What Family Means

by Geri Krotow

  This wasn’t some memory I’d shoved down or needed hours of therapy to resolve.

  It was what I’d known all my life.

  My dad left us when I was five. The last day I saw him, he’d packed his suitcases as he always did before a trip and gave me the usual hug.

  “Can you bring me something back, Daddy?”

  “Sure, sweetheart. What do you want?”

  “A teddy bear. Brown.”

  “You bet, Debbie girl.”

  He’d tousled my hair and was gone. I didn’t know I’d never see him again, ever. I believed he’d come back, and that he’d bring me my teddy bear. I knitted the scarf for that damned bear, and here it was, fifty-three years later, still alone.

  My mother was right, in her coarse, matter-of-fact way.

  “That sonofabitch didn’t have the decency to tell us to our faces that he was going for good. Didn’t make sure we were taken care of.”

  It was a verse ingrained in my life, as I’d heard my mother sing my father’s curses until well after she’d met her current husband, Fred. But I was a little girl and he’d been my prince.

  I fingered the tiny red scarf. If not for my first prince abandoning me, I’d never have met the real prince of my life.

  Will.

  “SOY NO-WHIP MOCHA, right?” Phil O’Leary placed the brand-name coffee cup on Angie’s desk.

  “Thanks, Phil.” She looked up at him from the bank of screens that displayed various measures of Buffalo’s meteorological status. As the new Director of Operations, Angie knew her staff watched her closely, and she needed to be as informed as they were on the weather.

  “My pleasure.” Angie noted that, indeed, Phil seemed quite pleased with himself. Her assistant had fallen all over himself to impress her since she’d arrived four weeks ago.

  At some point she was going to have to tell him she wasn’t interested, but she didn’t want to seem uncaring or unappreciative. One thing she remembered about this city—it was a friendly place.

  Unlike the West Coast where she’d lived during her post-graduate years and early career, people in Buffalo treated everyone like family. There wasn’t much of a “getting-to-know-you” phase.

  The weather grid was typical for a northern New York February—including the possibility of a severe winter storm by the end of the week. Angie loved the thrill of watching the huge system take shape. The weather in San Francisco had its moments, but not the unpredictability of a Buffalo winter.

  “I hope you’ve bought some cold-weather gear since you transferred.” Phil chuckled and shook his head at the monitors. “It’s going to get dicey over the next few days.”

  Phil loved talking. Angie did, too, but not at work. And definitely not when she was putting her own forecast together.

  “Phil, have you found out any more about the interns from the university? Do we have enough room for them over spring break? And what about the grad students who’ve requested interviews?”

  Phil took the hint and went to his desk, still wearing his benign smile.

  Angie’s own smile left her face as soon as she turned back to the screens and morning reports. The watch-floor meeting was in fifteen minutes.

  The weather team would have their analysis ready, but she liked to form her own opinion first. That way there was less chance of missing an important detail or being off on the timing.

  The storm analysis wasn’t holding her attention like it usually did. The mess she’d made of her life was distracting her.

  The baby proclaimed his or her presence more every day. Her breasts and belly were visibly swollen and her face was fuller, flushed with the new life inside.

  She needed to tell Jesse. Mom was right about that. But she didn’t want him to think she’d planned this behind his back or wasn’t listening to his opinions and wishes.

  Neither of them had wanted children for the longest time, but she’d been feeling the urge to have a baby over the past two years. She’d mentioned it to Jesse, and while he didn’t say they’d never have kids, he didn’t want to plan on it for the near future.

  His childhood had been abusive at the hands of alcoholic, drug-addicted parents. Though they were clean and sober now, Jesse didn’t want to pass any risk of addiction to his own children. He had a brother and a sister, both of whom had kids who appeared to be healthy and well-adjusted. But Angie had never been able to convince Jesse that he’d make a wonderful parent, too. He said he was content to be the favorite uncle to his nieces and nephews.

  Angie swirled the coffee in her cup. She had to tell him, but she felt it should be in person.

  At the right moment.

  Hopping a flight to Iraq was out of the question, so she might have to compromise on the “in person” part.

  Present Day

  Buffalo, New York

  Debra

  THE NEXT MORNING Will came in before I’d had a chance to start work in my studio. My exhibit was ever present in my mind and I had some finishing touches to research. I’d planned a display of my different artwork over the years, with black-and-white photos of historical events as backdrops to each piece.

  “Debra?” His voice found me upstairs in the oversize reading chair we kept in the alcove off our master bedroom. After all this time, I still felt a little shiver of delight at the sound of his voice.

  My girlfriends and I agreed that business trips help keep the home fires burning. We had friends, couples, who’d slipped into such a predictable pattern that they didn’t appreciate each other any longer. The respect died, and its bitter embers fueled resentment and loathing.

  “Up here.”

  I quickly cleared off my lap and shoved the baby book under the chair. Will never took well to my reminiscing. He assumed it meant I was not happy in the present.

  Nothing could be further from true. I was just looking for some photos of Angie wearing the outfits I’d finally dug out—after I got over finding Teddy’s scarf.

  The hallway floorboards creaked under Will’s steps. He was a large man, but still lean and graceful on his feet. He’d never been a star athlete but his twice-weekly tennis games with colleagues, combined with our weekend hikes, kept him trim.

  And sexy as hell.

  “Hey, have you been waiting for me?” The twinkle in his eyes sent a tickle through my belly.

  “Always, dear,” I answered demurely.

  We met each other halfway across the carpeted room. I closed my eyes before his lips touched mine. He gave me his usual I’m-home-dammit-and-I-want-you kiss before enveloping me in his large arms.

  I rested my head against his shoulder, accessible due to his half-bent position, inhaling the scent that was Will.

  I squeezed him tighter. This was when I felt the best with Will. When we were alone, just us, and none of life’s potential ugliness had a chance to intrude.

  We’d learned to put differences aside if we wanted to keep our sex life healthy. There’d always be time for talking and rehashing different points of view.

  “What have you been doing this morning?” His gaze took in the still-open chest at the foot of the bed, with knitted sweaters, socks, mittens and afghans strewn everywhere.

  “I’ve been going through my treasures, thinking about our future grandkids—and the art exhibit.” I fingered a mohair cap. “Just looking for a little inspiration.”

  “Obviously I’ve been gone too long.” He smiled as he observed that his side of our king-size bed was heaped with skeins of yarn and pattern books.

  “Yes, you have. You’re going to be a grandparent!” I grinned at his expression. Bemusement mixed with awe, giving him a vulnerable look.

  “Yes, I am. We are.” He tugged off his tie and went to the walk-in closet. “Did you have anything planned for dinner tonight?”

  “Not really. There’s some stew I froze last week after we had the kids over. I can heat that up and make a quick salad.” When we were younger and Will was gone, I’d often whipped up a gourmet meal for his
return. But more recently we both preferred lighter, simpler fare.

  “How about I take you out, Grandma?” The laugh that followed his query echoed from the closet.

  “How about you let our grandchild call me Grandma?”

  He laughed again and came back into the bedroom. He’d changed into black jeans and a casual burnt-orange button-down shirt. The color reflected superbly off his still-smooth coffee skin.

  “Hey, handsome.” I lifted the hem of my knit top. “Wanna play before you take a nap?”

  His hands were on the flat of my belly, the curve of my back, his lips on my neck.

  “Sure do, sweetheart. Sure do….”

  February 1973

  Paris, France

  “I’VE MISSED YOU.”

  Debra’s skin warmed at Will’s statement.

  She leaned toward him over the six-inch hedge that separated them as they walked through the public garden. They held hands over the small expanse between them.

  “Liar.”

  “I haven’t been able to come by as often because of my project. But it’s in the bag now.”

  “The papers and exams can be overwhelming, can’t they?”

  She marveled at how perfectly their hands fit together.

  The hedgerow ended and Will stopped. They were in one of the most breathtaking gardens in all of Paris, beautiful even in winter, yet Debra saw only Will. It wasn’t just his large frame, his heat or his deep voice. It was an aura she couldn’t see, but her heart beat faster every time she sensed him near.

  “I don’t want to talk about school right now, Deb.”

  She met his gaze, thrilled by the warmth in his eyes.

  “Okay.”

  He sighed and glanced around them. “I know this isn’t Buffalo, that they’re more open here. But I can’t bring myself to do anything other than hold hands in public. I don’t want anyone to look at you differently.”

  She loved how he put her first, allowed the decision to be hers. But Debra’s impatience to be with him spurred her on. “Will, I don’t care what other people think. You know that much about me.”

  He hadn’t forgotten that, had he?

  “Deb, I care what other people think. I could’ve ruined your entire reputation, cost you your friends, back in high school.”

  Her throat tightened around her breath. “They weren’t my friends.”

  All but one of her girlfriends had disappeared from her life after word got out about her and Will.

  “We deserve at least this time together, don’t we, Deb?”

  “Yes.”

  But she didn’t know if she could handle the part that came after. The pain of separating. She’d already done it once.

  There’d always be an after—and it wouldn’t bring them together. Not if they both went back to Buffalo.

  “Amy’s still on her study in Marseilles?” His voice asked about Amy, her roommate, but his eyes asked another question.

  “Yes. Until Saturday.”

  It was Tuesday. They’d have four days to spend alone in her flat.

  He stared at her, his face relaxed except for the sparkle in his eyes.

  “Will—”

  “You know how we’ll end up, this week or next.” He finished her thought. They had the whole semester ahead of them. In Paris…

  “I just don’t know if this is the best thing for us.”

  She damned the tears that threatened to spill, the quiver of her chin. It was as though they were fifteen and seventeen again and his mother had caught them kissing on the porch.

  “We’re not kids anymore. We’re adults, Deb. Deb?”

  His fingers touched her chin and forced her to look up. When she saw the same desire in his eyes that she felt every time they were together, her tears overflowed and dripped down her face, onto his hands.

  “We’ll never do anything you aren’t comfortable with, Deb.”

  “That’s not what I’m afraid of.” She punched his arm. “And you know it.”

  Will’s laugh chased away her fears. She didn’t doubt the depth of her feelings for him, or his for her. It was the pain of letting go that they would both face, whether it was after this week or after a year in Paris.

  They could never go back to Buffalo together.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Present Day

  Buffalo, New York

  Debra

  WILL CHEWED his Thai spring roll, and his eyes met mine as I stared at him over my coconut-curry soup.

  “What?” he asked. He tilted his head and set his fork down.

  “Is something bothering you? You’ve been quiet since we left the house.”

  He swallowed.

  “Nothing’s bothering me. I’m just wondering how you’re really doing with everything that’s going on.” He grabbed my left hand. “You’re getting to the busiest part of your work, with the exhibit so close. Mama and Angie are giving you a lot to think about, and before we know it, Blair and Stella will be adding to our family, as well.”

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Thrilled. Happy.” I put down my spoon and covered our two hands with my right.

  “Really?”

  Will wasn’t buying my cool composure. Neither was I, for that matter.

  I let out a breath.

  “Okay, I’m worried as hell. Angie’s lucky to be living such a great life. I don’t understand why she hasn’t told her husband she’s pregnant or why she didn’t tell him she wants to stay here.”

  Will sighed. “Aw, honey, Angie’s a big girl. We can’t control the kids anymore.”

  “We never could, could we?”

  “No, we couldn’t, but something tells me you’re just figuring that out now.” His gaze said it all. “You do realize you’ve got to let this go and focus on your career?”

  “I thought she’d listen to me—”

  “I don’t think this means she isn’t listening, Deb. She’s weighed the risks and doesn’t want to tell Jesse she’s pregnant while he’s out in Iraq. I must admit I’d feel better if she told him, but still, it’s none of our business.”

  “She’s always been the most stubborn.”

  “Deb, you’ve got to stay out of this. It’s Angie’s life, Angie’s baby. We’re just the future grandparents.”

  Will’s expression yielded that rare view into his emotions, a view I’d only seen a few times over our life together. It was a raw, tortured glimpse into his real self.

  His most emotional self.

  I remembered seeing this look when we were at Crystal Beach, right after his father died. I saw this same side of Will moments before he kissed me for the first time, when we were teenagers.

  And again when the twins were born.

  The most painful occasion for me to recall was when he met Angie, when he learned he had a child—a daughter.

  I still felt responsible for the hurt he’d suffered when he’d discovered he’d missed the birth of his own daughter. A hurt he recognized fully when the twins were born and he realized how much he’d missed.

  So each time Will gave me this look, I knew it was an important moment. I was not always sure why, but I knew it was. It symbolized another milestone in our life together.

  I wasn’t ready for any more milestones. Not tonight.

  “You’re upset with me, aren’t you?” I struggled to keep the agitation out of my voice.

  “You have no idea.” Will’s annoyance with me was loud and clear.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It’s not something I could articulate. Besides, it’s not like I’ve never mentioned it. I have. You just happen to be listening this time.”

  “Listening to what, Will?”

  “I’ve told you before. You’re always apologizing for who you are.”

  “Who I am?”

  “Who we are. Who we are together.”

  “Bull—”

  He held up his hands, and not just to shove away his half-finished plate of lamb curry.

  �
�No, it’s not bull, Deb. You’ve spent our entire marriage making sure everyone else is happy, that everyone understands you don’t hold their prejudice against them.”

  “That’s not fair.” Tears welled up. Why had Will picked a public place to stage such a personal discussion?

  “You’re right. It’s not fair, Deb. It’s not fair that you risked shortchanging our children, deny them the ability to deal with their heritage. Or that you’ve cheated yourself. You’ve cheated us.”

  “Us?”

  His face had a drawn, resigned look.

  “Yes. For once, Deb, it would be so nice to know you didn’t give a damn about what that couple over there—” he motioned behind his shoulder “—thinks. Or these people.” He pointed to the right of our table.

  “I don’t care what anyone else thinks! And in case you haven’t noticed, our kids have turned out pretty darned well.”

  “No, on the surface you don’t care. But deep down you’ve always felt we placed a burden on our kids. Did it ever occur to you that our family and what we’ve dealt with has made our kids better? Stronger?”

  “Like my family did me?” The sarcastic tone of my voice destroyed any chance of resolving this peacefully at the restaurant table. Will knew it hurt me that I was essentially estranged from my mother.

  I stood up and grabbed my purse.

  I walked out into the parking lot of the restaurant and sucked in a deep breath. It was so cold it made me cough, which at least took my mind off the pain in my heart.

  Will followed a few minutes later, after he’d paid the bill.

  We got into his car without comment. Typical of Will and me—we threw our cards on the table, then let them lie there for a while.

  It was like when I knitted up a sample swatch to see how a particular yarn looked with different stitches. I had to wait and work on another project for a bit before I knew if I wanted to move forward with a particular stitch and fiber combination.

  Sometimes an old sweater that didn’t fit anymore came back in style and I did the pattern again, in an updated yarn and often a larger size.

  But our marriage wasn’t a knitted garment. It was more like a wardrobe that spanned years, decades and, now, a generation.