What Family Means (16 page)

Present Day
Somewhere over the Atlantic

T
HE FLIGHT WAS MORE
comfortable than Angie had expected. It didn’t hurt that Mom and Dad had surprised her with an upgrade to business class. She stretched out in the reclining seat and watched her personal television screen. The movie was a romantic comedy.

Since she had no idea whether her own story would end happily or tragically she didn’t want to get involved in the movie. She pressed the channel changer and an animated film appeared.

Even the cartoon cat was pregnant.

Had society always been this family focused, or was it something she noticed in her current state?

“More tea, miss?”

Angie smiled at the flight attendant. He was probably her age.

“No, thanks. How much longer?”

“We’re about halfway.”

“Thank you.” The flight attendant meant halfway to Paris. But for Angie, it was halfway home to Jesse.

Present Day
Paris, France

“I
NEVER MEANT
for our break to be permanent, Angie.”

“Me, neither. But when you didn’t call, and you didn’t offer any resistance to the idea of me transferring to Buffalo, I took that as your answer.”

Angie’s entire body was on alert as she sat facing Jesse on the park bench. They’d met at the airport as planned, with no delays. Their luggage was already at the hotel, where they’d stopped only to freshen up before venturing out into the Paris streets.

Jesse combed through his hair with his fingers. His wireless glasses did nothing to hide the burning intensity of his blue eyes as he studied her every expression.

“God, Angie.” He clasped her hands. “I really messed this up. And I don’t want you to think this is a passing phase because I’ve been around so much death and pain. I’ve also seen a lot of hope in the kids who pull through.”

Angie smiled at him and spoke quietly. “‘Kids’? Weren’t some of them our age?”

“Yeah, but most were just out of high school, maybe college. That’s the one big reason I was able to help so many. If it was you or I with those kind of head injuries…” Jesse’s voice trailed off and he looked at the dirt on the park’s path. Their bench was to one side, and they had a fantastic view of the Concorde Place from there, including the Egyptian obelisk.

“I’m so sorry, Jesse. It must be really tough on you.” She took her right hand from under his and
stroked his cheek. He grabbed her hand and pressed her palm to his lips.

Searing awareness charged her hormones, already active thanks to her pregnancy.

She
had
to tell him.

“Angie, I don’t want to talk about my work right now. I want to talk about us.”

Angie forced back the watery pressure behind her eyes.

Jesse looked at her. “Okay. Let’s do it,” he said. She knew what
it
would be.

“Oh, Jess—”

“I think we should—”

They both stopped and grinned at each other.

“I’m sorry. You first.” She had to give him a chance.

“Angie, we’ve been—
I’ve
been—really stupid. I should’ve considered having a family years ago. You aren’t my mother, I’m not my father. We’re
us.
I believe in us, and more importantly, these past three months have taught me that I don’t want to live without you. I can’t—not if I’m going to live the life I’m meant to live.”

“Oh, Jesse.” Where did she start?

“Wait, this is still my turn, okay?” His expression was serious, his gaze intent. “I need to be with you. I need for us to be a family.”

When he uttered the word
family,
Angie felt a tiny flutter deep inside her belly, as though there was a butterfly trapped there. She gasped and put her hand to her abdomen.

“What? Are you having a cramp?”

She laughed. “No, no. Go on.”

Jesse looked a little perplexed at her reaction but kept talking.

“I’m not joking about this, Angie. We belong together, and if you can forgive me for being such a hard-headed arse for so long, I want to make it up to you.”

She smiled at his use of
arse.
It was a private joke between them from their much-enjoyed trip to Scotland three years ago.

Despite the humorous interjection, there was no doubt that he was serious. But she still wasn’t convinced.

“I think we’re going too fast. Maybe we should wait until you’re back in the States for a few months, and this is well behind you.” She knew that people did crazy things in wartime, that they looked for emotional connections and—

“Angie, as far as I’m concerned, we’re not going fast enough.”

Jessed eased off the bench and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a black velvet ring box as he knelt in front of her.

“Jesse, your—”

“Angela Bradley Medford, will you stay with me forever and be the mother of my children?”

Angie didn’t deserve this. After all she’d put them through, all she’d kept from Jesse these past months.

Jesse had never lost faith in her, in their love.

She grasped his hands with hers, covering the ring box with her own hand.

“Yes, Jesse Medford, I’ll do whatever you want, my love.”

Jesse placed the intricately carved gold ring on Angie’s shaking right finger. He kissed the back of her hand and then looked up, into her eyes and straight to her heart.

“When we got married, it was forever, Angie.”

“I know, Jesse. I know.”

He got to his feet and pulled her up next to him, and Angie didn’t care who was watching. It was just the two of them—the
three
of them—and a delicious kiss.

Of course, she still had to tell him about their child.

“Jesse, there’s one more thing. Now that you’ve, um, kind of…proposed to me again, it’s only fair to tell you that you haven’t been talking just to me.”

Jesse frowned with that puzzled expression she adored. “Oh?”

Confidence welled up in her. Love for Jesse and faith that he’d changed. He’d accept her
and
their baby.

“Do you remember the bottle of Barolo on New Year’s Eve?”

“Sure, I vaguely remember the bottle of wine. But what I remember clearly is you, naked, on the floor…”

He grew silent and Angie pulled back. His body was still, his face unreadable. He blinked.

“You—we—we’re pregnant?”

“Yes.” Tears poured down her cheeks. And they weren’t due to the hormones.

They came from the joy that exploded inside her at Jesse’s huge grin.

He let out a loud “whoop” and pulled her to him, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. Her ankles hit the wrought-iron legs of the park bench.

“Ow. Jesse!”

“I’m sorry, Angie. But we’re going to be a family! Do you know what that means?”

“I have an idea—and I figure we’ll find out the rest together.”

Two Weeks Later
Buffalo, New York

W
ILL CLIMBED
the marble steps to the Albright Knox Art Gallery. A cold breeze rose up off the lake and gently buffeted his back. He paused to glance over his shoulder at Delaware Park.

It was a view that probably hadn’t changed in nearly a century. The green leaf buds were already visible on all the deciduous trees. The daffodils weren’t far behind the crocuses peeking through the remnants of snow.

Conscious of a sense of history, he turned back to the museum. Debra was part of this history, part of
his
history. Her work, which she’d so often relegated to second place behind his and the children’s needs, was on display and would reveal to the world what a talent she had.

He smiled to himself. He couldn’t wait to see the show.

Debra

“I
NEED ONE MORE SPOTLIGHT
, in the far right exhibit, over the black-and-white of Martin Luther King.”

I spoke on the tiny walkie-talkie to the museum employee who was assigned to me throughout the life of the exhibit.

In fifteen minutes, the doors would open. Tonight was for invited guests—mostly my family, friends, gallery board members and other artists. Tomorrow morning the month-long public exhibit would commence. In four weeks I’d be on the road to Atlanta, then Denver, as the collection toured the country.

“Light’s on over the King exhibit, Ms. Bradley. Anything else you need?”

“No, thank you, Jenny.” The young art student had done a superb job for me ever since we’d started the setup the previous weekend.

I needed the last ten minutes to do my usual walk-through before the doors opened. I pressed the button on the walkie-talkie.

“Jen?”

“Yes, Ms. Bradley?”

“Don’t open the doors until I meet you out front, okay? I’m going to do one final check.”

“Got it. See you in ten.”

I smiled. So polite, but still a reminder to be by the entrance in no more than ten minutes. No doubt Jen had worked with enough eccentric and egocentric artists to necessitate the prompt.

I took a deep breath and started my last private tour.

W
ILL MET ME
at the front of the gallery. I smiled at him. The electric jolt that raced down my arms and spine weren’t from nerves, but from the awareness that this
exhibit meant nothing to me unless it meant everything to him.

“Hi, sweetheart.” I walked over and lifted my face for his kiss.

He kissed me and pulled back. “You look fantastic. You are such a beautiful—” he leaned in, his lips against my ear “—sexy—” he straightened “—woman.”

“All for you.” I grasped his hand. I’d bought the dress just for this evening—a champagne-hued slip, covered with black lace. The sleeveless bodice came in snug at my waist, then flared out in party fashion until the skirt ended just above my knees. Tiny iridescent black bugle beads were sewn all over the skirt and neck edges, adding a festive touch.

I felt as though we were walking in to the wedding reception we’d never had.

“Come on, handsome. I have something to show you.” I smiled at the man who was my best friend, my confidant, my lover, my life’s mate. He smiled back and my breath was swept away by how gorgeous he looked in the charcoal suit.

“Lead the way.”

And so I did. Through the entire display of my work, my art.

But it wasn’t just a portfolio of my art, or even of the history of my nation during those years.

It was
our
story.

I’d included all of my most significant fiber art pieces—macrame from the seventies, wall hangings from the eighties, tapestries and weavings from the past few years. But also, mixed in with my actual artwork
I’d included the pieces of my life. Of our life together these past forty-plus years.

I had blown up images of significant historical events from the time we were born in the early 1950s, through the Civil Rights era, the Vietnam War, Watergate, the Buffalo Blizzard of 1977. I took the visitor on a tour of the 1980s and 1990s, through the sorrow of September 11, 2001, up until today.

I included my work from all those times, from each phase of my life.

But what neither Will nor anyone else expected was that I’d personalize it so minutely. I’d included photos of our family, in all its stages, blown up as large as the historical photos.

Because for us, this was
our
life. Our events were as meaningful to us as the national ones.

Will was speechless throughout the tour. He paused at length in front of the picture taken on our wedding day. He, Angie and I in our tiny first apartment.

But what brought my man to tears was the photo I’d had made of Violet and Dr. Bradley, placed next to the V-Day photos taken in downtown Buffalo. Their marriage made Will’s life possible, and thus, my life with Will.

The shawl I’d made Violet was displayed here, its tattered fibers obviously worn with love.

“You…you brought my family back together.”

“
We
brought your family back together, Will. Our love did.” I turned him into my arms. “It’s always been us, Will. And you’ve always been the only man for me.”

We stood in each other’s arms for a few moments.

The doors would open to the rest of the family and other guests in about three minutes.

“I was so wrong to accuse you of being ashamed of our relationship,” he whispered.

“No, you weren’t. I was never ashamed of us, Will, but I did feel responsible for whatever way others might treat our kids. I don’t anymore. You understand that, don’t you?”

“And how.” He pressed his forehead to mine, then looked back at the photo of his parents.

“I wish Dad were here.”

“He is.”

We stayed a bit longer.

“Come here. I have one more thing to show you.” I led Will around the corner and we stood, hand in hand, in front of my favorite piece.

The showpiece of the exhibit.

The tapestry hung from the rafters, and took up the better part of the far wall. It wasn’t just a weaving of a large tree against the Buffalo skyline. It was our family tree, not emblazoned with names or words, but with seasons, colors, emotions.

“Oh, Debra.” Will’s voice reflected my heart’s song. “This is what it’s all about. Family.”

My walkie-talkie buzzed.

“Ms. Bradley?”

“Yes, Jen, we’re on our way.”

“Doors open in one minute.”

I looked back up at Will. I knew that Blair, Stella, Brian and Angie were waiting with Violet. Angie had made it back in time from Paris, after all.

Even my mother and Fred had come to see the big event.

But only one opinion mattered to me.

“So what do you think, Will?”

“I think Mama’s going to burst with pride. I already am.”

“My sweet Will.” I kissed him and he responded tenderly, his hands warm on my bare arms.

“The best is yet to come, Debra,” he said in a low voice.

“Yes—the best is yet to come.” I leaned into him as we looked at our family. Blair had announced Stella’s pregnancy a week ago, and their joy was reflected in their wide grins. Brian’s new girlfriend, the first he’d ever brought home to meet us, stood at his side. A visibly pregnant Angie was there, too…and looking forward to Jesse’s return home, to Buffalo.

Violet sat comfortably in the wheelchair she’d fought against but had given in to once the kids had assured her one of them would stay with her throughout the night. She wore her pearls and a fine silk blouse. Her lap was covered not by a fancy scarf or throw but by the tattered afghan I’d knitted all those years ago.

Will’s hand tightened on my waist and I looked up into his beloved face.

“Ready, Deb?”

“Ready.”

We turned back toward the family. “Thank you all so much for being here,” I said. “I know I would never have come this far without my family. I love you all.”