‘Your daughter is exquisite.’
‘What do you think of her color?’
Ellie Jo didn’t try to deny what they could both so clearly see. ‘I think her color is part of her beauty, but if you’re asking where it came from, I can’t tell you. When your mother was pregnant with you, she used to joke that she had no idea what would come out.’
‘Was there a question on your side of the family?’
‘Question?’
‘Unknown roots, like an adoption?’
‘No. I knew where I was from. Same with my Earl. But your mother knew so little about your father.’ As she spoke, she peeked under the edge of the tiny pink cap and whispered a delighted ‘Look at those curls.’
‘My father didn’t have curls,’ Dana said. ‘He didn’t look African American.’
‘Neither did Adam Clayton Powell,’ her grandmother replied. ‘Many black groups shunned him because he looked so white.’
‘And did whites accept him as an equal?’
‘In most instances.’
But not all, Dana concluded. ‘Hugh’s upset.’
‘Hugh? Or his parents?’
‘His parents, but it spread to him.’ Dana’s eyes filled with tears again. ‘I want him to be excited. This is our baby.’
Ellie Jo soothed her for a minute before saying, ‘He is excited. But he’s trying to deal with what he sees. We might have known to expect the unexpected. He’s been primed to see the newest Ames Clarke.’
‘He’ll want answers,’ Dana predicted. ‘Hugh is dogged that way. He won’t rest until he finds the source of Lizzie’s looks, and that means going over every inch of our family tree. Do I want him to do that? Do I want to find my father after all this time?’
‘Hey!’ came a delighted cry from the door.
Tara Saxe had been Dana’s best friend since they were three. Together they had suffered through their mothers’ deaths, what seemed like endless years of school, the scourge of teen age boys, and not knowing what they wanted to be. Married straight from college to a pianist who was content to live in her childhood home, Tara had three children under eight, an accounting degree she had earned at night, and a part-time job she hated but without whose pay she and her husband couldn’t live. The only thing ever ruffled about her was her light brown hair, which was chin length, wavy, and rarely combed. Otherwise, she was a perfectionist, juggling the minutiae of her life with aplomb.
She was also a knitter and, in that, Dana’s partner in copying other designers’ new styles. At the start of each season, they scoped out the most exclusive women’s clothing stores in Boston, taking notes. Then, though both of them had other jobs and no time for this, Dana designed patterns, which, between them, they knitted – occasionally the same sweater multiple times, each with variations of color or proportion. Tara’s reaction to the process told Dana – and more important, Ellie Jo – whether the pattern would work in the shop.
Now Tara hugged her and oohed over the baby much as Ellie Jo had done. Only Dana didn’t have to ask Tara what she thought. Tara was forthright as only a best friend could be. ‘Whoa,’ she said, ‘look at that skin. Where did you say you got this baby, Dana Jo?’
‘I assume she’s a relic of my unknown past,’ Dana replied, relieved to joke. ‘Hugh’s upset.’
‘Why? Because he can’t say she’s the spitting image of his great-grandfather or his great-great-grandfather? Where is he, anyway?’
‘Gram sent him for ice.’
‘Ah. I’ll bet you’re starting to need it. Oh, and look at this baby, rooting around. She’s hungry.’
Dana’s breasts were larger than they had been pre-pregnancy, though no larger now than last week or the week before. ‘Do I do it this early?’
‘Oh yeah. She isn’t starving for milk yet, and you have colostrum.’
Dana opened her gown. Tara showed her how to hold the baby so that she could latch on, but it took several minutes of manipulating Dana’s nipple before they finally managed, and then, Dana was stunned by the strength of the sucking. ‘How does she know what to do?’
Tara didn’t answer, because Hugh had returned, and what with her hugging him and Ellie Jo trying to position the ice, the question was forgotten. All too soon, though, Dana’s two favorite women left to go to work, and she was alone again with Hugh.
‘Is she drinking?’ he asked, looking on with interest, and for a minute, Dana imagined that he had moved past his parents’ ill will.
‘She’s going through the motions. I don’t know how much she’s getting.’
‘She’s getting what she needs,’ came a voice behind Hugh. It was the lactation specialist, introducing herself and looking on, then pulling and pushing at Dana’s breast. She asked a few questions, made a few suggestions, and left.
Dana put the baby to her shoulder and rubbed her back. When she didn’t hear a burp, she tried patting. She peered down at her daughter’s face, saw nothing to signal distress, and returned to rubbing.
‘So,’ Hugh asked with undue nonchalance, ‘what did Ellie Jo say?’
It was an innocent question, but there were other things he might have said. Discouraged and suddenly excruciatingly tired, Dana said, ‘She’s as startled as we are.’
‘Does she have any idea where the color is from?’
‘She isn’t a geneticist.’
‘No suspicions?’
‘None.’
‘Suggestions?’
Dana wanted to cry. ‘About what? How to lighten the baby’s skin?’
Hugh looked away and sighed wearily. ‘It’d be easier if we had a few answers.’
‘Easier to explain to your parents?’ Dana asked, knowing she sounded bitter. There was a … not a wall, exactly, but something separating them. Before, they had always been in sync.
His eyes were dark and, yes, distant. ‘Easier to explain to your friends?’ Dana asked. ‘Easier for your parents to explain to their friends?’
‘All of the above,’ he admitted. ‘Listen. Here are the facts. White couple has black baby. It isn’t your average, run-of-the-mill event. People will ask questions.’
‘Do we have to give them answers? Let them think what they want.’
‘Oh, they will. Their first thought will be my mother’s – that there was a mix-up in the lab.’
‘What lab?’
‘Right. I told her that, even though it was none of her business. But she won’t be the last to wonder.’
‘Would it matter if we’d had help conceiving?’
‘That’s not the point. I just don’t like people speculating about my personal life, and they will as long as there’s reason to speculate. So.’ He raised three fingers. ‘First guess is in vitro.’ He folded a finger. ‘Second is a relative with African roots.’ Another finger lowered. ‘Know what the third is?’ He dropped his hand. ‘She isn’t mine.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘She isn’t mine.’
Dana nearly laughed. ‘That’s ridiculous. No one will think that.’
‘My parents did.’
Her