“She was,” Dana said with another look at the door. “I don’t know what’s the matter. She hasn’t come back yet.”
“Should I go over and check on her?” Tara asked.
“No. If she’s not back in a few more minutes, I’ll go. That nest egg, Saundra—were you just prudent all those years?”
“Some. I also inherited a bit.” She smiled. “I don’t feel inferior now. It was different when I was young. I used to dwell on it then. For years, I was a maid.”
“I thought you were a nurse,” Tara said with a frown.
“From the time I was sixteen to the time I got that degree, I cleaned toilets and washed clothes. I didn’t feel superior to anyone then, but would it have been any different if I’d been white and doing those things? Being a maid brings with it a certain mind-set, regardless of color. The one advantage a white maid has over a black maid is that going back and forth on the bus, no one guesses the truth of what she does.” She tipped her head and peered at Lizzie. “I think this angel is sleeping,” she whispered.
Tara lit up. “Put her in the cradle, Dana. Let her sleep there. I want to see what you’ve done on the sweater.”
With an exquisitely tender expression, Saundra held the baby in front of her for another minute before returning her to Dana.
Lizzie’s eyes were closed, mouth puckered as she nursed in her dreams. Then her lips parted—and there was Hugh again in the corners.
With a rush of feeling, Dana put her cheek to Lizzie’s. “One minute she’s so real, the next I can’t believe she’s here.” She held her for another minute until the wave of emotion passed. Then she lowered her into the cradle and reached back for the quilt. “Did you see this?” she asked Saundra.
“I surely did,” Saundra said, smiling broadly.
“You did some of it, didn’t you? Which part? Wait. I know.” Spreading out the quilt, Dana pointed to a yellow square, then a pale blue one, displaying a star and a seahorse, each in the same color as its field but set apart by contrasting stitches, in Saundra’s inimitable style. Dana hugged her. “I adore this, Saundra. Thank you. My baby is so loved.” Since the baby didn’t need the quilt for warmth, she folded it over the foot of the cradle.
“How’s your husband doing with her?” Saundra asked when Tara was gone.
“Great,” Dana enthused. “He changes diapers, burps her, walks her when she cries. He had a meeting in the office, so I thought I’d bring her here.”
“What does he think of her color?”
“He’s surprised.”
“Upset?”
“Oh, I don’t think Hugh’s upset about her color,” she said, giving him the benefit of the doubt. “He’s upset with me for not knowing my background. But he loves Lizzie.”
“He should,” Saundra said. “She’s his child.”
Dana glanced toward the door. “No sign of my grandmother. I think I’d like to check on her while the baby’s sleeping. Will you be sitting here?”
Saundra smiled. “I won’t move.”
Walking at a clip, Dana went down the path and climbed the back steps of the house. “Ellie Jo?”
There was no response from her grandmother, only from the cat, who was meowing halfway up the stairs. The tabby didn’t scoot down the steps in her usual haste to rub Dana’s leg, but continued to meow. Something was wrong.
“Gram?” Dana called, frightened. Preceded by the cat, she ran up the stairs. “Gram?”
Veronica led her down the hall to Elizabeth’s bedroom, where Ellie Jo sat on the floor at the base of the attic ladder. Her face was ash-pale, her breathing shallow and fast. Books were scattered around her, a half-empty carton on its side.
Dana ran over and crouched down. “What happened?”
“I was coming down.”
“Carrying this box? And you fell. Does anything hurt?”
“My foot.”
Dana was already reaching for the phone. She quickly punched in the line to the store. Trying to sound calm, she said, “Olivia, it’s me. I’m at the house. Would you send Saundra and Tara?”
“No need for that,” Ellie Jo said as soon as she’d hung up. “I’m all right.” She tried to rise, but Dana held her down.
“Saundra’s a nurse. Indulge me, please. Are those the textbooks you mentioned?”
“There’s nothing else up there.”
“Dana?” Tara called from downstairs.
“In my mother’s room.”
Seconds later there were sounds on the stairs, then the two women appeared, with Lizzie in Saundra’s arms. By the time Saundra determined that the only serious damage done by Ellie Jo’s fall was to her ankle, Ellie Jo was breathing more evenly. When she refused an ambulance, Dana insisted on driving.
Between the three of them, they got Ellie Jo to her feet and managed to get her downstairs. But when Tara offered to take her to the hospital, Dana refused. “I’m taking her.”
“What about the baby?”
“I have everything she needs, and I can nurse her when she’s hungry. Really, I won’t be comfortable staying here. Besides, you have to get home for the kids.”
Tara tried to argue, but Dana was firm. When Saundra offered to ride along with Ellie Jo, it was settled.
Lizzie must have known that her great-grandmother was hurt, because she slept through much of the drive and, once inside the hospital, continued sleeping in the sling, snug to Dana’s body.
Ellie Jo’s broken ankle was a simple one. She was fitted with a walking cast and crutches, which she was told to use for the first several days.
Relieved, Dana brought the car around to the front door of the hospital. She had no sooner settled her grandmother inside than she saw Hugh. He stood on the far side of the entrance, with his hand on the shoulder of an attractive auburn-haired woman. They were deep in conversation.
Dana had no idea who the woman was or why he was with her, but she was shaken by the sight of him. She couldn’t just climb into the car and drive off.
“Be right back,” she told Ellie Jo, and quickly crossed the main lobby. She hadn’t quite reached Hugh when he looked up, caught sight of her, and went pale.
Chapter 12
Hugh’s first thought when he spotted Dana was that something was wrong with the baby. “Where’s Lizzie?”
“In the car,” Dana said, and quickly added, “with Saundra. My grandmother fell and broke her ankle. It’s been set. I was just about to take her home.”
Not the baby, then. He felt a wave of relief, followed by another concern. He liked Ellie Jo. She had never treated him as anything less than a grandson, and she wasn’t as young as she had once been. “Is she all right?” When Dana nodded, he said, “You should have called. I’d have helped.”
“You were at the office. I didn’t want to bother you.” Her eyes sent a more poignant message.
Unable to go there, he said, “Dana, this is Crystal Kostas. I’ll be representing her. Her son is upstairs recovering from surgery. Crystal, my wife, Dana,” he said. Then, wanting to talk to Dana, he said to Crystal, “I think we’re set for now. Call as soon as you’ve written stuff in that notebook. You have my home number?” When Crystal nodded, he took Dana’s arm and started back toward the car. “How did Ellie Jo fall?”
“She was getting something in the attic and lost her footing coming back down the ladder. What’s wrong with that woman’s son?”
“He was hit by a car. He’s four.”
“Is he badly hurt?”
“Badly enough that without more surgeries, he may not walk again.”
Dana stopped. “That certainly puts things in perspective.”
“You don’t know the half,” he went on, thinking that Dana liked hearing about his work. “The boy’s father—who refuses to acknowledge him—is Stan Hutchinson.”
Her eyes widened. “The senator?”
“The senator. And Crystal has no health insurance.”
“Huh-uh. There’s your case. Does your father know?”
“No.” He looked out toward the street. “I can’t get myself to call.”
“Anger? Pride? Fear?”
“Anger,” Hugh said. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it would do.
“Anger lingers,” she remarked.
“Yes.” Hugh continued walking toward the car. “Has Lizzie been okay?”
“Perfect. She’s the easiest baby.”
“Spoken by one who’s had a slew,” he teased, and opened Ellie Jo’s door. “That’s quite a wad of a foot, Ellie Jo. Is it hurting?”
“A little,” said Ellie Jo.
“Hugh,” Dana called from inside the driver’s side. With a knee on the seat, she gestured toward the back. “Have you met Saundra Belisle?”
Hugh extended a hand. “I think I’ve seen you at the shop.” He remembered her. She had a certain authority.
Saundra put her hand in his. “It’s my pleasure. Congratulations on the birth of your baby. She’s a marvelous little being.”
Hugh believed her. Feeling better, he tried to see Lizzie, but couldn’t from where he was. He closed Ellie Jo’s door, rounded the car, and opened the one by the baby.
“Hey, you,” he said softly.
She closed her eyes, shutting him out. Apparently, she hadn’t liked the DNA test any more than Dana had. He wished he could make her understand that he was only building their case. He wished he could make Dana understand it, too.
“I have to get Ellie Jo home,” Dana said. She was speaking pleasantly enough, but there was little warmth in her eyes. She was angry, still. And the longer the anger lingered, the more it worried him. This wasn’t the Dana he knew.
He wanted to talk about it, but this wasn’t the time. So he leaned in to kiss Lizzie, then straightened and closed the door. “When will you be home?”
“That depends on what I find at the shop. I have to talk with Olivia and the part-timers to make sure one of us is there every day to open and close.”
“One of us?” he asked quietly. “You just had a baby.”
“Lizzie loves the shop,” Dana said with enthusiasm. “You should see the cradle there, and the women made the most beautiful quilt. The shop is a perfect place for her. It’s quiet, and there’s always someone around to help.”
Hugh could imagine. “Is that a dig?” he whispered.
She didn’t deny it. But her eyes did soften. “I have to go, Hugh,” she said and slipped into the car.
He closed the door and stood back. She hadn’t asked when he would be home, he realized, and wondered if she was preoccupied, or if she just didn’t care.
He was well out of the city when he put in a call to his father. He wasn’t surprised when his mother answered. She was the gatekeeper while Eaton was at work.
“Hi, Mom.”
There was a skipped beat, then a relieved “Hugh.” She spoke softly. “I’m glad you had the good sense to call, at least. Your father’s been impossible. I’ve been after him, but he’s too stubborn for his own good. How is the baby?”
“She’s fine.”
“I’d like to get over to see her, but it’s difficult with Eaton right here. Do something about this, Hugh. He thinks that you have mortally offended him.”
“Me?”
“You said something while we were at the hospital.”
“I did? You two stood there suggesting I wasn’t Lizzie’s father!”
“Eaton was upset.”
“Hold it, Mom,” he said, because much as he hated attacking his mother, she wasn’t innocent in this. “You didn’t say he was wrong. What was it you said? ‘Stranger things have happened’?”
“Well, they have, but I was just making an observation. Anyway, it’s during times like these that we have to stick together. We have to support each other, not refuse to talk.”
“Stick together, as in you, me, and Dad against my wife and child?”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Do you have a problem with Lizzie’s color?” he asked bluntly.
“I don’t,” she protested. “You know I don’t. Wasn’t I the first one over at the Parkers’ to greet that little grandson who was adopted from Korea? Wasn’t I the first to suggest that the hospital auxiliary honor Leila Cummings, one of our brilliant African-American doctors? I was even the first to encourage your Uncle Bradley to set up a college fund for the children of minority employees. How can you call me a bigot?”
“I haven’t called you a bigot. But Lizzie is one of us. Why haven’t you been over to see her, even without Dad?”
“Because your father is set against my going, because you offended him, and he won’t get…off…his…duff until you apologize.”
“Fine,” Hugh said. “Is he there?”
“Yes,” she snapped. “You can be as unpleasant as he is. Hold the phone.”
Hugh held. He was in the middle lane of the highway, being passed right and left. Had someone honked to speed him up, he might well have made a rude gesture.
A minute passed. Clearly, Eaton didn’t want to talk. Hugh was beginning to wonder at what point he would simply hang up—when there was a click, then Eaton’s voice, all business.
“Yes, Hugh.”
Suddenly not quite sure that he wanted to hear what his father would say, he decided to start casually. “What’s happening with the book?”
“Not the book. The tour. The publicist just faxed me the schedule to date, and I’ve been on the phone with her ever since. They have me booked into supermarkets. Supermarkets, for Pete’s sake. It used to be that a book tour was a dignified thing.”
“Don’t you have a say?”
“Yes,” Eaton drawled, “but they have the stats on their side. People are buying their books in warehouses. Do the salespeople in those warehouses make personal recommendations? Do the salespeople in those warehouses read?” He grew resigned. “But maybe it’s just as well. I don’t know about this book. It may have errors.”
“What kind of errors?”
“The kind that can derail my career.”
“I don’t believe that,” Hugh said. “You’re very careful. Not so your friend Hutch.”
Eaton snorted. “Friend?”
“I’m representing a woman whose child he allegedly fathered.”
There was a pause, then a cautious “Can she prove it?”
“We’re working on that.”
“The proof better be good,” Eaton warned, “else he’ll accuse you of going after him because I was ticked off. What’s she want—money?”
Hugh put his palm to the horn when a car cut into his lane immediately in front of him. “Not for herself. The boy was hit by a car and has serious needs. She tried to get through to Hutch when the boy was born, but she was told to get in line behind all the other women trying to hit him up with claims.”
“Hutch is no altar boy.”
“No. None of us is, I guess.” It seemed the time. “If I offended you at the hospital, I’m sorry.”
There was a scalding “If? Do you doubt it?”
“Dad, I was under pressure,” Hugh said, feeling about ten years old. “You said something totally offensive.”
“But perhaps not totally off the mark,” Eaton countered. “Brad told me you’re doing a paternity test. That says you have your own doubts.”
“No. It says I was pressured by my family to get solid proof that the baby is mine. A DNA test is the only way I know of doing that.”
“So? What’d the lab say?”
“They’ll say it’s my baby. But I won’t have the formal results for another few days.”
“And you don’t have any doubts, given your next-door neighbor?”
“No more than I have about you living all these years beside a man Mom dated before she started seeing you.”
“Now, there’s another offensive remark,” Eaton charged.
“Dad,” Hugh pleaded with a frustrated laugh, “why is it offensive when I say it, and not offensive when you do?”
“I’
ve been married to your mother for more than forty years. And she never had anyone’s baby but mine.”
It was one too many digs. “Are you sure?” Hugh asked. “You and I look alike, but what about Robert? He doesn’t look like you.”
“I’m hanging up now,” Eaton advised.
“No, don’t,” Hugh relented. “Please. I really want to talk.”
“About who fathered your brother?”
“About why my daughter’s color matters. You champion minorities in your books. I champion them in court. Is it all an ego trip? Or do we truly believe in equality? Because if we do, my daughter’s skin color shouldn’t matter.”
“Does it matter to you?”
“Yes,” Hugh confessed. “It does, and I don’t know why.”
“Why do you think?”
“I don’t know. If I did, I wouldn’t be asking. Maybe it matters to me because it matters to my family. Dana’s racial makeup doesn’t change who she is.”
“Not for you.”
“For you?” Hugh asked, and honked long and hard when another car cut him off. “Why should it? She’s the woman I’ve chosen. Would it matter if she’s purple?”
“Not to other purple people.”
“For God’s sake, Dad.”
“I’m sorry, Hugh, but people gravitate to their own. It’s a fact of life.”
“Lizzie is our own.”
“We’ll talk about this more once you have the results of that test.”
“And if it proves I’m her father?”
“I don’t want to discuss this now.”
But Hugh did. “What then? Will you accept Lizzie as your legitimate grandchild? Will you accept Dana?”
“Not…now!” Eaton ground out with a sternness Hugh rarely heard. “The timing of this could not be worse. I have too much else on my plate right now.”
“Fine,” Hugh said, then added lightly, “Okay. Talk soon. Bye.”
It was dusk before Dana returned home to find Hugh’s car in the driveway. She was glad he was there. Beyond that, though, she was too tired to feel much beside discouragement. After settling Ellie Jo in, she had gone to the foot of the attic ladder, picked up the scattered books, and returned them to their carton. In the process, she had searched each one for something her mother might have left—a letter tucked into the crease or a note in a margin—anything that might give a clue to the identity of Dana’s father or the name of a roommate or friend. Since these books were from her mother’s last months in school, it stood to reason that if Elizabeth had doodled anything pertinent it might be there.
Family Tree Page 12