What Family Means (7 page)

“What’s so funny?” His breath fanned the wisps of hair off her cheeks. She loved his smell.

“You seem so worried. It’s not like you.”

“Are you still okay with this?” Will stayed true to his nature and kept their focus on the situation at hand.

Deb swallowed, never losing eye contact with Will.

She nodded. “More than ever.”

Will studied her for a moment, then pushed himself away with what appeared to be great effort.

He looked upstairs.

“What’s it take for a guy to get a cup of tea around here?”

She giggled. “C’mon.”

They went upstairs.

“Do you have much studying this weekend?” he asked.

“No, just a paper that’s due on Tuesday. But I’ve got it done.”

She’d stayed up three nights this past week to finish the paper early. She was so excited at the prospect of spending the entire weekend alone with Will that she couldn’t sleep much, anyhow.

“What about you?”

“I have an exam next Friday. That’s it for now.” The weekend stretched before them like a rainbow after a summer storm.

One huge glorious gift of time.

And solitude.

“I still can’t believe we found each other again. In Paris.”

“Me neither.” She held her mug in both hands and stared at the fire they’d started. A great thing about old Parisian apartments was that they had fireplaces. Will had paid for the wood.

“Did you ever think of me?” Will’s voice was tentative, almost vulnerable.

“After high school?” How much could she reveal to him? “Yes, I did. But I tried not to.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because we couldn’t do anything about it. We never stood a chance in Buffalo, not with both our families and all.”

“And all” really meant his mother, but she didn’t comment. He knew.

“I suppose so.”

His mug clanked on the floor next to his feet as he set it down. Then he took her mug out of her hands and set it next to his. He traced his finger along her face. “I can’t do this if I don’t know you’re in it all the way, sweetheart.”

“Will, of course I am! But it’s not just about us. It never has been.”

“It is now, Deb. And it can be when we go back. We’re adults, and we have our own life to live.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“It
is
simple, when you get down to it.”

“How—”

Her words were swallowed by Will’s mouth as it covered hers. This kiss caught her a bit off guard. But
it was as delicious as all the others had ever been. Even more so.

Everything in their past had been leading to this moment. She knew that now, as the intensity of their embrace deepened with each kiss, each caress. He pressed her back, until he was lying half across her on the sofa. Their kisses grew longer, and their breath quickened to match her crazy pulse.

Will lifted his head and looked into her eyes. She saw all the love and devotion he’d always had for her, and now could give to her with no restraint.

“I love you, Debra, and I’m going to prove it to you for the rest of our lives. If you let me.”

“Oh, Will…”

Present Day
Buffalo, New York

Angie closed her laptop and stood up from her kitchen table. All these weeks she’d checked her e-mail every day, sometimes obsessively so. She’d longed for a message, any kind of news from Jesse.

Her morning sickness was a normal part of pregnancy for sure, but her anxiety over his well-being added to her stomach’s bilious behavior.

The crabapple tree outside the kitchen window waved its gnarled branches in the strong wind. It was hard to imagine the pretty pink blossoms that would cover it come spring.

Spring—she’d be in her second trimester by then.
Jesse deserved more from her. Maybe Mom was right; she should tell him sooner rather than later.

She looked at her watch. Her shift started in an hour.

As the new head meteorologist at the NOAA station, she alternated her day and night shifts so she’d get to know the entire staff and see how they worked. So far she was very impressed with how advanced their weather-predicting capabilities were.

Many television stations simply reported the weather as they received it from the nearest NOAA, with little or no interpretation by their own meteorologists. Due to the constant flux of Western New York’s meteorological patterns, the station was heavily relied upon.

Her colleagues in San Francisco would be envious of her new position—and the challenges of lake-effect weather. They had to wait years between El Niño weather patterns.

She felt the relaxation in her facial muscles as her frown turned into a reluctant smile. She had her own El Niño, or La Niña, going on. Her e-mail alert chimed.

So she was “Bella” again. He hadn’t used that term of endearment the last time they spoke.

Jesse started calling her Bella after their trip to Tuscany last summer. They’d rented a villa for two weeks. It all blurred together in her mind—a collage of colorful meals, sunflower fields, medieval art and making love as the sun or moon rose.

It was a second honeymoon as far as Angie was concerned. That constant glow of contentment with each other, and the security that their love could last.

That it
would
last.

She sighed and went into the kitchen for some ginger tea. She and Jesse had gone through the holidays as always—visiting each other’s families at Thanksgiving and Christmas and then spending New Year’s Eve together in San Francisco.

They cherished what had become an annual tradition—curling up in front of their condo’s fireplace with a spread of cheeses, sausages and a bottle of red wine. Most often it was wine they’d chosen on a day trip to Napa or Sonoma, but this year it had been a bottle they’d brought back from Italy. A wonderful Barolo they’d enjoyed in Piedmont.

She hadn’t known she was pregnant at the time. But she’d only sipped at one glass, leaning against Jesse and forgetting for one night that the distance between them had been widening over the past few months.

She should’ve tried to talk to him then, before it was too late. To let him know how badly she wanted the position in Buffalo. And that she’d researched jobs for him, and—serendipitously—the top hospital in Western New York was looking for a chief of neurosurgery.

Jesse’s dream job.

But she’d said nothing.

A week later it was too late. Jesse was on a plane to Iraq for an indeterminate length of time and she was left to make her own decision. Jesse knew she was coming to Buffalo but thought it was just to check out the job, assuming she probably wouldn’t take it. Even though he insisted he was willing to accept a temporary position in neurosurgery in Buffalo after his return from Iraq, Angie knew he didn’t expect her to make such a permanent change on her own. Pregnant or not.

With a feeling of recrimination she fought back her tears. These weren’t hormonal tears. She should’ve told Jesse how she felt about the job on New Year’s Eve.

But she’d just realized she’d missed her period by a week, something she’d never done. Motherhood was thrust upon her, and while she knew without a doubt that she’d have the baby and raise it alone if need be, she’d hoped and prayed that Jesse would change his mind about a family.

She never told him she was pregnant. Didn’t want him to worry about her or carry any anger with him into such a hostile environment.

She was headed east on I-80 by the end of January. She lucked out with the weather and made it to Kansas ahead of a huge winter storm system. She’d had to wait it out in Kansas City for a few nights, but then continued to Buffalo without further delays.

So here she was. Back home, but it didn’t feel like home. Not without Jesse.

She picked up the phone.

Of their own volition, it seemed, her fingers dialed her mom’s number.

“Hello?”

Angie sighed with relief that Debra was home.

“Hey, Mom.” Her voice broke on “Mom.”

“What’s wrong, sugar? Are your hormones driving you nuts?”

“Yeah, but it’s more than that.”

Debra was silent. Angie pictured her mother drawing invisible doodles on the table in front of her, as she did whenever her friends called with a problem.

Angie dove in. “Mom, I’m not whining. I’m an adult and I’m not the first woman in history to find herself pregnant at an unexpected time.” She looked at her countertop, the hardwood floor. “I just thought that Jesse, well, that he’d, oh, crap. I thought I’d change him.”

“You mean that he’d decide on his own that he wanted kids?”

Angie shoved down her twinge of guilt. “Something like that, yes.”

“Angie, what has he said? That he absolutely
never
wants children?” Her mom’s voice was gentle, not judging.

It was Angie’s turn to be silent.

“Angie? Are you still there?”

“Yes, Mom. He still wasn’t ready to discuss it before he left. That’s why I didn’t tell him.”

Debra’s intake of breath echoed through the receiver. “What were you thinking?” The old judgmental Mom was back.

“I didn’t want him to feel trapped.”

“You wanted him on your terms. Period.”

“What’s so wrong with that? That I want the father of my child to stay with me and be part of our family?”

“There’s never been any question in my mind that Jesse loves you and wants to be with you, Angie. He had such a rough time as a kid, from what you’ve told me, that it’s no wonder he wasn’t prepared to commit to children. Not right away.”

Angie didn’t say anything.

She heard rhythmic clicking over the phone. Mom must have resumed her knitting. “You didn’t have any problem with this before.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t knocked up before.” Angie knew Debra hated harsh talk.

“Excuse me, but you’re carrying my grandchild. Don’t refer to yourself as ‘knocked up.’”

“Sorry I bothered you, Mom. I just needed to vent, I suppose.”

“You’re not bothering me.” The clicking ceased. “I’m here for you, Angie. But I also respect that this is your life.”

Angie couldn’t find words to respond. Her mother had never said anything remotely akin to suggesting any of the kids were capable of leading their own lives. Since when had Debra Bradley learned about emotional boundaries?

“Uh, thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime, sugar. Just try to stay off the pity pot, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“When do you go back to work?”

“Later this evening.”

“You’re not used to having extra time on your hands. You haven’t had a chance to make friends yet, and what have you done besides work?”

“Not much.” She enjoyed her own knitting and crocheting, but hadn’t found much incentive to pick it up again.

“Do something nice for yourself. Tell you what, why don’t I book us in at La Spa and we’ll spend an afternoon together?”

“I don’t know how much of it I could enjoy right now, Mom.”

“I get it. We don’t want you to throw up during a massage.” Debra’s husky laugh made Angie smile. “Okay, honey. Just get out of that apartment and do
something.
”

“All right. Thanks, Mom. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Angie set the portable phone down and sipped her tea. It was lukewarm now but still soothed her gag-prone throat. She ran her finger around the rim of the hand-thrown mug.

It wasn’t fair to drag Mom into all her life’s snarls. She’d tied her own knots; she’d untie them, too.

Present Day
Buffalo, New York
Debra

T
HE OLD BROWN SWEATER
felt rough against my fingers. I’d made two of them for the boys when they were six and playing soccer.

I’d only managed to save this one. I didn’t know where the other one went.

The acrylic-wool blend wasn’t anything I’d use today, but it served its purpose for two boys in the Buffalo winter. The soccer ball motif on the front had been difficult but “anything for the kids” had been my motto.

Will wasn’t wrong about that.

I brought the sweater to my face and breathed in its scent. Past the lavender oil I used to protect the sweaters from moths, I caught a whiff of Blair and Brian when I was the only woman in their lives, other than their grandmas. I remembered slush dragged into the house on rubber boots, cold skin after soccer practice in the rain.

The constant observation of the other kids’ parents, especially the mothers.

At times I missed having young boys in the house but I didn’t miss the intrusion of other people’s opinions….

Present Day
Buffalo, New York
Debra

I
PUT THE BROWN
sweater to the side, into the pile of items I might use in my exhibit. I certainly had enough to fill an entire showroom. But I wanted this to be more than another open-portfolio type of show. I wanted to tie my work and art in with history.

I recalled Shirley’s words. “You of all people have something to scrapbook about.”

The thought of displaying personal things I’d made, not just the public weavings and tapestries, in the art exhibit, made me feel vulnerable to the criticism of others. What if the reviewers and the public didn’t understand my motives? I wanted to show how real life, ordinary life, continues even when national and international situations are globe-altering.

The baby and toddler clothes I knitted for Angie during the Watergate hearings.

The things I knitted for Will when we were in high school and college, when the civil rights movement
brought racial violence I’d never known about. When I understood that civil rights wasn’t just about some black people on television. It was about Will and me and all of us.

I’d loved Will since I first saw him on the bus. Since he took me under his arm and watched out for me, all through elementary and middle school. Even after we stopped seeing each other in high school I still loved him.

The pain of losing my best friend, Will, was almost worse than thinking I’d lost his love completely.

It was not that I’d always been colorblind, either. Sure, as kids, I knew we had different skin. As we grew up and closer together, Will’s blackness was attractive to me because it was part of who he was.

It was part of us.

I sat in my studio at the desk where I’d laid out all the photographs I’d been gathering for the past few months. Starting with the late 1950s until the present day, I’d collected world, national and local news headlines.

My original plan had been to display the news items on boards behind each piece of artwork I’d done at that particular time.

The museum wanted a retrospective of my art, how I’d gotten where I was today. So although I thought it a bit frivolous, I was going to include some small weavings I’d done as a child in elementary art class. Before I ever knew fiber arts could yield a career for me.

An entire vocation, for that matter.

I sighed and sipped my tea. My chipped mug was the
only warm thing in my studio. The news images stared blankly at me. Even my knitting didn’t seem as inviting as I’d hoped it would be.

“Nonsense.” I spoke to myself and Rose, who merely thumped her tail as she lay curled up in her bed. I was letting all that talk about journaling and scrapbooking get to me.

Not every life could be captured on a heartwarming scrapbook page.

Especially mine.

April 1985
Buffalo, New York

“B
RIAN
,
PUT YOUR SHIRT ON
. Blair, are your shin guards in place?”

Debra twisted around in the station wagon and surveyed the backseat. Both boys were in a state of undress as they rushed to get ready for the soccer game.

Angie was at ballet—Debra had to pick her up in thirty minutes—and her main focus was getting the boys to their field. She’d get Angie and be back before the game ended.

“Mom!”

They protested in unison. She knew she could be repetitive, but they needed the prodding. It’d been all she could do to get them into the car after school.

They’d chased each other around the parking lot, oblivious to Debra’s words of caution.

One old wives’ tale about twins that Debra had found to be true for Blair and Brian was that they lived in their
own world. Not only did they have their own language, she swore they communicated telepathically with each other at times.

“Take your water bottles.”

A tap on the window startled Debra. She rolled it down and Doug Bartholomew’s handsome face obstructed her view of the pitch.

“Need a hand?”

His wide smile crinkled the tanned skin around his eyes just a little too perfectly. People in Buffalo didn’t have tans like that unless they wintered in the tropics or went to a tanning salon. She was pretty sure Doug fell into the latter category.

“Nope, we’re ready, boys, aren’t we?” She looked back into the car, avoiding the forced intimacy the rain and his presence created.

“See ya, Mom.” Brian opened his door and slipped out. Blair slid across the car seat and let himself out the same door.

“They sure do everything together, don’t they?”

Debra turned to face Doug.

His blue eyes revealed the loneliness that lurked behind the bravado.

“Yes, they do. I’m getting out, too.”

She pulled on her door handle and Doug stepped back. She decided to leave the umbrella in the car and zipped up her parka, pulling the hood over her head, although it was impossible to keep all the red curls inside it.

She fell into step beside Doug, who showed up at all the soccer games. His wife, Mina, was a real estate agent, one of the most successful in Western New York.

Doug was an optometrist, so he arranged his patients around his son’s after-school schedule. It was easier for him than for Mina, he always said.

Debra often thought that maybe Doug and Mina didn’t really like each other and welcomed the break. One of those in-name-only marriages.

“How’s your project coming along?” He never forgot to ask about her fiber arts.

“Great, thanks. I wish I had more time with it, or at least bigger chunks of solid time, but, well, you know how it is with the kids.”

“I’ve told you, Debra, whenever you want me to take the twins for an afternoon, just give me a call. Sam loves them and they get along well.”

“Thanks, but they’re not the problem. It’s my time-management skills, which leave a bit to be desired.”

Doug was correct; the boys all got along wonderfully. But she didn’t want a man other than Will spending that much time with them. Due to Will’s long hours, if she took Doug up on his offer, he’d see more of the twins than their own father did.

It didn’t sit right with her.

“How’s
your
work going?” She wanted to get him talking about himself. Maybe he’d lay off the personal questions.

“Not bad. I could use a few more clients but they’ll come.”

“How about Mina?”

“She’s always doing great. You know her, never a slow day.”

Actually, Debra didn’t know Mina very well. They’d
only met a handful of times. Doug often had a gaggle of other soccer moms around him, laughing and flirting.

Mina didn’t seem to mind that Doug received so much attention from other women. She’d once commented that she was relieved Doug had other women to “joke” with. Debra heard the undertone of hard knowing in Mina’s voice. She knew her husband played around.

Debra figured Mina had confided in her because in Mina’s eyes she was “different” from the other moms. She wasn’t a threat because no white man would be interested in a white woman who’d married a black man.

Even though none of these thoughts were spoken aloud, Debra knew they existed. It was in the stares of the other moms as they noted the twins, often the only dark-skinned boys on the suburban teams. Then they’d search for the parents, and someone would have to point Debra out.

She wondered if they knew how stupid they looked with their open mouths when they saw her fair skin and red hair.

Doug had always been nice to her, but she didn’t trust him, either. Debra knew she’d never approve of Will having a close friendship with another woman unless she was a friend of hers, too. Even then it was a questionable proposition.

They reached the field and the game started. Debra enjoyed laughing in the cold wet mess of a Buffalo autumn as she watched Blair and Brian chase the ball across the field.

It was similar to the joy she felt when she watched Angie at ballet. But with the boys it always seemed to involve some type of infectious fun. Even the other parents laughed at the boys’ knack for getting each other out of tough spots.

“It’s good to see you laugh.” Doug stood a little too close for Debra’s comfort.

“It feels good to laugh.” She took a step to the side, and cupped her hands around her mouth. “Go, Brian! Go, Blair!”

Doug shook his head. “I hope your husband appreciates everything you do.”

Debra heard the insinuation in his tone.

“Oh, he does, believe me.” She set a stern boundary with her words, and this time Doug seemed to have heard her. He focused on the game again and refrained from any more personal comments or questions.

Deb sighed. She occasionally resented Will’s long hours, and the fact that he missed so much of this time with the boys. But mostly she felt sad for him. He didn’t have a choice at this point in their lives.

Besides, they needed her to stay home and be available for the children. And her fiber arts work was more flexible, although it often meant she was up past midnight or awake before the birds. But at least she had the option of working her own hours.

Will was following the classic claw-your-way-to-the-top career path. It took more than talent to be a successful architect. He had to be there, attend meetings, socialize with clients.

Big dreams were part of Will’s being. He wanted his
firm to be the number-one firm for their specialty in the country.

Debra smiled to herself as she watched the twins compete, with their unique fierceness, on the field. She knew where
that
trait had come from.