What Family Means (13 page)

By “skyline” I referred to the Buffalo night silhouette.

“How many days will it be at Albright-Knox?”

“A month. But I have to take it to New Orleans, Denver, Seattle and Atlanta after that.”

“How far is the tapestry from being done?”

“One, maybe two weeks. I need to stay focused on getting it finished, but it’s hard with all the other things I’m doing for the display.”

“Don’t forget you have more boxes of knitting in the attic.”

Will’s hint to clean up my storage made me laugh for the first time since we’d started this conversation.

“Yes, dear,” I said demurely.

“Fine, laugh at me. But if you find a great idea for
your exhibit and it’s too late to include it because you waited, don’t blame me.”

“Okay, I won’t.” Will loved to “help” me with my work.

“Talk to you later,” he said.

“Bye.”

Present Day
Buffalo, New York
Debra

I
STAYED IN OUR ROOM
for a while after I hung up with Will.

If I dwelled on our conversation I’d end up in a slump, or worse, too frazzled to get any work done.

I’d learned more patience with each year of being married to him, learned to be grateful for the times he opened up. When we were first married, he wasn’t ready to talk about his emotions. And I wasn’t ready to listen. All I wanted to do was fix things.

The garish half set of golf club covers stared up at me from the chest. I’d hung on to them as a means of punishing myself, I supposed.

Maroon and white, they were the colors of the high school the kids went to. And a reminder of the near-fatal blow the golf coach had been to my marriage.

Lyle Blackburn had been everything Will wasn’t. Single, a long-term bachelor, earning the modest income of a public schoolteacher, supplemented by his tour on the pro circuit.

And white.

Shame pushed heat up my neck and face.

April 1989
Buffalo, New York

“G
REAT DRIVE
, B
RIAN
.”

Lyle Blackburn clasped Brian’s shoulder and smiled. “You’ll take us to the state championships with that swing.”

Debra watched the scene and wished Will could see how much Brian’s stroke had improved. Will had been preoccupied with work, and she’d been so preoccupied with the kids’ schedules and her own that she hadn’t really filled him in.

“Hi, Debbie.”

“Hey.” She never corrected the nickname he used. It sounded so fresh, so alive, when he said it.

“Your boy’s got real talent.”

“Thanks.” She smiled at Lyle and immediately berated herself. She was not going to be like all the other moms who ogled him. For heaven’s sake, she’d been married for almost two decades! A new car or weaving loom was more appropriate for her than a lustful fantasy about Lyle Blackburn.

“Keep it up, Brian. Ten more and you’re done for today.”

“Okay, coach.”

Lyle walked over to Debra and lightly grasped her arm. He guided her to a picnic bench not far from the driving range but far enough to give them some privacy.

“Have you ever golfed, Debbie?”

“No, I’m not really the athletic type.”

“Golf isn’t about athletics, Debbie. It’s about the mental aspect. I even like to think it has a spiritual side.”

Lyle’s green eyes sparkled with the concentration Will once had. A complete focus, on her.

But she wasn’t looking for a substitute.

“Coach Blackburn, I can barely keep up with my kids’ schedules as it is. Fitting in four or five hours a week to hit a little white ball around the green isn’t something I can do.” Debra ignored his effusive charm.

“All the more reason to take some time for yourself.”

Lyle looked at her, and Debra squirmed under his un-abashed assessment.

“You do so much for Will and the kids. When’s the last time someone did something for you?”

“I don’t do more than any other wife.” She pretended not to notice the sexual innuendo in his tone.

“Sure you do.” He motioned at the area surrounding them. “How many wives and mothers do as much as you, Debbie? No one. The rest of the kids walk home every night. Not your boys.”

Debra knew that. She often gave rides to Brian and Blair’s classmates. But most of the other moms had real jobs, not artistic ones like hers.

“My work gives me a little more flexibility…”

“Stop making excuses for yourself. You’re a great mom and you deserve a husband who worships you.”

His come-on was kitschy, his method transparent. But Debra hadn’t been the object of any adult atten
tion—male attention—in so long that even Lyle’s tackiness boosted her ego.

Just a bit.

She got up from the table and said goodbye.

“I’m in the car when you’re ready, Brian,” she called.

She went to the station wagon and locked herself inside. She needed something to remind her why she stayed married to a man who worshipped his career more than his wife.

Present Day
Buffalo, New York
Debra

“H
ELLO
?” C
ALLER
ID indicated it was Maggie from the knitting group.

“Deb? I wanted to call and thank you for helping me with Dave’s sweater. I’ve managed to fix the entire length of that dropped stitch.”

“Good, I’m glad.” I knew the sickening stomach twist that occurred when a garment I’d been knitting for weeks seemed to be ruined due to one mistake.

“Me, too! I was driving Dave crazy with my ranting about how much work I’d done, and how I didn’t think I had it in me to start over.”

“And you didn’t have to, did you?” I smiled into the phone. “You know, Maggie, it’s so common to drop a stitch. We all do it. You can get knitting so fast you don’t notice you’ve missed a stitch. I used to tell people to rip out the whole thing, but why? We can fix it without all the tears.”

“Which takes time and patience, both of which you’ve spent on me. I can’t thank you enough. How are you doing with the storm?”

“Great. Thanks for asking. I have my daughter and Will’s mother over, so it’s girl time. Plus, I have plenty to do with my work.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see your exhibit, Deb!”

“And I can’t wait for it to be done!”

We chatted a bit longer about our lives before we hung up.

It was gratifying to get a call from a young woman like Maggie. She may not realize it now, but our conversation was about knitting only on the surface.

Dropped stitches, like mistakes in life, abound.

And in marriage, there were opportunities for a great many dropped stitches.

Especially a marriage that’s lasted as long as mine and Will’s.

Will accused me of needing to “fix everything.” But some days I just didn’t have the patience or stamina to do the fixing part. I wanted to forget about it, shove the mistakes to the bottom of my knitting bag, so to speak.

But then the lure of the fiber, which in my marriage had always been our love and friendship, called me back.

And I found myself picking up the dropped stitch and weaving it back into the pattern of our life.

Present Day
Buffalo, New York

W
ILL STRETCHED OUT
on the sofa bed in his office. He raised his wrist and looked at the gold watch Deb had given him for Christmas.

It was 5:30 a.m.

He yawned and swung his feet over the side of the bed. As far as hideaway beds went, this was the best. But it still wasn’t the king-size, extra-firm mattress he shared with Deb.

Deb.
He missed her. He relished waking up to her each morning, getting in that last kiss and cuddle before he had to start the day.

He missed her scent. Jasmine and her own feminine note.

The aroma of coffee entered his awareness. Obviously one of his colleagues had beaten him to it. Probably Vanessa.

All six curvy feet of her.

He scratched his head and stood up, stretching. That girl was one talented architect but clueless as to the personal side of life.

She was a Howard alumna, and never missed a chance to remind him of the one thing they had in common.

She was twenty-five years his junior, and he saw her more as a daughter. He wasn’t stupid or ignorant of the fact that many colleagues his own age would take advantage of the situation.

But they didn’t have a Deb at home. Chuck’s wife of thirty-two years had died of breast cancer three years ago, and he was back in the market. Don had never professed to be a loyal husband and was known as a player. But Will didn’t care what his employees and partners did with their personal lives, as long as it didn’t affect the business.

That had been his stand since he started the firm almost thirty years ago.

Now he was going to be a grandfather. As he matured, he found it harder to keep his thoughts to himself. He wasn’t judging his colleagues, not at all. But he wanted everyone to have a shot at the happiness he and Deb shared.

The truth was, it didn’t come easy. And it was more than luck.

He’d always felt they had someone greater than them watching out for them. He and Deb had been greatly blessed along the way.

They’d also broken their backs trying to keep their marriage afloat.

Even soul mates had to work at it.

He tucked in his shirt and picked up the phone.

Deb’s voice was sleepy but he didn’t think he’d awakened her.

“Hi, babe.”

“Good morning.”

“How late were you gals up last night?”

“Your mother was asleep by ten. But Angie and I stayed up, talking.”

“Solving all her problems?”

“Geez, what a great way to start the day, honey. Give me some credit. I’m not telling anyone what to do anymore.”

Will stifled the chuckle that boiled up in his throat. The day Deb stopped caring about their children’s happiness was a day he hoped would never come.

“You don’t believe me, do you, Will?”

“Sure I do.”

“Yeah, right. How does it look over there?”

Will raised his shades and stared out the huge pane of glass that comprised one wall of his office.

“Snow’s still falling.” The flakes weren’t coming down as furiously as last night; he could see the street-lights’ dim glow. But the snow fell nonetheless.

“Same here. It’s supposed to stop by noon.”

“Yeah. I should be home by seven or eight, as long as the temperatures hold and they get this cleaned up.”

“I miss you, Will.”

“I know.”

“Who’s at the office with you?”

“Chuck and Vanessa. Everyone else is in Arizona for that conference.” The one he’d passed on. More and more he didn’t want to travel if he didn’t have to. Being home with Deb meant more to him.

“Hmm. I’ll bet
she’d
love to have breakfast with you.”

Will grunted. When it came to women he worked with, he’d learned the less said, the better.

“Sorry. You know I trust you, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course.” And she had no reason not to.

“It’s just that I was a young woman once, and I understand the attraction an older man holds. The experience, the worldly knowledge.”

“Maybe we’ll get her to take a second look at Chuck.”

“She needs someone her own age. Someone she can grow old with.”

Deb didn’t have to say “like us.” Will knew what she meant.

“Well, I’d better have some coffee and get going on my work. If I can get out of here earlier, I will.”

“Be safe, honey. I’ll call you later.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

Will smiled at the phone. God, he wished he was home. Funny how things worked out. As a young man getting his business off the ground, he’d certainly found home a comfort, but he’d also looked forward to the office every day. Especially when the kids were young.

He had to hand it to Deb—he couldn’t have stayed home in what often seemed to be total chaos. Yet Deb had done it and done it well. She thrived on the constant change and activity, even managed to keep her art going, albeit on a part-time basis for a while there.

Now, as an older guy, he liked home best. He had an office there and worked in it whenever he could, when he didn’t have to come in to the downtown location.

But Deb wanted to get out more, probably because
she’d been home all those years. It was as though their roles had been reversed.

He understood, but at times it perplexed him that she didn’t want to stay in more, with him.

Maybe he needed to give her a reason….

A knock at his door interrupted his thoughts.

“Come in.”

“Good morning, Will.”

Vanessa entered. Her blouse had been pressed and her skirt showed nary a wrinkle. She even had her high-heeled shoes back on.

“Good morning, Vanessa.”

“I figured you’d like some coffee.” She handed him a steaming mug and set a plate with a bagel and cream cheese on the service table near his chair.

“Thanks, but you didn’t have to do this.” Usually Lori, his personal assistant, took care of the coffee, but she hadn’t made it into work since the day before yesterday. She lived south of the city, and they usually got the brunt of the lake-effect storms.

“I wanted to.”

She smiled at him and Will wondered, not for the first time, if she realized she acted like a doe in heat around him. Or maybe she did this around all the men in the office—he hadn’t bothered to take note.

“I’m going to wrap up the plans for the mall in Schenectady. I’ll have them on your desk by close of business today.”

“Fine. But keep an eye on the weather. If we can leave earlier, we will. We all need a break, and I don’t want to risk being stuck here again tonight.”

Disappointment flickered in her brown eyes, but Will gave her credit for masking it with a weak smile.

“Sure thing.”

She turned and left and started to shut his door.

“Leave it open, Vanessa.”

“No problem.”

Will went to his desk and fired up his computer. Thank God they hadn’t lost power this time out. As far as Buffalo storms went, this was proving to be a manageable one.

A
NGIE WATCHED
V
I DOZE
on the sofa, wrapped in the tattered shawl Mom had made her years ago. Her face was soft, even with the lines of her life etched across it.

Angie finished her coffee and looked around. Mom had already disappeared into her studio.

Angie found her there, on her stool in front of the weaving frame, her tapestry almost finished.

“It’s beautiful, Mom.” Angie studied the colors of the sunrise over the Buffalo skyline; it served as the backdrop to a huge maple tree, divided into the four seasons—bare branches, buds and “helicopter” seeds, green glossy leaves, flamboyant autumnal hues.

Angie laughed, and Debra looked up and offered her a smile.

“Good morning, sweetheart. What’s so funny?”

“The twins and I used to play for hours with the maple seeds—we called them ‘helicopters.’ Do you remember, Mom?”

Debra chuckled as she kept weaving. “What I remember is finding the boys with firecrackers right after they blew up their G.I. Joe fort in the sandbox.”

Angie giggled. “I was hiding in the shed—who do you think gave them the matches?”

Debra smiled again, kept working.

“How much more do you have to do?”

“Just these last few inches. It’ll be ready well ahead of the exhibit.”

Angie watched her mother’s hands moving quickly and confidently, and thought of all the wonderful things those hands had created over the years.

Like Grandma Violet’s shawl….

“Mom, how bad was it when you told Grandma Vi you and Daddy were getting married?”

Debra raised her head and rested the shuttle on the frame.

“Bad. As we’ve told you kids, it all happened when your granddad passed away. His heart was getting weaker, and the stress of it all sent him over the edge.”

“You don’t really believe it’s your fault or Daddy’s that he died, do you?”

Debra met Angie’s eyes.

“No, it wasn’t anyone’s ‘fault,’ Angie, but maybe we could’ve handled it differently.”

“Like how?”

Debra swiped at her forehead in an effort to get the curls out of her face. Angie saw the tired lines in her face, the circles under her eyes. Mom had always thrived on her art, but like any work, it took its toll.

“Maybe we should’ve just eloped. Not told anyone. Gone off to California.” She gave Angie a gentle smile.

“You mean like I did?” Angie had felt awful when she’d first told Debra and Will that she and Jesse had
been married in San Francisco City Hall. But then they’d had a church blessing and huge family reception in Buffalo, which had overjoyed her parents.

Angie nodded; their decision had really had more to do with Jesse and
his
parents, which Debra understood.

“But you somehow brought Grandma around—how did you do it?”

“I didn’t do it, Angie, Violet did. She brought herself around. And I imagine you had something to do with it.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You spent a lot of time with her, especially when the twins were born. Vi would either come and get you or I’d drop you off and you’d have a girls’ day. I think it was good for her, since Will’s brother and sister had already moved out and across the country.”

“Uncle Jimmy came back for visits—he still does.” Angie loved her retired army uncle. He told the best stories, and his wife, Doris, was a doll. They’d never had any kids themselves, so they’d treated Angie and the boys like their own whenever they were in town, which admittedly wasn’t all that often.

“Yes, he did, but it’s not the same. You see that now, don’t you? Look how much time we’ve spent together in the two months since you’ve been back—more than the past ten years combined!”

“It must have been hard for Grandma Vi. Especially since her only daughter moved halfway around the world.” Will’s sister had joined the foreign service and when she was in the U.S. on a rare tour, it was never in Buffalo.

“Yes, but I’ll give Vi credit. She’s always loved you unconditionally. That first year or two, she didn’t say
much to me, but she always had a smile, a hug and a kiss for you.”

“What about your mom?”

“She just doesn’t have it to give, honey. She cares about you and the boys, but since my father left, she’s never been the same, even after marrying Fred. They’re content as they are, and that’s fine with me. I’ve had my hands full with your dad and his family.”

“I wish you’d had siblings like me, Mom. Blair and Brian have helped me through so much.”

“I’m not alone, Angie. I’ve had friends like the knitting gals, my work colleagues and of course your dad. Now that you’re an adult, I have you. What more could I ask for?”

Angie knew Debra’s belief was genuine, but her heart still ached for her mother.

“Wouldn’t you do anything to keep what you have with Jesse?” Debra’s query jolted Angie out of her put-Mom-on-a-pedestal thoughts.

“Mom, it’s completely different!”

“Is it? Jesse’s folks weren’t too happy with you at first. They’ve mellowed because you were kind and gracious to them.”

“Yes, but—”

“And now you’re going to have Jesse’s baby. Isn’t that worth keeping a family together for?”

Angie groaned. “Mom, I told you I didn’t want to talk about this. I’m dealing with it.”

“You’re the one who came in here needing answers. I’m out of the advice business, but here’s a suggestion from your mom—don’t drag things out longer than you
need to, and don’t make them a bigger deal than they have to be. Just do the next right thing.”

“And that would be?” Angie immediately wished she hadn’t asked. She didn’t want a full-blown lecture from Debra, nor did she want her to think she was requesting guidance.

But Debra didn’t do anything she normally would have.

She smiled. “That’s for you to figure out.” Debra picked up the shuttle and resumed weaving.

“Where did you get the idea for the tree?”

“It’s based on the Belgian tapestries that depict the tree of life. In a sense, it’s our family tree.”

“How?”

“Well, our family has several living generations, and you can look at generations like seasons. But I prefer to see each of us as a separate branch, sprouting our own leaves, holding our own nests, waving in the winds of life. I think we go through the seasons several different times during our lives, while the tree, the family tree, stays constant and steady through it all. It’s about the love that connects us, Angie. Not just blood ties or names.”

June 1974
Buffalo, New York

D
EBRA GLANCED
at her reflection one last time. Her hair was in place, the tendrils she’d coaxed into corkscrews hung on either side of her face. Her makeup was the “natural” look with peach blusher and lip gloss.

Funny how having a baby had made her feel more like a woman than ever. Of course, Will’s presence back
in her life didn’t hurt, either. When he’d found her in Boston, Angie had only been three weeks old; she was just over six weeks today. Debra’s doctor had given her the green light for sex.