Part 8 (2/2)

”She did. A little girl.”

”Hamdel lah ala al salama! Such good news! Azhar will be happy to hear it. Perhaps we can visit them soon?”

”I'd like that.”

Hugh was smiling when he hung up the phone. He had been appointed by the court to represent Yunus after three separate lawyers opted out, and in taking the case he had had to buck the will of the police department, the local district attorney, and the FBI. He hadn't received money other than reimburs.e.m.e.nt for court costs, but the emotional reward had been huge. Yunus El-Sabwi was hardworking and focused. Not only would he give his life for his family, but his loyalty to friends was absolute. Hugh had become a beneficiary of that.

Feeling better, Hugh went upstairs to shower and shave. Revived, he pulled on clean jeans and a fresh tee s.h.i.+rt, put the dirty sheets in the washer and fresh sheets on the bed, then set off for the hospital again. Along the way, he stopped at the flower shop for a balloon bouquet, at a local boutique for an absurdly expensive tie-dyed pink onesie, and at Rosie's, Dana's favorite cafe, for a grilled chicken salad.

Dana was feeding the baby when he arrived. Still buoyed, he smiled, admired the flowers sent by friends, asked how she was feeling, whether the doctor had been in, when she could go home. He traded her the salad for the baby, and managed to change his first diaper.

He didn't mention the birth announcement, didn't mention Dana's father, didn't mention ancestry. His mood deflated some when his uncle called and hara.s.sed him about Lizzie's coloring. But Hugh was firm. It wasn't an issue, he said, and proceeded to talk about the miracle of the birth.

Dana appreciated his enthusiasm. She smiled. She answered his questions. But her focus was on the baby, even while she ate her salad. He sensed she was holding back where he was concerned.

And later, as he drove home, that was what he obsessed about-not Lizzie's color, his uncle's rudeness, or the fact that neither of his parents had called. All he could think about was that if Dana was holding back, it was because she had something to hide.

Late the next morning, Dana was discharged. She dressed the baby in the pink tie-dyed onesie, which took some doing. Four adult hands-make that four inexperienced adult hands-kept getting in each other's way. But they managed, and when Hugh brought the car around, they had no trouble securing her in the car seat.

Hugh had waited for this, had imagined it so many times-driving his wife and child home-and it was good at first, the same euphoria he had felt earlier. Dana was beside him in the front, looking back at the baby every few minutes, clearly excited.

Then the baby started to fuss. Hugh pulled over; Dana got into the back; he resumed driving. Lizzie continued to cry.

”What's wrong?” he asked, glancing worriedly in the rearview mirror. He couldn't see much; the baby was directly behind him and facing toward the rear of the car.

”I don't know,” Dana said. She took a pacifier from her bag. That did the trick, but only for several more miles. Then Lizzie began crying again.

”Is she wet?” he asked.

”If she is, there can't be much. I changed her right before we left.”

”Then, hungry?”

”I think she's just fussy. I wish I could take her out and hold her, but that'd be totally dangerous.”

”Not to mention illegal,” Hugh said. ”Want me to pull over?”

”No. Let's just try to get home.”

He drove to the sound of sporadic crying. When they were five minutes from the house, Lizzie finally fell asleep.

Ellie Jo and Gillian Kline were at the house when they pulled up, and Hugh was as relieved to see them as Dana was delighted. These two experienced mothers knew why babies cried. Moreover, with Hugh's parents nowhere in sight on what should have been a special family day, their presence was particularly welcome.

They changed the baby, gave her to Dana to feed, murmured soft words of encouragement when it took a while to get her to nurse. Totally normal, they said more than once, then She'll catch on, and There she goes, look, that's good. Hugh watched from the door, drawing comfort from their calm. When Lizzie was asleep and he suggested taking her up to her crib, Dana opted instead for the family room.

They settled the baby in a ba.s.sinet there, settled Dana on the sofa nearby, then produced a bag from the local deli and made lunch, something Hugh hadn't thought of but welcomed. When they finished eating, the guard changed. Ellie Jo and Gillian were replaced by Tara and Juliette, and a while later by two of Ellie Jo's friends, and a while after that by two neighbors from down the street. All brought willing hands, intimate knowledge of babies, and foil-covered pans containing dinners enough for a week.

Hugh found himself leaning against the doorjamb while others took care of the baby. He was a third wheel, relegated to the status of observer, so much so that he was tempted to go to the office, where he would feel useful at least. If he had done that, though, he wouldn't have heard the talk.

Everyone thought Lizzie was a beauty and that she had a sweet temperament. A few tried to see resemblances-Hugh, I think she has your mouth, or, That is definitely Dana's nose-none of which Hugh saw. They remarked on her skin and her hair, praising both features-Her coloring is elegant, or, What I would give for curls like these. And, of course, there were questions about their source, with more than one teasing glance at Hugh. So, Hugh, where did you say you were nine months ago?

Hugh laughed the first time and smiled the second, but when the question came a third time, he said a blunt ”Philadelphia,” which brought laughter from the questioner and a quick explanation from Dana. The next time he said the same thing, she shot him an annoyed look. But he felt no remorse. He had warned her that there would be questions, and he was tired of being the sole b.u.t.t of the joke.

By five in the afternoon, it was Hugh's friends who began appearing. There were several from his office bearing flowers and gifts, and their remarks about Lizzie were enthusiastic and kind; but then came Hugh's family friends, young men with whom he had grown up. Clearly, they had been told about Lizzie and wanted to see her for themselves. There was an intensity to their curiosity. They said nothing aloud about the baby's parentage, not so much as an acknowledgment of her color, which was a statement in and of itself.

His basketball buddies weren't as restrained. They appeared shortly after six, four big guys en route to their weekly game. They carried roses for Dana and a Celtics onesie for Lizzie, and the silence when they saw her was comical.

Hugh, my man, who is this?

Dana, you little minx. Working with a client, you say? We've heard that one before.

So, I guess we're all cleared, except for Denny. Where is Denny, anyway?

Denny, the only African American in the group, was singing that night-as he did with a group from his church once a month. David was another matter. Just as the basketball group was getting ready to leave, the man strode through the front door. Granted, the door was wide open. Granted, David strode everywhere. Granted, he was a physical guy who had never been stingy with hugs. Hugh watched him swoop down to kiss Dana, then lean over the ba.s.sinet to stare at a baby who looked so much like his own that it would have taken a saint not to think twice.

Out on the front walk minutes later, Hugh's basketball buddy Tom said, ”What's the story with that guy?”

”Story?”

”His relations.h.i.+p with Dana. Is it on the up-and-up?”

”Totally,” Hugh said, but he was suddenly angry-angry at Tom, at his parents, at David. David was such a good friend that Hugh had never before considered his skin color. Now, all that was changed.

And then, with the basketball foursome pulling away from the curb, Hugh turned back to the house only to hear his name called. Looking down the street, he saw his neighbor jogging toward him. Monica French was one of the women who had visited earlier. In her midforties, she was married to a man who was rarely seen, but she had two teenagers and three dogs who made up for it. The dogs were with her now, three big Akitas, all crowding around her so eagerly that as she attempted to stop she almost fell.

”Hugh,” she said then. ”There's something I have to say, and I know it may not be appropriate, but it really is a matter of conscience. Is David a friend?”

”The best,” Hugh replied, because he knew where this was headed. Monica was a busybody who walked her dogs three times a day and had no problem stopping along the way to point out, for the benefit of the ignorant homeowner, a dead shrub in the garden, a blown bulb above the garage door, or the swarm of bees by a shutter.

”If that's true,” she said, ”then you have nothing to worry about, because a best friend wouldn't do what I'm suggesting. But I looked at that little baby earlier and kept asking myself where her color was from, and I have to tell you, David is around a lot.”

”So?” Hugh asked.

”So, he's black.”

”I think I noticed that.”

”I've seen him inside with Dana when you're not home.”

”Yes. She tells me-not that you saw her, but that David stops by.”

”He's sometimes there for an hour.”

”Sixty minutes? Not forty-five or ninety?”

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