Not My Daughter (16 page)

Saturdays had not been as productive as they needed to be. She and Susan were distracted and seemed to knit more than dye. Pam seemed totally disinterested and was clearly having second thoughts about giving PC Wool a push in the catalogue. And if Sunny was planning a special promotion at PC Home Goods, she hadn't mentioned it in days.

All of it was upsetting, but nowhere near as much as the public attention her daughter had garnered that week. Mary Kate claimed she was fine, but when Kate's friends asked about Jacob, she didn't know what to say. Her heart broke when she realized that the two of them might have permanently split. Oh, Jacob would take responsibility for the baby. He would support it once he could. He would negotiate an agreeable arrangement for visitation, even custody. But this wasn't an ideal way to bring a child into the world.

Slipping the
Gazette
from its plastic sleeve, she opened it on the worktable and skimmed through. She was starting to think they had dodged the bullet when she saw the editorial.

Her first thought was to call Susan. But Susan's phone would be ringing off the hook.

Her next thought was to call Sunny. But Sunny would be bouncing off the wall.

Her third thought was to call Will, but he was growing frustrated with Kate's anger, and what
she
needed was a target.

So she called Pam. "Have you seen the
Gazette?"

"Just now. Tanner called."

"Was there no way he could stop this? His cousin is the publisher, and the publisher is George Abbott's
boss
."

"Tanner isn't involved in running the paper," Pam said coolly. "He didn't know this was coming. Besides, there's a problem with the website, so he's been preoccupied."

"A problem that affects PC Wool?" Kate asked. This was her livelihood.

"No."

That was a relief. With production falling behind schedule, the last thing they needed was a problem with sales. "So why did George Abbott write this? Do
you
think he represents the mainstream of public opinion?"

"How would I know, Kate? All I know is he's a good writer, and he puts the paper out with a limited staff. Ad revenues are down. He's having to do more himself than he used to."

"That explains it. He's overworked, so his judgment is poor. You do realize this is a total attack on Susan. There she is trying to salvage her credibility, and he undermines her with something like this? It goes two ways, y'know. She's a target because she's a public person, but because she's a public person--and,
yes
, working in a 'crucial position'--doesn't she deserve a little respect?"

"It's a thorny issue."

"Pam. You're supposed to be her friend. Do you not respect what she's done with her life?"

"Of course I do."

"Then
do
something," Kate urged. "She needs people like you speaking up for her. You're on the school board, and your name carries weight. Write a letter to the editor."

"That wouldn't help," Pam said. "George is a family friend. He'd take it personally."

"Whoa. You're afraid of hurting George's feelings? Which friendship means more to you--his or Susan's?"

"Susan's, but it isn't as simple as that."

Kate felt a flash of annoyance. "How's it complicated? Not only is Susan a
loyal
friend, but she's your business partner--speaking of which, Pam, we really have to meet Saturday. We need feedback from you and Sunny before we can finalize these colorways. I'm starting to think you don't care."

"I care."

"Do you care about Susan? This editorial hits her hard. How about showing her a little loyalty."

"Hey," Pam shot back. "You guys all knew about this. No one told
me
until the cat was out of the bag. Where's the loyalty there?"

"Come on, Pam. Do you know what an awful time we've had?"

"
I
didn't tell your girls to get pregnant," Pam said with just enough arrogance to goad Kate on, but hadn't she been looking to pick a fight?

"Fine. But if you want to place blame, what about Abby? She was with our girls all summer. She must have heard them planning this. That makes her an accomplice."

"Abby is not pregnant," Pam said.

"Not yet."

"I know my daughter."

"I thought I knew mine, too. Think about it, Pam. It could be that the only reason
you're
not in George Abbott's sights right now is a matter of luck."

Pam couldn't shake what Kate had said, especially since Susan had said something similar a few weeks before.
Maybe you can talk with
your
daughter about not getting pregnant
. Pam told herself that they were just throwaway last lines. But it wasn't like Susan or Kate to use throwaway last lines. They weren't into empty small talk, the way so many Perry friends were. They were substantive.

Was this a warning, then? She wondered if they knew something she didn't.

Deciding she needed to see Abby, she left her a message saying she would pick her up after school, and she arrived early for a good spot at the curb. Closely watching the front door, she spotted her daughter the instant she came out--and, momentarily distracted, felt a helpless pride realizing that this striking young woman was hers. It wasn't only the blond hair and creamy skin. It wasn't even her father's height, though that certainly set her apart. More, it was the way she carried herself. She walked with the confidence of a Perry.

Pam had admired that carriage from the very first time she had met Tanner's family. She could carry it off herself when she tried. Her daughter didn't have to try. She was born with it.

Abby was with friends as she came down the stone steps, but not Lily, Mary Kate, or Jess. This was what Pam had wanted to see.

The girl spotted the Range Rover and crossed the grass. She didn't run, just walked with that calm Perry gait. Some called it arrogant. Pam called it classy.

"What's up?" Abby asked as she slid into the car.

"Cashmere. We're thinking of introducing it to the PC Wool line, but I need your opinion. You're my target audience."

"No way. Kids my age can't afford cashmere yarn."

"How do you know the cost?" Pam asked as she pulled away from the curb.

"Because I look online. Because you love cashmere and buy
me
cashmere, so now
I
love cashmere. But I do know it costs more."

"Would you knit it if PC Wool sold it?"

"In a heartbeat."

"Well, there you go," Pam said, feeling vindicated. "I found a woman up the coast who spins cashmere. I want to see the quality of her work, and I want your opinion."

Abby seemed content with that. "We're on a mission."

"We are. You didn't have anything else on this afternoon, did you?"

"No."

Pam didn't think so. Her daughter had been on the field hockey team with Lily, but the season was over, and Abby wasn't into volleyball. Pam had suggested she write for the school paper or join the yearbook staff, but Abby turned up her nose at both ideas.

"How was school?"

"Okay. Did you see the
Gazette?"

"Did you?" Pam asked in surprise.

"You couldn't miss it. Everyone was passing it around. I mean, that editorial went after our principal. Poor Susan. How's she doing?"

"Good," Pam said, though she hadn't talked with her all week. They used to go to the gym together, but that hadn't happened in a while either. Susan was busy, and Pam was walking a fine line, not quite sure of the smartest position to take. "Susan's a survivor. How's Lily?"

"Good," Abby answered, echoing Pam's breezy tone, which made her wonder.

"Have you talked with her?"

"No, but I see her around. So, Mom, I was thinking maybe I'd go out for the Drama Club."

"You want to
act?"
Pam asked in surprise.

"I was thinking of set design."

"Don't the art classes handle that?"

"They need direction. Remember when we saw
Dirty Dancing
onstage? The set was amazing. Our productions don't come close."

"Yuh." Pam laughed. "One's professional, one isn't. One has millions to spend, one has nothing."

"Creativity doesn't have to break the bank. Isn't that what Dad always says? I'm creative. I've also seen more real theater than the other kids. I could be a liaison between the classes and the club--like you are with PC Wool." She looked sideways at Pam. "You're still doing that, aren't you?"

"I
am
PC Wool--well, a quarter of it. Why do you even ask?"

"You haven't been there on Saturdays." Her voice was cautious. "Is it hard for you after what I did?"

"No, no," Pam said. "I've just had other things to do. But I'm going this Saturday. We're finalizing the spring line." Her daughter was looking out the window. "What about you? Is it hard for you at school?"

"No way," Abby said a little too quickly. "I have other friends."

"But you were so close to the others." She took the ramp onto the highway. "I keep thinking about that, Abby. You were with them last summer when they hatched this idea. You must have heard them talking about it."

"No. They must've talked to each other at night."

"And they didn't mention it to you once? Not even hypothetically?"

"I told you," Abby stated crossly. "I am not in their inner circle."

"You came pretty close."

"So?"

"Nothing," Pam said quietly. She didn't want to argue. "I was just wondering. Do you wish you were pregnant, too?"

"Are you kidding? They're pariahs. They sit by themselves in the lunchroom."

"Maybe you should go over and break the ice."

"Oh yeah, and look what happened last time I did. Jess yelled at me for outing Lily, and now I've outed Mary Kate and Jess. I didn't mean to do that. It just happened. I was upset."

"Because they hadn't included you in their plans?"

Abby opened her mouth to answer, then glared at Pam. "You think I was."

Pam backpedaled. "No. I'm just curious, like everyone else. Were they talking about boys last summer?"

"We all talk about boys."

"Who was Lily talking about?" When Abby sent her a withering look, she didn't push. "Well, at least you're on the pill."

The girl didn't reply.

"Mary Kate was on the pill but stopped taking it," Pam said.

Abby turned the stare on her. "Mom. I am not pregnant. I am not trying to get pregnant. For all I know, it wouldn't happen even if I did try."

"Why do you say that?"

"Look at
you
."

"I had no trouble getting pregnant."

"But you were pregnant, like, six times and miscarried all of them except me. I mean, don't you think I
know
things like that are genetic--and anyway, your questions are really annoying. I've told you I didn't know. Isn't that enough?"

Pam was subdued. "I'm trying to be a good mother."

"By
bugging
me?"

"By talking." They were on the highway now, cruising at the speed limit. It required little concentration, allowing Pam to focus on what she should or should not say. The older Abby got, the trickier it was. "Mothers talk when they want to know what's happening in their daughters' lives. Maybe if the other mothers had done it, this wouldn't have happened."

"They talk."

"Not enough, I guess. But who am I to criticize them? If you had decided to get pregnant, I wouldn't have known."

Abby was quiet. Finally, sadly, she said, "Well,
I
think Susan's a good mother. You should give her a call. She's the best friend you have."

I could say the same about you and Lily
, Pam might have replied if the sadness hadn't been contagious. She did miss seeing Susan. Susan was sensible and practical. When she set her mind to something, she did it. Same with the others, actually. Each of them dealt with challenges--Susan raising Lily alone, Kate managing five kids, Sunny living with Dan.

And here was Pam Perry, watching Regis and Kelly while everyone else went to work. She might make a phone call or two relating to school board business, might get dressed and meander to Tanner's office, might make another call or two from there.

Would anyone miss hearing her voice if she didn't call? Would anyone wonder where she was if she stayed in bed for the day?

Certainly not Susan, Sunny, or Kate, as long as Pam kept up her end of PC Wool. She just wished she knew how the pregnancies were going to play with the town. She didn't want to end up on the wrong side of public opinion.

Chapter 15

Susan couldn't escape the
Gazette
. It lay in the faculty lounge, open to the editorial, for all to see. It was in the lunchroom, with students huddled behind it. When she stopped at the barn later that day, it was in the trash, but by the time she got home, it had risen again. Lily had it open and was rip-roaring mad.

"He's attacking you!" she cried before Susan had barely closed the door. "That's what this is all about. 'Erosion of family values'? He's angry because you're not married, and because you're the principal and you're twenty years younger than he is. He's
angry
because you didn't give his daughter A's."

Susan couldn't disagree. George Abbott had three daughters, the youngest of whom she had taught several years before being named principal. The girl was a mediocre student; George had been in to talk with Susan more than once about grades that he thought should have been higher. Understandably, given his job as editor in chief of the
Gazette
, he believed that his daughter should be a good writer--and Susan believed that she was. The girl's problem was attitude. And if that attitude produced a C, what could Susan do?

George hadn't voiced outrage when Susan was named principal. But he had written an editorial that spent an undue amount of time praising the runners-up for the job. It concluded,
Times have changed, and our schools need to keep pace. It's possible that the elevation of Ms. Tate will put us back in the forefront. But she is young and inexperienced. It remains to be seen whether she's up to the task
.

"And how dare he suggest that we don't value family?" Lily went on. "It's because I
do
that I'm having a baby."

Susan dropped her coat and bag. Quietly, she said, "Well now, you're doing exactly what he accuses you of--defining family values to suit yourself." Closing the paper as she passed--unable to bear having it open in her home--she went into the den.

Lily followed. "But who's saying his definition is the right one? Maybe there
is
more than one definition."

"Maybe," Susan said. Sinking to the sofa, she leaned back.

"Mom? Aren't you
angry?"

"Right now, I'm exhausted. It's been that kind of week."

Lily looked momentarily stricken. "I'm sorry. I didn't know this would happen."

"Would it have changed anything if you had?"

"I'd have had second thoughts. I wouldn't knowingly cause you this ... this ..."

"Public humiliation?"

Lily was silent, then impassioned. "You have to do something. You have to fight this."

"What do you suggest?"

"For starters, talk with Dr. Correlli. I thought he was friends with George Abbott."

"For the record, Lily--just so you know--I did talk with Dr. Correlli. He spoke with George Abbott last weekend and asked him not to do an article on this--and, in fairness, he didn't. He wrote a one-sided editorial instead. But there are many in town who agree with him."

"I'll bet there are many more who don't. You need to write a rebuttal."

"Not a good idea. I'm too involved."

"But he's attacking every single mother--every woman who works--every woman whose child does something
he
may not like!"

"Then it'll be up to those women to speak up. That's why we have Letters to the Editor."

"I'm going to write one. I'll say you had absolutely no part in this."

Susan shook her head. "You're missing the point. He believes that if I had been a proper mother, the thought of getting pregnant would never have crossed your mind."

"You mean, a proper mother raises a drone?"

"Try clone. He wanted that with his own daughters."

"Who never come back here to live. Do you realize that, Mom? They go off to college and never return. Wonder why that is."

They both knew, but the reminder didn't help Susan. Once again, she felt people were watching, talking, condemning. Like Hester Prynne, she felt branded.

She looked at Lily. "Do you feel that way, too--branded?" she asked, then realized she hadn't shared the original thought. "Do you feel like you're standing on a platform in the center of town, with a red letter on your chest and a baby in your arms?"

Lily laughed. "No, Mom." Her eyes widened. "Omigod, what if you were still teaching that book? Would that be awful!"

"Actually, not. If I were still a teacher, there wouldn't be such an uproar. It's because I'm the principal that George is so angry. We
do
have a say about who leads our children--they need the
best
possible role models. My being principal is a problem for him."

The girl sobered. "I am really, really sorry. I had no idea my being pregnant would cause you trouble. You're the best mother."

Susan put her head back again. "Tell me more."

"You
are
a role model. I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for you."

"Isn't that what George is saying? Look where you are. Seventeen, pregnant, unmarried." She stared at her daughter. "What does Robbie have to say about all of this?"

"Nothing."

"Is he still suspicious?"

Lily gave a one-shouldered shrug. "He asks. I tell him he's wrong, but I don't think he believes me. He's like everyone else, wondering who the father is, and no one else has come forward. Doesn't say much about guys who want to be with me, does it?"

Susan was startled. "Are you
disappointed
?"

"Not disappointed. Just ... well, who
wouldn't
want guys fighting over her?"

"Lily. That's insane. This isn't about a date to the prom."

"Anyway," the girl went on, "since there are no other suspects, Robbie thinks it's him. The weird thing is, no one else suspects him. I mean, he and I have been friends so long that when people see us talking, they don't think anything of it."

"Are you planning to tell him?"

"Eventually."

"Before the baby is born?"

"Maybe." Her face brightened. Sitting down beside Susan, she took her hand. "Know what the baby's doing now? She's the size of a baseball, and she's moving her arms and legs. She can even suck her thumb. Isn't that weird?"

Weird
was one word for it, Susan mused. She was trying to think up another word, when Lily said quietly, "I really want this baby, Mom, and not because of sharing something with my two best friends, not even so we can have a bigger family. This baby is me. She has my genes. What I do impacts her. If I have a Coke, she gets a sugar high and wiggles all over the place."

"Do you feel movement?" Susan asked in surprise.

"Not yet, but I know it's happening, and I know she's looking more like a person. I can't wait to see her. The sonogram's the week after next. Think she'll look like me? Or like
you?
What if she's blinking her eyes? What if she's sucking her thumb?"

"What if she has a penis?" Susan asked.

"She won't," Lily said with the confidence of a seventeen-year-old. "She'll be perfect."

Susan was thinking of perfection several hours later, wondering if it was ever possible to achieve, since people defined it so differently, when she heard a noise near Lily's room. She listened for a minute, wondering if something was wrong. Slipping out of bed, she crossed the hall.

The butterfly nightlight cast its glow on two bodies--and for an instant, Susan panicked. She did not want to find Robbie Boone here, absolutely did not.

But the heads that rose had long hair. "Jess?" she whispered, crossing to the bed.

"I had to leave," Jessica said quietly. "Mom and Dad were arguing again. This was the only place I could come."

"Does your mother know you're here?"

"She won't care. She can't stand the sight of me."

"That is absolutely not true. She's upset, and doesn't know how to deal."

Jessica made a sound. "That's because Martha Stewart doesn't cover family crises."

Susan sat on the tiny strip of bed that was free. "Unfair, Jess. She's trying to understand you; you have to try to understand her."

"We are just so different."

"You're really not. I know you both too well. You share the same goals. You'll just take different paths getting there."

"Totally
. So what I'm doing
is fine."

"Excuse me," Susan cautioned, lest there be any misunderstanding. "Pregnancy at seventeen is not a shared goal. Happiness is. Success is."

"But at least you can talk about those things. My mother can't."

"This has been a shock."

"For you, too, but you're sitting here with us. Can I move in? Just 'til my baby's born?" She was serious.

Flashing back to her own experience, Susan was, too. "No. You need to be at home."

"My parents may get divorced because of me."

"They won't. They just need to work through this." Susan had to talk to Sunny. "Stay here for tonight," she said as she stood. "I'll let your mom know. But you're back home tomorrow. Right?"

Sunny was subdued. "She raced out of here. I told Dan she'd be going to your house, but he doesn't trust what I say. I don't know what to do, Susan. We're okay, until she walks in the room."

"Is he siding with her?"

"No. He's as upset as I am that she's pregnant. But he thinks I'm handling it wrong. I'm starting to think he's bought into the bad-mother hype."

"No, Sunny," Susan said, because she did know Dan. "If he's coming down hard on you, it's because he feels helpless."

"And I don't? Want to take my daughter in for the next few months?" she asked, echoing her daughter's request.

"N-O,
no
. It's enough having to deal with my own. And Jess needs to be with you. Please, Sunny," she begged, "don't make the same mistake my parents did."

Susan didn't blame her parents for her pregnancy, simply for making it harder than it had to be. She might have worried that she was doing the same with Lily, if morning hadn't come so fast.

The Leadership Team included the superintendent and the town's six principals, and met monthly to discuss the issues at hand. There were always a few. Susan had always found her fellow principals to be thoughtful and fair-minded. But she had never before been the subject of their discussion.

The meeting was set for eleven. In advance, Phil forwarded copies of the e-mail Susan had sent to her faculty and parents, along with a note explaining that he wanted to know what they were hearing in the wake of the
Gazette
editorial.

Usually with this group, discussion was brisk. One of the middle school principals, in particular, shot from the hip, but he didn't this time. It was an elementary school principal who finally, hesitantly, spoke.

"I've had lots of questions. Many of my parents hadn't known about this until the paper came out. I tell them that Susan is a great principal." She slid Susan an apologetic look. "They want to know more."

Susan said nothing. This was Phil's meeting.

"What more?" he asked.

"They want to know how three girls could have done this."

"They're concerned about the pact, then," Phil said. "That's fair enough. We have information to give them on that. Susan will forward it."

No one spoke. The discomfort was tangible.

Finally, another of the elementary school principals said, "It's more than the pact. It's that Susan's daughter is one of the girls. My parents don't like that."

The more pensive of the middle school principals weighed in. "Mine are upset, too. Their own children are hitting puberty. Some are way past it and going to the high school next year. They don't want their kids getting ideas." She looked helplessly at Susan. "I'm sorry. This isn't what you want to hear."

No. But she wasn't surprised.

Phil addressed the other middle school principal. "You're quiet, Paul. No calls from your ranks?"

Paul shrugged. "I can ignore some, like from the parent who's on probation for shoplifting or the one whose kids go home to an empty house most days of the week. But there are some calls from parents I admire. They're talking about morals."

"They read the
Gazette,"
Phil said.

"It isn't just that. They know how young Susan is and that she's single. They're doing the math."

Susan had expected this, too. She girded herself for more questions on it, but there were none.

"So the response is overwhelmingly negative," Phil concluded. "Okay. How do we deal with it?"

No one replied.

"It's all about information," he said, and talked about what Susan had done to open discussion at the high school, and what he felt was appropriate at each of the lower grade levels. He didn't consult Susan, though there were times he might have. Nor did the other principals interrupt.

Susan listened quietly, trying to maintain her dignity, though she was dying inside.

When the meeting ended and the others left, she stayed where she was. Phil was sitting back, an elbow on the arm of the chair, a fist to his chin. He was brooding, staring at the desk, then at her.