Chapter 29
Eaton had decided to revisit his past. On Wednesday, he drove to Vermont to see towns he had spent time in as a boy. On Thursday, he drove to New Jersey and walked the campus of his prep school. But he knew he was procrastinating. The issue of the blatant inaccuracies in One Man’s Line had to be dealt with.
On Friday, with four days to go before publication, he spent the morning in his office rereading those parts of the book that involved his parents and himself. The errors were on these pages. If he chose to alter the text for a future edition of the book, it would require research. That would take time. But it could be done.
More pressing, at this moment, was how to promote the current edition.
He didn’t doubt that Thomas Belisle was his father. Hugh’s daughter provided the missing piece of the puzzle, and Hugh’s sickle-cell test confirmed it. Did Eaton want to be tested himself? No. He knew what the result would be.
The question was how much to say and to whom. Once he admitted the truth, there would be no turning back.
When his publicist called first thing that morning to discuss last-minute additions to the tour, he grew more agitated. When Dorothy appeared midmorning with a danish and coffee, he couldn’t eat at all. By noon, he was back in the car. He drove past the country club, past the harbor restaurants he and Dorothy frequented, past the marinas that dotted the shore.
Without realizing where he was going, he headed north. Soon after, he found himself at Hugh’s office.
Hugh was only marginally more settled than his father, and that simply because he was preoccupied with work. But he was ready for a break when a movement at the door caught his eye.
“I just walked in past your receptionist,” Eaton explained, tossing a thumb back toward the lobby. “She must have thought you were expecting me.” Tentatively, he came in. “I don’t want to interrupt. Finish what you were doing.” He took a chair.
Hugh added a final sentence to the memo he was writing and turned to his father. After an awkward silence, he said, “How’s Mom?”
Eaton grunted. “Liberated.”
Hugh laughed. “Is she still angry?”
“No. But she seems to be withholding judgment. Expecting something more from me.”
“Have you heard from Robert?”
Eaton shook his head. “You?”
“No. He’s in denial. You’ve lost weight, Dad.”
Eaton shrugged. “I can’t seem to eat and readjust to all this at the same time.”
“It takes a lot to turn around a lifetime’s way of thought.” Hugh glanced at his watch. It was one-thirty. “I haven’t had lunch. Did you eat?” Of course Eaton hadn’t. Hugh rose. “Let’s go out. I’m starved.”
They went to the University Club, which would be emptying out at this hour. They could talk in private there. It was an easy walk from Hugh’s office, and the Elm Room served Eaton’s favorite crabmeat salad.
When they were seated, a couple of acquaintances stopped to greet them, but by the time their lunch arrived, they had the wood-paneled room to themselves.
They ate in silence. Hugh bit into his club sandwich, remembering all the times he had eaten this same lunch with Eaton. The University Club, like the country club, was part of his past. He had taken for granted his right to these memberships. Now he regretted that.
With barely half of his salad eaten, Eaton set down his fork. “So would we be here today if I had known the truth growing up?”
Hugh finished chewing. “You might have known the truth about your parentage and still grown up in the same house.”
“Or not,” Eaton reasoned. “What if my father—Bradley—had divorced my mother?”
“Her family still had a name.”
“But no money. I wouldn’t have had such a privileged childhood. I keep wondering about what I have now that I might have been denied if, say…” He didn’t finish.
“If, say, your skin had been brown?”
“Yes.”
“You did well in school. You got into college on your own. Same with graduate school. You earned your place at those schools.”
“Did I?” Eaton asked quietly. “There were others who were just as qualified as I was, who didn’t get in. Was my admission based on merit? Or was it money, or the family name? Same with the books I write. Did the first one sell because I was from an illustrious family? That first one was far from brilliant, but it gave me a foot in the door.”
“It was good,” Hugh said.
“Good, but not brilliant. There are many good books that never make it into print. My publishers might have given up on me.”
“But you were good,” Hugh argued.
Eaton shook his head. “The image of who I was reinforced the merit of the book. More to the point,” he continued, “would we be here now? How many African Americans come to the Elm Room? Not as many as have graduated from the university, I’d warrant.”
“They’re not comfortable here. It’s a bastion of whiteness.”
“It’s a bastion of privilege,” Eaton amended with disdain. “I feel guilty about that. I feel I should have spoken up against the exclusivity here. I always called myself progressive.”
“So did I, but here I am,” Hugh said. If being two-faced about his liberalism was a crime, he was as guilty as his father. “I spend my days representing minority clients, then go home to a community where there are few minorities. David Johnson is the exception.”
“Does that mean you ought to move?”
“Does it mean we should drop our membership here?”
“What does it mean?” Eaton asked.
“Beats me,” Hugh replied.
A door opened at the far end of the room, and a private party began to disperse. Hugh recognized many of the men. They were prominent members of the business community.
Several stopped at their table, a few dawdled at the door of the private dining room. At the center of that group, one of the last to emerge, was Stan Hutchinson.
Eaton stiffened when he spotted him. “Will this be a problem?”
Hugh shrugged and continued eating.
Hutchinson was halfway through the room when he saw them. Sending the rest of the group ahead, he approached.
Hugh and Eaton rose. Hutchinson shook their hands and gestured toward the bar. “Chivas, neat,” he called.
“It’s been an interesting week,” he said as they sat down. “Your boy played me well, Eaton. Has he told you about that?”
“He certainly did,” Eaton replied, fully composed. “He’s good at his job.”
The senator chuckled and said in the same collegial way, “I’ll have to remember that next time some woman hits me with a potentially damaging charge. You know me,” he drawled, “I’m a decent guy. I’ve spent the last thirty years fighting for the poor. I championed raising the minimum wage, I’ve proposed education incentives and sponsored job-training programs. Hell, know what we were discussing there in the back room just now?” He looked up when the bartender brought his whiskey, and took a healthy gulp. Then he set the glass down and smiled. “That meeting was about getting the leaders of this community involved in hiring teens and raising college scholarships.” He thumped his chest. “This is what I stand for.”
“No one’s denying that, Hutch,” Eaton said.
“Your boy is,” Hutch argued, still speaking in a good-natured tone. “I stand for decency and honesty and respect.”
“And family values,” Hugh put in. “Wasn’t that your message on Meet the Press a couple of Sundays ago?”
“We all know what the truth is here,” the senator rumbled on. “We have a girl who has real problems. So she decided to go after me, because she has nothing to lose, not one damn thing. And I’ll go along with it, Hugh, because you played your cards right. I gotta hand it to you. You knew I wouldn’t want the publicity of even an accusation.” He took another drink and set down the glass. “Was it the book, Eaton—because I wouldn’t do your fuckin’ interview? Or
you, Hugh, because I didn’t offer you the job as legal counsel for my committee?”
“What job?”
“The one I gave to your law-school pal?” he said, seeming legitimately confused. “What was it? You know me, you know my family. Why’d you pick on me?”
Hugh wasn’t falling for the act. Stan Hutchinson was a seasoned politician. He might play the part of the bewildered victim, but Hugh knew he must be furious.
“I took the case before I ever knew you were involved,” Hugh said.
“Okay,” the senator allowed, “but afterward, you could have excused yourself. You could have claimed a conflict of interest.”
“There is no conflict of interest. My firm isn’t representing anyone else with whom you’re involved. I took this case because I believe the woman, and she needs help. And you’re right, we all know what you stand for. I figured that you, of all people, would want to make sure a child you fathered would have the best possible care.”
The senator made a chiding sound. “Do you know how many women try to lay claims on me?”
“He’s a sweet boy, Hutch,” said Hugh. “He’s cute and smart. He’s coordinated enough to be a nice little athlete, assuming he gets the medical care he needs.”
“He’s not my child.”
“That’s what the test is for.”
“Christ, Hugh, do you know the mess this could make? If word gets out—”
“Word won’t get out unless you tell someone yourself. Everything will be kept private, from the test to the settlement. Your family will never know. You must have investments your family knows nothing about.”
The senator glared at him. “You are a cynical son-of-a-bitch. What if someone did this to you? What if the tables were turned? What would you do? Would you risk your family, your job, your image?”
Hugh didn’t hesitate. If he believed anything, he believed this. “If it were about doing the right thing, I’d risk it. You have fought all your life for everything this child represents. To turn your back on him, when there’s an easy enough solution, would be the height of hypocrisy. So do you believe what you say in Congress or to Larry King—or is it all hot air? Does the public voice say one thing and the private voice another? If you’re a man of honor, you need to show it now.”
Hutchinson stared at him long and hard. Hugh was bracing himself for another attack when the man made a disparaging sound, pushed back his chair, and strode out of the room.
Hugh stared after him.
“That’s it,” Eaton said, his eyes dark and knowing. “You put it well.”
Yes, Hugh realized. He had. And they weren’t talking about Hutchinson.
Chapter 30
Dana kept thinking about Corinne. She tried to call her on Thursday, but there was no answer, and when she tried on Friday, a recording said the line was disconnected. She would have driven over to Greendale had she thought Corinne would be there. But she guessed that she was gone. With her real life exposed, her humiliation was real. She would likely be seeking a place where she was unknown. Dana doubted she would see her again.
If things happened for a reason, as Ellie Jo said, Corinne had served a purpose in Dana’s life. Dana was more sensitive now to the cost of deception.
That made her even more forgiving of Ellie Jo, who, soon after her return home on Saturday morning, asked about the papers in the attic.
“Hidden again,” Dana said with a new patience.
“The clipping and Emma’s note—burn them for me?”
“Burn them? Are you sure?”
“Very. You know what they say. I know what they say. Now let’s burn them.”
Dana set fire to them on the back porch grill and, in so doing, shut one door on the past.
Another door soon opened. She was changing Lizzie after returning home when the doorbell rang. Hugh answered it, and though Dana listened, she couldn’t hear more than the occasional murmur. Then she heard two sets of footsteps on the stairs. She recognized Hugh’s tread, but had no idea who he was bringing to see her. She had finished snapping Lizzie’s onesie and had turned to the door when she gasped in shock.
Despite a slight difference in age, the woman might have been her twin. She had the same blond hair and upturned nose, the same slight frame, the same freckles. And she had the same astonished look in her eyes as Dana had.
For a short time, neither woman spoke. Then the stranger said, “I’m Jennifer Kettyle. My dad wasn’t sure you would welcome a visit, but I start fall classes on Monday, so I just got on a plane and took the chance.”
“He said you were in San Francisco.”
“I will be tomorrow.” She grinned. “Today I’m here.” Her grin widened. “Is this your baby? She is beautiful!”
No, just a few days earlier Dana wouldn’t have welcomed this visit. She would have been so angry at what she had missed growing up that she would have missed even more. Now here was her half-sister, the daughter of the man whose identity Dana’s mother had hidden, and Dana actually welcomed her into her life.
Things happened for a reason. Dana had much to be grateful for.
And still she wanted more.
The plan was for Dorothy and Eaton to fly to New York late Monday for dinner with Eaton’s publisher. Eaton would be interviewed on one of the morning shows early Tuesday. They would fly home in time for the book party Tuesday night at the club, and then begin his tour.
Dorothy packed her bag and then helped Eaton with his. Independence was all well and good, but she had been married to him for over forty years, and continued to take care of him. He was always tense on the eve of a book’s publication, but this time there was cause. She tried to get him to talk about it, but he refused.
They were in the plane waiting for takeoff when, finally, he took her hand, threading his fingers through hers.
“How would you feel,” he said in a low voice as the plane taxied into position, “if I just went ahead and said nothing about what I’ve learned?”
Said nothing? That wasn’t what she had expected. “You have to do what you think is right.”
“But how would you feel?”
Dorothy had to think about that—oh, not about her answer but about the wisdom of saying it. If Eaton had his mind made up, the truth might not help. Then again, if this was a test and he really wanted her opinion…“I’d feel disappointed. You have an opportunity.”
“An opportunity.”
“To turn a startling discovery into something positive.”
“That ‘startling discovery’ could discredit every book I’ve written.”
“Because you didn’t know the truth? Oh, baloney, Eaton,” she chided, albeit gently. “Simply come out and say what you’ve learned.”
“On national TV?”
“Why not? People respect you. You could be a role model.”
The plane started down the runway. “I could also permanently alienate our second-born son, not to mention my brother, their families, and a host of people we’ve called friends all these years.”
“You could,” Dorothy admitted.
“Would that bother you?”
“Only Robert. He’s my son. I would hope that he’d come around.”
The plane gathered speed.
“Maybe he needs more time,” Eaton said. “Maybe I should give him that.”
But Dorothy wasn’t so sure. Robert had been under the thumb of his uncle for too long. It wouldn’t hurt him to open his eyes and see the broader world. “Maybe he needs a kick in the you-know-what,” she said, and repeated, “You have an opportunity, Eaton.”
He regarded her fondly, but she saw something beyond mere indulgence. She chose to think it was respect.
He smiled, kissed her hand, and pressed it to his heart as the nose of the plane tipped up and the wheels left the ground.
Monday was an amazing day at the shop. After a cool weekend, knitters who had been lulled up until then by the late-summer warmth suddenly woke up to the approach of fall. Opening
the door in a steady stream, they came in search of yarn for scarves, sweaters, and throws. In the midst of it all, Ellie Jo insisted on being helped over from the house to announce Dana’s new position as owner.
By noon, just as Dana was feeding Lizzie and realizing she was going to need help, Saundra arrived with her great-niece. Toni Belisle was the daughter of another of Thomas’s sons. A fresh-faced young woman, she was taking a semester off from college to earn money for a junior year abroad. She loved children, and was as good with Lizzie as Saundra, or nearly so. Dana hired her before the afternoon was out.
Now Lizzie had a babysitter, which made Dana more relaxed. And the baby had slept for six whole hours Sunday night, so she had renewed energy.
Driving back home, Dana realized her life was good. She knew that Hugh did love her. If he had made a single misstep, she couldn’t hold that against him forever. There were far more than three good things she could say about him, if she were to follow the directive of Father Jack.
If some of the early excitement of their relationship was missing, well, didn’t all new parents lose some of that to the endless chores that parenting entailed?
Hugh was home early. Pulling up behind his car, she had just opened the back door to pick up Lizzie when he came out of the house and jogged barefoot toward the car. He wore jeans and his old navy tee shirt. She hadn’t seen it since the morning Lizzie was born.
“Thought you’d never get here,” he said, sounding excited.
“Did you make dinner?” she asked. That was always a treat. Hugh was a recipe man, the more ingredients the better, as long as he was told exactly how much of each to use and when.
He unbuckled Lizzie. “Yeah, but that’s not it.” He turned to Lizzie. “Hi, sweetie. How was your day?” He pulled the baby’s little sweater—a Tara creation—more closely around her and lifted her out.
“Her day was great,” Dana said, falling into step beside him with the diaper bag. “Gram announced that I was taking over the shop, I found a sitter for Lizzie, got Tara to sign on full-time, and ordered an amazing mohair from a new mill.” Her voice softened. “And I called to let Father Jack know Jennifer came.”
Family Tree Page 29