Jesse had never even breathed the word kid kid as a possibility in any of their conversations. It had never as a possibility in any of their conversations. It had never been been on the table. on the table.
"Being over here has made me rethink some things. We have an awful lot to offer a child."
Glad you've figured that out.
"Are you there?"
"Yes. Look, Jesse, you're right. We need to talk. But not now, not like this. I'm at Mom and Dad's, and as you know, there's a major blizzard bearing down on us. I can't even get back to the weather station. Grandma Vi is here, and I can't focus on us. Not just now."
She could've added that her hormones had scrambled her brains but didn't.
"I have to go now anyway. But we're not done, Angie."
"Bye, Jesse."
"I love-"
His words were cut off with a sharp crackle. He'd exceeded his ten-minute limit.
"COME AND SIT BY ME, girl." Violet patted the red sofa cushion beside her.
"Hey, Grandma." Angie slid next to Violet and hugged her grandmother. Ever since she could remember, Angie had relied on Grandma Violet as a source of unconditional love and comfort.
"You doing okay, sweetie?" Violet squeezed Angie's thigh and peered at her through thick, round glasses.
"I'm fine, Grandma."
"Not by the look on your face. What's up? You and Jesse going to work things out or not?" Vi didn't know Angie was pregnant yet, but she sensed her angst over being apart from Jesse.
"I hope so, Grandma. But I've been wrong before."
"Do you love him?"
"Yes. But sometimes that's not enough."
"Baloney." Violet spat the word out, hands resting in her lap. Grandma Vi smelled as she always did, of lilac perfume and muscle ointment.
"Nowadays, you kids think too much. In my day you married the boy you loved and you stayed with him."
"Not everyone was as happy as you and Grandpa, Grandma Vi."
"No, they weren't."
Angie held her breath. She knew the circumstances of her grandfather's death and had never discussed them with Grandma. Even though Grandma and Mom had made amends years ago, it had to be a painful memory.
"You don't want regrets, Angie gal. The worst thing in life is regret. Mistakes, harsh words, thoughtless acts, they can all be forgiven, repaired. But a regret regret-" Violet shook her head "-you can't go back and redo it. If Jesse's the man for you, go after him. Love doesn't fall into our laps with no effort on our part, you know."
"Do you have regrets, Grandma?"
"Some. But this isn't about me."
Angie remained silent. She knew when to push with Grandma Vi and when to just sit still.
"What's your mama making for dinner?"
The aroma of stew curled into the living room, and Angie's stomach grumbled.
"Smells like beef stew. Maybe some homemade biscuits if we're lucky."
"See if we can eat here, in front of the TV."
"Sure thing, Grandma." Angie smiled as she stood up and walked past the fireplace, toward the kitchen. She had so many wonderful memories of this house. She remembered past storms with the entire family around the fire, drinking hot chocolate and praying school would be canceled.
This wasn't the worst place to be stranded, after all.
"You have the remote, Grandma?"
"Yes, right here. I'm going to see what's on the talk shows."
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
Present Day Buffalo, New York Debra "HEY, MOM."
"Hey." I looked up from the cake batter I was spooning into a bundt pan. "Who was on the phone? Work?"
"No. Jesse."
I bit my tongue to keep from saying anything. Will's challenge to me to stay out of Angie's life was proving more difficult as each snowflake fell.
"Mom, you don't have to look so strained."
"I'm not strained. I just respect your privacy."
Angie rolled her eyes; I ignored it. "Since when?" she asked.
"Since I have my own life." I glanced at the oven as it beeped that the temperature was ready for baking.
"Jesse wants to talk about having kids."
"And you don't?"
Angie played with the wooden utensils I kept in an old crockery pot on the granite counter. The cracked pot was incongruous with the sleek counter, but it had caught my eye at a local antique show.
"I do want to talk to him. But I don't think I can handle his reaction when he finds out I'm pregnant."
"Oh, Angie." I bit my lip-again. At this rate it was going to start bleeding. Damn.
I refused to say anything. Even though I was convinced it would be best if she simply told him and let him adjust to the idea.
"Mom, what was that about not judging?"
"I'm not judging, Angie. I just hate to see you repeat my mistakes." Surely the pain I'd put myself through all those years ago had to be worth something?
"I'll tell him. But I want to do it in person." I knew why. She wanted to see his expression of joy and love for her, for the baby. But Angie's going to Iraq was not an option.
"That's impossible, isn't it?"
"Probably. But Jesse did mention in one of his e-mails that he gets an R & R, rest and relaxation, for a week in the middle of his detachment there."
"Which is?"
"Next month."
"He'd come here?"
"He could, but then we'd only have four days together. Since he'll have been there less than three months, he won't be allowed too much time off. We'd have more time if I went to meet him."
"Where? Surely you wouldn't go to Iraq?"
"No, no, I can meet him at the Armed Forces Recreation Center in Germany. It's in the Bavarian Alps and sounds wonderful. Jesse said I could look it up online."
"As long as you think your health can handle it."
I worried about her even though I knew she was in no danger. But a long flight, a foreign country-it didn't feel as cozy a place for my pregnant daughter as I'd like it to.
ANGIE WATCHED in bemusement as Debra stirred the stew, tasted from her ancient wooden spoon, then opened three more bottles of herbs and spices. Her mother's movements were deliberate as she added various flavors to the stew, one shake here, two there. Angie had never tired of watching her mother cook.
"What?"
Debra looked up from her near-meditative task and smiled at Angie.
"Nothing. I just like watching you. You're amazing, Mom." Angie was grateful her nausea abated in the late afternoons so she could appreciate all the heavenly scents coming from Debra's pots.
"I am, aren't I?" Debra laughed, the sound low as it echoed around the great room. Violet's poor hearing even picked it up.
"What's funny about that?" Angie and Debra looked over at the television screen. Violet was watching the latest celebrity news, dealing with a famous divorce and the prospective child-custody case. She had the closed captioning activated, so the volume wasn't as loud as she kept it in her own home.
"Nothing, Grandma."
Angie went back to sit on the sofa, beside Violet. She grabbed one of the many hand-knit throws Debra had made over the years and wrapped it around herself, not unlike Violet, who sat with her shawl on her shoulders and a blanket over her legs. The fire crackled and kept the room warm, but with the snow pelting the windows and the howling of the wind, it was hard not to feel chilled.
Angie called to Debra.
"Mom, come on out here for a while before we lose the cable. You've been working and cooking all day."
"I'm coming." Angie knew that tone of voice-her mother could keep puttering all night. Usually Daddy got her out of her working frenzies, but he was stuck in his office.
"Now, Mom." Angie found it ironic that she was about to become a mother herself, yet yearned for Debra's comfort and closeness more than ever. Mom." Angie found it ironic that she was about to become a mother herself, yet yearned for Debra's comfort and closeness more than ever.
Her head told her it was just the changes in her body that were making her feel more sentimental. But the all-too-frequent lumps in her throat, her trembling lips, the tears that splattered on her cheeks-these were from her heart, from the center of what she knew herself to be.
And all of that started with Debra.
With her mother.
After Debra put the burner on low and set the timer, she came into the family room and settled next to Angie on the sofa. Angie held up a portion of her blanket to share.
"Thanks, honey." They snuggled beside each other as they'd always done.
Relieved that her mother was finally relaxing, Angie shifted her gaze back to her grandmother.
Vi sat on the leather chair, her feet on the matching ottoman. Her attention was on the television with the incessant drone of the celebrity anchorwoman's reporting. Who had cuddled Vi as a child?
Grandma Violet never spoke of her family. She said her life started when she met Benjamin Bradley, the grandfather Angie had never known. From the snippets Angie and her brothers had put together over the years, they'd learned that Vi's family had moved from the South in the late nineteenth century. Vi was the great-great-great-granddaughter of slaves.
They were Angie's ancestors, too. As a teenager, but especially as a college student, Angie had spent hours wondering about her divided family tree-the enslaved African-American side, on which her grandmother and father stood and made their own success, and the Polish-American side that still struggled in their day-to-day blue-collar jobs. Sometimes both parents working two jobs still couldn't pay all the bills, let alone college expenses. Her maternal grandmother had found her own version of happiness with Mom's step-father, but had never formed a close bond with Debra, Will or their children.
With a start Angie realized she wanted more for her baby. She wanted a family just like the one Debra and Will had made.
ANGIE HESITATED before she hit the enter button. Once she did, she'd be committed to the tickets. She'd be going to meet Jesse in Europe.
Her nausea remained ever-present, but she hoped it would begin to dissipate within the next few weeks. She was finally finishing the first trimester.
"Okay, why not?" She hit the button, and went on to her e-mail.
Three messages from Jesse in the past hour.
The clock on her computer registered 12:30 a.m. That meant it was near breakfast time for Jesse.
Anwar province, IraqHi, baby,Early day today. Just wrapped up after two tough surgeries. I'll go right back after I send this and grab something to eat. One thing for sure, I'm not putting on any weight here. No chance to sit and eat a regular meal. The food looks great, and the mess workers really outdo themselves, but even one day without new casualties is nonexistent. The troops are taking heavy hits out in the fire zone.