Tangled Roots

by Marcia Talley

  For several days, I worked on expanding our tree, adding supporting documents – birth and death certificates, city directory listings, high school and college yearbook photos – until the tree looked fleshed out and attractive when displayed on the screen, but I was no closer to an answer. Eventually, when Gen-Tree ran out of hints and I’d exhausted the search engines of the historic newspaper databases, I had a brainstorm and decided to call my father again.

  ‘What happened to the storage boxes that were in the attic when you and Mom lived in Providence?’ I asked, naming the upscale community on the Severn River where my parents had lived before Mom’s final illness. I hadn’t thought about those gray Tupperware tubs in years. The last time I’d pawed through one of them I was looking for Tiger Tales, my high school yearbook, when I volunteered for the reunion committee. Mother had saved everything – ancient report cards for my sisters and me, school pictures, immunization records, juvenile artwork and essays. There were boxes containing nothing but loose photographs, I recalled, and at least two dozen fully-loaded Carousel slide trays.

  ‘Aren’t you putting the cart before the horse?’ Dad wondered.

  ‘Maybe,’ I admitted, ‘but it occurred to me that somebody ought to sort through all that stuff. Organize it. And who better than I?’

  Daddy laughed. ‘You planning to digitize it, Hannah?’

  ‘Maybe,’ I said. I’d actually given some thought to digitization of the family archives, but in my saner moments, worried I’d be exchanging one obsolete form of technology for another. I had a five-and-a-half-inch floppy disk reader somewhere in the basement, for example. One never knew when you’d need to find that letter you wrote back in 1982 that was pure genius, although the New York Times foolishly failed to print it.

  ‘Remember our family trip to the Outer Banks?’ Dad asked.

  ‘How could I forget?’ I said, wondering why he’d segued in that direction. Our first day at the condo, ten-year-old Georgina had scattered complimentary peanuts from American Airlines on the deck and we’d spent days fighting off scavenging seagulls.

  ‘How many pictures of seagulls does one need?’ Dad asked.

  I laughed. ‘Point well taken. Someone needs to do a proper culling. I’m not sure I’m up to wading through boxes of gap-toothed photos of myself with untamed curls and ineffectual hair bows.’

  ‘Times three,’ he said, meaning Ruth, Georgina and me. After a moment, he added, ‘When we moved, I put most of what didn’t sell at the garage sale in a self-storage facility on Route 2, near the South River, along with the big chest freezer and your grandmother Smith’s bedroom furniture. Pop-pop’s roll top desk is down there too,’ he added. ‘There’s a complete inventory back at the condo if that will help.’

  ‘Since I don’t know exactly what I’m looking for, anything might help,’ I said.

  Since my father hoped to wrap up his business in a couple of days, I agreed to wait until he returned to Annapolis and could lay hands on the inventory, rather than send Neelie off on a wild goose chase through Daddy’s records. Besides, I might be hearing back from Gen-Tree any day. If Georgina’s results turned out to be a fluke, I’d have spent days spinning my wheels for nothing.

  Except a perfectly gorgeous online family tree.

  FIVE

  Four weeks later, my feet were soaking in warm, sudsy water at Spa Paradiso while Wally Jessop worked wonders on my nails. I’d just set the chair’s remote to gentle massage and melted into the buttery leather when my cell phone dinged.

  Wally’s emery board paused its see-sawing motion. If he’d had any eyebrows, he would have raised them. ‘You need to get that?’

  Even if my phone hadn’t been stuffed in the handbag hanging from a decorative wall peg more than six feet away, I knew Wally too well to bother. ‘It’s only an email,’ I told Wally. ‘It can wait.’ I waggled my fingers. ‘Besides, it would be criminal to ruin my manicure.’

  ‘You got that right.’ Eyebrowless Wally of the gleaming scalp and multiple piercings flashed a smile that let me know I’d made a wise decision. One of Dante’s original hires, Wally was a card-carrying perfectionist. It was rumored he used a thermometer to make sure the water in the pedi-spa was maintained at a perfect 143 degrees. I had no reason to doubt it.

  ‘What color?’ he asked a few minutes later. His voice seemed to drift in from a long way off.

  ‘Hmmm?’ I managed.

  ‘What color rings your chimes today?’

  Earlier that morning I’d had one of Garnelle’s famous, deep-tissue massages and I still felt like a boneless chicken. Before sitting down for my mani-pedi, I’d half-heartedly selected two bottles of polish – My Solar Clock is Ticking, an in-your-face red, and a rosy pink shade called Aurora Berry-alis – but I still couldn’t make up my mind. ‘Surprise me, Wally.’

  So he did.

  Turn On the Northern Lights is a deep, dark purple. After I’d lived with it for a while, Wally assured me, I’d adore it as much as he did.

  I’d arranged to meet my daughter for lunch in the spa cafe. Emily was late, as usual, so I ordered iced tea with extra lemon for both of us and decided to kill time by checking my email.

  As I expected, there was a lot to delete. Junk mail from political candidates I’d never vote for in a million years. Invitations from sexy Asian women simply dying for a date. A notice that our Volvo was due for its sixty-thousand-mile check-up. My purple-nailed index finger was swiping messages into oblivion so quickly that I nearly missed it: a notice from Gen-Tree.com that my DNA test results were ready.

  I pressed the iPhone to my chest, closed my eyes and tried to steady my breathing.

  Emily found me like that. She pulled out a chair but stopped short of sitting down in it. ‘Mom? Are you all right?’

  I lay the phone down on the marble-topped table, carefully avoiding a puddle caused by an errant ice cube. ‘Of course,’ I assured her, stalling for time. I had no idea with whom Georgina had shared information about her initial test results, but until the results were confirmed, I had seen no reason to discuss them with anyone other than Paul and my father.

  Emily sat down, looking relieved. ‘Order the fish taco,’ she advised. ‘It’s today’s special, and François is a genius with the baja sauce.’ She flipped her single blond plait over her shoulder and squinted across the table at me. ‘There’s something on your mind, I can tell.’

  I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I had my DNA tested at Gen-Tree.com, and the results are in.’

  Emily flashed a grin. ‘Quick! Somebody call The Washington Post!’

  Our eyes locked. I scowled. Emily’s grin vanished.

  ‘I don’t want to be alone when I open up the results,’ I said at last.

  Her eyebrows disappeared under a fringe of professionally trimmed bangs. ‘Why? You can’t be worried about skeletons in the family closet …’ She paused and frowned. ‘Can you?’ She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. ‘Honestly, Mom, nobody gives a shit about that sort of thing these days.’

  I was saved from providing an answer by Chef François, who materialized at our table dressed in full chef regalia. He’d come a long way since Haverford College days where the name on his transcript read Frank Lesperance. François dipped his head in deference to Emily, then turned to me. ‘Welcome, Mrs Ives. It’s been a while since we’ve seen you.’

  ‘I’d show up every day, if I could,’ I told him truthfully. ‘Honestly, I don’t know where the summer’s gone. You commission the Firsties in May and ship them off into the Fleet, and before you know it, here comes July and the Plebes are being sworn in. Paul and I haven’t even had time to squeeze in a mini-vacation.’

  ‘You need a Spa-cation,’ he suggested, ‘and what better place …?’

  ‘I’m working on it,’ I said, displaying my freshly manicured nails, ‘but Paul has an aversion to hot tubs. Just had a massage, though. Garnelle’s hands should be insured by Lloyds of London.’

  We chatt
ed a bit about his family – a pregnant wife and young son – and after he left with our order for fish tacos, Emily said, looking serious, ‘You’re not worried about the test turning up some weird genetic disease, are you?’

  This made me laugh. ‘No, no, not that. I didn’t pay extra for that sort of test.’

  ‘Well, that’s a relief.’ Emily opened a pink packet of sweetener and stirred it into her iced tea. After she’d taken a sip, I explained about Georgina’s earlier test results.

  ‘Wow, just wow!’ Emily flopped back in her chair, almost as if I’d punched her. ‘That would mean …’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So you’ve taken the test, too.’

  I tapped my iPhone. ‘And the results are in.’

  Emily waved our server over. ‘Will you bring our lunch to my office, please?’ She stood, picked up her glass of tea and indicated that I should do the same. ‘Follow me, Mom.’

  A few minutes later, I was seated at my daughter’s desk in an ergonomically-correct chair, my feet planted firmly on an ergonomically-correct adjustable foot rest, powering up her environmentally-friendly, twenty-seven-inch iMac. After the Gen-Tree website appeared, I logged on and clicked the pull-down DNA menu, waiting impatiently for the 5K retina screen to refresh.

  A world map appeared, centered on the Atlantic Ocean. Colorful blobs indicated the geographic origins of my ancestors.

  And there it was.

  56% England and Wales.

  25% Native American.

  15% Ireland.

  4% Norway.

  I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until I let it out. ‘Well, that’s it, then.’

  Emily laid a hand on my shoulder. ‘Freaking awesome!’

  ‘I’d say so.’

  ‘That means I’m one-eighth Native American.’

  ‘Presumably.’

  ‘And the kids …’

  ‘One-sixteenth.’

  ‘What side did it come from, Mom?’ Emily asked, her blue eyes wide. ‘Your mom’s or your dad’s?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I told her, ‘and neither does my father. I’ve been building our family tree on the Gen-Tree website, but I’m no closer to an answer than I was when Georgina first told me about it.’

  ‘Wait till I tell Dante,’ Emily hooted. ‘He’ll be totally psyched.’

  ‘And I’d better telephone Georgina,’ I said.

  My call to Georgina was unexpectedly short.

  ‘Shit,’ she spat when she learned of my results. Hers had not yet come in.

  ‘What’s the big deal?’ I asked.

  ‘They warn you,’ she said, ‘right on the damn website. But did I listen? Nooooh!’

  ‘What are you talking about, Georgina?’

  ‘They said the test might contradict prior assumptions and lead to distress.’ She paused, then yelled into the phone so loudly I had to pull the device away from my ear. ‘Well, I’m distressed! Dammit!’

  ‘But, Georgina, you just said you knew it was a possibility when you sent in your first sample, when you gave them permission to analyze it.’

  ‘I can’t deal with this right now, Hannah.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, ‘but when would be a good time to talk about it?’

  ‘I’ll let you know.’

  And the connection went dead.

  I stuck my tongue out at the screen. Georgina was treating me like a telephone solicitor for an Ocean City timeshare, and I didn’t appreciate it.

  Feeling thoroughly put out, I called and left a message for my father, then went home to wait for Paul.

  SIX

  Around nine o’clock that evening, Dad returned my call. They’d had unexpected delays on his top-secret project, so he was still being held captive in Florida.

  I waded right in. ‘I’m twenty-five percent Native American,’ I told him. ‘No doubt about it at all.’

  ‘Well, that’s settled then,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t think it settles anything at all,’ I whined. ‘I’m dying to figure out where the DNA came from.’

  ‘I can solve part of the mystery,’ my father said. ‘After we talked, I drove out to Sam’s Club and bought a test kit from 23 and Me. I’d planned to call you tonight anyway, because my results are in.’ He paused so long I could hear him breathing.

  ‘Don’t you dare keep me in suspense,’ I said. ‘You’re as maddening as one of those makeover shows on HGTV. “We’ve decided to …” then they cut to the ads before saying whether they’ll Love It or List It.’

  ‘It has to be on your mother’s side,’ he said, taking pity. ‘I’m English, Welsh and Irish, with a bit of Norwegian thrown in. Nothing unexpected.’

  I let the significance of his results sink in. One massive branch of the family tree – the Alexanders – had instantly been eliminated from the DNA equation.

  ‘That’s cut my work in half,’ I said with relief. ‘Now I’ll just have to explore further up the Smith family tree.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked.

  ‘Why?’ Daddy’s question had me stumped.

  ‘What difference can something that happened almost a century ago make to you or to us now?’

  ‘Don’t you want to know?’ I asked, hardly believing what I was hearing. My dad was a scientist, an engineer. He dealt with facts.

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘How could it hurt?’ I reasoned. ‘Everyone directly involved is already dead.’

  On the other end of the line, I could hear his television tuned to the Rachel Maddow Show. It was a while before my father spoke again. ‘Be careful what you wish for, Hannah. You might just get it. Old Chinese proverb.’

  ‘Ha!’ I scoffed in a good-natured way. ‘Sounds more like the inside of a fortune cookie.’

  ‘Georgina can be fragile,’ Dad said. ‘Be careful with her.’

  ‘Kid gloves,’ I said. ‘I won’t cause any trouble.’

  One day, I’ll learn to keep my big mouth shut.

  SEVEN

  I was on my hands and knees weeding the herb garden when my back pocket trembled. I stripped off my gloves, wiped my sweaty hands on my jeans and checked the phone.

  U home?

  It was a text from Julie, my niece, Georgina’s seventeen-going on eighteen-year-old daughter.

  Sup? I texted back.

  Can U come up?

  ‘Up’ would be Baltimore’s Roland Park neighborhood, to Scott and Georgina Cardinale’s lovingly restored Craftsman near the end of Colorado Avenue.

  Ask your mom?

  Just U & me.

  ??

  I’m grounded for life.

  I located the Edvard Munch ‘scream’ emoji and hit send.

  Sucks, she replied.

  So I show up, casual like?

  ♥

  I wasn’t sure what was on my niece’s mind, but I was a good listener. When she was fourteen, Julie had been drugged and assaulted on a cruise ship. Her parents had been overprotective ever since; Scott was particularly inflexible. I didn’t know what crime had merited a life-long grounding but it wouldn’t be the first time Scott had made a federal case out of a parking ticket.

  Besides – if she didn’t cut me dead – it would be an opportunity to discuss our DNA test results with Georgina. Dad had telephoned her about it, too, I knew, but I hadn’t talked with my sister since.

  However, our older sister Ruth had embraced her new-found heritage. Being part Native American had flipped her ‘no way’ to a ‘hell, yes’ now that her actual DNA wasn’t drifting around the Webosphere. She’d beamed like a celestial body when I told her about it at lunch over Irish tomato-whiskey soup and crab cakes at Galway Bay. Ruth owned Mother Earth, a funky shop on Main Street in downtown Annapolis where she sold a variety of New Age gizmos. After we hugged goodbye on the sidewalk outside the popular restaurant, she probably rushed straight back to Mother Earth, where I pictured her combing through catalogs looking for kachina dolls, orca spirit boxes and beaded mandalas to add to the dreamcatchers
already in her inventory.

  The day I decided to drive to Baltimore, the traffic was mercifully light. I merged off 295 onto the MLK expressway and zipped around Camden Yards in record time. Fifteen minutes later, I turned the Volvo around in the cul-de-sac at the bottom of Colorado Avenue and found a parking spot not far from the Cardinales’ home, heading uphill.

  Georgina stood in her front yard, attached to a pair of ear buds, attacking the hawthorn hedge with clippers of medieval proportions. Her long hair – gleaming in the sun like buttered sweet potatoes – was twisted into a knot high on her head and secured with a turquoise claw. If the ragged results of her hedge trimming efforts were any indication, Georgina’s work was less a matter of hedge containment and more an act of anger management.

  I stood on the sidewalk and watched the clippings fly, waiting for her to notice me.

  Two minutes later, she did. She dropped the clippers, yanked out the ear buds and frowned.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Did I catch you at a bad time? If it were me, I’d welcome any interruption from trimming the hedge.’

  ‘No, you surprised me, is all. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?’

  ‘I’m meeting a friend for lunch at Jimmy’s,’ I lied. ‘It’s restaurant week and they’re offering a twenty-dollar prix-fixe special.’ I shrugged. ‘So, thought I’d pop in for a minute.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, wiping sweat off her brow with the back of her hand, looking worried.

  ‘You OK?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course I am, Hannah. What would make you think I wasn’t?’

  ‘It’s just that when I called the other day, you hung up on me.’

  ‘I can’t talk about it,’ Georgina said, cutting me off again. She glanced around the yard, almost as if she was afraid of being overheard. There was nobody within earshot, at least as far as I could see, but she lowered her voice anyway. ‘Scott wants me to forget the whole thing.’

  This surprised me. ‘Wasn’t Scott the one who insisted you send the test in to begin with? To verify your Revolutionary roots?’