Eaton sighed. "Are you still annoyed that I won't go visit Hugh?"

"Well, he did call."

"And was no help at all. He's asking the same questions you are, at a time when I don't want to think about it. Dorothy, I have a book due out in a little over three weeks. Have you made it clear to the events coordinator that I want hors d'oeuvres pa.s.sed at the book party?"

"Yes, dear."

"What about the invitations? Have they gone out?"

"They were mailed yesterday. I've told you these things, Eaton."

Eaton took a breath in a bid for patience. "If you've told me and I haven't heard, it's because I have other things on my mind. I've been booked to appear on national television, and you can be sure I'll be questioned about my family. They'll want me to vouch for the things I've written."

"Vouch for what things?" Dorothy scolded. "You wrote this book well before little Elizabeth was born. No one will hold it against you if she isn't listed on an ancestral chart, and there would be absolutely no need for you to include a chart of Dana's family. But forget the book," she said with the dismissive wave of a hand. "I'm not talking about the book. I'm talking about our son and his child. I want to go over and visit."

Eaton looked up in surprise. "Fine. Go."

"I want you with me. It won't be the same if I go alone. They'll think something's wrong."

Eaton said, "Something is wrong."

"Then do something about it," Dorothy cried. "Hire an investigator. Change your will. Put the Vineyard property in trust so that she can't get her hands on it. Either you accept the baby or you don't. Don't you see the damage that's being done while you vacillate?" She glared at the clock on the wall, then reached for her purse. "I have to go to the market. If we're having the Emerys here for hors d'oeuvres before the theater, I need to buy food."

Eaton stared after her as she went out the door. "Drive carefully," he finally said out of sheer habit.

Dorothy kept both hands on the wheel and her lips pressed together. She didn't need Eaton telling her to drive carefully. She drove carefully all on her own-had been doing so for forty-nine years-and had a spotless record to show for it, which was more than Eaton could say. He had two accidents on his slate-one from a winter-blizzard skid, the other from a ten-car chain pile-up on the expressway. She could blame the first on the weather, but the second would have been preventable if he had left the requisite number of car lengths between his own car and the one in front of him.

No, she didn't need Eaton to tell her how to drive.

Nor, she decided, did she need him to tell her whom to call and whom not to. Taking one hand from the wheel, she flipped open her cell phone and thumbed in Hugh's number. The phone rang several times, and then Dana's recorded message came on.

With both hands on the wheel again, Dorothy negotiated the local roads to the supermarket. She put on her blinker, about to pull into the parking lot, when she had another thought and drove on past. Three minutes later, she parked in front of a local boutique that radiated yellow, orange, and pink. It was a small place, owned by two young women. She had discovered it quite by accident when she had needed a last-minute bread-and-b.u.t.ter gift to take along for a weekend visit to friends.

She went inside, smiled at the owner, and said firmly, "I want one of your mother-and-daughter sets for my daughter-in-law and her brand-new baby. What's the most unusual thing you have?" Dana liked bright and unusual. Dana could wear bright and unusual.

Soon Dorothy walked back out with a package wrapped and ribboned with the same yellow, orange, and pink that had initially drawn her to the store. Satisfied, she skipped the supermarket and pulled into the smaller lot of a gourmet cheese and wine shop. Inside, she bought a wedge of cheese, several cracker selections, and-defiant still-a dozen each of the home-cooked coconut-crusted chicken fingers and skewers of beef satay. So Eaton wouldn't get his favorite mini-quiches from the recipe she had been making for years. These other appetizers were every bit as good, without demanding an hour of her time in the kitchen. Present them on elegant serving-ware, she reasoned, and their guests wouldn't know the difference.

Satisfied for the second time in thirty minutes, she returned to the car. Spotting the bright package in the pa.s.senger's seat, she started the engine and let it idle while she tried Hugh's number again.

This time, Dana answered.

For a split second, Dorothy wavered. She didn't normally do things that she knew would upset Eaton, and it wasn't a matter of obedience, but respect. His instincts were good, and his heart was usually in the right place. The problem was, she didn't know where his heart was now.

So, boldly, she said, "Dana, this is Dorothy." She usually called herself "Mom," but Dana preferred "Dorothy," and maybe she had a point. "How are you?"

There was a pause, then a cautious "I'm fine. How are you?"

"Very well, thank you," Dorothy said as though nothing was wrong. "Tell me how the baby is."

"She's adorable," Dana said in a lighter tone. "I swear she just smiled. I know it's too early, that it's probably gas, but it did look pretty."

"How is she eating?"

"Very well. I think we've found a rhythm."

"What about sleeping?"

"Uh, still a ways to go with that. She's a little confused between day and night."

"Do you keep the light off when you're with her at night?"

"I use a nightlight."

"Good. There should be no playing, then. Let her sleep nighttimes as long as she will, but wake her every four hours during the day." Hearing her own words, she added quickly, "Actually, those are just suggestions. I had my turn, my son Robert always says when I start telling him how to handle his children."

There was a pause, then Dana said, "I'm open to suggestions. The only thing I can't change is Lizzie's color."

"Are you calling her Lizzie, then? That's very sweet for a little girl. 'Elizabeth' is just a beautiful name, and she may grow up to insist that we all call her that, but 'Lizzie' works for a baby. Funny, Robert was always a Robert, never a Bob to anyone but Hugh. How is Hugh doing, by the way? Is he helping you with the baby? Did I ever tell you that Eaton never changed a diaper? Not a one, but then, none of his friends did, either. Back then, it was really up to us moms to do things like that, because we were full-time mothers-not that there's anything wrong with not being a full-time mother." She paused, concerned by Dana's silence. "Are you there, dear?"

"I'm here," Dana said.

"I would like to come over," Dorothy announced. "I picked up a little something for you and Lizzie, and I'd like to see her. She's probably changed a lot, even in four days."

"Not her color, Dorothy. You need to know that."

"I know it," Dorothy acknowledged quietly. Then, because that didn't seem like enough to say on the subject, she added, "I'm not trying to deny her heritage, because I've been thinking of little else for the past few days. But that baby just happens to be my grandchild."

"There are people who aren't sure about that," Dana said, and Dorothy felt ashamed. The business at the hospital that first day would haunt her always.

"When one suffers a shock-not suffers, experiences a shock, it's very easy to lash out. I do believe that Lizzie is my grandchild."

"And Eaton?"

"I'm speaking for myself now."

"Does he know you've called?"

"No," Dorothy said before it occurred to her to lie, then backpedaled, "but that's neither here nor there, because I want to see my grandchild. Tomorrow isn't a good day, but Monday would be." Eaton would be in his office and wouldn't be any the wiser if she told him she was going into Boston to shop. "Would that work for you?"

"I'll be at the yarn store on Monday. My grandmother broke her foot, so I'm trying to help there."

"Broke her foot? Oh dear. I'm sorry to hear that. I hope it isn't a bad break?"

"No, but it means she can't move around as easily as she'd like."

"But what about the baby?" Dorothy asked. "Who's with her while you're at the yarn shop? Now, that's something I could help with. I could babysit while you fill in for Eleanor."

"I need Lizzie with me since I'm nursing. We have a cradle there."

"Oh. Well, then, would Tuesday work?" Eaton would be playing tennis again. "I take it Hugh will be back at work?"

"Yes."

"Then that's perfect," Dorothy crowed. She didn't care to see Hugh right now, any more than she wanted Eaton knowing what she was doing. This was between Dana, Lizzie, and her. "I could come early, as soon as Hugh left for the office, and I could even bring breakfast."

"I promised Tara I'd meet her for breakfast," said Dana.

"Is it wise to take a baby so young out to a restaurant?"

"It's a local place, just a five-minute drive from here, and the pediatrician says it's fine."

"Well, that's good," Dorothy remarked brightly, though her spirits fell. It sounded like Dana didn't want her around, which wasn't entirely unjustified. The thing was, Dorothy really did want to see the baby.

"Tuesday late morning might work," Dana said. "We should be home by ten. I wouldn't be leaving for The St.i.tchery until after lunch."

Dorothy perked up. "I'll bring lunch. That will be so nice. I know you like Rosie's. I could stop there on the way. Tell me what you'd like."

"Any kind of salad with grilled chicken-"

"No, no. Please be very specific."

"A grilled-chicken Caesar, lightly dressed."

"Then that's what you'll have."

Chapter 14.

Dana didn't tell Hugh that his mother had called. Petty, she knew. And controlling. But she was feeling more vulnerable than she ever had. Lizzie's birth was forcing her to think about her own father and the issue of race. Time and again, she looked in the mirror, wondering how her life would have been different if her skin had been Lizzie's color. For one thing, she doubted she would be married to Hugh.

But she was. And that weekend was a difficult one. He was two different people-guarded with her, enthusiastic with friends. When Julian pulled out his camera and insisted on taking a family photo, Hugh was all smiles. He put his arms around Dana and held the baby and her close. Hypocritical though she thought it, his manner set the tone for their friends-which, ironically, made her point. Yes, there were questions, but once he explained that Dana had never known her father, that was the end of it. Tell people the truth and they move on, she had said. Show excitement and they show it in return.

No, the problem was when they were alone. The DNA test lay between them, tethering each to his own side of their king-size bed.

When Hugh went to the hospital Sunday morning to visit Jay Kostas, he brought a bag full of books, a remote-control toy car, and an oversize Patriots shirt. The boy was in a quad. Only two of the beds were taken, the other by a child whose parents kept the drapes drawn.

Jay wasn't a large boy. The body cast gave the impression of girth, until one looked at his arms and legs, which were extremely thin. When Hugh arrived, he was watching cartoons on an overhead TV set and Crystal was sleeping, sitting in the chair. The boy recognized him from his previous visit. His eyes lit when he saw the gifts.

"Wake up, Mommy," he whispered.

Crystal lifted her head. She was a minute focusing, which said something about the rest she wasn't getting in her own bed at home. Still, she managed a sleepy "Hi."

"How's it going?" Hugh asked.

She stretched. "Not bad."

"Whaddaya got?" Jay asked, with his eyes on the gifts.

"These are for your mom."

The boy's face fell.

Hugh laughed. "Just kidding." He put the bag of books on the tray table. "These may or may not work. I had to rely on the recommendation of a clerk. It's been a while since I was four. But the car's something else."

Jay had already reached for that, then reached for the shirt. "Does it have a number on it?"

"Sure does."

"What number?"

"Four," Hugh said, and helped unfold the shirt.

He was about to tell him that four was Vinatieri's number, when Jay said excitedly, "Can I put it on, Mommy?"

Hugh guessed that would take a little work. Crystal was already unb.u.t.toning the pajama top. Lifting Jay forward, she removed it. The cast was like a vest with a mandarin collar, starting just under his chin, ending at his hip. "That's not so bad," Hugh remarked. "How's it feel?"

"It itches," said the boy.

"I should've brought a back scratcher."

The weight of the cast was another problem. Hugh could see how heavy it was from the way Crystal was struggling to hold the boy up and pull on the shirt at the same time. He gave her a hand.

When it was done, Jay said, "Wow. This is my best shirt." He reached for the control bar and began to work the car. His enthusiasm was a gift that wasn't lost on Hugh. Likewise, his smugness when he finished a particularly good run. It was J. Stan Hutchinson all the way.

He watched Crystal playing with her son, thinking that not only was she attractive but she was a good mother. Her smile told him she appreciated what he'd done.

It was nice to feel appreciated. He was thinking it would serve Dana right if he was drawn to another woman. Only he didn't want another woman.

"I'm working on remembering things," Crystal said, moving to his side.

"Anything you want to share?"

"Not yet." She looked past him. "Here's the doctor."

The man in white was watching Jay. "Nothing wrong with his thumbs," he remarked before extending a hand to Hugh. "Steven Howe."

"Hugh Clarke. I talked with an a.s.sociate of yours the other day. He hadn't seen the release Crystal signed and didn't feel free to talk."

"I've seen it," the doctor said. "I have a few minutes now." He led the way to a small office adjacent to the nurses' station. "What do you want to know?"

"The exact nature of the injury and what needs to be done to heal it," Hugh said.

"The accident caused a compression fracture of the L-4 vertebral body," the doctor began, "with bilateral pelvic numbness. Emergent imaging studies showed retropulsed bone bulging into the spinal ca.n.a.l, which in turn resulted in the effacing and deforming of the thecal sac at that level."