The Family Tree

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The question came again, louder now and sounding like a dare. Had he been playing devil’s advocate, he might have said she was creating a diversion or, worse, a cover-up.

Hugh didn’t want to believe that. He didn’t believe she had been unfaithful. She loved him too much to cause him that kind of pain – and it would be excruciatingly painful, if it were true.

But there was the baby, with her beautiful brown skin, and no explanation for its source. Didn’t he have a right to ask questions? Didn’t it make perfectly good sense to choose one of a dozen other birth announcements that didn’t have a picture on the front?

He walked in the kitchen door and picked up the phone. The pulsing tone told him that there were messages, but he didn’t access them. Rather, he called the office.

His secretary was not happy to hear from him. ‘You aren’t supposed to be working,’ she scolded. ‘You’re supposed to be with Dana and the baby. I’ve been given orders not to talk shop.’

Hugh humored her. ‘Then just a yes or a no, please. Did Alex get in touch with Henderson Walker?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is he going over to the jail?’

‘No.’

‘The situation is defused?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did we get a continuance on the Paquette case?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did I get a call from someone calling herself “the garden mom”?’

‘No.’

‘Okay. That’s it. And, Sheila, if the latter does call, I want the message ASAP. Don’t give it to anyone else. There’s a personal connection here.’

He hung up the phone feeling marginally better, but picked it up again seconds later and punched in another number.

‘Hammond Security,’ came a familiar voice, deep and mildly accented.

‘Hey, Yunus. It’s Hugh. How are you?’

‘I’m fine, my friend. We haven’t talked in a very long time.’

‘My fault. Life is too busy. But I think about you often. How is the job going?’

Yunus El-Sabwi, born and raised in Iraq, had fled his homeland in his early twenties, taking his young wife and two daughters to America to ensure them a better life. After becoming an American citizen, he enrolled in the police academy, graduated at the head of his class, and, at a time when community policing encouraged the hiring of minorities, won a spot in the Boston Police Department. In the course of eight years, he was cited numerous times for his work. Then came September 11, and everything changed. He was marginalized within the department, widely distrusted for the links he kept to relatives in Iraq. One rumor held that the money he sent monthly to his parents was earmarked for terrorists, another that he was transmitting sensitive security information in code. When the federal government refused to bring charges, deciding that it feared the ACLU more than it feared Yunus, the local authorities charged him with drug possession.

Hugh defended him on that charge, agreeing with Yunus’s contention that he had been framed. A jury agreed with it, too, and so the case ended. No one was ever charged for planting drugs in Yunus’s locker, and though Yunus was reinstated to the force, his life was made so unpleasant that he finally resigned. He now worked in the private security force of a company owned by Hugh’s family.

‘It’s going well,’ Yunus replied. ‘I got a fine one-year review.’

‘And a raise, I hope.’

‘And a raise. They knew if I didn’t they would have to answer to you. Thank you, my friend.’

‘Don’t thank me. You’re the one who’s doing the work. How are Azhar and the girls?’

‘Hamdel lah, they are well. Siba will be a senior this year. And she has decided to be a doctor. She wants to go to Harvard.’

‘That’s a fine choice, Yunus.’

‘Well, she has to get in. But she was given an interview, and her grades are good.’

And her connections, Hugh thought, making a mental note to call the head of admissions, a Clarke family friend.

‘And tell me,’ said Yunus, ‘how is your wife? Did she have her baby?’

‘She did. A little girl.’

‘Hamdel lah ala al salama! Such good news! Azhar will be happy to hear it. Perhaps we can visit them soon?’

‘I’d like that.’

Hugh was smiling when he hung up the phone. He had been appointed by the court to represent Yunus after three separate lawyers opted out, and in taking the case he had had to buck the will of the police department, the local district attorney, and the FBI. He hadn’t received money other than reimbursement for court costs, but the emotional reward had been huge. Yunus El-Sabwi was hardworking and focused. Not only would he give his life for his family, but his loyalty to friends was absolute. Hugh had become a beneficiary of that.

Feeling better, Hugh went upstairs to shower and shave. Revived, he pulled on clean jeans and a fresh tee shirt, put the dirty sheets in the washer and fresh sheets on the bed, then set off for the hospital again. Along the way, he stopped at the flower shop for a balloon bouquet, at a local boutique for an absurdly expensive tie-dyed pink onesie, and at Rosie’s, Dana’s favorite café, for a grilled chicken salad.