"I called to tell him Jay was born." She took out a cigarette.

"And you got through?"

"No. I said it was personal. They put me through to someone who said it was always personal with women like me."

"I take it he said the boy wasn't his boss's."

"Oh, yeah." She tossed the cigarette back in her bag.

"Are you sure he is?"

"Jay looks just like him."

"Looks can deceive," Hugh said. "Did he pay you?"

"I don't need this," she muttered, starting to walk away.

"Wait. I'm sorry, but these are lawyer questions. If I don't ask them, someone else will."

"Not if I don't do anything," she replied sweetly.

"You have to do something. There's your boy to consider. He needs care, and you have no insurance. What about the driver of the car?"

"He died."

"The accident was that bad?"

"No. He had a heart attack," she offered in a measured way. "That's what caused the accident. He was, like, eighty. He didn't even have a license."

"Which means he was uninsured."

"Correct."

"And your mother can't help. Father? Boyfriend?"

She gave a slow headshake.

"Which leaves our man in Washington," Hugh concluded. "He owes you." There was a case here-and he was glad for the distraction. "Look, your son needs help. I'm offering it to you free of charge. Most mothers would jump at that." He held out the card again. "Take it. If you call, you call. If you don't, you don't."

She looked at the card, finally took it. Her hand still shook. Hugh wondered when she had last had a meal and might have offered her money for that, if he hadn't suspected she would refuse it.

She read the printing. "How do I know you're not from him, trying to get me a lousy deal?"

"I don't even know who he is."

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Check me out. You have the name there. Call another lawyer in town. Or Google me. You'll see the kind of cases I handle. I'd like to handle this one."

"Why?"

"Because it resonates. Because I don't think men should father children and then deny responsibility for them. I told you that at the start."

Her eyes narrowed. "Do you have a personal gripe-like, your father did that to your mother?"

"No. But I've known men who've done it. I know how their minds work. They'll try to get away with as much as they can, until they're cornered. Then they back down fast. I'm telling you-you have a case." And he wanted it. He liked helping powerless people. There were laws on the books to protect them-laws that, like his family, went back hundreds of years.

She remained torn, but that was okay. He had had clients who blabbed their stories to strangers-worse, to the press-at the first provocation. They were trouble.

Cautious clients were good clients. And cautious, she was. "How do I know you won't come up with hidden charges for me to pay? How do I know you won't sue me for that money?"

"We sign a contract, and I waive my right to a fee."

"Yeah. Right. And I'm supposed to believe you'll really fight for me when you're not being paid?"

He had to hand it to her. She wasn't dumb. "Yes, you're supposed to believe that," he said. "It's called pro bono work. Any lawyer with an ounce of humanity does it. In my case, I also have a reputation to protect."

"So how do I know you don't just want the publicity?"

"If I wanted publicity, I'd go somewhere else. A case like this will settle quietly. Sometimes, all it takes is letting the guy know he'll be taken to court. Right now, he thinks you'll do nothing. That's his arrogance. One call from your lawyer, and he'll see you differently."

Her defiance crumbled. "All I want is to be able to take care of my son."

"What, exactly, do the doctors say?"

"He has a fractured spine. A chunk of bone got into the spinal ca.n.a.l, so they did emergency surgery, but they're worried about the growth plate, which means that Jay could grow crooked, and if that happens, he'll need more surgery. Only these doctors won't do it-they say I'll need a specialist, and the best one, they say, is in St. Louis. I'd need a place to live, and I'll lose my job. Even aside from the medical costs, how'm I going to pay for all that?"

He touched her shoulder. "I can get you money for treatment."

She shrugged off his hand. "What if you can't? What if he refuses? Where'll that leave me?"

"Same place you are now. Think about it. What do you have to lose?"

"Is it a power trip for you?"

"A personal one," he admitted. He did want to handle a case he thought he could win, especially now, when he was feeling powerless to do anything about his daughter. A case like this would make up for the qualms he had about Lizzie. "But, hey," he said, backing off, "I don't badger. You have my card. You have my name. I don't know yours and suspect you're not ready to tell me. If you do decide to give it a shot, I'll know you as the garden mom."

That said, he headed back into the hospital.

Chapter 5.

Tired as Dana was, she had only to look at Lizzie and her spirits soared. She called friends to share the news-Elizabeth Ames Clarke, seven pounds, nineteen inches, born at 7:23 a.m. She knitted between calls, nursed the baby again, had toast and tea, then stood over the crib until her legs wobbled, before crawling back into bed.

Sleep when the baby sleeps, Ellie Jo had advised more than once in the last few weeks, and Dana had read the same thing in books. More than sleep, though, she needed Hugh. That need kept her awake, worrying. She put a hand on her stomach, which was almost flat again. It was striking, the difference a few hours made.

Her insides tightened. Her uterus contracting? Possibly. More likely it was fear and, with Hugh absent, a whisper of loss.

Dana knew loss. It was a paramount theme of her early life. She had been five when her mother was "lost," but it was another three years before she could say the word "dead" and several more after that before she could grasp what it meant.

"Lost" was a gentler word. Her grandmother used it repeatedly in the days after the sea had swept Elizabeth away. Dana had never seen her mother lifeless. They had been wading, and while Dana continued to play in the shallows, her mother swam out beyond the surf. Dana hadn't seen her pulled away by the undertow. Nor did she see the wave that hit her own body and knocked her senseless. By the time she woke up in the hospital, ten days had pa.s.sed, and the funeral was done. She never even saw her mother's casket.

"Lost" meant that her mother could still be found. To that end, Dana spent hours in the yarn store with her eyes on the door, waiting, fearing that her world would positively fall apart if her mother didn't come home.

The fear eased with time. The yarn shop was her port and Ellie Jo her anchor. But part of her always felt that little hole inside. Then she met Hugh, and the hole shrank.

Her eyes opened at the sound of the door. Trying to gauge Hugh's mood, she watched him approach the bed. His focus was on Lizzie, sleeping now in the crook of her arm. His expression softened.

He did love this child. Dana knew he did. He had to. He was that kind of man.

"Did you see David?" he asked after a bit.

"Sure did," Dana said lightly. "He was very sweet."

"What did he say?"

She didn't go into David's praise of the baby. That wasn't what Hugh wanted to hear. "He said that one of us has African roots. He says it explains why he's always felt connected to us."

Hugh snorted. When Dana sent him a questioning look, he said, "I'm glad we're connected. He'll be able to tell us what we can expect down the road, his Ali being biracial and all."

"She's arriving this week. She'll be here until school starts."

Hugh nodded. After a minute, he said, "Ali's a sweetie. I love seeing her." After another silence, he looked down at the baby. "Can I hold her?"

Heartened, Dana carefully transferred her to Hugh's arms. Lizzie didn't wake.

He studied her. "She seems like an easy baby. Will this last?"

"I just asked the nurse the same question. She said maybe yes, maybe no. Did you get something to eat?"

He nodded and glanced at the tray on the bedstand. "You?"

"Some. Did you make more calls?"

"Accessed messages, mostly. I talked with Robert. Dad's in a stew."

"Then it's good that this isn't Dad's baby," Dana remarked, mimicking Hugh. When he didn't reply, she added, "Did you talk with him directly?"

"No."

"Maybe you should. Get it out in the open."

"I'm not ready. My parents are...my parents."

"They're elitist," Dana said.

"That's unfair."

"Does it fit?"

"No," he replied, but not quickly enough.

"Then it's only the surprise that's the problem," said Dana. "They'll get over this, Hugh. It isn't a tragedy."

Shifting the baby in his arms, he turned and sat on the edge of the bed.

"It isn't," Dana insisted. "Tragedy is when a baby is born with a heart defect or a degenerative disease. Our baby is healthy. She's responsive. She's beautiful."

"She just isn't us," Hugh said, sounding bewildered.

"Isn't us? Or just isn't the us we know?"

"Is there a difference?"

"Yes. Babies are born all the time with features from earlier generations. It just takes a little digging to learn the source." When Hugh didn't answer, Dana added, "Look at it this way. Having a baby of color will boost your image as the rebel lawyer." When Hugh snorted again, she teased, "You did want to be different, didn't you?" He didn't reply. "Come on, Hugh," she pleaded. "Smile?"

The smile came only when he looked at the baby again. "She is special, that's for sure."

"Have you taken any good pictures?"

He glanced toward his camera, which lay in the folds of her bag by the wall, and said with a brief burst of enthusiasm, even wonder, "Y'know, I have." Securing the baby in his left arm, he retrieved the camera and turned it on. With the ease of intimacy, he sat close beside Dana and scrolled through the shots with her. In that split-second of closeness, everything was right.

"OmiG.o.d, look," she cried. "She's what there-seconds old?"

"And this one of you holding her for the first time."

"I look awful!"

He chuckled. "It wasn't like you'd just been to a picnic." He pulled up another shot. "Look at those eyes. She's remarkable. So aware from the start. And wait." He scrolled farther. "Here."

Dana caught her breath. "Amazing you got that. She's looking at me with total intelligence. Can you crop me out?"

"Why would I want to? This is an incredible mother-daughter shot."

"For the announcement. We want one just of her."

Hugh scrolled through several more pictures. "Here's a nice one. I'll print these up tonight and put them in the alb.u.m you got at the shower."

"How about the announcement?" Dana said again. "We need a picture for that. The stationery store promised they'd have them ready to go in a week once we give them everything."

Hugh was focused on the monitor, scrolling forward and back. "I'm not sure any of these is perfect."

"Even that first one? I love it because she isn't all swaddled. Her hands are so delicate."