What Family Means (11 page)

She pushed him back and made herself stand up.

“Let me get my blanket out of the car—we can spread it out here.”

His eyes were full of desire and anticipation.

“Hurry.”

Debra did just that. Once she got outside, the night closed in on her. She reached for the car’s door handle and paused. She had the keys, and her purse was still on the seat. She could get in the car and leave now, before they intensified their relationship even more.

Would it make leaving Will any easier?

She knew what she had to do. It was the only way to save Will’s chance at a successful life.

But she wanted him now, at this moment, tonight.

Debra yanked open the car door and grabbed the blanket they’d made love on many times in Paris. It was a scrap blanket she’d knitted from whatever leftover yarn she’d had or could find at the French
brocantes
or flea markets. She loved the colors—lots of pale blues, with splashes of red and gold.

It was
their
blanket. Until they had a home of their own one day, a bed of their own.

It’ll never happen.

Debra shoved the thought down and headed back inside the cottage.

Will was waiting for her, his shirt and jeans off, in his briefs. The sight of him standing in the tiny cottage sitting room made all their problems fade away. Just for tonight…

They deserved one last time together, didn’t they?

Present Day
Buffalo, New York

A
NGIE WALKED
into the spare room that served as her parents’ second guest room. She was about to toss her overnight bag onto the bed but stopped when she saw that it wasn’t empty.

Piles of sweaters, afghans, socks, hats and mittens lay strewn atop the burgundy satin comforter. Angie let the shoulder strap slide down and dropped her bag next to her feet. She moved toward the bed, her fingers itching to feel all the things her mother had made over the years.

Looking through Debra’s knitting was like looking through Grandma Violet’s jewelry chest. No hint of perfume wafted from them, though. Instead she smelled a distinct aroma of cedar and lavender. Cedar from the storage chest and lavender from the special soap Debra used to clean and preserve her treasures.

Angie pulled out a bright, multicolored vest she remembered wearing in elementary school. The colors screamed early eighties, but the style was one that had returned.

The vest was special to Angie. She’d won the citywide spelling bee in it when she was in fifth grade. She’d insisted on wearing it each and every time she had to compete, which meant Debra had to wash out lunch-room ketchup and chocolate pudding more than once. This was evident in the pilling and overall fuzziness of the sweater.

“You found my stash. I forgot I’d pulled all of this out.” Debra came into the room and gave Angie a quick hug.

“Mom, remember this vest?”

Debra laughed. “How could I forget it? You all but slept in it.”

“It’s a magic vest.”

“Until you turned on it.” Debra referred to the day Angie finally lost the round of spelling bees she was assigned to, at the county level.

“Hey,
it
turned on
me.
It didn’t like being washed so often.”

Debra just smiled.

“Why did you take all this stuff out now, Mom?”

Debra didn’t answer right away. She ran her hands over the pile closest to her, studying the baby kimono she’d made Angie after they’d moved back to Buffalo.

“I’m looking for ideas for what to make the new baby. And any future babies.”

“Mom.” Angie knew her tone got her message across from the way Debra folded her arms.

“A mother can look at her things, can’t she?”

“Mom, you’ve been edgy for the past couple of days. What’s going on?”

Debra fingered the edge of a blue baby bonnet.

“Your father seems to think I feel some kind of guilt over any problems you and your brothers have gone through. He says I believe it’s because of our marriage.”

“Do you?” Angie wanted to hear if her mother really did believe that.

“What mother doesn’t feel responsible for her children’s lives?”

“When the kids are young, sure, but Mom, we’re all adults. Tell me one thing that’s wrong with any of us because we have a white mother and a black father.”

“I’m not talking about external issues, Angie. You all have excellent educations and are all successful in your chosen professions.”

“So your point is?”

Debra sighed.

Heat crawled up Angie’s neck. “Mom, I sense an incredible amount of judgment in that sigh. First, I’m not a weak woman who needs a man to rescue me. I have enough confidence in myself to know I’m okay just the way I am. And I happened to fall in love with a man who isn’t baby-crazy—there are worse things.”

Silence crept into the room.

“I’m sorry, Angie. But you can’t blame me for worrying about you. Especially now that you’re pregnant.”

“I thought you’d be happy to be a grandmother.”

“I am, honey, I just want
you
to be happy. And I know from experience that being a single parent isn’t any fun.”

“Grandma Linda is from a different generation. It’s acceptable to raise a child alone now. I’m prepared to do it if I have to.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that, do you, sweetheart? Jesse will catch his breath and be thrilled when it all settles out.”

Angie wasn’t in a mood to argue with her mother. Plus, a huge part of her hoped Debra was right.

Half an hour later, the ring of her cell phone brought Angie out of her thoughts, which were still on the conversation with her mother. She didn’t recognize the number on caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Angie? Sweetie?”

Jesse. His voice washed over her like a hot bath, and she luxuriated in the sensuous feel of it.

“Ange, are you there?” His voice was more tense, almost frantic.

“I’m here.”

His laughter lifted her heart.

“Listen, Ange, I only have ten minutes.”

“Okay.” She needed at least ten minutes to get over her shock.

“It’s good to hear your voice.” Jesse’s declaration so early in their conversation caught Angie off guard.

“Angie?”

“I’m here,” she said again.

“I’ve tried to call you at the apartment but you must be at the weather station a lot.”

“I’m surprised you were able to get through on my cell.”

Jesse’s laugh rippled across thousands of miles of satellite linkups.

“Thank God for modern technology.”

Thank God I didn’t change my cell-phone number yet.

“I know what you mean,” she said.

Angie realized that her voice, her replies, were stilted. But she couldn’t bring herself to say more. She was so relieved to hear Jesse’s voice—but she was afraid of saying too much.

“What’s going on? Are you excited about the storm? I saw it on CNN.”

Sure enough, Jesse sensed she was off-kilter, and not just because of their rift.

“Yeah, I’m psyched about it.”

Liar, liar. I’m stuck in the last place I wanted to be during my first Buffalo storm.

“Have you read my e-mails?”

“Of course.”

“How come you haven’t replied?”

“It’s…hard to put my feelings in an e-mail.”

“That’s all we’ve got right now, Ange.”

“It doesn’t come easy to me, Jesse.”

His use of the endearment wasn’t lost on her.

“I’m lucky to grab twenty or thirty minutes to myself every day. I’ve never done so many surgeries, one on top of the other.”

“You sound happy about it.”

“Yeah, I am. To know I’ve had a part in saving even one of these young troops is an incredible rush.”

“What about when you can’t do anything?”

“We try to, anyhow, and know that we gave it our best.”

Angie’s love for Jesse swelled in a wave of longing.
This was the man she’d fallen in love with. The man passionate about life.

Not the man who refused to consider a baby or family.

“Ange?”

“Hmm?”

“I want to open up our discussion about a family.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d practically read her mind. Angie stared at the wallpaper in the room that had been hers as a teenager.

“Maybe we should stay away from that, Jesse,” she finally said. “It never ends well.” And she couldn’t take the rejection. Not now. The pregnancy had just started to seem real to her.

“Angie, I’m not saying I’ve had a complete change of heart, but maybe we should put the idea of having kids back on the table.”

“Wh-what?”

Jesse had never even breathed the word
kid
as a possibility in any of their conversations. It had never
been
on the table.

“Being over here has made me rethink some things. We have an awful lot to offer a child.”

Glad you’ve figured that out.

“Are you there?”

“Yes. Look, Jesse, you’re right. We need to talk. But not now, not like this. I’m at Mom and Dad’s, and as you know, there’s a major blizzard bearing down on us. I can’t even get back to the weather station. Grandma Vi is here, and I can’t focus on us. Not just now.”

She could’ve added that her hormones had scrambled her brains but didn’t.

“I have to go now anyway. But we’re not done, Angie.”

“Bye, Jesse.”

“I love—”

His words were cut off with a sharp crackle. He’d exceeded his ten-minute limit.

“C
OME AND SIT BY ME
, girl.” Violet patted the red sofa cushion beside her.

“Hey, Grandma.” Angie slid next to Violet and hugged her grandmother. Ever since she could remember, Angie had relied on Grandma Violet as a source of unconditional love and comfort.

“You doing okay, sweetie?” Violet squeezed Angie’s thigh and peered at her through thick, round glasses.

“I’m fine, Grandma.”

“Not by the look on your face. What’s up? You and Jesse going to work things out or not?” Vi didn’t know Angie was pregnant yet, but she sensed her angst over being apart from Jesse.

“I hope so, Grandma. But I’ve been wrong before.”

“Do you love him?”

“Yes. But sometimes that’s not enough.”

“Baloney.” Violet spat the word out, hands resting in her lap. Grandma Vi smelled as she always did, of lilac perfume and muscle ointment.

“Nowadays, you kids think too much. In my day you married the boy you loved and you stayed with him.”

“Not everyone was as happy as you and Grandpa, Grandma Vi.”

“No, they weren’t.”

Angie held her breath. She knew the circumstances of her grandfather’s death and had never discussed them with Grandma. Even though Grandma and Mom had made amends years ago, it had to be a painful memory.

“You don’t want regrets, Angie gal. The worst thing in life is regret. Mistakes, harsh words, thoughtless acts, they can all be forgiven, repaired. But a
regret
—” Violet shook her head “—you can’t go back and redo it. If Jesse’s the man for you, go after him. Love doesn’t fall into our laps with no effort on our part, you know.”

“Do you have regrets, Grandma?”

“Some. But this isn’t about me.”

Angie remained silent. She knew when to push with Grandma Vi and when to just sit still.

“What’s your mama making for dinner?”

The aroma of stew curled into the living room, and Angie’s stomach grumbled.

“Smells like beef stew. Maybe some homemade biscuits if we’re lucky.”

“See if we can eat here, in front of the TV.”

“Sure thing, Grandma.” Angie smiled as she stood up and walked past the fireplace, toward the kitchen. She had so many wonderful memories of this house. She remembered past storms with the entire family around the fire, drinking hot chocolate and praying school would be canceled.

This wasn’t the worst place to be stranded, after all.

“You have the remote, Grandma?”

“Yes, right here. I’m going to see what’s on the talk shows.”

Present Day
Buffalo, New York
Debra

“H
EY
, M
OM
.”

“Hey.” I looked up from the cake batter I was spooning into a bundt pan. “Who was on the phone? Work?”

“No. Jesse.”

I bit my tongue to keep from saying anything. Will’s challenge to me to stay out of Angie’s life was proving more difficult as each snowflake fell.

“Mom, you don’t have to look so strained.”

“I’m not strained. I just respect your privacy.”

Angie rolled her eyes; I ignored it. “Since when?” she asked.

“Since I have my own life.” I glanced at the oven as it beeped that the temperature was ready for baking.

“Jesse wants to talk about having kids.”

“And you don’t?”

Angie played with the wooden utensils I kept in an old crockery pot on the granite counter. The cracked pot was incongruous with the sleek counter, but it had caught my eye at a local antique show.

“I do want to talk to him. But I don’t think I can handle his reaction when he finds out I’m pregnant.”

“Oh, Angie.” I bit my lip—again. At this rate it was going to start bleeding. Damn.

I refused to say anything. Even though I was convinced it would be best if she simply told him and let him adjust to the idea.

“Mom, what was that about not judging?”

“I’m not judging, Angie. I just hate to see you repeat my mistakes.” Surely the pain I’d put myself through all those years ago had to be worth something?

“I’ll tell him. But I want to do it in person.” I knew why. She wanted to see his expression of joy and love for her, for the baby. But Angie’s going to Iraq was not an option.

“That’s impossible, isn’t it?”

“Probably. But Jesse did mention in one of his e-mails that he gets an R & R, rest and relaxation, for a week in the middle of his detachment there.”

“Which is?”

“Next month.”

“He’d come here?”

“He could, but then we’d only have four days together. Since he’ll have been there less than three months, he won’t be allowed too much time off. We’d have more time if I went to meet him.”

“Where? Surely you wouldn’t go to Iraq?”

“No, no, I can meet him at the Armed Forces Recreation Center in Germany. It’s in the Bavarian Alps and sounds wonderful. Jesse said I could look it up online.”

“As long as you think your health can handle it.”

I worried about her even though I knew she was in no danger. But a long flight, a foreign country—it didn’t feel as cozy a place for my pregnant daughter as I’d like it to.

A
NGIE WATCHED
in bemusement as Debra stirred the stew, tasted from her ancient wooden spoon, then opened three more bottles of herbs and spices. Her mother’s movements were deliberate as she added various flavors to the stew, one shake here, two there. Angie had never tired of watching her mother cook.

“What?”

Debra looked up from her near-meditative task and smiled at Angie.

“Nothing. I just like watching you. You’re amazing, Mom.” Angie was grateful her nausea abated in the late afternoons so she could appreciate all the heavenly scents coming from Debra’s pots.

“I am, aren’t I?” Debra laughed, the sound low as it echoed around the great room. Violet’s poor hearing even picked it up.

“What’s funny about that?” Angie and Debra looked over at the television screen. Violet was watching the latest celebrity news, dealing with a famous divorce and the prospective child-custody case. She had the closed captioning activated, so the volume wasn’t as loud as she kept it in her own home.

“Nothing, Grandma.”

Angie went back to sit on the sofa, beside Violet. She grabbed one of the many hand-knit throws Debra had made over the years and wrapped it around herself, not
unlike Violet, who sat with her shawl on her shoulders and a blanket over her legs. The fire crackled and kept the room warm, but with the snow pelting the windows and the howling of the wind, it was hard not to feel chilled.

Angie called to Debra.

“Mom, come on out here for a while before we lose the cable. You’ve been working and cooking all day.”

“I’m coming.” Angie knew that tone of voice—her mother could keep puttering all night. Usually Daddy got her out of her working frenzies, but he was stuck in his office.

“
Now,
Mom.” Angie found it ironic that she was about to become a mother herself, yet yearned for Debra’s comfort and closeness more than ever.

Her head told her it was just the changes in her body that were making her feel more sentimental. But the all-too-frequent lumps in her throat, her trembling lips, the tears that splattered on her cheeks—these were from her heart, from the center of what she knew herself to be.

And all of that started with Debra.

With her mother.

After Debra put the burner on low and set the timer, she came into the family room and settled next to Angie on the sofa. Angie held up a portion of her blanket to share.

“Thanks, honey.” They snuggled beside each other as they’d always done.

Relieved that her mother was finally relaxing, Angie shifted her gaze back to her grandmother.

Vi sat on the leather chair, her feet on the matching ottoman. Her attention was on the television with the
incessant drone of the celebrity anchorwoman’s reporting. Who had cuddled Vi as a child?

Grandma Violet never spoke of her family. She said her life started when she met Benjamin Bradley, the grandfather Angie had never known. From the snippets Angie and her brothers had put together over the years, they’d learned that Vi’s family had moved from the South in the late nineteenth century. Vi was the great-great-great-granddaughter of slaves.

They were Angie’s ancestors, too. As a teenager, but especially as a college student, Angie had spent hours wondering about her divided family tree—the enslaved African-American side, on which her grandmother and father stood and made their own success, and the Polish-American side that still struggled in their day-to-day blue-collar jobs. Sometimes both parents working two jobs still couldn’t pay all the bills, let alone college expenses. Her maternal grandmother had found her own version of happiness with Mom’s step-father, but had never formed a close bond with Debra, Will or their children.

With a start Angie realized she wanted more for her baby. She wanted a family just like the one Debra and Will had made.

A
NGIE HESITATED
before she hit the enter button. Once she did, she’d be committed to the tickets. She’d be going to meet Jesse in Europe.

Her nausea remained ever-present, but she hoped it would begin to dissipate within the next few weeks. She was finally finishing the first trimester.

“Okay, why not?” She hit the button, and went on to her e-mail.

Three messages from Jesse in the past hour.

The clock on her computer registered 12:30 a.m. That meant it was near breakfast time for Jesse.

The e-mail ended without a closing comment, so Angie went to the next in the list.

Yes, Angie remembered the storm. She and Jesse had flown in for Blair and Stella’s wedding. It was early October, so they weren’t expecting bad weather, and had found themselves stranded on the Thruway for three hours. They’d made good use of the time in the car, making out like teenagers. She knew it could’ve been worse.

She sighed and rubbed her belly. It wasn’t much larger yet, but her body felt entirely different to her.

Jesse had always made it clear that he didn’t want to risk having kids in light of his childhood. His own parents had each married three times, twice to each other. They were back together now, and had been for the past five years, but their divorces and respective marriages to other spouses had occurred during Jesse’s junior and senior years in high school.

He’d never forgiven them.

Angie didn’t blame him, but she did think he’d let his own resentment cloud his better judgment.

Angie and Jesse had been married for seven years, most of the time very content and happy. But Angie wanted kids. Jesse still balked at the idea, although she felt his reasons weren’t entirely valid anymore. Yes, science supported the theory that an addiction gene existed and they’d always have a chance of passing it on to their offspring. But his nieces and nephews were living proof that environment played a huge part, too.

Angie never apologized for wanting children with Jesse. They just didn’t address it.

Until his most recent phone call.

Her cell phone rang. The noise startled her in the still of the late hour.

It was Jesse again. Using today’s ten minutes, in the first hour of his day in Iraq.

“Hi, Angie. How about meeting me in Paris instead of Garmisch?”

“Paris?”
Angie’s planning had revolved around Germany.

“Why not? It’s warmer than the Alps and you’ve always wanted to go.”

“I just booked a flight for Germany. I’m also new at my job, Jesse. I can’t just take off whenever I want to. Especially during our busy season.”

“It’ll be the same week you’ve already booked off for vacation. Besides, every season’s busy up there, isn’t it? They have blizzards in October, for heaven’s sake. Tell them you’ll do overtime on Halloween.”

Angie choked back a laugh. She’d have a two-month-old baby by Halloween.

Jesse’s baby.

“It’s not that easy.”

“Do you think doing neurosurgery in a war zone is?”

Recrimination sent a flush of shame up her chest, her face.

Even pregnant and in the middle of a Buffalo blizzard, Angie knew she was far more secure and comfortable than Jesse, given where he was.

“I’ll see what I can do.” Was she crazy? It was as though her tongue had a mind of its own.

Debra

I
STARED AT THE BOOKMARKS
I’d cross-stitched for Will and me back in high school. Just another way I tried to
be close to him. I couldn’t have him as a normal boyfriend, but I never wanted him to forget me.

It’s impossible to laugh at that girl, even now, over forty years later. Because the love I had then was the start of what we had now, what sustained us over the years.

“Mom?”

Angie interrupted my thoughts. I looked up from the studio desk.

“Yes, honey?”

“Grandma’s settled in for the night. How long do you think you’ll be up?”

I glanced at the clock. It was after 1:00 a.m.

“I had no idea it was so late. What are you doing up?” I studied her more closely. She looked tired but otherwise okay.

“Jesse just e-mailed, and then we talked on my cell phone for a bit.”

“Okay.” I wouldn’t ask her to tell me any more than she was ready to. Will’s warning had hit home. Angie was entitled to her own life.

She walked into the room.

“He wants me to meet him in Europe.”

“You were expecting that, right? Didn’t you say it would be at that resort in the Alps?” I was so proud of myself—I hadn’t even mentioned that skiing wouldn’t be an option for a pregnant woman.

“Yes, well, that’s what he said at first, and I assumed it would be Germany, since that’s where most of his colleagues have met their wives.”

“And now?”

“He suggested we go to Paris instead.”

“Oh…”

Paris. It was responsible for Will and me finally getting together, for admitting our love to each other. Paris meant so much to us that we’d never gone back for fear it would be different. For fear of ruining our beautiful memories, besmirching them with present realities.

“Don’t get all worked up, Mom. Paris isn’t anything to Jesse and me but a meeting place.”

“Do you really believe that, Angie?”

“Mom.” Angie wouldn’t make eye contact; she concentrated on the knitted items I’d laid out on the table.

“What are these for? Golf clubs?”

Angie held up the burgundy covers that, unknown to her, might as well have been a scarlet
A.

“Yes. I never finished them.” And never went through with the physical side of an emotional adultery, thank God. It had just been a fantasy, and an opportunity I’d passed on.

“Angie, listen to me. I’m well aware that you could raise this child by yourself if you want to. But if you think you’ll come to regret not mending your relationship with Jesse, then you have to try.”

“I know.” She sighed. “But there’s another thing, Mom. I’ll miss your opening night of the exhibit.”

“That’s okay. It’ll still be here when you get back.” Of course I wanted Angie there for opening night, but I wanted her family situation settled more.

She held up the tiny ivory cardigan she’d worn to our wedding. She’d been all of six weeks old.

“You made this for me?”

“I did.” I hesitated for just a moment. What the hell.
My grandchild wasn’t coming into a family of secrets, not if I had anything to say about it. And I did.

“You know we didn’t get married until after you were born, right?”

“Yes, you told me in the coffee shop.” Angie frowned at me. “Did you intend to marry Daddy once you left Buffalo?”

“No. Yes, of course.” I sighed. “I don’t know what I thought. I knew I needed to finish my degree, and I knew that I couldn’t come back until it was done.”