Not My Daughter (25 page)

Rick was quiet.

"What would you tell her?" Susan asked.

He took a breath. "I don't know. I haven't seen the heartbeat."

"Stick around and you will," Susan warned, then added, "But how can you stay? The network calls you constantly."

"They're spoiled. Maybe I have to unspoil them."

"What does your contract say?"

"That I'm a free agent in two months. They haven't made an offer yet. Money's an issue. I make more than most. They can hire two twenty-somethings for what they pay me."

"But you have a following. They won't want you to leave. They'll renew your contract."

"They may change the terms. Am I prepared to take less money for more work? With a child starting college?"

Susan was wistful. "She's made it easy for you there. Percy State costs less than the Ivy League. But if you blow them off, where would you go? Another network?"

"I could. I could also write. You said it yourself. I have a following. I've been places in the last few years that would make for great books."

"But you love traveling."

"I'd travel. Just not as much." He moved his legs. "Your feet are cold."

She might have laughed and said something about usually sleeping in socks, but she only murmured, "You can't stay in Zaganack. I might get used to leaning on you, and that'd be bad because you will leave, sooner or later. It's in your blood."

"How do you know?"

"Look at your
life
, Rick."

"I am. I'm thinking I have a helluva lot of frequent flyer miles and nowhere to go. Susie, why are you picking a fight?"

"I'm being realistic."

"I could rent somewhere in town if you don't want me living here. I could even buy a little house of my own."

"In Zaganack? I wouldn't do that, if I were you. If my job falls through, I may have to leave."

He was quiet. "You don't want me here."

"I do," she said. "That's the problem. I'm trying to protect myself. And what about Lily? If she gets used to having you here and you go, she'll be devastated."

Again he was quiet. Then, "I'm going to be a grandfather."

Susan heard the awe in his voice and rode with it. "What do you want to be called? Gramps? Papa Rick? Your dad is Grampa, so you can't use that."

"Why not? He'll be Great-Grampa. Wonder what he'll have to say about that."

"When'll you tell him?"

"When we know more."

Susan crept back down the hall soon after that. She said she wanted to be in her own room if Lily needed her, but it was all part of the dependency thing. She could get used to sleeping with Rick. Even now, her bed felt cold.

She reached for socks. They were ones she had knit of a PC Wool colorway from two years ago--Bobcat Ridge, done in shades of gray, white, and gold. Thinking of PC Wool made her think of the catalogue shots that were overdue, which made her think of Pam, which made her think of the school board--not the nicest of thoughts, but paling in comparison to the prospect of a baby born ill.

Rick's presence didn't eliminate the worry, but he was a distraction for Lily, which was a help. Susan called the doctor's office twice a day, even over the weekend, but there was nothing.

Nor was there any news on Monday morning. In fact, quiet seemed to be the order of the day in general, when school resumed. She greeted students, none of whom mentioned Lily, the pact, or the
Gazette
. She was able to make headway on her midyear report, as well as on the staff evaluations she had to do before hiring for fall. For that little while, she felt she was the good principal, the good mother, and even the good friend, because when news came midday Monday that the oldest living Cass had died, the first thing she did was to call Pam.

They didn't talk for long. Pam was distracted by what sounded like a newsroom on her end. But Susan imagined she appreciated the call.

Chapter 23

The passing of a Cass went beyond Zaganack. The story broke online and was covered on the evening news and in newspapers nationwide. Funeral plans were extensive, allowing for attendance both by Zaganackians and by members of the national business community who had known and admired Henry Cass. The governor and one of Maine's senators planned to attend.

It was a sorrowful occasion. But Susan wasn't sorry for the preoccupation of the town. Coming on the heels of the holiday breather, this was another event that deflected attention from Susan's issues with the board.

With the town shut down on Wednesday for the funeral, there was no school, which was why Susan was home when she got the amnio results. She had gone upstairs alone to call the doctor, thinking to spare Lily another roller-coaster moment. When she was done, she pressed the phone to her chest, closed her eyes in a tiny prayer, and ran down the stairs.

Lily was in the den. She had a chem text open on her lap, but she was knitting. When she saw Susan, the peace on her face turned to fear.

Susan burst into a smile. "The baby is fine!" She took Lily's face in her hands. "No genetic disorder, no chromosome abnormality, no neural tube defect. He is perfect."

Lily closed her eyes and let out a long, grateful sigh.

Hearing a quieter version of that, Susan looked back at Rick, who stood under the archway looking relieved.

"But he still has CDH?" Lily asked.

Susan would have given anything to deny it, but denial wouldn't make things easier. "Yes. The sonogram next week will tell us more--but this is big, sweetheart. Ruling out these other things makes what we have to face absolutely
doable
." Susan kissed her forehead. "This is a
huge
relief.
Definitely
cause for hope."

Likewise was Thursday's
Gazette
, which was a cover-to-cover eulogy for Henry Cass. There were histories of his role in the store, lengthy stories of his life, full-page memorials sponsored by Perry & Cass departments and other business interests for miles around. There were three full pages of letters to the editor, every one of them a tribute to the man.

Susan didn't read each in detail. She had been at the funeral and heard the praise, and while these letters were lovely, she was simply pleased to have faded from view herself.

That changed on Friday night. With Rick at the house, Susan worked late at school. She had just arrived home and was hanging up her coat when the front doorbell rang. Shooting a puzzled look at Rick and Lily, who were together at the stove, she went to answer it.

The man outside was thirtyish and wore a down parka and jeans. "Susan?" he asked in a friendly enough way, his breath white in the frosty air.

She gave him a curious smile. "Do I know you?"

"I'm Jonathan Hicks. I'm with NBC. We were in town covering the Cass funeral. I understand you're the principal of the high school. Do you think we could talk?"

Susan was uneasy. "I can't tell you much about Henry Cass. I didn't know him personally."

"We're doing a bigger piece on the town. Zaganack is unique in the way it combines business with tourism. How long have you lived here?"

Looking beyond him, she saw a van at the curb. It had the call letters of the Portland affiliate on its side and a satellite dish on the top. She was
very
uneasy. "Not as long as most. If you're doing a piece on the town, there are others who can tell you more."

"They sent me to you," he began, then abruptly stopped.

Rick had approached. "What did you say your name was?" he asked the reporter.

"Jon Hicks." He seemed puzzled. "Man, do you look like--" He swore under his breath. "Damn. You beat me. But you don't do local feed. Last I saw footage of you, you were in ... in
Botswana."

"Close enough," Rick said, confirming his identity. "What're you after?"

"Same thing you are."

Rick smiled. "I doubt that. Who sent you here?"

"The guy who heads the Chamber of Commerce. He said Susan was a good example of Gen X and that she had an interesting story to tell."

Susan bet the head of the Chamber of Commerce had said a lot more. Neal Lombard was the school board member who had suggested she take a leave.

"What story?" she asked.

"A pregnancy pact."

Not knowing what to say, much less how to react, she was relieved when Rick took over. "There's no story."

"Then why are you here?"

"Susan is family."

"
Your
family? The guy didn't tell me
that."

"No. So you know who I am, but I don't know you. Are you out of Portland?"

"New York. Assistant producer."

"Ahh. Bloodhound sniffing out stories. Got a card?" In an instant, he was studying it. "Well, Jon Hicks, you're barking up the wrong tree. For one thing, this town's about Perry and Cass. For another, I know your boss, and if he gets wind that you're harassing my family, he won't be happy."

The producer took a step back. "Hey, man, no harassment."

"Good," Rick said with a smile. "Keep it that way. Hey, my girl and I just made dinner. I'd invite you to stay, only we don't have extra. We'll talk shop another time, okay?" He put a hand high on the doorframe, watching Jonathan leave. Only when the van pulled away did he ease Susan back inside.

That was when reality hit. "The national press?" she cried. "What
next?"

"It was inevitable."

"I thought the
Gazette
was bad, but if this is on network TV, we're in trouble. A pregnancy pact is hot stuff. If he runs his story, Zaganack will be inundated with media from all over the country. I'll lose my job--I mean, I'll
have
to step aside or the kids will suffer. The whole
town
will suffer."

"Who is Neal Lombard?" Rick asked calmly.

Susan folded her arms. "He came on the school board right before Pam. He has four troubled sons, and he's covering up his own sense of inadequacy by pointing the finger at people like me. He must have been upset when the
Gazette
left me alone this week. We had the media in town, and he couldn't resist slipping them word. He's killing two birds with one stone--ruining me and creating publicity for the town. The Chamber wants tour buses here. Neal doesn't care what brings them."

"It's okay, Susie. I can pull strings. If Jon Hicks goes ahead with a piece on this town, he won't mention you."

"He may mention you. You told him you were family." Not many people in town knew that. Susan had always been miserly with the information. Lily, too. Rick was their secret.

He scratched the back of his head. "Okay. Well, I had a choice. Either I had a solid personal reason for being here, or he was going to think he had fallen into a
really
big story, in which case he'd call in reinforcements and stake out the place."

"What if Neal Lombard calls someone else?"

"Talk to Pam. See what she can do."

Pam wasn't thrilled to be asked to help. "I don't know Neal very well."

"Tanner does. A word from him would go a long way toward shutting up the press."

"Oh, Susan, with the funeral and all ..."

"The funeral is over," Susan argued. If Pam was a friend, she would do this. "Henry was long retired from the day-to-day running of Perry and Cass, so it's not like there'll be a corporate change in command. The company's had good press in the last few days. This would be bad press. Does Tanner want that?"

"No. Okay. Let me talk with him."

But either she didn't or Tanner chose not to act, or it was simply too late, because Susan was returning from visiting a Spanish II class on Monday morning when a young woman fell into step. "Ms. Tate? I'm Melissa Randolph,
People
magazine. I wonder if we could talk."

Susan died a little inside. "About what?"

"Teen pregnancy." The woman was in her early twenties. Wearing dark tights, a pencil skirt, and heels that stilted her walk, she wasn't as intimidating as Jonathan Hicks with his satellite van. That made it easier for Susan to stay calm.

"Sure. Follow me." She continued on to her office, thinking the whole way about what Rick would do. When they were seated, she asked, "Melissa Randoph? Is that correct? What do you do for the magazine?"

"I'm a reporter," the woman said and, as if to prove it, pulled out a dog-eared notebook and prepared to take notes.

"Were you here for the Cass funeral?" Susan asked.

"No. I just arrived."

"Specifically to do a story on teen pregnancies?"

"Actually, the story is on mothers--the whose-fault-is-it kind of thing. We're running a story in this week's issue, but we just heard about your situation and wanted to rush it in. Our focus is on average middle-class mothers. We have one in Chicago whose son is into identity theft, and one in Tucson whose DUI daughter killed a friend. Both mothers are being skewered, even though they're hardworking and well-liked. You're in the same boat."

"I am?" Susan asked, mildly annoyed. She didn't consider her daughter, Mary Kate, or Jess in the league of a thief or a drunk. "Where did you hear that?"

"The local paper."

Susan frowned. "Do your production people read the Zaganack
Gazette?"

"We got a tip."

"Ahhh," Susan said. "That wouldn't by chance be the local Chamber of Commerce trying to drum up a little more attention for the town? And you fell for it?"

The reporter squirmed. "We've talked with teachers and students. We know that three girls are pregnant. Of the moms involved, you're the most visible."

"There's been a spike in teen pregnancies all over the country," Susan said. "I'd guess that we're at the low end of the spectrum."

"But the three in question formed a pact. That's a headline. And you were pregnant at seventeen yourself."

Susan refused to react. "I'm a school principal. I worry about pact behavior as it affects other students. If a pact leads to violence, it's troubling."

"You don't consider a
pregnancy
pact troubling?"

Susan sat back. "Any teen pregnancy is troubling."

"Especially when it involves your own daughter, I would think."

"I'm sorry. I won't talk about specific cases."

"I understand that as principal you have to say that. But I really want to talk with you as a mother. Would you be more comfortable if we talked in your home?"

Susan gave her a sympathetic smile. "This really is a private matter. My first priorities are my daughter and my school. I don't aspire to being nationally recognized."

There was a pause. "That's a 'no comment,' then?"

"Oh, it's a comment," Susan said, perhaps pedantically, but she was suddenly livid. "My comment is, my first priorities are my daughter and my school. I don't aspire to being nationally recognized." She looked at her watch and stood. "I have a class to teach. I need time to review my notes."

Looking skeptical, the reporter rose, too. "Since when does a principal teach?"

"Since budget cuts discourage hiring subs when a regular teacher is sick." She opened the door. "I'm sorry I can't help you. I'm sure your piece will be just fine focusing on those other two women." She waited until the reporter left, then closed the door and grabbed the phone. Rick was working at home. Her hand shook punching in the number.

"People
magazine," she said. "Just here. Neal must have called them, too. How scary is that?"

"What did you say?" Rick asked quietly.

"That I wouldn't talk. But she says she's already talked with faculty and students. Was she bluffing? There are teachers--
like
Evan Brewer--who would love to cut me down, and kids I've disciplined who'd spill their guts in a second. She could write her story without ever quoting me, and the piece will be totally skewed, like the editorial in the
Gazette
. I could talk with her and set things straight. But then Phil would be on top of me for talking with her, and the school board would say I was hurting the town."

"Did she have a photographer with her?"

"I didn't see one. But I wasn't looking. Now I have to teach a class. Do I dare leave my office?"

"You have to. You have a job. Go do it, while I make a few calls."

Rick spent most of the day trying to plug the leak, but it had spread too far. The media was hungry for headlines, and the juicier the better. That meant the Zaganack story took on hyperbolic twists. The pact grew to twelve; the girls were the leaders of the senior class; Susan advocated teen pregnancy.

By day's end, she had received calls from two other magazines and
Inside Edition
, not to mention multiple messages from Sunny and Kate.

"Do
not
talk," she advised Kate, who sounded frazzled.

"They called me at the barn and again at home. They're obsessed with our friendship and the idea of our daughters forming a pact. How do they know where I live? This is
such
a violation."