What Family Means (2 page)

Present Day
Buffalo, New York

W
ILL PULLED
the vibrating cell phone out of his pocket. He cast a quick glance at his watch. He had plenty of time before his flight left Buffalo International for L.A.

“Hi, Angie. What’s going on with my favorite daughter?”

“Hey, Daddy.” He visualized Angie rolling her eyes as she grinned wryly, the way she always did when he referred to her as his “favorite daughter.” She was his only daughter, and he never got tired of yanking her chain, even if she was thirty-five and he was fifty-nine.

“Is this a bad time?”

“No.” He shoved his papers into his briefcase. “I’m getting ready to leave on a trip. Your mom beat me out the door today—she’s got a lot to do.”

“I know, and I’m thrilled for her.” A pause, not usual for his loquacious daughter. “I need to talk to you, Dad.”

Uh-oh. It was a serious, adult-Angie topic.

“Shoot.”

“I’m going to talk to Mom later today.” He heard her voice tremble, and wondered what the deal was.

“Okay.” He silently braced himself.

“Jesse doesn’t know I want to stay here permanently. We’re…having some problems, Dad.”

“What?” The cogs clicked. He’d thought it odd that they hadn’t purchased a home when Angie landed a job with the local weather station; he’d also wondered why they hadn’t mentioned the specific job Jesse, a gifted neurosurgeon, would take here in Buffalo.

The biggest clue he’d overlooked was the fact that Angie had rented an apartment. She’d said that she and Jesse would “find a house later.”

“No. Yes, well, partly.” Evasiveness wasn’t a typical trait of Angie’s and her behavior wasn’t doing much to ease his concern.

“Just spit it out, Angie.”

“I’m not sure we’re going to make it, Dad.”

Will waited, holding his breath.

“Jesse’s great. It’s nothing he’s done but sometimes it’s really hard, with the two careers and everything.”

“You two have always worked it out before, Angie. I’m confident this won’t be any different.” Will knew his words sounded too businesslike but he also knew that if he pushed Angie too hard, she’d clam up and not ask for help when she really needed it. Besides, Angie was meeting with Debra later today. Angie would give Deb the details, and Deb would share them with Will.

“Thanks, Dad. Did you and Mom ever have problems like this?”

“Honey bunny, I don’t know what particular prob
lems you’re having, but, yes, we’ve had our ups and downs. Every marriage does. We were blessed with a strong love early on. But when we decided to give it a run, well, we’ve told you kids what we went through.”

“I know, Dad.” Of the three kids, Angie had taken the brunt of the racism and prejudice faced by their young family. But that was more than thirty years ago. Angie had grown into an intelligent, beautiful woman with a mind of her own.

“If you want me, I’ll come over later this week, when I’m back from my trip, sweetheart.” He’d helped her unpack a few days earlier, and hung some pictures on the walls of her tiny apartment.

“No, that’s okay, Dad. With the weather this time of year, there’s no telling when I’ll get home at night.”

“It
is
Buffalo in February.” He was grateful for the heated interior of his SUV.

“Talk to you later, Dad.” She paused. “Dad? Thanks for being here for me, not just today, but all the time.”

“I’m honored to be here for you, Angie.”

And he was. Nothing made Will prouder than his family.

December 1958
Buffalo, New York

“A
RE YOU SURE
it’s okay for us to come in here?”

Debra’s bottom was still sore from the spanking she got from Mommy last night. She and Will had been in the woods, out of sight of the front office. Mommy had been scared when she couldn’t see Debra.

The spanking wasn’t that bad, not as hard as Daddy’s were with the belt when he’d been drinking. But the sharp sting of Mommy’s hand told her she wasn’t ever to do that again.

Or at least not to let Mommy
know
she was playing in the woods with Will. Every so often, Debra circled back to the swing set in the grassy area behind the office building. That way, if Mommy looked out the window she’d see her.

“Shh, we’re fine. Your mother has another couple hours of work. Didn’t you see all those folks in the waiting room?”

Will always had the answers, and Debra trusted him. He was the big brother she wished she had. Her rag doll that Aunt Jenna made her was okay, but it wasn’t Will. She loved her doll but it was still scary in the dark corners of her room.

She followed Will’s steps up the winding path that went so far she couldn’t see the end. They walked through the woods behind the playground for a long, long time.

“Will, I’m not sure ’bout this. It’s gonna get dark soon.”

Their breath formed crystal balloons in front of their faces, and the ground crackled with early winter frost. In two weeks it would be Christmas.

“Just another little bit, Deb, and we’ll be there.”

She liked how he called her “Deb” instead of “Debra.” It made her feel smart and more like a big girl.

“Okay, Will.” She shuffled her red rubber boots through some blackened leaves and kept up with him.

Will was right. In a few minutes they came out of the woods and onto a huge lawn. Even with the onset of winter, it was the greenest grass Debra had ever seen. Looming over them was a giant house.

“Will, is that a castle?” she whispered, afraid her outdoor voice would ruin the vision.

Will laughed. She liked how he laughed. It was like a giggle with no end, and his white teeth were so bright against his skin.

“That’s no castle, Deb, that’s my house. C’mon, let’s go inside.”

But her feet didn’t want to move. Mommy wouldn’t be happy that she’d gone inside Dr. Bradley’s house. He was Mommy’s boss. And Will’s family was Colored. Debra was pretty sure she wasn’t supposed to go into a Colored person’s house.

Will turned back when he got to the front door, and from the distance she saw his scowl.

“Aww, Deb, let’s go! It’s cold out here. Don’t you want a snack?”

Debra’s stomach growled when he said “snack.” It was always such a long time until supper.

“I’m comin’. Just wait.” She hurried toward him, her boots crunching on the frost-tipped lawn.

She reached his side and Will grinned at her.

“What?” She held out her mittened hands. Was he going to make fun of her freckles like the other boys did?

“You look like a fairy princess, Deb. Just pretend this is your castle.”

“Okay, Will.”

He opened the door and Debra followed close behind. She didn’t want to be left alone, either outside or in the huge house they’d entered.

They stepped into a room that made her think of the movies. A winding staircase in painted white wood wound up, up, to a landing way over their heads. A table with the biggest vase was directly in front of them. She wondered why there weren’t any flowers in this vase. Why have a vase if you don’t have flowers?

“Will, is that you?” A soft female voice floated down from above.

“Yes, Mama.”

He glanced at Debra and put his finger on his lips. He didn’t have to, though. Debra couldn’t have squeaked out a single syllable. She was afraid she’d pee her pants, she was so scared.

Would Will’s mama be mad at them for coming in?

“I’m up here feeding your brother. There are cookies on the counter, but don’t eat more than two.”

“Yes, Mama.” Will smiled at Debra and grabbed her hand.

“See? It’s okay! Let’s go get a cookie!” His voice wasn’t a complete whisper but it was quieter than she was used to.

She trailed him into a small passageway and then through a swinging door into a kitchen like none she’d ever seen. Huge pots and pans hung from the ceiling and there was a long wooden table in the middle of the room. Debra counted eight chairs.

“We don’t have eight chairs in our whole house, Will.”

“Who cares, Deb? Here, have a cookie.”

He handed her a big oatmeal raisin cookie and she took a bite. It was delicious!

“Where does your mom buy these?”

Will snorted.

“She doesn’t buy them. Patsy bakes them for us.”

“Who’s Patsy?”

“Our help. Don’t you have help at your house?”

“No. But it’s just me and Mommy, so we don’t need help.”

“Oh.”

They slid into the high cane chairs and continued to munch on their cookies. Debra couldn’t stop looking at the kitchen.

The tall cupboards had frosted glass on them and she could see stacks of dishes. When did Will’s family ever use so many dishes? She wondered if he had his own dish, like her plate with the cartoon moose on it. Probably not.

Will was a big boy already.

“Will, did you—”

The voice reached Debra’s ears and jolted her upright. She turned and faced Will’s mommy.

Violet Bradley was so pretty, wrapped in a soft pink bathrobe. She even wore fuzzy pink slippers to match. And the little baby she held was so tiny! Had Debra and Will been that tiny? What would it be like to have a brother or sister?

“Will! You didn’t tell me you had a guest.”

From Violet’s tone Debra knew that Will was in trouble. And from the flash in his mother’s eyes, she
knew it was
her
fault. She’d gotten Will into trouble. Debra felt a sick feeling in her tummy.

“This is Deb. Her mom works in Daddy’s office.” Will stood straight in front of his mom and Debra was glad he was there, glad they were facing Mrs. Bradley together.

“I know who she is, Will, but why is she here?”

“I had to go to the potty.” Debra remembered the
I Love Lucy
shows she watched with Mommy, where the friends were always sticking up for each other. So she stuck up for Will.

“There’s a bathroom in the office,” Will’s mother replied but still didn’t look at her. She was staring hard at Will, though. Debra wished she’d never agreed to come home with Will.

“But it’s cold, Mom, and you have the best cookies.”

Even Violet couldn’t resist such charm.

She sighed. “You take two cookies each and go back to the office right away. The girl’s mother will worry.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bradley.” Debra slipped through the kitchen door as quickly and quietly as she could.

Violet’s reply followed her into the foyer.

“Will, after you take her back, you come straight home. Do you understand me, Will?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Present Day
Buffalo, New York
Debra

T
HE SCREAM LODGED
in the back of my throat. I swallowed and bit my lip. I no longer viewed the knitting needles in my hands as tools that turned a hand-spun mohair blend into a piece of art.

They were potential weapons.

If I heard one more boring remark about family trees from any of the ladies seated around the café table, I was going for it.

I was going to poke my eyes out.

“I like knitting, but it’s not the same as scrapbooking.” Shirley sat across the table from me and went on to rave about how scrapbooking had changed her life.

I wasn’t convinced. “Shirley, that’s nice, but isn’t it a lot of work, clipping and gluing and finding the right colored papers?”

Our group’s youngest member at age thirty-four, Maggie paged through Shirley’s latest creation. Her slim hand turned another sheet of Shirley’s ode to her youngest grandchild.

“I agree. Give me a ball of good yarn and my rose-wood needles and I’m set for any journey.” Dolores laughed. She was her own best audience.

Nine of us sat at the restaurant table, our breakfast dishes long cleared. We’d met here every Wednesday morning for the past several years. To knit, talk and grouse.

Maybe I could steer the conversation back to knitting.

“I just think it’d be tough to go through every single photo I’ve ever taken.” I kept purling as I spoke. “Besides, the best time of my life is
now.
I love to look at baby pictures of my kids, but to have to sift through them all…”

I shuddered at the thought of the boxes and boxes of photos shoved under the eaves in our attic.

“Can anyone help me with this? I dropped a stitch rows ago but I can’t bear to rip this out now.” Maggie held up the wool sweater she was making for her husband. It was a beautiful cable pattern. But an ugly ladder ran down one of the cables.

“Let me show you how to fix that.” I stood up to walk over to her when my cell phone rang.

“Hang on.” I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone.

It was Violet, my mother-in-law.

“Hey, Vi.”

“Debra.” Her voice was soft, too soft.

“What’s wrong?”

Alarm made my simmering estrogen flush turn into an all-out hot flash. I started fanning my face with a knitting pattern.

“My legs are swollen again and I’m having a hard time moving around.”

“Did you take your pills this morning?” Vi had chronic congestive heart disease. At eighty-five she was doing pretty well but every now and then her symptoms flared, despite the medications.

“Yes, but the cold’s making my bones ache.” I heard her sigh and the resignation it carried. Vi was used to good days and bad, but the “bad” days seemed to be getting worse, as though her circulatory system was wearing out.

And with it, her desire to continue the fight.

“I’ll be home in a few minutes. Keep the phone with you.” I put the phone back in its purse pocket and gathered up my knitting, shoving the needles into the large ball of yarn.

“I’m sorry, Maggie, I have to go. Can you get someone else to help?”

At Maggie’s murmured agreement, I finished my cup of tea.

“Debra, of all people,
you
should put together a series of scrapbooks about your family. You’ve been through more than any of us. You’re a living part of American history!” Shirley’s intent gaze was on me and I saw the serious glint in her blue eyes.

I waved my hand. “Please. Let’s not be drama queens. We’ve all had our troubles.” I returned my knitting to my tapestry tote bag. I was sorry to leave and even sorrier that Vi wasn’t feeling well. But I was also secretly grateful for a way out of the knitting group’s current conversation.

“I have to go. Vi needs me. But let me say this.” I looked at Shirley.

“I’m a fiber artist. I knit, I weave, I create. I do things for my family every day. Why take time to agonize about the past? I don’t want to miss a minute of today. Anyway, I thought scrapbooking was to celebrate the
joy
of life.”

Shirley didn’t buy it.

“There are many ways to celebrate life and our families,” she said. “But scrapbooking gives your children a history to draw from.”

She was the most vocal of our group, which I’d started almost a dozen years ago. Not one local election passed that Shirley wasn’t involved in, and she took up what, in my opinion, were some pretty odd causes. However, I had no argument with that as long as
I
wasn’t one of them.

I swallowed a sigh.

“I
do
celebrate my family, Shirley. We have great dinners whenever we can, usually on Sundays. Angie just moved back to town. Blair and Stella are finally talking babies, and Brian is successful.”

I didn’t mention that Will was angry at me for being too involved with the kids. Nor did I bring up my suspicion that Angie had come home to Buffalo to distance herself from her husband. That I thought Blair and Stella were approaching their attempt to start a family more like purchasing a new car. Or that I worried that Brian was too driven in his architectural career to ever find a soul mate, much less have a family.

“Deb, you’ve got to admit that none of us have had to fight for our husbands or family like you.”

Shirley referred to the fact that I’m white and Will is black. It’s not as big a deal today. When we first met
over fifty years ago, it was more than a big deal. It was a showstopper as far as relationships and marriages were concerned.

I pulled out my car keys.

“Of course we had some hard times,” I said. “But at least I’ve known Will since we were both kids. He’s been a part of my life forever. Not many spouses can claim that.”

I didn’t want to examine the volcano of emotions that threatened to erupt at just the idea of looking back at our past. Our present was the best yet for Will and me. I didn’t want to mess with it.

I
wouldn’t
mess with it.

“Come on, Debra, it couldn’t have been easy back in the sixties and seventies.”

No, but Paris made it all possible.

I acknowledged the errant thought but didn’t share it with my friends. It was too private. Paris was the time in our lives that sustained Will and me through the storms that awaited us.

“No, it was never easy. But my kids have grown up in as normal a world as I could hope for. None of them seem to have suffered. In any event, I see no point in putting myself through any of those emotions again.”

Shirley shook her head and picked up her knitting.

“I hear you, Deb, but I still think you’d gain a lot out of recording your life for your kids and your future grandkids.”

I smiled.

“You may be right.” I shrugged into my coat and offered my best smile to the group. “See you next week. Call me if anything really stumps you.”

They often asked me for help with their knitting, since I was the only professional knitter in the group.

I loved them because we shared so much more than knitting. But this morning the sharing cut too close….

These women were special to me because they loved me for
me.
They knew I was a “famous” fiber artist but accepted me as one of them. A woman with a family she’d fight to the death for.

The wind that greeted me as I exited the coffee shop was chillier than it’d been a half hour earlier. I looked up at the steel-gray clouds that seemed close enough to touch.

“More darn snow,” I mumbled to myself. Mentally I went down my to-do list: check on Violet, then spend the rest of the day in my studio preparing for my upcoming art exhibition.

I had just fastened my seat belt, hand poised to turn on the car stereo so I could listen to my favorite sixties station, when my phone buzzed again. Panic fluttered in my throat but was quelled when I saw the caller.

Angie.

“Hi, honey, everything okay?” I put her on speaker so I could back out of the parking lot.

“Um, yeah, I’m fine. How are you?”

Angie’s distracted tone didn’t alarm me. But her question about my well-being did. Usually her conversations were full of her latest career feats as a meteorologist, and her marriage to Jesse, the love of her life.

“I’m fine, sweetheart. What’s up?”

“Mom, can you meet me at the coffee shop this morning?”

“Oh, I’d love to, but I’m just leaving the knitting group. I have to go back home and check on Vi.”

“Is Grandma all right?” Angie’s voice rang clear and concerned over the car speaker.

“I think so. She’s not getting any younger, and she needs a little extra TLC every now and then.”

“Is it her heart?”

“Honey, it’s
always
her heart at this point.” I turned the key in the ignition—February in Buffalo felt like Siberia. The heater cranked up as I did my best to reassure Angie that Vi was likely okay.

“I really need to talk to you, Mom.” The little-girl tone was back.

“Angie, are you okay?”

“Of course. I just needed to talk. It’s been a huge transition for me, you know, Mom.”

“Yes, it has.” She’d moved back to Buffalo from San Francisco, what, only a month ago?

“Can you call me when you’re done with Grandma Vi?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Maybe we can meet for lunch.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Bye.”

I sighed and put the phone in the compartment between the large bucket front seats. I was so thrilled to have Angie home again. I just needed Brian to move here and I’d finally have all my chicks back in the nest—or at least near it. My family around me—everything I needed for happiness.

But that was before I knew Angie had decided to
make her move alone, while Jesse was deployed to Iraq with a civilian surgical augmentation team. Before I realized that Vi’s congestive heart failure was changing from chronic to acute, needing to be monitored daily.

Women’s magazine pundits called us the “sandwich” generation. Still raising or supporting our children and tending to our aging parents.

I silently counted my blessings as I put the car in gear. Gratitude was my antidote to the despair that could overwhelm me when I least expected it to.

First, all our children were economically independent. Second, they all had good careers and two out of three had chosen loving partners. Third, Violet was financially taken care of, with the best possible medical care.

And most important, I had Will.

Present Day
Buffalo, New York

“H
EY
,
HOW’S IT GOING
?” Angie Bradley slid onto the stool next to her younger brother Blair’s at the breakfast bar. He and his wife, Stella, had refurbished this downtown loft apartment three years ago, as newlyweds.

“Are you hungry? I’ve got plenty of oatmeal left.” Stella smiled and Angie let the flash of her perfectly straight, white teeth send their happy energy her way. Stella was a pediatric dentist and her own smile was her best advertisement.

“No, thanks.”

Stella’s eyebrows rose. “Are you sure? I even have real maple syrup.”

Angie laughed.

“No, thanks.” That was just like Stella, to remember that Angie liked the real stuff, not some flavored corn syrup. But her stomach couldn’t cope with much of anything at the moment.

“You’re not on a diet, are you?” Blair was five years her junior but acted like her big brother more often than not. Like his twin, Brian, Blair had followed in their dad’s footsteps and was an architect. But while Blair loved Buffalo and worked in Dad’s firm, Brian had left Buffalo for a position in Denver.

Angie missed seeing both her brothers but was grateful to be facing just one of them at the moment.

“No, I’m not on a diet…” She let her voice trail off. Blair nuzzled Stella’s neck.

“Knock it off, Blair,” Stella said with a giggle.

“Yeah, knock it off, or get a room. Geez.” Angie loved to tease her brothers.

“How’s your new job?”

“Great, good. It’s okay. You know, it always takes a while to get familiar with a new place.”

“I’m sure they’re excited to have you on the team.” Stella poured coffee into a brick-red mug.

“Here—it’s the morning blend from the café.”

Angie looked at the mug but knew if it got too close she’d be in Blair and Stella’s downstairs bathroom in ten seconds flat.

“No, uh, wait—” She shoved herself off the stool and made it to the bathroom door in six seconds, to be exact.

“Come on. Be a big girl and go ’fess up,” she whispered to her pale reflection in the washroom mirror.

She walked out of the bathroom and back into the kitchen, but stayed close to the door. She couldn’t handle the smell of coffee right now.

“You’re pregnant!” Stella’s declaration caught Angie off guard, but then she teared up and smiled at her sister-in-law.

“I am.”

Blair whistled.

“Miss ‘I’m-not-bringing-kids-into-this-harsh-world’ is going to have a baby?”

Angie looked at Blair and Stella and felt like the most unsympathetic sister possible.

“I didn’t want to tell you—I was hoping you two, um…”

“Oh, honey, don’t worry about us! We’ve just started trying, and I
am
younger than you, you know,” Stella chided Angie lovingly. “Come on over here and give us a hug!”

Angie accepted Stella’s hug, and the tears spilled down her cheeks. She drew back and wiped at her face with her hands.

“Here.” Stella handed her a napkin from the breakfast bar.

“Thanks.” Angie sniffled. “I didn’t want to tell you guys—I know you’re trying, and here I go and get pregnant without even planning.” Angie and Jesse had always been meticulous about birth control. She knew her ovulation cycle inside out. With the effects of top-shelf champagne and the holiday season she and Jesse
had enjoyed themselves on the rug next to their Christmas tree. Without protection. She’d thought she couldn’t possibly get pregnant at that particular time. The baby inside her was proof that she’d been wrong.