What Family Means (10 page)

Present Day
Buffalo, New York
Debra

A
N HOUR LATER
,
Angie brought Violet back, complete with an overnight case. I’d just hung up with Brian, having discovered that it was sunny and clear in Colorado.

“Violet, you live across the yard, not the Atlantic.” I eyed the bulging duffel.

“There’s a lot more needed to keep me running these days.”

Violet replied to me but smiled at Angie. She’d always had a soft spot for Angie and all her grandchildren. In many ways, the children had allowed for the healing that needed to take place between Will, Violet and me.

“I’ll take your bag upstairs, Vi. You sit down and get comfortable.” Violet looked at the table, which I’d set with teacups and a plate of homemade cookies.

“You shouldn’t go to so much trouble. It’s just us.”

I didn’t respond as I carried Violet’s bag to the back bedroom. Originally intended as our master suite, we’d redesigned it as a guest room when it was clear Violet
would be living with us. Her arthritis made climbing stairs difficult at best.

Violet never accepted any of my gestures of hospitality without a fuss. To Violet, doing more than absolutely necessary was frivolous—and suspect.

I doubted that would ever change.

Will’s siblings had relied on Violet and, of course, Dr. Bradley’s money for far too long. Violet had to know they used her and got in touch only when they needed her. Neither Will’s brother nor sister ever volunteered to take care of her. They never even checked up on her. Just her bank account.

When I came back to the kitchen I found Angie and Violet at the table, laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

Angie’s eyes sparkled with mirth.

“Grandma was telling me about the time Daddy played with his father’s medical tools in the sandbox.”

A smile teased the corners of my mouth. I’d heard the story from Will more than once. Since Will was interested in construction and building, even at age five, it made sense that he’d be interested in anything mechanical.

Problem was, the tool Will picked to hoist his mud bricks was a speculum, used for gynecological exams. Violet had been horrified but Will’s dad had just laughed and said, “The boy knows what he needs to get the job done.”

The fact that Violet was reiterating this to Angie intrigued me. Violet really saw her legacy in my daughter.

“Let me brown some meat and get a stew going. Does that sound good?”

“Order out. You sit.” Violet had never cooked and didn’t understand my love of the kitchen.

“Sure, and they’ll deliver it on a snowmobile,” I muttered under my breath as I pulled out my favorite Dutch oven and some onions. Violet’s and Angie’s voices rose and fell in the rhythm of familiar conversation.

Another blizzard.

How many had I survived in Buffalo?

A
FTER 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

A
S 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.”