Charlie changed the subject. “That’s one cute baby you have there. Quite a head of hair she’s got on her. Our kids’ heads were as bald as their bottoms.” He laughed.

“Are you suggesting that my child’s got something wrong with her because she’s got plenty of dark hair?” His eyes narrowed and his voice grew more strident. “What the devil are you saying? That my child’s not good enough for you people ’cause her skin’s darker than yours?”

Silence filled the room, and everyone turned to look at Zack, who shrugged. “Well, everyone comments on Sarah’s hair being dark and thick. What’s so cute about bald babies? They’re ugly as pigs. Who wants a kid that looks like a pig?” His laugh was more of a snort.

Sarina half rose from her chair. Hannah, standing nearby, slipped an arm about her. “Let it go, Sarina.”

Charlie’s fists clenched. He stood and glared down at Zachary, then stepped away. “Your wife is a lovely woman. Everyone likes Sarina and welcomes your child.” His voice filled with contempt. “We can’t say the same about you.” Charlie turned, took Velma’s arm, and moments later the front door slammed behind them.

Amelia raised her glass. “This is Sarah’s day, and I propose a toast to her. Good health and long life.”

They drank, then Alma hugged Sarina, and she and Frank left and others drifted away until only the ladies, Sarina, Bob, Max, and Zack remained.

Max glowered at his son. “What in heaven’s name is wrong with you? How dare you insult these good people, my neighbors?”

Hannah came to stand beside him. “Not now, Max, for Sarina’s sake.”

“How could you?” Sarina was a small woman and slightly built. Now she stood, threw back her shoulders, and seemed to grow in stature as she turned to her husband. “How could you be so rude? Those people have been kind to me and to our baby. If they had prejudice against me in their hearts, I would know it. I’m the one who’s been around them. You’re never around. You don’t care about me or about our daughter. I am sickened by what you have done today, Zachary. I am sick to death of you.”

“Don’t call me Zachary. I hate that name. I’m Zack,” he screamed at her. His face grew red. The hair on his arms bristled; his fists clenched as if preparing to strike whoever approached him.

Sarina stood her ground. “I met you as Zachary. I fell in love with Zachary. Zack is a cold name, associated with changes in you that are unbearable. I hate the name Zack, and I will call you Zachary.”