“I had to talk with my father,” he said.
She took that in. Another frown appeared. At length, she asked, “Did you?”
He wasn’t sure it was the right time or place. But they were alone in the room, and this discussion would keep her from worry about her grandmother. In any case, he needed to talk. And he had a captive audience. The chance that she would get up and leave if he said something she didn’t like was slim.
So he told her about the lawyer on the Vineyard, the rumors Eaton had lived with, the argument they had just had—and though Hugh thought his anger had abated, it revived with the retelling. Sitting forward, elbows on knees, hands clenched increasingly tighter, he was bitter. “He claims he didn’t knowingly lie, but couldn’t he have checked it out? He’s built a career learning intimate details about the subjects of his books. He knows how to dig up dirt.”
“He didn’t want to dig up this particular dirt.”
“Correct. And that would be fine if no one else was affected. But even before Lizzie was born, there was you. He treated you and your family like second-class citizens.”
She didn’t argue with that.
Hugh stared at the opposite wall. A picture hung there, something in ocean colors, vaguely modern and flowing. He knew the ocean. He looked at it out his window at home. The real thing soothed. This print did not.
“But who am I to criticize?” he asked. “I was just as bad. I ordered a paternity test.” He looked back at her. “So, okay, I didn’t know about the guy on the Vineyard, and I bought into the family myth hook, line, and sinker. That was arrogance, Dana, and I’m ashamed of it. But I knew you hadn’t cheated on me.” He studied his coffee cup and said in disgust, “This isn’t even what I wanted to discuss.”
“What is?” Dana asked.
“Me. What I am.”
When she was silent, he glanced at her and saw she was frowning. It struck him that frowns clashed with freckles. The latter were pale against her even paler skin, but he knew they were there. They were part of the lighthearted personality he had been drawn to from the first.
“Do you feel different?” she finally asked.
He wanted to feel different. He thought he ought to feel different. But he didn’t. “No. Does that mean I’m comfortable passing?”
“Passing.”
“That’s what I’ve done.”
“Passing has a negative connotation. It implies you knew the truth and deliberately paraded as someone else. But where was the intent? That’s what you ask a jury when you try a case. So did you know you were black and intentionally hide it?”
“No. But I ought to feel different,” he reasoned. “Maybe I’m just numb.”
“Maybe it isn’t that big a thing.”
“In my family it is,” he warned. “My uncle is apt to accuse my father of deliberately hiding it for the sake of preserving his share in the family business. He’ll argue that technically Eaton isn’t a Clarke.”
“But he is. His mother is a Clarke by marriage. And she was your uncle Brad’s mother, too.”
A door opened down the hall. In an instant, Dana was on her feet and tensed. When a woman in scrubs appeared and went off in the opposite direction, she made a helpless sound.
Hugh was standing beside her. “She doesn’t look rushed,” he said. “That’s good.”
Dana stood for a minute with her head bowed. Taking a breath, she turned and sat. “I wish I had my knitting,” she murmured. “How could I be without it, at a time like this?”
“I would have brought some if you’d asked.”
“I didn’t think. My mind is totally off.”
Rejoining her on the sofa, Hugh said, “Ellie Jo will be okay.”
Dana shot him a worried look. “What about Robert?”
Hugh had to admire her. He suspected Robert was the last thing on her mind. “Robert won’t be happy. He would disown Dad if he felt it would keep him in good standing with Brad.”
“That won’t change what Robert is.”
“Or what I am.” Hugh leaned forward again. “Do you care?”
Dana frowned at the floor. “About Robert? No. I’m not sure I’ll ever feel as warmly toward him as I used to. I can’t trust whose side he’s on.”
“Are we taking sides?”
Her eyes met his. “Yes.”
“What’s your side?”
“Lizzie’s.”
“Am I on that side, too?”
She retrieved her coffee and took a long drink. When she was done, she returned the cup to the table and wiped her upper lip with a finger. Then she looked at him. “I don’t know. Are you?”
“Seeing as Lizzie’s genetic makeup comes from me, isn’t it obvious?”
“No. Skin color is physical. It isn’t an emotion.”
“I’m on Lizzie’s side. Are you on mine?”
“You’re my husband.”
“A husband’s a thing, too.” He rephrased the thought. “A while back you asked how I felt being married to a woman of African-American descent. Now I’m asking you. How do you feel being married to a man of African-American descent?”
She didn’t blink. “The same way I felt yesterday being married to you. I don’t care who your grandfather was. I never did care who your grandfather was.”
“But back in the pediatrician’s office when we got the results of the sickle-cell tests and the meaning of it dawned on you, didn’t you feel just that little bit pleased that the snob got his comeuppance?”
She was quiet for a time, studying the carpet. When she looked at him, her expression was gentle. “I felt relieved. This makes you more human. It makes me feel less inferior.”
“Inferior?” That surprised him. “Did you really feel that?”
“Yes.”
“That was in your own mind,” he said. “But weren’t you relieved to be proven white?”
“I wasn’t found to be white,” she said in reproach. “I was simply found not to be carrying the sickle-cell trait. I may have all sorts of traits buried in my family tree. I have no idea who my grandfather Earl was.”
Hugh tried a final time, half teasing. “But didn’t you feel any sense of justice?”
“No. I’m sorry, Hugh. I’m not into revenge.”
“You’re a saint.”
She smiled, but sadly. “If I was a saint, I’d understand why you needed to do that DNA test. If I was a saint, I’d have picked up the phone when Jack Kettyle called this morning.” She held up a hand. “Don’t ask. I didn’t pick up. I’m no saint.” Her voice softened. “I can understand what you’re feeling, because I’ve been there. But the main pleasure I get from this twist is knowing it guarantees you’ll love Lizzie.”
“I’ve always loved Lizzie.”
She drew up her knees. “What about me?”
“I do love you,” he said. “I need you to love me.”
She rested her head on her knees. After a minute, she tipped it sideways to look at him. “Why? Because you’re feeling lost and uprooted and need something to cling to? Because you know color doesn’t bother me, but you can’t say the same for your friends?”
“My friends will be fine.”
“Then there’s no problem. When’ll you tell them?”
She had him. He couldn’t answer.
Relenting, she reached out for the first time in seventeen days and wrapped her hand around his arm. “It’s what David’s been saying. People are fine with minorities until one moves in next door. We know your partners won’t be fazed. Work will be fine. The problem may be with some of the people you’ve known all your life. Like the Cunninghams. By the way, I’m out of the Designers’ Showhouse, too.”
“Since when?” Hugh asked.
“The beginning of the week.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“What was the point?” She relented. “Maybe it’s a coincidence, you know, the two jobs.”
One job maybe, Hugh conceded. Not two. Dana was exactly the kind of design
er the North Shore branch liked to promote. Besides, it strained credibility to talk of coincidence when the Cunninghams underwrote the Showhouse each year.
He was furious. “I’ll make a call.”
Dana took back her hand. “You will not.”
“But you wanted those jobs.”
She sat straighter. “I’ve changed my mind. I have a new baby and a grandmother who’s not up to running the yarn shop. That shop is as close to a family business as I’ll ever have.”
“It’s not the work itself,” Hugh argued. “It’s the principle.” He studied his hands. It was a while before he said, “What can I do?”
“Nothing. I don’t want those jobs.”
“I don’t want those friends,” he countered. “If they reject me because my grandfather was part black, that’s their choice.” He took a quick breath. “But what do I do about the rest? The being part black part. Am I supposed to change? Act differently?”
“No,” she scolded, but with a smile that tugged at his gut. “You’re still you. You’re the product of forty years of a certain upbringing. You can’t change that. What changes is what you do with it.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.”
“I need help here, Dee.”
She seemed almost amused. “If I didn’t know what to do when it was me, how can I know what to tell you to do now that it’s you?”
Down the hall, a door opened. Ellie Jo’s surgeon walked toward them.
Ellie Jo was going to live. The doctors didn’t yet know whether she would regain full use of her right side, but they had removed the blockage that had caused the stroke and were confident that medication would minimize the chance of another.
Dana was weak with relief. She wanted to see her grandmother, but was told that she would be in the recovery room until the next morning and, even then, would likely be too groggy to know if Dana was there.
It made no sense to stay now. It was after one in the morning. With any luck, Dana could be home in time to feed Lizzie. Her breasts were full, and even aside from the physical relief, she wanted the emotional comfort the baby gave.
When they pulled up to the house, they were startled to see Eaton’s car in the driveway behind Dorothy’s.
Dana’s first response was a comforting thought. This is how it’s supposed to be. Then she remembered the past days’ events, and didn’t know what to think.
Hugh hadn’t moved. He had turned off the engine, but remained in his seat with both hands on the wheel. “I’m too tired for this,” he said.
“He’s probably asleep with your mom.”
“Christ, I hope so,” he muttered, and opened his door.
Eaton was asleep, but not with Dorothy. He was neatly arranged on the family room sofa, arms and ankles crossed, loafers side by side on the floor. The television was on, the volume low.
Hugh turned it off, then went for the lights. “I’m leaving him here,” he whispered.
“We can’t,” Dana whispered back. “He won’t sleep well here.”
Hugh leveled her a look. “Do I care?”
Eaton stirred and opened his eyes. Visibly startled to see where he was, he took in Hugh and sat up. “I must have fallen asleep.”
“Go on up with Mom,” Hugh said.
Eaton looked at Dana. “How’s your grandmother?”
Dana didn’t know if he was just being polite. His face said he did care. It held some of the vulnerability she had seen earlier in Hugh.
In Hugh, it had been reassuring. In Eaton, it was oddly disconcerting.
Unsure what to make of that, Dana listened to the reassuring sound of the sea. Be kind, her mother whispered in its wake. So she said, “The operation went well. We’ll know more tomorrow.” She turned to Hugh and added, “I’m going up to feed Lizzie.”
Hugh envied her the excuse. Too tired to come up with one himself, he told Eaton, “I’m going to bed. Turn out the lights.” He started out of the room.
“Wait, Hugh. I want to talk.”
“It’s late, Dad.”
“Please.”
Hugh stood at the door a moment. Then he turned, walked to the armchair, and sat. He didn’t say anything. He wasn’t the one who wanted to talk.
“I saw the baby,” Eaton said. “She’s beautiful.”
“Her color hasn’t changed. That doesn’t help the situation.”
“Hugh.” His father’s voice was faint. “I didn’t know. I should have. But I didn’t.”
“Is that what you came to say?”
“Actually,” Eaton rose from the sofa and went to the French doors. The instant he opened them, the sound of the ocean grew louder. “Actually, I came here to tell your mother.”
Hugh looked up. “What did she say?”
“Nothing. I didn’t tell her.”
“Why not?”
Eaton was quiet. He closed the French doors. With the ocean muted again, his own silence was marked. Finally, he said, “I don’t know.”
“It won’t get any easier.”
“Maybe I’ll become more comfortable with it.”
“The longer you wait, the worse it’ll be with Mom. You can say you didn’t know before, but now you do. You have to tell her.”
Eaton didn’t reply.
“What’re you afraid of?”
Still Eaton said nothing.
“She won’t hate you because your father was half black. She’s more open-minded than you are.”
“She’ll think I knew about it and lied. She’ll ask why I didn’t track down the rumors. She’ll say the same thing you did about the research I do when I write. She’ll be angry and hurt.” He returned to the sofa and stood there, facing the cushions. “What a mess. I don’t know what to do.”
Hugh felt his own anger diminish. Eaton looked so defeated.
He remembered what Dana had said about doing something. “Tell her. Then investigate him.”
“Do I really want to know about him?”
“Yeah, you do,” Hugh said. “He’s your biological father. Do you think Dana wanted to go looking for hers? We made her do it. What kind of hypocrites are we if we won’t do the same?”
“We?”
Hugh hesitated. He tried to sustain some level of anger, but couldn’t. Eaton was still his father. “Yes. I’d help. What’s his name?”
“Thomas. Thomas Belisle. He summered in Oak Bluffs. He was something of a legend there—a handsome light-skinned black who charmed the pants off many a white woman.”
“Eaton?”
Hugh’s eyes flew to the door. His mother stood there in a simple white robe. With her hair brushed back and her eyes filled with doubt, she looked every bit her age.
She frowned at Eaton, then turned to Hugh, but what could he say? He was only the son. Eaton was the husband. It was his job to explain.
She gave neither of them the time. Mouth tightening, she turned and disappeared up the stairs.
Eaton, who had been paralyzed, suddenly came to life. He called her name and started after her, but Hugh caught his arm. “She’s going to Dana. Let them talk.”
Lizzie was suckling contentedly when Dorothy appeared at the door. She stood there for a second, then slipped in and leaned against the wall.
Between her own exhaustion and Lizzie’s suckling, Dana had been almost asleep, but she quickly became alert. “What’s wrong?”
“I just heard something strange,” Dorothy whispered. “Do you know anything about Eaton’s father being African American?”
Dana was trying to decide what to say when Dorothy said, “So it’s true. And the wife is the last to know.”
“Not the last, Dorothy. Far from it. I know it because of Hugh, but he only learned it today.”
“What about Eaton?”
“Learned about it only today.” She explained about the baby’s sickle-cell test and the subsequent tests she and Hugh had taken. “Didn’t he say anything earlier tonight?”
“No. And I don’t un
derstand why not.”
Dana couldn’t read Eaton’s mind. But she remembered the disbelief she had felt in the doctor’s office, learning that Hugh was the carrier. It was the last thing she had expected. If she was blown away by the news, she couldn’t begin to imagine what Dorothy was feeling after more than forty years of marriage.
“I think we have to try to understand what he’s feeling,” Dana said. “He didn’t expect this. He couldn’t have dreamed it.”
“How can you defend him, after he treated you so badly?”
Dana was too tired to feel anger. Smiling gently, she said, “When you were here Tuesday, you talked about how you grow up in certain social circles and learn to act in certain ways. You don’t think about your behavior, because everyone else in the circle does the same things. Eaton wouldn’t call it arrogance. He’d call it a way of life.”
“They were arrogant. Eaton and Hugh!”
“They didn’t know, Dorothy. Eaton heard rumor, but that was all.”
“And he didn’t see fit to tell me back then? I bore his children. Shouldn’t I have been told?”
“Rumor,” Dana reminded her, but Dorothy was past that.
“He prides himself on his intelligence. Did he think I was too stupid to understand—or too indiscreet to keep my mouth shut?”
“No,” Eaton said from the door. In the dim nursery light, he looked beaten. “I didn’t tell you because I couldn’t tell myself. To tell you would have made it real. I didn’t believe that it was.”
“It was not,” Dorothy argued, “an inconsequential possibility.”
“But it was a deeply emotional one for me. To accept the possibility of the rumor would be to accept the fact that my mother had had an affair. That part was just as hard.”
“Well, I can understand that,” Dorothy remarked with uncharacteristic cynicism. “You have nothing good to say about people who cheat. Tolerant, my foot. You’re totally judgmental.”
“Yes,” Eaton granted. “Sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” Dorothy echoed.
Hugh appeared. “Sometimes, Mom. He’s human, like the rest of us. How much did you hear downstairs?”
“Enough. Will your detective be able to locate Thomas Belisle?”
Family Tree Page 24