Family Tree Page 4

  Chapter 4

  Hugh stared at the baby for the longest time. He had always loved the fact that Dana bore no resemblance to his family, yet he was desperately searching for a familiar feature in his child. So was this his comeuppance for devaluing familial traits—fathering a baby who didn’t have any one of those traits?

  Feeling a helpless tug, he leaned down over the infant. “Hey,” he whispered. “Hey,” he said again, this time with a smile.

  Lizzie didn’t blink. She had remarkable eyes, Hugh decided—deep brown irises, delicate lids, long dark lashes. Her nose was small and perfectly formed. And, yes, she had the softest, smoothest skin. She really was a breathtakingly beautiful child. Reaching for his camera, he took a picture. Then he glanced at Dana.

  Hugh loved his wife. He truly did. He loved her for many things, not the least being that she was genuinely laid-back. She didn’t get mired down in details the way he did. She didn’t have his compulsive need for order or logic or precedent. She went with the flow, could adapt to change with a smile and move on. He admired her for that.

  At least, he always had. Now, as he looked at the baby again, Dana’s nonchalance suddenly seemed irresponsible. She should have made it her business to know who her father was. It would have made things a whole lot easier.

  He started to say something to her, but saw that her eyes were closed. Choosing to believe she had fallen asleep, he left the room and took the elevator to the ground floor. He was looking around for a quiet place to use his phone when someone called his name.

  David Johnson strode toward him, lab coat open over deep blue scrubs, shaved head gleaming. David wasn’t only a neighbor; he was a close friend. They had first met five years ago, when the acre of waterfront land Hugh bought was nothing but clumps of beach grass and heather. David’s house had become Hugh’s emergency outpost during a long year of building, with access to beer in the fridge and a list of resources that had saved Hugh inestimable effort and time.

  One of those resources was Dana. If Hugh owed David for any one thing, it was that.

  “Hey, man,” David exclaimed now, grinning broadly as he clapped Hugh on the back. “How’s the new dad?”

  Hugh shook his hand. “Shell-shocked.”

  “Quick delivery, Hugh. Can’t complain about that. Is the little one adorable?”

  “Absolutely. Hey,” Hugh said, needing David’s help again, “are you coming or going?”

  “Coming from OR, going to office. I have three minutes to run up and take a peek. How about you?” David asked with a glance at the opening elevator.

  “I have to get messages and make some calls. Will you be around later?”

  “I’m done at six, but I have meetings at Harvard after that, so it’s either see your girls now or tomorrow.”

  “See them now,” said Hugh. “Dana’ll appreciate it.”

  David moved into the elevator seconds before the door closed. He turned and shot Hugh a smile. Bright white, it lit his handsome dark face.

  Oh, yeah, they had to talk. David would understand the problem. Not only had he grown up black, but after marrying a white woman, he had fathered a daughter whose skin was the same shade as Lizzie’s.

  David’s daughter was well adjusted. She was happy. Holding tight to that thought, Hugh found a quiet corner near the hospital’s front entrance and accessed his phone messages.

  From his law partner Jim Calli came an exuberant “Great news about the baby, Hugh. Rita and I want to stop over as soon as they get home. And don’t worry about things here. Julian and I will cover.”

  From Melissa Dubin, one of the associates who worked for him, came a victorious “Congratulations, Hugh! One baby and one legal coup! The prosecutor of the Hassler case just called to say he’s dropping the worst three charges against our man. He made it clear that the misdemeanor charge still stands, but we all know Hassler won’t do time for that. This is good.”

  The next message wasn’t as happy. “Hey, man,” said Henderson Walker in a low, urgent tone, “we gotta talk. There’s guys here lookin’ to hurt me. I already got two threats. And don’t tell me to tell it to a guard, because the guards are in on it. I need to be transferred. You gotta tell them that.”

  Hugh had known trouble was brewing with Henderson, and while he wasn’t sure that the danger was as great as Henderson feared, he had been planning to stop at the jail that afternoon. Using his BlackBerry, he e-mailed the associate who worked with him. “HW feels threatened. Call him.”

  The next message was from his brother. Three years Hugh’s junior, Robert was an executive vice-president in the company begun with a single hotel six generations earlier. One hotel had become six, then a dozen. Succeeding generations of Clarkes had expanded the business into banking, venture capitalism, and entertainment. The conglomerate was successful enough to regularly replenish the family wealth. It was currently headed by Hugh’s uncle, the eighth Bradley Clarke.

  Never eager to branch out as Hugh and his father had done, Robert was a blunt-talking businessman. “Dad’s incoherent,” was his message. “Gimme a call.”

  With a feeling of dread, Hugh tapped in his brother’s private line. “Incoherent how?” he asked without preamble.

  “Hold on.” Robert’s voice faded. “Can we finish up later? Great. Close the door on your way out, will you?” There was a pause, a distant click. Hugh pictured Robert swiveling in his high-back chair to look out floor-to-ceiling windows at the Boston skyline. When he spoke again, his voice was clear. “Dad says the baby is black. What’s he talking about?”

  “Her skin isn’t exactly white.”

  “What color is it?”

  “Light brown.”

  “That’s impossible,” Robert argued. “She has two white parents.”

  “One of us must have an African ancestor.”

  “Well, it isn’t you, so it has to be Dana. Does she have a clue who it is?”

  “I wish she did. It’d shut Dad up.”

  “He’s saying she may have kept it a secret from you.”

  “She doesn’t know.”

  “Dad says that if she doesn’t have an African-American relative, she had an affair.”

  Hugh felt a headache starting. Closing his eyes, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Did she?” Robert asked.

  “Hell, no.”

  “Are you sure?”

  Hugh opened his eyes. “Dana is my wife. I know her. Come on, Rob, support me in this. Dana did not have an affair. Tell Dad that. I don’t want him starting rumors.”

  “Then you’d better find Dana’s relative. See, as far as Dad’s concerned, of the two possibilities—a black relative or infidelity—infidelity is the more palatable to him.”

  Hugh could guess why. “Does he dislike Dana that much?”

  “He always felt you married beneath you, but there’s another reason he’d prefer infidelity. If the baby isn’t yours, Dad can say it isn’t his grandchild.”

  Hugh was sick. “That’s pathetic.”

  “He is who he is.”

  “Yeah? So who is he? To read his books, you’d take him for a man who thinks minorities have been wrongly victimized for years. But now he doesn’t want to be related to one? What does that say about him?”

  “It says he’s a closet bigot,” Robert replied calmly. “Want to know what else he says?”

  Hugh didn’t have to reply. He knew nothing would keep Robert from telling him. Robert had competed with him from the time they were kids. He still loved one-upping Hugh, knowing something Hugh didn’t.

  What was amazing, Hugh realized, was that even though his brother was now more important than Hugh, if power and money were the measure, Robert still felt that competitive childhood need.

  “He believes that you either truly didn’t know she had an affair, or that you did know but refuse to admit how wrong you were in marrying her. He says that there certainly won’t be any big baptism, not with so many questions about the parentage of this
child.”

  “The baptism isn’t his affair. It’s Dana’s and mine.”

  “One word from him, and half the guests will stay away.”

  “Let them,” Hugh declared, but he had heard enough. “Hey, Robert, I have to go. Do me a favor, though? Call Dad and tell him he’s wrong about Dana. She didn’t have an affair, and if he raises the subject with his buddies at the club, he’ll end up with egg on his face. Dana and I will sort things out, but we’ll do it in our own good time.”

  “He thinks it was your neighbor, by the way.”

  “David?”

  “He’s African American.”

  “He’s one of my closest friends! You’re nuts.”

  “Not me. Dad. But you may want to check it out. I know a good detective—”

  “Got my own, thanks,” Hugh said and quickly ended the call. He did have his own detective and would be calling him to try to track down Dana’s father. First, though, he wanted to contact the geneticist who did most of his DNA work.

  He tried to call her, but she wasn’t there, so he bought a cup of coffee and walked outside to the patio. He was just sitting down on a bench when his phone rang. His partner’s cell phone number appeared.

  “Hey, Julian.”

  “I have to be at the courthouse on the Ryan case, but it shouldn’t take more than an hour. I thought I’d drive by the house afterward and get Deb. She wants to see the baby. Is Dana up for a visit?”

  Julian was one of Hugh’s closest friends. They had met in law school, drawn to each other by a shared vision of the kind of lawyer each wanted to be. Julian was as open-minded and caring as anyone Hugh knew, but he still hesitated.

  “I don’t know, Julian. She’s pretty wiped. Neither of us got much sleep, and she’s starting to hurt. It might be better to wait until we’re home.”

  “But she’s okay, isn’t she?”

  “She’s fine. Just exhausted.”

  “Then we’ll take a quick peek at the baby and leave.”

  “If you drive all the way down here, Dana will want to visit. Really, Julian. Give her a day to recoup.”

  “Deb’ll be disappointed. But I hear you. Will you let me know if I can do anything at the office?”

  Hugh ended the call feeling like a fool. He couldn’t hide the baby. Today, tomorrow, the day after—it wouldn’t make any difference when Julian saw her—Lizzie’s skin would still have a copper tint. Julian wouldn’t care. Nor would Deb. But they would ask questions.

  As he sat there with cooling coffee, staring blindly at a bird that had perched on the end of his bench, his thoughts were interrupted by a high-pitched voice on the far side of the hedge bordering the patio.

  He ignored it. He had problems of his own. He didn’t need to hear someone else’s. But when that distressed voice rose again, he couldn’t help but listen.

  “I tried!” she cried. “I can’t get through.” There was a pause, then a desperate “How am I supposed to do that? He won’t take my calls!” When she continued, her voice was lower, though still easily heard. “There’s this first surgery and he’s stuck in a body cast for six weeks. And they keep talking about growth plates, which’ll mean more operations. I don’t have the money for that.” She paused. “Do you have insurance? It isn’t just me.” She added with a sob, “I didn’t ask for that car to hit him, Mama. I was right there in the yard. The car came out of nowhere and swerved onto the sidewalk.”

  Hugh was intrigued despite himself.

  “I just told you,” she argued. “He won’t take my calls, and I know he’s in Washington. He was on the news the other night talking about some big Senate vote. He just doesn’t want to admit Jay is his.”

  Hugh smiled. He knew congressmen. He knew power brokers of other ilks as well. As a group, they were arrogant SOBs.

  “I didn’t plan on getting pregnant either,” the girl continued, “but I didn’t do it alone. Doesn’t he have a responsibility to help?”

  Yes, he did, Hugh thought silently. If a man sired a child, he did have a responsibility.

  There were a few diminishing sobs, then, “Mama? Please don’t hang up. Mama?”

  Not his business, Hugh told himself. Especially not now.

  Tossing the last of his coffee into the bushes, he rose from the bench. Rather than heading back into the hospital, though, he rounded the hedge and entered the garden.

  The woman was doubled over on a bench similar to the one he had been sitting on. He could see denim legs, the back of a slim-fitting tee shirt, and an unruly mass of auburn hair. A pair of stubbed cigarette butts lay in front of her sneakers.

  “Excuse me?” he said.

  Startled, she lifted her head. Her left eye strayed, but her right held his. Both were red.

  Gently, he said, “I was sitting on the other side of the bushes and overheard your call. I may be able to help.”

  She wiped her eyes with fingers that shook. “By hitting on me?”

  He smiled. “No. I’m married. My wife just had a baby. But I’m a lawyer. It sounds to me like you have a father who is denying paternity of his child.”

  “You had no right to listen in on my call.”

  “You weren’t exactly whispering. That father does have a legal responsibility. I know. I’ve handled paternity cases.”

  She gave him a dismissive once-over. “You don’t look like a lawyer.”

  “Like I said, my wife just had a baby. Literally. We’ve been up all night. I don’t look like this when I’m going to court.”

  She choked out a humorless laugh. “If I can’t pay my boy’s medical bills, how can I pay a lawyer?”

  “When I find a worthy case, I don’t charge.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She stood. She was tall—five nine, he guessed—and that one direct eye leveled him a cynical look. “Right.” She stuffed her phone in the small pocket at the front of her jeans and turned to retrieve a worn canvas pouch.

  Taking his wallet from his own jeans, he pulled out a business card.

  She didn’t take it.

  Undaunted, he said, “I know Washington. I have a large network of contacts there.”

  “Not for this. You can’t help.”

  “He’s that high?”

  She didn’t confirm or deny. Nor did she turn and run.

  “How old is your son?” he asked.

  She raised her chin. “Four.”

  “Hit by a car?”

  “Yes. Two days ago. His spine is messed up. And his leg.”

  “Is the father a senator?”

  Staring at him, she put the strap of her bag on her shoulder.

  “And he won’t take your calls?” Hugh persisted. “I can get through to him.”

  “Yeah. Right. If he won’t talk to me, why would he talk to a lawyer?” She said the word like lawyers were scum.

  “He’ll be frightened of the publicity if he doesn’t,” he said. “Bring a lawyer into the picture, and he’ll want things settled quickly and quietly. Trust me. I know these guys. They think they can do anything they want while they’re out there on the campaign trail.”

  “He wasn’t campaigning. He was hunting.”

  “Around here?”

  “In New Hampshire. He had dinner at the restaurant where I work. I waited on him.”

  Hugh could picture it. Neither the mess of her hair, nor her pallor, nor that wandering eye could hide the fact that she was very attractive. “Is that where he’s from—New Hampshire?”

  “No. He was someone’s guest.”

  “Are you from New Hampshire?” If so, the case would be out of his jurisdiction.

  “Massachusetts,” she said. “Just over the line.”

  It was a go. “Can you prove you were together?”

  “No.”

  “Did anyone see you?” When she didn’t reply, he added a goading “And you’re sure it happened the way you say?”

  “I took the motel room,” she snapped. “The clerk saw me. But I don’t know if he saw the man I was with.”
She looked down to rummage in her bag.

  “Did you talk with him after that night?”

  “I called to tell him Jay was born.” She took out a cigarette.

  “And you got through?”

  “No. I said it was personal. They put me through to someone who said it was always personal with women like me.”

  “I take it he said the boy wasn’t his boss’s.”

  “Oh, yeah.” She tossed the cigarette back in her bag.

  “Are you sure he is?”

  “Jay looks just like him.”

  “Looks can deceive,” Hugh said. “Did he pay you?”

  “I don’t need this,” she muttered, starting to walk away.

  “Wait. I’m sorry, but these are lawyer questions. If I don’t ask them, someone else will.”

  “Not if I don’t do anything,” she replied sweetly.

  “You have to do something. There’s your boy to consider. He needs care, and you have no insurance. What about the driver of the car?”

  “He died.”

  “The accident was that bad?”

  “No. He had a heart attack,” she offered in a measured way. “That’s what caused the accident. He was, like, eighty. He didn’t even have a license.”

  “Which means he was uninsured.”

  “Correct.”

  “And your mother can’t help. Father? Boyfriend?”

  She gave a slow headshake.

  “Which leaves our man in Washington,” Hugh concluded. “He owes you.” There was a case here—and he was glad for the distraction. “Look, your son needs help. I’m offering it to you free of charge. Most mothers would jump at that.” He held out the card again. “Take it. If you call, you call. If you don’t, you don’t.”

  She looked at the card, finally took it. Her hand still shook. Hugh wondered when she had last had a meal and might have offered her money for that, if he hadn’t suspected she would refuse it.

  She read the printing. “How do I know you’re not from him, trying to get me a lousy deal?”

  “I don’t even know who he is.”

  “How do I know you’re not lying?”

  “Check me out. You have the name there. Call another lawyer in town. Or Google me. You’ll see the kind of cases I handle. I’d like to handle this one.”