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What Family Means
Geri Krotow


To Debra Bradley, marriage is being with the man you've always loved–despite the odds. Despite what other people think. And marriage is about family, about protecting your children from a sometimes hostile world. To her husband, Will Bradley, family is about creating a safe haven. Where it doesn't matter that one of you is white, the other black.Where it's never mattered… All these years later Will and Debra are still in love, still each other's best friend. They've made a good life for themselves and their children. But their daughter, Angie–pregnant and estranged from the husband she loves–has to discover for herself what family means….









Praise for Geri Krotow’s debut title, A Rendezvous To Remember


“Geri Krotow’s assured debut is a true gift to readers—a novel packed with emotion and filled with an expansiveness that crosses generations. It combines a woman’s journey of the heart with her discovery of devastating secrets of the past…all adding up to a triumphant and uplifting conclusion.”

—Susan Wiggs, New York Times bestselling author

“Geri Krotow’s debut book is a wonderfully written story of love nearly lost. Actually, it’s two wonderfully written stories, interwoven through time.…I will anxiously await this author’s next book. Her style is fast-moving and easy to read, and this book is very highly recommended to anyone who enjoys romance…or an emotional book.”

—Rob Ballister, www.militarywriters.com

Geri Krotow is a “new author to watch.”

—Debbie Macomber, New York Times bestselling author

“I stand in total amazement that this is Geri Krotow’s first published book. What a beautiful and moving story of love during two very different generations! Talk about an emotional punch…A Rendezvous To Remember is a real-world story told with all the heart and emotion of real people loving each other.…A Rendezvous To Remember highlights the true depth and power of love.”

—CK


S Kwips and Kritiques

“Geri Krotow makes a notable debut with A Rendezvous To Remember, an absorbing, richly detailed story with wonderful characters.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews


Dear Reader,

It is with great delight and joy that I wrote What Family Means, my second published novel, for you. Set in my native city of Buffalo, New York, and the surrounding western New York area, this story demonstrates what love of one another and love for family can do. It can bridge backgrounds, communities, people from all walks of life. In the not-too-distant past heroes and heroines from different backgrounds and upbringings weren’t applauded when they fell in love, or when they managed to make their love work despite overwhelming odds against it. Will Bradley and Debra Schaefer not only made it through the struggles and conflicts that their families and society threw at them, they raised a beautiful family. And their love still endures after almost forty years of marriage.

I hope you are able to cheer on both Debra and Will as they face their conflicts, yesterday’s and today’s, to provide a love that lasts a lifetime, not just for them as a couple but for their family. Love, this is what family means.

Please send me your thoughts on this story via my Web site, www.gerikrotow.com.

Peace,

Geri Krotow




What Family Means

Geri Krotow










ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Raised in Buffalo and western New York State, Geri always dreamed of romance and adventure. A graduate of the U.S. Naval Academy, she moves around the world with her navy pilot husband, two children, a dog and a parrot. Geri loves to hear from readers. You can reach her at her Web site, www.gerikrotow.com.


With all my love to Alex and Ellen,

who teach me every day what family means.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX




CHAPTER ONE


Present Day

Buffalo, New York

Debra

“YOU’VE NEVER BELIEVED ME about this the whole time we’ve been married. Why should I expect you to change now?”

Will Bradley, my husband of thirty-five years, stared at me with an intensity that made my hands clench on the shirt I was putting in his suitcase. His charcoal eyes sparked with annoyance. Will was never one to get easily worked up, but judging by the twitch over his left eyebrow, my latest obsession with our grown children’s lives had sent him over the edge.

Or at least very close to it.

“I hear you, Will, you know I do. But the kids, especially Angie, haven’t had the smoothest path.”

I tried to keep the “look” off my face—the expression Will and our children said I’d mastered. The “I’m right so don’t even bother to argue” look.

Apparently I didn’t succeed in keeping my face blank. Will’s nostrils flared as he drew a deep breath.

“Dammit, Debra, you go back to this every time.” Will referred to my long-held belief—and, okay, guilt—that our interracial marriage had placed undue burden on our children.

He glanced up from packing.

“What do you always say to me, Deb? ‘It’s the twenty-first century. The new generation doesn’t see us in terms of skin color. We don’t get a fraction of the stares we used to draw.’”

“Give me some credit, Will. I know that times have changed, and the kids are all doing great—better than a lot of our friends’ children.”

I stood up from the bed to make my point.

“Angie’s always had it the toughest. She’s older than the twins and remembers the more-blatant prejudice in high school and college. Jesse’s family wasn’t immediately supportive of their white son marrying our biracial daughter.”

Will didn’t respond as he packed his socks and underwear. I hated when he went all quiet like this.

“Why did Angie move back to Buffalo while Jesse’s away? Why didn’t she wait for him to return from his mission?”

I knew I wasn’t the only one worried about Jesse’s safety in Iraq, where he’d gone for humanitarian reasons. He was there to use his surgical skills, working as a government contractor. The military was grateful for civilian talent such as Jesse’s.

Will ran a hand over his short-cropped hair. His fingers caught my eyes. I was always a sucker for his hands—chocolate-brown skin stretched over the most elegant fingers, the most sensual hands, I’ve ever seen. He could have been a doctor like his father if he’d wanted to. But his passion was architecture. He’d used those fingers to produce beautiful buildings instead.

“This is what I’ve never understood, Will. How can you be angry with me for caring about our children?”

“There’s a big difference between caring and care-taking, Debra.”

“Don’t I know it.” As soon as the words slipped out, I realized they would’ve been better kept unspoken.

I sounded like a first-class martyr.

Will’s hands rested on his still-slim hips, his stance combative.

“Is that what this is about? Do you need a break? I know it’s been a long year for you, Deb.” Will referred to my looking after his elderly mother, Violet. She’d become more dependent on us the past nine months.

He didn’t give me a chance to answer.

“I’d be home more if I could,” he went on, “but I need to take care of these last projects, then I’ll go down to just a few a year, let Blair and my associates run things.” Will zipped up his suitcase as I watched from my perch on our bed.

It was a ritual we’d shared since the early days of our marriage. I brought in the piles of clean laundry, he chose what he needed for his business trips, and we talked while he packed.

We usually didn’t fight.

“Honey,” I said now, “I don’t want to argue. I just want to be here for Angie. And I’d love to have your support.”

“I know, baby, she’s your only daughter.” Will smiled at me despite his anger at my too-familiar behavior.

I sighed.

Will walked around to my side of the bed.

“The twins were much more difficult when they were younger,” I said. “Now that they’re grown, it’s as though they don’t need their mama so much. They’re men. But Angie—a daughter always needs her mother.” I couldn’t help the tear that slid out from under my closed lid as Will pulled me into his embrace.

“Honey, I’m just asking you to focus more on yourself, on us. You’ve given Angie and the boys the childhood, the family, you never had and we’re richer for it.”

I soaked up his love, but the question that wouldn’t die nagged at my conscience.

Had it really been enough?

April 11, 1957

Buffalo, New York

SOMETIME AFTER THREE, the school bus churned to a stop in front of the clapboard house. Debra knew the house; it signaled the end of her half day of kindergarten. She was in Miss May’s afternoon class at Lakeview Elementary. Debra liked riding to school on the noon bus because there were only five-year-olds with her. But in the afternoons the older kids came on, all the way up to fourth grade. She thought some of the boys were scary and did her best to sit with her friends.

She got off the bus with four other children. Linda and Lori, twins with matching everything from their blond braids to their saddle shoes, walked to the right and headed toward their duplex.

“Come on.” Will tugged at Debra’s jacket sleeve.

Debra stared at the older boy who ordered her around.

Will. Her mother told her this morning just to go home with him. Debra didn’t like it that she couldn’t go to her own house and be there with Mommy. But Daddy had been gone a long time, and Mommy said they needed grocery money.

So Mommy, who quit nursing school when she met Daddy and had Debra, got herself a job at the doctor’s down the street.

Mommy said the doctor hired her because she needed a job and he didn’t care what color her skin was. Besides, Mommy said she was the best receptionist around and Dr. Bradley knew it.

Dr. Bradley was Will’s daddy.

Will was several steps ahead of her before he turned around.

“Are you coming?”

He seemed so big. He was in the second grade and had homework every night. She brought home her crayon drawings but she’d seen Will’s big-boy artwork. He’d even made a round blue ball one day, painted like a globe.

Debra heard him tell another boy it was “papiermâché.” She didn’t know what papiermâché was but couldn’t wait to get old enough to do her own papiermâché.

Will sure must be smart.

“Coming.” She forced her sneakered feet to walk faster. She’d never played with Will, even though they rode the same bus and his house was just one block from hers.

Will was Colored, and Mommy said Debra needed to play with girls her “own age.” But Debra figured that her “own age” also meant her “own color.” None of their family had the same skin color as Will.

Will looked like Gladys in third grade, who rode their bus, too. But they were the only two dark-skinned kids Debra knew who attended Lakeview Elementary.

She found it strange that Mommy hadn’t let her play with Will before but now it was okay to go to his house. She didn’t ask Mommy about it, though. Mommy was busy with work.

They got to the top of the steps at Will’s house. Will looked at her with the nicest brown eyes she’d ever seen.

“Here you go. Your mama’s inside.”

Fear twisted her tummy.

“But where are you going?” He wasn’t leaving her alone here, was he?

“Home.”

Tears welled up in her eyes and she scrubbed at them with the back of her hand. Her hand had freckles, but Will’s was smooth and a rich dark brown that reminded her of the chocolate frosting on her favorite doughnut. The kind with the pink sprinkles.

“But this is your home, Will. My mommy said to go home with you.”

“This is my father’s office. Our house is round back.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

Her bottom lip shook and she tried to be brave and keep her chin still.

Will sighed. A big-boy sigh.

“I’ll take you in.” His voice sounded mad, but he put his arm around her shoulders and guided her through the front door, which he opened with his other arm.

Debra decided Will wasn’t so bad, after all. They stepped together into the front parlor. Debra saw lots of folks, mostly Colored like Will, sitting in chairs and on sofas around the room.

“There you are, pumpkin! Come on back. Thanks, William.” Mommy was sitting behind a counter and still had her suit on.

“You’re welcome, Mrs. Schaefer.”

William left then, and the warmth of his arm around her was gone.

“Hi, Mommy.” She stood at the back of the counter with her mom.

Mommy leaned down and kissed her cheek.

“Listen, sweetheart, Mommy has to work for a couple more hours. There’s a little chair and table for you, see?” She pointed at the corner, where it was set up, kind of like in Debra’s classroom.

“Okay, Mommy.” Debra unzipped her jacket and hung it on the back of the chair like she saw grown-ups do. She could work just like Mommy but on her drawings. If she stayed quiet, she knew Mommy could work longer and earn more money for groceries. Last time they went to the grocery store, Mommy didn’t have enough money for cereal. “Bread goes further, Debra,” she’d said. “We can have toast in the morning and sandwiches for supper.”

But Debra hadn’t been able to take her eyes off the bright cereal boxes, with pictures of the prizes inside. Maybe this time Mommy would have enough for the cereal with the rabbit on the box.




CHAPTER TWO


Present Day

Buffalo, New York

WILL 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 problems 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

“ARE 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.”




CHAPTER THREE


Present Day

Buffalo, New York

Debra

THE 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

“HEY, 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.

“My doctor says we’re both perfectly healthy—it’s just a matter of time.” Stella put her hand on Angie’s forearm. “This is so exciting! Our kids will grow up together.”

Blair stood in the kitchen, staring at Angie.

“What?”

“You haven’t told Mom and Dad yet, have you?”

“No, I haven’t—but I will. I just haven’t had time alone with them.” She let the little white lie hang there. She hadn’t told Jesse yet, but that wasn’t any of her family’s business, was it?

“Wooo-wee. Mom’s going to go nuts! When she thought we were thinking about trying, she flipped—even asked if we had a nursery theme picked out.”

Angie laughed.

“Mom’s always in the thick of it with us, you have to admit.”

“I’m not used to this. My family isn’t as hands-on.” Stella sipped her coffee. “Hands-on” was a polite way of describing what they often saw as Debra’s overinvolvement with her kids’ lives. But they all knew the reasons for it, too.

“Your mom didn’t have the interracial thing to deal with.” Blair looked at Stella, her dark skin a testament to her African-American heritage.

“No, but she had plenty of her own worries.”

“Like you marrying me?” Blair smiled sardonically. Stella’s parents had been shocked to find out that his family was mixed—Blair and Brian both had dark skin like Stella. But they’d taken it in stride.

“Knock it off, tough guy.” Stella swatted Blair on the arm.

“Mom loves us, and she’d be hurt if she heard us talking like this.” Angie felt a need to defend her mother. “I’ll tell her to give us some space.”

“Yeah, tell her to focus on Brian.”

“She can’t, he’s in Colorado.”

“Yeah, but I’ve heard he’s dating the same gal from last summer.”

“The blonde?”

“Seems so.” Blair smiled and hugged Stella quickly. Angie observed their profiles, both slim and tall. They were very open to each other, their marriage the stuff of dreams.

“I gotta go, baby. Dad’s out of town and someone needs to keep the ship afloat.” Blair kissed Stella full on the lips.

“See you at dinner, as long as we don’t have too many walk-ins.” Stella kissed him back.

In Stella’s office, walk-in referred to anything from a split lip to lost teeth.

“Do you get a lot of walk-ins this time of year?” Angie asked.

“Hockey pucks.” Stella smiled and pointed at her front teeth.

Angie winced. “Ouch. I think I’ll stick to analyzing weather patterns.”

Stella laughed, then immediately grew solemn.

“Don’t worry, Angie. We’re all here for you.” She looked at her watch. “I’ve got to go, too. Let’s try to get together soon, okay? And no more nonsense about who got pregnant first!”

Angie laughed. “Deal.”




CHAPTER FOUR


Present Day

Buffalo, New York

ANGIE LOWERED the car window and let the crisp air wash over her face. For the first time since she’d returned home, she was grateful for the cold. It took her mind off her heaving stomach.

Off her life.

She turned into the parking lot of Koffee Klache. Mom said she’d come over right around two, after she’d checked in on Grandma Violet.

Angie looked at the car’s digital clock. One forty-five. She had fifteen minutes to pretend she wasn’t pregnant, that her life hadn’t taken such a major detour.

Her stomach felt otherwise. She shoved open the door and threw up on Koffee Klache’s slush-covered blacktop. When she was done, she leaned back in the seat and tried to will her nausea away. She wouldn’t be able to have a coffee, much as she might wish she could. But she didn’t want to meet Mom at home. This was more neutral territory.

After several minutes she hauled herself out of the car and into the coffee shop.

“Hi, Angie! The usual?” Molly the barista smiled her welcoming grin. Angie managed to smile back, despite the acrid taste still in her mouth.

“Hey, Molly. Uh, no, not the usual. I’ll have an iced ginger tea, please, with some honey.”

“You got it.” Molly didn’t question Angie’s choice of “iced,” even though it was freezing outside.

The tinkle of the bell above the entrance was followed by the scent of her mother’s perfume, which made Angie’s stomach roil yet again.

Maybe she should’ve waited until tonight to meet with her mom. Evenings seemed to be her best time as of late.

“Hi, honey!”

Angie turned around and practically fell into her mother’s warm hug. The fuzzy yarn of her mom’s scarf tickled Angie’s cheeks. She gave Debra a hug back and hoped to pull away as quickly as possible.

But the touch of her mother, the softness of the scarf, even the scent of Debra’s perfume, undermined Angie’s resolve. For an instant she clung to her mother as though she were six and had just found out she wasn’t invited to her friend’s birthday party.

“Ange?”

Debra hugged Angie tighter, then drew back and studied her daughter. Angie couldn’t believe her mother was nearing sixty. She looked as she’d always looked—better, in fact.

“What do you want to drink, Mom?”

Angie slipped out of her mother’s arms and grabbed her own drink from the counter. Debra took the hint and walked over to order.

Angie sat in their usual spot—the two easy chairs by the back window. Her mind echoed with the conversations she and her mother had shared in this space over the years. While Angie was still in high school, the breaks during college and her frequent trips back since settling in San Francisco with Jesse.

No guarantee that Jesse would agree with her decision to stay here, once he found out she was pregnant. When the Director of Operations job opened up at the NOAA facility in Western New York, he’d finally agreed to make a temporary move with her to Buffalo; with his credentials they were both confident that he’d find an equally good—temporary—career opportunity as a neurosurgeon. They’d put their condo up for rent just as Jesse was sent to Iraq.

Part of her felt childish for not telling Jesse the minute she knew she was pregnant. But she wasn’t a child anymore; she was a thirty-five-year-old woman about to have her own child.

Debra carried her usual green tea and a small plate of oatmeal raisin cookies to the table. How her mother stayed so slim was beyond Angie. Angie took after her father’s side—just one glance at a sweet put the pounds on.

“How’s Grandma Vi doing?”

“She’s fine.” Debra sighed. “I checked on her after knitting group and fixed her an omelet.” Angie knew that taking care of Grandma Vi was more complicated now. Something as simple as getting her to eat regularly made a huge difference, but the responsibility tended to take over her mother’s life.

Debra’s silence confirmed Angie’s thoughts.

“How was the group?”

“Fine, fine.” Debra busied her hands with settling her coat and her purse; she rested her knitting on her lap. Knitting or anything fiber-related could always lift her mother’s spirits.

“What are you making now?” Angie stared at the ball of pink fuzz in Debra’s lap. She hoped it wasn’t something for her.

Debra laughed. “It looks alive, doesn’t it? It’s a new yarn. I thought it’d be perfect for your future niece or nephew.”

Of course. It was for Blair and Stella’s baby.

Angie tried to focus on how great Blair and Stella had been this morning. They weren’t pregnant yet, but Angie had no doubt they would be soon. In the most perfect manner, and everyone would know about it.

Blair’s twin, Brian, wasn’t married yet. But his growing relationship with “the blonde” Blair had mentioned was promising.

And then there was Angie.

Angie glanced up from the yarn into her mother’s green eyes. Mom’s red hair still corkscrewed around her face, the longer locks a halo about her head. Debra wore an expression reserved for her tough-love moments.

Angie gave a mental groan.

“Are you planning to tell me what’s going on or do I have to extract it out of you over this entire pot of tea?”

Angie squirmed at her mother’s tone, and the immediate flush of anger at her own childishness annoyed her.

“I’m pregnant.”

How’s that for an adult statement?

Debra’s mouth dropped open and the sound of her ceramic mug hitting the marble mosaic table reverberated.

“You’re not!”

“I am, Mom, and I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t even start.”

Angie watched as the struggle between tears and joy played across Debra’s face. If Angie wasn’t so afraid it would make her throw up again, she would have laughed.

“I don’t believe it, Mom. You’re actually speechless.”

“This is wonderful—but you said you never wanted chil—”

“Mom, I said don’t start. I mean it.”

“What do you expect, Angie? My only daughter tells me she’s having my grandchild and I’m supposed to—what? Be quiet?” Debra picked up her tea and gulped down a huge swig.

“Ouch!” She grimaced as she burned her tongue.

“Are you okay, Mom?”

“I’m fine.” Debra took a deep breath. She turned her head to the side, her gaze aimed at the huge picture window that looked onto the entrance of the café. But Angie knew Debra wasn’t seeing anything but her own thoughts.

Debra turned her face back toward Angie and smiled. “Oh, honey. I’ve always dreamed of this. I mean, your brother and Stella, they’re trying and that’s wonderful, but there’s something so special about your own daughter having a baby.” Debra eyed Angie over her mug. She wasn’t done.

“You have other things to consider, sweetheart. You are older.” Debra reached over and Angie welcomed the warmth of her mother’s hand clasping hers.

“Mom, I’m older than you were when you had us, but I’m not ancient, for heaven’s sake.”

“What does Jesse think?”

Angie looked at her mother.

Debra looked back at her, face expectant. Until realization clouded in her eyes and pursed her lips.

“You have told him?”

“Uh, no, not yet. Ughh.”

Angie gripped the arms of her chair and inhaled deeply. Her stomach was doing the tango again. Apparently the ginger tea wasn’t working its charm.

“No, I haven’t told him. What’s the point in worrying him when he’s so far away? I don’t want him to worry about anything while he’s in such a hotspot.”

“Honey, don’t you think Jesse would be thrilled to know? That it might give him the extra strength he needs when he’s dealing with some of his tougher cases?”

“I haven’t even told him I’ve permanently relocated to Buffalo.”

“You what?” Debra’s eyebrows rose so high on her forehead that Angie wondered if they would completely disappear under her copper bangs.

“I didn’t tell him I’ve moved out here.” Angie stared at her glass of tea. It kept the heat flaring out of Debra’s eyes from blistering her skin.

“Why not?”

“Lots of reasons. Last year, after I did my dissertation, this opportunity came up. Jesse didn’t want to talk about relocating anywhere until he finished his mission. But I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to work in Buffalo. He thinks I’m out here for a trial run.”

She’d grown tired of her job as resident meteorologist at a local TV station in the Bay Area and had promised herself she’d find something more challenging once she completed her Ph.D. She’d never had to be on television, thank God, but she needed more challenge than the job offered—fairly superficial behind-the-scenes analysis of weather patterns.

That meant she’d had to leave California and life as she and Jesse had known it. Jesse thought it was all temporary, that they’d go back to California if the “experimental” career changes didn’t work for either one of them. But she’d decided on her own to make her position permanent.

She didn’t want to think about the dangers Jesse faced today and every day since he’d left. He was a top neurosurgeon and when the chance had arisen to help save lives in Iraq, he took it with no hesitation.

“That’s why you’ve been so dodgy whenever I asked how long your contract is with NOAA.” Debra knew Angie had landed a coveted position with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration in Buffalo.

“I’m here to stay, Mom. I want the baby to know my family, to have cousins. In San Francisco I’d be on my own.”

And reminded too much of what she might lose with Jesse. She didn’t want him to think she’d “tricked” him into the pregnancy. They’d both had a good time that night and she’d had no indication that she was fertile. Up until now, their protective measures had worked….

“You know your father and I support you, honey.”

“Mom, don’t go blaming yourself for this. This has nothing to do with you or Dad or our color.”

Angie was well aware that her mom often wondered if their children suffered because of their interracial background. Debra was from a Polish-American family in one of Buffalo’s poorer suburbs.

Dad was from an educated African-American family and had grown up in an affluent neighborhood. Debra had been her family’s first to go to college and to have a real career. Will was just another son in a long line of college-graduate professionals.

Angie considered herself both black and white, although she knew many people saw her as African-American, especially in areas that were still predominately white. She’d been born with her dad’s curly hair and the lighter brown skin of her paternal grandmother. She had Debra’s green eyes.

On the West Coast, in the anonymity and cultural diversity of San Francisco, she’d never felt her skin color was an issue. She’d been free to become the woman she was today.

“You know, I have a better idea of what you’re going through than you realize.”

“Really, Mom?” Angie tried to keep her tone neutral, but if she had a cookie for every time Mom said she “knew” what Angie was feeling, Angie would weigh three hundred pounds.

“Seriously, Angie. I was younger, it was a different era, but I expected to raise you on my own.”

“You were married, though.”

“Well, after I was pregnant with you. As a matter of fact, it was after I’d had you.”

“After I was born?”

Debra steadied her gaze on Angie. “Your dad and I were almost—” she shook her head “—no, we were high-school sweethearts. Or at least we were meant to be.”

Heat rushed into Angie’s face as she stared at her mother. “Why don’t I already know this?”

Debra flicked her fingers against her mug. “No reason to bring it up before. Do you really want to know the details?”

Angie didn’t hesitate. “Yes. And start with the high-school stuff.”




CHAPTER FIVE


February 1967

Buffalo, New York

“YOU 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.




CHAPTER SIX


Present Day

Buffalo, New York Debra

IT 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

THE 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

DEBRA 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.




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