Not My Daughter (28 page)

"Why don't you discuss it with Dan?"

But here was another emotional shift. For nearly twenty years, Sunny's husband had held her responsible for having a mother like Delilah. But he had to move on, and she had to give him a push. "I don't need to discuss it with Dan," she said, never as sure of anything as she was of this.

Delilah looked hurt. "Do you hate us that much?"

"No, Mother," Sunny scolded, feeling an odd affection. "I've never hated you. This has nothing to do with who you are, but with who I am. I'm Jessica's mother." She moved closer to the girl. "I want my daughter here."

"She doesn't embarrass you?"

Inching closer still, Sunny said, "No. I need her with me. She has friends who need her here, too."

Jessica leaned into her just enough to say she agreed.

"But we traveled all this way to get her," Delilah argued and looked around. "Samson?
Samson? Where are you?"

Samson was asleep on the living room sofa. He still had his coat on, but he had kicked off his boots. Not that, just then, Sunny cared. There were other things that mattered. Besides, she had the Bentley of vacuums in her broom closet right down the hall.

By late Saturday, Susan's little house was full. Kate and Will were there with Mary Kate and one of the twins; Sunny and Dan had driven over with Jess and Darcy. Sunny was cooking up a storm in the kitchen, and if she was occasionally frustrated not finding a little something she wanted--
No lemon zester? Every kitchen needs a lemon zester!
--Susan forgave her.

Likewise the mess in the bathroom, where Kate and five girls were playing with Kool-Aid--Great Bluedini, Blue Raspberry, Ice Blue Island Twist. The point was to dye skeins of yarn suitable for boys, and if Jess learned she was having a girl, they would repeat the exercise using Pink Lemonade.

The tub was a mess, which might have bothered Sunny if she hadn't known to steer clear. For Susan, it was a vote of confidence, friends saying that Lily's baby would be fine.

Buoyed, she was returning to the kitchen when the phone rang. "I'm being pressured," Phil said, his voice tense. "You have to help me here. The school board wants to see you Wednesday night at six. Can you make it?"

"Of course," Susan said. What choice did she have?

Actually, there was one. She thought about it long and hard through dinner in her busy house, but it wasn't until they were having coffee and dessert in the living room, kids mostly on the floor with the seating space full, that Rick said a soft, "You're only half with us. What're you thinking?"

She met his gaze. "Maybe I should resign."

"You're not serious."

"The board's going to ask me to. Phil might have, if he hadn't felt so bad about the baby, but if the board does it first, he's off the hook. Maybe I should keep my dignity and volunteer to leave."

The room had grown gradually quiet.

"Did you just say what I thought you said?" Kate asked, pausing with her elbows up, midway through tacking a handful of curls to the back of her head.

Susan didn't deny it. "There are times when I feel like I'm swimming upstream."

Kate pushed the knitting needle into her hair. "No. Absolutely not. Do not resign."

"I'm tired," Susan said. "There's part of me that would love to go back to teaching. The English department has an opening for fall. I could hire me before I resign."

"And let Evan Brewer take over?
No."

Susan had considered that, too. "Evan is too obvious. Phil knows he would use my job as a stepping-stone to his. Besides, there's plenty of time to do an outside search for a replacement."

"No."
This from Sunny.

"For the sake of the kids," Susan argued. "This media stuff isn't good for them."

"Are you kidding? They
love
it."

"We love it," piped up Darcy, whose innocence made Susan smile, albeit sadly.

"It's a distraction. I'm imposing my own problems on the students. That makes me a not-so-great principal."

"Wrong," said Lily with a ringing echo from Jess.

But Susan wasn't so sure. "I thought I was a good principal. I thought I was a good mother--"

"You
are."

"Maybe good, but not good enough. If I'm going to be fired, I should resign now and spare us all the agony." She turned to Rick.

Lips compressed, he shook his head. "Not a good message," he whispered.

"About dignity?" she cried. "What message should I send?"

"That you fight for what you want."

"That you believe in yourself," Kate picked up.

"That there's more than one way of doing things," Sunny put in and turned to her husband. "Can they fire her for this? Actually, don't answer. She can't resign."

If Dan had a reply, he chose not to give it. Same with Will.

"Resign now," Kate said, "and you'll be letting down every mother in town. You'll be admitting blame for having done nothing wrong. Know that phrase 'Don't go near the fire if you can't take the heat?' That's what they'll say. You'll be setting the women's movement back years."

"Totally,"
declared Mary Kate, but Lily's were the words that struck home.

"I remember when you were in school, Mom. Maybe I was three, maybe four, but when I woke up at night, you'd be studying. If I was sick, you worked in my room. You didn't have to tell me how much it meant to you to get a good job. I could see it. So now I'll be doing the same thing you did, only it'll be easier for me because of you. People will accept me more because of you. It's my future, and you're paving the way. If you turn back now, it'll be like pulling the yarn at the tail of a sweater and unraveling the whole thing. You've worked too hard for that. Don't? Please?"

Chapter 25

The campaign didn't end Saturday night. Kate and Sunny kept calling to keep Susan on track, and while the one call she really wanted was from Pam, she had to settle for Dan, who followed up with a visit on Sunday to study her contract.

His legal opinion? "They can't dismiss you. You haven't violated anything in your contract, and this contract runs for another year. Correlli may choose not to renew it then, but if they try to fire you now, you can sue."

Susan wouldn't sue. Lawsuits were often messy, expensive, and public. It would be bad for her and bad for the town. She still believed resignation might be the compassionate alternative.

Rick disagreed. Once the school week began, he e-mailed from home.
A good principal loves her students. She finishes what she begins. A good principal doesn't let outside forces erode her work
. And Lily joined up with her dad.
A good mother fights. A good mother wants her daughter to have choices
.

How fair was that? Not fair at all, but as the school board meeting neared, Susan held the words close.

------

She refused to wear black. Black might be professional, but it was the color of death. Her father had died; her grandson might die; her professional dreams might be shot to smithereens. But she was a color person, and, while moderation was in order, she couldn't squelch her personality. On that score, she and Rick had strategized. She wouldn't be confrontational; quiet dignity was better. If board members wanted to vent, she would hear them out, but she wouldn't be stepped on.

She decided on blue--navy slacks with a lighter, bolder sweater and scarf. She covered her freckles with makeup, and nixed hoop earrings for studs. Granted, the studs were bright red, but they were small--a gift from Lily at her last birthday, and precious for that.

All seven members were present when she arrived at the town hall. Creatures of habit, they sat in their usual places. Pam had laughed about this once, though she, too, was in her usual place now. Likewise, Phil occupied a chair by the wall.

Though the room was quiet, an air of tension suggested there had already been talk. Eyes touched hers only briefly. Susan caught Pam's--
please, help me out
--before Pam turned to the chairwoman.

"You know why we've asked you to come," Hillary began.

"I'm not entirely sure," Susan confessed. "I know you're upset by the media--"

"Upset is an understatement," one of the men said.

"We're
appalled."

"That may be so, Mr. Morgan," scolded Hillary, sounding weary, "but we live in the twenty-first century. I don't like the media being here, either, but this is how things work nowadays."

"Are you saying I'm old?" Carl asked in his gravelly voice. "If that's so, then old is good. We didn't have these kinds of crises when my children were in school."

"We should have acted sooner," someone else said.

"
Dr. Correlli
should have acted soon-ah," corrected Duncan Haith.

There, in a nutshell, was Susan's problem. Phil's reluctance to force her out was likely what had brought this meeting about. If a majority of the board shared Duncan's frustration, Phil would have no choice but to fire her. Letting her hear the board's anger firsthand would absolve him of guilt.

To his credit, Phil said, "We have acted. Within the school, things are under control. We weren't the ones who invited the press."

Carl's bushy brows rose. "No?"

"They came for Henry's funeral," Pam said. "They were supposed to leave after that."

"Someone tipped them off."

"Who?"

When several members eyed Susan, she was startled. "I'm the
last
person who would want reporters around."

"Then who would?" Carl asked.

Here was her first challenge. "I was told it was the head of the Chamber of Commerce."

"Who said that?" Neal Lombard asked, his moon face benign.

"The producer from NBC who showed up at my door. We were able to kill that story, but someone must have called other media."

"That producer lied," Neal stated quietly.

The members returned to Susan, who knew enough not to call Neal a liar.

Duncan used the standoff to say, "Well, you did get the NBC story killed. Did the fellow you're living with handle that?"

Susan smiled curiously. This was the second challenge. "That fellow's my daughter's father. We've had a medical emergency with Lily and her baby. He's here to help."

"Living with you."

Hillary sighed. "Duncan. His being there makes sense. These aren't the dark ages."

"Now
that,"
the man said, "is the attitude that gets us in trouble. I believe in marriage"--he held up a gnarled hand--"but fine, not everyone does. Susan Tate could live with a gorilla, for all I care, if she weren't principal of our high school."

All eyes turned to Susan, who remembered Dan's legal opinion. "Please explain your concern. Am I not carrying out my job?" She directed her appeal to Pam, who was in the unique position of having a child in the high school.
Tell them
, she begged.

But Carl Morgan spoke first. "The issue is morals. It's been one offense after another."

Susan couldn't be still. There was no morals clause in her contract. "I don't see the offenses. I'm successfully doing the job I was hired to do."

"You weren't here when a troubled student cheated for the third time," Neal volunteered. The fact that he knew about Michael Murray spoke of Evan Brewer's loose tongue.

"My father died," she said. "My contract allows five days off for a death. I took three."

"But now there's a problem with your daughter's baby," Duncan said kindly. "Wouldn't you be better off staying home to take care of her? Isn't that what a good mother would do?"

Susan was one step ahead. "I considered it, but my daughter's doctor vetoed the idea. He wants Lily at school and says my hovering would be counterproductive. He wants her living normally. She has exams. He wants her to take them."

"If you wanted to take time off, Evan Brewer could fill in," offered Neal, clearly retaliating for Susan having named him the snitch. "He has experience heading a school."

"You and Evan are old friends," Pam pointed out.

"Like you and Susan," Neal said with a smile.

"That's why I haven't spoken out."

Neal either didn't get the message or ignored it. "But this would be a practical fix. Evan is already in place."

When the board members turned to Susan, she looked at Phil. Naming a successor, whether interim or permanent, was his job.

"Evan doesn't share our philosophy," he said. He sounded begrudging, but Susan didn't care. At least he had told the truth.

"He headed a school," Neal pointed out.

Phil dismissed Evan with a wave. "If he hadn't resigned, he would have been fired. My concern isn't Evan. It's our students."

"Correct," said one.

And another, "It's a grave concern."

"That's why Ms. Tate is here," said a third.

Susan waited for more. When it didn't come, she murmured, "So the purpose of this meeting is ...?"

"To convince us you ought to stay," Hillary said. "Perhaps you'd share your latest thoughts on how to best help our students at this time."

"My thoughts come from the faculty," Susan replied. "They say what we're already doing is working. Our kids are discussing the issues. They're understanding them and moving on."

"That's not the sense of the town," said Duncan.

"Didn't you read the
Gazette?"

"Bet you thought you had more friends than that," Neal gloated.

Susan didn't respond. She was grateful when Pam said, "Most of those letters were unsigned."

"But they were not in support of Susan," Thomas Zimmerman remarked.

Harold LaPierre, the library director, had been sitting quietly with his hands folded. The overhead lights reflected on his bare scalp, spotlighting him when he spoke. "For all we know, they were written by the same person."

"There's a cynical view."

"Can't rule it out," Harold said.

Duncan grunted. "Well, we have to do somethin'. You all know it, but won't say it, so I will. There's two choices. Ms. Tate can take a leave. Or she can be dismissed."

Susan had feared it would come to this. "Please tell me the grounds."

There was a silence among the board. She guessed they were caught up by the word
grounds
. Finally, pushing up his glasses, the Realtor said, "Would you sue us if we demand your resignation?"

"I haven't thought that far, Mr. Zimmerman. I love my job, and I do it well. I do not want to resign."

"What if we pay you full salary to take a leave until the end of the school year?" rasped Carl Morgan.

"It's not about money," she said. "It's about the kids."

"What about the sentiment of the town? Our citizens want you gone."

"Do they?" she asked respectfully. "I agree with Mr. LaPierre. I'm not convinced that what we see in the
Gazette
is a fair representation of town sentiment."

Pam spoke with sudden enthusiasm. "That's an easy problem to solve. What if we held an open meeting of the board? Parents could tell us directly what they think."

"An open meeting is the perfect solution," Pam told Tanner and Abby over dinner. "We were at a stalemate. As soon as I made the sug gestion, everyone leaped at it. I mean, I was dying, not knowing what to say. I could feel Susan looking at me, wanting me to stick up for her, and I really wanted to do that, but how could I? I mean, this whole thing just
looks
so bad!"

"That sometimes determines it," Tanner murmured around a piece of flank steak.

"Determines what?" Abby asked. Sullen, she hadn't touched her food.

Tanner finished chewing. "The outcome. If the town thinks something's bad, it's bad."

"Susan doesn't see that," Pam complained, adding more mashed potato to her husband's plate, knowing he could eat all that and more without gaining a pound. "She was polite, but she didn't give an inch. She kept saying she was doing her job."

"Isn't she?" Abby asked, watchful now.

"Technically, yes. But what's happened here goes beyond her job."

"It shouldn't," the girl said.

"That's the way it is. You aren't eating, Ab. Is the meat too well done?"

"It's fine. I'm just upset."

Pam, on the other hand, was relieved. "An open meeting will be better for Susan." To Tanner, she said, "We really need to get new blood on the board. How can someone like me speak up, when I'm overpowered by men twice my age. They have no idea what's going on in the schools."

"They've given a lot to the town," Tanner advised. "You can't just turn around and kick them out."

"I understand that. But if they faced opposition, they might decide to retire. The key is getting some of our parents to run. There are a few who'd be good. I'll talk with them."

"About Susan?" Abby asked.

"About running for school board. Convincing those men of anything new is like hitting a brick wall."

"Did you try? Susan's your friend. You should be defending her."

"I have to be impartial."

"No, you don't," Abby said sharply. "You have to be loyal. She's your friend and business partner, and she's done nothing wrong."

"It isn't as simple as that," Tanner put in, but Abby wasn't done with Pam. She seemed to be picking up steam.

"Did you tell those men they were wrong, Mom? Did you tell them Susan isn't responsible for things she didn't do?"

"But she is responsible," Tanner said. "That's what it means to hold a position of authority."

Pam didn't think Abby heard her father, the look on her face was so intense. "She's your friend, Mom. You told me to reach out to Lily, but you're not reaching out to Susan. Maybe if you come right out and publicly say you're on Susan's side, this wouldn't be so bad. You're a Perry. Doesn't that put you in a position of authority, too?"

"This is
my
fault?" Pam asked in dismay.

"No. It's not," came Tanner's quiet voice. "It's the fault of three girls who made a really dumb decision."

Abby was suddenly woeful. "It wasn't all their fault."

"What do you mean?" her father asked.

Given the look of misery on her daughter's face, Pam's heart sank. She knew the answer. There had been one too many hints from Susan, Sunny, and Kate, and one too many doubts of her own.

"It was my idea," Abby said.

"What was?" Tanner asked.

"Getting pregnant," Pam answered with chagrin. "Oh, Abby. How many times did I ask? You denied it again and again."

The girl had tears in her eyes. "I didn't think it would get to this. But now Lily has a baby that is sick, and you all are saying Susan is a bad mother. She didn't have anything to do with Lily getting pregnant. It was
my idea
."

Pam tried to see Tanner's reaction, but his eyes were fixed on Abby. "What are you talking about?"

"I was pregnant,"
she wailed. "It was Michael's, and it was an accident."