What Family Means

by Geri Krotow

  Another blizzard.

  How many had I survived in Buffalo?

  AFTER OUR TEA I left Vi and Angie to their girl chat and went back to my fiber studio.

  I delved into the second of the three huge cedar chests that housed my hand-knit work. I’d knitted through many if not all of the Buffalo storms I’d lived through. There was no better way to pass the time, even if it meant knitting by candlelight.

  I found the tissue-wrapped items I sought—various small pieces of clothing, mostly winter scarves and hats. Could I recall the year for each? And with a little Internet help, match them up to specific blizzards?

  I felt my excitement rise. It was getting too close to the exhibit to totally switch gears, but I could find a whole new theme for the show in these chests. Snowstorms could serve as a backdrop for my work.

  I reached in and pulled out a half-done woman’s vest. It was an argyle design I’d taken from a sock pattern and hoped to translate to this particular vest, in forest green, orange and brown. But I’d never finished it.

  I’d started the vest right after I returned to Boston in 1973. The reason I’d stopped was downstairs talking to Vi. No way could I wear that vest with my growing belly. We didn’t bare our bellies in the seventies, no matter how artsy or hippy we were.

  That had been a hard, lonely time for me, but it had been worth it.

  My thoughts raced back to the night Angie was conceived. That had been another tough time. But our lovemaking had been symbolic of the connection that kept us going.

  August 1973

  Crystal Beach, Ontario, Canada

  AS IT BLEW THROUGH the car window, the hot wind cooled the nape of her neck. Debra had managed to borrow her mother’s car for the night, because Linda’s friend was taking her to bingo. Debra had promised she’d meet Will near Crystal Beach.

  They’d barely seen each other since the funeral. The few times they’d gone out, Will was quiet and less affectionate than usual.

  She knew he needed a chance to grieve his father’s death. But she still hadn’t been able to shake the sense of betrayal she’d felt when Will told her they needed to delay their wedding.

  Debra didn’t mind waiting as far as the actual ceremony was concerned. She needed the year to finish her degrees, and Will needed time to wind up his father’s business and to start his own. He was right on those accounts.

  She pulled up to the customs booth.

  “What is your destination?” the uniformed woman asked.

  “Crystal Beach.”

  “For how long?”

  “Just the night.”

  “Citizenship?”

  “U.S.”

  “Have a nice visit.”

  Debra pulled away, resenting that she and Will hadn’t driven up here together. Canadian Customs probably wouldn’t care that they were black and white but coming back over could be a problem. It was a few years ago but many people hadn’t forgotten the racial incident on the ferry between Crystal Beach and Buffalo.

  She let the air that blew through the car windows soothe her. Going to the cottage alone was a small price to pay to be with Will.

  He was waiting for her at the cottage. His parents had purchased it years ago, but Will had told her they hadn’t used it much recently. His dad was always working, and with his siblings out of the house, his parents just didn’t take the time to come up here.

  Will was standing in the drive. She could make out the lighted cottage, farther up the gravel road behind him.

  She leaned her head out the window. “Where should I park?”

  “Over there’s fine.” He pointed to a clear area under a grove of pine trees.

  Even though they were at Crystal Beach, the actual lakefront was almost a mile up the road. This cottage was one of a group of three, and she saw that the other two cottages were full of weekenders.

  Her hands shook as she turned off the ignition. She had the horrible realization that she had no control over what Will was going to say.

  They needed to talk; that much was certain. They’d avoided each other for the past three weeks. They’d been the loneliest weeks of Debra’s life, but she’d busied herself with work at the restaurant and preparing to go back to Boston for her final year of school.

  “Deb.” Will’s husky voice caressed her skin through the humid evening air.

  She got out of the driver’s seat and closed the door.

  “Hi.” She hated how high and tinny her voice sounded. She didn’t need Will Bradley’s pity, nor his compassion. She needed him.

  “Come on in.” He waited for her to walk ahead of him. He didn’t ask if she had a bag. She did, but didn’t want to admit it. Not unless this night changed the situation between them.

  The cottage was as hot as the air outside, but the dim lighting made it seem cooler. Citronella candles flickered on the porch steps and she saw a few inside. Debra liked how the flames flickered against the orange and green glass holders. It reminded her of happier summers with Will.

  “What about your mother?”

  “She doesn’t know we’re here and doesn’t need to. She’s at home with my sister. She thinks I’m in New York.”

  “Oh.” So he’d lied to spend this time with her.

  Why did this surprise her? He hadn’t wanted to stand up to his family about their engagement, and of course, how could she object now, when Dr. Bradley had died over this whole mess?

  Will walked up to her and stroked her cheek. She let him, then immediately hated herself. She took a wide step backward.

  “You look so sad, Deb.”

  “Why did you want me to meet you here, Will?”

  “We need to talk. You know that.”

  She stole a glance at his face. His brown eyes reflected the candlelight and showed his sorrow of the past weeks. But in the depths of those eyes she saw what she’d always known—Will’s desire for her.

  She looked away.

  “Can we sit down?”

  Debra felt awkward as she moved to a tiny kitchen area and sat at an equally small table. Will took the chair opposite hers. She felt his body heat radiate across the foot or so of space.

  “I don’t feel right being here. This is your family’s place, Will.”

  “My brother and sister both know I’m here with you. They don’t have a problem with it.”

  “But your mother—”

  “No more talk about my mother. Not tonight.” Will’s lips were pursed. She took a closer look at his face. She knew it so well, yet it seemed new to her. There were fresh lines at the creases of his eyes, and his forehead was lined, too. It was as though he’d aged a decade in three weeks.

  “How are you really doing with your dad being gone, Will?”

  Will broke eye contact with her and gazed over her shoulder.

  “I’m okay. It’s still not real to me, but then again, I have to take care of all the paperwork, the business closure, all of it. That brings it home.”

  Debra remained silent.

  “You know he liked you, don’t you, Deb? He was never into appearances like Mama is. He wanted each of us kids to be happy, and he provided us with the means to go after our dreams. As long as they were college dreams.”

  Will’s chuckle rumbled through the cottage.

  “He wasn’t keen on Jimmy going to West Point, but I know he would’ve been proud to see Jimmy at the funeral in his cadet full dress grays.”

  “He did look handsome.” Debra had seen Jimmy but was unable to talk to him because of the commotion caused by her visit.

  Will turned his focus completely back to her.

  “Deb, I owe you so much. I should’ve come to you sooner, but I couldn’t.”

  “Will, stop! You owe me nothing. Not anymore.”

  “What do you mean, not anymore?”

  “It’s not going to work, is it? This is just too hard on you, your family. My family’s not thrilled, either.” She said the words she’d practiced as she’d crossed the Peace Bridge.


  “Deb, Deb. There’s no way this can’t work.” He reached across the table and grasped her hands.

  She loved how his large dark hands enfolded her small pale ones. As though he could protect her from anything. But now she had to protect him from himself.

  She shook her head. “No, Will. You deserve to have a life as free and glorious as your father wanted for you. It won’t happen with me. They’ll always be talking about you, and not because you’re a great architect. You want the professionals you’ll be dealing with to see you as an equal. They won’t if you’re married to a white woman.”

  “I thought color didn’t matter to you.”

  “It doesn’t matter to me, Will. It matters to everyone else, most folks out there. And because of that, it should matter to you.”

  “You’re the last person who should be telling me that.” His look was unbelieving, almost one of shock.

  “I know you best, don’t I?”

  “I thought you did. But apparently we haven’t been communicating as well as I’d perceived.”

  “Will, I love you too much to let this ruin you.”

  Will stood up and pulled her to her feet. His arm encircled her waist while his other hand slipped under her hair.

  Shivers ran down her skin. His eyes reflected intense desire—desire she’d seen a glimpse of in the Paris apartment. This was the real Will. Raw, virile, undeterred.

  The man she loved. This came to her in a jolt, just as his lips touched hers.

  Will was an expert at kissing her. He always cajoled the deepest response from her with his persuasive whispers, strokes and caresses. He knew just where to place his lips to elicit tremors of desire. Debra often laughed at how the simple act of holding Will’s hand made her feel steamy inside.

  They shared a real chemistry, all right.

  But this kiss wasn’t a seduction. And it wasn’t just chemistry. Will claimed her with this kiss. He convinced her that they belonged together.

  He pulled back an inch, and Debra moaned.

  “Don’t stop now, Will.”

  “Open your eyes, Deb.”

  She did, and looked up into his. The pupils were dilated in the dim light and made her want him all the more.

  “Come over here. Sit down.” He eased them both onto the couch.

  “Don’t you get it, babe? It doesn’t matter to me what anyone else thinks. Yeah, I know it won’t be easy—it sure hasn’t been so far. But I love you. And the pain I’ll carry the rest of my life, the regret, over losing you—it’s more than any man could handle. More than I ever want to handle.”

  “Oh, Will.” She didn’t disagree with him. But she also knew that she didn’t want him to look at her twenty years down the road and see all the opportunities he’d missed.

  His hands were moving up and down her rib cage, her hips. When they moved down to her bottom she forgot about her resolve to do only “what’s best for Will.”

  His kisses grew more insistent and the couch more cramped.

  “Let me make love to you the right way, Deb.” His breath felt warm against her cheek.

  “Yes.”

  Debra couldn’t muster the strength to fight Will, nor did she want to deny herself this pleasure. They’d always shared a love that had grown, matured, while they were in Paris.

  They kissed for a few more minutes until Debra ached with the need to have Will inside of her.

  “Will, wait.”

  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?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Present Day

  Buffalo, New York

  ANGIE 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.”