by Geri Krotow
“It’s beautiful, Mom.” Angie studied the colors of the sunrise over the Buffalo skyline; it served as the backdrop to a huge maple tree, divided into the four seasons—bare branches, buds and “helicopter” seeds, green glossy leaves, flamboyant autumnal hues.
Angie laughed, and Debra looked up and offered her a smile.
“Good morning, sweetheart. What’s so funny?”
“The twins and I used to play for hours with the maple seeds—we called them ‘helicopters.’ Do you remember, Mom?”
Debra chuckled as she kept weaving. “What I remember is finding the boys with firecrackers right after they blew up their G.I. Joe fort in the sandbox.”
Angie giggled. “I was hiding in the shed—who do you think gave them the matches?”
Debra smiled again, kept working.
“How much more do you have to do?”
“Just these last few inches. It’ll be ready well ahead of the exhibit.”
Angie watched her mother’s hands moving quickly and confidently, and thought of all the wonderful things those hands had created over the years.
Like Grandma Violet’s shawl….
“Mom, how bad was it when you told Grandma Vi you and Daddy were getting married?”
Debra raised her head and rested the shuttle on the frame.
“Bad. As we’ve told you kids, it all happened when your granddad passed away. His heart was getting weaker, and the stress of it all sent him over the edge.”
“You don’t really believe it’s your fault or Daddy’s that he died, do you?”
Debra met Angie’s eyes.
“No, it wasn’t anyone’s ‘fault,’ Angie, but maybe we could’ve handled it differently.”
“Like how?”
Debra swiped at her forehead in an effort to get the curls out of her face. Angie saw the tired lines in her face, the circles under her eyes. Mom had always thrived on her art, but like any work, it took its toll.
“Maybe we should’ve just eloped. Not told anyone. Gone off to California.” She gave Angie a gentle smile.
“You mean like I did?” Angie had felt awful when she’d first told Debra and Will that she and Jesse had been married in San Francisco City Hall. But then they’d had a church blessing and huge family reception in Buffalo, which had overjoyed her parents.
Angie nodded; their decision had really had more to do with Jesse and his parents, which Debra understood.
“But you somehow brought Grandma around—how did you do it?”
“I didn’t do it, Angie, Violet did. She brought herself around. And I imagine you had something to do with it.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You spent a lot of time with her, especially when the twins were born. Vi would either come and get you or I’d drop you off and you’d have a girls’ day. I think it was good for her, since Will’s brother and sister had already moved out and across the country.”
“Uncle Jimmy came back for visits—he still does.” Angie loved her retired army uncle. He told the best stories, and his wife, Doris, was a doll. They’d never had any kids themselves, so they’d treated Angie and the boys like their own whenever they were in town, which admittedly wasn’t all that often.
“Yes, he did, but it’s not the same. You see that now, don’t you? Look how much time we’ve spent together in the two months since you’ve been back—more than the past ten years combined!”
“It must have been hard for Grandma Vi. Especially since her only daughter moved halfway around the world.” Will’s sister had joined the foreign service and when she was in the U.S. on a rare tour, it was never in Buffalo.
“Yes, but I’ll give Vi credit. She’s always loved you unconditionally. That first year or two, she didn’t say much to me, but she always had a smile, a hug and a kiss for you.”
“What about your mom?”
“She just doesn’t have it to give, honey. She cares about you and the boys, but since my father left, she’s never been the same, even after marrying Fred. They’re content as they are, and that’s fine with me. I’ve had my hands full with your dad and his family.”
“I wish you’d had siblings like me, Mom. Blair and Brian have helped me through so much.”
“I’m not alone, Angie. I’ve had friends like the knitting gals, my work colleagues and of course your dad. Now that you’re an adult, I have you. What more could I ask for?”
Angie knew Debra’s belief was genuine, but her heart still ached for her mother.
“Wouldn’t you do anything to keep what you have with Jesse?” Debra’s query jolted Angie out of her put-Mom-on-a-pedestal thoughts.
“Mom, it’s completely different!”
“Is it? Jesse’s folks weren’t too happy with you at first. They’ve mellowed because you were kind and gracious to them.”
“Yes, but—”
“And now you’re going to have Jesse’s baby. Isn’t that worth keeping a family together for?”
Angie groaned. “Mom, I told you I didn’t want to talk about this. I’m dealing with it.”
“You’re the one who came in here needing answers. I’m out of the advice business, but here’s a suggestion from your mom—don’t drag things out longer than you need to, and don’t make them a bigger deal than they have to be. Just do the next right thing.”
“And that would be?” Angie immediately wished she hadn’t asked. She didn’t want a full-blown lecture from Debra, nor did she want her to think she was requesting guidance.
But Debra didn’t do anything she normally would have.
She smiled. “That’s for you to figure out.” Debra picked up the shuttle and resumed weaving.
“Where did you get the idea for the tree?”
“It’s based on the Belgian tapestries that depict the tree of life. In a sense, it’s our family tree.”
“How?”
“Well, our family has several living generations, and you can look at generations like seasons. But I prefer to see each of us as a separate branch, sprouting our own leaves, holding our own nests, waving in the winds of life. I think we go through the seasons several different times during our lives, while the tree, the family tree, stays constant and steady through it all. It’s about the love that connects us, Angie. Not just blood ties or names.”
June 1974
Buffalo, New York
DEBRA GLANCED at her reflection one last time. Her hair was in place, the tendrils she’d coaxed into corkscrews hung on either side of her face. Her makeup was the “natural” look with peach blusher and lip gloss.
Funny how having a baby had made her feel more like a woman than ever. Of course, Will’s presence back in her life didn’t hurt, either. When he’d found her in Boston, Angie had only been three weeks old; she was just over six weeks today. Debra’s doctor had given her the green light for sex.
But she didn’t know if she could deal with Will seeing her. She was still heavy, and her breasts felt like watermelons under the peasant-style wedding dress. All Debra could think of was the myriad stretch marks on the sides of her breasts and across her lower belly. She had no doubt that Will loved her but he hadn’t been there during her pregnancy and the birth. He couldn’t possibly appreciate what her body had been through.
Would he accept her as she was?
“What, sweetpea? Mommy’s here.” She’d just fed Angie, but the little peanut was hungry again. Debra looked at the clock on her nightstand.
Ten-thirty.
The church was five minutes away, and she wasn’t due there until a quarter to. She decided to feed Angie now so she’d sleep through the ceremony.
As she cushioned Angie at her breast she swallowed a twinge of guilt. If she’d let Will in on her pregnancy and they’d married sooner, this might be Angie’s baptism. As it was, they were going to baptize her in a couple of weeks. Debra wanted to be married when Angie was baptized, and Will agreed.
She’d done the right thing, she hoped. This way she knew Will had come ba
ck for her and wanted to marry her even before he’d learned about Angie.
Debra eased Angie over to her other breast. Ten thirty-seven. She’d make it, no problem.
She looked around the tiny motel room while Angie suckled. Thank God she and Will were moving into their apartment immediately after the wedding. It wasn’t much, but it was clean and in a safe part of Buffalo, near the university.
They both agreed it would be the most open-minded place to settle and start their life together. And it wasn’t too far from Will’s office. It also had a small extra room Debra planned to use as a studio.
She’d studied art history but her passion over the past year had turned toward fiber arts. She wasn’t fond of the current macramé pop art and wanted to help preserve more traditional fiber arts like weaving and knitting.
It seemed odd to be in this nondescript motel room instead of the house she’d grown up in. But her mother refused to have anything to do with the wedding. She hadn’t even held Angie yet. It cut through Debra’s heart when her mother said, “I can’t believe I have a mulatto grandchild. I raised you better.”
Debra had left the house of her childhood with Angie in her arms, tears of pride in her eyes.
But she wasn’t without resources. She’d saved some money from her teaching assistant job the past year, and paid to stay in this room for a week.
Angie’s cry for attention brought her back to the present.
“It’s okay. Let’s go.” She lifted her daughter and nestled her against one shoulder. While she patted Angie’s back and waited for the needed burp, Debra realized that this was what it all meant. This was what mattered.
Having a healthy baby. A baby with two parents who loved her and had the means to support her. It might not be in the style Will was used to, but it wouldn’t be the unhealthy emotional environment Debra had known, either.
WILL WAITED IN THE FOYER of the church. It was time for Debra and Angie to be here. He should’ve put his foot down and insisted on picking her up, the hell with tradition.
He purposely hadn’t called his mother this morning. Or yesterday. He’d wanted to give her another chance, to see if the mother he knew she could be would emerge from the anger and grief. To see if this horrible break in their relationship could be mended.
No such luck.
He wanted today to be special. For him and Deb, and of course, Angie.
His sister was still living at home with Mama, and his brother was away at army summer training, so he wouldn’t have any guests. Neither would Deb.
Fine. They’d start this journey on their own. With their love, faith and the friendship that had sustained them all these years since they were little kids.
Sure, the great friendship that had her keep your own child from you.
His gut tensed.
He had to let it go. It was his fault as much as Debra’s that they hadn’t been together when Angie was born.
He saw her blue Chevy Nova pull into the church parking lot. His bride, his child. He wished he could turn back time. He wished he’d gone to Boston sooner. She hadn’t answered any of his letters; they’d all been returned, stamped Address Unknown. And he hadn’t been able to find her address through directory assistance. He’d only had her phone number. He told himself again that he should’ve driven up there sooner.
But the day’s drive was more than he could have handled. Between closing Dad’s office, dealing with the finances, being vetted for partner at the city’s leading architectural firm and looking in on Mama, it’d been too much.
No, he couldn’t focus on that. He and Debra were together again, and Angie was their beautiful daughter. Mama might never get over his marriage to Debra, but he’d bet his future partnership that she wouldn’t be able to resist Angie. Not for long.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Present Day
Buffalo, New York
TO WILL’S RELIEF, the storm had passed and he was on his way home. He talked to the voice-activated cell-phone system in his car. “Call Angie.”
“Dialing Angie,” the smooth digital voice of the hands-free system replied.
“Hello?”
“Hi, babe. You still at the house?”
“Yeah, they didn’t get the plows out here yet.”
“Sorry, Angie. I know you’re trying to get yourself established at the station.”
“Yeah, well, that’s how it goes.”
Was that acceptance in his daughter’s voice?
“Can you stay put at least until I get there?”
“Uh, sure, Dad. What’s up?”
“I want to talk to you about something.”
“Fine. See you in a bit.”
“Tell your mother I’m on my way.”
He disconnected and kept his eyes on the still-treacherous roads. It wasn’t like him to tell his kids what to do, but this was different.
He couldn’t handle Angie and Jesse making the same mistake he and Deb had.
ANGIE WENT DOWNSTAIRS to the family room. Grandma Vi had gone back to her cottage. She said she needed a decent rest after sleeping in the guest room, which made Angie laugh. Grandma Vi was her own person as much as she’d ever been.
Her mother was in her studio, so she didn’t hear the door open when Will came in.
Angie went over and gave him a hug.
“Hi, Daddy.”
“Hey, baby.”
He shrugged out of his coat. “I’ll bet you’re wondering why I need to talk to you so badly.”
“Not really. I imagine it has something to do with me and Jesse?”
“You got it. Where’s your mother?”
Dad could never be away from Mom for very long.
“In her studio.”
“Let me go say hello and then we’ll sit down. Do you mind making us some tea?”
“Not at all, Daddy.”
Angie measured out the jasmine tea that was her father’s favorite. Will came back into the room just as she was pouring the boiling water over the infusers.
He sat at the kitchen counter. Angie walked around and sat next to him.
“What’s up, Dad?”
“Angie, your life is yours. You know how I feel about that. And I like Jesse—he’s a good man.” Will paused and took a sip of the hot tea. “But I also know that you two will work it out. This is what marriage is all about.”
“Dad, please.” First Mom, now Dad. She’d had enough of this. She was thirty-five, not fifteen.
“Hear me out, baby girl. Your mother and I were in somewhat similar circumstances, oh—” he looked up at the wall and stroked his chin “—about thirty-six years ago.”
“I know, Mom told me. She’s never really hidden it from us—the boys and I noticed years ago that your anniversary date and my birthday are awfully close. I just never put it together until Mom told me the whole story at the café.”
“Yes, they are.” Will smiled at Angie, and she felt the intensity of his love in every word. “I’ve never held this against your mother, Angie, or I’ve tried not to, but the fact that I didn’t get to share the pregnancy with her, or be there for your birth, well…” He shook his head. “I wish I’d been given a choice. That’s all.”
“You would’ve married Mom right away?”
“Of course. And I would’ve been there for her. With her. What if she’d died? Or you hadn’t made it? How would I have felt then, after the fact?”
Angie stared at her father. He’d never talked to her about this before and she felt uneasy. It seemed too personal, too private.
“Dad, all’s well that ends well. You and Mom got married. You raised us. I never knew any differently until I was an adult, and then I could handle it. The most important thing is that you two stayed together.”
“Honey, I’m not complaining. I’m just saying it would’ve been nice if I’d been given an option to be a participant in your life from the get-go. For me, for you and for your mom.”
“But Mom knows you love her. You alwa
ys have.”
“Of course she does. But love isn’t just about knowing, Angie. It’s about doing.”
Her father drank more of his tea and drummed his fingers on the table. “If you love or have ever loved Jesse, if you love the baby growing inside you, you have to give it all a chance. And that starts with telling Jesse. Now.”
Angie blinked. “I’m supposed to meet him in Paris. I’ll tell him there.”
“You handle it how you want, sweetheart, but handle it. Don’t put it off. If you’re not going to Paris in the next few days, you have to tell him now.”
Angie didn’t agree with her father. She thought it was best to tell Jesse in person. But this wasn’t the time to argue about it.
She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, Dad. I know this wasn’t easy for you.”
He nodded and stared down at his mug. “I just want you to give it all a chance, Angie.”
Present Day
Buffalo, New York
Debra
THE NEXT MORNING came too quickly. Will insisted on going to work, even though he’d barely made it home the night before.
After Will left, I spent most of the morning working in the studio.
Until Angie called me from her cell. But she was here in the house, wasn’t she?
“Mom! Grandma’s having a hard time breathing.”
Angie had obviously gone back to the cottage to see Vi.
I threw down the phone and ran out the back kitchen door toward the cottage.
I took the shortest route across the lawn.
It wasn’t shoveled like the pathway. I had to lift my knees high to get through the deep snow.
My slippers weren’t meant for snowshoeing but there wasn’t time to change into boots.
Rose barked wildly, running ahead to get to the cottage. Her barks spiked my alarm as she always seemed to sense when Vi wasn’t doing well.
Once I reached the cottage and opened the door, I saw that Vi was hunched over on the couch, gasping for air. Angie was massaging her back, cooing to her.
“It’s okay, Grandma. Help’s coming. Mom’s here.”
“Hey, Vi. What’s going on?”