Family Tree

by Barbara Delinsky

  “How do you contact him?” she asked.

  “I’ll overnight a letter marked ‘Personal and Confidential,’ which means his chief of staff will open it. I’ll say that I’m representing Crystal Kostas in connection with the paternity of her son, and that before I initiate legal proceedings, I would like the senator’s lawyer to contact me.”

  “You think someone will actually call you back?”

  “I do. They’ll recognize my name and know they’re not dealing with an ambulance chaser.”

  “Is one other witness all I need?”

  “It’s a solid start. That’s two of you independently confirming an intimate detail about the senator.”

  “Was she with him for long? Did she get pregnant, too?”

  “No, she didn’t get pregnant, and she was only with him once. She never even called his office, which means she doesn’t have an ax to grind.”

  “How did your detective find her?”

  “She’s a well-known actress.”

  “Were there pictures of them together?”

  “Not published,” Hugh said with satisfaction, “but Lakey has a source at the tabloids who showed him unpublished ones. That’s the thing about being a public figure. She’s an actress; it didn’t bother her to be photographed with a married senator. It’s the married senator who should have been more careful. Of course, it suits our purposes just fine.”

  “So now won’t someone from his office try to buy her off?”

  “I’ll have a signed affidavit before they can do that. In the meanwhile, my detective is still looking for some of the senator’s other women. The more we have, the faster he’ll cave.”

  Hugh knew that the moment he posted the letter the clock was ticking. If he didn’t hear from the lawyer by midweek, he would file preliminary papers with the court for a determination of paternity. Crystal didn’t want public proceedings. But they had to get the senator’s attention.

  What Hugh didn’t tell Crystal was that three other prominent women whom Lakey approached had refused to talk. One had shaken her head and quickly closed the door. A second had said, “I’m not allowed to talk with you.” The third simply said, “I can’t.” Either the senator had bought their silence, or they feared his retribution in ways that the actress was successful enough not to.

  Crystal Kostas wasn’t successful, which meant that there would be no quid pro quo. To the senator, she was a nobody. But she wasn’t a nobody to her son. She was all he had.

  With an intimate knowledge of the Hutchinson power and wealth, Hugh was gunnin’ for bear.

  Dana spent much of Friday at the shop. This was where, surrounded by friends, she felt most secure. It was also where Lizzie was loved by enough people so that Dana could leave her asleep in the cradle, while she spent time with her grandmother.

  Ellie Jo didn’t look well. She was finally able to put weight on her walking cast, but she remained pale and unsteady, growing older right before Dana’s eyes. Worse, she didn’t welcome concern. Dana knew to tend to her without making a fuss. By Friday afternoon, though, Ellie Jo seemed increasingly cross.

  “Is something bothering you?” Dana asked. They were at the small round table in Ellie Jo’s kitchen, white plates resting on orange placemats that had been felted by Ellie Jo’s friend Joan. Dana’s plate was clean. Though her body continued to slim down, her appetite was voracious. Conversely, Ellie Jo had barely touched her food.

  “I don’t like this cast,” she complained. “It slows me down.”

  “Is there something else? You’re way too pale.”

  “That’s what happens when you get old.”

  “All of a sudden? Like in one week?”

  “Yes, in one week after something like this,” Ellie Jo said, waving a none-too-steady hand at her foot, which rested on a chair. Veronica sat snug against the cast, less interested in the food on Ellie Jo’s plate than on the cranky look on her mistress’s face.

  “When was the last time you had a checkup?” Dana asked.

  Ellie Jo looked her in the eye. “Six months ago.”

  “And everything was fine?”

  “Everything was fine. Give me credit, Dana. I may be old, but I’m not ready to go. I worry about you, and I worry about Lizzie. If my Earl was here, he’d be taking Lizzie out for walks and showing her off in town. He would be such a help. He was a good man, Dana. You can be proud of the kind of person he was.”

  Dana was proud of Earl. The man she really wanted to discuss was her father, but the last time she had mentioned the man, Ellie Jo had stormed off and fallen on the attic stairs.

  So she left without saying a word. As she drove home, she remembered what her mother had whispered to her the night before. Tell Hugh what you learned. But she couldn’t tell Hugh. She just couldn’t—which made her feel terrible—which was one of the reasons why, when she spotted David and Ali playing basketball in the driveway, she picked up Lizzie and headed their way.

  David was a friend. Dana needed a friend.

  Smiling, she watched him swoop Ali up so that she could dunk the ball in the basket. The instant the little girl’s feet hit the ground, she ran over and threw her arms around Dana’s waist. She didn’t say anything, just held on, grinning broadly.

  David wiped his face with the hem of his tee shirt, but it wasn’t until Dana gestured him over that he joined them. “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Not bad,” Dana replied as Ali broke away. “Lizzie went for two four-hour stretches last night.”

  He smiled at the baby, who was gazing lazily at nothing in particular.

  “Dana, watch this!” Ali cried, and demonstrated her dribble.

  “Good girl,” Dana called.

  “I can teach Lizzie how to do this when she’s big enough,” Ali called back. When Dana turned Lizzie to face the driveway, Ali shouted, “Look, Lizzie. Watch me dribble.”

  The demonstration was barely done when David touched Ali’s head. “Pumpkin, run in and get a couple of waters from the fridge?”

  Heaving the basketball into the yard, Ali set off in an exaggerated run.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, David said, “You still look tired.”

  “Just because Lizzie sleeps for four hours doesn’t mean I do,” Dana replied. “Has Ali said anything to you about Lizzie’s color?”

  “No, but I told you, she probably won’t. Her own mother is white.” He dropped his voice. “How’re things at home?”

  Dana shot him a sad smile and shrugged.

  “He’s still being an asshole,” David interpreted.

  “No. That’s too harsh,” she said, feeling a need to defend her husband. “He’s good with the baby and helps out a lot. He loves her, he really does.” She traced Lizzie’s soft little cheek with a forefinger and cooed, “Hi, baby, how’s my sweetie?” Her finger stilled. “He’s still pretty pissed at me for not anticipating this.”

  “How in the hell could you anticipate anything without knowing your father?”

  “Yeah, well, I’m pretty pissed that no one told me about him, but my mother’s dead, my grandmother has nothing good to say about the man, and Gillian knows nothing.” She sighed. “For what it’s worth, I’ve found his real name. Hugh doesn’t know yet. I should be telling him. I should be calling my father on the phone. Why am I not doing that, David?”

  David ran a hand over his smooth head. “Maybe ’cause you’re not sure you’ll like what he has to say.”

  “I don’t care if one of his parents was African American.”

  “Forget the black part,” said David. “Think about why he was never involved in your life. That must have bothered you. It’d bother me.”

  Dana smiled. David knew feelings. He claimed that his divorce had forced him to confront his emotions, but Dana suspected he had always been sensitive.

  “There’s more,” she said. “He never knew my mother was pregnant. He married soon after she left college. What if I call, and he tells me to get the hell away befo
re I wreck his happy home life?”

  “Tell him you’ll be happy to do that after he answers your questions. If you’re only going to have one shot at the guy, Dana, make it count.”

  Lizzie chose that moment to crunch up her body and make a deposit in her diaper. Dana wondered if it was an editorial comment.

  “Here, Daddy!” Ali interrupted, approaching on the run with four water bottles, plus Cream hugged to her chest. She was nearly there when she bobbled the bottles.

  David caught them before they fell. “That was too big an armful.”

  “Well, I needed four,” she told him, “one for you, one for me, one for Dana, one for Lizzie.” She came right up to the baby, then wrinkled her nose. “Pew. Is that what I think it is?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Dana said.

  “And you have to clean it up? I’m never going to have babies if I have to do that.” Proudly, she held up Cream. The red scarf was wrapped neatly around her neck.

  “Doesn’t she look beautiful,” Dana exclaimed. “And where’s Cocoa?”

  “Inside.”

  “What’s she doing there?”

  “Hiding.”

  “From what?”

  The little girl shrugged. “She’s safe there. Dana, can Lizzie drink water?”

  “I suppose she can, only she couldn’t do it from this kind of bottle.”

  “I can’t wait until she’s old enough to play with me. Can I pretend she’s my sister? My mother’s getting married, did you know that? She says she’s doing it so I can have a sister, ’cause that’s what I really want, only I don’t know if I’m going to like that sister.”

  Dana looked at David. “I didn’t know Susan was remarrying.”

  “Neither did I until last week,” he said, but he was frowning at his daughter. “Why won’t you like that sister?”

  She shrugged again. “I dunno. Maybe I will.” She ran off toward the house.

  “Where are you going?” David called.

  “I wanna watch my movie,” she called back. She slipped inside just as Hugh’s SUV turned onto the street.

  Dana watched it approach. “Bad timing. He loves seeing Ali. He’ll hate the thought of losing out to a movie.”

  “The movie isn’t a jerk,” David muttered.

  She shot him a chiding look. “Hugh isn’t either. He’s just unsettled.”

  David snorted. “Try ‘unmanned.’ He’s always been able to pick and choose his colored folk. This time he couldn’t.”

  “Come on, David. That’s unfair. He defends African Americans in court with more vigor than he defends white guys. Besides, I’ve watched him with Lizzie. He just adores her, and he adores Ali.”

  David snorted again.

  Dana sighed. “Okay. You’re still angry. I think I should go home.”

  She turned just as Hugh got out of the car and headed their way. He looked gorgeous—she might be angry, resentful, or hurt, but she would always think that. White shirt open at the neck, blue blazer hooked over his shoulder, he walked with typical Clarke confidence. Only the look in his eyes was tentative.

  “How’re you doing?” he said to David, and held out a hand.

  David deliberately pocketed his own, at which point Dana had had enough.

  “I’m going home to deal with what’s in Lizzie’s diaper. I’ll let you two deal with what’s out here.”

  Hugh might have laughed. Dana had always been clever with words. Yes, there was shit between David and him. Even now, David was turning and heading for the house.

  “Wait. David. Hold up.”

  David stopped but didn’t turn.

  “I owe you an apology.”

  “Yup,” David said, still without turning.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Easy words, man.”

  Hugh sighed. “I was wrong. I made accusations I shouldn’t have made.”

  “Yup,” David said again, but he turned to look at Hugh.

  “I was upset. I was under pressure.”

  “That’s life.”

  “Not my life. Say I’m spoiled, say I’m arrogant—say what you want, but confusion is new to me.”

  “And pressure? You have it at work. How do you handle that?”

  “It’s not personal. I never felt pressure like this, even when I married Dana—and don’t call me a snob. You’ve been a good friend. I miss talking with you. If I ever needed your advice, it’s now.”

  “So I’m your black resource,” David said.

  Hugh stared at him. “If I wanted a resource, I could call any one of the experts I use. You’re my friend. I want my friend’s advice. Come on, David,” he said wearily, “don’t you think you’re overreacting?”

  David didn’t blink. “There’s no overreacting when it comes to color. It’s there, it raises hackles, and it ain’t goin’ away.”

  “Do you honestly think I’m a bigot?”

  “I never thought so before. Now I’m not so sure.”

  Hugh didn’t immediately reply. David had actually put it well. “That’s two of us,” he confessed, “and, let me tell you, it isn’t making me feel great. I have no problem with Lizzie’s heritage. She’s my daughter. I don’t care if her skin’s darker than mine. So what is hanging me up?”

  “Could be your lily-white family and friends.”

  Hugh might have mentioned his Cuban law partner, African-American basketball pal, and multi-cultural client base. But he got David’s point. “My family is what it is. I can’t change them.”

  “No, but you can ignore their influence. Why do you have to agree with them?”

  “I don’t. I’ve argued with every fuckin’ one of them in the last ten days. But I do care what they think. Same with my friends.”

  “If they can’t accept your daughter, they’re not friends.”

  “It’s not that they can’t accept her, just that they ask questions. Isn’t that a normal reaction? Am I wrong to want answers?”

  “No.”

  “Dana thinks I am.”

  “I doubt that, but tracking down her father is more complicated for her. It isn’t just a race issue.”

  “It isn’t that for me, either.”

  “No? But you need to find him so people will know where Lizzie gets her color. So here’s a question. If you’d had a say in it, would you have given her brown skin?”

  Hugh didn’t lie. “No. What about you? What would you have chosen for Ali?”

  “White skin,” David replied. “She’d have an easier life—unless she grows up to fall for a black devil like me, in which case her mother might have a fit.”

  “So where does it end?”

  “Beats me.”

  “I’m asking for advice here. What am I supposed to do?”

  “Love your little girl.”

  “What about my wife? She thinks I’m a racist.”

  “You’ll have to convince her you’re not.”

  “How?”

  David held up both hands. “Hey, not my business. She’s your wife, as you told me more than once last time we talked.”

  Hugh sensed an ebbing of the tension between them. “But you do love her.”

  “You bet I love her. She’s an amazing woman. But she’s married to you.”

  “And you don’t think I’m just that little bit insecure?”

  “I hadn’t.”

  Hugh smiled dryly. “Then I’m not the only one who’s learned something new.”

  Dana was on the patio when Hugh returned. She watched him while he stood at the carriage studying Lizzie. “When you look at her like that, what are you thinking?” she finally asked.

  It was a while before he said, “You can’t really do much with a baby this young. She eats, she cries, she sleeps, she poops.”

  “You knew it’d be like this at first.”

  “I expected we’d never have a minute to sit still.”

  “Do you love her?”

  “Of course I love her. She’s my daughter.”

  “Di
d you love her when she was first born?” Dana asked.

  He looked at her. “Did you?”

  “Yes.” Of all the things she didn’t know, this she did.

  Hugh turned back to the baby. “Mothers love. That’s what they do. Fathers have to grow into the job.” The surf exploded on the rocks below, sending spray higher than the beach roses. “I don’t know all the answers, Dee,” he said. “So, okay, I shouldn’t have done a paternity test. Can we please put that behind us and move on?”

  Dana wanted to. More, though, she wanted to move back and recapture what they’d had. Only she wasn’t the same person she had been before the baby was born.

  She tried to explain. “I keep wondering what my life would have been like if I had grown up like Lizzie will. If my skin had been dark, would I have had the same friends? The same opportunities?” She kept her eyes on him. “So then I start wondering what would have happened if Lizzie had been born with, say, kidney disease, and I’d gone looking for my father and discovered that he was African American. Would we have embraced him? Would we have told people? Kind of like, if you can’t see it, does it matter? And that’s wrong.”

  He was quiet. Finally, he said, “I agree.”

  “So what do we do about it?” she asked. “Two weeks ago, if someone had proposed this hypothetical situation and asked me how you’d react, I’d have given a different answer. That makes me wonder what I know about you and what I don’t.”

  “Life is a work in progress,” Hugh said.

  Dana hated platitudes. “What does that mean?”

  “Answers will come. You can’t be miserable every minute until they do.”

  “I’m not miserable. I have Lizzie. I have my grandmother. I have my friends.”

  “You have me.”

  “Do I?” she asked sadly. “If I don’t know who I am—and if who I am matters to you—how can I know that for sure?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked toward the surf. When he spoke, he sounded oddly vulnerable. “So where do we go now?”

  The vulnerability mirrored her own feelings. Feeling connected to him in that, she reached into her hip pocket and removed a piece of paper. Unfolding it, she looked at her father’s address. “Albany,” she said, and held out the paper to Hugh.