unmarried state isn’t the worst thing in the world. I’m not married.”
“You’re eighty-six, Lila Rae, and you’ve had three husbands.”
“Your mind is going, Pryor. I’m eighty-two.”
She was eighty-six if she was a day, but Pryor knew better than to argue. “I want Whitney to be happy.”
“Then talk to her. If she’s serious about this young man, you’ll meet him. She can’t exactly hide him away forever. You have an obligation to your daughter to give him a chance.” Lila Rae shuddered delicately. “She made a dreadful mistake last time. I attribute it to her extreme youth. She won’t make that mistake again.”
The very thought of Wiley Cane stiffened Pryor’s resolve. “I’ll do it,” she said, her mind made up. “When Whitney comes home, I’ll figure out a way to have a long private talk with her. I’ll make her tell me the truth.”
“Good for you.” Lila Rae picked up Pryor’s untouched plate of lemon cake and offered it to her. “Here, darling, eat your cake. You don’t want Tallulah mad at you. She worked all morning over this dessert.”
Sighing, Pryor sampled a forkful of cake. The tart sweetness was everything she’d imagined it would be. Her fork went down for another bite, and then, throwing caution and saturated fat to the wind, yet another.
Lila Rae smiled. “It’s so lovely to have you here. You really should come more often.”
She told Boone while they were dressing, in preparation for the Lesters. She’d deliberately dallied while preparing the food, but now the salad was in the refrigerator and the Parmesan cheese sprinkled over the chicken divan. She mentioned it casually, after she’d screwed the backs of her diamond studs into place behind her ears and just before slipping her feet into her favorite suede ballet slippers. Pryor was tall, she had no need of heels, especially not at home with friends.
“I’m thinking of going away for a few days with Whitney.”
Boone stopped in the act of tying his shoes. “Is she home?”
“Not yet. But Lila Rae told me I should talk to her about Gabriel Mendoza. She suggested we go somewhere together for a weekend, you know, a mother- daughter thing?”
“What is your purpose, Pryor?”
“I just want the truth out of her, that’s all. She’s fallen in love with Gabriel Mendoza. I think we should know her plans.”
“What we should do is wait until she introduces him to us. Besides, how do you know she’s in love with him?”
“Lila Rae told me.”
“That’s wonderful, Pryor, just wonderful. Since when does Lila Rae have the inside track on Whitney?”
“You know she’s never wrong.”
“I don’t know any such thing.”
Pryor sat down beside her husband. “I wish you’d stop combing that strand of hair across your bald spot, Boone. It’s so vain and it doesn’t fool anyone.”
“We’re not talking about my hair. We’re discussing our daughter.”
Pryor wet her lips. “I have a bad feeling about this, Boone. I went to Lila Rae because I truly believe Whitney needs me. My intuition tells me she’s fallen for someone inappropriate again. I can’t live through another Wiley Cane. I just can’t.”
Boone left his shoe untied and took his wife’s hands in his own. “Whitney isn’t seventeen anymore, honey. She’s a thirty-seven-year-old woman. We can trust her to fall in love. She doesn’t need her mother’s approval. If you want to spend a weekend with her, I’m all for it. But do it because you miss her. She’s smart enough to figure out your motives, and then who knows when we’ll see her again.”
“I have to do something, Boone. I can’t just sit still while she makes another mistake. The man has three children. She can’t know what she’s getting into.”
Boone sighed. Never in thirty-eight years had he won an argument with Pryor. He would leave it to Whitney to upset her mother’s plans. The thing was, he couldn’t bear to see Pryor hurt. She wanted so badly to be part of their daughter’s life, but she hadn’t the faintest idea of how to go about it. “I wish you would listen to me, Pryor, just once.”
She was silent.
He shook his head, dropped her hands and resumed tying his shoes, evening out the loops, securing the knot with just the right degree of tightness. “I guess there’s no point in continuing with this discussion.”
“Are you mad at me, Boone?”
“I am.”
“Do you love me?”
She’d done it again, disarmed him completely. She knew by his answer.
“Always, honey. You know that.”
Pulling down his head, she kissed the spot where his hair no longer grew. “Thank you, Boone. I love you, too.”
Twenty
Gabriel signed the last of the hospital paperwork, nodded at the nurse and rested his hand on his mother’s shoulder. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”
“I don’t need a wheelchair,” Mercedes said emphatically.
The nurse soothed her. “It’s policy, Mrs. Mendoza. You’ll be out of it soon enough.”
Gabriel watched his mother visibly restrain herself. He hid a smile. Maybe this stint in the hospital had been good for her—and, if not for her, for everyone else.
“Do you want to stop for something to eat?” he asked when they were alone in the car.
“All I want is to go home, sleep in my own bed and cook my own food.”
Gabriel hesitated. “The doctor talked to me about your diet. He told me he discussed it with you, too.”
“I’m not going on a diet.”
He changed the subject. “Whitney’s been doing some research on Asberger’s.”
Mercedes’s face lit up. “She’s a sweet girl. Imagine, going to such trouble for us.”
“She told me that certain foods trigger spells, and by eliminating them completely, symptoms disappear.”
“Hmm. That’s nice.” Mercedes looked out the window.
“Ma, did you hear what I said?”
“I heard you, mi
jito.”
“It’s going to take some time, three months or so, but she believes we can help Claire if we cook the right way.”
“I always cook the right way.”
“You aren’t cooking with the right foods.”
She glared at him. “What are you talking about?”
“Corn, dairy products and glutens have to go.”
“What are glutens?”
“They’re found in wheat and processed foods.”
Mercedes looked thoughtful. “Wheat and corn are staples, mijito. How will we eat if I can’t use those?”
Encouraged that she would go so far as to even continue the subject, Gabriel explained. “It isn’t as hard as it sounds. Food is just more basic, that’s all. Meat, chicken, fish, potatoes, vegetables, salads are all okay.”
“What about milk? Claire is a little girl. She needs strong bones. How can we not give her milk?”
“There are substitutes. She can take supplements. Dark green vegetables are full of calcium.”
“What about desserts, cookies and ice cream? It doesn’t seem right to punish her for something she can’t help.”
Gabriel sighed. “Food isn’t a reward, Ma, and healthy food isn’t a punishment. Claire likes Popsicles and sorbet. There’s also gluten-free flour. We’d all be better off with a diet like that. I’m actually enjoying it.”
Mercedes sniffed. “How scientific is this diet? Why haven’t any of the doctors you’ve taken her to mentioned it?”
“Because most doctors don’t think in terms of nutrition. This isn’t a quick fix. It’s part of a lifestyle that Claire will have to assume for as long as she lives. We should give it a try. Even if doesn’t help, it can’t hurt.”
Mercedes was quiet for several minutes. “I suppose if Whitney believes this will work, we should try it.”
Gabriel stared at his mother.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she said huffily. “The woman is smart. She knows things. Besides, I won’t be able to manage on my own for a while. Whitney should be able to cook the way she wants.”
“Hold on a minute.” His hands tightened on the wheel. “She’s going home as agreed, Ma. We’ll manage without her. We have to.”
His mother’s lips tightened stubbornly.
Again Gabriel changed the subject. It was the only way to avoid an argument. “Lynne’s suing me for custody of Eric and Emma. I have to find a lawyer right away. The court date is set for three weeks from now.”
“I don’t believe she’d really do that.”
“Believe it. There’s more. Kristen is back, temporarily. She wants money from the Lipizzaner sale.”
Mercedes stared at her son’s profile until he looked at her. “I thought you weren’t selling.”
“I may have to.”
“Not for her, mijito. I’ll scrub floors for the rest of my life before I see that woman get one penny of our money.”
Gabriel smiled. “It won’t come to that.”
“Whitney’s a lawyer. What does she say?”
“Her specialty isn’t family law and she doesn’t practice in California. I have to find someone here.”
“She must have an opinion,” his mother persisted.
Gabe nodded. “She believes that because the business was mine before my marriage and because Kristen left me to support her children, I won’t get hit too badly.”
“Good.”
“She does think Kristen will be entitled to something, Ma. She’ll have to pay child support because she’s responsible for the kids, too, but she’s entitled to spousal support. We’ll probably have to settle.”
“What’s the matter with you, mijito? Are you afraid to fight?”
“It isn’t a fight, Ma,” he said wearily. “It’s about what’s fair and legal. The average divorce in this state costs each partner eighteen thousand dollars. This one could end up costing a lot more, after the fact. I don’t want to go through all that again. It’s emotionally as well as financially draining.”
“Why doesn’t she just drive herself off the nearest cliff?” Mercedes muttered. “No one would be the worse for it.”
“The kids need their mother,” Gabriel said tersely. “Even a part-time mother.”
Mercedes didn’t comment. They drove the rest of the way in silence. The door opened as they pulled into the lot and Whitney stepped out onto the porch. Claire was with her.
Gabriel helped his mother climb out of the car and then handed over her crutches. She stood, balancing awkwardly. “I’ve missed you, mijito,” she said to Claire. “Come and kiss me.” Obediently the little girl walked to her grandmother and slipped her arms around her ample middle. Mercedes kissed the dark little head. “My goodness, you’ve grown in only a few days.” She smiled at Whitney. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“You’re welcome. We’re all so glad to have you back. Ramona and Pilar are coming later today. Luz called this morning. I told her about your accident. She’s flying home tomorrow.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Mercedes clucked. “My girls are good girls, but they worry too much. What’s to worry when we have you?”
“Whitney is leaving tomorrow, Ma,” Gabriel reminded her. “I told you in the car.”
“Tomorrow?” Mercedes’s brow wrinkled. “I don’t think—”
“Tomorrow,” Gabriel said firmly.
Whitney’s eyes twinkled. “It sounds like he wants to get rid of me, doesn’t it?”
“I didn’t mean—” he began, and then stopped when he realized she was teasing.
“I have to go home,” Whitney admitted. “I’d like to stay longer, but it isn’t possible. You don’t have anyone scheduled to rent the rooms until next weekend. Ramona and Pilar said they’d be here on Friday to get everything ready.”
“I’d like you to stay longer as our guest,” replied Mercedes. “It was never my intention to use you as unpaid help.”
“I know that,” Whitney assured her. “Let’s go inside. Eric and Emma will be home soon, and since this is my last night to cook, I’ll make something special.”
Mercedes limped past her. “Thank goodness my room is downstairs. I think I’ll have a little something to drink and take a nap.”
“Let me get it for you,” said Whitney. “I have sodas and lemonade. If you’d like something hot, I can make tea.”
Mercedes waited until Gabriel had disappeared into her room with her overnight bag. “I want a little something more,” she whispered. “Maybe a glass of sangria or a lavender margarita.”
“I’m afraid both of those are beyond me.”
Gabriel reappeared. “Tea, Ma. You can have tea or a diet soda. Later, at dinner, you can have a glass of red wine. No sangria and no margaritas ”
Without answering him, Mercedes, on her crutches, lurched into her room and shut the door.
Whitney raised her eyebrows.
Gabriel’s face was grim. “She’s not winning this one.”
Twenty-One
Whitney’s suitcase was packed and her clothes laid out for tomorrow. After checking the bathroom and the closet to see if she’d missed anything, she looked at her watch. If she wanted to serve dinner early, she would have to begin cooking now. She started down the hall. The door to the bathroom shared by the children was closed. Something wasn’t right. Whitney couldn’t put her finger on it, but the stillness disturbed her. The hacienda felt silent, sleepy, as if the energy within had been temporarily suspended.
Mentally, she checked off the whereabouts of the family. Mercedes was napping. Eric, Claire and Gabe were at the stables. That left Emma. Whitney knew she’d come home a while ago. Where was she?
Backing up, she peeked into Emma’s room. No human presence there. Stopping at the bathroom, she knocked on the door. “Emma, are you all right?”
“Go away.” The girl’s voice was muffled.
Whitney was about to do just that when her conscience smote her. She knocked again. “Emma, let me in.”
&
nbsp; “No.”
There was no doubt about it. Emma was crying.
“Please, open the door. Maybe I can help.”
“Nobody can.”
“I’ll tell you what. If I can’t, I’ll go away and you can lock the door again.”
Whitney heard the click of the lock and then the door was open. Emma stood over the sink, a towel draped over her shoulders. She was staring into the mirror. Anguish distorted her face. Her hair was a startling snow white.
“It’s awful,” she cried. “I can’t go to school like this. I can’t go anywhere. Why did I do this?” She rested her head on the sink and sobbed.
Whitney crossed her arms and leaned against the jamb. “Calm down, Emma. It’s only hair. It can be colored again.”
“No, it can’t. It says on the box that if I do it again before three weeks, it will fall out.”
Whitney, who had been coloring her hair since the first strands of silver appeared in her early thirties, moved forward, resting her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “Stand up,” she ordered. “Let’s see the damage. I might be able to fix this.”
Emma’s hiccupping tears stopped immediately. Her eyes met Whitney’s in the mirror. “Do you think so?”
“Possibly. Show me the box.”
Emma pointed to the trash.
Whitney fished it out and began reading the disclaimer on the back. “What color were you intending to get?”
“That one.” Emma pointed to the front of the box where a woman with hair the color of sunlight smiled back at her.
Whitney pulled a small container from the inside. “I think I know what the problem is. You’ve applied the bleach to take out your color but you didn’t shampoo in the dye to put it back in. Didn’t you read the directions?”
Emma shook her head. “I read some of them. It was easy the last time. There was only one bottle and I just washed it in.”
“That’s because you were going from light to dark. This is different.”
“You mean I didn’t do anything wrong?” Emma asked warily.
The Lavender Field Page 21