Family Tree

by Barbara Delinsky

  “Gillian called. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  Dana nodded.

  “And some gifts arrived, really cute stuff,” he said, still from the door.

  She might have asked about them. She was curious, but Hugh’s presence put a damper on her excitement.

  “You’re still angry,” he concluded.

  She glanced at Lizzie’s face, lightly patted her back.

  “Talk to me, Dana.”

  She sent him a look of despair. “What do you want me to say? That I understand? That I agree with what you’ve done? I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”

  Lizzie’s lips opened for a tiny bubble of air.

  The sound made Dana smile in spite of herself. “Good girl,” she cooed and, using her fingers to support the baby’s head, held her up. Eyes the color of warm chocolate smiled back at her. “You’re my sweet little girl, just two days old. Would you like more milk? Just a little more? Let’s see.” She put her to the other breast, and again it took the baby a minute to get her lips around the nipple. Hugh might have said something during the process, but Dana ignored him. When Lizzie was finally nursing again, she sat back in the rocker and closed her eyes.

  “Is she okay?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What was that about?”

  “She’s learning. So am I.”

  He was silent for several minutes. Then he asked, “Can I do something? Do you need diapers or cream or anything? Maybe lunch from Rosie’s?”

  “No. Thank you.”

  “Want me to make you lunch from what’s here already?”

  “My grandmother’s bringing sandwiches.”

  “Oh. Okay. So, what about a pharmacy run?”

  “Tara’s bringing a tub of A&D later. That’s all I need. You could go get another Diaper Genie. I’d like to keep one in the laundry room for times when I change her downstairs.”

  “I can do that.” He paused, then, “About the announcements—”

  Dana cut him off. “You were right,” she said, opening her eyes and staring at him. “We don’t need to send announcements. Especially since we don’t really know if you’re her father.”

  He sighed. “Dana.”

  “What?” she asked. “I shouldn’t be angry that you think I had an affair? And why would you think it? Because I was born out of wedlock? Because our baby doesn’t happen to look like you? Actually, Hugh, she does look like you. She has your mouth.”

  “I don’t see it.”

  “That’s because you’re fixated on her color. But if you watch her really closely, you’ll see that she has the same little quirk at the corners of her mouth that you do. Not all the time, just when she’s studying something. It’s a pensive little Hugh mouth. Isn’t that ironic?”

  Hugh didn’t say anything.

  Closing her eyes again, Dana let Lizzie nurse until the sucking slowed. Then she propped her on her knee with a hand braced under her chin, and rubbed her back.

  “Want me to do that?”

  Dana almost said, I don’t need your help. But she hated the sound of bitterness, too much of which had already come from her mouth. So she carefully passed him the baby, then took an armful of dirty things from the hamper and carried them down to the laundry room. She made herself a cup of tea and was drinking it when Ellie Jo arrived.

  Dana immediately felt better. Her grandmother was a survivor. She was proof that bad things would pass.

  While Ellie Jo took Lizzie to her room, Dana returned to her own. Desperate for normalcy, she pulled out a pair of pre-pregnancy denim shorts. Though it took a little work, the zipper went up. Cheered, she put on a hot pink cropped tee shirt, stepped into canvas slides, and brushed her hair up into a knot.

  A short time later, she was with her grandmother on the patio. Having finished their sandwiches, they were stretched out on lounges under the canopy, knitting while the baby slept in the carriage nearby. Though the late-August sun was warm on the grass, the sea breeze moderated its heat. It was in this spirit that Dana alternately knitted a row, purled a row, briskly adding inches to the moss green sleepsack that Lizzie would need come fall.

  Barefoot, she crossed her ankles and inhaled. She loved the ocean, always had—which was odd, given how her mother had died. But Ellie Jo had taken Dana right back into the water the summer after Elizabeth’s drowning, and as frightened as Dana had been, once she was swimming, the ocean actually soothed her. Elizabeth loved the sea. Dana fancied that her soul was out in the waves. She felt at peace.

  And so, with the smell of the salt air soothing her senses and her knitting needles working hypnotically, she felt herself start to unwind.

  Her mother had died, and life went on. So life went on now, too.

  After a minute, she set aside her knitting and went to the edge of the lawn. The last of the beach roses were sparse splashes of pink in a sea of green. She knelt, cradled one in her hand, touched its petal. Like the smell of the sea, this gave her comfort.

  “Dana! Hi, Dana! Dana! Over here! It’s me, Ali!”

  Dana looked toward David’s yard and, sure enough, there was Ali. Seven years old and wiry, she was jumping up and down as she waved. An explosion of hair bobbed around her face.

  Grinning broadly, Dana waved back. She rose and started toward the little girl. There was no fence or hedge. Though David’s house was a contemporary Cape and quite different from theirs, the landscaping was the same blend of grass and seaside shrubs.

  Ali threw herself into Dana’s arms. “Daddy says I’m not supposed to bother you, so I was hoping you’d be outside, and then there you were! Daddy says you have a new baby. I wanna see, can I see?”

  “First, let me look at you,” Dana said. Setting the child down, she took Ali’s chin in her hand.

  “Radiant” was the word that came to mind, because Ali’s tawny skin positively glowed in the sun. Her eyes were brown and excited, her mouth set in a wide grin that showed off her little white teeth and a head of hair streaked a dozen shades of brown.

  Dana had always loved Ali—had always been drawn to the child’s joyful approach to life. She gave her another hug and stood back for a look. “You are taller and more beautiful than before. How can that be?”

  “I’m getting old. I’ll be eight pretty soon, and I played soccer for most of the summer, so Mommy says my legs are stretching. Can I see the baby?”

  “Alissa!” David called from the back door. “I told you not to bother the Clarkes!”

  Another time, Dana might have taken the remark as an innocent directive, but anything “innocent” seemed to have gone the way of her husband’s suspicion. “It’s no bother,” she called to him. “Hugh’s gone for a couple of hours, so it’s just my grandmother and me. Oops,” she added comically, refocusing on Ali, “and the baby. She’s still so new I forget, and of course, you can see her. Run on over and take a peek, and say hi to Gram Ellie while you’re there.”

  She watched the child race off, arms and legs wheeling. Gram Ellie looked up and joined her at the carriage.

  Dana was wondering if Ali would notice the baby’s complexion, when David approached. He wore a polo shirt and khakis, clearly taking time off from work now that his daughter had come.

  “This could be awkward,” he said. “Ali is going to want to spend time over there with you, but your husband won’t be happy.”

  With customary ease, Dana gave his arm a fond shake. “Hugh adores Ali.”

  “He did once, but then he liked me, too. You know he thinks that’s my baby, don’t you?”

  “Did he say that?” Dana asked, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. He’s not himself.”

  “Maybe he is,” David charged. “Maybe what we see now is the real Hugh—and that wouldn’t be the exception to the rule. Know how many people believe in racial equality until an African-American family wants to move in next door? Know how many people believe in affirmative action until their kid gets rejected by the same college that accepts a black kid with lower scores?
”

  “David—”

  His tone softened. “Know how often I wished you were my wife? Maybe Hugh sensed that, but you and I both know I never touched you.” His face crumbled. “Christ, you never looked at me the way you look at him. What’s he thinking?”

  “He’s not,” Dana said, and, for a split second, wondered if David was either. Know how often I wished you were my wife? She didn’t want to hear that, so she focused on what David had said about Hugh, and wondered if it was true. She had always believed Hugh to be a man of conviction, but if that was so, she didn’t know how to explain his reaction to Lizzie’s birth.

  “Is he taking it out on you?” David asked.

  Dana didn’t mention the paternity test. It was too humiliating. Instead, she looked out over the water and sighed. “I’m not sure who’s doing what to whom. We’re still living in two-hour shifts, and between tiredness and newness, things are weird.”

  “Is he helping? I would, Dana. For all else that I did wrong in my marriage, I did help with Ali.”

  Dana looked at him. “What did you do wrong?”

  “I put my work ahead of my wife’s. I put Ali before her. I treated her like a maid.”

  “Deliberately?”

  “No,” he said with a wry twist of his lips. “Was it subconscious? Maybe. My mother’s mother was a maid. My mother was a teacher, but she did all the housework at home. So was I thinking that it would be fair turnaround if my white wife cleaned toilets?” He shrugged. “Truly, she just had more time than I did.”

  “Were you faithful?” Dana asked. It was something Hugh would be wondering.

  David glanced over at Ali. She was moving the carriage forward and back under the guidance of Ellie Jo. “Is Ali going to wake the baby?”

  “No. She’s fine. Were you, David?”

  He was a minute in answering. “I was faithful right up until the end. By that time, Ali was about the only thing Susan and I shared. I was way too busy and way too lonely. There was a one-night thing. Susan found out. That was it. She filed for divorce the next day. It was like she was just waiting for an excuse. Infidelity was more acceptable than racial incompatibility.”

  “Racial incompatibility?” Dana asked. “Explain.”

  “I think she had second thoughts.”

  “About marrying an African American? Was that really it?”

  “Maybe not,” he conceded. “Maybe it was my imagination. I was a surgeon, she was a nurse. She kept telling people—kept joking—that she married up. But she said it one too many times. Her friends—our friends—were mostly white. I got to feeling that she needed to explain to people why she had agreed to marry me.”

  “That sounds like your insecurity.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What about Ali? Does your wife apologize for her?”

  “No. She thinks Ali is the best kid on the block—smartest, prettiest—and she doesn’t hesitate to brag. So is that overcompensation, too?”

  “No. She is the best,” Dana said, knowing she was biased. “You’re being hypersensitive, David.”

  “Well, in any case, they live in Manhattan. Half the kids in her school are non-Caucasian, so it isn’t an issue.”

  “Will she notice Lizzie’s color?”

  “Probably not. Color isn’t high on her list of priorities. She doesn’t feel different in any way.”

  “Do you worry she will?”

  He took a tempering breath. “Yeah, I worry. If she falls for a white guy, his parents may not be thrilled. My wife’s parents weren’t thrilled.” He cleared his throat. “We played up the surgeon part for them.”

  “Are they close to Ali?”

  “Yes. They could see their daughter in her right from the start. Give your in-laws time, Dana. Right now, Lizzie’s a thing. All infants are. Once she develops a personality, they’ll fall for her. They won’t be able to help themselves.”

  “You mean, they’ll love her in spite of themselves?” Dana said dryly. “Just because she doesn’t look like a Clarke—”

  “It isn’t that,” he broke in. “There wouldn’t be a problem if she looked exactly like you. The problem,” he said, “is her color.”

  Dana hated the sound of that. “Is this what her life will be like—that color is the first thing people see? What happened to political correctness?”

  “It’s an ideal. But hell, it’s pretty stupid when a guy robs a bank and the cops say they’re looking for someone six-one, dark hair, lanky build, last seen wearing jeans and a red jacket. Shouldn’t skin color be included? Isn’t that part of the physical description? And don’t tell me the bank teller didn’t notice.” His voice rose in passion. “It’s such an obvious exclusion, that the motive speaks for itself. So, yeah, color’s the first thing people see. It’s always the first thing they see. Anyone who says he doesn’t is lying.”

  “You’re upset. Hugh did this.”

  “No, Dana. I’m telling you what it’s about.”

  “For your daughter? For mine?”

  “For both. It’s always there in the wings.”

  “I’ve never heard that from you before,” she said.

  “We’ve never discussed this before.”

  Dana realized it was true. David had always been just David. “Was there a time in your life when you weren’t aware of color?” she asked.

  “As a discriminatory thing? Sure. When I was little. My father was white. One of my brothers looked exactly like him. So in our house, skin color was like hair color, just another physical trait.”

  “When did it change?”

  “When I was four. Kids can be cruel at a playground. I had no idea what the names meant. My parents explained.”

  “How? What did they say?”

  “That people gravitate toward those who are like them—that they’re threatened by people who are different—that, as differences go, skin color is the toughest because it can’t be hidden. I worked twice as hard in med school, and I still do it now, as a doctor. Even after all this time, do you think I can just sit back and relax? Think again.” He pointed to his face. “When things go wrong, this is the first thing they cite.”

  “For you?” she asked skeptically.

  “Believe it, Dana. Look what’s happening here—with you, with your baby. He thinks it’s mine? What is he, nuts?”

  “It’s his family—”

  “Whoa,” David cut in, eyes wide and angry again. “Hugh’s, what, forty years old? Don’t blame his family. He has a mouth.”

  “And he’s used it, trust me, but that family is a way of life.”

  “How can you defend them?”

  “I can’t. They live in such a rarefied world that they’re half a century behind in some things.”

  “Well, they’re wrong.”

  “Of course they’re wrong,” said Dana. “I can’t believe the rest of the world is as bad—or, let’s say, I don’t want to believe it. Your Ali is happy. She accepts her color, like she accepts her hair and her smile. I want Lizzie to be that way.”

  “Then work on your husband,” David advised.

  “Daddy,” Ali cried, running up, “I just saw Baby E-lizabeth. Dana, Dana, she is so lit-tle.” Shoulders scrunched up, she tapped her thumb and forefinger together right in front of her face. “Her nose is lit-tle and her mouth and her eyes. How can she be so lit-tle?”

  Dana put an affectionate hand on Ali’s head. “She’s just two days old. Isn’t it amazing?”

  Ali grabbed Dana’s hand. “I want to hold her. Gram Ellie said I had to ask you. Can I, Dana?”

  “She has to wake up first.”

  “Can I take her for a walk? Can I wheel the carriage? Gram Ellie says maybe you would let me—”

  “Can’t do, pumpkin,” said David. “We have to go meet the swimming teacher in a little while.”

  “I’m taking lessons at the town pool,” Ali told Dana, turning back to her father. “Then later?” she begged. “We have all afternoon and all night.”

&n
bsp; “No, we don’t,” David replied. “We have to shop for things to take camping, then we have to pack. We’re leaving tomorrow at dawn.”

  Pressing close to Dana, Ali said an excited, “I’m getting a sleeping bag and a flashlight and a backpack. Gram Ellie’s making Baby E-lizabeth a sweater. I want to make one for her, too. Can I, Dana?”

  “A sweater?” Dana teased. “When did you learn how to knit?”

  “I haven’t learned yet, but last time I was here, you promised you’d teach me, so I want to learn now.”

  “Aren’t you a little young?” David asked.

  “No, I am not. Dana was seven. I’m almost eight.”

  David sighed. “That may be true. But this isn’t a good time. Dana just had a baby.”

  Slipping an arm around Dana’s waist, Ali said, “I can take care of the baby while she teaches me.” She looked up from Dana’s side. “Can we do it at the yarn store?”

  “Ali,” David warned, but Dana touched his arm.

  “I’d love it, David. You’re back from camping on Sunday night, right? How about Monday?”

  “I wouldn’t make promises, if I were you,” he advised. Think of Hugh, his eyes added.

  “I can do what I want,” she said firmly. “I would love to teach Ali to knit, and I’d love to do it next Monday.”

  Chapter 9

  The garden mom was Crystal Kostas, though her last name came only when Hugh met her face to face. When she called his office late Thursday afternoon, she only said “Crystal” and refused to leave her phone number. Fortunately, his secretary, Sheila, sensed the girl’s nervousness and, on the spot, set a meeting for Friday morning.

  Crystal arrived at the office wearing a long skirt with her tee shirt. Her auburn hair was anchored by a barrette at her nape in a way that downplayed the plum streaks. But her sandals were worn, and her face even more drawn than when he had seen her last.

  He guided her down the hall from the reception desk and, once in his office, closed the door. He gestured her to one of the leather chairs, then, because she looked so nervous, said, “Would you rather I have an associate in here with us?”