By Barbara Delinsky
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Hormones,” Ellie Jo stated, wiping under Dana’s eyes with a knowing thumb. ” “Ice, Hugh,” Ellie Jo ordered. “Dana needs to sit on something cold. ” Dana watched Hugh leave. The door had barely shut when her eyes flew to her grandmother’s. ” 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. ” “No. I knew where I was from. Same with my Earl. ” “My father didn’t have curls,” Dana said.
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.
Lizzie’s skin was a whole lot darker than any other Clarke baby he had ever seen, and he had seen plenty of those. Clarkes took pride in their offspring, as evidenced by the flood of holiday pictures from relatives each year. His brother had four children, all of the pale white Anglo-Saxon type, their first cousins had upward of sixteen. Not a one was dark. Hugh was a lawyer. He spent his days arguing facts, and, in this case, there were none to suggest that his baby should be anything but Caucasian.