Not My Daughter (17 page)

Finally, he dropped his hand. "I don't know what to say."

"Neither do I," Susan managed. "I expected this. But I have to tell you. When I stand back and look at the situation, I'm amazed. Three girls got pregnant, but this is a referendum on moms."

"Not moms, plural. One mom."

Right, she thought--because it all went way back to what had happened seventeen years before. "But I had a handle on this, Phil," she said. "Everyone at school responded so well to what we did. I had good will on my side. How can one opinion piece change things so fast?"

"It gave people permission to question."

"Fine. Question me as a mom. But I'm a good principal. Isn't that worth something?"

"You can't separate the two."

"Sure you can. Come on, Phil. If I was a Perry, I wouldn't be getting this criticism."

"If you were a Perry, you'd have a husband, and your kids would be younger than Lily. When a Perry gets pregnant at seventeen, she aborts it before anyone's the wiser."

Something about the way he said it gave Susan pause. "What?"

Phil seemed to realize he'd spoken out of turn. He waved a hand. "Oh, one of those daughters a while back. But the fact is that you did have Lily at seventeen. How did your father handle it?"

"My father chose the town over me. I was banished. End of story."

The silence that followed was as foreboding as any. Phil was brooding again, refusing to look at her now. Suddenly she was back at the school board meeting, sensing that her career was up for grabs.

"No, Phil," she said softly. "Don't suggest it."

He sighed, raised his eyes. "Not even a leave of absence?"

"I can't. This job means the world to me."

"Only until the smoke clears?"

"It would be an admission of guilt, when I've done nothing wrong."

She waited, but Phil was silent.

"Why would I take a leave?" she asked.

"Because certain members of the board have asked for it. I've had calls since the meeting."

"How many?" There were seven members. Four would make it a majority vote.

"Three. They don't know where this is headed and feel that the town might be better cutting its losses."

"Losses?"
Susan cried. "Excuse me. What have they lost?" When he began to hedge, she said, "Their innocence? Their world reputation? Their self-respect?"

"Mock it if you want, but this is a traditional town."

"Yes," she said, then paraphrased the editorial, "with the lowest divorce rate in the state and zero violent crime. But we do have MaryAnne and Laura raising their twin daughters over on Oak Street, and we do have a town meeting moderator who attends AA meetings every night."

"They don't generate publicity."

This was true. Susan was over a barrel. "Are you telling me to take a leave?" If he was ordering her to do it, actually putting her on suspension, she wouldn't have much choice.

He sat straighter. "No. I'm just suggesting that you might want to consider it."

"I have. I want to stay. There's too much work still to do."

He raised a hand that said,
Fine. Your choice. You stay
.

But there was no victory in it for Susan. On the way back to school, she wondered if she had simply delayed the inevitable.

Chapter 16

Susan was the last one to arrive at the barn Saturday morning. She had overslept after another uneasy night, and might have been sleeping still if Kate hadn't called.

"I'm so sorry," she said as she hurried to the back. The other three were nursing coffee, together for the first time, really, in over a month. The sight of it did her heart good. For the briefest time, life was normal again.

She took the chair beside Pam and squeezed her hand. "I've missed us. Oh, wow," she exclaimed, standing again to study samples of the three colorways that she and Kate had worked out. "These look amazing, Kate. What do you guys think?"

In a measured tone that Susan guessed had more to do with her life these days than yarn, Sunny said, "I like them. Vernal Tide and Spring Eclipse are soothing. They're a nice contrast to March Madness."

"Which isn't as soothing." Susan had embellished on it since its inception in her attic, raising the temperature of the yellows and greens that lay amid gray and white. Clearly, her own mood had come into play here, strong strokes of color against a calm field. "Too much?"

Sunny studied the sample. "I don't think so."

Susan repeated the question in a look at Pam, who said, "They're good. When will you do the last two?"

"Today. Kate needs time to dye enough skeins for photos to meet the catalogue deadline. Should we go ahead and book the photographer?"

"Actually," Pam said, "I think we should photograph finished items this year, rather than unknit skeins."

Kate looked startled. "We've never done that."

"Other knitting catalogues do it."

This was true--and heartening to Susan. "Is it what Cliff wants?" she asked. Clifton Perry was Pam's brother-in-law, and the catalogue was his domain. A staunch voice for the dignity of Perry & Cass, he was an unlikely ally, given Susan's notoriety.

"Well, he hasn't exactly said it," Pam hedged. "But he knows I have a feel for marketing, so he listens to me. Once he sees the layout, he won't turn it down."

"Does he even know about this yet?" Susan asked softly.

"No. I'm going out on a limb for you guys," she said with a hint of anger. "It's a good move, don't you think?"

Susan didn't like the "going out on a limb" part, but at least it was a positive plan, so she nodded. "Definitely." She turned to Kate. "Can we get samples knit in time?"

Kate was doubtful. "It'll be a challenge, with Christmas so close, and me having to spend every minute dyeing yarn. I'd have my girls do small items, like socks or a hat, only this is a bad time for them in school."

Same with Lily, Susan knew. Besides, Lily was working on something else that would likely take priority. Susan didn't want to
think
about that project, much less mention it to the others. "I'd have time to knit a scarf, but that's it. Could you do a shawl, Pam?"

"Possibly, but Kate's right. Christmas is close. What about our freelancers?" PC Wool had a stable of women who knit for trunk shows and magazines.

"That might work," Kate said. "I have enough of them, and they'll want the money for the holiday, but I'll have to pick patterns ASAP. I was planning to see our designer in January. I could push that up. How many items do you want for the spread?"

"One for each colorway," Pam said, "preferably in different weights."

"That'd be a lot of work for nothing if Cliff opts for the old tried-and-true."

"A lot of work for nothing if he nixes PC Wool
entirely,"
Sunny muttered.

But Susan had to be hopeful. "Maybe what Pam's trying to say is that if Cliff sees a more impressive finished product, he'll forget what's happening here."

"Speaking of which," Pam told her, "I did talk with George. We had dinner with him last night. I said you were a fabulous principal and that he was wrong to suggest otherwise."

"Will he print a retraction?" Susan asked, though she knew the answer.

So did Pam. "He's prickly, not an easy guy to reason with."

"Then his job suits him," Sunny said. "He can sit in his office and write unfair things without having to run them past anyone else." To Susan, she added, "You did not tell Lily to get pregnant."

"But I didn't prevent it, so maybe I am to blame," Susan said. She was still trying to make sense out of the public turnaround, wondering if
she
was the one who didn't get it. "Lily is my child. At what age does a child become responsible for her own acts?"

"By law in the state of Maine, eighteen," Sunny shot back, echoing what Susan suspected had come from Dan.

"Then I am responsible." Acknowledging that brought Susan to the topic she really wanted to discuss with these friends. "So am I a bad mother?"

"If you're a bad mother, we all are," Kate mused. "What does it take to be a good one?"

This was what Susan had been thinking as she had lain awake last night. There was no single answer, but for current purposes, one did stand out. "Vigilance. A good mother watches her kids closely."

"We
do."

"Apparently, not closely enough," Susan went on, mocking her detractors. "In order to have prevented these pregnancies, a mother would have to eavesdrop on her daughter's conversations, monitor her texts, hack into Facebook."

"A neurotic mother does that," Kate said. "I refuse to. A good mother trusts."

"After she teaches right and wrong," Susan added, because teaching was her thing. "But it's like riding a bike. At some point a parent has to let go, even if it means the child falls."

"Training wheels," Sunny trumpeted. "They add structure. They help when the mom can't be there to hold on."

Pam smirked. "You can't keep training wheels on forever."

"I know that, Pam. We're talking metaphorically. I've built training wheels into my kids' lives. Our home has structure. They know where snacks are when they come in from school. There's a chalkboard by the kitchen phone for messages. We have dinner at seven, and we start with grace. These are comforting things, things to fall back on. I am there for them."

"You're not there," Pam argued. "You're at work."

"Right down the street, a two-minute drive, one phone call away. And what about you? You're not sitting around the house all day. Does Abby know where you are every second?"

"No, but she can always reach me."

"But you don't work. Do you think that's good for Abby to see? I mean, what if she marries someone who isn't as rich as Tanner? What if she
needs
to work? She'll have no role model."

Pam smiled a little snidely. "But she's seen you all. She'll do fine. Besides, I'm on the school board.
And
I raise money for charity. Being civic-minded is important, too."

Sunny's face reddened. "You agree with George Abbott. You think women who work aren't as good mothers as women who don't."

"I never said that."

"Come on, guys," Susan cut in. "Don't fight."

"It isn't a fight," Pam insisted. "It's a discussion. I may not have a career like you all, and I am constantly made to feel guilty about that, but I
am
there every day when my child gets home from school."

"And that makes you a good mother?" Sunny asked in dismay. "You
do
agree with George."

"Sunny," Susan breathed, frustrated.

But Pam put a hand on her arm. "It's okay. If she wants to attack me, she can. Deep in her heart she knows." She gathered her things.

"Knows
what?"
Sunny cried.

"That training wheels are rigid," Pam said as she stood and picked up her coat. "Kids rebel against rigidity. I keep a good house, Sunny. I take care of my daughter. So maybe we have dinner at six one night and seven another, and maybe I'm in Portland when Abby gets an asthma attack, but I'm back in an hour. Don't confuse scaffolding with love." She had her coat on.

"Don't leave," Susan cried.

"Are you saying I don't love my children?" Sunny asked.

"I'm not helping," Pam told Susan. "You three have more to discuss than I do."

"Oh, really?" Sunny cried.

"But you're part of this," Kate told Pam.

"Am I? I'll call you, Susan," she said as she set off.

With a frightened look at the others, Susan ran after her. "Wait, Pam. I'm sorry if Sunny offended you. We're all supersensitive right now."

"And I'm not?" Pam asked without stopping. "Honestly? I have a stake here. My reputation's on the line. I've become known in the family for PC Wool, and now my brother-in-law may dump it from the catalogue."

"Were his kids perfect?" All three were grown, but the stories lingered. "His daughter got divorced eleven months after a huge white wedding. Does he ever blame himself or his wife?"

"Of course not. Corey was a difficult child all along."

Susan had a sudden thought. "She's the one who got the abortion?"

Pam stopped with one hand on the door. "Where did you hear that?"

"It doesn't matter. But if it's true, shouldn't Cliff be a little more compassionate?"

"Cliff is a Perry," Pam said with a sigh. "I have to go."

Susan let her leave. Only after watching the Range Rover head out of the lot, did she return to the others.

"She is
impossible,"
Sunny cried as soon as she was within earshot.

"So were you," Susan said. "Ease up, Sunny. This is hard on all of us, but if we don't try to understand what the other is feeling, we're lost."

"She basically said I didn't love my children."

"No. She simply said she loved hers. She was defending herself."

"As well she should. Did I tell her how involved her own daughter
really
was? That would have been the
honest
thing to do, but I kept my mouth shut. That took restraint."

"She'll find out about Abby," Susan said, pouring herself coffee. "Abby will tell her."

"When? Five years from now? A lot of good it'll do then. Pam Perry needs to be taken down a peg
now
. She needs to make sure that PC Wool stays alive."

Susan returned to the table. "Exactly, which is why fighting doesn't help. Pam's heart's in the right place. That was the whole point about ratcheting up our coverage in the catalogue. She wants this to work."

"And I don't?" Sunny asked. "PC Wool is a growing part of the department I manage. If something happens to it, my department sees a loss."

Kate waved a hand. "Whoa. This is my
entire
livelihood. If something happens to PC Wool, I'm out of work! Susan's right. You have to ease up, Sunny. We need Pam on our side."

Sunny stared at her, then rose and grabbed her coat. "Pam's right. You don't need me here."

"Sunny--"

"Oh
please
--"

"No, no," Sunny insisted, pushing her arms into the sleeves. "I'm better off at home imposing rigid rules on my family. She wouldn't have said any of that if she'd grown up the way I did. We were on our own--no rules at all--parents who totally resisted them." She finished buttoning her coat. "I do believe in structure. Children need to know what their parents expect. And still sometimes they break the rules. I'm trying to cope."

"You have to
listen,"
Susan said. "My parents wouldn't. That's what I was trying to say Thursday night. My way or the highway--that was my dad's credo, and look where it got us."

But Sunny was past hearing. "My daughter and I aren't talking, my husband and I aren't talking, and I'm trying to hold things together. I'm just doing my best. Isn't that what a good mother does?"

"Yes," Susan cried, but Sunny kept going, and Susan didn't follow this time. She was too discouraged. Turning back to Kate, she waited only until the front door closed, then echoed Sunny's words. "I'm just doing my best. Aren't we all?"

Was her best enough? Susan used to think so--used to believe she had done the best job in the world with Lily. Now, with critics all around, she was second-guessing herself.

She thought she was a good principal. In her mind, openness set the right tone. But maybe she should be more punitive in her approach.

She thought she was a good friend, but she had let Pam, then Sunny, walk out the door. Maybe she should have been more insistent that they stay and work things out.

Hell, she didn't even know if the last two colors she and Kate had formulated were any good--and now Pam and Sunny were angry, the catalogue issue was unresolved, and the survival of PC Wool itself was in doubt.

And finally, here was Lily, home at six on Saturday evening, joining Susan in the den to complain of heartburn--a perfect opportunity for Susan to coddle her daughter, who might, just might not have bargained for what she got. But the best Susan could do was to offer to reheat pizza left over from dinner earlier that week.

Lily's sigh said it all. Dismally, the girl looked out the front window--then ducked and croaked, "Omigod. Robbie and his parents.
Omigod."

Susan froze. "Here? Now?"

"Coming up our walk," the girl whispered as the bell rang. "Don't answer. Do not answer."