What Family Means

by Geri Krotow

  We pulled into the garage. Will cut the engine and pressed the button on the automatic garage door opener. He turned to me.

  “I’m not ready to continue this conversation, Deb. Can we just go in and get some rest?”

  “Of course.”

  I stared at him, and he at me.

  How are we still together?

  The thought flitted across my mind as if it were a nursery rhyme instead of a potential grenade.

  I’d loved Will forever and always would. But our compatibility wasn’t perfect.

  “Will—”

  The light on the door opener clicked off. Since the garage was attached to the house and the one window faced the woods, we were plunged into darkness.

  “Not now, Debra.”

  The dome light came on as Will opened his door and got out of the car. I had no choice but to follow.

  “Easy for you to say,” I muttered.

  Will had never worried as I did. He felt the kids were so privileged financially and academically that any negative issues due to their obvious mixed-race background weren’t significant.

  “Hey, it’s just as easy for me to do. But I know it’s never been in your repertoire to let things fall as they may. Did it ever occur to you that the world goes on without Debra Bradley to keep it spinning?”

  We entered the house, and Rose greeted us, tail wagging.

  “I’ll take her for a walk.” Will collected Rose’s leash.

  Tears of frustration stung my eyelids.

  “So we’re back at it and you’ve been home, what, half a day?”

  It angered me that he would come home and be so loving, only to turn on me later and try to get me to see things his way. When it came to the kids, we’d never seen eye-to-eye. Not a hundred percent, not even fifty.

  I’d stayed home to raise them. So it made sense to me that I felt more protective of them on all counts.

  “C’mon, Rosie.” Will didn’t reply, just clipped the leash on the dog’s collar and went out through the front door.

  I had a few minutes alone and was grateful for them. I needed to calm down. It didn’t all have to be solved tonight.

  By the time Will and Rose came back, I was sitting at the farmhouse table that stood between the kitchen and the family room.

  “I made some chamomile.” And I’d laced his with extra honey, the way he liked it. Maybe that would take the edge off.

  “Thanks.” He removed his coat and slipped out of his shoes.

  “It’s almost balmy out there. Rose splashed through the slush like she was at the beach.”

  I didn’t comment. It was my turn to wait for him to settle in, to get a few sips of tea into his belly.

  “I don’t get it, Will. I’m not supposed to be emotionally invested in my own daughter’s pregnancy? A daughter who hasn’t even told her husband she’s pregnant?”

  Will set down his tea and looked at me. He was calmer than he’d been fifteen minutes earlier.

  “Honey, you’re beyond emotionally invested. You think everything that happens to any of our kids is because of you or me, something we did or didn’t do.”

  “But I’m a parent, a mother.”

  “True, but this isn’t about being a parent, Deb. It’s about your need to feel in charge of everything. Hell, you wouldn’t even think of marrying me until I all but begged you to. You thrive on control, imagined or not.”

  I blinked back tears. This was supposed to be a happy time for us. Angie had said it and she’d been right.

  “It always goes back to that summer, those early years.” My words came out in a strangled whisper.

  “Babe. We’ve had a great ride together so far, and I’m looking forward to much more.” Will reached under the table and squeezed my knee.

  His eyes still twinkled, past the exhaustion and sorrow I saw in their depths.

  “You asked, and I’m telling,” he said. “Maybe I should’ve pushed you on this years ago, but I’ve always been so happy with you as my wife that I overlooked what I saw as your shame.”

  “Shame…of what?”

  “The effect our blended genes would have on our kids. The fact that they’re neither black nor white but both. The fact that it may have exposed them to prejudice or unfair treatment.”

  Pain seared through me.

  “I love you, Will, and I love our children. I’m not ashamed of anything we’ve done together. God, everything I’ve done is for all of you.”

  “So do this one last thing for me and let it go, Deb. Let go of having to be the protector. Let go of having to be the one to fix everything. Because you can’t, love. Sometimes what we think needs fixing isn’t even broken.”

  I studied his blurred image through my wet eyes. Will’s words hurt because they were true. I was reminded of a time when I’d had to confront Will about his relationship with his mother. That his concern for her was getting in the way of our love for each other.

  “Is this how you felt when I told you that you had to stop trying to be everything for Vi?” It was hard to imagine that anything I’d ever said to Will had so deeply jarred him.

  “Probably.” Will didn’t make any apologies for how he felt, or the words he’d spoken.

  I knew my husband didn’t talk about emotional issues unless pushed, or unless he thought it would help one or both of us.

  “Why didn’t you tell me you felt this way sooner?”

  “I told you, honey, I’ve never been so unhappy that it mattered. But now our children are on their own. Isn’t it time for you and me to be the couple we’ve always dreamed about?”

  “We’re not kids anymore, Will.”

  “No, but the kids we were wouldn’t want us to waste this precious time together. Time we’ve waited a lifetime for.”

  I considered pointing out that we weren’t alone, even now. His mother needed us, and she lived in the cottage behind our house.

  But I kept my thoughts quiet. I didn’t want Will to think for a moment that I had any issue with Vi’s dependence on us. I treated her as I’d want my family to treat me in the same circumstance—with dignity and respect.

  Still, I couldn’t resist saying, “So much for a nice welcome-home celebration.”

  Will sighed. “Sometimes it’s better just to get it out in the open, Deb. We’re both good at shoving it down, ignoring what isn’t pleasant or cozy. But we’ve had almost forty years together, more if you count when we met. I want the best years to be ahead of us, don’t you?”

  I stared at him.

  “And your way of making the future ‘the best years’ isn’t controlling? In your own way?”

  I was unable to stop the flow of words.

  “Deb, I’m not trying to change you, and I’m sorry you feel that I am. I love you. I’m happy, very happy. But I’m tired of the weight of this. I wish you could see what I see—you’re beautiful and you have a wonderful family who loves you. You don’t need to take on everyone else’s problems.”

  He put his hand on my arm. “It’s weighing you down, too, babe.”

  Will lifted his hand to pet Rose, whose muzzle rested on his lap.

  He raised his head and looked at me.

  “I’m not even sure how I can help you do this, but somehow you’ve got to learn to let go, Deb. We’re too old to be hanging on to anything other than our happiness.”

  February 1973

  Paris, France

  “I CAN’T FIND my key.” Debra fumbled in her backpack, her numb fingers not touching it.

  “Here, let me.” Will took the backpack from her and reached in. His fingers had stayed warm during their walk, since he wore the gloves she’d knitted him for Valentine’s Day.

  “Here we go.” She watched as he found her keychain and inserted the key into the apartment door. Debra liked that Will never said “I told you so.” He’d suggested she put her own mittens on, but she’d preferred to feel his hands through the merino wool of his gloves.

  He held the door for her, wait
ing for her to pass. They were both inside the small entryway, at the bottom of the stairs that led up to her loft. Will shut the door, and the silence descended upon them.

  It was the first time they’d been alone in her apartment knowing they had hours, days, ahead of them.

  “Hey.” Will grasped her chin and raised her gaze to his. Her desire for him warmed her and excited her at the same time. But she had to laugh because Will—her charming, happy, studious Will—looked so serious.

  “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…”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Present Day

  Buffalo, New York

  HI, ANGE,

  As expected, I have little time to myself. Work is rewarding and challenging. It was awkward when I left since we both had a lot of pressure. Can we talk? I can call when I get a lull in the O.R.

  J.

  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.

  Hi, Ange,

  I don’t feel right about how we parted. I know we both said it was for the best, that we’d hit a wall. But I can’t imagine life without you, Ange. And this isn’t just because I’m over here, away from all the creature comforts of the U.S.A.

  Can I call you?

  I have to talk to you.

  Ciao, Bella,

  Jesse

  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 h
is 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.