Regret Not a Moment (51 page)

“I’m going to talk to Mom about being an exercise rider,” Francesca announced.

“That’s nice,” Jesse replied dreamily.

“You liked doing that, didn’t you?”

Jesse forced himself to focus on the conversation. “Exercise riding? Yeah, loved it. Till I got too big,” he said with a final bite of his ham sandwich. He rummaged through the packages of food on the cloth and picked out a drumstick of the barbecued chicken.

Francesca looked at his broad shoulders as though noticing for the first time that his body was becoming that of a man. “Yeah, too bad for you. You’ll be over six feet tall if you grow any more. I guess that means you’ll never be a jockey.”

“That’s okay.” Jesse shrugged philosophically. “I can still be a trainer. My dad’s teaching me. I’m going to start working for him.”

“I thought he wanted you to go to college.”

“Yeah, it’s crazy. You don’t need college for the kind of work I want to do. My dad didn’t have any college and look at where he is now!”

“He’s the best,” Francesca said matter-of-factly, “aside from Mom, of course. Anyway, I’m not too big to be a jockey. I’m taller than I thought I’d be, but I still only weigh one hundred and ten.”

“Good luck talking your mom into letting you be a jockey,” Jesse said with a wry smile.

Francesca took another swallow of apple juice. “One of these days I’m going to be one no matter what anyone says. Uncle John thinks it’s okay.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“He can talk Mom into letting me have my way.” Francesca grinned. “He always does.”

“He does not! Your mom wanted you to go to that fancy girl’s school in Washington and there you are! Didn’t you get Mr. Alexander to try to talk her out of that?”

“Only because I kicked up such a fuss about it and he felt sorry for me. But I think he secretly thought it was a good idea. That’s why he didn’t really argue with Mom too much. Anyway, at least she didn’t want me to board there. Ugh!” She wrinkled her nose at the thought.

“He spoils you. He knows it’s a good idea for you to go to that school, but he just can’t say no to you.”

“I know.” Francesca giggled, pleased with herself. “But I’m like you. I don’t understand the reason I need to go to school at all, since I’m going to be a jockey.”

“Maybe your mom doesn’t see it that way,” Jesse pointed out. “After all, she went to college, and so did your grandmother. It’s not like in my family. If I went to college, I’d be the first one.”

Francesca shrugged, bored with the subject. “Cookie?” she offered, holding one out to him.

“I don’t know. I might be getting full.” Jesse lay back and rubbed his stomach, sticking it out for Francesca’s amusement. It was an old game of theirs to see whose stomach stuck out the most after their picnics.

Francesca laughed at Jesse, just like always, but she didn’t mimic his action. She found to her surprise that she wanted Jesse to think she was pretty. She didn’t want him to see her stomach sticking out. The thought made her feel suddenly self-conscious. Without realizing it, she blushed.

“LOOSEN up the reins a little bit, Devon, she can’t stay a child forever,” John said, looking to Mason for support.

Mason nodded, adding, “She’s a good kid. Never been in any kind of trouble. Give her a chance to do what she wants to do.”

Devon paced the floor of her study in annoyance. She didn’t like it when John and Mason sided together with Francesca against her. She was the girl’s parent, after all, her only parent!

Both men sat on the burgundy silk couch, feet up on the mahogany coffee table, watching Devon as she moved back and forth in front of them.

Her movements were as elegant and fluid as a fashion model’s, even when she was pacing. Dressed for the cocktail hour, she wore a figure-skimming lavender silk dress. Her new short, wavy haircut emphasized her eyes and bone structure. It was hard to believe that she was in her fifties.

“For God’s sake, Devon, you’re exhausting me with your pacing! Sit down, have a glass of wine, and stop worrying!” said John companionably.

The two men looked at each other and nodded almost imperceptibly. Mason stood and went over to Devon, gently taking her arm and guiding her to a fat, flowered armchair. Holding her by her shoulders, he pushed down slightly, indicating that she should be seated. Meanwhile, John went over to the bar cart, took an open bottle of Chablis from the ice bucket, and poured Devon a glass. He brought it over to her.

“Here,” he said. “Don’t say another word until you’ve drunk everything in this glass.”

Devon gave the two men a look of mock exasperation, but then she dimpled. They were so silly when it came to Francesca!

John turned away abruptly and went back to his place on the couch. There were moments when John found it almost impossible to conceal his love for Devon and he had to turn away from her immediately for fear he would blurt out something inappropriate. He always treated her in a genial, fraternal manner, even when he felt like taking her in his arms instead. Two years before, when he had first become reacquainted with her, he had thought of trying to rekindle their romance. But his quick friendship with Mason and the older man’s obvious love for Devon prevented him from making such an attempt. He sometimes wondered with amusement if Mason had deliberately co-opted him with his charm and kindness.

At the time of their reunion, John had not been
in love
with Devon; rather, he had been deeply attracted to her. The love had come later, so many things making it grow. Her confrontation with the Ku Klux Klan had filled him with respect and pride for her. He admired her bold, authoritative style of managing her business, kicking himself for his former objections to it. He envied her ability to inspire loyalty from her employees—they were happy, it seemed, a rare feat in the business world. She accomplished so much—and appeared to do it effortlessly. But most of all, when he watched her loving relationship with her mother, her daughter, and Alice, he regretted that he was no longer part of her family. It was an impossible situation, yet he enjoyed the company of his two friends—and Francesca—so much that he resigned himself to it.

“Devon,” Mason said, his deep voice adding weight to his words, “there will come a time when you will no longer have the right to control what Francesca does. Why let your actions now foster a rift then? If she wants to become a jockey badly enough, she will do it over your objections. But maybe this is just a phase. All young girls love horses.”

Devon’s eyes met John’s for a split second. She knew that he was thinking of Morgan. Even in that brief moment, the pain took her breath away.

At once, she turned back to Mason. “This… this
obsession
of hers has lasted twelve years. It’s not just a phase.”

“It’s not an obsession, Devon,” John countered, “it’s a dream. Not many people have the talent and opportunity to fulfill their dreams. Why deny your child a chance that is unique?”

Devon looked angrily at her former husband. “That’s easy for you to say; she’s not your daughter!” She regretted the words the moment she uttered them. She knew it was wrong to strike out at John when they were both remembering the most painful episode of their marriage.

John averted his eyes, hurt apparent on his face. Mason came to his friend’s defense. “Devon! John cares as much about Francesca as if she were his daughter. So do I! We don’t want any harm to come to her. How can a woman as God-blasted independent as you deny your own daughter a chance to have what you have—a career doing something she loves!”

“Well, women aren’t jockeys!” Devon cried, slapping the arm of her chair for emphasis.

“Hah! That’s rich coming from you.” John’s tone accused her. “When you took over Willowbrook, there were no professional women trainers. You broke every boundary, every tradition that ever existed. Now your picture’s hanging in the racing museum! But you won’t let Francesca have the same chance. Devon, she’s just like you. She’s a survivor, a winner! She’ll be fine!”

“No!” Devon argued, close to tears. Like a boil bursting, Devon’s deepest fears spilled out. She said the words they’d all been thinking. “What about Morgan? Things might have been different…” She choked on her rising tears. For a moment she was too overcome to speak. Both men stared at her in stunned silence. Haltingly, she continued, “I… I could have… protected her, but I didn’t. I can’t let that happen twice!”

Mason got up from the couch and started toward Devon, but then he stopped short. John and Devon were staring at each other, mesmerized. It was as though a camera lens was focusing on only the two of them, blocking out their surroundings—and blocking out Mason. They were reliving a tragedy the depth of which no one around them could comprehend. It was a moment of such deep intimacy, such naked pain, that Mason felt like a voyeur intruding on the privacy of others.

Slowly, John rose from the couch. He went to Devon and took her hands, rubbing them a moment in his. Then he knelt beside the chair and wrapped his arms around her, comforting her. Oblivious to Mason, John crooned to Devon as she sobbed into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said, almost incoherent, “it’s just been eating at me. What if the same thing happens to Francesca?”

“It wouldn’t be the same thing,” John said softly. “The circumstances were completely different. Francesca is strong, used to taking tumbles. And she’s a talented rider.”

“But jockeys can get killed!”

“So can bus drivers or maids or doctors or housewives. Anybody can get killed, Devon.”

“It’s not the same,” Devon said, pushing John away for a moment and giving him a look of exasperation. “I could stop Francesca from doing something so dangerous!”

“No, you couldn’t. Not forever. Just like you couldn’t have stopped what happened to Morgan. Not really. And that’s what’s been eating you all these years. You believe that you did something wrong. But at the time, you thought it was right,” John said gently, taking his handkerchief from his pocket and wiping away her tears. “You’re not God, and you couldn’t have known how it would turn out. You don’t have the power to protect your children from death, as much as you would like to.” John remembered with shame how he had secretly blamed Devon for contributing to Morgan’s death. He had been so foolish, he realized. He was thankful that he had never spoken aloud the words of blame that were in his mind during that period.

Devon took the handkerchief from John’s hands and blew her nose, recovering some of her composure.

“I’m so frightened for her, John.”

“I am, too. If she truly does become a jockey, my heart will be in my throat every time she rides. But I’ll be proud of her, too. And I’ll be happy for her. People have to take risks to get what they want, Devon. Sometimes they have to give things up. But I don’t have to tell you that, do I?” John’s eyes looked deeply into Devon’s, and for a brief moment she saw in them the hurt she had inflicted upon him so long ago. Then a veil went down, and all she saw was sympathy.

“I suppose I’ve been overly protective,” Devon said, looking down at her hands as she twisted the handkerchief nervously.

“You’ve been a wonderful mother,” John said warmly, lifting her chin with his index finger and looking into her eyes with a smile.

“Well, I guess I’ll tell Francesca the good news at dinner tonight,” Devon said, readjusting her skirt and sitting straighter in her chair.

“Good.”

“Mason, why don’t we—” Devon looked around the room for her friend, then back at John. “Where’s Mason?”

“I don’t know.” John looked around, puzzled, as though he would discover Mason in some corner of the room Devon had overlooked. “I didn’t even hear him go.”

“CAN you believe it? Mom says I can start as soon as finals are over next week,” Francesca called to Jesse. Their horses were traveling single file along the path through the woods, Jesse in front of Francesca. Soon they would arrive at their swimming spot.

“That’s great!” Jesse said over his shoulder. “Congratulations! How’d you talk her into it?”

“Like I told you. Uncle John did it.”

“Spoiled!” Jesse teased. As they reached the clearing, he dismounted, tethering his horse to a tree. Francesca did the same, taking their food from the saddle pack.

“Swim first?” she asked.

Jesse remembered his discomfiture of the weekend before, and a wash of rose touched his light-coffee-colored features. “Sure. I wore a bathing suit though. Mom gave me one for my birthday,” he added offhandedly. He didn’t want to explain that he felt somehow more exposed sitting opposite her in his wet clothes than he would in a bathing suit. He could not explain why exactly, but it seemed somehow less… abandoned… to wear a swimsuit. He felt safer in it. More in control.

Francesca looked puzzled. “Didn’t feel like getting your clothes wet?” she asked.

“Something like that.”

“We always dry so quickly, it never seems like a problem. Maybe I should wear one too.”

“Maybe.” Jesse shrugged, not meeting her eyes as he spread the picnic blanket on the ground.

“Are you going to change into your dry clothes when you get out?” Francesca asked.

“Frankie, I don’t know!” Jesse said in irritation. “It’s not like I’ve got some big plan. I’m just wearing a gift my mom gave me.”

“Okay, okay! Don’t get hot under the collar,” Francesca said, returning Jesse’s look of irritation. “Maybe I won’t even go swimming.”

“So don’t.” Jesse shrugged in feigned nonchalance. He turned and ambled to the water’s edge. Soon, Francesca followed him.

“Cold?” she asked. Francesca bent over the water and dipped a hand in. Suddenly, Jesse had the urge to push her in. Stealthily, he backed away from the water’s edge and toward her. Francesca spun around, eyes wide. “Jesse, don’t you dare!” she cried as he gave her a shove strong enough to send her into the icy brook tail first.

“Oh!” she screamed, laughing and gasping for breath as her head bobbed to the surface, “it’s freezing!” She slapped her hand across the surface of the water in an attempt to splash Jesse.

All at once, the tension between them melted away. Jesse jumped into the water, making as huge a splash as he could. Then the water fight began in earnest, both teenagers laughing uproariously as they splashed each other.