What Family Means (4 page)

February 1967
Buffalo, New York

“Y
OU HAVE A LOT
of homework this weekend?”

Will looked at Debra with what she thought were the most beautiful brown eyes on earth.

“Not too much.” She felt suddenly shy as they stood on the sidewalk where the school bus had dropped them off minutes ago. Cars whizzed past on the busy street Kenmore Avenue had become as they’d grown up.

“Trigonometry going okay?” Will always asked how she was doing. Deb was taking all advanced courses, so although she was only a sophomore she was well on her way to college-level credits by her junior and senior years.

Just like Will.

“Yeah. I did have a bit of trouble with this one problem, but I’ll get it.”

“Why don’t I help you?”

Deb smiled at Will and nodded. “That’d be great.” Truth was, she didn’t need any help. From the beginning, school had been her escape and now promised to
be her ticket out of the Buffalo neighborhood her entire family seemed to live in. College would be her passport to a better life.

“Let’s go over to my house and I’ll get my notes from two years ago. Then we can work in Dad’s office.”

“Great.” Although going to his house made her nervous, she fell into step beside Will, marveling, as she often did, at how well they spent time together. They were both excellent students and enjoyed a lot of the same literature.

But she’d become aware of a tension between them over the past year or so. Nothing bad, just…different. She knew what it was; she’d had crushes on boys before. But they’d always faded.

And Will always remained her best friend.

“I’ll wait for you in the office while you get your notebook, okay?” This was their usual routine. Deb waited in Dr. Bradley’s office, while Will got what he needed from his house.

Debra didn’t go over to Will’s anymore. They’d stopped hanging out in his house a few years back, when Will started high school. His mom wasn’t keen on it. Said their age difference was too great.

Deb’s mom didn’t really know how many afternoons Deb spent studying with Will. Deb would never dare bring Will home. It was an unspoken rule that Deb’s mom and extended family wouldn’t go for her bringing a black boy to the house, even as a friend.

Deb told her mother as little as possible. She still worked for Will’s dad in the doctor’s office and didn’t raise an eyebrow whenever Deb and Will came in and
did homework there the way they used to as kids. The office was neutral territory. Most days, though, they went to the public library.

“I’d like it if you came with me to the house, Deb.” Will had a strange look on his face. Deb wondered if something had happened at school that Will needed to talk about.

“Well, okay, I guess.” She trudged through the slush alongside him. The heavy snowfall from last week had melted into this mess, but would freeze up again by nightfall.

“Thanks.” Will loped comfortably next to her, but she still sensed an uneasiness in him.

“Is everything okay, Will?”

“Yeah, yeah, everything’s great. And don’t worry about Mama, she’s at her charity work today.”

Relief washed over Debra. So Will’s house was empty, unless their housekeeper was still there. Mrs. Bradley was nothing but polite to her. But Angie understood she was
persona non grata
in Violet’s opinion. White and poor. Not a match for Will.

As they got to the house, the wind picked up.

“The storm’s coming in quick.” Deb lifted her face to the breeze that was getting colder by the minute.

“You’ve loved storms since we were kids.” Will stared at her and she gazed back at him.

“Yes, I suppose I have. You noticed that?”

“I notice more than you ever realize, Deb.”

Will’s handsome face looked so good to Deb. But she noticed the twitch along his jawline.

He kept staring at her as though he’d never seen her before.

“What is it, Will?”

He swallowed visibly and drew in a deep breath.

“Deb, you know I’m going to Howard University in the fall.”

The pain that pinched her stomach frightened her.

“Yes, I know that. But it’s only February.”

“My senior year. You’ll be in college in two more years yourself, Deb.”

“Yes, yes, I will.” And she couldn’t wait!

“Maybe Ivy League.”

“Maybe.” She’d worked so hard on her studies, in the hopes of a full scholarship.

“My point is that we’ll be far away from each other after this year.”

“Will, we’ll still be friends!”

“I don’t want to be just your friend, Deb.”

“Oh.” It was her turn to swallow. Her insides trembled and it wasn’t from the cold or wind.

“Deb. You mean the world to me.”

Will pulled off his backpack and dropped it on the concrete porch. He stepped closer to Deb, leaving barely an inch between them.

“I can’t imagine my life without you.” He placed his hands on either side of her face. Debra thrilled to the electric shivers his touch sent across her skin.

“I know.” She couldn’t say anymore, daren’t. She didn’t want tears to mess this up.

“Deb. May I?”

“Yes.”

He lowered his head and she watched it all. Will’s dark, smooth skin. His eyelids lowering, his breath
making a cloud between them. His lips touched hers and Debra closed her eyes.

It was better than Debra had ever allowed herself to imagine. Will was sweet, tender and very much a gentleman. After the first contact he continued to kiss her, over and over.

Debra had never experienced anything so delicious in her entire life.

“Will!”

Will and Debra jerked apart at the shrill sound of his mother’s voice.

Debra looked over her shoulder and saw Mrs. Bradley standing in the entry behind the storm door. They hadn’t heard it open.

But Violet Bradley had heard
them.
Apparently her charity work wasn’t today, after all.

Will recovered first.

“Hi, Mom.” He leaned down and grabbed his backpack.

Deb stood there, shaking. Her most exciting moment had quickly soured. Violet Bradley hated her. Tears of humiliation and pride pricked at Debra’s eyelids.

“Get in here, son!”

“Yes, Mom.” Will shrugged, turning to Debra.

“I’ll meet you in the office in a few minutes.”

“Okay.” Debra nodded at Mrs. Bradley. She didn’t wait for an acknowledgment. The look on Violet’s face told Debra that Will was in for a battle.

Debra all but ran down the steps and back through the woods to the office. After saying a quick hello to her own mother at the receptionist’s desk, she sat down in
the back inventory room where she and Will usually did their homework.

Debra pulled her trigonometry out of her backpack and opened her binder to her notes. She settled into her English assignment,
The Tempest,
while she waited.

Will never came.

Present Day
Buffalo, New York Debra

I
T WASN’T EASY
to keep from bursting into torrents of laughter at the shocked look on Angie’s face.

What, did she think her parents never had sex? Poor thing, with her morning sickness and all.

My sense of humor wasn’t always in tune with everyone else’s, and I was sure Angie found nothing funny about what I told her.

I kept my cool as I drove. I needed to get to the welcome nest of our home. Mine and Will’s.

I pulled into our long, wooded driveway and parked in front of the house. I’d teased Will mercilessly that he should just have built a tree house. It was what our place reminded me of.

It was built only twenty years ago, Will’s design, but looked as though it has been part of these woods forever. The cedar siding and A-frame structure blended perfectly with the trees.

The house cost us a fortune at the time. Will wanted to design the home we’d live in for the rest of our lives, and he wouldn’t settle for less.

I was glad he didn’t.

We came here when the kids were still young, Angie fourteen and the twins in grade school. I had so many joyous memories of raising those kids in this home.

Angie.

My daughter can be impetuous, and this latest stunt was no exception.

A baby! Without her husband….

I was going to be a grandmother. But not how I’d expected.

Since Blair and Stella had been trying to get pregnant, I hadn’t considered any other possibilities. Certainly not Angie….

The fact that she hadn’t told Jesse bothered me. He was working in the middle of a war zone, under stress, but to know he was going to be a father would boost his morale, wouldn’t it?

They’d been married for seven years. Angie didn’t discuss it, but I’d always thought they’d have kids at some point, when it was important enough to both of them.

I went inside and threw my knitting bag on the old cane chair from Will’s father’s old office.

The office where I met Will, all those years ago.

I looked around for our dog.

“Rose!”

The golden retriever was up in my room, no doubt, her ears pricked to my arrival but not wanting to leave her warm bed. Will loved that dog so much. Rose was spoiled more than the kids had ever been.

“C’mon, Rose! We’ve got to check on Vi.”

Rose came out and padded down the stairs. Her tail
wagged at the mention of Vi. That dog was crazy about Vi, something that stumped me, as Vi was never very affectionate to her.

“Let’s go.”

We walked out the back kitchen door and I left Rose outside in the yard as I knocked, then entered Vi’s cottage. She never locked the door.

“Vi?” The kitchen light over the sink was on. I saw the back of Vi’s silver head on the other side of her cream sofa.

“Oh, hey.” She raised a thin hand as I circled the room and gave her a careful look.

“How are you doing? Did the meds help?”

“Yes. I’m sorry I bothered you when you were out having fun with the girls. How was your coffee with Angie?” Vi always made it sound as though my life was one big party.

“You didn’t bother me. Angie sends her love. How about some tea? Have you eaten lunch?” Judging by the lack of dishes in her sink, Vi hadn’t moved from the couch since I’d checked in on her before I went to the Koffee Klache.

“Yes, I made myself a sandwich.”

“Are you sure?” I nosed around the kitchen a bit. No sign of even a crumb. Ahh, there was the evidence—a butter knife with a mustard smear.

“Yes, I’m fine—resting now.”

I turned on the water and washed the knife for her. The cottage had a dishwasher but Vi wouldn’t use it—said it was “too much” for just her.

I made us both tea and took the cups into the sitting room.

“You can put your show back on, Vi.”

“No, no, that’s okay.”
Liar.
I knew she watched her soaps every day, and she knew I knew. I grabbed the remote and clicked on the television.

“Here, have some tea.”

“Thanks.” Vi was quiet as she sipped the tea and watched her program.

I sighed inwardly. I had so much to get ready for the art show, including the weaving that needed to be finished. But I couldn’t ask Vi to come over and stay at our place if I was only going to disappear into my studio.

And she needed company, whether she asked for it or not.

I needed to be in Will’s arms. Three days until he was back from Los Angeles. I’d have a pot roast on the table. And our king-size bed would be waiting for him….

How lucky was I that I still had a great sex life with the same man who’d taught me how to make love in Paris, almost forty years ago?

September 1972
Paris, France

T
HE THREE-HUNDRED-YEAR-OLD
building triggered countless visions in Will’s mind. He saw the building architecturally—the ribs exposed, before the marble and plaster added their depth. His mind’s eye pictured each layer, one after another, until the interior looked as it did today.

The sound of his leather soles on the wide stairway comforted him. Will lived and breathed architecture.

He walked down the ornate hallway to a familiar
classroom. Once a ballroom, it had been converted with utilitarian chairs and desks. The first architectural design class he’d taken this summer had been in this room. The days were long, sweaty and intellectually exhilarating.

Today was the start of his art in architecture class. He hoped the professor was more of a left-brain type so they’d study building structure more than actual artwork like paintings and sculpture. Either way, this was a required class for his graduate studies abroad, so he’d do whatever he had to do.

He wasn’t really into the Paris art scene; he had his sights set on becoming America’s foremost architect.

He slid into a seat toward the back. He was early and only two other students had shown up so far. He opened a notebook and flipped through it. He’d loved his class this summer, and his French had improved with each passing week. This class had the potential to be great, as well.

Or boring as hell.

As he perused his notebook, an unopened envelope fell out.

From Sarah.

He sighed. Hell-bent as he was on becoming a great architect, his mother and Sarah were equally hell-bent on his marrying Sarah.

Both from Western New York, they’d met on campus at Howard University. Sarah had moved back to Buffalo from Washington, D.C., after graduation. She worked as a legal researcher in downtown Buffalo.

The one time he’d taken her out, over spring break, she’d made it clear that she’d follow Will anywhere, even if it was “back here to little ol’ Buffalo.”

She’d had the same privileged upbringing he had. Money had buffered them from some of the effects of racism his poorer black friends had suffered.

They were a great match on paper. But he didn’t love Sarah. Not the way he thought he should.

Hell, what did he know?

He’d had his nose in books for the past five years. And he suspected that his mother was determined to win the marriage war, since his parents had lost their battle to send him to med school.

Long legs in fishnet stockings caught his eye.

A woman with a short plaid skirt and black knee-high boots moved quickly to the seat in front of him. Her figure was accentuated by her red mohair sweater, over which fell a riot of bright carrot-colored curls. His fingers knew how her curls would feel, how they’d spring back from his tug.

He’d known a woman with hair like this once. A girl. But she was in Buffalo, part of his past, and he’d never see her again.

Couldn’t.

The scent of the woman’s perfume made his blood run hot. So much so that he didn’t realize the professor had arrived and started taking attendance.

“Roman?”

“Ici.”

“Russert?”

“Ici.”

“Schaefer?”

“Oui, ici, madame.”

That voice.

“Debra?” he whispered, afraid he’d lost his mind.

The woman with the cloud of red hair turned around in her seat. Her green eyes glittered in the morning light shafting through the Murano glass windowpanes. The same freckles, the same tilt of her nose. But on a much more sophisticated face. Was that glossy lipstick on her naturally pink lips?

She didn’t recognize him for a heartbeat, but then recognition and incredulity lit up her expression.

“Will!” Her voice was huskier, sexier than he’d remembered.

And too loud for Professor Cleremont.

“This is a graduate-level course and very demanding, Mademoiselle Schaefer.”

Debra whirled back around in her chair.

“Oui, Madame Cleremont.”
Her French was flawless. Will recalled that she’d taken French in high school, but when had she learned to speak like a native?

He sat behind her for the next hour and forty-five minutes, not hearing a single word of what Professor Cleremont said. His intense and constant awareness of Debra made him feel flushed. Distracted.

So his reaction to their one shared kiss at seventeen—when she was fifteen—hadn’t been a fluke. At least not for him.

The class finally ended and Will absently picked up the handouts as the fifteen students filed out the door. He saw only one.

Debra.

“When did you get here?” Without thought, he
placed his hand on her elbow. She stopped and turned to face him. He had her full attention, all right.

“Last week. This is my junior year abroad with Mount Holyoke.”

“Mount Holyoke?”

She looked exasperated.

“Yes, Will. I’m a student. I attend university. I’m studying art history.”

“But Mount Holyoke’s Ivy League.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“There is such a thing as a scholarship, Will.”

“But…you’re still an undergrad—these are graduate courses.”

“Yes, and I’m earning my master’s at the same time as my bachelor’s.” Her face reflected boredom and a flash of…disappointment?

“I never knew—”

“You never bothered to ask, Will.”

Ouch.
He hadn’t contacted her after their kiss that winter day so long ago. His mother had forbidden any contact with her, and frankly he didn’t want his mother on Debra’s case, either.

He’d felt the need to protect her, although—or perhaps because—they moved in different circles. The same high school but vastly different social groups. He couldn’t remember Debra ever being at a dance or after-school function. He’d missed her terribly but was more relieved than anything. He didn’t want his friends bothering her.

They’d never spoken again.

“Yeah. I guess we…drifted apart.”

“Call it whatever you want, Will. I have another class in half an hour, across the
place.
”

With that she stalked away from him and he just stood there, his breath gone. As though she’d punched him in the stomach, hard. But she hadn’t even touched him.

She’d given him that look—of contempt? Disapproval?—with her brilliant eyes. The eyes that used to radiate hero worship for him.

The eyes that glowed softly in the winter moonlight after he’d kissed her, his hands on either side of her face. He hadn’t felt the cold blustering around them.

Just the wonder of childhood companionship that had grown into something deeper.

And was cut off.

Will shivered in the autumn sunshine.

A moment earlier, her eyes had done the same thing to him. She’d cut him off.

September 1972
Paris, France

D
EBRA HAD NO IDEA
how she did it. She’d walked away from Will after missing him for all these years. His memory had spoiled the chances of every boyfriend since.

She liked boys. A lot, in fact.

But when it came to talking about things that mattered, they were dumb asses compared to Will. How could they be anything else? She and Will had shared a childhood friendship that could never be recaptured with anyone else.

It didn’t mean she couldn’t find the same level of intimacy with anyone else, did it?

So far she hadn’t. But she was still young.

She snorted and heaved her book bag higher on her shoulder.

Pretty pathetic that she compared college men to a boy she’d known in Buffalo.

Buffalo.

Ha! Will’s expression had said it all. He’d never expected her to amount to anything, much less run into her here, of all places. Although a small, hidden part of her was saddened by that, part of her was exuberant.

She’d far exceeded everyone’s expectations, even her own.

One of her favorite things about Paris beckoned, and she stopped at a café, ordering coffee and a croissant. The waiter sent her an appreciative glance.

Debra gave him the smile she’d perfected over the summer. It was her “thanks for the thought but no chance, pal” smile. His own smile faded and he turned away.

She sipped her coffee and gazed at the people strolling by her table. Since it wasn’t raining, she sat outside to soak up the sun, reveling in the sparkling fountain across the street.

She was far away from the days of survival in Buffalo, living with mom in their one-bedroom duplex.

Poor Mom. She’d done the best she could. Eventually she’d met a man who was able to offer her companionship as well as help her out financially. They lived out in Crabapple Lake, a suburb Debra hadn’t
even heard of when she was a kid. She thought life began and ended in her city neighborhood.

With Will.

She looked at the potted flowers on the café’s terrace. The yellow blooms seemed to be stretching for their last moments of sunlight before winter set in.

She liked the weather here, much milder than Boston, certainly more so than Buffalo.

Will hadn’t realized how smart she was. She hadn’t, either, until her SAT scores came back and she’d found out she could go to just about any college she wanted. Harvard was an obvious choice but she’d settled on Mount Holyoke. It seemed more intimate, and the all-girl environment enticed her. She’d hoped to find the sister she’d never had. A girlfriend who wasn’t intimidated by her intelligence.