Part 31 (1/2)

”Not yet. He's probably just arrived at the hospital.”

Eaton nodded. He wasn't sure exactly how to broach the subject.

Dorothy was watching him, waiting.

”I'm glad Hugh is with Dana,” he said. ”There may be decisions to make. A husband should be with his wife at times like this.”

”Do you have decisions to make with regard to your book?” Dorothy asked directly.

She was a bright woman. She did deserve the truth. ”Definitely,” he said.

”What kinds of decisions?”

”Whether to go back and correct the things that are wrong.”

”But you can't do it, not in this edition. Is the problem so severe that it can't wait for the paperback release?” The phone rang. Frowning in frustration, she held up a finger to say she'd be back, and hurried from the room.

Calling himself every kind of coward, and, in that, more his mother's son than he had ever thought, Eaton followed, but only to the hall. He saw that the ba.s.sinet in the family room was empty. Quietly, he climbed the stairs and went down to the baby's room. Hugh and Dana had shown it off the last time he and Dorothy had visited. Typical of children, they had been proud and wanted approval.

Personally, Eaton found the painted meadow cloying. Clean walls with a bright picture or two was more his style.

But then, clean walls with a bright picture or two was the way Dorothy had decorated their children's rooms, and Eaton was a creature of habit.

He wondered if Hugh had a point, that he had deliberately written One Man's Line to make real what he most feared was not. He wondered if he had spent a lifetime immersing himself in the protective cloak of ancestry so that he wouldn't have to consider the truth.

He approached the crib. Elizabeth Ames Clarke was asleep on her back. She was wearing a little pink onesie, like those Robert's baby girls had worn, but there the similarity ended. Her arms were bare, and her legs a lovely soft brown. What caught him most, though, was her face. Surrounded by wispy curls that he remembered from the day of her birth, her face was a soft bronze, with the smoothest, most unblemished of cheeks, a tiny b.u.mp of a chin, a b.u.t.ton nose. Her lashes were dark and long, her eyelids a burnished gold.

She was quite beautiful.

The image blurred. He didn't know whether it was fear of what his granddaughter faced, fear of telling Dorothy, fear of telling Robert, fear of telling friends, fear of losing his public's respect.

But, looking at this child through tears, he didn't see the difference between her skin and his. He only saw her innocence.

Chapter 24.

Dana was grateful Hugh was with her. She didn't ask herself why she hadn't called Gillian or Tara. She simply needed Hugh there. He was clearheaded. He listened to the doctor's explanation of what they had found and what they could do. He filled in the blanks for Dana when she was confused, and asked the questions she couldn't. When it came to making decisions, he boiled the choices down to two, explained them both, listened to her thoughts, then supported her conclusion.

Ellie Jo had a blockage in an artery. Her best hope of recovery was surgery, which entailed its own risks. The alternatives, while less risky, raised serious quality of life issues.

It was an awesome responsibility, having to make a choice that could kill someone she loved. Dana hated it.

She held Ellie Jo's hand before they wheeled her away, told her she loved her, that everything would be fine, and not to worry because she was totally on top of things at the shop. She kissed her grandmother's cheek and lingered for a moment. The scent of apples had been diluted by a medicinal smell, but still she treasured the familiar feel of Ellie Jo's soft skin. When the stretcher finally moved and Hugh drew her back, she pressed a hand to her mouth.

Ellie Jo wasn't young. Dana knew she wouldn't live forever, but she was terrified by the thought of losing her so soon.

Since the hospital cafeteria had closed, Hugh carried coffee from a vending machine back to the room where Dana sat. It was a small room, done in soft grays and mauves that he a.s.sumed were meant to be calming. He couldn't say that it worked. He remained nervous.

Ellie Jo had been in surgery for two hours. It could be another two before the surgeon emerged, and still longer before they knew whether the paralysis was permanent, and that was a.s.suming she survived the operation. There was a chance she would not. The doctor had been blunt about that.

Hugh set the coffee on a table to Dana's left, and settled next to her on the sofa. ”Doin' okay?”

She shot him a worried look and nodded. After a minute, she said, ”Are you?”

”I've been better.”

She turned to pick up the coffee and sipped carefully. Then she cradled the cup in both hands and leaned back. Finally she glanced at him. ”I didn't know where you'd gone this afternoon. Were you at the office?”

Hugh hadn't thought about the office. He hadn't thought about Stan Hutchinson, Crystal Kostas, or her son. Since late morning, he had thought about nothing but where he'd come from and who he really was.

”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-cla.s.s 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 pa.s.sing?”

”Pa.s.sing.”

”That's what I've done.”

”Pa.s.sing 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.”