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.”

Emma nodded.

Kristen stared straight ahead. “What’s she like?”

“I don’t like her.”

“Why not?” Kristen pulled the car out into the line of traffic.

Emma shrugged and looked out the window. “I want to come with you. I don’t like living with Dad and Grandma.”

“That isn’t possible.”

Her question was nearly a whisper. “Why not?”

“Oh, Emma. It isn’t that I don’t want you with me.” How could she make her needs clear to this child without sounding as egocentric as a teenager? Maybe such a thing wasn’t possible. Maybe all that was left was the truth. She swallowed. “I travel all the time. I live in a trailer. You have to go to school. Children need stability.” Her daughter’s silence smote her. “Honey, are you listening to me?”

“There’s a boy at school who sailed around the world on a boat with his parents. He was gone for two years. If he can do it, why can’t I?”

“It isn’t the same.”

“Why not?” Emma wailed. She was crying again.

Kristen sighed. “His mother and father were there, in the boat, with him. They had time to teach him his lessons and correct his papers. I’m gone all the time, rehearsing or driving or performing.”

“You don’t have to do that. Why can’t you just come home? Dad can take care of you, like he did before.”

Kristen shook her head. “It doesn’t work that way. Dad and I are divorced. He doesn’t want to take care of me. I don’t want it, either. I like supporting myself. It makes me feel good about myself.”

“What about me?” Emma asked. “Does it make you feel good to leave me?”

Kristen winced, feeling the familiar wave of guilt rise up all over again. Emma hit the nail on the head. In order to spread her wings and leave the stranglehold of her life with Gabriel, Kristen had sacrificed her children. No one had ever said it, not in so many words, but it was there on all their faces, Gabriel’s, Mercedes’s, her mother’s, and now Emma’s. “No,” she said, her voice low. “Leaving you is the price I had to pay. Someday, when you’re older, you’ll understand.”

“When I have kids, I’m never leaving them,” Emma said fiercely, her hands clenched. “Eric doesn’t want to see you. He hates you, and Claire’s worse than she was before. In case you’re wondering why I don’t like Whitney, it’s because Gran’s trying to marry Dad off to her.”

For a minute Kristen held on to the words, trying them out, weighing the idea of Gabriel with someone else in her mind. “How does your dad feel about that?” she asked carefully.

Emma glared at her mother. “She’s gorgeous. How do you think he feels?”

Kristen refused to rise to the bait. “I’m sure when Dad remarries, he’ll choose someone that loves you, even if she isn’t gorgeous.”

Emma grunted.

“We’re not getting back together, Emma,” her mother said slowly. “I know that’s what you want. Dad and I don’t love each other anymore. We don’t want to be together. We just weren’t right.”

“You were right enough for twelve years.” Emma folded her arms. “You can’t just keep divorcing people, Mom. If you get married again, it’ll be the third time. Isn’t it embarrassing to say you’ve been married so many times? You’re like that old actress, Elizabeth Taylor.”

Kristen’s mouth twisted. “Hardly that, but point taken.”

“Are you seeing anybody?”

“No.” She didn’t add not now. Emma didn’t need to know that.

“You loved Dad before. I bet, if you tried, you could again.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Emma. Can’t you see how hard this is for me?”

“You’re not the only one who’s having a hard time.”

When had she become so cynical? Kristen wondered.

Was it all because of the divorce? Were the kids really so unhappy living with Gabe?

They traveled the rest of the way in silence. She stopped the car at the end of the road, out of sight of the house. “I probably should have called your dad first. He might not like my dropping in like this.”

“Since when have you cared what he liked?”

“Since when have you become such a brat?” Kristen returned sharply. Her hand flew to her mouth. She turned stricken eyes to her daughter. “I’m sorry, Emma. You’re hurting. I’m just not used to hearing you talk like that.”

Emma’s lips tightened mutinously. “Let’s go. No one will be there but Whitney and Claire. You can meet your competition.”

“I’m more inclined to apologize for your manners,” Kristen said under her breath.

Emma was right. Whitney Benedict was gorgeous. She was blond and slim and she moved in the loping, long-legged way of a colt in slow motion. No wonder Gabriel was attracted to her. Kristen hadn’t counted on liking her, but it wasn’t possible not to. Her smile was genuine, and her voice, sweet and very southern, would melt snow cones in January. Somehow, Kristen found herself seated beside Emma at the table with a cup of tea and a plate of warm cookies in front of her. A woman after Mercedes’s own heart. She felt like a long-awaited, warmly welcomed guest. That would change when Gabriel arrived.

“I’d hoped to see Eric and Claire,” she began.

“They’re with their dad at the dressage center,” Whitney explained.

“Of course.” Kristen hadn’t been gone that long, but already she’d forgotten routines. “Maybe I’ll meet them there.” She smiled at Emma. “Would you like to come with me, sweetie?”

“No,” Emma said bluntly. “You can have your family reunion on your own.”

Kristen’s cheeks burned. “That’s enough, young lady. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re my family, too.”

“That’s a good one, Mom. Listen to yourself.” She stood. “I’m going upstairs. I have work to do.”

“I didn’t see your book bag,” said Whitney.

“I left it at school.”

“What about your homework?”

“I have everything I need here.”

“How are you doing in school, Emma?” her mother asked.

“Great. I’m doing great, just like always.” Her smile was brittle. “See ya.”

“Can we go out to dinner?” her mother asked.

Emma shrugged. “Whatever.”

Kristen waited until she’d left the room. “Is she always this way?”

“I think she’s going through a tough time right now.”

“What about Eric and Claire?”

“I think the children miss you,” Whitney said gently. “It’s an adjustment to be without their mother.”

Kristen met her glance squarely. “Do you think I’m awful for what I did?”

Whitney hesitated.

“Go ahead. I can take it.”

“I’m not in a position to judge you. I don’t know you.”

“You know what I did.”

“I don’t know how you felt or what your reasons were. I’ve been here a week.”

“Emma says you’re a lawyer.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re here to buy Gabe’s horses.”

“I represent the potential buyer.”

“How much money will Gabe get?”

Something flickered behind Whitney’s eyes. “I can’t really discuss that with you.”

Kristen nodded. “Fair enough. What do you think of Mercedes?”

Whitney laughed. “She’s a character. I like her very much.”

Kristen stood and rubbed her arms. “That makes one of us. We never did get along.”

Whitney changed the subject. “Tell me about Claire. I’m not familiar with her type of autism.”

Kristen closed her eyes in an attempt to compose herself. Her lovely, precious little girl, the child she so wanted to have with Gabriel, had proved, in the end, to be her nemesis, the straw that broke the camel’s back. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms against her chest. “Claire is the most difficult challenge I’ve ever faced,” she said bluntly. “I wasn’t up to it. I never will be. I’m not the mother a child like Claire should have. I don’t require perfection by any means, but I can’t deal with a handicap of that magnitude. She consumed me. I had nothing left for anyone else. Ironically, she made it possible for me to leave. That’s as honest as I’ve been with anyone. I have no idea why you should be the one to bring that quality out in me. Maybe it’s because Emma told me that Mercedes chose you as my successor. I feel a responsibility to warn you about what you’re getting into.”

“I’ve been here a week,” Whitney reminded her again.

“Are you attracted to Gabe?”

Whitney remained silent.

“I guess that’s my answer.” Kristen continued. “He is very attractive, a study in opposites—well-read, physically active, masculine but still sensitive. He’s really rather sort of amazing.”

“If you feel that way, how could you leave him?”

“It just didn’t work. I already told you. I couldn’t manage Claire and he couldn’t forgive that. Gabe has impossible expectations. I couldn’t live up to them. I was tired of disappointing him and ended up resenting him terribly. Nothing is worth that. I wish you luck with him.”

“It’s a little early for that.”

“I should go,” Kristen said. “I never intended to actually see anyone, but I couldn’t help myself. Emma looks awful. Don’t tell her I said that.”

“Will you see the others?”

Kristen shook her head. “I don’t think so. There’s nothing for me here.”

“Listen.” Whitney pitched her voice at its most persuasive. “I really think you should see Eric and Claire. They’re your children. They need to see you, even if it’s just for an hour or two. Take them somewhere. They’ll live on it for a long time. It’s the least you can do.”

“What difference does it make? Look at Emma. How has she benefited from seeing me?”

“Just because she’s trying to punish you right now doesn’t mean she isn’t better for having seen you.”

Kristen sighed. “All right, Whitney. You win. God knows I don’t need another strike against me. I’ll see the kids.”

The relief on Whitney’s face was obvious.

Kristen laughed. “They won’t thank you for protecting them, you know, and unless Gabe’s a completely different person, he’ll be furious that you’ve interfered.”

“You’re probably right.”

Kristen felt a strong surge of compassion for Whitney Benedict. She was a kind woman. Under different circumstances, they might have been friends.