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 teenage 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 a.s.sume 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 b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 jaw dropped. "Are you kidding?"

"No. And don't knock that one, either. It's a logical possibility."

"Logical? Your parents thought I had an affair?" She was appalled. "For G.o.d's sake, Hugh."

"If my parents thought it, other people will."

Dana was livid. "Only people who don't know us. People who do, know that we're happily married. They know we're together every free minute."

"They also know I was in Philly for a month nine months ago trying a case."

Dana was stunned. "Whoa!"

The baby whimpered in response.

"Not me, Dee," Hugh said, but his eyes remained dark. "Not me. I'm only playing devil's advocate. They'll wonder, particularly since the baby came two weeks early."

"And you'll tell them there isn't a chance," Dana stated.

"Do I know what happened while I was away in Philly?"

"You sure know what happened the weekends in between."

"You could have done both."

Dana was beside herself. "I can't believe you're saying this."

"I'm only saying what other people will."

Dana peered at the baby's face. It was scrunched up, ready to cry. Lifting her off her shoulder, she tried rocking her, but all the while she was growing more dismayed. "Would I be so dumb as to have an affair with an African American and try to pa.s.s his baby off as yours?"

"Maybe you weren't sure whose baby it was."

"Wait. That's a.s.suming I cheated on you."

The baby's cries grew louder.

"Why's she crying?" Hugh asked.

"I don't know." Dana tried holding her closer, but it didn't help. "Maybe she senses that I'm upset."

"Maybe she's hungry."

"I just fed her."

"Your milk isn't in yet. Maybe she needs formula."

"Hugh, I'll have milk. I'll have plenty of milk."

"Okay. Maybe she's wet."

That was a possibility. Dana looked around. "I don't have anything. There must be something here."

"Where?"

"I don't know. Call the nurse."

"I'll get the nurse," Hugh said. "She should be here, anyway. h.e.l.l, if we wanted to do this alone, we would have checked into the Ritz." He went out the door.

Given the speed with which he returned, Dana suspected the nurse had been on her way. Soft-spoken and rea.s.suring, she took the baby and set her in the crib. Opening one drawer after another underneath, she pointed out Pampers, ointment, baby wipes, burp pads, and other goodies.

The baby cried louder when her bottom was bared, but the nurse calmly showed them how to clean, apply ointment, and rediaper her. She showed them how to support the baby's head and talked about care of the umbilical cord.

When the nurse left, Hugh stood at the crib, his back straight in a way that had CLARKE written all over it. Unfortunately, Dana was a Joseph. And this tiny, helpless baby, who was she?

Chapter 4.

Hugh stared at the baby for the longest time. He had always loved the fact that Dana bore no resemblance to his family, yet he was desperately searching for a familiar feature in his child. So was this his comeuppance for devaluing familial traits-fathering a baby who didn't have any one of those traits?

Feeling a helpless tug, he leaned down over the infant. "Hey," he whispered. "Hey," he said again, this time with a smile.

Lizzie didn't blink. She had remarkable eyes, Hugh decided-deep brown irises, delicate lids, long dark lashes. Her nose was small and perfectly formed. And, yes, she had the softest, smoothest skin. She really was a breathtakingly beautiful child. Reaching for his camera, he took a picture. Then he glanced at Dana.

Hugh loved his wife. He truly did. He loved her for many things, not the least being that she was genuinely laid-back. She didn't get mired down in details the way he did. She didn't have his compulsive need for order or logic or precedent. She went with the flow, could adapt to change with a smile and move on. He admired her for that.

At least, he always had. Now, as he looked at the baby again, Dana's nonchalance suddenly seemed irresponsible. She should have made it her business to know who her father was. It would have made things a whole lot easier.

He started to say something to her, but saw that her eyes were closed. Choosing to believe she had fallen asleep, he left the room and took the elevator to the ground floor. He was looking around for a quiet place to use his phone when someone called his name.

David Johnson strode toward him, lab coat open over deep blue scrubs, shaved head gleaming. David wasn't only a neighbor; he was a close friend. They had first met five years ago, when the acre of waterfront land Hugh bought was nothing but clumps of beach gra.s.s and heather. David's house had become Hugh's emergency outpost during a long year of building, with access to beer in the fridge and a list of resources that had saved Hugh inestimable effort and time.

One of those resources was Dana. If Hugh owed David for any one thing, it was that.

"Hey, man," David exclaimed now, grinning broadly as he clapped Hugh on the back. "How's the new dad?"

Hugh shook his hand. "Sh.e.l.l-shocked."

"Quick delivery, Hugh. Can't complain about that. Is the little one adorable?"

"Absolutely. Hey," Hugh said, needing David's help again, "are you coming or going?"

"Coming from OR, going to office. I have three minutes to run up and take a peek. How about you?" David asked with a glance at the opening elevator.

"I have to get messages and make some calls. Will you be around later?"

"I'm done at six, but I have meetings at Harvard after that, so it's either see your girls now or tomorrow."

"See them now," said Hugh. "Dana'll appreciate it."

David moved into the elevator seconds before the door closed. He turned and shot Hugh a smile. Bright white, it lit his handsome dark face.

Oh, yeah, they had to talk. David would understand the problem. Not only had he grown up black, but after marrying a white woman, he had fathered a daughter whose skin was the same shade as Lizzie's.

David's daughter was well adjusted. She was happy. Holding tight to that thought, Hugh found a quiet corner near the hospital's front entrance and accessed his phone messages.

From his law partner Jim Calli came an exuberant "Great news about the baby, Hugh. Rita and I want to stop over as soon as they get home. And don't worry about things here. Julian and I will cover."

From Melissa Dubin, one of the a.s.sociates who worked for him, came a victorious "Congratulations, Hugh! One baby and one legal coup! The prosecutor of the Ha.s.sler case just called to say he's dropping the worst three charges against our man. He made it clear that the misdemeanor charge still stands, but we all know Ha.s.sler won't do time for that. This is good."

The next message wasn't as happy. "Hey, man," said Henderson Walker in a low, urgent tone, "we gotta talk. There's guys here lookin' to hurt me. I already got two threats. And don't tell me to tell it to a guard, because the guards are in on it. I need to be transferred. You gotta tell them that."

Hugh had known trouble was brewing with Henderson, and while he wasn't sure that the danger was as great as Henderson feared, he had been planning to stop at the jail that afternoon. Using his BlackBerry, he e-mailed the a.s.sociate who worked with him. "HW feels threatened. Call him."