Not My Daughter (21 page)

"Have you ever tried Magic Loop?"

Ellen reached into her bag and pulled out the second sock. It was being worked on one very long circular needle. Magic Loop.

Lily smiled. They did have this in common. "Which do you prefer?"

"I'm more comfortable with two circulars." Ellen paused. "I take it you knit, too."

"Absolutely. My best friends' moms are my mom's partners. We all knit. Are those for you?"

Ellen fingered the socks and nodded. "Winter's coming on. The warmth will be good."

"Are they merino?"

"With a touch of alpaca and silk."

But not PC Wool. Lily knew that from the color, which was neutral, perhaps practical, but bland. "They look soft."

Ellen held out one of the socks.

Pleased by the invitation, Lily approached. Opening her hand, she cradled the sock to examine the pattern. It had elements of lace and was more complicated than anything Lily had made. Lace was the rage, but only for knitters who had the time and the skill. "You knit beautifully."

Ellen nodded her thanks.

"I understand why my mother is so good."

"Oh, she didn't get it from me. Whatever I made when my children were young was purely functional."

"When did you start making things like this?"

"Just recently."

"Nana?" It was Jack's daughter, eight-year-old Emily, looking warily from Ellen to Lily. "Daddy's looking for you. He's worried. Are you all right?"

Ellen tucked both socks in the bag. With a soft, "I'm coming," she pushed herself up.

The moment was lost. Lily didn't know what she'd been looking for, but felt a quick resentment. Having stepped back the instant her cousin appeared, she preceded Ellen to the door. The girl, Emily, watched her with the same dislike she had shown earlier, when Lily had tried to get her to talk.
What grade are you in? Do you play sports? Do you like Hannah Montana?
Third, no, and yes. Unspoken, but definitely there in the girl's eyes, was a defiant, Want to make something of it look?

The child was rude, inhospitable to someone who had traveled halfway across the country--and who was her first cousin!

Vowing that her own daughter would never be like that, Lily came to within a foot of the girl and bent swiftly.
"Boo!"

The girl jumped.

That was the extent of Lily's satisfaction. She never found her grandmother alone again, and they didn't stay late at the house, which was just fine. Lily hated casseroles. They had dinner at a steak place, and though Lily wasn't eating red meat, the salad greens were fresh and the company of her parents and Big Rick far preferable to the people at the house.

Back at the hotel, Lily closed the door to their room and said, "Want me to bunk with Grampa tonight?"

Her mother looked at her, startled. "What?"

"Dad can sleep here." When Susan drew back, Lily smiled. "I know you guys sleep together. It's nothing to be ashamed of. You're grown-up, responsible adults, and if you haven't gotten pregnant all these years, I assume one of you takes precautions."

"Where did this come from?"

"Haven't you told me that sex between grown-up, responsible individuals is beautiful?"

"What makes you think ..."

"Doors, Mom. Closed. You don't close your door when it's just us at home, and I know you're not closing it to keep him out. Besides, there's that creak in the floor you say always gives you advance word when I'm coming in. Well, it gives me advance word, too."

Susan looked upset. "How long have you known?"

"A couple of years. It's okay. He's my dad. If you're going to be with someone, I'd rather it be him. So. Should I take my pillow next door?"

Susan stared at her. Then, for the first time since Lily had said she was pregnant, she gave her a spontaneous hug. "Absolutely not. Rick snores."

Lily didn't know whether her baby was responding to the hug or the sheer relief of heading home. But when they were sitting in the plane, waiting to back away from the jetport, she felt a flutter.

"Oh wow," she whispered with a hand on the spot and eyes on her mother. "Something moved."

Susan looked frightened. "Moved?"

"I just felt it." She pushed her seatbelt a little lower, but there was no repeat motion.

"A cramp?"

"The
baby."
She turned on her phone and before Susan could argue, said, "Mary Kate and Jess need to know." She texted the news and shut down the phone. By then, the plane was rattling enough on its way to takeoff that if the baby moved again, she wouldn't have felt it. They were late landing in Chicago and had to run to make their connection, so she was breathing too hard to feel it then. Nor did she notice anything while they were in Philadelphia, waiting to board the flight to Portland.

"Do you think something's wrong?" she asked when they were in their own car, leaving Portland for Zaganack, and still the baby was quiet.

"No," Susan assured her. "You're not even four months along. It's early to be feeling the baby move."

"I wasn't imagining it."

"It may not have been the baby, only your body doing a little inner twitch."

Lily was beginning to think Susan was right when, back home in bed, the feeling came again. The sensation was so small that she might have missed it if she hadn't been waiting.

She smiled in the dark. She didn't rush to tell her mother this time, didn't even text Mary Kate or Jess, both of whom said it was too early, too.

But Lily knew what she felt.

Chapter 19

Susan tried to be excited, but she seriously doubted Lily had actually felt the baby, and she had more pressing worries. Evan Brewer had gone ahead and imposed a three-day suspension on Michael Murray, which meant that the boy would miss even more school, just what Susan didn't want. She learned of Evan's action while they were waiting to leave Chicago, and though she e-mailed him to express dismay, e-mailed Phil, e-mailed Michael's parents, it was done.

That weighed on her.

Likewise her mother's parting words the evening before. They had never had a good chance to talk, and suddenly it was time to leave. "Thank you for coming," Ellen had said, as if Susan were no different from a dozen other guests.

But she didn't regret going. It was the right thing to do. Being with Rick and his father had been a solace; the four of them were a little family independent of the Tates. And she did feel closer to Lily.

Still, Zaganack was her real world. She had hoped that, in her absence, the uproar caused by the pregnancies would have died. Instead, here was Evan.

Evan Brewer was forty-nine. He had resigned as headmaster at a private school when they wanted him to commit to a major building campaign. He didn't like raising money, he explained at length when Susan interviewed him, and she could commiserate. She didn't like fund-raising; fortunately, her job required little of it.

To his credit, Evan was an excellent teacher. He had a command of his subject and presented it with an authority that made students sit up and listen. It was the way he conducted himself at faculty meetings and approached parents that made her uneasy. He was full of himself, she decided. And he wanted her job.

He was five minutes late for their meeting Thursday morning. She sensed it was deliberate, because when he finally arrived, he neither apologized nor even expressed condolences on her father's death, simply launched into a defense of his action on the Murray boy.

"He blatantly disregarded the rules. I don't know whether he thought the holiday would have people looking the other way, but he's been caught cheating three times this year alone. Where I come from, three strikes and you're out."

Susan was bristling well before he stopped. "Not here," she said. "He's a senior, Evan. A suspension on his record now raises a red flag for college admissions officers. This is a bright boy who is struggling to keep up with even brighter older siblings and parents he desperately wants to please."

Evan arched a brow. "By
cheating?"

"He cheats when he thinks he's failing," Susan explained as she shouldn't have had to with a man of Evan's experience, "but we're working with him. He and his parents are in counseling. Surely, you read that in his file."

"I did, but the case for leniency just wasn't there. I had to make a decision."

"I asked you not to. You knew I'd be back today."

"When a child pummels another child, he goes into time-out now--not tomorrow or next week."

"This isn't a case of bullying," Susan argued. "When Michael cheats, he hurts no one but himself."

"He hurts the morale of the school."

"Which has never been higher. Disciplinary problems are down since I took over, and it's because we're looking beyond the infraction to the cause. That's my policy, Evan. If you're not comfortable with it, this may not be the right school for you." He had exploited her absence. She couldn't see it any other way.

But he didn't back down. "I talked this over with Phil Correlli. He agreed."

"You should have talked it over with me. This is my school."

Evan's expression said he didn't like that either, and, glancing at his watch, he claimed he had a student conference. But even after he left, Susan fumed. She knew that Michael Murray would survive, but she disapproved of Evan's action as a matter of principle. If a student was suspended, what did he learn by sitting at home? Conversely, if his punishment was, say, to tutor illiterate adults and, in the process he realized his own gift, a greater good was achieved.

At least, that was her opinion. And it
was
her school.

And she had chosen not to punish the three girls who had formed a pact to become pregnant.

It was mid-morning when the
Gazette
arrived. There was no scathing editorial this week, actually a pleasant one about the holiday spirit that Evan Brewer should have read before suspending a boy with psychological problems. But the page opposite the editorial was a horror. This week, too, George Abbott had held off on running a story on the pact, but he made up for it with negative letters on the subject. They practically filled the page.

Susan called Kate. "Anonymous?
Anonymous?
Since when does the
Gazette
print anonymous letters?"

"Since our daughters got pregnant and George became the arbiter of moral judgment," Kate replied in a shaky voice.

"But there's no credibility if letters aren't signed!"

"The positive ones are signed."

"All two of them," said Susan. "But twenty negative and two positive? If this honestly represents the sentiment of the town, I might as well throw in the towel."

"Don't you dare! The only thing this page represents is George Abbott's attempt to impose his views on the rest of us."

"And succeeding."

"We don't know that."

No. They didn't. Rick might; he had good instincts on things like this. But Susan decided not to call. He had been a saint coming to the funeral--John Tate hadn't been particularly nice to him, either--but he was in Ecuador now, doing a piece on oil pollution. And this was her mess.

She had just put down the paper when Sunny called. "I don't understand it," she cried, sounding close to tears. "They're fixated on us! Did
we
tell our girls to get pregnant?" She began reading. "'Not all mothers are like this. Don't these mothers set rules? What are these mothers thinking?' I give up. What
am
I thinking? I'm trying to hear what you said, Susan. I'm trying not to make the mistake your parents made. But all this makes it hard."

"Not all the letters are about mothers," Susan mused. "Two don't mention the word at all."

"Those two talk about the breakdown of values. That's code for Bad Mothers. They're referring to us."

"With that talk about the school clinic encouraging sexual promiscuity? No, Sunny, they're referring to me."

Susan called Phil, who, to his credit, did ask about the funeral. "I'm sorry you have to come back to this," he said with what sounded like genuine regret. "George must not have known why you were gone."

"Either that or he did," Susan said. "I'm sorry to be cynical, but I don't think it would have made a difference. This has become George's crusade."

"Bah. People take what he says with a grain of salt."

"Not according to those letters. To read today's
Gazette
, you'd think the whole town agrees. Honestly, Phil? I'm shocked. I always thought Zaganack was an understanding place."

"It is. But three pregnancies frighten people. They wonder if their daughter's next."

"So they attack me? Does that make them safe?"

"They think it does."

"Because I haven't suspended the girls?" she asked, but calmly now. With Phil determining her future, she had to take a page from Evan Brewer's book and project authority. "Because I support a school clinic that gives condoms to boys who would otherwise have sex without protection? Because I believe in constructive punishment--which brings us to Michael Murray. You know I've been working with his family. Evan says you okayed the suspension."

"You weren't there. Something had to be done."

"I was gone for three days, and I wasn't playing golf. I've worked so hard with that boy."

"Maybe you need to take a different approach."

Susan was startled. It was a minute before she managed to ask, "You agree with him, then?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to keep an open mind."

An open mind about whom--Michael Murray? Evan Brewer? Susan Tate? Not knowing which, she was silent.

Phil sighed. "See, I would rather George had not printed those letters, but he did. Now I want to think it's over. The naysayers have had their day."

"Then you think this is just a blip in the scheme of things?"

"I think," he cautioned, "that if you're still adamant against taking a leave, you'll have to be proactive. Call Pam Perry, and get her to lobby on your behalf, because if the school board insists I take action, I'll act."

Pam was cool, though whether from distraction or frustration, Susan didn't know. "I'm already doing what I can. I talked with several of the men. I explained why you were away. I said your father's death was unexpected. They have to be thinking George is kicking you while you're down."

"Would you tell them that?" Susan asked, afraid to leave it to chance. "Spell it out?"

"Bad idea," her friend warned. "I'm the youngest member of the board. I'm the
newest
member. I can't tell them what to think. No, they'll get it on their own."

"Duncan Haith? Carl Morgan? I'm worried, Pam. This is one more week with just one side of the story in the paper."

"Maybe you could write a rebuttal."

"And give credence to George Abbott's accusations? Maybe you could."

"No. Not with my position in town."

She could if she wanted to. But she didn't. Hurt, Susan asked, "Do you think these letters represent the town's feelings?"

Pam was silent a few seconds too long. "I don't know."

"Do you agree with what they're saying? Am I less of a mother for what Lily did?"

"No, but I can't control public sentiment."

"What about Tanner? When he talks, people listen."

"I can't involve Tanner."

"You know what this job means to me, Pam."

"Hey," her friend said lightly, "I don't imagine anything will happen because of the letters. You just have to hang in there a little longer. School break starts next Wednesday. By the time the holidays are over, everyone will have forgotten about this."

Susan didn't think so. She wasn't sure Pam believed it either, but clearly she didn't want to do anything more. That cut deeply on a personal level. On a professional one, it made Susan very, very nervous.

It was all she could do to get herself to go to the basketball tournament that afternoon. She would much rather have stayed holed up nursing her wounds. But her concept of a principal entailed being a leader in good times and bad, which meant showing up to root for the home team, even when
she
was the biggest underdog around.

In hindsight, she was glad that she did. Sporting events were a good place to talk with parents. Some came over to express condolences on her father's death, others to discuss the
Gazette
. The latter were dismayed by the letters and supportive of Susan's position.

Then came Allison Monroe. She reported that she had overheard Evan Brewer in the faculty lounge that morning making arguments for why his approach to discipline was the best. Furious, Susan pulled out her BlackBerry and sent him a note.
My office. Seven
A.M.
tomorrow
.

On Friday, too, he was five minutes late, and then he walked in with coffee from Starbucks--only one cup, clearly for him. Not that Susan wanted coffee. But if she sensed she had done something her boss didn't like,
she
would have brought a peace offering. Not Evan Brewer.

Acting the mature professional with Phil was important, but Evan wasn't Phil. And Susan was pissed. "Are you bad-mouthing me in the faculty lounge?" she asked with little preamble.

He gave her an odd smile. "Am I what?"

"Bad-mouthing me. You were discussing Michael's case with other teachers."

"Who said this?"

"That's not the point. Your discussing it is a violation of Michael's privacy--
and
totally unprofessional. You were basically saying that your way of disciplining Michael is better than mine."

"No, Susan. It was a philosophical discussion."

"With you taking the opposite position from the one that your boss takes?"
Really
pissed, she said, "Would you have appreciated your faculty second-guessing your decisions when you were the headmaster?"

"I'm sure they did. A head can't control what his faculty does. But in this case, I was only trying to help."

"Help how?"

He shrugged. "This may be the last thing you want to hear right now ... but there's been a lot of talk about the lack of discipline here. I presented my argument in a way that suggested you
do
consider all possibilities. In that sense, I was standing up for you." He arched an arrogant brow. "Look at it this way. I'm older and have more experience. My being more visible isn't a bad thing."

Susan could not have disagreed more. "You aren't principal here, Evan. Assistant principal isn't even part of your title. It's bad enough that I asked you not to act on Michael's case and you went ahead and did it. But now to talk up the issue behind my back?"