Barbara Delinsky - The Family Tree

With his mother still marveling about the speed of the delivery and the many advances in obstetric care from when her children were born, Hugh led them down the hall to the nursery. His father immediately spotted the name on a crib at the window, and said, ‘There she is.’

At that point, Hugh hoped for excited exclamations on the sweetness and beauty of his daughter. He wanted his parents to tell him that she looked like his mother’s favorite great-aunt or his father’s second cousin or, simply, that she was strikingly unique.

But his parents stood silent until his father said gravely, ‘This can’t be her.’

His mother was frowning, trying to read names on other cribs. ‘It’s the only Clarke.’

‘This baby can’t be Hugh’s.’

‘Eaton, it says Baby Girl Clarke.’

‘Then it’s mismarked,’ Eaton reasoned. A historian by occupation, both teacher and author, he was as reliant on fact as Hugh was.

‘She has an ID band,’ Dorothy noted, ‘but you never know about those. Oprah had a pair of parents on whose babies were mislabeled. Go ask, Hugh. This doesn’t look like your child.’

‘It’s her,’ Hugh said, trying to sound surprised by their doubt.

Dorothy was confused. ‘But she doesn’t look anything like you.’

‘Do I look like you?’ he asked. ‘No. I look like Dad. Well, this baby is half Dana, too.’

‘But she doesn’t look like Dana, either.’

Another couple came down the hall and pressed their faces to the window.

Eaton lowered his voice. ‘I’d check this out, Hugh. Mix-ups happen.’

Dorothy added, ‘The newspaper just ran a story about a woman who gave birth to twins from someone else’s vial, and you can almost understand it – how can they possibly keep all those microscopic things apart?’

‘Dorothy, that was in vitro.’

‘Maybe. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t mix-ups. Besides, how one becomes pregnant isn’t something sons would necessarily share with their mothers .’ She shot Hugh a sheepish look.

‘No, Mom,’ Hugh said. ‘This wasn’t in vitro. Forget mix-ups. I was in the delivery room. This was the child I saw born. I cut the cord.’

Eaton remained doubtful. ‘And you’re sure it was this child?’

‘Positive.’

‘Well,’ Dorothy said quietly, ‘what we see here doesn’t resemble you or anyone else in our family. This baby has to look like Dana’s family. Her grandmother rarely talks about relatives – what, were there three Josephs all told at the wedding, counting the bride? – but the grandmother must have family, and then there’s Dana’s father, who is a bigger mystery. Does Dana even know his name?’

‘She knows his name,’ Hugh said and met his father’s eyes. He knew what Eaton was thinking. His parents were nothing if not consistent. Pedigree mattered.

‘We discussed this three years ago, Hugh,’ the older man reminded him, low but edgy. ‘I told you to have him investigated.’

‘And I said I wouldn’t. There was no point.’

‘You would have known what you were marrying.’

‘I didn’t marry a “what”.’ Hugh argued, ‘I married a “who”. I thought we beat this issue to death back then. I married Dana. I didn’t marry her father.’

‘You can’t always separate the two,’ Eaton countered. ‘I’d say this is a case in point.’

Hugh was saved a reply by the nurse, who waved at him and wheeled the crib toward the door.

This baby was his child. He had helped conceive her, had helped bring her into the world. He had cut the cord tying her to her mother. There was symbolism in that. Dana wasn’t her sole caretaker anymore. He had a part to play now and for years to come. It was an awesome thought under even the most ordinary of circumstances, and these didn’t feel ordinary in the least.

‘Are either of you pleased?’ he asked. ‘At the very least, happy for me? This is my baby.’

‘Is it?’ Eaton asked.

Hugh was a minute following – initially thinking that it was simply a stupid remark – then he was furious. But the nurse was wheeling the crib toward him. He held out his wrist for her to match the baby’s band with his. ‘Are these the grandparents?’ she asked with a smile.

‘Sure are,’ Hugh said.

‘Congratulations, then. She’s precious.’ She turned to him. ‘Is your wife planning to breast-feed?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ll send someone down to help her start.’ The door to the nursery closed, ending Hugh’s show of brightness.

He turned on his father. ‘Are you saying Dana had an affair?’

‘Stranger things have happened,’ said his mother.

‘Not to me,’ Hugh declared. When she shot him a warning look, he lowered his voice. ‘And not to my marriage. Why do you think I waited so long? Why do you think I refused to marry those girls you two loved? Because then there would have been affairs, and on my side. They were boring women with boring lifestyles. Dana is different.’

‘Obviously,’ remarked one of his parents. It didn’t matter which. Both faces bore the accusation.

‘Does that mean you won’t be calling all Clarkes to tell them about my baby?’

‘Hugh,’ said Eaton.

‘What about the country club?’ Hugh asked. ‘Think she’ll be welcomed there? Will you take her from table to table on Grill Night to show her off to your friends, like you do with Robert’s kids?’

‘If I were you,’ Eaton advised, ‘I wouldn’t worry about the country club. I’d worry about the town where you live, and the schools she’ll attend, and her future.’

Hugh held up a hand. ‘Hey, you’re talking to someone whose law partners are Cuban and Jewish, whose clients are largely minorities, and whose neighbor is African American.’

‘Like your child,’ Eaton said.

Hugh took a tempering breath, to no avail. ‘I don’t see any black skin in this nursery. I see brown, white, yellow, and everything in between. So my baby’s skin is tawny. She also happens to be beautiful. Until you can say that to me – until you can say it to Dana – please—’ He didn’t finish, simply stared at them for a minute before wheeling the crib down the hall.

‘Please what?’ Eaton called, catching up in a pair of strides. He had Hugh’s long legs. Or, more correctly, Hugh had Eaton’s.

Please go home. Please keep your ugly thoughts to yourselves and leave me and my wife and our child alone .

Hugh said none of those things. But his parents heard. By the time he reached Dana’s door, he and the baby were alone.

3

One look at Hugh’s face and Dana knew what had happened. Hadn’t her excitement been shadowed by worry? Hugh’s parents were good people. They gave generously to their favorite charities, not the least of which was the church, and they paid their fair share of taxes. But they liked their life as it was. Change of any kind was a threat. Dana had had to bite her tongue over the uproar wreaked when the senior Clarkes’ South Shore town voted to allow in a fast-food franchise, over the objections of Eaton, Dorothy, and other high-enders who wouldn’t eat a Big Mac if their lives depended on it.

Dana loved Big Macs. She had long ago accepted that her in-laws didn’t.

No. She didn’t care what Hugh’s parents thought. But she did care what Hugh thought. Much as he was his own man, his parents could ruin his mood.

That had clearly happened. He was distracted, seeming angry at a time when he should have been laughing, hugging her, telling her he loved her, like he had done at the instant of the baby’s birth.

Dana needed that. But if her mind registered dismay, she was too emotionally numb to feel it. He had the baby with him, and Dana wanted to hold her. She felt an instinctive need to protect her, even from her own father, if need be.