What Family Means (6 page)

She marveled at how perfectly their hands fit together.

The hedgerow ended and Will stopped. They were in one of the most breathtaking gardens in all of Paris, beautiful even in winter, yet Debra saw only Will. It wasn’t just his large frame, his heat or his deep voice. It was an aura she couldn’t see, but her heart beat faster every time she sensed him near.

“I don’t want to talk about school right now, Deb.”

She met his gaze, thrilled by the warmth in his eyes.

“Okay.”

He sighed and glanced around them. “I know this isn’t Buffalo, that they’re more open here. But I can’t bring myself to do anything other than hold hands in public. I don’t want anyone to look at you differently.”

She loved how he put her first, allowed the decision to be hers. But Debra’s impatience to be with him spurred her on. “Will, I don’t care what other people think. You know that much about me.”

He hadn’t forgotten that, had he?

“Deb,
I
care what other people think. I could’ve ruined your entire reputation, cost you your friends, back in high school.”

Her throat tightened around her breath. “They weren’t my friends.”

All but one of her girlfriends had disappeared from her life after word got out about her and Will.

“We deserve at least this time together, don’t we, Deb?”

“Yes.”

But she didn’t know if she could handle the part that came after. The pain of separating. She’d already done it once.

There’d always be an after—and it wouldn’t bring them together. Not if they both went back to Buffalo.

“Amy’s still on her study in Marseilles?” His voice asked about Amy, her roommate, but his eyes asked another question.

“Yes. Until Saturday.”

It was Tuesday. They’d have four days to spend alone in her flat.

He stared at her, his face relaxed except for the sparkle in his eyes.

“Will—”

“You know how we’ll end up, this week or next.” He finished her thought. They had the whole semester ahead of them. In Paris…

“I just don’t know if this is the best thing for us.”

She damned the tears that threatened to spill, the quiver of her chin. It was as though they were fifteen and seventeen again and his mother had caught them kissing on the porch.

“We’re not kids anymore. We’re adults, Deb. Deb?”

His fingers touched her chin and forced her to look up. When she saw the same desire in his eyes that she felt every time they were together, her tears overflowed and dripped down her face, onto his hands.

“We’ll never do anything you aren’t comfortable with, Deb.”

“That’s not what I’m afraid of.” She punched his arm. “And you know it.”

Will’s laugh chased away her fears. She didn’t doubt the depth of her feelings for him, or his for her. It was the pain of letting go that they would both face, whether it was after this week or after a year in Paris.

They could never go back to Buffalo together.

Present Day
Buffalo, New York
Debra

W
ILL CHEWED
his Thai spring roll, and his eyes met mine as I stared at him over my coconut-curry soup.

“What?” he asked. He tilted his head and set his fork down.

“Is something bothering you? You’ve been quiet since we left the house.”

He swallowed.

“Nothing’s bothering me. I’m just wondering how you’re really doing with everything that’s going on.” He grabbed my left hand. “You’re getting to the busiest part of your work, with the exhibit so close. Mama and Angie are giving you a lot to think about, and before we know it, Blair and Stella will be adding to our family, as well.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Thrilled. Happy.” I put down my spoon and covered our two hands with my right.

“Really?”

Will wasn’t buying my cool composure. Neither was I, for that matter.

I let out a breath.

“Okay, I’m worried as hell. Angie’s lucky to be living such a great life. I don’t understand why she hasn’t told her husband she’s pregnant or why she didn’t tell him she wants to stay here.”

Will sighed. “Aw, honey, Angie’s a big girl. We can’t control the kids anymore.”

“We never could, could we?”

“No, we couldn’t, but something tells me you’re just figuring that out now.” His gaze said it all. “You
do
realize you’ve got to let this go and focus on your career?”

“I thought she’d listen to me—”

“I don’t think this means she isn’t listening, Deb. She’s weighed the risks and doesn’t want to tell Jesse she’s pregnant while he’s out in Iraq. I must admit I’d feel better if she told him, but still, it’s none of our business.”

“She’s always been the most stubborn.”

“Deb, you’ve got to stay out of this. It’s Angie’s life, Angie’s baby. We’re just the future grandparents.”

Will’s expression yielded that rare view into his emotions, a view I’d only seen a few times over our life together. It was a raw, tortured glimpse into his real self.

His most emotional self.

I remembered seeing this look when we were at Crystal Beach, right after his father died. I saw this same side of Will moments before he kissed me for the first time, when we were teenagers.

And again when the twins were born.

The most painful occasion for me to recall was
when he met Angie, when he learned he had a child—a daughter.

I still felt responsible for the hurt he’d suffered when he’d discovered he’d missed the birth of his own daughter. A hurt he recognized fully when the twins were born and he realized how much he’d missed.

So each time Will gave me this look, I knew it was an important moment. I was not always sure why, but I knew it was. It symbolized another milestone in our life together.

I wasn’t ready for any more milestones. Not tonight.

“You’re upset with me, aren’t you?” I struggled to keep the agitation out of my voice.

“You have no idea.” Will’s annoyance with me was loud and clear.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s not something I could articulate. Besides, it’s not like I’ve never mentioned it. I have. You just happen to be listening this time.”

“Listening to
what,
Will?”

“I’ve told you before. You’re always apologizing for who you are.”

“Who I am?”

“Who
we
are. Who we are together.”

“Bull—”

He held up his hands, and not just to shove away his half-finished plate of lamb curry.

“No, it’s not bull, Deb. You’ve spent our entire marriage making sure everyone else is happy, that everyone understands you don’t hold their prejudice against them.”

“That’s not fair.” Tears welled up. Why had Will picked a public place to stage such a personal discussion?

“You’re right. It’s
not
fair, Deb. It’s not fair that you risked shortchanging our children, deny them the ability to deal with their heritage. Or that you’ve cheated yourself. You’ve cheated us.”

“Us?”

His face had a drawn, resigned look.

“Yes. For once, Deb, it would be so nice to know you didn’t give a damn about what that couple over there—” he motioned behind his shoulder “—thinks. Or these people.” He pointed to the right of our table.

“I don’t care what
anyone
else thinks! And in case you haven’t noticed, our kids have turned out pretty darned well.”

“No, on the surface you don’t care. But deep down you’ve always felt we placed a burden on our kids. Did it ever occur to you that our family and what we’ve dealt with has made our kids better? Stronger?”

“Like my family did me?” The sarcastic tone of my voice destroyed any chance of resolving this peacefully at the restaurant table. Will knew it hurt me that I was essentially estranged from my mother.

I stood up and grabbed my purse.

I walked out into the parking lot of the restaurant and sucked in a deep breath. It was so cold it made me cough, which at least took my mind off the pain in my heart.

Will followed a few minutes later, after he’d paid the bill.

We got into his car without comment. Typical of Will and me—we threw our cards on the table, then let them lie there for a while.

It was like when I knitted up a sample swatch to see how a particular yarn looked with different stitches. I had to wait and work on another project for a bit before I knew if I wanted to move forward with a particular stitch and fiber combination.

Sometimes an old sweater that didn’t fit anymore came back in style and I did the pattern again, in an updated yarn and often a larger size.

But our marriage wasn’t a knitted garment. It was more like a wardrobe that spanned years, decades and, now, a generation.

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, waiting 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.