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.”
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.”
“I doubt that.” Ramona changed the subject. “Gabe says you’re good with horses.”
Whitney pushed the food around on her plate. “What a lovely compliment.”
“He said you were really good. I think his words were, a natural instinct.”
“I’m not sure my father would agree with that.”
“Did he want you to go into the family business?”
Whitney dabbed at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “Yes,” she said. “He did.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“It’s a long story.” Whitney smiled to soften her words. “Next time I come, I’ll tell it to you.”
The door opened and Claire, followed by Eric and Gabe, walked into the room. “Sorry we’re late,” Gabe apologized. “I had to call the vet for one of the horses.”
“Is everything all right?” Pilar asked.
“For now.” He glanced around the room, his gaze settling on Whitney. Something raw and elemental and intensely private passed between them. Shaken, she looked away.
He cleared his throat. “We’ll clean up and be down in a minute.”
Eric grinned. “Save some for us. Gran never makes enough.”
Whitney looked at the groaning table and then back at Eric before she realized he was teasing.
Ramona’s husband sat down, both twins squirming in his arms. “They’re hungry,” he said, handing a baby to his wife. Pulling one of the walkers with its circular tray toward him, he deposited the twin in his arms and reached for the other. Ramona, relieved of her son, spooned a dab of scrambled egg and a few potatoes onto the tray. Then she scooped up more egg from her plate and offered it to the twin in her husband’s arms. He ate greedily.
Whitney watched in amazement as the two parents alternated feeding one baby and then the other. They’re like birds, she thought, taking turns filling the demanding little mouths of their offspring. She chuckled. “They’re adorable.” It was true. They were adorable, not messy at all. The two little round, dimpled babies, one brown-eyed, the other blue, smiled and babbled and gummed their way through their food.
“Thank you,” said Danny, pulling a baby wipe from the bag at his feet and wiping the hands and face of the boy in his arms. “We like them. They certainly are a handful, though. I wouldn’t recommend twins the first time around. Do you have any children, Whitney?”
“No.”
“Are you married?”
“I’m afraid not.”
He grinned. “Well then, I’ll spare you the horror stories.”
“Danny, that’s enough,” said Luz from across the room. “First Pilar and now you. What will Whitney think of our manners?”
Across the room Mercedes laughed loudly.
“She’ll think we’re completely unredeemable,” said Gabriel. He walked into the room behind Eric and Claire, who immediately helped themselves to the food on the table. “Isn’t that right, Whitney?”
“Not at all,” she replied, trying to be tactful. “I think you’re a typical large family. I envy you. It’s interesting being around everyone.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” said Danny.
Suddenly the doorbell chimed. Mercedes rose from her chair, but Gabriel held up his hand. “I’ll get it.”
He returned a minute later with a young woman. “Ma,” he said, presenting her to Mercedes, “this is Antoinette Murray. She said she spoke to you on the phone.”
Mercedes’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, yes, of course. Please, won’t you join us for brunch?”
The woman’s eyes flitted around the room, taking in the family gathering. “I don’t want to intrude,” she said uncertainly. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.”
Gabriel frowned. “What kind of misunderstanding?”
“Well, actually—” she faltered.
“There’s no misunderstanding,” Mercedes said quickly. “This is Gabriel, my son. These are his sisters and their children. You’re very welcome here.”
She brightened. “His sisters. Oh, all right. If you’re sure—”
“Very sure.” Mercedes stood and led the young woman to the table. “Have some strata, dear and a tortilla. The beans are delicious, especially with a little cheese and salsa. Do you like Mexican food?”
“Oh, yes. My roommate and I eat at El Torito all the time.”
Mercedes winced, recovered and smiled brightly. “We’ll try to measure up.” She heaped potatoes, beans and eggs onto the woman’s plate. “There now, that should hold you for a while. Go sit beside Gabriel and I’ll bring you some coffee.” She turned and beckoned her son. “Mijito, find Antoinette a seat. No, not over there, beside you.” She beamed. “That’s it. That’s good. You two, have a nice conversation together.”
Resigned, Gabriel managed a smile and motioned the woman to an empty chair. Whitney glanced at Pilar. She was staring at her plate. Luz was talking animatedly with her husband, but her face was unusually flushed. Danny and Ramona were silent. Only Mercedes was behaving normally.
All at once, understanding dawned. Whitney choked on her coffee. Her eyes streamed. She pressed her napkin to her mouth while Ramona patted her on the back..
“Are you all right, Whitney?”
“Fine,” she managed. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’ll get you a glass of water.”
Pilar jumped up. “I’ll get it.”
Whitney shook her head. “Really, it isn’t necessary. Just give me a minute.”
Reluctantly the sisters sank back into their seats. Whitney watched their eyes meet for an instant and then, as if in silent communion, they both glanced at Gabriel. Whitney did, too. He was staring at Antoinette Murray as if she’d grown two heads.
The bubble of laughter that started Whitney’s coughing fit began to tickle again. If she didn’t get out of here soon she would disgrace herself. “Excuse me,” she whispered to Ramona, “I’m going upstairs to use the ladies’ room.”
Ramona nodded.
She’d nearly made it down the hall when she heard Claire’s voice, innocent in all it’s crystalline clarity. “Are you from Matchmaker.com?”
Climbing the stairs two at a time, Whitney reached the safety of her room. Closing the door behind her, she sat on the bed and erupted into gales of laughter. Poor Gabriel. Poor, poor Gabriel.
It really wasn’t funny. She knew it wasn’t, but she couldn’t help herself. If ever a man didn’t need a dating service, it was Gabriel Mendoza. The thought sobered her. Mercedes wasn’t stupid. She must know it, too. What was her game? Whitney’s mood changed. She stared out the window at the swelling clouds. She would be on a plane home soon. It was none of her business.
She heard a knock on her door. “Come in,” she said.
Emma’s head appeared in the opening. “It’s me. Can I come in?”
Whitney laughed again. She couldn’t get away from these people, and she couldn’t remember when she’d laughed so much. “Of course. Your family is downstairs. They miss you.”
Emma closed the door behind her. Again she was dressed in the seductive uniform of the modern teenager, low-cut jeans, a wide belt, cropped top and tennis shoes. “They’re not really my family.”
“Eric and Claire are really your family, if you mean related by blood.”
She shrugged. “If I was down there with everybody, they wouldn’t be able to talk about what happened last night and how awful I am.”
Whitney wet her lips and hoped her response wouldn’t be taken the wrong way. This child certainly needed to be set straight. “I don’t want to offend you, Emma, but I don’t think anyone spends as much time talking about you as you might think. Other than your aunt Ramona telling me you refused to come downstairs, no one said a word about you. Is that good news or bad?”
“It doesn’t matter what they say or what they think.”
“Fair enough.” Whitney lay back on her elbows on the bed. “What have I done to deserve your company?”
“I got bored.”
“Isn’t that the point of being on restriction?”
Emma walked around the room slowly, dragging her finger across the dresser, the bookshelves, the headboard and the walls. “You’re a lawyer.”
“That’s right.”
“Do you know anything about divorce and kids?”
“A bit.”
“Am I old enough to decide who I want to live with?”
“That depends.”
She looked directly at Whitney, her blue eyes even more vivid with their black-penciled rims. “On what?”
“On your parents.”
“What do you mean?”
Whitney sighed. “Sometimes parents don’t qualify for custody even though a child wants to live with them. Their schedules don’t work or they drink too much or use drugs.”
“My mother isn’t like that.”
Whitney swallowed. “Sometimes parents just aren’t up to the task of parenting.”
“What about you?”
Whitney wasn’t following her. “What about me?”
“I want to go home with you.”
For a full minute the room was silent while Whitney digested the child’s words. “That’s impossible,” she said flatly, when she could trust herself to speak again. “I don’t even know you. We have no relationship at all. It wouldn’t work.”
Emma’s lip curled. “In other words, you don’t want me, either.”
“That’s emotional blackmail.” Whitney was beginning to panic. “You’re being ridiculous. Who put such an idea into your head?”
“My grandmother.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“She said people don’t have to be related to be family. She said people take in foster children all the time and end up adopting them.”
“This isn’t the same thing. I’m not a foster mother. I don’t have children. I don’t know anything about children, especially teenagers. Besides, you have a family who loves you.”
Emma ignored her. “You have a good job. You dress nicely. You make a lot of money. Gran says you have good values. You could teach me a lot. I promise to do everything you say.”
She was logical. Whitney would give her that.
“No,” she said firmly. “The answer is no.”
“I want to leave California,” the girl pleaded. “I need to leave California.”
Whitney was caught. “Why?”
Emma brightened. “Does that mean you’ll consider it?”
“Of course not.”
“Then I won’t tell you,” she said, and left the room.
In disbelief, Whitney stared at the closed door. What had just happened here? Could she really have participated in such an absurd conversation? What on earth was the child talking about and who should Whitney tell, overextended Gabriel, Emma’s stepfather, or Mercedes, her over-the-top step-grandmother? For the first time Whitney began to feel the tiniest stirring of sympathy for Emma’s absentee mother. Emma and Claire together might just be too much to handle.