Part 22 (1/2)
”Yup,” David said, still without turning.
”I'm sorry.”
”Easy words, man.”
Hugh sighed. ”I was wrong. I made accusations I shouldn't have made.”
”Yup,” David said again, but he turned to look at Hugh.
”I was upset. I was under pressure.”
”That's life.”
”Not my life. Say I'm spoiled, say I'm arrogant-say what you want, but confusion is new to me.”
”And pressure? You have it at work. How do you handle that?”
”It's not personal. I never felt pressure like this, even when I married Dana-and don't call me a sn.o.b. You've been a good friend. I miss talking with you. If I ever needed your advice, it's now.”
”So I'm your black resource,” David said.
Hugh stared at him. ”If I wanted a resource, I could call any one of the experts I use. You're my friend. I want my friend's advice. Come on, David,” he said wearily, ”don't you think you're overreacting?”
David didn't blink. ”There's no overreacting when it comes to color. It's there, it raises hackles, and it ain't goin' away.”
”Do you honestly think I'm a bigot?”
”I never thought so before. Now I'm not so sure.”
Hugh didn't immediately reply. David had actually put it well. ”That's two of us,” he confessed, ”and, let me tell you, it isn't making me feel great. I have no problem with Lizzie's heritage. She's my daughter. I don't care if her skin's darker than mine. So what is hanging me up?”
”Could be your lily-white family and friends.”
Hugh might have mentioned his Cuban law partner, African-American basketball pal, and multi-cultural client base. But he got David's point. ”My family is what it is. I can't change them.”
”No, but you can ignore their influence. Why do you have to agree with them?”
”I don't. I've argued with every f.u.c.kin' one of them in the last ten days. But I do care what they think. Same with my friends.”
”If they can't accept your daughter, they're not friends.”
”It's not that they can't accept her, just that they ask questions. Isn't that a normal reaction? Am I wrong to want answers?”
”No.”
”Dana thinks I am.”
”I doubt that, but tracking down her father is more complicated for her. It isn't just a race issue.”
”It isn't that for me, either.”
”No? But you need to find him so people will know where Lizzie gets her color. So here's a question. If you'd had a say in it, would you have given her brown skin?”
Hugh didn't lie. ”No. What about you? What would you have chosen for Ali?”
”White skin,” David replied. ”She'd have an easier life-unless she grows up to fall for a black devil like me, in which case her mother might have a fit.”
”So where does it end?”
”Beats me.”
”I'm asking for advice here. What am I supposed to do?”
”Love your little girl.”
”What about my wife? She thinks I'm a racist.”
”You'll have to convince her you're not.”
”How?”
David held up both hands. ”Hey, not my business. She's your wife, as you told me more than once last time we talked.”
Hugh sensed an ebbing of the tension between them. ”But you do love her.”
”You bet I love her. She's an amazing woman. But she's married to you.”
”And you don't think I'm just that little bit insecure?”
”I hadn't.”
Hugh smiled dryly. ”Then I'm not the only one who's learned something new.”
Dana was on the patio when Hugh returned. She watched him while he stood at the carriage studying Lizzie. ”When you look at her like that, what are you thinking?” she finally asked.
It was a while before he said, ”You can't really do much with a baby this young. She eats, she cries, she sleeps, she p.o.o.ps.”
”You knew it'd be like this at first.”
”I expected we'd never have a minute to sit still.”
”Do you love her?”
”Of course I love her. She's my daughter.”
”Did you love her when she was first born?” Dana asked.