Family Tree Part 39

Dana kept thinking about Corinne. She tried to call her on Thursday, but there was no answer, and when she tried on Friday, a recording said the line was disconnected. She would have driven over to Greendale had she thought Corinne would be there. But she guessed that she was gone. With her real life exposed, her humiliation was real. She would likely be seeking a place where she was unknown. Dana doubted she would see her again.

If things happened for a reason, as Ellie Jo said, Corinne had served a purpose in Dana's life. Dana was more sensitive now to the cost of deception.

That made her even more forgiving of Ellie Jo, who, soon after her return home on Sat.u.r.day morning, asked about the papers in the attic.

"Hidden again," Dana said with a new patience.

"The clipping and Emma's note-burn them for me?"

"Burn them? Are you sure?"

"Very. You know what they say. I know what they say. Now let's burn them."

Dana set fire to them on the back porch grill and, in so doing, shut one door on the past.

Another door soon opened. She was changing Lizzie after returning home when the doorbell rang. Hugh answered it, and though Dana listened, she couldn't hear more than the occasional murmur. Then she heard two sets of footsteps on the stairs. She recognized Hugh's tread, but had no idea who he was bringing to see her. She had finished snapping Lizzie's onesie and had turned to the door when she gasped in shock.

Despite a slight difference in age, the woman might have been her twin. She had the same blond hair and upturned nose, the same slight frame, the same freckles. And she had the same astonished look in her eyes as Dana had.

For a short time, neither woman spoke. Then the stranger said, "I'm Jennifer Kettyle. My dad wasn't sure you would welcome a visit, but I start fall cla.s.ses on Monday, so I just got on a plane and took the chance."

"He said you were in San Francisco."

"I will be tomorrow." She grinned. "Today I'm here." Her grin widened. "Is this your baby? She is beautiful!"

No, just a few days earlier Dana wouldn't have welcomed this visit. She would have been so angry at what she had missed growing up that she would have missed even more. Now here was her half-sister, the daughter of the man whose ident.i.ty Dana's mother had hidden, and Dana actually welcomed her into her life.

Things happened for a reason. Dana had much to be grateful for.

And still she wanted more.

The plan was for Dorothy and Eaton to fly to New York late Monday for dinner with Eaton's publisher. Eaton would be interviewed on one of the morning shows early Tuesday. They would fly home in time for the book party Tuesday night at the club, and then begin his tour.

Dorothy packed her bag and then helped Eaton with his. Independence was all well and good, but she had been married to him for over forty years, and continued to take care of him. He was always tense on the eve of a book's publication, but this time there was cause. She tried to get him to talk about it, but he refused.

They were in the plane waiting for takeoff when, finally, he took her hand, threading his fingers through hers.

"How would you feel," he said in a low voice as the plane taxied into position, "if I just went ahead and said nothing about what I've learned?"

Said nothing? That wasn't what she had expected. "You have to do what you think is right."

"But how would you feel?"

Dorothy had to think about that-oh, not about her answer but about the wisdom of saying it. If Eaton had his mind made up, the truth might not help. Then again, if this was a test and he really wanted her opinion..."I'd feel disappointed. You have an opportunity."

"An opportunity."

"To turn a startling discovery into something positive."

"That 'startling discovery' could discredit every book I've written."

"Because you didn't know the truth? Oh, baloney, Eaton," she chided, albeit gently. "Simply come out and say what you've learned."

"On national TV?"

"Why not? People respect you. You could be a role model."

The plane started down the runway. "I could also permanently alienate our second-born son, not to mention my brother, their families, and a host of people we've called friends all these years."

"You could," Dorothy admitted.

"Would that bother you?"

"Only Robert. He's my son. I would hope that he'd come around."

The plane gathered speed.

"Maybe he needs more time," Eaton said. "Maybe I should give him that."

But Dorothy wasn't so sure. Robert had been under the thumb of his uncle for too long. It wouldn't hurt him to open his eyes and see the broader world. "Maybe he needs a kick in the you-know-what," she said, and repeated, "You have an opportunity, Eaton."

He regarded her fondly, but she saw something beyond mere indulgence. She chose to think it was respect.

He smiled, kissed her hand, and pressed it to his heart as the nose of the plane tipped up and the wheels left the ground.

Monday was an amazing day at the shop. After a cool weekend, knitters who had been lulled up until then by the late-summer warmth suddenly woke up to the approach of fall. Opening the door in a steady stream, they came in search of yarn for scarves, sweaters, and throws. In the midst of it all, Ellie Jo insisted on being helped over from the house to announce Dana's new position as owner.

By noon, just as Dana was feeding Lizzie and realizing she was going to need help, Saundra arrived with her great-niece. Toni Belisle was the daughter of another of Thomas's sons. A fresh-faced young woman, she was taking a semester off from college to earn money for a junior year abroad. She loved children, and was as good with Lizzie as Saundra, or nearly so. Dana hired her before the afternoon was out.

Now Lizzie had a babysitter, which made Dana more relaxed. And the baby had slept for six whole hours Sunday night, so she had renewed energy.

Driving back home, Dana realized her life was good. She knew that Hugh did love her. If he had made a single misstep, she couldn't hold that against him forever. There were far more than three good things she could say about him, if she were to follow the directive of Father Jack.

If some of the early excitement of their relations.h.i.+p was missing, well, didn't all new parents lose some of that to the endless ch.o.r.es that parenting entailed?

Hugh was home early. Pulling up behind his car, she had just opened the back door to pick up Lizzie when he came out of the house and jogged barefoot toward the car. He wore jeans and his old navy tee s.h.i.+rt. She hadn't seen it since the morning Lizzie was born.

"Thought you'd never get here," he said, sounding excited.

"Did you make dinner?" she asked. That was always a treat. Hugh was a recipe man, the more ingredients the better, as long as he was told exactly how much of each to use and when.

He unbuckled Lizzie. "Yeah, but that's not it." He turned to Lizzie. "Hi, sweetie. How was your day?" He pulled the baby's little sweater-a Tara creation-more closely around her and lifted her out.

"Her day was great," Dana said, falling into step beside him with the diaper bag. "Gram announced that I was taking over the shop, I found a sitter for Lizzie, got Tara to sign on full-time, and ordered an amazing mohair from a new mill." Her voice softened. "And I called to let Father Jack know Jennifer came."

Holding Lizzie in one arm, Hugh held the door for Dana with the other. She barely had a foot over the threshold when she caught her breath. The front hall was filled with balloons, an endless bouquet of yellows, pinks, greens, blues, whites, peaches, and lilacs. Some were anch.o.r.ed to the floor, others climbed the banisters on each side of the hall, still others clung to the cathedral ceiling high above.

Dana was entranced. "How did you get all these here?" Tulip petals were one thing, easy to transport and strew. Balloons were something else.

Hugh looked proud of himself. "We had three delivery vans outside and had to struggle to get a few of the biggest balloons through the door, but they look pretty good, don't you think?"

"I do think," Dana declared. "What's the occasion?"

"We're starting over. It's like Lizzie was just born. But here's the best." With a hand on her back, he guided her through a maze of balloons to the staircase. A box sat two steps up. Perhaps ten inches long, eight wide, six high, it was wrapped in fuchsia foil and decorated with a white satin ribbon.

Dana grinned. "What is it?"

"Open it."

She lifted the box. One pull, and the ribbon was gone. Sliding her finger under a single piece of tape, she removed the wrapping. Recognizing the box underneath, she gave him a curious look. "Stationery?"

"Open it."

She raised the lid. There, in two neat stacks, were elegant white birth announcements. Each had a photo on the front and, beneath it, a bold raised script said, Hugh and Dana Clarke proudly announce the birth of their daughter, Elizabeth Ames Clarke. Lizzie's birthdate was at the bottom of the card.

"What do you think?" Hugh asked.

Dana couldn't answer at first. Her throat was too tight. The photo was of the three of them, exquisite in every regard-the parents' devoted expressions, the baby's perfect features. Lizzie's pink romper even matched the pink ink of the script.

"Who took this?" she whispered.

"Julian. What do you think?"

There were tears in her eyes when she looked up at Hugh. "I'm stunned."

"Better than the balloons?"

"OmiG.o.d."

"It was a rush job. I had to pay double, but worth every cent. There's another box just like this-another hundred. Think we can use them?"

"OmiG.o.d."

"Is that a yes or a no?"

Dana's heart was so full she thought she would burst.

"Dana?"

"Yes."

This was what she had wanted-a sign, a gesture, a declaration. She wrapped an arm around Hugh's neck and hugged him, holding on even when the baby rebelled against the crush. She heard the little cry, felt the beat of Hugh's pulse, heard the waves pounding the beach behind the house. "He's proud enough to tell the world," she imagined her mother was saying.

But, of course, the thought was her own.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS.

Prior to writing Family Tree I knew precious little about the genetics of race, and while I read a good deal on the subject in preparation for writing this book, I still needed help. For their a.s.sistance, I thank Dr. Theodore Kessis and Vivian Weinblatt, as well as Bea Leopold of the National Society of Genetic Counselors. I am especially grateful to Jill Fonda Allen, who put not only her expertise as a genetic counselor to the task but her imagination as well.

My thanks to Martha Raddatz and Shameem Ra.s.sam for information on Iraqi life and speech, to Helen Dempsey for helping shape Jack Jones Kettyle, and to my husband's friend, David, for helping conceptualize Jay.

My a.s.sistant, Lucy Davis, was as indispensable as ever. I thank her for showing me what real family history is about.

I am particularly grateful to Phyllis Grann for caring enough to offer me the chance of a lifetime, and to Amy Berkower for making it happen.

And finally, I thank my family for its steadfast support.

Also by Barbara Delinsky.

THE WOMAN NEXT DOOR.

COAST ROAD.

THREE WISHES.

FOR MY DAUGHTERS.

MORE THAN FRIENDS.

end.