Where the Heart Chooses (31 page)

“Could it be because this time more than
your head is involved?”

“I’ve already had my one love. It
wasn’t…There wasn’t a happy ending.”

“What makes you so certain that person was
your one love?”

“I just knew, Mother.” The pain in his voice
made me understand why Tony had always called it “the bane of the
Sebrings.”

“Very well, I won’t argue it with you.” If
Tartarin Bauchet hadn’t died years ago of a cirrhotic liver, I
would cheerfully have flown to France and shot him for the misery
he’d caused my son. “However, if your new lover was aware you
couldn’t love with a whole heart…”

“That didn’t weigh into things. Anyone can
tell you that Mar…that this person is not the best bet for a
long-term relationship.”

“But you were willing to try.” That was the
second time he’d almost slipped, an indication he was more tangled
up in this than perhaps he realized. Apparently Mark Vincent was
more than someone Quinton had given temporary lodging.

“I suppose.”

I looked down at the album in my lap,
startled to realize it was the one I had taken out to show the man
I’d thought was my son’s friend from his years at Phillips
Exeter.

“This is the room where I spoke with ‘Skip
Patterson,’ did I ever tell you that, Quinton? He was fascinated by
this picture of you.”

“I fail to see anything that would
interest…anyone.”

Oh, my son, you’re too modest.
“Your
intensity, Quinton. Your unwavering concentration. Even someone
unfamiliar with the sport could see you throwing your heart over
that fence for Jack Be Nimble to follow.” I remembered the girls
who were also entered in the Hampton Classic sighing over him, as
well as one of the boys, who didn’t realize I was close enough to
overhear him murmur to himself how
he’d
like to be ridden by
Quinton.

“Be that as it may, Mark Vincent is a man.
What he felt…
thought
…about me would only matter on a
professional level.”

“Sweetheart…” I’d kept silent on this head
for a very long time, feeling my son would be embarrassed if he
knew I was aware of his sexuality, but he was so distressed now
that I had to speak. “I’ve known since the summer we spent in the
French wine country when you were fifteen that you…enjoy masculine
companionship from time to time.”

“Excuse me?” He looked stunned, and I
couldn’t help be amused. Did he really think I was so clueless?

“I have no problem with that,
sweetheart.”

The tension around his mouth eased. “Uncle
Jefferson and Ludo.”

“And…others.” He looked intrigued, but I
wasn’t about to reveal the short time when I was twenty-one and had
been involved with Folana Fournaise, as well his father’s brief
encounter. A little distraction was called for. “Of course, after
the inception of the AIDS pandemic I worried, but I trusted your
innate good sense not to take foolish risks.”

“There haven’t been
that
many—” He
quickly changed what he’d been about to say. “I’m always careful,
Mother.”

And yet something about a WBIS agent had
drawn him enough that he’d become involved with the man, to the
point where the incipient separation saw him turning to me.

“Now, if I may offer a word of advice?” I
waited until he gave a faint nod. “If it were I who was being
unceremoniously dumped, I would go after Mark Vincent—I’m correct
in assuming it
is
Mark Vincent about whom we’re
speaking?—and demand he tell me what possessed him to react in such
an asinine manner. You’re a Mann, Quinton, but you’re also a
Sebring. If anyone is going to do the breaking up, it will be
you!”

He stared at me, open-mouthed. Why was it
the young never realized their elders had been young once also? And
then he burst into laughter. “You know something, Mother? You never
fail to amaze me!”

“Thank you. Finish your dinner before it
grows cold.”

“I think I will.” And as he ate, for the
first time he spoke to me about Armand. “Although it didn’t end
well, I’ve always known he was the one.” His expression was
wistful.

I didn’t remind him that at fifteen, he was
unlikely to be thinking with anything other than his hormones.

“I was so crazy in love with him! You can’t
imagine!” He flushed. “I’m sorry. Of course you can imagine.
Father…”

“Yes.” I smiled at my son, who was so like
his father. “I
was
so ‘crazy in love with him.’” Startled, I
felt tears come to my eyes. It had been a long time since I’d
permitted myself to weep over Nigel.

“Mother.” Quinton was beside me and held me
close. “Does it ever get easy?”

“No. That’s why Sebrings dally where we may,
but are cautious in giving our hearts away. Do you have a
handkerchief?”

He took one from his pocket and carefully
dried my eyes. “Do you ever regret it?”

“No,” I repeated. “Loving your father was
the most wonderful experience, and even if I’d known we were only
to have those twenty years together, I wouldn’t have given them up
to spare myself the last twenty-four without him. I just…I wish I’d
told him how much I loved him. I hope you won’t make that mistake,
sweetheart.”

“No chance of that. My opportunity at the
brass ring has passed me by.”

Whether erroneous or not, my son had carried
that belief, that secret sorrow, all these years. I began to swear,
flatly and coldly, in Farsi. Quinton stared at me in surprise.

“Everyone thinks of you as the ice
queen.”

“And I’ve worked very hard to maintain that
impression. Think how disappointed they would all be if they
learned that I was as human as the rest of mankind.”

“I consider myself very fortunate that
you’re my mother.”

“Thank you, sweetheart. I’m proud that
you’re my son.”

“Even when I do something as stupid as…as
care for the most notorious WBIS agent on the planet?”

I patted his cheek. “Just see to it that
he…cares as much for you.”

* * * *

Quinton flew up to Cape Cod the next day to
confront “the most notorious WBIS agent on the planet”—I had my own
way of learning things, and Folana was only a part of it—and I left
a message on his answering machine, telling him I wouldn’t expect
him for our ride on Sunday unless I heard otherwise.

I heard otherwise on Friday.

“I’m back in town, Mother, and I’ll meet you
at our usual time. And I’ll…uh…fill you in on what’s happened.”

When he arrived at the country club’s stable
on Sunday, again limping although he tried manfully to conceal it,
I was pleased to see how much like his younger self he looked.

Mark Vincent might be the intelligence
community’s worst nightmare, but if he put that relaxed, satisfied
look on my son’s face, there was much for which I was willing to
forgive him.

* * * *

Gregor was unavailable to answer the door
when the bell chimed, so I did, after checking to make sure whoever
was standing there was neither a solicitor nor someone peddling
religion.

The man who stood there was dressed in tan
coveralls. At the curb was a small van with
Horatio Primm,
Purveyor of Antiquities
stenciled neatly on the side.

I knew Horatio Primm and liked the little
man, but I hadn’t ordered anything, and I was too much the daughter
of my family to take an unknown quantity at face value.

I opened the door. “May I help you?”

“Mrs. Mann? Mr. Primm was asked by your son
to deliver this to you.” A large crate sat on a dolly.

“Are you sure?” Quinton hadn’t mentioned
anything about this to me.

“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Primm said it’s supposed to
be a gift for a lady friend of Mr. Mann’s.”

Lady
friend? Was Quinton seeing a
woman now? “If you’ll wait one moment?” I closed the door and
turned to pick up the phone to dial Quinton’s number.

“Hello, Mother. To what do I owe this call?
Not that I’m complaining, I assure you.” I could hear the amusement
in his voice.

“I have a man with a very large crate at my
door, Quinton, and he tells me you asked to have it delivered
here.”

“Oh…er…Yes. Sorry. I meant to tell you about
it.”

“Then you did want it sent here.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Am I safe in assuming you intended to tell
me about your new relationship at some point?”

“Yes, Mother. Just a second! What new
relationship?”

“The deliveryman said it was for your lady
friend.”

“Oh, God,” he groaned. “Mr. Primm jumped to
conclusions, and I didn’t bother to correct him.”

Ah. As highly as my old acquaintance thought
of my son, he was still very old school, and considered
homosexuality an unwise lifestyle choice. “So it’s for…someone
else.” He was at work, and I wouldn’t name names.

“Yes. I will tell you about it. Would
tonight be soon enough?”

“That will be fine, Quinton. I’ll see that
Gregor makes something special for dinner.”

“I’ll look forward to it. And Mother? I am
sorry. It really did slip my mind.”

“It’s all right, sweetheart. We’ll see you
later.”

We said good-bye and hung up.

Gregor came out of the first floor powder
room. “What is it, Portia?”

“Apparently Quinton wanted something
delivered here.” I went back to the door and opened it. “I
apologize for keeping you waiting. If you’ll bring it in? You can
leave it here in the entryway.”

“You sure, ma’am? It’s heavy.”

“I’m sure. Gregor?”

He took out his wallet, removed a bill, and
handed it to the delivery man.

“Thanks.” He grinned at Gregor, nodded to
me, and then wheeled the dolly back to the van.

Gregor walked around the crate and tried to
give it a shake. “Whoa, heavy! What’s in it?”

“I have no idea.”

“What did Quinn say?”

“Nothing. I’m assuming he didn’t want to
talk about it at work.”

“I see it’s from Horatio Primm’s. I remember
you taking Quinn there to shop for antiques and stuff when he was
little. Strange. Your birthday isn’t until November.” He shook his
head. “No, he wouldn’t do something as stupid as ask you to accept
delivery of your own birthday present. Would he?”

“Being all spy-like? No, he’d send it out to
Shadow Brook.” Especially since Tony and Bryan had moved to the
West Coast. “He’ll tell us at dinner. I promised him something
special.”

“Did you have something in mind?”

“I thought I’d leave it to you.”

“And I know just the thing.” He rubbed his
hands together briskly. “Want to go grocery shopping with me?”

“I’d love to. Just let me get my purse.”

“And a jacket, Portia. It’s a little cool
outside.”

* * * *

“It’s just a statue of a dog, Gregor.”
Quinton said as he took the platter with the standing rib roast
from me and passed it to him. “Mother, after dinner I’ll move it to
the storage under the stairs, if I may?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. I’m not sure how long I’ll have
to ask you to keep it here.”

“A dog, Quinn?”

He smiled at Gregor. “It’s for a
housewarming gift.”

And he wouldn’t say anything more.

* * * *

The cherry blossoms had bloomed and faded,
and April was making its way toward May. Mark Vincent was still
Quinton’s guest, but it was something I preferred not to discuss
with Gregor.

And then I got a phone call that gave me
something else to worry about.

“Portia…” It was my oldest brother.

“Tony! How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you. I…er…have something to
tell you.”

“I’m waiting with bated breath.”

“Don’t be flippant.”

“Sorry. What’s going on? Is L.A. about to
slide into the ocean?”

“What? What are you—” I could almost see him
shake his head. “I…wanted you to know I’m getting married.”

I blinked and stared at the phone. This was
the last thing I expected. “Excuse me?”

“I said I’m getting married.”

“Anthony, I wasn’t aware you were seeing
anyone.”

“It’s…uh…fairly sudden.” That was certainly
an understatement. “Her name is Cara Mia Ford. She’s a lovely young
woman.”

“How young?”

“She’s twenty-six.”

“Who is she? That name sounds familiar.”

“Do you remember Allen Ford, by any chance?
She’s his daughter.”

“Ford? Oh, yes, didn’t you mention that he
used to work for you at the NSA?”

“Yes. He died about ten years ago, and she
didn’t take it well. They were very close. She went through a rough
patch, and then in college, she met this man, Adam ‘Nme. He’s bad
news, Portia.”

“In what way?”

“He deals drugs, among other things.”

Where was this was going?

“Cara Mia got away from him. She has a
child, a little girl whose name is Sunday.”

So in one fell swoop, Tony had a family of
his own. Was he having a midlife crisis, albeit later in life?

“Portia, I never objected when you wanted to
marry Nigel—”

I nearly choked on hearing those words.
“Have you lost your mind? You looked for any opportunity you could
find to get me to change my mind.”

“Well, deep down, I never objected. Stand by
me now, little sister, and accept Cara Mia.”

“What does Bryan have to say about
this?”

“Why would he say anything?”

“Well, I’m assuming that Cara Mia isn’t
going to want a stray male living in her home. He’ll have to move
out.”

“It’s
our
home, Bryan’s and mine, and
he goes
no
where.”

I was taken aback by his vehemence. “All
right. Tony, does she make you happy?”

“Yes.” But it was a moment before he said
that. “Look, I’m not a fool. I’ve seen a lawyer and had a pre-nup
drawn up.”

“She had no objection?”

“No.”

“I want to meet her.” I wouldn’t feel
comfortable until I did. “I’ll book the first flight out I can get.
As soon as I have it, I’ll call you and let you know my
itinerary.”