Family Tree

by Barbara Delinsky

  “But all that is good, isn’t it?” Hugh wouldn’t mind telling his family that Dana’s father was a priest. It would go a long way toward shutting them up.

  Dana sighed wearily. “There’s so much going on right now—the baby, us, my grandmother. She won’t welcome sharing me with the man she feels hurt her daughter. And we don’t have any answers, Hugh. Look at Lizzie. If she didn’t get that skin from my father, where’s it from?”

  Ellie Jo, Hugh guessed. “We’ll figure it out.”

  “How?”

  “I don’t know, but we will. Anyway, you must be hungry. Want to stop somewhere for lunch?”

  “I’m not comfortable staying in Albany,” she said.

  “Are you hungry, though?”

  “Probably.”

  Gently, he prodded. “Is that a yes or a no?”

  “I’m not hungry, but I know I have to eat to keep producing milk.”

  “If you want to stop nursing, stop. I’m fine with formula.”

  Her eyes flew to his. “I want to nurse. What I meant was that I know my responsibility even if he didn’t. If you really loved someone, wouldn’t you hunger for news? Wouldn’t you try and find out how she was and what she was doing?”

  “I would,” Hugh said. “It’s called fighting for what you want.”

  “That’s right,” Dana replied in a burst of angst. “He didn’t fight. He just gave up—turned off—closed up!”

  “Feels kind of like what you’re doing,” Hugh remarked.

  “Me?”

  He softened the accusation by accepting blame. “I hurt you. I’m sorry for that. But your response has been to shut me out. I know that you loved me before, Dee. Where did that love go?”

  Mute, she stared at him.

  “What Father Jack said back there about not pining over a relationship that wasn’t meant to be?” Hugh continued. “Is that how you feel about us, that we weren’t meant to be?” When she didn’t answer, he went on. “Because if you do, I disagree. This is a period of adjustment. That’s all.”

  “Lizzie’s skin isn’t going to suddenly become white.”

  “Obviously,” he said, “but that doesn’t mean we have to be hung up on her color. You accuse me of being upset about it. ‘Upset’ isn’t the right word. I’d like to know where it’s from. Is that asking so much?”

  “In that I have no idea where it’s from, yes. In that I’m struggling to figure out who I am, yes. In that I’ve just gone through an emotional wringer and don’t want to talk about this right now, yes!” Taking the baby from her breast, she propped her on her thigh.

  When she said nothing more, he offered a quiet “There you go again, shutting me out.”

  “I’m struggling with this, Hugh.”

  “Okay.” He backed off. “Okay. Let’s think about lunch. One thing at a time.”

  And that was how they took it. When Dana finished burping Lizzie, he buckled her back into her seat. They got burgers and fries at a drive-through, and ate as they drove. By the time they hit the highway, Dana had closed her eyes.

  Hugh drove on in silence. He was feeling completely useless when his cell phone rang. It was his secretary, wanting to patch through a call from Daniel Drummond. Hugh’s spirits revived.

  Daniel Drummond was a big-name Boston lawyer with an ego to match. He claimed to be the model for at least one lead character on every TV legal series with a local setting, and he certainly had the looks, the skill, and the flair. He was known for flamboyance, and was arrogant to a fault.

  Hugh and he had worked together once, representing clients in a complex case. They had never opposed each other before.

  “How are you, Hugh?” Daniel asked in a booming voice.

  “Great, Dan. And you?”

  “I was fine until I got a certain call.” He remained collegial. “What’s going on here?”

  “That depends on who called.”

  There was a snort. “You know my client list. What’s the most high-profile case you ever hope to try?”

  “Well, there is one that’s come down the pike, but I have no desire to try it. We’re hoping for a settlement that is quiet and quick. If this is the case you’re referring to, then you and I need to meet. Cell phones aren’t safe.”

  “Cell phones aren’t safe?” Collegiality dissolved. “Try false accusations. Do you know how many of these calls he gets?”

  “Where there’s smoke…”

  “Be real, Hugh. Do you know who you’re dealing with?”

  “I do.”

  “Then you know what he stands for. An accusation like the one you made in your letter won’t go over well.”

  “That’s not my concern. My concern is my client.”

  “So’s mine, and my client doesn’t like being threatened.”

  “Neither do I,” Hugh said. “Look, Dan. The situation here is urgent. Either you and I meet tomorrow, or I file papers in court. My client has nothing to lose. Does yours?” They both knew he did. “There’s a quiet solution to this. It starts with a meeting in my office. Tomorrow morning. Name a time.”

  “I’m not free until next week.”

  “Then your client called the wrong lawyer. Anything beyond Friday, and we file.”

  “Come on, Hugh. It’s never really urgent with these women.”

  It was the old get-in-line ploy, which infuriated Hugh. “It is this time. We’re talking about a child’s health crisis. If you can’t help me out, a judge will.”

  “Health crisis? Tell me more.”

  “Not here. In my office. If not tomorrow morning, then Friday.” He could give an inch, but only that. “Name a time.”

  “I would have to do it early morning—say, seven. I hear you have a new baby. That could be hard for you.”

  “Seven a.m. Friday. I’ll be at the door to let you in.”

  Dana slept a good part of the way home. She felt better as they got out of the car, and when Hugh suggested he watch the baby while she drove over to talk with Ellie Jo, she took him up on the offer. Confronting her grandmother—asking again about the Joseph family tree—would be easier without distractions.

  She was taking Lizzie in to feed her before leaving when David came across the yard. He wore a ragged tee shirt and shorts, both liberally spattered with paint.

  “We’re making Ali’s room green,” he explained. “She’s inside, covered with paint, but she made me come out as soon as she saw the car. She ran out of yarn making the second scarf. The poor doll is so wrapped up you can barely see her face, but Ali wants the scarf even longer. She was sure you’d have more. I’m trying to please her so she’ll please me. She says she’s not going back to New York.”

  “Mm. She told me that, too,” said Dana.

  “Did she explain why?” David asked. “She loves Susan. I don’t know what the problem is.”

  “Have you asked?”

  “Ali? Sure. She says she just wants to live with me, and then she looks outside and says it’s the ocean, then she looks at your house and says she likes your baby, then she looks at me and says she feels bad that I’m living alone and we’d have so much fun if she lived here all the time.” He ran a hand over his bald head. It was the only part of him that wasn’t covered with green. “Susan says Ali was fine when she left New York. The fiancé seems nice enough. Susan says he’s good with Ali. She thinks it’s just the idea of change.”

  “Sharing her mom?” Hugh asked.

  “And moving. His place is only a couple of blocks away, but he got her into an exclusive new school. It’s pretty chi-chi.”

  “Chi-chi rich?”

  “Chi-chi white.”

  Dana had a thought. “She keeps that doll—the one she calls Cocoa—hidden. Now you’re saying she is wrapping her up so you can’t see her face. Think she’s sending a message?”

  David’s eyes were worried. “Like she doesn’t want to be the only African American at the school?” He put a hand on the top of his head. “Makes sense, doesn’t it? Okay. I�
��ll ask Susan.” He turned and strode off.

  Dana had barely parked in The Stitchery’s lot when Tara ran out, wanting to know about Albany. Dana filled her in on the basics, but had no desire to elaborate. She was still on emotional overload where Father Jack was concerned.

  Tara didn’t press. She had two other more immediate matters to discuss.

  The first she pulled from her pocket and passed to Dana. It was a check with the names of Oliver and Corinne James at the top, written two weeks earlier in Corinne’s elegant script. The amount was forty-eight dollars and change, payment for one knitting book and the single skein of cashmere Corinne was using to knit her beret.

  “I was helping Ellie Jo with the bookkeeping and found this in an envelope from the bank,” Tara explained.

  “Bounced?” Dana asked in surprise. Corinne was wealthy.

  “One of us will have to ask her about it. Coward that I am, I’m leaving that to you. I know how much you love Corinne,” she drawled.

  “Was she in today?”

  “Yeah, but she didn’t stay long.”

  “She never does lately. Something’s up with her.”

  Tara took Dana’s hand. “More to the point, something’s up with Ellie Jo. She doesn’t seem right. I’ve been content to blame it on her foot, but Saundra noticed it, too. Have you?”

  “She seemed distracted?” asked Dana.

  “That, too, but I was more concerned by her lack of balance. She was barely over here today. Maybe she’s noticing something herself and doesn’t want people to see. Or else she really is feeling ill. Saundra’s at the house with her now.”

  Heart pounding, Dana passed back Corinne’s check. “I’m there.” She half-ran along the stone path, up the back stairs, across the porch, and into the kitchen. The two women were at the table having tea. They seemed perfectly at ease until Ellie Jo asked, “What happened in Albany?”

  Dana hesitated. After coming here specifically to report to Ellie Jo, she didn’t want to talk about it at all.

  Misinterpreting the pause, her grandmother said, “Saundra knows what’s going on. You can tell us both.”

  “There isn’t all that much to tell.” She slipped into a chair. Veronica was instantly on her lap, staring at her mistress.

  Dana briefly described the visit, but that was enough to upset Ellie Jo. “He’s hiding something,” she said. “Isn’t it always the case, the man with the most to hide is the one who turns to God?”

  “I don’t think it was that way, Gram.”

  “Of course you don’t. You’ve just found your long-lost father. You want to believe him.”

  “No,” Dana said with some force. “He wasn’t there for my mother, and he’s never been there for me. That makes me predisposed to distrust him. But Hugh is right. He didn’t know we were coming—didn’t even know I existed—and his answers still made sense.”

  Frail hands gripping the table, Ellie Jo pushed herself to her feet. “Men are scoundrels.” She turned and nearly fell.

  Veronica jumped off Dana’s lap.

  “Gram—”

  “Oprah’s on,” she said, releasing the edge of the table and hobbling toward the door. “You should watch her, Dana Jo. You’d learn about the lies people tell.” Veronica followed her out.

  Dana stared after them, before meeting Saundra’s gaze. “Is she all right?”

  “Touchy,” Saundra said gently. “And weak. I’ve suggested she see her doctor, but she says she saw him for her foot and they didn’t find any other problem.”

  “That was an emergency room visit,” Dana remarked. “They didn’t look at anything but her foot.”

  “Which begs the question of what caused the fall. It could just be age, Dana. Equilibrium goes the way of flexibility. And now that cast can’t be helping any.”

  “About her general health—do you think there’s cause for worry?”

  “Yes,” Saundra said. Her eyes were sad, her smile kind. “Do I think she’ll admit that? No. The best you can do is to have her internist demand a visit when she returns to the orthopedist. Would that work?”

  “I’ll make it work.”

  Saundra looked down at the teacups. “And I do agree with you about your daddy. There’s always the possibility that he had the story of his sister waiting, if he was trying to conceal his heritage. And it’s also possible that his family found the second cousin to donate bone marrow without an extensive search. But he is a priest. I’d be prone to believe him.”

  Dana was grateful for the support. “That leaves me back at square one.”

  “Yes, ma’am, it does,” Saundra said in a way that made Dana wonder if she knew something Dana didn’t.

  “I take it this isn’t the first time you’ve had tea with Ellie Jo.”

  “No, ma’am. We’ve been doing it most every afternoon since she hurt her foot.”

  “What do you talk about?”

  “Now, if I told you that, I’d be betraying a friend.”

  “Is it so private?”

  “All talk between old ladies is private. Talk is one of the few things left to us as we age. We lose so much else.”

  “Like?”

  “Energy. Strength. Health. Money. Independence.”

  “You’re independent.”

  “Uh-huh. For now. Another ten years and I might just be needing someone to feed me my oatmeal, or read me my books, or make sure I don’t wander out of the house and get lost.”

  “Exactly,” Dana said, reaching across the table to take Saundra’s hands. “What if Ellie Jo slides further downhill? What if distraction becomes confusion and she loses her memory? Then I’ll never know the truth about Lizzie’s roots.”

  “That’s assuming Ellie Jo knows the truth. Are you sure she does?”

  “No.” Dana sat back. “What do you think?”

  Saundra was silent for a minute, her eyes troubled. Finally she said, “I think not.”

  Hugh called his parents’ house, knowing that his mother would answer the phone, and told her what they had learned in Albany.

  “A priest?” she asked, sounding delighted.

  “Very Catholic,” Hugh reported. “Very Caucasian.”

  “And you’re sure?”

  “He was right there in the rectory, wearing his collar and called Father Jack by the parish secretary.”

  “I meant are you sure about the Caucasian part? If he isn’t the source of the baby’s color, who is?”

  “I don’t know. But at least we’ve ruled out the father’s side of Dana’s family. More importantly, Dad’s spent the last five years assuming the man was a lowlife. Now it turns out he’s a priest.”

  “I’m pleased for Dana. Your father will be, too. Here. Let me get him.”

  “No, Mom. Just give him the message.”

  “But this is something you should tell him yourself.”

  “I don’t yet have the answer he wants.”

  “Hugh.”

  “Not yet, Mom.”

  But it was only a few minutes later that the phone rang, and when he picked up, he heard his father’s furious voice. But Eaton wasn’t ranting about Dana.

  “What in the hell are you doing to Stan Hutchinson?”

  It took Hugh a minute to shift gears. “Drummond called you?”

  “Not me,” Eaton spit out. “Not first, at least. First he called my brother to say that you were harassing the senator and to remind him that there are bills pending in Congress that could directly impact the business. Then he called me, but only after Brad called to tell me you were out of control and that I needed to rein you in. Drummond was more affable, but the bottom line was the same. He said he was calling out of respect for me as a fellow member of the University Club. He wanted me to know that my son was playing with fire.”

  “Playing with fire? Like I’m a little boy?”

  “You have no idea the kind of trouble Hutchinson can cause. The man is powerful, and he’s vindictive.”

  “To hear him speak on th
e Senate floor, you’d think he’s a saint.”

  “What he says is one thing. What he does is another. He could ruin your uncle, and he could ruin me.”

  “Ruin you? How?”

  “Socially. He could make things uncomfortable for us, both on the Vineyard and here. And he could hurt the publicity on my book.”

  “You think he has the publishing world in his pocket? You give him too much credit.”

  “You give him too little,” Eaton charged. “What are you doing, Hugh?”

  “Apparently, touching a raw nerve.”

  “By accusing Hutch of fathering some pathetic girl’s child?”

  “She isn’t pathetic,” Hugh said firmly. “Nor is the boy. He’s a sweet kid who needs help.”

  “Why from Hutch?”

  “Because he’s Hutch’s son.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “Circumstantially. I’d need a DNA test to prove it conclusively.”

  “Like you proved Dana didn’t have an affair? Your mother tells me that her father’s family is true Irish Catholic. If Ellie Jo has no African heritage, who will you look at next? Us?”

  Without answering, Hugh hung up the phone.

  Chapter 20

  Hugh got to his office Friday morning half an hour ahead of Daniel Drummond. Drinking a fresh cup of coffee, he read through the latest evidence Lakey had gathered. By the time Drummond arrived, he was well into his day.

  Drummond, on the other hand, looked like he had just rolled out of bed.

  “Coffee?” Hugh asked politely.

  The other grunted. “Only if it’s strong. Cream, three sugars.”

  Hugh fixed it in a mug decorated with the name of the firm. He gestured Drummond to the sofa. Drummond took the single armchair instead, the one Hugh normally sat in.

  In other circumstances, Hugh might have kept it casual, but if Drummond was making a statement, Hugh would, too. Folder in hand, he took the leather chair behind his desk.

  “Thanks for coming, Dan. The situation is urgent.”

  “You keep saying that, but for whom? My client or yours?”

  “Given that yours is up for reelection in two months, both.”