Not My Daughter (30 page)

"I'm not very pregnant," Lily said, running a hand over her belly. The bulge was still small. "But I will be soon."

"Uh, that's why I'm here," he said soberly. "I want to be at the hospital next Friday, and don't tell me not to come, because I'll go anyway. I have a stake in this. It's my baby, too."

Lily thought quickly. "What if I just have my mom call you as soon as the surgery's done? That'll save you the trip."

"I want to be there."

"Just to stand around and wait?"

"It's my baby, too."

Lily didn't remind him that he'd had no say in its creation. It was time to move on. "The thing is," she said, "I'll be looking
awful
."

"I don't care how you look."

"I mean, it'll be embarrassing to have anyone see me all sweaty and pale."

"You won't be in labor."

"I know. But having someone other than my parents around will be stressful."

"I'll be invisible. I just want to be there. My dad said he'd drive me down."

"Why don't you drive down with us?" Rick suggested from behind Lily.

"Dad--"

"We have room in the car."

"But what if I want to lie down?" Lily asked.

"You can put your legs on my lap," Robbie said in a bolder voice, clearly encouraged.

"What if I just don't
want
you there?"

"Give me a good reason, and I won't go."

She tried to come up with one. But all she could think of was her parents arguing about Susan keeping Rick at arm's length and Lily saying she had wanted him closer. Now she was having a boy, who, if he made it through this surgery, would do boy things, for which a dad would be good.

"I can't," she wailed softly.

Robbie smiled. "Thought not." He high-fived Rick, opened the door, and headed out--only to deftly pivot to avoid hitting Abby, who had her knuckles raised to knock.

Abby was the last person Lily expected to see, but old habits died hard. Pulling her inside by the sleeve of her parka, she shut the door and turned to Rick. "That high five was too familiar. Did you guys plan this?"

"I swear, we did not," Rick said. "I was just as surprised as you to see him--not that I'm disappointed. He should be there."

"That's
my
decision to make."

"You did make it."

She supposed she had. In a way. Feeling cornered, she turned to Abby, who looked so uncharacteristically unsure that Lily couldn't bear to ask why she had come--at least, not with Rick standing there. Oh yeah, she wanted him around, just not all the time. Fathers didn't need to know everything.

Still holding Abby's sleeve, she led her up to her room and closed the door. "There. He can't hear."

"It's okay if he does," Abby said. She didn't look quite so tall. "I mean, anyone with a brain knows I should be shot."

Lily wanted to say it wasn't true. Only it was.

Sagging, Abby said, "If I hadn't been pregnant last summer, I probably wouldn't have suggested the pact, and if I hadn't done that, you wouldn't be pregnant. If you weren't pregnant, your mom wouldn't be in trouble, your baby wouldn't be in trouble, our friendship wouldn't be shot. I'm sorry about the baby, Lily. Do you think he'll be okay?"

Lily touched the spot where he was. "The doctor says so."

"You've never had surgery before. Are you scared?"

"Mostly for the baby."

Looking stricken, Abby dug her hands in her pockets. "I want to say I know. Only I don't. I wish I was pregnant, too, Lily. It would have been nice to have something important like that. My mother says there'll be a better time. She's really fighting for your mom, by the way. I've never seen her as determined. Actually," she added, "I've never seen her angry at my dad before."

"I'm sorry."

"Not your fault, absolutely not your fault. Besides, someone has to take on the school board. You should hear her on the phone with those guys. I mean, she is awesome."

Lily smiled. "I'll bet she is."

"I've been talking with everyone I know. They're all going to the meeting." Her voice cracked. "I really am sorry all this happened. If I could change everything, I would. Is there anything I can do? Anything you need?"

Not from you
, Lily might have said if she were a different kind of person. But she had always liked Abby before, and really didn't want their friendship to be shot. If she was giving Robbie a chance, shouldn't she give Abby one, too?

Suddenly she had a brilliant idea. It was perfect, actually. "I need moral support. Want to drive to Boston with us next week?"

Chapter 27

Dusk had fallen hours before, but Susan didn't have to check her watch to know the time. If it hadn't meant a late night for Lily, she would have waited to leave Zaganack until after the meeting. Though only part of her future would be determined there, it was an important part--and, in truth, she had no idea whether the turnout would be pro or con. The campaigning might backfire if recipients felt they were being strong-armed--because however you looked at it, the issues were incendiary. PREGNANCY PACT. PRINCIPAL'S DAUGHTER. BAD MOTHER.

People liked Susan; she truly believed that. But this wasn't a simple matter of like or dislike. The debate involved parenting styles, politics, even professional considerations, if allies were lost to the Perry & Cass meeting across town.

"Packed," said Abby, reading a text message. She was on Lily's left, her face lit by the glow of her phone. "The boardroom, the hall, Dr. Correlli's office. The
stairs
."

"Good turnout," said Rick, eyes leaving the highway only to shoot Susan an encouraging look.

She didn't reply. Packed meant nothing if the crowd believed she was a disgrace.

From behind, Lily said, "How do they decide who sits in the boardroom?"

"First come, first served," Abby explained, "but they have monitors to call on people in the other rooms. Mom insisted on that."

"She's a trooper," Susan said. "Her skipping the Perry and Cass meeting was an issue. Families usually attend."

"Your dad's upset she chose Town Hall?" Lily asked Abby.

"Not Dad. His cousin Rodney, who publishes the
Gazette
. He is angry at Mom for supporting Susan.
His
guy took the other side, so he feels personally insulted."

"How does your father feel?"

"I don't know," Abby said, but her eyes were on the phone. "This is from Stephie, who's inside the boardroom. Mrs. Dunn is saying that the meeting is about leadership. She says they're split about who should head the high school."

"Then it is a referendum on you, Mom," Lily said.

"We knew it was," Susan acknowledged, glancing back. Lily was gnawing her cuticle. She was nervous about the surgery, but she seemed to like having Abby there. Same, actually, with Robbie, who, for the sake of extra legroom, sat behind Susan. She'd had mixed feelings about his coming, but liked the way Lily was being supported.

"Here we go," said Abby. "The first speaker is Sue Meader."

Rick glanced questioningly at Susan. "Friend," she told him. "We've worked on projects together. She has five kids. She's totally sympathetic."

"She calls you masterful," Abby reported as the text appeared.

"So does my dad," Robbie put in. "He says you've done a great job handling all this."

"Does your mother agree?" Lily asked.

"Not yet," he said in a way that implied she would in time.

Susan hoped so. Things would be awkward once the baby was born if Annette Boone was still angry at Lily.

"John Hendricks," announced Abby, then added a low, "Disappointed."

"Disappointed in
what?"
Lily cried. "That his kids never made headlines? I mean, like, they are
huge
losers."

"He has a right to his opinion," Susan said.

"It's biased."

"That's what Mary Webber is arguing," Abby reported.

"And how will they decide this anyway?" Lily asked. "Take a vote? A show of hands at the end of the night? Thumbs up or thumbs down for Susan Tate?"

Susan smiled wryly. "Ideally, there will be so many yeas that the nays will shut their mouths and go away."

"Anne Williams," Abby called out. "Praising you, Susan. And Mom's saying to tell you women outnumber men two to one."

That was good, Susan thought. "Women may be more apt to support another woman." She paused. "Unless they're lousy moms and want to look good by making me look worse. Or unless the prevailing sentiment is against me, in which case they may jump on the bandwagon."

"Isn't that pact behavior?" Lily asked.

"More likely
pack
behavior," Rick called back. "They just follow the leader and go in a group."

"How is that different from a pact?"

"A pact is premeditated. The group agrees to it, and it usually involves something that's socially, morally, or legally forbidden. The group gives individual members the courage to act."

"Absolutely," said Abby. "People come together to support something they'd never support by themselves. Take Lily's singing group. Their vote was premeditated. They talked about doing it. They gave each other the courage to act. That was a pact. People we know make pacts every day."

Susan thought they were onto something, when Lily asked, "So why was it okay for them to do it and not okay for us?"

"Because yours involved pregnancy, and you're underage. That's unacceptable around here."

"Uh-oh," warned Abby in a back-to-the-meeting voice. "Emily Pettee. Bad."

No surprise there, Susan thought.

"Why are people so hung up about mothering?" Lily asked.

"Because it's the most elemental job in the world."

"I'll be a good mother."

"I know you will, sweetheart."

"Caroline Moony," Abby read. "Raves."

And so it went. Abby gave them a running commentary on who said what, and they didn't need a pencil to keep score. For every voice saying Susan's e-mail had opened a dialogue, another said the dialogue was a distraction. For every voice saying Susan was the kind of mother the school needed, another was critical. It was too close to call, no landslide at all.

Susan feared she had miscalculated. She was thinking that if there was as much negative feeling as this, she did need to resign, when Lily said, "She's calling on the wrong people. I mean, if women outnumber men, there should be more women talking, right? And what about everyone at Perry and Cass? Your fans must be there. Was that meeting mandatory?" she asked Abby, but Abby was watching her phone.

"Listen to this," the girl said. "J.C. is out in the hall. She says the people there are upset. They're all Susan's people." Her thumbs flew. "I'm telling Mom. Someone stacked the deck. They must have paid nays to come early to fill up the boardroom."

"Would they do that?" Lily asked.

"Absolutely. Mom says the men are ruthless."

It was their last hurrah, Susan knew. They hadn't wanted her to be principal in the first place.

"Mr. Lombard," Abby announced. "He was just recognized by the chair. Who is he?"

"Chamber of Commerce," Susan said worriedly. "What's he saying?"

There was a flurry of texting. "He wants to hear from a faculty member."

Susan could guess which one. Pulling out her own phone, she passed it to Lily. "Who else is in that audience?"

"Taylor."

"Text her. Tell her to call my number. I want to hear this."

A minute later they had Evan Brewer on speakerphone. His voice was dim; Lily raised the volume. The quality wasn't great, but they could hear the words. "...is my superior," he was saying. "I respect what she's trying to do."

Neal's voice came then. "Is it what you did when you were head of school?"

"No. Her style differs from mine."

"As an administrator."

"And a parent. I set rules. My kids knew the penalty for breaking them. Would I have done the same thing as Ms. Tate? I don't know. My kids never made pacts."

"Low blow," Rick murmured.

"Lie," Susan said. "They uncovered a drug ring at his school. If that isn't a pact, tell me what is."

"Mom's furious," Abby related. "She's calling Dad."

But Evan continued. "Ms. Tate isn't alone. Parents today are more lax. Mothers are juggling lots of balls. Inevitably, one or two fall."

"Low
blow," Rick muttered.

"Get that man away from the mike," Susan cried.

"Dad's phone is off," Abby reported at the same time that they heard a disturbance in the boardroom. It was a minute before they realized what was happening. "They're going after Mom for
texting?"
Abby asked in disbelief just as one voice rose above the drone.

"That is one of the problems we have!"

"Duncan Haith," Susan said, recognizing the voice.

"There's no respect, no decorum," he charged. "And when parents are the ones doing this, it's no wonder their children misbehave. We didn't have any of it in
my
day."

"Didn't you?" came a different voice, very Maine, very genteel. "Maybe we need to talk about that."

"Omigod," Abby whispered loudly. "It's my
dad."

The murmurs from the phone suggested that others in the board room were as surprised as Abby. And Susan? She was nervous. Tanner had come from an important meeting of his own, but to hurt or help?

The background hum died. She imagined him standing at the foot of the long table, tall and lanky, his face unlined, his confidence clear.

"What's he doing?" Abby asked.

"I'm confused," Tanner began, sounding hesitant indeed. "This whole situation raises questions." He paused.

"Where's he
going?"
Abby whispered.

"I can't answer them, and this bothers me. I like answers. But the questions we've been asking around here are making me think about some things I hadn't considered."

"What is he
saying?"
Abby cried.

Susan shushed her gently.

"I always assumed I was a good parent," Tanner said. "Who of us doesn't? We do the best we can, and sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't." When he paused for a breath, the room remained still. "When it doesn't, do we suddenly become a bad parent?"

"With due respect, Mr. Perry," came Carl Morgan's gravelly voice,
"we
are not the principal of the high school."

"No. But we're CEOs of businesses, retired CFOs of the same, and the head of the Chamber of Commerce. We're members of the school board. We make decisions that affect a whole town of children."

"What are you saying?"

Tanner was slow to respond, and still the room remained silent. "I'm not saying anything," he finally went on. "I can't, because, as I said, I don't know the answers. So I'm asking. Are any of us perfect? Have we never made mistakes? Have we never had the experience of doing everything right and still having something go wrong?"

Duncan Haith spoke up, his own accent thicker than Tanner's. "All good general questions, Mr. Perry, but let's be specific. This woman knew the pitfalls of having a baby at seventeen, and still she let her daughter do it."

"You
didn't
--" Lily began to protest, but Susan held up a silencing hand.

"And you, Mr. Haith?" Tanner asked gently. "If you knew the pitfalls of divorce, why would you let your daughter do it? Or you, Mr. Lombard? If you knew the pitfalls of drugs, how did two of your sons end up in rehab? Or you, Mr. Morgan? If you knew the pitfalls of estate planning, why is your wife's will being contested in court?"

"Whoa!" exclaimed Abby over the applause in the room.

"Yesss,"
Lily cried.

Robbie whistled.

"That is a personal attack," Carl Morgan charged.

"So is yours," Tanner replied with uncharacteristic passion. "People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."

"I," Carl stated, "don't live in a glass house."

"Then you're one of the few, Mr. Morgan. The rest of us aren't so perfect. We see some things and miss others. We try to be good parents, but who's to say that the next pact won't involve a child of ours?"

Neal Lombard's voice rose. "You can't be objective. Susan Tate is a family friend."

Tanner's voice turned thoughtful. "True. I know Susan. I know all the mothers involved, and I know the girls. They're good girls who made a bad choice. Have none of our kids made bad choices? So do we ostracize them? Or do we offer a hand in help. They won't shame this community unless
we
invite the shame to exist."

There was silence, then a burst from Carl. "Your father must be rolling over in his grave. Responsibility was his credo."

"It's mine, too," Tanner argued. "Anyone who knows me knows that. But if I'm a responsible person, I have to think responsibly. And when I do, I realize this discussion has grown too personal. The school board shouldn't be deciding who is or is not a good mother. This discussion should be limited to whether Ms. Tate is a good principal. I believe she is. Thank you. That's all I have to say."

The meeting adjourned soon after. Between excited calls and texts, the car buzzed as loudly as the boardroom had when Tanner finished speaking.

Pam phoned Susan. "He came through," she said with what sounded like utter relief.

But Susan knew better. "You were the one who got him thinking, Pam, and you got people to the meeting to hear him."

"The
best
was the look on Neal's face. I wish you'd been here to see it."

But she wasn't, and the reason why seemed to hit her at the same time as it did her friend. "We're rooting for you," Pam said quietly.

As they left the highway for the city streets, Susan needed all the help she could get. The pace here was light years removed from the pace in Zaganack. She was so not a city person, and thinking of the reason they'd come? Sobering.