"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."
She pushed him back and made herself stand up.
"Let me get my blanket out of the car-we can spread it out here."
His eyes were full of desire and anticipation.
"Hurry."
Debra did just that. Once she got outside, the night closed in on her. She reached for the car's door handle and paused. She had the keys, and her purse was still on the seat. She could get in the car and leave now, before they intensified their relationship even more.
Would it make leaving Will any easier?
She knew what she had to do. It was the only way to save Will's chance at a successful life.
But she wanted him now, at this moment, tonight.
Debra yanked open the car door and grabbed the blanket they'd made love on many times in Paris. It was a scrap blanket she'd knitted from whatever leftover yarn she'd had or could find at the French brocantes brocantes or flea markets. She loved the colors-lots of pale blues, with splashes of red and gold. or flea markets. She loved the colors-lots of pale blues, with splashes of red and gold.
It was their their blanket. Until they had a home of their own one day, a bed of their own. blanket. Until they had a home of their own one day, a bed of their own.
It'll never happen.
Debra shoved the thought down and headed back inside the cottage.
Will was waiting for her, his shirt and jeans off, in his briefs. The sight of him standing in the tiny cottage sitting room made all their problems fade away. Just for tonight...
They deserved one last time together, didn't they?
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
Present Day Buffalo, New York ANGIE WALKED into the spare room that served as her parents' second guest room. She was about to toss her overnight bag onto the bed but stopped when she saw that it wasn't empty. into the spare room that served as her parents' second guest room. She was about to toss her overnight bag onto the bed but stopped when she saw that it wasn't empty.
Piles of sweaters, afghans, socks, hats and mittens lay strewn atop the burgundy satin comforter. Angie let the shoulder strap slide down and dropped her bag next to her feet. She moved toward the bed, her fingers itching to feel all the things her mother had made over the years.
Looking through Debra's knitting was like looking through Grandma Violet's jewelry chest. No hint of perfume wafted from them, though. Instead she smelled a distinct aroma of cedar and lavender. Cedar from the storage chest and lavender from the special soap Debra used to clean and preserve her treasures.
Angie pulled out a bright, multicolored vest she remembered wearing in elementary school. The colors screamed early eighties, but the style was one that had returned.
The vest was special to Angie. She'd won the citywide spelling bee in it when she was in fifth grade. She'd insisted on wearing it each and every time she had to compete, which meant Debra had to wash out lunch-room ketchup and chocolate pudding more than once. This was evident in the pilling and overall fuzziness of the sweater.
"You found my stash. I forgot I'd pulled all of this out." Debra came into the room and gave Angie a quick hug.
"Mom, remember this vest?"
Debra laughed. "How could I forget it? You all but slept in it."
"It's a magic vest."
"Until you turned on it." Debra referred to the day Angie finally lost the round of spelling bees she was assigned to, at the county level.
"Hey, it it turned on turned on me. me. It didn't like being washed so often." It didn't like being washed so often."
Debra just smiled.
"Why did you take all this stuff out now, Mom?"
Debra didn't answer right away. She ran her hands over the pile closest to her, studying the baby kimono she'd made Angie after they'd moved back to Buffalo.
"I'm looking for ideas for what to make the new baby. And any future babies."
"Mom." Angie knew her tone got her message across from the way Debra folded her arms.
"A mother can look at her things, can't she?"
"Mom, you've been edgy for the past couple of days. What's going on?"
Debra fingered the edge of a blue baby bonnet.
"Your father seems to think I feel some kind of guilt over any problems you and your brothers have gone through. He says I believe it's because of our marriage."
"Do you?" Angie wanted to hear if her mother really did believe that.
"What mother doesn't feel responsible for her children's lives?"
"When the kids are young, sure, but Mom, we're all adults. Tell me one thing that's wrong with any of us because we have a white mother and a black father."
"I'm not talking about external issues, Angie. You all have excellent educations and are all successful in your chosen professions."
"So your point is?"
Debra sighed.
Heat crawled up Angie's neck. "Mom, I sense an incredible amount of judgment in that sigh. First, I'm not a weak woman who needs a man to rescue me. I have enough confidence in myself to know I'm okay just the way I am. And I happened to fall in love with a man who isn't baby-crazy-there are worse things."
Silence crept into the room.
"I'm sorry, Angie. But you can't blame me for worrying about you. Especially now that you're pregnant."
"I thought you'd be happy to be a grandmother."
"I am, honey, I just want you you to be happy. And I know from experience that being a single parent isn't any fun." to be happy. And I know from experience that being a single parent isn't any fun."
"Grandma Linda is from a different generation. It's acceptable to raise a child alone now. I'm prepared to do it if I have to."
"I don't think you'll have to worry about that, do you, sweetheart? Jesse will catch his breath and be thrilled when it all settles out."
Angie wasn't in a mood to argue with her mother. Plus, a huge part of her hoped Debra was right.
Half an hour later, the ring of her cell phone brought Angie out of her thoughts, which were still on the conversation with her mother. She didn't recognize the number on caller ID.
"Hello?"
"Angie? Sweetie?"
Jesse. His voice washed over her like a hot bath, and she luxuriated in the sensuous feel of it.
"Ange, are you there?" His voice was more tense, almost frantic.
"I'm here."
His laughter lifted her heart.
"Listen, Ange, I only have ten minutes."
"Okay." She needed at least ten minutes to get over her shock.
"It's good to hear your voice." Jesse's declaration so early in their conversation caught Angie off guard.
"Angie?"
"I'm here," she said again.
"I've tried to call you at the apartment but you must be at the weather station a lot."
"I'm surprised you were able to get through on my cell."
Jesse's laugh rippled across thousands of miles of satellite linkups.
"Thank God for modern technology."
Thank God I didn't change my cell-phone number yet.
"I know what you mean," she said.
Angie realized that her voice, her replies, were stilted. But she couldn't bring herself to say more. She was so relieved to hear Jesse's voice-but she was afraid of saying too much.
"What's going on? Are you excited about the storm? I saw it on CNN."
Sure enough, Jesse sensed she was off-kilter, and not just because of their rift.
"Yeah, I'm psyched about it."
Liar, liar. I'm stuck in the last place I wanted to be during my first Buffalo storm.
"Have you read my e-mails?"
"Of course."
"How come you haven't replied?"
"It's...hard to put my feelings in an e-mail."
"That's all we've got right now, Ange."
"It doesn't come easy to me, Jesse."
His use of the endearment wasn't lost on her.
"I'm lucky to grab twenty or thirty minutes to myself every day. I've never done so many surgeries, one on top of the other."
"You sound happy about it."
"Yeah, I am. To know I've had a part in saving even one of these young troops is an incredible rush."
"What about when you can't do anything?"
"We try to, anyhow, and know that we gave it our best."
Angie's love for Jesse swelled in a wave of longing. This was the man she'd fallen in love with. The man passionate about life.
Not the man who refused to consider a baby or family.
"Ange?"
"Hmm?"
"I want to open up our discussion about a family."
It wasn't the first time he'd practically read her mind. Angie stared at the wallpaper in the room that had been hers as a teenager.
"Maybe we should stay away from that, Jesse," she finally said. "It never ends well." And she couldn't take the rejection. Not now. The pregnancy had just started to seem real to her.
"Angie, I'm not saying I've had a complete change of heart, but maybe we should put the idea of having kids back on the table."
"Wh-what?"